University of Virginia Library

THE ODD FELLOW:
OR, THE SECRET ASSOCIATION.

1. CHAPTER I.

`You are certainly not going out to night, James,' said a beautiful, darkeyed
bride, to her young husband, as he rose from the tea-table; `we have
not been married a month, and yet you must go out to pass your evenings,' and the young wife smiled and panted, and looked reproof and love in the
same glance.

`I have an important engagement, love,' he said, smiling and tapping her
cheek with his finger.

`And now your engagement to me has ended in marriage, you must consider
yourself freed from any to your wife, I suppose,' she said, laughing. `But you will not go out such a wild, blustering night. You can have no
business that calls you forth in such a storm of wind and rain! Stay in,
James! See how comfortable our little parlor looks with its closely drawn
curtains, its two nice rocking-chairs, its warm, glowing fire, and these
books and newspapers, and engravings, to say nothing of my own society!'

`It certainly must be a great temptation, or very pressing business that
takes him forth, sister,' said the bride's brother, a good looking young man
of twenty-one, who made the third of the little group about the tea-table.
`I assure him,' he added pleasingly, `I should not be so ungallant to leave
my wife to pass her evenings alone before the honey-moon was over.—
There is to be some city caucus, and I suppose James expects to be called
upon to make a speech!'

`No, I assure you,' answered James Layton, laughing, as he buttoned
his surtout to his throat; `I have a very important engagement, or I should
by no means quit you, Catherine. I will be back in two hours. Let Lewis
entertain you till I return. I know you will excuse me, wife!'

`On condition you tell me where you are going,' she said, holding him by
the arm, playfully.

`Well, it is to a meeting of my club.'

`Your club!' repeated Lewis; `what club?'

`The Odd Fellows!'

`Are you an Odd Fellow, James?' exclaimed Catherine. `If I had known
if I don't beiieve I would have married you!'

`No? Then I should have been an odd fellow all my life. But what is
there so bad in being an Odd Fellow, that you both look so surprised?'

`I am told it is a secret society: something like the exploded masonic
fraternity, and I am surprised that any sensible man should belong to it,'
answered Lewis Foster.

`And I don't like to have a husband who has any secrets from his wife,'
said the bride. `Now, James, I shan't love you half so well, that you belong
to a secret club! and such an odd club!'

`The name sounds rowdyish, and reckless,' said his brother-in-law, with
gravity.

`I don't believe any good can come of it,' pursued his wife, with a slight
cloud of disapproval upon her brow.

`I don't think it can increase your respectability in the eyes of sensible
men,' added Lewis, `and now that you are married and so have taken a
new position in society, and have just gone into partnership in business, it
would seem to me, James, speaking in all kindness and love, that you
would be wise to break off your connection with this club, which perhaps
might not have been so censurable in a young man and an apprentice, but
which must certainly now detract from your character and standing.'

The young husband glanced from one to the other of the speakers, looking
as if he was undecided whether to laugh outright, or to get seriously
angry with them both. He however suppressed the expression of both
emotions, and quietly resuming his chair at the tea-table, and with his surtout
buttoned to his chin as he was, and then said quietly and gravely,

`Catherine—Lewis—you neither of you know of what you are speaking!
So far from being what you ignorantly suppose, the fraternity of odd fellows
is a society, in which it is an honor not only to be enrolled as a member,
but it is itself an association honorable to human nature. The peculiarity
of its designation has misled you. So far from being a fraternity of
buffoons, a band of merry-makers, a society of organized folly, as you and
others who have not inquired into its character and pretensions, weakly
pretend to believe, it is an association distinguished for its dignity, solemnity
and moral majesty!'

`But what can be its object?' asked Lewis, impressed by his manner.

`To lessen the ills of mankind; to ameliorate its condition; to elevate
the soul of man and restore its moral image; to advance the happiness of
our race by drawing closer the ties of human affection, and strengthen the
bond of brotherhood between man and man.'

`You demand as much for your society as does christianity itself. It
asks no more! It takes no wider range!' said Lewis, with emphasis.

`If you had said we demanded what christianity does not, then you had
uttered what I should have denied. I do not deny that we aim to as wide
a range, for our field as well as that of christianity, is the human society!
It can cover no more; we can aim at no less. But we work for man as
mortal and immortal! for both this life and the life to come. Therefore,
we reject the comparison when made invidiously; admit it when made on
the basis I have laid down. Without christianity this order would have
been what it now is; for its principles existed thousands of years before
the era of christianity.'

`Where then did the order begin to exist?' inquired Lewis, with surprise
and incredulity.

`I will reply to you in the language of an eloquent writer who has recently
answered your question:—“When the Almighty Architect of the
Universe spake, and this sphere which we inherit, burst into light and loveliness,
every fundamental principle on which our order is based, was stamped
with the signet of Omnipotence upon her young and unstained being,
there to remain in legible and enduring characters, as constituent elements
of her perpetuity and existence. Friendship then wove her silken bonds.
Love breathed forth her strains of mutual sympathy and confiding tenderness;
while Truth, above, around, beneath, shed forth her blaze of living
light, as pure and unsullied as the rays that emanate from the throne of the
Eternal God! Upon these three pillars rests the structure of our order;
around them cluster our brightest hopes and fondest anticipations.”'

