Chapter XX: Part 20

"Then you shall suffer," said he, bringing his teeth together with greater firmness, as if he would like to put an end to her existence with one bite; and he manifested himself with such a degree of anger that she was frightened, and arose from her chair to leave the room, when he rushed and caught her firmly by the hand, and telling her to look straight at him, exclaimed,--

"You proud thing! I tell you now that if you had consented to have me at first you should now have half of all father Alvord's property as well as mine; but I have outwitted you. I got him to make his will as he did, and thanks to John's blundering, I knew when he made the other; and now, as there's no witness here, I'll leave you to guess what became of it; and you may groan in poverty for all me, for you'll have to sue me every time you get any more money out of the estate."

He had hardly ejaculated these words, in anger, before he seemed to see his error, and as Margaret, now understanding his villany, tore herself from his grasp, and rushed into another room, he followed her, and tried to laugh away the effect of what he had said.

"Ho! ho! Margaret, haven't I told you a pretty story though? I wish it had been true, I declare; but I must tell you that I never believed a word about the second will. You must have been mistaken, and as to the first, father and Emerson, the old lawyer, got it up without my knowledge."

Margaret, who now began to see into his real character, and who hated hypocrisy, turned upon him, and said, "There's no occasion for you adding falsehood to your rudeness, sir. Father made that will under your direction, in my opinion, and as for the last will, you _do_ believe that it existed, and I see now that you probably abstracted it, and I wish I could never see your face again till you can come prepared to prove that you did not. Good day, sir," and she attempted to pass by him.

But he put himself in her way, and said she shouldn't stir a step till she took back those words.

"I have spoken what I feel must be the truth, and I will not retract a word," said she; "and you must let me pass, or I will call in John. There he is," said she, pointing through the window at John, but a short distance off. The mild, quiet face of Margaret must have assumed great firmness then, for Floramond looked but once into her eyes, and stepped aside; and as she passed, exclaimed,--

"You shall live to rue this, to your full satisfaction."

And she did suffer. Floramond managed to vex her in many ways,--sold off a portion of her garden, on which she depended for her vegetables, contending that it was only the rent of the house that was left her by the will; and sending her ten dollars on her annuity when she wanted perhaps thirty or forty; and getting up stories about her extravagance, etc. But, fortunately, she had a character and reputation formed, and he could only vex her in money matters to any great extent.

Weary months passed, and Margaret frequently thought of the wills, and what Floramond had said; and when the ministerial brother called to see her one day, about the time his hundred-dollar annuity "for a rental" was running out, Margaret told him something of her troubles, and her conviction that Floramond had stolen the will. The minister was not very astute in law matters, but he could see that it would only be by a "sort of miracle," as he told her, that they could ever learn anything of what had become of the will; but Margaret was more hopeful, and continued to plan ways of getting at the truth.

'There was that old lawyer who had drawn the first will. May be he could find out something,--lawyers work for the side that employs them;' but the minister dampened her ardor in that direction, by telling her that Floramond probably held him under a general retainer, and he could not be reached; but finally Margaret was so anxious to have something done, that the minister consented to aid her to the extent of his little ability, as he was modestly pleased to say, and at last it came into his head that when he was once supplying for a few weeks a classmate's pulpit in Brooklyn, he had one evening heard one of the congregation telling some marvelous stories about the adroitness and sagacity of detective officers, and he spoke to Margaret of this.

This was something novel to Margaret. She knew there were police officers, and so forth, but was not aware that there were organized forces of private officers, detectives. The minister told her one of the strange stories he had heard, and Margaret was quite astonished by it, and believed that if detectives could find out "such a thing as that they could really serve us," and it was resolved by them that a detective should be obtained, and he might work out something.

All the rest of the children, except Floramond, were consulted, and agreed to contribute towards procuring the detective; and Margaret, who had got wrought up about the matter, and was a very capable woman to perform whatever she undertook, declared that she would procure the detective. Her cousin had long wished her to visit her at Jamaica (I think it was), Long Island, and in going through New York she would get some advice, and hunt up a detective; and thus it came that I chanced to be called in the case, and I obtained from her about what information I have thus far embodied in my narrative.

I told her it was apparently a hopeless case; that probably Floramond (who, I said, had doubtless abstracted the will) destroyed it at once, as any prudent man would have done, and that I saw no possible clew to the matter. But she was so urgent, and so willing to pay me for my time to go and see the rest of the family, and talk with them, and to look the matter over on the spot, that I consented to go, which I did duly. I learned but little more than I have recited, in the place where Margaret lived, but I thought I would like to visit Floramond's lawyer, and found myself duly at his office.

I am very fond of the members of the profession generally. They are apt to be more "men of the world" than most other people. The practice of their profession brings them into contact with all classes of men, and they learn more or less of charity, and are, in fact, among the most reliable of citizens everywhere. But there was something in this lawyer's face (old Boyd, we will call him, and but for a son of his, an honorable man in an important position, I would call the old villain's name fully) which revealed to me that I had a curious customer to deal with; that he lacked moral principle, and was capable of any sort of dark deed, murder included, perhaps.

