"None but friends," there.

The victim that Nannette went to put in place, was a young clergyman, like other men in the vigor of youth, possessed of like pa.s.sions. He would have sought a wife, but his salary would not support one in the style that she would demand, or his congregation expect their pastor to maintain; and so he sought indulgence where he had found out accidentally that some of the members of his own church had sought it for themselves.

He had slipped in, with handkerchief over his face, just before Mrs.

Laylor went out. She told him that she was going to the railroad depot to meet a young woman from the country, a dress-maker, whom she had sent for, to come and make a few dresses for her and "my daughter," as she unblushingly, called Nannette, who, she said, "had been away from home, at school."

The words were true, yet the speech was a lie, a wicked lie, made to deceive one who had been unwary enough to put his finger in a trap. She had been away from home, a home where she left a mother, and brothers, and sisters. And she had been at school--a school where language and manners are taught; but, oh! what language, and what ways, and manners.

It is a school which is computed to have thirty thousand teachers in this city.

What strange inconsistencies our human nature is possessed of. This Nannette had naturally a good heart. We saw that in the scene where Mrs.

Morgan discovers the depth of depravity to which one of those teachers had dragged down her husband. Yet, no sooner is Athalia placed by misfortune in a position to be subject to temptation, than she offers her gratuitous services to Mrs. Laylor, to effect her complete ruin.

What for? Who can answer? I cannot, unless the fable of the fox that lost his tail in a trap, will give a cue to the solution. I fear, that we are too apt to wish others no better than ourselves. It must have been some such motive that actuated Nannette: the little pecuniary advantage offered by Mrs. Laylor for her a.s.sistance, does not seem to be a sufficient motive for one female, though she herself has lost the priceless jewel of female virtue, to wish to bring another of her s.e.x into that vortex which engulfs all who come within its maelstrom power, as certain as that upon the Norway coast. Be the motive what it may, she had certainly lent herself this day, as a willing tool, to do a double deed of wrong.

I cannot name the clergyman who was to be made--had been made--the victim in this nefarious plot, because he is still living, and has paid the penalty of ruined health for visiting such a house, and a still greater penalty of a gnawing conscience for the sin, and the lies told to cover it up.

As a _nom de plume_, I will call him, Otis, because it is the most dissimilar to his own, of any one I can think of.

Otis had been tempted to visit this house, as I said before, by a natural strong pa.s.sion, but that would have been insufficient, had not a sort of Paul Pry friend told him of the delinquency of one of his flock, and urged him to watch him. He did so, saw him enter the house with a woman, certainly not his wife, charged him afterwards, with a view to his reformation, and was met with a plump denial of the character of the place, and even threatened with exposure of his attempt to watch and pry into other peoples' business. Goaded with such an accusation, he retorted upon his informer, and he in his turn reiterated the charge, and urged Otis to "call on a professional (that is pastoral) visit," and satisfy himself.

This he did, and found the house most genteelly and richly furnished; the owner, "a widow, living," she said, "upon the interest of money in bank,"--she meant the interest of bankers' money--a very modest, genteel lady, very much pleased to have him call, and begged him to repeat the visit "some afternoon or evening when the young ladies, her nieces and daughter, would be at home, and if he was fond of music, they would play for him, and one of them could sing beautifully." She could sing the "Mermaid's song." He was completely deceived. Who might not be by such a siren? The truth is, that her penetrating eye had seen at a glance quite down into his very secret thoughts, and that he possessed pa.s.sions which she could inflame and turn to account, and she laid all her plans to that end. Although satisfied, after one or two visits, that all the inmates of the house were correct, he had his suspicions aroused as to those who visited them, for he could not help noticing the fact, that while he was there one evening, there were no less than five calls, apparently of couples, who were received in a dark hall, with whispered words, and then went upstairs, and after awhile went out in the same quiet way. Twice, he saw through the crack of the door that the ladies were veiled with thick dark veils, such as we meet every day upon the Broadway side-walk. But the most convincing thing of all, was an incautious word spoken aloud by one of the visitors as Mrs. Laylor was letting him out. He knew the voice. It was the man whose conduct had led him first to this house. Then he was so well satisfied, that he told Mrs. Laylor his suspicions, and she acknowledged that she did sometimes let a room to a gentleman and lady, but to none except persons of the highest respectability, such as himself, for instance. That was a cue.

He took it and fell into the snare. She agreed "for a consideration," to introduce him to one of the most respectable ladies, upon the understanding that she was to remain closely veiled,--as the whole proceeding was to be veiled from the Argus eyes of the world.

