“Thou hadst thy faults, but sure thy sufferings have expiated them: thy errors brought thee to an early grave; but thou wert a fellow creature—thou hast been unhappy—then be those errors forgotten.”
Then, as she stoops to pluck the noxious weed from off the sod, a tear will fall and consecrate the spot to Charity.
Forever honored be the sacred drop of humanity; the angel of mercy shall record its source, and the soul from whence it sprang shall be immortal.
My dear madam, contract not your brow into a frown of disapprobation. I mean not to extenuate the faults of those unhappy women who fall victims to guilt and folly; but surely, when we reflect how many errors we are ourselves subject to, how many secret faults lie hid in the recesses of our hearts, which we should blush to have brought into open day (and yet those faults require the lenity and pity of a benevolent judge, or awful would be our prospect of futurity). I say, my dear madam, when we consider this, we surely may pity the faults of others.
Believe me, many an unfortunate female, who has once strayed into the thorny paths of vice, would gladly return to virtue were any generous friend to endeavor to raise and reassure her; but alas! it can not be, you say; the world would deride and scoff. Then let me tell you, madam, it is a very unfeeling world, and does not deserve half the blessings which a bountiful Providence showers upon it.
Oh, thou benevolent Giver of all good! how shall we erring mortals dare to look up to thy mercy in the great day of retribution, if we now uncharitably refuse to overlook the errors, or alleviate the miseries of our fellow creatures!
XIX
A Mistake Discovered
Julia Franklin9 was the only child of a man of large property, who at the age of eighteen left her independent mistress of an unencumbered income of seven hundred a year; she was a girl of a lively disposition, and humane, susceptible heart; she resided in New York with an uncle who loved her too well, and had too high an opinion of her prudence, to scrutinize her actions so much as would have been necessary with many young ladies who were not blessed with her discretion: she was, at the time Montraville arrived at New York, the life of society, and the universal toast. Montraville was introduced to her by the following accident.
One night when he was upon guard, a dreadful fire broke out near Mr. Franklin’s house, which in a few hours reduced that and several others to ashes; fortunately no lives were lost, and by the assiduity of the soldiers much valuable property was saved from the flames. In the midst of the confusion an old gentleman came up to Montraville, and putting a small box into his hands, cried—“Keep it, my good sir, till I come to you again;” and then rushing again into the thickest of the crowd, Montraville saw him no more. He waited till the fire was quite extinguished, and the mob dispersed, but in vain: the old gentleman did not appear to claim his property; and Montraville, fearing to make any enquiry, lest he should meet with impostors who might lay claim without any legal right to the box, carried it to his lodgings, and locked it up: he naturally imagined that the person who committed it to his care knew him, and would in a day or two reclaim it; but several weeks passed on, and no enquiry being made, he began to be uneasy, and resolved to examine the contents of the box, and if they were, as he supposed, valuable, to spare no pains to discover and restore them to the owner. Upon opening it, he found it contained jewels to a large amount, about two hundred pounds in money, and a miniature picture set for a bracelet. On examining the picture, he thought he had somewhere seen features very like it, but could not recollect where. A few days after, being at a public assembly, he saw Miss Franklin, and the likeness was too evident to be mistaken: he inquired among his brother officers if any of them knew her, and found one who was upon terms of intimacy in the family: “then introduce me to her immediately,” said he, “for I am certain I can inform her of something which will give her peculiar pleasure.”
He was immediately introduced, found she was the owner of the jewels, and was invited to breakfast the next morning, in order to their restoration. This whole evening Montraville was honored with Julia’s hand; the lively sallies of her wit, the elegance of her manner, powerfully charmed him: he forgot Charlotte, and indulged himself in saying everything that was polite and tender to Julia. But on retiring, recollection returned. “What am I about?” said he: “though I can not marry Charlotte, I can
