WILSON CONWORTH.

NUMBER EIGHT.

Although I joined Collins in much of his dissipation, yet I persuaded myself that I had his good at heart; and thinking a change of scene might have a beneficial effect, I proposed a jaunt to the Falls of Niagara. It was the month of June; we were in possession of a handsome equipage, and plenty of money; we had all the means of making the journey pleasant.

C—— got wind of this project, and although we had not spoken for weeks, he came to my room the evening before our departure, and told me I was a ruined man, unless I gave up this journey. He explained to me the reasons of his coldness, and the reserve of others; it was to induce me to give up my association with Collins. He said all were interested for me, and besought me to listen to his advice; that some things had leaked out respecting Collins, which he was not at liberty to tell me. I knew I ought to hear him. I was convinced he was disinterested; but I remained fixed, for I intended to pass through N——, and was in hopes to see Alice once more; and this, after once getting into my heart, I could not get out. We departed upon our excursion of pleasure, which proved one of pain. With whom is hope more faithful?

Following the river, we soon emerged from the level meadow country, and began to ascend the hills of Vermont. The moon was at her full, and we rode mostly in the night-time. Collins could not bear the day, and I was willing to give in to his caprices, for the night gave a calmness and amiable tone to his feelings. His heart was open to the influences of nature, though he pretended to hate mankind.

The Connecticut river, in the north, has a swift and sparkling current, so that it makes music as it flows. Tall trees bend over it, all along its course, as if inclining to kiss its nimble waters. These trees are of one kind, and resemble the graceful elm. To the lover of nature, I know of no scene so fitted to call out his enthusiasm. After toiling up an ascent of three or four miles, as you stop to breathe your panting steed, which, if bred in the country, toils so faithfully for you, your eye is filled with all kinds of scenery. Here on your right reposes a village, with its neat white houses, in a rich valley, the land rising in hills in every direction from it, partly wooded, with here and there a wide pasture of close-cropped green, dotted with the fleecy flock and lowing kine. The river bounds it, on one side of which is a circle of meadow land, and on the other a steep rocky precipice, falling abruptly to the water.

It was twelve o'clock at night—a clear moon-light night—when we gained one of these elevations of land. No sound broke the stillness, save the voice of the 'solemn bird of night' marking by contrast the depth of the solitude of silence. Collins wept like a child. He had associations he would not communicate to me. Possibly he had been there before. He refused to speak. We stopped at the first public house, and he retired to his room without uttering a word.

Until this evening, I had never spoken to Collins of my own love affair. I had never told him of my difficulties, nor let him know that I had had any. My object was to divert his melancholy, not to find relief from my own sorrows. That night, as we sat in silence contemplating the scene, some lines of poetry had escaped me, which Alice Clair had been fond of repeating. I felt Collins start as he listened, and soon after, he gave vent to a torrent of tears, the first I had ever seen him shed.

The next morning we rode and travelled on in moody silence. Not a word was exchanged between us. Collins's whole manner toward me had changed. Now and then I discovered a black look upon his face, as he glanced toward me. I treated him with my usual kindness. I had, in the relation of my own unhappy attachment, concealed the name and personal appearance of Miss Clair, and the place, too. I was free from suspicion, supposed his reserve was a freak, and waited patiently for the recovery of his usual manner.

We now left the river, and struck off to the Green Mountains, taking the road to N——, where we arrived about dark. All the town knew of our arrival, almost as soon as we were settled in our apartment. I found that Collins was known there as well as myself, though under a different name. He was greeted as 'Mr. Cowles,' by every one, and the people stared at him as they would at a spectre.

When I asked the explanation of this mystery, after we had retired to a private room, he stared at me for some moments, with the glare of a maniac in his eyes, and then sprang upon me, drawing his dagger from his bosom. This was no time for parley. I flung him from me, wrested the dagger from his hand, and then allowed him to rise. Seeing that he intended no violence, I sat upon the bed while he walked the room, gnashing his teeth, and mumbling to himself 'curses not loud but deep;' then stopping suddenly opposite to me, he said:

'You, fiend!—why did you seek me? Can you be the friend who feels an interest in me? Why have you proved a traitor to my peace?

I assured him his words were inexplicable to me.

'Where,' said he, 'did you learn those words you quoted last night? Do you know her too? Have you, too, been a victim to those super-human charms? I am a slave; she bound me; I am helpless. Oh, God!—but I have wronged you; you could not know; you are not to blame. I had better destroy myself. I am crazed—mad! I know not what I say. Oh! leave me, if you value your life or mine!'

