Chapter XVIII (5)

“It would be difficult to describe the course of her reflections when she reflected on her condition and on this strange occurrence, and it is impossible to imagine her distress when ten tedious days wearily passed without the appearance of the friend for whose sake she had consented to make this unheard-of sacrifice. But those hours of trouble sufficed to recall her to reason, and she formed her resolution. Her friend visited her after the lapse of some few days more; and seating himself at her bedside, upon the very sofa which he had occupied when she made her first declaration of love to him, he encouraged and implored her, in the most tender and affectionate tones, to persist for a short time longer: but she interrupted him with a sweet smile, and assured him that she needed no persuasion to continue, for a few days, the performance of a vow which she knew full well had been appointed for her advantage. ‘I am, as yet, too feeble,’ she said, ‘to express my thanks to you as I could wish. You have saved me from myself. You have restored me to myself; and I confess, that from this moment I am indebted to you for my existence. My husband was, indeed, gifted with prudence and good sense, and well knew the nature of woman’s heart. And he was, moreover, just enough not to condemn a passion which he saw might spring up within my bosom, through his own fault; and he was generous enough to make allowance for the weakness of my nature. But you, sir, are truly virtuous and good. You have taught me that we possess within us an antidote equivalent to the force of our passions; that we are capable of renouncing luxuries to which we have been accustomed, and of suppressing our strongest inclinations. You have taught me this lesson by means of hope and of delusion. Neither is any longer necessary: you have made me acquainted with the existence of that ever-living conscience, which, in peaceful silence, dwells within our souls, and never ceases with gentle admonitions to remind us of its presence, till its sway becomes irresistibly acknowledged. And now farewell. May your influence over others be as effective as it has been over me. Do not confine your labors to the task of unravelling legal perplexities, but show mankind, by your own gentle guidance and example, that within every bosom the germ of hidden virtue lies concealed. Esteem and fame will be your reward; and, far better than any statesman or hero, you will earn the glorious title of father of your country.’”

“We must all extol the character of your young lawyer,” said the baroness, at the conclusion of the clergyman’s tale: “polished, wise, interesting, and instructive, I wish every preceptor were like him, who undertakes to restrain or recall youth from the path of error. I think such a tale is peculiarly entitled to be styled a moral anecdote. Relate some more of the same nature, and your audience will have ample reason to be thankful.”

_Clergyman._ I am delighted that my tale has earned your approbation, but I am sorry you wish to hear more of such moral anecdotes; for, to say the truth, this is the first and last of the kind.

_Louisa._ It certainly does not do you much credit, to say that your best collection only furnishes a single specimen.

_Clergyman._ You have not understood me. It is not the only moral tale I can relate; but they all bear so close a resemblance, that each would seem only to repeat the original.

_Louisa._ Really, you should give up your paradoxical style, which so much obscures your conversation, and express yourself more clearly.

_Clergyman._ With pleasure, then. No anecdote deserves to be called moral which does not prove that man possesses within himself that power to subdue his inclinations which may be called out by the persuasion of another. My story teaches this doctrine, and no moral tale can teach otherwise.

_Louisa._ Then, in order to act morally, I must act contrary to my inclinations?

_Clergyman._ Undoubtedly.

_Louisa._ Even when they are good?

_Clergyman._ No inclinations are abstractedly good, but only so as far as they effect good.

_Louisa._ Suppose I have an inclination for benevolence?

_Clergyman._ Then, you should subdue your inclination for benevolence if you find that it ruins your domestic happiness.

_Louisa._ Suppose I felt an irresistible impulse to gratitude?

_Clergyman._ It is wisely ordained that gratitude can never be an impulse. But if it were, it would be better to prove ungrateful than to commit a crime in order to oblige your benefactor.

_Louisa._ Then, there may be a thousand moral stories?

_Clergyman._ Yes, in your sense. But none of them would read a lesson different from the one our lawyer taught, and in this sense there can be but one story of the kind: you are right, however, if you mean that the incidents can be various.

_Louisa._ If you had expressed your meaning more precisely at first, we should not have disagreed.

_Clergyman._ And we should have had no conversation. Errors and misunderstandings are the springs of action, of life, and of amusement.

_Louisa._ I cannot agree with you. Suppose a brave man saves another at the risk of his own life: is that not a moral action?

_Clergyman._ Not according to my mode of thinking. But, suppose a cowardly man were to overcome his fears and do the same, that would be a moral action.

_Baroness._ I wish, my dear friend, you would give us some examples, and convince Louisa of the truth of your theory. Certainly, a mind disposed to good must delight us when we become acquainted with it. Nothing in the world can be more pleasing than a mind under the guidance of reason and conscience. If you know a tale upon such a subject, we should like to hear it. I am fond of stories which illustrate a doctrine. They give a better explanation of one’s meaning than dry words can do.

_Clergyman._ I certainly can relate some anecdotes of that kind, for I have paid some attention to those qualities of the human mind.

