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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4630.txt b/4630.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..02ee247 --- /dev/null +++ b/4630.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6994 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Home Mission, by T. S. Arthur + +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: The Home Mission + +Author: T. S. Arthur + +Posting Date: September 12, 2012 [EBook #4630] +Release Date: November, 2003 +First Posted: February 20, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOME MISSION *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo + + + + + + + + + + +THE HOME MISSION. + + +By + +T. S. ARTHUR. + + + +BOSTON: + +PHILADELPHIA: + +1853. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + A VISION OF CONSOLATION + THE STEP-MOTHER + POWER OF KINDNESS + BEAR AND FORBEAR + THE SOCIAL SERPENT + THE YOUNG MOTHER + THE GENTLE WARNING + KATE'S EXPERIMENT + "MY FORTUNE'S MADE" + THE GOOD MATCH + THE BROTHER'S TEMPTATION + THE HOME OF TASTE + THE TWO SISTERS + THE EVENING PRAYER + A PEEVISH DAY, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES + SISTERS + BROTHERS + HOME + A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE ON THE PATH OF A MONEY-LENDER + ENGAGED AT SIXTEEN + THE DAUGHTER + PASSING AWAY + THE LOVE SECRET + + + + +PREFACE. + + +IF it were possible to trace back to their beginnings, in each +individual, those good or evil impulses that have become ruling +affections, in most cases the origin would not be found until we had +reached the home of childhood. Here it is that impressions are made, +which become lasting as existence itself. But the influence of home +is not alone salutary or baneful in early years. Wherever a home +exists, there will be found the nursery of all that is excellent in +social or civil life, or of all that is deformed. Every man and +woman we meet in society, exhibit, in unmistakable characters, the +quality of their homes. The wife, the husband, the children, the +guest, bear with them daily a portion of the spirit pervading the +little circle from which they have come forth. If the sun shines +there, a light will be on their countenances; but shadows, if clouds +are in the sky of home. If there be disorder, defect of principle, +discord among the members, neglect of duty, and absence of kind +offices, the sphere of those who constitute that home can hardly be +salutary. They will add little to the common stock of good in the +social life around them. We need not say how different will be the +influence of those whose home-circle is pervaded by higher, purer, +and truer principles. + +A word to the wise is, we are told, sufficient. He, therefore, who +speaks a true word in the ear of the wise, has planted a seed that +will surely spring up and yield good fruit. May we hope that all +into whose hands this little book is destined to come are wise, and +that the few suggestive words spoken therein, as "hints to make home +happy," will fall into good ground. If this be so, "The Home +Mission" will not be fruitless. Though no annual reports of what it +has accomplished are made, its silent and unobtrusive work, we +trust, will be none the less effectual. + + + + +THE HOME MISSION. + + + + +A VISION OF CONSOLATION. + + +THE tempest of grief which, for a time, had raged so wildly in the +heart of Mrs. Freeland, exhausted by its own violence, sobbed itself +away, and the stricken mother passed into the land of dreams. + +To the afflicted, sleep comes with a double blessing--rest is given +to the wearied body and to the grieving spirit. Often, very often, +the Angel of Consolation bends to the dreaming ear, and whispers +words of hope and comfort that from no living lips had yet found +utterance. + +And it was so now with the sleeping mother. A few hours only had +passed since she stood looking down, for the last time, on the fair +face of her youngest born. Over his bright, blue eyes, into whose +heavenly depths she had so loved to gaze, the pale lids had closed +for ever. Still lingered around his lips the smile left there by the +angels, as, with a kiss of love, they received his parting spirit. +In the curling masses of his rich, golden hair, the shadows nestled +away, as of old, while his tiny fingers held a few white blossoms, +as with a living grasp. Was it death or sleep? So like a sleeping +child the sweet boy lay, that it seemed every moment as if his lips +would unclose, his eyes open to the light, and his voice come to the +listening ear with its tones of music. + +If to the mother had come this illusion, it remained not long. Wild +with grief, she turned away as the sweet face she had so loved to +gaze upon was hidden from her straining eyes for ever. + +Hidden from her eyes, did we say? Only hidden from her natural eyes. +Still he was before the eyes of her spirit in all his living beauty. +But, to her natural affections, he was lost--even as he had faded +from before her natural eyes; and, in the agony of bereavement, it +seemed that her heart would break. Back to her darkened chamber she +went. Her nearest and dearest friends gathered around, seeking +lovingly to sustain her in her great affliction; but she refused to +be comforted. + +At length, as at first said, the tempest of grief, which, for a +time, raged so violently in the heart of Mrs. Freeland, sobbed +itself away, and the stricken mother passed into the land of dreams. + +For the most part, dreams are fantastic. Yet they are not always so. +In states of deep sorrow or strong trial, when the heart turns from +the natural world, hopeless of aid or consolation, truth often comes +in dreams and similitudes. + +The mother found herself in the company of two beautiful maidens, in +the very flower of youth; and as she gazed earnestly into their +faces, which seemed transparent from an inward celestial light, she +saw expectation therein--loving expectation. They stood beneath the +eastern portico of a pleasant dwelling, around which stately +trees--the branches vocal with the song of feathered +minstrels--lifted their green tops far up into the crystal air. +Flowers of a thousand hues and sweet odours were woven into forms +and figures of exquisite beauty upon the carpet of living green +spread over the teeming earth, while groups of little children +sported one with another, and mingled their happy voices with the +melody of birds. + +Yet, amid all this external joy and beauty, the hand of grief still +lay upon the mother's heart; and when she looked upon the sportive +infants around her, she sighed for her own babe. Even as she sighed, +one of the maidens turned to her and said, while her whole +countenance was lit up with a glow of delight-- + +"It has come. A new babe is born unto heaven." + +And, as she spoke, she gathered her arms quickly to her bosom, and +the wondering mother saw lying thereon her own child. The other +maiden was already bending over the infant--already had she greeted +its coming with a kiss of love. Quickly both retired within the +dwelling, and the bereaved mother went with them, eager to receive +the babe she had lost. + +"Oh, my child! my child!" she said. "Give me my child." + +And ere the words had died upon her lips, the maiden who had +received the babe gave it into her arms, when she clasped it with a +wild delight, and rained tears of gladness upon its face. + +For a time, the two maidens looked upon the mother in silence, and +in their bright countenances love and pity were blended. At length, +one of them said to her, (and she smiled sweetly, and spoke with an +exquisite, penetrating tenderness,)-- + +"Your heart is full of love for your babe?" + +"He is dearer to me than life--dearer than a thousand lives," +replied the mother quickly, drawing the babe closer to her bosom. + +"Love seeks to bless the object of its regard." + +There was a meaning in the words and tone of the maiden, as she said +this, that caused the mother to look into her face earnestly. + +"This is not the land of sickness, of sorrow, of death," resumed the +maiden, "but the land of eternal life and blessedness. Into this +land your babe has been born. You are here only as a visitant, and +must soon return to bear a few more trials and pains, a few more +conflicts with evil; but the end is your preparation for these +heavenly regions." + +A shadow fell instantly upon the mother's heart. Tears rushed to her +eyes, and she drew her arms more tightly about her babe. + +"Shall we keep this babe in our heavenly home, or will you bear it +with you back to the dark, cold, sad regions of mortality?" + +"Do not take from me my more than life!" sobbed the mother wildly. +"Oh! I cannot give you my child;" and more eagerly she hugged it to +her breast. + +For a time there was silence. Then one of the maidens laid gently +her hand upon the mother, and she lifted her bowed head. + +"Come," said the maiden. + +The mother arose, and the two walked into the open air, and passing +through the group of children sporting on the lawn and in the +gardens, went for what seemed the space of a mile, until they came +to a forest, into the depths of which they penetrated; and, for a +time, the farther they went the darker and more gloomy it became, +until scarcely a ray of light from the arching sky came down through +the dense and tangled foliage. At last they were beyond the forest. + +"Look," said the companion. + +The mother lifted her eyes--the babe had strangely passed from her +arms. A dwelling, familiar in aspect, stood near, and through an +open window she saw a sick child lying upon a bed, and knew it as +her own. Its little face was distorted by pain and flushed with +fever; and as it tossed restlessly to and fro, its moans filled her +ears. She stretched forth her hands, yearning to give some relief; +even as she did so, the scene faded from her view, and next she saw +an older child, bearing still the linaments of her own. There was +the same broad, white forehead and clustering curls; the same large, +bright eyes and full, ruddy lips; but, alas! not the soft vail of +innocence which had given the features of the babe such a heavenly +charm. The fine brow was contracted with passion; the eyes flashed +with an evil light; and the lips were tightly drawn, and with +something of defiance, against the teeth. The boy was resisting, +with a stern determination, the will of the parents--was setting at +naught those early salutary restraints which are the safeguard of +youth. + +"Oh! my unhappy boy!" cried the mother. + +The scene changed as she spoke. The boy, now grown up to manhood, +once more stood before her. Alas! how had the light of innocence +faded from his countenance, giving place to a shadow of evil, the +very darkness of which caused a cold shudder to pass through the +mother's frame. + +"Look again," said the maiden, as this scene was fading. + +But the mother hid her face in her hands, and turned weeping away. + +"Look again." And this time there was something so heart-cheering in +the maiden's voice, that the mother lifted her tearful eyes. She was +back again in the beautiful place from which she had gone forth a +little while before, and her babe, beautiful as innocence itself, +lay sweetly sleeping in the arms of the lovely maiden who had +received it on its first entrance into heaven. With a heart full of +joy, the mother now bent over the slumbering babe, kissing it again +and again. + +"Grieving mother," said the angel-maiden, in tones of flute-like +softness, "God saw that it would not be good for your child to +remain on earth, and he therefore removed it to this celestial +region, where no evil can ever penetrate. To me, as an angel-mother, +it has been given; and I will love it and care for it with a love as +pure and tender as the love that yearns in your bosom. As its +infantile mind opens, I will pour in heavenly instruction, that it +may grow in wisdom and become an angel. Will you not let me have it +freely?" + +"But why may I not remain here and be its heavenly mother? Oh! I +will love and care for it with a tenderness and devotion equal to, +if not exceeding yours." + +Even while the mother spoke there was a change. She saw before her +other objects of affection. There was her husband, sitting in deep +dejection, sorrowing for the loss of one who was dear as his own +life; while three children, the sight of whom stirred her maternal +heart to its profoundest depths, lay sleeping in each other's arms, +the undried tears yet glistening on their lashes. + +The wife and mother stretched forth her hands toward these beloved +ones, eager to be with them again and turn their grief into +gladness. But, in a moment, there passed another change. The +pleasant home in which her children had been sheltered for years, no +longer held them; the fold had been broken up and the tender lambs +scattered. One of these little ones the mother saw, sitting apart +from a group of sportive children, weeping over some task work. The +bloom on her cheek had faded--its roundness was gone--the light of +her beautiful eyes was quenched in tears. And, as she looked, a +woman came to the child and spoke to her harshly. She was about +springing forward, when another scene was presented. Her first-born, +a noble-spirited boy, to whose future she had ever looked with pride +and pleasure, stood before her. Alas! how changed. Every thing about +him showed the want of a mother's care and considerate affection; +and from his dear, young face had already vanished the look of +joyous innocence she had so loved to contemplate. + +Again the mother was in the presence of the angel-maiden, to whose +loving arms a good God had confided the babe, which, in his wisdom, +he had removed from the earth. And the angel-maiden, as she looked +first at the babe in her arms and then at the mother, smiled sweetly +and said-- + +"He is safe here; will you not let him remain?" + +And, with a gushing heart, the mother answered, "Not for worlds +would I take him with me into the outer life of nature. Oh, no! He +is safe--let him remain." + +"And you will return to those who still need your love and care?" + +"Yes, yes," said the mother, earnestly. "Let me go to them again. +Let me be their angel on earth." + +And she bent hastily to the heaven-born babe, kissing it with +tearful fondness. + +There came now another change. The mother was back again in her +chamber of sorrow; and undried tears were yet upon her cheeks. But +she was comforted and reconciled to the great affliction which had +been sent for good from heaven. + +Those who saw Mrs. Freeland in the first wild grief that followed +the loss of her babe, wondered at her serene composure when she came +again among them. And they wondered long, for she spoke not of this +Vision of Consolation. It was too sacred a thing to be revealed, to +any save the companion of her life. + + + + +THE STEP-MOTHER. + + +THERE are few positions in social life of greater trial and +responsibility than that of a step-mother; and it too rarely happens +that the woman who assumes this position, is fitted for the right +discharge of its duties. In far too many cases, the widower is +accepted as a husband because he has a home, or a position to offer, +while the children are considered as a drawback in the bargain. But +it sometimes happens, that a true woman, from genuine affection, +unites herself with a widower, and does it with a loving regard for +his children, and with the purpose in her mind of being to them, as +far as in her power lies, a wise and tender mother. + +Such a woman was Agnes Green. She was in her thirty-second year when +Mr. Edward Arnold, a widower with four children, asked her to become +his wife. At twenty-two, Agnes had loved as only a true woman can +love. But the object of that love proved himself unworthy, and she +turned away from him. None knew how deep the heart-trial through +which she passed--none knew how intensely she suffered. In part, her +pale face and sobered brow witnessed, but only in part; for many +said she was cold, and some even used the word heartless, when they +spoke of her. From early womanhood a beautiful ideal of manly +excellence had filled her mind; and with this ideal she had invested +one who proved false to the high character. At once the green things +of her heart withered and for a long time its surface was a barren +waste. But the woman was yet strong in her. She must love something. +So she came forth from her heart-seclusion, and let her affections, +like a refreshing and invigorating stream, flow along many channels. +She was the faithful friend, the comforter in affliction, the wise +counsellor. More than once had she been approached with offers of +marriage, by men who saw the excellence of her character, and felt +that upon any dwelling, in which she was the presiding spirit, would +rest a blessing. But none of them were able to give to the even +pulses of her heart a quicker motion. + +At last she met Mr. Arnold. More than three years had passed since +the mother of his children was removed by death, and, since that +time, he had sought, with all a father's tenderness and devotion, to +fill her place to them. How imperfectly, none knew so well as +himself. As time went on, the want of a true woman's affectionate +care for his children was more and more felt. All were girls except +the youngest, their ages ranging from twelve downward, and this made +their mother's loss so much the more a calamity. Moreover, his +feeling of loneliness and want of companionship, so keenly felt in +the beginning, instead of diminishing, increased. + +Such was his state of mind when he met Agnes Green. The attraction +was mutual, though, at first, no thought of marriage came into the +mind of either. A second meeting stirred the placid waters in the +bosom of Agnes Green. Conscious of this, and fearful lest the +emotion she strove to repress might become apparent to other eyes, +she assumed a certain reserve, not seen in the beginning, which only +betrayed her secret, and at once interested Mr. Arnold, who now +commenced a close observation of her character. With every new +aspect in which this was presented, he saw something that awakened +admiration; something that drew his spirit nearer to her as one +congenial. And not the less close was her observation. + +When, at length, Mr. Arnold solicited the hand of Agnes Green, she +was ready to respond. Not, however, in a selfish and self-seeking +spirit; not in the narrow hope of obtaining some great good for +herself, was her response made, but in full view of her woman's +power to bless, and with an earnest, holy purpose in her heart, to +make her presence in his household indeed a blessing. + +"I must know your children better than I know them now, and they +must know me better than they do, before I take the place you wish +me to assume," was her reply to Mr. Arnold, when he spoke of an +early marriage. + +And so means were taken to bring her in frequent contact with the +children. The first time she met them intimately, was at the house +of a friend. Mary, the oldest girl, she found passionate and +self-willed; Florence, the second, good-natured, but careless and +slovenly; while Margaret, the third, was in ill health, and +exceedingly peevish. The little brother, Willy, was a beautiful, +affectionate child, but in consequence of injudicious management, +very badly spoiled. Take them altogether, they presented rather an +unpromising aspect; and it is no wonder that Agnes Green had many +misgivings at heart, when the new relation contemplated, and its +trials and responsibilities, were pictured to her mind. + +The earnestly-asked question by Mr. Arnold, after this first +interview,--"What do you think of my children?"--was not an easy one +to answer. A selfish, unscrupulous woman, who looked to the +connection as something to be particularly desired on her own +account, and who cared little about duties and responsibilities, +might have replied, "Oh, they are lovely children!" or, "I am +delighted with them!" Not so Agnes Green. She did not reply +immediately, but mused for some moments, considerably embarrassed, +and in doubt what to say. Mr. Arnold was gazing intently in her +face. + +"They do not seem to have made a favourable impression," said he, +speaking with some disappointment in his tone and manner. + +A feeble flush was visible in the face of Agnes Green, and also a +slight quiver of the lips as she answered: + +"There is too much at stake, as well in your case as my own, to +warrant even a shadow of concealment. You ask what I think of your +children, and you expect me to answer truly?" + +"I do," was the almost solemnly-spoken reply. + +"My first hurried, yet tolerably close, observation, has shown me, +in each, a groundwork of natural good." + +"As their father," replied Mr. Arnold, in some earnestness of +manner, "I know there is good in them,--much good. But they have +needed a mother's care." + +"When you have said that, how much has been expressed! If the garden +is not cultivated, and every weed carefully removed, how quickly is +it overrun with things noxious, and how feeble becomes the growth of +all things good and beautiful! It is just so with the mind. Neglect +it, and bad habits and evil propensities will assuredly be quickened +into being, and attain vigorous life." + +"My children are not perfect, I know, but--" + +Mr. Arnold seemed slightly hurt. Agnes Green interrupted him, by +saying, in a mild voice, as she laid her hand gently upon his arm: + +"Do not give my words a meaning beyond what they are designed to +convey. If I assume the place of a mother to your children, I take +upon myself all the responsibilities that the word 'mother' +involves. Is not this so?" + +"Thus I understand it." + +"My duty will be, not only to train these children for a happy and +useful life here, but for a happy and useful life hereafter." + +"It will." + +"It is no light thing, Mr. Arnold, to assume the place of a mother +to children who, for three years, have not known a mother's +affectionate care. I confess that my heart shrinks from the +responsibility, and I ask myself over and over again, 'Have I the +requisite wisdom, patience, and self-denial?'" + +"I believe you have," said Mr. Arnold, who was beginning to see more +deeply into the heart of Agnes. "And now," he added, "tell me what +you think of my children." + +"Mary has a quick temper, and is rather self-willed, if my +observation is correct, but she has a warm heart. Florence is +thoughtless, and untidy in her person, but possesses a happy temper. +Poor Maggy's ill health has, very naturally, soured her disposition. +Ah, what can you expect of a suffering child, who has no mother? +Your little Willy is a lovely boy, somewhat spoiled--who can wonder +at this?--but possessing just the qualities to win for him kindness +from every one." + +"I am sure you will love him," said Mr. Arnold, warmly. + +"I have no doubt on that subject," replied Agnes Green. "And now," +she added, "after what I have said, after showing you that I am +quick to see faults, once more give this matter earnest +consideration. If I become your wife, and take the place of a mother +to these children, I shall, at once,--wisely and lovingly, I +trust,--begin the work of removing from their minds every noxious +weed that neglect may have suffered to grow there. The task will be +no light one, and, in the beginning, there may be rebellion against +my authority. To be harsh or hard is not in my nature. But a sense +of duty will make me firm. Once more, I say, give this matter +serious consideration. It is not yet too late to pause." + +Mr. Arnold bent his head in deep reflection. For many minutes he sat +in silent self-communion, and sat thus so long, that the heart of +Agnes Green began to beat with a restricted motion, as if there was +a heavy pressure on her bosom. At last Mr. Arnold looked up, his +eyes suddenly brightening, and his face flushing with animation. +Grasping her hands with both of his, he said: + +"I have reflected, Agnes, and I do not hesitate. Yes, I will trust +these dear ones to your loving guardianship. I will place in your +hands their present and eternal welfare, confident that you will be +to them a true mother." + +And she was. As often as it could be done before the time appointed +for the marriage, she was brought in contact with the children. +Almost from the beginning, she was sorry to find in Mary, the oldest +child, a reserve of manner, and an evident dislike toward her, which +she in vain sought to overcome. The groundwork of this she did not +know. It had its origin in a remark made by the housekeeper, who, +having learned from some gossipping relative of Mr. Arnold that a +new wife was soon to be brought home, and, also, who this new wife +was to be, made an imprudent allusion to the fact, in a moment of +forgetfulness. + +"Your new mother will soon put you straight, my little lady," said +she, one day, to Mary, who had tried her beyond all patience. + +"My new mother! Who's she, pray?" was sharply demanded. + +"Miss Green," replied the unreflecting housekeeper. "Your father's +going to bring her home one of these days, and make her your mother, +and she'll put you all right--she'll take down your fine airs, my +lady!" + +"Will she?" And Mary, compressing her lips tightly, and drawing up +her slender form to its full height, looked the image of defiance. + +From that moment a strong dislike toward Miss Green ruled in the +mind of Mary; and she resolved, should the housekeeper's assertion +prove true, not only to set the new authority at defiance, but to +inspire, if possible, the other children with her own feelings. + +The marriage was celebrated at the house of Mr. Arnold, in the +presence of his own family and a few particular friends, Agnes +arriving at the hour appointed. + +After the ceremony, the children were brought forward, and presented +to their new mother. The youngest, as if strongly drawn by invisible +chords of affection, sprung into her lap, and clasped his little +arms lovingly about her neck. He seemed very happy. The others were +cold and distant, while Mary fixed her eyes upon the wife of her +father, with a look so full of dislike and rebellion, that no one +present was in any doubt as to how she regarded the new order of +things. + +Mr. Arnold was a good deal fretted by this unexpected conduct on the +part of Mary; and, forgetful of the occasion and its claims, spoke +to her with some sternness. He was recalled to self-possession by +the smile of his wife, and her gently-uttered remark, that reached +only his own ear: + +"Don't seem to notice it. Let it be my task to overcome prejudices." + +During the evening Mary did not soften in the least toward her +step-mother. On the next morning, when all met, for the first time, +at the breakfast table, the children gazed askance at the calm, +dignified woman who presided at the table, and seemed ill at ease. +On Mary's lip, and in her eye, was an expression so like contempt, +that it was with difficulty her father could refrain from ordering +her to her own room. + +The meal passed in some embarrassment. At its conclusion, Mr. Arnold +went into the parlour, and his wife, entering at once upon her +duties, accompanied the children to the nursery, to see for herself +that the two oldest were properly dressed for school. Mary, who had +preceded the rest, was already in contention with the housekeeper. +Just as Mrs. Arnold--so we must now call her--entered the room, Mary +exclaimed, sharply: + +"I don't care what you say, I'm going to wear this bonnet!" + +"What's the trouble?" inquired Mrs. Arnold, calmly. + +"Why, you see, ma'am," replied the housekeeper, "Mary is bent on +wearing her new, pink bonnet to school, and I tell her she mustn't +do it. Her old one is good enough." + +"Let me see the old one," said Mrs. Arnold. She spoke in a very +pleasant tone of voice. + +A neat, straw bonnet, with plain, unsoiled trimming, was brought +forth by the housekeeper, who remarked: + +"It's good enough to wear Sundays, for that matter." + +"I don't care if it is, I'm not going to wear it today. So don't +bother yourself any more about it." + +"Oh, yes, Mary, you will," said Mrs. Arnold, very kindly, yet +firmly. + +"No, I won't!" was the quick, resolute answer. And she gazed, +unflinchingly, into the face of her step-mother. + +"I'll call your father, my young lady! This is beyond all +endurance!" said the housekeeper, starting for the door. + +"Hannah!" The mild, even voice of Mrs. Arnold checked the excited +housekeeper. "Don't speak of it to her father,--I'm sure she doesn't +mean what she says. She'll think better of it in a moment." + +Mary was hardly prepared for this. Even while she stood with +unchanged exterior, she felt grateful to her step-mother for +intercepting the complaint about to be made to her father. She +expected some remark or remonstrance from Mrs. Arnold. But in this +she was mistaken. The latter, as if nothing unpleasant had occurred, +turned to Florence, and after a light examination of her dress, said +to the housekeeper: + +"This collar is too much soiled; won't you bring me another?" + +"Oh, it's clean enough," replied Florence, knitting her brows, and +affecting impatience. But, even as she spoke, the quick, yet gentle +hands of her step-mother had removed the collar from her neck. + +"Do you think it clean enough now?" said she, as she placed the +soiled collar beside a fresh one, which the housekeeper had brought. + +"It _is_ rather dirty," replied Florence, smiling. + +And now Mrs. Arnold examined other articles of her dress, and had +them changed, re-arranged her hair, and saw that her teeth were +properly brushed. While this was progressing, Mary stood a little +apart, a close observer of all that passed. One thing she did not +fail to remark, and that was the gentle firmness of her step-mother, +which was in strong contrast with the usual scolding, jerking, and +impatience of the housekeeper, as manifested on these occasions. + +By the time Florence was ready for school, Mary's state of mind had +undergone considerable change, and she half regretted the exhibition +of ill temper and insulting disobedience she had shown. Yet was she +in no way prepared to yield. To her surprise, after Florence was all +ready, her step-mother turned to her and said, in a mild, cheerful +voice, as if nothing unpleasant had occurred, + +"Have you a particular reason for wishing to wear your new bonnet, +this morning, Mary?" + +"Yes, ma'am, I have." The voice of Mary was changed considerably, +and her eyes fell beneath the mild, but penetrating, gaze of her +step-mother. + +"May I ask you the reason?" + +There was a pause of some moments; then Mary replied: + +"I promised one of the girls that I'd wear it. She asked me to. She +wanted to see it." + +"Did you tell Hannah this?" + +"No, ma'am. It wouldn't have been any use. She never hears to +reason." + +"But you'll find me very different, Mary," said Mrs. Arnold, +tenderly. "I shall ever be ready to hear reason." + +All this was so far from what Mary had anticipated, that her mind +was half bewildered. Her step-mother's clear sight penetrated to her +very thoughts. + +Taking her hand, she drew her gently to her side. An arm was then +placed lovingly around her. + +"My dear child,"--it would have been a hard heart, indeed, that +could have resisted the influence of that voice, "let us understand +each other in the beginning. You seem to look upon me as an enemy, +and yet I wish to be the very best friend you have in the world. I +have come here, not as an exacting and overbearing tyrant, but to +seek your good and promote your happiness in every possible way. I +will love you; and may I not expect love in return? Surely you will +not withhold that." + +As Mrs. Arnold spoke thus, she felt a slight quiver in the hand she +had taken in her own. She continued: + +"I cannot hope to fill the place of your dear mother, now in heaven. +Yet even as she loved you, would I love you, my child." The voice of +Mrs. Arnold had become unsteady, through excess of feeling. "As she +bore with your faults, I will bear with them; as she rejoiced over +every good affection born in your heart, so will I rejoice." + +Outraged by the conduct of Mary, the housekeeper had gone to Mr. +Arnold, whom she found in the parlour, and repeated to him, with a +colouring of her own, the insolent language his child had used. The +father hurried up stairs in a state of angry excitement. No little +surprised was he, on entering the nursery, to see Mary sobbing on +the breast of her step-mother, whose gentle hands were softly +pressed upon the child's temples, and whose low, soothing voice was +speaking to her words of comfort for the present, and cheerful hope +for the future. + +Unobserved by either, Mr. Arnold stood for a moment, and then softly +retired, with a gush of thankfulness in his heart, that he had found +for his children so true and good a mother. + +With Mary there was no more trouble. From that hour, she came wholly +under the influence of her step-mother, learning day by day, as she +knew her better, to love her with a more confiding tenderness. +Wonderful was the change produced on the children of Mr. Arnold in a +single year. They had, indeed, found a mother. + +It is painful to think how different would have been the result, had +the step-mother not been a true woman. Wise and good she was in her +sphere; loving and unselfish; and the fruit of her hand was sweet to +the taste, and beautiful to look upon. + +How few are like her! How few who assume the position of +step-mother,--a position requiring patience, long-suffering, and +unflinching self-denial,--are fitted for the duties they so lightly +take upon themselves! Is it any wonder their own lives are made, at +times, miserable, or that they mar, by passion or exacting tyranny, +the fair face of humanity, in the children committed to their care? +Such lose their reward. + +POWER OF KINDNESS. + +"TOM! Here!" said a father to his boy, speaking in tones of +authority. + +The lad was at play. He looked toward his father, but did not leave +his companions. + +"Do you hear me, sir?" spoke the father, more sternly than at first. + +With an unhappy face and reluctant step, the boy left his play and +approached his parent. + +"Why do you creep along at a snail's pace?" said the latter, +angrily. "Come quickly, I want you. When I speak, I look to be +obeyed instantly. Here, take this note to Mr. Smith, and see that +you don't go to sleep by the way. Now run as fast as you can go." + +The boy took the note. There was a cloud upon his brow. He moved +away, but at a slow pace. + +"You, Tom! Is that doing as I ordered? Is that going quickly?" +called the father, when he saw the boy creeping away. "If you are +not back in half an hour, I will punish you." + +But the words had but little effect. The boy's feelings were hurt by +the unkindness of the parent. He experienced a sense of injustice; a +consciousness that wrong had been done him. By nature he was like +his father, proud and stubborn; and these qualities of his mind were +aroused, and he indulged in them, fearless of consequences. + +"I never saw such a boy," said the father, speaking to a friend who +had observed the occurrence. "My words scarcely make an impression +on him." + +"Kind words often prove most powerful," said the friend. The father +looked surprised. + +"Kind words," continued the friend, "are like the gentle rain and +the refreshing dews; but harsh words bend and break like the angry +tempest. The first develop and strengthen good affections, while the +others sweep over the heart in devastation, and mar and deform all +they touch. Try him with kind words; they will prove a hundred fold +more powerful." + +The latter seemed hurt by the reproof; but it left him thoughtful. +An hour passed away ere his boy returned. At times during his +absence he was angry at the delay, and meditated the infliction of +punishment. But the words of remonstrance were in his ears, and he +resolved to obey them. At last the lad came slowly in with a cloudy +countenance, and reported the result of his errand. Having stayed +far beyond his time, he looked for punishment, and was prepared to +receive it with an angry defiance. To his surprise, after delivering +the message he had brought, his father, instead of angry reproof and +punishment, said kindly, "Very well, my son; you can go out to play +again." + +The boy went out, but was not happy. He had disobeyed and disobliged +his father, and the thought of this troubled him. Harsh words had +not clouded his mind nor aroused a spirit of reckless anger. Instead +of joining his companions, he went and sat down by himself, grieving +over his act of disobedience. As he thus sat, he heard his name +called. He listened. + +"Thomas, my son," said his father, kindly. The boy sprang to his +feet, and was almost instantly beside his parent. + +"Did you call, father?" + +"I did, my son. Will you take this package to Mr. Long for me?" + +There was no hesitation in the boy's manner. He looked pleased at +the thought of doing his father a service, and reached out his hand +for the package. On receiving it, he bounded away with a light step. + +"There is a power in kindness," said the father, as he sat musing, +after the lad's departure. And even while he sat musing