`This is all very pretty, but it seems to me visionary enough,' said Lewis.
`Pray what legitimate good, what tangible benefit has it ever done, or can
it do? It is very fine to talk about ameliorating the condition of manking,
enhancing human happiness, and advancing the human intellect; this is
all very fine. But lay your finger upon a single good your order has done.'

`Go with me to-morrow, Lewis, and examine the records of our doings
only for the past year, and the inspection will be a sufficient reply. There
you will find widows assisted, orphans protected and nurtured, the sick
visited, the prisoner liberated, and the afflicted comforted and made happy.
The principles of our society are those of humanity and religion. It not
only prompts the common cause of philanthropy, but insures to its members
in the hour of adversity, a source of safety and comfort that nothing
can destroy. The affection of parents may change; the friendship of the
world may turn to hatred, and even love may be transformed to loathing

and disgust. But the ties that bind us together are never sundered; our
claims of brotherhood are only dissolved by death! no, not death can destroy
them! they descend to the widow and the orphan.'

`You have led me to think very differently of your order, James,' said
Lewis; `still it seems to me that christianity, without this, would do all
you pretend.'

`All men, unfortunately, are not christians. The holy principles of the
Gospel have an influence upon only a portion of what is called a christian
community. A society then, that while it gives a new zeal to the christian
who is a member of it, bends down to the observance of christianity, and
a healthy morality to him who is not a christian, is positively a good and
useful institution, and certainly does not militate against christianity. As
I before said, our society is for Earth, christianity for Heaven.'

`I am satisfied. Still I do not see in the daily events of life that you are
better or I am worse for being an `Odd Fellow.' If I could see that it
made you more charitable than you otherwise might be, or that it aided a
human being who otherwise would not be aided, I should be half-disposed
to become an Odd-Fellow.'

`Many is the penniless and friendless wanderer of our order who can attest
to its holy charity!' said James, with feeling. `Its hand reaches the
wide world over. Its language breathes its eloquent tones in the ear of the
wanderer in a foreign land, and his necessities are relieved. If sickness
lays its paralyzing hand upon him among strangers, a brother of the `mystic
tie' administers to his wants, soothes his distresses, furnishes him with
money; if he recovers, to go on his way, or follows him with honorable
burial to the tomb. The sick amongst our own brethren are not left to the
cold hand of public charity. They are visited by the members and their
wants ascertained and provided for by funds, they themselves, in health and
prosperity, had contributed to raise, and which, in times of need, to repeat
the language of another, they can honorably claim, without the humiliation
of suing for parochial relief.'

`But what moral influence does your Order exert over its members? A
fraternity of Charity is not of necessity a school of morals. How are Odd
Fellows in their intercourse with the world better than other men?' inquired
Lewis, apparently interested in the conversation, while the wife of the
eloquent husband sat gazing upon him with the most pleased and absorbed
attention.

`We must know the character of him who applies to be admitted a member
of our Order. It is our sacred duty to keep a watch upon the conduct
of our brethren, even in the common intercourse of life, and in all their
transactions with men, and particularly with one another; to remonstrate
with those who wander from rectitude or trespass upon the rules of morality.
In all ages and in all countries our Order has stood forth the champion
of liberty and religion. Wherever she has erected an altar for her
worshippers she has also dedicated a temple for science and refinement.'

`I am delighted that what Lewis and I have said has led to this conversation,'
said the bride with a face beaming with pleasure. `I am glad, James,
that you are an Odd Fellow, and I shall always think well of all your Order.
You may go to-night. But,' she added, looking mischievously, `I
have one thing to object to in it.'

`What is that?' he asked smiling and half guessing.

`That there is a secret in it. As a woman I must protest against that.'

`That is my objection, too,' said Lewis, `I dislike secret societies. Their
history shows that they have in all ages been productive of great mischief:
been tools of depotism; aiding the cause of bigotry and the designs of the
powerful and bad! If your deeds are so open and honorable why should
your meetings be held in secret and your proceedings in session be veiled
in mystery? Truth fears not the light.'

`It has been said, in opposition to it, that ours is a secret Order by those
who think secrecy is incompatible with innocence. True it is, we are, in
part, a secret society, but is secrecy a crime?'

`Most undoubtedly,' said Mrs. Layton with an arch look. `What woman
would deny it?'

Her husband smiled and then continued, `Secrecy is rather an attribute
of the good. The world itself, the universe, the God of eternal truth, are
surrounded with an impenetrable veil that mortal eye hath never pierced!
Shall their existence be denied because their arcana are not revealed at our
bidding? Shall we pronounce them evil because their operations are hidden
from our view and above our comprehension?'

`Yet what security has the good man who, won by your eloquent account
of your Order, fain would join it that he may bestow and receive, if need
should be, the blessings that emanate from it, what security has he that in
entering within the mystic veil of your Temple he is not committing himself
to an Order, and uniting himself with a set of men, whose outward
charities are but the whitewash to cover all manner of wickedness within?'