_Louisa._ I would just make one observation. I must confess I do not like stories which oblige us to travel, in imagination, to foreign lands. Why must every adventure take place in Italy, in Sicily, or in the East? Are Naples, Palermo, and Smyrna the only places where any thing interesting can happen? One may transpose the scene of our fairy-tales to Ormus and Samarcand for the purpose of perplexing the imagination; but, if you would instruct the understanding or the heart, do it by means of domestic stories,--family portraits,--in which we shall recognize our own likeness; and our hearts will more readily sympathize with sorrow.

_Clergyman._ You shall be gratified. But there is something peculiar, too, about family stories. They bear a strong resemblance to each other; and, besides, we daily see every incident and situation of which they are capable fully worked out upon the stage. However, I am willing to make the attempt, and shall relate a story, with some of the incidents of which you are already familiar; and it will only prove interesting so far as it is an exact representation of the picture in your own minds.

“We may often observe in families, that the children inherit, not only the personal appearance, but even the mental qualities, of their parents; and it sometimes happens that one child combines the dispositions of both father and mother in a peculiar and remarkable manner.

“A youth, whom I may name Ferdinand, was a strong instance of this fact. In his appearance he resembled both parents, and one could distinguish in his mind the separate disposition of each. He possessed the gay, thoughtless manner of his father, in his strong desire to enjoy the present moment, and, in most cases, to prefer himself to others; but he also inherited the tranquil and reflective mind of his mother, no less than her love for honesty and justice, and a willingness, like her, perpetually to sacrifice himself for the advantage of others. To explain his contradictory conduct upon many occasions, his companions were often reduced to the necessity of believing that he had two souls. I must pass by many adventures which happened in his youth, and shall content myself with relating one anecdote, which not only explains his character fully, but forms a remarkable epoch in his life.

“His youth was passed in every species of enjoyment. His parents were affluent, and brought up their children extravagantly. If the father indulged in unreasonable expenditure, either in company, at the gaming-table, or in other dissipations, it was the habit of the mother to restrain her own, and the household expenses, so as to supply the deficiency; though she never allowed an appearance of want to be observed. Her husband was fortunate in his business; he was successful in several hazardous speculations he had undertaken: and, as he was fond of society, he had the happiness to form many pleasant and advantageous connections.

“The children of a family usually copy those members of the household who seem to enjoy their lives most. They see in the example of a father who follows such a course, a model worthy of imitation; and, as they are seldom slow in obeying their inclinations, their wishes and desires often increase very much in disproportion to their means of enjoyment. Obstacles to their gratification soon arise: each new addition to the family forms a new claim upon the capabilities of the parents, who frequently surrender their own pleasures for the sake of their children; and, by common consent, a more simple and less expensive mode of living is adopted.

“Ferdinand grew up with a consciousness of the disagreeable truth, that he was often deprived of many luxuries which his more fortunate companions enjoyed. It distressed him to appear inferior to any of them in the richness of his apparel, or the liberality of his expenditure. He wished to resemble his father, whose example was daily before him, and who appeared to him a twofold model,--first, as a parent, in whose favor a son is usually prejudiced; and, secondly, as a man who led a pleasant and luxurious life, and was, therefore, apparently loved and esteemed by a numerous acquaintance. It is easy to suppose that all this occasioned great vexation to his mother; but in this way Ferdinand grew up, with his wants daily increasing, until at length, when he had attained his eighteenth year, his requirements and wishes were sadly out of proportion to his condition.

“He had hitherto avoided contracting debts; for this vice his mother had impressed him with the greatest abhorrence: and, in order to win his confidence, she had, in numerous instances, exerted herself to gratify his desires, and relieve him from occasional embarrassments. But it happened, unfortunately, that she was now compelled to practise the most rigid economy in her household expenditure, and this at a time when his wants, from many causes, had increased. He had commenced to enter more generally into society, tried to win the affections of a very attractive girl, and to rival and even surpass his companions in the elegance of his attire. His mother, being unable any longer to satisfy his demands, appealed to his duty and filial affection so as to induce him to restrain his expenses. He admitted the justice of her expostulations, but, being unable to follow her advice, was soon reduced to a state of the greatest mental embarrassment.

“Without forfeiting the object of his dearest wishes, he found it impossible to change his mode of life. From his boyhood he had been addicted to his present pursuits, and could alter no iota of his habits or practices without running the risk of losing an old friend, a desirable companion, or, what was worse, abandoning the society of his dearest love.

“His attachment became stronger; as the love which was bestowed upon him not only flattered his vanity, but complimented his understanding.

“It was something to be preferred to a host of suitors by a handsome and agreeable girl, who was acknowledged to be the richest heiress in the city. He boasted of the preference with which he was regarded, and she also seemed proud of the delightful bondage in which she was held. It now became indispensable that he should be in constant attendance upon her, that he should devote his time and money to her service, and afford perpetual proofs of the value he set upon her affection. All these inevitable results of his attachment occasioned Ferdinand more expense than he would otherwise have incurred. His ladylove (who was named Ottilia) had been intrusted by her parents to the care of an aunt, and no exertions had been spared to introduce her to society under the most favorable circumstances. Ferdinand exhausted every resource to furnish her with the enjoyments of society, into all of which she entered with the greatest delight, and of which she herself proved one of the greatest attractions.

