"Ah, my friend, we have both been made the victims of cruel misfortune. You see me to-day penniless and destitute; I, formerly so rich, courted and admired. Have you the time and patience to listen to my melancholy story?"
I eagerly answered in the affirmative; and Mrs. Raymond spoke as follows:—
"After that terrible affair in William street—the recollection of which still curdles my blood with horror—I took up my abode in a private family at the lower end of Broadway. I soon formed the acquaintance of a gentleman of fine appearance, and agreeable address, named Livingston, who enjoyed the enviable reputation of being a person of wealth and a man of honor. I was pleased with him, and noticing my partiality, he made violent love to me. Tired of living the life of a single woman—desirous of securing a protection, and wishing to become an honorable wife instead of a mistress—I did not reject him, for he moved in the very highest circles, and seemed to be in every way unobjectionable. I will not weary you with the details of our courtship; suffice it to say that we were married. We took an elegant house in one of the up-town avenues; and, for a time, all went well. After a while, I discovered that my husband had no fortune whatever; but I loved him too well to reproach him—and besides, he had never represented himself to me as being a man of wealth; it was the circle in which he moved which had bestowed upon him that reputation. Also, I considered that my fortune was sufficient for us both. Therefore, the discovery of his poverty did not in the least diminish my regard for him. It was not long before the extensive demands which he kept constantly making upon my purse, alarmed me; I feared that he had fallen into habits of gambling; and I ventured to remonstrate with him upon his extravagance. He confessed his fault, entreated my forgiveness, and promised amendment. Of course, I forgave him; for a loving wife can forgive anything in her husband but infidelity. But he did not reform; he continued his ruinous career; and my fortune melted away like snow beneath the rays of the sun. The man possessed such an irresistible influence over me, that I never could refuse an application on his part for money. I believed that he sincerely loved me, and that was enough for me—I asked for no more. I entertained romantic notions of 'love in a cottage.'
"At length my fortune was all gone—irrevocably gone. 'No matter,' I thought—'I have still my dear husband left; nothing can ever take him away from me. I will share poverty with him, and we shall be happy together.' We gave up our splendid mansion, and sold our magnificent furniture, and rented a small but respectable house. And now my blood boils to relate how that villain Livingston served me—for he was a villain, a cool, deliberate, black-hearted one. He deserted me, carrying off with him what little money and the few jewels I still possessed, thus leaving me entirely destitute. But what added to my affliction,—nay, I should rather say my maddening rage, was a note which the base scoundrel had written and left behind him, in which he mockingly begged to be excused for his absence, and stated that he had other wives to attend to in other cities. 'I never loved you,' he wrote in that infamous letter, every word of which is branded upon my heart as with a pen of fire—'I never loved you, and my only object in marrying you was to enjoy your fortune; I have no further use for you. It may console you to know that the principal portion of the large sums of money which you gave me from time to time, was applied, not as you imagined to the payment of gambling debts, but to the support of two voluptuous mistresses of mine, whom I kept in separate establishments that were furnished with almost regal splendor. Thus did you unconsciously contribute to the existence of two rivals, who received a greater share of my attentions than you did. In conclusion, as you are now without resources, I would advise you to sell your charms to the highest bidder. There are many wealthy and amorous gentlemen in New York, who will pay you handsomely for your smiles and kisses. I shall not be jealous of their attentions to my sixth wife! I intend to marry six more within the next six months. Yours truly, LIVINGSTON.' Thus wrote the accursed wretch, for whom I had sacrificed everything—fortune, position in society, and friends; for who among my fashionable acquaintances, would associate with an impoverished and deserted wife? Not one. Furious at Livingston's treatment of me, I resolved to follow him, even unto the end of the earth, in order to avenge my wrongs. By careful inquiry, I learned that he had taken his departure for the western part of the state of Pennsylvania. You will hardly credit it, but it is God's truth, that being without money to pay travelling expenses, I actually set out on foot, and travelled through New Jersey until I reached this city. I subsisted on the road by soliciting the hospitality of the farmers, which was in most cases grudgingly and scantily bestowed, for benevolence is not a prominent characteristic of the New Jersey people,[F] and besides, there was certainly something rather suspicious in the idea of a well-dressed woman travelling on foot, and alone. On my arrival here in Philadelphia, I found myself worn out and exhausted by the fatiguing journey which I had performed. Having called upon some kind Quaker ladies of whose goodness I had often heard, I told them my sad history, which aroused their warmest sympathies. They placed me in this apartment, paid a month's rent in advance, purchased for me the articles of furniture which you see, and obtained for me some light employment. I worked industriously, and almost cheerfully, my object being to earn money enough to carry me to Pittsburg, in Western Pennsylvania, where, I have reason to believe, the villain has located himself.
