Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 7

CHAPTER IV.

No one commences business without the prospect of success. a.s.sure a man he will not succeed, and he will be cautious of the steps he takes, if, indeed, he takes any.

If he does not expect to gain a princely fortune; he expects to earn a comfortable subsistence, and, at the same time, acc.u.mulate enough to shelter him in a rainy day, and be enabled to walk life's busy stage in comfort and respectability, and, as occasion may demand, relieve the wants of his less fortunate brethren.

For this all hope, yet the experience of thousands shows that few, very few, ever realize it. On the contrary, disappointment, in its thousand malignant forms, starts up on every hand; yet they struggle on, and in imagination see more prosperous days in the future. Thus they hope against hope, till the green sod covers their bodies, and they leave their places to others, whilst the tale is told in these few words: "They lived and died."

The next Monday the citizens were notified, by the removal of his old sign, that Mr. Lagrange had retired from business. During the day, many of Mr. Lagrange's customers came in, that they might become acquainted with the successors of their old friend. To these Messrs. Dayton and Treves were introduced, and from them received promise of support.

A colored man, who had been for a long time in the employ of Mr.

Lagrange, was retained in the employ of the store. Ralph Orton was his name. He having been for a long time in the store, and during that time having had free access to the wines, had formed an appet.i.te for them, in consequence of which he was often intoxicated.

His inebriation was periodical, and not of that kind whose subjects are held in continual thraldom; yet, to use his own words, "when he was drunk, he was drunk, and no mistake." He obeyed the old injunction of "what is worth doing is worth doing well," and as long as he got drunk he got well drunk.

He had ofttimes been reasoned with in his days of soberness, and had often promised to reform; but so many around him drank that he could not resist the temptation to drink also, and therefore broke his promise. This habit had so fastened itself upon him, that, like one in the coil of the serpent, the more he strove to escape the closer it held him.

If there is any one habit to which if a man becomes attached he will find more difficulty to escape from than another, it is that of intemperance; yet all habits are so one with our nature that the care taken to guard against the adoption of evil ones cannot be too great.

Behold that man! He was tempted,--he yielded. He has surrendered a n.o.ble estate, and squandered a large fortune. Once he had riches and friends; his eye sparkled with the fire of ambition; hope and joy beamed in each feature of his manly countenance, and all bespoke for him a long life and happy death. Look at him now! without a penny in his pocket, a wretched outcast, almost dead with starvation. Habit worked the change-an evil habit.

Perchance some one in pity may bestow a small sum upon him. Utterly regardless of the fact that his wife and children are at home shivering over a few expiring embers that give no warmth, without a crumb to appease their hunger, and although he himself a moment before believed that if aid did not come speedily he must perish, he hastens to the nearest groggery, and, laying down his money, calls for that which has brought upon him and his such woe.

If there is any scene upon earth over which demons joy, it must be when that rumseller takes that money.

This propensity of Ralph's was a serious objection to him as a servant; yet, in every other respect, he was all that could be desired. He was honest, faithful and obliging, and, knowing as they did that he was well acquainted with the trade of the city, and could go directly to the houses of Mr. Lagrange's customers, Messrs.

Dayton and Treves were induced to have him remain.

At the end of a month, Edward found himself in prosperous circ.u.mstances, and wrote to his old village friends of the fact.

They, as a matter in course, were overjoyed in the reception of such intelligence, and no one more so than Emily Lawton.

Edward had entered into a business in which temptations of a peculiar nature gathered about him. Like nearly every one in those days, he had no scruples against the use of wine. He thought no danger was a.s.sociated with its use; and, as an objection against that would clash with the interests of his own pecuniary affairs, he would be the last to raise it. In dealing forth to others, how strong came the temptation to deal it to himself! Othro drank, and p.r.o.nounced a certain kind of wine a great luxury. Edward could not (or, at least, so he thought) do otherwise; and so he drank, and p.r.o.nounced the same judgment upon it.

"What say you for an evening at the theatre?" said Othro, one evening, as they were pa.s.sing from their place of business, having left it in care of their servants. "At the Gladiate the play is 'Hamlet,' and Mr. Figaro, from the old Drury, appears."

Edward had been educated in strict puritanic style, and had been taught to consider the theatre as a den of iniquity. It is not our purpose to defend or oppose this opinion. It was his, and he freely expressed it. In fact, his partner knew it to be such before making the request.