“No situation could certainly be more wretched than that to which Ferdinand was now reduced. His mother, whom he sincerely loved and respected, had pointed out to him the necessity of embarking in duties very different from those which he had hitherto practised: she could no longer assist him in a pecuniary way. He felt a horror at the debts which were daily becoming more burdensome to him, and he saw before him the difficult task of reconciling his impoverished condition with his anxiety to appear rich and practise generosity. No mind could be a prey to greater unhappiness.

“His mind was now forcibly impressed with thoughts which had formerly only indistinctly suggested themselves to his imagination. Certain unpleasant reflections became to him the source of great unhappiness. He had once looked upon his father as a model: he now began to regard him as a rival. What the son wished to enjoy, the parent actually possessed; and the latter felt none of the anxieties or grievances wherewith the former was tortured. Ferdinand, however, was in full possession of every comfort of life; but he envied his father the luxuries which he enjoyed, and with which he thought he might very well dispense. But the latter was of a different opinion. He was one of those beings whose desires are wholly insatiable, and who, for their own gratification, subject their family and dependants to the greatest privations. His son received from him a certain pecuniary allowance, but a regular account of his expenditure was strictly exacted.

“The eye of the envious is sharpened by restrictions, and dependants are never more censorious than when the commands of superiors are at variance with their practice. Thus Ferdinand came to watch strictly the conduct of his father, particularly upon points which concerned his expenditure. He listened attentively when it was rumored that his father had lost heavily at the gambling-table, and expressed great dissatisfaction at any unwonted extravagance which he might indulge. ‘Is it not astonishing?’ he would say to himself, ‘that, whilst parents revel in every luxury that can spring from the possession of a property which they accidentally enjoy, they can debar their children of those reasonable pleasures which their season of youth most urgently requires? And by what right do they act thus? How have they acquired this privilege? Does it not arise from mere chance? and can that be a right which is the result of accident? If my grandfather, who loved me as his own son, were still alive, I should be better provided for. He would not see me in want of common necessaries, those things, I mean, which we have had from our birth. He would no more let me want, than he would approve my father’s extravagance. Had he lived longer, had he known how worthy his grandchild would prove to inherit a fortune, he would have provided in his will for my earlier independence. I have heard that his death was unexpected, that he had intended to make a will; and I am probably indebted to mere chance for the postponement of my enjoying a fortune, which, if my father continue his present course, will probably be lost to me forever.’

“With such discontented thoughts did Ferdinand often perplex himself in those hours of solitude and unhappiness, in which he was prevented, by the want of money, from joining his companions upon some agreeable party of pleasure. Then it was that he discussed those dangerous questions of right and property, and considered how far individuals are bound by laws to which they have given no consent, or whether they may lawfully burst through the restraints of society. But all these were mere pecuniary sophistries; for every article of value which he formerly possessed had gradually disappeared, and his daily wants had now far outgrown his allowance.

“He soon became silent and reserved; and, at such times, even his respect for his mother disappeared, as she could afford him no assistance: and he began to entertain a hatred for his father, who, according to his sentiments, was perpetually in his way.

“Just at this period he made a discovery, which increased his discontent. He learned that his father was not only an irregular, but an improvident, manager of his household. He observed that he often took money hastily from his desk, without entering it in his account-book, and that he was afterwards perplexed with private calculations, and annoyed at his inability to balance his accounts. More than once did Ferdinand notice this; and his father’s carelessness was the more galling to him, as it often occurred at times when he himself was suffering severely from the want of money.

“Whilst he was in this state of mind, an unlucky accident happened, which afforded an opportunity for the commission of a crime, to which he had long felt himself impelled by a secret and ungovernable impulse.

“His father had desired him to examine and arrange a collection of old letters. One Sunday, when he was alone, he set to work in a room which contained his father’s writing-desk, and in which his money was usually kept. The box of letters was heavy; and, in the act of lifting it from the ground, he pushed unintentionally against the desk, when the latter suddenly flew open. The rolls of money lay temptingly displayed before him. Without allowing time for a moment’s reflection, he took a roll of gold from that part of the desk where he thought his father kept a supply of money for his own occasional wants. He shut the desk again, and repeated the experiment of opening it. He once more succeeded, and saw that he could now command the treasure as completely as if he had possessed the key.

“He soon plunged once more into all those dissipations which he had lately been obliged to renounce. He became more constant than ever in his attentions to Ottilia, and more passionate in the pursuit of pleasure. Even his former graceful animation was converted into a species of excitement, which, though it was far from unbecoming, was deficient in that kind attention to others which is so agreeable.

“Opportunity is to passion what a spark is to gunpowder, and those desires which we gratify contrary to the dictates of conscience always rule with the most ungovernable power. Ferdinand’s own convictions loudly condemned his conduct, but he endeavored to justify himself by specious arguments; and though his manner became in appearance more free and unrestrained than before, he was in reality a captive to the influence of his evil inclinations.