I said to myself, instinctively, this old Boyd is at the bottom of this matter of the wills, and he has not let an opportunity pass to get Floramond Alvord in his clutches, and keep him there. That second will was taken by Floramond, I said to myself, and the chances are that he showed it to Boyd, and if he did, the old man was cunning enough to keep it. At this point I changed the plan of operations which I had in theory when I entered his office, and talked with him about things in general; told him I was a stranger from New York, stopping a day or two in the village; that when I was younger I had read law a little, and always felt more at home in a lawyer's office than I did in a country bar-room or hotel parlor, and seeing his office, had wandered into it.

The old man had considerably many books, but they did not look very inviting; however, I complimented him on the size of his library, and at last asked him about his practice, and found that he had a good deal of patronage, considerable of which his age prevented him from attending to, such as that in justices' courts; and finally I suggested that I had a brother who had studied law a few months in the city, and I thought it would be better for him to study with somebody in the country; there were a good many temptations for a young man to waste his time, in the city. He seemed pleased, brightened up a little, threw off the sombre shadows from his face, and went to bidding for my brother, by telling me of this and that man who had studied law with him, and who were now eminent in the profession,--which was a fact, as I afterwards learned.

So I contracted with him to have my brother come and study with him; and before I left the town I had secured good board at a moderate price for him, and went away. I lost no time in conferring with Margaret as to her ability to furnish me about such a given sum of money a month for three months, not over six at most, and I found she could do it. I told her that she must ask me no questions, and in fact must not know of any such man as I, or speak my name; and that if my plans succeeded, she would, of course, know the facts, and that would be enough; and if they failed, after proper trial, I would tell them to her, so that she should see what use her money had been put to. She was perfectly reasonable, and consented to all.

I found myself in New York city in two days from that time, and procured a young man, on whom I bestowed my last name, and sent him on with a proper letter of introduction to Mr. Boyd.

I told him he had better tell Mr. Boyd that he had forgotten all the law he had read, and that he guessed he had better read over Blackstone again at first. I had given the young man the points of the entire case as I understood it, and told him what I wanted him to do--to take his time, to study well, and to watch Floramond Alvord's movements in connection with Mr. Boyd for the first two or three weeks, and to write me from time to time what he thought of Floramond. But the first thing he was to do, after being there three or four days, was to "slick up" the dusty office a little, sometime when Boyd was out, and surprise him by its neatness on his return, and thus beginning to win upon the old man's respect as much as possible; to then take down and rearrange the books and the old papers, and so get himself familiarized to everything in the office; and to do these things, finally, in Boyd's presence.

He was as shrewd a young man as I could possibly have found, and he was a handsome fellow, very. Old Boyd told him, when he presented the note of introduction, that he did not much resemble his older brother! (me),--which was a sad but absolute truth. But the young man was ready for him:--

"No," said he; "brother takes after father's family. I'm said to be mother's boy."

"Yes, yes," said old Boyd, "I'd have known that if you hadn't told me."

My "brother" was not long in becoming popular in that village, and old Boyd was quite proud of him; but he did keep him studying, was "faithful" to him, as he promised me he would be. I frequently heard from my "brother," and at last I got a letter, saying, "Come on; I will meet you at No. 1" (which meant Mrs. Margaret's) "at such a time as you may appoint."

I knew by this that my game had worked well, and that there was probably no time to lose; so I hastened on, and sending a letter before me, appointing the time, met my "brother" at Margaret's. There was the document--the lost will! He had it with him. But what was to be done?

In the first place, the witnesses had long been away in California, as was supposed, and nobody knew where. Efforts had been made by Margaret to institute a correspondence with them. If they could not be found, however, we could prove their signatures by others, if we could find the experts; but Margaret had never been able to find anybody who ever saw their writing, except the old man's, with chalk on his barn door, noting number of bushels of wheat, or when his cows would "come in," and that would hardly do.

But I bethought me that they had sold out their farm when they went away, and must have signed the deed, the wife to convey her right of dower, and I felt easy. I instructed my brother to return to the office next morning as usual, and go on with his studies, and I would go to the county seat next day, hunt up the records, and possibly find the deed still on file there, as well as the record, and then, if it was not there, I would go to the grantees, and ask for the deed; but these people were indebted to Floramond largely, Margaret said, and would have to be approached carefully. She was still in ignorance of the will being found, but knew, of course, that I had some good reason for what I was about, and she was equally ignorant that my "brother" was studying with old Boyd.

I took the will and went next day to the county seat, and though I could not find on file there the deed which I expected to, I found the record of it, and the record and the deed, too, of another conveyance made by the same grantors, and, as luck had it, made on the very day after the will was signed; and the signatures to the two instruments were wondrously similar. I was satisfied on this point.