"I suppose," said Mr. Treves, "you oppose the theatre on account of the intoxicating drinks sold there. Now, I am for a social drop occasionally. Edward, a gla.s.s of pure 'Cogniac,' a nice cigar, and a seat in front of a grate of blazing coal, and I'll be joyful."

"You may be joyful, then," replied Mr. Dayton; "but your joy might be changed to grief, and your buoyancy of spirit be turned to sadness of heart."

"Indeed, Edward! Quite a lecture, I declare! Been studying theology, eh?"

"Not so; you are mistaken, Othro," said he. "There," he continued, pointing to a reeling sot that pa.s.sed them, "ask that man where he first went for joy, and he may tell you of the theatre, or of social gla.s.ses of brandy, cigars, and such like."

They had now arrived in front of the "Gladiate," a ma.s.sive stone structure, most brilliantly illuminated. Long rows of carriages stood in front, and crowds of the gay and fashionable were flocking in.

All was activity. Hackmen snapped their whips. Boys, ragged and dirty, were waiting for the time when "checks" would circulate, and, in fact, were in much need of checks, but those of a different nature from those they so eagerly looked for.

Anon, the crowd gathered closer; and the prospect of a fight put the boys in hysterics of delight, and their rags into great commotion.

To their sorrow, it was but the shadow of a "row"; and they kicked and cuffed each other, in order to express their grief.

A large poster announced in flaming characters that that night was the last but two of Mr. Figaro's appearance, and that other engagements would prevent him from prolonging his stay, however much the public might desire him to do so; whilst, if the, truth had been told, the public would have known that a printer was that moment "working off" other posters, announcing a rengagement of Mr. Figaro for two weeks.

"Will you enter?" inquired Othro. Edward desired to be excused, and they parted; one entering the theatre, the other repairing to his home.

CHAPTER V.

The "tavern" at which our hero boarded was of the country, or, rather, the colony order of architecture,--for piece had been added to piece, until what was once a small shed was now quite an extensive edifice.

As was the case with all taverns in those days, so also with this,--the bar-room was its most prominent feature. Mr. Blinge, the landlord, not only smoked, but was an inveterate lover of raw whiskey, which often caused him to perform strange antics. The fact that he loved whiskey was not strange, for in those days all drank.

The aged drank his morning, noon and evening potations, because he had always done so; the young, because his father did; and the lisping one reached forth its hands, and in childish accents called for the "thugar," and the mother, unwilling to deny it that which she believed could not harm it, gave.

Those were the days when seed was being sown, and now the harvesting is in progress. Vain were it for us to attempt its description; you will see it in ruined families, where are gathered blasted hopes, withered expectations, and pangs, deep pangs of untold sorrow.

The child indulged has become a man, yet scarce worthy of the name; for a habit has been formed that has sunken him below the brute, and he lives not a help, but a burden, not a blessing, but a curse, to his fellow-men.

Although Edward was opposed to the use of intoxicating drinks, his business led him to a.s.sociate with those who held opposite opinions.

Among the boarders was one, a bold, drinking, independent sort of a man, who went against all innovations upon old customs with a fury worthy of a subject of hydrophobia.

His name was "Pump." Barrel, or bottle, would have been more in accordance with his character; but, as the old Pump had not foresight enough to see into the future, he did not know that he was inappropriately naming his son.

Every Pump must have its handle, on the same principle that "every dog must have his day." The handle to the Pump in question was a long one; 't was "Onendago."

"Onendago Pump" was written with red ink on the blank leaf of a "Universal Songster" he carried in his pocket.

Dago, as he was called, lived on appearances; that is, he acted the gentleman outwardly, but the beggar inwardly. He robbed his stomach to clothe his back: howbeit, his good outside appearance often got for him a good dinner.

By the aid of the tailor and the barber, he wore nice cloth and curled hair; and, being blessed with a smooth, oily voice, was enabled, by being invited to dinner here and to supper there, to live quite easy.

Edward had just seated himself, when a loud rap on the door was heard, and in a moment Mr. Onendago Pump, with two bottles, entered.

With a low bow, he inquired as to our hero's health, and proposed spending an evening in his company.

"Ever hear me relate an incident of the last war?" said he, as he seated himself, and placed his two bottles upon the side-table.

"Never," replied Edward.