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diff --git a/20018-h/20018-h.htm b/20018-h/20018-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..03bd030 --- /dev/null +++ b/20018-h/20018-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11259 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Evenings at Donaldson Manor, by Maria J. McIntosh. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + a[title].page { + position: absolute; + right: 2%; + font-size: x-small; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + background-color: inherit; + display: inline; /* set to "none" to make page numbers disappear */ + } + a[title].page:after { + content: attr(title); + } + p { text-indent: 1.5em; + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + em.gesperrt { + letter-spacing: 0.35ex; + padding-left: 0.35ex; + font-style: normal; + } + + em.antigua { + font-family: monospace; + font-style: normal; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + table.poem { margin:0px auto; } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .contents {margin-left: 25%;} + .contents_chapter { + } + .contents_section {margin-left: 3.5em; + text-indent: -1.5em; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .right-indent {text-align: right; margin-right: 1.5em; } + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .tocheader {font-size: 130%;} + + .dbooklist {margin-left: 10%} + .pbooklist {text-indent: -1.5em;} + + .letterdate {text-align: right; margin-top: 2em;} + + .lettersig {text-align: right; margin-bottom: 2em;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .trnotes {border: dashed 1px; background-color: silver; color: inherit;} + .trnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .trnote .label {position: absolute; left: 9%; text-align: right;} + + .index {text-indent: 0em;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i12 {display: block; margin-left: 12em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i16 {display: block; margin-left: 16em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i7 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Evenings at Donaldson Manor, by Maria J. McIntosh + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Evenings at Donaldson Manor + Or, The Christmas Guest + +Author: Maria J. McIntosh + +Release Date: December 4, 2006 [EBook #20018] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVENINGS AT DONALDSON MANOR *** + + + + +Produced by Ralph Janke and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>Maria J. McIntosh's Works.</h1> +<h2><i>PUBLISHED BY D. APPLETON & CO</i></h2> + +<hr style='width: 25%;' /> + +<h4>I.</h4> +<h2>EVENINGS AT DONALDSON MANOR; +OR, THE CHRISTMAS GUEST.</h2> + +<h3>BY MARIA J. McINTOSH.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>Illustrated with Ten Steel Engravings, 8vo., cloth, gilt edges, $3; morocco, $4.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The whole sparkle with strokes of pleasantry and lively criticism, and ever and +anon reveal most delightful pictures of fireside groups. A high-toned morality pervades +the whole. We feel sure that the book will be a general favorite."—<i>Commercial Advertiser.</i></p> + +<p>"It is a book that parents may buy for their children, brothers for their sisters, or +husbands for their wives, with the assurance that the book will not only give pleasure, +but convey lessons of love and charity that can hardly fail to leave durable impressions +of moral and social duty upon the mind and heart of the reader."—<i>Evening Mirror.</i></p></div> + + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<h2>WOMAN IN AMERICA; +HER WORK AND HER REWARD.</h2> + +<h3>BY MARIA J. McINTOSH.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>One Volume, 12mo., paper covers, 50c.; cloth, 75c.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"We like this work exceedingly, and our fair countrywomen will admire it still more +than we do. It is written in the true spirit, and evinces extensive observation of society, +a clear insight into the evils surrounding and pressing down her sex, and a glorious determination +to expose and remove them. Read her work. She will win a willing way to +the heart and home of woman, and her mission will be found to be one of beneficence +and love. Truly, woman has her work and her reward."—<i>American Spectator.</i></p> + +<p>"We thank Miss McIntosh for her 'Woman in America.' She has written a clever +book, containing much good 'word and truth,' many valuable thoughts and reflections, +which ought to be carefully considered by every American lady."—<i>Protestant Churchman.</i></p></div> + + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<h2>CHARMS AND COUNTER-CHARMS. +</h2> +<h3>BY MARIA J. McINTOSH. +</h3> +<p class='center'><i>One Volume, 12mo., cloth, $1; or in Two Parts, paper, 75c.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"This is one of those healthful, <i>truthful</i> works of fiction, which improve the heart +and enlighten the judgment, whilst they furnish amusement to the passing hour. The style +is clear, easy and simple, and the construction of the story artistic in a high degree. We +commend most cordially the book."—<i>Tribune.</i></p></div> + + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<h2>TWO LIVES; OR, TO SEEM AND TO BE.</h2> + +<h3>BY MARIA J. McINTOSH.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>One Volume, 12mo., paper covers, 50c.; cloth, 75c.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The previous works of Miss McIntosh, although issued anonymously, have been +popular in the best sense of the word. The simple beauty of her narratives, combining +pure sentiment with high principle, and noble views of life and its duties, ought to win +for them a hearing at every fireside in our land. We have rarely perused a tale more +interesting and instructive than the one before us, and we commend it most cordially to +the attention of all our readers."—<i>Protestant Churchman.</i></p></div> + + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<h2>AUNT KITTY'S TALES.</h2> + +<h3>BY MARIA J. McINTOSH.</h3> + +<p class='center'><i>A new edition, complete in One Vol., 12mo., cloth, 75c.; paper, 50c.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>This volume contains the following delightfully interesting stories: "Blind Alice," +"Jessie Graham," "Florence Arnott," "Grace and Clara," "Ellen Leslie; or, the Reward +of Self Control."</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="POPULAR_BOOKS_FOR_DOMESTIC_READING" id="POPULAR_BOOKS_FOR_DOMESTIC_READING"></a>POPULAR BOOKS FOR DOMESTIC READING</h2> +<h3><b>PUBLISHED BY D. APPLETON & CO.</b></h3> + +<p class='center'>∴ Most of these volumes may be had in cloth, gilt edges, at 25 cts. per vol. extra.</p> + +<hr style='width: 25%;' /> + + +<h3><b>GRACE AGUILAR'S WORKS.</b></h3> + +<div class='dbooklist'> +<p class='pbooklist'>1. HOME SCENES AND HEART STUDIES. 12mo., cloth, 75 +cents; paper cover, 50 cents.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>2. THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth, $1.50.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>3. THE WOMEN OF ISRAEL. 2 vols. 12mo., clo. $1.50, pap. $1.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>4. THE MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE. 12mo., cloth, 75 cents; +paper, 50 cents.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>5. THE VALE OF CEDARS; or, the Martyr. 12mo., cloth, 75 +cts.; paper, 50 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>6. WOMAN'S FRIENDSHIP; a Domestic Story. 12mo., cloth, +75 cts.; paper, 50 cts.</p></div> + + +<h3><b>MRS. ELLIS'S LAST WORK.</b></h3> + +<div class="dbooklist"> +<p class='pbooklist'> HEARTS AND HOMES; a Story. Two parts bound in 1 vol. +8vo., cloth, $1.50; paper, $1.</p></div> + + +<h3><b>MISS SEWELL'S WORKS.</b></h3> + +<div class="dbooklist"><p class='pbooklist'>1. THE EARL'S DAUGHTER; a Tale. 12mo., cloth, 75 cts., +paper, 50 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>2. GERTRUDE; a Tale. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, 75 cts.; paper, 50 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>3. AMY HERBERT. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, 75 cts.; paper, 50 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>4. MARGARET PERCIVAL. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth $1.50; paper, $1.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>5. LANETON PARSONAGE. 3 vols. 12mo., clo., $2.25; pap., $1.50.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>6. WALTER LORIMER, with other Tales. Illustrated. 12mo., +cloth, 75 cts.; paper, 50 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>7. JOURNAL OF A SUMMER TOUR. 12mo., cloth, $1.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>8. EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 12mo. (Just ready.) Cloth, 75 +cts.; paper, 50 cts.</p></div> + + +<h3><b>MISS McINTOSH'S WORKS.</b></h3> + +<div class="dbooklist"> +<p class='pbooklist'>1. EVENINGS AT DONALDSON MANOR. 12mo., clo., 75 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>2. TWO LIVES; or, To Seem and To Be: a Tale. 12mo., cloth, +75 cts.; paper, 50 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>3. AUNT KITTY'S TALES. 1 vol. 12mo., clo., 75 cts.; pap., 50 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>4. CHARMS AND COUNTER-CHARMS; a Tale. 1 vol. 12mo., +cloth, $1; paper, 75 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>5. WOMAN IN AMERICA. 12mo., cloth 62 cts.; paper, 50 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>6. THE LOFTY AND THE LOWLY. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth. +(Just ready.)</p></div> + + +<h3><b>JULIA KAVANAGH'S WORKS.</b></h3> + +<div class="dbooklist"> +<p class='pbooklist'>1. DAISY BURNS. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, or paper. (Just ready.)</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>2. MADELEINE; a Tale. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, 75 cts.; paper, 50 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>3. NATHALIE; a Tale. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, $1; paper, 75 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>4. WOMEN OF CHRISTIANITY. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, 75 cts.</p></div> + + +<h3><b>WORKS BY A. S. ROE.</b></h3> + +<div class="dbooklist"> +<p class='pbooklist'>1. TO LOVE AND TO BE LOVED. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, 63 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>2. JAMES MONTJOY. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, 75 cts.; paper, 62 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>3. TIME AND TIDE. 1 vol. 12mo., 62 cts.; paper, 38 cts.</p></div> + + +<h3><b>LADY FULLERTON.</b></h3> + +<div class="dbooklist"> +<p class='pbooklist'>1. GRANTLEY MANOR; a Tale. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, 75 cts.; paper, +50 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>2. ELLEN MIDDLETON; a Tale. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, 75 cts.; +paper, 50 cts.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="EVENINGS" id="EVENINGS"></a>EVENINGS</h2> + +<p class='center'>AT</p> + +<h1>DONALDSON MANOR;</h1> + +<p class='center'>OR,</p> + +<h3>The Christmas Guest.</h3> + + + +<h3>BY MARIA J. McINTOSH,</h3> + +<p class='center'>AUTHOR OF</p> + +<p class='center'>"TWO LIVES," "CHARMS AND COUNTER-CHARMS," ETC., ETC.</p> + + + +<h5>A NEW REVISED EDITION.</h5> + + +<table border='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh Winter! ruler of the inverted year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I crown thee king of intimate delights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness."<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class='right-indent'><span class="smcap">Cowper</span>.</p> + +<h4>NEW-YORK:<br/> +D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY,<br/> +AND 16 LITTLE BRITAIN, LONDON.<br/> +1853.</h4> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_5' id='Page_5' title='5'> </a><a name="PREFACE_TO_THE_ENGLISH_EDITION" id="PREFACE_TO_THE_ENGLISH_EDITION"></a>PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION.</h2> + + +<p>In Miss McIntosh we fondly and proudly greet a transatlantic +sister, and as delightedly introduce her, a +"<span class="smcap">Christmas Guest</span>," to our own home circle. She is +worthy of all honor and affection.</p> + +<p>Miss McIntosh's writings are eminently pure in feeling—tender, +graceful, and elegant in manner. Their +moral, simply and unstrainedly developed, is invariably +excellent—generously exciting, stimulating, encouraging +all the noblest energies of our nature. To use her own +words, addressed to her friends in America, and with +equal propriety may they be accepted by the rising generation, +and by every grade of society, at every period of +life, in her unforgotten fatherland—"From the examples +she will present to them, they may learn that to the +brave and true and faithful heart, 'all things are possible'—that +he who clings to the good and the holy amidst +temptation and trial, will find peace and light within +him, though all without be storm and darkness; and +that in a right understanding and unfaltering perform<a class='page' name ='Page_6' id='Page_6' title='6'> </a>ance +of duty—not in the pomps and pleasures of a self-indulgent +life, lie our true glory and happiness."</p> + +<p>Not a tale, not a sketch, not an appeal to the heart +or to the mind in any form, does our fair sister commit +to paper, that is not pervaded, though unobtrusively, by +a strain of the sweetest, gentlest, most cheerful and soul-elevating +piety; it is hers at once to soothe, to charm, +and to exhilarate.</p> + +<p>Our "<span class="smcap">Christmas Guest</span>" well knows how to furnish +forth a feast of infinite variety. Few, if any, will +arise from a perusal of her delightful "word-painting" +of life, incident, adventure, and character, without being +wiser, better, happier; without enjoying a more entire +confidingness in Heaven—in <span class="smcap">Him</span>, that <i>God of love and +goodness</i>, whom Christians unite to worship.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">London</span>, December 4, 1850.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_7' id='Page_7' title='7'> </a><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td> </td><td align='left'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#INTRODUCTORY">Introductory</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_MAIN_CHANCE">The Main Chance</a></span>,"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_CRADLE_SONG">The Cradle-Song; a free translation from Körner</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_BROTHERS">The Brothers; or, in the Fashion, and Above the Fashion</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#LOSS_AND_GAIN">Loss and Gain; or, Hearts versus Diamonds</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_BIRDS_RELEASE">The Bird's Release. By Mrs. Hemans</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_YOUNG_MISANTHROPE">The Young Misanthrope</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#LIFE_IN_AMERICA">Life in America</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#SUNDAY">Sunday</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#EVENING_HYMN">Evening Hymn</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a class='page' name ='Page_8' id='Page_8' title='8'> </a><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_WOLF_CHASE">The Wolf Chase</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_HISTORY_OF_AN_OLD_MAID">The History of an Old Maid</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_FAMILY_MEETING">The Family Meeting</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_DYING_HEBREW">The Dying Hebrew</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap"><a href="#ONLY_A_MECHANIC">Only a Mechanic</a></span>,"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#LOVE_AND_PRIDE">Love and Pride</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_TEST_OF_LOVE">The Test of Love. A Story of the Last War</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_FLOWER_ANGELS">The Flower Angels</a></span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_9' id='Page_9' title='9'> </a><a name="THE" id="THE"></a>THE</h2> + +<h2>CHRISTMAS GUEST;</h2> + +<p class='center'>OR,</p> + +<h2>EVENINGS AT DONALDSON MANOR.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER I.</a></h2> + + +<p><a name="INTRODUCTORY" id="INTRODUCTORY"></a>The largest and the most picturesque country-house of all I +know in America, is the mansion house of my friends, the +Donaldsons. I would gladly inform the reader of its locality, +but this Colonel Donaldson has positively prohibited, for a +reason too flattering to my self-love to be resisted.</p> + +<p>"You know, my dear Madam,"—I give his own words, by +which I hope the courteous reader will understand that I am +really too modest even to seem to adopt the flattering sentiment +they convey—"You know, my dear madam, that your +description will be read by every body who is any body, and +that through it my simple home will become classic ground. +If I permit you to direct the tourist tribe to it, I shall be +pestered out of my life when summer comes, by travelling +artists, would-be poets, and romantic young ladies."</p> + +<p>I may not therefore, dear reader, tell you whether this +pleasant abode be washed by the waves of the Atlantic or by<a class='page' name ='Page_10' id='Page_10' title='10'> </a> +the turbid current of the Mississippi; whether it be fanned by +the flower-laden zephyrs of the South, or by the health-inspiring +breezes of the North. The exterior must indeed have been left +wholly to your imagination, had I not fortunately obtained a +sketch from a young friend, an <i>amateur</i> artist, of whom I shall +have more to say presently. As I could not in honor present +you with even this poor substitute, as I trust you will consider +it, for my word-painting, without Colonel Donaldson's consent, +I have been compelled, in deference to his wish, to divest the +picture of every thing that would mark the geographical position +of the place represented. The shape of its noble old trees we +have been permitted to retain; but their foliage we have been +obliged to render so indistinctly, that even Linnæus himself +would find it impossible to decide whether it belonged to the +elm of the North when clothed in all its summer luxuriance, or +to the gigantic live-oak of the South. Even of the house itself +we have been permitted to give but a rear view, lest the more +marked features of the landscape in front should hint of its +whereabouts. As to the figures which appear in the foreground +of the picture, they are but figments of my young artist +friend's imagination. One of them you may observe carries +under the arm a sheaf of wheat, not a stalk of which I assure +you ever grew on the Donaldson lands.</p> + +<p>Even from this imperfect picture of the exterior, you will +perceive that the house is, as I have said, both large and picturesque. +Within, the rooms go rambling about in such a +strange fashion, that an unaccustomed guest attempting to make +his way without a guide to the <i>chambre de nuit</i> in which he +had slept only the night before, would be very apt to find himself +in the condition of a certain bird celebrated in nursery +rhymes as wandering,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up stairs and down stairs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the ladies' chambers.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_11' id='Page_11' title='11'> </a>In this house have the Donaldsons lived and died for +nearly two hundred years, and during all that time they have +never failed to observe the Christmas with right genuine, old +English hospitality. Then, their sons and their daughters, +their men-servants and their maid-servants, and the stranger +within their gates, felt the genial influence of their gratitude to +Him who added year after year almost unbroken temporal +prosperity to the priceless gift commemorated by that festival. +At many of these <i>rëunions</i> it has been my good fortune to be +present. Indeed, though only "<span class="smcap">Aunt</span> Nancy," by that courtesy +which so often accords to the single sisterhood some endearing +title, as a consolation, I presume, for the more honorable +one of <span class="smcap">Mrs.</span> which their good or evil fortune has denied +them, I have been ever received at Donaldson Manor as at my +own familiar home; nor was it matter of surprise to myself or +to our mutual friends, when the Col. and Mrs. Donaldson +named their fourth daughter after me, modifying the old-fashioned +Nancy, however, into its more agreeable synonyme of +Annie.</p> + +<p>This daughter has been, of course, my peculiar pet. In +truth, however, she has been scarcely less the peculiar pet of +father and mother, brothers and sisters, friends and neighbors—sweet +Annie Donaldson, as all unite in calling her, and certainly +a sweeter, fresher bud of beauty never opened to the +light than my name-child. And yet, reader, it may be that +could I faithfully stamp her portrait on my page, you would +exclaim at my taste, and declare there was no beauty in it. +I will even acknowledge that you may be right, and that there +is nothing artistically beautiful in the dark-gray eyes, the clear +and healthy yet not dazzlingly fair complexion, the straight +though glossy dark-brown hair, and the form, rounded and +buoyant, but neither tall enough to be dignified nor <i>petite</i> +enough to be fairy-like. But sure I am that you could not<a class='page' name ='Page_12' id='Page_12' title='12'> </a> +know the spirit, gentle and playful yet lofty and earnest, which +looks out from her eyes and speaks in her clear, silvery tones +and graceful gestures, without feeling that Annie Donaldson is +beautiful. Nor am I alone in this opinion. My friend Mr. +Arlington fully agrees with me, as you would be convinced if +you could see the admiring expression with which he gazes on +her. As this gentleman cannot plead the Colonel's reason for +any reserve respecting his place of residence, I shall not hesitate +to inform the reader that he is a young lawyer of New-York, +who has preserved, amidst much study and some business, +the natural taste necessary to the enjoyment of country +scenes and country sports. During those weeks of summer +when New-York is deserted, alike by the wearied man of business +and the <i>ennuyé</i> idler, Mr. Arlington, instead of rushing +with the latter to the overcrowded hotels of Saratoga and Newport, +takes his gun and dog, his pencil and sketch-book, and with +an agreeable companion, or, if this may not be, some choice +books, as a resource against a rainy day, he goes to some wild +spot—the wilder the better—where he roves at will from point +to point of interest and beauty, and spends his time in reading, +sketching, and—alas, for human imperfection!—shooting. +These vagrant habits first brought him into the neighborhood +of Donaldson Manor, and he had for two successive summers +hunted with the Colonel and sketched with the young ladies, +when he was invited to join their Christmas party in 18—. +Here I was introduced to him, and in a few days we were the +best friends in the world.</p> + +<p>Mr. Arlington's sketch-book, of which I have already spoken, +served to elicit one of our points of sympathy. Bound down +by the iron chain of necessity to that point of space occupied +by my own land, and that point of time filled by my own life, +yet with a heart longing for acquaintance with the beautiful +distant and the noble past, I have ever loved the creations of<a class='page' name ='Page_13' id='Page_13' title='13'> </a> +that art which furnished food to these longings; and as my +fortune has denied me the possession of fine <i>paintings</i>, I have +become somewhat noted in my own little circle for my collection +of fine <i>engravings</i>. Many of these have peculiar charms +for me, from their association, fancied or real, with some place +or person that does interest or has interested me. In the leisure +of a solitary life, it has amused me to append to these +engravings a description of the scenes or a narrative of the +incidents which they suggested to my mind, and for their association +with which I particularly valued them. Annie was +well aware of the existence of these descriptions and narratives, +and, with a pretty despotism which she often exercises over +those she loves, she insisted that I should surrender them to her +for the gratification of the assembled party. One condition +only was I permitted to make in this surrender, and this was, +that Mr. Arlington should also bring forth his portfolio for inspection, +and should describe the <i>locale</i> of the scene sketched, +or relate the circumstances under which the sketches were +made. A pretty <i>ruse</i> this, my gentle Annie, by which you +furnished the artist with an opportunity to display to others +the talents which had charmed yourself. In accordance with +this compact, the drawings, with their accompanying narratives, +were produced, and received with such approbation, that +by the same sweet tyranny which drew them from their hiding-places, +we have been ordered to send this Christmas Guest to +bear the simple stories to other houses, with the hope that +they may give equal pleasure to their inmates.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_14' id='Page_14' title='14'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER II.</a></h2> + + +<p>Merrily blazed the wood fire in the huge old chimney of the +large parlor in which we were accustomed to assemble in the +evening, at Donaldson Manor, and its light was thrown upon +faces bright with good-humored merriment, yet not without +some touch of deeper and more earnest feeling. That party +would of itself have made an interesting picture. There was +Col. Donaldson, tall, gaunt, his figure slightly bent, yet evincing +no feebleness, his curling snow-white locks, his broad bold forehead, +and shaggy brows overhanging eyes beaming with kindness. +Beside him sat Mrs. Donaldson, still beautiful in her +green old age. Her face was usually pale, yet her clear complexion, +and the bright eyes that looked out from beneath the +rich Valenciennes border of her cap, redeemed it from the appearance +of ill health. Her form, stately yet inclining to <i>embonpoint</i>, +was shown to advantage by the soft folds of the rich and +glossy satin dress which ordinarily, at mid-day, took the place +in summer of her cambric morning-dress, and in winter of her +cashmere <i>robe de chambre</i>. Mrs. Donaldson has a piece of +fancy netting which she reserves for her evening work, because, +she says, it does not make much demand upon her eyes. +This the mischievous and privileged Annie calls "Penelope's +Web," declaring, that whatever is done on it in the evening is +undone the next morning. Around the table, on which the +brightest lights were placed for the convenience of those who<a class='page' name ='Page_15' id='Page_15' title='15'> </a> +would read or sew, clustered the two married daughters of the +house—who always return to their "<i>home</i>," as they still continue +to call Donaldson Manor, for the Christmas holidays—Annie, +Mr. Arlington, and myself. Miss Donaldson, the eldest +daughter of my worthy friends, is the housekeeper of the +family, and usually sits quietly beside her mother, somewhat +fatigued probably by the active employments of her day. The +two sons of Col. Donaldson, the elder of whom is only twenty-three, +his sons-in-law, and his grandson, Robert Dudley, a fine +lad of twelve, give animation to the scene by moving hither +and thither, now joining our group at the table, now discussing +in a corner the amusements of to-morrow, and now entertaining +us with a graphic account of to-day's adventures, of the +sleighs upset, or the skating-matches won.</p> + +<p>Such was the party assembled little more than a week +before Christmas the last year, when Annie called upon Mr. +Arlington and myself to redeem the pledges we had given, +and surrender our portfolios to her. Some slight contention +arose between us on the question who should first contribute +to the entertainment of the company; Mr. Arlington exclaiming +"<i>Place aux Dames</i>," and I contending that there was +great want of chivalry in thus putting a woman into the front +of the battle. This little dispute was terminated by the proposal +that Annie having been blindfolded to secure impartial +justice, the two portfolios should be placed on the table, and +she should choose, not only from which of them our entertainment +should be drawn, but the very subject that should furnish +it. Mr. Arlington vehemently applauded this proposal, and +then urged that he must himself tie the handkerchief, as no +one else, he feared, would make it an effectual blind. Annie +submitted to his demand, though she professed to feel great indignation +at his implied doubt of her honesty. No one else, +we believe, would have taken so much time for the disposal of<a class='page' name ='Page_16' id='Page_16' title='16'> </a> +this screen, or been so careful in the arrangement of the bands +of hair over which, or through which, the handkerchief was +passed; and the touch of no other hand, perhaps, would have +called up so bright a color to the cheeks, and even to the brow, +of our sweet Annie. When permitted to exercise her office, +Annie, to my great pleasure, without an instant's hesitation, +while a mischievous little smile played at the corners of her +mouth, placed her hand on Mr. Arlington's portfolio, and drew +from it a paper, which, on being exhibited, was found to contain +the pencilled outline of many heads grouped together in +various positions, some being apparently elevated considerably +above the others.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Miss Annie!" exclaimed Mr. Arlington, with considerable +satisfaction apparent in his voice and manner, "you +must try again, and I think I must trouble you, ladies, for another +handkerchief. This seems to me to have been scarcely +thick enough."</p> + +<p>"I appeal to the company," cried Annie, "whether this is +in accordance with Mr. Arlington's engagement. Was he not +to accept any thing I should draw from his portfolio as the +foundation of his sketch?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay," was responded from every part of the room.</p> + +<p>"But pray, my good friends," persisted Mr. Arlington, "observe +the impossibility of compliance with your demand. How +can I possibly hope to entertain you by any thing based upon +that memento of an idle hour in court, which I should long +ago have destroyed, had I not fancied that I could detect in +those sketchy outlines—those mere profiles—very accurate likenesses +of the heads for which they were taken?"</p> + +<p>"Those heads look as though they might have histories +attached to them," said Annie, as she bent to examine them +more narrowly.</p> + +<p>"Histories indeed they have," said Mr. Arlington.</p> + +<p>"Give them to us," suggested Col. Donaldson.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_17' id='Page_17' title='17'> </a>"You have them already. These are all men whose histories +are as well known to the public as to their own families. +There is the elder K——, at once so simple in heart and so +acute in mind. Cannot you read both in his face? There is +his son; and there is D. B. O——, and O. H——, and G——, +and J——. What can I tell you of any of them that you do +not know already?"</p> + +<p>"Who are these?" asked Annie, pointing to two heads, +placed somewhat aloof from the rest, and near each other. +"That older face is so benevolent in its expression, and the +younger has so noble a physiognomy, and looks with such +reverence on his companion, that I am persuaded they have a +history beyond that which belongs to the world. Is it not +so?"</p> + +<p>"It is. Those are Mr. Cavendish and Herbert Latimer. +They have a history, and I will give it you if you desire it, +though, thus impromptu, I must do it very imperfectly I fear."</p> + +<p>"No apologies," said Col. Donaldson. "Begin, and do +your best; no one can do more."</p> + +<p>"Than <i>my</i> best," said Mr. Arlington, with a smile, "thank +you. My narrative will have at least one recommendation—truth—as +I have received its incidents from Latimer himself."</p> + +<p>Without further preliminary, Mr. Arlington commenced +the relation of the following circumstances, which he has since +written out, by Annie's request, at somewhat greater length for +insertion here, giving it the title of</p> + + +<h3><a name="THE_MAIN_CHANCE" id="THE_MAIN_CHANCE"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">THE MAIN CHANCE.</a></h3> + +<p>Herbert Latimer was only twenty when, having passed the +usual examination, he was admitted, by a special act of the +legislative assembly of his native State, to practise at the bar.<a class='page' name ='Page_18' id='Page_18' title='18'> </a> +Young as he was, he had already experienced some of the +severest vicissitudes of life. His father had been a bold, and +for many years a successful merchant, and the young Herbert, +his only child, had been born and nurtured in the lap of wealth +and luxury. He was only sixteen—a boy—but a boy full of +the noble aspirations and lofty hopes that make manhood +honorable, when his father died. Mr. Latimer's last illness had +been probably rendered fatal by the intense anxiety of mind he +endured while awaiting intelligence of the result of a mercantile +operation, on which, contrary to the cautious habits of his +earlier years, he had risked well nigh all he possessed. He did +not live to learn that it had completely failed, and that his wife +and child were left with what would have seemed to him the +merest pittance for their support.</p> + +<p>The character and talents of young Latimer were well known +to his father's friends, and more than one among them offered +him a clerkship on what could not but be considered as very +advantageous terms. To these offers Herbert listened with +painful indecision. For himself, he would have suffered cheerfully +any privation, rather than relinquish the career which his +inclinations had prompted, and with which were connected all +his glowing visions of the future—but his mother—had he a +right to refuse what would enable her to preserve all her +accustomed elegances and indulgences?</p> + +<p>"You must be aware, Master Latimer," said he who had +made him the most liberal offers, and who saw him hesitating +on their acceptance, "you must be aware that only my friendship +for your father could induce me to offer such terms to so +young a man, howsoever capable. Three hundred dollars this +year, five hundred the next, if you give satisfaction in the +performance of your duties, a thousand dollars after that till +you are of age, and then a share in the business equal to one-fourth +of its profits—these are terms, sir, which I would offer to<a class='page' name ='Page_19' id='Page_19' title='19'> </a> +no one else. Your father was a friend to me, sir, and I would +be a friend to his son."</p> + +<p>"I feel your kindness and liberality, sir."</p> + +<p>"And yet you hesitate?"</p> + +<p>"Will you permit me, sir, to ask till to-morrow for consideration? +I must consult my mother."</p> + +<p>"That is right, young man; that is right. She knows +something of life, and will, I doubt not, advise you to close +with so unexceptionable an offer."</p> + +<p>"Whatever she may advise, sir, be assured I will do."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt then, sir, that I shall see you to-morrow +prepared to take your place in my store. Good morning."</p> + +<p>Assuming as cheerful an air as he could, Herbert went from +this interview to his mother's sitting room. Mrs. Latimer +raised her eyes to his as he entered, and reading with a mother's +quick perception the disturbance of his mind, she asked him in +a tone of alarm, "What is the matter, Herbert?"</p> + +<p>"Only a very pleasant matter, mother," said Herbert, with +forced cheerfulness, which he endeavored to preserve while +relating the offer just received.</p> + +<p>"And would you relinquish the study of the law, Herbert?" +inquired Mrs. Latimer.</p> + +<p>"Not if I could help it, mother; but you know Mr. Woodleigh +told you that five hundred dollars a year was the utmost +that he could hope to save for you. If I study law, it must be +several years before I can add any thing to this sum—I may +even be compelled——" The features of Herbert worked, +tears rushed to his eyes, and he turned away, unable to speak +the thought that distressed him.</p> + +<p>"You speak of what can be saved for <i>me</i>, Herbert—of what +<i>you</i> may be compelled to do. Do you suppose that we can +have separate interests in this question?—are not your hopes +my hopes—will not your success, your triumph, be mine too?<a class='page' name ='Page_20' id='Page_20' title='20'> </a> +The only consideration for us, it seems to me, is whether the +profession you have chosen and the prospects open to you in it, +are worth some present sacrifice."</p> + +<p>"They are worth every sacrifice on my part—but you, +mother——"</p> + +<p>"Have no separate interest from my child—I have shared +all your hopes, all your aspirations, Herbert, and it would cost +me less to live on bread and water, to dress coarsely, and lodge +hardly for the next five years, than to yield my anticipations of +your future success."</p> + +<p>Others had felt <i>for</i> Herbert, and had offered to aid him, +and he had turned from them with a deeper sense of his need +and diminished confidence in his own powers—his mother felt +<i>with</i> him, and he was cheered and strengthened. The offers +of the friendly merchant were gratefully declined. By the sale +of her jewels, Mrs. Latimer obtained the sum necessary to meet +the expenses incident to her son's first entrance on his professional +studies. She then appropriated three hundred dollars +of their little income to his support in the city, and withdrew +herself to the country, where, she said, the remaining two +hundred would supply all her wants. When Herbert would +have remonstrated against these arrangements, she reminded +him that they were intended to accomplish her own wishes no +less than his. He ceased to remonstrate, but he did what was +better—he acted—and the very first year, by self-denying +economy and industry, he was enabled to return to her fifty +dollars of the amount she had allotted to him. The second +year he did better, and the third year Mrs. Latimer was able to +return to the city and board at the same house with her son. +It was only by the joy she expressed at their re-union that +Herbert learned how painful the separation had been to her. +She would not waste his strength and her own in vain +lamentation over a necessary evil. Four years sufficed to<a class='page' name ='Page_21' id='Page_21' title='21'> </a> +prepare Herbert Latimer for his profession, and through the +influence of some of his mother's early friends, exerted at her +earnest request, the legislative act which permitted his entrance +on its duties, was passed. The knowledge of his circumstances +had excited a warm interest for him in many minds, and they +who heard his name for the first time, when he stood before +them for examination, could not but feel prepossessed in favor +of the youth, on whose bold brow deep and lofty thoughts had +left their impress, and in whose grave, earnest eyes the spirit +seer might have read the history of a life of endurance and +silent struggle. All were interested in him—all evinced that +interest by gentle courtesy of manner—and almost all seemed +desirous to make his examination as light as possible—all save +one—one usually as remarkable for his indulgence to young +aspirants, as for the legal acumen and extensive knowledge, +which had won for him a large share of the profits and honors +of his profession. His associates now wondered to find him so +rigidly exact in his trial of young Latimer's acquirements.</p> + +<p>"You were very severe on our young tyro to-day," said a +brother lawyer, and one on whom early associations and similarity +of pursuits, rather than of tastes, had conferred the +privileges of a friend on Mr. Cavendish, as they walked together +from the court-house.</p> + +<p>"I saw that he did not need indulgence, and I gave him an +opportunity of proving to others that he did not—but I had +another and more selfish reason for my rigid test of his +powers."</p> + +<p>Mr. Cavendish spoke smilingly, and his friend was emboldened +to ask—"And pray what selfish motive could you have +for it!"</p> + +<p>"I wished to see whether he would suit me as a partner."</p> + +<p>"A partner!"</p> + +<p>"Yes—when a man has lived for half a century, he begins<a class='page' name ='Page_22' id='Page_22' title='22'> </a> +to think that he may possibly grow old some day, and I would +provide myself with a young partner, who may take the +laboring oar in my business when age compels me to lay it +aside."</p> + +<p>"All that may do very well—I have some thought of doing +the same myself; but I shall look out for a young man who is +well connected. Connections do a great deal for us, you know, +and we must always have an eye to the main chance."</p> + +<p>"I agree with you, but we should probably differ about +what constitutes the main chance."</p> + +<p>"There surely can be no difference about that; it means +with every one the one thing needful."</p> + +<p>"And what is, in your opinion, the one thing needful?"</p> + +<p>"Why this, to be sure," and Mr. Duffield drew his purse +from his pocket, and shook it playfully.</p> + +<p>"A somewhat different use of the term from that which the +Bible makes," said Mr. Cavendish.</p> + +<p>"Oh! let the Bible alone, and let me hear what you think +of it."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, I cannot let the Bible alone if I tell you my +own opinions, for from the Bible I learned them."</p> + +<p>"It seems a strange book, I must say, to consult for a law +of partnerships."</p> + +<p>"Had you a better acquaintance with it, Duffield, you +would learn that its principles apply to all the relations of life. +The difference between us is, that when you estimate man's +chief object, or as you call it, his 'main chance,' you take only +the present into view, you leave out of sight altogether the interminable +future, with its higher hopes and deeper interests, +and relations of immeasurably greater importance."</p> + +<p>"I find it enough for one poor brain to calculate for the +present."</p> + +<p>"A great deal too much you will find it, if you leave out<a class='page' name ='Page_23' id='Page_23' title='23'> </a> +of your sum so important an item as the relations of that present +to the future. Depend on it, Duffield, that he makes the most +for this life, as well as for the next, of his time, his talents, and +his wealth, who uses them as God's steward, for the happiness +of his fellow-creatures, as well as for his own."</p> + +<p>"And so, for the happiness of your fellow-creatures, you +are going to give away half of the best practice in the State?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to do no such thing. In the first place, I did +not tell you that I was going to offer young Latimer an equal +division of the profits of my practice; and for what I may offer +him I have already taken care to ascertain that he can return +a full equivalent. His talents need only a vantage-ground on +which to act, and I rejoice to be able to give him that which +my own early experience taught me to value."</p> + +<p>"Well—we shall see ten years hence how your rule and +mine work. I think I shall offer a partnership to young +Conway—he is already rising in his profession, and is connected +with some of our wealthiest families."</p> + +<p>"Very well—we shall see."</p> + +<p>Herbert Latimer had nerved himself to endure five, or it +might be ten more years of profitless toil, ere he should gain a +position which would make his talents available for more than +the mere essentials of existence. Let those who have looked +on so dreary a prospect—who have buckled on their armor for +such a combat—judge of the grateful emotion with which he +received the generous proposal of Mr. Cavendish. This proposal, +while it gave him at once an opportunity for the exercise of his +powers, secured to him for the first year one-fifth, for the two +following years one-fourth, and after that, if neither partner +chose to withdraw from the connection, one-half of the profits of +a business, the receipts of which had for several years averaged +over ten thousand dollars. Mr. Cavendish soon found that he +had done well to trust to the gratitude of his young partner for<a class='page' name ='Page_24' id='Page_24' title='24'> </a> +inducing the most active exercise of his powers. Stimulated by +the desire to prove himself not unworthy of such kindness, +and to secure his generous friend from any loss, Herbert +never overlooked aught that could advance the interests, nor +grew weary of any task that could lighten the toil of Mr. +Cavendish.</p> + +<p>"Herbert, you really make me ashamed of myself, you are +so constantly busy that I seem idle in comparison," said Mr. +Cavendish, as he prepared one day to lay by his papers and +leave the office at three o'clock. "Pray put away those musty +books, and bring Mrs. Latimer to dine with us—this is a fête +day with us. My daughter, who has been for two months +with her uncle and aunt in Washington, has returned, and I +want to introduce her to Mrs. Latimer."</p> + +<p>"My mother will come to you with pleasure, I am sure."</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>"Will come too, if I possibly can. You dine at five?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—and remember punctuality is the soul of dinner as +well as of business. So do not let the charms of Coke upon +Lyttleton make you forget that fair ladies and hungry gentlemen +are expecting you." Mr. Cavendish closed the door with +a smiling face, and Herbert Latimer turned for another hour to +his books and papers. At a quarter before five he stood with his +mother in the drawing-room of Mr. Cavendish, and received +his first introduction to one who soon became the star of +his life.</p> + +<p>Mary Cavendish was not beautiful—far less could the word +pretty have been applied to her—but she was lovely. All that +we most love in woman, all pure and peaceful thoughts, all +sweet and gentle affections, seemed to beam from her eyes, or +to sit throned upon her fair and open brow. She had enjoyed +all the advantages, as it is termed, of a fashionable education, +but the influences of her home had been more powerful than<a class='page' name ='Page_25' id='Page_25' title='25'> </a> +those of her school, and she remained what nature had made +her—a warm-hearted, truthful, generous, and gentle girl—too +ingenuous for the pretty affectations, too generous for the heartless +coquetries which too often teach us that the <i>accomplished</i> +young lady has sacrificed, for her external refinement, qualities +of a nobler stamp and more delicate beauty. The only +daughter among several children, she was an idol in her home, +and every movement of her life seemed impelled by the desire +to repay the wealth of affection that was lavished upon her. +It was impossible to see such a being daily in the intimacy of +her home associations—the sphere in which her gentle spirit +shone most brightly—without loving her; and Herbert soon +felt that he loved her, yet he added in his thoughts "in all +honor," and to him it would have seemed little honorable to +attempt to win this priceless treasure from him to whose generosity +he had owed his place in her circle. Mrs. Latimer, +though she did not fear for her son's honor, trembled for his +future peace as she marked the sadness which often stole over +him, after spending an hour in the society of this lovely girl; +but Mrs. Latimer was a wise woman—she knew that speech is +to such emotions often as the lighted match to a magazine, and +she kept silence.</p> + +<p>For almost a year after his introduction, Herbert continued +in daily intercourse with Mary Cavendish to drink fresh draughts +of love, yet so carefully did he guard his manner, that no suspicion +of his warmer emotions threw a shadow over her friendship, +or checked the frankness with which she unveiled to him +the rich treasures of her mind and heart. It was in the autumn +succeeding their first acquaintance that Mr. and Mrs. +Cavendish issued cards for a large party at their house. It +would be too gay a scene for the quiet taste of Mrs. Latimer, +but Herbert would be there, and at the request of Mrs. Cavendish +he promised to come early. The promise was kept. He<a class='page' name ='Page_26' id='Page_26' title='26'> </a> +arrived half an hour at least before any other guest, bringing +with him a bouquet of rare and beautiful flowers for Mary. +As he entered the hall he heard a slight scream from the parlor +beside whose open door he stood. The scream was in a +voice to whose lightest tone his heart responded, and in an instant, +he was beside Mary Cavendish, had clasped her in his +arms, and pressing her closely to his person, was endeavoring +to extinguish with his hands the flames that enveloped her. +The evening was cold: there was a fire in the stove, before +which Mary stood arranging some flowers on the mantel-piece, +when the door was opened for him. The sudden rush of air +had wafted her light, floating drapery of gauze and lace into +the fire, and in a moment all was in a blaze. Fortunate was +it for her, that under this light, flimsy drapery, was worn a +dress of stouter texture and less combustible material—a rich +satin. After the slight scream which had brought him to her +side, Mary uttered no sound, and with his whole soul concentrated +on action, he had been equally silent till the last spark +was smothered. Then gazing wildly in her pallid face he exclaimed, +"In mercy speak to me! Did I come too late? Are +you burned?"</p> + +<p>"I scarcely know—I think not," she faltered out. Then, +as she made an effort to withdraw from his arms, added +quickly—"no—not at all."</p> + +<p>Completely overpowered by the revulsion of feeling which +those words occasioned, Herbert clasped her again in his arms, +and fervently ejaculating, "Thank God!" pressed his lips to +her cheek. At that moment, the voice of Mr. Cavendish was +heard in the next room, and breaking from him, Mary rushed +to her astonished father, and burying her face in his bosom, +burst into tears. Aroused to full consciousness by the presence +of another, Herbert stood trembling and dismayed at the remembrance +of his own rashness. Agitated as she was, Mary<a class='page' name ='Page_27' id='Page_27' title='27'> </a> +was compelled to answer her father's questions, for he seemed +wholly unable to speak.</p> + +<p>"Latimer, I owe my child's life probably to you. How +shall I repay the debt?" cried Mr. Cavendish, attempting, as +he spoke, to clasp Herbert's hand. He winced at the touch, +and a sudden contraction passed over his face.</p> + +<p>"You are burned," said Mr. Cavendish, and would have +examined his hand, but throwing his handkerchief over it, +Herbert declared it was not worth mentioning, though at the +same time he confessed that the pain was sufficient to make +him desirous to return home, and have some soothing application +made to it. Mr. Cavendish parted from him with regret, +with earnest charges that he should take care of himself, and +equally earnest hopes that he might be sufficiently relieved to +return to them before the evening was passed; but Mary still +lay in her father's arms, with her face hidden, and noticed +Herbert's departure neither by word nor look.</p> + +<p>"I have outraged her delicacy, and she cannot bear even +to see me," he said to himself.</p> + +<p>In passing out he accidentally trod on the flowers which he +had selected with such care—"Crushed like my own heart!" +he ejaculated mentally.</p> + +<p>A fortnight passed before Herbert Latimer could take his accustomed +place in the office of Mr. Cavendish. His hand had +been deeply burned—so deeply that the pain had produced +fever. During this period of suffering, Mr. Cavendish had often +visited him, and Mrs. Cavendish had more than once taken his +mother's place at his bedside; but Herbert found little pleasure +in their attentions, for he said to himself, "If they knew +all my presumption, they would be less kind."</p> + +<p>His illness passed away, his hand healed, and he resumed +his accustomed avocations; but no invitation, however urgent, +could win him again to the house of Mr. Cavendish. "I have<a class='page' name ='Page_28' id='Page_28' title='28'> </a> +proved my own weakness—I will not place myself again in the +way of temptation," was the language of his heart. Apologies +became awkward. He felt that he must seem to his friend ungracious +if not ungrateful; and one day observing unusual seriousness +in the countenance of Mr. Cavendish on his declining +an invitation to dine with him, he exclaimed, "You look displeased, +and I can hardly wonder at it; but could you know +my reason for denying myself the pleasure of visiting you, I am +sure you would think me right."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so; but as I do not know it, you cannot +be surprised that your determined withdrawal from our circle +should wound both my feelings and those of my family."</p> + +<p>Herbert covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, and +then turning them with a grave and even sad expression on +Mr. Cavendish, said, "I have declined your invitations only +because I could not accept them with honor: I love your +daughter—I have loved her almost from the first hour of my +acquaintance with her."</p> + +<p>"And why have you not told me so before, Herbert?" +asked Mr. Cavendish, with no anger in his tones.</p> + +<p>"Because I believed myself capable of loving in silence, and +while I wronged no one, I was willing to indulge in the sweet +poison of her society; but a moment of danger to her destroyed +my self-control. What has been may be again—I have +learned to distrust myself—I cannot tamper with temptation, +lest I should one day use the position in which you have +placed me, and the advantages which you have bestowed on +me, in endeavoring to win from you a treasure which you may +well be reluctant to yield to me."</p> + +<p>"Herbert, I only blame you for not having spoken to me +sooner of this."</p> + +<p>"I feel now that I should have done so—it was a want of<a class='page' name ='Page_29' id='Page_29' title='29'> </a> +self-knowledge, the rash confidence of one untried which kept +me silent."</p> + +<p>"No, Herbert—it was a want of knowledge of me—of +confidence in my justice—I will not say my kindness. What +higher views do you suppose I can entertain for my daughter, +than to make her the wife of one who has a prospect of +obtaining the most distinguished eminence in my own profession."</p> + +<p>"If that prospect be mine, to you I owe it—could I make +it a plea for asking more?"</p> + +<p>"You owe what I did for you to the interest and esteem +excited by your own qualities, and all I did has only given you +a place for the exercise of those qualities—I do not know how +you will win Mary's forgiveness for refraining from her society +on such slight grounds."</p> + +<p>"Dare I hope for your permission to seek that forgiveness?"</p> + +<p>"Dare I hope for your company to dinner to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Now that you know all, nothing could give so much +pleasure—though I fear——"</p> + +<p>"What, fearing again!"</p> + +<p>"I fear that Miss Cavendish is very much displeased with me."</p> + +<p>"For saving her life?"</p> + +<p>"No—not exactly that."</p> + +<p>Herbert Latimer did not confide the cause of his fear to Mr. +Cavendish, neither did he suffer it to interfere with his visit on +that day. He went to dinner, but stayed to tea, and long after, +and as Mary was his companion for much, if not all of this +time, we presume that her displeasure could not have been +manifested in any very serious manner.</p> + +<p>It was about six weeks after this renewal of his visits that +Mr. Duffield meeting his friend Mr. Cavendish one morning, +accosted him with, "I hear that your daughter is going to be +married to young Latimer—is it true?"</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_30' id='Page_30' title='30'> </a>"Yes, and I heartily wish the affair were over, for I hope +Herbert will recover his senses when he is actually married, as +now I am obliged to attend to his business and my own too."</p> + +<p>"Not much profit in that, I should think—I manage somewhat +differently."</p> + +<p>"Did you not tell me that you intended forming a partnership +with young Conway?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—but before I had done so, I heard that Sprague, +who is as well connected as Conway, and a great deal more +industrious, would go into business with me on less exacting +terms. He has been associated with me for some time. He +does all the drudgery of the business, and is content with one-eighth +of the profits for five years."</p> + +<p>"Those are low terms—with talent and connection too, I +should think he could have done better."</p> + +<p>"Why, you see his connections were of little use to him +while he was alone, for he was so desperately poor that they +did not like to acknowledge him, but I knew as soon as he +began to rise they would all notice him, and so it has proved. +I have no doubt I shall gain through them more than the +thousand dollars a-year which Sprague will draw, while I shall +be saved every thing that is really disagreeable or laborious in +my practice; and you give two thousand dollars a-year, and +are to have your daughter married to a gentleman who leaves +all the business on your hands—which of us, do you think, has +attended most successfully to the main chance?"</p> + +<p>"According to my views of the main chance, it is not to be +determined by such data—but even in your own view we may +have a very different account to render nine years hence?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, well! Ten years from the day that Latimer passed we +will compare notes."</p> + +<p>Ten years are long in prospective, but it seemed to both +parties only a short time when the appointed anniversary came.<a class='page' name ='Page_31' id='Page_31' title='31'> </a> +On that day Mr. Cavendish invited several of his brother +lawyers, and amongst them Mr. Duffield, to dinner. Herbert +Latimer, his wife and mother, his two noble boys, and though +last, not least in importance, if in size, his little girl, her grandfather's +especial pet, were of the party. It was a well assorted +party. The guests found good cheer and social converse—the +cherished friends of the house, food for deeper and higher enjoyment +When the ladies had withdrawn, calling Herbert +Latimer to the head of the table, Mr. Cavendish seated himself +beside Mr. Duffield.</p> + +<p>"Well, Duffield!" he exclaimed, "do you know that it is +ten years to-day since Herbert Latimer stood before us for +examination?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" ejaculated Mr. Duffield, in the tone of one who did +not care to pursue the subject further.</p> + +<p>"You remember our agreement—are you still willing to +make our success in that time a test of the truth of our +respective principles?"</p> + +<p>"It may afford a more conclusive proof of your better +judgment in the selection of an associate."</p> + +<p>"Sprague stands very high in his profession."</p> + +<p>"Yes—I knew he would, for he has talent and connection—therefore +I chose him; but he left me just at the time these +were beginning to be available, as soon as the five years for +which our agreement was made, had expired."</p> + +<p>"What occasioned his leaving you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Duval offered him better terms than I had done—I +should not have cared so much for his going, but he carried +off many of my clients, with whom he had ingratiated himself +during his connection with me. My practice has scarcely recovered +yet from the injury which he did it."</p> + + +<p>"He seems to have acted on your own principle, and to +have considered the main chance to mean the most money."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_32' id='Page_32' title='32'> </a>"And do you suppose Latimer would have remained with +you if he could have made better terms for himself?"</p> + +<p>"I know that during my long illness he was offered double +what he was receiving, or could then hope ever to receive from +my practice, and his reply to the offer was that the bonds +forged by gratitude and affection, no interest could break. He +has now built up the business again to far more than it was +when he joined me—I know that I owe most of it to him, yet +he will not listen to any advice to dissolve our partnership. +Gentlemen," he said, "I have a sentiment to propose to you, +which you may drink in wine or water as you like best. +'<span class="smcap">The Main Chance</span>—always best secured by obedience to the +golden rule—as ye would that others should do unto you, do +ye even so to them.'"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_33' id='Page_33' title='33'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER III.</a></h2> + + +<p>The morning after Mr. Arlington had commenced our Christmas +entertainments with the sketch of his friend Herbert Latimer's +life, was dark and gloomy. At least, such was its aspect abroad, +where leaden clouds covered the sky, and a cold, sleety rain +fell fast; but within, all was bright, and warm, and cheerful. +Immediately after breakfast we separated, each in search of +amusement suited to his or her own tastes: some to the music +room, some to the library, and Robert Dudley and Annie Donaldson +to a game of battledore and shuttlecock in the wide hall, with +Mr. Arlington for a spectator. As the storm increased, however, +all seemed to feel the want of companionship, and without any +preconcerted plan, we found ourselves, about two hours after +breakfast, again assembled in the room in which quiet, patient +Mrs. Donaldson sat, ravelling the netting of the last evening.</p> + +<p>"Now for Aunt Nancy's portfolio," cried Annie, as soon as +conversation began to flag.</p> + +<p>The proposal was seconded so warmly that, as I could urge +nothing against it, the portfolio was immediately produced, and +Annie, taking possession of it, commissioned Robert Dudley to +draw forth an engraving:—"Scene, a chamber by night, a +sleeping baby and a sleepy mother, a basket of needle-work—I +am sure it is needle-work—on the floor, and a cross suspended<a class='page' name ='Page_34' id='Page_34' title='34'> </a> +from the wall," said Annie, describing the engraving which she +had taken from Robert.</p> + +<p>"That cross looks promising," said Colonel Donaldson, who +likes a little romance as well as any of his daughters. "Let us +have the fair lady's history, Aunt Nancy."</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about her," said I, with a smile at his +eagerness.</p> + +<p>"Then why, dear Aunt Nancy, did you keep the engraving?" +asked Annie.</p> + +<p>"I might answer, because of my interest in the scene it +depicts—a scene in which religion seems to shed its sanctifying +influence over the tenderest affection and the homeliest duties of +our common life; but I had another reason."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I knew it," exclaimed Annie.</p> + +<p>"I first saw this print in company with a very cultivated and +interesting German lady, to whose memory the sleeping baby +recalled a cradle song written by her countryman, the brave +Körner. She sang it for me, and as the German is, I am +grieved to say, a sealed book to me, she gave me a literal translation +of the words, which—"</p> + +<p>"Which you have put into English verse, and written here +at the back of the engraving in the finest of all fine writing, +and which papa will put on his spectacles and read for us."</p> + +<p>"No; I commission Mr. Arlington to do that," said the +Colonel, "without his spectacles."</p> + +<p>"First," said I, "let me assure you that the original is +full of a simple, natural tenderness, which I fear, in the +double process of translating and versifying, has entirely escaped."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arlington, taking the paper from Annie, now read,—</p> + + +<h3><a class='page' name ='Page_35' id='Page_35' title='35'> </a><a name="THE_CRADLE_SONG" id="THE_CRADLE_SONG"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">THE CRADLE SONG;</a></h3> + +<h4>A FREE TRANSLATION FROM KÖRNER.</h4> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='center'>I.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Slumberer! to thy mother's breast</span><br /> +<span class="i0">So fondly folded, sweetly rest!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Within that fair and quiet world,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With downy pinions scarce unfurl'd,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Life gently passes, nor doth bring</span><br /> +<span class="i0">One dream of sorrow on its wing.</span><br /> +</div></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'>II.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pleasant our dreams in early hours,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When Mother-love our life embowers;—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Ah! Mother-love! thy tender light</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Hath vanished from my sky of night,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Scarce leaving there one fading ray</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To thrill me with, remember'd day.</span><br /> +</div></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'>III.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thrice, by the smiles of fav'ring Heaven,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To man this holiest joy is given;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Thrice, circled by the arms of love,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With glowing spirit he may prove</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The highest rapture heart can feel,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The noblest hopes our lives reveal.</span><br /> +</div></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'>IV.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The earliest blessings that enwreathed</span><br /> +<span class="i0">His infant days, 'twas Love that breathed.