“Just at this time the wearing of extravagant trifles came into fashion. Ottilia was fond of personal ornaments, and Ferdinand endeavored to discover a mode of gratifying her taste without apprising her where her supply of presents came from. Her suspicions fell upon an old uncle, and Ferdinand’s gratification was indescribable at observing the satisfaction of his mistress and the course of her mistaken suspicions. But, unfortunately for his peace of mind, he was now obliged to have frequent recourse to his father’s desk, in order to gratify Ottilia’s fancy and his own inclinations; and he pursued this course now the more boldly, as he had lately observed that his father grew more and more careless about entering in his account-book the sums he himself required.

“The time now arrived for Ottilia’s return to her parents. The young couple were overpowered with grief at the prospect of their separation, and one circumstance added to their sorrow. Ottilia had accidentally learned that the presents we have spoken of had come from Ferdinand: she questioned him, and he confessed the truth with feelings of evident sorrow. She insisted upon returning them, and this occasioned him the bitterest anguish. He declared his determination not to live without her, prayed that she would preserve him her attachment, and implored that she would not refuse her hand as soon as he should have provided an establishment. She loved him, was moved at his entreaties, promised what he wished, and sealed her vow with the warmest embraces and a thousand passionate kisses.

“After her departure Ferdinand was reduced to sad solitude. The company in which he had found delight pleased him no more, she being absent. From the mere force of habit he mingled with his former associates, and had recourse to his father’s desk to supply those expenses which in reality he felt but slight inclination to indulge. He was now frequently alone, and his natural good disposition began to obtain the mastery over him. In moments of calm reflection he felt astonished how he could have listened to that deceitful sophistry about justice and right, and his claim to the goods of others; and he wondered at his approval of those evil arguments by which he had been led to justify his dishonest conduct. But in the mean time, before these correct ideas of truth and uprightness produced a practical effect upon his conduct, he yielded more than once to the temptation of supplying his wants, in extreme cases, from his father’s treasury. This plan, however, was now adopted with more reluctance; and he seemed to be under the irresistible impulse of an evil spirit.

“At length he took courage, and formed the resolution of rendering a repetition of the practice impossible, by informing his father of the facility with which his desk could be opened. He took his measures cautiously; and once, in the presence of his father, he carried the box of letters we have mentioned into the room, pretended to stumble accidentally against the desk, and astonished his father by causing it to spring open. They examined the lock without delay, and found that it had become almost useless from age. It was at once repaired, and Ferdinand soon enjoyed a return of his peace of mind when he saw his father’s rolls of money once more in safe custody.

“But he was not content with this. He formed the resolution of restoring the money which he had abstracted. He commenced the most economical course of life for this purpose, with a view of saving from his allowance all that could possibly be spared from the merest necessities. It is true that this was but little; but it appeared much, as it was the commencement of a system of restitution: and there will always be a wonderful difference between the last guinea borrowed and the first guinea saved. He had pursued this upright course for but a short time, when his father determined to settle him in business. His intention was to form a connection with a manufactory at some distance from his residence. The design was to establish a company in a part of the country where labor and provisions were cheap, to appoint an agent, and extend the business as widely as possible by means of money and credit. It was determined that Ferdinand should inquire into the practicability of the scheme, and forward a circumstantial report of his proceedings. His father furnished him with money for his journey, but placed a moderate limit upon his expenditure. The supply was, however, sufficient for his wants; and Ferdinand had no reason to complain of a deficiency.

“Ferdinand used the utmost economy also upon his journey, and found upon the closest calculation that he could live upon one-third of his allowance, by practising strict restraint. He was now anxious to find means of gradually saving a certain sum, and it soon presented itself; for opportunity comes indifferently to the good and to the bad, and favors all parties alike. In the neighborhood which he designed to visit, he found things more to his advantage than had been expected. No new habits of expense had as yet been introduced. A moderate capital alone had been invested in business, and the manufacturers were satisfied with small profits. Ferdinand soon saw, that with a large capital, and the advantages of a new system, by purchasing the raw material by wholesale, and erecting machinery under the guidance of experienced workmen, large and solid advantages might be secured.

“The prospect of a life of activity gave him the greatest delight. The image of his beloved Ottilia was ever before him; and the charming and picturesque character of the country made him anxiously wish that his father might be induced to establish him in this spot, commit the conduct of the new manufactory to him, and thus afford him the means of attaining independence. His attention to business was secured by the demands of his own personal interests. He now found an opportunity, for the first time in his life, for the exercise of his understanding and judgment, and for exerting his other mental powers. Not only the beautiful neighborhood, but his business and occupation, were full of attractions for him: they acted as balm and cordial to his wounded heart, whenever he recalled the painful remembrance of his father’s house, in which, influenced by a species of insanity, he had acted in a manner which now seemed to him in the highest degree criminal.