over the +incident, the boy came back with a cheerful, happy face, and said-- + +"Can I do any thing else for you, father?" + +Yes, there is the power of kindness. The tempest of passion can only +subdue, constrain, and break; but in love and gentleness there is +the power of the summer rain, the dew, and the sunshine. + + + + +BEAR AND FORBEAR. + + +"DON'T talk to me in such a serious strain, Aunt Hannah. One would +really think, from what you say, that James and I would quarrel +before we were married a month." + +"Not so soon as that, Maggy dear. Heaven grant that it may not come +so soon as that! But, depend upon it, child, if you do not make +'bear and forbear' your motto, many months will not have passed, +after your wedding-day, without the occurrence of some serious +misunderstanding between you and your husband." + +"If anybody else were to say that to me, Aunt Hannah, I would be +very angry." + +"For which you would be a very foolish girl. But it is generally the +way that good advice is taken, it being an article of which none +think they stand in need." + +"But what in the world can there be for James and I to have +differences about? I am sure that I love him most truly; and I am +sure he loves me as fondly as I love him. In mutual love there can +be no strife--no emulation, except in the performance of good +offices. Indeed, aunt, I think you are far too serious." + +"Over the bright sky bending above you, my dear niece, I would not, +for the world, bring a cloud even as light as the filmy, almost +viewless gossamer. But I know that clouds must hide its clear, calm, +passionless blue, either earlier or later in life. And what I say +now, is with the hope of giving you the prescience required to avoid +some of the storms that may threaten to break upon your head." + +"Neither cloud nor storm will ever come from that quarter of the sky +from which you seem to apprehend danger." + +"Not if both you and James learn to bear and forbear in your conduct +toward each other." + +"We cannot act otherwise." + +"Then there will be no danger." + +Margaret Percival expressed herself sincerely. She could not believe +that there was the slightest danger of a misunderstanding ever +occurring between her and James Canning, to whom she was shortly to +be married. The well-meant warning of her aunt, who had seen and +felt more in life than she yet had, went therefore for nothing. + +A month elapsed, and the young and lovely Maggy pledged her faith at +the altar. As the bride of Canning, she felt that she was the +happiest creature in the world. Before her was a path winding amid +green and flowery places, and lingering by the side of still waters; +while a sunny sky bent over all. + +James Canning was a young lawyer of some talent, and the possessor +of a good income independent of his profession. Like others, he had +his excellencies and his defects of character. Naturally, he was of +a proud, impatient spirit, and, from a child, had been restless +under dictation. As an offset to this, he was a man of strict +integrity, generous in his feelings, and possessed of a warm heart. +Aunt Hannah had known him since he was a boy, and understood his +character thoroughly; and it was this knowledge that caused her to +feel some concern for the future happiness of her niece, as well as +to speak to her timely words of caution. But these words were not +understood. + +"We've not quarrelled yet, Aunt Hannah, for all your fears," said +the young wife, three or four months after her marriage. + +"For which I am truly thankful," replied Aunt Hannah. "Still, I +would say now, as I did before, 'Bear and forbear.'" + +"That is, I must BEAR every thing and FORBEAR in every thing. I +hardly think that just, aunt. I should say that James ought to do a +little of this as well as me." + +"Yes, it is his duty as well as yours. But you should not think of +his duty to you, Maggy, only of your duty to him. That is the most +dangerous error into which you can fall, and one that will be almost +certain to produce unhappiness." + +"Would you have a wife never think of herself?" + +"The less she thinks of herself, perhaps, the better; for the more +she thinks of herself, the more she will love herself. But the more +she thinks of her husband, the more she will love him and seek to +make him happy. The natural result of this will be, that her husband +will feel the warmth and perceive the unselfishness of her love; +this will cause him to lean toward her with still greater +tenderness, and prompt him to yield to her what otherwise he might +have claimed for himself." + +"Then it is the wife who must act the generous, self-sacrificing +part?" + +"If I could speak as freely to James as I can speak to you, Maggy, I +should not fail to point out his duty of bearing and forbearing, as +plainly as I point out yours. All should be mutual, of course. But +this can never be, if one waits for the other. If you see your duty, +it is for you to do it, even if he should fail in his part." + +"I don't know about that, aunt. I think, as you said just now, that +all this is mutual." + +"I am sorry you cannot or will not understand me, Maggy," replied +Aunt Hannah. + +"I am sorry too, aunt; but I certainly do not. However, don't, pray, +give yourself any serious concern about James and me. I assure you +that we are getting along exceedingly well; and why this should not +continue is more than I can make out." + +"Well, dear, I trust that it may. There is no good reason why it +should not. You both have virtues enough to counterbalance all +defects of character." + +On the evening of that very day, as the young couple sat at the +tea-table, James Canning said, as his wife felt, rather unkindly, at +the same time that there was a slight contraction of his brow-- + +"You seem to be very much afraid of your sugar, Maggy. I never get a +cup of tea or coffee sweet enough for my taste." + +"You must have a sweet palate. I am sure it is like syrup, for I put +in several large lumps of sugar," replied Margaret, speaking in a +slightly offended tone. + +"Taste it, will you?" said Canning, pushing his cup across the table +with an impatient air. + +Margaret sipped a little from the spoon, and then, with an +expression of disgust in her face, said-- + +"Pah! I'd as lief drink so much molasses. But here's the sugar bowl. +Sweeten it to your taste." + +Canning helped himself to more sugar. As he did so his wife noticed +that his hand slightly trembled, and also that his brow was drawn +down, and his lips more arched than usual. + +"It's a little matter to get angry about," she thought to herself. +"Things are coming to a pretty pass, if I'm not to be allowed to +speak." + +The meal was finished in silence. Margaret felt in no humour to +break the oppressive reserve, although she would have been glad, +indeed, to have heard a pleasant word from the lips of her husband. +As for Canning, he permitted himself to brood over the words and +manner of his wife, until he became exceedingly fretted. They were +so unkind and so uncalled for. The evening passed unsocially. But +morning found them both in a better state of mind. Sleep has a +wonderful power in restoring to the mind its lost balance, and in +calming down our blinding passions. During the day, our thoughts and +feelings, according with our natural state, are more or less marked +by the disturbances that selfish purposes ever bring; but in sleep, +while the mind rests and our governing ends lie dormant, we come +into purer spiritual associations, and the soul, as well as the +body, receives a healthier tone. + +The morning, therefore, found Canning and his wife in better states +of mind. They were as kind and as affectionate as usual in their +words and conduct, although, when they sat down to the breakfast +table, they each experienced a slight feeling of coldness on being +reminded, too sensibly, of the unpleasant occurrence of the previous +evening. Margaret thought she would be sure to please her husband in +his coffee, and therefore put into his cup an extra quantity of +sugar, making it so very sweet that he could with difficulty swallow +it. But a too vivid recollection of what had taken place on the +night before, caused him to be silent about it. The second cup was +still sweeter. Canning managed to sip about one-third of this, but +his stomach refused to take any more. Noticing that her husband's +coffee, an article of which he was very fond, stood, nearly +cup-full, beside his plate, after he had finished his breakfast, +Margaret said-- + +"Didn't your coffee suit you?" + +"It was very good; only a little too sweet." + +"Then why didn't you say so?" she returned, in a tone that showed +her to be hurt at this reaction upon what she had said on the +previous evening. "Give me your cup, and let me pour you out some +more." + +"No, I thank you, Margaret, I don't care about any more." + +"Yes, you do. Come, give me your cup. I shall be hurt if you don't. +I'm sure there is no necessity for drinking the coffee, if not to +your taste. I don't know what's come over you, James." + +"And I'm sure I don't know what's come over you," Canning thought, +but did not say. He handed up his cup, as his wife desired. After +filling it with coffee, she handed it back, and then reached him the +sugar and cream. + +"Sweeten it to your own taste," she said, a little fretfully; "I'm +sure I tried to make it right." + +Canning did as he was desired, and then drank the coffee, but it was +with the utmost difficulty that he could do so. + +This was the first little cloud that darkened the sky of their +wedded life; And it did not fairly pass away for nearly a week. Nor +then did the days seem as bright as before. The cause was +slight--very slight--but how small a thing will sometimes make the +heart unhappy. How trifling are the occurrences upon which we often +lay, as upon a foundation, a superstructure of misery! Had the +earnestly urged precept of Aunt Hannah been regarded,--had the +lesson--"Bear and Forbear," been well learned and understood by +Margaret, this cloud had never dimmed the sun of their early love. A +pleasant word, in answer to her husband's momentary impatience, +would have made him sensible that he had not spoken with propriety, +and caused him to be more careful in future. As it was, both were +more circumspect, but it was from pride instead of love,--and more +to protect self than from a tender regard for each other. + +Only a month or two passed before there was another slight +collision. It made them both more unhappy than they were before. But +the breach was quickly healed. Still scars remained, and there were +times when the blood flowed into these cicatrices so feverishly as +to cause pain. Alas! wounds of the spirit do not close any more +perfectly than do wounds of the body--the scars remain forever. + +And thus the weeks and months went by. Neither of the married +partners had learned the true secret of happiness in their holy +relation,--neither of them felt the absolute necessity of bearing +and forbearing. Little inequalities of character, instead of being +smoothed off by gentle contact, were suffered to strike against each +other, and produce, sometimes, deep and painful wounds--healing, too +often, imperfectly; and too often remaining as festering sores. + +And yet Canning and his wife loved each other tenderly, and felt, +most of their time, that they were very happy. There were little +things in each that each wished the other would correct, but neither +felt the necessity of self-correction. + +The birth of a child drew them together at a time when there was +some danger of a serious rupture. Dear little Lilian, or "Lilly," as +she was called, was a chord of love to bind them in a closer union. + +"I love you more than ever, Maggy," Canning could not help saying to +his wife, as he kissed first her lips and then the soft cheek of his +child, a month after the babe was born. + +"And I am sure I love you better than I did, if that were possible," +returned Margaret, looking into her husband's face with a glance of +deep affection. + +As the babe grew older the parent's love for it continued to +increase, and, with this increase, their happiness. The chord which +had several times jarred harshly between them, slept in profound +peace. + +But, after this sweet calm, the surface of their feelings became +again ruffled. One little incongruity of character after another +showed itself in both, and there was no genuine spirit of +forbearance in either of them to meet and neutralize any sudden +effervescence of the mind. Lilly was not a year old, before they had +a serious misunderstanding that made them both unhappy for weeks. It +had its origin in a mere trifle, as such things usually have. They +had been taking tea and spending an evening with a friend, a widow +lady, for whom Mrs. Canning had a particular friendship. As there +was no gentleman present during the evening, the time passed rather +heavily to Canning, who could not get interested in the conversation +of the two ladies. Toward nine o'clock he began to feel restless and +impatient, and to wonder if his wife would not soon be thinking +about going home. But the time passed wearily until ten o'clock, and +still the conversation between the two ladies was continued with +undiminished interest, and, to all appearance, was likely to +continue until midnight. + +Canning at length became so restless and wearied that he said, +thinking that his wife did not probably know how late it was,-- + +"Come, Margaret, isn't it 'most time to go home?" + +Mrs. Canning merely looked into her husband's face, but made no +answer. + +More earnestly than ever the ladies now appeared to enter upon the +various themes for conversation that presented themselves, all of +which were very frivolous to the mind of Canning, who was +exceedingly chafed by his wife's indifference to his suggestion +about going home. He determined, however, to say no more if she sat +all night. Toward eleven o'clock she made a movement to depart, and +after lingering in the parlor before she went up stairs to put on +her things, and in the chamber after her things were on, and on the +stairs, in the passage, and at the door, she finally took the arm of +her husband and started for home. Not a word was uttered by either +until they had walked the distance of two squares, when Margaret, +unable to keep back what she wanted to say any longer, spoke thus,-- + +"James, I will thank you, another time, when we are spending an +evening out, not to suggest as publicly as you did to-night that it +is time to go home. It's very bad manners, let me tell you, in the +first place; and in the second place, I don't like it at all. I do +not wish people to think that I have to come and go just at your +beck or nod. I was about starting when you spoke to me, but sat an +hour longer just on purpose." + +The mind of Canning, already fretted, was set on fire by this. + +"You did?" he said. + +"Yes, I did. And I can tell you, once for all, that I wish this to +be the last time you speak to me as you did to-night." + +It was as much as the impatient spirit of Canning could do to keep +from replying-- + +"It's the last time I will ever speak to you at all," and then +leaving her in the street, with the intention of never seeing her +again. But suddenly he thought of Lilly, and the presence of the +child in his mind kept back the mad words from his lips. Not one +syllable did he utter during their walk home, although his wife said +much to irritate rather than soothe him. Nor did a sentence pass his +lips that night. + +At the breakfast table on the next morning, the husband and wife +were coldly polite to each other. When the meal was completed, +Canning retired to his office, and his wife sought her chamber to +weep. The latter half repented of what she had done, but her +contrition was not hearty enough to prompt to a confession of her +fault. The fact that she considered her husband to blame, stood in +the way of this. + +Reserve and coldness marked the intercourse of the unhappy couple +for several weeks; and then the clouds began to break, and there +were occasional glimpses of sunshine. + +But, before there was a clear sky, some trifling occurrence put them +again at variance. From this time, unhappily, one circumstance after +another transpired to fret them with each other, and to separate, +rather than unite them. Daily, Canning grew more cold and reserved, +and his wife met him in a like uncompromising spirit. Even their +lovely child--their darling blue-eyed Lilly--with her sweet little +voice and smiling face, could not soften their hearts toward each +other. + +To add fuel to this rapidly enkindling fire of discord, was the fact +that Mrs. Canning was on particularly intimate terms with the wife +of a man toward whom her husband entertained a settled and +well-grounded dislike, and visited her more frequently than she did +any one of her friends. He did not interfere with her in the matter, +but it annoyed him to hear her speak, occasionally, of meeting Mr. +Richards at his house, and repeating the polite language he used to +her, when he detested the character of Richards, and had not spoken +to him for more than a year. + +One day Mrs. Canning expressed a wish to go in the evening to a +party. + +"It will be impossible for me to go to-night, or, indeed, this +week," Canning said. "I am engaged in a very important case, which +will come up for trial on Friday, and it will take all my time +properly to prepare for it. I shall be engaged every evening, and +perhaps late every night." + +Mrs. Canning looked disappointed, and said she thought he might +spare her one evening. + +"You know I would do so, Margaret, with pleasure," he replied, "but +the case is one involving too much to be endangered by any +consideration. Next week we will go to a party." + +When Canning came home to tea, he found his wife dressed to go out. + +"I'm going to the party, for all you can't go with me," said she. + +"Indeed! With whom are you going?" + +"Mrs. Richards came in to see me after dinner, when I told her how +much disappointed I was about not being able to go to the party +to-night. She said that she and her husband were going, and that it +would give them great pleasure to call for me. Am I not fortunate?" + +"But you are not going with Mr. and Mrs. Richards?" + +"Indeed I am! Why not?" + +"Margaret! You must not go." + +"Must not, indeed! You speak in quite a tone of authority, Mr. +Canning;" and the wife drew herself up haughtily. + +"Authority, or no authority, Margaret"--Canning now spoke calmly, +but his lips were pale--"I will never consent that my wife shall be +seen in a public assembly with Richards. You know my opinion of the +man." + +"I know you are prejudiced against him, though I believe unjustly." + +"Madness!" exclaimed Canning, thrown off his guard. "And this from +you?" + +"I don't see that you have any cause for getting into a passion, Mr. +Canning," said his wife, with provoking coolness. "And, I must say, +that you interfere with my freedom rather more than a husband has +any right to do. But, to cut this matter short, let me tell you, +once for all, that I am going to the assembly to-night with Mr. and +Mrs. Richards. Having promised to do so, I mean to keep my promise." + +"Margaret, I positively forbid your going!" said Canning, in much +excitement. + +"I deny your right to command me! In consenting to become your wife, +I did not make myself your slave; although it is clear from this, +and other things that have occurred since our marriage, that you +consider me as occupying that position." + +"Then it is your intention to go with this man?" said Canning, again +speaking in a calm but deep voice. + +"Certainly it is." + +"Very well. I will not make any threat of what I will do, Margaret. +But this I can assure you, that lightly as you may think of this +matter, if persevered in, it will cause you more sorrow than you +have ever known. Go! Go against my wish--against my command, if you +will have it so--and when you feel the consequence, lay the blame +upon no one but yourself. And now let me say to you, Margaret, that +your conduct as a wife has tended rather to estrange your husband's +heart from you than to win his love. I say this now, because I may +not have--" + +"James! It is folly for you to talk to me after that fashion," +exclaimed Margaret, breaking in upon him. "I--" + +But before she could finish the sentence, Canning had left the room, +closing the door hard after him. + +Just an hour from this time, Mr. and Mrs. Richards called in their +carriage for Mrs. Canning, who went with them to the assembly. An +hour was a long period for reflection, and ought to have afforded +sufficient time for the wife of Canning to come to a wiser +determination than that from which she acted. + +Not half a dozen revolutions of the carriage wheels had been made, +however, before Margaret repented of what she had done. But it was +now too late. The pleasure of the entertainment passed before her, +but it found no response in her breast. She saw little but the pale, +compressed lip and knit brow of her husband, and heard little but +his word of disapproval. Oh! how she did long for the confused +pageant that was moving before her, and the discordant mingling of +voices and instruments, to pass away, that she might return and tell +him that she repented of all that she had done. + +At last the assembly broke up, and she was free to go back again to +the home that had not, alas! proved as pleasant a spot to her as her +imagination had once pictured it. + +"And that it has not been so," she murmured to herself, "he has not +been all to blame." + +On being left at the door, Mrs. Canning rang the bell impatiently. +As soon as admitted, she flew up stairs to meet her husband, +intending to confess her error, and beg him earnestly to forgive her +for having acted so directly in opposition to his wishes. But she +did not find him in the chamber. Throwing off her bonnet and shawl, +she went down into the parlours, but found all dark there. + +"Where is Mr. Canning?" she asked of a servant. + +"He went away about ten o'clock, and has not returned yet," was +replied. + +This intelligence caused Mrs. Canning to lean hard on the +stair-railing for support. She felt in an instant weak almost as an +infant. + +Without further question, she went back to her chamber, and looked +about fearfully on bureaus and tables for a letter addressed to her +in her husband's handwriting. But nothing of this met her eye. Then +she sat down to await her husband's return. But she waited long. +Daylight found her an anxious watcher; he was still away. + +The anguish of mind experienced during that unhappy night, it would +be vain for us to attempt to picture. In the morning, on descending +to the parlour, she found on one of the pier-tables a letter bearing +her name. She broke the seal tremblingly. It did not contain many +words, but they fell upon her heart with an icy coldness. + + +"MARGARET: Your conduct to-night has decided me to separate myself +from a woman who I feel neither truly loves nor respects me. The +issue which I have for some time dreaded has come. It is better for +us to part than to live in open discord. I shall arrange every thing +for your comfortable support, and then leave the city, perhaps for +ever. You need not tell our child that her father lives. I would +rather she would think him dead than at variance with her mother. + +'JAMES CANNING.'" + + +These were the words. Their effect was paralyzing. Mrs. Canning had +presence of mind enough to crush the fatal letter into her bosom, +and strength enough to take her back to her chamber. When there, she +sunk powerless upon her bed, and remained throughout the day too +weak in both body and mind to rise or think. She could do little +else but feel. + +Five years from the day of that unhappy separation, we find Mrs. +Canning in the unobtrusive home of Aunt Hannah, who took the almost +heart-broken wife into the bosom of her own family, after the +passage of nearly a year had made her almost hopeless of ever seeing +him again. No one knew where he was. Only once did Margaret hear +from him, and that was on the third day after he had parted from +her, when he appeared in the court-room, and made a most powerful +argument in favour of the client whose important case had prevented +his going with his wife to the assembly. After that he disappeared, +and no one could tell aught of him. A liberal annuity had been +settled upon his wife, and the necessary papers to enable her to +claim it transmitted to her under a blank envelope. + +Five years had changed Margaret sadly. The high-spirited, blooming, +happy woman, was now a meek, quiet, pale-faced sufferer. Lilly had +grown finely, all unconscious of her mother's suffering, and was a +very beautiful child. She attracted the notice of everyone. + +"Aunt Hannah," said Margaret, one day after this long, long period +of suffering, "I have what you will call a strange idea in my mind. +It has been visiting me for weeks, and now I feel much inclined to +act from its dictates. You know that Mr. and Mrs. Edwards are going +to Paris next month. Ever since Mrs. Edwards mentioned it to me, I +have felt a desire to go with them. I don't know why, but so it is. +I think it would do me good to go to Paris and spend a few months +there. When a young girl, I always had a great desire to see London +and Paris; and this desire is again in my mind." + +"I would go, then," said Aunt Hannah, who thought favourably of any +thing likely to divert the mind of her niece from the brooding +melancholy in which it was shrouded. + +To Paris Mrs. Canning went, accompanied by her little daughter, who +was the favourite of every one on board the steamer in which they +sailed. In this gray city, however, she did not attain as much +relief of mind as she had anticipated. She found it almost +impossible to take interest in any thing, and soon began to long for +the time to come when she could go back to the home and heart of her +good Aunt Hannah. The greatest pleasure she took was in going with +Lilly to the Gardens of the Tuileries, and amid the crowd there to +feel alone with nature in some of her most beautiful aspects. Lilly +was always delighted to get there, and never failed to bring +something in her pocket for the pure white swans that floated so +gracefully in the marble basin into which the water dashed cool and +sparkling from beautiful fountains. + +One day, while the child was playing at a short distance from her +mother, a man seated beside a bronze statue, over which drooped a +large orange tree, fixed his eyes upon her admiringly, as hundreds +of others had done. Presently she came up and stood close to him, +looking up into the face of the statue. The man said something to +her in French, but Lilly only smiled and shook her head. + +"What is your name, dear?" he then said in English. + +"Lilly," replied the child. + +A quick change passed over the man's face. With much more interest +in his voice, he said-- + +"Where do you live? In London?" + +"Oh no, sir; I live in America." + +"What is your name besides Lilly?" + +"Lilly Canning, sir." + +The man now became strongly agitated. But he contended vigorously +with his feelings. + +"Where is your mother, dear?" he asked, taking her hand as he spoke, +and gently pressing it between his own. + +"She is here, sir," returned Lilly, looking inquiringly into the +man's face. + +"Here!" + +"Yes, sir. We come here every day." + +"Where is your mother now?" + +"Just on the other side of the fountain. You can't see her for the +lime-tree." + +"Is your father here, also?" continued the man. + +"No, I don't know where my father is." "Is he dead?" "No, sir; +mother says he is not dead, and that she hopes he will come home +soon. Oh! I wish he would come home. We would all love him so!" + +The man rose up quickly, and turning from the child, walked +hurriedly away. Lilly looked after him for a moment or two, and then +ran back to her mother. + +On the next day Lilly saw the same man sitting under the bronze +statue. He beckoned to her, and she went to him. + +"How long have you been in Paris, dear?" he asked. + +"A good many weeks," she replied. + +"Are you going to stay much longer?" + +"I don't know. But mother wants to go home." + +"Do you like to live in Paris?" + +"No, sir. I would rather live at home with mother and Aunt Hannah." + +"You live with Aunt Hannah, then?" + +"Yes, sir. Do you know Aunt Hannah?" and the child looked up +wonderingly into the man's face. + +"I used to know her," he replied. + +Just then Lilly heard her mother calling her, and she started and +ran away in the direction from which the voice came. The man's face +grew slightly pale, and he was evidently much agitated. As he had +done on the evening previous, he rose up hastily and walked away. +But in a short time he returned, and appeared to be carefully +looking about for some one. At length he caught sight of Lilly's +mother. She was sitting with her eyes upon the ground, the child +leaning upon her, and looking into her face, which he saw was thin +and pale, and overspread with a hue of sadness. Only for a few +moments did he thus gaze upon her, and then he turned and walked +hurriedly from the garden. + +Mrs. Canning sat alone with her child that evening, in the +handsomely-furnished apartments she had hired on arriving in Paris. + +"He told you that he knew Aunt Hannah?" she said, rousing up from a +state of deep thought. + +"Yes, ma. He said he used to know her." + +"I wonder"-- + +A servant opened the door, and said that a gentleman wished to see +Mrs. Canning. + +"Tell him to walk in," the mother of Lilly had just power to say. In +breathless suspense she waited for the space of a few seconds, when +the man who had spoken to Lilly in the Gardens of the Tuileries +entered and closed the door after him. + +Mrs. Canning raised her eyes to his face. It was her husband! She +did not cry out nor spring forward. She had not the power to do +either. + +"That's him now, mother!" exclaimed Lilly. + +"It's your father!" said Mrs. Canning, in a deeply breathed whisper. + +The child sprung toward him with a quick bound and was instantly +clasped in his arms. + +"Lilly, dear Lilly!" he sobbed, pressing his lips upon her brow and +cheeks. "Yes! I am your father!" + +The wife and mother sat motionless and tearless with her eyes fixed +upon the face of her husband. After a few passionate embraces, +Canning drew the child's arms from about his neck, and setting her +down upon the floor, advanced slowly toward his wife. Her eyes were +still tearless, but large drops were rolling over his face. + +"Margaret!" he said, uttering her name with great tenderness. + +He was by her side in time to receive her upon his bosom, as she +sunk forward in a wild passion of tears. + +All was reconciled. The desolate hearts were again peopled with +living affections. The arid waste smiled in greenness and beauty. + +In their old home, bound by threefold cords of love, they now think +only of the past as a severe lesson by which they have been taught +the heavenly virtue of forbearance. Five years of intense suffering +changed them both, and left marks that after years can never efface. +But selfish impatience and pride were all subdued, and their hearts +melted into each other, until they became almost like one heart. +Those who meet them now, and observe the deep, but unobtrusive +affection with which they regard each other, would never imagine, +did they not know their previous history, that love, during one +period of that married life, had been so long and so totally +eclipsed. + + + + +THE SOCIAL SERPENT. + + +A LADY, whom we will call Mrs. Harding, touched with the destitute +condition of a poor, sick widow, who had three small children, +determined, from an impulse of true humanity, to awaken, if +possible, in the minds of some friends and neighbours, an interest +in her favour. She made a few calls, one morning, with this end in +view, and was gratified to find that her appeal made a favourable +impression. The first lady whom she saw, a Mrs. Miller, promised to +select from her own and children's wardrobe a number of cast-off +garments for the widow, and to aid her in other respects, at the +same time asking Mrs. Harding to call in on the next day, when she +would be able to let her know what she could do. + +Pleased with her reception, and encouraged to seek further aid for +the widow, Mrs. Harding withdrew and took her way to the house of +another acquaintance. Scarcely had she left, when a lady, named +Little, dropped in to see Mrs. Miller. To her the latter said, soon +after her entrance: + +"I've been very much interested in the case of a poor widow this +morning. She is sick, with three little children dependent on her, +and destitute of almost every thing. Mrs. Harding was telling me +about it." + +"Mrs. Harding!" The visitor's countenance changed, and she looked +unutterable things. "I wonder!" she added, in well assumed surprise, +and then was silent. + +"What's the matter with Mrs. Harding?" asked Mrs. Miller. + +"I should think," said Mrs. Little, "that she was in nice business, +running around, gossiping about indigent widows, when some of her +own relatives are so poor they can hardly keep soul and body +together." + +"Is this really so?" asked Mrs. Miller. + +"Certainly it is. I had it from my chambermaid, whose sister is cook +next door to where a cousin of Mrs. Harding's lives, and she says +they are, one half of their time, she really believes, in a starving +condition." + +"But does Mrs. Harding know this?" + +"She ought to know it, for she goes there sometimes, I hear." + +"She didn't come merely to gossip about the poor widow," said Mrs. +Miller. "Her errand was to obtain something to relieve her +necessities." + +"Did you give her any thing?" asked Mrs. Little. + +"No; but I told her to call and see me to-morrow, when I would have +something for her." + +"Do you want to know my opinion of this matter?" said Mrs. Little, +drawing herself up, and assuming a very important air. + +"What is your opinion?" + +"Why, that there is no poor widow in the case at all." + +"Mrs. Little!" + +"You needn't look surprised. I'm in earnest. I never had much faith +in Mrs. Harding, at the best." + +"I _am_ surprised. If there was no poor widow in the case, what did +she want with charity?" + +"She has poor relations of her own, for whom, I suppose, she's +ashamed to beg. So you see my meaning now." + +"You surely wrong her." + +"Don't believe a word of it. At any rate, take my advice, and be the +almoner of your own bounty. When Mrs. Harding comes again, ask her +the name of this poor widow, and where she resides. If she gives you +a name and residence, go and see for yourself." + +"I will act on your suggestion," said Mrs. Miller. "Though I can +hardly make up my mind to think so meanly of Mrs. Harding; still, +from the impression your words produce, I deem it only prudent to +be, as you term it, the almoner of my own bounty." + +The next lady upon whom Mrs. Harding called, was a Mrs. Johns, and +in her mind she succeeded in also awakening an interest for the poor +widow. + +"Call and see me to-morrow," said Mrs. Johns, "and I'll have +something for you." + +Not long after Mrs. Harding's departure, Mrs. Little called, in her +round of gossipping visits, and to her Mrs. Johns mentioned the case +of the poor widow, that matter being, for the time, uppermost in her +thoughts. + +"Mrs. Harding's poor widow, I suppose," said Mrs. Little, in a +half-sneering, half-malicious tone of voice. + +Mrs. Johns looked surprised, as a matter of course. + +"What do you mean?" she asked. + +"Oh, nothing, much. Only I've heard of this destitute widow before." + +"You have?" + +"Yes, and between ourselves,"--the voice of Mrs. Little became low +and confidential--"it's the opinion of Mrs. Miller and myself, that +there is no poor widow in the case." + +"Mrs. Little! You astonish me! No poor widow in the case! I can't +understand this. Mrs. Harding was very clear in her statement. She +described the widow's condition, and very much excited my +sympathies. What object can she have in view?" + +"Mrs. Miller and I think," said the visitor, "and with good reason, +that this poor widow is only put forward as a cover." + +"As a cover to what?" + +"To some charities that she has reasons of her own for not wishing +to make public." + +"Still in the dark. Speak out more plainly." + +"Plainly, then, Mrs. Johns, we have good reasons for believing, Mrs. +Miller and I, that she is begging for some of her own poor +relations. Mrs. Miller is going to see if she can find the widow." + +"Indeed! That's another matter altogether. I promised to do +something in the case, but shall now decline. I couldn't have +believed such a thing of Mrs. Harding! But so it is; you never know +people until you find them out." + +"No, indeed, Mrs. Johns. You never spoke a truer word in your life," +replied Mrs. Little, emphatically. + +On the day following, after seeing the poor widow, ministering to +some of her immediate wants, and encouraging her to expect more +substantial relief, Mrs. Harding called, as she had promised to do, +on Mrs. Miller. A little to her surprise, that lady received her +with unusual coldness; and yet, plainly, with an effort to seem +friendly. + +"You have called about the poor widow you spoke of yesterday?" said +Mrs. Miller. + +"Such is the object of my present visit." + +"What is her name?" + +"Mrs. Aitken." + +"Where did you say she lived?" + +The residence was promptly given. + +"I've been thinking," said Mrs. Miller, slightly colouring, and with +some embarrassment, "that I would call in and see this poor woman +myself." + +"I wish you would," was the earnest reply of Mrs. Harding. "I am +sure, if you do so, all your sympathies will be excited in her +favour." + +As Mrs. Harding said this, she arose, and with a manner that showed +her feelings to be hurt, as well as mortified, bade Mrs. Miller a +formal good-morning, and retired. Her next call was upon Mrs. Johns. +Much to her surprise, her reception here was quite as cold; in fact, +so cold, that she did not even refer to the object of her visit, and +Mrs. Johns let her go away without calling attention to it herself. +So affected was she by the singular, and to her unaccountable change +in the manner of these ladies, that Mrs. Harding had no heart to +call upon two others, who had promised to do something for the +widow, but went home disappointed, and suffering from a troubled and +depressed state of feeling. + +So far as worldly goods were concerned, Mrs. Harding could not boast +very large possessions. She was herself a widow; and her income, +while it sufficed, with economy, to supply the moderate wants of her +family, left her but little for luxuries, the gratification of +taste, or the pleasures of benevolence. Quick to feel the wants of +the needy, no instance of destitution came under her observation +that she did not make some effort toward procuring relief. + +What now was to be done? She had excited the sick woman's hopes--had +promised that her immediate wants, and those of her children, should +be supplied. From her own means, without great self-denial, this +could not be effected. True, Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Johns had both +promised to call upon the poor widow, and, in person, administer +relief. But Mrs. Harding did not place much reliance on this; for +something in the manner of both ladies impressed her with the idea +that their promise merely covered a wish to recede from their first +benevolent intentions. + +"Something must be done" said she, musingly. And then she set +herself earnestly to the work of devising ways and means. Where +there is a will there is a way. No saying was ever truer than this. + +It was, perhaps, a week later, that Mrs. Little called again upon +Mrs. Miller. + +"What of Mrs. Harding's poor widow?" said the former, after some +ill-natured gossip about a mutual friend. + +"Oh, I declare! I've never thought of the woman since," replied Mrs. +Miller, in a tone of self-condemnation. "And I promised Mrs. Harding +that I would see her. I really blame myself." + +"No great harm done, I presume," said Mrs. Little. + +"I don't know about that. I'm hardly prepared to think so meanly of +Mrs. Harding as you do. At any rate, I'm going this day to redeem my +promise." + +"What promise?" + +"The promise I made Mrs. Harding, that I would see the woman she +spoke of, and relieve her, if in need." + +"You'll have all your trouble for nothing." + +"No matter, I'll clear my conscience, and that is something. Come, +wont you go with me?" + +Mrs. Little declined the invitation at first; but, strongly urged by +Mrs. Miller, she finally consented. So the two ladies forthwith took +their way toward the neighbourhood in which Mrs. Harding had said +the needy woman lived. They were within a few doors of the house, +which had been very minutely described by Mrs. Harding, when they +met Mrs. Johns. + +"Ah!" said the latter, with animation, "just the person, of all +others, I most wished to see. How could you, Mrs. Miller, so greatly +wrong Mrs. Harding?" + +"Me wrong her, Mrs. Johns? I don't understand you." And Mrs. Miller +looked considerably astonished. + +"Mrs. Little informed me that you had good reasons for believing all +this story about a poor widow to be a mere subterfuge, got up to +cover some doings of her own that Mrs. Harding was ashamed to bring +to the light." + +"Mrs. Little!" There was profound astonishment in the tones of Mrs. +Miller, and her eyes had in them such an indignant light, as she +fixed them upon her companion, that the latter quailed under her +gaze. + +"Acting from this impression," resumed Mrs. Johns, "I declined +placing at her disposal the means of relief promised; but, instead, +told her that I would myself see the needy person for whom she asked +aid. This I have, until now, neglected to do; and this neglect, or +indifference I might rather call it, has arisen from a belief that +there was no poor widow in the case. Wrong has been done, Mrs. +Miller, great wrong! How could you have imagined such baseness of +Mrs. Harding?" + +"And there _is_ a poor, sick widow, in great need?" said Mrs. +Miller, now speaking calmly, and with regained self-possession. + +"There is a sick widow," replied Mrs. Johns, "but not at present in +great need. Mrs. Harding has supplied immediate wants." + +"Well, Mrs. Little!" Mrs. Miller again turned her eyes, searchingly, +upon her companion. + +"I--I--thought so. It was my impression--I had good reason +for--I--I" stammered Mrs. Little. + +"It should have been enough for you to check a benevolent impulse in +my case by your unfounded suggestions. Not content with this, +however, you must use my name in still further spreading your unjust +suspicions, and actually make me the author of charges against a +noble-minded woman, which had their origin in your own evil +thoughts." + +"I will not bear such language!" said the offended Mrs. Little, +indignantly; and turning with an angry toss of the head, she left +the ladies to their own reflections. + +"I am taught one good lesson from this circumstance," said Mrs. +Miller, as they walked away; "and that is, never to even seem to +have my good opinion of another affected by the allegations and +surmises of a social gossip. Such people always suppose the worst, +and readily pervert the most unselfish actions into moral offences. +The harm they do is incalculable." + +"And, as in the present case," remarked Mrs. Johns, "they make +others responsible for their base suggestions. Had Mrs. Little not +coupled your name with the implied charges against Mrs. Harding, my +mind would not have been poisoned against her." + +"While not a breath of suspicion had ever crossed mine until Mrs. +Little came in, and wantonly intercepted the stream of benevolence +about to flow forth to a needy, and, I doubt not, most worthy +object." + +"We have made of her an enemy. At least you have; for you spoke to +her with smarting plainness," said Mrs. Johns. + +"Better the enmity of such than their friendship," replied Mrs. +Miller. "Their words of detraction cannot harm so much as the poison +of evil thoughts toward others, which they ever seek to infuse. Your +dearest friend is not safe from them, if she be pure as an angel. +Let her name but pass your lips, and instantly it is breathed upon, +and the spotless surface grows dim." + + + + +THE YOUNG MOTHER. + + +[The following brief passage is from our story, "The Wife," in the +series "Maiden," "Wife," and "Mother."] + +A NEW chord vibrated in Anna's heart, and the music was sweeter far +in her spirit's ear, than any before heard. She was changed. +Suddenly she felt that she was a new creature. Her breast was filled +with deeper, purer, and tenderer emotions. She was a mother! A babe +had been born to her! A sweet pledge of love lay nestling by her +side, and drawing its life from her bosom. She was happy--how happy +cannot be told. A mother only can _feel_ how happy she was on first +realizing the new emotions that thrill in a young mother's heart. + +As health gradually returned to her exhausted frame, and friends +gathered around her with warm congratulations, Anna felt that she +was indeed beginning a new life. Every hour her soul seemed to +enlarge, and her mind to be filled with higher and purer thoughts. +Before the birth of her babe, she suffered much more than even her +husband had supposed, both in body and mind. Her spirits were often +so depressed that it required her utmost effort to receive him with +her accustomed cheerfulness at each period of his loved return. But, +living as she did in the ever active endeavour to bless others, she +strove daily and hourly to rise above every infirmity. Now, all was +peace within--holy peace. There came a Sabbath rest of deep, +interior joy, that was sweet, unutterably sweet. Body and spirit +entered into this rest. No wind ruffled the still, bright waters of +her life. She was the same, and yet not the same. + +"I cannot tell you, dear husband! how happy I am," she said, a few +weeks after her babe was born. "Nor can I describe the different +emotions that pervade my heart. When our babe is in my arms, and +especially when it lies at my bosom, it seems as if angels were near +me." + +"And angels are near you," replied her husband. "Angels love +innocence, and especially infants, that are forms of innocence. They +are present with them, and the mother shares the blessed company, +for she loves her babe with an unselfish love, and this the angels +can perceive, and, through it, affect her with a measure of their +own happiness. + +"How delightful the thought! Above all, is the mother blessed. She +suffers much--her burden is hard to bear--the night is dark--but the +morning that opens upon her is the brightest a human soul knows +during its earthly pilgrimage. And no wonder. She has performed the +highest and holiest of offices--she has given birth to an immortal +being--and her reward is with her." + +Hartley had loved his wife truly, deeply, tenderly. Every day, he +saw more and more in her to admire. There was an order, consistency, +and harmony in her character as a wife, that won his admiration. In +the few months they had passed since their marriage, she had filled +her place to him, perfectly. Without seeming to reflect how she +should regulate her conduct toward her husband, in every act of her +wedded life she had displayed true wisdom, united with unvarying +love. All this caused his heart to unite itself more and more +closely with hers. But now, that she held to him the twofold +relation of a wife and mother, his love was increased fourfold. He +thought of her, and looked upon her, with increased tenderness. + +"Mine, by a double tie," he said, with a full realization of his +words, when he first pressed his lips upon the brow of his child, +and then, with a fervour unfelt before, upon the lips of his wife. +"As you have been a good wife, you will be a good mother," he added, +with emotion. + +THE GENTLE WARNING. + +"Do not accept the offer, Florence," said her friend Carlotti. + +A shade of disappointment went over the face of the fair girl, who +had just communicated the pleasing fact that she had received an +offer of marriage. + +"You cannot be happy as the wife of Herman Leland," added Carlotti. + +"How little do you know this heart," returned the fond girl. + +"It is because I know it so well that I say what I do. If your love +be poured out for Herman Leland, Florence, it will be as water on +the desert sand." + +"Why do you affirm this, Carlotti?" + +"A woman can truly love only the moral virtue of her husband." + +"I do not clearly understand you." + +"It is only genuine goodness of heart that conjoins in marriage." + +"Well?" + +"Just so far as selfish and evil affections find a place in the mind +of either the husband or wife, will be the ratio of unhappiness in +the marriage state. If there be any truth in morals, or in the +doctrine of affinities, be assured that this is so. It is neither +intellectual attainments nor personal attractions that make +happiness in marriage. Far, very far from it. All depends upon the +quality of the affections. If these be good, happiness will come as +a natural consequence; but if they be evil, misery will inevitably +follow so close a union." + +"Then you affirm that Mr. Leland is an evil-minded man?" + +"Neither of us know him well enough to say this positively, +Florence. Judging from what little I have seen, I should call him a +selfish man; and no selfish man can be a good man, for selfishness +is the basis of all evil." + +"I am afraid you are prejudiced against him, Carlotti." + +"If I have had any prejudices in the matter, Florence, they have +been in his favour. Well-educated, refined in his manners, and +variously accomplished, he creates, on nearly all minds, a +favourable impression. Such an impression did I at first feel. But +the closer I drew near to him, the less satisfied did I feel with my +first judgment. On at least two occasions, I have heard him speak +lightly of religion." + +"Of mere cant and sectarianism, perhaps." + +"No; he once spoke lightly of a mother for making it a point to +require all her children to repeat their prayers before going to +bed. On another occasion, he alluded to one of the sacraments of the +church in a way that produced an inward shudder. From that time, I +have looked at him with eyes from which the scales have been +removed; and the more I seek to penetrate beneath the surface of his +character, the more do I see what repels me. Florence, dear, let me +urge you, as one who tenderly loves you and earnestly desires to see +you happy, to weigh the matter well ere you assent to this +proposal." + +"I'm afraid, Carlotti," said Florence in reply to this, "that you +have let small causes influence your feelings toward Mr. Leland. We +all speak lightly, at times, even on subjects regarded as +sacred--not because we despise them, but from casual thoughtlessness. +It was, no doubt, so with Mr. Leland on the occasion to which you +refer." + +"We are rarely mistaken, Florence," replied Carlotti, "as to the +real sentiment involved in the words used by those with whom we +converse. Words are the expressions of thoughts, and these the form +of affections. What a man really feels in reference to any subject, +will generally appear in the tones of his voice, no matter whether +he speak lightly or seriously. Depend upon it, this is so. It was +the manner in which Leland spoke that satisfied me as to his real +feelings, more than the language he used. Judging him in this way, I +am well convinced that, in his heart, he despises religion; and no +man who does this, can possibly make a right-minded woman happy." + +The gentle warning of Carlotti was not wholly lost on Florence. She +had great confidence in the judgment of her friend, and did not feel +that it would be right to wholly disregard her admonitions. + +"What answer can I make?" said she, drawing a long sigh. "He urges +an early response to his suit." + +"Duty to yourself, Florence, demands a time for consideration. +Marriage is a thing of too vital moment to be decided upon +hurriedly. Say to him in reply, that his offer is unexpected, and +that you cannot give an immediate answer, but will do so at the +earliest possible moment." + +"So cold a response may offend him." + +"If it does, then he will exhibit a weakness of character unfitting +him to become the husband of a sensible woman. If he be really +attracted by your good qualities, he will esteem you the more for +this act of prudence. He will understand that you set a high regard +upon the marriage relation, and do not mean to enter into it unless +you know well the person to whom you commit your happiness in this +world, and, in all probability, the next." + +"A coldly calculating spirit, Carlotti, that nicely weighs and +balances the merits and defects of one beloved, is, in my view, +hardly consonant with true happiness in marriage. All have defects +of character. All are born with evil inclinations of one kind or +another. Love seeks only for good in the object of affection. +Affinities of this kind are almost spontaneous in their birth. We +love more from impulse than from any clear appreciation of +character--perceiving good qualities by a kind of instinct rather +than searching for them." + +"A doctrine, Florence," said Carlotti, "that has produced untold +misery in the married life. As I said at first, it is only the moral +virtue of her husband that a woman can love--it is only this, as a +uniting principle, that can make two married partners one. The +qualities of all minds express themselves in words and actions, and, +by a close observance of these latter, we may determine the nature +of the former. We cannot perceive them with sufficient clearness to +arrive at a sound judgment: the only safe method is to determine the +character of the tree by its fruits. Take sufficient time to arrive +at a knowledge of Mr. Leland's character by observation, and then +you can accept or reject him under the fullest assurance that you +are acting wisely." + +"Perhaps you are right," murmured Florence. "I will weigh carefully +what you have said." + +And she did so. Much to the disappointment of Mr. Leland, he +received a reply from Florence asking a short time for reflection. + +When Florence next met the young man, there was, as a natural +consequence, some slight embarrassment on both sides. On separating, +Florence experienced a certain unfavourable impression toward him, +although she could not trace it to any thing he had said or done. At +their next meeting, Leland's reserve had disappeared, and he +exhibited a better flow of spirits. He was more off his guard than +usual, and said a good many things that rather surprised Florence. + +Impatient of delay, Leland again pressed his suit; but Florence was +further than ever from being ready to give an answer. She was not +prepared to reject him, and as little prepared to give a favourable +answer. Her request to be allowed further time for consideration, +wounded his pride; and, acting under its influence, he determined to +have his revenge on her by suing for the hand of another maiden, and +bearing her to the altar while she was hesitating over the offer he +had made. With this purpose in view, he penned a kind and polite +note, approving her deliberation, and desiring her to take the +fullest time for reflection. "Marriage," said he, in this note, "is +too serious a matter to be decided upon hastily. It is a life-union, +and the parties who make it should be well satisfied that there +exists a mutual fitness for each other." + +Two days passed after Florence received this note before seeing her +friend Carlotti. She then called upon her in order to have further +conversation on the subject of the proposal she had received. The +tenor of this note had produced a favourable change in her feelings, +and she felt strongly disposed to make a speedy termination of the +debate in her mind by accepting her attractive suitor. + +"Are you not well?" was her first remark on seeing Carlotti, for her +friend looked pale and troubled. + +"Not very well, dear," replied Carlotti, making an effort to assume +a cheerful aspect. + +The mind of Florence was too intent on the one interesting subject +that occupied it to linger long on any other theme. But a short time +elapsed before she said, with a warmer glow on her cheeks-- + +"I believe I have made up my mind, Carlotti." + +"About what?" + +"The offer of Mr. Leland." + +"Well, what is your decision?" Carlotti held her breath for an +answer. + +"I will accept him." + +Without replying, Carlotti arose, and going to a drawer, took +therefrom a letter addressed to herself and handing it to Florence, +said-- + +"Read that." + +There was something ominous in the manner of Carlotti, which caused +Florence to become agitated. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the +letter. It bore the date of the day previous, and read thus:-- + + +"MY DEAR CARLOTTI: From the first moment I saw you, I felt that you +were the one destined to make me happy or miserable. Your image has +been present to me, sleeping or waking, ever since. I can turn in no +way that it is not before me. The oftener I have met you, the more +have I been charmed by the gentleness, the sweetness, the purity, +and excellence of your character. With you to walk through life by +my side, I feel that my feet would tread a flowery way; but if +heaven have not this blessing in store for me, I shall be, of all +men, most miserable. My heart is too full to write more. And have I +not said enough? Love speaks in brief but eloquent language. Dear +young lady, let me hear from you speedily. I shall be wretched until +I know your decision. Heaven give my suit a favourable issue! + +Yours, devotedly, + +"HERMAN LELAND." + + +A deadly paleness overspread the countenance of Florence as the +letter dropped from her hands; and she leaned back against her +friend to prevent falling to the floor. But, in a little while, she +recovered herself. + +"And this to _you_?" said she, with a quivering lip, as she gazed +earnestly into the face of her friend. + +"Yes, Florence, that to _me_." + +"Can I trust my own senses? Is there not some illusion? Let me look +at it again." + +And Florence stooped for the letter, and fixed her eyes upon it once +more. The language was plain, and the handwriting she knew too well. + +"False-hearted!" she murmured, in a low and mournful voice, covering +her face and sobbing. + +"Yes, Florence," said her friend, "he is false-hearted. How thankful +am I that you have escaped! Evidently in revenge for your prudent +deliberation, he has sought an alliance with another. Had that other +one accepted his heartless proposal, he would have met your +favourable answer to his suit with insult." + +For a long time, Florence wept on the bosom of her friend. Then her +feelings grew calmer, and her mind became clear. + +"What an escape!" fell from her lips as she raised her head and +turned her still pale face toward Carlotti. "Thanks, my wiser +friend, for your timely, yet gentle warning! Your eyes saw deeper +than mine." + +"Yes, yes; you have made an escape!" said Carlotti. "With such a +man, your life could only have been wretched." + +"Have you answered his letter?" asked Florence. + +"Not yet. But if you are inclined to do so, we will, on the same +sheet of paper and under the same envelope, each decline the honour +of an alliance. Such a rebuke he deserves, and we ought to give it." + +And such a rebuke they gave. + +A few months later, and Leland led to the altar a young lady reputed +to be an heiress. + +A year afterward, just on the eve of Florence's marriage to a +gentleman in every way worthy to take her happiness in his keeping, +she sat alone with her fast friend Carlotti. They were conversing of +the bright future. + +"And for all this joy, in store for me, Carlotti," said Florence, +leaning toward her friend and laying her hand affectionately on her +cheek, "I am indebted to you." + +"To me? How to me, dear?" asked Carlotti. + +"You saved me from an alliance with Leland. Oh, into what an abyss +of wretchedness would I have fallen! I heard to-day that, after +cruelly abusing poor Agnes in Charleston, where they removed, he +finally abandoned her. Can it be true?" + +"It is, I believe, too true. Agnes came back to her friends last +week, bringing with her a babe. I have not seen her; but those who +have tell me that her story of suffering makes the heart ache. She +looks ten years older." + +"Ah me!" sighed Florence. "Marriage--how much it involves! Even now, +as I stand at its threshold, with so much that looks bright in the +future, I tremble. Of Edward's excellent character and goodness of +heart, all bear testimony. He is every thing I could wish; but will +I make him happy?" + +"Not all you could wish," said Carlotti, seriously. "None are +perfection here; and you must not expect this. You will find, in +your husband's character, faults. Anticipate this; but let the +anticipation prepare you to bear with rather than be hurt when they +appear, and do not seek too soon to correct them. It is said by a +certain deeply-seeing writer on spiritual themes, that when the +angels come to try one, they explore his mind only to find the good +therein, that they may excite it to activity. Be, then, your +husband's angel; explore his mind for the good it contains, and seek +to develop and strengthen it. Looking intently at what is good in +him, you will not be likely to see faults looming up and assuming a +magnitude beyond their real dimensions. But when faults appear, as +they assuredly will, compare them with your own; and, as you would +have him exercise forbearance toward you, do you exercise +forbearance toward him. Be wise in your love, my friend. Wisdom and +love are married partners. If you separate them, neither is a safe +guide. But if you keep them united, like a rower who pulls both +oars, you will glide swiftly forward in a smooth sea." + +Florence bent her head as she listened, and every word of her friend +made its impression. Long after were they remembered and acted upon, +and they saved her from hours of pain. Florence is a happy wife; but +how near did she come to making shipwreck of her love-freighted +heart? There are times when, in thinking of it, she trembles. + + + + +KATE'S EXPERIMENT. + + +KATE HARBELL, a high-spirited girl, who had a pretty strong will of +her own, was about being married. Like a great many others of her +age and sex who approach the matrimonial altar, Kate's notions of +the marriage relation were not the clearest in the world. + +Ferdinand Lee, the betrothed of Kate, a quiet, sensitive young man, +had, perhaps, as strong a will as the young lady herself, though it +was more under the control of reason. He was naturally impatient of +dictation or force, and a strong love of approbation made him feel +keenly any thing like satire, ridicule or censure. To point him to a +fault was to wound if not offend him. Here lay the weakness of his +character. All this, on the other side, was counterbalanced by kind +feelings, good sense, and manly principles. He was above all +meanness or dishonour. + +Of course, Kate did not fully understand his character. Such a thing +as a young girl's accurate knowledge of the character of the man she +is about to marry, is of very rare occurrence. She saw enough of +good qualities to make her love him with tenderness and devotion; +but she also saw personal defects that were disagreeable in the +object of her affections. But she did not in the least doubt that +all these she could easily correct in him after she became his wife. + +From a defect of education, or from a natural want of neatness and +order, Ferdinand Lee was inclined to carelessness in his attire; +and also exhibited a certain want of polish in his manners and +address that was, at times, particularly annoying to Kate. + +"I'll break him of that when I get him," said the young lady to a +married friend, alluding to some little peculiarity both had +noticed. + +"Don't be too certain," returned the lady, smiling. + +"You'll see." + +Kate tossed her head in a resolute way. + +"I'll see you disappointed." + +"Wait a little while. Before I'm his wife six months, you'll hardly +know the man, there'll be such a change." + +"The change is far more likely to take place in you." + +"Why do you say that, Mrs. Morton?" inquired Kate, looking grave. + +"Because I think so. Men are not so easily brought into order, and +the attempt at reformation and correction by a young wife generally +ends in painful disappointment. If you begin this work you will, in +all probability, find yourself tasked beyond your ability. I speak +from some experience, having been married for about ten years, and +having seen a good many young girls come up into our ranks from the +walks of single blessedness. Take my advice, and look away from +Frederick's faults and disagreeable peculiarities as much as +possible, and think more of his manly traits of character--his fine +sentiments, and honourable principles." + +"I do look at them and love them," replied Kate, with animation. +"These won my heart at first, and now unite me to him in bonds that +cannot be broken. But if on a precious gem there be a slight blemish +that mars its beauty, shall we not seek to remove the defect, and +thus give the jewel a higher lustre? Will you say, no?" + +"I will, if in the act there be danger of injuring the gem." + +"I don't understand you, Mrs. Morton?" + +"Reflect for a moment, and see if my meaning is not apparent." + +"You think I will offend him if I point out a fault, or seek to +correct it?" + +"A result most likely to follow." + +"I will not think so poorly of his good sense," answered Kate, with +some gravity of manner. The suggestion half offended her. + +"None are perfect, my young friend; don't forget that," said Mrs. +Morton, with equal seriousness. "To think differently is a common +mistake of persons circumstanced as you are." + +"It's no mistake of mine, let me assure you," replied Kate. "I can +see faults as quickly as any one. Love can't blind me. It is because +I see defects in Frederick that I wish to correct them." + +"And you trust to his good sense to take the work of correction +kindly?" + +"Certainly I do." + +"Then you most probably think him more perfect than he really is. +Very few people can bear to be told of their faults, and fewer still +to be told of them by those they love. Love is expected to be blind +to defects; therefore, when it is seen looking at and pointing them +out, the feeling produced is, in the very nature of things, a +disagreeable one. Take my advice, and let Frederick's faults alone, +at least for a year after you are married; and even then put your +hand on them very lightly, and as if by accident." + +"Do you think I could see him lounge, or, rather, slide down in his +chair in that ungraceful way, and not speak to him about it? Not I. +It makes me nervous now; and, if I wasn't afraid he might take it +unkindly, would call his attention to it." + +"Do you think he will be less likely to take it unkindly after +marriage?" + +"Certainly. Then I will have a right to speak to him about it." + +"Then marriage will give you certain rights over your husband?" + +"It will give him rights over me, and a very poor rule that is which +doesn't work both ways. Marriage will make him my husband; and, +surely, a wife may tell her husband that he is not perfect, without +offending him." + +"Kate, Kate; you don't know what you are talking about, child!" + +"I think I do." + +"And I know you don't." + +"Oh, well, Mrs. Morton, we won't quarrel about it," said Kate, +laughing. "I mean to make one of the best of wives, and have one of +the best of husbands to be found. He will require a little fixing up +to make him just to my mind, but don't you fear but what I'll do it +in the gentlest possible manner. Women have more taste than men, you +know, and a man never looks and acts just right until he gets a +woman to take charge of him." + +A happy bride Kate became a few months after this little +conversation took place, and Lee thought himself the most fortunate +of men in obtaining such a lovely, accomplished, and right-minded +woman for a wife. Swiftly glided away the sweet honey-moon, without +a jar of discord, though, during the time, Kate saw a good many +things not exactly to her mind, and which she set down as needing +correction. + +One evening, it was just five weeks after the marriage, and when +they were snugly settled in their own house, Frederick Lee was +seated before the grate, in a handsome rocking-chair, his body in a +position that it would have required a stretch of language to +pronounce graceful or becoming. He had drawn off one of his boots, +that was lying on the floor, and the leg from which it had been +taken was hanging over an arm of his chair. He had slipped forward +in the chair--his ordinary mode of sitting, or, rather, lying--so +far that his head, which, if he had been upright, would have been +even with the top of the back, was at least twelve inches below it. +To add to the effect of his position, he was swinging the bootless +leg that hung across the arm of the chair with a rapid, circling +motion. He had been reclining in this inelegant attitude for about +ten minutes, when Kate, who had permitted herself to become a good +deal annoyed by it, said to him, rather earnestly-- + +"Do, Frederick, sit up straight, and try and be a little more +graceful in your positions." + +"What's that?" inquired the young man, as if he had not heard +distinctly. + +"Can't you sit up straight?" + +Kate smiled; but Lee saw that it was a forced smile. + +"Oh, yes," he answered, indifferently. "I can sit up straight as an +arrow, but I find this attitude most agreeable." + +"If you knew how you looked," said Kate. + +"How do I look?" asked the young man, playfully. + +"Oh! you look--you look more like a country clod-hopper than any +thing else." + +There was a sharpness in Kate's tones that fell unpleasantly on the +ears of the young man. + +"Do I, indeed!" was his rather cold remark. Yet he did not change +his position. + +"Indeed, you do," said the wife, who was, by this time, beginning to +feel a good deal of irritation; for she saw that Frederick was not +inclined to respond in the way she had hoped, to her very reasonable +desire that he would assume a more graceful attitude. "The fact is," +she continued, impelled to further utterance by the excited state of +her feelings, although she was conscious of having already said more +than was agreeable to her husband, "you ought to correct yourself of +these ungraceful and undignified habits. It shows a want of"-- + +Kate stopped suddenly. She felt that she was about using words that +would inevitably give offence. + +"A want of what?" inquired Lee, in a low, firm voice, while he +continued to look his young wife steadily in the face. + +Kate's eyes fell to the floor and she remained silent. + +"Ungraceful and undignified. Humph!" + +Lee was evidently hurt at this allegation, as the tone in which he +repeated the words clearly showed. + +"Do you call your present attitude graceful?" Kate asked, rallying +herself under the reflection that she was right. + +"It is comfortable for me; and, therefore, ought to be graceful in +your eyes," was the young man's perverse answer. Not the slightest +change had yet taken place in his position. + +This was beyond what the high spirited lady could bear, and she +retorted with more feeling than discretion: + +"Love is not blind in my case, I can assure you, Frederick, and +never will be. You are very ungraceful and untidy, and annoy me, +sometimes, excessively. I wish you would try to correct these +things." + +"You do?" + +There was something cool and provoking in the way Lee said this. + +"I do, Frederick, and I'm in earnest." + +The cheeks of Kate were in a glow, and her eyes lit up, and her lips +quivering. + +"How long since you made the discovery that I was only a country +clod-hopper?" said Lee, who was particularly annoyed by Kate's +unexpected charges against his good-breeding. + +"I didn't say you were only a country clod-hopper," replied Kate. + +"I believe you used the words. My ears rarely deceive me. I must own +to feeling highly complimented." + +"Do sit up straight, Frederick! Do take your leg from over the arm +of that chair! You make me so nervous that I can hardly contain +myself." + +"Really! I thought a man was privileged to sit in any position he +pleased in his own house." + +The excitement of Kate's mind had, by this time, reached a crisis. +Bursting into tears, she hurried from the room, and went sobbing up +to her chamber. + +Here was a fine state of affairs, indeed! Was ever a man so perverse +and unreasonable? + +Did Frederick Lee follow, quickly, his weeping wife? No; his pride +was too deeply wounded for that. + +"A country clod-hopper! Undignified and ungraceful! Upon my word!" +Such were some of his mental ejaculations. And then, as his feelings +grew excited, he started up from his chair and began pacing the +floor, muttering, as he did so-- + +"It is rather late in the day to make this discovery! Why didn't she +find it out before? Humph!" + +Meanwhile, Kate had thrown herself across her bed, where she lay, +weeping bitterly. + +What a storm had suddenly been blown about their ears! + +It was fully an hour before Frederick Lee's disturbed feelings began +to run at all clear. He was both surprised and offended. What could +all this mean? What had all at once come over his young wife? + +"A country clod-hopper!" he muttered to himself over and over again. +"Ungraceful--ungenteel, and all that! Very complimentary, indeed!" + +When Lee joined his wife in their chamber, two hours after she had +left him, he found that she had retired to bed and was sleeping. + +On the next morning both looked very sober, and both were cold and +distant. A few words only passed between them. It was the same when +they met at dinner-time, and the same when Lee came home in the +evening. During the whole of this day, the thought of each was upon +the other; but it was not a forgiving thought. Kate cherished angry +feelings toward her husband; and Lee continued to be offended at the +freedom of expression which his young wife had ventured to use +toward him. Of course, both were very unhappy. + +The formal intercourse of the tea-table having ended, Lee, feeling +little inclined to pass the evening with his reserved and +sober-looking partner, put on