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In Love's warm smile the nursling blooms,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Nor fears one shade that o'er him glooms,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">While flowers unfold and waters dance</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In joy, beneath his first, fresh glance.</span><br /> +</div></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'>V.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when around the youth's bold course</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Clouds gather—tempests spend their force—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When his soul darkens with his sky,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Again the Love-God hovers nigh;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And on some gentle maiden's breast</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Lulls him, once more, to blissful rest.</span><br /> +</div></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><a class='page' name ='Page_36' id='Page_36' title='36'> </a>VI.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But when his heart bends to the power</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Of storm, as bends the summer flower,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">'Tis Love that, as the Angel-Death</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Wooes from his lips the ling'ring breath,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And gently bears his soul above,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To the bright skies—the home of Love.</span><br /> +</div></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>"Poor Körner!" said Mr. Arlington, as he concluded reading +this song—if indeed it may claim that name in its English +dress—"I can sympathize, as few can do, with his mournful +memory of mother-love."</p> + +<p>This was said in a tone of such genuine emotion, that I +looked at him with even more pleasure than I had hitherto +done.</p> + +<p>"Such tenderness touches us particularly when found, as in +Körner, in union with manly and vigorous qualities—perhaps, +because it is a rare combination," said Mrs. Dudley.</p> + +<p>"Is it rare?" I asked doubtfully. "The results of my own +observation have led me to believe that it is precisely in manly, +vigorous, independent minds that we see the fullest development +of our simple, natural, home-affections."</p> + +<p>"You are right, Aunt Nancy," said Col. Donaldson; "it is +only boys striving to seem manly and men of boyish minds, +who fail to acknowledge with reverence and tenderness the +value of a mother's love."</p> + +<p>"So convinced am I of this," I replied, "that I would ask +for no more certain indication of a man's nobility of nature, +than his manner to his mother. I remember a striking illustration +of the fidelity of such an indication in two brothers +of the name of Manning, with whom I was once acquainted. +The one was quite a <i>petit-maître</i>—a dandy; the other, a fine +creature—large-minded and large-hearted. The first betrayed +in every look and movement, that he considered himself greatly<a class='page' name ='Page_37' id='Page_37' title='37'> </a> +his mother's superior, and feared every moment that she should +detract from his dignity by some sin against the dicta of fashion; +the other did honor at once to her and to himself, by his +reverent devotion to her. They were a contrast, and a contrast +which circumstances brought out most strikingly. Ah, Mr. +Arlington! I wish you could have seen them—a sketch of them +from your pencil would have been a picture indeed."</p> + +<p>"We will take your word-painting instead," said Mr. +Arlington.</p> + +<p>"A mere description in words could not present them to +you in all their strongly marked diversity of character. To do +this, I must give you a history of their lives."</p> + +<p>"And why not?"—and—"Oh, yes, Aunt Nancy, that is +just what we want," was echoed from one to another. They +consented to delay their gratification till the evening, that I +might have a little time to arrange my reminiscences; and +when "the hours of long uninterrupted evening" came, and we +had</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"——stirr'd the fire and closed the shutters fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let fall the curtains, wheeled the sofa round,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and disposed ourselves in comfort for talking and for listening, +I gave them the relation which you will find below under the +title of</p> + + +<h3><a name="THE_BROTHERS" id="THE_BROTHERS"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">THE BROTHERS;</a></h3> + +<h4>OR, IN THE FASHION AND ABOVE THE FASHION.</h4> + +<p>"Some men are born to greatness—some achieve greatness—and +some have greatness thrust upon them." Henry Manning +belonged to the second of these three great classes. The son of +a mercantile adventurer, who won and lost a fortune by speculation, +he found himself at sixteen years of age called on to +choose between the life of a Western farmer, with its vigorous<a class='page' name ='Page_38' id='Page_38' title='38'> </a> +action, stirring incident and rough usage—and the life of a +clerk in one of the most noted establishments in Broadway, the +great source and centre of fashion in New-York. Mr. Morgan, +the brother of Mrs. Manning, who had been recalled from the distant +West by the death of her husband, and the embarrassments +into which that event had plunged her, had obtained the offer +of the latter situation for one of his two nephews, and would +take the other with him to his prairie-home.</p> + +<p>"I do not ask you to go with me, Matilda," he said to his +sister, "because our life is yet too wild and rough to suit a delicate +woman, reared, as you have been, in the midst of luxurious +refinements. The difficulties and privations of life in the West +fall most heavily upon woman, while she has little of that sustaining +power which man's more adventurous spirit finds in +overcoming difficulty and coping with danger. But let me +have one of your boys; and by the time he has arrived at manhood, +he will be able, I doubt not, to offer you in his home all +the comforts, if not all the elegances of your present abode."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Manning consented; and now the question was, which +of her sons should remain with her, and which should accompany +Mr. Morgan. To Henry Manning, older by two years +than his brother George, the choice of situations was submitted. +He went with his uncle to the Broadway establishment, +heard the duties which would be demanded from him, the salary +which would be given, saw the grace with which the <i>élégants</i> +behind the counter displayed their silks, and satins, and velvets, +to the <i>élégantes</i> before the counter, and the decision with which +they promulgated the decrees of fashion; and with that just +sense of his own powers, which is the accompaniment of true +genius, he decided at once that there lay his vocation. George, +who had not been without difficulty kept quiet, while his brother +was forming his decision, as soon as it was announced, +sprang forward with a whoop that would have suited a West<a class='page' name ='Page_39' id='Page_39' title='39'> </a>ern +forest better than a New-York drawing-room, threw the +Horace he was reading across the table, clasped first his mother +and then his uncle in his arms, and exclaimed, "I am the boy +for the West. I will help you fell forests and build cities there, +uncle. Why should not we build cities as well as Romulus and +Remus?"</p> + +<p>"I will supply your cities with all their silks, and satins, and +velvets, and laces, and charge them nothing, George," said +Henry Manning, with that air of superiority with which the +worldly-wise often look on the sallies of the enthusiast.</p> + +<p>"You make my head ache, my son," complained Mrs. Manning, +shrinking from his boisterous gratulation;—but Mr. Morgan +returned his hearty embrace, and as he gazed into his bold, +bright face, with an eye as bright as his own, replied to his +burst of enthusiasm, "You <i>are</i> the very boy for the West, +George. It is out of such brave stuff that pioneers and city-builders +are always made."</p> + +<p>Henry Manning soon bowed himself into the favor of the +ladies who formed the principal customers of his employer. By +his careful and really correct habits, and his elegant taste in the +selection and arrangement of goods, he became also a favorite +with his employers themselves. They needed an agent for the +selection of goods abroad, and they sent him. He purchased +cloths for them in England, and silks in France, and came home +with the reputation of a travelled man. Having persuaded his +mother to advance a capital for him by selling out the bank +stock in which Mr. Morgan had founded her little fortune, at +twenty-four years of age he commenced business for himself as +a French importer. Leaving a partner to attend to the sales at +home, he went abroad for the selection of goods, and the further +enhancement of his social reputation. He returned in two +years with a fashionable figure, a most <i>recherché</i> style of dress, +moustachios of the most approved cut, and whiskers of faultless<a class='page' name ='Page_40' id='Page_40' title='40'> </a> +curl—a finished gentleman in his own conceit. With such attractions, +the <i>prestige</i> which he derived from his reported travels +and long residence abroad, and the <i>savoir faire</i> of one who had +made the conventional arrangements of society his study, he +quickly arose to the summit of his wishes, to the point which +it had been his life's ambition to attain. He became the umpire +of taste, and his word was received as the fiat of fashion. +He continued to reside with his mother, and paid great attention +to her style of dress, and the arrangements of her house, +for it was important that his mother should appear properly. +Poor Mrs. Manning! she sometimes thought that proud title +dearly purchased by listening to his daily criticisms on appearance, +language, manners, which had been esteemed stylish +enough in their day.</p> + +<p>George Manning had visited his mother only once since he +left her with all the bright imaginings and boundless confidence +of fourteen, and then Henry was in Europe. It was during +the first winter after his return, and when the brothers had been +separated for nearly twelve years, that Mrs. Manning informed +him she had received a letter from George, announcing his intention +to be in New-York in December, and to remain with +them through most if not all of the winter. Henry Manning +was evidently annoyed at the announcement.</p> + +<p>"I wish," he said, "that George had chosen to make his +visit in the summer, when most of the people to whom I should +hesitate to introduce him would have been absent. I should be +sorry to hurt his feelings, but really, to introduce a Western farmer +into polished society—" Henry Manning shuddered, and +was silent. "And then to choose this winter of all winters for +his visit, and to come in December, just at the very time that I +heard yesterday Miss Harcourt was coming from Washington +to spend a few weeks with her friend, Mrs. Duffield!"</p> + +<p>"And what has Miss Harcourt's visit to Mrs. Duffield to do +with George's visit to us?" asked Mrs. Manning.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_41' id='Page_41' title='41'> </a>"A great deal—at least it has a great deal to do with my +regret that he should come just now. I told you how I became +acquainted with Emma Harcourt in Europe, and what a splendid +creature she is. Even in Paris, she bore the palm for wit +and beauty—and fashion too—that is in English and American +society. But I did not tell you that she received me with such +distinguished favor, and evinced so much pretty consciousness +at my attentions, that had not her father, having been chosen +one of the electors of President and Vice-President, hurried from +Paris in order to be in this country in time for his vote, I should +probably have been induced to marry her. Her father is in +Congress this year, and you see, she no sooner learns that I am +here, than she comes to spend part of the winter with a friend +in New-York."</p> + +<p>Henry arose at this, walked to a glass, surveyed his elegant +figure, and continuing to cast occasional glances at it as he +walked backwards and forwards through the room, resumed the +conversation, or rather his own communication.</p> + +<p>"All this is very encouraging, doubtless; but Emma Harcourt +is so perfectly elegant, so thoroughly refined, that I dread +the effect upon her of any <i>outré</i> association—by the by, mother, +if I obtain her permission to introduce you to her, you will +not wear that brown hat in visiting her—a brown hat is my +aversion—it is positively vulgar—but to return to George—how +can I introduce him, with his rough, boisterous, Western +manner, to this courtly lady?—the very thought chills me"—and +Henry Manning shivered—"and yet, how can I avoid it, +if we should be engaged?"</p> + +<p>With December came the beautiful Emma Harcourt, and +Mrs. Duffield's house was thronged with her admirers. Hers +was the form and movement of the Huntress Queen rather than +of one trained in the halls of fashion. There was a joyous freedom +in her air, her step, her glance, which, had she been less<a class='page' name ='Page_42' id='Page_42' title='42'> </a> +beautiful, less talented, less fortunate in social position or in +wealth, would have placed her under the ban of fashion; but, +as it was, she commanded fashion, and even Henry Manning, +the very slave of conventionalism, had no criticism for her. He +had been among the first to call on her, and the blush that +flitted across her cheek, the smile that played upon her lips, as +he was announced, might well have flattered one even of less +vanity.</p> + +<p>The very next day, before Henry had had time to improve +these symptoms in her favor, on returning home, at five o'clock, +to his dinner, he found a stranger in the parlor with his mother. +The gentleman arose on his entrance, and he had scarcely time +to glance at the tall, manly form, the lofty air, the commanding +brow, ere he found himself clasped in his arms, with the +exclamation, "Dear Henry! how rejoiced I am to see you +again."</p> + +<p>In George Manning the physical and intellectual man had +been developed in rare harmony. He was taller and larger +every way than his brother Henry, and the self-reliance which +the latter had laboriously attained from the mastery of all conventional +rules, was his by virtue of a courageous soul, which +held itself above all rules but those prescribed by its own high +sense of the right. There was a singular contrast, rendered yet +more striking by some points of resemblance, between the pupil +of society, and the child of the forest—between the Parisian +elegance of Henry, and the proud, free grace of George. His +were the step and bearing which we have seen in an Indian +chief; but thought had left its impress on his brow, and there +was in his countenance that indescribable air of refinement +which marks a polished mind. In a very few minutes Henry +became reconciled to his brother's arrival, and satisfied with +him in all respects but one—his dress. This was of the finest +cloth, but made into large, loose trowsers, and a species of hunt<a class='page' name ='Page_43' id='Page_43' title='43'> </a>ing-shirt, +trimmed with fur, belted around the waist, and descending +to the knee, instead of the tight pantaloons and closely +fitting body coat prescribed by fashion. The little party lingered +long over the table—it was seven o'clock before they +arose from it.</p> + +<p>"Dear mother," said George Manning, "I am sorry to leave +you this evening, but I will make you rich amends to-morrow +by introducing to you the friend I am going to visit, if you will +permit me. Henry, it is so long since I was in New-York that +I need some direction in finding my way—must I turn up or +down Broadway for Number—, in going from this street?"</p> + +<p>"Number—," exclaimed Henry in surprise; "you must +be mistaken—that is Mrs. Duffield's."</p> + +<p>"Then I am quite right, for it is at Mrs. Duffield's that I +expect to meet my friend this evening."</p> + +<p>With some curiosity to know what friend of George could +have so completely the <i>entrée</i> of the fashionable Mrs. Duffield's +house as to make an appointment there, Henry proposed to go +with him and show him the way. There was a momentary +hesitation in George's manner before he replied, "Very well, I +shall be obliged to you."</p> + +<p>"But—excuse me George—you are not surely going in that +dress—this is one of Mrs. Duffield's reception evenings, and, +early as it is, you will find company there."</p> + +<p>George laughed as he replied; "They must take me as I +am, Henry. We do not receive our fashions from Paris at the +West."</p> + +<p>Henry almost repented his offer to accompany his brother; +but it was too late to withdraw, for George, unconscious of this +feeling, had taken his cloak and cap, and was awaiting his escort. +As they approached Mrs. Duffield's house, George, who +had hitherto led the conversation, became silent, or answered +his brother only in monosyllables, and then not always to the<a class='page' name ='Page_44' id='Page_44' title='44'> </a> +purpose. As they entered the hall, the hats and cloaks displayed +there showed that, as Henry supposed, they were not +the earliest visitors. George paused for a moment and said, +"You must go in without me, Henry. Show me to a room +where there is no company," he continued, turning to a servant—"and +take this card in to Mrs. Duffield—be sure to give it +to Mrs. Duffield herself."</p> + +<p>The servant bowed low to the commanding stranger; and +Henry, almost mechanically, obeyed his direction, muttering to +himself, "Free and easy, upon my honor." He had scarcely +entered the usual reception-room and made his bow to Mrs. +Duffield, when the servant presented his brother's card. He +watched her closely, and saw a smile playing over her lips as +her eyes rested on it. She glanced anxiously at Miss Harcourt, +and crossing the room to a group in which she stood, she drew +her aside. After a few whispered words, Mrs. Duffield placed +the card in Miss Harcourt's hand. A sudden flash of joy irradiated +every feature of her beautiful face, and Henry Manning +saw that, but for Mrs. Duffield's restraining hand, she would +have rushed from the room. Recalled thus to a recollection of +others, she looked around her, and her eyes met his. In an +instant, her face was covered with blushes, and she drew back +with embarrassed consciousness—almost immediately, however, +she raised her head with a proud, bright expression, and though +she did not look at Henry Manning, he felt that she was conscious +of his observation, as she passed with a composed yet +joyous step from the room.</p> + +<p>Henry Manning was awaking from a dream. It was not +a very pleasant awakening, but as his vanity rather than his +heart was touched, he was able to conceal his chagrin, and appear +as interesting and agreeable as usual. He now expected +with some impatience the <i>dénouement</i> of the comedy. An +hour passed away, and Mrs. Duffield's eye began to consult the<a class='page' name ='Page_45' id='Page_45' title='45'> </a> +marble clock on her mantel-piece. The chime for another half-hour +rang out; and she left the room and returned in a few +minutes, leaning on the arm of George Manning.</p> + +<p>"Who is that?—What noble-looking man is that?" were +questions Henry Manning heard from many—from a very few +only the exclamation, "How oddly he is dressed!" Before the +evening was over Henry began to feel that he was eclipsed on +his own theatre—that George, if not <i>in the fashion</i>, was yet +more <i>the fashion</i> than he.</p> + +<p>Following the proud, happy glance of his brother's eye, a +quarter of an hour later, Henry saw Miss Harcourt entering the +room in an opposite direction from that in which she had lately +come. If this was a <i>ruse</i> on her part to veil the connection +between their movements, it was a fruitless caution. None who +had seen her before could fail now to observe the softened +character of her beauty, and those who saw</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A thousand blushing apparitions start<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into her face"—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>whenever his eyes rested on her, could scarcely doubt his influence +over her.</p> + +<p>The next morning George Manning brought Miss Harcourt +to visit his mother; and Mrs. Manning rose greatly in her son +Henry's estimation, when he saw the affectionate deference +evinced towards her by the proud beauty.</p> + +<p>"How strange my manner must have seemed to you sometimes!" +said Miss Harcourt to Henry one day. "I was engaged +to George long before I met you in Europe; and though +I never had courage to mention him to you, I wondered a little +that you never spoke of him. I never doubted for a moment +that you were acquainted with our engagement."</p> + +<p>"I do not even yet understand where and how you and +George met."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_46' id='Page_46' title='46'> </a>"We met at home—my father was Governor of the Territory—State +now—in which your uncle lives: our homes were +very near each other's, and so we met almost daily while I was +still a child. We have had all sorts of adventures together; for +George was a great favorite with my father, and I was permitted +to go with him anywhere. He has saved my life twice—once +at the imminent peril of his own, when with the wilfulness +of a spoiled child I would ride a horse which he told me I +could not manage. Oh! you know not half his nobleness," and +tears moistened the bright eyes of the happy girl.</p> + +<p>Henry Manning was touched through all his conventionalism, +yet the moment after he said, "George is a fine fellow, +certainly; but I wish you could persuade him to dress a +little more like other people."</p> + +<p>"I would not if I could," exclaimed Emma Harcourt, while +the blood rushed to her temples; "fashions and all such conventional +regulations are made for those who have no innate +perception of the right, the noble, the beautiful—not for such +as he—he is above fashion."</p> + +<p>What Emma would not ask, she yet did not fail to recognize +as another proof of correct judgment, when George +Manning laid aside his Western costume and assumed one less +remarkable.</p> + +<p>Henry Manning had received a new idea—that there are +those who are above the fashion. Allied to this was another +thought, which in time found entrance to his mind, that it +would be at least as profitable to devote our energies to the +acquisition of true nobility of soul, pure and high thought and +refined taste, as to the study of those conventionalisms which +are but their outer garment, and can at best only conceal for a +short time their absence.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_47' id='Page_47' title='47'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER IV.</a></h2> + + +<p>The next day was brilliant. Snow had fallen during the night, +and the sun, which arose without a cloud, was reflected back +from it with dazzling brightness, while every branch and spray +glittered in its casing of ice as though it had been a huge +diamond. Before we met at breakfast, the younger members +of the party had decided on a sleigh-ride. Even Col. Donaldson +<i>malgré</i> old age and rheumatism, found himself unable to resist +the cheerful morning and their gay solicitations, and accompanied +them. Mrs. Donaldson and I were left alone, a +circumstance which did not afflict either of us. Mrs. Donaldson +was never at a loss for pleasant occupation for her hours, and +Annie had given me something to do in parting.</p> + +<p>"Remember, Aunt Nancy, we shall look to you for our +entertainment this evening; you shall be permitted to choose +your subject. Is not that gracious?" she added, with a laugh +at her own style of command, springing at the same moment +from the sleigh in which Mr. Arlington had already placed +himself at her side, and running up the steps to the piazza, +where I stood, that she might give me another kiss, and satisfy +herself that she had not wounded the <i>amour propre</i> of her old +friend, by speaking so much <i>en reine</i>. I was, in truth, pleased +to be reminded of the demand which might be made on me in +the evening, while I had time to glance over sketches intended<a class='page' name ='Page_48' id='Page_48' title='48'> </a> +only for myself, and ascertain whether they contained any thing +likely to interest others.</p> + +<p>A late dinner re-united us, and the fatigues of the morning +having been repaired by an hour's rest in the afternoon, our +party was more than usually fresh and ready for enjoyment +when we met in the evening. I had availed myself of Annie's +permission, and selected my subject. It was a crayon sketch of +a lovely lake, taken by Philip Oswald, the son of one of my +most valued friends. The sketch was made while all around +remained in the wilderness of uncultivated nature. Since that +day, the stillness has been disturbed by the sound of the axe and +the hammer. Upon the borders of that sweet lake, a fair home +has risen, from which the incense of grateful and loving hearts +has gone up to the Creator of so much beauty. The associations +which made this scene peculiarly interesting to me I +had long since written out, and now give to the reader under +the title of</p> + + +<h3><a name="LOSS_AND_GAIN" id="LOSS_AND_GAIN"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">LOSS AND GAIN;</a></h3> + +<h4>OR, HEARTS VERSUS DIAMONDS.</h4> + +<p>Winter had thrown its icy fetters over the Hudson, and stilled +even the stormier waves of the East River, as the inhabitants +of New-York designate that portion of the Harbor which lies +between their city and Brooklyn. The city itself—its streets—its +houses—all wore the livery of this "ruler of the inverted +year"—while in many a garret and cellar of its crowded streets, +ragged children huddled together, seeking to warm their frozen +limbs beneath the scanty covering of their beds, or cowering +over the few half-dying embers, which they misnamed a fire. +Yet the social affections were not chilled—rather did they seem +to glow more warmly, as though rejoicing in their triumph +over the mighty conqueror of the physical world. Christian<a class='page' name ='Page_49' id='Page_49' title='49'> </a> +charity went forth unchecked through the frosty air and over +the snow-clad streets, to shelter the houseless, to clothe the +naked, to warm the freezing. Human sympathies awoke to +new-life, the dying hopes and failing energies of man; and the +sleigh-bells, ringing out their joyous peals through the day, and +far, far into the night, told that the young and fair were abroad +braving all the severities of the season, in their eager search +after pleasure. In the neighborhood of Waverley Place, especially, +on the evening of the 16th of December, did this merry +music "wake the silent air" to respond to the quick beatings of +the gay young hearts anticipating the fête of fêtes, the most +brilliant party of the season, which was that evening to be +given at the house of the ruler of fashion—the elegant Mrs. +Bruton.</p> + +<p>Instead of introducing our readers to the gay assemblage of +this lady's guests, we will take them to the dressing-room of the +fairest among them, the beautiful, the gay, the brilliant Caroline +Danby. As the door of this inner temple of beauty opens at +the touch of our magic wand, its inmate is seen standing before +a mirror, and her eye beams, and her lip is smiling with anticipated +triumph. Does there seem vanity in the gaze she fastens +there? Look on that form of graceful symmetry, on those +large black eyes with their jetty fringes, on the rich coloring of +her rounded cheeks, and the dewy freshness of her red lip, and +you will forget to censure. But see, the mirror reflects another +form—a form so slender that it seems scarcely to have attained +the full proportions of womanhood, and a face whose soft gray +eyes and fair complexion, and hair of the palest gold, present a +singular contrast to the dark yet glowing beauty beside her. +This is Mary Grayson, the orphan cousin of Caroline Danby, +who has grown up in her father's house. She has glided in +with her usual gentle movement, and light, noiseless step, and +Caroline first perceives her in the glass.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_50' id='Page_50' title='50'> </a>"Ah, Mary!" she exclaims, "I sent for you to put this +diamond spray in my hair; you arrange it with so much more +taste than any one else."</p> + +<p>Mary smilingly receives the expensive ornament, and fastens +it amidst the dark, glossy tresses. At this moment the doorbell +gives forth a hasty peal, and going to the head of the +stairs, Mary remains listening till the door is opened, and then +comes back to say, "Mrs. Oswald, Caroline, and Philip."</p> + +<p>"Pray, go down and entertain them till I come, Mary"—and +seemingly nothing loth, Mary complies with the request.</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room to which Mary Grayson directed her +steps stood a stately looking lady, who advanced to meet her +as she entered, and kissing her affectionately, asked, "Are +you not going with us this evening?"</p> + +<p>"No; my sore throat has increased, and the Doctor is +positive; there is no appeal from him, you know; I am very +sorry, for I wished to see some of Philip's foreign graces," she +said playfully, as she turned to give her hand to a gentleman +who had entered while she was speaking. He received it with +the frank kindness of a brother, but before he could reply the +door of the drawing-room opened, and Caroline Danby appeared +within it. Philip Oswald sprang forward to greet her, +and from that moment seemed forgetful that there was any +other thing in life deserving his attention, save her radiant +beauty. Perhaps there was some little regard to the effect of +his first glance at that beauty, in her presenting herself in +the drawing-room with her cloak and hood upon her arm, the +diamond sparkling in her uncovered tresses, and the soft, rich +folds of her satin dress and its flowing lace draperies, shading +without concealing the graceful outline of her form. The gentleman +who gazed so admiringly upon her, who wrapped her +cloak around her with such tender care, and even insisted, +kneeling gracefully before her, on fastening himself the warm,<a class='page' name ='Page_51' id='Page_51' title='51'> </a> +furred overshoes upon her slender foot, seemed a fit attendant +at the shrine of beauty. Philip Oswald had been only a few +weeks at home, after an absence of four years spent in European +travel. The quality in his appearance and manners, which +first impressed the observer, was refinement—perfect elegance, +without the least touch of coxcombry. It had been said of him, +that he had brought home the taste in dress of a Parisian, the +imaginativeness of a German, and the voice and passion for +music of an Italian. Few were admitted to such intimacy with +him as to look into the deeper qualities of the mind—but those +who were, saw there the sturdy honesty of John Bull, and the +courageous heart and independent spirit of his own America. +Some of those who knew him best, regretted that the possession +of a fortune, which placed him among the wealthiest in +America, would most probably consign him to a life of indolence, +in which his highest qualities would languish for want +of exercise.</p> + +<p>By nine o'clock Caroline Danby's preparations were completed, +and leaning on one of Philip Oswald's arms, while the +other was given to his mother, she was led out, and placed in +the most splendid sleigh in New York, and wrapped in the +most costly furs. Philip followed, the weary coachman touched +his spirited horses with the whip, the sleigh-bells rang merrily +out, and Mary Grayson was left in solitude.</p> + +<p>The last stroke of three had ceased to vibrate on the air when +Caroline Danby again stood beside her cousin. Mary was +sleeping, and a painter might have hesitated whether to give +the palm of beauty to the soft, fair face, which looked so angel-like +in its placid sleep, or to that which bent above her in undimmed +brilliancy.</p> + +<p>"Is it you, Caroline? What time is it?" asked Mary, as +she aroused at her cousin's call.</p> + +<p>"Three o'clock; but wake up, Mary; I have something to +tell you, which must not be heard by sleepy ears."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_52' id='Page_52' title='52'> </a>"How fresh you look!" exclaimed Mary, sitting up in bed +and looking at her cousin admiringly. "Who would believe +you had been dancing all night!"</p> + +<p>"I have not been dancing all night, nor half the night."</p> + +<p>"Why—what have you been doing then?"</p> + +<p>"Listening to Philip Oswald. Oh Mary! I am certainly +the most fortunate woman in the world. He is mine at last—he, +the most elegant, the most brilliant man in New-York, and +with such a splendid fortune. I was so happy, so excited, that +I could not sleep, and therefore I awoke you to talk."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you did, for I am almost as much pleased as +you can be—such joy is better than sleep;—but all the bells in +the city seem to be ringing—did you see any thing of the fire?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes! the whole sky at the southeast is glowing from +the flames—the largest fire, they say, that has ever been known +in the city—but it is far enough from us—down in Wall-street—and +who can think of fires with such joy before them? Only +think, Mary, with Philip's fortune and Philip's taste, what an +establishment I shall have."</p> + +<p>"And what a mother in dear, good Mrs. Oswald!"</p> + +<p>"Yes—but I hope she will not wish to live with us—mother-in-laws, +you know, always want to manage every thing +in their sons' houses."</p> + +<p>Thus the cousins sat talking till the fire-bells ceased their +monotonous and ominous clang, and the late dawn of a winter +morning reddened the eastern sky. It was half-past nine o'clock +when they met again at their breakfast; yet late as it was, Mr. +Danby, usually a very early riser, was not quite ready for it. +He had spent most of the night at the scene of the fire, and had +with great difficulty and labor saved his valuable stock of +French goods from the destroyer. When he joined his +daughter and niece, his mind was still under the influence of +last night's excitement, and he could talk of nothing but the fire.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_53' id='Page_53' title='53'> </a>"Rather expensive fireworks, I am afraid," said Caroline +flippantly, as her father described the lurid grandeur of the +scene.</p> + +<p>"Do not speak lightly, my daughter, of that which must +reduce many from affluence to beggary. Millions of property +were lost last night. The 16th of December, 1835, will long +be remembered in the annals of New-York, I fear."</p> + +<p>"It will long be remembered in my annals," whispered +Caroline to her cousin, with a bright smile, despite her father's +chiding.</p> + +<p>"Not at home to any but Mr. Philip Oswald," had been +Caroline Danby's order to the servant this morning; and thus +when she was told, at twelve o'clock, that that gentleman +awaited her in the drawing-room, she had heard nothing more +of the fire than her father and the morning paper had communicated. +As she entered, Philip arose to greet her, but though +he strove to smile as his eyes met hers, the effort was vain; and +throwing himself back on the sofa, he covered his face with his +hand, as though to hide his pallor and the convulsive quivering +of his lips from her whom he was reluctant to grieve. Emboldened +by her fears, Caroline advanced, and laying her hand +on his, exclaimed, "What is the matter?—Are you ill?—your +mother?—pray do not keep me in suspense, but tell me what +has happened."</p> + +<p>He seemed to have mastered his emotion, from whatever +cause it had proceeded; for removing his hand, he looked +earnestly upon her, and drawing her to a seat beside him, said +in firm, though sad tones, "That has happened, Caroline, +which would not move me thus, but for your dear sake—I +asked you last night to share my fortune—to-day I have none +to offer you."</p> + +<p>"Gracious heaven!" exclaimed Caroline, turning as pale as +he, "what do you mean?"</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_54' id='Page_54' title='54'> </a>"That in the fire last night, or the failures which the most +sanguine assure me it must produce, my whole fortune is involved. +If I can recover from the wreck what will secure to +my poor mother the continuance of her accustomed comforts, it +will be beyond my hopes; for me—the luxuries, the comforts, +the very necessaries of life must be the produce of my own exertion. +I do not ask you to share my poverty, Caroline; I +cannot be so selfish; had I not spoken of my love last night, +you should never have heard it—though it had been like a +burning fire, I would have shut it up within my heart—but it +is too late for this; you have heard it, and I have heard—the +remembrance brings with it a wild delirious joy, even in this +hour of darkness "—and the pale face of Philip Oswald flushed, +and his dimmed eye beamed brightly again as he spoke: +"I have heard your sweet confession of reciprocal regard. +Months, perhaps years may pass before I attain the goal at +which I last night thought myself to have already arrived—before +I can dare to call you mine—but in our land, manly +determination and perseverance ever command success, and I +fear not to promise you, dearest, one day a happy home—though +not a splendid one—if you will promise me to share it. +Look on me, Caroline—give me one smile to light me on my +way—with such a hope before me, I cannot say my <i>dreary</i> +way."</p> + +<p>He ceased, yet Caroline neither looked upon him, nor spoke. +Her cheek had grown pale at his words, and she sat down with +downcast eyes, cold, still, statue-like at his side. Yet did not +Philip Oswald doubt her love. Had not her eye kindled and +her cheek flushed at his whispered vows—had not her hand +rested lovingly in his, and her lip been yielded to the first kiss +of love—how, then, could he dare to doubt her? She was +grieved for his sake—he had been selfishly abrupt in his first +communication of his sorrow, and now he—the stronger—must<a class='page' name ='Page_55' id='Page_55' title='55'> </a> +struggle to bear and to speak cheerfully for her sake. And +with this feeling he had been able to conclude far more cheerfully +than he commenced. As she still continued silent, he +bent forward, and would have pressed his lip to her cheek, saying, +"Not one word for me, dear one,"—but, drawing hastily +back, Caroline said with great effort,</p> + +<p>"I think, Mr. Oswald—it seems to me that—that—an engagement +must be a heavy burden to one who has to make +his own way in life—I—I should be sorry to be a disadvantage +to you."</p> + +<p>It was a crushing blow, and for an instant he sat stunned +into almost death-like stillness by it:—but he rallied;—he would +leave no loop on which hope or fancy might hereafter hang a +doubt. "Caroline," he said, in a voice whose change spoke the +intensity of his feelings, "do not speak of disadvantage to me—your +love was the one star left in my sky—but that matters not—what +I would know is, whether you desire that the record +of last evening should be blotted from the history of our lives?"</p> + +<p>"I—I think it had better be—I am sure I wish you well, +Mr. Oswald."</p> + +<p>It was well for her, perhaps, that she did not venture to +meet his eye—that look of withering scorn could hardly ever +have vanished from her memory—it was enough to hear his +bitter laugh, and the accents in which he said, "Thank you, +Miss Danby—your wishes are fully reciprocated—may you +never know a love less prudent than your own."</p> + +<p>The door closed on him, and she was alone—left to the +companionship of her own heart—evil companionship in such +an hour! She hastened to relate all that had passed to Mary, +but Mary had no assurances for her—she had only sympathy +for Philip—"dear Philip"—as she called him over and over +again. "I think it would better become one so young as you +are, to say, Mr. Oswald, Mary," said Caroline, pettishly.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_56' id='Page_56' title='56'> </a>"I have called him Philip from my childhood, Caroline—I +shall not begin to say Mr. Oswald <i>now</i>." Mary did not mean a +reproach, but to Caroline's accusing conscience it sounded like +one, and she turned away indignantly. She soon, however, +sought her cousin again with a note in her hand.</p> + +<p>"I have been writing to Mrs. Oswald, Mary," she said; +"you are perhaps too young, and Mr. Oswald too much absorbed +in his own disappointment, to estimate the propriety of +my conduct; but she will, I am sure, agree with me, that one +expensively reared as I have been, accustomed to every luxury, +and perfectly ignorant of economy, would make the worst possible +wife to a poor man; and she has so much influence over +Mr. Oswald, that, should she accord with me in opinion on this +point, she can easily convince him of its justice. Will you take +my note to her? I do not like to send it by a servant—it +might fall into Philip's hands."</p> + +<p>Nothing could have pleased Mary more than this commission, +for her affectionate heart was longing to offer its sympathy +to her friends. Mrs. Oswald assumed perhaps a little more +than her usual stateliness when she heard her announced, but +it vanished instantly before Mary's tearful eye, as she kissed the +hand that was extended to her. Mrs. Oswald folded her arms +around her, and Mary sank sobbing upon the bosom of her +whom she had come to console. And Mrs. Oswald was consoled +by such true and tender sympathy. It was long before +Mary could prevail on herself to disturb the flow of gentler affections +by delivering Caroline's note. Mrs. Oswald received it +with an almost contemptuous smile, which remained unchanged +while she read. It was a labored effort to make her conduct +seem a generous determination not to obstruct Philip's course +in life, by binding him to a companion so unsuitable to his +present prospects as herself. In reply, Mrs. Oswald assured +Caroline Danby of her perfect agreement with her in the con<a class='page' name ='Page_57' id='Page_57' title='57'> </a>viction +that she would make a very unsuitable wife for Philip +Oswald. "This," she added, "was always my opinion, though +I was unwilling to oppose my son's wishes. I thank you for +having convinced him I was right in the only point on which +we ever differed."</p> + +<p>It cannot be supposed that this note was very pleasing to +Caroline Danby; but, whatever were her dissatisfaction, she +did not complain, and probably soon lost all remembrance of +her chagrin in the gayeties which a few men of fortune still remained, +amidst the almost universal ruin, to promote and to +partake.</p> + +<p>In the mean time, Philip Oswald was experiencing that restlessness, +that burning desire to free himself from all his present +associations, to begin, as it were, a new life, which the first +pressure of sorrow so often arouses in the ardent spirit. Had +not his will been "bound down by the iron chain of necessity," +he would probably have returned to Europe, and wasted his energies +amidst aimless wanderings. As it was, he chose among +those modes of life demanded by his new circumstances, that +which would take him farthest from New-York, and place him +in a condition the most foreign to all his past experience, and +demanding the most active and most incessant exertion. Out +of that which the fire, the failure of Insurance Companies and +of private individuals, had left him remained, after the purchase +of a liberal annuity for his mother, a few thousands to be devoted +either to merchandise, to his support while pursuing the +studies necessary for the acquirement of a profession, or to any +mode of gaining a living, which he might prefer to these. The +very hour which ascertained this fact, saw his resolution taken +and his course marked out.</p> + +<p>"I must have new scenery for this new act in the drama of +my life," he said to his mother. "I must away—away from +all the artificialities and trivialities of my present world, to the<a class='page' name ='Page_58' id='Page_58' title='58'> </a> +rich prairies, the wide streams, the boundless expanse of the +West. I go to make a new home for you dear mother—you +shall be the queen of my kingdom."</p> + +<p>This was not the choice that would have pleased an ambitious, +or an over-fond mother. The former would have preferred +a profession, as conferring higher social distinction; the +latter would have shrunk from seeing one nursed in the lap of +luxury go forth to encounter the hardships of a pioneer. But +Mrs. Oswald possessed an intelligence which recognized in that +life of bold adventure, and physical endurance, and persevering +labor, that awaited her son in the prosecution of his plans, the +best school for the development of that decision and force of +character which she had desired as the crowning seal to Philip's +intellectual endowments, warm affections, and just principles; +and, holding his excellence as the better part of her own +happiness, she sanctioned his designs, and did all in her power +to promote their execution. He waited, therefore, only to see +her leave the house whose rent now exceeded her whole annual +income, for pleasant rooms in a boarding-house, agreeably +situated, before he set out from New-York.</p> + +<p>It is not our intention minutely to trace his course, to describe +the "local habitation" which he acquired, or detail the +difficulties which arose in his progress, the strength with which +he combated, or the means by which he overcame them. For +his course, suffice it that it was westward; for his habitation, +that it was on the slope of a hill crowned with the gigantic +trees of that fertile soil, and beside a lake, "a sheet of silver" +well fitted to be—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A mirror and a bath for beauty's youngest daughters;"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and that the house, which he at length succeeded in raising +and furnishing there, united somewhat the refinement of his +past life to the simplicity of his present; for his difficulties, we<a class='page' name ='Page_59' id='Page_59' title='59'> </a> +can only say, he met them and conquered them, and gained +from each encounter knowledge and power. For two years, +letters were the only medium of intercourse between his mother +and himself, but those letters were a history—a history not +only of his stirring, outer life, but of that inner life which yet +more deeply interested her. Feeling proud herself of the daring +spirit, the iron will, the ready invention which these letters +displayed, yet prouder of the affectionate heart, the true and +generous nature, it is not wonderful that Mrs. Oswald should +have often read them, or at least parts of them, to her constant +friend and very frequent visitor, Mary Grayson. Nor is it more +strange that Mary, thus made to recognize in the most interesting +man she had yet known, far more lofty claims to her admiration, +should have enshrined him in her young and pure imagination +as some "bright, particular star."</p> + +<p>Two years in the future! How almost interminable seems +the prospect to our hopes or our affections!—but let Time +turn his perspective glass—let us look at it in the past, and +how it shrinks and becomes as a day in the history of our +lives! So was it with Philip Oswald's two years of absence, +when he found himself, in the earliest dawn of the spring of +1838, once more in New-York. Yet that time had not passed +without leaving traces of its passage—traces in the changes +affecting those around him—yet deeper traces in himself. +He arrived in the afternoon of an earlier day than that on +which he had been expected. In the evening Mrs. Oswald +persuaded him to assume, for the gratification of her curiosity, +the picturesque costume worn by him in his western home. +He had just re-entered her room, and she was yet engaged in +animated observation of the hunting-shirt, strapped around the +waist with a belt of buckskin, the open collar, and loosely +knotted cravat, which, as the mother's heart whispered, so well +became that tall and manly form, when there was a slight tap<a class='page' name ='Page_60' id='Page_60' title='60'> </a> +at the door, and before she could speak, it opened, and Mary +Grayson stood within it. She gazed in silence for a moment +on the striking figure before her, and her mind rapidly +scanned the changes which time and new modes of life had +made in the Philip Oswald of her memory. As she did so, +she acknowledged that the embrowned face and hands, the +broader and more vigorous proportions, and even the easy +freedom of his dress, were more in harmony with the bold and +independent aspect which his character had assumed, than the +delicacy and elegance by which he had formerly been distinguished. +His outer man was now the true index of a noble, +free, and energetic spirit—a spirit which, having conquered +itself, was victor over all—and as such, it attracted from Mary +a deeper and more reverent admiration, than she had felt for +him when adorned with all the trappings of wealth and luxurious +refinement. The very depth of this sentiment destroyed +the ease of her manner towards him, and as Philip Oswald +took the hand formerly so freely offered him, and heard from +her lips the respectful Mr. Oswald, instead of the frank, sisterly +Philip, he said to himself—"She looks down upon the backwoodsman, +and would have him know his place." So much +for man's boasted penetration!</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the barrier of reserve thus erected between +them, Philip Oswald could not but admire the rare loveliness +into which Mary Grayson's girlish prettiness had expanded, +and again, and yet again, while she was speaking to +his mother, and could not therefore perceive him, he turned +to gaze on her, fascinated not by the finely turned form or +beautiful features, but by the countenance beaming with gentle +and refined intelligence. Here was none of the brilliancy +which had dazzled his senses in Caroline Danby, but an +expression of mind and heart far more captivating to him +who had entered into the inner mysteries of life.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_61' id='Page_61' title='61'> </a>A fortnight was the limit of Philip Oswald's stay in the +city. He had come not for his mother, but for the house in +which she was to live, and he carried it back with him. We +do not mean that his house, with all its conveniences of +kitchen and pantry, its elegances of parlor and drawing-room, +and its decorations of pillar and cornice fitly joined together, +travelled off with him to the far West. We do not despair of +seeing such a feat performed some day, but we believe it has +not yet been done, and Philip Oswald, at least, did not attempt +it; he took with him, however, all those useful and ornamental +contrivances in their several parts, accompanied by +workmen skilled in putting the whole together. Again in his +western home, for another year, his head and his hands were +fully occupied with building and planting. For the first two +years of his forest life, he had thought only of the substantial +produce of the field—the rye, the barley, the Indian corn, +which were to be exchanged for the "omnipotent dollar"—but +woman was coming, and beauty and grace must be the +herald of her steps. For his mother, he planted fruits and +flowers, opened views of the lake, made a gravelled walk to +its shore bordered with flowering shrubs, and wreathed the +woodbine, the honeysuckle, and the multiflora rose around +the columns of his piazza. For his mother this was done, and +yet, when the labors of the day were over, and he looked +forth upon them in the cool, still evening hour, it was not his +mother's face, but one younger and fairer which peered out +upon him from the vine-leaves, or with tender smiles wooed +him to the lake. Young, fair, and tender as it was, its wooings +generally sent him in an opposite direction, with a sneer +at his own folly, to stifle his fancies with a book, or to mark +out the plan of the morrow's operations.</p> + +<p>More than a year had passed away and Philip Oswald was +again in New-York, just as spring was gliding into the ardent<a class='page' name ='Page_62' id='Page_62' title='62'> </a> +embraces of summer. This time he had come for his mother, +and with all the force of his resolute will, he shut his ears to +the flattering suggestions of fancy, that a dearer pleasure +than even that mother's presence might be won. He had +looked steadily upon his lot in life, and he accepted it, and determined +to make the best of it and to be happy in it; yet +he felt that it was after all a rugged lot. Without considering +all women as mercenary as Caroline Danby, which his +knowledge of his mother forbade him to do, even in his most +woman-scorning mood, he yet doubted whether any of those +who had been reared amidst the refinements of cultivated life, +could be won to leave them all for love in the western wilds; +and as the unrefined could have no charms for him, he deliberately +embraced <i>bachelordom</i> as a part of his portion, and, not +without a sigh, yielded himself to the conviction that all the +wealth of woman's love within his power to attain, was locked +within a mother's heart.</p> + +<p>A fortnight was again the allotted time of Philip Oswald's +stay; but when that had expired, he was persuaded to delay +his departure for yet another week. He had been drawn, by accompanying +his mother in her farewell visits, once more within +the vortex of society, and his manly independence and energy, +his knowledge of what was to his companions a new world, +and his spirit-stirring descriptions of its varied beauty and inexhaustible +fertility, made him more the fashion than he had +ever been. He had often met Caroline Danby—now Mrs. +Randall—and Mary more than once delicately turned her eyes +away from her cousin's face, lest she should read there somewhat +of chagrin as Mr. Randall, with his meaningless face and +dapper-looking form—insignificant in all save the reputation +of being the wealthiest banker in Wall-street, and possessing +the most elegant house and furniture, the best appointed<a class='page' name ='Page_63' id='Page_63' title='63'> </a> +equipage, and the handsomest wife in the city—stood beside +Philip Oswald with</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i7">"——a form indeed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where every god did seem to set his seal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To give the world assurance of a man,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and a face radiant with intelligence, while circled by an +attentive auditory of that which was noblest and best in their +world, his eloquent enthusiasm made them hear the rushing +waters, see the boundless prairies, and feel for a time all the +wild freedom of the untamed West. Such enthusiasm was +gladly welcomed as a breeze in the still air, a ruffle in the +stagnant waters of fashionable life.</p> + +<p>Within two or three days of their intended departure, Mrs. +Oswald proposed to Philip that they should visit a friend residing +near Fort Lee, and invited Mary to accompany them. +Among the acquaintances whom they found on board was an +invalid lady, who could not bear the fresh air upon deck; and +Mary, pitying her loneliness and seclusion, remained for awhile +conversing with her in the cabin. Mrs. Oswald and Philip +were on deck, and near them was a young and giddy girl, to +whose care a mother had intrusted a bold, active, joyous infant, +seemingly about eight months old.</p> + +<p>"That is a dangerous position for so lively a child," said +Philip Oswald to the young nurse, as he saw her place him on +the side of the boat; "he may spring from your arms overboard."</p> + +<p>With that foolish tempting of the danger pointed out by +another, which we sometimes see even in women, the girl +removed her arms from around the child, sustaining only a +slight hold of its frock. At this moment the flag of the boat +floated within view of the little fellow, and he sprang towards +it. A splash in the water told the rest—but even before that<a class='page' name ='Page_64' id='Page_64' title='64'> </a> +was heard, Philip Oswald had dashed off his boots and coat, +and the poor child had scarcely touched the waves when he +was beside it, and held it encircled in his arm.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mary! Mr. Oswald! Mr. Oswald!" cried one of +Mary's young acquaintances, rushing into the cabin with a face +blanched with terror.</p> + +<p>"What of him?" questioned Mary, starting eagerly forward.</p> + +<p>"He is in the water. Oh, Mary! he will be drowned."</p> + +<p>Mary did not utter a sound, yet she felt in that moment, +for the first time, how important to her was Philip Oswald's +life. Tottering towards the door, she leaned against it for a +moment while all around grew dark, and strange sounds were +buzzing in her ears. The next instant she sank into a chair and +lost her terrors in unconsciousness. The same young lady who +had played the alarmist to her, as she saw the paleness of death +settle on Mary's face and her eyes close, ran again upon the +deck, exclaiming, "Mary Grayson is fainting,—pray come to +Mary Grayson."</p> + +<p>Philip Oswald was already on deck, dripping indeed, but +unharmed and looking nobler than ever, as he held the +recovered child in his arms. As that cry, "Mary Grayson is +fainting," reached his ears, he threw the infant to a bystander, +and hastened to the cabin followed by Mrs. Oswald.</p> + +<p>"What has caused this?" cried Mrs. Oswald, as she saw +Mary still insensible, supported on the bosom of her invalid friend.</p> + +<p>"Miss Ladson's precipitation," said the invalid, looking not +very pleasantly on that young lady; "she told her Mr. Oswald +was drowning."</p> + +<p>"Well, I am sure I thought he was drowning."</p> + +<p>"If he had been, it would have been a pity to give such +information so abruptly," said Mrs. Oswald, as she took off +Mary's bonnet, and loosened the scarf which was tied around +her neck.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_65' id='Page_65' title='65'> </a>"I am sure," exclaimed Miss Ladson, anxious only to secure +herself from blame,—"I am sure I did not suppose Mary would +faint; for when her uncle's horse threw him, and every body +thought he was killed, instead of fainting she ran out in the +street, and did for him more than any body else could do. I +am sure I could not think she would care more for Mr. Oswald's +danger than for her own uncle's."</p> + +<p>No one replied to this insinuation; but that Philip Oswald +heard it, might have been surmised from the sudden flush that +rose to his temples, and from his closer clasp of the unconscious +form, which at his mother's desire he was bearing to a settee. +Whether it were the water which oozed from his saturated +garments over her face and neck, or some subtle magnetic fluid +conveyed in that tender clasp, that aroused her, we cannot tell; +but a faint tinge of color revisited her cheeks and lips, and as +Philip laid her tenderly down, while his arms were still around +her, and his face was bending over her, she opened her eyes. +What there was in that first look which called such a sudden +flash of joy into Philip Oswald's eyes, we know not; nor what +were the whispered words which, as he bowed his head yet +lower, sent a crimson glow into Mary's pale cheeks. This +however we do know, that Mrs. Oswald and her son delayed +their journey for yet another week; and that the day before +their departure Philip Oswald stood with Mary Grayson at his +side before God's holy altar, and there, in the presence of his +mother, Mr. Danby, Mr. and Mrs. Randall, and a few friends, +they took those vows which made them one for ever.</p> + +<p>Does some starched prude, or some lady interested in the +bride's <i>trousseau</i>, exclaim against such unseemly haste? We +have but one excuse for them. They were so unfashionable as +to prefer the gratification of a true affection to the ceremonies +so dear to vanity, and to think more of the earnest claims of +life than of its gilded pomps.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_66' id='Page_66' title='66'> </a>Mr. Danby had been unable to pay down the bride's small +dower of 8000 dollars; and when he called on his son-in-law, +Mr. Randall, to assist him, he could only offer to indorse his +note to Mr. Oswald for the amount, acknowledging that it would +be perilous at that time to abstract even half that amount from +his business. It probably would have been perilous indeed, as +in little more than a month after he failed for an enormous +amount; but fear not, reader, for the gentle Caroline: she still +retained her elegant house and furniture, her handsome equipage +and splendid jewels. These were only a small part of what +the indignant creditors found had been made over to her by +her grateful husband.</p> + +<p>Six years have passed away since the occurrence of the +events we have been recording. Caroline Randall, weary of +the sameness of splendor in her home, has been abroad for +two years, travelling with a party of friends. It is said—convenient +phrase that—that her husband had declared she must +and shall return, and that to enforce his will he has resolved to +send her no more remittances, to honor no more of her drafts, +as she has already almost beggared him by her extravagance +abroad. Verily, she has her reward!</p> + +<p>One farewell glance at our favorite, Mary Grayson, and we +have done.</p> + +<p>Beside a lovely lake, over whose margin light graceful +shrubs are bending, and on whose transparent waters lie the +dense forest shadows, though here and there the golden rays of +the declining sun flash through the tangled boughs upon its +dancing waves, a noble-looking boy of four years old is sailing +his mimic fleet, while a lovely girl, two years younger, toddles +about, picking "pitty flowers," and bringing them to "papa, +mamma, or grandmamma," as her capricious fancy prompts. +Near by, papa, mamma, grandmamma, and one pleased and +honored guest, are grouped beneath the bending boughs of a<a class='page' name ='Page_67' id='Page_67' title='67'> </a> +magnificent black walnut, and around a table on which strawberries +and cream, butter sweet as the breath of the cows that +yielded it, biscuits light and white, and bread as good as +Humbert himself could make, are served in a style of elegant +simplicity, while the silver urn in which the water hisses, and +the small china cups into which the fragrant tea is poured, if +they are somewhat antique in fashion, are none the less +beautiful or the less valued by those who still prize the +slightest object associated with the affections beyond the gratification +of the vanity.</p> + +<p>The evening meal is over. The shadows grow darker on +the lake. Agreeable conversation has given place to silent +enjoyment, which Mrs. Oswald interrupts to say, "Philip, this +is the hour for music; let us have some before Mary leaves us +with the children."</p> + +<p>Full, deep-toned was the manly voice that swelled upon +that evening air, and soft and clear its sweet accompaniment, +while the words, full of adoring gratitude and love, seemed +incense due to the heaven which had so blessed them.</p> + +<p>The last sweet notes had died away, and Mary, calling the +children, leads them to their quiet repose, after they have bestowed +their good-night kisses. Philip Oswald follows her +with his eyes, as, with a child on each hand, she advances with +gentle grace upon the easy slope, to the house on its summit. +She enters the piazza, and is screened from his view by its lattice-work +of vines, but he knows that soon his children will be +lisping their evening prayer at her knee, and the thought calls +a tender expression to his eyes as he turns them away from his +"sweet home."</p> + +<p>Contrast this picture with that of Caroline Randall's heartless +splendor, and say whether thou wilt choose for thy portion +the gratification of the true and pure household affections +which Heaven has planted in thy nature, or that of a selfish +vanity?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_68' id='Page_68' title='68'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER V.</a></h2> + + +<p>This morning, as I sat in the library writing a letter, Annie +came in and seated herself at a table on the opposite side of +the room. Her unusual stillness caused me to look up after +some minutes, and I found that Mr. Arlington's portfolio having +been left upon the table, she had drawn from it one of his pencilings, +and was gazing steadfastly upon it, as I could not but +think, with something troubled in the expression of her usually +open and cheerful face. While I was still observing her, the +door behind her opened, and Mr. Arlington himself entered. A +blush arose to Annie's cheeks as she saw him; a blush which +had its origin, I thought, in some deeper feeling than a mere +girlish shame at being found so engrossed by one of his productions.</p> + +<p>"What have you there?" he asked, as seating himself +beside her, he took the paper from what seemed to me her somewhat +reluctant hand. No sooner had he looked on it, than his +own bright face became shadowed, as hers had been, and yet +he smiled, too, as he said, "That portfolio is really an <i>omnium +gatherum</i>. I had no idea this had found its way there. When +I first read Mrs. Hemans' poem of 'The Bird's Release,' it reminded +me of this scene of my boyhood, though if I have never +spoken to you of my darling Grace, you will not be able to understand +why."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_69' id='Page_69' title='69'> </a>"You never have," said Annie, answering his looks rather +than his words, while a slight increase of color was again perceptible in her fair cheek.</p> + +<p>"She was my sister, my only sister; we were but two, the +petted darlings of a widowed mother. I told you, that few could +sympathize as I could with Körner's memory of Mother-love. +I was but six years old, and just such a chubby, broad-shouldered +little varlet, I fancy, as I have sketched here, when Grace, +who was two years older, and the loveliest, merriest little creature +in the world, died. My mother was already beginning to +feel the influence of that disease, which, two years later, terminated +her life, and, I have no doubt, the death of Grace, who +was her idol, increased the rapidity of its progress."