“His constant companion was a friend of his family,--a person of strong mind, but delicate health, who had first conceived the project of founding this establishment. He instructed Ferdinand in all his own views and projects, and seemed to take great pleasure in the thorough harmony of mind which existed between them. This latter personage led a simple and retired life, partly from choice, and partly because his health required it. He had no family of his own. His household establishment was conducted by a niece, who he intended should inherit his fortune; and it was his wish to see her united to a person of active and enterprising disposition, who, by means of capital and persevering industry, might carry on the business which his infirm health and want of means disqualified him from conducting. His first interview with Ferdinand suggested that he had found the man he wanted; and he was the more strongly confirmed in this opinion, upon observing his fondness for business, and his attachment to the place. His niece became aware of his intentions, and seemed to approve of them. She was a young and interesting girl, of sweet and engaging disposition. Her care of her uncle’s establishment had imparted to her mind the valuable qualities of activity and decision, whilst her attention to his health had softened down these traits by a proper union of gentleness and affection. It would have been difficult to find a person better calculated to make a husband happy.

“But Ferdinand’s mind was engrossed with the thoughts of Ottilia’s love: he saw no attractions in the charms of this country beauty; or, at least, his admiration was circumscribed by the wish, that, if ever Ottilia settled down as his wife in this part of the country, she might have such a person for her assistant and housekeeper. But he was free and unrestrained in his intercourse with the young lady, he valued her more as he came to know her better, and his conduct became more respectful and attentive; and both she and her uncle soon put their own interpretations upon his behavior.

“Ferdinand had in the mean time made all the requisite inquiries about his father’s business. The uncle’s suggestions had enabled him to form certain projects which, with his usual thoughtlessness, he made the subject of conversation. He had more than once uttered certain gallant speeches when conversing with the niece, until her uncle and herself fancied that he actually indulged intentions which gave them both unfeigned satisfaction. To Ferdinand’s great joy, he had learned that he could not only derive great advantage from his father’s plan, but that another favorable project would enable him to make restitution of the money he had withdrawn, and the recollection of which pressed like a heavy burden upon his conscience. He communicated his intentions to his friend, who tendered, not only his cordial congratulations, but every possible assistance to carry out his views. He even proposed to furnish his young friend with the necessary merchandise upon credit, a part of which offer was thankfully accepted; some portion of the goods being paid for with what money Ferdinand had saved from his travelling expenses, and a short credit being taken for the remainder.

“It would be difficult to describe the joy with which Ferdinand prepared for his return home. There can be no greater delight than is experienced by a man who, by his own unaided resources, frees himself from the consequences of error. Heaven looks down with satisfaction upon such a spectacle; and we cannot deny the force of the seeming paradox which assures us that there is more joy before God over one returning sinner, than over ninety-nine just.

“But, unfortunately, neither the good resolutions nor the repentance and improvement of Ferdinand could remove the evil consequences of his crime, which were destined once more to disturb and agitate his mind with the most painful reflections. The storm had gathered during his absence, and it was destined to burst over his head upon his return.

“We have already had occasion to observe, that Ferdinand’s father was most irregular in his habits; but his business was under the superintendence of a clever manager. He had not himself missed the money which had been abstracted by his son, with the exception of one roll of foreign money, which he had won from a stranger at play. This he had missed, and the circumstance seemed to him unaccountable. He was afterwards somewhat surprised to perceive that several rolls of ducats could not be found, money which he had some time before lent to a friend, but which he knew had been repaid. He was aware of the previous insecurity of his desk, and felt, therefore, convinced that he had been robbed. This feeling rendered him extremely unhappy. His suspicions fell upon every one. In anger and exasperation, he related the circumstance to his wife. The entire household was thereupon strictly examined, and neither servants nor children were allowed to escape. The good wife exerted herself to tranquillize her husband: she represented the discredit which a mere report of this circumstance would bring upon the family; that no one would sympathize in their misfortune, further than to humiliate them with their compassion; that neither he nor she could expect to escape the tongue of scandal; that strange observations would be made if the thief should remain undiscovered; and she suggested, that perhaps, if they continued silent, they might recover their lost money without reducing the wretched criminal to a state of misery for life. In this manner she prevailed upon her husband to remain quiet, and to investigate the affair in silence.

“But the discovery was unfortunately soon made. Ottilia’s aunt had, of course, been informed of the engagement of the young couple. She had heard of the presents her niece had received. The attachment was not approved by her, and she had only maintained silence in consequence of her niece’s absence. She would have consented to her marrying Ferdinand, but she did not like uncertainty on such a subject; and as she knew that he was shortly to return, and her niece was expected daily, she determined to inform the parents of the state of things, to inquire their opinion, to ask whether Ferdinand was to have a settlement, and if they would consent to the marriage.

“The mother was not a little astonished at this information, and she was shocked at hearing of the presents which Ferdinand had made to Ottilia. But she concealed her surprise; and, requesting the aunt to allow her some time to confer with her husband, she expressed her own concurrence in the intended marriage, and her expectation that her son would be advantageously provided for.

