University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

`If this Republic shall escape the catastrophe that terminated the career of
every one of its predecessors in ancient and modern days, it must be by the
prevalence of more just and liberal views in regard to the distinctions assigned
to BIRTH, MONEY, and OCCUPATION. The people must be made to see and to
feel that the LAW OF REPUTATION, as now observed, has a false basis—that there
can be no such thing as personal merit without virtue and usefulness—and
that no branch of industry which contributes to the general comfort is intrinsically
degrading. We have, even among the working classes a scale of merit
graduated by occupation, and that fixes, to some extent, the merit of individuals.
It is a relic of the absurd prejudices of Europe, by which Aristocracy and
Monarchy are upheld, and shows that, although we are as a nation free, the
marks of the old servitude are not yet obliterated.'—Walter Forward.

The false estimate between professions and trades is a subject which we have
twice before treated; once in a Tale called `Edward Betham, or What is
True Respectability?' published in the Philadelphia Saturday Courier, and a
second time in a story called `The Two Apprentices;' also recently contributed
to the same very excellent paper. We now take it up in a new aspect
in the following Tale, and it is our intention not to let the subject here rest until
we have done something to draw public attention to an evil that menaces
the stability of our institutions, and the very existence of our liberties. We
have written full enough about pirates, romantic Castilian maidens, and bearded
and becloaked Spanish Dons, and mean, hereafter, in some degree to atone
for these sanguinary perpetrations by devoting our pen, so long as we can
handle one, to encounter and put to shame this most heartfelt of all errors;
or to speak with more truth, habits of the American people. It is a subject
that calls loudly for the itinerant Lecturer and Societies of Reform and Intemperance;
for this whole system of pseudo-respectability which we combat is
none other than ambitious and wild intoxication of the judgment, and a debasing,
contemptible slavery of the understanding.

In a student's chamber, on the second floor of one of the ancient halls of
Yale, sat a young gentleman having his elbow upon a table piled with books
and several open accounts, moodily supporting his cheek in his hand. It was
late at night. The echoing passages had long since ceased to resound with the
tread of the late returning student, and but few doors had lights gleaming from

beneath or streaming through the key-hole upon the opposite wall, showing that
the occupants were still up.

In the chamber of the young man there burned upon the table a single lamp,
shedding a flickering and uncertain light upon the surrounding objects. The
room was plainly if not meanly furnished. A broad pine table, unpainted, meagerly
covered with a piece of green cloth, stood in the centre, on which were
the lamp and books; a few common chairs were scattered about without regularity;
and one large one with arms and a leaf fixed to it for writing, and in
which he was seated, stood by the table. A half-opened door exposed a small
closet or bed-room in which was a rude cot-bed, a single chair, and a scanty
wardrobe, hung about on nails driven into the white-washed walls. The room
in which he sat had two windows, with half-calico curtains, and looked out upon
the College green, upon which the clear moon shone like noon-day. A flood
of its light streamed in through the window and fell upon the uncarpeted floor,
as if to display that poverty of the apartment which the dim lamp would have
left in obscurity.

In the silence of midnight the solitary occupant of the chamber sat with his
pale cheek resting in his palm, and his eyes thoughtfully fixed upon the ground.
The faintly beaming lamp dimly exposed his countenance, while the silvery
radiance of the moonlight which seemed to infuse itself into the whole atmosphere
of the chamber, without shining directly upon him, shed over his features
a soft passive glow that harmonized touchingly with their pale, intellectual
expression. He was about twenty-two years of age, and so far as could
be ascertained, through a faded and much too small gingham gown, which he
wore, was of manly height and person. His forehead was high, white, blue-veined,
and shaded with short brown hair of silky texture. The hand, the fingers
of which were half hid in it, was delicate, and then, as if from illness, the
cheek that it supported was colorless, save at occasional intervals when a
bright flash would come transiently over it, as if driven hither by some sudden
and painful reflection. The features were regular and strong rather than handsome.
His eyes were large and full of intellect, and the shape and fixedness
of the mouth gave indication of energy, which the pervading softness of the
eye qualified with the promise of great sensibility. The general expression of
his face and the impression it would irresistibly convey to an observer, was
that of a frank and generous, but sensitive and proud spirit. He had been seated
thus since the chapel clock had tolled eleven, and was only roused by its
loud ringing stroke upon twelve.