</p> + +<p>There was silence for some minutes, and then Annie said +softly, "But what of the bird?"</p> + +<p>"It was a thrush which had been given to Grace some time +before her death, and which she was trying to tame for me. +My mother could not bear to see it after her death, and with +some difficulty persuaded me to give it its liberty. You will +now see why I should have dedicated this sketch to Grace, +and why these lines should have brought the scene to my +mind, and caused me indeed to make this drawing of it."</p> + +<p>"Will you read the lines for me?" asked Annie, "I had +not finished them when you took the paper from me."</p> + +<p>To tell you a secret, reader, I do not believe she had seen +any thing on the paper except the few words in German text +written at its head, "To my darling Grace."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arlington read in a tone of feeling and interest,—</p> + + +<h3><a class='page' name ='Page_70' id='Page_70' title='70'> </a><a name="THE_BIRDS_RELEASE" id="THE_BIRDS_RELEASE"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">THE BIRD'S RELEASE.</a></h3> + +<h4>BY MRS. HEMANS.</h4> + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Go forth, for she is gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the golden light of her wavy hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She is gone to the fields of the viewless air:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She hath left her dwelling lone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her voice hath pass'd away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It hath passed away like a summer breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When it leaves the hills for the for blue seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where we may not trace its way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Go forth, and like her be free:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thy radiant wing, and thy glancing eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast all the range of the sunny sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what is our grief to thee?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is it aught even to her we mourn?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth she look on the tears by her kindred shed?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth she rest with the flowers o'er her gentle head?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or float on the light wind borne?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We know not—but she is gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her step from the dance, her voice from the song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the smile of her eye from the festal throng;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She hath loft her dwelling lone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the waves at sunset shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We may hear thy voice amidst thousands more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the scented woods of our glowing shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But we shall not know 'tis thine!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Even so with the loved one flown!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her smile in the starlight may wander by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her breath may be near in the wind's low sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around us—but all unknown.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a class='page' name ='Page_71' id='Page_71' title='71'> </a>Go forth, we have loosed thy chains!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We may deck thy cage with the richest flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which the bright day rears in our eastern bowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou wilt not be lured again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Even thus may the summer pour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All fragrant things on the land's green breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the glorious earth like a bride be dress'd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it wins <i>her</i> back no more!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>I was doubtful whether either Mr. Arlington or Annie were +aware of my presence, and was just debating with myself whether +I should make them aware of it by addressing them, or +quietly steal away, when Col. Donaldson decided the point by +entering the library and speaking to me. He came to ask that +I would come to the parlor and see a boy who had just been +sent from one of our charitable institutions, to which he had +applied for a lad to act as a helper to his old waiter, John, who +was now old enough to require some indulgence, and had always +been trustworthy enough to deserve some. The boy +looked intelligent and honest—he was neat in his person and +active in his movements.</p> + +<p>"He is an orphan," said Col. Donaldson, "and the managers +of the institution have offered to bind him to me for seven +years, or till he is of age. What do you think of it!"</p> + +<p>"If the boy himself be willing, I should be glad to know he +was so well provided for," I replied; "though in general, no +abolitionist can be more vehemently opposed to negro slavery +than I am to this apprenticeship business. What is it but a +slavery of the worst description? The master is endowed with +irresponsible power, without the interest in the well-being of +his slave, which the planter, the actual owner of slaves, ordinarily +feels."</p> + +<p>"You speak strongly," said Col. Donaldson.</p> + +<p>"I feel strongly on this subject," I answered. "I knew<a class='page' name ='Page_72' id='Page_72' title='72'> </a> +one instance of the effects of this system which I have often +thought of publishing to the world, as speaking more powerfully +against it than a thousand addresses could do."</p> + +<p>"Tell it to us, Aunt Nancy," said Robert Dudley.</p> + +<p>"It is too long to tell now," said I, as the dinner-bell +sounded.</p> + +<p>"Then let us have it this evening," urged Col. Donaldson—"for +it is a subject in which I am much interested."</p> + +<p>Accordingly, in the evening, I gave them the "o'er true +tale" of</p> + + +<h3><a name="THE_YOUNG_MISANTHROPE" id="THE_YOUNG_MISANTHROPE"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">THE YOUNG MISANTHROPE.</a></h3> + +<p>"In the blue summer ocean, far off and alone," lies a little +island, known to mariners in the Pacific only for the fine +water with which it supplies them, and for the bold shore which +makes it possible for ships of considerable tonnage to lie in +quiet near the land. Discovered at first by accident, it has +been long, for these reasons, visited both by English and American +whalers. A few years since, and no trace of man's presence +could be found there beyond the belt of rocks, amidst +which arose the springs that were the chief, and indeed only +attraction the island presented to the rough, hardy men by +whom it had been visited. But within that stony girdle lay a +landscape soft and lovely as any that arose within the tropical +seas. There the plantain waved its leafy crown, the orange +shed its rich perfume, and bore its golden fruit aloft upon the +desert air, and the light, feathery foliage of the tamarind moved +gracefully to the touch of the dallying breeze. All was green, +and soft, and fair, for there no winter chills the life of nature, +but,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was a scene which might have seemed created for the<a class='page' name ='Page_73' id='Page_73' title='73'> </a> +abode of some being too bright and good for the common +earth of common men, or for some Hinda and Hafed, who, +driven from a world all too harsh and evil for their nobler natures, +might have found in it a refuge,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Where the bright eyes of angels only<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should come around them to behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A paradise so pure and lonely."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Alas for the dream of the poet! This beautiful island became +the refuge, not of pure and loving hearts, but of one from +whose nature cruel tyranny seemed to have blotted out every +feeling and every faculty save hatred and fear; and he who +first introduced into its yet untainted solitudes the bitter sorrows +and dark passions of humanity, was a child, who, but ten years +before, had lain in all the loveliness of sinless infancy upon a +mother's bosom. Of that mother's history he knew nothing—whether +her sin or only her sorrows had thrown him fatherless +upon the world, he was ignorant—he had only a dim memory +of gentle eyes, which had looked on him as no others had ever +looked, and of a low, sweet voice, speak to him such words as +he had never heard from any other. He had been loved, and +that love had made his life of penury in an humble hovel in +England, bright and beautiful; but his mother had passed away +from earth, and with her all the light of his existence. Child +as he was, the succeeding darkness preserved long in brightness +the memory of the last look from her fast glazing eyes, the last +words from her dying lips, the last touch of her already death-cold +hand. She died, and the same reluctant charity which +consigned her to a pauper's grave, gave to her boy a dwelling +in the parish poor-house. With the tender mercies of such institutions +the author of Oliver Twist has made the world acquainted. +They were such in the present case, that the poor +little Edward Hallett welcomed as the first glad words that had<a class='page' name ='Page_74' id='Page_74' title='74'> </a> +fallen on his ears for two long, weary years, the news that he +was to be bound apprentice to a captain sailing from Portsmouth +in a whaling ship. He learned rather from what was +said <i>near</i> him, than <i>to</i> him, that this man wanted a cabin boy, +but would not have one who was not bound to him, or to use +the more expressive language in which it reached the ears of +his destined victim, "one with whom he could not do as he +pleased."</p> + +<p>He who had come within the poor-house walls at six years +old, a glad, rosy-cheeked, chubby child, went from them at +eight, thin, and pale, and grave, with a frame broken by want +and labor, a mind clouded, and a heart repressed by unkindness. +But, sad as was the history of those years, the succeeding two +taught the poor boy to regard them as the vanished brightness +of a dream. The man—we should more justly say, the fiend—to +whom the next fourteen years of his life were by bond devoted, +was a savage by nature, and had been rendered yet more +brutal by habits of intoxication. In his drunken orgies, his favorite +pastime was to torture the unfortunate being whom the +"guardians of the poor" of an English parish had placed in his +power. It would make the heart of the reader sick, were we +to attempt a detail of the many horrible inventions by which this +modern Caligula amused his leisure hours, and made life hideous +to his victim. Nor was it only from this arch-fiend that +the poor boy suffered. Mate, cook, and sailors, soon found in +him a butt for their jokes, an object on which they might safely +vent their ill-humor, and a convenient cover for their own delinquencies.</p> + +<p>He was beaten for and by them. The evil qualities which +man had himself elicited from his nature, if not implanted there—the +sullenness, and hardiness, and cunning he evinced, were +made an excuse for further injury. During his first voyage of +eighteen months, spite of all this, hope was not entirely dead in<a class='page' name ='Page_75' id='Page_75' title='75'> </a> +his heart. The ship was to return to England, and he determined +to run away from her, and find his way back to the +poor-house. It was a miserable refuge, but it was his only one. +He escaped—he found his way thither through many dangers—he +told his story. It was heard with incredulity, and he was +returned to his tormentors, to learn that there is even in hell "a +deeper hell."</p> + +<p>Again he went on a whaling voyage. Day after day the +fathomless, the seemingly illimitable sea, the image of the Infinite +was around him—but his darkened mind saw in it only +a prison, which shut him in with his persecutors. Night after +night the stars beamed peacefully above him, luring his thoughts +upward, but he saw in them only the signals of drunken revelry +to others, and of deeper woe to himself. There was but one +wish in his heart—it had almost ceased to be a hope—to escape +from man; to live and die where he should never see his form, +never hear his voice. The ship encountered a severe storm. +She was driven from her course, her voyage lengthened, and +some of her water-casks were stove in. They made for an island, +not far distant, by the chart, to take in a fresh supply of +water. Edward Hallett heard the sailors say to each other that +this island was uninhabited, and his wish grew into a passionate +desire—a hope. For the completion of this hope, he had +but one resource—the sword and the shield of the feeble—cunning; +and well he exercised his weapon.</p> + +<p>The ship lay within a quarter of a mile of the shore, and a +boat was sent to procure water—one man remaining always to +fill the empty vessels while the others returned to the ship with +those already filled. The best means of accomplishing his purpose +that occurred to the poor boy was to feign the utmost degree +of terror at the lonely and unprotected situation of this +man during the absence of his comrades. He spoke his terrors +where he knew they would be heard by the prime author of +his miseries. The result was what he had anticipated.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_76' id='Page_76' title='76'> </a>"Ye're afraid, are ye, of being left there by yerself! Ye'd +rather be whipped, or tied up by the thumbs, or be kept at the +mast-head all night, would ye? Then, dam'me, that's just +what I'll do to you. Here, hold on with that boat—take this +youngster with you, and you can bring back Tom, and leave +him to fill the casks for you."</p> + +<p>Well did the object of his tyranny act his part. He entreated, +he adjured all around him to save him from so dreaded +a fate—in vain, of course—for his affected agonies only riveted +the determination of his tyrant. It was a new delight to see +him writhe in agony, and strive to draw back from those who +were urging him to the boat. He was forced in, borne to the +island, and left to his task. But this was not enough. He could +not escape in the broad light of day, from a spot directly under +the eyes of his tormentors, while between him and the ship a +boat was ever coming and going. Through the day he must +persist in the part he had assumed. He did not fail to continue +it, and when the day approached its close, he sent to the ship +the most urgent entreaties that he might be allowed to return +there before it was night. The sailors, rough and hard as they +generally were to him, sympathized with his agony of fear, and +asked that he might return; but his demon was now inflamed +by drink, and every word in favor of his petition insured its rejection. +He even made the unusual exertion of going up himself +in the last boat, that he might see the victim of his malice, +and feast his ears with the cries and objurgations which terror +would wring from him.</p> + +<p>"If we should forget you in the morning, you can take the +next homeward bound ship that stops here, but don't tell your +friends at the poor-house too bad a tale of us," were the parting +words of this wretch.</p> + +<p>Darkness and silence were around the desolate boy, but they +brought no fear with them. Man, his enemy, was not there.<a class='page' name ='Page_77' id='Page_77' title='77'> </a> +He saw not the beauty of the heavens, from which the stars +looked down on him in their unchanged serenity, or of the +earth, where flowers were springing at his feet, and graceful +shrubs were waving over him. He heard not the deep-toned +sea uttering its solemn music, or the breeze whispering its softer +notes in his ear. He only saw the ship, the abode of men, fading +into indistinctness, as the darkness threw its veil over it; he +only heard the voice in his heart, proclaiming ever and +again, "I am free." Before the morrow dawned, he had surmounted +the rocks at the landing place, and wandered on with +no aim, but to put as great a distance as possible between him +and the ship. Two hours' walking brought him again to the +sea, in an opposite direction to that by which he had approached +the island. Here he crawled into a hiding-place among the +rocks, and lay down to rest. The day was again declining +before he ventured forth from his covert, and cautiously approached +the distant shore, whence he might see the ship. He +reached the spring by which he had stood yester eve, when his +companions parted from him, with something like pity stirring +in the hearts of all but one among them. Fearfully he looked +around—before him—but no shadow on the earth, no sail upon +the pathless sea, told of man's presence. He was alone—alone +indeed, for the beauty of Nature aroused no emotion in his +withered heart, and he held no communion with Nature's God. +He was indeed an orphaned soul. Could he have loved, had it +been but a simple flower, he would have felt something of the +joy of life; but the very power of love seemed to have been +crushed from his heart, by years of cold neglect and harsh unkindness.</p> + +<p>Weeks, months passed, without any event that might +awaken the young solitary from his torpor. By day, he roved +through the island, or lay listlessly under the shadow of a tree; +by night, he slept beneath the rocks which had first sheltered<a class='page' name ='Page_78' id='Page_78' title='78'> </a> +him; while the fruits, that grew and ripened without his care, +gave him food. Thus he lived a merely animal life, his strongest +sensation one of satisfaction for his relief from positive suffering, +but with nothing that could be called joy in the present, +and with no hope for the future; one to whom God had given +an immortal spirit, capable of infinite elevation in the scale of +intelligence and happiness, and whom man had pressed down +to—ay, below—the level of the brutes, which sported away +their brief existence at his side. Such tyranny as he had experienced, +is rare; but its results may well give an impressive, a +fearful lesson, to those to whom are committed the destinies of +a being unconnected with them by any of those ties which +awaken tenderness, and call forth indulgence in the sternest +minds. Let them beware, lest the "iron rule" crush out the +life of the young heart, and darken the intellect by extinguishing +the light of hope.</p> + +<p>Terrible was the retribution which his crimes wrought out +for the author of our young hero's miseries. When he received +the intelligence from the men whom he had sent in the morning +to bring him from the island, that he was nowhere to be found, +he read in their countenance what his own heart was ready to +repeat to him, that he was his murderer; for neither they nor +he doubted that the terrified boy had rushed into the sea, and +been drowned in the effort to escape the horrors raised by his +wild and superstitious fancy. From that hour his persecutor +suffered tortures as great as his bitterest enemies could have desired +to inflict on him. The images which drove him with increased +eagerness to the bottle, became more vivid and terrific +under the influence of intoxication. He drank deeper and deeper, +in the vain hope to banish them, and died ere many months +had passed, shouting, in his last moments, alternate prayers and +curses to the imagined form of him whom he supposed the hope +of revenge had conjured from the ocean grave to which his +cruelties had consigned him.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_79' id='Page_79' title='79'> </a>Five months passed over Edward Hallett, in the dead calm +of an existence agitated by neither hope nor fear. The calm +was broken one evening by the sight of a seaman, drawing +water from the spring which had brought his former companions +to the island. As he came in sight, the man turned his head, +and stood for an instant spell-bound by the unexpected vision +of a human being on that island, whose matted locks and +tattered garments spoke the extreme of misery. There was +only one hope for the sad wild boy—it was in flight—and +turning, he ran swiftly back; but the path was strewn with +rocks, and, in his haste, he stumbled and fell. In a moment +his pursuer stood beside him, acclaiming in a coarse, but kindly +meant language:—</p> + +<p>"What the devil are you runnin' away from me for, +youngster?—I'm sure I wouldn't hurt ye—but get up, and tell +us what you're doing here, and where ye've come from."</p> + +<p>The speaker attempted, while addressing the boy, to raise +him from the ground, but he resisted all his efforts, and met all +his questioning with sullen silence.</p> + +<p>"By the powers, I'm thinking I've caught a wild man. I +wonder if there's any more of 'em. If I can only get this one +aboard, he'll make my fortune. I'll try for it, any how, and +offer the capting to go shares with my bargain;" and he proceeded +to lift the slight form of the pauper boy in his brawny +arms, and bear him to the boat, which, during the scene, had +approached the shore. One who had had less experience of the +iron nature of man, would have endeavored, in Edward Hallett's +circumstances, to move his captor by entreaties to leave him to +his dearly prized freedom; but he had long believed, with the +poet,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There is no pulse in man's obdurate heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It does not feel for man;"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and after the first wild struggle, which had only served to show<a class='page' name ='Page_80' id='Page_80' title='80'> </a> +that he was an infant in the hands of the strong seaman, he +abandoned himself to his fate, in silent despair. With closed +eyes and lips, he suffered himself, without a movement, to be +borne to the boat, and deposited in it, amidst the many uncouth +and characteristic exclamations of his captor and his companions, +who would not be convinced that it was really a child of the +human race, thus strangely found on this isolated spot. Hastily +they bore him to the ship, which the providence of God had +sent, under the guidance of a kind and noble spirit, for the +salvation of this, his not forgotten, though long tried creature.</p> + +<p>Captain Durbin, of the barque Good Intent, was one who +combined, in no usual degree, the qualities of boldness and +energy with the kindest, the tenderest, and most generous +feelings. These were wrought into beautiful harmony, by the +Christian principles which had long governed his life, and from +which he had learned to be, at the same time, "diligent in +business" and "kindly affectioned"—to have no <i>fear</i> of man, +and to love his brother, whom he had seen, as the best +manifestation of devotion to God, whom he had not seen. +Perhaps he had escaped the usual effect of his rough trade, in +hardening the manners, at least, by the influence on him of his +only child, a little girl, now six years old, who was his constant +companion, even in his voyages. Little Emily Durbin had lost +her mother when she was only two years old. The circumstances +of her own childhood had wrought into the mind +of the dying Mrs. Durbin, the conviction that only a parent is +a fitting guardian for a child. To all argument on this subject +she would reply, "It seems to me that God has put so much +love into a parent's heart, only that he may bear with all a +child's waywardness, which other people can't be expected to +bear with."</p> + +<p>True to her principles, she had exacted a promise from her<a class='page' name ='Page_81' id='Page_81' title='81'> </a> +husband, in her dying hour, that he would never part from their +Emily. The promise had been sacredly kept.</p> + +<p>"I will retire from sea as soon as I have enough to buy a +place on shore, for Emily's sake; but till then, her home must +be in my cabin. She is under God's care there, as well as on +shore, and perhaps it would be better for her, should I be lost at +sea, to share my fate." Such were the remarks of Captain +Durbin, in reply to the well-meant remonstrances of his friends.</p> + +<p>Emily had a little hammock slung beside his own—the +books in which he taught her made a large part of his library; +and he who had seen her kneel beside her father to lisp her +childish prayer, or who had heard the simple, beautiful faith +with which she commended herself to the care of her Father in +Heaven, when the waves roared and the winds howled around +her floating home, would have felt, perhaps, that the most important +end of life, the cultivation of those affections that connect +us with God and with our fellow-creatures, might be attained as +perfectly there as elsewhere.</p> + +<p>The astonishment of Captain Durbin and the pity of his +gentle child may be conceived, at the sight of the poor boy, who +was brought up from the boat by his captor and owner, as he +considered himself, and laid at their feet, while they sat together +in their cabin—he writing in his log-book, and she conning her +evening lesson. To the proposition that he should give the +prize so strangely obtained a free passage, and share in the +advantages to be gained by its exhibition in America, Captain +Durbin replied by showing the disappointed seaman the impossibility +of the object of these speculations being some product +of Nature's freaks—some hitherto unknown animal, with the +form, but without the faculties of man.</p> + +<p>"Do you not see that he has clothes——"</p> + +<p>"Clothes do ye call them!" interrupted the blunt sailor,<a class='page' name ='Page_82' id='Page_82' title='82'> </a> +touching the pieces of cloth that hung around, but no longer +covered the thin limbs.</p> + +<p>"Rags, perhaps I had better say—but the rags have been +clothes, woven and sewn by man's hands—so he must have +lived among men—civilized men—and he has grown but little, +as you may perceive, since those clothes were made—therefore, +he cannot have been long on the island."</p> + +<p>"But how did he get there? Who'd leave a baby like this +there by himself?"</p> + +<p>"That we may never know, for the boy must either be an +idiot—which he does not look like, however—or insane, or +dumb—but let that be as it will, we will do our duty by him, +and I thank God for having sent us here in time to save him."</p> + +<p>The master of the ship usually gives the tone to those whom +he commands, and Captain Durbin found no difficulty in +obtaining the help of his men in his kind intentions to the boy +so strangely brought amongst them. By kind, yet rough +hands, he was washed, his hair was cut and combed, and a +suit of clean, though coarse garments, hastily fitted to him by +the best tailor among them—fitted, not with the precision of +Stultz certainly, but sufficiently well to enable him to walk in +them without danger of walking on them or of leaving them +behind. But he showed no intention of availing himself of +these capabilities. Wherever they carried him he went without +resistance—wherever they placed him he remained—he ate the +food that was offered him—but no word escaped his lips, no +voluntary movement was made by him, no look marked his +consciousness of aught that passed before him. He had again +assumed his only shield from violence—cunning. He could +account in no way for his being left unmolested, except from +the belief, freely expressed before him, that nature, by depriving +him of intelligence, or of speech, had unfitted him for labor, and +he resolved to do nothing that should unsettle that belief. But<a class='page' name ='Page_83' id='Page_83' title='83'> </a> +he found it more difficult than he had supposed it would be to +preserve this resolution, for he was subjected to the action of a +more potent influence than any he had yet encountered—kindness. +All were ready to show him this in its common forms, +but none so touchingly or so tenderly as the little Emily Durbin. +It was a beautiful sight to see that gentle child, with eyes blue +as the heavens, whose pure and lovely spirit they seemed to +mirror, gazing up at the dark boy as though she hoped to catch +some ray of the awakening spirit flitting over the handsome but +stolid features. Sometimes she would sit beside him, take his +hand in hers, or stroke gently the dark locks that began again +to hang in neglected curls around his face, and speak to him in +the tenderest accents, saying, "I love you very much, pretty +boy, and my father loves you too, and we all love you—don't +you love us?—but you can't tell me—I forgot that—never +mind, I'll ask our Heavenly Father to make you talk. Don't +you know Jesus made the dumb to speak when he was here on +earth? Did you ever hear about it? Poor boy! you can't +answer me—but I'll tell you all about it:" and then in her +sweet words and pitying voice she would tell of the Saviour of +men—how he had made the deaf to hear and the dumb to +speak, and she would repeat his lessons of love, dwelling often +on her favorite text, "This is my commandment, that ye love +one another—even as I have loved you, that ye also love one +another."</p> + +<p>Thus by this babe, God was in his love leading the chilled +heart of that poor, desolate boy, back to himself—to hope—to +heaven. It was impossible that the dew of mercy should thus, +day by day and hour by hour, distil upon a spirit indurated by +man's cruelties, without softening it. Edward Hallett began to +love that sweet child, to listen to her step and voice, to gaze +upon her fair face, to return her loving looks, and to long to +tell her all his story. Emily became aware of the new<a class='page' name ='Page_84' id='Page_84' title='84'> </a> +expression in his face, and redoubled her manifestations of +interest. She entreated that he should be brought in when +her father read the Bible and prayed with her, night and +morning. "Who knows, it may be that our Heavenly Father +will make him hear us," was her simple and pathetic response +to Captain Durbin's assurance that it was useless, as he either +could not or would not understand them. Never had Edward +Hallett's resolution been more severely tried than when he saw +her kneel, with clasped hands and uplifted face, at her father's +knee, and heard her pray in her own simple words that "God +would bless the poor little dumb boy whom he had sent to +them, and that he would make him speak, and give him a +good heart, that he might love them." Captain Durbin turned +his eyes upon the object of her prayer at that moment, and he +almost thought that his lips moved, and was quite certain that +his eyes glistened with emotion. From this time he was as +anxious as Emily herself for the attendance of the strange boy +at their devotions.</p> + +<p>For many weeks the ship had sped across that southern +sea with light and favoring breezes, but at length there came a +storm. The heavens were black with clouds—the wind swept +furiously over the ocean, and drove its wild waves in tremendous +masses against the reeling ship. Captain Durbin was a bold +sailor, as we have said, and he had weathered many a storm in +his trim barque; but Emily knew by the way in which he pressed +her to his heart this night, before he laid her, not in her +hammock, but on the narrow floor of his state-room, and by +the tone in which he ejaculated, "God bless you, and take care +of you, my beloved child!"—that there was more danger tonight +than they had ever before encountered together; and as +he was leaving her she drew him back and said, "Father, I +can't sleep, and I should like to talk to the little dumb boy; +won't you bring him here, and let him sit on my mattress with +me?"</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_85' id='Page_85' title='85'> </a>Captain Durbin brought Edward Hallett and placed him +beside Emily, where, by bracing themselves against the wall of +the state-room, they might prevent their being dashed about by +the rolling of the vessel. Emily welcomed him with an affectionate +smile, and taking his hand, which now sometimes answered +the clasp of hers, told him that he must not be afraid, +though there was a great storm, for their Father in Heaven +could deliver them out of it if it were His will, and if it were +not, He would take them to himself, if they loved Him, and +loved one another as the blessed Saviour had commanded them. +"And you know we must die some way," continued the sweet +young preacher, "and father says it is just as easy to go to +Heaven from the sea as from any other place." She paused a +moment, and then added in a low tone, "But I think I had +rather die on shore, and be buried by my mother in the green, +shady church-yard—it is so quiet there."</p> + +<p>Emily crept nearer and nearer to her young companion as +she spoke, with that clinging to human love and care which is +felt by the hardest breast in moments of dread. His heart was +beating high with the tenderest and the happiest emotions he +had ever known, when a wave sweeping over the deck of the +ship, and breaking through the skylight, came tumbling in +upon them. It forced them asunder, and the falling of their +lantern at the same moment left them in darkness amidst the +tossing of the ship, the rolling of the furniture, and the noise of +the many waters. Edward Hallett's first thought was for +Emily;—he felt for her on every side, but she was not in the +state-room; he groped his way into the cabin, but he could not +find her, and he heard no sound that told of her existence. In +terror for her, self was forgotten—love conquered fear, as it had +already obtained the empire over hate, and he called her—"Emily—dear +Emily!—hear me—answer me, Emily?"</p> + +<p>He listened in vain for the faint voice for which he thirsted.<a class='page' name ='Page_86' id='Page_86' title='86'> </a> +Suddenly he bounded up the cabin steps and rushed to the post +at which he knew Captain Durbin was most likely to be found +in such a scene, crying as he went, "Emily! Emily! oh bring +a light and look for Emily!"</p> + +<p>The shrill cry of a human heart in agony was heard above +the bellowing of the winds and the rush of the waves, and without +waiting for a question, without heeding even the miracle +that the dumb had spoken, Captain Durbin hastened below, +followed by his agitated summoner. As quickly as his trembling +hands permitted, he struck a light and looked around for +his child. She had been dashed against a chest, and lay pale +and seemingly lifeless, with the red blood oozing slowly from a +cut in the temple. Edward Hallett had lifted her before Captain +Durbin could lay aside his light, and as he approached him, +looking up with a face almost as pale as that which lay upon his +arm, he exclaimed, "Oh, sir, surely she is not dead!"</p> + +<p>It was not till Emily had again opened her soft eyes and assured +her father that she was not much hurt, that any notice +was taken of the very unusual fact of Edward Hallett's speaking.</p> + +<p>"Father, how did you know I was hurt?"</p> + +<p>"He whom we have thought a dumb boy called me, and +told me he could not find you," said Captain Durbin, looking +earnestly, almost sternly at Edward, who colored as he felt +that eyes he dared not meet were upon him. But the gentle, +loving Emily took his hand, and said, "Did our good Heavenly +Father make you speak?—I am so glad—please speak to +me!"</p> + +<p>Edward could not raise his eyes to hers, but covering his +face with his other hand, he fell on his knees, saying to her and +Captain Durbin, "I am afraid it was very wicked, but indeed I +couldn't help it. I could speak all the time, Emily, but I was +afraid of being beaten as I used to be, if I seemed like other<a class='page' name ='Page_87' id='Page_87' title='87'> </a> +people—now if they beat me I must bear it—better for me +to be beaten than to have Emily lie there with no one to help +her."</p> + +<p>"But who is going to beat you? Nobody will beat you—we +all love you—don't we, father?" cried Emily, bending forward +and putting her arm around the neck of her <i>protégé</i>.</p> + +<p>"We must hear first whether he is worthy of our love, my +dear," said Captain Durbin, as he attempted to withdraw his +daughter's arm, and to make her lie down again—but Edward +had seized the little hand and held it around his neck, while he +exclaimed in the most imploring tones, "Oh, sir I let Emily +love me—nobody else except my poor mother ever loved me. +Beat me as much as you please, and I will not say a word, but +oh! pray, sir! don't tell Emily she must not love me."</p> + +<p>"And, father, if he were wicked, you know you told me +once that we must love the wicked and try to do them good, +because our Father in Heaven loved us while we were yet +sinners," urged Emily.</p> + +<p>That gentle voice could not be unheeded, and as Captain +Durbin kissed her, he laid his hand kindly on the boy's head, +saying in more friendly tones, "I hope he has not been wicked, +but we will hear more about it to-morrow—I cannot stay +longer with you now, and you must lie still just where I have +put you, or you may roll out and get hurt. We shall have a +rough sea most of the night, though, thank God! no danger, +for the wind had shifted and slackened a little before that great +wave swept you away!"</p> + +<p>"May I not stay by Emily, sir, and tell her what made me +not speak? I will not let her sit up again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! do, father, let him stay till you come down +again."</p> + +<p>Captain Durbin consented, and when he came down again at +midnight from the deck, the children had both fallen asleep, but<a class='page' name ='Page_88' id='Page_88' title='88'> </a> +their hands were clasped in each other's, and the flushed cheeks +and dewy lashes of both showed that they had been weeping. +The next morning Captain Durbin heard the story of the orphan +boy. Emily Durbin stood beside him while he told it, +and he needed the courage which her presence gave him, for +his cowed spirit could not yet rise to confidence in man. The +mingled indignation and pity with which Captain Durbin heard +the simple but touching narrative of his life—the earnest kindness +with which, at the conclusion, he drew him to his side, +and told him that he would be his father, and Emily his sister, +adding, "God gave you to me, and as His gift I will love you +and care for you," first taught him that his friend Emily was +not the one only angel of mercy in our world. As time passed +on, and Captain Durbin kept well the promise of those words, +instructing him with care and guarding him with tenderness +as well as with fidelity, his faith became firm, not only in his +fellow-men, but in Him who had brought such great good for +him out of the darkest evil. His long repressed affections +sprang into vigorous growth, his intellect expanded rapidly in +their glow, his eye grew bright, his step elastic, and his whole +air redolent of a joy which none but those who have suffered +as he had done can conceive. In the handsome youth who +returned two years afterwards with Captain Durbin to Boston, +and who walked so proudly at his side, leading Emily by the +hand, few could have recognized the wild boy of that western +Island.</p> + +<p>Such was the transformation which the spirit of love, breathing +itself through the lips of a little child, had effected. "Verily, +of such" children "is the kingdom of heaven."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_89' id='Page_89' title='89'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER VI.</a></h2> + + +<p>The entertainment of the evening gave its character to our conversation +on the following morning. It was a conversation too +grave for introduction into a work intended only to aid in the +entertainment of festive hours: it commenced with the English +"poor-laws," and ended with a discussion of the tenure of property +in that land, and the wisdom of our own republican fathers +in abolishing entails—a subject affording a fair opportunity to +us Americans, to indulge a little in that self-glorification which +we are accused of loving so well.</p> + +<p>"What a curious book would a 'History of Entails' be!" +exclaimed Mr. Arlington, "how full of the romance of life!"</p> + +<p>"Romance!" ejaculated Annie.</p> + +<p>"Yes, romance; for under this system, the poor man, whose +life seemed doomed to one unbroken struggle with fortune, for +the necessaries of existence, finds himself, by some unexpected +casualty, the possessor of rank, and of what seems to him boundless +wealth."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes!" said I, "but you have given us only the bright +side of the picture. To make room for this stranger, whose +only connection with the house of which he has so unexpectedly +become the head is probably that preserved in genealogical +tables, the daughters of the house, or their children it may +be, reared in luxury, must go forth to a life of comparative privation. +I met, some years ago, in one of my visits to the Far<a class='page' name ='Page_90' id='Page_90' title='90'> </a> +West, a young Englishman, who—but I will read you the +story of his life, as I wrote it out soon after parting with him."</p> + +<p>"Have you a picture of him, Aunt Nancy?" asked Robert +Dudley.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Robert," I replied with a smile, "but you must have +patience, for I shall neither show the picture nor tell the story +till evening."</p> + +<p>When we were assembled in the evening, Annie, with much +ceremony, led me to the high-backed arm-chair, which she called +the Speaker's Chair, and placed before me the small travelling +desk, in which she knew my manuscripts were kept. I +unlocked it, and soon found the scroll of which I was in search.</p> + +<p>"But the picture, Aunt Nancy—where is the picture?" +cried the eager Robert.</p> + +<p>"Here it is," I cried, as I loosened the ribbon with which +the manuscript was bound together, and produced a small engraving; +a fancy subject, however, rather than an actual portrait, +and of no general interest. The print was eagerly caught +by Robert, and handed around the circle, with exclamations of, +"How handsome!" "What an exquisite picture!" Mr. Arlington +looked at it a moment, then, with a smiling glance at +me, handed it, without a word of comment, to Col. Donaldson.</p> + +<p>"The impertinent puppy!" ejaculated the Colonel, "engrossed +with his hawk and his hound, and wearing such an +insolent air of self-absorption in the presence of a lady" (for +the artist had introduced a lovely young maiden in the scene). +"Poor girl!" continued the Colonel; "if she were in any way +connected with him, I am not surprised that she should look so +sad and reproachful."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arlington's smiling glance was again turned on me; +and I met it with a hearty laugh.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, Aunt Nancy," said the Colonel, who seemed +strangely annoyed at my laughter, "I think your friend does<a class='page' name ='Page_91' id='Page_91' title='91'> </a> +you little credit, and I can only hope that he had some of +these lordly airs drubbed out of him at the West."</p> + +<p>As Col. Donaldson spoke he threw down the engraving +which he had held, and pushed his chair from the table.</p> + +<p>"I assure you, sir," I replied, "my friend has as few lordly +airs as it is possible to conceive in one born to such lordly circumstances. +It was not my intention to impose on you that +picture as an actual likeness of him—though had you ever +seen him I might easily have done so, as it really resembles +him very much in his personal traits."</p> + +<p>"Well, I am glad he did not sit for this picture," said Col. +Donaldson; "now I can listen to your story with some +pleasure."</p> + +<p>"Thank you; you must first take some reflections suggested +to me by the incidents I have here narrated. Of the character +of these reflections, you will form some conception from +the title I have given to the tale into which I have interwoven +them. I have called it</p> + + +<h3><a name="LIFE_IN_AMERICA" id="LIFE_IN_AMERICA"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">"LIFE IN AMERICA."</a></h3> + +<p>"Men and Manners in America" was the comprehensive title +of a book issued some fifteen or twenty years ago, by a gentleman +from Scotland, to whom, we fear, Americans have never +tendered the grateful acknowledgments he deserved for his disinterested +efforts to teach them to eat eggs properly, and to +give due time to the mastication of their food. This benevolently +instructive work was the precursor of a host of others on +the same topics, and others of a kindred character. America +has been the standard subject for the trial essays of European +tyros in philosophy, political economy, and book-making in +general. Society in America has been presented, it would +seem, in all its aspects—religious, educational, industrial, politi<a class='page' name ='Page_92' id='Page_92' title='92'> </a>cal, +commercial, and fashionable. Our schools and our prisons, +our churches and our theatres, have been in turn the subject of +investigation, of unqualified censure, and of scarcely less unqualified +laudation.</p> + +<p>The subject thus dissected, put together, and dissected +again, has not been able to restrain some wincing and an occasional +outcry, when the scalpel has been held by a more than +usually unskilful hand—demonstrations of sensibility which +have occasioned apparently as much disapprobation as surprise +in the anatomists. We flatter ourselves that there is peculiar +fitness in the metaphor just used, for the outer form only of +American life has been touched by these various writers. Its +spirit, that which gives to it its peculiar organization, has evaded +them as completely as the soul of man evades the keenest investigations +of the dissecting room. Even of the seat of the spirit—of +the point whence it sends forth its subtle influences, giving +activity and direction to every member—of the <span class="smcap">homes</span> of +America, they have little real knowledge. The anatomist—the +reader will pardon the continuation of a figure so illustrative +of our meaning—the anatomist knows that not only can he +never hope to lay his finger upon the principle of life, but that +ere he can pry into those cells in which its mysterious processes +are evolved, they must have been dismantled of all that could +have guided him to any certain deductions respecting its nature +and mode of action. And seldom is the eye of the stranger, +never that of the professed bookmaker, suffered to rest upon +our homes till they have undergone changes that will as completely +baffle his penetration. Nor is this always designedly. +It is from a delicate instinct which shrinks from subjecting its +most sacred and touching emotions to the rude gaze and ruder +comment of the world.</p> + +<p>We have been led to these observations by certain events +of which we have lately become informed, and which we would<a class='page' name ='Page_93' id='Page_93' title='93'> </a> +here record, as illustrative of some peculiarities of social life in +America, and especially of the new development of character +manifested by women under the influence of these peculiarities.</p> + +<p>The ringing of bells, the firing of cannon, the huzzaing of +the assembling multitude on the announcement in London of +the victory of Waterloo, must have seemed a bitter mockery to +many a heart, mad with the first sharp agony of bereavement. +"The few must suffer that the many may rejoice," say the +statesman and the warrior while they plan new conquests. It +may be so, but we have at present to do with the sufferings of +the few.</p> + +<p>On the list of the killed in that battle appeared the name +of Horace Danforth, Captain in the 41st Regiment of Infantry. +It was a name of little note, but there was one to whom it was +the synonyme of all that gave beauty or gladness to life; and +ere the bells had ceased to sound, or the eager crowd to huzza, +her heart was still. With her last quivering sigh had mingled +the wail of a new-born infant.</p> + +<p>Thus was Horace Maitland Danforth ushered into life. He +had been born at the house of his maternal uncle, Sir Thomas +Maitland, and as his mother had been wholly dependent on +this gentleman, and his father had been a soldier of fortune, +leaving to his son no heritage but his name, he continued there, +as carefully reared and tenderly regarded as though he had been +the heir to Maitland Park and to all its dependencies. Though +Sir Thomas had, for many years after the birth of his nephew +intended to marry, it was an intention never executed, and when +Horace attained his twenty-first birthday, his majority was celebrated +as that of his uncle's heir, and as such he was presented +by Sir Thomas Maitland to his assembled tenantry. Soon +after this event, the Baronet obtained for his nephew a right to +the name and arms of Maitland—a measure to which, knowing +little of his father's family, Horace readily consented. Sir<a class='page' name ='Page_94' id='Page_94' title='94'> </a> +Thomas Maitland died suddenly while yet in the prime of life, +and was succeeded by Sir Horace, then twenty-four years of +age. In the enjoyments of society, of travel, and of those +thousand luxuries, mental and physical, which fortune secures, +three years passed rapidly away with the young, handsome, +and accomplished Baronet.</p> + +<p>One of the earliest convictions of Horace Maitland's life +had been, that the refining presence of woman was necessary +to the perfection of Maitland Park, and when Sir Thomas said +to him, "Marry, Horace—do not be an old bachelor like your +uncle"—though he answered nothing, he vowed in the inmost +recesses of his heart that it should not be his fault if he did +not obey the injunction. Yet to the world it seemed wholly +his own fault that at twenty-seven he had not given to Maitland +Park a mistress, and even he himself could not attribute +his continued celibacy to the coldness or cruelty of woman; +for, in truth, though he had "knelt at many a shrine," he had +"laid his heart on none." If hardly pressed for his reason, he +might have said with Ferdinand,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">"For several virtues<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have I liked several women; never any<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With so full soul, but some defect in her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did quarrel with the noblest grace she own'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And put it to the foil."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He who after the death of his uncle continued to urge Sir +Horace most on the subject of matrimony, was the one of all +the world who might have been supposed least desirous to see +him enter into its bonds. This was Edward Maitland, a distant +cousin, somewhat younger than himself, to whom he had +been attached from his boyhood, and who had been saved by +his generosity from many of those painful experiences to which +a very narrow income would otherwise have subjected him. It +had more than once been suggested to Edward Maitland, that<a class='page' name ='Page_95' id='Page_95' title='95'> </a> +should his cousin die unmarried, he might not unreasonably +hope to become his heir, as he was supposed to be uncontrolled +by any entail in the disposal of his property, and had few +nearer relations than himself, and none with whom he maintained +such intimate and affectionate intercourse. Nor could +Edward Maitland fail to perceive that his own value in society +was in an inverse ratio to the chances of the Baronet's marrying, +as a report of an actual proposal on the part of the latter +had more than once occasioned a visible declension in the number +and warmth of his invitations. These considerations appeared, +however, only to stimulate the young man's activity in +the search of a wife for his cousin. Had he been employed +by a marriage broker with a prospect of a liberal commission, +he could hardly have been more indefatigable.</p> + +<p>"Well, Horace," exclaimed the younger Maitland, as the +two sat loitering over a late London breakfast one morning, +"how did you like the lady to whom I introduced you last +evening?"</p> + +<p>A smile lighted the eyes of Sir Horace as he replied, "Very +much, Ned—she is certainly intelligent, and has read and +thought more than most ladies of her age."</p> + +<p>"She will make a capital manager, I am sure."</p> + +<p>"And an agreeable companion," added Sir Horace.</p> + +<p>"And a good wife—do you not think so, Horace?"</p> + +<p>"She doubtless would be to one who could fancy her, +Ned; for me her style is a little too <i>prononcé</i>."</p> + +<p>"Well, really, Horace, I cannot imagine what you would +have. One woman is too frivolous—another wants refinement—one +is too indolent and exacting—and when you can make +no other objection, why her style is a little too <i>prononcé</i>"—the +last words were given with ludicrous imitation of his cousin's +tone. "If an angel were to descend from heaven for you, +I doubt if you would be suited."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_96' id='Page_96' title='96'> </a>"So do I," replied Horace, with a gay laugh at his cousin's +evident vexation.</p> + +<p>And thus did he meet all Edward's well-intended efforts. +The power of choice had made him fastidious, and his life of +luxury and freedom had brought him no experiences of the +need of another and gentler self as a consoler. But that lesson +was approaching.</p> + +<p>A call from his lawyer for some papers necessary to complete +an arrangement in which he was much interested, had +sent Sir Horace to Maitland Park, in the midst of the London +season, to explore the yet unfathomed recesses of an old <i>escritoire</i> +of Sir Thomas. He had been gone but two days when +Edward received the following note from him, written, as it +seemed, both in haste and agitation:—</p> + + +<p>"Come to me immediately on the receipt of this, dear Edward. +I have found here a paper of the utmost importance to +you as well as to me. Come quickly—take the chariot and +travel post.</p> + +<p> +"Yours, H. D. <span class="smcap">Maitland</span>."<br /> +</p> + + +<p>In less than an hour after the reception of this note Edward +Maitland was on the road: and travelling with the utmost expedition, +he arrived at Maitland Park just as the day was fading +into dusky eve.</p> + +<p>"How is Sir Horace?" he asked of the man who admitted +him.</p> + +<p>"I do not think he seems very well, sir. You will find him +in the library, Mr. Edward—shall I announce you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No;" and with hurried steps and anxious heart Edward +Maitland trod the well-known passages leading to the library.</p> + +<p>When he entered that room, Sir Horace was standing at +one of its windows gazing upon the landscape without, and +so absorbed was he that he did not move at the opening of the +door. Edward spoke, and starting, he turned towards him a<a class='page' name ='Page_97' id='Page_97' title='97'> </a> +face haggard with some yet untold suffering. He advanced to +meet his cousin, and with an almost convulsive grasp of the +hand, said, "I am glad you have come, Edward,"—then, without +heeding the anxious inquiries addressed to him by Edward, +he rang the bell, and ordered lights in a tone which caused them +to be brought without a moment's delay. As soon as the servant +who had brought them had left the room, Horace resumed: +"Now, Edward, here is the paper of which I wrote to you; +read it at once."</p> + +<p>Agitated by his cousin's manner, Edward took the old +stained paper from him without a word, and seating himself +near the lights, began to read, while Sir Horace stood just opposite +him, eyeing him intently. In a very few minutes Edward +looked up with a puzzled air and said, "I do not understand +one word of it. What does it all mean, Horace?"</p> + +<p>"It means that you are Sir Edward Maitland—that you +are master here—and that I am a beggar."</p> + +<p>"Horace, you are mad!" exclaimed the young man, starting +from his chair, with quivering limbs and a face from which +every trace of color had departed.</p> + +<p>Hitherto the tone in which Sir Horace had spoken, the +alternate flush and pallor on his face, and the shiver that occasionally +passed over his frame, had shown him to be fearfully +excited; but as Edward became agitated, all these signs of +emotion passed away, and with wonderful calmness taking the +paper in his hand, he commenced reading that part of it which +explained its purpose. This was to secure the descent of the +baronetcy of Maitland and the property attached to it in the +male line. Having made Edward Maitland comprehend this +purpose, Sir Horace drew towards him a genealogical table of +their family, and showed him that he was himself the only living +descendant in a direct line through an unbroken succession +of males from the period at which this entail was made.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_98' id='Page_98' title='98'> </a>"And now, Edward," he said in conclusion, "I am prepared +to give up every thing to you. That you have so long +been defrauded of your rights has been through ignorance on +my part, and equal ignorance, I am convinced, on the part of +my uncle. You know he paid little attention to business, leaving +it wholly to his agents. I have often heard him express a +wish to examine the papers in the old <i>escritoire</i> in which I found +this deed, saying that they had been sent home by old Harris +when he gave up his business to his nephew—the old man +writing to my uncle, that as they consisted of leases that had +fallen in, or of antiquated deeds, they were no longer of any +value except as family records. It was a just Providence that +led me to that <i>escritoire</i>, to search for the missing title-deeds of +the farm I was about to sell."</p> + +<p>Edward Maitland had sunk into his chair from sheer inability +to stand, and for several minutes after his cousin had +ceased speaking, he still sat, with his elbows resting on the table +before him, and his face buried in his clasped hands. At length +looking up, he said, "Horace, let us burn this paper and forget +it."</p> + +<p>"Forget! that is impossible, Edward."</p> + +<p>"Why?—why not live as we have done? You speak of +defrauding me, but what have I wanted that you had? Has +not your purse been as my own? Your home—has it not been +mine? It shall be so still. We shall share the fortune, and as +to the title, you will wear it more gracefully than I."</p> + +<p>"Dear Edward! Such proof of your generous affection +ought to console me for all changes, and it shall. I will confess +to you that I have suffered, but it is past. My people——" +his voice faltered, his chest heaved, and turning away he walked +more than once across the room before he resumed—"they +are mine no longer—but you will be kind to them, Edward, I +know."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_99' id='Page_99' title='99'> </a>"Horace, you will drive me mad!" cried Edward Maitland. +"Promise, I conjure you, promise me to say nothing +more of this."</p> + +<p>He threw himself as he spoke into his cousin's arms with +an agitation which Horace vainly sought to soothe, until he promised +"to <i>speak</i>" no further on this subject at present to any +one. Satisfied with this promise, and exhausted by the emotions +of the last hour, Edward soon retired to his own room. It +was long before he slept, and had he not been in a distant part +of the house, he would have heard the hurried steps with +which, for many an hour after he was left alone, Sir Horace +Maitland continued to pace the floor of the dimly lighted +library. The clock was on the stroke of three when he seated +himself and began the following letter:</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Edward</span>:—I must go, and at once. I cannot without +the loss of self-respect continue to play the master here another +day, neither can I live as a dependent within these walls—no, +not for an hour. Do not attempt to follow me, for I will +not see you. I will write to you as soon as I arrive at my +point of destination—I know not yet where that will be. Feel +no anxiety about me. I shall take with me a thousand pounds, +and will leave an order for Decker to receive from you and hold +subject to my draft whatever sum may accrue from the sale, at +a fair valuation, of Sir Thomas Maitland's personal property, +which he had an undoubted right to will as he pleased, the +amount of the mesne rents expended by me during the last three +years having been deducted therefrom. Do not attempt to +force favors upon me, Edward—I cannot bear them now. +Such attempts would only compel me to cut myself loose from +you and your affection—the one blessing that earth still holds +for me.</p> + +<p>My trunks have been packed two days, for my first re<a class='page' name ='Page_100' id='Page_100' title='100'> </a>solve +was to go from this place and from England. I shall take +the chariot in which you came down and fresh horses, but I will +send them back to you from London.</p> + +<p>God bless you, Edward. I dare not speak of my feelings to +you now, lest I should lose the strength and self-command I +need so much. God bless you.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">H. D. Maitland.</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p>Stealthily did Sir Horace move through the wide halls and +ascend the lofty stairs of this home of his life, feeling at every +step the rushing tide of memory conflicting with the sad thought +that he was treading them for the last time. Having reached +his sleeping apartments, he rang a bell which he knew would +summon his own man. Rapidly as the man moved, the time +seemed long to him ere the summons was obeyed, and he had +given the necessary orders to have the carriage prepared and +the trunks brought down as soon as possible, "and as quietly," +he added, "as he did not wish to disturb Mr. Edward, who had +retired to bed late."</p> + +<p>"Will you not take breakfast, sir, before you set out?" asked +the man.</p> + +<p>"No, John. Let the carriage follow me. I shall walk on. +Be quick, and make no noise."</p> + +<p>A faint streak of light was just beginning to appear in the +east, when the heretofore master of that lordly mansion went +out into a world which held for him no other home. <span class="smcap">Accident</span>, +as short-sighted mortals name events controlled by no +human will, decided whither he should direct his course from +London. He had called at his lawyer's—the already mentioned +"nephew of old Harris"—determined to communicate his +discovery to him, perhaps with some faint hope of learning that +the entail had been in some way set aside, before Sir Thomas +had ventured to make his sister's son his heir. Mr. Decker was<a class='page' name ='Page_101' id='Page_101' title='101'> </a> +not in his rooms, and sitting down to wait for him he took up +mechanically the morning paper that lay on his table. The first +thing on which his eye rested was the advertisement of a steam +packet about to sail from Liverpool for America.</p> + +<p>"America; the very place for me. I shall meet no acquaintances +there," was the thought which flashed through his +mind. Another glance at the paper of the day and hour of the +packet's sailing, an examination of his watch, an impatient look +from the window up and down the street, and again he mused, +"I have not a moment to spare, and if I wait for Decker I +may be kept for hours, and so lose the packet; and why should +I wait? Have I not seen the deed? This indecision is folly."</p> + +<p>The result of these reflections was a note rapidly written to +Mr. Decker, stating his discovery of the deed of entail, his consequent +surrender of all claim to the property to Edward Maitland, +and his determination to quit England immediately. All +arrangements respecting the settlement of his claims on the +estate, and the claims of the present proprietor upon him, he +left to Sir Edward and Mr. Decker, empowering the latter to +receive and retain for his use and subject to his order, whatever, +on such a settlement, should appertain to him.</p> + +<p>This note was left on Mr. Decker's table, and in one hour +after leaving his office Horace Maitland was advancing to +Liverpool with the rapidity of steam. The packet waited but +the arrival of the train in which he was a passenger, to leave the +shores of England. With what bitterness he watched those +receding shores, while memory wrote upon his bare and bleeding +heart the record of joys identified with them, and fading +like them for ever from his life, let each imagine for himself, for +to such emotions no language can do justice.</p> + +<p>A voyage across the Atlantic is now too common an event +to stay, even for a moment, the pen of a narrator. From Boston, +Horace—no longer Sir Horace—wrote to his cousin as +follows—</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_102' id='Page_102' title='102'> </a><span class="smcap">Dear Edward</span>—Here I am among the republicans, with +whom I may flatter myself I have lost nothing by sinking Sir +Horace Maitland into plain Mr. Danforth. Such is now my +address, assumed not from fear that in this distant quarter of +the world I shall meet any to whom the name of Maitland +is familiar but because much of which I do not desire to be reminded +is associated with that came. I said to you when +leaving my home, dear Edward, "Do not fear for me." I can +now repeat this with better reason. The first stunning shock +of the change to which I was so suddenly subjected has been +borne. My past life already seems to me as a dream from +which I have been rudely but effectually awakened. I am now +first to begin life in reality.