But there was another point to be gotten over; and this troubled my "brother" a good deal. Although he had been but two months with Mr. Boyd, he had fallen in love with a beautiful girl (who was the daughter of the richest man in the town, except Floramond Alvord, and was on intimate terms with Floramond's daughters), and they were already "engaged," and he wanted the matter worked so that he need not be found out in it, for the girl, he feared, would "sack him," as the village phrase was, if he was known as having searched for and delivered up the will. So I managed to stop in disguise at the same hotel where I had been before, and to find my brother in when old Boyd was out, and learned precisely where he found the will, and the character of the documents which were in the same drawer with it; a drawer which had evidently not been opened for many years, save to hide away the will in. Among the other documents were some curious letters to old Boyd, from a man by the name of Andrew Wilcox, who had gone away years before to the west, and died, and who was a waggish fellow, and wrote funny letters, in a very peculiar style of penmanship.

I was put to my wits' end how to work matters; but my brother told me that in two days old Boyd was going to start on a journey, to be gone a week; that the stage would leave the hotel at ten o'clock in the morning, and after that I could come in again, and may be could arrange something. But he had told me enough. I had formed my plan before his words were cold. That night I found myself at one of the adopted brother's, about ten miles off; told him he must ask me no questions why, but that I wanted him to appear in the village at the time the stage was going off, and to ask old Boyd if he didn't use to correspond with old Andrew Wilcox,--to which he would, of course, say "Yes;" and then Mr. Alvord was to say, "I thought so, and I'd like, for a certain reason, to get hold of some of his letters to read. He wrote such a curious hand, didn't he?" that probably old Boyd would say he was going to be back in a week, and then he'd hunt them up; but Mr. Alvord should evince a desire to see them as soon as possible, and ask him if his clerk couldn't hunt them for him; this to be done just as the stage was loading up to start; all of which was done, and resulted better than we expected, for old Boyd was in pretty good spirits that morning, very accommodating; and told Mr. Alvord that his clerk might hunt up the papers; though he didn't call him his clerk but said, "Tell the handsome rascal in my office to hunt and get you all of Wilcox's letters to read he can find; and I don't mind if you take one or two along with you, so that you leave me some. Good morning!" and away the stage rolled.

I told Mr. Alvord that I would go over to the office, and he might drop in and ask the clerk for the letters, in the course of ten minutes. I went and arranged things, and he came and told my brother what Boyd had said. My brother made unsuccessful search in three or four places, and at last came upon the letters; hauled out a few of them, which Mr. Alvord run over, laughing here and there at the odd, eccentric expressions, which he said were just like the stories he had heard about the old man, when my brother asked if he would like to see more. As he wished to, they were produced, and among them was reposing the will where I had placed it.

Mr. Alvord was sitting by a little round table, and as my brother placed the second batch on the table, I asked him if he would not be kind enough to go over to the hotel (but a few steps off,) and buy himself a cigar, and bring some to me, handing him money. He went out; and placing my hand among the letters, I drew out the will, and placed it in Mr. Alvord's hands--"_You found that--do you understand?_ But I will take it, and be responsible for its return, if, after we have examined it, you think it better be returned." He had no notion of the will yet, and acted with a sort of mechanical blindness, as I guided him, throughout wondering what I could be up to. (I had agreed to pay him very liberally for his time.) "When the clerk comes in," said I, as I put the paper into my pocket, "remind him that old Boyd said you might take off some of the letters; the whole stage full heard him say so; and do you select a few, and when you come out, come over to the hotel, and find me. I'll be there."

The clerk came in, and brought me the cigars, and I offered one to Mr. Alvord, who declined to smoke, but kept on reading the letters; and I, bidding him good morning, walked out after lighting my cigar. In the course of a quarter of an hour he came out; said he found "Wilcox's letters very interesting;" and now, said he, "I want to know what all this means." I got him aside as soon as I could, and we went up to my room.

Locking the door, I said, "Mr. Alvord, on turning over these letters of Wilcox's, you came across a paper which you took possession of for a moment. Now I want it understood that you _kept_ possession of that; that the clerk handed you a bundle in which you found it, (poor fellow, what _would_ he say, if he knew that he had unwittingly disclosed the profoundest secret in all old Boyd's life and practice? But no matter for that.) You took the paper, and you handed it over to me, and I am going to keep it for the general good, unless you prefer to keep it. Do you understand?"

"Why, yes, and no, too," said he. "I understand the language you use, but I don't know what it's all about. Pray tell me at once, and end my suspense."

"Well, you promise me on your word, as a gentleman, to be guided by me in the matter which is to follow, if you think what I shall point out to be right and just?"

"Why, yes; any man could safely promise that."

"Are you under any special obligations to your brother Floramond?"

"No, sir; only he has lent me little sums of money, from time to time--which"--

"You have doubtless always paid up?"