`Twelve o'clock, and the last day of term has come to an end,' he said, removing
his hand suddenly and clenching the fingers together with a sort of
despair; `term is closed and in a situation that would drive a man to madness
or to suicide. These accoonts! They stare me in the face like grinning demons.
How am I ever to pay one of them and yet I must do it. There is
no alternative but infamy. Oh, my father, my good, noble, noble, but misjudging
father! Would to God your son had died ere he had been brought to
see this heavy hour!'

He rose and paced his chamber with a quick and nervous step, at every turn
pausing a pace before the table and looking as if about to take up one of the accounts
that lay on it, and then with a shrinking gesture and an expression of
pain writhing his fine countenance, he continued his walk. `Yes, I see nothing
before me but disgrace. The finger of scorn! the lip of contempt' the censure
of the good and the severe judgments of those I loved and honored! for
debt is the offence which like lost virtue in a woman, involves in the eyes of the
world all other wrongs and errors, and there is no pity or sympathy extended
towards the victim. Even the best man I love and honor would, were I his
debtor, demand his right, nor accept my plea of poverty. Oh, my father, my
misguided father! what a life of misery and woe has your ambition to make me
a professional man—your prejudices against trades, in store for me! But this
complaining of my lot is useless and weak! I must nerve myself to meet the
evil; for difficulties, they tell me which are faced, are half conquered. I will
examine these dread accounts and know justly the height and depth of my
wretched and painful position.'

With this good resolution the young student sat down again by his table and
took the accounts up in his hands. There were seven of them, each one unreceipted
and written in as varied styles of chirograpy as the pursuits of the
creditors.

Here is Mr. Twining's for my board in commons, at one dollar and a
half per week; for sixteen weeks up to to-day, - - - - - $24,00,
though I have been ill for three weeks. Here in St. Leger; the Stationers bill
—quills, paper, ink, wafers, and a second hand copy of Eschylus, which I could
not borrow nor beg, $4,87 1-2

This bill must be paid to-morrow, for half of it is of two terms standing, and
one dollar of it of more than a year. He says he needs it, and has indeed been
always very lenient! But what can I do? He is to send in the morning for
it, so says a line on the back. Mr. Twining, the Steward's bill, must be paid
too, as he says, to-morrow! Unhappy morrow! I could wish, were the wish
not wicked, that the time would stand still and never bring the morrow! But
such feelings are unworthy of a man and a Christian! Here is David Mayer's
account! To mending boots, 80 cts.; to heel tapping, 1s.; to sewing up a rip
for the third time, and then patching, 2s.; to a pair of half boots, $1,50; total,
$2,18 cts.—and I have not that sum in the world! Here is Mr. Shears, the
Tailor's account! To mending a coat and sewing on three buttons, 25 cts.; to
patching a vest, 12 1-2 cts.; to cleansing, pressing and patching a pair of pants,
50 cts.; to a new black merino waistcoat, $2,00; total, $2,87 1-2. This man
will give me trouble, I fear' He has been twice to-day for his money, fearing
I shall slip off in the early stage! If I do not pay him he may imprison me!
Good God!—to go prison—the idea of which has almost suffocated me the last
three hours, would be the death blow to all my hopes in this life!' He placed
his hand across his brow for a painful minute, and then lifting his eyes upwards
he said fervently, `I humbly beseech thee, oh! Father, mercifully to look upon
me now in this present time of my trouble and adversity; and graciously be
pleased to deliver me from all those evils which the craft or revenge of man may
work against me, that being hurt by no persecutions, I may evermore gratefully
serve thee in holiness and pureness of living, to thy honor and glory, through
our Mediator and Advocate, Jesus Christ, our Lord.'

Having given utterance to this humble and trusting prayer, his countenance,
became serener, and with more calmness and repose of mind, the inevitable result
of confidence in God, he examined the remaining accounts, one of which
was for a hat, $2,50, another for medicine, $3,10, and the other and last one for
medical advice and attendance, $6,00

The minuteness of detail into which we have gone, is needful for the moral
of our story. It both shows the economy of the student, and what is equally important,
that he had not gone into debt beyond the actual wants of his existence.
The amount of them he now added up and found the sum total to be $45,53.

He looked at the figures which represented the extent of his pecuniary obligations,
for a few moments, with an expression of hopeless distress. `And how
am I to liquidate all this? how am I to pay the least sum which contributes to
make up this fearful aggregate! I can see no door of relief! no avenue of escape
from this fearful responsibility.'