his hat, and merely remarking that he +would not return until bed-time, left the house. This act startled +Kate. With the jar of the closing door came a gush of tears. The +evening was passed alone. How wretched she felt as the hours moved +slowly on! + +It was nearly eleven o'clock when Lee came home. By that time, the +mind of Kate was in an agony of suspense. More than once the thought +that he had abandoned her intruded itself, and filled her with fear +and anguish. What a relief to her feelings it was when she heard the +rattle of his night-key in the lock! But she could not meet him with +a smile. She could not throw her arms around his neck, and press her +hot cheek to his. No: for she felt that he was angry with her +without just cause, and had visited with unjust severity a light +offence--if, so far as she was concerned, her act were worthy to be +called an offence. + +And so they looked coldly upon each other when they met, and then +averted their eyes. + +The morning broke, but with no fairer promise of a sunny day. Clouds +obscured their whole horizon. Coldly they parted after the brief and +scarcely tasted meal. How wretched they were! + +During the forenoon, Mrs. Morton, the friend of Mrs. Lee, called in +to see her young friend. + +"Why, Kate! What has happened?" she exclaimed, the moment she saw +her. + +Mrs. Lee tried to smile and look indifferent, as she answered-- + +"Happened? Why do you say that?" + +"You look as if you hadn't a friend left in the world!" + +"And I don't know that I have," said Mrs. Lee, losing, all at once, +her self-command, and permitting the ready tears to gush forth. + +"Why, Kate, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Morton, drawing her arm around the +neck of her young friend. "What is the meaning of all this? +Something wrong with Frederick?" + +Kate was silent. + +Mrs. Morton reflected for a moment, and then said-- + +"Been trying to correct some of his faults, ha?" + +No answer. But the sobbing became less violent. + +"Ah, Kate! Kate! I warned you of this." + +"Warned me of what?" + +Mrs. Lee lifted her head, and tried to assume an air of dignity as +she spoke. + +"I warned you that Frederick would not bear it, if you attempted to +lay your hand upon his faults." + +Kate raised her head higher, and compressed her lips. Still she did +not answer. + +"A young husband, naturally enough, thinks himself faultless--at +least in the eyes of his wife." + +"Very far from faultless is Frederick in my eyes," said Kate. "My +love is not blind, and so I told him." + +"You did!" + +"Yes, I did, and in so many words," replied Kate, with spirit. + +"Ah, silly child!" returned her friend. "Already you have the reward +of your folly. I forewarned you how it would be." + +"Are my wishes, feelings, and taste to be of no account whatever?" +said Kate, warmly. "Frederick is to be and do just what he pleases, +and I must say nothing, do nothing, and bear every thing. Was this +the contract between us? No, Mrs. Morton!" + +The bright eyes of Mrs. Lee flashed with indignant fire. + +"Come, come, Katy, dear! Don't let that impulsive heart of thine +lead thee too far aside from the path of prudence and safety. I am +sure that Frederick Lee is no self-willed, exacting, domestic +tyrant. I could not have been so deceived in him. But tell me the +particular cause of your trouble. What has been said and done? You +have given offence, and he has become offended. Tell me the whole +story, Kate, and then I'll know what to say and do for the +restoration of your peace." + +"You are aware," said Kate, after a brief pause, and with a +deepening flush on her cheeks, "how awkward and untidy Frederick is +at times,--how he lounges in his chair, and throws his body into all +manner of ungraceful attitudes." + +"Well?" + +"This, as you know, has always annoyed me sadly. Night before last, +I felt so worried with him, that I could not help speaking right +out." + +"Ah! when you were worried?" + +"Of course. If I hadn't felt worried, I wouldn't have said any +thing." + +"Indeed! Well, what did you say? Was your tone of voice low and full +of love, and your words as gentle as the falling dew?" + +"Mrs. Morton!" + +There was a half-angry, indignant expression in the voice of Kate. + +"Did you lay your hand lightly, like the touch of a feather, upon +the fault you designed to correct, or did you grasp it rudely and +angrily?" + +Kate's eyes drooped beneath those of her friend. + +"You were annoyed and excited," continued Mrs. Morton. "This by your +own acknowledgment, and, in such a frame of mind, you charged with +faults the one who had vainly thought himself, at least in your +eyes, perfect. And he, as a natural consequence, was hurt and +offended. But what did you say to him?" + +"I hardly know what I said, now," returned Kate. "But I know I used +the words ungraceful, undignified, and country clod-hopper." + +"Why, Kate! I am surprised at you! And this to so excellent a man as +Frederick, who, from all the fair and gentle ones around him, chose +you to be his bosom friend and life companion. Kate, Kate! That was +unworthy of you. That was unkind to him. I do not wonder that he was +hurt and offended." + +"Perhaps I was wrong, Mrs. Morton," said Kate, as tears began to +flow again. "But Frederick's want of order, grace, and neatness, is +dreadful. I cannot tell you how much it annoys me." + +"You saw all this before you were married." + +"Not all of it." + +"You saw enough to enable you to judge of the rest." + +"True; but then I always meant to correct these things in him. They +were but blemishes on a jewel of surpassing value." + +"Ah, Kate, you have proved the truth of what I told you before your +marriage. It is not so easy a thing to correct the faults of a +husband--faults confirmed by long habit. Whenever a wife attempts +this, she puts in jeopardy, for the time being at least, her +happiness, as you have done. A man is but little pleased to make the +discovery that his wife thinks him no better than a country +clod-hopper; and it is no wonder that he should be offended, if she, +with strange indiscreetness and want of tact, tells him in plain +terms what she thinks. Your husband is sensitive, Kate." + +"I know he is." + +"And keenly alive to ridicule." + +"I am not aware of that." + +"Then your reading of his character is less accurate than mine. +Moreover, he has a pretty good opinion of himself." + +"We all have that." + +"And a strong will, quiet as he is in exterior." + +"Not stronger, perhaps, than I have." + +"Take my advice, Kate," said Mrs. Morton, seriously, "and don't +bring your will in direct opposition to his." + +"And why not? Am I not his equal? He is no master of mine. I did not +sell myself as his slave, that his will should be my law!" + +"Silly child! How madly you talk!" said Mrs. Morton. "Not for the +world would I have Frederick hear such utterance from your lips. +Does he not love you tenderly? Has he not, in every way, sought your +happiness thus far in your brief married life? Is he not a man of +high moral virtue? Does not your alliance with him rather elevate +than depress you in the social rank? And yet, forsooth, because he +lounges in his chair, and permits his body, at times, to assume +ungraceful attitudes, you must throw the apple of discord into your +pleasant home to mar its beautiful harmonies." + +"Surely, a wife may be permitted to speak to her husband, and even +seek to correct his faults," said Kate. + +"Better shut her eyes to his faults, if seeing them is to make them +both unhappy. You are in a very strange mood, Kate." + +"Am I?" returned Mrs. Lee, querulously. + +"You are; and the quicker it passes away, the better for both +yourself and husband." + +"I don't know how soon it will pass away," sighed Kate, moodily. + +"Good-morning," said Mrs. Morton, rising and making a motion to +depart. + +"You are not going?" + +Kate glanced up with a look of surprise. + +"Yes; I am afraid to stay here any longer," was the affected serious +reply. "I might catch something of your spirit, and then my husband +would find a change in his pleasant home. Good-morning. May I see +you in a better state of mind when we meet again." + +And saying this, Mrs. Morton passed from the room so quickly that +Kate could not arrest the movement; so she remained seated, though a +little disturbed by her friend and monitor's sudden departure. + +What Mrs. Morton had said, although it seemed not to impress the +mind of her young friend, yet lingered there, and now began +gradually to do its work. + +As for Frederick Lee, he was unhappy enough. The words of Kate had +stung him severely. + +"And so, in her eyes, I am no better than a country clod-hopper!" + +Almost every hour was this repeated--sometimes mentally and +sometimes aloud; and at each repetition it disturbed his feelings +and awakened an unforgiving spirit. + +"A clod-hopper, indeed! Wonder she never made this discovery +before!" + +This was the thought of Lee as he left his place of business to +return home, on the evening of the day on which Mrs. Morton called +upon Kate. Why would he not look away from this? Why would he ponder +over and magnify the offence of Kate? Why would he keep this ever +before his eyes? His self-love had been wounded. His pride had been +touched. The weapon of ridicule had been used against him, and to +ridicule he was morbidly sensitive. Kate should have read his +character more closely, and should have understood it better. But +she was ignorant of his weaknesses, and bore heavily upon them ere +aware of their existence. + +It was in this brooding, clouded, and unforgiving state of mind that +Frederick Lee took his way homeward. On entering his dwelling, which +he did almost noiselessly, he went into the parlour and seated +himself in the very place where he was sitting when Kate began, so +unexpectedly to him, her unsuccessful work of reformation. Every +thing around reminded him of that unfortunate evening--even the +lounging position he so naturally assumed, sliding down, as he did, +in the chair, and throwing one of his legs over the arm. + +"It is comfortable for me," said he, moodily to himself; "and it's +my own house. If she don't like it, let her--" + +He did not finish the sentence, for he felt that his state of mind +was not what it should be, and that to speak thus of his wife was +neither just nor kind. + +Unhappy young man! Is it thus you visit the light offence--for it +was light, in reality--of the loving and gentle young creature who +has given her happiness, her very life into your keeping? Could you +not bear a word from her? Are you so perfect, that her eyes must see +no defect? Is she never to dare, on penalty of your stern +displeasure, to correct a fault--to seek to lift you, by her purer +and better taste, above the ungraceful and unmanly habits consequent +upon a neglected boyhood? What if her hand was laid rather heavily +upon you? What if her feelings did prompt her to use words that had +better been left unsaid? It was the young wife's pride in her +husband that warmed her into undue excitement, and this you should +have at once comprehended. + +If Frederick Lee did not think precisely as we have written, his +thoughts gradually inclined in that direction. Still he felt moody, +and his feelings warmed but little toward Kate. + +Thus he sat for some ten or fifteen minutes. At the end of this +time, he heard light footsteps coming down the stairs. He knew them +to be those of his wife. He did not move nor make a sound, but +rather crouched lower in his chair, the back of which was turned +toward the door. But his thought was on his wife. He saw her with +the eyes of his mind--saw her with her clouded countenance. His +heart throbbed heavily against his side, and he partially held his +breath. + +Now her footsteps moved along the passage, and now he was conscious +that she had entered the room where he sat. Not the slightest +movement did he make--not a sign did he give of his presence. There +he sat, shrinking down in his chair, moody, gloomy, and angry with +Kate in his heart. + +Was she aware of his presence? Had she heard him enter the house? +Such were the questioning thoughts that were in his mind. + +Footsteps moved across the room. Now Kate was at the mantel-piece, a +few feet from the chair he occupied, for he heard her lay a book +thereon. Now she passed to the back window, and throwing it up, +pushed open the shutters, giving freer entrance to the waning light. + +A deep silence followed. Now the stillness is broken by a gentle +sigh that floats faintly through the room. How rebukingly smote that +sigh upon the ears of Lee! How it softened his heart toward Kate, +the young and loving wife of his bosom! A slower movement in the +current of his angry feelings succeeds to this. Then it becomes +still. There is a pause. + +But where is Kate? Has she left the room? He listens for some +movement, but not the slightest sound meets his ear. + +"Kate!" No, he did not utter the word aloud, in tender accents, +though it was in his heart and on his tongue. Nor did he start up or +move. No, as if spell-bound, he remained crouching down in his +chair. + +All at once he is conscious that some one is bending above him, and, +in the next moment, warm lips touch his forehead, gently, +hesitatingly, yet with a lingering pressure. + +"Kate! Dear Kate!" + +He has sprung to his feet, and his arms are flung around his wife. + +"Forgive me, Frederick, if I seemed unkind to you," sobbed Kate, as +soon as she could command her voice. "There was no unkindness in my +heart--only love." + +"It is I who most need to ask forgiveness," replied Lee. "I who +have--" + +"Hush! Not a word of that now," quickly returned Kate, placing her +hand upon his mouth. "Let the past be forgotten." + +"And forgiven, too," said Lee, as he pressed his lips eagerly to +those of his wife. + +How happy they were at this moment of reconciliation! How light +seemed the causes which had risen up to mar the beautiful harmony of +their lives! Haw weak and foolish both had been, as their acts now +appeared in eyes from which had fallen the scales of passion! + +Both were wiser than in the aforetime. Kate tried to look away, as +much as possible, from the little faults which at first so much +annoyed her; while her husband turned his thoughts more narrowly +upon himself, at the same time that he made observation of other +men, and was soon well convinced that sundry changes in his habits +and manners might be made with great advantage. The more his eyes +were opened to these little personal defects, the more fully did he +forgive Kate for having in the beginning laid her hand upon them, +though not in the gentlest manner. + +"Six months have passed since you were married," said Mrs. Morton +one day to Kate. + +"Yes, six months have flown on wings of perfume," replied the happy +wife. + +"I saw Frederick yesterday." + +"Did you?" + +"Yes; and I knew him the moment my eyes rested upon him." + +"Knew him! Why shouldn't you know him?" + +Kate looked a little surprised. + +"I thought he was to be so changed under your hands in six months, +that I would hardly recognise him." + +There was an arch look in Mrs. Morton's eyes, and a merry flutter in +her voice. + +"Mrs. Morton! Now that is too bad!" + +"Your experiment failed, did it not, dear?" + +The door of the room in which the ladies were sitting opened at the +moment, and Frederick Lee entered. + +"Not entirely," whispered Kate, as she bent to the ear of her +friend. "He is vastly improved--at least, in my eyes." + +"And in others' eyes, too," thought Mrs. Morton, as she arose and +returned the young man's smiling salutation. + + + + +"MY FORTUNE'S MADE." + + +My young friend, Cora Lee, was a gay, dashing girl, fond of dress, +and looking always as if, to use a common saying, just out of a +bandbox. Cora was a belle, of course, and had many admirers. Among +the number of these, was a young man named Edward Douglass, who was +the very "pink" of neatness in all matters pertaining to dress, and +exceedingly particular in his observance of the little proprieties +of life. + +I saw, from the first, that if Douglass pressed his suit, Cora's +heart would be an easy conquest, and so it proved. + +"How admirably they are fitted for each other!" I remarked to my +husband, on the night of their wedding. "Their tastes are similar, +and their habits so much alike, that no violence will be done to the +feelings of either in the more intimate associations that marriage +brings. Both are neat in person and orderly by instinct, and both +have good principles." + +"From all present appearances, the match will be a good one," +replied my husband. There was, I thought, something like reservation +in his tone. + +"Do you really think so?" I said, a little ironically, for Mr. +Smith's approval of the marriage was hardly warm enough to suit my +fancy. + +"Oh, certainly! Why not?" he replied. + +I felt a little fretted at my husband's mode of speaking, but made +no further remark on the subject. He is never very enthusiastic nor +sanguine, and did not mean, in this instance, to doubt the fitness +of the parties for happiness in the marriage state--as I half +imagined. For myself, I warmly approved of my friend's choice, and +called her husband a lucky man to secure, for his companion through +life, a woman so admirably fitted to make one like him happy. But a +visit which I paid to Cora one day about six weeks after the +honeymoon had expired, lessened my enthusiasm on the subject, and +awoke some unpleasant doubts. It happened that I called soon after +breakfast. Cora met me in the parlour, looking like a very fright. +She wore a soiled and rumpled morning wrapper; her hair was in +papers; and she had on dirty stockings, and a pair of old slippers +down at the heels. + +"Bless me, Cora!" said I. "What is the matter? Have you been sick?" + +"No. Why do you ask? Is my dishabille rather on the extreme?" + +"Candidly, I think it is, Cora," was my frank answer. + +"Oh, well! No matter," she carelessly replied, "my fortune's made." + +"I don't clearly understand you," said I. + +"I'm married, you know." + +"Yes; I am aware of that fact." + +"No need of being so particular in dress now." + +"Why not?" + +"Didn't I just say?" replied Cora. "My fortune's made. I've got a +husband." + +Beneath an air of jesting, was apparent the real earnestness of my +friend. + +"You dressed with a careful regard to taste and neatness, in order +to win Edward's love?" said I. + +"Certainly I did." + +"And should you not do the same in order to retain it?" + +"Why, Mrs. Smith! Do you think my husband's affection goes no deeper +than my dress? I should be very sorry indeed to think that. He loves +me for myself." + +"No doubt of that in the world, Cora. But remember that he cannot +see what is in your mind except by what you do or say. If he admires +your taste, for instance, it is not from any abstract appreciation +thereof, but because the taste manifests itself in what you do. And, +depend upon it, he will find it a very hard matter to approve and +admire your correct taste in dress, for instance, when you appear +before him, day after day, in your present unattractive attire. If +you do not dress well for your husband's eyes, for whose eyes, pray, +do you dress? You are as neat when abroad as you were before your +marriage." + +"As to that, Mrs. Smith, common decency requires me to dress well +when I go upon the street or into company, to say nothing of the +pride one naturally feels in looking well." + +"And does not the same common decency and natural pride argue as +strongly in favour of your dressing well at home, and for the eye of +your husband, whose approval and whose admiration must be dearer to +you than the approval and admiration of the whole world?" + +"But he doesn't want to see me rigged out in silks and satins all +the time. A pretty bill my dressmaker would have against him! Edward +has more sense than that, I flatter myself." + +"Street or ball-room attire is one thing, Cora, and becoming home +apparel another. We look for both in their places." + +Thus I argued with the thoughtless young wife, but my words made no +impression. When abroad, she dressed with exquisite taste, and was +lovely to look upon; but at home, she was careless and slovenly, and +made it almost impossible for those who saw her to realize that she +was the brilliant beauty they had met in company but a short time +before. But even this did not last long. I noticed, after a few +months, that the habits of home were confirming themselves, and +becoming apparent abroad. Her "fortune was made," and why should she +now waste time or employ her thoughts about matters of personal +appearance? + +The habits of Mr. Douglass, on the contrary, did not change. He was +as orderly as before, and dressed with the same regard to neatness. +He never appeared at the breakfast-table in the morning without +being shaved; nor did he lounge about in the evening in his +shirt-sleeves. The slovenly habits into which Cora had fallen +annoyed him seriously; and still more so, when her carelessness +about her appearance began to manifest itself abroad as well as at +home. When he hinted any thing on the subject, she did not hesitate +to reply, in a jesting manner, that her fortune was made, and she +need not trouble herself any longer about how she looked. + +Douglass did not feel very much complimented; but as he had his +share of good sense, he saw that to assume a cold and offended +manner would do no good. + +"If your fortune is made, so is mine," he replied on one occasion, +quite coolly and indifferently. Next morning he made his appearance +at the breakfast table with a beard of twenty-four hours' growth. + +"You haven't shaved this morning, dear," said Cora, to whose eyes +the dirty-looking face of her husband was particularly unpleasant. + +"No," he replied, carelessly. "It's a serious trouble to shave every +day." + +"But you look so much better with a cleanly-shaved face." + +"Looks are nothing--ease and comfort every thing," said Douglass. + +"But common decency, Edward." + +"I see nothing indecent in a long beard," replied the husband. + +Still Cora argued, but in vain. Her husband went off to his business +with his unshaven face. + +"I don't know whether to shave or not," said Douglass next morning, +running his hand over his rough face, upon which was a beard of +forty-eight hours' growth. His wife had hastily thrown on a wrapper, +and, with slip-shod feet and head like a mop, was lounging in a +large rocking-chair, awaiting the breakfast-bell. + +"For mercy's sake, Edward, don't go any longer with that shockingly +dirty face," spoke up Cora. "If you knew how dreadfully you look!" + +"Looks are nothing," replied Edward, stroking his beard. + +"Why, what's come over you all at once?" + +"Nothing; only it's such a trouble to shave every day." + +"But you didn't shave yesterday." + +"I know; I am just as well off to-day as if I had. So much saved, at +any rate." + +But Cora urged the matter, and her husband finally yielded, and +mowed down the luxuriant growth of beard. + +"How much better you do look!" said the young wife. "Now don't go +another day without shaving." + +"But why should I take so much trouble about mere looks? I'm just as +good with a long beard as with a short one. It's a great deal of +trouble to shave every day. You can love me just as well; and why +need I care about what others say or think?" + +On the following morning, Douglass appeared not only with a long +beard, but with a bosom and collar that were both soiled and +rumpled. + +"Why, Edward! How you do look!" said Cora. "You've neither shaved +nor put on a clean shirt." + +Edward stroked his face and run his fingers along the edge of his +collar, remarking, indifferently, as he did so-- + +"It's no matter. I look well enough. This being so very particular +in dress is waste of time, and I'm getting tired of it." + +And in this trim Douglass went off to his business, much to the +annoyance of his wife, who could not bear to see her husband looking +so slovenly. + +Gradually the declension from neatness went on, until Edward was +quite a match for his wife; and yet, strange to say, Cora had not +taken the hint, broad as it was. In her own person she was as untidy +as ever. + +About six months after their marriage, we invited a few friends to +spend a social evening with us, Cora and her husband among the +number. Cora came alone, quite early, and said that her husband was +very much engaged, and could not come until after tea. My young +friend had not taken much pains with her attire. Indeed, her +appearance mortified me, as it contrasted so decidedly with that of +the other ladies who were present; and I could not help suggesting +to her that she was wrong in being so indifferent about her dress. +But she laughingly replied to me-- + +"You know my fortune's made now, Mrs. Smith. I can afford to be +negligent in these matters. It's a great waste of time to dress so +much." + +I tried to argue against this, but could make no impression upon +her. + +About an hour after tea, and while we were all engaged in pleasant +conversation, the door of the parlour opened, and in walked Mr. +Douglass. At first glance I thought I must be mistaken. But no, it +was Edward himself. But what a figure he did cut! His uncombed hair +was standing up, in stiff spikes, in a hundred different directions; +his face could not have felt the touch of a razor for two or three +days; and he was guiltless of clean linen for at least the same +length of time. His vest was soiled; his boots unblacked; and there +was an unmistakable hole in one of his elbows. + +"Why, Edward!" exclaimed his wife, with a look of mortification and +distress, as her husband came across the room, with a face in which +no consciousness of the figure he cut could be detected. + +"Why, my dear fellow! What is the matter?" said my husband, frankly; +for he perceived that the ladies were beginning to titter, and that +the gentlemen were looking at each other, and trying to repress +their risible tendencies; and therefore deemed it best to throw off +all reserve on the subject. + +"The matter? Nothing's the matter, I believe. Why do you ask?" +Douglass looked grave. + +"Well may he ask, what's the matter?" broke in Cora, energetically. +"How could you come here in such a plight?" + +"In such a plight?" And Edward looked down at himself, felt his +beard, and ran his fingers through his hair. "What's the matter? Is +any thing wrong?" + +"You look as if you'd just waked up from a nap of a week with your +clothes on, and come off without washing your face or combing your +hair," said my husband. + +"Oh!" And Edward's countenance brightened a little. Then he said +with much gravity of manner-- + +"I've been extremely hurried of late; and only left my store a few +minutes ago. I hardly thought it worth while to go home to dress up. +I knew we were all friends here. Besides, _as my fortune is +made_"--and he glanced with a look not to be mistaken toward his +wife--"I don't feel called upon to give as much attention to mere +dress as formerly. Before I was married, it was necessary to be +particular in these matters, but now it's of no consequence." + +I turned toward Cora. Her face was like crimson. In a few moments +she arose and went quickly from the room. I followed her, and Edward +came after us pretty soon. He found his wife in tears, and sobbing +almost hysterically. + +"I've got a carriage at the door," said he to me, aside, half +laughing, half serious. "So help her on with her things, and we'll +retire in disorder." + +"But it's too bad in you, Mr. Douglass," replied I. + +"Forgive me for making your house the scene of this lesson to Cora," +he whispered. "It had to be given, and I thought I could venture to +trespass upon your forbearance." + +"I'll think about that," said I, in return. + +In a few minutes Cora and her husband retired, and in spite of good +breeding and every thing else, we all had a hearty laugh over the +matter, on my return to the parlour, where I explained the curious +little scene that had just occurred. + +How Cora and her husband settled the affair between themselves, I +never inquired. But one thing is certain, I never saw her in a +slovenly dress afterward, at home or abroad. She was cured. + + + + +THE GOOD MATCH. + + +"MY heart is now at rest," remarked Mrs. Presstman to her sister, +Mrs. Markland. "Florence has done so well. The match is such a good +one." + +Mrs. Presstman spoke with animation, but her sister's countenance +remained rather grave. + +"Mr. Barker is worth at least eighty thousand dollars," resumed Mrs. +Presstman. "And my husband says, that if he prospers in business as +he has done for the last ten years, he will be the richest merchant +in the city. Don't you think we have been fortunate in marrying +Florence so well?" + +"So far as the securing of wealth goes, Florence has certainly done +very well," returned Mrs. Markland. "But, surely, sister, you have a +higher idea of marriage than to suppose that wealth in a husband is +the primary thing. The quality of his mind is of much more +importance." + +"Oh, certainly, that is not to be lost sight of. Mr. Barker is an +excellent man. Every one speaks well of him. No one stands higher in +the community than he does." + +"That may be. But the general estimation in which a man is held does +not, by any means, determine his fitness to become the husband of +one like Florence. I think that when I was here last spring, there +was some talk of her preference for a young physician. Was such +really the case?" + +"There was something of that kind," replied Mrs. Presstman, the +colour becoming a very little deeper on her cheek--"a foolish notion +of the girl's. But that was broken off long ago. It would not do. We +could not afford to let her marry a young doctor with a poor +practice. We knew her to be worthy something much higher, as the +result has shown." + +"Doctor Estill, I believe, was his name?" + +"Yes." + +"I remember him very well--and liked him much. Was Mr. Barker +preferred by Florence to Doctor Estill?" + +"Why, yes--no--not at first," half-stammered Mrs. Presstman. "That +is, you know, she was foolish, like all young girls, and thought she +loved him. But that passed away. She is now as happy as she can be." + +Mrs. Markland felt that it was not exactly right to press this +matter now that the mischief, if any there were, had been done, and +so remarked no further upon the subject. But the admission made in +her sister's reply to her last question pained her. It corroborated +a suspicion that crossed her mind, when she saw her niece, that all +was not right within--that the good match which had been made was +only good in appearance. She had loved Florence for the innocence, +purity, and elevation of soul that so sweetly characterized her. She +knew her to be susceptible of tender impressions, and capable of +loving deeply an object really worthy of her love. This plant had +been, she feared, removed from the warm green-house of home, where +the earth had touched tenderly its delicate roots, while its leaves +put forth in a genial air, and placed in a hard soil and a chilling +atmosphere, still to live on, but with its beauty and fragrance +gone. She might be mistaken. But appearances troubled her. + +Mrs. Markland lived in a neighbouring city, and was on a visit to +her sister. During the two weeks that elapsed, while paying this +visit, she heard a great deal about the excellent match that +Florence had made. No one of the acquaintances of the family had any +thing to say that was not congratulatory. More than one mother of an +unmarried daughter, she had good cause for concluding, envied her +sister the happiness of having the rich Mr. Barker for a son-in-law. +When she parted with her niece, on the eve of her return home, there +were tears in her mild blue eyes. It was natural--for Florence loved +her aunt, and to part with her was painful. Still, those tears +troubled Mrs. Markland. She ought of them hours, and days, and +months after, as a token that all was not right in her gentle +breast. + +Briefly let us now sketch a scene that passed twenty years from this +period. Twenty years! That is a long time. Yes--but it is a period +that tests the truth or falsity of the leading principles with which +we set out in life. Twenty years! Ah! how many, even long before +that time elapses, prove the fallaciousness of their hopes! discover +the sandy foundation upon which they have built! + +Let us introduce Mrs. Barker. Her husband has realized even more +than he had hoped for, in the item of wealth. He is worth a million. + +Rather a small sum in his eye, it is true, now that he possesses it. +And from this very fact, its smallness, he is not happy--for is not +Mr. T--worth three millions of dollars? Mr. T--, who is no +better, if as good as he is? But what of Mrs. Barker? Ah, yes. Let +us see how time has passed with her. Let us see if the hours have +danced along with her to measures of glad music, or in cadence with +a pensive strain. Has hers indeed been a _good match_? We shall see. + +Is that sedate-looking woman, with such a cold expression upon her +face, who sits in that elaborately furnished saloon, or parlour, +dreamily looking into the glowing grate, Mrs. Barker? Yes, that is +the woman who made a _good match_. Can this indeed be so? I see, in +imagination, a gentle, loving creature, whose eyes and ears are open +to all things beautiful in creation, and whose heart is moved by all +that is good and true. Impelled by the very nature into which she +has been born--woman's nature--her spirit yearns for high, holy, +interior companionship. She enters into that highest, holiest, most +interior relationship--marriage. She must be purely happy. Is this +so? Can the woman we have introduced at the end of twenty years be +the same being with this gentle girl? Alas! that we should have it +to say that it is so. There has been no affliction to produce this +change--no misfortune. The children she has borne are all about her, +and wealth has been poured liberally into her lap. No external wish +has been ungratified. Why, then, should her face wear habitually so +strange an expression as it does? + +She had been seated for more than half an hour in an abstract mood, +when some one came in. She knew the step. It was that of her +husband. But she did not turn to him, nor seem conscious of his +presence. He merely glanced toward his wife, and then sat down at +some distance from her, and took up a newspaper. Thus they remained +until a bell announced the evening meal, when both arose and passed +in silence to the tea-room. There they were joined by their four +children, the eldest at that lovely age when the girl has blushed +into young womanhood. All arranged themselves about the table, the +younger children conversing together in an under tone, but the +father, and mother, and Florence, the oldest child, remaining +silent, abstracted, and evidently unhappy from some cause. + +The mother and daughter eat but little, and that compulsorily. After +the meal was finished, the latter retired to her own apartment, the +other children remained with their books in the family sitting-room, +and Mr. and Mrs. Barker returned to the parlour. + +"I am really out of all patience with you and Florence!" the former +said, angrily, as he seated himself beside his wife, in front of the +grate. "One would think some terrible calamity were about to +happen." + +Mrs. Barker made no reply to this. In a moment or two her husband +went on, in a dogmatical tone. + +"It's the very best match the city affords. Show me another in any +way comparable. Is not Lorimer worth at least two millions?