`He can judge before hand. To be initiated into our Order is not as you
suppose “to take a leap in the dark.” The fundamental principles of the
Order are before the world! Its deeds are not concealed from public scrutiny.
The constitution and laws of our society are within the reach of all
who wish to examine them.'

`Yet your proceedings are kept secret. You have certain initiatory rites
that are secret! Your arrangements in your halls are mysterious and point
to mysterious ceremonies.'

`Yes, there are mysteries within the inner veil of our altars that no uninitiated
eye can ever behold. It is not the mystery of mere paraphernalia,
but a moral mystery! Solemn and sublime truths are there inculcated that
have never reached the ear of any mortal save he who has been proven
worthy. They have remained there for ages, hallowed archives in the
sanctuary of our temple; may they ever remain, unsullied and inviolate.'

`How enthusiastic, James,' said his wife with surprise. There must be
good in a society that has so warmly enlisted your feelings,' she added, paying
a deserved compliment to his virtues and worth.

`I am almost persuaded to become an `Odd Fellow,' said Lewis, seriously,
yet smiling at his own ardor. `But I must wait first to have some practical
demonstration of its usefulness upon its members. Who else are
`Odd Fellows' that I may as you say `observe their conduct among men?'

`You will find many in Boston among the venerable as well as the youthful,
among the rich and the poor, the humble and the eminent.'

`But who of my friends—?'

James was about to reply when the street door bell was rung, and the
next moment the maid came in and said a man wished to see the master
of the house.

`Ask him in?' said James.

`He says he is too wet—besides, sir, he is a poor looking man and looks
as if he wanted to beg,' akded the girl pertly.

Mr. Layton rose and went to the door, where he saw a man poorly clad,
and looking very destitute, who handed him a dirty, wet paper, and said—

`Read it if you please, sir.'

`I have no time now, my good man,' said James, whose hour to be at the
club had already come. `I suppose from your appearance and the title of
the paper, “To all good Christians,” that you are in need. There is a dol
lar for you. It will get you supper and lodging. Good night.'

`Be so kind as to open the paper, sir; perhaps you might be one of—'
the man hesitated.

His manner led him to comply; and glancing over it his eye rested upon
a mark near the bottom which at once arrested it.

`Ah, my brother, I am very glad I read the paper,' he said in a gratified
tone. `Give me your hand.'

`Thank God! now I am no longer a stranger in a strange land,' said the
man in a grateful voice. `I was in hopes some brother would see that sign
and relieve me.'

`I am glad you have come to me. Walk in, and while you are drying
yourself and takieg a warm cup of tea, I will see what you are in need of.'

This conversation had been but partially overheard in the sitting-room
and left them in mystery as to who the guest was so cheerfully invited in.
When they saw Mr. Layton usher in a young man about twenty six-years
of age, dressed in a thin jacket, though it was the month of February, a
ragged vest and sailor's trowsers and holding in his hand an old torn straw
hat from which the rain was dripping, they started with surprise. He was
truly an object of any one's compassion.

`This is my wife—this her mother! Be seated close to the fire! Catherine
pour out a cup of warm tea for him!'

`You are too kind, sir!' said the grateful stranger.

Catherine obeyed; but all the while was asking her husband with her
eyes what all this meant. Lewis was also sorely puzzled. Mr. Layton sat
down by him, handed the tea and ordered fresh toast for him. When the
poor man had warmed and refreshed himself, he looked round with more
confidence, and meeting Mr. Layton's eye, was answered by a glance of
kindness and sympathy that brought a grateful smile to his pale cheek, and
was not unnoticed by Lewis. Mrs. Layton now, by a side glance, saw that
the man though pale had an intellectual faee, and that his manners were
polite. His voice too, though at first undertoned and humble as was natural
to a person in his position, was agreeable and modulated by feeling.—
he became interested to know who he was.

`It is my duty to apologize to you and your family for my intrusion upon
you in this guise,' he said, understanding the lady's inquiring gaze. `I feel,'
he added, glancing at Mrs. Layton, `that I am among friends, and that my
narrative will be listened to not only with courtesy but with sympathy.'

`James,' said Lewis addressing him in a low tone of voice, `before he
begins, pray relieve my curiosity! is your guest an Odd Fellow?'

`Yes,' answered James with a smile.

`This then accounts for this extraordinary benevolence and unusual hospitality.

`Yes, we are bound to relieve one another whatever the condition either
may be in as brothers.'

`How very singular the coincidence of his appearance with our conversation.'

The stranger then began, as in some sort to apologize for his claim upon
Mr. Layton's hospitality, to narrate his story, to listen to which the latter
dalayed an hour his attendance upon the meeting of the society.

2. CHAPTER II.
The `Camblet Wrapper,' ot the Test of Good Faith.

The story of the Guest with the Torn Hat and ragged habiliments was
full of interest to the little party of listeners, and was narrated in a pleasing
manner, and was briefly as follows: He had been ship-wrecked on
the coast of Maine, about six weeks before, with the loss of everything;
and had been dependent upon the charity of persons in the towns he had
passed through for means to reach Boston, where he knew he should be
assisted to Baltimore, his residence, by the association of Odd Fellows, of
which he was a member. He said he had left Baltimore six months before
as supercargo of a ship bound to the North Sea, and was shipwrecked in
her on his return voyage.

