# Orange Grove (Wall)/Chapter 4

"Woods have their blossoms which we ne'er behold, And skies their worlds whose light is never shown, Ocean its treasuries of untold gold, And earth her heroes that are all unknown.
You meet them as you pass, and heed them not; You may not know what hosts before them fell; You may not count the battles they have fought— The wreaths that crown them are invisible,"
In a by-street not far from the mansion of the Claremont's, in a miserable basement, which always, however, bore the marks of tidiness though not of comfort within, might have been seen the other extremes of human life;—poverty without a ray of hope to cheer it; childhood without a smile of joy to welcome it.
Amelia Crawford was two years older than Rosalind, but so pinched was she by want, so stunted in growth, so passionless for want of the little attentions necessary for the healthy expansion of the child's nature, that she seemed more than two years younger.
Her mother had drained the dregs of the terrible cup of suffering presented by the demon of intemperance, rendered still more bitter by the injustice of the law which consigned to the husband the sole control of his wife's person and property.
Surrounded at home by all that could make life joyous and hopeful, she knew no more of its respon​sibilities, or of the world and its hypocrisy than the pets left behind her, when, at the early age of sixteen, she confided all her prospects of earthly happiness to the keeping of another. Too young to comprehend the full nature of the new relation she had assumed, or scan the possibililies of the future, it was only the realization of youth's sunny dreams, enhanced by the rich treasure of an added love. In reply to a suggestion made by a friend who knew Mr. Crawford much better than she did, that the law should be changed which vested the wife's property in her husband at the moment of her marriage, thus exposing her needlessly to all the vicissitudes of fortune that business or speculation may incur, she spoke with a tone of indignation unusual to that gentle nature, "Do you think I would trust myself where I would not trust my property? Whatever is mine shall be my husband's!" a pledge that was fulfilled very differently from what she anticipated. Not naturally an indulgent man, and being ten years the oldest, it was very easy to assume a control to which she unresistingly yielded. He might have been ordinarily kind if strong drink had not made him a tyrant.
Always having borne a good reputation, and scorning drunkenness as if it had been a loathsome reptile, he prided himself greatly on being able to control his appetite; but, on joining a club of young men who met for convivial purposes, he found the power of restraint passing away, and, lacking the strength to resist his associates, resolved to change his residence.
​Though a great trial to the young wife, she followed him unsuspectingly, ignorant of any reason that could induce him to leave the home of her childhood where they were so pleasantly situated. When she ventured to make any inquiry, his manner instantly silenced her, without the wished for information. He hoped that in leaving his old companions and the scene of his temptations he might break off his former habits and save his reputation which he regarded as the apple of his eye, from any imputation by his old friends.
Here he was mistaken. Although moderate drinking was fashionable, the world was not so stupid, as it never is, to regard a man with quite so much favor after he has begun to debase the god-like within him, which it discovers much sooner than he is aware.
For three months he struggled bravely with his appetite, and kept his resolution; but, alas! one of his old companions followed him here, and enticed him again to the terrible abyss whence he had apparently escaped. Knowing the weak side of his character, and exaggerating the facts, he persuaded him that it was a vain attempt to save the respectability already lost, for every body knew the reason of his sudden removal. A certain ingenuousness about Mr. Crawford made him spurn hypocrisy, and these words added to the humiliation already felt. That proud spirit chafed under the galling thought of honor irretrievably gone, and his craving thirst for drink was too strong to be resisted by one whose controlling sentiment was pride rather than principle, and he fell never to rise again.
​Late one evening, after losing heavily by gambling, he tried to drown his mortification and remorse by excessive indulgence, and came reeling home in a state of beastly intoxication. Being his wife's first suspicion of his habits, though she had often wondered what kept him out so late, it gave her a stunning blow, which he had just sense enough to observe. Maddened by the conviction that he had lost the last claim upon the love or reverence of any human being, he vented his raging passions upon her and her sleeping babe.
