THE WIDOW'S SON.
George Lewellin, the son of the lonely widow, at the decease of his father was twelve years of age. He finished his education under the direction of his uncle; and, having attained his seventeenth year, he was placed in a merchant's counting-house in London. In person he was tall and slender, prepossessing in appearance and manners, unreserved in disposition, of an amiable temper, and disposed, from the ingenuous sincerity of his heart, to regard every one as his friend who courted his society. Soon after his entrance on his new course of life, he received an affectionate letter from his mother, cautioning him against the many temptations of the metropolis:—
"As, my dear George, you are removed from under the immediate inspection of your friends, and will be exposed to a variety of temptations, permit me to urge upon you the importance of reading the Scriptures daily, of regularly attending some place of worship on the Sabbath-day, and of avoiding the company of the gay and dissipated. If companions entice you to the play-house, to card parties, or to places of public amusement, do not allow them to prevail upon you; for, if you once give way to their entreaties, you will soon be overcome. I have had many trials. I have lost my property; I have buried your lovely sister; I have wept over the tomb of your pious father; and to see you turning your back on religion, would bring my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. But I hope better things of you, though I thus write. Let me hear from you soon, and often; and give me a faithful account of how you spend your time; and believe me to be yours, most affectionately," &c.
His reply will give the reader some insight into the state of his mind and situation:—
"My Dear Mother,—I thank you for your kind letter. Yes; you have had many trials, but I hope you have, at least, one living comfort left. To promote your happiness will be, I trust, the constant effort of my life; and as I know something of the value of prayer, I hope you will always have me in remembrance when at a throne of grace. I have a good room at a Mr. Jordan's, in the City Road. Mr. Jordan is a plain, pious man, and his wife appears very amiable. They have no children, and they treat me as their son. I very much like the situation which my uncle has procured for me. There are, in the office, three clerks besides myself, but they are all my seniors. The oldest is married, and has a family. The next is the son of a Friend, but he has thrown off the plain garb, and often ridicules the simple mode of speech for which that scrupulous people are distinguished. The other is the only son of a country esquire of large fortune. They treat me with the greatest kindness; and so does the gentleman in whose service I have the honour of being employed. My time is fully occupied; and though business is new to me, yet I begin to find the difficulties attending it giving way. I will try to please, and I hope shall be successful. As I know you feel more anxious about my spiritual than my temporal prosperity, I shall give you an account of the manner in which I spend my Sabbaths. I regularly attend church twice a-day, and have already heard some of the most celebrated preachers in London, but have not yet determined to what congregation I shall attach myself. Variety is charming, but I rather think that a stated ministry is the most profitable. I often think of you and your lovely retreat, and wish I could pop in upon you to receive the maternal blessing."
A material change soon took place in the principles and habits of young Lewellin, and it may be proper to give a brief account of those to whose influence it may be ascribed. The senior clerk in the office was an amiable man, but his mind was deeply tinctured by the deistical sentiments of the age. He would occasionally throw out some insinuations against professors; but as he perceived it gave Lewellin pain, he was rather sparing in his remarks. Mr. Gordon, the semi-Quaker, was less guarded; and, being a young man of a ready wit and polished manners, he became a dangerous companion. Having been educated under a severe discipline, which taught him to regard the cut of the coat and the construction of a sentence as important if not essential branches of religion, he had imbibed deep-rooted prejudices against it; and, though still in regular attendance at meeting on first-day morning, yet he usually spent the other parts of the Sabbath at some place of public resort. His respectability introduced him into the best society, and his principles fitted him for the worst. He narrowly watched Lewellin; and resolved to emancipate him, if possible, from under the control of his religious opinions and habits; and he proceeded with great caution in this work of moral destruction, being aware that, if his principles were stormed before they were undermined, he should excite a powerful resistance. Having laid his plan of seduction, he soon began to carry it into execution. On leaving the office one evening, he politely asked Lewellin to spend an hour with him. Lewellin frankly accepted his invitation, and they had a long conversation together, during which Gordon displayed so much good-nature, such a fund of anecdote, and such a rich vein of wit, that he gained an entire ascendency over his friend, who expressed a desire that the intimacy now formed might be perpetuated. The clock struck eleven, when Lewellin suddenly started from his chair, and took his hat and cane; but was detained two hours longer by the powerful attractions of his companion. At length he bade him good-night. As he passed down Fleet Street, his conscience began to smite him. "What would my dear mother feel if she knew where I am at this hour!" But, having resolved that he would never again be guilty of such an act of imprudence, his faithful monitor was hushed to silence:—"He is a charming man!—What an extensive knowledge of the world!—What a fund of anecdote; and how well he narrates and describes! A new scene is opening before me." Thus he talked to himself, till he reached his lodgings, where he found the family very much alarmed.