</p> + +<p>The accident which determined me to seek these shores was +a happy one. I cannot well dream here where all around me +is active, vigorous life. We are accustomed in England to +think of the American shores as the Ultima Thule in a western +direction, but when we reach these shores we find that the +movement is still west. The daily papers are filled with +accounts of persons migrating west, and thither am I going. +"The world is all before me where to choose" the theatre of +my new life—my life of work—-and I would have it far from +the blue sea, out of hearing of the murmur of the waves that +lave my island home. I will go where the wide prairies sweep +away on every side of the horizon—where every link with other +lands will be severed, and America below and Heaven above +constitute my universe. "You will find no society at the +West," has been said to me. This is another attraction to that +region. I would work out my destiny in solitude. I desire to +travel without company, and have made my arrangements accordingly. +I have purchased three substantial horses for a little +more than one hundred pounds, and have engaged a shrewd, +active lad as groom, valet, and he seems to think, companion,<a class='page' name ='Page_103' id='Page_103' title='103'> </a> +at about two pounds per month. A very light carriage, sometimes +driven by my servant and sometimes by myself, will +transport the moderate wardrobe which I shall deem it necessary +to take with me to the outermost verge of civilization and good +roads, where leaving carriage and wardrobe, or at least all of +the latter which may not be borne by a led-horse, I shall penetrate +still further into the old forests of this New World. I +long to be alone with "Nature's full, free heart"—perchance, +there, my own may beat as of yore.</p> + +<p>Farewell, dear Edward. You may hear of me next among +the Sacs and Foxes;—at present address H. Danforth, care of +G—— & D——, Merchants,—— —— street, Boston.</p> + +<p class='center'>Yours ever, H.</p> +<p class='right-indent'><span class="smcap">Danforth</span>.</p> +<p class='lettersig'> </p> + +<p>A new external life had indeed opened upon this child of +luxury and conventional refinement. He whose movements +had been chronicled as matter of interest to the public, for +whose presence the "world" had postponed its fêtes, might +now travel hundreds of miles without observation or inquiry. +He upon whose steps had waited a crowd of obsequious +attendants, now found himself with one follower, whose tone of +independence hardly permitted him to call him servant. In +cities, where he would still have been surrounded by those conventional +distinctions of which he had himself been deprived, +the sense of a great loss would have been ever present with him, +and the contrast with the past would have made the fairest +present to which he could now attain, desolate. But there +could be no comparison, and therefore no painful contrast, +between the wild life of the prairies and the ultra-civilization of +English aristocratic society. In the excitement and adventure +of the one, he hoped to forget the other. He sought to forget—not +to be resigned, to acquiesce. His inner life was unchanged. +He had been a dreamer—a pleasure-seeker—and a +dreamer and pleasure-seeker he continued, though the dreams<a class='page' name ='Page_104' id='Page_104' title='104'> </a> +and the pleasures must be wrought from new materials. To +sketch the progress of such a character through the shifting +scenes of his new existence—to observe him in his association +with the strong, daring, acute, but uncultivated denizens of our +frontier States—to stand with sympathizing heart beside him as +he first entered upon those unpeopled solitudes in whose silence +God speaks to the soul, is not permitted us at present. This +may be the work of another day; but now we must pass at +once with him from Boston to a scene within the confines of +Iowa. His carriage had been left behind, and for two days he +had been riding over a rolling country, whose grassy knolls, +dotted here and there with clumps of trees, brought occasionally +to his mind the park scenery of his own land. Early in this +day he had passed a farm with a comfortable house and substantial +out-buildings, but no dwelling of man had since +presented itself to him, though the sun was now low in the +western sky. Under ordinary circumstances this would have +been of little consequence, for he had already spent more than +one night in the open air without discomfort; but his attendant +had heard a distant muttering of thunder, and John Stacy was +not the lad to encounter without murmuring a night of storm +unsheltered. John's anxiety made him keen-sighted, and he +was the first to perceive and announce the approach of a rider. +We use the neutral term <i>rider</i> not without consideration, for he +was one in whom a certain ease of manner, and even an air of +command, contradicted the testimony of habiliments made and +worn after a fashion recognized nowhere as characteristic of the +<i>genus</i> gentleman. A courteous inquiry from Horace Danforth +respecting the nearest place at which a night's shelter might be +obtained, led to a cordial invitation to him to return with him +to his own house. It was an invitation not to be disregarded +under existing circumstances, and it was accepted with evident +pleasure both by master and man.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_105' id='Page_105' title='105'> </a>Mr. Grahame, for so the new-comer had announced himself, +led the way back for a short distance over the route just +pursued by our travellers, and then striking off to the left, rode +briskly forward for several miles. The light gray clouds which +had long been gathering in the western sky had deepened into +blackness as they proceeded, and flashes of lightning were +darting across their path, and large drops of rain were falling +upon them when they neared a house constructed of logs, yet +bearing some evidence of taste in the grounds around it, as well +as in its position, which was on the side of a gently sloping +hill, looking out upon a landscape through which wound a +clear and rapid, though narrow stream.</p> + +<p>"Like good cavaliers, we will see our horses housed first," +said Mr. Grahame, riding past the main building to one of the +out-houses, built also of logs, which served as a stable. Here +Horace Danforth relinquished his tired steed to the care of +John Stacy, and Mr. Grahame having himself rubbed down +his own beautiful animal, and thrown a bundle of hay before +him, with a slight apology to his visitor for the detention, led +the way into the house. As they entered the vacant parlor a +shade of something like dissatisfaction passed over the master's +countenance, and having seen his guest seated by a huge fireplace, +whose cheerful blaze of wood a chilly evening made by +no means unwelcome, he left him alone. He soon returned, +however, with a brighter expression, which was explained by +his saying, "I feared, on finding this room empty, that my +daughter had been sent for to a sick woman with whom she +has lately spent several days and nights, and that I could offer +you only the discomforts of a bachelor's establishment; but I +find she is at home, and will soon give us supper."</p> + +<p>During the absence of his host, our Englishman had looked +around with increasing surprise at the contents of the parlor. +The furniture was of the most simple description, yet marked<a class='page' name ='Page_106' id='Page_106' title='106'> </a> +by a certain neatness and gracefulness of arrangement, indicative, +as he could not but think, of a cultivated taste. The same +mingling of even rude simplicity of material and tasteful +arrangement prevailed in the chamber to which his host now +conducted him, and where the luxury, for such he had learned +to regard it, of abundance of clear water and clean napkins +awaited him. In a few minutes after his return to the parlor a +door was opened, through which he obtained a view of an +inner apartment, well lighted, and containing a table so spread +as to present no slight temptation to a traveller who had not +broken his fast since the morning meal. At the head of this +table stood a young woman of graceful form, whom his host +introduced to him as his daughter, Miss Grahame.</p> + +<p>Mary Grahame's clear complexion, glowing with the hue of +health, her large and soft and dark gray eyes, her abundant +glossy black hair, might have won from the most fastidious +some of that admiration given to personal beauty; but in truth +Horace Danforth had grown indifferent as well as fastidious, +and it was not until in after days he had seen the complexion +glow and the dark eyes kindle with feeling, that he said to himself, +"She is beautiful!" To the fascination of a peculiarly +graceful, gentle, yet earnest manner, he was, however, more +quickly susceptible. During this first evening, the chief emotion +excited in his mind was surprise at the style of conversation +and manner, the acquaintance with books and with <i>les +bien-séances</i> which marked these inhabitants of a log cabin in +the western wilds—these denizens of a half-savage life.</p> + +<p>A day of hard riding had induced such fatigue, that even +the rare and unexpected pleasure of communication with refined +and cultivated minds, could not keep Horace Danforth long +from his pillow. As he expected to set out in the morning +very early, he would have made his adieus in parting for the +night, mingling with them courteous expressions of the enjoy<a class='page' name ='Page_107' id='Page_107' title='107'> </a>ment +which such society had afforded him after his long abstinence +from all intellectual converse.</p> + +<p>"Believe me," said Mr. Graham, and the sentiment was +corroborated by his daughter's eyes, "the pleasure has been +mutual. Society is the great want of our western life. I have +been wishing to ask whether your business were too urgent to +permit you to afford us more of this coveted good?"</p> + +<p>"I am ashamed to confess," said Horace Danforth, with +some embarrassment, "that I have no business at present—that +I am an idler—I verily believe the only one in your +country."</p> + +<p>"Then will you not give us the pleasure of your company +for a longer time? A little rest will be no disadvantage either +to your horses or yourself, and on us you will be conferring a +favor which you cannot appreciate till you have lived five hundred +miles away from civilization."</p> + +<p>The invitation was accepted as cordially as it was given, +to the great satisfaction of John Stacy, who had been much +pleased with the appearance of land in this neighborhood, and +wanted time to look about him preparatory to purchasing.</p> + +<p>Horace Danforth awoke early next morning, and throwing +open the shutters of the only window in his room, found that a +stormy night had been succeeded by an unusually brilliant +morning. "To brush the dews from off the upland lawn" had +not been a habit of his past life; but the cool fresh air, the +spicy perfumes which it wafted to him, and the brightness and +verdure of the whole landscape, proved now more inviting than +his pillow; and dressing himself hastily, he descended the clean +but rude and uncarpeted stairs as gently as possible, lest he +should arouse Miss Grahame from her slumbers. He found +the front door open, showing that he was not the first of the +household to go abroad that day. As he stepped out upon the +lawn, he discovered that the parlor windows were also open,<a class='page' name ='Page_108' id='Page_108' title='108'> </a> +and a familiar air, hummed in low, suppressed tones, caused +him to look through them as he passed. Could he believe his +eyes? Was that neatest and prettiest of all housemaids, who, +moving with light and even graceful steps, was yet busied in +the very homely task of dusting and arranging the furniture in +the parlor—was she indeed the same Miss Grahame who had +last evening charmed him by her lady-like deportment and intelligent +conversation? Yes, the very same; for though the +glossy black braids were covered by a gay colored handkerchief +wound around her head <i>à la Turque</i>, there was the same wide +forehead and well-defined brows; the same soft dark gray eyes; +the same slightly aquiline nose and smiling mouth. Nor was +the conversation of last evening more opposed, in his imagination, +to her present employment, than the evident taste and +feeling with which she was now singing that most beautiful +hymn of the Irish poet:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O God! Thou art the life and light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all this wondrous world I see."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Listening and gazing, wondering and comparing, he had well +nigh forgotten himself, when the lady of the mansion turning +suddenly to the window, raised her head. Their eyes met! +The color which rushed quickly to her very temples, recalled +him to himself, and bowing with certainly not less embarrassment +than she evinced, he walked rapidly on. He had not proceeded +far, however, when he saw his host approaching from +an opposite direction. As Mr. Grahame had already spent +more than an hour in his fields, sharing as well as directing the +labors of his men, he expressed no surprise at meeting his guest +abroad. After a cordial greeting, and a few general observations +on the weather and scenery had been exchanged, Mr. +Grahame, glancing up at the sun, which had now risen considerably +above a distant wood, said, "I am sorry to interrupt +your walk, but my morning's work has made me by no means<a class='page' name ='Page_109' id='Page_109' title='109'> </a> +indifferent to my breakfast, and I think that Mary's coffee and +biscuits are about this time done to a turn."</p> + +<p>A few minutes brought them back to the house, and into +the parlor from which Mary Grahame had disappeared, leaving +behind her, in its neat and tasteful arrangement, and in the +fresh flowers that adorned the table and mantelpiece, evidence +of her early presence. The gentlemen were soon summoned to +breakfast.</p> + +<p>It may have been that his early rising had given to Horace +Danforth an unusual appetite; but certain it is that no breakfast +of which he had ever partaken seemed to him half so inviting +as this. And yet, in truth, it was simple enough; toast, +crisp and brown, warm, light biscuits, fresh eggs, good butter, +excellent coffee, and rich cream were all it offered. Mary Grahame +presided, and speaking little herself, listened to her father +and Horace, while they discussed the different characteristics of +English or European and American society, with a pleased and +intelligent countenance. Some observations from him drew +from Mr. Grahame the following reply:—</p> + +<p>"There is one feature of American society upon which I +think no foreigner has remarked, or if he have, it has been so +cursorily as plainly to show that he was far from appreciating +its importance: I mean the fact that here the thinker is also +the worker. In England and the European States, the working +class is distinct from the consumers, and there must be +almost as great a contrast in the intellectual as in the physical +condition of the two. All the refinement, the cultivation, must +remain with those who have leisure and fortune—as a class, I +mean, for individuals will of course be found, who, in spite of +all disadvantages, will rise to the highest position. But here, +in America, there are no idlers. Here, with few if any exceptions, +all must be, in some way, workers, and all may be thinkers. +We attain thus to a republic of mind."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_110' id='Page_110' title='110'> </a>"Do you not fear that the result of this will be to check +the development of individual greatness; that as you have +no king in the State, so you will have no king in literature?"</p> + +<p>"Even were this so, it would remain a question whether the +great increase of general intelligence would not more than compensate +the evil."</p> + +<p>"Can many Polloks repay us for one Milton—many Drydens +for one Shakspeare?"</p> + +<p>"You take extreme cases; besides, I only admitted your +supposition to show that I could produce a set-off to the disadvantage. +I do not believe that the necessity for labor of some +sort will prevent a truly great mind from achieving for itself +the highest distinction. I think the history of such minds +proves that it will rather serve as a stimulus to their powers."</p> + +<p>Horace Danforth was silent, and after a moment's pause, +Mr. Grahame resumed.</p> + +<p>"In this union of the working and the thinking classes, the +refinements of life, those things which adorn, and beautify it, +take their true place as consolers and soothers of the care-worn +and toil-wearied mind. No Italian opera can give such delight +to the sated man of pleasure as the tired laborer feels in +listening to the evening song with which some loved one, in +his home, sings him to repose.</p> + +<p>"You speak <i>con amore</i>" said Horace Danforth, smiling at +his host's fervor.</p> + +<p>"I do. Had I been excluded from the refinements of social +life, I should long since have fainted and grown weary of +my toil here. I felt this when compelled to relinquish my +daughter's society for two years, that she might have the advantage +of instruction in those branches of a womanly education +in which I could give her no aid."</p> + +<p>"And having spent two years in the more cultivated East, did +Miss Grahame return willingly to her home in the wilderness?"</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_111' id='Page_111' title='111'> </a>This question was addressed to Mary Grahame herself, and +she answered simply, "My father was here."</p> + +<p>"You acknowledge, then, that could your father have been +with you, you would have preferred remaining at the East?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no! I was fifteen when my father sent me from home, +and they who have enjoyed the free life of the prairies so long, +seldom love cities."</p> + +<p>"But the ease, the freedom from labor, which is enjoyed in +a more advanced stage of society, the power to devote yourself +to pursuits agreeable to your taste—did you not regret these?"</p> + +<p>"Permit me to put your question into plainer language," +interposed Mr. Grahame. "Mr. Danforth would ask, Mary, +whether you would not prefer to live where you would not be +compelled to degrade your mind——"</p> + +<p>"No, no, I protest against the degradation," exclaimed Mr. +Danforth.</p> + +<p>"To degrade your mind," pursued Mr. Grahame, answering +the interruption only by a smile, "by exercising it on such +homely things as brewing coffee and baking cakes, or to soil +your fair hands with brooms and dusters."</p> + +<p>"For the soil of the hands we have sparkling rills, and for +the degradation of the mind, I, like Mr. Danforth, protest +against it."</p> + +<p>"But how can you make your protest good?"</p> + +<p>"You have taught me that there is no degradation in labor, +pursued for fair and right ends, and that where the end is noble, +the labor becomes ennobling."</p> + +<p>"But what noble ends can be alleged for the drudgery of +domestic life? I am translating your looks into language," +said Mr. Grahame, turning playfully to his guest; "correct me +if I do not read them rightly."</p> + +<p>"If I say you do, I fear Miss Grahame will think them very +impertinent looks."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_112' id='Page_112' title='112'> </a>"I shall not complain of them while I can reply to them so +easily," said Mary gayly. "He who knows how much a well-ordered +household contributes to the cultivation of domestic +virtues and family affections, will not think a woman degraded +who sacrifices somewhat of her tastes and pleasures to the deeper +happiness of procuring such advantages for those she loves."</p> + +<p>"But is not that state of society preferable, in which, +without her personal interference, by the employment of those +who have no higher tastes, she may accomplish the same +object?"</p> + +<p>"That question proves that you do not, like my father, +desire to see the working and the thinking classes united. +You seem to propose that the first shall ever remain our hewers +of wood and drawers of water."</p> + +<p>"Is it not a fact that there have been, are, and always will +be those in the world who are fitted for no other position?"</p> + +<p>"That there are and always have been such persons, I +acknowledge; but when labor ceases to be degrading, because +it is partaken by all, may we not hope that new aspirations will +be awakened in the laborer—that he will elevate himself in the +scale of being when he feels elevation possible?"</p> + +<p>Mary Grahame spoke with generous enthusiasm, yet with +a modest gentleness which made Horace Danforth desire to +continue the argument.</p> + +<p>"Admitting all this," he said, "it does not answer my +question, which was, whether you did not prefer that state of +society in which you were able to avail yourself of the services +of such a class?"</p> + +<p>"There are moments, doubtless, when indolence would +plead for such self-indulgence; but I should be mortified, +indeed, where this the prevailing temper of my mind."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me if I say that I do not see how it can be otherwise—how +a lady of Miss Grahame's refinement and taste can<a class='page' name ='Page_113' id='Page_113' title='113'> </a> +be pleased with the employments, for instance, to which Mr. +Grahame just now referred."</p> + +<p>"Not pleased with them in themselves, but she may accept +them, may she not, as a necessary part of a great object to +which she has devoted herself?"</p> + +<p>"And this object?—but, forgive me. The interest you +have awakened in the subject, and your kindness in answering +my questions, make me an encroacher, I fear," he added, as he +marked the heightened color with which Mary glanced at her +father as he paused for her answer.</p> + +<p>"Not at all; but I speak in presence of my master, and will +refer you to him," she replied, with another smiling glance at +her father.</p> + +<p>"You see," said Mr. Grahame, "that even in these wilds, +'the world's dread laugh' retains its power. Mary, I see, is +afraid of being called a female Quixote, and even I find myself +disposed to win you to some interest in my object, before I +avow it. This I think I can best do by a sketch of the circumstances +which led to its adoption. I will give you such a +sketch, therefore, if you will promise to acquit me of egotism +in doing so."</p> + +<p>"That I will readily do. I shall be delighted to hear it."</p> + +<p>"You shall have it, but not now; for I see, by certain +cabalistic signs, known only to the initiated, that Mary is about +to leave us for some of those same degrading employments, and +if you will take a ride with me, I will relieve you from all danger +of contact with them, and will, at the same time, show you +something of our neighborhood."</p> + +<p>The proposal was of course accepted. The ride embraced a +circuit of ten miles, in which they passed only two houses. The +first of these was built with an apparent regard to convenience +and comfort, and even some effort at adornment, as manifested +in the climbing plants with which the windows were draperied,<a class='page' name ='Page_114' id='Page_114' title='114'> </a> +and the flowers which adorned the little court in front. Mr. +Grahame stopped before the gateway of this court, and a woman +of coarse, rough exterior, though scrupulously clean, came out +to speak to him, and to urge his alighting and entering the +house with his friend. This Mr. Grahame declined; he had +stopped only to inquire after a sick child, and to express a hope +that her husband's hay had turned out well.</p> + +<p>"Dreadful fine," was her reply to the last. "I'm sure we +be much obleeged to you for the seed, and for tellin' Jim how +to plant it He never had sich hay before."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to hear it. Where is Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she's off to school. Tell Miss Mary she's gittin' to be +'most as grand a reader as she be. And yet the child's willin' +enough to work, for all."</p> + +<p>As the gentlemen rode on, after this interview, Mr. Grahame +said, "That last speech expressed one of the greatest difficulties +against which we had to contend in our efforts to induce our +neighbors to give to their children some of the advantages of +education. They were afraid 'larnin' would make them lazy.' +They were of your opinion, that the thinker and the worker +must remain of different classes."</p> + +<p>"I was much surprised to hear that woman speak of a +school. I should not think the teacher could find his situation +very profitable."</p> + +<p>"He is one who has regard to a higher reward than any +earthly one. He is a self-denying Christian missionary, whom +I induced to settle in our neighborhood. He preaches on the +Sabbath, in a little church about two miles from my house, to +a congregation of about twenty adults, and twice that number +of children; and during the week, he keeps a school which is +well attended in the summer. Some of his earlier pupils are +already showing, by their more useful and more happy lives, +the importance of the schoolmaster's work in the elevation of a +people."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_115' id='Page_115' title='115'> </a>The next dwelling they approached was very small and +mean-looking. It seemed to Horace Danforth to contain only +one apartment, warmed by an ill-constructed clay chimney, and +lighted by one small, square window. That window, however, +was not only sashed and glazed, but shaded by a plain muslin +curtain.</p> + +<p>"Here," said Mr. Grahame, "lives one of those pupils of +whom I spoke just now. He has commenced life with nothing +but the plot of ground you see, and having a wife to support, +he must work hard, yet already he is aiming at something +more than the supply of merely physical wants; and I doubt +not he will, should he live long enough, become the intelligent +and wealthy father of a well-educated family."</p> + +<p>They were approaching the house as Mr. Grahame spoke. +Near it was a small field, in which a man was hoeing.</p> + +<p>"How is your wife, Martin?" asked Mr. Grahame.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you, sir, she is quite smart. She's been getting +better ever since the night Miss Mary sat up with her last. +We say she always brings good luck."</p> + +<p>"And how are your potatoes?"</p> + +<p>"How could they help but be good, sir, with such grand +seed as you gave me? Tell Miss Mary, if you please, sir, that +the rose-tree is growing finely, and that as soon as I can get +time to put up the fence, Sally is to have the flower-garden she +talked about."</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear it, Martin; if you are brisk you may +have some flowers yet before frost. I will bring you some +seeds the next time I come."</p> + +<p>"Do you procure your seeds from the East, or is it the +result of your superior cultivation, that you are able thus to +supply your neighbors?" asked Horace Danforth of Mr. +Grahame, as they rode on.</p> + +<p>"The potatoes were from my own field, raised from the<a class='page' name ='Page_116' id='Page_116' title='116'> </a> +seed two years ago. The grass and flower seeds were from my +agent at the East. These little favors win for my daughter +and myself considerable influence over our neighbors, and thus +facilitate our attainment of the object for which we have pitched +our tent in the wilderness, and accepted those labors which you +justly regard as distasteful in themselves."</p> + +<p>The return home of Mr. Grahame and his visitor, their +dinner and afternoon engagements, offer nothing worthy of our +notice. It was not till the labors of the day had been concluded, +and the little party were gathered again before a +cheerful fire in the parlor, that the subject of the morning's +conversation was resumed. As Mary entered from the supper-room, +bringing with her a little basket of needle-work, Horace +Danforth asked if he might not now hope to receive the +promised sketch.</p> + +<p>"I will give it you with pleasure when I have had my +evening song from Mary," said Mr. Grahame.</p> + +<p>Opening the piano for his young hostess, Horace Danforth +stood beside her as she sang, but he forgot to turn the leaves +of the music before her as he listened once again to a rich and +cultivated voice, accompanied by a fine instrument, touched by +a skilful hand. As the sweet and well-remembered strains fell +on his ear, he closed his eyes and gave the reins to fancy. The +loved and lost gathered around him, and it was with a strange, +dream-like feeling that, as the sweet sound ceased, and Mary +arose from the piano, he opened his eyes and looked upon the +rough walls and simple furniture of his present abode.</p> + +<p>"It is now nearly nineteen years," began Mr. Grahame, +when his daughter and guest had resumed their seats near him, +"since, crushed in spirit, I turned from the grave in which I +had laid my chief earthly blessing, to wander 'any where, any +where out of that world' which had a few weeks before been +bright and joyous to me, but which I was now ready to<a class='page' name ='Page_117' id='Page_117' title='117'> </a> +pronounce a desolate waste. The desire to avoid society made +me turn westward, and nearly one hundred miles east of our +present residence I found myself in the midst of a people +without churches, without schools, rude in appearance and in +manners. Absorbed in the destruction of my own selfish +happiness, I might have passed from among them without +knowing that disease was adding its pangs to those inflicted by +want, ignorance, and superstition, had not a mother in the agony +of parting from her first-born, looking hither and thither for +help, turned her eyes entreatingly upon the stranger. I had +once studied medicine, though regarding the profession, as our +young men too often do, merely as a means of personal aggrandizement, +and having received just at the completion of my +studies an accession of fortune, which removed all pecuniary +necessity to exertion on my part, I had never practised it, nor +indeed obtained the diploma necessary to its practice. Now, +however, I endeavored to make myself master of the peculiar +features of the epidemic under which the child was suffering, +and with the aid of a small store of medicines which my +good sister had insisted on my taking with me, and a rigid +enforcement of some of the simplest rules of diet and regimen, I +had the happiness of seeing the child in a few days out of danger, +and of receiving the mother's rapturous thanks. That moment, +gave me the first gleam of happiness I had known for months, +and disposed me to listen to the entreaties of the poor creatures +who came from far and near to entreat the aid of the Doctor, +as they persisted in calling me, notwithstanding my repeated +assurances that I had no right to the title. I spent weeks in +that neighborhood, and there I was born to a new life. Till +that time I had lived to myself, and when that in which I had +centered my earthly joy was snatched from me by death, I +had felt that life had nothing left for me; but now I saw that +while there were sentient beings in the universe to serve, and a<a class='page' name ='Page_118' id='Page_118' title='118'> </a> +glorious and ever blessed Father presiding over that universe +and smiling on such service, life could not be divested of joy. +Under the influence of such views my plans for the future were +formed, nor have I ever seen reason to change or to regret them. +Every where the Christian religion teaches the same precepts, +but not every where is it equally easy to see the way in which +those precepts may be obeyed; every where it is true, as a distinguished +writer of your own land has said, 'Blessed is the +man who has found his work—let him seek no other blessedness;' +but not every where is it equally easy to see where our +work lies. Here, in America, the partition-walls which stand +elsewhere as a remnant of the old feudalism, have been broken +down; every man is irresistibly pressed into contact with his +neighbors—he cannot shut his eyes to their wants—he cannot +stop his ears against their cries. In America, too, every man, +as I have already said, must be a worker—or, if he live an idler, +it must be on that which his father gained by the sweat of his +brow, and he leaves his children to enslaving toil, or more enslaving +dependence. Here the man of pleasure, the idler of +either sex, is a foreign exotic which finds no nourishment in +our soil, no shelter from our institutions—which is out of +harmony with our social life, and must ever be marked by the +innate vulgarity of unsustained pretension. Therefore it is +comparatively easy for us to hold out the hand of love to our +brethren, sinking and suffering at our very side, and to teach +them that there is no natural inalienable connection between +labor and coarseness, ignorance and servility; that man, though +compelled to win his bread by the sweat of his brow, may still +enjoy all those graceful amenities of which woman was the type +in Paradise and is the promoter here; that the light of knowledge +and the divine light of faith may still cheer him in his +pursuits and guide him to his rest. It seems to me that to bring +out these principles fairly to the world's perception, is the mission<a class='page' name ='Page_119' id='Page_119' title='119'> </a> +to which America has been especially appointed—is that for +which Americans should live; and to this I have accordingly +devoted myself. For this I purchased my present property—for +this I determined, while allowing myself and my daughter +all the comforts of life, to dispense with many of those luxuries +to which my fortune might have seemed to entitle us, lest I +should separate myself too far from those I would aid. Here I +have spent seventeen years of life, happy in my work, and +happier in the conviction that it has not been in vain."</p> + +<p>As Mr. Grahame paused, Horace Danforth turned to Mary +Grahame. Her eyes were fixed upon him. They seemed to +challenge his admiration for her father, in whose hand her own +was clasped, as though she would thus intimate the perfect accordance +of her feelings with his.</p> + +<p>"And this, then," he said to her, "is your object?"</p> + +<p>"It is."</p> + +<p>"An object to which you were devoted by your father in +your infancy?"</p> + +<p>"And which I have since adopted on my own intelligent +conviction," said Mary, earnestly, losing all timidity in a glow +of that generous enthusiasm which sits so gracefully on a gentle +woman.</p> + +<p>There was silence in the little circle—silence with all; with +one, thought was rapidly passing down the long vista of the +past, and pointing the awakened mind to the fact that elsewhere +than in America was there ignorance to be enlightened +and want to be relieved—that not here only did Christianity +teach that man should live not unto himself alone, and that he +should love his neighbor as himself.</p> + +<p>The thoughts and feelings aroused on that evening colored +the whole future destiny of Horace Danforth. Ere another day +had passed, he had confided to his host so much of his history +as proved him to be an aimless and almost unconnected wan<a class='page' name ='Page_120' id='Page_120' title='120'> </a>derer +on the earth, with a prospect of a fortune which, unequal +to the demands of a man of fashion in England, would give to +a <i>worker</i> in America great influence for good or for evil—as the +personal property of Sir Thomas Maitland could not, as Horace +Danforth was well aware, be valued at less than 50,000 dollars. +With that rapid decision which had ever marked his movements, +the young Englishman determined to purchase land in +the neighborhood of Mr. Grahame, there to rear his future hope, +and to devote his life to the like noble purposes. The land +was purchased, the site for the house was selected and marked +out—but the house was never built—for ere that had been +accomplished Horace Danforth discovered that the companionship +of a cultivated woman was essential to his views of "Life +in America," and that Mary Grahame was exactly the embodiment +of that youthful vision which he had sought in vain elsewhere; +for she united the delicacy and refined grace, with the +intelligent mind, the active affections and energetic will, which +were necessary at once to please his fancy and satisfy his heart +Mary Grahame could not consent to leave her father to a lonely +home, but yet she could not deny that it would be a sad home +to her if deprived of the society of him whose intelligent and +varied converse and manly tenderness had lately formed the +chief charm of her existence. There was only one way of +reconciling these conflicting claims. Horace Danforth must +live with Mr. Grahame; and so he did, having first obtained +that gentleman's permission to enlarge his house, and to furnish +it with some of those inventions by which art has so greatly +lightened domestic occupation, and which had been made familiar +to him by his life abroad.</p> + +<p>Six months had been spent in this abode—six months of +an existence of joy and love, untroubled as it could be to those +who were yet dwellers upon earth—six months in which the +fastidious and world-wearied man learned the secret of true<a class='page' name ='Page_121' id='Page_121' title='121'> </a> +peace in a life devoted to useful and benevolent objects—when +a most unexpected visitor arrived in the person of Sir Edward +Maitland—no, not Sir Edward. He came to announce that to +this title he had no right. That he had remained himself, and +suffered his cousin to remain so long in ignorance on this point, +had been the result of no want of effort to arrive at the truth, +still less of any lingering love of the honors forced upon him. +He had never assumed the title, nor suffered the secret of his +supposed change of circumstances to be known beyond himself +and the lawyer to whom his cousin Horace had revealed it. +This lawyer, it may be remembered, had lately succeeded in +the care of the Maitland estate to an uncle, who had been +compelled by the infirmities of advancing age to retire from +business. The old man was absent from England when Horace +Danforth left it, and it was not till his return that full satisfaction +on the subject had been obtained, as it was judged unwise +by Mr. Decker to awaken public attention by investigations +which his uncle's return would probably render unnecessary. +When he did return, and the subject was cautiously unfolded +to him, he spent many minutes in <i>pishing</i> and <i>pshawing</i> at the +folly and impetuosity of young Baronets, who, knowing nothing +of the tenure on which they hold their estates, cannot at +least wait till they consult wiser people before they throw them +away. The entail of nearly two centuries ago had, it seems, +been set aside in little more than one, by an improvident father +and son, who had in fact greatly diminished the very fine property +so entailed, though most of it had been since recovered by +the care of their successors. The intelligence thus conveyed to +him who was now once more Sir Horace Danforth Maitland, +was of mingled sweet and bitter. He could not be insensible +to the joy of returning to the home of his childhood and the +people among whom he had grown to manhood, yet neither +could he leave, without tender regrets, that in which he had<a class='page' name ='Page_122' id='Page_122' title='122'> </a> +first learned to love, and to live a true, a noble, and a happy +life.</p> + +<p>When Mary was first saluted as Lady Maitland by Edward, +she turned a glance of inquiry upon her husband, and then +upon her father, for both were present by previous arrangement; +and as she read a confirmation of the fact in their smiling faces, +the color faded from hers, and after a moment's vain effort to +contend against her painful emotion, she burst into tears.</p> + +<p>"Your father has promised to spend his life with us, dearest," +said Sir Horace Maitland, as he threw his arm around +her and drew her to his side.</p> + +<p>"But this dear home," sobbed Mary; "this people, for whom +and with whom we have lived so happily."</p> + +<p>"All that made this home dear, my daughter, you will take +with you to another home."</p> + +<p>"And there, too," interposed Sir Horace, "my Mary will +find a people to enlighten and to bless, over whom her influence +will be unbounded, and to whom she will prove an angel of +consolation."</p> + +<p>"And can you carry your American life to your English +home?" she asked of her husband, smiling through her tears.</p> + +<p>"As much of it as is independent of outward circumstances, +Mary—its spirit, its aims; for they belong to a Christian life, +and that I hope, by God's blessing, to live henceforth, wherever +I may be."</p> + +<p>"And what will become of all our projected improvements +here?" she inquired of her father.</p> + +<p>"I shall not leave this place myself, Mary, till I can find +some one like-minded, who will take our place and do our +work. To such a man I will sell the property on such terms as +he can afford, or if he cannot buy, he shall farm it for me."</p> + +<p>This last was the arrangement made with one whom Mr. +Grahame had known in early life, and who had always been<a class='page' name ='Page_123' id='Page_123' title='123'> </a> +distinguished by true Christian uprightness and benevolence +The terms offered by Mr. Grahame to this gentleman were such, +that the conscientious and excellent agent became in a few +years the proprietor and under his fostering care, all those +plans for the intellectual and moral improvement of the neighborhood +which had been so happily commenced, were matured +and perfected.</p> + +<p>It was nearly a year after the departure of his children before +Mr. Grahame was able to join them at Maitland Park. +With his arrival Mary felt that her cup of joy was full. It had +been with a trembling heart that she assumed the brilliant position +to which Providence had conducted her; not that she +feared the judgment of man: her fear had been lest in the midst +of abundance she should forget the hand that fed her—lest +amidst the fascinations of an intellectual and polished society, +she should forget the thick darkness which covered so many +immortal minds around her. But already she had cast aside +this unworthy fear, unworthy of Him in whom is the Christian's +strength.</p> + +<p>The early dream of the Proprietor of Maitland Park is fulfilled. +The softening and refining presence of woman diffuses +a new charm over its social life, and while his Mary is to his +tenantry what he himself predicted, an angel of consolation, +she is to him a faithful co-worker in all that may advance the +reign of peace and righteousness, of intelligence and joy, +throughout the world.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_124' id='Page_124' title='124'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER VII.</a></h2> + + +<p>A Sabbath in the country, with a Sabbath quiet in the air, +and a cheerful sunlight beaming like the smile of Heaven on +the earth—how beautiful it is! Donaldson Manor is only a +short walk from the church whose white spire gleams up amidst +the dark grove of pines on our left; at least, it is only a short +walk in summer, when we can approach it through the flowery +lanes which separate Col. Donaldson's fields from those of his +next neighbor, Mr. Manly. Now, however, the walk is impracticable, +and all the sleighs were yesterday morning in requisition, +to transport the family and their visitors to their place of +worship. I was a little afraid that the merry music of the sleigh-bells +and the rapid drive through the clear air might make our +young people's blood dance too briskly—that they would be +unable to preserve that sobriety of manner becoming those who +are about professedly to engage in the worship of Him who +inhabiteth Eternity. I was gratified, however, to perceive that +they all had good feeling or good taste enough to preserve, +throughout their drive and the services which followed it, a +quiet and reverent demeanor. It may seem strange to some, +that I should characterize this as a possible effect of "good +taste;" but in my opinion, he who does not pay the tribute at +least of outward respect to this holy day, is incapable not only +of that high, spiritual communion which brings man near to +his Creator, but of that tender sympathy which binds him to<a class='page' name ='Page_125' id='Page_125' title='125'> </a> +his fellow-creatures, or even of that poetic taste which would +place his soul in harmony with external nature. Let it not be +thought that I would have this day of blessing to the world regarded +with a cynical severity, or that the quietness and the +reverence of which I speak are at all akin to sadness. Were +not cheerfulness, in my opinion, a part of godliness, I should +say of it as some one has said of cleanliness, that it is next to +godliness. Like my favorite, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I think we are too ready with complaint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this fair world of God's;"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and like her, I would utter to all the exhortation,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Let us leave the shame and sin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of taking vainly, in a plaintive mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The holy name of Grief!—holy herein,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, by the grief of One, came all our good."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But cheerfulness, so far from being incompatible with, seems to +me inseparable from that true worship which is the best source +of the Sabbath seriousness I am advocating.</p> + +<p>The remarks of the preacher were quite in unison with +these thoughts, and pleased me so much that, were it admissible, +I should be delighted to dignify my pages with them. By a +few vivid touches, in language simple, yet beautiful, he sketched +for us the first Sabbath amidst the living springs and fadeless +bloom and verdant shades of Paradise, when sinless man communed +with his Maker and his Father, not through the poor +symbols of a ceremonial worship, but face to face, as a man +talketh with his friend. But all I would say of the Sabbath +has been said a thousand times better than I could say it, by +good George Herbert, whose words I am sure I need not apologize +for introducing here.</p> + + +<h3><a class='page' name ='Page_126' id='Page_126' title='126'> </a><a name="SUNDAY" id="SUNDAY"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">SUNDAY.</a></h3> + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O day most calm, most bright!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fruit of this, the next world's bud;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Th' indorsement of supreme delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Writ by a Friend, and with His blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The couch of time; care's balm and bay:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The week were dark, but for thy light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy torch doth show the way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The other days and thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make up one man; whose face <i>thou</i> art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knocking at heaven with thy brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The worky days are the back-part;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The burden of the week lies there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making the whole to stoop and bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till thy release appear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Man hath straight forward gone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To endless death. But thou dost pull<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turn us round, to look on One,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom, if we were not very dull,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We could not choose but look on still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since there is no place so alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The which He doth not fill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sundays the pillars are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On which heaven's palace arched lies:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The other days fill up the spare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hollow room with vanities.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are the fruitful bed and borders,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In God's rich garden; that is bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which parts their ranks and orders.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Sundays of man's life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Threaded together on time's string,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make bracelets to adorn the wife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the eternal, glorious King.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Sunday, heaven's gate stands ope;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessings are plentiful and rife!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More plentiful than hope.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a class='page' name ='Page_127' id='Page_127' title='127'> </a>This day my Saviour rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And did inclose this light for His:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, as each beast his manger knows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man might not of his fodder miss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christ hath took in this piece of ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made a garden there, for those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who want herbs for their wound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Rest of our creation,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our great Redeemer did remove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the same shake which, at his passion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did th' earth, and all things with it, move.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Samson bore the doors away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christ's hand's, though nailed, wrought our salvation,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And did unhinge that day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The brightness of that day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We sullied, by our foul offence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherefore that robe we cast away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Having a new at His expense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose drops of blood paid the full price<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That was required, to make us gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fit for paradise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou art a day of mirth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, where the week-days trail on ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy flight is higher, as thy birth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, let me take thee at the bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaping with thee from seven to seven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till that we both, being toss'd from earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fly hand in hand to Heaven!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>It is the custom at Donaldson Manor to close the Sabbath +evening with sacred music. Annie, at her father's request, +played while we all sang his favorite evening hymn, which I +here transcribe.</p> + + +<h3><a class='page' name ='Page_128' id='Page_128' title='128'> </a><a name="EVENING_HYMN" id="EVENING_HYMN"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">EVENING HYMN.</a></h3> + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Father! by Thy love and power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes again the evening hour;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light hath vanish'd, labors cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weary creatures rest, in peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those, whose genial dews distil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the lowliest weed that grows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father! guard our couch from ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lull thy creatures to repose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We to Thee ourselves resign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let our latest thoughts be Thine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Saviour! to thy Father bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This our feeble evening prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast seen how oft to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We, like sheep, have gone astray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worldly thoughts and thoughts of pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wishes to Thy cross untrue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Secret faults and undescried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meet Thy spirit-piercing view.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed Saviour! yet, through Thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray that these may pardon'd be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Holy Spirit! Breath of Balm!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathe on us in evening's calm.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet awhile before we sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We with Thee will vigils keep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lead us on our sins to muse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give us truest penitence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the love of God infuse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kindling humblest confidence.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Melt our spirits, mould our will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soften, strengthen, comfort, still.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blessed Trinity! be near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the hours of darkness drear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the help of man is far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye more clearly present are.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a class='page' name ='Page_129' id='Page_129' title='129'> </a>Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watch o'er our defenceless heads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let your angels' guardian host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep all evil from our beds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the flood of morning rays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wake as to a song of praise.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_130' id='Page_130' title='130'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h2> + + +<p>Mr. Arlington is a gem of the first water. He reveals every +day some new trait of interest or agreeableness. I saw immediately +that he was a man of fine taste; I have since learned +to respect him as a man of enlarged intellect and earnest feeling; +and now I am just beginning to discover that he is master +of all those <i>agrémens</i> which constitute the charm of general +society, and that he might become the "glass of fashion," if he +had not a mind elevated too far above such a petty ambition. +This last observation has been called forth by mere trifles, +yet trifles so prettily shown, with such ease and grace, as to +justify the conclusion. He is apt at illustration and application, +and has a fine memory, stored brimfull of entertaining anecdotes, +snatches of poetry, and those thousand nothings which +tell for so much in society, and which it is so pleasant to find +combined with much else that is valuable. A few evenings +since, he kept Annie and me in the library, with his agreeable +chat, till so late an hour, that Col. Donaldson, who is the least +bit of a martinet in his own family, gave some very intelligible +hints to us the next morning, at breakfast, on the value of early +hours. With a readiness and grace which I never saw surpassed, +Mr. Arlington turned to us with the exquisite apology of the +poet for a like fault,</p> + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a class='page' name ='Page_131' id='Page_131' title='131'> </a>"I stay'd too late; forgive the crime;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unheeded flew the hours.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unnoted falls the foot of time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which only treads on flowers."<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>This evening again, as he placed a candle-screen before +Annie, who, having a headache, found the light oppressive, he +said with a graceful mixture of play and earnest, impossible to +describe,</p> + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah, lady! if that taper's blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Requires a screen to blunt its rays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What screen, not form'd by art divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall shield us from those orbs of thine?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But oh! let nothing intervene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our hearts and those bright suns between;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis bliss, like the bewilder'd fly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To flutter round, though sure to die."<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>As the others were engaged in very earnest conversation at +the time, and I was reading, he probably expected to be heard +only by her to whom he addressed himself; but a little romance, +such as that of Annie and Mr. Arlington, acted before +me, interests me far more than any book, and I brought a +bright blush to Annie's cheek and a conscious smile to his lip, +by asking, "Where did you find those very apposite lines? I +do not remember to have seen them."</p> + +<p>"Probably not, as they have never been published. They +were addressed by Anthony Bleecker, of New-York, to a belle +of his day, and the lady for whose sake, it is whispered, he +lived and died a bachelor."</p> + +<p>Our colloquy was here interrupted by Robert Dudley, who +wanted to know if we were to have no story this evening. +Robert was a great lover of stories. "Ask Mr. Arlington, +Robert," said I, "I have given three stories to his one already."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_132' id='Page_132' title='132'> </a>"Aunt Nancy," said Mr. Arlington, who had already begun +to give me the affectionate cognomen by which I was always +addressed at Donaldson Manor, "Aunt Nancy has stories without +number, written and ready for demand, but my portfolio +furnishes only rude pencilings, or at best a crayon sketch."</p> + +<p>"Will you show them to us, Mr. Arlington?" asked the persevering +Robert, who stood beside him, portfolio in hand. +"May I draw one out, as Aunt Annie did the other evening; +and will you tell us about it?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Arlington, with good-humored playfulness, consented, +and Robert drew from the portfolio one of his drawings, representing +a fisherman's family.</p> + +<p>"That man," said I, as I looked at the honest face of the rude, +weather-beaten fisherman, "looks as though he had passed +through adventurous scenes, and might have many a history +to tell."</p> + +<p>"He did not tell his histories to me," said Mr. Arlington. +"I know nothing more of them than that paper reveals. It +seemed to me that the woman and child were visiting, for the +first time, the ocean, whose booming sound was to the fisherman +as the voice of home. He was probably introducing them +to its wonders—revealing to them the mysteries which awaken +the superstition of the vulgar and the poetry of the cultivated +imagination. He has given her, you may observe, a sea-shell, +and she is listening for the first time to its low, strange music."</p> + +<p>"And is that all?" asked Robert, when Mr. Arlington +ceased speaking.</p> + +<p>"All I know, Robert," he answered, with a smile at the +boy's earnestness.</p> + +<p>"But did you never go fishing yourself, Mr. Arlington?"</p> + +<p>"Not often, Robert; I like more active sports better—hunting—"</p> + +<p>"Ah! do tell us about your hunting, Mr. Arlington; you<a class='page' name ='Page_133' id='Page_133' title='133'> </a> +must have had some adventures in hunting in those great +Western forests I have heard you speak of."</p> + +<p>"The greatest adventure I ever had, Robert," said Mr. +Arlington, "was in an <i>Eastern</i> forest, and when I was the +<i>hunted</i>, not the <i>hunter</i>."</p> + +<p>"Indians, Mr. Arlington—were they Indians that hunted +you?"</p> + +<p>"No, Robert; my hunters were wolves."</p> + +<p>"Oh! pray tell us about it, Mr. Arlington, will you not?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, with the ladies' permission."</p> + +<p>The ladies' permission was soon obtained, and our little +party listened with the deepest interest to the thrilling recital +which I have called</p> + + +<h3><a name="THE_WOLF_CHASE" id="THE_WOLF_CHASE"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">THE WOLF CHASE.</a><a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></h3> + +<p>During the winter of 1844, being engaged in the northern +part of Maine, I had much leisure to devote to the wild sports +of a new country. To none of these was I more passionately +addicted than to skating. The deep and sequestered lakes of +this State, frozen by the intense cold of a northern winter, present +a wide field to the lovers of this pastime. Often would I +bind on my skates, and glide away up the glittering river, and +wind each mazy streamlet that flowed beneath its fetters on towards +the parent ocean, forgetting all the while time and distance +in the luxurious sense of the gliding motion—thinking of +nothing in the easy flight, but rather dreaming, as I looked +through the transparent ice at the long weeds and cresses that +nodded in the current beneath, and seemed wrestling with the +waves to let them go; or I would follow on the track of some<a class='page' name ='Page_134' id='Page_134' title='134'> </a> +fox or otter, and run my skate along the mark he had left with his +dragging tail until the trail would enter the woods. Sometimes +these excursions were made by moonlight, and it was on one of +these occasions that I had a rencontre, which even now, with +kind faces around me, I cannot recall without a nervous looking-over-my-shoulder +feeling.</p> + +<p>I had left my friend's house one evening just before dusk, +with the intention of skating a short distance up the noble Kennebec, +which glided directly before the door. The night was +beautifully clear. A peerless moon rode through an occasional +fleecy cloud, and stars twinkled from the sky and from every +frost-covered tree in millions. Your mind would wonder at the +light that came glinting from ice, and snow-wreath, and incrusted +branches, as the eye followed for miles the broad gleam +of the Kennebec, that like a jewelled zone swept between the +mighty forests on its banks. And yet all was still. The cold +seemed to have frozen tree, and air, and water, and every living +thing that moved. Even the ringing of my skates on the ice +echoed back from the Moccason Hill with a startling clearness, +and the crackle of the ice as I passed over it in my course +seemed to follow the tide of the river with lightning speed.</p> + +<p>I had gone up the river nearly two miles when, coming to +a little stream which empties into the larger, I turned in to explore +its course. Fir and hemlock of a century's growth met +overhead, and formed an archway radiant with frost-work. All +was dark within, but I was young and fearless, and as I peered +into an unbroken forest that reared itself on the borders of the +stream, I laughed with very joyousness: my wild hurrah rang +through the silent woods, and I stood listening to the echo that +reverberated again and again, until all was hushed. I thought +how often the Indian hunter had concealed himself behind these +very trees—how often his arrow had pierced the deer by this +very stream, and his wild halloo had here rung for his victory.<a class='page' name ='Page_135' id='Page_135' title='135'> </a> +And then, turning from fancy to reality, I watched a couple of +white owls, that sat in their hooded state, with ruffled pantalettes +and long ear-tabs, debating in silent conclave the affairs +of their frozen realm, and was wondering if they, "for all their +feathers, were a-cold," when suddenly a sound arose—it seemed +to me to come from beneath the ice; it sounded low and tremulous +at first, until it ended in one wild yell. I was appalled. +Never before had such a noise met my ears. I thought it more +than mortal—so fierce, and amidst such an unbroken solitude, +it seemed as though a fiend had blown a blast from an infernal +trumpet. Presently I heard the twigs on shore snap, as though +from the tread of some brute animal, and the blood rushed +back to my forehead with a bound that made my skin burn, +and I felt relieved that I had to contend with things earthly, +and not of spiritual nature—my energies returned, and I looked +around me for some means of escape. The moon shone through +the opening at the mouth of the creek by which I had entered +the forest, and considering this the best channel of escape, I +darted towards it like an arrow. 'Twas scarcely a hundred +yards distant, and the swallow could hardly excel my desperate +flight; yet, as I turned my head to the shore, I could see two +dark objects dashing through the underbrush at a pace nearly +double in speed to my own. By this rapidity, and the short +yells which they occasionally gave, I knew at once that these +were the much dreaded gray wolf.</p> + +<p>I had never met with these animals, but from the description +given of them I had very little pleasure in making their +acquaintance. Their untameable fierceness, and the untiring +strength which seems part of their nature, render them objects +of dread to every benighted traveller.