`I had no claim,' he said, proceeding on his narration, `upon the citizens
of the small towns I passed through, beyond the ordinary one of charity,
which has become so often reiterated that I find it has got to be little heeded.
I knew if I could find a brother Odd Fellow I should find a friend and
a home. In Portland I inquired, but found there was no Order established
there; and also in Portsmouth and other towns. Finally, this afternoon
I reached Boston a stranger to every person in it. I had previously drawn
up a paper stating my situation, in which I had put the secret designation
of a membership in my Order, knowing that if by chance I should present
it to a “brother” he would immediately recognize the “mystic sign,” and
extend to me, ragged and wretched as I was, the fellowship of his heart and
hand.'

At these words James Layton turned slightly and glanced both at his wife
and brother-in-law, while a quiet smile of prideful triumph sparkled in his
eye.

`I had been to several houses,' continued the stranger, `without obtaining
even courtesy from the servant at the door, yet hoping Providence would
at length bring me to that of a “Fellow” of our Order, of whom I knew
there was a large number in Boston. I had inquired in the street of two
or three, asking if any of them would tell me where I could find an `Odd
Fellow,' when taking my question as an odd one they called me an “odd
fellow,' and bade me walk about my business! I had passed by your door
when something within me prompted me to turn back, and once more

make an effort; for in finding a member of the order depended my hopes
of sustenance and shelter to-night, as well as my return to Baltimore. I
now feel that Providence prompted me to call at your door, and I cannot
be too grateful for your hospitality and kindness to a stranger.'

`A brother of our Order is never a stranger,' said James, kindly. `I feel
happy in being the instrument of doing you the service you need. Our
brethren meet to-night, and I was going out, when you called, to attend the
meeting. I will lay your case before it to-night, and, as I have no spare
bed, if you will put on this camblet wrapper and oblige me by wearing this
hat—for the night is rough out,—I will accompany you to a comfortable
inn which lies on my way, and find you a lodging. To-morrow at ten
o'clock call on me here, and I will tell you what we have done for you.'

The friendly kindliness of James' voice, and his manner in speaking to
the wayfarer struck both his wife and brother, and his hearty and cordial
hospitality and open-handed benevolence, made a deep impression upon
them. They remained silent for several minutes after Mr. Layton and the
stranger had left, reflecting upon what they had witnessed. At length
Lewis spoke with great emphasis and feeling.

`This is, indeed, wonderful! Henceforth, Catherine, I am an “Odd Fellow.”'

`How very extraordinary,' said Mr. Layton, speaking after a few moments
reflection, that in a Christian land such language should ever fall from the
lips of the destitute: `in finding a member of my Order depended my only
hopes of sustenance and shelter. Truly Christians should be ashamed
that they are outdone in true charity by a mere human association.'

The wants of the wanderer were inquired into by two of the `brethren'
sent early the next morning by the Order, to the inn where James had left
him; and in a short time, under their kind hands, there was a manifest
change made in his wardrobe and external appearance. Money was also
placed by them in his hands, and they parted from him with that fellowship
and good will which is so beautiful a characteristic of their order.

`It is already past ten o'clock, James,' said Lewis, who had waited at
home to see the issue of his brother-in-law's benevolent purposes towards
the guest of the evening before; he was, also, after a night's sleep upon it,
less zealous in becoming an `Odd Fellow.' The arguments of James had
been partially forgotten and their impression in a manner passed away. `I
should not be surprised, brother,' he said, laughing, as the hands of the
clock indicated half-past ten, `if you never saw your new camblet wrapper
more!'

`You will not triumph over me, Lewis,' answered James pleasantly; `he
will yet be here.'

, You were so generous, too, as to loan him your new beaver, bought
lately at Barry's. You had best call in to-day and purchase another—for
your's is by this time at a pawnbroker's, or on its way to Baltimore or Symmzonia!

Did you look, Catharine, to see if anything was missing from the
front entry?'

`You laugh at me, Lewis,' said James Layton; `but rest assured you
will not have the victory.'

`He may be a rogue though an Odd Fellow, and so deceive you.'

`No. The principles of our Order have an influence upon the moral
man that no temptations can weaken or throw aside. If it were not, if he
should prove a rogue, yet I have but done my duty in succoring a `brother.'
I am free the guilt remains with him.'

`And so do the new camblet wrapper and the Barry. If you see either
of them again I will become a member of an Order whose moral power is
such as to bring men's vices into subjection to its principles.'

`Whatever motive, Lewis, may lead you to become an Odd Fellow, you
would, believe me, find it greatly to your interest to be one, especially if
you should travel. Everywhere you would find the hand of fellowship extended
to welcome you, and in the face of a stranger find the smiles of a
friend. But we never urge, not even invite any one. If you will be one of
us, we will open our arms to welcome, love, cherish, defend and befriend
you through weal and in wo.'

`If your friend returns I will offer myself at your next meeting. On his
good faith, you see I have hung the faith and honor of your whole order.'

`And on it I am willing it should hang,' said James firmly. There is the
door bell.'

`If it be your Barry and wrapper I am an Odd Fellow from this day,' said
Lewis laughing.