“The aunt took her leave, but Ferdinand’s mother did not deem it advisable to communicate the circumstance to her husband. She now had to undertake the sad duty of discovering whether Ferdinand had purchased Ottilia’s presents with the stolen money. She went straight to the shopkeeper who dealt in such goods, made some general inquiries, and said at last, ‘that he ought not to overcharge her, particularly as her son, who had bought some similar articles, had procured them from him at a more reasonable charge.’ This the tradesman denied, producing the account, and further observing that he had even added something for the exchange; as Ferdinand had paid for the goods partly in foreign money. He specified the exact nature of the coin; and, to her inexpressible grief, it was the very same which had been stolen from her husband. She left the shop with sorrowful heart. Ferdinand’s crime was but too evident. The sum her husband had lost was large, and she saw in all its force the extent of the crime and its evil results. But she had prudence enough to conceal her discovery. She waited for the return of her son, with feelings of mingled fear and anxiety. Although she wished for an explanation, she dreaded the consequences of a further inquiry.

“At length he arrived in the highest spirits. He expected the greatest praise from the manner in which he transacted his business, and was the bearer of a sum of money sufficient to make compensation for what he had criminally abstracted. His father heard his statement with pleasure, but did not manifest so much delight as the son expected. His late losses had irritated his temper; and he was the more distressed, because he had some large payments to make at the moment. Ferdinand felt hurt at his father’s depression of mind, and his own peace was further disturbed by the sight of every thing around him: the very room in which he was, the furniture, and the sight of the fatal desk, those silent witnesses of his crime, spoke loudly to his guilty conscience. His satisfaction was at an end. He shrunk within himself, and felt like a culprit.

“After a few days’ delay he was about to distract his attention from these thoughts by examining the merchandise he had ordered, when his mother, finding him alone, reproached him with his fault in a tone of affectionate earnestness, which did not allow the smallest opportunity for prevarication. He was overcome with grief. He threw himself at her feet, imploring her forgiveness, acknowledging his crime, and protesting that nothing but his affection for Ottilia had misled him: he assured her, in conclusion, that it was the only offence of the kind of which he had ever been guilty. He related the circumstances of his bitter repentance, of his having acquainted his father with the insecurity of his desk, and finally informed her how, by personal privations and a fortunate speculation, he was in a condition to make restitution.

“His mother heard him calmly, but insisted on knowing how he had disposed of so much money; as the presents would account but for a small part of the sum that was missing. She produced, to his dismay, an account of what his father had missed; but he denied having taken, even so much silver: the missing gold he solemnly protested he had never touched. His mother became exasperated at this denial. She rebuked him his attempting to deceive her, and that at a moment when he laid claim to the virtue of repentance; asserting that if he could be guilty in one respect, she must doubt his innocence in another. She suggested that he might perhaps have accomplices amongst his dissipated companions, that perhaps the business he had carried on was transacted with the stolen money, and that probably he would have confessed nothing if his crime had not been accidentally discovered. She threatened him with the anger of his father, with judicial punishment, with her highest displeasure; but nothing affected him more than his learning that his projected marriage with Ottilia had been already spoken of. She left him in the most wretched condition. His real crime had been discovered, and he was suspected of even greater guilt. How could he ever persuade his parents that he had not stolen the gold? He dreaded the public exposure which was likely to result from his father’s irritable temper, and he now had time to compare his present wretched condition with the happiness he might have attained. All his prospects of an active life and of a marriage with Ottilia were at an end. He saw his utter wretchedness, abandoned, a fugitive in foreign lands, exposed to every species of misfortune.

“But these reflections were not the worst evil he had to encounter; though they bewildered his mind, wounded his pride, and crushed his affections. His most severe pangs arose from the thought, that his honest resolution, his noble intention to repair the past, was suspected, repudiated, and denied. And, even if these thoughts gave birth to a feeling resembling despair, he could not deny that he had deserved his fate; and to this conviction must be added his knowledge of the fatal truth, that one crime is sufficient to destroy the character forever. Such meditations, and the apprehension that his firmest resolutions of amendment might be looked upon as insincere, made life itself a burden.

“In this moment of abandonment he appealed to Heaven for assistance. He sank upon his knees, and, moistening the ground with tears of contrition, implored help from his divine Maker. His prayer was worthy of being heard. Man, throwing off his load of crimes, has a claim upon Heaven. He who has exhausted every effort of his own may, as a last resource, appeal to God. He was for some time engaged in earnest prayer, when the door opened, and some one entered his apartment. It was his mother, who approached him with a cheerful look, saw his agitation, and addressed him with consoling words. ‘How happy I am,’ she said, ‘to find that I may credit your assertions, and regard your sorrow as sincere! The missing sum of gold has been found: your father, when he received it from his friend, handed it to his secretary, who forgot the circumstance amid the numerous transactions of the day. And, with respect to the silver, you are also right; as the amount taken is less than I had supposed. Unable to conceal my joy, I promised your father to replace the missing sum if he would consent to forbear making any further inquiry.’

“Ferdinand’s joy was indescribable. He completed at once his business arrangements, gave his mother the promised money, and in addition replaced the amount which his father had lost through his own irregularity. He became gradually more cheerful and happy, but the whole circumstance produced a serious impression upon his mind. He became convinced that every man has power to accomplish good, and that our divine Maker will infallibly extend to him his assistance in the hour of trial,--a truth which he himself had learned from late experience. He now unfolded to his father his plan of establishing himself in the neighborhood from which he had lately returned. He fully explained the nature of the intended business. His father consented to his proposals, and his mother at a proper time related to her husband the attachment of Ferdinand to Ottilia. He was delighted at the prospect of having so charming a daughter-in-law, and felt additional pleasure at the idea of being able to establish his son without the necessity of incurring much expense.”