"Yes, with interest."

"Ah, ha! then he was lending you money, and getting interest on it, which really ought to have been your own--wasn't he?"

"Well, yes, I've felt so sometimes; but there's doubt about it, perhaps."

I had sounded the man deeply enough, and saw his temper towards Floramond; and so, drawing a little nearer him, I said,--

"You have heard of me before, but have never seen me till night before last; but we must be intimate friends for a while. Your sister Margaret has told you of me. I am the detective from New York; and this paper (pulling it from my pocket) is old Mr. Alvord's last will and testament--the last one, and you are here entitled to a fortune."

Mr. Alvord's face turned pale with astonishment.

"Let me put my eyes on it!" said he; and I handed it to him, opened. He ran it over hurriedly, looked at the signature, saying, "There's no mistake about it; and that's father's signature--just as Margaret always said it was. I had feared father had destroyed it, and I had entirely forgotten all about the matter for a good while. I gave up all as lost the day that Floramond produced the old will, and we searched the house, all of us, for this."

It was not long from that morning before we had everything arranged for bringing Mr. Floramond Alvord to terms, and I remained near the scene directing matters. I held on to the will, while the brother wrote from his home to Floramond, that his father's last will had been finally found; that he felt it his duty to inform him of it at once, and that legal steps would be taken directly; but this letter was not sent till on the day before old Boyd was expected back.

That day Mr. Floramond Alvord visited old Boyd's office, very earnest to learn when he would be back, and asked my "brother" to ask Mr. Boyd to call on him at his house as soon as he should arrive. "Tell him I have a very important matter for him to attend to," said he, "and want to see him at once."

Old Boyd arrived, and the clerk gave him the word from Mr. Alvord.

"Some devilish speculation on hand, I 'spose," said old Boyd, gruffly, as he left his office, and proceeded to Alvord's house. But he wasn't gone long, and soon came back to the office, and went silently to rummaging his papers. He looked here and there, as if his memory didn't serve him exactly; finally he came to the drawer with the Wilcox letters in them, and my brother watched his manner intently. The old man took up the letters, laid them out; took up other packages, and laid them out, and then laid them back, and looking at the Wilcox letters, said,--

"These look as if they had been disturbed lately. Have you been arranging this box?"

"No, sir. I've not been re-arranging the papers; but there's a man been here, the morning you went off, and said you told him he might hunt for some letters of one Wilcox; and, in fact, as the door happened to be open, I overheard you tell him so, just as you got into the coach, and I hunted them up, and he took some of 'em, as he said you said he might; but he said he would return them," said my brother, very seriously, "if you thought, when you got home, that he had taken too many."

"Did you ask him his name?" inquired old Boyd, very gravely.

"No, I didn't think of that. I supposed, by the way you spoke to him, you were old friends, and I didn't wish to question the gentleman," replied my brother, naively, with a probable cock in his eye, which might have revealed a great deal if old Boyd had seen it.

Old Boyd, with an assumed manner of great composure, said, in response,--

"I wish you had asked his name. I do remember somebody speaking to me, in my haste of getting off, about Wilcox's letters. Wonder who it was?"

"I hope he hasn't taken off the most valuable ones," replied the clerk.

"Well, I can't tell; but I fear he has," said old Boyd. "I must find out who he was. They'll remember over to the hotel, perhaps," and off he went over there; but it wasn't long before the clerk saw him on his way to Alvord's house. What transpired there then is only known to old Boyd and Floramond Alvord.

By the next day the matter was all in an able lawyer's hands, and Mr. Frederic Alvord and he had a conference with Floramond and old Boyd.

Precisely all that happened between them I do not know; but it would seem that Floramond had given the latter will into Boyd's hands, and he had been cunning enough to keep it as a terror over Floramond, who had indorsed his paper, etc., etc., besides always paying him enormous fees for legal business, which old Boyd managed to make quite considerable. Indeed, old Boyd had increased his property a great deal during the five or six years, and it is probable that he used Floramond to advantage in many ways.

Alvord thought best to settle with his brothers and sisters according to the terms of the lost will, and to pay them out of his fourth the income of which they had been respectively deprived of for the five years and more. Old Boyd, of course, settled his affairs with Floramond to suit himself, and it is presumed that he did not lose money; but it may be that he lost the former's confidence. It must have been a bitter thing for old Boyd to consider how foolishly he played into Frederic Alvord's hands through the Wilcox letters. But old Boyd is dead now, and never, I suppose, learned how Mr. Alvord was led to inquire for old Andrew Wilcox's funny letters.

Margaret was overjoyed with the success of affairs, and declared, as did all the rest of the family, that after this she would consider nothing impossible, and never lose hope, even in the darkest hour. She is living still, a beautiful but older woman, with her children grown up about her, and married, I believe.