`A gentleman wishes to see you, Mr. Layton,' said the maid.

`Show him in!'

`Are you sure it is a gentleman and not the man who was here last
night?' asked Lewis.

`Yes, indeed. Don't I know a gentleman from a loafer like him! It
took me half an hour this morning to get the mud from his heels off the
rug! This is a gentleman Mr. Lewis you may be sure on on it.'

`It is not your man, James,' said Lewis with a look of triumph, as the
girl returned to the hall.

`You are right,' said James, as she ushered in a very gentlemanly looking
man who bowing politely stood as if he expected to be recognised.

`You do not know me, I see, sir.'

`Now you speak I do,' said Mr. Layton approaching and extending his
hand. `Now, Lewis,' he said aside, `what think you of my camblet and
Barry.'

His brother made no reply, but stood surveying the stranger with incredulity
and surprise.

`You pardon my delay,' said he, `but I was taken in hand by two `brethren,'
whom your kind mention of my misfortune, brought early to my Inn
this morning; and they would not be satisfied till they had taken me to a

clothing ware-house and provided me with a handsome suit of clothes besides
other conveniences of which I stood in need. It is not a quarter of
an hour since they let me go, when I directly hastened hither. Your hat
and coat, sir, I brought and have left in the hall. I know not how to
thank your hospitality and attention;' he continued pressing James' hand
in both of his own; `I hope you will not fail to present my grateful acknowledgments
to the society which had so generously contributed to my
aid, and accept for yourself and family my best wishes for your happiness.'

`When do you leave?' asked James.

`In the cars this afternoon. I shall be in Baltimore probably in three
days, when I will write you, and assure you that I have not been an unworthy
object of the regard of my order.'

`Pardon my inquiry—but have you money?'

`Yes, furnished me by the two `brethren' sent to execute the will of the
order in my behalf.'

Shortly afterwards Mr. Drumond, for he gave his name as Henry Drumond,
took his leave, followed by the kind wishes both of Lewis and Mr.
Layton.

`Now, Lewis,' said James, as the door closed on their late guest.

`I have sacrificed my prejudices to facts that I can no longer resist. I
must yet ask one indulgence, brother. If the result turns out as I wish, I
will be as strongly the advocate of your Order as I have been its opponent!'

`Name what you wish.'

`Frankly then, I have to confess a lingering suspicion that while it remains,
will not leave me so free to act as I would wish, should I conclude
to be proposed as a candidate for membership in your noble fraternity.
He says he was shipwrecked six weeks ago on the coast of Maine.'

`This can be proved, then, by reference to Topliff's files.'

`No; yet it would be well enough to look for such a shipwreck in the
reporter's list. He said the name of his ship was the `Trident.' But this
is not my object alone. If he was wrecked six weeks ago in Maine, and is
a man of respectable connection in Baltimore, why did he not write from
the first town for means, and there writ till he heard. Ten days would
have brousht him a reply and money if his tale be a true one. Instead of
that he wanders from town to town and is six weeks reaching this city; I
must confess this looks very suspicious.'

`But he returned the coat and hat, brother—this was test enough of his
honesty in his narrative,' said Catherine, who had a moment before entered
the room, and was listening with deep interest to their conversation.

`It was his policy to do so—besides he had no further need of them, being
well supplied both with clothes and money. This goes for nothing
with me, I will wait until he fulfils his promise in writing from Baltimore.
If he writes even I will advance no further objections and shall be ready
most cheerfully to enrol myself in a society which is distinguished by benevolence
so noble and by a code of principles so pure!'

That very day James took Lewis with him to Topliff's; and after turning
over a file of papers for several weeks back, saw under date of December
28, an extract of a letter dated Castine, Me., which read as follows:

`We have had a South East gale blowing hard for the last forty-eight
hours, and last night the ship Trident bound from Copenhagen to Baltimore,
was driven ashore three leagues from— light. Out of a crew
of twenty-one seven have been lost, including the captain and mate. Those
who were saved came ashore with the loss of every thing. The ship is
fast going to pieces and will probably with her cargo, be a total loss. No
insurance. Among those saved are the supercargo and second mate, and
one passenger, a Swede.'

The young men on reading this paragraph silently exchanged looks.
Lewis saw the expression of triumph on James' face and said, as if he
were not altogether disposed to give up,

`This is all very well; but he might have known of the wreck of this
ship, and so told his tale.'

`You are incorrigible, Lewis, I see plainly,' said James, laughing. `I see
you have little faith after all in our Order.'

`Yes I have in it. I believe it now to be all you have said; but I am, I
confess, suspicious of the person who has solicited its charity. It seems so
strange that a perfect stranger to you should have been so handsomely relieved
and suffered to depart. Surely, your open handed benevolence
which admits no suspicion, must leave you exposed to deception.'

`No—for none apply who are not of our Order.

`And you contend that all who are of it are infallible in morals.'

`Yes, so far as the sacred character of our Order's charity is concerned.
There is not on the globe one who would make it the instrument of fraud
or vice.'

`If you get a letter from Mr. Drumond, I am silenced save in praise,'
said Lewis as they parted each to go to his place of business.