This was all strange. What could he mean? He had no acquaintance with Alice. She had told me that she never had an attachment before the one she confessed for me. What other lady in town could there be to excite affections so refined as his? It could not be Alice; this was a vagary too wild to be listened to. However, determined to solve the difficulty, I went immediately to the house of Mr. Clair, and asked for his daughter; 'she was out of town;' for Mrs. Clair; 'she was sick;' for any of the family; 'I could not be admitted.' This was as unceremonious as I could bear; so I walked back to the hotel, and calling the inn-keeper aside, asked him what had become of Miss Clair. Inn-keepers in a country village know all the small news that any one does, for they hear the same story assume so many different shapes over the grog they deal out, that by night they become perfectly saturated with a piece of scandal, and give forty readings of the same event to suit the customer.

Mr. Shuffle gave me a full account of the affair. He said that Alice was with her sister in Albany; that she had been very sick, and not expected to live. After I had been out of town for a few months, she returned to her father's; used to go moping about, and people thought her mind was affected; he wondered that people could be so unreasonable, as to keep young folks that loved each other separate; if he had been me, he would have run away with her.

I did not wait to hear farther, or even to inquire about Collins, but ordered a horse, left a note for Collins, in which I advised him to return, as important business required my presence at Albany for a few days; and that I could not undertake our contemplated journey, after what had happened.

That very night I started across the mountains for Albany, and did not sleep until I saw the house that contained all I thought I loved on earth. The visit to old scenes had renewed all the fervor of my affection. Not wishing to be recognised, I stopped at a dwelling in an obscure part of the town, and sent a little boy to the house with a note, directing him only to give it into Miss Clair's own hand. If her health permitted, I requested an interview; but certainly some token of recognition by the bearer. She was well enough to meet me, and we agreed to take a walk that afternoon.

I pass over the agonizing bliss of meeting. All was forgiven in an instant. She had been sick indeed—sick at heart. She had heard of my disgraceful course of life in the city, after parting from her, and then again of my relapse at L——. She had supposed that I had given up all thoughts of her, and she said that she had tried to banish me from her thoughts; but, smiling through her tears, her words were: 'You know, Conworth, you were my first and only love. I had determined to run the risk of what I feared would happen. I was willing to risk something for one who might be so much, if he did truly love me in return as I did him. I have been forsaken, and forgotten, and disregarded; but the fault was in me in the first instance in trusting to you. I could hardly expect you to change your character for one like me.'

I could not bear this; I implored her to accuse me, to upbraid me—any thing but such words; and then I endeavored to palliate my faults, and in doing so, I told the exact truth. I led her back to motives, and temptations, and despairing states of mind, through which I could distinctly trace my own lapses; convincing her that all resulted from my separation from her; that 'could I have her with me to guide, comfort, and encourage me, I should, I felt confident, do every thing to make her happy.'

The idea of marriage had not crossed my mind until this instant. In consoling her, and drawing the picture of our union, I was so charmed with the notion, that I began to speak in earnest, and did, upon the spot, adopt the resolution of making the attempt to persuade her to unite herself to me on the instant.

I succeeded. She consented. We were to be married on the next morning. By good luck, her brother-in-law was absent from home, and I knew her sister possessed rather a romantic turn of mind. The devil lent me cunning and eloquence, and I persuaded her it was the only way to save Alice's life and mine.

To bring this about, I had, without premeditation, to invent plans which should have the appearance of having been well-digested. I told her 'that I came authorized from my father to bring Alice to his house, if I could do so as my wife.' I then showed her the wealth that I possessed—for beside my own money, Collins, on starting, had constituted me his banker—and the whole story was so well got up, that she seemed delighted with the novelty of the scheme.

Behold me then on the eve of perpetrating marriage. Every thing was prepared. My carriage, (one I had hired, and called mine,) was at the door; the trunks were lashed on, and we were standing before the minister, in her sister's parlor; the justice's daughter, and a friend I had picked up, acting as witnesses. The ceremony began. Hardly had a word been spoken, when the door flew violently open, and Collins, wild and haggard, with his dress torn and soiled, and without a hat, rushed into the room. He looked about him for a few moments in triumph, and then said, slowly: 'I am come in time, false woman!' He stepped toward Alice, who, pale and trembling, was sinking to the floor. A dagger gleamed in the madman's hand. I rushed forward, and taking the blow aimed at her, I fell senseless to the earth.