My "brother," the clerk, took to the profession of the law, and studied with old Boyd for a year or more, and finished his studies in Judge ----'s office, in Albany,--eventually marrying the young lady to whom I have alluded, and who brought him a fortune quite too large to be "laughed at;" but he did not continue at the profession long, but went into mercantile business, and is now a member, and has been for some years, of one of the most successful firms in New York city. The firm name is favorably known in all parts of the land. I should say that he was, through me, paid by Margaret a quite handsome sum of money for his "good behavior" in the premises; enough to enable him with economy to "pursue" his studies--and his lady. I have had many substantial reasons in my life for not forgetting the Alvord family, who believe that but for me they would still be lacking comfortable, indeed, large fortunes.

Floramond had enough with his one fourth; besides he had a fortune of his own. He ceased to persecute Margaret instantly on the development of his villany, and two years afterwards married a woman, who, I am told, came to learn of his conduct (which it was for sundry reasons attempted to keep secret in the family), and being a woman of spirit, and much extravagance, leads him a funny life--probably using her knowledge of his conduct as a means of controlling him.

Floramond, should this sketch ever meet his eye, is welcome to reflect that he was once out-generalled by a man, of whom, happening to see him (me) one day at the hotel in his village, he asked of the landlord, "Who is that simpleton?" The landlord was only able, of course, to give him my assumed name, and say that I was from "Sandy Hill, Washington County" (as I had registered myself), he believed.

"Yes; well I should think he was dug out of the _sand_, somewhere," was Floramond's response. I hope he still thinks so, for it must be a comfort to him.

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THE CONFIDENTIAL CLERK.

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THE INNOCENT OFTEN SUFFER WITH THE GUILTY--THE DETECTIVES'
"KEYS"--REGRETS--LEONARD SAVAGE, A YOUNG MAN OF NEW HAMPSHIRE,
AND HIS FAMILY STOCK--RICHARD BROOKS, A WEALTHY NEW YORK
MERCHANT--HIS VISIT TO YOUNG SAVAGE'S FATHER--RESULTS--PARTIAL
BIOGRAPHY OF MR. BROOKS, IN WALL STREET AND ELSEWHERE--A SLAVE
TO FORTUNE--A FATHER'S PRIDE--MR. BROOKS'S FEARFUL DREAM--MR.
BROOKS IN THE OLD HOME OF HIS CHILDHOOD--HOW A TRUE MAN TREATS
HIS WIFE--FAMILY ASPIRATIONS--THE LOVE OF YOUNG MEN--COUNTRY
AND CITY TEMPTATION--A "NEW SUIT," AND A TRIP TO THE
MOUNTAINS--A SURPRISING PRESENT--A HAPPY SEASON--A FEARFUL
CHANGE COMES--THE TERRIBLE RESULTS OF AN UNJUST JUDGMENT--ONE
OF THE STRANGEST THINGS EVER KNOWN--A CATHOLIC PENITENT AN
ACTOR IN THE SCENES--REMORSE--UNRAVELLINGS IN AN UNEXPECTED
WAY--A SPEEDY VOYAGE TO EUROPE TO RESTORE THE WRONGED TO HIS
RIGHT PLACE.

It is one of the misfortunes of a detective's life, that he learns to be suspicious of the innocent as well as of the guilty; and, like other men, detectives sometimes err in their judgment, and the innocent suffer, not only under unjust suspicions, but sometimes the penalty of offences of which they are not guilty, through the force of "circumstantial evidence" which is brought to bear upon them. Indeed, in the eye of the law, circumstantial evidence is frequently of more weight than the direct testimony of alleged eye-witnesses, for the latter may falsify, but circumstances do not create themselves, and do not often occur simultaneously or in combination. There can be no "conspiracy" among them, as between living witnesses. They have no prejudices to express, no animosities to gratify, and we usually attach to them the greatest importance. Indeed, they are the keys usually, by which the detective unlocks the mysteries of the case which he may be called on to work up.

But notwithstanding all this, they are not always to be relied on; and when the innocent suffer from the misuse of these keys, or the misinterpretation of their significance, the officer who uses them must feel more keen regrets, if not remorse, than if he had been misled by the statements of living men, inasmuch as it is his duty to himself and his calling, as well as to his fellow-men, to draw wise and just conclusions from the circumstances of which he gets possession; and in what I am about to tell, I would be most gratified if I could make partial amends, publicly, of the result of an error of mine and others, by using the names of the party wronged. But the whole matter was known only to a few, some of whom are dead, others of whom are in business with the party wronged; and there are one or two more whose sympathy for the innocent wronged man, has, since the discovery of his innocence, only added to the high esteem in which they held him. And it were not wise for him that I give publicity to what was known to so few, and is to-day practically forgotten by them. As I may not give the proper names, I will, for convenience, coin them, while I give the important facts in the luckless and unhappy case.