"Dear Sir," said Mrs. Jordan, as soon as the passage door was opened, "we are very glad to see you. We were fearful that you had lost yourself, or that some greater evil had befallen you."
"I am sorry," replied Lewellin, "that I have kept you up so late; but Mr. Gordon pressed me to spend the evening with him, and the time slipped by before I was aware of it."
"I am glad to see you home," said Mr. Jordan; "and, as we have been expecting you every minute for the last three hours, we have not yet had family prayer." The good man knelt down, and prayed most affectionately for his young friend, who stood exposed to so many temptations.
Next day Lewellin went to the office as usual, but nothing particular occurred till the evening, when Gordon asked him to accept the loan of a book, which he had no doubt would amuse him. He took it, and hastened home to peruse it. Immediately after tea he retired to his own room. He opened the volume, read the title-page, threw the book on the table, and exclaimed, "No; I'll not read it. I gave my word of honour to my mother that I would never read a novel; and I will not sacrifice my honour to please any friend." He paced the room backwards and forwards for some time, reflecting on the past evening, till the thoughts of his heart troubled him, when he seated himself in the arm-chair which was standing near the table. As the book was elegantly bound, he took it up, and examined the workmanship; read the whole of the title-page, and then the preface; and, finding nothing very objectionable, he read on, till startled by a knock at the door. "Who is there?" "Will you come down to supper, Sir?" He took out his watch, and found that he had been reading two hours, and as it was the first novel he ever read, it had so deeply fixed his attention, that he had nearly finished it before he felt conscious of what he was doing. "Yes, yes, I'll come presently; but don't wait." "Let me see, there are thirty more pages; I'll finish it." He read on, but the charm was broken by a recollection of his vow; and he again threw the book from him, exclaiming, "Fascinating wretch, thou hast beguiled me of my honour!" He hastened out of the room, that he might avoid the reflections of his own mind; and when he entered the parlour, he found an interesting young man, of whom he had often heard Mr. Jordan speak. This young man was intelligent and pious, highly accomplished in his manners, and just on the eve of being married. After supper he engaged in family prayer; and when offering up his devout thanksgivings to the God of all grace, for preserving him from the paths of the destroyer, and guiding his feet in the way of peace, he made a natural transition to the situation of Lewellin, and most fervently prayed that he might be enabled to escape the pollution of the world, and consecrate himself to the service of the God of his fathers. Lewellin endeavoured to conceal his emotions, but the recollection of his having that night sacrificed his honour, threw such a melancholy air over his countenance, that Mrs. Jordan, who felt deeply interested in his welfare, abruptly asked him if he was unwell. The question perplexed him; but assuming his ordinary cheerfulness, he replied, "No, Madam." Having sat a little longer, he took leave of the company, and retired to rest. On casting his eye on the book, as he stood musing, he said, "Well, I don't know that I have received any moral injury from reading it; and perhaps my mother did wrong to press me to pledge my word that I would not read a novel."