“I like this story,” said Louisa, when the old clergyman had finished his tale; “and though the incidents are taken from low life, yet the tone is sufficiently elevated to prove agreeable. And it seems to me, that if we examine ourselves, or observe others, we shall find that men are seldom influenced by their own reflections, either to pursue or to abandon a certain course, but are generally impelled by extraneous circumstances.”

“I wish for my part,” said Charles, “that we were not obliged to deny ourselves any thing, and that we had no knowledge of those blessings which we are not allowed to possess. But unfortunately we walk in an orchard where, though all the trees are loaded with fruit, we are compelled to leave them untouched, to satisfy ourselves with the enjoyment of the shade, and forego the greatest indulgence.”

“Now,” said Louisa to the clergyman, “let us hear the rest of the story.”

_Clergyman._ It is finished.

_Louisa._ The _dénoûment_ may be finished, but we should like to hear the end.

_Clergyman._ Your distinction is just; and, since you seem interested in the fate of my friend, I will tell you briefly what happened to him.

“Relieved from the oppressive weight of so dreadful a crime, and enjoying some degree of satisfaction at his own conduct, his thoughts were now directed to his future happiness; and he expected with anxiety the return of Ottilia, that he might explain his position, and perform the promise he had given her. She came, accompanied by her parents. He hastened to meet her, and found her more beautiful than ever. He waited with impatience for an opportunity of speaking to her alone, and of unfolding all his future projects. The moment arrived; and with a heart full of tenderness and love he spoke of his hopes, of his expectations of happiness, and of his wish to share it with her. But what was his surprise and astonishment when he found that she heard his announcement with indifference and even with contempt, and indulged in unpleasant jokes about the hermitage prepared for their reception, and the interest they would excite by enacting the characters of shepherd and shepherdess in a pastoral abode.

“Her behavior occasioned bitter reflections. He was hurt and grieved at her indifference. She had been unjust to him, and he now began to observe faults in her conduct which had previously escaped his attention. In addition, it required no very keen perception to remark that a cousin, who had accompanied her, had made an impression upon her, and won a large portion of her affections.

“But Ferdinand soon perceived the necessity of struggling with this new source of sorrow; and, as victory had attended his exertions in one instance, he hoped to be successful upon a second occasion. He saw Ottilia frequently, and determined to observe her closely. His conduct towards her was attentive and affectionate, and her deportment was of a similar nature; but her attractions had become diminished for him: he soon found that her professions were not cordial or sincere, and that she could be affectionate and cold, attractive and repulsive, charming and disagreeable, according to the mere whim of the moment. He gradually became indifferent to her, and at length resolved to break the last link of their connection.

“But this was more difficult than he had anticipated. He found her one day alone, and took courage to remind her of their engagement, and of those happy moments in which, under the influence of the most delightful feelings, they had discoursed with joyful anticipations of their future happiness. She was in a tender mood, and he began to hope that he might perhaps have been deceived in the estimate he had lately formed of her. He thereupon began to describe his worldly prospects, and the probable success of his intended establishment. She expressed her satisfaction, accompanied, however, with regret that their union must on this account be postponed still longer. She gave him to understand that she had not the least wish to leave the pleasures of a city life, but expressed her hopes that he might be able, after some years’ active industry in the country, to return home, and become a citizen of consequence. She gave him, moreover, to understand that she expected he would play a more respectable and honest part in life than his father.

“Ferdinand saw plainly that he could expect no happiness from such a union, and yet he felt the difficulty of wholly disengaging himself. In this state of mind he would probably have parted from her in uncertainty about the future, had he not been finally influenced by the conduct of Ottilia’s cousin, towards whom he thought she displayed too much tenderness. Ferdinand, thereupon, wrote a letter assuring her that it was still in her power to make him happy, but that it could not be advisable to encourage indefinite hopes, or to enter into engagements for an uncertain future.

“He trusted that this letter would produce a favorable answer; but he received a reply which his heart deplored, but which his judgment approved. She released him from his promise, without rejecting his love, and adverted to her own feelings in the same ambiguous manner. She was still bound by the sense of her letter, but free by its literal meaning. But why should I delay communicating the inevitable result? Ferdinand hastened back to the peaceful abode he had left, and formed his determination at once. He became attentive and diligent in business, and was encouraged in this course by the affections of the kind being of whom we have already spoken, and the exertions of her uncle to employ every means in his power to render them happy. I knew him afterwards, when he was surrounded by a numerous and prosperous family. He related his own story to me himself; and, as it often happens with individuals whose early life has been marked by some uncommon accident, his own adventures had become so indelibly impressed upon his mind, that they exerted a deep influence on his conduct. Even as a man and as a father, he constantly denied himself the enjoyment of many gratifications in order not to forget the practice of self-restraint; and the whole course of his children’s education was founded upon this principle, that they must accustom themselves to a frequent denial of their most ardent desires.