Leonard Savage was a bright boy, brought up in a town in Grafton County, New Hampshire, and born of one of the best of the old stocks of that State--a stock which had had its important representatives at the bar, on the bench, in Congress, in the pulpit, in the profession of medicine, in journalism (at Boston); in short, in every department of life, not to overlook farming, in which its representatives had always excelled. Leonard had been prepared for Dartmouth College, whither he was expecting, on the opening of the next scholastic year, to go, and with bright prospects; for at the preparatory school he excelled all his mates in some branches, and was their peer in the rest, when, in the summer of 184--, a relative of his, an elderly gentleman, and a New York banker, visited the White Mountains for recreation, with his family, and called on Leonard's parents on his way.

This gentleman, whom we will call Richard Brooks, for the sake of a name, was born in New Hampshire, and, indeed, was raised there, at a place about twenty miles from Leonard's father's, the two being about the same age. He had visited his native spot, where he had not been before for twenty-five years, the day or so before coming to Mr. Savage's house. At his native place he found but few faces he recognized, and all his relatives were either dead or had "moved to the West, or the South." "Nothing left there," said he, "of mine, save the sleepers in the graveyard, and the mouldering monuments over them." He became so mournful that he felt unlike proceeding at once to the mountains; and calling to mind the joys of his early days, when he and Mr. Savage, who were devoted friends as well as relatives, used to interchange frequent visits, even over that long distance of twenty miles,--longer in New Hampshire, over hills and mountains, than fifty miles would be in our western prairie States, or even along the line of the Hudson River, in New York,--he set his heart upon a visit to Mr. Savage, who, he learned, was still living in the old spot, though for fifteen years he had not heard from him, so absorbed had Mr. Brooks been by the exciting life of a Wall Street dealer, and with some operations which had called him more or less to Europe.

Early in life he had gone to Georgia (the southern portion of it, Fort Gaines, I believe), in a small mercantile business, which grew upon his hands into something quite important, where he married a wealthy planter's daughter, and was able, through this alliance, to enlarge his sphere of business, which eventually became very great, and was scattered over a large district.

Mr. Brooks's early New England training had well disciplined natural capacities of no mean kind, and given him advantages as a business man at the South, equalled but by very few if any. His rise was rapid. Visiting New York on his bridal tour, his lady formed certain acquaintances there, which led her, southern born though she was, to desire New York as a home. She constantly urged Mr. Brooks to dispose of his, or rather their scattered business and interests in the South, preserving only her plantation for a winter resort, when they liked (but which, by the way, they never occupied after they came to New York; for the glitter of fashionable life so inthralled Mrs. Brooks, that she spent no winter farther south than Washington). Year after year she persisted, and Mr. Brooks eventually arranged his business and removed to New York, easily managing to get an interest in a prosperous mercantile house as silent partner.

In this he embarked a large share of his money; and finding that he needed more active life, he put most of the rest of his property into a manufacturing concern, of some department of which he took charge. The latter prospered moderately; but the "moral delinquencies," as they were modestly called, of one of his mercantile partners, who controlled the use of the funds, brought the house to ruin, and Mr. Brooks saved only some fifteen per cent. of his investment out of the wreck. Putting his manufacturing business upon a good footing, he thought to be content with that; but he must have more money. The associations he and his family had made in New York must be sustained, and it required more money than his manufacturing business brought him to keep up the style he desired.

He was dejected for a while; but having had more or less experience in stocks and in Wall Street, through his brokers, however, in other times, he turned his attention to the study of matters in that street, and came to the conclusion that he as well as another was entitled to succeed there,--and in the end he was not mistaken. Taking the funds saved from the mercantile ruin, though they were small, he went into Wall Street and formed a partnership with an experienced broker, who saw that he could make the large and influential acquaintanceship of Mr. Brooks available. The latter's rise was steady, and somewhat rapid. Everything he touched turned to gold, and he became one of the most fortunate of brokers and speculators. Eventually the establishment of the Bank of ----, the most active of the projectors of which Mr. Brooks had been, called him to the post of bank president, in which post he displayed rare abilities. But his financial cares so multiplied--he was called to engage in so many operations all over the land, in fact,--that he became a slave to his own fortune, and never left the city, save to go where business called him,--sometimes West, but more frequently South. His family went to Saratoga, or the White Sulphur Springs of Virginia, or where else they pleased, to pass a few weeks of the summers, but he could never "find time." So it was that he had not visited his native hills for so many years, and had almost forgotten the playmates of his boyhood, and with them his dear old relative and friend, Mr. Savage.

It can easily be conjectured that when he found himself again with the most intimate friend of his childhood, in the very house (though it had been much repaired and changed since he had seen it) where he had spent so many days, and even weeks, in each of several years of his early life, the old affections came back to him, with emotions intensified by the very fact that so much that was dear had so long been buried from his sight, and memory almost, in the mad whirl of business in which he had won his successes. In short, the latter's brilliance only served to make more bright and vivid the sweetness and riches of the old memories; and to attempt to draw the picture hero which Mr. Brooks made for me when I first formed his acquaintance, of his sadness and his happiness at that meeting with Mr. Savage, would be preposterous for me, for he painted it in words which then brought tears to my eyes.