James Layton, it is time to say, was a junior partner in an extensive Jeweller's
establishment in Washington street, to which trade he had regularly
served an honorable apprenticeship. His late employer had a few months
before taken him into partnership, and as we have seen he did not long afterwards
remain a batchelor. He lived in genteel style in a pleasant part of
the city, and was prosperous in his affairs; while he was to be envied as we
have witnessed, in the happiness and comfort of his domestic arrangements.
Lewis Foster whose sister he had married, was also a junior partner in a
respectable dry goods store. He was a young gentleman of strict morals
and of considerable intelligence. The warmest friendship had long existed
between the two young men, and nothing had ever occurred to interrupt
the harmony of their fraternal intercourse.

A week—ten days—a fortnight passed, and yet no letter had been received
from Baltimore. Lewis was about to declare himself the victor in

his opinion of the shipwrecked stranger, and James' hopes in his integrity
to misgive him, when a letter mailed at Baltimore was brought from the
post-office. Without opening it James left his store and went to Lewis,
and exhibiting the outside, broke the seal. As he unfolded it hurriedly a
bank note fell from it, and fluttered to the floor. Lewis caught it and exclaimed,

`A hundred dollar note, as I live!—Read the letter!' he cried eagerly.

James read as follows:—

When James had finished the letter he looked up and met Lewis' eye.

`Forgive me James,' he exclaimed warmly and with much feeling. `I
will no doubt, after this, the purity of your Order, nor the principles of its
members, than I do the goodness of your own heart and the excellency of
your understanding. From this hour I am heart and hand with you. In
your next meeting I hope you will not forget to propose me as a candidate
for initiation as a member of the noble association of the `Independent Order
of Odd Fellows.”

3. CHAPTER III.
The “Odd Fellow's Widow,” or the Year of the Epidemic.

The year 183— will long be remembered in New Orleans for the violence
of the yellow fever. Hundreds died daily; and the sounds of wailing
and the groans of the dying took the place of the light laugh and joyous
voices that were wont to be heard in the streets of this gay city. The
epidemic had been raging three weeks with unmitigated fury, mowing down
alike native and stranger, the high and the low, the good and the evil. The
living at length were wearied with nursing, or from habit became insensible
to the calls of distress. Many died unattended, and their bodies were
taken from the house by a man with a cart, and hauled to the grave yard
and there thrown into a wide ditch excavated for their reception. No relative,
no friend, no follower to the tomb! Death, terror and desolation
reigned. The hospitals could receive no more, and the sisters of charity
and benevolent Roman priests, though constantly engaged in administering
to the suffering at the risk of life, could not meet but a small portion of the
demands suffering humanity made upon their charity. The theatres and
the masquerades, as usual at this season were closed, and instead the cathedral
was thronged, and its floor was crowded from morning till midnight
with kneeling suppliants for Heaven's mercy. The rich and all who had
the ability had fled or were flying daily, and of those who remained, all
were too much lost in their own fears of griefs to regard those of others.

In such a condition of things it is not surprising that many, even in respectable
positions in society, should perish unattended, uncared for!
Many a luxurious mansion whose last occupant expired attended only by a
faithful slave, or perhaps a passing stranger, was locked and sealed by the
city magistrate till some living heir should appear. The poor, `the stranger
poor,' were indeed sufferers in this day of terror and despair. Unable
to leave the city for want of means, whole families, lately from the North,
miserably perished.

It was about three in the afternoon of a day that had been most fatal to
the victims of the epidemic, when a gentleman, about twenty-eight or
thirty years of age, stepped from the verandah of a handsome Creole house
in the Lower Faubourg. He was pale, his dress which was all of white
linen, disarranged, and his manner restless. He stood still a moment, then
raised his clasped hands to Heaven and said fervently and bitterly,

`Oh God how long shall thy terrible scourge afflict man? Death and not
Life reigns! Spare, oh spare!'

At this moment an African slave appeared crossing the deserted streets.
On seeing the expression of the gentleman's face, he asked,

`Is massa dead?'

`Yes, go and see that he is shrouded and I will send a coffin. Here is a
load.'

At this moment a wagon turned the corner of the adjoining street half
filled with coffins, many of them unpainted. The slow wagon as it
rolled along the silent, sunny streets, sent forth a hollow sound that went
to the soul. The driver asked if a coffin was wanted; and the black paid
for one and took it into the house.

`Farewell, noble Vinton,' said he, as he glanced through the open win
dows of the verandah upon the dead body of a young man laying upon a
sofa. `When the sun rose you were buoyant with health and full of hope.
Ere it sets you will be in your grave! I, too, must take warning! My
head aches, and walking and want of sleep have made me feverish. I have
done my duty in attending Vinton, and will now seek my home, for Mary
will be anxious about me, as well she may be; for who goes out well at
morn may never see the noon.'