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"With their long gallop, which can tire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deer-hound's haste, the hunter's fire,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_136' id='Page_136' title='136'> </a>they pursue their prey—never straying from the track of their +victim—and as the wearied hunter thinks he has at last outstripped +them, he finds that they but waited for the evening to +seize their prey, and falls a prize to the tireless pursuers.</p> + +<p>The bushes that skirted the shore flew past with the velocity +of lightning as I dashed on in my flight to pass the narrow +opening. The outlet was nearly gained; one second more and +I should be comparatively safe, when the fierce brutes appeared +on the bank directly above me, which here rose to the height of +ten feet. There was no time for thought, so I bent my head +and dashed madly forward. The wolves sprang, but miscalculating +my speed, sprang behind, while their intended prey +glided out upon the river.</p> + +<p>Nature turned me towards home. The light flakes of snow +spun from the iron of my skates, and I was some distance from +my pursuers, when their fierce howl told me I was still their +fugitive. I did not look back, I did not feel afraid, or sorry, or +glad; one thought of home, of the bright faces awaiting my +return, of their tears if they never should see me, and then every +energy of body and mind was exerted for escape. I was perfectly +at home on the ice. Many were the days that I had +spent on my good skates, never thinking that at one time they +would be my only means of safety. Every half minute an alternate +yelp from my ferocious followers made me only too +certain that they were in close pursuit. Nearer and nearer they +came; I heard their feet pattering on the ice nearer still, until +I could feel their breath and hear their snuffing scent. Every +nerve and muscle in my frame were stretched to the utmost +tension.</p> + +<p>The trees along the shore seemed to dance in the uncertain +light, and my brain turned with my own breathless speed, yet +still they seemed to hiss forth their breath with a sound truly +horrible, when an involuntary motion on my part turned me out<a class='page' name ='Page_137' id='Page_137' title='137'> </a> +of my course. The wolves close behind, unable to stop, and +as unable to turn on the smooth ice, slipped and fell, still going +on far ahead; their tongues were lolling out, their white tusks +glaring from their bloody mouths, their dark, shaggy breasts +were fleeced with foam, and as they passed me their eyes +glared, and they howled with fury. The thought flashed on +my mind, that by this means I could avoid them, viz., by turning +aside whenever they came too near; for they, by the formation +of their feet, are unable to run on ice except on a straight +line.</p> + +<p>I immediately acted upon this plan. The wolves, having +regained their feet, sprang directly towards me. The race was +renewed for twenty yards up the stream; they were already +close on my back, when I glided round and dashed directly +past my pursuers. A wild yell greeted my evolution, and the +wolves, slipping upon their haunches, sailed onward, presenting +a perfect picture of helplessness and baffled rage. Thus I gained +nearly a hundred yards at each turning. This was repeated +two or three times, every moment the animals getting more +excited and baffled.</p> + +<p>At one time, by delaying my turning too long, my sanguinary +antagonists came so near, that they threw the white +foam over my dress as they sprang to seize me, and their teeth +clashed together, like the spring of a fox-trap. Had my skates +failed for one instant, had I tripped on a stick, or caught my +foot in a fissure in the ice, the story I am now telling would +never have been told. I thought all the chances over; I knew +where they would first take hold of me if I fell; I thought how +long it would be before I died, and then there would be a +search for the body that would already have its tomb;—for +oh! how fast man's mind traces out all the dread colors of +Death's picture, only those who have been near the grim original +can tell.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_138' id='Page_138' title='138'> </a>But soon I came opposite the house, and my hounds—I +knew their deep voices—roused by the noise, bayed furiously +from the kennels. I heard their chains rattle; how I wished +they would break them! and then I should have protectors +that would be peers to the fiercest denizens of the forest. The +wolves, taking the hint conveyed by the dogs, stopped in their +mad career, and after a moment's consideration, turned and fled. +I watched them until their dusky forms disappeared over a +neighboring hill. Then, taking off my skates, wended my way +to the house, with feelings which may be better imagined than +described.</p> + +<p>But even yet, I never see a broad sheet of ice in the moonshine, +without thinking of that snuffling breath and those fearful +things that followed me so closely down the frozen Kennebec.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_139' id='Page_139' title='139'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER IX.</a></h2> + + +<p>"What a noble forest!" cried Annie, as she gazed with rapturous +admiration on a noble specimen of the engraver's art—so +noble, indeed, that the absence of color seemed hardly to be +felt. It was a richly-wooded scene, with interesting figures +forming a procession in the centre and foreground of the landscape. +The original might have been painted by Ruysdaël. +"Those old oaks," she exclaimed, "with their gnarled and +crooked branches, look as though they might have formed part +of the Druidical groves whose solemn mysteries inspired even +the arrogant Roman with awe. This picture, however, belongs +to a later period—that of the Crusades, perhaps, for here is a +procession in which appear figures in the long robe of the monk, +and I think I can discern a cross on that banner borne at their +head. But what, dear Aunt Nancy, could you possibly find in +our land of yesterday, to associate with such a scene?"</p> + +<p>"Our people may be of yesterday, Annie, but our land bears +no marks of recent origin. The most arrogant boaster of the +Old World may feel himself humbled as he stands within the +shadow of our forests, and looks up to trees which we might +almost fancy to have waved over the heads of 'the patriarchs of +an infant world?'"</p> + +<p>"And you have seen some such forests, and on the branches +of these old trees 'hangs a tale' which you will tell us. Is it +not so, Aunt Nancy?"</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_140' id='Page_140' title='140'> </a>"I have seen such a forest, and I have a sketch of certain +events occurring within its circle. The narrative was given +me by my friend, Mrs. H., who was acquainted with the parties. +You will find it in her handwriting in the compartment of my +desk from which you took the engraving."</p> + +<p>Annie found the paper, and I saw a quiet smile pass around +as she read aloud its title. Mr. Arlington, at my request, took +the reader's place, and we spent our evening in listening to</p> + + +<h3><a name="THE_HISTORY_OF_AN_OLD_MAID" id="THE_HISTORY_OF_AN_OLD_MAID"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">THE HISTORY OF AN OLD MAID.</a></h3> + +<p>It is an almost universal belief among those who have faith in +man's immortality, that when his spiritual nature has been +divested of its present veil—the bodily organization by which +it at pleasure reveals or conceals itself—it shall be manifested +to all at a glance in the unsullied beauty of holiness, or the +dark deformity of vice. Shall our vision extend further? Shall +we read the soul's past history? Shall we know the struggles +which have given strength to its powers? The fears which +have shadowed, and the hopes which have lighted, its earthly +path? Shall we learn the unspoken sacrifices which have been +laid on the altar of its affections or its duty? Shall we see +how a single generous impulse has shaped the whole course of +its being, and been as a heavenly flame, to which every selfish +desire and feeling have been committed in noiseless devotion? +If this be so, how many such records shall be furnished by the +life of woman? How often shall it be found, that from such a +flame has risen the light with which she has brightened the +existence of others!</p> + +<p>Meeta Werner was the daughter of industrious, honest Germans, +who had emigrated to the western part of Pennsylvania +when she was a child of only seven years old. Only a quarter +of a mile from the spot on which Carl Werner had fixed his<a class='page' name ='Page_141' id='Page_141' title='141'> </a> +residence lived a brother German, Franz Rainer. Franz was a +widower, with one child, a son, named Ernest. He was a hard, +stern man, and the first smiles which had lighted the existence +of the young Ernest were caught from the sprightly Meeta and +her kind-hearted mother. The children became playfellows +and friends. It was a wild country in which they lived. A +very short walk from their own doors brought them into a forest +which seemed to their young imaginations endless; where +gigantic trees interlaced their branches, and with their green +foliage shut out the sun in summer, or in winter reflected it in +dazzling brightness, and a thousand gorgeous colors, from the +icicles which cased their leafless branches and pendent twigs. +There was not a footpath, a sunny hill or flowery dell, for miles +around their homes, which had not been trodden together by +Meeta Werner and Ernest Rainer before their acquaintance was +a year old. Now they would come home laden with wood-flowers, +and now they might be seen treading wearily back +from some distant spot, with baskets filled with blackberries, +or with the dark-blue whortleberries. There were no schools +in the neighborhood, but they had been taught by their +fathers to read and write their own language, and Ernest +afterwards acquired some knowledge of English from the +good pastor who had accompanied the emigrants from Germany, +and who acted as their interpreter when they required one. +Having access to few books, they seemed likely to grow up with +little more learning than might be gathered from their own observation +of the world around them; but when Ernest was +eighteen and Meeta fifteen years of age, circumstances occurred +which gave an entirely new coloring to their lives.</p> + +<p>Franz Rainer had not always been so stern and hard as he +now seemed. He had married imprudently, in the world's acceptation +of that term; that is, he had made a portionless but +lovely girl his wife, and in doing so had incurred his father's +lasting displeasure. He had been banished from a home of<a class='page' name ='Page_142' id='Page_142' title='142'> </a> +plenty with a small sum, "to keep him from starving," he was +told. With that sum and a young delicate wife he sailed for +America, and found a home for himself and his boy, and a +grave for his wife, in the forests of Pennsylvania. Too proud +to seek a reconciliation with those who had cast him off, he had +held no communication with his own family after leaving Germany; +and it was not till Ernest was, as we have said, eighteen, +that the silence of his home was broken by what seemed +a voice from the past. After many hindrances and delays, and +passing through many hands for which it had not been intended, +a letter reached him from a merchant in Philadelphia, who +had been requested to institute a search for Franz by his only +brother. The old Rainer was dead, and the family estate had +descended to this brother, a scholar and a man of solitary habits. +Finding himself growing old in a lonely home, and retaining +some kindly memory of the brother in whose companionship +his childhood had been passed, he wished him to return to Germany, +and again dwell with them in the house of their fathers. +To this Franz would by no means consent. His nature was +cast in too stern a mould to re-knit at a word the ties which +had been so violently sundered. He consented, however, after +some correspondence with his brother, to send Ernest to Germany, +to be educated there; at least, to receive such an education +as could be gained in four years; for he insisted that at the +end of that time he should return to America, and remain there +while his father lived. "After my death, if he choose to return +to the home from which his father was banished, he may," +wrote the still resentful Franz.</p> + +<p>And how was this change in all the prospects of his life received +by the young Ernest and his companion Meeta? By him +with mingled feelings; regret, joy, fear, hope, by turns ruled +his soul. The regret was all for Meeta and her mother; they +were the sources of all his pleasant memories; and as he gazed<a class='page' name ='Page_143' id='Page_143' title='143'> </a> +upon Meeta's hitherto bright face, now clouded with sorrow, +and kissed from her cheek the first tears he had ever known +her to shed for herself, he was ready to give up all his fair prospects +abroad and live with her for ever. Meeta herself, however, +gave a new direction to his thoughts, by generously turning +from the subject of her grief in parting, to dwell on the idea +of the delight with which they would meet again, and especially +on her peculiar pleasure in seeing Ernest come back "riding +in a grand coach, with servants following him on horseback, +as she remembered to have seen in Germany, and knowing +enough to teach Parson Schmidt himself!" After listening to +such prophecies, Ernest no longer expressed any desire to remain +with Meeta; he contented himself, instead, with promising +to return as soon as he could, and with winning from her a +promise that, come when he might, she would be his wife. +This was not a new thought or a new word to either. They +could scarcely tell themselves when the idea had first arisen in +their minds that they would one day live together, and be what +Carl Werner and his wife were to each other. They had even +chosen a site for their house; and Ernest had more than once +of late expressed the opinion that they were old enough to inform +their parents of their intentions; but the more timid +Meeta objected. Now, however, she could refuse Ernest nothing, +and before the day of parting came they had made a <i>confidante</i> +of Meeta's mother, and from her the two fathers had learned the +desires of their children. Carl Werner heard the story with a +smile; but a denser shadow gathered on the dark brow of Franz. +For a moment something of his father's pride was in his heart; +but his own blighted life arose before him, and he said, "The boy +may do as he pleases. No man has a right to control another +on such a subject."</p> + +<p>The sun had not yet risen, though its rays were gilding the +few light clouds that flecked the eastern sky, when Meeta and<a class='page' name ='Page_144' id='Page_144' title='144'> </a> +Ernest stood together beneath an old oak which had long been +their favorite "trysting-tree," to say those words and give and +receive those last looks which are among life's most sacred treasures. +Smiles and blushes mingled with tears on Meeta's cheek +as Ernest pressed her to his bosom, kissed her again and again, +and promised that his first letter from Germany should be addressed +to her, and that in exactly four years from that date he +would be again beneath that tree, to claim her promise to be +his for ever. The voice of Carl Werner, who was to accompany +Ernest the first stage of his journey, startled them in the +midst of their adieus; and bursting from the arms of her companion, +Meeta plunged deeper into the woods to escape her +father's eye. When Carl returned in the evening he handed +her a small parcel, saying, "There's some foolery that Ernest +bought for you, Meeta. Silly boy! I hope they'll teach him in +Germany to take better care of his money!"</p> + +<p>The parcel contained a very plain locket, with one of +Ernest's dark curls inclosed in it. Plain as it was, it seemed to +Meeta, as it probably had seemed to Ernest, a magnificent present; +yet she valued more the few simple words written on the +paper which enveloped it: "For Meeta, my promised wife." +Four months passed away before Meeta heard again of her lover. +Then there came a letter to her, which was full of the great +cities through which Ernest had passed, the home to which he +had come, and the new life which was opening to him there. +In his descriptions his uncle seemed a very grand gentleman, +and his uncle's housekeeper almost as grand a lady. He told +of the new wardrobe which had been provided for him, the acquaintances +to whom he had been introduced, and the studies +he had commenced. And in all this Meeta saw but the first +step towards that grandeur which she had predicted for him, +and she rejoiced.</p> + +<p>Four or five such letters were received by Meeta, each full<a class='page' name ='Page_145' id='Page_145' title='145'> </a> +of her lover himself; but they came at lengthening intervals, +and during the third year she received from him only messages +sent through his father, though every message still conveyed a +promise to write soon. The letters of Ernest showed that he +had made great advances in scholarship during his residence in +Germany, and to all but Meeta herself, and perhaps her mother, +they gave equal evidence that his heart was not with the home +or the friends he had left in America. But no shadow ever +passed over the transparent face of Meeta. Ernest was to her +still the frank, ardent, simple-hearted boy whom she had loved so +long and so truly. She was still his promised wife. Her quick +sensibility to all which touched him made her feel that there +was a change in the tone with which her father named him, +and an expression, half of anger, half of pity, on his face +when she alluded to him. It was an expression which gave her +pain, though she did not understand its meaning; and she +ceased to speak of Ernest, lest she should call it up; but his +locket lay next her heart, his letters were well-nigh worn away +with frequent reading, and no day passed in which she +did not visit the oak beneath which they had parted, and +beneath which she fondly believed they were to meet again.</p> + +<p>During the fourth year of Ernest's absence his letters to his +father became more frequent, and sometimes inclosed a few lines +to Meeta. To both he expressed a strong desire to stay one +more year abroad, alleging that to interrupt his studies now +would be to render all his past labors unavailing. There was +hardly a struggle in Meeta's mind in yielding her almost +matured hopes to what seemed so reasonable a wish of Ernest; +but the elder Rainer was not so easily won to compliance. +Urgent representations from his brother as well as Ernest, did +at length, however, induce him to consent to the absence of his +son for another year.</p> + +<p>This was an important year to Meeta. It brought her an<a class='page' name ='Page_146' id='Page_146' title='146'> </a> +acquaintance through whom her dormant intellect was aroused, +and her manners fitted for something more than the rude life +by which she had been hitherto surrounded. This was Mrs. +Schwartz, the wife of a young pastor, who had come to assist Mr. +Schmidt in those duties to which his advancing years rendered +him unequal. Mrs. Schwartz was a woman of no ordinary stamp. +Highly educated, with an intense enjoyment of every form of +beauty and grace, she saw something of them embellishing the +homeliest employments and most common life with which a +sentiment of duty was connected. Severe illness had confined +her to her bed for many weeks soon after her arrival, and +before she had been able to establish that perfect domestic economy, +which renders the daily and hourly inspection and +interference of the mistress of a mansion needless to the comfort +of its inmates. During this period, Meeta, whose sympathies +had been deeply interested in the stranger, nursed her, and +planned for her, and worked for her, until she made herself a +place in her heart among her life-friends. As Mrs. Schwartz +saw her moving around her with such busy kindness, the +thought often arose in her mind, "What can I do for her?" +This is a question we seldom ask ourselves of any one sincerely +without finding an answer to it.</p> + +<p>We have said that Meeta had access to few books in early +life; we might have added that she had little opportunity of +hearing the conversation of persons more cultivated than herself. +Thus were the two great sources of intellectual development +sealed to her. She had a thoughtful, earnest mind. She loved +the beautiful world around her, and the <span class="smcap">Great Being</span> who +made and sustained that world. But if the contemplation of +these things awakened thoughts of a higher character than the +daily baking and brewing, milking and scrubbing in her father's +house, she had no language in which to clothe them, and vague +and undefined, they fleeted away like the morning mists, leaving<a class='page' name ='Page_147' id='Page_147' title='147'> </a> +no impress of their presence. Her acquaintance with Mrs. +Schwartz, and the conversation she sometimes heard between +her and her husband, gave to these shadows substance and +form, and awakened a new want in Meeta's soul—the want of +knowledge. As in all else, Ernest was present in this. He +would doubtless be intelligent, wise, like Mr. Schwartz, and how +could she be his companion? Something of these new experiences +in Meeta was divined by Mrs. Schwartz, and with a +true womanly tact she became her teacher without wounding +her self-love. The road to knowledge once opened to Meeta, +her advance on it was rapid. How could it be otherwise, when +every step was bringing her nearer to Earnest! The elevation +and refinement of mind which Meeta thus acquired impressed +themselves on her agreeable features. Her dark eyes became +bright with the soul's light, and her whole aspect so attractive, +that her old friends exclaimed, as they looked upon her, "How +handsome Meeta Werner grows, she who used to be so plain!"</p> + +<p>After a time these superficial observers thought they had +found the cause of this change in Meeta's change of costume, +for a new sense of beauty had been awakened in her, under +whose guidance her dark hair was brought in soft silken braids +upon her cheeks, wound gracefully around her well-shaped head, +and sometimes ornamented with a ribbon or a cluster of wild +flowers: while her dresses where remodelled so as to resemble +less the fashion which her mother and her sister emigrants had +imported thirteen years before from Germany, and to give a +more natural air to her really fine figure.</p> + +<p>"How wonderfully Meeta has improved," said Mr. Schwartz, +one evening to his wife, as he looked after the retreating form +of her friend.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I am truly rejoiced that she has so improved +before her lover returns to claim her."</p> + +<p>"I wish he could have taken away with him such an im<a class='page' name ='Page_148' id='Page_148' title='148'> </a>pression +as our handsome and intelligent Meeta would now +make. He would have been much more likely to remain +constant to her. There must be a painful contrast between the +cultivated and graceful women he has known in Germany, and +his memory of his early love."</p> + +<p>"Love is a great embellisher," said Mrs. Schwartz, with a +gay smile, and the conversation passed to more general topics.</p> + +<p>The fifth year of Ernest's absence was gone, and still he +came not; but he was coming soon, at least so his father said, +though he did not show Meeta the letters on which he founded +his assertion. It was the first time he had withheld them; a +circumstance the more remarkable, because of late he seemed +to regard Meeta with greater affection and confidence than he +had ever done before. He now sought her society, and seemed +pleased and even proud of the connection to which he had at +first consented with some reluctance. It was very soon after +the reception of the letter from Ernest to which we have alluded, +that Franz Rainer's health began to fail, and that so rapidly, +that Meeta feared Ernest could not arrive in time to see him. +She was to the old man an angel of consolation, and he clung +to her as to his last hope. In pity to his lonely condition, her +own parents were willing to spare her for a time, and Meeta, +that she might take care of him by night as well as by day, had +removed to his house a week before Ernest's arrival. He came +not wholly unwarned of the sorrow that awaited him, for he had +found a letter from Meeta at the house of the merchant in +Philadelphia through whom he had corresponded with his +father, tenderly yet plainly revealing her fears, and urging him +to hurry homeward without delay. He travelled with little rest +or refreshment for two days and nights, and arrived late on the +third day at his father's house. It was a still summer evening, +and while the old man slept, Meeta sat near him in the only +parlor the house afforded, reading by a shaded night lamp.<a class='page' name ='Page_149' id='Page_149' title='149'> </a> +She heard the sound of carriage wheels, and paused to listen; +the sound ceased; a shadow darkened the moonlight which +had been streaming through an open window, and then Ernest, +the playfellow of her childhood, the lover of her youth, stood +before her; but how changed, how gloriously changed thought +Meeta, even in that hour of hurry and agitation. They gazed +on each other in silence for a moment, and then Meeta with a +bright smile, yet in a whisper, for even then she forgot not the +dying man, asked:</p> + +<p>"Do you not know me, Ernest?"</p> + +<p>"Meeta!" he ejaculated, as he took the hand she extended +to him, but dropping it almost immediately, he said anxiously: +"My father! he lives, Meeta?"</p> + +<p>"He does, Ernest, and may live, I think <i>will</i> live, for many +days yet."</p> + +<p>"Thank <span class="smcap">God</span>! then I shall see him again!"</p> + +<p>The conversation had till now been in whispers, but Ernest +uttered his ejaculation of thankfulness aloud. There was a +movement in the old man's room, a sound, and Meeta glided +to his side.</p> + +<p>"Who were you talking with, my daughter?" he murmured +feebly. For many days Franz Rainer had called Meeta +daughter, as though he found pleasure in recalling the tie between +them.</p> + +<p>"With one who tells me Ernest has arrived, and will see +you soon," said Meeta.</p> + +<p>"It is Ernest himself. I knew his voice: Ernest, my +son!" And the old man's tones were loud and strong, as +Meeta had heard them for days. In another moment, Ernest +was bending over his father, and they were gazing on each +other with a tenderness whose very existence they had not before +suspected. Tears were rolling down the face of the once +stern old man, as he pressed his son's hand again and again,<a class='page' name ='Page_150' id='Page_150' title='150'> </a> +and murmured blessings on him, and thanks to <span class="smcap">God</span> for his +safe return; and Ernest, as he marked the death-shadow on +his father's brow, felt that a tie was tearing away which had +been woven more intimately than he had supposed with his +heart's fibres. The weeping Meeta composed herself that she +might soothe them.</p> + +<p>"Ernest, I cannot let you stay longer here; I am your +father's nurse."</p> + +<p>"My nurse, my daughter, my all, Ernest; your gift to me, +my son, which, thank <span class="smcap">God</span>! you have come in time to receive +again from my hands. Take her to you, Ernest."</p> + +<p>The old man held Meeta's hand clasped in his own towards +his son, and Ernest touched it, but so slightly and with a hand +so cold, that Meeta looked up in alarm. There was a beseeching +expression in the eyes that met hers; a look which she did +not understand, and yet on which she acted.</p> + +<p>"Ernest," she said, "you are fatigued to death, and your +father has been too much agitated already. Go, I pray you, +for the present; I cannot leave your father, but you will +find coffee and biscuits by the kitchen fire, and there is a bed +prepared in your own room. Good-night; we shall meet +again to-morrow," she added with a smile to the old man.</p> + +<p>Ernest gave her a more cordial glance and pressure of the +hand than she had yet received from him; told his father that +he would only snatch an hour's sleep and be with him again, +and left the room.</p> + +<p>"Go with him, Meeta; you must have much to say."</p> + +<p>"Nothing that we cannot say as well to-morrow. And +now you must take another sleeping draught, for I see Ernest +has carried off all the effect of your last."</p> + +<p>Meeta spoke cheerfully, yet her heart was sad, she scarcely +knew why. She would not think Ernest unkind, yet how different +had been their meeting from that which fancy had so +often sketched for her!</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_151' id='Page_151' title='151'> </a>Franz Rainer fell asleep, and again Meeta returned to the +parlor. A lamp was still burning there, and by its dim light +she saw the form of Ernest extended on a settee with his cloak +and valise for his bed and pillow. At first she drew timidly +back into the chamber, but as the slight noise she had made +before perceiving him, had failed to disturb him, she felt assured +that he slept soundly, and an irresistible desire arose in +her heart to draw near him, and look at him more closely than +she had yet ventured to do. She stood beside him; her heart +bounded against the locket, his gift, which lay in its accustomed +place, as she marked with a quick eye how the handsome +but uncouth stripling had expanded into the man of +noble proportions, whose features had, like her own, acquired +a new character under the refining touch of intellect. Meeta +looked on him till her eyes grew dim with tears pressed from a +heart full of emotion, compounded of happy memories and +glad hopes, shadowed by disappointment and saddened by +doubt. Above all other feelings, however, rose the undying +love which had "grown with her growth, and strengthened +with her strength." Suddenly, by an irrepressible impulse, she +laid her hand softly on the dark locks of waving hair which +clustered over his broad brow, and breathed in low, tender accents, +"My Ernest!"</p> + +<p>On leaving his father's room, Ernest had thrown himself +on his hard couch, not to sleep, but to rest; and when slumber +overpowered him, he had yielded to it unwillingly, and with +the determination to be on the alert and ready to arise on the +first summons. Sleep that comes thus, howsoever it may continue +through other disturbing causes, rarely resists a touch, or +the sound of our own name, and light as was Meeta's touch, +and low as were her tones, Ernest was partially aroused by +them. He stirred, and she would have retreated noiselessly +from his side, but as his eyes unclosed, they fell upon her with<a class='page' name ='Page_152' id='Page_152' title='152'> </a> +an expression of such rapturous love as she had never seen in +them before, and in an instant he had encircled her form with +his arm, and drawn her to his bosom. In glad surprise she +rested there a moment; it was but a moment.</p> + +<p>"Sophie—my Sophie!" were the murmured words that +met her ear, and gave her strength to burst from his embraces +and glide rapidly, noiselessly back into the darkened chamber. +There, sheltered by the darkness, she could see Ernest raise +himself slowly up from his couch, look almost wildly around +him, and then seemingly satisfied that he had only dreamed, +sink back again to rest.</p> + +<p>A dream it had indeed been to him; a shadow of the +night; to Meeta a dark cloud, in whose gloom she was henceforth +to walk for ever. Hours of conversation could not so +fully have revealed the truth to Meeta as those simple words: +"Sophie—my Sophie!" uttered by Ernest in such a tone of +heart-worship. Ernest loved with all the fond idolatry which +she had thought of late belonged not to man's affections; but +he loved another. Jealousy; the bitter consciousness of her +own slighted love; the memory of his vows; the crushing +thought that she was nothing to him now; that while he had +been the life of her life, another had filled his thoughts and +ruled his being, created a wild tempest in her soul. All was +still around her. The sick man, the tired Ernest slept; and +without, not even the rustling of a leaf disturbed the repose of +Nature. She seemed to herself the only living thing in the +universe; and to her, life was torture. An hour passed in this +still concentrated agony, and she could endure it no longer; +she must be up and doing; she would wake Ernest; she +would tell him the revelation she had made; upbraid him with +her blighted life, and leave him. Let him send for his Sophie; +what did she, the outcast, the rejected, there in his house?—why +should she nurse his father? She arose and approached<a class='page' name ='Page_153' id='Page_153' title='153'> </a> +again the couch of Ernest; she was about to call to him, but +she was arrested by the expression of agony in his face. +His brow was contracted, and as she continued to gaze, low +moans issued from his quivering lips. Ernest too was a +sufferer; how that thought softened the hard, cold, icy crust +that had been gathering around her heart! The bitterness of +pride and jealousy gave place to tenderer emotions. Tears +gathered in her eyes, and stealing softly back to her sheltered +seat, she wept long and silently.</p> + +<p>"In sorrow the angels are near;" and Meeta's heart was +now full of sorrow, not of anger. Sad must her life ever be, +but what of that, if Ernest could be happy? Perhaps he suffered +for her; the good, true Ernest. It might be that only in +dreams he had told his love to Sophie, bound to silence, painful +silence, by his vows to her. She then could make him happy, +and was not that her first desire? If it were not, her love was a +low, selfish, unworthy love, and she would pray that it might be +purified. She did pray, not as she would have done an hour +before, to be taken out of the world, but that she might be +made meet to do the will of her <span class="smcap">Father</span> while in the world. +She prayed for herself, for Ernest; and sweet peace stole into her +heart, and before the morning light came, she had resolved not +to leave the old man who loved her, during his few remaining +days, yet not to keep Ernest in doubt of his own freedom. +She was impatient that he should awake, and fell asleep imagining +various modes of making her communication to him. +Exhausted by mental agitation even more than by watching, +she slept long and heavily. When she awoke, Ernest was +shading the window at her side, through which the sun was +shining brightly into the room. As she moved he looked at +her kindly, and said:</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I awoke you, Meeta, when I meant only to +prolong your sleep by shutting out this light."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_154' id='Page_154' title='154'> </a>"I have slept long enough," was all that Meeta could say. +The old Rainer was awake, and dreading above all things some +allusions from him to the supposed relations of Ernest and +herself, she hastened from the room and busied herself in the +preparation of breakfast. Having seen that meal placed upon +the table, she returned to the sick room and begged that Ernest +would pour out his own coffee, while she did some things that +were essential to his father's comfort. She lingered till Ernest +came to see whether he could take her place, and then, as the +old man slept peacefully, and she could make no further excuse, +she accompanied him back to the table. The breakfast, a mere +form to Meeta at least, proceeded in silence, or with only a +casual remark from Ernest, scarcely heard by her, on the +weather, the rapidity with which he had travelled, or his father's +condition. Suddenly Meeta seemed to arouse herself as from a +deep reverie:</p> + +<p>"Why do you not talk to me of Sophie?" she said, +attempting to speak gayly, though one less embarrassed than +Ernest could not have failed to note the tremulousness of her +voice, and the quivering of the pallid lip which vainly strove to +smile.</p> + +<p>But Meeta's agitation was as nothing to that of Ernest. +For a moment he gazed upon her as though spell-bound, then +dropping his face into his clasped hands, sat actually shivering +before her. It was plain that Ernest had not lightly estimated +his obligations to her. If he had sinned against them he had +not despised them, and this conviction gave new strength to +Meeta. She rose for the hour superior to every selfish emotion. +Laying her hand upon his arm, she said, gently:</p> + +<p>"Be not so agitated, Ernest; can you not regard me as +your friend, and talk to me as you did in old days of all that +disturbs you; and why should you be disturbed at my speaking +of—of your Sophie? You do not suppose that—you know that<a class='page' name ='Page_155' id='Page_155' title='155'> </a>—in +short, Ernest, we cannot be expected to feel now as we +did five years ago; but surely that need not prevent our being +friends."</p> + +<p>Meeta had been herself too much confused of late, to remark +her companion. When she now ventured with great effort to +meet his eyes, she found them fixed upon her with an expression +of lively admiration and grateful joy.</p> + +<p>"Meeta, dear Meeta!" he exclaimed, seizing her hand and +kissing it. "You give me new life. I have been a miserable +man for weeks past, torn by conflicting claims upon my heart +and my honor. You had claims on both, Meeta; sacred claims, +which I could never have asked you to forego; and so had +Sophie, for though I resisted long, there came a moment of +mad passion, of madder forgetfulness, in which, abandoning +myself to the present, I sought and obtained an avowal of her +love. It was scarcely over ere I felt the wrong I had done. I +revealed that wrong to her; pity me, Meeta! I told her all—your +claims, your worth. To you I resolved to be equally +frank, and my only hope was in your generosity. But my +father had never suffered me to doubt that your heart was still +mine, and though I was assured that you would enable me to +fulfil my obligations to Sophie, I feared, I mean, I could not +hope, that it would be without any sacrifice; I mean without +any regrets on your part."</p> + +<p>Ernest paused in some embarrassment; but Meeta could +not speak, and he resumed:</p> + +<p>"You have made me perfectly happy, Meeta, which even +Sophie could not have done, had I been compelled in devoting +myself to her to relinquish the friend and sister of my childhood."</p> + +<p>"Always regard me thus, Ernest, as your friend and sister, +and I shall be satisfied."</p> + +<p>Meeta had risen to return to the sick room, but Ernest +caught her hand and held her back, while he said:</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_156' id='Page_156' title='156'> </a>"But you must see my Sophie, Meeta; you must know her +and then you will love her too. She will be here soon with +her sister, Mrs. Schwartz."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Schwartz her sister? Then my last doubt is removed +Ernest. She is worthy of you."</p> + +<p>"Worthy of me!" And Ernest would have run into all a +lover's rhapsodies on this text, but Meeta had escaped from him.</p> + +<p>Hitherto Meeta's life had been one of quietness, of inaction, +and now in a few short weeks ages of active existence seemed +crowded. One object she had set before her as the great aim +of her life; it was to secure Ernest's happiness and preserve his +honor. She understood now the coldness with which her +father had of late named him. It was essential to her peace +that this coldness should not deepen into anger. Not even in +her own family then must she have rest from the strife between +her inner and her outer life. Sympathy she must not have, +since sympathy with her was almost inseparably connected with +reproach of Ernest. Time had another lesson to teach, and +Meeta soon learned it; that in a combat such as she had to +sustain, no half-way measures would suffice, that she must not +drive her griefs down to the depths of her heart, shutting them +there from every human eye, but she must drive them out of +her heart. We talk of feigning cheerfulness, of wearing a mask +for the world and throwing it off in solitude, and we may do +this for a week, a month, a year, but those who have a life-grief +to sustain, from whose hearts hope has died out, know that +there are only two paths open to them in the universe; to lie +down in their despair and breathe out their souls in murmurs +against their <span class="smcap">God</span>, and lamentations over their destiny; or, +humbly kissing the rod which has smitten them, to go forth +out of themselves, where all is darkness and woe, and find a +new and happier life in living for and in others. And thus did +Meeta.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_157' id='Page_157' title='157'> </a>We may not linger over the details of the next few weeks +of her existence. The old Rainer died; died blessing his +children, Ernest and Meeta, and praying for their happiness. +Often would Ernest have told him all; but Meeta kept back a +disclosure which would have given him pain. "Do not disturb +him now, Ernest," she said; "he will know all soon, and bless +your Sophie from heaven, where there is no sorrow."</p> + +<p>Meeta returned home, and exhaustion won for her a few +days rest; rest even from her mental struggles; but when the +funeral was over, and things returned to their usual routine, she +felt that she must prepare her father and mother to receive +Ernest in the character in which they were henceforth to regard +him. She found strength for this in her lofty purpose and her +simple dependence upon Heaven, and her voice did not falter +nor her color change as she said to her mother:—</p> + +<p>"Do you not think Ernest is much altered?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is greatly improved."</p> + +<p>"Improved! Well, he may be so to the eyes of others, +but—"</p> + +<p>"Is he not as tender to you, my daughter?" asked the sensitive +mother.</p> + +<p>"That is not it," said Meeta, coloring for the first time: +"we neither of us feel as we once did; it was a childish folly +to suppose that we should. I have told Ernest that I could not +fulfil our engagement, and he is satisfied."</p> + +<p>Madame Werner looked long at her daughter, but Meeta +met the glance firmly.</p> + +<p>"And is this all, Meeta?"</p> + +<p>"All! What more would you have, dear mother?"</p> + +<p>"And are you happy, Meeta?"</p> + +<p>"Happier than I should be in marrying Ernest now, dear +mother."</p> + +<p>Madame Werner explained all this to her husband, at her<a class='page' name ='Page_158' id='Page_158' title='158'> </a> +daughter's request. He was not grieved at it. "Ernest," he +said, "had never valued Meeta as she deserved. He was glad +she had shown so much spirit."</p> + +<p>Meeta had a more difficult task to perform. Mrs. Schwartz's +sister has come at last. She came from Germany at the same +time with Ernest, but stopped to make a visit to another sister +in Philadelphia, and arrived here only last night. "I will go +and see her," said Meeta one morning to Madame Werner. +She went. As she approached the house, there came through +the open windows the sound of an organ, accompanied by a +rich and highly cultivated voice. Meeta would not pause for a +moment, lest she should grow nervous. It was essential to +Ernest's happiness that Sophie should be friendly with her; +and the difficulties were of a nature which, if not overcome at +once, would not be overcome at all. Meeta entered the small +parlor without knocking, and found herself <i>tête-à-tête</i> with the +musician; a young, fair girl, delicately formed, with beautiful +hands and arms, and pleasing, pretty face. As she saw the +visitor, her song ceased. Meeta smiled on her, and extending +her hand, said: "You are Sophie—Ernest's Sophie?"</p> + +<p>"And you," said the fair girl, with wondering eyes, "are—"</p> + +<p>"Meeta."</p> + +<p>This was an introduction which admitted no formality, and +when Mrs. Schwartz entered half an hour later, she was surprised +to find those so lately strangers conversing in the low +and earnest tones which betoken confidence, while the lofty expression +on the countenance of the one, and the moist eyes and +flushed cheeks of the other, showed that their topic was one of +no ordinary interest.</p> + +<p>Six months passed rapidly away, and then Ernest felt that +he might, without disrespect to his father's memory, bring +home his bride. Their engagement had been known for some +time, and had excited no little surprise; though perhaps less<a class='page' name ='Page_159' id='Page_159' title='159'> </a> +than the continued and close friendship between them and +Meeta. Many improvements in Sophie's future home had been +suggested by Meeta's taste, and Ernest had acquired such a +habit of consulting her, that no day passed without an interview +between them. At length the evening preceding the +bridal-day had arrived, and Ernest and Sophie had gone to secure +Meeta's promise to officiate as bridesmaid in the simple +ceremony of the morrow. They were to be married at the +parsonage, in the presence of a few witnesses only, and were +immediately to set out on an excursion which would occupy +several weeks. They had urged Meeta to accompany them, +but she had declined. "But she cannot refuse to stand up with +me—do you think she can?" said Sophie to her sister, as she +prepared to accompany Ernest to Carl Werner's.</p> + +<p>"I do not think she <i>will</i> refuse," Mrs. Schwartz replied.</p> + +<p>"You do not think she will!" repeated Mr. Schwartz, in +an accent of surprise, to his wife, when Ernest and Sophie had +left them. "How does that consist with your idea of Meeta's +love for Ernest?"</p> + +<p>"It perfectly consists with a love like Meeta's; a love without +any alloy of selfishness. Dear Meeta! how little is her +nobleness appreciated! Even I dare not let her see that she is +understood by me, lest I should wound her delicate and generous +nature."</p> + +<p>There was a pause, and then Mr. Schwartz said, hesitatingly, +"If it be as you think, Meeta is a noble being; but——"</p> + +<p>"If it be!" interrupted Mrs. Schwartz, with warmth. "Can +you doubt it? Have you not seen the loftier character which +her generous purpose has impressed upon her whole aspect? +the elevation—I had almost said the inspiration, which beams +from her face when Ernest and Sophia are present? Sophie is +my sister, and I love her truly; yet I declare to you, at such +times I have looked from her to Meeta, and wondered at what +seemed to me Ernest's infatuation."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_160' id='Page_160' title='160'> </a>"Sophie is fair, and delicate, and accomplished, the very +personification of refinement, natural and acquired, and the antipodes +of all which Ernest, ere he saw her, had begun to dread +in the untaught Meeta of his memory. I am not surprised at +all at his loving Sophie, but I cannot at all understand how the +simple and single-hearted Meeta can feign so long and so well, +as on your supposition she has done."</p> + +<p>"Feign! Meeta feign! I never said or thought such a +thing. A course of action lofty as Meeta's must have its +foundation deep in the heart, in principles enduring as life +itself. Had Meeta's been the commonplace feigned satisfaction +with Ernest's conduct to which pride might have given birth, +she would have been fitful in her moods; alternately gay or +gloomy; generous and kind, or petulant and exacting. The +serenity, the composure of countenance and manner which distinguish +our Meeta, spring from a higher, purer source. It +is the sweet submission of a chastened, loving spirit, which +can say to its <span class="smcap">Father</span> in Heaven:—</p> + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'<span class="smcap">Because</span> my portion was assign'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wholesome and bitter, <span class="smcap">Thou</span> art kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I am blessed to my mind.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>"A state of feeling to be preferred certainly to the gratification +of any earthly affection; but I scarcely see how it can +accord with Meeta's continued love of Ernest."</p> + +<p>"That is because you do not separate love from the selfish +desires with which it is too generally accompanied. Meeta +loves Ernest so truly, so entirely, that she cannot be said to +yield her happiness to his, but rather to find it in his; his joy, +his honor, are hers."</p> + +<p>"And can woman feel thus?" asked Mr. Schwartz, as he +looked with admiration upon his wife, her cheeks glowing<a class='page' name ='Page_161' id='Page_161' title='161'> </a> +and her eyes lighted with the enthusiasm of a spirit akin +to Meeta's.</p> + +<p>"There are many mysteries in woman which you have yet +to fathom," said Mrs. Schwartz, with a smile.</p> + +<p>To the good pastor and his wife, the next day, even Sophie +was a less interesting object of contemplation than Meeta, who +stood at her side. She was pale, very pale, and dressed with +even more than usual simplicity; yet there was in her face so +much of the soul's light, that she seemed to them beautiful. +Her congratulations were offered in speechless emotion. The +brotherly kiss which Ernest pressed upon her cheek called up +no color there, nor disturbed the graceful stillness of her manner; +and when Sophie, who had really become sincerely attached +to her, threw herself into her arms, she returned her +embrace with tenderness, whispering as she did so, "Make +Ernest happy, Sophie, and I will love you always!"</p> + +<p>And now what have we more to tell of Meeta? It cannot +be denied that there were hours of darkness, in which the +joyous hopes and memories of her youth rose up vividly before +her, making her present life seem sad and lonely in contrast. +But these visitors from the realm of shadows were neither +evoked nor welcomed by Meeta. Resolutely she turned from +the dead past, to the active, living present, determined that no +shadow from her should darken the declining days of her +father and mother. She is the light of their home, and often +they bless the Providence which has left her with them. +What would they have done without her cheerful voice to inspire +them in bearing the burdens of advancing life?</p> + +<p>But not only in her home was Meeta a consolation and a +blessing. The poor, the sick, the sorrowing, knew ever where +to find true sympathy and ready aid. She was the "Lady +Bountiful" of her neighborhood. But there was one house +where more especially her presence was welcomed; where no<a class='page' name ='Page_162' id='Page_162' title='162'> </a> +important step was taken without her advice; where sorrow +was best soothed by her, and joy but half complete till she had +shared it. This house was Ernest Rainer's. To him and Sophie +she was a cherished sister, to whose upright and self-forgetting +nature they looked up with a species of reverence; and to their +children she was "Dear Aunt Meeta! the kindest and best +friend, except mamma, in the world!"</p> + +<p>How many more useful, more noble, or happier persons +than our old maid can married life present? Is she not more +worthy of imitation than the "Celias" and "Daphnes" whose +delicate distresses have formed the staple of circulating +libraries, or than those feeble spirits in real life, who, mistaking +selfishness for sensibility, turn thanklessly from the blessings and +coldly from the duties of life, because they have been denied +the gratification of some cherished desire?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_163' id='Page_163' title='163'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER X.</a></h2> + + +<p>It is Christmas, merry Christmas, as we have been duly informed +this morning by every inhabitant of Donaldson Manor, +from Col. Donaldson to the pet and baby Sophy Dudley, who +was taught the words but yesterday, for the occasion. Last +evening our readings were interrupted, for all were busy in +preparing for this important day. Miss Donaldson was superintending +jellies and blanc-manges, custards and Charlottes des +Russes; Col. and Mrs. Donaldson were preparing gifts for their +servants, not one of whom was forgotten, and Annie and I, and, +by his own special request, Mr. Arlington, were arranging in +proper order the gifts of that most considerate, mirthful and +generous of spirits, Santa Claus. This morning the sun rose as +clear and bright as though it, too, rejoiced in the joy of humanity; +but long before the sun had showed himself, little feet +were pattering from room to room, and childish voices shouting +in the unchecked exuberance of delight. I sometimes doubt +whether the children are so happy as I am, on such occasions. +One incident that occurred this morning would have been +enough, in my opinion, to repay all the time, the trouble, and +the gold, which Santa Claus, or his agents, had expended on +their preparations. Aroused by the voices of the children, I +threw on a dressing-gown and hastened to the room appropriated +to their patron saint, which I entered at one door just +as little Eva Dudley appeared at another. Without being in<a class='page' name ='Page_164' id='Page_164' title='164'> </a> +the least a beauty, Eva has the most charming face I know; +merry and bright as Puck's, or as her own life, which from its +earliest dawn has been joyous as a bird's carol. She gazed +now with eager delight on the toys exhibited by her brothers +and sisters, without, apparently, one thought of herself, till +Robert said, "But see here, Eva, look at your own."</p> + +<p>As her eyes rested on the large baby-house, with its folding-doors +open to display the furniture of the parlors, and the two +dolls, mother and daughter, seated at a table on which stood a +neat china breakfasting set, she clasped her dimpled hands in +silent ecstasy for half a minute, then rising to her utmost +height on her rosy little toes, she exclaimed, "Oh, isn't I a +happy little woman!"</p> + +<p>Dear Eva! a little <i>girl's</i> heart would not have seemed to +her large enough to contain such a rapture.</p> + +<p>Our party has been augmented since breakfast by the +arrival of several families of Donaldsons—some of whom live +at too great a distance for visits at any other time than Christmas, +when all who stand in any conceivable, or I was about to +say inconceivable, degree of relationship to the Donaldsons of +Donaldson Manor, are expected to be here. Among this host +of uncles and aunts and cousins, I was really grateful for my +own prefix of aunt, and I heard Mr. Arlington whisper a +request to Robert to call him uncle—a title to which I have no +doubt he would willingly make good his claim.</p> + +<p>In the midst of this general hilarity, the religious character +of the day was not forgotten, and all the family and some of +the visitors attended the morning services in the church. We +know that there are those who, doubting the testimony on +which the Christian world has agreed to observe the 25th of +December as the birthday into our mortal life of the world's +Saviour, and the era from which man may date his hopes of a +happy immortality, consider the religious observances of this day<a class='page' name ='Page_165' id='Page_165' title='165'> </a> +a sheer superstition. On such a controversy I could say but little, +and I should be very unwilling so say that little here; but I would +ask if it can be wrong in the opinion of any—nay, if it be not +right, very right, in the opinion of all—to celebrate once in the +year an event so solemn and so joyous to our race; and whether +any day can be better for such a purpose, than that which has +been for centuries associated with it wherever the Angel's song +of "Peace on earth and good will to man" has been heard? +Another class of objectors there are who complain that a day so +sacred should be desecrated, as they express it, by revelry and +mirth. To their objection I should not have a word of reply, +if it were limited to a condemnation of that wild uproar and +senseless jollity by which men sometimes make fools or brutes +of themselves; but when they condemn the cheerfulness that +has its home and its birthplace in a grateful heart, when they +frown upon the happy family gathering once more within the +old walls that had echoed to their childish gambols, calling up +by the spells of association, from the dim recesses of the past, +the very tones and looks of the mother that watched their +cradled sleep, and the father that guided their first tottering +steps in the pursuit of truth; tones and looks by which, if by +any thing, the cold, selfish spirit of the world to whose dominion +they have yielded, may be exorcised, and the loving and +generous spirit of their earlier life may again enter within them; +when they declare these things inconsistent with the Christian's +joyful commemoration of that event to which he owes his +earthly blessings as well as his heavenly hopes. I can only +pity them for their want of harmony with the Great Spirit of +the Universe, the spirit of Love and Joy.</p> + +<p>Our Christmas was continued and concluded in the same +spirit in which it was commenced—the spirit of kindly affection +to Man and devout gratitude to Heaven. Those guests whose +homes were distant remained for the night, and in the evening,<a class='page' name ='Page_166' id='Page_166' title='166'> </a> +before any of our party had left us, Col. Donaldson called on +Robert Dudley to repeat a poem winch he had learned at his +request for the occasion. Robert was a little abashed at first +at being brought forward so conspicuously; but he is a manly, +intelligent boy, and his voice soon gathered strength and +firmness, and his eyes lost their downward tendency, and +kindled with earnest feeling, as he recited those beautiful lines +of Charles Sprague, entitled—</p> + + +<h3><a name="THE_FAMILY_MEETING" id="THE_FAMILY_MEETING"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">THE FAMILY MEETING.</a></h3> + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">We are all here!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Father, mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sister, brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All who hold each other dear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each chair is fill'd, we're all at home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-night let no cold stranger come;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is not often thus around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our own familiar hearth we're found.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless, then, the meeting and the spot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For once be every care forgot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let gentle Peace assert her power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kind affection rule the hour;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We're all—all here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">We're <span class="smcap">not</span> all here!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some are away—the dead ones dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who throng'd with us this ancient hearth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gave the hour to guiltless mirth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fate, with a stern, relentless hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look'd in and thinn'd our little band:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some like a night-flash pass'd away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some sank, lingering, day by day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The quiet grave-yard—some lie there—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cruel Ocean has his share—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We're <i>not</i> all here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><a class='page' name ='Page_167' id='Page_167' title='167'> </a>We <i>are</i> all here!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even they—the dead—though dead so dear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fond Memory, to her duty true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brings back their faded forms to view.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How life-like, through the mist of years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each well-remember'd face appears!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We see them as in times long past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From each to each kind looks are cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We hear their words, their smiles behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They're round us as they were of old—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We <i>are</i> all here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">We are all here!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Father, mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sister, brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You that I love with love so dear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This may not long of us be said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon must we join the gather'd dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by the hearth we now sit round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some other circle will be found.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, then, that wisdom may we know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which yields a life of peace below!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, in the world to follow this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May each repeat, in words of bliss.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We're all—all <i>here</i>!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_168' id='Page_168' title='168'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XI.</a></h2> + + +<p>Yesterday we were more than usually still after the enjoyment +of Christmas, and a little quiet chit-chat seemed all of +which we were capable, but to-day every thing about us and +within us began to settle into its usual form, and this evening +there was a general call for our accustomed entertainment. I +was inexorable to all entreaties, and Mr. Arlington was compelled +to open his portfolio for our gratification.</p> + +<p>"Select your subject," he said with a smile, as he drew forth +sketch after sketch and spread them on the table before us. "I +have no story to tell of any of them."</p> + +<p>"I select this," said Annie, as she held up a drawing, entitled, +"The Exiled Hebrews."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Mr. Arlington, as he glanced at it, "you have +chosen well; the subject is interesting."</p> + +<p>"But can you really tell us nothing of these figures, so noble +yet so touching in their aspect?"</p> + +<p>"No; nothing of <i>them</i>. I could tell you indeed of a <i>dying</i> +Hebrew, whose portrait you may imagine you have before you +in that turbaned old gentleman."</p> + +<p>"Well, let us hear it."</p> + + +<h3><a class='page' name ='Page_169' id='Page_169' title='169'> </a><a name="THE_DYING_HEBREW" id="THE_DYING_HEBREW"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">THE DYING HEBREW.</a></h3> + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A <span class="smcap">Hebrew</span> knelt in the dying light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eye was dim and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hair on his brow was silver white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his blood was thin and old.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lifted his eye to his latest sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he felt that his pilgrimage was done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as he saw God's shadow<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His spirit pour'd itself in prayer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I come unto Death's second birth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath a stranger air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pilgrim on a chill, cold earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As all my fathers were;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>men</i> have stamp'd me with a <i>curse</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I feel it is not <i>Thine</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy mercy, like yon sun, was made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On me, as all to shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And therefore dare I lift mine eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through that to Thee, before I die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this great temple, built by Thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose altars are divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath yon lamp that ceaselessly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lights up Thine own true shrine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take this my latest sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look down and make this sod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holy as that where long ago<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Hebrew met his God.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have not caused the widow's tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor dimm'd the orphan's eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have not stain'd the virgin's years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor mock'd the mourner's cry.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The songs of Zion in my ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have ever been most sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And always when I felt Thee near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My shoes were 'off my feet.