Rich Enough | Page 5

see this eager pursuit of gain robbing him of the pleasures of domestic life, of the recreation every father ought to allow himself to receive from the innocent conversation and sports of his children. He cannot spare time for travel--to become acquainted with the beautiful views of our own country. To you, who knew him, as I did, full of high and noble perceptions, this is a melancholy change."
Howard was silent; he remembered his brother's early restless desire of wealth, strikingly contrasted with his own indifference to it. Frances judged of his character by that period of life when all that is imaginative or sentimental is called into action;--she judged him by the season of first love. She little supposed that the man who was contented to ramble with her over hill and dale, who could bathe in moonbeams, and talk of the dewy breath of evening and morning, as if it came from "Araby the blest," would one day refuse to quit the bustle of State Street, or the dark, noisy lumber of India Wharf, to gaze on the Falls of Niagara, because it could not thunder money in his ear! that his excursions were to be confined to manufactories, coal-mines, rail-road meetings, and Eastern lands. This development of character had been gradual, and she scarcely realized his entire devotion to business, till she saw his health affected by that scourge of our "pleasant vices," dyspepsy. She expressed her apprehensions to Howard, and begged him to use all his influence to break the spell.
"I can think of nothing that will have more effect," said Howard, "than for you to accept my wife's invitation, to pass a few weeks with us in the country. This will occasionally withdraw my brother from the city, and it appears to me that your own health may be benefited by the change." He was struck with his sister's altered appearance, with the occasional flush, the short, low cough; yet she said she was well--"only a slight cold."
At length she promised to be with them the ensuing week, provided her husband could make arrangements to go with her. "If he knows that I depend on him," said she, "it will be the strongest inducement for him to quit the city for a few days."
Mr. Draper returned late in the evening, and had only time to complete his business affairs with his brother, who departed early the next morning.
CHAPTER II.
The spring had returned with its new-born beauty, its swelling buds, it tender grass; here and there a tree in the city anticipated the season of leaves, and put forth its verdant honors. "Now, ma'am," said Lucy, who had long been a faithful domestic in the family, "if you are going particular, and don't expose yourself by going into the garden, and will take the cough-drops regularly, morning and evening, you will get rid of your cold. This is just the season when every body gets well that got sick as you did."
"How was that?" said Mrs. Draper.
"Why, when the sap was going down the trees in the autumn; but now it is going up."
But whether the sap had already gone up, or for some other reason, which was as clear to human perception, Francis did not shake off her wearing cough. Mr. Draper was not alarmed at it; it was very unobtruding, and he had become used to it. It was not one of those vulgar, hoarse coughs, that, till we connect danger with it, often excites indignation in those who are listening to an interesting narrative, or to a reader, who is obliged to wait till the impertinent paroxysm is over. Mrs. Draper's was quite a lady-like cough, low and gentle, and seemed rather like impeded respiration.
Visiters would sometimes observe, when they went away, "Mrs. Draper is still a handsome woman, though she has lost her bloom. What a pity she has that affected little cough! it really spoils her; it is nothing but a habit; she could easily break herself of it, if any body would be honest enough to tell her." This task rested with Lucy alone; but it was all in vain. Frances took the cough-drops morning and evening, and still the disagreeable habit remained. Mr. Draper was very little at home; and when he was, his mind was engaged by new projects. Anxiety, however, did not rob him of sleep: he was too successful; he seemed to have the Midas- like art of turning every thing to gold:--his thousands were rapidly accumulating, and half a million was now the point at which he determined to stop. Mrs. Draper's slight cough did not attract his attention; but if her appetite failed, he grew anxious, and feared she was not well.
Week after week passed, and still it was impossible for Mr. Draper to