“That my husband, who is the liberal donor of my enjoyment, should partake of it.”
“Pray be contented,” replied she, “and let him enjoy himself in his own way.”
“I have a letter for you,” said Howard, “that came enclosed in one to me;” and, with an air of hesitation, he gave it to her.
Frances hastily took it; her color came and went as she read. It informed her, that the offers her husband had received for his estate in town had not only opened his eyes to its value, but had convinced him that, as a patriotic citizen, he had no right to retain it for his private use; he had therefore come to the conclusion to reap the benefit himself which other speculators had proposed to do. He should take down the house, make a street through the land, divide it into small lots, and erect a number of houses upon it, one of which he meant to reserve for himself. “I should regret what I conceive to be the necessity of this thing,” he added, “if you were not so perfectly satisfied with your Clyde residence. As you will always repair to it early in the spring, it matters little if you return to walls of brick and mortar in the autumn.”
We pass over the involuntary tears that followed this communication, as speculators would pronounce them unreasonable. It now became necessary for Frances to visit the city to make arrangements, and take a last leave of her pleasant mansion. In justice, it must be
said, she thought less of her own deprivation than of the new accession of care and toil that her husband was bringing upon himself.—When she returned to Clyde, she had lost by fatigue nearly all the health she had previously gained.
Most people have witnessed the rapidity with which the work of destruction goes on in modern days. In a very short time the splendid mansion was a pile of ruins, a street laid open, and buildings erecting on the spot.
Mr. Draper’s visits to Clyde had been hitherto confined to the Sabbath, and generally terminated with it: but he now wrote to his wife that he intended to “pass a month with her. It was a comparative season of leisure; his vessels had sailed, his buildings were going on well, and he should be able to enjoy the quiet of the country.”
Frances received this intelligence with new-born hope. She felt certain, that one month, passed amidst the tranquil pleasures of the country, would regenerate his early tastes. She talked eloquently of the corrupting atmosphere of the city, and was sanguine that now all would go well; that his inordinate engrossment in
business would yield to the influences by which he would find himself surrounded. And so it turned out, for a few days. Mr. Draper was as happy as an affectionate husband and father must naturally be, reunited to the objects of his tenderness. He said that “he felt uncommonly well, had much less of the dyspepsy than he had experienced for years,” followed his little girls to their favorite haunts, and seemed to realize the blessing of leisure. Howard, with his family, passed the third day with them. Towards evening, they all ascended the hill. Mr. Draper was struck with the extensive view, and the beauty of his wife’s domain, for he scrupulously called it her own. “What a waste of water!” he exclaimed. “What a noble run for mills and manufactories!” Poor Frances actually turned pale; but, collecting her spirits, she said, “It is hardly right to call it a waste of water.”