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a class='page' name ='Page_170' id='Page_170' title='170'> </a>I have known Thee in the whirlwind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have known Thee on the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have known Thee in the voice of birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the music of the rill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dreamt Thee in the shadow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw Thee in the light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard Thee in the thunder-peal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And worshipp'd in the night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All beauty, while it spoke of Thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still made my heart rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my spirit bow'd within itself<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear 'Thy still, small voice.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have not felt myself a thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from Thy presence driven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By flaming sword or waving wing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cut off from Thee and heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must I the whirlwind reap, because,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My fathers sow'd the storm?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or shrink because another sinn'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath Thy red, right arm?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! much of this we dimly scan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And much is all unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will not take my <i>curse</i> from <i>man</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I turn to <span class="smcap">Thee</span> alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! bid my fainting spirit live,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what is dark, reveal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what is evil—oh, forgive!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what is broken—heal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cleanse my spirit from above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the deep Jordan of Thy love!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not if the Christian's heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall be the same as mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only ask to be forgiven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And taken home to <span class="smcap">Thine</span>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I weary on a far, dim strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose mansions are as tombs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long to find the Father-land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where there are many homes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! grant of all yon shining throngs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some dim and distant star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Judah's lost and scatter'd sons<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May worship from afar!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a class='page' name ='Page_171' id='Page_171' title='171'> </a>When all earth's myriad harps shall meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In choral praise and prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall Zion's harp, of old so sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone be wanting there?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet place me in the lowest seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I, as now, lie there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Christian's jest—the Christian's scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still let me see and hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From some bright mansion in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy loved ones and their melody."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sun goes down with sudden gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beautiful as a lovely dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And silently as air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vision of a dark-eyed girl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With long and raven hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glides in as guardian spirits glide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo! is standing by his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if her sudden presence there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was sent in answer to his prayer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! say they not that angels tread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around the good man's dying bed?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His child—his sweet and sinless child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as he gazed on her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew his God was reconciled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this the messenger.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As sure as God had hung on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His promise-bow before his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth's purest hopes were o'er him flung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To point his heaven-ward faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And life's most holy feelings strung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sing him into death.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on his daughter's stainless breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dying Hebrew sought his rest.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>"Have I fulfilled my task?" asked Mr. Arlington, as he +touched the picture on which Annie's eyes were still fixed.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_172' id='Page_172' title='172'> </a>"By no means," she answered; "the poem is beautiful; but +is the drawing from your own pencil?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! It is a copy of a copy. The original is by +Biederrmanns, and may be seen, I believe, in the Dresden Gallery. +This sketch was made from a copy in the possession of +my friend, Mr. Michael Grahame. He had it done while he +was in Russia. By-the-by—if I had Aunt Nancy's powers as +a <i>raconteur</i>, I think I could interest you in the history of Mr. +and Mrs. Grahame."</p> + +<p>"Let us have it," exclaimed Col. Donaldson; "we will be +lenient in our criticisms; and should we ever call on you to +give it to severer critics, Aunt Nancy will dress it up for you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arlington in vain sought to excuse himself.</p> + +<p>"It is of no use," cried Col. Donaldson; "I am a thoroughbred +story hunter, and now you have shown me the game, I +must have it."</p> + +<p>To Mr. Arlington, therefore, the reader is indebted for the +following incidents, though I have fulfilled the promise made +for me by the Colonel, and dressed it up a little for its present +appearance. I have called the narrative thus prepared,</p> + + +<h3><a name="ONLY_A_MECHANIC" id="ONLY_A_MECHANIC"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">"ONLY A MECHANIC."</a></h3> + +<p>With beauty, wealth, an accomplished education, and a home +around which clustered all the warm affections and graceful +amenities of life, Lilian Devoe was considered by her acquaintances +as one of fortune's most favored children. Yet in Lilian's +bright sky there was a cloud, though it was perceptible to none +but herself. She was the daughter of an Englishman, who, on +his arrival in America with a sickly wife and infant child, had +esteemed himself fortunate in obtaining the situation of farm-steward, +or bailiff, at Mr. Trevanion's country-seat, near New-York.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_173' id='Page_173' title='173'> </a>"This is a pleasant home, Gerald," said Mrs. Devoe, on the +day she took possession of her small but neat cottage, as she +stood with him beneath a porch embowered with honey-suckle, +and looked out upon a scene to which hill and dale and river +combined to give enchantment.</p> + +<p>"If you can be well and happy in it, love, I will try and forget +that I had a right to a better," said Gerald Devoe, with a grave +yet tender smile, as he drew his invalid wife close to his side.</p> + +<p>Grave, Gerald Devoe always was; and none wondered at it +who knew his early history. His family belonged to the gentry +of England, and he had been born to an inheritance sufficient +to support him respectably in that class. His mother, from +whom he derived a sound judgment, and a firm and vigorous +mind, died while he was yet a child, leaving his weak and self-indulgent +father to the management of a roguish attorney, by +whose aid he made the future maintain the present, till, at his +death, little was left to Gerald beyond the bare walls of his +paternal home and the small park by which it was surrounded. +He had been, for two years before this time, married to one +who had brought him little wealth, and whose delicate health +seemed to demand the luxuries which he could no longer +afford. For her sake, far more than for his own—even more +than for that of his cherished child—he shrank from the new +condition under which life was presenting itself to him. When +at length his resources utterly failed, and he could no longer +veil the truth from his wife, her gentle tender smile, her confiding +caress, and above all, her ready inquiry into his plans for +the future, and her earnest effort to aid him in bringing the +chaos of his mind into order, taught him that there lies in +woman's affections a source of strength equal to all the requirements +of those who have won their way to that hidden fountain. +It was by her advice that, instead of wasting his energies +in the vain struggle to maintain his present position, he deter<a class='page' name ='Page_174' id='Page_174' title='174'> </a>mined +to carve out for himself a new life in another land. The +first step towards the fulfilment of this resolution was also the +most painful. It was the sacrifice of his home, the home of his +childhood, his youth, his manhood, with which all that was +dear in the present or tender in the past was associated. And +yet higher claims it had. It had been the home of his fathers. +For three hundred years those walls had owned a Devoe for +their master, and now they must pass into a stranger's hands, +and he and his must go forth with no right even to a grave in +that soil which had seemed ever an inalienable part of himself. +It was a stern lesson, but life teaches well, and it was learned. +He could not turn to the liberal professions for support, because +he had no means of maintaining himself and his family during +the preparatory studies. Of farming he knew already something, +and spent some months in acquiring yet further information +respecting it, before he sailed from England. The determination +and energy with which Gerald Devoe had entered on +his new career, had won for him friends among practical men, +and when he left England it was with recommendations that +insured his success.</p> + +<p>It was a fortunate circumstance for Mr. and Mrs. Devoe that +Mr. Trevanion required a farm-steward on their arrival, for in +him and his wife they found liberal employers, and persons of +true Christian benevolence, who, having discovered the superiority +of their minds and manners to their present station, hesitated +not to receive them into their circle of friends, when a +knowledge of their past history had acquainted them with their +claims on their sympathy. Howsoever valuable the friendship +of persons at once so accomplished and so excellent was to Mr. +and Mrs. Devoe, for their own sakes, they prized it yet more +for their Lilian's. She was their only child, and their poverty +lost its last sting when they saw her linked arm in arm with +young Anna Trevanion, the companion of her lessons and her<a class='page' name ='Page_175' id='Page_175' title='175'> </a> +sports. They could not have borne to see her, so lovely in +outward form, and with a mind so full of intelligence, condemned +either to the dreariness of a life without companionship, +or to the degradation of association with the rude and +uncultivated. That this feeling was wholly unconnected with +any false views of their own position, or vain estimation of the +claims derived from their birth and former condition, was evident +from their readiness to receive into their friendly regards +those in their present sphere in whose moral qualities they +could confide, and who did not repel their courtesies by a rude +and coarse manner. There was one of this latter class who +held a place in their esteem not less exalted than that occupied +by Mr. Trevanion himself. This was a Scotchman, living within +two miles of Mr. Trevanion's seat, who found at once an agreeable +occupation and a respectable support in a garden, from +which he supplied the markets of New-York with some of their +choicest vegetables, and its drawing-rooms with some of their +choicest bouquets. Mr. Grahame was one who, in those early +ages when physical endowments constituted the chief distinction +between men, might have been chosen king of the tribe +with which he had chanced to be associated. Even now, in +this self-styled enlightened age, his tall and stalwart frame, his +erect carriage, his firm and vigorous step, his broad, commanding +brow, his bright, keen eye, and the firm, frank expression +of his whole face, won from every beholder an involuntary +feeling of respect, which further acquaintance only served to +deepen. With little of the education of schools, he was a man +of reading, and, what schools can never make, he was a man +of thought, and of that sober, practical good sense, and those +firm, religious principles which are the surest, the only true and +safe guides in life. Mrs. Grahame was a gentle and lovely +woman, with an eye to see and a heart to feel her husband's +excellences. And a worthy son of such a father was Michael<a class='page' name ='Page_176' id='Page_176' title='176'> </a> +Grahame, the only child of this excellent pair. He was six +years older than Lilian Devoe, and having no sister of his own, +had been her playfellow and protector from her cradle. Even +Anna Trevanion could not rival Michael in Lilian's heart, nor +all the luxuries of Trevanion Hall compete with the delight of +wandering with him through the gardens of Mossgiel, listening +to his history of the various plants—for Michael had learned +from his father where most of them had first been found, and +how and by whom they had been introduced to their present +abodes—and learning from him the chief points of distinction +between the different tribes of the vegetable world, and many +other things of which older people are often ignorant. But +acquainted as Michael was with the inhabitants of the garden, +they did not afford him his most vivid enjoyment. Mechanical +pursuits were his passion.</p> + +<p>Before Lilian was four years old, she had ridden in a carriage +of his construction, which he boasted the most unskilful +hand on the most unequal road could not, except from <i>malice +prepense</i>, upset. To see Michael a clergyman, or, if that might +not be, a lawyer, was Mrs. Grahame's dream of life; but when +she whispered it to her husband, he shook his head, with a +grave smile, and pointed to the boy, who stood near, putting +the finishing touch to what he called his "magical glass." +This was the case of an old spy-glass, in which he had so disposed +several mirrors, made of a toilet-glass long since broken, +as to enable the person using the instrument to see objects in a +very different direction from that to which it appeared to be +directed. The fond parents watched his movements in silence +for a few minutes: suddenly he called in a glad voice, "Here, +father, come and look through my magical glass."</p> + +<p>Mr. Grahame obeyed the summons, saying to his wife, +"He'll make a good mechanic—better not spoil that, for a poor +clergyman or lawyer."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_177' id='Page_177' title='177'> </a>Michael had the advantage of the best schools to which his +father could gain access; and his teachers joined in declaring +that his father might make what he would of him, but his own +inclination for mechanics continued as fixed as ever, and Mr. +Grahame was equally fixed in his determination to let his inclination +decide his career.</p> + +<p>"Let him be what he will, he must be something above the +ordinary, or your high people will remember against him that +his father was a gardener," said Mr. Grahame to his wife; "and +you may be sure he'll rise highest in what he loves."</p> + +<p>At sixteen Michael Grahame commenced his apprenticeship +to the trade of a mathematical instrument maker, to the perfect +satisfaction of himself and his father, the secret annoyance of +his mother, and the openly expressed chagrin of Lilian Devoe, +who had shared all Mrs. Grahame's ambitious hopes for her +friend. From this period Lilian became the inseparable companion +of the young Trevanions, their only rival in her heart +being removed from her circle. She still considered Michael as +greatly superior to them, and indeed to all others, in personal +attributes, but she could seldom enjoy his society, since he +resided in the city; and as she approached to womanhood, and +he exchanged the vivacity of the boy for the man's thoughtful +brow and more controlled expression of feeling, their manner in +their occasional interviews assumed a formality which made it +a poor interpreter of her heart's true emotions.</p> + +<p>At seventeen Lilian Devoe was an orphan, left to the guardianship +of Mr. Trevanion and Mr. Grahame, with a fortune +which secured to her a prospect of all the comforts, and many +of the elegancies of life. This fortune was the result of a successful +speculation made by Mr. Devoe about a year before his +death, with the little sum, which, by judicious management, +he had saved from his salary during many years. It was a +sum too small to secure to his daughter a maintenance in case<a class='page' name ='Page_178' id='Page_178' title='178'> </a> +of his death, and with a trembling and almost despairing heart +he had thrown it on the troubled sea of speculation. From +that hour he knew no peace. His life was probably shortened +by his anxieties, and when he received the assurance of the +successful issue of his experiment, he had but a few days to +live. Before his death, Mr. Trevanion had spoken very kindly +to him, and both he and Mrs. Trevanion had expressed the most +friendly interest in Lilian, and had offered to receive her as a +member of their own family, when her "home should be left +unto her desolate." Mr. Grahame and his kind-hearted wife +had already made the same offer, and Mr. Devoe, with the +warmest expression of gratitude, commended his daughter to +the guardianship of both his friends. It was winter when Mr. +Devoe died—the Trevanions were in the city, and, by her own +wish, Lilian passed the first few months of her orphanage at the +cottage of Mr. Grahame. Never was an orphan more tenderly +received, more dearly cherished.</p> + +<p>Michael Grahame had now acquired his trade, and had entered +into an already established and profitable business with +his former master, who predicted that with his application, and +his unusual talent and his delight both in the theory of mechanics +and the actual development of that theory in practice, +he must one day acquire a high reputation. Perhaps this +opinion might have been in some degree shaken by the long +and frequent holidays of his young partner during this winter. +Michael had never been so much at home since he left it, a boy +of sixteen, and before the winter had passed, all formality between +him and Lilian had vanished. Again they wandered +together, as in childhood, through the garden walks; again +Lilian learned to regard him, not only as a loved friend, but +as a guide and protector.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grahame saw the growth of these feelings with delight. +She loved Lilian, and gave the highest proof of her<a class='page' name ='Page_179' id='Page_179' title='179'> </a> +esteem for her, in believing her worthy of her son. Mr. +Grahame was less satisfied. He, too, loved Lilian, and would +have welcomed her to his heart as a daughter, but her lately +acquired fortune, and her connection with the Trevanion family, +gave her a right to higher expectations in marriage, than to +become the wife of a mechanic of very moderate fortunes, howsoever +great was his ability, or howsoever distinguished his +personal qualities. No—Mr. Grahame was not satisfied, and +nothing but his confidence in Michael kept him silent. The +confidence was not misplaced.</p> + +<p>The news of Lilian's fortune, and of Mr. and Mrs. Trevanion's +offer to receive her into their family, had sent a sharp +pang through the heart of Michael Grahame, which had taught +him the true character of his attachment to her.</p> + +<p>"She is removed from my world—she can be nothing to +me now," was the first stern whisper of his heart, which was +modified after two or three interviews into—"She can only be +a dear friend and sister. I must never think of her in any +other light." And, devoted as he had been to her through +the winter, no word, no look had told of love less calm or more +exacting than this. But there came a time when the quick +blush on Lilian's cheek at his approach, the tremor of her little +hand as he clasped it, told that she shared his feeling, without +his power of self-control. Then came the hour of trial to +Michael Grahame's nature. Self-immolation were easy in comparison +with the infliction of one pang on her. And wherefore +should either suffer? Was it not a false sentiment that denied +to her the right to decide for herself, between those shows and +fashions which the world most prizes, and the indulgence of +the purest and sweetest affections of our nature? Was he +not in truth sacrificing her happiness to his own pride? It +was a question which he dared not answer for himself, and he +applied to his father, in whose high principles and clear judg<a class='page' name ='Page_180' id='Page_180' title='180'> </a>ment +he placed implicit confidence. Mr. Grahame was too +shrewd, and in this case too interested an observer to be unprepared +for his son's avowal of his past feelings and present +perplexities.</p> + +<p>"You are right, my son," he replied to his appeal; "It is +Lilian's right to decide for herself on that which will constitute +her own happiness."</p> + +<p>"Then I may speak to her—I may tell her—"</p> + +<p>"All you desire that she should know," said Mr. Grahame, +gently, "when Lilian has had an opportunity of knowing what +she must sacrifice in accepting you."</p> + +<p>"True—true—I will ask no promise from her—nay—I will +accept none—I will only assure her that should the world fail +to fill her heart, the truest and most devoted love awaits her +here."</p> + +<p>"And in listening to that assurance, without rebuking it, a +delicate woman would feel that she had pledged herself."</p> + +<p>Michael Grahame's brow contracted, and his voice faltered +slightly as, after a moment's thoughtful pause, he asked, "What +then would you have me do?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing at present—Lilian will soon leave us, and at Mr. +Trevanion's she will see quite another kind of life—a life which, +with her fortune and their friendship, may be hers, but which +she must give up should she become the wife of a mechanic +and the daughter-in-law of a gardener. Let her see this life, +my boy, and then let her choose between you and it."</p> + +<p>"And how can I hope that she will continue to regard me +with kindness if I suffer her to depart without any expression +of interest in her?"</p> + +<p>"Any expression of interest! I do not wish you to be colder +to her than you have hitherto been, and I am much mistaken +if Lilian would exchange your <i>brotherly</i> affection for all the +gewgaws in life."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_181' id='Page_181' title='181'> </a>"I will endeavor to take your advice, but I hope I shall not +be tried too long," were the concluding words of Michael +Grahame, as he turned from his father to seek composure in a +solitary walk. When he had returned, he found that his +father had gone to the city—an unusual circumstance at that +season, and one which he could not afterwards avoid connecting +with a letter which Lilian received the next day from Anna +Trevanion, before she had risen from the breakfast table.</p> + +<p>"Papa," wrote Miss Trevanion, "has made me perfectly +happy, dear Lilian, by declaring that he cannot consent to leave +you longer in the country. I hope you will not find it very +difficult to obey his commands in the present instance, which +are, that you shall be ready at noon to-morrow to accompany +him to the city, where you will find Mamma and your Anna, +waiting to receive you with open arms."</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Lilian? Does your letter bring you +bad news?" asked Mrs. Grahame, as she saw the dejected countenance +with which Lilian sat gazing on these few lines.</p> + +<p>Michael said nothing, but, as Lilian looked up to answer +Mrs. Grahame, she saw that his eyes were fixed upon her, and +the blood rushed to her temples, while she said, "It is only a +note from Anna Trevanion, to say that her father is coming +for me to-day at noon,—and—and—" Lilian could go no farther—her +voice faltered, and she burst into tears. Michael +Grahame started from his chair, but a movement of his father's +arm prevented his approaching Lilian, and unable to endure +the scene, he rushed from the room, while his mother, folding +the weeping girl in her arms, exclaimed, "Don't cry, Lilian, Mr. +Trevanion will not certainly make you go with him, if you do +not wish it."</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush, good wife," said the kind but firm voice of +Mr. Grahame; "Lilian must not be so ungracious to such +friends as Mr. and Mrs. Trevanion, as to refuse to go to them<a class='page' name ='Page_182' id='Page_182' title='182'> </a> +when they wish her. Go, my dear child," he continued, laying +his hand on her bent head; "and remember that no day will +be so happy for us as that in which you come back—if indeed," +he added, more gayly, "you can come back to such an humble +home, after living among great folks."</p> + +<p>There was another voice for which Lilian listened, but she +listened in vain. Her first feeling on perceiving that Michael +Grahame had left the room while she lay weeping in his mother's +arms was very bitter, but Mrs. Grahame soothed her by +saying, "Michael couldn't bear to see you crying, dear, so +when his father wouldn't let him speak to you, he jumped up +and ran off. Poor Michael! sadly enough he'll miss you."</p> + +<p>In about an hour, Michael again sought Lilian, bringing +with him three bouquets of hot-house flowers. Two of these +had been arranged by his father for Mrs. and Miss Trevanion, +and the other was of flowers which he had himself selected for +Lilian. She stood beside him while he first wrapped the stems +of the flowers in a wet sponge, and then put them into a box, +to defend them from the cold. This was done, and the box +handed to Lilian without a word. As she took it, she asked in +a low tone, and turning away to hide her embarrassment as +she spoke, "When shall I see you in New-York?"</p> + +<p>"I shall be in New-York very soon," he replied; "perhaps +to-morrow—but we move there in such different spheres, Lilian, +that I do not know when we shall meet."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps never," said Lilian, endeavoring, not very successfully, +to steady her voice and speak with <i>nonchalance</i>, "unless +you are willing to leave what you call your sphere and seek +me in mine."</p> + +<p>"I only need your permission to do so with delight,"—and +so charming had her evident emotion made her in his eyes, +that Michael could not refrain from pressing her hand to his +lips. There was no anger in the flush which this action brought +to Lilian's cheek.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_183' id='Page_183' title='183'> </a>Mr. Trevanion was punctual to the hour of his appointment, +and descended from his carriage only to hand Lilian into it.</p> + +<p>"You will call sometimes to see how your ward does," he +said good-humoredly to the elder Mr. Grahame, but to Michael +not a word. He had determined to discourage, and, if possible, +completely to overthrow any intimacy which Mr. Grahame had +acknowledged to him was not unattended with danger. Mr. +Trevanion was a man of liberal mind, yet he was not wholly +free from the prejudices of his class, which made the highest +happiness the result of the highest social position. There is in +the mind of man so unconquerable a desire for the unattainable, +that it is not wonderful perhaps that this opinion should be entertained +by those who do not occupy that position; but to +those who do, we should suppose its fallacy would stand out too +glaringly to be doubted or denied. We are far from denying +the advantages of rank and wealth: but we view them not as +an end, but as a means for the attainment of an end, and that +end, not happiness, except as happiness is indissolubly connected +with the perfection of our own powers, and with the extension +of our usefulness to others. He who, like Michael Grahame, +can command the means of intellectual cultivation and refinement, +and a fair arena for the exercise of his powers, when thus +cultivated, need not envy the possessor of larger fortune and +higher station with his weightier responsibilities and greater +temptations.</p> + +<p>Michael Grahame understood Mr. Trevanion's coolness, but +he was not one to retreat from an unfought field. Three days +had scarcely given to Lilian the feeling of ease in her new home, +when he called on her. He had chosen morning, as the hour +when others would be the least likely to dispute her attention with +him. She was at home—Mrs. and Miss Trevanion were out—and +a long <i>tête-à-tête</i> almost reconciled him to her new abode. +He had not forgotten his father's advice, nor taken the seal from<a class='page' name ='Page_184' id='Page_184' title='184'> </a> +his lips. He might not speak to her of love, but the nicest +honor did not forbid him to show her the true sympathy and +affection of a friend. In a few days he called again, and at the +same hour; Miss Devoe was not at home, she had gone out +with Mrs. and Miss Trevanion. Again the next day he came +at the same hour, and the answer was the same. He called +in the afternoon at five o'clock, and she was at dinner; at seven +o'clock, she was preparing for an evening party, and begged he +would excuse her. "I will seek no more," said Michael Grahame +at length, with proud determination, "to enter the charmed +circle which shuts her from me in the city. They cannot +keep her to themselves always, and if Lilian's heart be what I +deem it, it will take more than a few months of absence to efface +from it the memories of years."</p> + +<p>A few days only after this determination, Lilian was called +down at nine o'clock in the morning, to see Mr. Grahame. +Early as it was, the furtive glance towards her mirror and the +hasty adjustment of her ringlets, might have suggested to an +observer, that she hoped to receive in her visitor one who had +an eye for beauty; and the sudden change that passed over her +countenance as she entered the parlor in which her two guardians +sat in earnest talk, would have awakened strong suspicions +that she did not see <i>the Mr. Grahame</i> whom she had +expected. Mr. Trevanion rose as she entered, and shaking +hands with Mr. Grahame, said kindly, "I leave you with Lilian, +Mr. Grahame, but I hope to see you again at dinner—we dine +at five."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir, but I hope to be taking tea with my good +woman at home at that hour."</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall hope to see you again soon—you must call +often and see your friend Lilian."</p> + +<p>"Why, I've been thinking, sir, that that would hardly be best +for any of us—and to tell the truth, I came to-day to talk with<a class='page' name ='Page_185' id='Page_185' title='185'> </a> +Lilian about that very thing, and if you please, I have no objection +that you should hear what I have to say."</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevanion seated himself again, and Lilian placing +herself on the sofa beside him, Mr. Grahame resumed:—"It +seems to me, sir, that Lilian has to choose between two kinds +of life, which, should she try to put them together will only +spoil one another, and I want her to have a fair chance to judge +between them. Now, you know, sir, I speak the truth when I +say that there are many among the fine gay people whom Lilian +will meet at your house, who would look down upon her for +having such friends as I and my wife, or even my son, though +President B—— says he will be a distinguished man yet."</p> + +<p>"I do not care for such people, or for what they think," +exclaimed Lilian indignantly.</p> + +<p>"I dare say not, my dear child, and yet they are people who +are thought a great deal of, and whom, if you are to live +amongst them, it would be worth your while to please—but +that isn't my main point, Lilian. What I want to say, though +I seem to be long coming at it, is, that I want you to see this +gay life that fine folks in the city lead, at its best—without any +such drawbacks as it would have for you, if you were suspected +of having ungenteel acquaintances, and so we shall none of us +come to see you—barring you should be sick, or something +else happen to make you want us—until you make a fair trial, +for six months at least, of this life—then should the beautiful, +rich Miss Devoe like the old gardener and his family well enough +to come and see them, she will learn how fondly and truly they +love their Lilian."</p> + +<p>"I had hoped you loved her too well to give her up so +needlessly for six months, or even for one month," said Lilian, +tears rushing to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ask Mr. Trevanion if I am not right in what I have said, +my dear child," said Mr. Grahame tenderly.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_186' id='Page_186' title='186'> </a>"I will not dispute the correctness of your principles in the +main, Mr. Grahame, but I hope you do not think that all Lilian's +<i>fine</i> acquaintances as you call them, would be so unjust in their +judgment as to think the less of her for her love of you, or to +undervalue you on account of your position in life."</p> + +<p>"No sir—no sir—I don't think so of all—but I want Lilian +to see this life without even one little cloud upon it—such a +cloud as the being looked down upon, though it were by people +she didn't greatly admire, would make. We have our pride +too, sir, and we want Lilian to try for herself whether our friendship, +with all its good and its bad, be worth keeping. She is +too good and affectionate, we know, to shake off old friends +that love her, even if they become troublesome—but we will +draw ourselves off, and then she will be free to come back to +us or not, as she pleases. Now, sir, tell me frankly, if you think +me wrong."</p> + +<p>"Not wrong in principle, as I said before, Mr. Grahame, but—excuse +me—you required me to be frank—would it not have +been better to have made this withdrawal gradually and quietly, +in such a manner that Lilian would not have noticed it, instead +of giving her the pain of this abrupt severance of the ties between +you?"</p> + +<p>"A great deal better, sir," said Mr. Grahame, coloring with +wonderful feeling, and fixing his clear, keen eye full on Mr. +Trevanion,—"a great deal better if I wished to sever those ties—a +great deal better if I would have Lilian believe that we had +grown cold and indifferent to her. But, my dear child," and +he turned to her, and taking both her hands, spoke very earnestly—"believe +me, when I tell you, that you will find few +among those who see you every day, that love you so warmly +as the friends who have loved you from your birth, and who +now stand away from you only because they will not be in the +way of what the world considers higher fortunes for you if you<a class='page' name ='Page_187' id='Page_187' title='187'> </a> +desire them. To leave you free to choose for yourself, is the +strongest proof of love we could give you, and I repeat, when +you have tried all that this new life has to give you—tried it +for six months—if your heart still turns with its old love to +those early friends, you will give them joy indeed."</p> + +<p>Mr. Grahame paused, but neither Mr. Trevanion nor Lilian +attempted to reply to him for some minutes—at length she +raised her eyes, and said,</p> + +<p>"You did not think of this when I left you—what has +changed your mind—I will not say your <i>heart</i>—towards me?"</p> + +<p>"You are right not to say our hearts, Lilian; but, indeed, +even my mind has not been changed—I thought then as I +think now—but I could not persuade others of our family to +think with me. Now, however, they all feel that they cannot +keep up their old friendly intercourse with you without mortification +to themselves, and pain to you. And, as I said before, +we were none of us willing to withdraw from that intercourse +without giving you our reasons for it, lest you should think we +had grown indifferent to you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Grahame soon departed, leaving Lilian saddened and +Mr. Trevanion perplexed by his visit. "Singular old man!" +this gentleman exclaimed to himself more than once, in reflecting +on all that Mr. Grahame had said; so difficult is it for those +whose minds have been forced into the strait forms of conventionalism +to comprehend the dictates of untrammelled common +sense, on points which that conventionalism undertakes to +control. One thing at least Mr. Trevanion did comprehend—that +on the succeeding six months depended Lilian's choice of +her position and associates for life.</p> + +<p>"So far Mr. Grahame is right Lilian," he said to her, "you +cannot have a place at once in two such different spheres as his +and ours. I always knew that to be impossible."</p> + +<p>"You called my father friend," said Lilian, with unusual +boldness.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_188' id='Page_188' title='188'> </a>"Your father was a gentleman by birth and breeding."</p> + +<p>"And he has told me," persisted Lilian, "that he has never +known more true refinement and even nobility of mind than in +Mr. Grahame."</p> + +<p>"I agree with him—of <i>mind</i>, mark—but there is a want of +conventional refinement which would make itself felt in society."</p> + +<p>"There is no want even of this in his son," said Lilian with +a trembling voice, and turning away to hide the blush that +burned upon her cheek.</p> + +<p>"Probably not, for Michael Grahame has been for years at +the best schools, with the sons of our first families—but we cannot +separate him from his father, and from the associates which +his trade has given him."</p> + +<p>Neither Mr. Trevanion nor Lilian ever spoke on this subject +again; but the former resolved that no effort should be lost on +his part to restore one so beautiful and so accomplished as his +young ward to what he considered her true place in society, +and the latter was as firmly determined that nothing should +make her forgetful of the friends of her childhood. In furtherance +of this resolve, Mr. Trevanion, instead of retiring to his +country-seat with his family on the approach of summer, sent +his younger children thither under the care of their faithful and +intelligent nurse; and with Mrs. and Miss Trevanion, and +Lilian, set out for Saratoga, at that season the great focus of +fashion. Mrs. Trevanion, entering fully into his designs, had +attended to Lilian's equipments for this important campaign, +with no less care than to Anna's, and the result equalled their +fondest expectations. Lilian was <i>the beauty</i>, <i>the heiress</i>, the +belle of the season. Report exaggerated her fortune, appended +all sorts of romantic incidents to her history and her connection +with the Trevanions, and thus increased the interest which her +own beauty and modest elegance was calculated to awaken.<a class='page' name ='Page_189' id='Page_189' title='189'> </a> +Admirers crowded around her, and to render her triumph complete, +one who had hitherto found no charms in America +worthy his homage, bowed at her shrine. This was Mr. +Derwent, an Englishman of high birth and large fortune, whose +elegant exterior, and the perfect <i>savoir faire</i> which marked his +manners, made him at Saratoga,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">"The observed of all observers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glass of fashion and the mould of form."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Mr. Trevanion looked on with scarcely concealed delight.</p> + +<p>"Why, father! do you wish to see Lilian leave us for England?" +cried Anna Trevanion, to whom he had expressed his +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my daughter, if only in that way I can see her +take that position which is hers by inheritance, and from which +only her father's misfortunes have estranged her."</p> + +<p>But Mr. Trevanion's hopes of so desirable a termination of +his cares for Lilian faded, as he saw the reserve with which she +met the attentions of her admirers—not excepting even the +admired Mr. Derwent.</p> + +<p>"Among the beauties at this place, Miss L—— D——, the +ward of Mr. T——, stands unrivalled. She is an heiress as +well as a beauty, but the report is that both the fortune and +the beauty are to be borne to another land, in the possession of +the Honorable Mr. D——, whose personal qualities, united to +his station and fortune, render him, in the opinion of the ladies +at least, irresistible."</p> + +<p>Such was the paragraph in a New-York daily paper, which +Mr. Trevanion one morning handed to Lilian with a smile. +She read it silence, and laid it down without a comment, except +that which was furnished by the proud erection of her +figure, and the almost scornful curl of her lip.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_190' id='Page_190' title='190'> </a>When next she met Mr. Derwent, Mr. Trevanion's eye was +on her, for he thought, "She cannot preserve her perfect indifference +of manner with the consciousness that their names +have been thus associated." He was mistaken. The color on +Lilian's cheek deepened not at Mr. Derwent's approach, nor did +her hand tremble as she laid it upon the arm he offered in attending +her to dinner. "Her heart must be already occupied," +said Mr. Trevanion to himself, and perhaps he was right in believing +that nothing but a deep and true affection—one which +was founded on no adventitious circumstances, but on the immovable +basis of esteem—could have enabled her to resist the +blandishments which surrounded her in her present position. +But she did resist them, and still, from the luxurious elegancies, +the gay entertainments and the flatteries of fashionable +life, her heart turned with undiminished tenderness to the tranquil +shades of Mossgiel, and still paid there its willing homage +to the loftiest intellect and the noblest heart, in her estimation, +with which earth was blessed.</p> + +<p>September, with its cool, invigorating freshness, had come, +when Mr. Trevanion's family returned to the city. To Lilian's +great, though unspoken disappointment, the children met them +there, and no thought seemed to be entertained of a visit to the +country. Carefully she had kept the date of Mr. Grahame's +conversation, in which he had demanded that she should make +a six months' trial of life, freed from the associations which her +early poverty had fastened on her. In a few weeks after her +return to New-York, the six months were completed. On the +day preceding its exact completion, Lilian expressed to Mr. +Trevanion her wish to visit Mossgiel. "It is now six months," +she said with a blush and a smile, "since I saw Mr. Grahame."</p> + +<p>Whatever might have been Mr. Trevanion's wishes for his +ward, he had neither the right nor the will to control her +actions, and he not only consented to her going, but went down<a class='page' name ='Page_191' id='Page_191' title='191'> </a> +with her himself to Trevanion Hall, where they arrived late in +the evening.</p> + +<p>Lilian knew that the inhabitants of Mossgiel kept early +hours, and the gay pink and blue and white convolvuluses, +which arched the rude gate leading from the more public road +into the rural lane by which their house was approached, had +just unfolded their petals, when she rode through it on the +morning succeeding her arrival at Trevanion Hall. She had +declined the attendance of a servant, and set off at a brisk +canter, but soon reined in her horse and proceeded at a slower +pace. Hope and fear were busy at her heart. Six months! +What changes might not have taken place in that time! Again +Lilian touched her horse with her light riding-whip, and rode +briskly on till she reached the gate of which we have spoken. +Here she alighted to open the gate. As she entered the lane +she saw, not far in advance of her, a boy who had been hired to +assist Mr. Grahame in the garden. She called to him, and +giving him her bridle to lead her horse to the stable, walked +on herself towards the house, which was little more than a +hundred yards distant. After walking a few steps, she turned +to ask, "Are Mr. and Mrs. Grahame well?"</p> + +<p>Another question trembled on her lips—but she could not +speak it. "If <i>he</i> love me, he will be here," she whispered to +herself, and again passed on. The road wound around the +house, and led to the entrance on the river front. There was a +side gate leading to the garden, and there, at that hour, Lilian +knew she would most probably meet the elder Mr. Grahame, +while his wife was almost certain to be found in the dairy, to +which the same gate would give her access; but the gate was +passed with a light, quick step, and Lilian entered the house at +the front. With a fluttering heart, but a steady purpose, she +passed on, without meeting any one, or hearing a sound, to the +usual morning room. The door was open; she entered, and<a class='page' name ='Page_192' id='Page_192' title='192'> </a> +her heart throbbed exultingly, for <i>he</i> was there. Michael Grahame +sat at a table writing. His back was towards the door, +and her light step had given no notice of her presence. Agitated +by a thousand commingled emotions, wishing, yet dreading to +meet his eye, she stood gazing on his face as it was reflected in +an opposite mirror. It seemed to her paler and graver than of +yore. Manhood had stamped its lines more deeply on the brow +since last they parted. But some movement, a sigh, perhaps, +from her, has startled him. He raises his head, and in the +mirror their eyes meet. In that glance her whole soul has +been revealed, and with one glad cry of "Lilian! my Lilian!" +he turns, and she is folded in his arms.</p> + +<p>There was no more doubt, no more fear, on her part—no +concealment on his. She had chosen freely and nobly, and she +was rewarded by love as deep, as devoted, and as unselfish as +ever woman inspired, or man felt.</p> + +<p>The marriage of Lilian, which took place in three months +after her return to Mossgiel, could not but excite some interest +in the world in which she had so lately occupied a conspicuous +place. When, however, to the great question—"Who is this +Mr. Grahame?" the answer, "Nothing but a mechanic," was +received—the interest soon faded away, and in the winter Lilian +found herself in New-York, with scarcely an acquaintance, +except the Trevanions, and she could easily perceive that something +of pity was mingled with their former kindness. Yet +never had Lilian been less an object of pity. Every day increased +not only her affection to her husband, but her pride in +him, by revealing to her more of his high powers and noble +qualities. Those powers had received a new spring from his +desire to prove himself worthy of his cherished wife. He had +long been occupied with a problem whose solution, he believed, +would enable him to increase greatly both the speed and safety +of steam navigation. In the early part of the winter succeeding<a class='page' name ='Page_193' id='Page_193' title='193'> </a> +his marriage, with a glad spirit, with which Lilian fully sympathized, +he cried "Eureka." Before the winter concluded he had +been to Washington, and explaining to the officers of our own +government the importance of his invention, sought permission +to test it on a government vessel. After many delays, with that +short-sighted policy which cannot look beyond the present expense +to the overpaying results, the proposition was declined. +During his stay in Washington, his object had become noised +abroad, and the Russian Minister had opened a correspondence +with him and with his own court on the subject. The result of +this correspondence was, that in the following spring Michael +Grahame sailed for Russia, to test his invention first in the +service of its emperor. He was accompanied by Lilian. Their +departure and its object were talked of for awhile, but soon +ceased to be remembered, except by men of science, and those +immediately interested in the result of his experiment.</p> + +<p>In the mean time Anna Trevanion married. Her husband, +Mr. Walker, was a man of large property, and of social position +equal to her own. They spent the first two years of their married +life abroad. It was in the second of these two years, and +when Lilian had been four years in St. Petersburgh, that Mr. +and Mrs. Walker entered that city. One of their first inquiries +of the American Minister was, "What Americans are here?" +and at the head of the list he presented, stood Mr. and Mrs. +Grahame. "And who are Mr. and Mrs. Grahame?" asked Mr. +Walker. "You say they are from New-York, and I remember +no such names of any consequence in society there."</p> + +<p>"I do not know what their consequence was there, but I +assure you it is as great here as the partiality of the Emperor, +the favor of the Imperial family, and their association with the +highest rank, can make it."</p> + +<p>"But how did people unknown at home work themselves +into such a position?"</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_194' id='Page_194' title='194'> </a>"They did not work themselves into it all—they took it at +once, by the only right which Americans have to any position +abroad—the right of their own fitness for it. Mr. Grahame, +besides his high attainments in science, and his skill in mechanics, +which first introduced him to the Emperor, is a man of +fine appearance, of very extensive information, and very agreeable +manners, and Mrs. Grahame is one of the most beautiful +and cultivated women I know. I repeat, you cannot enter +society here under better auspices than theirs."</p> + +<p>And thus the long-severed friends met in reversed positions; +and if something of triumph did flash from Lilian's eyes, as she +saw her husband, day after day, procuring from the Emperor's +favor, privileges for Mr. and Mrs. Walker, not often enjoyed by +strangers, her triumph was for him, and may be excused.</p> + +<p>After eight years spent in Russia, during which he had acquired +fortune as well as fame, Michael Grahame returned to +America, with his wife and three lovely children, and retired to +a beautiful country seat within a mile of Mossgiel, purchased +and furnished for him during his absence. His father still +cultivates his garden, though he has ceased to sell its produce, +and through those flowery walks Lilian and her husband still +delight to wander, recalling the happy memories with which +they are linked, with grateful and adoring hearts.</p> + +<p>"I shall never object again to any woman in whom I am +interested, marrying the man of her choice, because he is only +a mechanic," said Mrs. Trevanion to her husband, as they were +returning one day from a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Grahame.</p> + +<p>"There, my dear, in those words, <i>only a mechanic</i>, lies our +mistake, the world's mistake, in such matters. No man is <i>only</i> +what his trade, his profession, or his position in life makes him. +Every man is something besides this, something by force of his +own inherent personal qualities. By these the true man is +formed, and by these he should be judged."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_195' id='Page_195' title='195'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XII.</a></h2> + + +<p>Again we were all assembled in the parlor in which so many +of our cheerful evenings had been spent, but a shadow seemed to +have fallen on our little circle. The New-Year was now close +in its approach, and immediately after the commencement of +the New-Year we must separate. Mr. and Mrs. Dudley, with +their children, and Mr. and Mrs. Seagrove, with theirs, and +Mr. Arlington and I, must all leave within a day or two +of each other, and a year, with all its chances and changes, will +probably intervene before we meet again. The very thought, +as I have said, threw a shadow upon us; but Col. Donaldson, +who is a most inveterate foe to sadness, would not suffer us to +yield unresistingly to its influence. If our time was short, the +greater the necessity for crowding enjoyment into its every +moment, he said: we could spare none of it for lamentations.</p> + +<p>"Now, Aunt Nancy," he continued, "if I am not mistaken, +you can match Mr. Arlington's story with one quite as romantic, +of an extraordinary marriage in high life. Do you remember +Lady Houstoun and her son Edward Houstoun—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" I cried, interrupting him, "and the beautiful +Lucy Watson too."</p> + +<p>"Then I am sure you must have their story somewhere in +your bundle of romances."</p> + +<p>"I believe I have," I replied, as opening my desk I drew<a class='page' name ='Page_196' id='Page_196' title='196'> </a> +out package after package, the amusement of many an hour, +which but for such a resource might have been sad in its loneliness. +Some were looking fresh and new, and others yellow +from age. Among the latter was that for which I was searching, +and which Annie insists that I shall give to the reader, +under the title of</p> + + +<h3><a name="LOVE_AND_PRIDE" id="LOVE_AND_PRIDE"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">LOVE AND PRIDE.</a></h3> + +<p>A proud and stately dame was Lady Houstoun, as she continued +to be called after the independence of America had +rendered such titles valueless in our land. Sir Edward Houstoun +was an English baronet, whose estates had once been a fit +support to his ancient title, but whose family had suffered +deeply, both in purse and person, by their loyalty to Charles +the First, and yet more by their obstinate adherence to his bigot +son, James II. By a marriage with Louisa Vivian, an American +heiress possessed of broad lands and a large amount of ready +money, Sir Edward acquired the power of supporting his rank +with all the splendor that had belonged to his family in the +olden time; but circumstances connected with the poverty of +his early years had given the young baronet a disgust to his +own circle, which was not alleviated by the rapid changes +effected by his newly-acquired wealth, and he preferred returning +to America with his young bride, and adopting her country +as his own. Here wealth sufficient for their most extravagant +desires was theirs—houses in New-York, and fertile acres +stretching far away from the city, now sweeping for many a +rood the banks of the fair Hudson, and now reaching back into +the rich lands that lie east of that river. When the separation +of this country from England came, the representative of her +most loyal family, whose motto was "<i>Dieu et mon Roi</i>" was +found in the ranks of republican America. "He could not,"<a class='page' name ='Page_197' id='Page_197' title='197'> </a> +he said, "recognize a divine right in the House of Hanover to +the throne of the Stuarts, or justify by any human reason the +blind subservience of Americans to the ruinous enactments of +an English parliament, controlled by a rash and headstrong +minister and a wayward king." Ten years after the proclamation +of peace Sir Edward died, leaving one son who had just +entered his twentieth year.</p> + +<p>Young as Edward Houstoun was, he had a man's decision of +character; and when the question of his assuming his father's +title, and claiming the estates attached to it in England, was submitted +to him, he replied that "his proudest title was that of +an American citizen, and he would not forfeit that title to +become a royal duke." He could therefore inherit only his +father's personal property, consisting principally of plate, jewels +and paintings. The property thus received was all which the +young Edward Houstoun could call his own. All else was his +mother's, and though it would doubtless be his at her death, +the Lady Houstoun was not one to relinquish the reins of +government before that inevitable hour should wrest them from +her hand. She made her son a very handsome allowance, +however, and, with a higher degree of generosity than any +pecuniary grant could evince, she never attempted to control +his actions, suffering him to enjoy his sports in the country and +amusements in the city without constraint. The Lady Houstoun +was a wise woman, as well as an affectionate mother. She saw +well that her son's independent and proud nature might be +attracted by kindness to move whither she would, while the +very appearance of constraint would drive him in an opposite +direction. On one subject he greatly tried her forbearance—the +unbecoming levity, as she esteemed it, with which he regarded +the big-wigged gentlemen and hooped and farthingaled +ladies whose portraits ornamented their picture gallery. For +only one of these did Edward profess the slightest consideration.<a class='page' name ='Page_198' id='Page_198' title='198'> </a> +This was that of the simple soldier whose gallantry under +William the Conqueror had laid the foundation of his family +fortunes and honors.</p> + +<p>"Dear mother," said he one day, "what proof have we that +those other fine gentlemen and ladies deserved the wealth and +station which, through his noble qualities, they obtained?"</p> + +<p>"Sir James Houstoun, my son, who devoted life and fortune +to his king—"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, noble Sir James," interrupted Edward, +bowing low and with mock gravity to the portrait, "I will +place you and your stern-looking son there at your side next +in my veneration to our first ancestor. Yet you showed that, +like me, you had little value for wealth or station."</p> + +<p>"Edward!" ejaculated Lady Houstoun, in an accent of displeasure, +"that we are willing to sacrifice a possession at the +call of duty does not prove us insensible of its value."</p> + +<p>"Nay, mother mine, speak not so gravely, but acknowledge +that you would be prouder of your boy if you saw him by his +own energies winning his way to distinction from earth's +lowliest station, than you can be of him now—idler as he is."</p> + +<p>"There is no less merit, Edward, in using aright the gifts +which we inherit, than in acquiring them. There is as much +energy, I can assure you, demanded in the proper management +of large estates, and the right direction of the influence derived +from station—ay, often more energy, the exercise of higher +powers, than those by which a fortunate soldier, in time of war, +may often spring in a day from nameless poverty to wealth and +rank."</p> + +<p>The Lady Houstoun's still fine figure was elevated to its +utmost height as she spoke, and her dark eye flashed out from +beneath the shadow of the deep borders of her widow's cap. +A stranger would have gazed on her with admiration, but her +son turned away with a slight shrug of the shoulders and a<a class='page' name ='Page_199' id='Page_199' title='199'> </a> +curling lip, as he said to himself, "My mother may feel all this, +for she manages the estates, and she bestows the influence—while +I <i>amuse myself</i>. Mother," he added aloud, "they say +there is fine sport in the neighborhood of the Glen, and I should +like to see the place. I will take a party thither next week, if +you will write to your farmer to prepare the house for us."</p> + +<p>"I will, Edward, certainly, if you desire it, but it has been +so long since any of us were there, that I fear you will find +the house very uncomfortable."</p> + +<p>"So much the better, if it give us a little variety in our +smooth lives. I dare say we shall all like it very much. I +shall, at least, and if the rest do not, they can return."</p> + +<p>The Glen was a wild rural spot among the Highlands, +where Sir Edward had delighted occasionally to spend a few +weeks with his wife and child and one or two chosen friends, in +the enjoyment of country sports. For several years before his +father's death, Edward had been too much engaged in his +collegiate studies to share these visits. During the three years +which had passed since that event, neither Lady Houstoun nor +her son had visited the Glen, and it was not without emotion +that she heard him name his intention of taking a party thither; +but she offered no opposition to the plan, and in a little more +than a week he was established in the comfortable dwelling-house +there, with Walter Osgood; Philip Van Schaick, and +Peter Schuyler, companions who were soon persuaded to leave +the somewhat formal circles of the city for a few days of +adventure in the country. They had arrived late in the night, +and wearied by fifteen hours' confinement on board a small +sloop, the visitors slept late the next morning, while Edward +Houstoun, haunted by tender memories, was early awake and +abroad. Standing in the porch, he looked forth through the +gray light of the early dawn on hill and dale and river, +endeavoring to recall the feelings with which he had gazed on<a class='page' name ='Page_200' id='Page_200' title='200'> </a> +them seven years before. Then he was a boy of scarcely +sixteen, eager only for the holiday sport or the distinction of +the school-room—now, he stood there—a boy still, his heart +indignantly pronounced, though he had numbered nearly +twenty-three years. Edward Houstoun was beginning to wake +to somewhat of noble scorn in viewing his own position—beginning +to feel that to amuse himself was an object hardly +worthy a <i>man's</i> life. Turning forcibly from such thoughts, he +sprang down the steps, and pursued a path leading by the +orchard and through a flowery lane, towards the dwelling of +the farmer to whom the management of the Glen had been intrusted, +first by Sir Edward and afterwards by Lady Houstoun. +The sun was just touching with a sapphire tint the few clouds +that specked the eastern sky; the branches of the wild rose +and mountain laurel which skirted the lane on the right were +heavy with the dews of night, and the birds seemed caroling +their earliest song in the orchard and clover-field on the left, +yet the farmer's horses were already harnessed to the wagon, +and through the open door of the house Edward Houstoun as he +approached caught a glimpse of Farmer Pye himself and his +men seated at breakfast. As he was not perceived by them, +he passed on, without interrupting them, to the dairy, where +the good dame was busy with her white pails and bright pans. +A calico bonnet with a very deep front concealed his approach +from Mrs. Pye until he stood beside her; but there was one +within the dairy who saw him, and whose coquettish movement +in snatching from her glossy brown ringlets a bonnet of the +same unbecoming shape with that of Mrs. Pye, did not escape +his observation.</p> + +<p>"Well, now—did I ever see the like! Why, Mr. Edward, +you've grown clean out of a body's memory—but after all, nobody +couldn't help knowing you that ever seen your papa, good +gentleman—how much you are like him!"</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_201' id='Page_201' title='201'> </a>Thus ran on Dame Pye, while Edward, except when compelled +by a question to attend to her, was wondering who the +fair girl could be, who was separated from her companion not +less by the tasteful arrangement of her dress—simple and even +coarse as it was in its material—and by a certain grace of movement, +than by her delicate beauty. Her form was slender in +proportion to its height, yet gave in its graceful outline promise +of a development "rich in all woman's loveliness;" and her face, +with its dark starry eyes, its clear, transparent skin, and rich, +waving curls of glossy brown, recalled so vividly to Edward +Houstoun's memory his favorite description of beauty, that he +repeated almost audibly:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"One shade the more, one ray the less,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had half impair'd the nameless grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That waves in every glossy tress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or softly lightens o'er her face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where thoughts serenely sweet express<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How pure, how dear their dwelling-place."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>His admiration, if not audible, was sufficiently evident to +its object—at least so we interpret her tremulous and uncertain +movements, the eloquent blood which glowed in her cheeks, +and the mistakes which at length aroused Mrs. Pye's attention.</p> + +<p>"Why, Lucy! what under the sun and earth's the matter +with you, child? Dear—dear—to go putting the cream into +the new milk, instead of emptying it into the churn! There—there—child—better +go in now—I'll finish—and just tell Mr. +Pye that Mr. Edward is here," said Mrs. Pye, fearful of some +new accident.</p> + +<p>The discarded bonnet was put on with a heightened color, +and the young girl moved rapidly yet gracefully toward the +house.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_202' id='Page_202' title='202'> </a>"I did not remember you had a daughter, Mrs. Pye," said +Edward Houstoun, as she disappeared.</p> + +<p>"And I haven't a daughter—only the two boys, Sammy +and Isaac—good big boys they are now, and help their father +quite some—but this girl's none of mine, though I'm sure I love +her 'most as well—she's so pretty and nice, and has such handy +ways, though what could have tempted her to put the cream +in the new milk just now, I'm sure I can't tell."