The speaker was Lewis Foster! Five years have elapsed since the events
recorded in the preceding story. During the interval he had married a
lovely girl, James Layton's sister, and removed his business to New Orleans,
where he had now been three years a resident. The summers of
the first two years he passed North, where he went on business; the present
summer he also intended to go on to obtain goods, when he was detained
by his wife's illness, who having shortly before presented him with a
son, his second child, had not recovered sufficiently to enable him to leave
at the time he wished. It was August before she was well enough to travel,
when as the season was so far advanced he resolved to remain through it.
This was also necessary to give him an opportunity of examining his affairs,
as intelligence had reached him that his clerk whom he had sent
North in his place and entrusted with all his money, had proved unfaithful
to his trust and taken passage for Europe. The loss, as his business had
by no means been prosperous, was so great, that he found he should be under
the necessity, unless he could obtain great indulgence from his creditors,
of making over all he possessed to trustees, in a word that he must fail.

He had hardly time for reflection upon the condition of his affairs, with
a wife and two children, when the yellow fever broke out and enlisted all
his feelings and sympathies for his family and those of his friends who remained.

Night and day he devoted himself to the cause of humanity and up to
the time we meet him again, himself and his own family had mercifully

escaped. Vinton's (who was a young Bostonian, and had only been a few
weeks in the city) was the fifth death bed he had bent over that day. James
Layton, his brother-in-law, was also in New Orleans, and an inmate of his
family; this gentleman was now a widower. He had also been unsuccessful
in business, and allured by the rumors of fortunes easily achieved in
New Orleans, had come out the preceding fall. Hundreds of others had
also been tempted like him; and he found that the city was overrun with
them, each in turn doomed to disappointment. He found he could do
nothing, after remaining with Lewis during the winter, he proposed to return
North in the Spring with him and his wife. But her illness detained
him, and he now found himself as well as Lewis, in the midst of a
raging epidemic. He was not one to flee at such a time and leave his friends
in danger. He remained, and, like his brother, devoted himself to the care
of the sick.

Lewis Foster took his way home through the solitary streets at a slow
pace. He carried above his head a thick umbrella, for the sun was fiery
hot. The pavements were so heated as to be painful to his feet. The air
was still, and as difficult to breathe as if coming from the mouth of a furnace.
Not a cloud was in the hazy looking sky; and the dust of the ground
was so pulverized by the drought, as to float for hours after it was disturbed,
and filled the atmosphere, made it still more difficult to breathe. As he
went along, groans of the dying, or shrieks of the living over the just dead,
alone met his ears; save at intervals, the voice of prayer. The dead-cart
occasionally broke the stillness, as it rumbled along slowly with its disgusting
load, ever and anon stopping at a door to add to it. At length, James
reached his abode, a neat verandah cottage with a yard before it, once
green and adorned with flowers; but now parched by the heat and dust.
Mary was at the door and flew to meet him. She threw her arms about
his neck and wept! For meetings and partings, though for a few hours,
at such a time, were not without emotion.

`You are safe, thank God!' she said gratefully.

`And you, dearest Mary,' he said folding her to his heart. `And the
children?'

`Both well. How is Mr. Vinton?'

`Dead,' he answered in a tone that was methodical. This word of so
fearful import was then too common in men's mouths to be uttered with
the emphasis and feeling which belong to it at other times. `Where is
James?'

`A negro came for him to see Charles Wilbur.'

`Charles! I met him on my way to Vinton's not five hours ago, and he
went in with me, laughed with poor Vinton, told him not to give up for he
would get over it, and then left as he said to see a fellow clerk. Is he attacked?'

`James was sent for two hours ago to see him.'

`Poor fellow! I will go to him.'

`No, Lewis! you owe duties to me and the children! You shall not go
again! You will be the next victim, and then what would become of me?'

`God!' answered Lewis, solemnly and impressively, pointing upwards.
`But I will remain with you! James will do every thing for Charles. I
am quite fatigued, and need some rest!'

`Your cheek is flushed and your eyes heavy! Oh, James, if you should
be ill!' cried the wife with anxious solicitude. `How hot your hands are!
your pulse is fearfully rapid! Oh God! what is this! He is ill!' she exclaimed
as her husband suddenly grew pale and sunk into a chair powerless.

She spoke to him but he did not reply. He grew black in the face and
violent vomiting confirmed the fearful suspicion of the poor wife! What
relief was there? What aid? Whom could she call? No one! All
around her were either dying or administering to their own sick! She
gazed upon her husband a moment as if to assure herself of the horrible
truth and then rang the air with piercing shrieks for help! Her voice
penetrated a hundred ears, but produced no effect. It was heard with indifference
and often echoed by the dying with insane wildness. She ceased
her shrieks and administered to him whatever was at hand; and tried to
shut her ears to his groans of agony. It was a terrible scene and hour for
that young and loving wife and mother. At length she heard a foot step.
She looked up. It was James—her brother! But oh, horror! he was
staggering along and his countenance betrayed the fatal signs of the epidemic.

`Mary,' be said faintly, `I have come home to die! As he spoke he fell at
his length upon the floor.

The cup of the poor wife was full. She shrieked not now! She flew to
him and raised him up! She kissed him and bade him live for her! He
embraced her and looking towards Lewis, bade her with his eyes to look
only to him. How dear to her were both. Which could she least regard?
Which could she resign?