He rose and walked to the window! The still moon lay on the ground and
trees like blessings shed down upon earth, while man slept. The brightness of
the scene, the far off stars in the calm blue heaven, the silent and peaceful sailing
of the moon away in her own bright home, unruffled by all the changes, and
woes and tears of the earth, she seemed created to serve and beautify, at first
mocked the disturbed and painful nature of his thoughts. But gradually the silence
and softness of the holy hour of night had its soothing influence upon his
spirits; and soon feeling the effect, he took his hat to walk forth and see if the
lonely beauty of the night might not effectually restore calmness to his bosom,
and give him that resolution and strength he so much needed, to enable him to
meet the morrow.

Before going out, he extinguished, with habitual economy, his faint lamp,
and locking his door, descended the stairs and passed through the hall out of

doors. With a lighter step than his heavy heart gave promise of, he took his
way, the only person moving, across the shining green, the borders of which
were pitchy dark with the shadow of the avenues of elms which surrounded it.
The Colleges, with their long lines of windows and intermediate towers and
spires, rose still and solemn in the moonlight. Here and there a light gleamed
in a window, showing that the occupant was up, either at his studies, or more
probably, preparing his luggage for an early start for the home and friends that
were looking daily for his coming. The young man sighed as he thought of his
own home which he was not able to reach.

His footsteps unguided took him in the direction of the beautiful cemetery
which he entered. How lovely and unearthly beautiful was the scene! Green
willows drooping above snowy marble and waved in gentle night wind. Monuments
rose like the beauteous homes of spirits around him on every side! He
moved slowly and reverently along among these quiet habitations of the dead,
and forgot that he was unhappy. The hour and the scene melted his spirits!
He was all feeling and gentleness and love! Passing by the monumental
mansoleums of the rich and the renowned, he came to an humble grey stone in
a remote corner. Neither the shade of the bending willow nor cypress, nor the
pleasant shadow of flowers lay upon the grave, but green and mound-like it slept
beneath the blue skies in the light of the gentle moon and weeping stars, with a
dew drop glittering upon every spear of grass. The letters carved upon the
humble tombstone at the grave's head, were as follows:

THIS STONE IS ERECTED
To the Memory of
EDWARD LAMB,
OF THE JUNIOR CLASS OF YALE COLLEGE,
WHO FELL A VICTIM TO
A FALSE SYSTEM OF SOCIETY,
IN HIS 20TH YEAR,
By a Friend and Classmate.

The student stood for a few moments, reading the inscription by the clear
light, and then said, with grief modulating tones of his voice—

`Sleep peacefully there where thou liest, dear Lamb! thy day of sorrow is
ended and thou art at rest! I remain, alas, to struggle with the same stern fate
that crushed thy more sensitive and prouder spirit. Sleep on beneath the quiet
stars and holy moon! man cannot reach thee in the grave! the arrows of his
persecutions strike harmlessly against this marble shield that shelters thy head.
Oh, that thy lot were now mine! that beneath this little spot of green sward beside
thy grave I could lie down and take my rest and know no fearful morrow!
But I am of the living and must still bear on through woe and ill, till God in
mercy calls me as he hath called thee, to rest. Oh, thou, who dost not regard
as beneath thy notice the least sparrow that falls wearied to the earth, mercifully
strengthen me against the calamities before me, and give me patience to
endure them, and in due time a happy deliverance from them: for my heart
faileth me for fear? I bless thee that when the evils of this life are ended I can
lie down and rest in the calm repose of the grave.'

Upborne with the hope that the quiet of the grave remained for him at last
when all he then suffered would be as if it had not been, he sought to strengthen
his soul with overlooking the present evils of his condition and contemplate
their sometime, end. `Yes, the time will come, when this same moon shall
shine down at midnight upon my grave as it does upon my happy Edward's,
and my spirit be blest beyond the serene depths where sparkle the stars above
me. The certainty of this shall sustain me through all I have to encounter, and,
with God's good blessing, I will try and meet my condition as becometh one
whose hopes are not here but beyond the grave. Rest peacefully, noble spirit
My heart bled for thee while thou wert struggling with the bitterness of life;
it sympathises with thy undisturbed repose. Sad is thy melancholy tale, noble
victim of the heartless ambition of others. Would that it were poured into the

ears of all misguided parents who would sacrifice the happiness of their children
to their parental pride.'