--and is +not Harman his only son and heir? Surely you and the girl must both +be beside yourselves to think of objecting for a single moment." + +"A good match is not always made so by wealth," Mrs. Barker +returned, in a firm voice, compressing her lips tightly, as she +closed the brief sentence. + +"You are beside yourself," said the husband, half sneeringly. + +"Perhaps I am," somewhat meekly replied Mrs. Barker. Then becoming +suddenly excited from the quick glancing of certain thoughts through +her mind, she retorted angrily. Her husband did not hesitate to +reply in a like spirit. Then ensued a war of words, which ended in a +positive declaration that Florence should marry Harman Lorimer. At +this the mother burst into tears and left the room. + +After that declaration was made, Mrs. Barker knew that further +opposition on her part was useless. Florence was gradually brought +over by the force of angry threats, persuasions, and arguments, so +as finally to consent to become the wife of a man from whom her +heart turned with instinctive aversion. But every one called it such +a good match, and congratulated the father and mother upon the +fortunate issue. + +What Mrs. Barker suffered before, during, and after the brilliant +festivities that accompanied her tenderly-loved daughter's +sacrifice, cannot all be known. Her own heart's history for twenty +long years came up before her, and every page of that history she +read over, with a weeping spirit, as the history of her sweet child +for the dreary future. How many a leaf in her heart had been touched +by the frost; had withered, shrunk, and dropped from affection's +stem--how many a bud had failed to show its promised petals--how +many a blossom had drooped and died ere the tender germ in its bosom +could come forth into hardy existence. Inanimate golden leaves, and +buds, and blossoms--nay, even fruits were a poor substitute for +these. A woman's heart cannot be satisfied with them. + +In her own mind, obduracy and coldness had supervened to the first +states of disappointed affection. But her heart had rebelled through +long, long years against the violence to which it had been +subjected--and the calmness, or rather indifference, that at last +followed was only like ice upon the surface of a stream--the water +still flowing on beneath. Death to the mother would have been a +willing sacrifice, could it have saved her child from the living +death that she had suffered. But it would not. The father was a +resolute tyrant. Money was his god, and to that god he offered up +even his child in sacrifice. + +Need the rambling hints contained in this brief sketch--this dim +outline--be followed by any enforcing reflections? An opposite +picture, full of light and warmth, might be drawn, but would it tend +to bring the truth to clearer perception, where mothers--true +mothers--mothers in spirit as well as in name--are those to whom we +hold up the first picture? We think not. + +Wealth, reputation, honours, high intelligence in a man--all or +either of these--do not constitute him a good match for your child. +Marriage is of the heart--the blending of affection with affection, +and thought with thought. How, then, can one who loves all that is +innocent, and pure, and holy, become interiorly conjoined with a man +who is a gross, selfish sensualist? a man who finds happiness only +in the external possession of wealth, or honours, or in the +indulgence of luxuries? It is impossible! Take away these, and give +her, in their stead, one with whom her affections can blend in +perfect harmony--one with whom she can become united as one--and +earth will be to her a little heaven. + +In the opposite course, alas! the evil does not always stop with +your own child. The curse is too often continued unto the third and +fourth generation--yea, even through long succeeding ages--to +eternity itself! Who can calculate the evil that may flow from a +single perversion of the marriage union--that is, a marriage entered +into from other than the true motives? None but God himself! + + + + +THE BROTHER'S TEMPTATION. + + +"COME, Henry," said Blanche Armour to her brother, who had seemed +unusually silent and thoughtful since tea time,--"I want you to read +while I make this cap for ma." + +"Excuse me, Blanche, if you please, I don't feel like reading +to-night," the brother replied, shading his face both from the light +and the penetrating glance of his sister, as he spoke. + +Blanche did not repeat the request, for it was a habit with her +never to urge her brother; nor, indeed, any one, to do a thing for +which he seemed disinclined. She, therefore, took her work-basket, +and sat down by the centre-table, without saying any thing farther, +and commenced sewing. But she did not feel quite easy, for it was +too apparent that Henry was disturbed about something. For several +days he had seemed more than usually reserved and thoughtful. Now he +was gloomy as well as thoughtful. Of course, there was a cause for +this. And as this cause was hidden from Blanche, she could not but +feel troubled. Several times during the evening she attempted to +draw him out into conversation, but he would reply to her in +monosyllables, and then fall back into his state of silent +abstraction of mind. Once or twice he got up and walked across the +floor, and then again resumed his seat, as if he had compelled +himself to sit down by a strong effort of the will. Thus the time +passed away, until the usual hour of retiring for the night came, +when Blanche put up her work, and rising from her chair by the +centre-table, went to Henry, and stooping down over him, as he lay +half reclined upon the sofa, kissed him tenderly, and murmured an +affectionate "good night." + +"Good night, dear," he returned, without rising or adding another +word. + +Blanche lingered a moment, and then, with a repressed sigh, left the +room, and retired to her chamber. She could not understand her +brother's strange mood. For him to be troubled and silent was +altogether new. And the cause? Why should he conceal it from her, +toward whom, till now, he had never withheld any thing that gave him +either pleasure or pain? + +The moment Blanche retired, the whole manner of Henry Armour +changed. He arose from the sofa and commenced walking the floor with +rapid steps, while the deep lines upon his forehead and his strongly +compressed lips showed him to be labouring under some powerful +mental excitement. He continued to walk thus hurriedly backward and +forward for the space of half an hour; when, as if some long debated +point had been at last decided, he grasped the parlour door with a +firm hand, threw it open, took from the rack his hat, cloak, and +cane, and in a few moments was in the street. + +The jar of the street door, as it closed, was distinctly heard by +Blanche, and this caused the troubled feeling which had oppressed +her all the evening, to change into one of anxiety. Where could +Henry be going at this late hour? He rarely stayed out beyond ten +o'clock; and she had never before known him to leave the house after +the usual bedtime of the family. His going out had, of course, +something to do with his unhappy mood. What could it mean? She could +not suspect him of any wrong. She knew him to be too pure-minded and +honourable. But there was mystery connected with his conduct--and +this troubled her. She had just laid aside a book, that she had +taken up for the purpose of reading a few pages before retiring for +the night, and commenced disrobing herself, when the sound of the +door closing after her brother startled her, and caused her to pause +and think. She could not now retire, for to sleep would be +impossible. She, therefore, drew a shawl about her, and again +resumed her book, determined to sit up until Henry's return. But +little that she read made a very distinct impression on her mind. +Her thoughts were with her brother, whom she tenderly loved, and had +learned to confide in as one of pure sentiments and firm principles. + +While Henry Armour still lingered at home in moody indecision of +mind, a small party of young men were assembled in an upper room of +a celebrated refectory, drinking, smoking, and indulging in +conversation, a large portion of which would have shocked a modest +ear. They were all members of wealthy and respectable families. Some +had passed their majority, and others still lingered between +nineteen and twenty-one,--that dangerous age for a young +man--especially if he be so unfortunate as to have little to do, and +a liberal supply of pocket money. + +"Confound the fellow! What keeps him so long?" said one of the +company, looking at his watch. "It's nearly ten o'clock, and he has +not made his appearance." + +"Whom do you mean? Armour?" asked another. + +"Certainly I do. He promised to join us again to-night." + +"So he did! But I'll bet a pewter sixpence he won't come." + +"Why?" + +"His sister won't let him. Don't you know that he is tied to her +apron string almost every night, the silly fellow! Why don't he be a +man, and enjoy life as it goes?" + +"Sure enough! What is life worth, if its pleasures are all to be +sacrificed for a sister?" returned the other, sneeringly. + +"Here! Pass that champagne," interrupted one of the company. "Let +Harry Armour break his engagement for a sister if he likes. That +needn't mar our enjoyment. There are enough of us here for a regular +good time." + +"Here's a toast," cried another, as he lifted a sparkling glass to +his lips--"Pleasant dreams to the old folks!" + +"Good! Good! Good!" passed round the table, about which the young +revellers were gathered, and each drained a glass to the well +understood sentiment. + +In the mean time, young Armour had left his home, having decided at +last, and after a long struggle with himself, to join this gay +company, as he had agreed to do. It was, in fact, a little club, +formed a short time previous, the members of which met once a week +to eat, drink, smoke, and corrupt each other by ridiculing those +salutary moral restraints which, once laid aside, leave the +thoughtless youth in imminent danger of ruin. + +Henry Armour had been blessed with a sister a year or two older than +himself, who loved him tenderly. The more rapid development of her +mind, as well as body, had given her the appearance of maturity that +enabled her to exercise a strong influence over him. Of the dangers +that beset the path of a young man, she knew little or nothing. The +constant effort which she made to render home agreeable to her +brother by consulting his tastes, and entering into every thing that +seemed to give him pleasure, did not, therefore, spring from a wish +to guard him from the world's allurements; it was the spontaneous +result of a pure fraternal affection. But it had the right effect. +To him, there was no place like home; nor any smile so alluring, or +voice so sweet, as his sister's. And abroad, no company possessed a +perfect charm, unless Blanche were one of its members. + +This continued until Henry gained his twenty-second year, when, as a +law student, he found himself thrown more and more into the company +of young men of his own age, and the same standing in society. An +occasional ride out with one and another of these, at which times an +hour at least was always spent in a public house, opened to him new +scenes in life, and for a young man of lively, buoyant mind, not +altogether unattractive. That there was danger in these paths he did +not attempt to disguise from himself. More than one, or two, or +three, whom he met on almost every visit he made to a fashionable +resort for young men, about five miles from the city, showed too +strong indications of having passed beyond the bounds of +self-control, as well in their use of wines and stronger drinks as +in their conduct, which was too free from those external decent +restraints that we look for even in men who make no pretensions to +virtue. But he did not fear for himself. The exhibitions which these +made of themselves instinctively disgusted him. Still, he did not +perceive that he was less and less shocked at some things he beheld, +and more than at first inclined to laugh at follies which verged too +nearly upon moral delinquencies. + +Gradually his circle of acquaintance with young men of the gay class +extended, and a freer participation with them in many of their +pleasures came as a natural consequence. + +"Come," said one of them to him, as the two met in the street, by +accident, one evening,--"I want you to go with me." + +"But why should I go with you? Or, rather, where are you going?" +asked Armour. + +"To meet some of our friends down at C--'s," replied the young +man. + +"What are you going to do there?" farther inquired Armour. + +"Nothing more than to drink a glass of wine, and have some pleasant +chit-chat. So come along." + +"Will I be welcome?" + +"Certainly you will. I'll guarantee that. Some half dozen of us have +formed a little club, and each member has the privilege of inviting +any one he pleases. To-night I invite you, and on the next evening I +expect to see you present, not as a guest, but as a member. So come +along, and see how you like us." + +Armour had no definite object in view. He had walked out, because he +felt rather listless at home, Blanche having retired with a sick +headache. It required, therefore, no persuasion to induce him to +yield to the friend's invitation. Arrived at C--'s, a fashionable +house of refreshment, the two young men passed up stairs and entered +one of the private apartments of the house, which they found +handsomely furnished and brilliantly lighted. In this, gathered +around a circular, or rather oblong table, were five or six young +men, nearly all of them well known to Armour. On the table were +bottles of wine and glasses--the latter filled. + +"Just in time!" cried the president of the club. "Henry Armour, I +bid you welcome! Here's a place waiting for you," placing his hand +upon a chair by his side as he spoke. "And now," as Armour seated +himself, "let me fill your glass. We were waiting for a sentiment to +find its way out of some brain as you came in, and our brimming +glasses had stood untasted for more than a minute. Can't you help us +to a toast?" + +"Here's to good fellowship!" said Armour, promptly lifting his +glass, and touching it to that of the president. + +"To be drunk standing," added the president. + +All rose on the instant, and drank with mock solemnity to the +sentiment of their guest. + +Then followed brilliant flashes of wit, or what was thought to be +wit. To these succeeded the song, the jest, the story,--and to these +again the sparkling wine-cup. Gayly thus passed the hours, until +midnight stole quietly upon the thoughtless revellers. Surprised, on +reference to his watch, to find that it was one o'clock, Armour +arose and begged to be excused. + +"I move that our guest be excused on one condition," said the friend +who had brought him to the company. "And that is, on his promise to +meet with us again, on this evening next week." + +"What do you think of the condition?" asked the president, who, like +nearly all of the rest, was rather the worse for the wine he had +taken, looking at Armour as he spoke. + +"I agree to it with pleasure," was the prompt reply. + +"Another drink before you go, then," said the president, "and I will +give the toast. Fill up your glasses." + +The bottle again passed round the table. + +"Here's to a good fellow!" was the sentiment announced. It was +received standing. Armour then retired with bewildered senses. The +gay scene that had floated before his eyes, and in which himself had +been an actor, and the freedom with which he had taken wine, left +him confused, almost in regard to his own identity. He did not seem +to himself the same person he had been a few hours before. A new +world had opened before him, and he had, almost involuntarily, +entered into, and become a citizen of that world. Long after he had +reached his home, and retired to his bed, did his imagination revel +amid the scenes he had just left. In sleep, too, fancy was busy. But +here came a change. Serpents would too often glide across the table +around which the gay company, himself a member, were assembled; or +some other sudden and more appalling change scatter into fragments +the bright phantasma of his dreams. + +The sober morning found him in a soberer mood. Calm, cold, +unimpassioned reflection came. What had he been doing? What path had +he entered; and whither did it lead? These were questions that would +intrude themselves, and clamour for an answer. He shut his eyes and +endeavoured again to sleep. Waking thoughts were worse than the airy +terrors which had visited him in sleep. At length he arose, with +dull pains in his head, and an oppressive sluggishness of the whole +body. But more painful than his own reflections, or the physical +consequences of the last night's irregularity, was the thought of +meeting Blanche, and bearing the glance of her innocent eyes. He +felt that he had been among the impure,--and worse, that he had +enjoyed their impure sentiments, and indulged with them in excess of +wine. The taint was upon him, and the pure mind of his sister must +instinctively perceive it. These thoughts made him wretched. He +really dreaded to meet her. But this could not be avoided. + +"You do not look well, brother," said Blanche, almost as soon as she +saw him. + +"I am not well," he replied, avoiding her steady look. "My head +aches, and I feel dull and heavy." + +"What has caused it, brother?" the affectionate girl asked, with a +look and voice of real concern. + +Now this was, of all others, the question that Henry was least +prepared to answer. He could not utter a direct falsehood. From that +his firm principles shrunk. Nor could he equivocate, for he +considered equivocation little better than a direct falsehood. "Why +should I wish to conceal any part of my conduct from her?" he asked +himself, in his dilemma. But the answer was instant and conclusive. +His participation in the revelry of the last night was a thing not +to be whispered in her ear. Not being prepared, then, to tell the +truth, and shrinking from falsehood and equivocation, Armour +preferred silence as the least evil of the three. The question of +Blanche was not, therefore, answered. At the breakfast-table, his +father and mother remarked upon his appearance. To this, he merely +replied that he was not well. As soon as the meal was over, he went +out, glad to escape the eye of Blanche, which, it seemed to him, +rested searchingly upon him all the while. + +A walk of half an hour in the fresh morning air dispelled the dull +pain in his head, and restored his whole system to a more healthy +tone. This drove away, to some extent, the oppressive feeling of +self-condemnation he had indulged. The scenes of the previous +evening, though silly enough for sensible young men to engage in, +seemed less objectionable than they had appeared to him on his first +review. To laugh involuntarily at several remembered jests and +stories, the points of which were not exactly the most chaste or +reverential, marked the change that a short period had produced in +his state of mind. During that day, he did not fall in with any of +his wild companions of the last evening, too many of whom had +already fairly entered the road to ruin. The evening was spent at +home, in the society of Blanche. He read while she sewed, or he +turned for her the leaves of her music book, or accompanied her upon +the flute while she played him a favourite air upon the piano. +Conversation upon books, music, society, and other topics of +interest, filled up the time not occupied in these mental +recreations, and added zest, variety, and unflagging interest to the +gently-passing hours. On the next evening they attended a concert, +and on the next a party. On that succeeding, Henry went out to see a +friend of a different character from any of those with whom he had +passed the hours a few nights previous--a friend about his own age, +of fixed habits and principles, who, like himself, was preparing for +the bar. With him he spent a more rational evening than with the +others, and, what was better, no sting was left behind. + +Still, young Armour could never think of the "club" without having +his mind thrown into a tumult. It awoke into activity opposing +principles. Good and evil came in contact, and battled for +supremacy. There was in his mind a clear conviction that to indulge +in dissipation of that character, would be injurious both to moral +and physical health. And yet, having tasted of the delusive sweets, +he was tempted to further indulgence. Meeting with some two or three +of the "members" during the week, and listening to their extravagant +praise of the "club," and the pleasure of uniting in unrestrained +social intercourse, made warm by generous wine, tended to make more +active the contest going on within--for the good principles that had +been stored up in his mind were not to be easily silenced. Their +hold upon his character was deep. They had entered into its warp and +woof, and were not to be eradicated or silenced in a moment. As the +time for the next meeting of the club approached, this battle grew +more violent. The condition into which it had brought him by the +arrival of the night on which he had promised again to join his gay +friends, the reader has already seen. He was still unable to decide +his course of action. Inclination prompted him to go; good +principles opposed. "But then I have passed my word that I would go, +and my word must be inviolable." Here reason came in to the aid of +his inclinations, and made in their favour a strong preponderance. + +We have seen that, yet undecided, he lingered at home, but in a +state of mind strangely different from any in which his sister had +ever seen him. Still debating the question, he lay, half reclined +upon the sofa, when Blanche touched her innocent lips to his, and +murmured a tender good-night. That kiss passed through his frame +like an electric current. It came just as his imagination had +pictured an impure image, and scattered it instantly. But no +decision of the question had yet been made, and the withdrawal of +Blanche only took off an external restraint from his feelings. He +quietly arose and commenced pacing the floor. This he continued for +some time. At last the decision was made. + +"I have passed my word, and that ends it," said he, and instantly +left the house. Without permitting himself to review the matter +again, although a voice within asked loudly to be heard, he walked +hastily in the direction of the club-room. In ten minutes he gained +the door, opened it without pausing, and stood in the midst of the +wild company within. His entrance was greeted with shouts of +welcome, and the toast, "Here's to a good fellow!" with which he had +parted from them, was repeated on his return, all standing as it was +drunk. + +To this followed a sentiment that cannot be repeated here. It was +too gross. All drunk to it but Armour. He could not, for it involved +a foul slander upon the other sex, and he had a sister whose pure +kiss was yet warm upon his lips. The individual who proposed the +toast marked this omission, and pointed it out by saying-- + +"What's the matter, Harry? Is not the wine good?" + +The colour mounted to the young man's face as he replied, with a +forced smile-- + +"Yes, much better than the sentiment." + +"What ails the sentiment?" asked the propounder of it, in a tone of +affected surprise. + +"I have a sister," was the brief, firm reply of Armour. + +"So Charley, here, was just saying," retorted the other, with a +merry laugh; "and, what is more, that he'd bet a sixpence you were +tied to her apron-string, and would not be here to-night! Ha! ha!" + +The effect of this upon the mind of Armour was decisive. He loved, +nay, almost revered his sister. + +She had been like an angel of innocence about his path from early +years. He knew her to be as pure as the mountain snow-flake. And yet +that sister's influence over him was sneered at by one who had just +uttered a foul-mouthed slander upon her whole sex. The scales fell +instantly from his eyes. He saw the dangerous ground upon, which he +stood; while the character of his associates appeared in a new +light. They were on a road that he did not wish to travel. There +were serpents concealed amid the flowers that sprung along their +path, and he shuddered as he thought of their poisonous fangs. Quick +as a flash of light, these things passed through his mind, and +caused him to act with instant resolution. Rising from the chair he +had already taken, he retired, without a word, from the room. A +sneering laugh followed him, but he either heard it not or gave it +no heed. + +The book which Blanche resumed after she had heard her brother go +out, soon ceased to interest her. She was too much troubled about +him to be able to fix her mind on any thing else. His singularly +disturbed state, and the fact of his having left the house at that +late hour, caused her to feel great uneasiness. This was beginning +to excite her imagination, and to cause her to fancy many reasons +for his strange conduct, none of which were calculated in any degree +to allay the anxiety she felt. Anxiety was fast verging upon serious +alarm, when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. +She listened breathlessly. Surely it was the sound of Henry's +footsteps! Yes! Yes! It was indeed her brother. The tears gushed +from her eyes as she heard him enter below and pass up to his +chamber. He was safe from harm, and for this her heart lifted itself +up in fervent thankfulness! How near he had been to falling, that +pure-minded maiden never knew, nor how it had been her image and the +remembrance of her parting kiss that had saved him in the moment of +his greatest danger. Happy he who is blest with such a sister! And +happier still, if her innocence be suffered to overshadow him in the +hours of temptation! + + + + +THE HOME OF TASTE. + + +THERE are three words, in the utterance of which more power over the +feelings is gained than in the utterance of any other words in the +language. These are "Mother," "Home," and "Heaven." Each appeals to +a different emotion--each bears influence over the heart from the +cradle to the grave.--And just in the degree that this influence is +active, are man's best interests secured for time and eternity. + +Only of "home" do we here intend to speak; and, in particular, as to +the influence of the home of taste. We hear much, in these days, of +enlarging the sphere of woman's social duties; as if, in the sphere +of home, nothing remained to be done, and she must either fold her +hands in idleness, or step forth to engage with man in life's +sterner conflicts. But it is not true that our homes are as they +might be, if their presiding genius fully comprehended all that was +needed to make home what the word implies. Among those in poorer +circumstances, this is especially so. They are too apt to regard +matters of taste as mere superfluities; to speak lightly of order, +neatness, and ornament; to think time and money spent on such things +as useless. But this is a serious mistake, involving, often, the +most lamentable consequences. + +If we expect our children to grow up with a love for things pure and +orderly, we must surround them with the representations thereof in +the homes where first impressions are formed. The mind rests upon +and is moulded by things external to a far greater extent than many +suppose. These are not only a mirror, reflecting all that passes +before the surface, but a highly sensitive mirror, that, like the +Daguerreotype plate, retains the image it receives. If the image be +orderly and beautiful, it will ever have power to excite orderly and +beautiful thoughts in the mind; but if it be impure and disorderly, +its lasting influence will be debasing. If you meet with a coarse, +vulgar-minded man or woman, and are able to trace back the thread of +life until the period of early years, you will be sure to find the +existence of coarse and vulgar influences; and, in most cases, the +opposite will alike be found to hold good. + +There is no excuse for disorder in a household, no matter how small +or how low the range of income, but idleness or indifference. The +time required to maintain neatness, order, and cleanliness, is +small, if the will is active and the hands prompt. Every home, even +the poorest, may become a home of taste, and present order and forms +of beauty, if there is only a willing purpose in the mind. + +It is often charged upon men--particularly operatives with low +wages--that they do not love their homes, preferring to spend their +evening hours in bar-rooms, or wandering about with other men as +little attracted by the household sphere as themselves, until the +time for rest. If you were to go into the homes of such, in most +cases, you would hardly wonder at the aversion manifested. The +dirty, disordered rooms, which their toiling wives deem it a waste +of time and labour to make tidy and comfortable for their reception, +it would be a perversion to call homes. Home attracts; but these +repel. And so, with a feeling of discomfort, the men wander away, +fall into temptation, and usually spend, in self-indulgence, money +that otherwise would have gone to increase home comforts, if there +had been any to increase. And so it is, in its degree, in the homes +of every class. The more pleasant, orderly, and tasteful home is +made, in all its departments and associations, the stronger is its +attractive power, and the more potent its influence over those who +are required to go forth into the world and meet its thousand +allurements. If every thing is right there, it will surely draw them +back, with a steady retraction, through all their absent moments, +and they will feel, on repassing the threshold, that, in the wide, +wide world, there is no spot to them so full of blessings. + +What true woman does not aspire to be the genius of such a home? + + + + +THE TWO SYSTEMS. + + +"IT'S no use to talk; I can't do it. The idea of punishing a child +in cold blood makes me shiver all over. I certainly think that, in +the mind of any one who can do it, there must be a latent vein of +cruelty." + +This remark was made by Mrs. Stanley to her friend and visiter Mrs. +Noland. + +"I have known parents," she continued, "who would go about executing +some punishment with a coolness and deliberation that to me was +frightful. No promise, no appeal, no tear of alarm or agony, from +the penitent little culprit, would have the least effect. The law +must be fulfilled even to the jot and tittle." + +"The disobedient child, doubtless, knew the law," remarked Mrs. +Noland. + +"Perhaps so. But even if it did, great allowance ought to be made +for the ardor with which children seek the gratification of their +desires, and the readiness with which they forget." + +"No parent should lay down a law not right in itself; nor one +obedience to which was not good for the child." + +"But it is very hard to do this. We have not the wisdom of Solomon. +Every day, nay, almost every hour, we err in judgment; and +especially in a matter so little understood as the management of +children." + +"Better, then, have very few laws, and them of the clearest kind. +But, having them, implicit obedience should be exacted. At least, +that is my rule." + +"And you punish for every infraction?" + +"Certainly. But, I am always sure that the child is fully aware of +his fault, and let my punishment be graduated according to the +wilfulness of the act." + +"And you do this coolly?" + +"Oh, yes. I never punish a child while I am excited with a feeling +of indignation for the offence." + +"If I waited for that to pass off, I could never punish one of my +children." + +"Do you find, under this system, that your children are growing up +orderly and obedient?" + +"No, indeed! Of course I do not. Who ever heard of orderly and +obedient children? In fact, who would wish their children to be mere +automatons? I am sure I would not. They are, by nature, restless, +and impatient of control. It will not do to break down their young +spirits. As for punishments, I don't believe much in them, any how. +I have an idea that the less they are brought into requisition the +better. They harden children. Kindness, long suffering, and +forbearance will accomplish a great deal more, and in the end be +better for the child." + +At this moment a little fellow came sliding into the parlour, with a +look that said plainly enough, "I know you don't want me here." + +"Run out, Charley, dear," said Mrs. Stanley, in a mild voice. + +But Charley did not seem to notice his mother's words, for he +continued advancing toward her, until he was by her side, when he +paused and looked the visiter steadily in the face. + +"Charley, you must run out, my dear," said Mrs. Stanley, in a firmer +and more decided voice. + +But Charley only leaned heavily against his mother, not heeding in +the smallest degree her words. Knowing how impossible it would be to +get the child out of the room, without a resort to violence, Mrs. +Stanley said no more to him, but continued the conversation with her +friend. She had only spoken a few words, however, before Charley +interrupted her by saying-- + +"Mother!--Mother!--Give me a piece of cake." + +"No, my son. You have had cake enough this afternoon," replied Mrs. +Stanley. + +"Oh yes, do, mother, give me a piece of cake." + +"It will make you sick, Charley." + +"No, it won't. Please give me some." + +"I had rather not." + +"Yes, mother. Oh do! I want a piece of cake." + +"Go 'way, Charles, and don't tease me." + +There was a slight expression of impatience in the mother's voice. +The child ceased his importunities for a few moments, but just as +Mrs. Stanley had commenced a sentence, intended to embody some wise +saying in regard to the management of children, the little boy broke +in upon her with-- + +"I say, mother, give me a piece of cake, won't you?" in quite a loud +voice. + +Mrs. Stanley felt irritated by this importunity, but she governed +herself. Satisfied that there would be no peace unless the cake were +forthcoming, she said, looking affectionately at the child: + +"Poor little fellow! I suppose he does feel hungry. I don't think +another piece of cake will hurt him. Excuse me a moment, Mrs. +Noland." + +The cake was obtained by Charley in the very way he had, hundreds of +times before, accomplished his purpose, that is, by teasing it out +of his mother. For the next ten minutes the friends conversed, +unmolested. At the end of that time Charley again made his +appearance. + +"Go up into the nursery, and stay with Ellen," said Mrs. Stanley. + +The child took no notice, whatever, of this direction, but walked +steadily up to where his mother was sitting, saying, as he paused by +her side-- + +"I want another piece of cake." + +"Not any more, my son." + +"Yes, mother. Give me some more." + +"No." This was spoken in a very positive way. Charley began to beg +in a whining tone, which, not producing the desired effect, soon +rose into a well-defined cry. + +"I declare! I never saw such a hungry set as my children are. They +will eat constantly from morning until night." Mrs. Stanley did not +say this in the most amiable tone of voice. + +"Mother! I want a piece of cake," cried Charley. + +"I'll give you one little piece more; but, remember, that it will be +the last; so don't ask me again." + +Charley stopped crying at once. Mrs. Stanley went out with him. As +soon as she was far enough from the parlour not to be heard, she +took Charley by the shoulders, and giving him a violent shake, +said-- + +"You little rebel, you! If you come into the parlour again, I'll +skin you!" + +The cake was given. Charley cared about as much for the threat as he +did for the shaking. He had gained his end. + +"I pray daily for patience to bear with my children," said Mrs. +Stanley, on returning to the parlour. "They try us severely." + +"That they do," replied Mrs. Noland. "But it is in our power, by +firmness, consistency, and kindness, to render our tasks +comparatively light." + +"Perhaps so. I try to be firm, and consistent, and kind with my +children; to exercise toward them constant forbearance; but, after +all, it is very hard to know exactly how to govern them." + +"Mother, can't I go over into the square?" asked Emma, looking into +the parlour just at this time. She was a little girl about eight +years old. + +"I would rather not have you go, my dear," returned Mrs. Stanley. + +"Oh yes, mother, do let me go," urged Emma. + +"Ellen can't go with you now; and I do not wish you to go alone." + +"I can go well enough, mother." + +"Well, run along then, you intolerable little tease, you!" + +Emma scampered away, and Mrs. Stanley remarked-- + +"That is the way. They gain their ends by importunity." + +"But should you allow that, my friend?" + +"There was no particular reason why Emma should not go to the +square. I didn't think, at first, when I said I would rather not +have her go, or I would have said 'yes' at once. It is so difficult +to decide upon children's requests on the spur of the moment." + +"But after you had said that you did not want her to go to the +square, would it not have been better to have made her abide by your +wishes?" + +"I don't think it would have been right for me to have deprived the +child of the pleasure of playing in the square, from the mere pride +of consistency. I was wrong in objecting at first--to have adhered +to my objection would have been still a greater wrong;--don't you +think so?" + +"I do not," returned Mrs. Noland. "I know of no greater evil in a +family, than for the children to discover that their parents +vacillate in any matter regarding them. A denial once made to any +request should be positive, even if, in a moment after, it be seen +to have been made without sufficient reason." + +"I cannot agree with you. Justice, I hold, to be paramount in all +things. We should never wrong a child." + +The third appearance of Charley again broke in upon the +conversation. + +"Give me another piece of cake, mother." + +"What! Didn't I tell you that there was no more for you? No! you +cannot have another morsel." + +"I want some more cake," whined the child. + +"Not a crumb more, sir." + +The whine rose into a cry. + +"Go up stairs, sir." + +Charley did not move. + +"Go this instant." + +"Give me some cake." + +"No." + +The cry swelled into a loud bawl. + +Mrs. Stanley became excessively annoyed. "I never saw such +persevering children in my life," said she, impatiently. "They don't +regard what I say any more than if I had not spoken. Charles! Go out +of the parlour this moment!" + +The tone in which this was uttered the child understood. He left the +parlour slowly, but continued to cry at the top of his voice. The +parlour bell was rung, and Ellen the nurse appeared. + +"Do, Ellen, give that boy another piece of cake! There is no other +way to keep him quiet." + +In about three minutes after this direction had been given, all was +still again. Mrs. Stanley now changed the topic of conversation. Her +manner was not quite so cheerful as before. The conduct of Charley +had worried and mortified her. + +The last piece of cake had not been really wanted. Charley asked for +it because a spirit of opposition had been aroused, but he had no +appetite to eat it. It was crumbled about the floor and wasted. His +mother had peace for the next hour. After that she went into the +kitchen to give directions, and make some preparations for tea. +Charley was by her side. + +"Ellen, take this child out," said she. + +Ellen took hold of Charley's arm. + +"No!