Mrs. Crawford lacked the strong will, which, if it might have made her more rebellious, would have helped her to rise above her fate, and her native refinement and purity of character revolted at the life of degradation she must live with him. Like a fair and delicate flower rudely transplanted from the warm and genial breezes where it has been tenderly reared, she drooped and faded at the first rough wind. It was true she had shed many bitter tears that year as a gentle child does at the occasional harshness of its parents, and then dries them again and smiles at the first pleasant word, but love always found some excuse in the pressure of business and its vexations, and sought yet to be happy in striving to make him so.
Suddenly hurled from the fond anticipations of the young wife and mother into the overwhelming depths of despair, she saw nothing before her but darkness and desolation. Every night she trembled at the sound of his footsteps, and every morning grew more hopeless and heartsick at sight of him.
​Even the infant in her arms failed to arouse any emotions of joy in her soul. She looked upon him as one born under a curse, and when, a few months after she was called upon to render up her little charge to Him who gave it, did so without a murmur. And when another, and another came and went in quick succession, she felt that it was in mercy God had taken them unto himself. Like one whose great, overwhelming weight of sorrow had checked the ordinary tides of grief, she seemed alike insensible to the ebb and flow of the surging sea of human passion or human affection.
The fourth boy survived the birth and death of the fifth and was quite a sprightly little fellow of three years, bringing a ray of sunshine to the poor mother's soul, for whose sake she was willing to live and suffer. One day a neighbor's child gave him a little kite which to him was the wonder of the age. Seeing his father coming home, he sprang forward to show it to him, when Mr. Crawford seized a stick of wood that lay in his path, which he hurled at him with such force as to injure his spine so seriously he never walked again. After lingering for some months in great pain, he was taken to the fold of his little brothers, safe from farther harm. Mrs. Crawford no longer exhibited the resignation and indifference before shown. Her newly aroused sensibilities lent acuteness to her sufferings, and she felt the full force of a mother's inconsolable bereavement. She prayed for death, but it would not come, as it never does at our bidding. Though so often breaking in upon our most cherished plans, and bearing hence ​our choicest treasures, it is never the lover to be wooed and won.
About three months after Amelia was bom. When laid in her mother's arms, she turned her face away with a look and tone those present could never forget, saying, "God forbid that she should live to suffer what I have suffered; better that she should never see the dawn of another day!" But Amelia was destined to live, to thank God for the life he had given her. She was a dull, spiritless child, yet a close observer could perceive that there was not so much lack of talent, as want of development. Her mother was too broken-hearted to infuse much animation, which was very essential to such a passive nature as Amelia's. She was shy of every body, and her home, poor as it was, constituted her world, for it was all she knew of it. Mr. Crawford was now an abject of constant terror. Unfit for any regular occupation, no hour of the day was secure from his intrusion, and, as if to vex his wife to the utmost, ho sought every means to annoy and abuse Amelia.
The first time she ever manifested any enthusiasm was when accompanying her mother to Mr. Claremont's, she heard the sound of music, and looked up with a pleased expression, saying, "Oh mother, what is that?" He being present, persuaded her to go into the parlor where his wife was playing on the piano. She even permitted him to take her into his lap, sitting like one entranced until the music ceased when she resumed her former listless expression, and slid down immediately to her mother's side. This little incident awakened quite an interest in ​her, and gave rise to various trifling attentions which overcame in a great measure her timidity towards them all, except Rosalind, whom she regarded as a kind of superior being.
She was indeed quite a curiosity to that scrutinizing little personage, which Amelia had tact enough to perceive, knowing very well she was not what she ought to he, and was therefore exceedingly shy of her. Once, being sent there of an errand, she saw a large Newfoundland dog eating from the same dish with a cat, the result of Rosalind's untiring efforts to make them friends from the moment her father introduced the noble looking animal who received no small share of her attention, as she tested him in every possible way to see if he was cross or good natured, and great was her self congratulation for her wonderful achievement, when she saw them sleeping quietly side by side and eating together in the greatest harmony.