Sad indeed is the story of poor Edward Lamb! and while our student is
seeking to soothe his spirit by rambling farther among the sacred homes of the
dead, we will relate it in a few brief words to the reader. The Rev. Henry
Lamb was the pastor of the Presbyterian church of one of the most rural villages
that border the romantic Merrimac. The tower of the church rose serenely
amid a venerable grove upon its banks, and near it stood a neat mansion in
which he resided. Domestic peace seemed to dwell side by side with religion,
in that quiet spot, and the passions of man to find there no admission. Yet the
inmates of the dwelling were human and were governed by like passions with
others, though the influence of the christian religion, of which the head of the
household was a minister, exerted its power over their hearts, and subdued and
tempered, if it did not sanctify, the natural evil of their natures. The one most
governed, both in precept and in life, by peaceful and elevating doctrines of the
Gospel was, as ought to be supposed, the minister himself. He was learned,
sensible, and sound in faith and well grounded in doctrine. His life was blameless
and useful, and his conversation honest in the sight of all men. Temperate,
apt to teach, diligent in his vocation and of mild and pleasing manners,
Mr. Lamb was respected, not to say beloved by all. In him the light and excellency
of Christianity as it affects the social relations was beautifully exhibited,
and a kinder father and husband was never known. He had a sweet Christian
wife, who had in the course of their union, with that generosity peculiar
to poor ministers' ladies, presented him with eight children, one son and seven
daughters. Thus good Mr. Lamb was blessed. His salary, however, was but
nine hundred dollars a year, and the house in which he lived was not a `parsonage'—that
sacred shelter which the church has so nobly provided for its servants.
Often a barrel of flour, or a ham, or a turkey, found its way from some
benevolent hand into the minister's larder, but he found that to get through
the year without debt, required great trusting of Providence. Indeed, the grocers
and mechanics of his own church generally sent him in their accounts receipted
at each year's close, trusting to a reward for such good deeds to faith
in that saying, which saith `He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.'

With all this assistance, Mr. Lamb struggled along with difficulty, and being
no trained economist like the man who gains his livelihood by selling and saving,
he seldom had any money in his pocket, and never knew any of the mysterious
rites that go on in that temple of Mammon, a Bank. We have said that
Mr. Lamb was a sincere Christian, a useful and laborious minister and an honest
man. But one thing—liberality of opinion in reference to trades—we regret
to say he lacked in common with most professional men, even though they
may be ministers of that Gospel which had for its first teachers men who while
they preached, sustained their necessities by `laboring with their hands at some
useful trade.' Some of them were net-menders; others were occupied in finishing
and tanning of hides; and, above all, the sacred founder of our holy religion,
reverently be it spoken, worked daily at the carpenter's trade till called
to enter actively upon his mission of salvation. But modern apostles forget
these things.

Mr. Lamb, in common with others of his position in society, was imbued with
a prejudice against mechanic traders! Not that he did not think them useful
—for by means of them he was sheltered, clothed, and fed; but he had been
educated in the false and erroneous notion that mechanical employment involved
something, he or no one else could tell what, intrinsically degrading! He
thought that a man's occupation fixed, to some extent, his merit! He could
meet and invite to his table, as an acknowledged gentleman, the `merchant,'
though a retailer of rum, oats, gingerbread, and fish-hooks; the lawyer, though
his meat and drink were salted with the tears of the unfortunate; the doctor,
though a legalized murderer! But the man who made his arm-chair, built his
house, and bound his books, never sat at his board! Out upon such false ideas
of things! shame on such absurd prejudices! fie upon such slavish servitude
of the understanding! When will men, when will christian men, learn to

think and act sensibly in relation to this subject? Generation after generation
is born to trouble enough without having entailed upon it an evil and a sorrow
through the pride of the preceding.

Mr. Lamb, being thus prejudiced did no more contemplate a trade for his son
Edward, when he got to be seventeen, than binding him apprentice to a smuggler.
In taking into view his future pursuits, law, physic, and divinity only
filled the narrow scope of his vision. He was like the sailor who uses the microscope
instead of the far-sweeping spy-glass! taking a limited and exaggerated
view of objects nearest to him, and neglecting the broad and commanding
prospect that invites his observation.

Edward Lamb was therefore destined for a liberal profession, from the force
of illiberal prejudices. He was an intelligent and high spirited boy, and, singularly
enough, had the common sense to think differently from his father on
the subject of trades. If he had been consulted he would have preferred being
a printer; and when it was decided in domestic council that he should `go to
college,' he incurred the censure of vulgar propensities for thus expressing his
wishes.

`But how am I to get through college, sir?' he asked frankly and doubtingly,
well knowing from experience the narrowness of his father's circumstances.

`As a beneficiary,' answered Mr. Lamb.