--no!--Go 'way, Ellen!" he screamed. + +"There!--there!--never mind. Let him stay," said the mother. + +A jar of preserved fruit was brought forth. + +"Give me some?" asked Charley. + +"No, not now. You will get some at the table." + +"I want some now. Give me some now." + +A spoonful of the preserves was put into a saucer, and given to the +child. + +"Give me some more," said he, holding up his saucer in about half a +minute. + +"No. Wait until tea is ready." + +"Give me some sweetmeats. I want more, mother!" + +"I tell you, no." + +A loud bawl followed. + +"I declare this child will worry me to death!" exclaimed the mother, +her mind all in confusion, lading out a large spoonful of the fruit, +and putting it into his saucer. + +When this was eaten, still more was demanded, and peremptorily +refused. Crying was resorted to, but without effect, though it was +loud and deafening. Finding this unsuccessful, the spoiled urchin +determined to help himself. As soon as his mother's back was turned, +he clambered up to the table and seized the jar containing the +preserves. In pulling it over far enough to get his spoon into it, +the balance of the jar was destroyed, and over it went, rolling off +upon the floor, and breaking with a loud crash. At the moment this +occurred, Mrs. Stanley entered the room. Her patience, that had been +severely tried, was now completely overthrown. She was angry enough +to punish her child, and feel a delight in doing so. Seizing him by +one arm, she lifted him from the floor, as if he had been but a +feather, and hurried with him up to her chamber. There she whipped +him unmercifully, and then put him to bed. He continued to cry after +she had done so, when she commanded him to stop in a voice that he +dared not disobey. An hour afterward, when much cooled down, she +passed through the chamber. She looked down upon her little boy with +a feeling of repentance for her anger and the severity of her +punishment. This feeling was in no way mitigated on hearing the +child sob in his sleep. The mother felt very unhappy. + +So much for Mrs. Stanley--so much for her tenderness of feeling--so +much for her warm-blooded system. Its effects need not be exposed +further. Its folly need not be set in any plainer light. + +Some weeks afterward she was spending an afternoon with Mrs. Noland. +Her favourite topic was the management of children, and she +introduced it as usual, inveighing as was her wont against the +cruelty of punishing children--especially in cold blood, as she +called it. For her part, she never punished except in extreme cases, +and not then, unless provoked to do so. Unless she felt angry, and +punished on the spur of the moment, she could not do it at all. +During the conversation, which was led pretty much by Mrs. Stanley, +a child, about the age of Charley, came into the parlour. He walked +up to his mother and whispered some request in her ear. + +"Oh no, Master Harry!" was the smiling, but decided reply. + +The child lingered with a look of disappointment. At length he came +up, and kissing his mother, asked again, in a sweet, earnest way, +for what he had been at first denied. + +"After I said no!" And Mrs. Noland looked gravely into his face. + +Tears came into Henry's eyes. But he said no more. In a moment or +two he silently left the room. + +"Mrs. Noland! How could you resist that dear little fellow? I +declare it was right down cruel in you." + +The eyes of Mrs. Stanley glistened as she spoke. + +"It would have been far more cruel to him if I had yielded, after +once having said 'no'--far more cruel had I given him what I knew +would have injured him." + +"But, I don't see how you could refuse so dear a child, when he +asked you in such a sweet, affectionate manner. I should have given +him any thing in the world he had asked for." + +"That's not my way. I say 'no' only when I have good reason, and +then I never change." + +"Never?" + +"Never." + +Henry appeared at the parlour door again. + +"Come in, dear," said Mrs. Noland. + +The child came quickly forward, put up his mouth to kiss her, and +then nestled closely by his mother's side. The conversation +continued, without the slightest interruption from him. + +"Dear little fellow," said Mrs. Stanley, once or twice, looking into +the child's face, and smoothing his hair with her hand. + +When the tea bell rung, the family assembled in the dining-room. A +visiter made it necessary that one of the children should wait. +Henry was by the table as usual. + +"Harry, dear," said his mother, "you will have to wait and come with +Ellen." + +The child felt very much disappointed. He looked up into his +mother's face for a moment, and then, without a word, went out of +the room. + +"Poor little fellow! It is really a pity to make him wait; and he is +so good," said Mrs. Stanley. "I am sure we can make room for him. Do +call him back, and let him sit by me." + +And she moved close to one of the older children as she spoke. "Here +is plenty of room." + +Mrs. Noland thought for a moment, and then told the waiter to call +Henry back. The child came in as quietly as he had gone out, and +came up to his mother's side. + +"My dear," said Mrs. Noland, "this good lady here has made room for +you by her side. You can go and sit by her." + +The child's face brightened. He went quickly and took the offered +seat. By the time tea was over, Henry had fallen asleep in his +chair. Mrs. Noland, when all arose from the table, took Henry in her +arms, and went with him, accompanied by Mrs. Stanley, to her +chamber, where she undressed him, and kissing fondly his bright +young cheek, laid him in his little bed. + +Mrs. Stanley stood for some moments over the sleeping child, and +looked down upon his calm face. As she did so, she remembered her +own little Charley, and under what different circumstances and +feelings he had been put to bed on the evening of Mrs. Noland's +visit to her. + +Whether the contrast did her any good, we have no means of knowing. +We trust the lesson was not without its good effect upon her. + + + + +THE EVENING PRAYER. + + +"Our Father." + +"OUR Father." The mother's voice was low, and tender, and solemn. + +"Our Father." On two sweet voices the words were borne upward. It +was the innocence of reverent childhood that gave them utterance. + +"Who art in the heavens." + +"Who art in the heavens," repeated the children, one with her eyes +bent meekly down, and the other looking upward, as if she would +penetrate the heavens into which her heart aspired. + +"Hallowed be Thy name." + +Lower fell the voices of the little ones. In a gentle murmur they +said: "Hallowed be Thy name." + +"Thy kingdom come." + +And the burden of the prayer was still taken up by the +children--"Thy kingdom come." + +"Thy will be done on earth, as it is done in heaven." + +Like a low, sweet echo from the land of angels--"Thy will be done on +earth, as it is done in heaven," filled the chamber. + +And the mother continued--"Give us this day our daily bread." + +"Our daily bread" lingered a moment on the air, as the mother's +voice was hushed into silence. + +"And forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors." + +The eyes of the children had drooped for a moment. But they were +uplifted again as they prayed--"And forgive us our debts, as we also +forgive our debtors." + +"And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil. For +Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen." + +All these holy words were said, piously and fervently, by the little +ones, as they knelt with clasped hands beside their mother. Then, as +their thoughts, uplifted on the wings of prayer to their heavenly +Father, came back again and rested on their earthly parents, a +warmer love came gushing from their hearts. + +Pure kisses--tender embraces--the fond "good night." What a sweet +agitation pervaded all their feelings! Then two dear heads were +placed side by side on the snowy pillow, the mother's last kiss +given, and the shadowy curtains drawn. + +What a pulseless stillness reigns throughout the chamber! Inwardly +the parents' listening ears are bent. They have given these innocent +ones into the keeping of God's angels, and they can almost hear the +rustle of their garments as they gather around their sleeping babes. +A sigh, deep and tremulous, breaks on the air. Quickly the mother +turns to the father of her children, with a look of earnest inquiry +on her countenance. And he answers thus her silent question. + +"Far back, through many years, have my thoughts been wandering. At +my mother's knee thus said I nightly, in childhood, my evening +prayer. It was that best and holiest of all prayers, "Our Father," +that she taught me. Childhood and my mother passed away. I went +forth as a man into the world, strong, confident, and self-seeking. +Once I came into great temptation. Had I fallen in that temptation, +I would have fallen, I sadly fear, never to have risen again. The +struggle in my mind went on for hours. I was about yielding. All the +barriers I could oppose to the in-rushing flood seemed just ready to +give way, when, as I sat in my room one evening, there came from an +adjoining chamber, now first occupied for many weeks, the murmur of +low voices. I listened. At first, no articulate sound was heard, and +yet something in the tones stirred my heart with new and strange +emotions. At length, there came to my ears, in the earnest, loving +voice of a woman, the words--'Deliver us from evil.' For an instant, +it seemed to me as if the voice were that of my mother. Back, with a +sudden bound through all the intervening years, went my thoughts; +and, a child in heart again, I was kneeling at my mother's knee. +Humbly and reverently I said over the words of the holy prayer she +had taught me, heart and eyes uplifted to heaven. The hour and the +power of darkness had passed. I was no longer standing in slippery +places, with a flood of waters ready to sweep me to destruction; but +my feet were on a rock. My mother's pious care had saved her son. In +the holy words she taught me in childhood, was a living power to +resist evil through all my after life. Ah! that unknown mother, as +she taught her child to repeat his evening prayer, how little +dreamed she that the holy words were to reach a stranger's ears, and +save him through memories of his own childhood and his own mother! +And yet it was so. What a power there is in God's Word, as it flows +into and rests in the minds of innocent children!" + +Tears were in the eyes of the wife and mother as she lifted her +face, and gazed with a subdued tenderness upon the countenance of +her husband. Her heart was too full for utterance. A little while +she thus gazed, and then, with a trembling joy, laid her head upon +his bosom. Angels were in the chamber where their dear ones slept, +and they felt their holy presence. + + + + +A PEEVISH DAY, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. + + +"IT is too bad, Rachael, to put me to all this trouble; and you know +I can hardly hold up my head!" + +Thus spoke Mrs. Smith, in a peevish voice, to a quiet-looking +domestic, who had been called up from the kitchen to supply some +unimportant omission in the breakfast-table arrangement. + +Rachael looked hurt and rebuked, but made no reply. + +"How could you speak in that way to Rachael?" said Mr. Smith, as +soon as the domestic had withdrawn. + +"If you felt just as I do, Mr. Smith, you would speak cross too!" +Mrs. Smith replied a little warmly. "I feel just like a rag; and my +head aches as if it would burst." + +"I know you feel badly, and I am very sorry for you. But still, I +suppose it is as easy to speak kindly as harshly. Rachael is very +obliging and attentive, and should be borne with in occasional +omissions, which you of course know are not wilful." + +"It is easy enough to preach," retorted Mrs. Smith, whose temper, +from bodily lassitude and pain, was in quite an irritable state. The +reader will understand at least one of the reasons of this, when he +is told that the scene here presented occurred during the last +oppressive week in August. + +Mr. Smith said no more. He saw that to do so would only be to +provoke instead of quieting his wife's ill-humour. The morning meal +went by in silence, but little food passing the lips of either. How +could it, when the thermometer was ninety-four at eight o'clock in +the morning, and the leaves upon the trees were as motionless as if +suspended in a vacuum? Bodies and minds were relaxed--and the one +turned from food, as the other did from thought, with an instinctive +aversion. + +After Mr. Smith had left his home for his place of business, Mrs. +Smith went up into her chamber, and threw herself upon the bed, her +head still continuing to ache with great violence. It so happened +that a week before, the chambermaid had gone away, sick, and all the +duties of the household had in consequence devolved upon Rachael, +herself not very well. Cheerfully, however, had she endeavoured to +discharge these accumulated duties, and but for the unhappy, peevish +state of mind in which Mrs. Smith indulged, would have discharged +them without a murmuring thought. But, as she was a faithful, +conscientious woman, and, withal, sensitive in her feelings, to be +found fault with worried her exceedingly. Of this Mrs. Smith was +well aware, and had, until the latter part of the trying month of +August, acted toward Rachael with consideration and forbearance. But +the last week of August was too much for her. The sickness of the +chambermaid threw such heavy duties upon Rachael, whose daily +headaches and nervous relaxation of body were borne without a +complaint, that their perfect performance was almost impossible. +Slight omissions, which were next to unavoidable under the +circumstances, became so annoying to Mrs. Smith, herself, as it has +been seen, labouring under great bodily and mental prostration, that +she could not bear them. + +"She knows better, and she could do better, if she chose," was her +rather uncharitable comment often inwardly made on the occurrence of +some new trouble. + +After Mr. Smith had taken his departure on the morning just referred +to, Mrs. Smith went up into her chamber, as has been seen, and threw +herself languidly upon a bed, pressing her hands to her throbbing +temples, as she did so, and murmuring, + +"I can't live at this rate!" + +At the same time, Rachael set down in the kitchen the large waiter +upon which she had arranged the dishes from the breakfast-table, and +then sinking into a chair, pressed one hand upon her forehead, and +sat for more than a minute in troubled silence. It had been three +days since she had received from Mrs. Smith a pleasant word; and the +last remark, made to her a short time before, had been the unkindest +of all. At another time, even all this would not have moved her--she +could have perceived that Mrs. S. was not in a right state--that +lassitude of body had produced a temporary infirmity of mind. But, +being herself affected by the oppressive season almost as much as +her mistress, she could not make these allowances. While still +seated, the chamber-bell was rung with a quick, startling jerk. + +"What next?" peevishly ejaculated Rachael, and then slowly proceeded +to obey the summons. + +"How could you leave my chamber in such a condition as this?" was +the salutation that met her ear, as she entered the presence of Mrs. +Smith, who, half raised upon the bed, and leaning upon her hand, +looked the very personification of languor, peevishness, and +ill-humour. "You had plenty of time while we were eating breakfast +to have put things a little to rights!" + +To this Rachael made no reply, but turned away and went back into +the kitchen. She had scarcely reached that spot, before the bell +rang again, louder and quicker than before; but she did not answer +it. In about three minutes it was jerked with an energy that snapped +the wire, but Rachael was immovable. Five minutes elapsed, and then +Mrs. Smith, fully aroused from the lethargy that had stolen over +her, came down with a quick, firm step. + +"What's the reason you didn't answer my bell? say!" she asked, in an +excited voice. + +Rachael did not reply. + +"Do you hear me?" + +Rachael had never been so treated before; she had lived with Mrs. +Smith for three years, and had rarely been found fault with. She had +been too strict in regard to the performance of her duty to leave +much room for even a more exacting mistress to find fault; but now, +to be overtasked and sick, and to be chidden, rebuked, and even +angrily assailed, was more than she could well bear. She did not +suffer herself to speak for some moments, and then her voice +trembled, and the tears came out upon her cheeks. + +"I wish you to get another in my place. I find I don't suit you. My +time will be up day after tomorrow." + +"Very well," was Mrs. Smith's firm reply, as she turned away, and +left the kitchen. + +Here was trouble in good earnest. Often and often had Mrs. Smith +said, during the past two or three years--"What should I do without +Rachael?" And now she had given notice that she was going to leave +her, and under circumstances which made pride forbid a request to +stay. Determined to act out her part of the business with firmness +and decision, she dressed herself and went out, hot and oppressive +as it was, and took her way to an intelligence office, where she +paid the required fee and directed a cook and chambermaid to be sent +to her. On the next morning, about ten o'clock, an Irish girl came +and offered herself as a cook, and was, after sundry questions and +answers, engaged. So soon as this negotiation was settled, Rachael +retired from the kitchen, leaving the new-comer in full possession. +In half an hour after she received her wages, and left, in no very +happy frame of mind, a home that had been for three years, until +within a few days, a pleasant one. As for Mrs. Smith, she was ready +to go to bed sick; but this was impracticable. Nancy, the new cook, +had expressly stipulated that she was to have no duties unconnected +with the kitchen. The consequence was, that notwithstanding the +thermometer ranged above ninety, and the atmosphere remained as +sultry as air from a heated oven, Mrs. Smith was compelled to +arrange her chamber and parlours. By the time this was done, she was +in a condition to go to bed, and lie until dinner-time. + +The arrival of this important period brought new troubles and +vexations. Dinner was late by forty minutes, and then came on the +table in a most abominable condition. A fine sirloin was burnt to a +crisp. The tomatoes were smoked, and the potatoes watery. As if this +was not enough to mar the pleasure of the dinner hour for a hungry +husband, Mrs. Smith added thereto a distressed countenance and +discouraging complaints. Nancy was grumbled at and scolded every +time she had occasion to appear in the room, and her single attempt +to excuse herself on account of not understanding the cook-stove, +was met by, "Do hush, will you! I'm out of all patience!" + +As to the latter part of the sentence, that was a needless waste of +words. The condition of mind she described was fully apparent. + +About three o'clock in the afternoon, just as Mrs. Smith had found a +temporary relief from a troubled mind, and a most intolerable +headache, in sleep, a tap on the chamber-door awoke her, and there +stood Nancy, all equipped for going out. + +"I find I won't suit you, ma'am," said Nancy, "and so you must look +out for another girl." + +Having said this, she turned away and took her departure, leaving +Mrs. Smith in a state of mind, as it is said, "more easily imagined +than described." + +"Oh dear! what shall I do?" at length broke from her lips, as she +burst into tears, and burying her face in the pillow, sobbed aloud. +Already she had repented of her fretfulness and fault-finding +temper, as displayed toward Rachael, and could she have made a truce +with pride, or silenced its whispers, would have sent for her +well-tried domestic, and endeavoured to make all fair with her +again. But, under the circumstances, this was now impossible. While +yet undetermined how to act, the street-bell rung, and she was +compelled to attend the door, as she was now alone in the house. She +found, on opening it, a rough-looking country girl, who asked if she +were the lady who wanted a chambermaid. Any kind of help was better +than none at all, and so Mrs. Smith asked the young woman to walk +in. In treating with her in regard to her qualifications for the +situation she applied for, she discovered that she knew "almost +nothing at all about any thing." The stipulation that she was to be +a doer-of-all-work-in-general, until a cook could be obtained, was +readily agreed to, and then she was shown to her room in the attic, +where she prepared herself for entering upon her duties. + +"Will you please, ma'am, show me what you want me to do?" asked the +new help, presenting herself before Mrs. Smith. + +"Go into the kitchen, Ellen, and see that the fire is made. I'll be +down there presently." + +To be compelled to see after a new and ignorant servant, and direct +her in every thing, just at so trying a season of the year, and +while her mind was "all out of sorts," was a severe task for poor +Mrs. Smith. She found that Ellen, as she had too good reason for +believing, was totally unacquainted with kitchen-work. She did not +even know how to kindle a coal fire; nor could she manage the stove +after Mrs. Smith had made the fire for her. All this did not in any +way tend to make her less unhappy or more patient than before. On +retiring for the night she had a high fever, which continued +unabated until morning, when her husband found her really ill; so +much so as to make the attendance of a doctor necessary. + +A change in the air had taken place during the night, and the +temperature had fallen many degrees. This aided the efforts of the +physician, and enabled him so to adapt his remedies as to speedily +break the fever. But the ignorance and awkwardness of Ellen, +apparent in her attempts to arrange her bed and chamber, so worried +her mind, that she was near relapsing into her former feverish and +excited state. The attendance of an elder maiden sister was just in +time. All care was taken from her thoughts, and she had a chance of +recovering a more healthy tone of mind and body. During the next +week, she knew little or nothing of how matters were progressing out +of her own chamber. A new cook had been hired, of whom she was +pleased to hear good accounts, although she had not seen her; and +Ellen, under the mild and judicious instruction of her sister, had +learned to make up a bed neatly, to sweep, and dust in true style, +and to perform all the little etceteras of chamber-work, greatly to +her satisfaction. She was, likewise, good-tempered, willing, and to +all appearance strictly trustworthy. + +One morning, about a week after she had become too ill to keep up, +she found herself so far recovered as to be able to go down stairs +to breakfast. Every thing upon the table she found arranged in the +neatest style. The food was well cooked, especially some tender rice +cakes, of which she was very fond. + +"Really, these are delicious!" said she, as the finely flavoured +cakes almost melted in her mouth. "And this coffee is just the +thing! How fortunate we have been to obtain so good a cook! I was +afraid we should never be able to replace Rachael. But even she is +equalled, if not surpassed." + +"Still she does not surpass Rachael," said Mr. Smith, a little +gravely. "Rachael was a treasure." + +"Indeed she was. And I have been sorry enough I ever let her go," +returned Mrs. Smith. + +At that moment the new cook entered with a plate of warm cakes. + +"Rachael!" ejaculated Mrs. Smith, letting her knife and fork fall. +"How do you do? I am glad to see you! Welcome home again!" + +As she spoke quickly and earnestly, she held out her hand, and +grasped that of her old domestic warmly. Rachael could not speak, +but as she left the room she put her apron to her eyes. Hers were +not the only one's dim with rising moisture. + +For at least a year to come both Mrs. Smith and her excellent cook +will have no cause to complain of each other. How they will get +along during the last week of next August we cannot say, but hope +the lesson they have both received will teach them to bear and +forbear. + + + + +SISTERS. + + +[We make the following extract from one of our books--"Advice to +Young Men on their Duties and Conduct in Life."] + +IF you have younger sisters, who are just entering society, all your +interest should be awakened for them. You cannot but have seen some +little below the surface, and already made the discovery that too +few of the young men who move about in the various social circles to +which you have admission, are fit associates for a pure-minded +woman. Their exterior, it is true, is very fair; they sing well, +they dance well, their persons are elegant, and their manners +attractive; but you have met them when they felt none of the +restraints of female society, and seen them unmask their real +characters. You can remember the ribald jest, the obscene allusion, +the sneer at virtue, the unblushing acknowledgment of licentiousness. +You have heard them speak of this sweet girl, and that pure-minded +woman, in terms that would have roused your deepest indignation, had +your own sister been the subject of allusion. + +You may know all these things, but your innocent sisters at home +cannot know them, nor see reason for shunning the society of those +whose real characters, if revealed, would cause them to turn away in +disgust and horror. From the dangers of an acquaintanceship with +such young men it is your duty to guard your sisters; and you must +do this more by warding off the evil than by warnings against it. In +order to this, you should make it a point of duty always to go with +your sisters into company, and to be their companion, if possible, +on all public occasions. By so doing, you can prevent the +introduction of men whose principles are bad; or, if such +introductions are forced upon them in spite of you, can throw in a +timely word of caution. This latter it may be too late to do after +an acquaintanceship is formed with a man whose character is +detestable in your eyes, provided he have a fair exterior. Your +sister will hardly be made to believe that one who is so attractive +in all respects, and who can converse of virtue and honour so +eloquently, can possibly have an impure or vicious mind. She will +think you prejudiced. The great thing is to guard, by every means in +your power, these innocent ones from the polluting presence of a bad +man. You cannot tell how soon he may win the affections of the most +innocent, confiding, and loving of them all, and draw her off from +virtue. And even if his designs be honourable--if he win her but to +wed her--her lot will be by no means an enviable one; he cannot make +her happy; for happy no pure-minded woman ever has been, or ever can +be made, by a corrupt, evil-minded, and selfish man. + +You are a brother; your position is one of great responsibility; let +this be ever before your mind. + +On your faithfulness to your duty, may depend a lifetime of +happiness or misery for those who are, or ought to be, very dear to +you. But not only should you seek to guard them from the danger just +alluded to--your affection for them should lead you to enter into +their pleasures as far as in your power to do so; to give interest +and variety to the home circle; to afford them, at all times, the +assistance of your judgment in matters of trivial as well as grave +importance. By this you will gain their confidence and acquire an +influence over them that may, at some later period, enable you to +serve them in a moment of impending danger. + +We very often--indeed, far too often--see young men with sisters who +appear to be entirely indifferent in regard to them. They rarely +visit together; their associates, male and female, are strangers to +each other; they appear to have no common interests. This state of +things is the fault, nine times in ten, of the young men. It is the +result of their neglect and indifference. There are very few sisters +who do not love with a most tender and unselfish regard their +brothers, especially their elder brothers, and who would not feel +happier in being their companions than in the companionship of +almost any one. Notwithstanding all this neglect and indifference, +how willingly is every little office performed that adds to the +brother's comfort! How much care is there for him who gives back so +little in return! The sister's love is as unselfish as it is +unostentatious. It is shown in acts, not in professions. How can any +young man be indifferent to such love? How can he fail in its full +and free reciprocation? + +A regard for himself, as well as for his sisters, should lead a +young man to be much with them. Their influence in softening, +polishing, and refining his character, will be very great. They have +perceptions of the propriety and fitness of things far quicker than +he has; and this he will soon see if he observe their remarks upon +the persons with whom they come in contact, and the circumstances +that transpire around them. While he is reasoning on the subject, +and balancing many things in his mind before coming to a +satisfactory conclusion, they, by a kind of intuition, have settled +the whole matter, and settled it, he will find, truly. In the graver +things of life, a man's judgment is more to be relied upon than a +woman's, because here a regular course of reasoning from premises +laid down is required, and this a man is much more able to do than a +woman; but in matters of taste and propriety, and in the quick +appreciation of character, a woman's perceptions are worth far more +than a man's judgment. And in the more weighty and serious matters +of life, a man will always find that he will receive aid, in coming +to a nice decision, from a wife or sister who loves him, if he will +only carefully lay the whole subject before her, with the reasons +that appeal to his judgment, and be guided in some measure by her +perceptions of what is right. This is because man is in the province +of the understanding, which acts by thought, and woman in the +province of the affections, which act by perceptions; not that a man +does not have perceptions and a woman reason, but the leading +characteristic difference between the sexes is as stated, and each +comes to conclusions mainly by either the one or the other of these +two modes. This position, which we believe to be the true one in +regard to the difference between the sexes, demonstrates the great +use of female society, especially the society of those who feel some +interest in and affection for us. In such society, there is a +reciprocation of benefits that is nearly, if not quite, equal. And +nowhere can this reciprocation be of greater utility than among +brothers and sisters, just entering upon life, with all their +knowledge of human character and human life to gain. + + + + +BROTHERS. + + +[The following suggestions, on the relation and duties of a sister +to her brother, are taken from a volume by the Author of this book, +entitled, "Advice to Young Ladies on their Duties and Conduct in +Life."] + +OLDER brothers are not usually as attentive to their younger sisters +as the latter would feel to be agreeable. The little girls that were +so long known as children, with the foibles, faults, and caprices of +children, although now grown up into tall young ladies, who have +left or are about leaving school, are still felt to be children, or +but a little advanced beyond childhood, by the young men who have +had some three or four years' experience in the world. With these +older brothers, there will not usually be, arising from this cause, +much confidential and unreserved intercourse; at least, not until +the sisters have added two or three years more to their ages, and +assumed more of the quiet dignity of womanhood. + +Upon these older brothers, therefore, the conduct of sisters cannot, +usually, have much effect. They are removed to a point chiefly +beyond the circle of their influence. But upon brothers near about +their own age, and younger than themselves, the influence of sisters +may be brought to bear with the most salutary results. + +The temptations to which young men are exposed, when first they come +in contact with the world, are many, and full of the strongest +allurements. Their virtuous principles are assailed in a thousand +ways; sometimes boldly, and sometimes by the most insidious arts of +the vicious and evil-minded. All, therefore, that can make virtue +lovely in their eyes, and vice hideous, they need to strengthen the +good principles stored up, from childhood, in their minds. For their +sakes, home should be made as attractive as possible, in order to +induce them frequently to spend their evenings in the place where, +of all others, they will be safest. To do this, a young lady must +consult the tastes of her brothers, and endeavour to take sufficient +interest in the pursuits that interest them, as to make herself +companionable. If they are fond of music, one of the strongest +incentives she can have for attaining the highest possible skill in +performing upon the piano, will be the hope of making home, thereby, +the most attractive place where they can spend their evenings. If +they are fond of reading, let her read, as far as she can, the books +that interest them, in order that she may take part in their +conversations; and let her, in every other possible way, furnish +herself with the means of making home agreeable. + +There is no surer way for a sister to gain an influence with her +brother, than to cultivate all exterior graces and accomplishments, +and improve her mind by reading, thinking, and observation. By these +means she not only becomes his intelligent companion, but inspires +him with a feeling of generous pride toward her, that, more than any +thing else, impresses her image upon his mind, brings her at all +times nearer to him, and gives her a double power over him for good. + +The indifference felt by brothers toward their sisters, when it does +exist, often arises from the fact that their sisters are inferior, +in almost every thing, to the women they are in the habit of meeting +abroad. Where this is the case, such indifference is not so much to +be wondered at. + +Sisters should always endeavour to gain, as much as possible, the +confidence of their brothers, and to give them their confidence in +return. Mutual good offices will result from this, and attachments +that could only produce unhappiness may be prevented. A man sees +more of men than woman does, and the same is true in regard to the +other sex. This being so, a brother has it in his power at once to +guard his sister against the advances of an unprincipled man, or a +man whose habits he knows to be bad; and a sister has it in her +power to reveal to her brother traits of character in a woman, for +whom he is about forming an attachment, that would repel rather than +attract him. + +Toward her younger brother a sister should be particularly +considerate. In allusion to this subject, Mrs. Farrar has written so +well that we cannot repress our wish to quote her. "If your brothers +are younger than you, encourage them to be perfectly confidential +with you; win their friendship by your sympathy in all their +concerns, and let them see that their interests and their pleasures +are liberally provided for in the family arrangements. Never +disclose their little secrets, however unimportant they may seem to +you; never pain them by an ill-timed joke; never repress their +feelings by ridicule; but be their tenderest friend, and then you +may become their ablest adviser. If separated from them by the +course of school and college education, make a point of keeping up +your intimacy by full, free, and affectionate correspondence; and +when they return to the paternal roof, at that awkward age between +youth and manhood, when reserve creeps over the mind like an +impenetrable vail, suffer it not to interpose between you and your +brothers. Cultivate their friendship and intimacy with all the +address and tenderness you possess; for it is of unspeakable +importance to them that their sisters should be their confidential +friends. Consider the loss of a ball or party, for the sake of +making the evening pass pleasantly to your brothers at home, as a +small sacrifice--one you should unhesitatingly make. If they go into +company with you, see that they are introduced to the most desirable +acquaintances, and show them that you are interested in their +acquitting themselves well." + +Having quoted thus much from the "Young Lady's Friend," we feel +inclined to give a few passages more from the author's admirable +remarks on the relation of brother and sister. + +"So many temptations beset young men, of which young women know +nothing, that it is of the utmost importance that your brothers' +evenings should be happily passed at home; that their friends should +be your friends; that their engagements should be the same as yours; +and that various innocent amusements should be provided for them in +the family circle. Music is an accomplishment usually valuable as a +home enjoyment, as rallying round the piano the various members of a +family, and harmonizing their hearts, as well as their voices, +particularly in devotional strains. I know no more agreeable and +interesting spectacle than that of brothers and sisters playing and +singing together those elevated compositions in music and poetry +which gratify the taste and purify the heart, while their parents +sit delighted by. I have seen and heard an elder sister thus leading +the family choir, who was the soul of harmony to the whole +household, and whose life was a perfect example of those virtues +which I am here endeavouring to inculcate. Let no one say, in +reading this chapter, that too much is here required of sisters; +that no one can be expected to lead such a self-sacrificing life; +for the sainted one to whom I refer was all that I would ask my +sister to be; and a happier person never lived. 