Next Sabbath Mr. Gordon called on him in the afternoon, and asked him to accompany him to the Lock, to hear a celebrated preacher. As they were passing through St. James's Park, they met Mr. Phillips (the other clerk in the office), with three ladies. The meeting appeared accidental; and as Mr. Phillips pressed his friends to do him and the ladies the honour of their company, politeness induced a compliance, and the whole party took an excursion on the river. They did not return till late; and it was past twelve before Lewellin reached his lodgings. On entering the parlour he made an apology for not being home earlier, and to avoid being embarrassed by any questions, took his candle, and retired to his own room. He sat himself down; but the sight of the Bible, which lay on the table, agonized his feelings, and he began to reproach himself in the bitterest terms. "Yes, a new scene is opening before me; but what a scene! No; I will break the charm before I am completely enslaved! My mother does not know it.——But the eye of God——I cannot conceal myself from him. Woe is me! I am lost! I am undone! No; I will repent. I will ask for mercy." He threw himself on his bed, and after hours of mental torture and bitter lamentation he fell asleep; but he was scared by the visions of the night, and when the light of the morning dawned, it brought no tidings of peace. At length he arose, and went to the office, where he met his companions in guilt, but his mind was too much depressed to allow him to be cheerful; and the references which were made to the excursion of the preceding evening aggravated his misery. When the business of the day was closed, he walked away in silent sadness; but he had not gone far before Gordon overtook him, and invited him to take some refreshment in a coffee-house. He strongly objected—and then consented.
"I perceive," said Gordon, "that you are unhappy, and I guess the cause. You suffer your noble mind to be tortured by the tales of the nursery. Treat them with contempt."
"No, I am not tortured by the tales of the nursery, but by the reflections of a guilty conscience."
"Conscience," said Gordon, smiling; "I had such a thing once, but as it stood in the way of my love of pleasure, I got rid of it, and now I am happy, because I am free. And I assure you that you will never be fitted to enjoy life till you form juster notions of the Deity than religion inspires; and till you open your heart to the sublime gratifications which the society and amusements of this far-famed city afford. Come, give way to the impulse of your generous nature, and accompany me this evening."
"Where?"
"Where you shall have a mental feast."
Lewellin, expecting that Gordon was going to a Philosophical Society, of which he was a member, gave his consent; nor was he undeceived, till he found himself seated in a box at Drury Lane Theatre. His conscience smote him; but as he had been decoyed there, the faithful reprover was soon silenced; the curtain was drawn, and the stage exhibited a scene which was not only new but captivating. When the play was over, Gordon said, "I have watched your countenance during the whole of the tragedy, and I perceive that you have an instinctive taste for the drama. Yes, Lewellin, this is the school to exalt the genius and amend the heart. Here our manners are polished, our taste is refined, and those moral sentiments are inculcated which make the man the gentleman."
On leaving the theatre they adjourned to an hotel, where they ordered supper, and as they sat conversing together till a very late hour, they decided on sleeping there. The Rubicon was now passed, and Lewellin, having tasted of the forbidden fruit, resolved to rid himself of his Puritanical notions (as he began to term his religious sentiments), that he might enjoy life. The first step he took was to write a letter to his kind friend, Mr. Jordan, to say that circumstances rendered it inconvenient for him to reside so far from the office, and therefore he was under the painful necessity of taking another set of rooms; he added, "I will call and settle with you; and I will thank you to send my dressing-case, &c., by the bearer." He then told his friend Gordon what he had done, who congratulated him on his courage, and assured him that he was welcome to accommodation in his apartments until he could suit himself better.
The seducer having now got his victim in his own power, hurried him through the various stages of vice with almost breathless impetuosity. The theatre, the billiard-room, the tavern, and other places, were alternately visited; and he who a few months before was horror-struck at the sight of a novel, could now occupy the seat of a scorner. But he was not suffered to remain there undisturbed. Conscience would sometimes inflict the most poignant wounds. The thought of home, of his pious father and sister, of the day of judgment, and of his loving mother, drove him at times almost frantic; when, after pronouncing a secret curse on his companion, he would plunge himself deeper in iniquity, that he might gain a momentary relief. To follow him through the course of impiety which he ran for the space of two years, during which time he involved himself in debt and in hopeless misery, would afford the reader no gratification. Disease, which had been for some time destroying his health, and impairing the vigour of his constitution, now incapacitated him for business, and he was obliged to keep to his apartments, which were near those of Mr. Gordon. For several days after his confinement he received no attention from his friend, and that left his mind more at liberty to take the black review.