When I awoke from my delirious dream, which followed the wound I had received, I found myself in a small private house. My father was standing by my bedside, and my sister was wiping the cold sweat from my forehead. I had been thus for a fortnight. My father and sister had arrived upon the earliest intelligence after the accident. They imagined they were journeying to attend my funeral. Would it had been so!

My father took my hand, as my eyes closed, upon meeting his anxious gaze, and said: 'It is all well—all is forgiven. Be calm; you are better, God be praised! I ask no more.'

I could not speak. His kindness, his affection, wounded me worse than ten thousand daggers. I covered my eyes with my hand, and wept. When I was strong enough to bear it, my sister told me all that had happened. Alice had confessed to her every thing. The substance was this.

'Collins had some years before met Alice Clair at a boarding-school in the city, and he fell violently in love with her. He was then an exile from home for his vices, and was living in the city, without plan or object. His assumed name was Cowles, to prevent his friends from hearing of his pranks. Alice had been pleased with his manners, and received his attentions, in walking in the street, to hold an umbrella over her when caught in a shower, and to bow with a smile when she met him; to be at home when he called to see her; as far as a school miss can go, in a love matter, she had been; which is just no way at all. The word love never had entered her head; she was gratified in being noticed and admired, and felt grateful for his kindness and attentions in bringing her new books and music. But with the playful coquetry of a child, she had impressed the heart of Collins with a lasting devotion. She did not know how much he loved her. The principal of the school had always allowed his visits, until ascertaining the knowledge of his true character, and seeing some instances of his misdemeanor one night at the theatre, he was dismissed from the acquaintance of the ladies, and Alice thought no more of him.

Soon after, she returned home, and was continually persecuted with letters, which were returned unread. At last, he went to N——, and behaved like a madman; threatened to kill himself in the presence of her father and mother, and committed other extravagances, which would have subjected him to arrest, had he not left town. All these facts were never hinted to me, during my stay at N——. Probably they were forgotten, except by the parties more immediately interested.

No wonder some surprise was manifested at seeing myself and Collins ride into town together. Well, after I had left Collins, and departed for Albany, he by a bribe found out my object in going thither, and immediately followed me on the next day. With a mind already shattered by excess, and stimulated to insanity, he imagined himself the victim of treachery, and determined on consummate vengeance on both of us. The reader knows the rest. The wound I received nearly proved fatal. My father was summoned, perhaps to attend my funeral. Mr. Clair followed us, so soon as he got wind of our intended visit, to protect his daughter from two madmen, and arrived the day after the result. Alice was taken home with difficulty. Mr. Clair was inexorable. Some gratitude was expressed in a letter written to me by him after he heard of my recovery, for saving the life of his child.

'When you are older and more settled,' it said, 'in your views, if you ever are, I shall be glad to show you how much I am willing to forget, for the sake of your happiness and that of my child. You have perhaps unwittingly destroyed the peace of my family. You do not know the pain you have inflicted. Time must elapse. Your case is not hopeless. All depends upon yourself.'

My sister in a few days gave me a lock of black glossy hair, tied with a blue ribbon. It needed not to tell me where it came from. I have worn it next to my heart ever since that fatal morning. It is now placed before me, and tears course down my cheeks as I record this passage in my history, and look upon all that is left in this world of one who might have made this earth a heaven to any man, but one incapable of estimating the value, or rather incapable of profiting by the gift, of her affections.

Collins was released, by my father's request, after the question of my danger was over, and went I know not whither. From that day to this, I have never heard of him. The money of his in my possession was placed in the hands of a lawyer, and no trace can be found of his connections or of himself, by the most careful search.

We returned to my father's house. Hardly had we arrived, when we heard of the sudden death of Alice Clair. Worn out by fatigue and disappointment, she was attacked by fever, which was followed by delirium; and she went out of a cruel world, unconscious of her misery. My cup of bitterness was full. I neither hoped, nor excited expectation. I was considered a broken, ruined man. I remained some time a burthen upon my father's hands, leading a harmless but restless, good-for-nothing life, which only doubles the misery of existence.

Time works wonders. I began to have hopes of myself, and determined to leave my native city; to give up all old acquaintances; to go afar from all who knew me. I made arrangements to receive annually a small sum, to enable me to carry my projects into execution, and bidding adieu to all those I truly loved, and who I knew still loved me, I embarked on board a packet bound for New-Orleans.