'To do good and make +others happy,' was the rule of her life; and in this she found the +art of making herself so. + +"Brothers will generally be found strongly opposed to the slightest +indecorum in sisters.....Their intercourse with all sorts of men +enables them to judge of the construction put upon certain actions, +and modes of dress and speech, much better than women can; and you +will do well to take their advice on all such points. + +"I have been told by men, who had passed unharmed through the +temptations of youth, that they owed their escape from many dangers +to the intimate companionship of affectionate and pure-minded +sisters. They have been saved from a hazardous meeting with idle +company by some home engagement, of which their sisters were the +charm; they have refrained from mixing with the impure, because they +would not bring home thoughts and feelings which they could not +share with those trusting and loving friends; they have put aside +the wine-cup, and abstained from stronger potations, because they +would not profane with their fumes the holy kiss, with which they +were accustomed to bid their sisters good-night." + + + + +HOME. + + +SOCIETY is marked by greater and smaller divisions, as into nations, +communities, and families. A man is a member of the commonwealth, a +smaller community, as a hamlet or city, and his family at the same +time; and the more perfectly all his duties to his family are +discharged, the more fully does he discharge his duties to the +community and the nation; for a good member of a family cannot be a +bad member of the commonwealth, for he that is faithful in what is +least, will also be faithful in what is greater. Indeed, the more +perfectly a man fulfils all his domestic duties, the more perfectly, +in that very act, has he discharged his duty to the whole; for the +whole is made up of parts, and its health depends entirely upon the +health of the various parts. There are, of course, general as well +as specific duties; but the more conscientious a man is in the +discharge of specific duties, the more ready will he be to perform +those that are general; and we believe that the converse of this +will be found equally true, and that those who have least regard for +home--who have, indeed, no home, no domestic circle--are the worst +citizens. This they may not be apparently; they may not break the +laws, nor do any thing to call down upon them censure from the +community, and yet, in the secret and almost unconscious +dissemination of demoralizing principles, may be doing a work far +more destructive of the public good than if they had committed a +robbery. + +We always feel pain when we hear a young man speak lightly of home, +and talk carelessly, or, it may be, with sportive ridicule, of the +"old man" and the "old woman," as if they were of but little +consequence. We mark it as a bad indication, and feel that the feet +of that young man are treading upon dangerous ground. His home +education may not have been of the best kind, nor may home +influences have reached his higher and better feelings; but he is at +least old enough now to understand the causes, and to seek rather to +bring into his home all that it needs to render it more attractive, +than to estrange himself from it and expose its defects. + +Instances of this kind are not of very frequent occurrence. Home has +its charms for nearly all, and the very name comes with a blessing +to the spirit. This, however, is more the case with those who have +been separated from it, than it is with those who yet remain in the +old homestead with parents, brothers, and sisters, as their friends +and companions. + +The earnest love of home, felt by nearly all who have been compelled +to leave that pleasant place, is a feeling that should be tenderly +cherished: and this love should be kept alive by associations that +have in them as perfect a resemblance of home as it is possible to +obtain. It is for this reason that it is bad for a young man to +board in a large hotel, where there is nothing in which there is +even an image of the home-circle. Each has his separate chamber; but +that is not home. All meet together at the common table; but there +is no home feeling there, with its many sweet reciprocations. The +meal completed, all separate, each to his individual pursuit or +pleasure. There is a parlour, it is true; but there are no family +gatherings there. One and another sit there, as inclination prompts; +but each sits alone, busy with his own thoughts. All this is a poor +substitute for home. And yet it offers its attractions to some. A +young man in a hotel has more freedom than in a family or private +boarding-house. He comes in and goes out unobserved; there is no one +to say to him, "why?" or "wherefore?" But this is a dangerous +freedom, and one which no young man should desire. + +But mere negative evils, so to speak, are not the worst that beset a +young man who unwisely chooses a public hotel as a place for +boarding. He is much more exposed to temptations there than in a +private boarding-house, or at home. Men of licentious habits, in +most cases, select hotels as boarding-places; and such rarely +scruple to offer to the ardent minds of young men, with whom they +happen to fall in company, those allurements that are most likely to +lead them away from virtue. And, besides this, there being no +evening home-circle in a hotel, a young man who is not engaged +earnestly in some pursuit that occupies his hours of leisure from +business has nothing to keep him there, but is forced to seek for +something to interest his mind elsewhere, and is, in consequence, +more open to temptation. + +Home is man's true place. Every man should have a home. Here his +first duties lie, and here he finds the strength by which he is able +successfully to combat in life's temptations. Happy is that young +man who is still blessed with a home--who has his mother's counsel +and the pure love of sisters to strengthen and cheer him amid life's +opening combats. + + + + +A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE ON THE PATH OF A MONEY-LENDER. + + +MR. EDGAR was a money-lender, and scrupled not in exacting the +highest "street rates" of interest that could be obtained. If good +paper were offered, and he could buy it from the needy seeker of +cash at two or even three per cent. a month, he did not hesitate +about the transaction on any scruples of justice between man and +man. Below one per cent. a month, he rarely made loans. He had +nothing to do with the question, as to whether the holder of bills +could afford the sacrifice. The circle of his thoughts went not +beyond gain to himself. + +Few days closed with Mr. Edgar that he was not able to count up +gains as high as from thirty to one hundred dollars: not acquired in +trade--not coming back to him as the reward of productive +industry--but the simple accumulation of large clippings from the +anticipated reward of others' industry. Always with a good balance +in bank, he had but to sign his name to a check, and the slight +effort was repaid by a gain of from ten to fifty dollars, according +to the size and time of the note he had agreed to discount. A shrewd +man, and well acquainted with the business standing of all around +him, Mr. Edgar rarely made mistakes in money transactions. There was +always plenty of good paper offering, and he never touched any thing +regarded as doubtful. + +Was Mr. Edgar a happy man? Ah! that is a home question. But we +answer frankly, no. During his office hours, while his love of gain +was active--while good customers were coming and going, and good +operations being effected--his mind was in a pleasurable glow. But, +at other times, he suffered greatly from a pressure on his feelings, +the cause of which he did not clearly understand. Wealth he had +always regarded as the greatest good in life. And now he not only +had wealth, but the income therefrom was a great deal more than he +had any desire to spend. And yet he was not happy--no, not even in +the thought of his large possessions. Only in the mental activity +through which more was obtained, did he really find satisfaction; +but this state was only of short duration. + +Positive unhappiness, Mr. Edgar often experienced. Occasional +losses, careful and shrewd as he always was, were inevitable. These +fretted him greatly. To lose a thousand dollars, instead of gaining, +as was pleasantly believed, some sixty or seventy, was a shower of +cold water upon his ardent love of accumulation: and he shivered +painfully under the infliction. The importunities of friends who +needed money, and to whom it was unsafe to lend it, were also a +source of no small annoyance. And, moreover, there was little of the +heart's warm sunshine at home. As Mr. Edgar had thought more of +laying up wealth for his children than giving them the true riches +of intellect and heart, ill weeds had sprung up in their minds. He +had not loved them with an unselfish love, and he received not a +higher affection than he had bestowed. Their prominent thought, in +regard to him, seemed ever to be the obtaining of some concession to +their real or imaginary wants; and, if denied these, they reacted +upon him in anger, sullenness, or complaint. + +Oh, no! Mr. Edgar was not happy. Few gleams of sunshine lay across +his path. Life to him, in his own bitter words, uttered after some +keen disappointment, had "proved a failure." And yet he continued +eager for gain; would cut as deep, exact as much from those who had +need of his money in their business, as ever. The measure of per +centage was the measure of his satisfaction. + +One day a gentleman said to him-- + +"Mr. Edgar, I advised a young mechanic who has been in business for +a short time, and who has to take notes for his work, to call on you +for the purpose of getting them cashed. He has no credit in bank, +and is, therefore, compelled to go upon the street for money. Most +of his work is taken by one of the safest houses in the city; his +paper is, therefore, as good as any in market. Deal as moderately +with him as you can. He knows little about these matters, or where +to go for the accommodation he needs." + +"Is he an industrious and prudent young man?" inquired Mr. Edgar, +caution and cupidity at once excited. + +"He is." + +"What's his name?" + +"Blakewell." + +"Oh, I know him. Very well; send him along, and if his paper is +good, I'll discount it." + +"You'll find it first-rate," said the gentleman. + +"How much shall I charge him?" This was Mr. Edgar's first thought, +so soon as he was alone. Even as he asked himself the question, the +young mechanic entered. + +"You take good paper, sometimes?" said the latter, in a hesitating +manner. + +The countenance of Mr. Edgar became, instantly, very grave. + +"Sometimes I do," he answered, with assumed indifference. + +"I have a note of Leyden & Co.'s that I wish discounted," said +Blakewell. + +"For how much?" + +"Three hundred dollars--six months;" and he handed Mr. Edgar the +note. + +"I don't like over four months' notes," remarked the money-lender, +coldly. Then he asked, "What rate of interest do you expect to pay?" + +"Whatever is usual. Of course, I wish to get it done as low as +possible. My profits are not large, and every dollar I pay in +discounts is so much taken from the growth of my business and the +comfort of my family." + +"You have a family?" + +"Yes, sir. A wife and four children." + +Mr. Edgar mused for a moment or two. An unselfish thought was +struggling to get into his mind. + +"What have you usually paid on this paper?" he asked. + +"The last I had discounted cost me one and a half per cent. a +month." + +"Notes of this kind are rarely marketable below that rate," said Mr. +Edgar. He had thought of exacting two per cent. "If you will leave +the note, and call round in half an hour, I will see what can be +done." + +"Very well," returned the mechanic. "Be as moderate with me as you +can." + +For the half hour that went by during the young man's absence, Mr. +Edgar walked the floor of his counting-room, trying to come to some +decision in regard to the note. Love of gain demanded two per cent. +a month, while a feeble voice, scarcely heard so far away did it +seem, pleaded for a generous regard to the young man's necessities. +The conflict taking place in his mind was a new one for the +money-lender. In no instance before had he experienced any +hesitation on the score of a large discount. Love of gain continued +clamorous for two per cent. on the note; yet, ever and anon, the low +voice stole, in pleading accents, to his ears. + +"I'll do it for one and a half," said Mr. Edgar, yielding slightly +to the claim of humanity, urged by the voice, that seemed to be +coming nearer. + +Love of gain, after slight opposition, was satisfied. + +But the low, penetrating voice asked for something better still. + +"Weakness! Folly!" exclaimed Mr. Edgar. "I'd better make him a +present of the money at once." + +It availed nothing. The voice could not be hushed. + +"One per cent! He couldn't get it done as low as that in the city." + +"He is a poor young man, and has a wife and four little children," +said the voice. "Even the abstraction of legal interest from his +hard earnings is defect enough; to lose twice that sum, will make a +heavy draught on his profits, which, under the present competition +in trade, are not large. He is honest and industrious, and by his +useful labour is aiding the social well-being. Is it right for you +to get his reward?--to take his profits, and add them to your +already rich accumulations?" + +Mr. Edgar did not like these home questions, and tried to stop his +ears, so that the voice could not find an entrance. But he tried in +vain. + +"Bank rates on this note," continued the inward voice, "would not +much exceed nine dollars. Even this is a large sum for a poor man to +lose. Double the rate of interest, and the loss becomes an injury to +his business, or the cause of seriously abridging his home comforts. +And how much will nine dollars contribute to your happiness? Not so +much as a jot or a tittle. You are unable, now, to spend your +income." + +The young mechanic entered at this favourable moment. The +money-lender pointed to a chair; then turned to his desk, and filled +up, hurriedly, a check. Blakewell glanced at the amount thereof as +it was handed to him, and an instant flush of surprise came into his +face. + +"Haven't you made a mistake, Mr. Edgar?" said he. + +"In what respect?" + +"The note was for three hundred dollars, six months; and you have +given me a check for two hundred and ninety dollars, forty-three +cents." + +"I've charged you bank interest," said Mr. Edgar, with a feeling of +pleasure at his heart so new, that it sent a glow along every nerve +and fibre of his being. + +"Bank interest! I did not expect this, sir," replied the young man, +visibly moved. "For less than one and a half per cent. a month, I +have not been able to obtain money. One per cent, I would have paid +you cheerfully. Eighteen dollars saved! How much good that sum will +do me! I could not have saved it--or, I might say, have received +it--more opportunely. This is a kindness for which I shall ever +remember you gratefully." + +Grasping the money-lender's hand, he shook it warmly; then turned +and hurried away. + +Only one previous transaction had that day been made by Mr. Edgar. +In that transaction, his gain was fifty dollars, and much pleasure +had it given him. But the delight experienced was not to be compared +with what he now felt. It was to him a new experience in life--a +realization of that beautiful truth, "It is more blessed to give +than to receive." + +Once or twice during the day, as Mr. Edgar dwelt on the little +circumstance, his natural love of gain caused regret for the loss of +money involved in the transaction to enter his mind. How cold, +moody, and uncomfortable he instantly became! Self-love was seeking +to rob the money-lender of the just reward of a good deed. But the +voice which had prompted the generous act was heard, clear and +sweet, and again his heart beat to a gladder measure. + +Evening was closing in on the day following. It was late in +December, and winter had commenced in real earnest. Snow had fallen +for some hours. Now, however, the sky was clear, but the air keen +and frosty. The day, to Mr. Edgar, was one in which more than the +usual number of "good transactions" had been made. On one perfectly +safe note he had been able to charge as high as three per cent. per +month. Full of pleasurable excitement had his mind been while thus +gathering in gain, but now, the excitement being over, he was +oppressed. From whence the pressure came, he did not know. A cloud +usually fell upon his spirits with the closing day; and there was +not sunshine enough at home to chase it from his sky. + +As Mr. Edgar walked along, with his eyes upon the pavement, his name +was called. Looking up, he saw, standing at the open door of a small +house, the mechanic he had befriended on the day before. + +"Step in here just one moment," said the young man. The request was +made in a way that left Mr. Edgar no alternative but compliance. So +he entered the humble dwelling. He found himself in a small, +unlighted room, adjoining one in which a lamp was burning, and in +which was a young woman, plainly but neatly dressed, and four +children, the youngest lying in a cradle. The woman held in her hand +a warm Bay State shawl, which, after examining a few moments, with a +pleased expression of countenance, she threw over her shoulders, and +glanced at herself in a looking-glass. The oldest of the children, a +boy, was trying on a new overcoat; and his sister, two years +younger, had a white muff and a warm woollen shawl, in which her +attention was completely absorbed. A smaller child had a new cap, +and he was the most pleased of any. + +"Oh, isn't father good to buy us all these? and we wanted them so +much," said the oldest of the children. "Yesterday morning, when I +told him how cold I was going to school, he said he was sorry, but +that I must try and do without a coat this winter, for he hadn't +money enough to get us all we wanted. How did he get more money, +mother?" + +"To a kind gentleman, who helped your father, we are indebted for +these needed comforts," replied the mother. + +"He must be a good man," said the boy. "What's his name?" + +"His name is Mr. Edgar." + +"I will ask God to bless him to-night when I say my prayers," +innocently spoke out the youngest of the three children. + +"What does all this mean?" asked the money-lender, as he hastily +retired from the room he had entered. + +"If you had charged me one per cent. on my note, this scene would +never have occurred," answered the mechanic. "With the sum you +generously saved me, I was able to buy these comforts. My heart +blesses you for the deed; and if the good wishes of my happy family +can throw sunshine across your path, it will be full of brightness." + +Too much affected to reply, Mr. Edgar returned the warm pressure of +the hand which had grasped his, and glided away. + +A gleam of sunshine had indeed fallen along the pathway of the +money-lender. Home had a brighter look as he passed his own +threshold. He felt kinder and more cheerful; and kindness and +cheerfulness flowed back to him from all the inmates of his +dwelling. He half wondered at the changed aspect worn by every +thing. His dreams that night were not of losses, fires, and the +wreck of dearly-cherished hopes, but of the humble home made glad by +his generous kindness. Again the happy mother, the pleased children, +and the grateful father, were before him, and his own heart leaped +with a new delight. + +"It was a small act--a very light sacrifice on my part," said Mr. +Edgar to himself, as he walked, in a musing mood, toward his office +on the next morning. "And yet of how much real happiness has it been +the occasion! So much that a portion thereof has flowed back upon my +own heart." + +"A good act is twice blessed." It seemed as if the words were spoken +aloud, so distinctly and so suddenly were they presented to the mind +of Mr. Edgar. + +Ah, if he will only heed that suggestion, made by some pure spirit, +brought near to him by the stirring of good affections in his mind! +In it lies the secret of true happiness. Let him but act therefrom, +and the sunshine will never be absent from his pathway. + +ENGAGED AT SIXTEEN. + +"MRS. LEE is quite fortunate with her daughters," remarked a visitor +to Mrs. Wyman, whose oldest child, a well grown girl of fifteen, was +sitting by. + +"Yes; Kate and Harriet went off in good time. She has only Fanny +left." + +"Who is to be married this winter." + +"Fanny?" + +"She is engaged to Henry Florence." + +"Indeed! And she is only just turned of sixteen. How fortunate, +truly! Some people have their daughters on their hands until they +are two or three-and-twenty, when the chances for good matches are +very low. _I_ was only sixteen when _I_ was married." + +"Certainly; and then I had rejected two or three young men. There is +nothing like early marriages, depend upon it, Mrs. Clayton. They +always turn out the best. The most desirable young men take their +pick of the youngest girls, and leave the older ones for second-rate +claimants." + +"Do you hear that, Anna?" Mrs. Clayton said, laughing, as she turned +to Mrs. Wyman's daughter. "I hope you will not remain a moment later +than your mother did upon the maiden list." + +Anna blushed slightly, but did not reply. What had been said, +however, made its impression on her mind. She felt that to be +engaged early was a matter greatly to be desired. + +"My mother was married at sixteen, and here am I fifteen, and +without a lover." So thought Anna, as she paused over the page of a +new novel, some hours after she had listened to the conversation +that passed between her mother and Mrs. Clayton, and mused of love +and matrimony. + +From that time, Anna Wyman was another girl. The sweet simplicity of +manner, the unconscious innocence peculiar to her age, gradually +vanished. Her eye, that was so clear and soft with the light of +girlhood's pleasant fancies, grew earnest and restless, and, at +times, intensely bright. The whole expression of her countenance was +new. It was no longer a placid sky, with scarce a cloud floating in +its quiet depths, but changeful as April, with its tears and smiles +blending in strange beauty. Her heart, that had long beat +tranquilly, would now bound at a thought, and send the bright +crimson to her cheek--would flutter at the sight of the very +individual whom she, a short time before, would meet without a +single wave ruffling the surface of her feelings. The woman had +suddenly displaced the girl; a sisterly regard, that pure affection +which an innocent maiden's heart has for all around her had expired +on the altar where was kindling up the deep passion called _love_. +And yet Anna Wyman had not reached her sixteenth year. + +All at once, she became restless, capricious, unhappy. She had been +at school up to this period, but now insisted that she was too old +for that; her mother seconded this view of the matter, and her +father, a man of pretty good sense, had to yield. + +"We must give Anna a party now," said Mrs. Wyman, after their +daughter had left school. + +"Why so?" asked the father. + +"Oh--because it is time that she was beginning to come out." + +"Come out, how?" + +"You are stupid, man. Come out in the list of young ladies. Go into +company." + +"But she is a mere child, yet--not sixteen." + +"Not sixteen! And how old was _I_, pray, when you married me?" + +The husband did not reply. + +"How old was I, Mr. Wyman?" + +"About sixteen, I believe." + +"Well; and was I a mere child?" + +"You were rather young to marry, at least," Mr. Wyman ventured to +say. This remark was made rather too feelingly. + +"Too young to marry!" ejaculated the wife, in a tone of surprise and +indignation--"too young to marry; and my husband to say so, too! Mr. +Wyman, do you mean to intimate--do you mean to say?--Mr. Wyman, what +do you mean by that remark?" + +"Oh, nothing at all," soothingly replied the husband; "only that +I"-- + +"What?" + +"That I don't, as a general thing, approve of very early marriages. +The character of a young lady is not formed before twenty-one or +two; nor has she gained that experience and knowledge of the world +that will enable her to choose with wisdom." + +"You don't pretend to say that my character was not formed at +sixteen?" This was accompanied by a threatening look. + +Whatever his thoughts were, Mr. Wyman took good care not to express +them. He merely said-- + +"I believe, Margaret, that I haven't volunteered any allusion to +you." + +"Yes, but you don't approve of early marriages." + +"True." + +"Well, didn't I marry at sixteen? And isn't your opinion a +reflection upon your wife?" + +"Circumstances alter cases," smilingly returned Mr. Wyman. "Few +women at sixteen were like you. Very certainly your daughter is +not." + +"There I differ with you, Mr. Wyman. I believe our Anna would make +as good a wife now as I did at sixteen. She is as much of a woman in +appearance; her mind is more matured, and her education advanced far +beyond what mine was. She deserves a good husband, and must have one +before the lapse of another year." + +"How can you talk so, Margaret? For my part, I do not wish to see +her married for at least five years." + +"Preposterous! I wouldn't give a cent for a marriage that takes +place after seventeen or eighteen. They are always indifferent +affairs, and rarely ever turn out well. The earlier the better, +depend upon it. First love and first lover, is my motto." + +"Well, Margaret, I suppose you will have these matters your own way; +but I don't agree with you for all." + +"Anna must have a party." + +"You can do as you like." + +"But you must assent to it." + +"How can I do that, if I don't approve?" + +"But you must approve." + +And Mrs. Wyman persevered until she made him approve--at least do so +apparently. And so a party was given to Anna, at which she was +introduced to several dashing young men, whose attentions almost +turned her young head. In two weeks she had a confidante, a young +lady named Clara Spenser, not much older than herself. The progress +already made by Anna in love matters will appear in the following +conversation held in secret with Clara. + +"Did you say Mr. Carpenter had been to see you since the party?" +asked Clara. + +"Yes, indeed," was the animated reply. + +"He's a love of a man!--the very one of all others that I would set +my cap for, if there was any hope. But you will, no doubt, carry him +off." + +Anna coloured to the temples, half with confusion and half with +delight. + +"He used to pay attention to Jane Sherman, I'm told." + +"Yes; but you've cut her out entirely. Didn't you notice how unhappy +she seemed at the party whenever he was with you?" + +"No; was she?" + +"Oh, yes; everybody noticed it. But you can carry off all of her +beaux; she's a mere drab of a girl. And, besides, she's getting on +the old maids' list; I'm told she's more than twenty." + +"She is?" + +"It's true." + +"Oh, dear; there's no fear of her then. If I were to go over sixteen +before I married, I should be frightened to death." + +"Suppose Carpenter offers himself?" + +"I hope he won't just yet." + +"Why?" + +"I want two or three strings to my bow. It would be dangerous to +reject one unless I had another in my eye." + +"Reject? Nonsense! Why should you reject an offer?" + +"My mother had three offers before she was sixteen, and rejected two +of them." + +"Was she married so early?" + +"Oh, yes; she was a wife at sixteen, and I'm not going to be a day +later, if possible. I'd like to decline _three_ offers and get +married into the bargain before a year passes. Wouldn't that be +admirable? It would be something to boast of all my life." + +Pretty well advanced!--the reader no doubt exclaims; and so our +young lady certainly was. When a very young girl gets into love +matters, she "does them up," as the saying is, quite fast; she +doesn't mince matters at all. A maiden of twenty is cooler, more +thoughtful, and more cautious. She thinks a good deal, and is very +careful how she lets any one--even her confidante, if she should +happen to have one, (which is doubtful)--know much beyond her mere +external thoughts. Four or five years make a good deal of difference +in these things. But this need hardly have been said. + +"You are going to Mrs. Ashton's on Wednesday evening, of course?" +said Clara Spenser to Anna, on visiting her one morning, some weeks +after the introduction to Carpenter had taken place. + +"Oh, certainly; their soirees, I'm told, are elegant affairs." + +"Indeed they are; I've been to two of them. Fine music, pleasant +company, and so much freedom of intercourse--oh, they are +delightful!" + +"Did you ever see Mr. Carpenter there?" + +"Oh, yes; he always attends." + +"I shall enjoy myself highly." + +"That you will--the young men are so attentive." + +Wednesday night soon came round, and Anna was permitted to go, +unattended by either of her parents, to the so-called soiree at Mrs. +Ashton's. As she had hoped and believed, Carpenter was there. His +attentions to her were constant and flattering; he poured many +compliments into her ears, talking to her all the time in a low, +musical tone. Anna's heart fluttered in her bosom with pleasure; she +felt that she had made a conquest. But the fact of bringing so +charming a young man to her feet, and that so speedily, quickened +her pride, and made it seem the easiest thing in the world to be +able to reject three lovers and yet be engaged, or even married, at +sixteen. + +Besides Carpenter, there was another present who saw attractions +about Anna Wyman. He wore a moustache, and made quite a dashing +appearance. In the language of many young ladies, who admired him, +he was an elegant-looking young man--just the one to be proud of as +a beau. His name was Elliott. + +As soon as he could get access to the ear of the young and +inexperienced girl, he charmed it with a deeper charm than Carpenter +had been able to impart. She felt almost like one within a magic +circle. His eye fascinated her, and his voice murmured in her ear +like low, sweet music. + +A short time before parting from her, he said-- + +"Miss Wyman, may I have the pleasure of calling upon you at your +father's house?" + +"Oh, yes, sir; I shall be most happy to see you." She spoke with +feeling. + +"Then I shall visit you frequently. In your society I promise myself +much happiness." + +Anna's eyes fell to the floor, and the colour deepened on her +cheeks. When she looked up, Elliott was gazing steadily in her face, +with an expression of admiration and love. + +Her heart was lost. Carpenter, that love of a man, was not thought +of--or, only as one of her rejected lovers. + +When Anna laid her head upon her pillow that night, it was not to +sleep. Her mind was too full of pleasant images, central to all of +which was the elegant, accomplished, handsome Mr. Elliott. He had, +she conceived, as good as offered himself, and she, much as she +wished to reject three lovers before she accepted one, felt strongly +inclined to accept him, and so end the matter. + +Now, who was Mr. Thomas Elliott? A few words will portray him. Mr. +Elliott was twenty-six; he kept a store in the city; had been in +business for some years, but was not very successful. His habits of +life were not good; his principles had no sound, moral basis. He +was, in fact, just the man to make a silly child like Anna Wyman +wretched for life. But why did he seek for one like her? That is +easily explained. Mr. Wyman was reputed to be pretty well off in the +world, and Mr. Elliott's affairs were in rather a precarious +condition; but he managed to keep so good a face upon the matter, +that none suspected his real condition. + +After visiting Anna for a short time, he offered his hand. If it had +not been that her sixteenth birthday was so near, Anna would have +declined the offer, for Thomas Elliott did not grow dearer to her +every day. There were young men whom she liked much better; and if +they had only come forward and presented their claims to favour, she +would have declined the offer. But time was rapidly passing away. +Anna was ambitious of being engaged before she was sixteen, and +married, if possible. Her mother had rejected two offers, and she +was anxious to do as much. Here was a chance for one rejection--but +was she sure of another offer in time? No! There was the difficulty. +For some days she debated the question, and then laid it before her +mother. Mrs. Wyman consulted her husband, who did not much like +Elliott; but the mother felt the necessity of an early marriage, and +overruled all objections. Her advice to Anna was to accept the +offer, and it was accepted, accordingly. + +A fond, wayward child of sixteen may chance to marry and do well, +spite of all the drawbacks she will meet; but this is only in case +she happen to marry a man of good sense, warm affections, and great +kindness, who can bear with her as a father bears with a capricious +child; can forgive much and love much. But give the happiness of +such a creature into the keeping of a cold, narrow-minded, selfish, +petulant man, and her cup will soon run over. Bitter, indeed, will +be her lot in life. + +Just such a man was Thomas Elliott. He had sought only his own +pleasures, and had owned no law but his own will. For more than ten +years he had been living without other external restraints than +those social laws that all must observe who desire to keep a fair +reputation. He came in when he pleased and went out when he pleased. +He required service from all, and gave it to none--that is, so far +as he needed service, he exacted it from those under him, but was +not in the habit of making personal sacrifices for the sake of +others. Thus, his natural selfishness was confirmed. When he +married, it was with an end to the good he should derive from the +union--not from a generous desire to make another happy in himself. +Anna was young, vivacious, and more than ordinarily intelligent and +pretty. There was much about her that was attractive, and Elliott +really imagined that he loved her; but it was himself that he loved +in her fascinating qualities. These were all to minister to his +pleasure. He never once thought of devoting himself to her +happiness. + +On the night of the wedding, which took place soon after Anna's +sixteenth birthday, the bride was in that bewildered state of mind +which destroys all the rational perceptions of the mind. Her whole +soul was in a pleasing tumult, and yet she did not feel happy; and +why? Spite of the solemn promise she had made to love and honour her +husband above all men, she felt that there were others whom she +could have loved and honoured more than him, were they in his place. +But this, reason told her, was folly. They had not presented +themselves, and he had. They could be nothing to her--he must be +every thing. To secure a husband early was the great point, and that +had been gained. This thought, whenever it crossed her mind, would +cause her to look around upon her maiden companions with proud +self-complacency, They were still upon the shores of expectancy. She +had launched her boat upon the sunny sea of matrimony, and was +already moving steadily away under a pleasant breeze. + +Alas! young bride, thy hymeneal altar is an altar of sacrifice. Love +is not the deity who is presiding there. Little do they dream who +have led thee, poor lamb! garlanded with flowers, to that altar, how +innocent, how true, how good a heart they