The "respectable lady" was drawn from the same house to which we have before had an introduction; in short, she was the same "lady" in whose room Athalia saw her husband from Nannette's room. With Otis she played the part of "clergyman's widow," and for that purpose always dressed in deep mourning, just as her sisters in sin do now every day in the fashionable promenades of this city; and she played it well, until one night, after having taken one bottle extra between them, for he had not yet learned that wine drinking was but little better than whiskey drinking, "she let out on him," in such a manner that his eyes were opened, and he determined to leave the house. But he had tasted sin, and who that has, but well knows how much harder it is afterwards to resist the temptation?

So he came back. What an excuse he made to conscience as he did so!--That it was only to upbraid the woman for deceiving him. He deceived himself. First, in trusting himself in a deceitful woman's power; and, secondly, in supposing that after she had deceived him once, she would not again. This last visit was upon the very night in which Athalia was introduced into the house, and hence the lies to inflame his mind, and the art made use of to give him a stolen glance of her face.

It is no wonder that the first man fell, when "tempted of a woman." It is idle to talk of our power to withstand their seductive arts. Otis was entrapped again. The sight of Athalia's beauty inflamed his already wine-heated blood, and he readily offered Mrs. Laylor a hundred dollars to bring about a successful negociation. This was just what she intended--what she expected--she had baited her trap high, and the game was already caught. And he was not the only one she intended to catch with the same bait. She intended to use her as a profitable investment upon all her "regular customers"--for all such houses boast of such--as long as she could make the lie of "fresh from the country," pa.s.s as current coin. She little thought, and cared less, how many lies she had to contrive and tell Athalia, before she could accomplish her purpose.

It does seem as though, when a woman loses her own virtue, that she imagines all her s.e.x have lost or would lose theirs just as easy as herself.

"I drag down," should be graven upon the brow of every one of her cla.s.s.

Whether man or woman, whoever comes within their influence--and who does not, since they are permitted to go forth at noonday through the thoroughfares of this city, seeking whom they may devour, and all night long they show their brazen faces in the streets, "picking up" poor fools for victims, whom they drag down--true, they go willingly--to their dens of destruction.

It does seem as though when a man loses his balance so far as to fall into the influence of such a woman, that he is "ready to believe a lie even unto his own d.a.m.nation." How else could Walter Morgan--there are a great many Walter Morgans--leave such a wife as Athalia for such a Jezebel as he did? How else did such a man as Otis, whose business it was to watch the fold, allow the wolf to enter and carry off the shepherd? Why, after he had found out how much he had been cheated, did he believe the lies of the cheat again? Who can answer? I cannot. I can only say, that in this branch of intoxication, the only safe rule is that of the teetotaller, "touch not, taste not, handle not;" and it must be more rigidly applied in the one case than the other. A man may possibly touch liquor and drink not. Can he play with a harlot and not fall? Otis should have preached a sermon, not to his congregation, but to his own conscience in his own closet, from this text:

"For a wh.o.r.e is a deep ditch: and a strange woman is a narrow pit.

"She also lieth in wait as for a prey, and increaseth the transgressions among men."

She certainly had increased the transgressions in the case of Otis, and she lay in wait for Athalia as a prey.

Otis would have sought an introduction immediately, for wine had mastered reason; wine, that is made expressly for such houses, had inflamed his blood.

This the master-piece of iniquity knew would never answer. But she promised him that for the sum named, she would bring about the desired interview.

"To-night?"

"Yes. At least she would try."

"To-night or never! To-night is the last night that I shall ever set foot in your house. I have registered a vow in heaven to that, and I will keep it."

So he did. He had good cause to remember that night.

Mrs. Laylor saw that he looked as though he intended to keep it, and as he had been fool enough to tell her so, she at once determined to fool him to her own profit. So she promised him that he should have his utmost desire, and upon that she ordered up another bottle of wine, urged him to drink and amuse himself with the young ladies, while she went up and "smoothed the way."

There is but little need of smoothing the way that leads nearly every young man, who visits such places, to destruction. But she had a way to smooth. It was her last chance with this victim, and she determined on profit and revenge.

In due time she came in, and reported favorably.

"The lady would see him, in consideration of his profession, upon one condition--that he would not seek to learn her name, or anything about her, and that he should not see her face."

What did he care for that, since he had already seen it, and it was daguerreotyped upon his heated imagination, so that he would know her whenever he should meet her afterwards in the street.

Let the curtain of night fall. The sun shone into an eastern window of No. -- H----n street the next morning, while Otis still slept. Its bright rays awakened him to the startling consciousness of having over-slept himself after a night of debauch. How should he get away without being seen? The thought troubled him sorely. But he soon determined what he would do; he would steal the veil from the face of the sleeping beauty to hide his own, and then slip out by the bas.e.m.e.nt door, perhaps unseen. What harm could it do to her, since he had seen and knew the face so well?