He spent a few days with Mr. Savage, and they rode about over the familiar hills; on cloudy days tried the trout brooks, but without their early success; wandered off to old farm-houses where they used to "attend parties," and to and from which they used to escort the girls; and, in fact, lived over their young days together quite gleefully. But it was not alone for old memories' sake that Mr. Brooks lingered there. He had made an observation the minute he arrived at Mr. Savage's which constantly impressed him. Mr. Brooks had only a family of daughters living. He had lost two sons,--one in the South and one in New York,--the latter of whom having grown to nineteen years of age he had set his heart upon, had educated him at Columbia College, and was about to send him to Germany to add to his education, intending him for the bar, or for financial business, as the son might decide on his return, when the young man, one day, was run over by a horse, which, breaking away from his carriage, dashed across the sidewalk unexpectedly to everybody near, and injuring several persons slightly or severely, so crushed and trampled upon young George, the son, that after months of intense suffering, from internal wounds especially, he died.

Mr. Brooks had never been fully his old self after the death of his son; and though some years had passed since the mournful accident, Mrs. Brooks was frequently awaked at night by her husband's talking in his dreams about, and often as if with, George. So he, too, frequently fell asleep in his chair after a weary day's work, and muttered in his sleep about George; and on one occasion, after being awakened from what was to Mrs. Brooks evidently a fearful dream, in which she stood over him and witnessed his agony for a moment before she aroused him, he, in response to her importunity, related the dream, the substance of which was, that while, when he first fell into a drowse he was enjoying visions of rural life and domestic felicity, in the midst of which George, sitting in an easy-chair, and caressed by a young maiden, or perhaps his youthful wife, was revealed to him.

So blissful were these visions (which of course to him were realities), that he had just resolved to abandon the sickening struggle of business, go to the country and lead a quiet life, when all at once the scene changed! and down through the very centre of the beautiful panorama of bliss, came, half-wrapped in clouds, a hideous-faced, naked demon, bearing a great bag of gold in each hand, one marked "100,000," the other "1,000,000," as if to tempt him to longer continue in the money-getting service of Satan, and to peril his soul the more! and what added to the horror of all was, that just then George was represented as leaving his seat of bliss, seizing his hat, and rushing down into the lower plane, grasping at imaginary bags of gold which just eluded his clutch, his face covered with the greed of gain; and it gave him the greatest pangs to see his darling boy fall from so high an estate to one so low. It was while in the agony of these pangs in which he wildly threw up his arms, as if struggling to get up and go forth to save George, that Mrs. Brooks awakened him.

It was, as it will be seen, a terrible blow to Mr. Brooks, the death of that son, who, he confidently hoped, would take and fill, or more than fill, his place in business. He doted upon him more, perhaps, than he otherwise would have done had he not been the only son in a family of half a dozen children. The daughters would need his aid and counsel, and of this the father thought much. It was an unspeakable and irremediable loss to Mr. Brooks. He had frequently thought to adopt some young man, or dreamed that some of his daughters might marry some man after his own heart; but looking around, he never found a young man for adoption who suited him.

He had relinquished the hope that he might yet encounter somebody to his tastes when he came to Mr. Savage's home; and when the fresh, fair, well-formed, keen, but gentle-eyed, and firm of lip, Leonard, with his fine, bared brow, ran out with his father and family to greet the just-arrived relations, who sent word of their coming the day before, Mr. Brooks's eyes gathered new lustre to themselves as he looked upon him, and discovered the strong resemblance of Leonard to his favorite child George; and the impression then made upon his mind was deepened as Mrs. Brooks, taking her husband aside an hour after their arrival, spoke to him in low words, and with tears in her eyes:--

"Have you not noticed how like our dear George is Leonard Savage? I noticed it the instant I met him, and I can't keep my eyes off from him; and he acts just as George used to, too," she added.

Mr. Brooks told her that he had remarked the resemblance; "but," said he, "please do not tell him, or the family, or our girls of it, for I have already resolved to study the young man while I am here, and I shall not pay him too much attention. I wish to see him as he usually is. I wish you would watch him carefully, too, without letting him know it."

Mrs. Brooks, of course, consented to her husband's sensible wishes (and wives should never consent to unsensible ones), and they watched Leonard with great care, only to become more and more attracted to him day by day. Sometimes Mr. Brooks and he took the old horse and carriage and rode away long distances together. During these journeys Mr. Brooks was sounding the mind and character of Leonard, talking to him of the world and the men in it; of what he had seen and learned in Europe; of the modes of doing business in New York; of his old acquaintances, some of whom had achieved honors and fortune, and how they had lived; others of whom had made shipwreck of themselves, earlier or later in life, and so on, only to find that Leonard had a wondrously appreciative and grasping mind, and seemed to be perfectly well-grounded morally. The personal beauty, too, of Leonard, and his excellent colloquial powers, charmed Mr. Brooks.