`That is as a charity-student, sir,' he repeated with a glow of sensitive pride.
`How much more noble it would be for me to become a printer!'

`You have a position in society to earn and maintain, my son, and can only
succeed as a professional man. As a mechanic you would always be in low
society.'

`It seems to me that no one can be lower than a student of charity. But I
submit sir.'

With difficulty, and much straitening of poverty was Edward sent from the
paternal roof to college. Here he soon gained a distinguished name as a scholar;
but being of a high-spirited and sensitive nature, he could ill endure the
dependant situation in which he found himself, which involved in it, beside,
numerous privations that constantly mortified him. He was daily made to feel,
too, his position, by the haughty bearing of the wealthy student, and the sneers
of the unfeeling, whom his higher scholarship filled with envy. Do my readers
know what it is to be a beneficiary in college? The hapless young man
who has his tuition gratuitously, has the refuse choice of a room for which he
is charged no rent; pays for his three meals in Commons by waiting on the
tables of the other students, and sitting down after they have done! His books
of study are loaned him from the library, and his bed and bedding and furnishing
are got as they may be. His clothing, his fire-wood, his stationary, and
other expenses are obtained by `school teaching' in the vacations. If sickness
should at any time render him incapable of keeping school, then hard is his lot
the succeeding term! He must either go in debt hoping to pay the ensuing
vacation, or go without the necessary items above detailed. In addition to this
he is made, both in the society of the college and that of the town, keenly to
feel his poverty and dependant position. If he is a young man of spirit, he
will either quit college or it will sooner or later break him down. This condition
is mostly sought and followed by pious young men, who, that ultimately
they may preach the gospel, are willing to undergo the greatest deprivations.—
As a school for humility none certainly could be more suitable for a christian!
Such was the position in which Edward Lamb found himself after entering
college. The pursuits of science, the delights of literature, the charm of varied
study could not neutralize in his sensitive and proud mind the sense of his dependant
condition. He lost his frankness of manner, his pride of spirit, his
manly boldness in addressing others. He at length reached his Junior year,
when his constitution sunk under study, wounded sensibility and the double
labor of school teaching in vacations, and close application in term time. When
the middle vacation came, he was too ill to take a school, and kept his room,
an invalid.

The next term began and he resumed his studies. Debts of the past term existed,

and others necessarily accumulated which he had no means from school
money to meet; and at the close of his Junior year, as he was about to leave
college temporarily to take a school in the country, with improved health, hoping
to earn something to pay his debts, he was arrested by a brute for a debt of
$3,00, and thrown into prison! arrested because he was a beneficiary! for the
man's excuse subsequently was that `no charity student ought to go in debt!'
and what was the debt contracted for? To enable himself to appear with decency
at church, he had got a new collar and sleeves and a set of buttons put
to the only coat he had. He incurred it with the understanding that he was to
pay it from his first school money Illness prevented him from keeping school,
and Shears, the college tailor, tired of waiting for his money, and finding he
was going out of town, (to earn the very money to pay him) had a warrant
served upon him.

Edward submitted to his fate without a murmur. His spirit had already been
crushed by the sense of debts and dependence. He went to prison; and within
its stone walls, ere the next sun rose, his proud heart broke, and his noble
and suffering spirit took its free flight! Charles Blackford, our hero, had been
his bosom friend. Kindred circumstances united them by the close bonds of
sympathy. Having heard, not till the next morning of his friends arrest, he
hastened to him. On entering his cell he found that his sympathizing friendship
had been anticipated by the friendly interference of Death. All that remained
of Edward Lamb was kneeling, supported by the wall, the hands clasped
together in the act of prayer!

`Why did we not hear of this—why did we not know it?' was the fruitless question
hundreds both of students and charitable ladies put to themselves when
this melancholy intelligence was communicated. Yes, when the pecuniary
sufferer by the hand of God or his own self-act gets beyond relief, then the
purse strings fly and the tongue is filled with vain and wicked regrets. `Would
that I had known it?' is the form which pity takes to express itself, and if they
had known it, would the case have been different? No! they must then wait
till the sufferer perishes first before they can believe the case is so desperate.

Charles Blackford laid by a few dollars by depriving himself of actual wants,
and erected the humble stone at the head of his friend's grave, the inscription upon
which we have copied. We have recorded the story of the hapless victim to
a false system of society of society, though we are not in favor of episodes in a
narrative! But as we write to illustrate a moral and expose an error, it matters
little what colors we use to fill up the great outline, so that they harmonize, and
the lights and shadows are given with their just effects.