He dressed himself hurriedly, then gently drew the veil away, with a salvo to his conscience that he would not then see her face, he would look the other way. His conscience would have been more easy afterwards if he had kept that resolve. He could not. The glance at Athalia's beauty the night before had maddened him, and he turned, as he was going out of the door, to look back where she slept, and steal--"Thou shalt not steal"--he had forgotten that--steal one more glance. He did, but instead of the face of Athalia, he saw that of a common street-walker--a young harridan--and he rushed from the room with the full weight of a burning conscience for his folly, with a feeling of self-degradation at being victimized a second time by the same deceitful woman; hating himself and everybody else; dreading to meet any one he knew, and, finally, encountering in the bas.e.m.e.nt hall, striving to get out in the same sly way, the very man whom he had first taken to task for visiting this den of infamy. What a recognition! Neither could speak, so intense was the thought in the mind of each that the other might ruin him by simply revealing the truth. Strange that neither thought how little the other would dare to speak, least it should be inquired, "How did you know he was there? Where was you?"

Otis said afterwards to an acquaintance of mine, a physician, whom he was obliged to consult in consequence of that sinful night, that he could not conceive any agony more intensely painful in this life than that which he endured the next Sabbath, when he arose in the pulpit and looked down upon the congregation, but saw nothing, could see nothing, but that one pair of eyes glaring upon him just as they did the morning he met them in the hall of that house where he had been so disgraced.

"I little knew then," said he, "as I did afterwards, that he felt just as bad as I did, for he told me that it seemed to him that I was about to denounce him to the whole congregation. So intense had this feeling become, that he was on the point of seizing his hat and rushing out when the words burst from my lips, 'if thou knowest aught of thy brother's failing, cover it up from the rude gaze of the world, for it can profit them nothing to know of his faults.'

"'Go to him privately and speak kindly, and he will reform!' So he did, to our mutual benefit."

This relieved the mind of Otis, but it did not save him from the sad effect of a poisoned, neglected system, but it cured him from visiting places where he was ashamed to show his face. It taught him that "the way of the transgressor is hard." He had one more trial. He had not paid Mrs. Laylor the hundred dollars promised while heated with wine, for he felt that she was not ent.i.tled to it, and he had no such sum to spare.

Late one Sat.u.r.day night he received a note from the lady, requesting immediate payment, and threatening exposure in church the next day if he failed to make it instanter. He had not so much money in the world, and knew no way by which he could get it immediately. He was in an agony of fear all the evening. The only man to whom he dared apply either for money or advice, the man who was equally guilty, was out of town. What should he do? He did what every Christian should do. He opened his Bible, and the first words, that his eyes fell upon were, "ask and it shall be given you."

He did ask, and ask earnestly, what shall I do? Before he had done asking, the door bell rang and a letter marked "private--by express,"

was laid upon his table. A glance at the superscription told him it was from the man he was so anxious to see.

He opened and read:

"MY DEAR FRIEND OTIS,

"I have had a sort of presentiment upon my mind that you were about to be distressed for that hundred dollars, and as I am well aware that you never would have been placed in jeopardy if I had not first done wrong, I beg you to accept the enclosed check for that amount.

"I need not say who it is from."

How strange, how opportune, how quick the answer to his asking had come back. What a load it lifted off his mind. It is not the first load that prayer, earnest, sincere prayer, has lifted. He was relieved in more ways than one; he had repented of his folly, and had become a better and a wiser man. Gold is refined of its adhering dross by fire. Otis still lives, and every day he warns some one, not only of the folly and sin, but the danger, of visiting that cla.s.s of houses, if only from curiosity. They are all traps for the unwary, and gulfs into which the soul sinks blindfold down to perdition.

We have lost sight of Athalia. Let us return to her--she will need all our sympathy, for she stands upon the very brink of a precipice, over which though many have fallen, few ever returned.

Mrs. Laylor manifested the greatest sympathy for Athalia that one friend could for another. She gave her the most private room in the house, and a.s.sured her that she should be welcome to it just as long as she pleased; "but of course," she said, "you will not remain a moment, after you get your things from that wicked woman. Now what can I do to a.s.sist you?"

This was said in such a kind, sympathizing manner, that a more suspicious mind than hers might have been deceived; and she answered, "Oh, you can do a good deal. I am afraid to go out, particularly to go to that house, or that woman, and I want my keepsakes. I have got seventy dollars, and I will give it freely if I can get them again."

She did not see the glisten of the eye, or the avaricious clutch of the hand, as that miserly woman thought, "I will have that." She only heard the soft tones of her voice as she said, "my dear Mrs. Morgan, I will take it and see what I can do, but I am really afraid it is not sufficient to induce her to part with them, as you say they are actually worth more money."

"What shall I do then? I feel as though I could not part with them, and in such a way too, that is worse than all. I would have sacrificed them in a moment for that man, if he had been sick and suffering, for want of food or medicine."

"Well, well, my dear friend, do not worry yourself. Remember that you have friends, kind sympathizing friends, who will do more for you than they would for themselves. I will go directly and see what can be done if you will give me the money."