“I once had an opportunity of witnessing an instance of the system he adopted. One of his children was about to eat something at table, of which he was particularly fond. His father forbade it, apparently without reason. To my astonishment, the child obeyed with the utmost cheerfulness; and dinner proceeded as if nothing had occurred. And, in this manner, even the eldest members of the family often allowed a tempting dish of fruit or some other dainty to pass them untasted. But, notwithstanding this, a general freedom reigned in his house; and there was at times a sufficient display, both of good and bad conduct. But Ferdinand was for the most part indifferent to what occurred, and allowed an almost unrestrained license. At times, however, when a certain week came about, orders were given for precise punctuality, the clocks were regulated to the second, every member of the family received his orders for the day, business and pleasure had their turn, and no one dared to be a single second in arrear. I could detain you for hours in describing his conversation and remarks on this extraordinary system of education. He was accustomed to jest with me upon my vows as a Catholic priest, and maintained that every man should make a vow to practise self-restraint, as well as to require obedience from others; but he observed that the exercise of these vows, in place of being perpetually demanded, was suitable only for certain occasions.”

The baroness observed, that she thought Ferdinand was perfectly right; and she compared the authority of a parent to the executive power in a kingdom, which being weak, the legislative authority can be of little avail.

At this moment Louisa rushed hastily to the window, having heard Frederick ride past. She ran to meet him, and accompanied him into the parlor. He seemed cheerful, notwithstanding his just having come from a scene of trouble and distress. In place of entering into a detailed description of the fire which had seized the house of his aunt, he assured the company that he had established beyond doubt the fact that the desk there had been burned at the very same time when theirs had been split asunder in so strange a manner.

He stated, that, when the fire approached the room where the desk was, one of the servants saved a clock which stood upon it; that, in carrying it out, some accident had happened to the works, and it had stopped at half-past eleven; and thus the coincidence of time was placed beyond all question. The baroness smiled; and the tutor observed, that, although two things might agree in some particulars, we were not therefore justified in inferring their mutual dependence. But Louisa took pleasure in believing the connection of these two circumstances, particularly as she had received intelligence that her intended was quite well; and, as to the rest of the company, they gave full scope to the flight of their imagination.

Charles inquired of the clergyman whether he knew a fairy-tale. “The imagination,” he observed, “is a divine gift; but I do not like to see it employed about the actualities of life. The airy forms to which it gives birth are delightful to contemplate, if we view them as beings of a peculiar order; but, connected with truth, they become prodigies, and are disapproved by our reason and judgment. The imagination,” he continued, “should not deal in facts, nor be employed to establish facts. Its proper province is art; and there its influence should be like that of music, which awakens our emotions, and makes us forget the cause by which they are called forth.”

“Continue,” said the old clergyman, “and explain still further your view of the proper attributes of imaginative works. Another property is essential to their enjoyment,--that the exercise of imagination should be voluntary. It can effect nothing by compulsion: it must wait for the moment of inspiration. Without design, and without any settled course, it soars aloft upon its own pinions, and, as it is borne forward, leaves a trace of its wonderful and devious course. But you must allow me to take my accustomed walk, that I may awaken in my soul the sweet fancies which, in former years, were accustomed to enchant me. I promise to relate a fairy-tale this evening that will amuse you all.”

They at once consented, particularly as they all hoped in the mean time to hear the news of which Frederick was the bearer.

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A FAIRY TALE.

Wearied with the labors of the day, an old Ferryman lay asleep in his hut, on the bank of a wide river, which the late heavy rains had swollen to an unprecedented height. In the middle of the night he was awakened by a loud cry: he listened; it was the call of some travellers who wished to be ferried over.

Upon opening the door, he was surprised to see two Will-o’-the-wisps dancing round his boat, which was still secured to its moorings. Speaking with human voices, they assured him that they were in the greatest possible hurry, and wished to be carried instantly to the other side of the river. Without losing a moment, the old Ferryman pushed off, and rowed across with his usual dexterity. During the passage the strangers whispered together in an unknown language, and several times burst into loud laughter; whilst they amused themselves with dancing upon the sides and seats of the boat, and cutting fantastic capers at the bottom.

“The boat reels,” cried the old man; “and, if you continue so restless, it may upset. Sit down, you Will-o’-the-wisps.”

They burst into loud laughter at this command, ridiculed the boatman, and became more troublesome than ever. But he bore their annoyance patiently, and they soon reached the opposite bank of the river.

“Here is something for your trouble,” said the passengers, shaking themselves, when a number of glittering gold pieces fell into the boat. “What are you doing?” cried the old man: “some misfortune will happen should a single piece of gold fall into the water. The river, which has a strong antipathy to gold, would become fearfully agitated, and swallow both me and my boat. Who can say even what might happen to yourselves? I pray you take back your gold.”

“We can take nothing back which we have once shaken from our persons,” answered one of them.

“Then, I shall be compelled,” replied the old boatman, as he stooped, and collected the gold in his cap, “to take it to the shore and bury it.”