He reproached himself—he reproached the destroyer of his peace—he wept, but he could not pray. He wrote a letter to his pious mother, but he burned it—he wrote another, and burned it. He wrote to his friend, Mr. Jordan, whom he had not seen since he left his house, and, just as he was directing it, the servant announced Mr. Gordon.
"Well, George, how are you?"
"Ill, very ill, and you are the cause of it!"
"I the cause of it!"
"Yes, you enticed me from the paths of virtue into the paths of vice, and though I reproach myself for my folly in giving way to your entreaties, yet, Sir, you are the seducer."
"Ah! Lewellin, you are got back to the tales of the nursery. Come, come, pluck up your spirits. You will soon get better. What does the doctor say? I was at Drury last night, and never had a finer treat."
"The doctor gives me but little hope, and your present conversation gives me less pleasure. If I die, I must appear before my Judge, and am I (wringing his hands) prepared? No!"
"Well, then, I will be off, but don't play the fool; die like a man. Phillips says he'll call to see you to-morrow, but I suppose a visit from some of the godly will be more acceptable."
"I want a visit from some one who can minister to a mind diseased."
"Well, good-bye. But die like a man, if you are doomed to death."
He was now left alone, irresolute—alarmed. He rings. "Put that letter in the post immediately." Is more composed. Mr. Jordan called on him next morning, and when he saw him could not refrain from weeping. Lewellin cautiously concealed from him the cause of his illness, but informed him that the doctor gave but little hope of his life.
"Does your dear mother know how you are?"
"No, I do not like to alarm her; but if I do not get better in a few days, I think I shall endeavour to go down and see her, and if I must die, I hope to die in her arms."
"I have called several times at your office since you left my house, but you were either engaged, or not within, and we have often wondered why you never came to see us. We have always had you in remembrance at a throne of grace."
"Ah! had I never left your house, I should not have been reduced to that state of wretchedness and woe in which you now see me. I was seduced by a worthless companion, and now—(he made a long pause)—I have cut short my life; I have ruined my soul; I shall break my mother's heart. O eternity! how I dread thee."
The tender feelings of Mr. Jordan were so strongly excited by the looks and the expressions of Lewellin, that he could make no reply for several minutes. At length he said, "But the chief of sinners may obtain mercy."
"Yes, I know that the chief of sinners may obtain mercy, if they repent and believe; but I cannot do either. I have fitted myself for destruction, and now I must prepare to go where the worm dieth not, and where the fire will never be quenched."
"Do not despair of mercy."
"Yes, I must. Despair gives me more relief than hope."
"Shall I pray with you?"
"It is too late."
"Consent."
"Then pray for my dear mother; pray that her mind may be prepared for the distressing news which will soon reach her ears. I have deceived her."
Mr. Jordan knelt down and prayed; but his importunity merely served to invest the pang of despair with an additional degree of terror.
"All is useless—
'The help of men and angels join'd
Can never reach my case.'"
"That's true, my dear young friend, but"——
"Pardon me for interrupting you, but I dare not ask for mercy. Justice demands a victim, and I must die."
"But mercy pleads."
"Yes, but she will never plead for me."
"Do try to pray."
"No, I am not disposed to offer a fresh insult to God. He has rejected me. I know my doom. It is irrevocably fixed. I deserve all I suffer, and all I have to suffer."
Mr. Jordan now left him, but called again the next evening, when he found him rather better and more composed, and was gratified to hear that he had written a letter to his mother, informing her of his indisposition, and that she might expect to see him in the space of a few days, as he had been recommended to try the effect of a change of air.