“The circumstances in which he had come to the country now all made against him. The unfavorable rumors that had been afloat respecting him were revived; all the stories of swindlers that had visited the country for twenty years back, were published anew, with embellishments. In short, R. was tried and condemned by the public, while he lay defenceless in prison, and long before his real trial came on. The subject became a matter of some notoriety; the circumstances were detailed in the newspapers. A paragraph noticing these events met the eye of R.’s brother, who was settled as a minister of the gospel in a country parish not far distant, and he immediately came to the city. Satisfying himself by a few inquiries that it was indeed his brother who was involved in difficulty and danger, he went straight to the prison, with a heart overflowing with sympathy and kindness. But pride was still in the way, and R. haughtily repulsed him.
“The pious minister was deeply grieved; but he did not the less seek to serve his brother. He took care to investigate the facts, and became persuaded that the French servant had practised the deception that has been stated; but he was not able to prove it. He employed the best of counsel; but, in spite of all his efforts, and all his sympathy, R. was found guilty, condemned, and consigned to prison.
“Up to this time, the pride of R. had sustained him; but it now gave way. He had borne the loss of fortune, but to be convicted of a low, base theft, was what his spirit could not endure. His health sunk under it, and his reason, for a time, departed. His sufferings during that dark hour, God only knows. He at last recovered his health and his senses, and then he heard, that, on his death-bed, the French servant had confessed his iniquity. It was from the lips of his brother, and under his roof, where he had been removed during his insanity, that R. learnt these events. He was released from prison, and his character was cleared of the imputation of crime.
“From this period R. was an altered man. His pride was effectually quelled; no longer did that disturber of earth’s happiness,—the real serpent of Eden,—remain to keep him in a state of alienation from his brother. The two were now, indeed, as brothers. But there were other changes in R.; his health was feeble, his constitution was broken; his manly beauty had departed, and he was but the wreck of former days. But, strange as it may seem, he now, for the first time, found peace and happiness. He had now tasted of sorrow, and was acquainted with grief. This enabled him to enter into the hearts of other men, to see their sorrows, and to desire to alleviate them. A new world was now open to him; a world of effort, of usefulness, of happiness. In the days of prosperity, he had no cares for anybody but himself; and mere selfishness had left him a wretch while in possession of all the supposed means of bliss. He had now made the discovery,—more important to any human being than that of Columbus,—that pride is the curse of the human race, and humility its only cure; that trial, sorrow, and misfortune are necessary, in most cases, to make us acquainted with our own hearts, and those of our fellow-men; and that true bliss is to be found only in a plan of life which seeks, earnestly and sincerely, the peace and happiness of others.”
Here ended R.’s story of the School of Misfortune; and I had no difficulty in discovering that he had been telling the story of his own life, though he had, in some respects, as I had reason to suppose, departed from its details.
(To be continued.)
Story of Philip Brusque.
CHAPTER VII.
A new effort to form a government.—Speeches.—Anarchy and violence.—Despotism.
The morning after the events detailed in the last chapter, was one of deep interest to the people of Fredonia. Brusque, in connection with others, had taken pains to call a meeting of all the men, to consult once more upon events of common importance, and to make another effort to form some kind of government, that might establish order, protect life, and ensure freedom. There were none whose feelings were more deeply enlisted than those of the women; and, as is usual with this sex in matters of a public nature, they were on the right side. They felt their own weakness and dependence, and appreciated the necessity of government and law to protect them from brutality and violence. Nor did they feel alone for themselves; they perceived that where there is no government, there can be no safe and comfortable home; that children cannot live quietly and securely with their parents; that everything we cherish in life is insecure, and liable to be taken away by the wicked and the violent.