Amelia was not accustomed to such scenes of peaceable companionship, which excited her wonder in the highest degree. Seeing Mr. Claremont standing in the door, she ran towards him with unusual animation, saying, "There's a dog and a cat eatin' out of the same scoop, I seed 'em with my own eyes, I did." This quaint exclamation excited the mirthfulness of Rosalind, who was within hearing and burst into a loud laugh.
The timid child shrunk into her herself again, and nothing could induce her to speak another word until she was gone.
Mrs. Crawford was now reduced to extreme pov​erty. She might have provided well for herself and child had they been alone, by her own industry; but words are needless to explain here what is so well known to every drunkard's family.
At times the miserable man experienced all the horrors of a drunkard's remorse; when her feelings of mingled pity and affection banished every other thought. His career was fast drawing to a close, and ended in delirium tremens when Amelia was twelve years old. One of the horrid phantoms of his diseased imagination was that of his little boy whose death he had caused, chasing him with a club, and cursing him with the most fearful oaths. In a comparatively lucid interval, a by-stander, thinking to comfort him said, "Your son is an angel now, interceding for you in the name of a holy Savior's love," but he was quickly interrupted by the raving maniac, who, starting up with glaring eyeballs and convulsive gestures, exclaimed at the top of his voice, "Hush all your deceitful wiles about a Savior and his love and angels, I tell you there's no such thing, nothing but the seven hells of the bottomless pit where we shall all go," followed by such curses and imprecations as would congeal the stoniest heart.
This death-bed scene haunted Amelia for years after, in dreams and in her waking hours, giving her passive nature its first quickening impulse and an unfavorable one too. Its effect on her mother was still more disastrous. The reaction consequent on being so suddenly relieved from all fear and anxiety, and the time now left for reflection, soon produced a melancholy state of mind.
​Memory was plying her busy fingers among the withered leaves of what was once the gay and glorious blossoming of youth, and retrospection sternly casting accounts of the blighted joys, bleeding affections and blasted hopes of a life that had promised at its opening to be as bright and beautiful as Mrs. Claremont's. How vividly rose to mind the bright anticipations with which she had stepped from the threshold of a dear and luxurious home, to share the destiny of one whom she reverenced as the embodiment of all that is great and noble, and what a destiny it had been! Then how quickly faded the memory of his faults and vices before that overpowering love which sought to palliate them through the mediation of surrounding influences or some short-coming of its own, and which magnified his virtues in the same proportion.
It is no blind idolatry that makes the virtues of departed ones so far outweigh their faults to surviving friends, but a prophetic intuition soaring to the higher life the spirit attains as it ascends from the ills flesh is heir to, which beholds it transfigured into the divine symmetry designed by its original Architect, and which is the birth-right of immortality.
It is hard to conquer human nature. How fondly we cling to the perishing clay even when wasted by disease, and the mental faculties are impaired by suffering, with a strength of affection unknown before. It is the conflict of flesh with spirit, of mortality with immortality—a crisis of love.
Mrs. Crawford was too much prostrated, mentally ​and physically, to pass it safely. Her constitution gradually gave way, and after four years of great unhappiness she died. Thus ended these two lives, a sacrifice to the fell spirit of Mammon, which, like a desolating scourge, annually sweeps its thousands of victims from the strength and pride of the land, the whole extent of which will never be known until the grave shall be endowed with the marvellous faculty of speech.
Who is responsible for this state of things? To whom shall be addressed the question, Where is thy brother? Not alone to him whose avarice has cased his feelings in a rock of adamant, or who indirectly contributes his influence by permitting these wholesale traffickers in the ruinous poison to walk unblushingly into the ranks of respectable society, but to that other half of the human race who have hitherto been the unresisting sufferers, the silent victims from whose dark and fathomless abyss of deep and bitter woes should arise an appeal to the feelings and conscience of that ever shifting, but ever ruling element, public opinion, thereby gaining access to the various channels through which it is moulded into law, and, speaking in the name of all that is pure and holy in womanhood, demand that it shall no longer be desecrated by permitting that Gorgon of pollution to rear its head under the name of respectability and success, as it now does at the ballot-box.