"In my moments of leisure, I longed for some means of recreation; for I saw no company, and was very lonesome. So I wrote on to New York, and through the agency of a kind friend, had my harp sent out to me here, the rest of my poor furniture being presented to that friend. Then did the divine charm of music lighten the burden of my sorrows. One circumstance rather discouraged me: I found that with the utmost industry I could not earn more than sufficient to pay my rent and other necessary expenses, although I lived frugally, almost on bread and water, except on Sundays, when I would manage to treat myself to a cup of tea. You may smile at these trifling details, my dear friend, but I mention them to show you the hardships and privations to which poor women are often exposed. My landlady, who keeps the grocery store down stairs, is a coarse, vulgar, hard-hearted woman; and, when I was thrown out of employment in consequence of the hardness of the times, and could not pay her rent, she not only abused me dreadfully, but annoyed me by making the most infamous suggestions, proposing that I should embrace a life of prostitution, and offering to procure me plenty of 'patrons.' I, of course, indignantly repelled the horrible proposals—but, would you believe it? she actually introduced into my apartment an old, gray-haired and well-dressed libertine, for a purpose which you can easily imagine. The old villain, however, decamped when I displayed a small dagger, and declared that I would kill myself rather than become his victim. This conduct of mine still further incensed my landlady against me; and I expect every moment to be turned out into the street. It is true that I might raise a small sum of money by the sale of my harp, which is a very superior instrument, but as it was the gift of my first husband, I cannot endure the thought of parting with it, for there are associated with it some of the fondest recollections of my life. I am sure that if those kind Quaker ladies had known the character of this house and the neighborhood around it, they would not have placed me here. Heaven only knows what I have suffered, and still suffer. I live in constant dread that some ruffian, instigated by my landlady, who wishes to gratify both her avarice and malignity, may break in upon me some time when I am off my guard, and make me the victim of a brutal outrage. This fear keeps me awake nights, and makes my days miserable. Nor is this all; I have not tasted food since the day before yesterday."
"Good God!" I exclaimed—"is it possible? Oh, accursed be the circumstances which have made us both so misfortunate; and doubly accursed be that scoundrel Livingston, the author of all your sorrows. By heavens! I will seek him out, and terribly punish him for his base conduct towards you. Yes, my dear Mrs. Raymond—for such I shall continue to call you, notwithstanding your marriage to that monster Livingston—rest assured that your wrongs shall be avenged.—The villain shall rue the day when he made a play-thing of a woman's heart, robbed her of her fortune, and then left her to poverty and despair!"
[This language of mine may seem rather theatrical and romantic; but the reader will please to remember that I was only nineteen years of age at the time of its utterance—a period of life not remarkable for sobriety of language or discretion of conduct. Were that interview to take place to-day, I should probably thus express myself:—"My dear Mrs. Raymond, I advise you to forget the d——d rascal and put on the tea-kettle, while I rush out and negotiate for some grub!">[
Mrs. Raymond gratefully pressed my hand, and said—
"I thank you for thus espousing my cause;—but, my dear friend, mine must be the task of punishing the villain. No other hand but mine shall strike the blow that will send his black, polluted soul into eternity!"
These fierce words, which were pronounced with the strongest emphasis, caused me to look at my fair hostess with some degree of astonishment; and no wonder—for the quiet, elegant lady had been suddenly transferred into the enraged and revenge-thirsting woman. She looked superbly beautiful at that moment;—her cheeks glowed, her eyes sparkled, and her bosom heaved like the waves of a stormy sea.