</p> + +<p>"But who is she, Mrs. Pye?"</p> + +<p>"Who is she? Why, sure, and did you never hear of Lucy +Watson? Oh! here's Mr. Pye."</p> + +<p>Edward Houstoun was too much interested in learning something +more of Lucy Watson, not to find a sufficient reason for +lingering behind the farmer, who was impatient to be in his +hay-field. Mrs. Pye was communicative, and he soon learned +all she knew—that Lucy was the daughter of a soldier belonging +to a company commanded by Sir Edward Houstoun during +the war—that this soldier had received his death-wound in defending +his commander from a sword-cut, and that Sir Edward +had always considered his widow and only child as his especial +charge. The widow had soon followed her husband to the +grave, and the child had been placed by Sir Edward with the +wife of a country clergyman. To Mr. and Mrs. Merton, Lucy +had been as an own and only daughter.</p> + +<p>"The good old people made quite a lady of her," said Mrs. +Pye. "She can read and write equal to the parson himself, +and I've hearn folks say that her 'broidery and music playin' +was better than Mrs. Merton's own; but, poor thing! Mrs. +Merton died, and still the parson begged Sir Edward to let her +stay with him—she was all that was left now, he said—so Sir +Edward let her stay. Mr. Merton died a year ago, and when +Mr. Pye wrote to the lady—that's your mother, Mr. Edward—about +her, she said she'd better come here and stay with us, and<a class='page' name ='Page_203' id='Page_203' title='203'> </a> +she would pay her board, and give her money for clothes, and +five thousand dollars beside, whenever she should get married. +I'm sure she's welcome to stay, if it was without pay, +for we all love her, but, somehow, it don't seem the right place +for her—and, as to marrying, I don't think she'll ever marry +any body around her, for, kind-spoken as she is, they wouldn't +any of them dare to ask her, though they're all in love with her +beautiful face."</p> + +<p>In a week Edward Houstoun's friends had grown weary of +ruralizing—they found no longer any music in the crack of a +fowling-piece, or any enjoyment in the dying agonies of the +feathered tribes, and, having resisted all their persuasions to return +with them, he was left alone.</p> + +<p>"I shall report you as love-sick, or brain-sick, reclining by +purling streams, under shady groves, to read Shakspeare, or +Milton, or Spenser, for each of these books I have seen you at +different times put in your pocket, and wander forth with a +most sentimental air—doubtless to make love to some Nymph +or Dryad."</p> + +<p>"Make love! Ah! there, I take it, you have winged the +right bird, Van Schaick."</p> + +<p>"If I had seen a decent petticoat since we took leave of +Mynheer Van Winkle and his daughter, on board the good +sloop St. Nicholas, I should think so too, Osgood."</p> + +<p>"At any rate, it would be wise to report our suspicions to +his lady mother."</p> + +<p>"Your suspicions of what—lunacy or love?" asked Edward +Houstoun.</p> + +<p>"A distinction without a difference—they are equivalent +terms."</p> + +<p>Thus jested his friends, and thus jested Edward Houstoun +with them—well assured that no gleam of the truth had shined +on them—that they never supposed his visits at Farmer Pye's<a class='page' name ='Page_204' id='Page_204' title='204'> </a> +possessed any greater attraction than could be derived from the +farmer's details of improvements made at the Glen, of the increased +value of lands, or the proceeds of the last year's crop. +They had never seen Lucy Watson, and how could they suspect +that while the farmer smoked his pipe at the door, and the +good dame bustled about her household concerns, he sat watching +with enamored eyes the changes of a countenance full of +intelligence and sensibility, and listening with charmed ears to +a soft, musical voice recounting, with all the simple eloquence +of genuine feeling, obligations to the father whose memory was +with him almost an idolatry. Still less could they divine that +Shakspeare, and Milton, and Spenser were indeed often read +beside a purling stream, and within the dense shadow of a +grove of oak and chestnut-trees—not to Nymph or Dryad, but +to a "mortal being of earth's mould,"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A creature not too bright or good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For human nature's daily food,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For simple pleasures, harmless wiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For love, blame, kisses, tears and smiles."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Here, one afternoon, a fortnight after the departure of his +friends, sat Edward Houstoun with Lucy at his side. They had +lingered till the sunlight, which had fallen here and there in +broken and changeful gleams through over-arching boughs, +touching with gold the ripples at their feet, had faded into that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">"mellow light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which heaven to gaudy day denies."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Edward Houstoun held a book in his hand, but it had long +been closed, while he was engaged in a far more interesting +study. He had with a delicate tact won his companion to +speak as she had never spoken before of herself—not of the<a class='page' name ='Page_205' id='Page_205' title='205'> </a> +few events of her short life, for these were already known to +him, but of the influence of those events on feeling and character. +Tenderness looked forth without disguise from the +earnest eyes which were fastened on her, as he said, "You +say, Lucy, that you have found friends every where, have met +only kindness, and yet you weep—you are sad."</p> + +<p>"Do not think me ungrateful," she replied. "I have indeed +found friends and kindness—but these give exercise only +to my gratitude—stronger, tenderer affections I have, which no +father, or mother, or brother, or sister, will ever call forth."</p> + +<p>"Nay, Lucy, were you not adopted by my father, and am I +not your brother?"</p> + +<p>A glance whose brightness melted into tears was her only +answer.</p> + +<p>"Fie! fie! tears again? I shall have to scold my sister," +said Edward Houstoun. "What complaint can you make now +that I have found you a brother?"</p> + +<p>Lucy laughed, but soon her face grew grave, and, after a +thoughtful pause, she said, "I believe those cannot be quite +happy who feel that they have nothing to do in the world. +Better be the poorest drudge, with powers fitted to your station, +than to be as I am, an idler—a mere looker-on at the world."</p> + +<p>"Why, Lucy! what else am I?"</p> + +<p>"You! You, with fortune to bless, and influence to guide +hundreds! What are you? God's representative to your less +fortunate fellow-creatures—the steward of his bounty. Oh! be +sure that you use your gifts faithfully."</p> + +<p>Lucy spoke solemnly, and it was with no light accent that +Edward Houstoun replied—"You mistake, Lucy—you mistake—I +am in truth no less an idler than yourself—a looker-on, +with no part in the game of life. To the Lady Houstoun belong +both the fortune and the influence." A mocking smile +had arisen to his lip, but, as he caught her look of surprise, it<a class='page' name ='Page_206' id='Page_206' title='206'> </a> +passed away, leaving a gentle gravity in its place, while he continued—"Do +not think I mean to complain of my mother, +Lucy. She has been ever affectionate and indulgent to me. +She leaves me no want that she can perceive. My purse is +always full, and my actions unrestrained. I suppose I ought +to be happy."</p> + +<p>"And are you not happy?"</p> + +<p>"No, Lucy, no! There has long been a vague restlessness +and dissatisfaction about me—and, now, your words have +thrown light on its cause. I am weary of the perpetual holiday +which life has been to me since I left the walls of a college. +I want to be doing—I want an object—something for which +to strive and hope and fear—what shall it be, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard Mr. Merton say that no one could choose for +another his aims in life, but were I choosing for myself, it should +be something that would connect me with the minds of others—something +by which I could do service to their spiritual +beings. Were I a man, I should like to write books—such +books as would give counsel and comfort to erring and sad +hearts—"</p> + +<p>Edward Houstoun shook his head—"Even had I an author's +gifts, Lucy, that would not do for me—I must have action in +my life—"</p> + +<p>"What say you to the pulpit?"</p> + +<p>"The noblest of all employments, Lucy—but it is a heavenly +employment and needs a heavenly spirit. I would not dare to +think of that. Try again—"</p> + +<p>"The law? Ah! now I see I have chosen rightly—you +will be a lawyer—a great lawyer, like Mr. Patrick Henry."</p> + +<p>"You have spoken, Lucy—and I will do my best to fulfil +your prophecy. I may not be a Patrick Henry—two such men +belong not to one age—but I may at least hew out for myself +a place among men, where I may stand with a man's freedom<a class='page' name ='Page_207' id='Page_207' title='207'> </a> +of thought and action. The very decision has emancipated me—has +emboldened me to speak what a moment since I scarcely +dared to think—nay, turn not from me, beloved—oh how passionately +beloved! Life has now its object for me, Lucy—your +love—for that I will strive—hope—whisper me that I +need not fear—that when I have a right to claim my bride—"</p> + +<p>When Edward Houstoun commenced this passionate apostrophe, +he had clasped Lucy's hand, and, overcome by his +emotions and her own—forgetting all but his love—conscious +only of a bewildering joy—she had suffered it to rest for one +instant in his clasp. It was but for one instant—the next, struggling +from him as he strove to retain her, she started to her +feet, and stood leaning against the trunk of the tree that overshadowed +them, with her face hidden by her clasped hands. +He rose and drew near, saying, in low, tremulous tones—"Lucy, +what means this?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Houstoun," she exclaimed, removing her hands from +her face, and wringing them in passionate sorrow—"how could +you speak those words?"</p> + +<p>"Wherefore should I not speak them—are they so terrifying +to you, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"Can they be otherwise, since they must separate us for +ever? Think you that the Lady Houstoun would endure that +the creature of her bounty should become the wife of her son?"</p> + +<p>"I asked, Lucy, that you would promise to be mine when +I had won a right to act independently of the Lady Houstoun's +opinions."</p> + +<p>"Has a son ever a right to act independently of a mother?"</p> + +<p>"Is the obedience of a child to be exacted from a man? Is +his happiness ever to be at the mercy of another's prejudices? +Does there never come a period when he may be permitted to +judge for himself?"</p> + +<p>Edward Houstoun spoke with indignant emphasis.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_208' id='Page_208' title='208'> </a>"Look not so sternly—speak not so angrily," exclaimed +Lucy. "I cannot answer your questions—but my obligations, +at least, are irreversible—they belong to the irrevocable past, +and while I retain their memory I can never—"</p> + +<p>"Hush—hush, Lucy! you will drive me mad. Is my happiness +of less value in your eyes than the few paltry dollars my +mother expended for you?"</p> + +<p>"Shall I, serpent-like, sting the hand that has fed me? No! +no! would I had never heard those words. We were so happy—you +will be happy again—but I—leave me, I pray you, for +we must part now and for ever—oh! leave me."</p> + +<p>"No, Lucy, we will never part—I will never leave you."</p> + +<p>He would again have drawn her to his side, but at his touch, +Lucy roused herself, and with a wild, half-frenzied effort, breaking +from him, she rushed rapidly, blindly forward. He would +have followed her, but stumbling against the root of a tree, +before he could recover himself she was at the outskirts of the +wood, in sight of the farm-house, and though he might overtake +he could not detain her. He returned home, not overwhelmed +with disappointment, but with joy throbbing at his heart, and +hope beaming in his eyes. Lucy loved him—of that he felt +assured—and bucklered by that assurance he could stand +against the world. Life was before him—a life not of sickly +pleasures and <i>ennui</i> breeding indolence—but a life of contest +and struggle and labor, perhaps even of exhausting labor, yet +a life which should awaken and discipline his powers: a life of +victory and of repose—sweet because won with effort—a life +to which Lucy's love should give its crowning joy. Such are +youth's dreams. In his case these dreams were somewhat +rudely dispelled by a summons from his mother's physician. +Lady Houstoun was ill—very ill—he must not delay, said the +physician; and he did not; yet a hastily pencilled line told that +even at this moment Lucy was not forgotten—it was a farewell +which breathed love and faith and hope.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_209' id='Page_209' title='209'> </a>On Edward Houstoun's arrival in New-York, he found his +mother already recovering from the acute attack which had +endangered her life and occasioned his recall. He soon unfolded +to her his new views of life, and the career which he had +marked out for himself. New views indeed—new and incomprehensible +to Lady Houstoun! She saw not that the life of +indulgence, the perpetual gala-day, which she anticipated for +her son, would have condemned him to see his highest powers +dwindle away and die in the lethargy of inaction, or to waste +in repinings against fate those energies given to command +success. Time moderated her astonishment, and quiet perseverance +subdued her opposition—subdued it the more readily, +perhaps, from the knowledge that her son could accomplish +his designs without her aid, by turning into money the plate, +jewels and pictures received from his father. Edward Houstoun's +first act, after securing the execution of his designs, was +to inform Lucy of the progress he had made. His own absence +from New-York at this time would have excited his +mother's surprise, and might have aroused her suspicions; but +the haste with which he had left the Glen furnished him with a +plausible excuse for sending his own man to look after clothing, +books, &c., that had been forgotten, and by him a letter could, +he knew, be safely sent.</p> + +<p>A few days brought back to him his own letter, with the +intelligence that Lucy had left Farmer Pye's family. Whither +she had gone, they could not, or would not tell. Setting all +fears at defiance, he went himself to the Glen—he sounded and +examined and cross-examined every member of the farmer's +family; but in vain were his efforts. He learned only that she +had declared her intention of supporting herself by her own exertions, +instead of continuing dependent on the Lady Houstoun—that +she had returned the lady's last donation, through the +farmer, with many expressions of gratitude, and that she had<a class='page' name ='Page_210' id='Page_210' title='210'> </a> +left home for the house of an acquaintance in New-York, from +whom she hoped to receive advice and assistance in the accomplishment +of her intentions. She had mentioned neither the +name nor place of residence of this friend, and though she had +written once to the good farmer, she had only informed him +that she had found a home and employment, without reference +to any person or place. Edward asked to see the letter—it +was brought, but the post-mark told no secret—it was that of +the nearest post town, and the farmer, opening the letter, showed +that Lucy had said she had requested the bearer to drop it into +that office. Who that bearer was, none knew. Bitter was the +disappointment of Edward Houstoun. A beautiful vision had +crossed his path, had awakened his noblest impulses, kindled +his passionate devotion, and then vanished for ever. But she +had left ineradicable traces of her presence. His awakened +energies, his passionate longings, his altered life, all gave assurance +that she had been—that the bright ideal of womanly +beauty and tenderness, and gentleness and firmness, which lived +in his memory, was no dream of fancy. He anticipated little +pleasure now from the pursuits on which he had lately determined, +but his pride forbade him to relinquish them, and when +once they had been commenced, finding in mental occupation +his Lethe, he abandoned himself to them with all his accustomed +ardor.</p> + +<p>Two years passed away with Edward Houstoun in the +most intense intellectual action, and in death-like torpor of the +affections. From the last his mother might have saved him, +had not her want of sympathy with his pursuits occasioned a +barrier of reserve and coolness to arise between them fatal to +her influence. During this time no token of Lucy's existence +had reached him: and it was with such a thrill as might have +welcomed a visitant from the dead, that, one morning as he +left his own house to proceed to the office in which he pursued<a class='page' name ='Page_211' id='Page_211' title='211'> </a> +his studies, he saw before him at some distance, yet without +any intervening object to interrupt his view of her, a form and +face resembling hers, though thinner and paler. The lady was +approaching him, with slow and languid steps; but as her +eyes were fixed upon the ground she did not perceive him, and +just as his throbbing heart exclaimed, "It is Lucy," and he +sprang forward to greet her, she entered a house and the door +closed on her. The inmates of that house were but slightly +known to him, as they had only lately moved into the street, +yet he hesitated not an instant in ringing the bell, and inquiring +of the servant who presented himself at the door, for Miss +Watson.</p> + +<p>"Miss Watson, sir?" repeated the man, "there is no such +person living here."</p> + +<p>"She may not live here, but I saw her enter your door, and +I wish to speak to her." At this moment Lucy crossed the +hall at its further end, and he sprang forward, exclaiming +"Lucy—Miss Watson—thank Heaven I see you once more!"</p> + +<p>A slight scream from Lucy, and the tremor which shook +her frame, showed her recognition of him. She leaned for an +instant against the wall, too faint for speech or action, while he +clasped her hand in his; but a voice broke in upon his raptures +and her agitation—a sharp, angry voice, coming from a +lady who, leaning over the balustrade of the stairs, had seen +and heard all that was passing below.</p> + +<p>"Lucy—Lucy—come up here—I am waiting for you—this +is certainly very extraordinary conduct—very extraordinary +indeed."</p> + +<p>"You shall not go," said Edward Houstoun, while the red +blood flushed to his brow at the thought that his Lucy could +be thus ordered. Lucy's face glowed too, and there was a +proud flush from her eye, yet she resisted his efforts to detain +her, and when he placed himself before her to prevent her<a class='page' name ='Page_212' id='Page_212' title='212'> </a> +leaving him, she opened a door near her, and though he +followed her quickly through it, he was just in time to see her +rushing up a private staircase. He would not leave the house +without an interview, and going into one of the parlors, he +rang the bell, and requested to see Mrs. Blakely, the lady of +the house. She came, looking very haughty and very angry. +He apologized for his intrusion, but expressed a wish to see a +young lady, Miss Watson, who was, he perceived, under her +care. With a yet haughtier air, Mrs. Blakely replied, "I am +not acquainted with any young <i>lady</i> of the name of Watson. +Lucy Watson, the girl whom you met in the hall just now—is +my seamstress. If you wish to see her, I will send her down +to you, though I do not generally allow my servants to receive +their visitors here."</p> + +<p>"I shall be happy to see her wherever you please," was Edward +Houstoun's very truthful reply.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Blakely left him, and he stationed himself at the door +to watch for Lucy. Minutes, which seemed to him hours, +passed, and she came not. At length, as he was about to ring +again, steps were heard approaching; he turned quickly, but +it was not Lucy. The girl who entered handed him a sealed +note. He tore it open and read—"I dare not see you. When +you receive this I shall have left the house, and, as no one +knows whither I have gone, questions would be useless."</p> + +<p>In an instant he was in the street, looking with eager eyes +hither and thither for some trace of the lost one. He looked +in vain, yet he went towards his office with happier feelings +than he had long known. He knew now where Lucy was, and +a thousand expedients suggested themselves, by which he could +not fail to see her. If he could only converse with her for a +few minutes, he was assured he could prevail on her to leave +her present position, of which he could not for a moment bear +to think. His heart swelled, his brow flushed, whenever the<a class='page' name ='Page_213' id='Page_213' title='213'> </a> +remembrance of that position flashed upon his mind, yet he +never for an instant regarded it as changing his relations with +Lucy, or lessening his desire to call her his. He recollected +with pleasure two circumstances which had scarcely been remarked +at the moment of their occurrence. The man who +had opened the door to him, when he saw him spring forward +to meet Lucy, had exclaimed, "Oh! it was <i>Miss</i> Lucy you +meant, sir;" and the girl who had handed the note had said, +"<i>Miss</i> Lucy has gone out, sir." It was evident she was not +regarded by the servants as one of themselves—she had not +been degraded by association with menials. This was true. +Lucy had made such separation on her part an indispensable +necessity, and Mrs. Blakely had been too sensible of the value +of one possessing so much taste and skill in all feminine adornments, +to hesitate about complying with her demand. This lady +was one of the <i>nouveaux riches</i>, who occupied her life in +scheming to attain a position to which neither birth nor education +entitled her. The brightest dream connected with her +present abode had been that its proximity to Lady Houstoun's +residence might lead to an acquaintance with one of the +proudest of that charmed circle in which Mrs. Blakely longed +to tread. Hitherto this had proved a dream indeed, but Edward +Houstoun's incursion into her domain, and the developments +made by it, might, she thought, with a little address, +render it a reality. It was with this purpose that she sent a +note to Lady Houstoun, requesting an interview with her on a +subject deeply connected with the honor of her family and the +happiness of her son. Immediately on despatching this note, +the servants were ordered to uncover the furniture in the drawing-room, +while she herself hastened to assume her most becoming +morning dress. Her labors were fruitless. "Lady +Houstoun would be at home to Mrs. Blakely till noon," was the +scarcely courteous reply to her carefully worded note. It was<a class='page' name ='Page_214' id='Page_214' title='214'> </a> +an occasion on which she could not afford to support her pride, +and she availed herself of the permission to call.</p> + +<p>The interview between Lady Houstoun and Mrs. Blakely +would have been an interesting study to the nice observer of character. +The efforts on the part of the one lady to be condescending, +and on that of the other to be dignified, were almost +equally successful. Mrs. Blakely had seldom felt her wealth of +so little consequence as in the presence of her commanding +yet simply attired hostess, and Lady Houstoun had never been +more disposed to assert the privileges of her rank, than when +she heard that her son had forgotten his own so far as to visit +on terms of equality—nay, if Mrs. Blakely were to be believed, +positively to address in the style of a lover—a seamstress—the +seamstress of Mrs. Blakely.</p> + +<p>"This is very painful intelligence to me, Mrs. Blakely—of +course you must be aware that Mr. Houstoun could only have +contemplated a temporary acquaintance with this girl. I do +not fear that in his most reckless moment he could have +thought of such a <i>mésalliance</i>—but this young woman must +be saved—she was a <i>protégé</i> of Sir Edward Houstoun, and for +his sake must not be allowed to come to harm—may I trouble +you to send her to me?"</p> + +<p>The request was given very much in the style of a command. +Mrs. Blakely would not confess that she had great +doubts of her power to comply with it, but this would have +been sufficiently evident to any one who had marked the uncertain +air and softened tone with which Lady Houstoun's +wishes were made known to Lucy. Indignant as she was at +Mrs. Blakely's impertinent interference, Lucy scarcely regretted +Lady Houstoun's acquaintance with her son's feelings. We do +not know that far below all those acknowledged impulses leading +her to comply with the lady's request, there did not lie +some romantic hope that influences were astir through which</p> + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<a class='page' name ='Page_215' id='Page_215' title='215'> </a><span class="i0">"Pride might be quell'd and love be free,"<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>but this she did not whisper even to her own heart.</p> + +<p>"Better that the lady should know all—she will act both +wisely and tenderly—perhaps for her son's sake, she will aid +me to leave New-York." Such was the only language into +which she allowed even her thought silently to form itself.</p> + +<p>Arranging her simple dress with as much care as though +she were about to meet her lover himself, Lucy set out for her +interview with Lady Houstoun. She had but a short distance +to traverse, but she lingered on her way, oppressed by a tremulous +anxiety. She was apprehensive of she knew not what +or wherefore—for again and again her heart acquitted her of +all blame. At length she is at the door—it opens, and, with +a courtesy which the servants of Mrs. Blakely never show to a +visitor who comes without carriage or attendants, she is ushered +into the presence of Lady Houstoun. The lady fixes her eyes +upon her as she enters, bows her head slightly in acknowledgment +of her courtesy, and says coldly, "You are the young +woman, I suppose, whom Mrs. Blakely was to send to me?"</p> + +<p>Lucy paused for a moment, to still the throbbing of her +heart, before she attempted to reply. The thought flashed +through her mind, "I am a woman, and young, and therefore +she should pity me"—but she answered in a low, sweet, tremulous +tone, "I am the Lucy Watson, madam, to whom Sir +Edward Houstoun was so kind."</p> + +<p>At that name a softer expression stole over the Lady +Houstoun's face, and she glanced quickly at a portrait hanging +over the ample fireplace, which represented a gentleman of +middle age, dressed in the uniform of a colonel of the American +army. As she turned her eyes again on Lucy, she saw +that hers were fastened on the same object.</p> + +<p>"You have seen Sir Edward?" she said in gentle tones.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_216' id='Page_216' title='216'> </a>"Seen him, lady!—I loved him—oh how dearly!"</p> + +<p>"Honored him would be a more appropriate expression."</p> + +<p>"I loved him, lady—we are permitted to love our God," +said Lucy, firmly.</p> + +<p>Lady Houstoun's brow grew stern again.—"And from this +you argue, doubtless, that you have a right to love his son."</p> + +<p>Lucy's pale face became crimson, and she bent her eyes to +the ground without speaking—the lady continued—"I scarcely +think that you could yourself have believed that Edward +Houstoun intended to dishonor his family by a legal connection +with you."</p> + +<p>The crimson deepened on Lucy's face, but it was now the +flush of pride, and raising her head she met Lady Houstoun's +eyes fully as she replied—"I could not believe that he ever +designed to dishonor himself by ruining the orphan child of +him who died in his father's defence."</p> + +<p>"And you have intended to avail yourself of his infatuation. +The menial of Mrs. Blakely would be a worthy daughter, +truly, of a house which has counted nobles among its members."</p> + +<p>"If I have resisted Mr. Houstoun's wishes—separated myself +from him, and resigned all hope of even looking on his face +again, it has not been from the slightest reverence for the nobility +of his descent, but from self-respect, from a regard to the +nobleness of my own spirit. I had eaten of your bread, lady, +and I could not do that which might grieve you—yet the +bread which had cost me so much became bitter to me, and I +left the home you had provided to seek one by my own honest +exertions. I have earned my bread, but not as a menial—not +in the companionship of the vulgar—and this Mrs. Blakely +could have told you."</p> + +<p>"If your determination were, as you say, to separate yourself +from Mr. Houstoun, it is unfortunate that you should have +taken up your residence so near us."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_217' id='Page_217' title='217'> </a>"I knew not until this morning that I was near you."</p> + +<p>"If you are sincere in what you say, you will have no objection +now to leave New-York."</p> + +<p>"I have no objection to go to any place in which I can +support myself in peace."</p> + +<p>"As to supporting yourself, that is of no consequence. I +will—"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Lady Houstoun, it is of the utmost consequence +to me. I cannot again live a dependent on your +bounty."</p> + +<p>"What can you do? Has your education been such that +you can take the situation of governess?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Merton was a highly educated man, and Mrs. Merton +an accomplished woman—it was their pleasure to teach me, +and mine to learn from them."</p> + +<p>"Accomplished! There stands a harp which has just been +tuned by a master for a little concert we are to have this +evening. Can you play on it?"</p> + +<p>Lucy drew the instrument to her and played an overture +correctly, yet with less spirit than she would have done had +her fingers trembled less.</p> + +<p>"Can you sing?"</p> + +<p>Elevated above all apprehension by the indignant pride +which this cold and haughty questioning aroused, Lucy +changed the music of the overture for a touching air, and, +sang, with a rich, full voice, a single stanza of an Italian +song.</p> + +<p>"Italian! Do you understand it?"</p> + +<p>"I have read it with Mr. Merton."</p> + +<p>"This is fortunate. I have been for weeks in search of a +governess for a friend residing in the country. I will order the +carriage and take you there instantly—or stay—return home +and put up your clothes. I will send a coach for you."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_218' id='Page_218' title='218'> </a>Again Lucy had vanished from Edward Houstoun's world, +nor could his most munificent bribes, nor most active cross-examination +win any other information from Mrs. Blakely's +household, than that "Miss Lucy went away in a carriage"—a +carriage whose description presented a <i>fac simile</i> to every +hackney-coach. Spite of all her precautions, he suspected his +mother; to his consciousness of her want of sympathy with +his pursuits, was therefore added a deep sense of injury, and +his heart grew sterner, his manner colder and more reserved +than ever. Two years more were passed in his studies, and a +third in the long delays, the fruitless efforts which mark the +entrance on any career of profitable exertion. During all this +time, Lady Houstoun was studious to bring around him the +loveliest daughters of affluence and rank. Graceful forms +flitted through her halls, and the music of sweet voices and +the gay laughter of innocent and happy hearts were heard +within her rooms, but by all their attractions Edward Houstoun +was unmoved. Courteous and bland to all, he never +lingered by the side of one—no quick flush, no flashing beam +told that even for a passing moment his heart was again awake. +Could it be that from all this array of loveliness he was +guarded by the memory of her who had stamped the impress +of herself on his whole altered being? If the gratification of +the man's sterner ambition could have atoned for the disappointment +of the youth's dream of love, the shadow of that +memory would have passed from his life. Step by step he had +risen in the opinions of men, and at length one of the most +profound lawyers of the day sought his association with himself +in a case of the most intense interest, involving the honor +of a lovely and much-wronged woman. His reputation out of +the halls of justice had already become such that many thronged +the court to hear him. Gallant gentlemen and fair ladies +looked down on him from the galleries—but far apart from<a class='page' name ='Page_219' id='Page_219' title='219'> </a> +these, in a distant corner, sat one whose tall form was enveloped +in a cloak, and whose face was closely veiled. Beneath +that cloak throbbed a mother's heart, and through that veil a +mother's eyes sought the face she loved best on earth. He +knew not she was there, for she rarely now asked a question +respecting his engagements, or expressed any interest in his +movements, yet how her ears drank in the music of his voice, +and her eyes flashed back the proud light that shone in his! +As she listened to his delineation of woman's claims to the +sympathy and the defence of every generous heart, as she +heard his biting sarcasm on the cowardly nature that, having +wronged, would now crush into deeper ruin his fair client, as +she saw kindling eyes fixed upon him, and caught, when he +paused for a moment exhausted by the rush of indignant feeling, +the low murmur of admiring crowds, how she longed to +cry aloud, "My son—my son!" He speaks again. Higher +and higher rises his lofty strain, bearing along with it the passions +of the multitude. He ceases—and, as though touched +by an electric shock, hundreds spring at once to their feet. +The emphatic "Silence!" of the venerable judge hushes the +shout upon their lips, but the mother has seen that movement, +and, bursting into tears of proud triumphant joy, she finds her +way below, and is in the street before the verdict which his +eloquence had won was pronounced.</p> + +<p>Edward Houstoun had fitted up a room in his mother's +house as a study, and over his accustomed seat hung his father's +portrait. To that room he went on his return from the scene +we have described. Beneath the portrait stood one who seldom +entered there. She turned at the opening of the door—the +lip, usually so firmly compressed, was quivering with emotion, +and those stern eyes were full of tears. She advanced to +him, drew near, and resting her head upon his shoulder whispered, +"I, too, am a woman needing tenderness—shut not<a class='page' name ='Page_220' id='Page_220' title='220'> </a> +your heart against me, my son, for without you I am alone in +the world."</p> + +<p>The proud spirit had bent, the sealed fountain was opened, +and as he clasped his arms around her, the tears of mother +and son mingled; but amidst the joy of this reunion Edward +Houstoun felt more deeply than he had done for long months +the desolation that had fallen on his life. His heart had been +silent—it now spoke again, and sad were its tones.</p> + +<p>It is summer. The courts are closed, and all who can are +escaping from the city's heat to the cool, refreshing shades of +the country. Woe to those who remain! The pestilence has +stretched her wings over them. The shadow and the silence +of death has fallen on their deserted streets. The yellow-fever +is in New-York—introduced, it is said, by ships from the West +Indies. Before it appeared Edward Houstoun was far away. +He was travelling to recruit his exhausted powers—to Niagara, +perhaps into Canada, and in the then slow progress of news +he was little likely to be recalled by any intelligence from the +city. His mother was one of the first who had sickened. And +where were now the fair forms that had encircled her in health—where +the servants who had administered with obsequious +attention to her lightest wish? All had fled, for no gratified +vanity—no low cupidity can give courage for attendance on the +bed of one in whose breath death is supposed to lurk. The +devotedness of love, the self-sacrifice of Christian Charity, are +the only impulses for such a deed. Yet over the sufferer is +bending one whose form in its perfect development has richly +fulfilled its early promise, and whose face is more beautiful in +the gentle strength and thoughtfulness of womanhood than it +had been in all its early brightness. In her peaceful home, +where the reverent love of her young pupils and the confidence +of their parents had made her happy, Lucy had heard from +one of Lady Houstoun's terrified domestics of the condition in<a class='page' name ='Page_221' id='Page_221' title='221'> </a> +which she had been left, and few hours sufficed to bring her to +her side. Days and nights of the most assiduous watchfulness, +cheered by no companionship, followed, and then the physician, +as he stood beside his patient and marked her regular +breathing, her placid sleep, and the moisture on her brow, whispered, +"You have saved her."</p> + +<p>We will not linger to describe the emotion with which +Lady Houstoun, awakening from this long and tranquil slumber, +exhausted, but no longer delirious, first recognised her +nurse. At first, no doubt, painful recollections were aroused, +but with the feebleness of childhood had returned much of its +gentleness and susceptibility, and Lucy was at once so tender +and so cheerful, that very soon her ministerings were received +with unalloyed pleasure.</p> + +<p>Sickness is a heavenly teacher to those who will open their +hearts to her. Lady Houstoun arose to a new life. She had +stood so near to death that she seemed to have looked upon +earth in the light of eternity. In that light, rank and title, with +all their lofty associations and splendid accompaniments, faded +away, while true nobleness, the nobleness which dwells in the +Christian precept "Love your enemies—do good to those that +despitefully use you," stood out in all its beauty and excellence.</p> + +<p>As soon as Lady Houstoun could be removed with safety, +she went, by the advice of her physician, to her country-seat. +Lucy would now have returned to her pupils—she feared every +day lest Edward Houstoun should appear, and a new contest +be necessary with his feelings and her own—but Lady Houstoun +still pleaded her imperfectly restored health as reason for another +week's delay, and Lucy could not resist her pleadings.</p> + +<p>It was afternoon, and Lucy sat in the library, which was +in the rear of the house, far removed from its public entrance. +Spenser's Faery Queen was in her hand, but she had turned +from its witching pages to gaze upon the title-page, on which<a class='page' name ='Page_222' id='Page_222' title='222'> </a> +was written, in Edward Houstoun's hand, "June 24th, 18—." +It was the day, as Lucy well remembered, on which he had +first revealed his love, and chosen his career in life. She was +aroused from her reverie by Lady Houstoun's entrance. As she +held the door open, the bright sunlight from an opposite window +threw a shadow on the floor which made Lucy's heart +throb painfully. She looked eagerly forward—a manly form +entered and stood before her. She could not turn from the +pleading eyes which were fixed with such intense earnestness +on hers. With a bewildered half-conscious air she rose from +her chair. He came near her and extended his arms. One +glance at the smiling Lady Houstoun showed Lucy that her +interdict was removed, and the next instant she lay in speechless +joy once more upon her lover's bosom.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_223' id='Page_223' title='223'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h2> + + +<p>We were within three days of the New Year. Mr. Arlington, +who was quite learned on the subject, had been amusing us +with an account of its various modes of celebration in various +countries. He was perfectly brilliant in a description of New-York +as seen under the sun of a clear, frosty New-Year's morning, +with snow enough to make the sleighing good. The gay, fantastic +sleighs, dashing hither and thither, and their exhilarated +occupants bowing now on this side and now on that, to acquaintances +rushing by almost too rapidly to be distinguished, +while the silvery bells ring out their merry peals on the still +air. Then the festive array which greets the caller at every +house within which he enters. Beauty adorned with smiles +and dress, gayly decorated tables, brightly burning fires, and +every thing seeming to speak the welcome not of mere form, +but of hearty hospitality. There is one aspect in which he +presents this day to us, that is peculiarly pleasing. He says, +that many a slight estrangement, springing from some one of +those "trifles" which "make the sum of human life," has been +prevented, by the influence of this day, from becoming a life-long +enmity. Thus the New-Year's day becomes a Peace-maker, +and has on it the blessing of Heaven. Long live the +custom which has made it such!</p> + +<p>"And how shall we celebrate our New-Year?" asked Col. +Donaldson.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_224' id='Page_224' title='224'> </a>"Let us introduce the New-York custom," suggested one.</p> + +<p>"That would not do without some previous agreement with +your neighbors," replied Mr. Arlington, "as their ladies would +not probably be prepared for your visits, and while you were +making them, the ladies of your own family would be left to +entertain themselves as they could."</p> + +<p>"That will never do," said Col. Donaldson; "better invite +all our neighbors to visit us on that day. Suppose we give +them a dinner?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, papa!" cried Miss Donaldson in dismay. And "My +dear husband!" ejaculated the smiling Mrs. Donaldson, "where +would you find room to accommodate them all?"</p> + +<p>"True—true—we could not dine them in the open air at +this season."</p> + +<p>"But there would be no such objection to an evening +party," said one of the young Donaldsons. "We have fine +sleighing now, and the moon rises only a little after eight on +New-Year's evening; why not invite them for the evening."</p> + +<p>"What, another such stiff affair as Annie insisted on entertaining +her friends the Misses Morrison with the last winter, +when I saw one of the poor girls actually clap her hands with +delight at the announcement of her carriage?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! Leave it to me, and it shall not be a stiff affair +at all. We will appear in fancy dresses—"</p> + +<p>"My dear Philip!" remonstrated Mrs. Donaldson.</p> + +<p>"Oh! not you, my dear mother, nor my father, unless he +should like it—indeed, it shall be optional with all—but enough, +I am sure, will like to make it an entertaining variety."</p> + +<p>"But where shall we get fancy dresses, distant as we are +from the city?" asked Annie.</p> + +<p>"Leave yours to me, Annie, I have it ready for you," said +Philip Donaldson, with so significant an air, that I at once suspected +this suggestion to have been the result of the arrival on<a class='page' name ='Page_225' id='Page_225' title='225'> </a> +that very day of a box, addressed to him by a ship from Constantinople, +of which he had hitherto made a great mystery.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Philip; but you cannot, I suppose, supply all +the company, and I had rather not be the only one in fancy +costume, if you please."</p> + +<p>"If mamma will surrender to me the key of that great +wardrobe, up stairs, which contains the brocade dresses, shoe-buckles, +knee-buckles, etc., of our great-grandfathers and grandmothers, +I will promise to supply dresses for our own party, at +least, with a little aid from the needles and scissors."</p> + +<p>"I bar scissors," cried Col. Donaldson. "Those venerable +heir-looms—"</p> + +<p>"Shall not lose a shred, sir," said Philip; "the scissors +shall only be used to cut the threads, with which the ladies +take in a reef here and there, when it is necessary."</p> + +<p>"But you have provided only for our party. Are our +guests not to be in costume?"</p> + +<p>"That may be as they please. We will express the wish, +and if they have any ingenuity, they can have no difficulty in +getting up some of the staple characters of such a scene, flower-girls +and shepherdesses, sailors, sultans, and beggars."</p> + +<p>The scheme seemed feasible enough, when thus presented, +and had sufficient novelty to please the young people. It was +accordingly adopted, and the evening was passed in writing invitations, +which were dispatched at an early hour the next +morning. The three succeeding days were days of pleasurable +excitement, in preparation for the fête. Needles and scissors +were both in active use, and the brocade dresses lost, I am +afraid, more than one shred in the process of adjusting them +to the figures for which they were now designed. Mrs. Dudley +and Mrs. Seagrove were thus arranged as rival beauties of the +court of Queen Anne. Philip Donaldson, with the aid of a +bag-wig, for which Mr. Arlington has written at his request to<a class='page' name ='Page_226' id='Page_226' title='226'> </a> +a friend, in what city I may not say, and with some of his +father's youthful finery, and the shoe and knee-buckles aforesaid, +will make an excellent beau for these belles. Col. Donaldson, +always ready for any harmless mirth, says they must accept +him in his father's continental uniform for another. Mr. Arlington +makes quite a mystery of his costume, but it is a mystery +already revealed, both to Col. Donaldson and Philip, as I +can plainly perceive by the significant glances they exchange +whenever an allusion is made to it. Robert Dudley is to be a +page, Charles Seagrove, a beautiful boy of six years old, an +Oberon, and our little Eva a Titania. Mrs. Donaldson and I +were permitted to appear in our usual dress, and Miss Donaldson +strenuously claimed the same privilege, but it was not allowed. +She resisted all entreaties, even from her favorite brother +Arthur; but when her father gravely regretted her inability +to sympathize with the enjoyments of others, she was overcome. +Having yielded, she yielded entirely, and was willing to wear +anything her sisters wished. As she is considered by them all, +even in her thirty-third year, as the beauty of the family, her +dress has been more carefully studied by them than any other. +Every book of costumes within their reach was searched for it +again and again, without success; one was rich, but unbecoming, +another pretty, but it did not suit her style, and a third all +they desired, but unattainable at so short a notice. As a last +resource, my engravings were resorted to, and there, to my own +surprise, they found what satisfied all their demands. One of +the historical prints showed the dress worn in her bridal days +by Hotspur's Kate. Miss Donaldson accepted it thankfully, as +being less <i>bizarre</i> than any yet proposed to her, requiring nothing +more than a full skirt of white satin, a jacket not very +unlike the modern Polka, and a bridal veil. One condition she +insisted on, however, namely, that Arthur should be her Hotspur. +To this he consented without difficulty, not without an<a class='page' name ='Page_227' id='Page_227' title='227'> </a> +eye, I suspect, to the appearance of his tall, erect, graceful +form and bearing in such a dress as Hotspur's.</p> + +<p>The last evening of the Old Year had arrived, our preparations +were completed, and our little party were experiencing +something of that <i>ennui</i> which results from having nothing to +do, when, in putting away the materials lately in use, Annie +took up my engraving of Hotspur and Kate. Handing it to +me, she said. "I know these engravings are precious, Aunt +Nancy, though what can be the association with this one, I am, +I acknowledge, at a loss to conceive."</p> + +<p>"And yet it is a very simple one. I treasure it in memory +of my friend Harry Percy and his bride."</p> + +<p>"What! Hotspur?" questioned Annie with dilating eyes.</p> + +<p>"Not quite, though he was a lineal descendant of the old +Percys, and hot enough on occasion, too."</p> + +<p>"You mean Colonel Percy of the British army, who married +Miss Sinclair, of Havre de Grace, during our last war with +England, or immediately after it, I never quite understood +which. There seemed some mystery about the marriage, and I +did not like to inquire too closely, but I dare say now, Aunt +Nancy, you can tell us all about it."</p> + +<p>"I believe I can. See Annie, if among these packages you +can find one labelled 'The Test of Love.'"</p> + +<p>"What! another story of a proud beauty winning her +glove and losing her lover?" asked Mr. Arlington.</p> + +<p>"No; my test, or rather my hero's test, was somewhat different," +I replied, as I received the package from Annie, and +read,</p> + + +<h3><a name="THE_TEST_OF_LOVE" id="THE_TEST_OF_LOVE"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">THE TEST OF LOVE:</a></h3> + +<h4>A STORY OF THE LAST WAR.</h4> + +<p>When Mr. Sinclair, the rector of St John's, in Havre de Grace +took possession of his pretty parsonage, and persuaded the<a class='page' name ='Page_228' id='Page_228' title='228'> </a> +fair and gentle Lucy Hillman to preside over his unpretending +<i>ménage</i>, and to share the comforts that lay within the compass +of his stipend of one thousand dollars per annum, he felt that +his largest earthly desires were fulfilled. A daughter was given +to him, and with a grateful heart he exclaimed—"Surely Thou +hast made my cup to overflow."</p> + +<p>But he too was a man "born to trouble." He too must +be initiated into those "sacred mysteries of sorrow," through +which the High-priest of his profession had passed. In the +succeeding ten years, three other children opened their soft, +loving eyes in his home, made its air musical with their glad +voices and ringing laughter, and just as he had learned to listen +for the pattering of their dimpled foot, and his heart had +throbbed joyously to their call, they were borne from his arms +to the grave, and the echoes which they had awakened in his +soul were hushed for ever. Still his Lucy and their first-born +were spared, and as he drew them closer to his heart he could +"lift his trusting eyes" to Him from whom his faith taught +him no real evil could come to the loving spirit. The shadow +of earth had fallen on his heart, but the light of heaven still +beamed brightly there. Years passed with Mr. Sinclair in that +deep quiet of the soul which is "the sober certainty of waking +bliss." His labors were labors of love, and he was welcomed +to repose by all those charms which woman's taste and woman's +tenderness can bring clustering around the home of him to +whom her heart is devoted. But a darker trial than any he +had yet known awaited him.</p> + +<p>War is in our borders, and that quiet town in which Mr. +Sinclair's life has passed is destined to feel its heaviest curse. +Its streets are filled with soldiery. The dark canopy of smoke +from which now and then a lurid flame shoots upward, shows +that their work is destruction, and that they will do it well. +Terrified women flit hither and thither, mingling their shrieks<a class='page' name ='Page_229' id='Page_229' title='229'> </a> +in a wild and fiend-like concert with the crack of musketry, +the falling of houses, and the loud huzzas and fierce outcries of +excited men. At a distance from that quarter in which the +strife commenced, stands a simple village church, within whose +shadow many of those who had worshipped in its walls during +the last half century, have lain down to rest from the toils of +life. No proud mausoleum shuts the sunshine from those lowly +graves. Drooping elms and willows bend over them, and +the whispering of their long pendent branches, as the summer +breeze sweeps them hither and thither, is the only sound that +breaks the stillness of that hallowed air. Near the church, on +the opposite side from this home of the dead, lies a garden, +whose roses and honey-suckles perfume the air, while its bowers +of lilac and laburnum, of myrtle and jessamine, almost +shut from the view the pretty cottage to which it belongs. All +around, all within that cottage, is silent. Have its inmates +fled?</p> + +<p>The neighboring houses have been long deserted, and those +who left them would gladly have persuaded their pastor to accompany +them; but when they called to urge his doing so, he +could only point to the bed on which, already bereft of sense, +and evidently fast passing from life, lay one "all lovely to the +last." Mrs. Sinclair's health, delicate for years, had rapidly +failed in the last few months, till her anxious husband and child, +aware that a moment's acceleration of the pulse, a moment's +quickening of the breath from whatever cause, might snatch +her from their arms, learned to modulate every tone, to guard +every look and movement in her presence. But they could +not shut from her ears the boom of the cannon which heralded +the approach of the foe—they could not hush the startling +cries with which others met the announcement of their +arrival, and the first evidences of that savage fury which +desolated their homes, and left a dark stain on the escutcheon<a class='page' name ='Page_230' id='Page_230' title='230'> </a> +of Britain. Mrs. Sinclair uttered no cry when her terrors were +thus excited, she even strove to smile upon her loved ones, to +raise their drooping hearts; and in this, woman's holiest task, +the springs of her life gave way—not with a sudden snap, but +slowly, gently—so that for hours her husband and daughter +stood watching the shadow of death steal over her, hoping yet +to catch one glance of love, one whispered farewell ere she +should pass for ever from them.</p> + +<p>"Fear not, my child," said Mr. Sinclair, when their sad +vigils were first interrupted by those who urged their flight—"they +are enemies, it is true, but they are Englishmen, a peaceful +clergyman, a defenceless woman, are safe in their hands—they +will not harm us."</p> + +<p>"I have no fear, no thought of them, father!" said Mary +Sinclair, as she turned weeping to the only object of fear, or +hope, or thought, at that moment.</p> + +<p>But soon others of Mr. Sinclair's parishioners came to warn +him that his confidence had been misplaced, that no character, +no age, no sex, had proved a protection from the ruthless fury +of their assailants. He would now have persuaded his daughter +to accompany her friends to a place of safety, and when +persuasions proved vain he would have commanded her, but, +lifting her calm eyes to his, she said, "Father have you not +taught me that, in all God's universe, the only safe place for us +is that to which our duty calls us—and is not my duty here?"</p> + +<p>A colder heart would have argued with her, and might, +perhaps, have proved to her that her duty was not there—that +her father could watch the dying, and that it was her duty +to preserve herself for him; but Mr. Sinclair folded her in his +arms while his lips moved for an instant in earnest prayer, and +then, turning to his waiting friends, he said, "Go, go, my +friends—I thank you—but God has called us to this, and he will +care for us."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_231' id='Page_231' title='231'> </a>When the work of desolation had been completed in the +quarter first attacked, parties of soldiers straggled off from the +main body in search of further prey. Fearful was it to +meet these men—their faces blackened with smoke, their hands +stained with blood, fierce frowns upon their brows, and curses +on their lips. The parsonage presented little attraction in its +external aspect to men whose object was plunder, and they +turned first to larger and more showy buildings. These were +soon rifled; the noise of their ribald songs, their blasphemous +oaths and drunken revelry penetrating often the chamber of +death, yet scarcely awakening an emotion in the presence of +the great Destroyer. At length the little gate is flung rudely +open, and unsteady but heavy steps ascend from the court-yard +to the house. They cross the piazza, they enter the parlor +where life's gentlest courtesies and holiest affections have hitherto +dwelt, the door of the room beyond is thrown open, and +two men stand upon its threshold, sobered for an instant by the +scene before them. There, pale, emaciated, the dim eyes closed, +and the face wearing that unearthly beauty which seems the +token of an adieu too fond, too tender, too sacred for human +language, from the parting spirit to its loved ones, the wife and +mother, speechless, senseless, yet not quite lifeless, lay propped +by pillows. At her side knelt Mr. Sinclair; the pallor of deep, +overpowering emotion was on his cheek, yet in his lifted eyes +there was an expression of holy faith, and you might almost +have fancied that a smile lay upon the lips which were breathing +forth the hallowed strains of prayer—"Save and deliver us, we +humbly beseech Thee, from the hands of our enemies, that we, +being armed with thy defence, may be preserved evermore +from all perils, to glorify Thee, who art the only giver of all +victory, through the merits of thy Son, Jesus Christ our Lord—Amen."</p> + +<p>Dark, sinful men as they were, fresh from brutal crime,<a class='page' name ='Page_232' id='Page_232' title='232'> </a> +those strains touched a long silent chord in their hearts—a +chord linked with the memory of a smiling village in their own +distant land—with a mother's love and the innocence of childhood. +Faint—faint, alas! were those memories, and Mr. Sinclair's +"amen" had scarcely issued from his lips, when the eyes +of the leader rested on the beautiful face of Mary Sinclair, as, +pressed to the side of her father, she stretched her arms out +over her dying mother, and turned her eyes imploringly on +their dreaded visitors. The ruffians sprang forward with words +whose meaning was happily lost to the failing sense of the +terror-stricken girl. Mr. Sinclair started to his feet, and with +one arm still clasped around his daughter, stood between her +and the worse than murderers before him, prepared to defend +her with his life. For the first time he thirsted for blood, and +looked around for some weapon of destruction—but his was the +abode of peace—no weapon was there. Unarmed, with that +loved burden—loved at this moment even to agony, resting +upon him—he stood opposed to two fierce men armed to the +teeth. A father's strength in such a cause, who shall estimate?—yet, +alas! his adversaries were demons, relentless in purpose, +and possessed of that superhuman force which passion gives. +Weary of killing, or influenced by that superstition which +sometimes rules the soul from which religion is wholly banished, +they did not avail themselves of their swords. With +fierce threats they unclasped his arm from that senseless form, +which sank instantly to the floor at his feet, and drew him +across the room. They would have forced him into the parlor, +but his resistance was desperate, and ere they could accomplish +this, the sound of a drum beating the recall was borne faintly +to their ears. Leaving his comrade to hold the wildly struggling +father, the bolder ruffian turned back toward the still +prostrate Mary. At that moment, before she had been polluted +by a touch, the door was thrown violently back, and a tall,<a class='page' name ='Page_233' id='Page_233' title='233'> </a> +manly form strode through it. The gilded epaulettes and +drooping feather told his rank, before the step of pride and +countenance of stern command had conveyed to the mind the +conviction that you stood in the presence of one accustomed to +be obeyed. The man who grasped Mr. Sinclair loosened his +hold and shrank cowering away. He went unnoticed, for the +eye of the officer had fallen upon him who was in the act of +stooping to lift Mary Sinclair from the floor. With a single +spring he was at his side, and catching him by the collar of +his coat, he hurled him from him with such force that he fell +stunned against the farther wall. Mr. Sinclair was already +bending over his daughter. As he raised her on his arm her +head fell back, exposing her face, around which her dark hair +swept in dense masses. Her features were of chiselled beauty, +and had they been indeed of marble they could not have been +more bloodless in their hue, while her jetty lashes lay as still +upon her cheek as though the hand of death had sealed her +eyes for ever. Mr. Sinclair had no such fear. He knew that she +had only fainted, and rejoiced that God in his mercy had +spared her the worst horrors of the scene; but as Captain +Percy's eyes rested on her, a deeper scowl settled on his brow, +and in a hoarse whisper he asked:—</p> + +<p>"Have they harmed her, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Not by a touch, thank God! not by a touch!" exclaimed +the father, as he pressed her with passionate joy to his heart—ay, +joy, even in the presence of her so long the light of his +life now passing for ever from earth. For a few minutes the +dying had been forgotten, for what was death—a death of +peace—to the long misery into which man's base, brutal passion +would have converted the life of that pure and lovely girl? +Now, however, she was safe, and still supporting her on his +arm, Mr. Sinclair turned to his wife and tenderly moistened her +parched lips. What a mockery of all human cares seemed that<a class='page' name ='Page_234' id='Page_234' title='234'> </a> +pale, peaceful brow—peaceful, while he whose lightest sorrow +had thrown a shadow on her life was suffering anguish inexpressible, +and the child who had lain in her bosom, to the +lightest throb of whose heart her own had answered, lay senseless +from terror in his arms. It was a scene to touch the hardest +heart, and Captain Percy's heart was not hard. He looked +around for the men whom he had interrupted in their hellish +designs—they were not there.</p> + +<p>"Is this their work?" he asked of Mr. Sinclair, pointing to +his scarcely breathing wife.</p> + +<p>"No—no—this is the gentle hand of our Father," said Mr. +Sinclair, as he bent his head and touched with his lips the +sunken cheek dearer to him now than it had been in all its +girlish roundness. The blood had begun to cast a slight tinge +of red into the lips of Mary Sinclair before Captain Percy had +left the room in search of the men whom he was unwilling to +leave behind him, and when he returned, the tremor of her +form and the close clasp with which she clung to her father, +proved that her consciousness and her memory were awake. +His step had startled her, and as he entered he heard Mr. +Sinclair say, "Fear not, my daughter, that is the step of your +deliverer, and though he is an English soldier——"</p> + +<p>"I pray you, sir, judge not Englishmen by ruffians like +these—a disgrace to the name of man. Believe me, every +country has within it wretches, who, at moments such as this, +when all social restraints are withdrawn, become demons. But +I must leave you, in safety, I trust, as I have sent to the ships +all the soldiers whom I could discover in your neighborhood."</p> + +<p>"Farewell, sir," said Mr. Sinclair, extending his hand—"God +reward you for the timely aid you have this day brought +to the defenceless. Look up, my child, and join your thanks +with mine."</p> + +<p>Mary Sinclair raised her head from her father's bosom, and<a class='page' name ='Page_235' id='Page_235' title='235'> </a> +lifting her eyes for an instant to the face of Captain Percy, unclosed +her lips to speak, but voice and words were denied her.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, lady!" he exclaimed, as taking her hand +he raised it to his lips, and relinquishing it with one glance of +sympathy at the dying, turned away and passed from the room. +He returned once more, but it was only to leave his pistols with +Mr. Sinclair.</p> + +<p>"They are loaded, sir, and in such a cause as you needed +them just now, even a Christian minister may use them."</p> + +<p>Captain Percy spoke rapidly, only glancing at Mary, who +was already bending with self-forgetful devotion above her mother's +pillow, and before Mr. Sinclair could answer he was +gone.</p> + +<p>All was again silent in that deserted suburb, and for long +hours nothing disturbed the solemn stillness of the chamber of +death, save the low sob or earnest prayer of parting love, though +sounds of tumult had not ceased wholly in the village. The +invaders had been interrupted in their work of destruction by +an alarm from some of their own party of an approaching foe. +They hurried to their ships with mad impetuosity, conscious that +their acts deserved only war to the knife, and that they were not +prepared to cope with any regular force. Only they, who, like +Captain Percy, had held themselves aloof from the brutal barbarities +which they had striven vainly to prevent, were now +composed enough to take any steps for the safety of others. +To collect those who had straggled off was the first business, +and while the recall was hastily beaten, Captain Percy, selecting +a small party of men on whom he could depend, went to patrol +the more distant quarters of the town. Having seen no trace +of an enemy on his way to the parsonage, he had somewhat +hastily concluded the alarm to be false, and therefore did not +hesitate, before returning with his pistols to Mr. Sinclair, to send +forward his men in charge of those whom he had found, promis<a class='page' name ='Page_236' id='Page_236' title='236'> </a>ing +to join them before they reached the point of embarcation. +Without a thought of danger he traversed the silent and deserted +streets on his return, and had arrived where a single turn +would bring him within view of the rallying point of his companions +in arms, when the sound that met his practised ears +told of something more than the hurrying tread and mingling +voices of soldiers rapidly embarking. Had his men been opposed? +If so, they should not be without a leader—and with +that thought he sprang forward. He was too late. Already +they had fought their way through the band of villagers, who, +maddened by the desolation of their homes, had gathered together +such weapons as they could, and led on by one gallant +and experienced soldier, whom their burning houses had lighted +to their aid, were seeking to cut off the retreat of some amongst +their invaders, and thus to revenge those whom they had been +unable to protect. Captain Percy's men had, as we have said, +fought their way through this band—not without loss. He +now stood alone—one against many—with only his good +sword to aid, for his pistols he had given to Mr. Sinclair. To +retreat unobserved was impossible, for his own cry of "Forward—forward, +my men!" uttered as he rushed to the scene of the +just decided contest, had betrayed him—to fight against such +odds with the faintest hope of success was equally impossible, +and to yield was an alternative which there seemed to be no +intention of offering him. In an instant twenty swords flashed +before his eyes—twenty muskets were pointed at his breast. +That instant had been his last had not Major Scott, the leader +of whom we have spoken, sprang forward and placed himself +before him. Himself a brave and generous soldier, he could +not tamely witness such butchery; and pale with the terror for +another which he had never felt for himself, he exclaimed, +"Yield yourself, sir, quickly—a moment's delay, and I cannot +protect you."