But we will not dwell upon a scene so full of pain. After enduring six
hours of suffering, Lewis Foster breathed his last in the arms of his wife,
who the next moment fell in a state of insensibility upon his body. An hour
afterwards she was roused by the dead-carrier, who came to remove the
body; for the red cross had been made upon the door by an officer who had
just before passed in his rounds. She rose up and gazed upon it as if in a
dream. She stood silently in a stupor of horror and saw the men bear him
forth, and then, forgetful that her brother lay dying in the same room, forgetful
of her children, she followed and threw herself upon the corpse.
By main force the men removed her and then drove on. She stood like a
statue till the cart was out of sight, when the sound of her infant's voice

within the house recalled the mother to herself. She clasped her hands in
silent anguish, and sought her fatherless children. James lying on the
floor in the agonies of death, first met her sight. She flew to him and he
soon breathed his last upon her arm.

Again the dead cart came and the body of her brother was borne from
her sight. She sat upon the floor and moved not—nor scarcely breathed as
the men went tramping out. She had her two children firmly clasped to her
bosom as it she feared they would return and deprive her of them!

From this day the plague abated. The number of the victims was each
morning reported less and less, and hope began to take the place of despair
and horror. The widow lived! She had been saved from the pestilence by
the stronger fever of her brain. Life was a blank to her, save that she realized
that her children lived and looked to her for nourishment and life.
In affection for these she strove to forget the past. But the blow had been
heavy! It had stunned her at the first; and now that she could realize it
the anguish of her heart was terrible. A month elapsed and the city authorities
reported the cessation of the pestilence. At once, as if by magic,
a change came over the late city of the plague. The streets were once
more thronged with the gay and the busy, the good and the evil, and the
theatres, masquerades, and gambling chambers again invited their votaries.
The cathedral was less thronged, save by the few humble and grateful;
and the city had thrown aside its veil of mourning and assumed the cap of
mirth and folly. Yet eight thousand beings had been swept from the city
in the seven weeks past!

The tide of business, of pleasure, of vice and human variety once more
rolled on as before. Men began to look after their interests, and the creditors
of Lewis Foster divided his goods, save the furnishing of a single
apartment allotted to his wife. With this furniture she removed to a small
apartment, which she rented. Here she waited for health, for she had
been sick both in mind and body, that she might seek employment in sewing—for
she had nothing. Her only relative was her brother James; and
she had none but Heaven to look to—a blest and blessing trust to all who
have faith so to look. But instead of growing better she became worse
and at length she incurred debts and her physician learning her state, sued
and got judgment for his bill. It was a bright sunny forenoon in December—the
most delightful month in the year in this climate, that Mrs. Foster,
who was lying ill of a fever, with her two babes beside her, both weak
and suffering from want of proper nourishment, was disturbed by the entrance
of an officer. He civilly but firmly made known his business and
proceeded to make an inventory of the furniture of the room.

She made no reply but gazed on him with a vacant look as if not believing
such evil could come upon her and her children. Her eye followed
the motions of the officer with a bewildering gaze, while she pressed her

children closer to her bosom. At length recollection and a proper appreciation
of the truth flashed upon her.

`Surely, you will not leave me destitute?' she cried in an imploring voice.

The officer paused, gazed upon her face still lovely in its pallor and despair
and replied in a tone of sympathy, `I am sorry ma'am, but I have no
discretion!'

She fell back upon her pillow and for a few moments seemed to lay in
silent prayer. The officer suddenly roused her by an exclamation of surprise,
while he held up to her a paper to which was attached a ribbon,
which had fallen from a box he was handling, to the floor.

`Whose is this, ma'am?'

`Do not take that sir—it was my husband's.'

`What was his name?'

`Lewis Foster.'

`The same that is here. Are you aware of his being a member of any
society?' asked the officer respectfully yet with earnestness.

`Yes—of the `Odd Fellows,' in Boston.'

`And he died here of the fever in the fall?' pursued the officer.

`Yes,' she replied, covering her weeping face with her hand.

`Then, dear madam, take heart?' he said approaching her and speaking
kindly. `I am an `Odd Fellow' too; and as the wife of one your misfortune
is sacred to me and my brethren! Take heart, madam! Your debt
to this Doctor shall be paid before night and you and your children shall be
made as comfortable as you can wish. You shall have a Doctor, too, and
a good one, that wont trouble you with any bills, and he shall get you all
well too! Come brighten up! You will hear from me again before noon.'

Thus speaking the officer bade a kind good morning and left her, with a
heart overflowing with gratitude. At twelve o'clock, the officer was good
as his word and made his appearance. He was not alone. A lady and
gentleman (he a wealthy member of the Order) came with him. Their
carriage was at the door and Mrs. Foster and her babes were removed at
once to a luxurious abode. There every comfort was administered to them,
and in a very short time she was entirely restored to health. The smile
once more beamed in her eyes and cheerfulness and serenity took up their
abode in her heart. She is now governess in one of the most desirable
families in Louisiana, and a widower who is a neighbor and a man of great
wealth and refinement of mind and heart, has already proposed for her
hand; whether she will so far bury the memory of Lewis as to accept his
hand will probably soon be decided, probably in the affirmative, for it is
very rare that widows, especially the young and beautiful, remain long unmarried
in the chivalric land of the `sunny south.'