He found himself, after a few days, wholly in love with Leonard, and as his wife's judgment of the young man corresponded with his own, he felt increased confidence in Leonard; for Mr. Brooks was one of those men who, fortunate in the possession of noble and sensible wives, know how to appreciate them. Mr. Brooks always told his wife his important business, and never took any great step, when there was time enough to do so, without consulting her. But men who do business in Wall Street are sometimes called on to act on the instant, in matters which involve hundreds of thousands of dollars.

The Brooks family remained several days at Mr. Savage's, and not only convinced themselves of Leonard's perfect goodness and great capacities, but of the worthiness of the whole of Mr. Savage's family; and it can readily be conjectured that, at this early time even, Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, who had a daughter of the same age as Leonard, and other daughters a little younger, might have looked forward to an alliance for one of them with a young man so good and of so much promise in the world. The children, too, of Mr. Brooks became fond of "cousin Leonard," as, in their caprices, they called him, and attached to the whole family, especially to old Mr. Savage, their father's time-old friend, who was one of those straightforward, severely honest, intelligent, but at the same time fun-loving, jocular persons, whose magnetism is contagious, and makes everybody around them "feel better."

A day or two before his departure from Mr. Savage's for the mountains, Mr. Brooks took a long ride with Leonard, in which he talked much with him about life, its cares, toils, and struggles, its successes and disappointments; the value of the education of the schools, and that of the arena of business, etc., and finally told him how he had been considering him, and what projects he had been forming in his mind for him business-wise. Mr. Brooks shed many tears as he told Leonard of his resemblance to his own dear George, and Leonard, too, was greatly affected, and could hardly utter a word.

Leonard was unwilling to give up his proposed collegiate course; but Mr. Brooks assured him that he was already superior in scholarship to the great majority of the country's most successful business men, and pointed out to him how many brilliant young men of real merit there are in the legal profession (to which Leonard inclined), as well as in the medical and clerical, who can make but poor shift in the world; who do not succeed; and he pointed out to him the advantage of stepping at once into an established business, where the course of his life would be free from the heart-racking trials and tortures through which these men are compelled to pass.

Mr. Brooks told Leonard that he would place him in business, where an honest course would be sure to win him great fortune in the end; that he had profound confidence, from what he had seen of him, in his moral nature, and that he would, in short, take him at once into business with him, give him a small interest and a salary besides, till he arrived at age, and then, if all things proved, as he believed they would, would give him a large interest in his business. "Besides," he said, "meanwhile my house shall be your home, and as much yours as if you were really my boy."

Leonard was overwhelmed with Mr. Brooks's kind offers, and expressed his fears that he had not the capacity to fill the place Mr. Brooks wished him to occupy. But Mr. Brooks would not hear to this at all; and finally Leonard said he could take no such important step without consulting his father and mother, which only seemed to increase Mr. Brooks's respect for him; and it was arranged that that night Mr. and Mrs. B. and Mr. and Mrs. S. and Leonard should have a conference, either sending the "girls" and "children" off to bed early, or managing to take a walk by themselves. Night came, and it was very beautiful. Mr. Brooks proposed that Mr. S. and wife, and himself and wife, should take an evening stroll over to an old farm-house, where lived some goodly neighbors, and make them a parting call, and told Leonard to "come over" at such a time.

On their way home they stopped under some grand old trees, where there were rude seats for the accommodation of travellers, and there, in the moonlight, talked over the matter. Mr. Savage was surprised at Mr. Brooks's generous offers. He hardly knew what to do. He had hoped that Leonard would go to college, and finally determine to enter the ministry. This was his highest ambition for him. His own brother Leonard, after whom the young man was named, was a minister of much promise, but who became ill early in his ministry, and died after a long period of sickness and infirmity, at the age of twenty-nine.

Mr. Savage had looked to his son fondly to "do his unaccomplished work," as he expressed it (his brother's), for Mr. Savage was of that class of men who feel that their families--their "name"--must do about so much "work for the Lord in His vineyard," at any rate, and he was loath to have Leonard relinquish collegiate education. He said he was not rich, but could provide comfortably enough for Leonard; and besides, he had a great dread to have Leonard go so far from home, especially to New York, so young. He had never been in New York, but he had often visited Boston, and felt that a city was not the place for young men. But Mr. Brooks told him that New York contained the best, as well as the worst people in the world; that idleness was the bane of young men, either in town or city, and referred him to many young men whom they knew in their boyhood, and of whom Mr. Savage had told him on that visit, that they had made wreck of themselves in the country, some having gone down to drunkards' graves, etc.; that Leonard would, at once, have all he could do, and perhaps more; that he would directly enter upon a stern, and not a little laborious life, but that his great success would be sure; that he would watch over Leonard with a father's care, etc.