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_237' id='Page_237' title='237'> </a>Captain Percy's sword was in the hand of his noble foe, +who, linking his arm in his, turned to face his own band, shouting +as he did so, "Back—back on your lives—he is my prisoner, +and who touches him makes me his enemy."</p> + +<p>The day had passed with all its exciting incidents. The +glow of sunset had faded into twilight's soberer hues, and these +had deepened into the darkness of night. With the darkness +silence had settled upon the streets of Havre de Grace. They +who had trodden, for hours, with burning hearts around the +sites of their desecrated homes, retired to the house of some +charitable and more fortunate neighbor, to seek such rest as +misery may hope. They went with sullen as well as sad brows, +and as they passed one house in the village they muttered +"curses not loud, but deep." This was the house in which Major +Scott had found a refuge for himself and the prisoner, whom +all his influence had scarcely been able to protect. To remove +him from Havre de Grace in the light of day, and under the +eyes of his infuriated enemies, was too hazardous a project to be +attempted; and by the advice of some who seemed disposed to +second his efforts for his safety, he had delayed his departure +till night should veil the obnoxious features of the British +officer.</p> + +<p>At the parsonage, death had accomplished his work, and +the room in which we have already seen Mr. Sinclair, bears the +solemn impress of his presence. Beside the bed on which the +lifeless limbs have been composed with tender care, the pastor +kneels. His prayer is no longer, "Let this cup pass from me"—he +is struggling for power to say, "Father, not my will, but +Thine be done!" In an upper room lies Mary Sinclair. Tears +are falling fast as summer rain-drops from her closed eyes; but +she utters neither sob nor moan, and by the dim light of the +shaded lamp she seems to the two women, who, with well-meant +but officious kindness, have insisted on watching with<a class='page' name ='Page_238' id='Page_238' title='238'> </a> +her through the night, to sleep. A slight noise in the street +causes one of these women to start, and she whispers to the +other, "I am 'feard of every thing to-night—the least noise +puts me all of a trimble, for I'm thinking of my Jack. He's +gone to guard that British soger, and I shouldn't wonder if he +had a skrimmage about him before morning."</p> + +<p>"And I must say, Miss Dunham, if he did, it would be +nothin' more than them deserves us would go for to guard them +cruel British."</p> + +<p>"But they do say, Miss Caxton, that this Capin—for Jack +says he is a Capin—was better than the rest—that he took the +part of our people every where when he found there wasn't any +fair fight, and that he was drivin' his men to the ships when we +caught him."</p> + +<p>"Them may believe that that will, but for my part I think +that it must be a poor, mean speritted American that will hold +guard over one of them British——"</p> + +<p>"Not so mean speritted as you think perhaps," said Jack's +mother with a flushed face.</p> + +<p>"Well, I must say, Miss Dunham, I never thought Jack +would do such a thing—if I had——"</p> + +<p>Miss Caxton stopped abruptly, but her companion would +hear the whole—"Well ma'am, if you had—what if you had?"</p> + +<p>"Why, then, Miss Dunham, I shouldn't have been so well +pleased to see him keepin' company with my Sarah—but after +this, of course, that's at an end."</p> + +<p>"May be, Miss Caxton, you may think to-morrow mornin' +that it would have been just as well to wait till the night was +gone before you said that—when you see the British Capin +hanging by the neck in his fine regimentals, and hear that his +guard were the men that did it—as I know they've sworn to +do—you may think after all they an't so mean speritted."</p> + +<p>"Miss Dunham! if they'll do that, I'll unsay every word<a class='page' name ='Page_239' id='Page_239' title='239'> </a> +I've said, and proud enough I would be to call one of 'em my +son-in-law—but now do tell me all about it—she's asleep you +see," glancing at Mary Sinclair, "and there an't nobody to +hear."</p> + +<p>"Why, there an't much to tell. You see the Major wouldn't +give way any how at all about this here man—so, as they +didn't want to fight <i>him</i>, they agreed that some of the real +true blues who an't afeard of nothin', should seem to help the +Major and persuade him to keep the man here till late in the +night, and that they would guard him—but they were to take +care to have the key of his room, and when the Major goes +there he'll find it empty, or at best only a bloody corpse there. +They'll hang him if they can get him out of the window without +too much noise, but if there's any danger of his waking the +Major with his screeching, they'll stop his voice quick enough."</p> + +<p>Any further conversation between these discreet watchers +was prevented by a sudden movement on the part of Mary +Sinclair. Springing from her bed she was hastening to the +door when her steps were arrested.</p> + +<p>"Dear me, Miss Mary! where are you going? Now do +lie down again, my dear young lady!—be patient—it's the +Lord's will, you know." Such were the remonstrances of her +officious attendants, while, one on either side, they strove to lead +her back again, but Mary persisted.</p> + +<p>"I must go to my father, Mrs. Dunham, pray let me go, +Mrs. Caxton, I must speak to my father."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, my good young lady, just put your wrapping +gown around you first, and put your feet in these slippers."</p> + +<p>Mary complied silently, and then was suffered to proceed. +Rapidly she flew to her father's room—it was unoccupied, and +a glance at his bed showed her that it had not been disturbed. +Mary was at no loss to conjecture where she should find her +father—but as she approached <i>that</i> room her steps grew slower,<a class='page' name ='Page_240' id='Page_240' title='240'> </a> +lighter—she was treading on holy ground. With difficulty +she nerved herself to turn the latch of the door, and in an awed +whisper she entreated her father to come to her. Mr. Sinclair +rose from his knees, but he lingered a moment to cast one look +on that still lovely face, to press his lips to that cold brow, and +then, reverently veiling it, he approached his daughter.</p> + +<p>"Come quickly, papa!—not a moment is to be lost if you +would save him from death, and such a death—oh, papa, papa!—it +may be even now too late."</p> + +<p>Her tale was rapidly told, and before it was concluded Mr. +Sinclair was ready for action.</p> + +<p>"But the house, Mary, what house is he in?"</p> + +<p>This Mary could not tell, but rapidly ascending the stairs to +her room, Mr. Sinclair obtained from the two gossips the information +he sought. Startled as they were by his appearance, +they reverenced the rector too much to question his designs. +Leaving his daughter to forget even her own heavy sorrow in +the imminent danger of another—of one whom, without any +very satisfactory reason, she as well as Mr. Sinclair had at once +concluded to be her deliverer of the morning—let us follow his +steps.</p> + +<p>The church clock tolled eleven as Mr. Sinclair passed, and +the sound made his fleet movements fleeter still. Street after +street was traversed without a voice or tread, save his own, +breaking the stillness of the night. At length he reached the +point of the day's devastations. Dismantled and roofless +houses, from which a dull glimmer showed that the fire was +not yet wholly extinguished, were seen rising here and there, +while in intervening spaces a charred and smouldering heap +alone gave evidence that man had had his dwelling there. A +rapid glance as he passed without a pause over this ground +told its desolation. But see—what object meets his eye, and +causes every nerve to thrill with apprehension! From the<a class='page' name ='Page_241' id='Page_241' title='241'> </a> +midst of one of those blackened heaps a single post shoots up—wildly +Mr. Sinclair casts his eyes upward to its summit—gracious +heaven! is he too late? To that post, about twenty +feet from the ground, a cross-piece is attached, to which a rope +has been secured, and from that rope a dark object hangs +motionless. Sick with horror he stops—he gazes—no! it is no +illusion—dimly defined against the star-lit sky, his eye, dilated +by terror, traces the form of man, and fancy supplies the traits +of him who stood before him but a few hours since in all the +flush of manhood—every moment replete with energy, every +look full of proud resolve and generous feeling. With a +searching glance Mr. Sinclair looks around for the murderers—but +they are gone—again, his strangely fascinated eye turns +to that object of horror. Is it the agitation of a death struggle +which causes it now to swing to and fro in the dusky air? +The thought that life may not yet be extinct gives him new +strength—he runs—he flies to Major Scott's lodgings, for from +him alone is he secure of aid in his present purpose.</p> + +<p>As Mr. Sinclair approached the house in which Major Scott +had found accommodations for himself and his prisoner, he +found himself no longer in darkness. More than one burning +torch threw a lurid light upon the scene, while the men who +held them, and perhaps as many as twenty more stood clustered +together, near the house, against which some of them +were engaged in elevating a ladder. In what service that +ladder might have been last used Mr. Sinclair shuddered to +think. Perfect stillness reigned in this party. Their few orders +were given in whispers.</p> + +<p>Keeping cautiously in shadow, and moving with stealthy +steps, Mr. Sinclair passed them and reached the house. Even +when there, he had little hope of making Major Scott hear him +without alarming them, and he could not doubt that they +would do every thing in their power to frustrate his object.<a class='page' name ='Page_242' id='Page_242' title='242'> </a> +But Heaven favored his merciful design—he touched the door +and found it ajar. All was dark as midnight within it, and he +had scarcely taken a step when he stumbled against a man +whose voice sounded fiercely even in the low whisper in which +he ejaculated, "D—n you. Do you want to wake the Major? +Don't you see you're at his room door?"</p> + +<p>"I see now, but it was so dark at first," whispered Mr. +Sinclair in reply—adding with that quickness of perception and +readiness of invention which danger supplies to some minds—"I +have come to watch him—you are wanted."</p> + +<p>The man obeyed the intimation, and he had no sooner +turned away than Mr. Sinclair laid his hand upon the latch of +the door which had been indicated as Major Scott's. It yielded +to his touch, and with a quick but cautious movement he entered +the room, and closed the door behind him. Cautious as +he was, the soldier's light sleep was broken, and he exclaimed +hurriedly, "Who's there?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Sinclair's communication was made in a hasty whisper, +and Major Scott only heard enough to know that his prisoner +was in danger. Of Mr. Sinclair's worst suspicions he did not +even dream when, starting to his feet, half dressed, as he had +thrown himself on the bed, he snatched his pistols from under +his pillow, and exclaiming to Mr. Sinclair, "Follow me, sir," +hurried to the scene of action, the room of Captain Percy. +Mr. Sinclair followed with rapid steps.</p> + +<p>In one respect the conspirators had been disappointed—they +had not obtained the key of Captain Percy's room, for +being now a prisoner on parole, he was subject to no confinement. +He had, however, locked the door of his room himself, +to guard against the incursion of curiosity rather than of hostility; +but the lock was none of the strongest—a single vigorous +application of Major Scott's foot to the door started the screws +which held it, and a second burst it off and threw the entrance<a class='page' name ='Page_243' id='Page_243' title='243'> </a> +open before him. As Mr. Sinclair glanced forward, "Thank +God!" burst from his lips, to the no small surprise of Major +Scott, who saw little cause for gratitude in finding the object +of his solicitude retreating, sword in hand, towards the door, +while several athletic men, their faces dark with hate, were +already pressing dangerously upon him, and others were crowding +in at the opened window. The impetuous rush of his +friends freed Captain Percy for a moment from his assailants, +but they returned fiercely to the charge, too furious now to +postpone their revenge even to their deference for Major Scott. +Vain were Mr. Sinclair's entreaties to be heard, till their advance +was stayed by the sight of Major Scott's firearms—weapons +with which they had not furnished themselves, considering +them useless in an enterprise to whose complete success silence +was essential. Then first they listened to him as he exclaimed, +"This man is innocent, and if you shed his blood it will call to +Heaven for vengeance. I saw him myself this day oppose himself +to two of his own countrymen to save a defenceless +woman from injury. That woman was my daughter—some of +you know her well—ah, Thompson! you may well hang your +head—would you slay the deliverer of her whose good nursing +saved the life of your motherless child?—Wilson, it was but last +week that she sat beside your dying mother, and soothed and +comforted her—but for this good and brave man she would +now have been with her in heaven."</p> + +<p>It was only necessary to gain a hearing for such words to +produce an influence on the rash, but not cruel men whom Mr. +Sinclair addressed, and scarcely half an hour had passed since +their entrance into the room, when they offered their hands in +pledge of amity to him whose life they had come to seek. As +a proof of their sincerity, they advised Major Scott no longer +to delay his departure from the town, and some of them volunteered +to accompany him as a guard to his country-seat.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_244' id='Page_244' title='244'> </a>"You have saved my life," said Captain Percy, as he shook +hands with Mr. Sinclair at parting.</p> + +<p>"And you have preserved for me all, except my duties, for +which I can now desire to live," answered Mr. Sinclair with +emotion: then turning to Major Scott, he added, "as soon as +you consider it safe, you will, I hope, bring Captain Percy to +visit us. In the mean time, Captain Percy, remember that the +stranger and the prisoner are a clergyman's especial care, and +suffer yourself to want nothing which I can do for you. By-the +by," and he took Major Scott aside and whispered him.</p> + +<p>"Give yourself no concern about that, my dear sir," said +Major Scott in reply, "I will attend to it."</p> + +<p>He did attend to it, and Captain Percy's drafts on his captor +were promptly met, till he was able to open a communication +with the British commander.</p> + +<p>In as quiet a manner as possible Major Scott and Captain +Percy moved off from the hotel, and were met in the suburbs +by their volunteer guard, while another party of the men whom +he had thus saved from a great crime, attended Mr. Sinclair +to his home. As he entered the area of the smouldering ruins +his eye sought the object lately viewed with so much horror. +He had scarcely glanced at it, when one of his companions +stepped up and disengaged a dark cloak from the noose already +prepared for its expected victim—"I knew no one would +steal it from the gallows," said the man, as he threw it over +his shoulders. Mr. Sinclair smiled to think how easily imagination +had transformed that harmless object into the fair proportions +of a man.</p> + +<p>Nothing more was heard of Captain Percy for weeks—dreary +weeks to many in Havre de Grace—melancholy weeks +to the inmates of the parsonage, who missed at every turn the +familiar step and voice which had been life's sweetest music to +their hearts. At length Mr. Sinclair received a note from Ma<a class='page' name ='Page_245' id='Page_245' title='245'> </a>jor +Scott, announcing his own approaching departure to the +army on our northern frontier, and requesting permission for +Captain Percy and himself to call on Mr. and Miss Sinclair. +Permission was given—the call was made, and they who had +met only in scenes of terror and dismay, amidst flushing looks +and fierce words, now greeted each other with gentlest courtesy +among sounds and sights of peace. The call was succeeded +by a visit of some days, and this by one of weeks, till at last +it seemed to be understood that the parsonage was to be the +home of Captain Percy while awaiting the exchange which +Major Scott had promised to do all in his power to expedite. +His society was at the present time peculiarly pleasing to Mr. +Sinclair, who was diverted from his own sad thoughts by the +varied intelligence of the soldier and traveller in many lands. +Mary Sinclair had been unable to meet her deliverer without +a thrill of emotion which communicated an air of timidity to +her manner, whose usual characteristic was modest self-possession. +Captain Percy, at thirty-five, had outlived the age of +sudden and violent passion, but he had not outlived that of +deep feeling. A soldier from boyhood, he had visited almost +every clime, and been familiar with the beauties of almost +every land, yet in this lovely and gentle girl, whom he had +guarded from ill, and whom he now saw in all the pure and +tender associations of her home, blessing and blessed, there +was something which touched his heart more deeply than he +liked to acknowledge even to himself. Again and again when +he saw the soft, varying color that arose to her cheek at his +sudden entrance, or heard the voice in which she was addressing +another, sink into a more subdued tone as she spoke to +him, did he take his hat and wander forth, that he might still +in solitude his bosom's triumphant throb, and reason with himself +on the folly of suffering his affections to be enthralled by +one from whom, ere another day passed, he might be separated<a class='page' name ='Page_246' id='Page_246' title='246'> </a> +by orders which would send him thousands of miles away, and +detain him, perhaps, for years.</p> + +<p>"If I thought her feelings were really interested," he would +say to himself at other times—"but nonsense—how can I be +such a coxcomb—all she can feel for me is gratitude."</p> + +<p>This last sentiment was echoed by Mary Sinclair, who, +when self-convicted of unusual emotion in Captain Percy's presence, +ever repeated, "It is only gratitude."</p> + +<p>One evening Mr. Sinclair retired after tea to his study, leaving +his daughter and his guest together. He had not been +gone long when a servant entered with the letters and papers just +brought by the semi-weekly mail, which conveyed to the inhabitants +of Havre de Grace news of the important events +then daily transpiring in distant parts of the country. The +only letter was a somewhat bulky one for Captain Percy. +Mary received the papers and commenced reading them, that +she might leave her companion at liberty. Had she been +looking at him she would have seen some surprise, and even a +little annoyance in his countenance as his eyes rested on the +seals of his dispatch. He opened it, and the annoyance deepened. +He read it more than once. Minutes passed in perfect +silence, and Mary began to wonder what correspondent could +so deeply interest him. A heavy sigh made her look up. His +letter lay open on the table before him, but he had evidently +long ceased to read, for his arm rested upon it, while his eyes +were fixed with an expression at once intent and mournful on +her. Mary thought only of him as she said, "I hope you have +no painful intelligence there, Captain Percy."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I ought to consider it very joyful intelligence—I +am no longer a prisoner—I have been exchanged, and"—he +hesitated, looked away, then added rapidly—"I am ordered +immediately to join my regiment in Canada."</p> + +<p>A quick drawing of the breath, as though from sudden<a class='page' name ='Page_247' id='Page_247' title='247'> </a> +pain, met his ear—his heart beat quickly, but he would not +embarrass her by a glance. There was a slight rustling of her +dress, and turning he saw that she had risen, and with one +hand pressed upon the table for support, was advancing to the +door. Falteringly, one—two—three steps were taken, and +completely overcome, pale and ready to faint, she sank upon a +sofa near her. He sprang forward, but she motioned him away, +and covering her face with her hands, burst into tears—tears +of shame as well as of sorrow. For an instant he stood irresolute—but +only for an instant, when bending over her, he +whispered, "Dare I hope that you sympathize with me, Mary—that +the feeling which made even liberty painful to me +since it separates me from you, is not confined to my own +bosom?"</p> + +<p>Mary's sobs ceased—but she spoke not—moved not.</p> + +<p>"Answer me, dear Mary—remember I have little time to +woo, for my orders admit of no delay in their execution—I +must leave you to-morrow. Rise then above the petty formalities +of your sex, and if I may indeed hope ever to call you +mine, let me do so this night—this hour—your father will not, +I think, fear to commit you to my tenderness."</p> + +<p>Mary uncovered her face, and raised her eyes for an instant +to his, with an expression so confiding that he thought his +suit was won, and pressing her hand to his lips, he said, +"That glance tells me that you are my own, Mary. My life +shall prove my gratitude—but now I must seek your father—<i>our</i> +father—will you await us here?"</p> + +<p>"I have something to say to you—sit down and hear me," +said Mary, in a voice which she strove in vain to raise above a +whisper.</p> + +<p>He placed himself beside her on the sofa, still clasping the +hand he had taken, and with a voice faltering and low at first, +but gathering strength as she proceeded, Mary resumed:—"I<a class='page' name ='Page_248' id='Page_248' title='248'> </a> +will not attempt—I do not wish to deny that you have read +my heart aright—that—that you who saved me are—are—" +a lover's ear alone could detect the next words—"very dear to +me—but I cannot—I think I ought not——"</p> + +<p>She paused, and Captain Percy said, "You are not willing +to intrust your happiness to one so lately known."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! you mistake my meaning—I can have no doubt +of you—no fear for my own happiness—but my father—who +will care for him if I, his daughter, his only child, thus give +myself to another at the very time that he needs me most?"</p> + +<p>"I will not take you from him—at least not now, Mary—give +me but the right to call you mine, and I will leave you +here in your own sweet home—not again, I trust, to be visited +by war—till peace shall leave me at liberty to return to England +with my bride—my wife."</p> + +<p>He would have clasped her to him as he named her thus, +but Mary struggled almost wildly to free herself, exclaiming, +"Oh! plead not thus lest I forget my father in myself—my +duty in love—the forgetfulness would be but short—I should +be unhappy even at your side, when I thought of the loneliness +of heart and life to which I had condemned him."</p> + +<p>"But he should go with us—he should have our home. +It will be a simple home, Mary—for though I come of a lordly +race, I inherit not their wealth—but it will be large enough +for our father."</p> + +<p>"Kind and generous!" exclaimed Mary, as she suffered +her fingers to clasp the hand in which they had hitherto only +rested, "would that it might be so—but that were to ask of +my father a sacrifice greater even than the surrender of his +daughter—the sacrifice of his sense of duty to the people who +have chosen him as their spiritual father—and to whom he +considers himself bound for life."</p> + +<p>Captain Percy remained silent long after she had ceased to<a class='page' name ='Page_249' id='Page_249' title='249'> </a> +speak, with his eyes resting on her downcast face. At length +in low, sad tones, he questioned, "And must we part thus?"</p> + +<p>Mary's lips moved, but she could not speak.</p> + +<p>"I will not ask you to remember me, Mary," he resumed, +"for if forgetfulness be possible to you, it will perhaps be for +your happiness to forget—yet—pardon me if I am selfish—I +would have some little light amidst the darkness gathering +around my heart—may I hope that had no duty forbidden +you would have been mine?"</p> + +<p>She yielded to his clasping arm, and sinking on his bosom, +murmured there, "Yours—yours ever and only—yours wholly +if I could be yours holily."</p> + +<p>From this interview Mary retired to her chamber, and +Captain Percy sought his host in his study. After communicating +to Mr. Sinclair the contents of the dispatch he had just +received, he continued, "I must in consequence of these orders +leave you immediately—but before I go I have a confession to +make to you. You will not wonder that your lovely daughter +should have won my heart; but one hour since, I could +have said that I had never yielded for an instant to that heart's +suggestions—had never consciously revealed my love, or endeavored +to excite in her feelings which, in my position and +the present relations of our respective countries, could scarcely +fail to be productive of pain. I can say so no longer. The +moment of parting has torn the veil from the hearts of both—she +loves me,"—there was a joyous intonation in Captain +Percy's voice as he pronounced these last words. He was +silent a moment while Mr. Sinclair continued to look gravely +down—then suddenly he resumed—"Pardon my selfishness—I +forget all else in the sweet thought that I am loved by +one so pure, so gentle, so lovely. But though I have dared +without your permission to acknowledge my own tenderness, +and to draw from her the dear confession of her regard, there<a class='page' name ='Page_250' id='Page_250' title='250'> </a> +my wrong has ended—she has assured me that she could never +be happy separated from you, and that you are wedded to your +people." Mr. Sinclair shaded with his hand features quivering +with emotion. "At present," continued Captain Percy, "these +feelings, which are both of them too sacred for me to contest, +place a barrier between us, and I have sought from her no +promise for the future—if she can forget me—" Captain +Percy paused a moment, then added abruptly—"may a +happier destiny be hers than I could have commanded—but, +sir, the time may come when England shall no longer need +all her soldiers—an orphan and an only child, I have nothing +to bind me to her soil—should I seek you then, and find your +Mary with an unchanged heart, will you give her to me?—will +you receive me as a son?"</p> + +<p>"Under such circumstances I would do so joyfully," Mr. +Sinclair replied, "yet I cannot conceal from you now that I +grieve to know that my daughter must wear out her youth in +a hope long deferred at best, perhaps never to be realized."</p> + +<p>Both gentlemen were for a few minutes plunged in silent +thought. Captain Percy arose from his seat—walked several +times across the room, and then stopping before the table at +which Mr. Sinclair was seated, resumed the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Had I designedly sought the interest with which your +daughter has honored me," he said, "your words would inflict +on me intolerable self-reproach, but I cannot blame myself for +not being silent when silence would have been a reproach to +her delicacy and a libel on my own affection. Now, however, +sir, I yield myself wholly to your cooler judgment and better +knowledge of her nature, and I will do whatever may in your +opinion conduce to her happiness, without respect to my own +feelings. If you think that she can forget the past, and you +desire that she should"—his voice lost its firmness and he +grasped with violence the chair on which he leaned—"I will<a class='page' name ='Page_251' id='Page_251' title='251'> </a> +do nothing to recall it to her memory. It is the only <i>amende</i> +I can make for the shadow I have thrown upon her life—dark +indeed will such a resolve leave my own."</p> + +<p>"It would cast no ray of light on hers. Be assured her +love is not a thing to be forgotten—it is a part of her life."</p> + +<p>"And it shall be repaid with all of mine which my duties +as a soldier and subject leave at my disposal. Do not think +me altogether selfish when I say that your words have left no +place in my heart for any thing but happiness—I have but +one thing more to ask you—it is a great favor—inexpressibly +great—but——"</p> + +<p>"Nay—nay," Mr. Sinclair exclaimed, gathering his meaning +more from his looks and manner than from the words +which fell slowly from his lips—"ask me not so soon to put +the irrevocable seal upon a bond which may be one of +misery."</p> + +<p>"If your words be true—if her love be a part of her life, +the irrevocable seal has been already affixed by Heaven, and I +only ask you to give your sanction to it, that by uniting her +duty and her love, you may save her gentle spirit all contest +with itself, and give her the fairest hope of future joy."</p> + +<p>It was now Mr. Sinclair's turn to rise and pace the floor in +agitated silence—"I know not how to decide so suddenly on +so momentous a question," he at length exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Suppose you leave its decision to her whom it most +concerns. It is for her happiness we are most anxious—so entirely +is that my object that I would not influence her determination +even by a look. I will not even ask to be present +when you place my proposal before her; but I must repeat, +sir, if you design to do it, there is no time to be lost, for I +must be on my way to Canada to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"So be it then—she shall choose for herself, and Heaven +direct her choice!"</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_252' id='Page_252' title='252'> </a>"Amen!" responded Captain Percy, as Mr. Sinclair turned +from the door. He heard him ascend the stairs, and ask and +receive admission to his daughter's room. Then he counted +the seconds as they grew into minutes—the minutes as they +extended to a quarter of an hour—a half-hour—and rolled +slowly on towards the hour which lacked but little to its completion, +when his straining ear caught the sound of an opening +door, and then Mr. Sinclair's sedate step was heard slowly descending +the stairs and approaching the study. Captain Percy +met him at the door, and looked the inquiry which he could +not speak. Mr. Sinclair replied to the look, "She is yours!"</p> + +<p>"May I not see her and receive such a confirmation of my +hopes from her own lips!"</p> + +<p>"Not to-night—I have persuaded her to retire at once—she +needs repose, and we must be early astir. Your marriage +must for many reasons be kept secret at present, and as I could +not, I fear, find witnesses here on whose silence I could rely, +we will accompany you in the morning to Major Scott's, and +there, in the presence of his wife and sister, your vows shall +receive the sanction of the church. You must have some +preparation to make, and I will bid you good night, for there +are certain legal preliminaries necessary to the validity of a +marriage here, to which I must attend this evening—unusual +as the hour is."</p> + +<p>There was a strange mingling of emotion in the hearts of +the lovers as they stood side by side within that room in the +gray dawn of the next morning. In a few hours they were to +part, they knew not for what distance of space or duration of +time. It might be that they should never after this morning +look upon each other's faces in life; yet, ere they parted, there +was to be a bond upon their souls which should make <i>them</i> +ever present to each other, should give them the same interests, +should, as it were, mould their beings into one. Sacred +bond of God's own forming, which thus offers the support of a<a class='page' name ='Page_253' id='Page_253' title='253'> </a> +spiritual and indissoluble union amidst the separations and +changes of this ever-varying life! No such strength and +peace are to be found in the frail and casual ties for which man +in his folly would exchange this bond of Heaven.</p> + +<p>Few words were spoken during the burned breakfast at +the parsonage, or the drive to Major Scott's, for deep emotion +is ever silent. Yet not for them were the coy reserves often +evinced by hearts on the verge of a life-union—the faltering +timidity which hesitates to lift the veil from feelings in whose +light existence is thenceforth to pass. They could not forget +that they were to part, and even Mary hesitated not to let her +lover read in her eyes' shadowy depths the tenderness which +might soothe the parting pang, and whose memory might +brighten the hours of separation.</p> + +<p>Why should we linger on a scene which each heart can +depict for itself? With solemn tenderness the father pronounced +the words which transferred to another the right to +his own earthly sanctuary—the heart of his daughter—and +committed to another's keeping—his last and brightest earthly +treasure. That treasure was soon, however, returned, for a +time, to his care. The vows of the marriage rite had scarcely +been uttered, when with one long clasp—one whispered word—one +lingering look—the disciplined soldier turned from his +newly-found joy to his duties. Never had Mary seemed more +lovely in his eyes or her father's than in that moment, when +with quivering lips, eyes "heavy with unshed tears," and +cheeks white with anguish, she yet smiled upon him to the +last. Nor did her heroic self-control cease when he was gone. +Her father was still there, and for him she endured and was +silent. Only by her languid movements and fading color +did he learn the bitterness of her soul through the weary +months of her sorrow. Weary months were they indeed!</p> + +<p>One letter she received from Captain Percy, written before<a class='page' name ='Page_254' id='Page_254' title='254'> </a> +he had passed beyond the limits of the United States. It +breathed the very soul of tenderness. "My wife!" he wrote, +"what joy is summed in that little word—what faith in the +present—what promise for the future! I find myself often +repeating it again and again with a lingering cadence, while +your gentle eyes seem smiling at my folly." Long, long did +Mary wear this letter next her heart, and still no other came +to take its place.</p> + +<p>They had parted in 1813, just as the falling leaves came +to herald the approach of winter. That winter passed with +Mary in vain longing and vainer hopes. Spring again clothed +her home with beauty, but there came no spring to her heart. +Summer brought joy and gladness to the earth, but not to her, +and another autumn closed over her in anxious suspense. +There were moments when she could almost have prayed to +have that dread silence broken even by a voice from the tomb—other +times in which she threw herself on her knees in +thankfulness that she could yet hope. From Major Scott she +had heard that Captain Percy's regiment had been sent to the +South, but of him individually even Major Scott knew nothing. +At length came the eighth of January, that day of +vain triumph on which thousands fell in the contest for rights +already lost and won—the treaty of peace having been signed +at Ghent on the twenty-fourth of the preceding month. Forgetful +of this useless hecatomb at war's relentless shrine, +America echoed the gratulations of the victors which fell with +scathing power on the heart of the trembling Mary. How +could she hope that he, the fearless soldier, had escaped this +scene of slaughter! If he had, surely he would now find some +way to inform her of his safety, but weeks passed on, and +passed still in silence.</p> + +<p>During this long period of suspense, no doubt of the tenderness +and truth of him she loved had ever sullied Mary's<a class='page' name ='Page_255' id='Page_255' title='255'> </a> +faith. Mr. Sinclair was not always thus confiding, and once, +on seeing the deadly pallor that overspread her face on hearing +the announcement of "no letters"—he uttered words of +keen reproach on him who could so wrong her gentle heart.</p> + +<p>"Oh, father!" Mary exclaimed, "speak not thus—be assured +it is not his fault—remember that no license could tempt +him to wrong the defenceless—think how honorable he was in +suppressing his own feelings lest their avowal should bring +sorrow on us—and when my self-betrayal unsealed his lips, +how delicate to me, how generous to you was his conduct—and +who but he could have been so rigid in his observance of +a soldier's duty, yet so inexpressibly tender as a man! I loved +him because I saw him thus true and noble—and having seen +him thus how can I doubt him? He may be no longer on +earth, but wherever he is, he is my true and noble husband, +and you will not again distress me, dear father, by speaking as +though you doubted him."</p> + +<p>"Never," said Mr. Sinclair emphatically, and he never did, +though he saw her form grow thinner, and her cheek paler +every day, and before the winter was gone heard that deep, +hollow cough from her, which has so often sounded the knell +of hope to the anxious heart. With the coming on of summer +this cough passed away, but Mary was oppressed by great +feebleness and languor—scarcely less fatal symptoms. Still +she omitted none of those cares essential to her father's comfort—while +to the poor, the sick, the sorrowing, she was more +than ever an angel of mercy. With feeble steps and slow she +still walked her accustomed round of charity, and thus living +for duty she lived for God, and had His peace shed abroad in +her heart, even while sorrow was wearing away the springs of +her life. She loved to sit alone and send her thoughts forward +to the future—not of this life, but of that higher life in which +there shall be no shadow on the brightness of our joy—where<a class='page' name ='Page_256' id='Page_256' title='256'> </a> +love shall be without fear—no war shall desolate—no opposing +duty shall separate—no death shall place its stony barrier +between loving hearts. With a mind thus occupied, she wandered +one day, in the latter part of August, through the garden +of the parsonage and the yard immediately surrounding +the church into the little inclosure beyond, within which was +the green and flowery knoll that marked her mother's last +resting-place. As she turned again towards her home the +sound of a carriage driven rapidly by caused her to look towards +the road which lay about a hundred yards distant. The +carriage rushed by, and she caught but a glimpse of a gentleman +leaning from its window. In another moment a grove of +trees had hidden both the carriage and its occupant from her +sight—yet that glimpse had sent a thrill through her whole +frame—a mist passed over her eyes, and with eager, trembling +steps, she proceeded on her way. As she reached the garden, +she thought she saw her father approaching it from the house, +but her path led through a summer-house, and when she had +passed through it he was no longer visible. Every thing in +the house wore its usual air of quietness on her entrance, and +with a feeling of disappointment, for which she could not +rationally account, she turned her steps towards her father's +study. As she drew near the door she heard his voice—the +words, "I dread to tell her," met her ear and made her heart +stand still. One step more and she was at the door—she +looked eagerly forward, and with a glad cry sprang into the +extended arms of her husband.</p> + +<p>It was long before any of the party were sufficiently composed +for conversation. When that time came, Captain +or rather Colonel Percy heard with surprise that no letters had +been received from him since his joining the army in Canada. +He had written often, but had been obliged to send his letters +to some distant post-town by his own servant. As he had de<a class='page' name ='Page_257' id='Page_257' title='257'> </a>clined +accompanying Colonel Percy to America, there was reason +to suppose that he had suspected the character of the correspondence, +perhaps had acquainted himself fully with the +contents of the letters, and had taken effectual means to prevent +their reaching their destination, with the hope of thus completely +removing from Colonel Percy's mind every inducement +to return to this country. Having received a disabling though +not dangerous wound at the battle of New Orleans, Colonel +then Major Percy was sent home with despatches, and was immediately +ordered to join the army under Lord Wellington, +then rapidly hastening to repel the attempt of the prisoner of +Elba to re-establish himself on the throne of France. From +this period till the battle of Waterloo all private concerns were +merged in the interest and the hurry of great public events. +In that battle Major Percy was again slightly wounded. His +distinguished bravery was rewarded by his being made again +the bearer of despatches to England. As it was evident to all +that the struggle which had called the whole force of Britain +into the field was now at an end, he had no hesitation in asking +and no difficulty in obtaining leave of absence from the commander-in-chief, +and had lost no time in embarking for +America.</p> + +<p>"As a consequence of peace," said Colonel Percy in conclusion, +"a large part of our force will be disbanded, and +many officers put on half-pay. A friend who is very influential +at head quarters has undertaken to secure me a place on +the list of the latter—and henceforth, dear Mary, your home +is mine!"</p> + +<p>"And did you never doubt me during all this long +silence?" he asked of his happy wife a few days after his +return.</p> + +<p>"Never," said Mary firmly, and then added in a more +playful manner—"if I should step into the confessor's chair, +could you answer as boldly?"</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_258' id='Page_258' title='258'> </a>"I can, Mary—though I never received a line from you, it +never occurred to me to fear any change in your affection. +Our marriage had placed on it the seal of duty, and your conduct +in relation to your father had shown me that that seal +you could not easily break."</p> + +<p>"Then you did not love me less for not yielding every +other consideration to the gratification of your wishes?" said +Mary, endeavoring to speak lightly, but betraying deeper feeling +by the slight tremor in her voice, and the quick blush +mantling in her cheek.</p> + +<p>"Love you less!" exclaimed Colonel Percy warmly—"my +love had been little worthy of your acceptance, dearest, had it +been lessened by seeing that your principles were paramount +even to your affections. Happy would it be for all your sex, +Mary, did they recognize as the only test of a true and noble +love, that it increases with the increase of esteem, and finds +more pleasure in the excellence of its object than in its own +selfish triumphs."</p> + +<p>Ere the winter of 1815 had set in, Mary's rounded form and +blooming cheek relieved all Mr. Sinclair's apprehension of her +consumptive tendencies, and proved that her love was indeed, +as he had said, "a part of her life."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a class='page' name ='Page_259' id='Page_259' title='259'> </a><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h2> + + +<p>The New-Year's day—the day after which the year is no longer +new—is come and gone; and while sitting here to record its +events before I sleep, I look back at it with pleasure, chastened +by such thoughts as the young seldom have. I believe of all +such eras the aged may say as the poet says of his birthday:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">"What a different sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That word had in my younger years!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every time the chain comes round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less and less bright the link appears."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>To all, these eras mark their progress on the journey of +life; but to the young they are bright with the promise of a +happier future; the aged, they direct to the grave of the buried +past, and they read on them the inscription so often found on +the Roman monumental stones, "Siste, Viator." Travellers are +we from time to eternity, and it is well that we should meet +with these imperative calls to stand and consider. Cheered by +the Christian's hope, we can stand; we can look steadily on +the past, count the lengthening line of these memorials of our +dead years, and feel that but few more probably lie between us +and the river of death, yet, strong in the might of Death's great +Conqueror, "bate no jot of heart or hope."</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_260' id='Page_260' title='260'> </a>These are grave though not sad thoughts; too grave to +mingle readily with the record of mirthful scenes, howsoever +innocent may have been the mirth. I must, therefore, lay aside +my pen, and reserve the description of our New-Year for tomorrow.</p> + +<p>Our New-Year opened with a cold and cloudless morning, +and our party met at breakfast with faces as bright as the sun. +Gifts were exchanged between the parents and children, the +brothers and sisters—gifts, trifling in themselves, but dear from +their association with the cherished givers. It was an endearing +sight to see the venerable parents receiving from their +children testimonies of that affectionate consideration which the +care and tenderness of years had so well deserved. Tears were +on Mrs. Donaldson's cheeks, and even the Colonel's eyes glistened +as they clasped one after another of their children to their +hearts, and invoked on them the blessing of Heaven. From +this scene Mr. Arlington and I had stood aloof, silent, but not +uninterested spectators. As the excitement of the principal +actors subsided, we approached and tendered our hearty congratulations, +and received equally hearty congratulations in +return. Neither had Aunt Nancy been altogether forgotten in +the mementos of affection provided for the day; and I thought +Mr. Arlington looked a little envious as Annie, with a kiss, +threw around my neck a chain woven of her own hair, and +suspended to it the eye-glass which I always wore. I do not +know but his envy may have been somewhat allayed by a very +handsomely decorated copy of an English work on sporting, +with which Col. Donaldson presented him. He had scarcely +found time, however, to admire it, when all attention was attracted +to Philip Donaldson, who entered with a servant bearing +the mysterious box to which I have before alluded.</p> + +<p>"There is my New-Year present to you, Annie," he said, as +he began to open it. All drew near and looked on with<a class='page' name ='Page_261' id='Page_261' title='261'> </a> +interest, yet few felt much surprise when, the cover being +removed, a Greek dress was disclosed. From the rich head-dress +of silvered muslin to the embroidered slipper, all was +complete. Annie looked on with a smile as he displayed piece +after piece—yet her smile wore some appearance of constraint; +and when Philip, drawing her to him, kissed her cheek and +said, "Not a word for me, Annie!" with her thanks were mingled +some hesitating expressions of apprehension that this dress +would be very conspicuous, concluding with the timid question, +"Do you really wish me to wear it this evening, Philip?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Annie. It was in order to show you in this +dress that I proposed fancy dresses for this evening; you will +not disappoint me?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not—at least not willingly—I will wear it. If +I wear it ungracefully you will forgive me?"</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid of that," said Philip, as he glanced at her +glowing face with a brother's gratified pride.</p> + +<p>Miss Donaldson advised that Annie should try on the dress +at once, as she prudently suggested it might require some +alteration.</p> + +<p>"Come with me, Aunt Nancy," said Annie as she left the +room to comply with this advice.</p> + +<p>"Come back here and let us see you, Annie, when you +have put it on," said Col. Donaldson.</p> + +<p>Annie would have passed from the room without an +answer, evading the compliance which she could not refuse, +but the Colonel called her back and did not dismiss her till +assured that the request, which he knew would be regarded as +a command, had been heard.</p> + +<p>The dress needed no alteration. We afterwards found that +Philip had sent his friend a measure procured from Annie's +maid, and the fit was perfect. I am not quite sure that Annie, +as she saw the beautiful figure reflected in her glass, regretted<a class='page' name ='Page_262' id='Page_262' title='262'> </a> +the command which compelled her to show herself to the party +awaiting her in the library, to which we had withdrawn from +the breakfasting room, that we might not interfere with the +household operations, of which the latter was, at this hour, the +scene. Yet it was with a little coy delay and blushing timidity +that she, at length, suffered me to lead her thither.</p> + +<p>"Beautiful!"—"I never saw her look so well!"—"I knew +it would become her!" were the exclamations that greeted +her, on her entrance, deepening the flush upon her cheek, and +calling up a brighter smile to her lips. Mr. Arlington alone +was silent, but his soul was in his eyes, and they spoke an +admiration compared to which the words of others were tame.</p> + +<p>"My dear Annie," said her mother, as she gazed delightedly +upon her, "how I wish I had a likeness of you in that +dress!—you do look so remarkably well in it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arlington stepped forward. "Would you permit me—" +to Mrs. Donaldson—"Would you do me the favor—" to +Annie—"Might I be allowed—" with a glance at the Colonel, +"to gratify Mrs. Donaldson's wish. It should be my New-Year's +offering. I would ask only an hour of your time—" +deprecatingly to Annie. "That would give me an outline +which I could fill up without troubling you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arlington was so earnest, and Mrs. Donaldson so gratefully +pleased, that if Annie had any objections, they were completely +overborne. Mr. Arlington produced his sketching materials, +and disposed his subject and his light, and then +intimated so plainly that the consciousness of the observation +of others would be fatal to his success, that we withdrew, +leaving only Philip with a book in a distant corner "to play +propriety," as he whispered to me on passing, with a mischievous +glance at the blushing Annie.</p> + +<p>And now the reader doubtless thinks, that in the engraving +prefixed to this volume, he has a copy of the sketch made on<a class='page' name ='Page_263' id='Page_263' title='263'> </a> +this New-Year's morning. In this, however, he deceives himself, +for the work of this morning amounted to the merest and +most unfinished outline, which would have stood for Zuleika as +well as for Annie Donaldson. Yet instead of one hour, Annie +generously allowed Mr. Arlington nearly to triple the time. +How he was occupied during all this time, I cannot tell, though +that he did not spend all of it in drawing I had ocular demonstration.</p> + +<p>Nearly three hours, as I have said, had passed since we left +the library, when, looking from my window, I saw Philip, returning +to the house on horseback. Having left in the library +a book in which I was much interested, I had been waiting +somewhat impatiently for Annie's appearance, to satisfy me +that I might without intrusion return thither for it. I now concluded, +somewhat too hastily, as it afterwards proved, from +seeing Philip abroad, that the sitting was at an end, and accordingly +went for my book. I entered noiselessly, I suppose—I +am usually quiet in my movements—by a door directly +opposite to the seat which Mr. Arlington had arranged for +himself, and behind the sofa on which, at his desire, Annie +had been seated when I left her. There still was Mr. Arlington's +seat, and before it a table with the drawing materials and +unfinished sketch, but Mr. Arlington was on the sofa beside +Annie. He was speaking, but in tones so low, that even had +I wished it, I could not have heard him; but the few seconds +for which surprise kept me chained to the spot, were sufficient +to suggest the subject of those murmured words. The reader +will probably conjecture that subject without aid from me, when +I tell him what I saw. Of Annie, as she sat with her back to +me, I could only see the drooping head and one crimson ear +and cheek; Mr. Arlington's face was turned to her, and was +glowing with joy, and as it seemed to me with triumph. Before +I had turned away, he raised her hand to his lips. I saw<a class='page' name ='Page_264' id='Page_264' title='264'> </a> +that it rested unresistingly in his clasp; and gliding through +the door by which I stood, I closed it softly and left them unconscious +of my presence.</p> + +<p>The invitations had been given for the early hour of half-past +seven, and at seven, by previous arrangement, our own +party collected in the library dressed for the evening. There +stood Col. Donaldson in the uniform of a continental major, +gallantly attending a lady whose fine dark eyes and sweet +smile revealed Mrs. Seagrove, notwithstanding the crimped and +powdered hair, patched face, hoop, furbelows, and farthingale, +which would have carried us back to the days of Queen Anne. +Mrs. Dudley, in similar costume, was attended by Philip +Donaldson, who looked a perfect gentleman of the Sir Charles +Grandison style in his full dress, with bag-wig and sword. +Arthur Donaldson, in the graceful and becoming costume of the +gallant Hotspur, was seated with his Kate by his side, and if +Kate Percy looked but half as lovely in her bridal array as did +her present representative, she was well worthy a hero's +homage. But in the background, evidently shrinking from +observation, stood a figure more interesting to me than all +these—it was our "sweet Annie" as Zuleika—our Bride, <i>not</i> +of Abydos—leaning on the arm of a Selim habited in a costume +as correct and as magnificent as her own, yet who could +scarcely be said to <i>look</i> the character well; the open brow of +Mr. Arlington, where lofty and serene thought seemed to have +fixed its throne, and his eyes bright with present enjoyment +and future hope, bearing little resemblance to our imaginations +of the wronged and desperate Selim, whose very joy seemed +but a lightning flash, lending intenser darkness to the night of +his despair. I was the last to enter the room, and as I approached +Mr. Arlington, he presented me with a very beautiful +bouquet. I found afterwards that he had made the same +graceful offering to each of the ladies at the Manor, having<a class='page' name ='Page_265' id='Page_265' title='265'> </a> +received them from the city, to which he had sent for his Greek +dress and Philip's wig. Put up in the ingenious cases now +used for this purpose, the flowers had come looking as freshly +as though they had that moment been plucked. The bouquet +appropriated to Annie differed from all the others. It was +composed of white camelias, moss-rose buds, and violets. As +I was admiring it, Annie pointed to one of the rose-buds as +being eminently lovely in its formation and beautiful in its +delicate shading. It was beautiful, but my attention was more +attracted by the sparkling of a diamond ring I had never +before seen upon her finger. The diamond was unusually +large, the antique setting tasteful. With an inconsideration of +which I flatter myself I am not often guilty, I exclaimed in +surprised admiration, "Why, Annie, where did you get that +beautiful ring?"</p> + +<p>The sudden withdrawing of the little hand, the quick flushing +of cheek, neck, brow, told the tale at once; a tale corroborated +by the smiling glance which met mine as it was turned +for a moment on Mr. Arlington. Her confusion was beautiful, +but he was too generous to enjoy it, and strove to bring me +back to the flowers.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen some beautiful verses, translated from +the German, by Edward Everett I believe, entitled 'The Flower +Angels?'" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I never did; can you repeat them?"</p> + +<p>He answered by immediately reciting the verses which I +here give to the reader.</p> + + +<h3><a class='page' name ='Page_266' id='Page_266' title='266'> </a><a name="THE_FLOWER_ANGELS" id="THE_FLOWER_ANGELS"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">THE FLOWER ANGELS.</a></h3> + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border ='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As delicate forms as is thine, my love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beauty like thine, have the angels above;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet men cannot see them, though often they come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On visits to earth from their native home.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou ne'er wilt behold them, but if thou wouldst know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The houses in which, when they wander below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Angels are fondest of passing their hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll tell thee, fair lady—they dwell in the flowers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each flower, as it blossoms, expands to a tent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the house of a visiting angel meant;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From his flight o'er the earth he may there find repose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till again to the vast tent of heaven he goes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And this angel his dwelling-place keeps in repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As every good man of his dwelling takes care;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All around he adorns it, and paints it well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And much he's delighted within it to dwell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">True sunshine of gold, from the orb of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He borrows, his roof with its light to inlay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the lines of each season to him he calls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with them he tinges his chamber walls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bread angels eat, from the flower's fine meal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bakes, so that hunger he never can feel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He brews from the dew-drop a drink fresh and good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every thing does which a good angel should.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And greatly the flowers, as they blossom, rejoice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That they are the home of the angel's choice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And again when to heaven the angel ascends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flower falls asunder, the stalk droops and bends.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a class='page' name ='Page_267' id='Page_267' title='267'> </a>If thou, my dear lady, in truth art inclined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirits of heaven beside thee to find,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reflect on the flowers and love them moreover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And angels will always around thee hover.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A flower do but plant near thy window-glass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through it no spirit of evil can pass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou goest abroad, on thy bosom wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A nosegay, and trust me an angel is near.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Do but water the lilies at break of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the hours of the morn thou'lt be whiter than they;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let a rose round thy bed night-sentry keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And angels will rock thee on roses to sleep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No frightful dreams can approach thy bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For around thee an angel his watch will have spread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whatever visions thy Guardian, to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Permits to come in, very good ones will be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When thus thou art kept by a heavenly spell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shouldst thou now and then dream that I love thee right well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be sure that with fervor and truth I adore thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or an angel had ne'er set mine image before thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p>The visitors soon began to arrive. There were among +them some amusing characters, so well supported as to give +rise during the evening to many entertaining scenes; but to +me this was the group and this the incident of the evening. +Not a group or an incident for prurient curiosity or frivolous +jest, but for an earnest and reverent recognition of that beautiful +law imposed on Nature by her Great Author, by which +the feeble delight in receiving, and the strong in giving support—that +law by which a pure and self-abnegating affection +is made the source of life in all its commingling relations—of +its duties and its sympathies—its joys and its sorrows—of its +severest probation and its loftiest development.</p> + +<p><a class='page' name ='Page_268' id='Page_268' title='268'> </a>It was in the solemnity of spirit, engendered by thoughts +like these, that I stood at the window of my room, looking +forth upon the still and moonlit night, long after our friends +had left us. My door opened softly and Annie glided in, and +ere I was aware of her presence, was standing beside me with +her head resting on my shoulder. A tear was on the cheek to +which I pressed my lips. A few whispered words told me +whence the ring came—but not for the public are the pure, +guileless confidences of that hour.</p> + +<p>Our holiday festivities were over, and the next day the +Christmas Guests departed. They had stepped aside awhile +from the dusty thoroughfares on which they were accustomed +to pursue their several avocations, for the interchange of friendly +sympathy with each other, and the offering of grateful hearts +to Heaven, and now they were returning, cheered and strengthened +to their allotted work. Reader, go thou and do likewise</p> + +<div class='center'> +<table class='poem' border ='0'><tr><td> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Like a star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That maketh not haste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That taketh no rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let each be fulfilling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His God-given best."<br /></span> +</div></div> +</td></tr></table></div> + +<p class='center'>THE END.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="D_Appleton_Cos_Publications" id="D_Appleton_Cos_Publications"></a><i>D. Appleton & Co.'s Publications.</i></h2> + + +<h3>Novels, Tales, &c.</h3> + +<div class="dbooklist"><p class='pbooklist'><i>AGUILAR, G</i>.—A MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE. 12mo., paper, 50c.; cloth, 75c.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>—— WOMEN OF ISRAEL. 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Gilt edges, 88 cts.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>WILSON'S Lectures on Colossians. 12mo. 75 cents.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>—— Sacra Privata. Complete Edition. 16mo. 75 cents.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>—— Sacra Privata. 48mo. Cloth, 37 cents; roan, 50 cents.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>WHISTON'S Constitution of the Holy Apostles, including the Canons. +Translated by Dr. Chase. 8vo. $2 50.</p> + +<p class='pbooklist'>WYATT'S Christian Altar. New Edition. 32mo. Cloth, gilt edges, 38 cts.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="FOOTNOTES" id="FOOTNOTES"></a>FOOTNOTES:</h2> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> I know not the author of this beautiful hymn. It will be found in a +collection of great merit, called "Songs of the Night."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> For this sketch, which for beauty of description, and wild, thrilling +interest, will compare favorably with any known to me, I am indebted to +my friend, Mr. C. Whitehead. M. J. Mc.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Plato calls Truth the body of God, and Light His shadow.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> These lines were extracted from a satirical poem published many +years since, under the title of "The Devil's Progress."</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Evenings at Donaldson Manor, by Maria J. 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