were offering up upon its +strange fires. But they will know in time, and thou wilt know when +it is too late. + +Two years from the period of their marriage, Elliott and his wife +were seated in a small room moderately well furnished. He was +leaning back in a chair, with arms folded, and his chin resting on +his bosom. His face was contracted into a gloomy scowl. Anna, who +looked pale and troubled, was sewing and touching with her foot a +cradle, in which was a babe. The little one seemed restless. Every +now and then it would start and moan, or cry out. After a time it +awoke and commenced screaming. The mother lifted it from the cradle +and tried to hush it upon her bosom, but the babe still cried on. It +was evidently in pain. + +"Confound you! why don't you keep that child quiet?" exclaimed the +husband, impatiently casting at the same time an angry look upon his +wife. + +Anna made no reply, but turned half away from him, evidently to +conceal the tears that suddenly started from her eyes, and strove +more earnestly to quiet the child. In this she soon succeeded. + +"I believe you let her cry on purpose, whenever I am in the house, +just to annoy me," her husband resumed in an ill-natured tone. + +"No, Thomas, you know that I do not," Anna said. + +"Say I lie, why don't you?" + +"Oh, Thomas, how can you speak so to me?" And his young wife turned +toward him an earnest, tearful look. + +"Pah! don't try to melt me with your crying. I never believed in it. +Women can cry at any moment." + +There was a convulsive motion of Mrs. Elliott's head as she turned +quickly away, and a choking sound in her throat. She remained +silent, ten minutes passed, when her husband said in a firm voice, + +"Anna, I'm going to break up." + +Mrs. Elliott glanced around with a startled air. + +"It's true, just what I say--your father may think that I'm going to +make a slave of myself to support you, but he's mistaken. He's +refused to help me in my business one single copper, though he's +able enough. And now I've taken my resolution. You can go back to +him as quick as you like." + +Before the brutal husband had half finished the sentence, his wife +was on her feet, with a cheek deadly pale, and eyes almost starting +from her head. Thomas Elliott was her husband and the father of her +babe, and as such she had loved him with a far deeper love than he +had deserved. This had caused her to bear with coldness and neglect, +and even positive unkindness without a complaint. Sacredly had she +kept from her mother even a hint of the truth. Thus had she gone on +almost from the first; for only a few months elapsed before she +discovered that her image was dim on her husband's heart. + +"You needn't stand there staring at me like one moon-struck"--he +said, with bitter sarcasm and a curl of the lip. "What I say is the +truth. I'm going to give up, and you've got to go home to them that +are more able to support you than I am; and who have a better right, +too, I'm thinking." + +There was something so heartless and chilling in the words and +manner of her husband, that Mrs. Elliott made no attempt to reply. +Covering her face with her hands, she sunk back into the chair from +which she had risen, more deeply miserable than she had ever been in +her life. From this state she was aroused by the imperative +question, + +"Anna, what do you intend doing?" + +"That is for you to say"--was her murmured reply. + +"Then, I say, go home to your father, and at once." + +Without a word the wife rose from her chair, with her infant in her +arms, and pausing only long enough to put on her shawl and bonnet, +left the house. + +Mr. and Mrs. Wyman were sitting alone late on the afternoon of the +same day, thinking about and conversing of their child. Neither of +them felt too well satisfied with the result of her marriage. It +required not even the close observation of a parent's eye, to +discover that she was far from happy. + +"I wish she were only single"--Mr. Wyman at length said. "She +married much too young--only eighteen now, and with a cold-hearted +and, I fear, unprincipled and neglectful husband. It is sad to think +of it." + +"But I was married as young as she was, Mr. Wyman?" + +"Yes; but I flatter myself you made a better choice. Your condition +at eighteen was very different from what hers is now. As I said +before, I only wish she were single, and then I wouldn't care to see +her married for two or three years to come." + +"I can't help wishing she had refused Mr. Elliott. If she had done +so, she might have been married to a much better man long before +this. Mr. Carpenter is worth a dozen of him. Oh dear! this marriage +is all a lottery, after all. Few prizes and many blanks. Poor Anna! +she is not happy." + +At this moment the door opened, and the child of whom they were +speaking, with her infant in her arms, came hurriedly in. Her face +was deadly pale, her lips tightly compressed, and her eyes widely +distended and fixed. + +"Anna!" exclaimed the mother, starting up quickly and springing +toward her. + +"My child, what ails you?" was eagerly asked by the father, as he, +too, rose up hastily. + +But there was no reply. The heart of the child was too full. She +could not utter the truth. She had been sent back to her parents by +her husband, but her tongue could not declare that! Pride, shame, +wounded affections, combined to hold back her words. Her only reply +was to lay her babe in her mother's arms, and then fling herself +upon the bosom of her father. + +All was mystery then, but time soon unveiled the cause of their +daughter's strange and sudden appearance, and her deep anguish. The +truth gradually came out that she had been deserted by her husband; +or, what seemed to Mrs. Wyman more disgraceful still, had been sent +home by him. Bitterly did she execrate him, but it availed nothing. +Her ardent wish had been gratified. Anna was engaged at sixteen, and +married soon after; but at eighteen, alas! she had come home a +deserted wife and mother! And so she remained. Her husband never +afterward came near her. And now, at thirty, with a daughter well +grown, she remains in her father's house, a quiet, thoughtful, +dreamy woman, who sees little in life that is attractive, and who +rarely stirs beyond the threshold of the house that shelters her. +There are those who will recognise this picture. + +So much for being engaged at sixteen! + + + + +THE DAUGHTER. + + +IT often happens that a daughter possesses greatly superior +advantages to those enjoyed, in early years, by either her father or +mother. She is not compelled to labour as hard as they were obliged +to labour when young; and she is blessed with the means of education +far beyond what they had. Her associations, too, are of a different +order, all tending to elevate her views of life, to refine her +tastes, and to give her admission into a higher grade of society +than they were fitted to move in. + +Unless very watchful of herself and very thoughtful of her parents, +a daughter so situated will be led at times to draw comparisons +between her own cultivated intellect and taste and the want of such +cultivation in her parents, and to think indifferently of them, as +really inferior, because not so well educated and accomplished as +she is. A distrust of their judgment and a disrespect of their +opinions will follow, as a natural consequence, if these thoughts +and feelings be indulged. This result often takes place with +thoughtless, weak-minded girls; and is followed by what is worse, a +disregard to their feelings, wishes, and express commands. + +A sensible daughter, who loves her parents, will hardly forget to +whom she is indebted for all the superior advantages she enjoys. She +will also readily perceive that the experience which her parents +have acquired, and their natural strength of mind, give them a real +and great superiority over her, and make their judgment, in all +matters of life, far more to be depended upon than hers could +possibly be. It may be that her mother has never learned to play +upon the piano, has never been to a dancing-school, has never had +any thing beyond the merest rudiments of an education; but she has +good sense, prudence, industry, economy; understands and practises +all the virtues of domestic life; has a clear, discriminating +judgment; has been her husband's faithful friend and adviser for +some twenty or thirty years; and has safely guarded and guided her +children up to mature years. These evidences of a mother's title to +her respect and fullest confidence cannot long be absent from a +daughter's mind, and will prevent her acting in direct opposition to +her judgment. + +Thoughtless indeed must be that child who can permit an emotion of +disrespect toward her parents to dwell in her bosom for more than a +single moment! + +Respect and love toward parents are absolutely necessary to the +proper formation of the character upon that true basis which will +bring into just order and subordination all the powers of the mind. +Without this order and subordination there can be no true happiness. +A child loves and respects his parents, because from them he derived +his being, and from them receives every blessing and comfort. To +them, and to them alone, does his mind turn as the authors of all +the good gifts he possessed. As a mere child, it is right for him +thus to regard his parents as the authors of his being and the +originators of all his blessings. But as reason gains strength, and +he sees more deeply into the nature and causes of things, which only +takes place as the child approaches the years of maturity, it is +then seen that the parents were only the agents through which life, +and all the blessings accompanying it, came from God, the great +Father of all. If the parents have been loved with a truly filial +love, then the mind has been suitably opened and prepared for love +toward God, and an obedience to his divine laws, without which there +can be no true happiness. When this new and higher truth takes +possession of the child's mind, it in no way diminishes his respect +for his earthly parents, but increases it. He no longer obeys them +because they command obedience, but he regards the truth of their +precepts, and in that truth hears the voice of God speaking to him. +More than ever is he now careful to listen to their wise counsels, +because he perceives in them the authority of reason, which is the +authority of God. + +Most young ladies, on attaining the age of responsibility, will +perceive a difference in the manner of their parents. Instead of +opposing them, as heretofore, with authority, they will oppose them +with reason, where opposition is deemed necessary. The mother, +instead of saying, when she disapproves any thing, "No, my child, +you cannot do it;" or, "No you must not go, dear;" will say, "I +would rather not have you do so;" or, "I do not approve of your +going." If you ask her reasons, she will state them, and endeavour +to make you comprehend their force. It is far too often the case, +that the daughter's desire to do what her mother disapproves is so +active, that neither her mother's objections nor reasons are strong +enough to counteract her wishes, and she follows her own +inclinations instead of being guided by her mother's better +judgment. In these instances, she almost always does wrong, and +suffers therefore either bodily or mental pain. + +Obedience in childhood is that by which we are led and guided into +right actions. When we become men and women, reason takes the place +of obedience; but, like a young bird just fluttering from its nest, +reason at first has not much strength of wing; and we should +therefore suffer the reason of those who love us, like the +mother-bird, to stoop under and bear us up in our earlier efforts, +lest we fall bruised and wounded to the ground. To whose reason +should a young girl look to strengthen her own, so soon as to her +mother's, guided as it is by love? But it too often happens that, +under the first impulses of conscious freedom, no voice is regarded +but the voice of inclination and passion. The mother may oppose, and +warn, and urge the most serious considerations, but the daughter +turns a deaf ear to all. She thinks that she knows best. + +"You are not going to-night, Mary?" said a mother, coming into her +daughter's room, and finding her dressing for a ball. She had been +rather seriously indisposed for some days, with a cold that had +fallen upon her throat and chest, which was weak, but was now +something better. + +"I think I will, mother, for I am much better than I was yesterday, +and have improved since morning. I have promised myself so much +pleasure at this ball, that I cannot think of being disappointed." + +The mother shook her head. + +"Mary," she replied, "you are not well enough to go out. The air is +damp, and you will inevitably take more cold. Think how badly your +throat has been inflamed." + +"I don't think it has been so _very_ bad, mother." + +"The doctor told me it was badly inflamed, and said you would have +to be very careful of yourself, or it might prove serious." + +"That was some days ago. It is a great deal better now." + +"But the least exposure may cause it to return." + +"I will be very careful not to expose myself. I will wrap up warm +and go in a carriage. I am sure there is not the least danger, +mother." + +"While I am sure that there is very great danger. You cannot pass +from the door to the carriage, without the damp air striking upon +your face, and pressing into your lungs." + +"But I must not always exclude myself from the air, mother. Air and +exercise, you know, the doctor says, are indispensable to health." + +"Dry, not damp air. This makes the difference. But you must act for +yourself, Mary. You are now a woman, and must freely act in the +light of that reason which God has given you. Because I love you, +and desire your welfare, I thus seek to convince you that it is +wrong to expose your health to-night. Your great desire to go blinds +you to the real danger, which I can fully see." + +"You are over-anxious, mother," urged Mary. "I know how I feel much +better than you possibly can, and I know I am well enough to go." + +"I have nothing more to say, my child," returned the mother. "I wish +you to act freely, but wisely. Wisely I am sure you will not act if +you go to-night. A temporary illness may not alone be the +consequence; your health may receive a shock from which it will +never recover." + +"Mother wishes to frighten me," said Mary to herself, after her +mother had left the room. "But I am not to be so easily frightened. +I am sorry she makes such a serious matter about my going, for I +never like to do any thing that is not agreeable to her feelings. +But I must go to this ball. William is to call for me at eight, and +he would be as much disappointed as myself if I were not to go. As +to making more cold, what of that? I would willingly pay the penalty +of a pretty severe cold rather than miss the ball." + +Against all her mother's earnestly urged objections, Mary went with +her lover to the ball. She came home, at one o'clock, with a sharp +pain through her breast, red spots on her cheeks, oppression of the +chest, and considerable fever. On the next morning she was unable to +rise from her bed. When the doctor, who was sent for, came in, he +looked grave, and asked if there had been any exposure by which a +fresh cold could be taken. + +"She was at the ball last night," replied the mother. + +"Not with your approval, madam?" he said quickly, looking with a +stern expression into the mother's face. + +"No, doctor. I urged her not to go; but Mary thought she knew best. +She did not believe there was any danger." + +A strong expression rose to the doctor's lips, but he repressed it, +lest he should needlessly alarm the patient. On retiring from her +chamber, he declared the case to be a very critical one; and so it +proved to be. Mary did not leave her room for some months; and when +she did, it was with a constitution so impaired that she could not +endure the slightest fatigue, nor bear the least exposure. Neither +change of climate nor medicine availed any thing toward restoring +her to health. In this feeble state she married, about twelve months +afterward, the young man who had accompanied her to the ball. One +year from the period at which that happy event took place, she died, +leaving to stranger hands a babe that needed all her tenderest care, +and a husband almost broken-hearted at his loss. + +This is not merely a picture from the imagination, and highly +coloured. It is from nature, and every line is drawn with the pencil +of truth. Hundreds of young women yearly sink into the grave, whose +friends can trace to some similar act of imprudence, committed in +direct opposition to the earnest persuasions of parents or friends, +the cause of their premature decay and death. And too often other, +and sometimes even worse, consequences than death, follow a +disregard of the mother's voice of warning. + + + + +PASSING AWAY. + + +[From our story of "The Two Brides," we take a scene, in which some +one sorrowing as those without hope may find words of consolation.] + +IN the very springtime of young womanhood, the destroyer had come; +and though he laid his hand upon her gently at first, yet the touch +was none the less fatal. But, while her frail body wasted, her +spirit remained peaceful. As the sun of her natural life sunk low in +the sky, the bright auroral precursor of another day smiled along +the eastern verge of her spiritual horizon. There was in her heart +neither doubt, nor fear, nor shrinking. + +"Dear Marion!" said Anna, dropping a tear upon her white transparent +hand, as she pressed it to her lips, a few weeks after the alarming +hemorrhage just mentioned; "how can you look at this event so +calmly?" + +They had been speaking of death, and Marion had alluded to its +approach to Anna, with a strange cheerfulness, as if she felt it to +be nothing more than a journey to another and far pleasanter land +than that wherein she now dwelt. + +"Why should I look upon this change with other than tranquil +feelings?" she asked. + +"Why? How can you ask such a question, sister?" returned Anna. "To +me, there has been always something in the thought of death that +made the blood run cold about my heart." + +"This," replied Marion, with one of her sweet smiles, "is because +your ideas of death have been, from the first, confused and +erroneous. You thought of the cold and pulseless body; the pale +winding-sheet; the narrow coffin, and the deep, dark grave. But, I +do not let my thoughts rest on these. To me, death involves the idea +of eternal life. I cannot think of the one without the other. Should +the chrysalis tremble at the coming change?--the dull worm in its +cerements shrink from the moment when, ordained by nature, it must +rise into a new life, and expand its wings in the sunny air? How +much less cause have I to tremble and shrink back as the hour +approaches when this mortal is to put on immortality?" + +"Yours is a beautiful faith," said Anna. "And its effects, as seen +now that the hour from which all shrink approaches, are strongly +corroborative of its truth." + +"It is beautiful because it is true," replied Marion. "There is no +real beauty that is not the form of something good and true." + +"If I were as good as you, I might not shrink from death," remarked +Anna, with a transient sigh. + +"I hope you are better than I am, dear; and think you are," said +Marion. + +"Oh, no!" quickly returned Anna. + +"Do you purpose evil in your heart?" asked Marion, seriously. + +Anna seemed half surprised at the question. + +"Evil! Evil! I hope not," she replied, as a shadow came over her +face. + +"It is an evil purpose only that should make us fear death, Anna; +for therein lies the only cause of fear. Death, to those who love +themselves and the world above every thing else, is a sad event; but +to those who love God and their neighbour supremely, it is a happy +change." + +"That is all true," said Anna. "My reason assents to it. But, in the +act of dissolution--in that mortal strife, when the soul separates +itself from the body--there is something from which my heart shrinks +and trembles down fainting in my bosom. Ah! In the crossing of that +bourne from which no traveller has returned to tell us of what is +beyond, there is something that more than half appals me." + +"There is much that takes away the fear you have mentioned," replied +Marion. "It is the uncertain that causes us to tremble and shrink +back. But, when we know what is before us, we prepare ourselves to +meet it. Attendant upon every one who dies, says a certain writer, +are two angels, who keep his mind entirely above the thought of +death, and in the idea of eternal life. They remain with him through +the whole process--protecting him from evil spirits--and receive him +into the world of spirits after his soul has fully withdrawn itself +from the interior of the body. The last idea, active in the mind of +the person before death, is the first idea in his mind after death, +when his consciousness of life is restored; and it is some time +after this conscious life returns before he is aware that he is +dead. Around him he sees objects similar to those seen in the +natural world. There are houses and trees, streams of water and +gardens. Men and women dressed in variously fashioned garments. They +walk and converse together, as we do upon earth. When, at length, he +is told that he has died, and is now in a world that is spiritual +instead of natural--that the body in which he is, is a body formed +of spiritual instead of natural substances, he is in a measure +affected with surprise, and for the most part a pleasing surprise. +He wonders at the grossness of his previous ideas, which limited +form and substances to material things; and now, unless he had been +instructed during his life in the world, begins to comprehend the +truth that man is a man from the spirit, not from the body." + +Anna, who had been listening intently, drew a long breath, as Marion +paused. + +"Dead, and yet not know the fact!" said she, with an expression of +wonder. "It seems incredible. And all this you fully believe?" + +"Yes, Anna; as entirely as I believe in the existence of the sun in +the firmament." + +"If these doctrines can take away the fear of death, which so haunts +the mind of even those who are striving to live pure lives, they are +indeed a legacy of good to the world. Oh, Marion, how much I have +suffered, ever since the days of my childhood, from this dreadful +fear!" + +"They do take away the fear of death," returned Marion; "because +they remove the uncertainty which has heretofore gathered like a +gloomy pall over the last hours of mortality. When the soul of lover +or friend passed from this world, it seemed to plunge into a dark +profound, and there came not back an echo to tell of his fate. 'The +bourne from which no traveller returns!' Oh! the painful eloquence +of that single line. But, now, we who receive the doctrine of which +I speak, can look beyond this bourne; and though the traveller +returns not, yet we know something of how he fared on his entrance +into the new country." + +"Then we need not fear for you," said Anna, tenderly, "when you are +called to pass this bourne?" + +"No, sister," replied Marion, "I know in whom I have believed, and I +feel sure that it will be well with me, so far as I have shunned +what is evil and sought to do good. Do not think of me as sinking +into some gloomy profound; or awakening from my sleep of death, +startled, amazed, or shocked by the sudden transition. Loving angels +will be my companions as I descend into the valley and the shadow of +death; and I will fear no evil. Upon the other side I will be +received among those who have gone before, and I will scarcely feel +that there has been a change. A little while I will remain there, +and then pass upward to my place in heaven." + +The mother of Marion entered her room at this moment, and the +conversation was suspended. But it was renewed again soon after, and +the gentle-hearted, spiritual-minded girl continued to talk of the +other world as one preparing for a journey talks about the new +country into which he is about going, and of whose geography, and +the manners and customs of whose people, he has made himself +conversant from books. + +Not long did she remain on this side of the dark valley, through +which she was to pass. A few months wound up the story of her +earthly life, and she went peacefully and confidently on her way to +her eternal dwelling-place. It was a sweet, sad time, when the +parting hour came, and the mother, brother, and dearly loved adopted +sister, gathered around Marion's bed to see her die. That angels +were present, each one felt; for the sphere of tranquillity that +pervaded the hearts of all was the sphere of heaven. + +"God is love," said Marion, a short time before she passed away. She +was holding the hand of her mother, and looking tenderly in her +face. "How exquisite is my perception of this truth? It comes upon +me with a power that subdues my spirit, yet fills it with ineffable +peace. With what a wondrous love has he regarded us! I never had had +so intense a perception of this as now." + +Marion closed her eyes, and for some time lay silent, while a +heavenly smile irradiated her features. Then looking up, she said, +and as she spoke she took the hand of Anna and placed it within that +of her mother-- + +"When I am gone, let the earthly love you bore me, mother, be added +to that already felt for our dear Anna. Think of me as an angel, and +of her as your child." + +In spite of her effort to restrain them, tears gushed from the eyes +of Mrs. Lee, and fell like rain over her cheeks. For a short time +she bent to her dying one, and clasped her wildly to her bosom. But +the calmness of a deeply laid trust in Providence was soon restored +to her spirit, and she said, speaking of Anna-- + +"Without her, how could we part with you? I do not think I could +bear it." + +"I shall go before you only a little while," returned Marion, "only +a very little while. A few years--how quickly they will hurry by! A +few more days of labour, and your earthly tasks will be done. Then +we shall meet again. And even in the days of our separation we shall +not be far removed from each other. Thought will bring us +spiritually near, and affection conjoin us, even though no sense of +the body give token of proximity. And who knows but to me will be +assigned the guardianship of the dear babe given to us by Anna? Oh! +if love will secure that holy duty, then it will be mine!" + +A light, as if reflected from the sun of heaven, beamed from the +countenance of Marion, who closed her eyes, and, in a little while, +fell off into a gentle sleep. Silently did those who loved her with +more than human tenderness--for there was in their affection a love +of goodness for its own sake--bend over and watch the face of the +sweet sleeper, even until there came stealing upon them the fear +that she would not waken again in this world. And the fear was not +groundless; for thus she passed away. To her death came as a gentle +messenger, to bid her go up higher. And she obeyed the summons +without a mortal fear. + +No passionate grief at their loss raged wildly in the bosoms of +those who suffered this great bereavement. For years, the mother and +son had daily striven against selfish feelings as evil; and now, +comprehending with the utmost clearness that Marion's removal was, +for her, a blessed change, their hearts were thankful, even while +tears wet their cheeks. They mourned for her departure, because they +were human; they suffered pain, for ties of love the most tender had +been snapped asunder; they wept, because in weeping nature found +relief. Yet, in all, peace brooded over their spirits. + +When the fading, wasting form of earth which Marion's pure spirit +had worn, as a garment, but now laid aside forever, was borne out, +and consigned to its kindred clay, those who remained behind +experienced no new emotions of grief. To them Marion still lived. +This was the old mortal body, that vailed, rather than made visible, +her real beauty. Now she was clothed in a spiritual body, that was +transcendently beautiful, because it was the very form of good +affections. To lay the useless garment aside was not, therefore, a +painful task. This done, each member of the bereaved family returned +to his and her life-tasks, and, in the faithful discharge of daily +duties, found a sustaining power. But Marion was not lost to them. +Ever present was she in their thought and affection, and often, in +dreams, she was with them,--yet, never as the suffering mortal; but +as the happy, glorified immortal. Beautiful was the faith upon which +they leaned. To them the spiritual was not a something vague and +undeterminate; but a real entity. They looked beyond the grave, into +the spiritual world, as into a better country, where life was +continued in higher perfection, and where were spiritual ultimates, +as perfectly adapted to spiritual sense as are the ultimates of +creation to the senses of the natural body. + + + + +THE LOVE SECRET. + + +"EDWARD is to be in London next week," said Mrs. Ravensworth; "and I +trust, Edith, that you will meet him with the frankness he is +entitled to receive." + +Edith Hamilton, who stood behind the chair of her aunt, did not make +any answer. + +Mrs. Ravensworth continued--"Edward's father was your father's own +brother. A man of nobler spirit never moved on English soil; and I +hear that Edward is the worthy son of a worthy sire." + +"If he were as pure and perfect as an angel, aunt," replied Edith, +"it would be all the same to me. I have never seen him, and cannot, +therefore, meet him as one who has a right to claim my hand." + +"Your father gave you away when you were a child, Edith; and Edward +comes now to claim you by virtue of this betrothal." + +"While I love the memory of my father, and honour him as a child +should honour a parent," said Edith, with much seriousness, "I do +not admit his right to give me away in marriage while I was yet a +child. And, moreover, I do not think the man who would seek to +consummate such a marriage contract worthy of any maiden's love. +Only the heart that yields a free consent is worth having, and the +man who would take any other is utterly unworthy of any woman's +regard. By this rule I judge Edward to be unworthy, no matter what +his father may have been." + +"Then you mean," said Mrs. Ravensworth, "deliberately to violate the +solemn contract made by your father with the father of Edward?" + +"I cannot receive Edward as anything but a stranger," replied Edith. +"It will not mend the error of my father for me to commit a still +greater one." + +"How commit a still greater one?" inquired Mrs. Ravensworth. + +"Destroy the very foundation of a true marriage--freedom of choice +and consent. There would be no freedom of choice on his part, and no +privilege of consent on mine. Happiness could not follow such a +union, and to enter into it would be doing a great wrong. No, aunt, +I cannot receive Edward in any other way than as a stranger--for +such he is." + +"There is a clause in your father's will that you may have +forgotten, Edith," said her aunt. + +"That which makes me penniless if I do not marry Edward Hamden?" + +"Yes." + +"No--I have not forgotten it, aunt." + +"And you mean to brave that consequence?" + +"In a choice of evils we always take the least." Edith's voice +trembled. + +Mrs. Ravensworth did not reply for some moments. While she sat +silent, the half-closed door near which Edith stood, and toward +which her aunt's back was turned, softly opened, and a handsome +youth, between whom and Edith glances of intelligence instantly +passed, presented the startled maiden with a beautiful white rose, +and then noiselessly retired. + +It was nearly a minute before Mrs. Ravensworth resumed the light +employment in which she was engaged, and as she did so, she said-- + +"Many a foolish young girl gets her head turned with those gay +gallants at our fashionable watering-places, and imagines that she +has won a heart when the object of her vain regard never felt the +throb of a truly unselfish and noble impulse." + +The crimson deepened on Edith's cheeks and brow, and as she lifted +her eyes, she saw herself in a large mirror opposite, with her +aunt's calm eyes steadily fixed upon her. To turn her face partly +away, so that it could no longer be reflected from the mirror, was +the work of an instant. In a few moments she said-- + +"Let young and foolish girls get their heads turned if they will. +But I trust I am in no danger." + +"I am not so sure of that. Those who think themselves most secure +are generally in the greatest danger. Who is the youth with whom you +danced last evening? I don't remember to have seen him here before." + +"His name is Evelyn." There was a slight tremor in Edith's voice. + +"How came you to know him?" + +"I met him here last season." + +"You did?" + +"Yes, ma'am. And I danced with him last night. Was there any harm in +that?" The maiden's voice had regained its firmness. + +"I didn't say there was," returned Mrs. Ravensworth, who again +relapsed into silence. Not long after, she said--"I think we will +return to London on Thursday." + +"So soon!" Edith spoke in a disappointed voice. + +"Do you find it so very pleasant here?" said the aunt, a little +ironically. + +"I have not complained of its being dull, aunt," replied Edith. "But +if you wish to return on Thursday, I will be ready to accompany +you." + +Soon after this, Edith Hamilton left her aunt's room, and went to +one of the drawing-rooms of the hotel at which they were staying, +where she sat down near a recess window that overlooked a beautiful +promenade. She had been here only a few minutes, when she was joined +by a handsome youth, to whom Edith said-- + +"How could you venture to the door of my aunt's parlour? I'm half +afraid she detected your presence, for she said, immediately +afterward, that we would return to London on the day after +to-morrow." + +"So soon? Well, I'll be there next week, and it will be strange if, +with your consent, we don't meet often." + +"Edward Hamden is expected in a few days," replied Edith, her voice +slightly faltering. + +Her companion looked at her searchingly for a few moments, and then +said-- + +"You have never met him?" + +"Never." + +"But when you do meet him, the repugnance you now feel may instantly +vanish." + +A shadow passed over Edith's face, and she answered in a voice that +showed the remark--the tone of which conveyed more than the words +themselves--to have been felt as a question of her constancy. + +"Can one whose heart is all unknown to me, one who must think of me +with a feeling of dislike because of bonds and pledges, prove a +nearer or a dearer friend than--" + +Edith did not finish the sentence. But that was not needed. The +glance of rebuking tenderness cast upon her companion expressed all +that her lips had failed to utter. + +"But you do not know me, Edith," said the young man. + +"My heart says differently," was Edith's lowly spoken reply. + +Evelyn pressed the maiden's hand, and looked into her face with an +earnest, loving expression. + +Mrs. Ravensworth, to whose care Edith had been consigned on the +death of her father, had never been pleased with the unwise contract +made by the parents of her niece and Edward Hamden. The latter had +been for ten years in Paris and Italy, travelling and pursuing his +studies. These being completed, in obedience to the will of a +deceased parent, he was about returning to London to meet his future +wife. No correspondence had taken place between the parties to this +unnatural contract; and, from the time of Edward's letter, when he +announced to Mrs. Ravensworth his proposed visit, it was plain that +his feelings were as little interested in his future partner as were +hers in him. + +During the two or three days that Mrs. Ravensworth and her niece +remained at the watering-place, Edith and young Evelyn met +frequently; but, as far as possible, at times when they supposed the +particular attention of the aunt would not be drawn toward them in +such a manner as to penetrate their love secret. When, at length, +they parted, it was with an understanding that they were to meet in +London. + +On returning to the city, the thoughts of Edith reverted more +directly to the fact of Edward Hamden's approaching visit; and, in +spite of all her efforts to remain undisturbed in her feelings, the +near approach of this event agitated her. Mrs. Ravensworth +frequently alluded to the subject, and earnestly pressed upon Edith +the consideration of her duty to her parent, as well as the +consequences that must follow her disregard of the contract which +had been made. But the more she talked on this subject, the more +firm was Edith in expressing her determination not to do violence to +her feelings in a matter so vital to her happiness. + +The day at length came upon which Edward Hamden was to arrive. Edith +appeared, in the morning, with a disturbed air. It was plain to the +closely observing eyes of her aunt, that she had not passed a night +of refreshing sleep. + +"I trust, my dear niece," she said, after they had retired from the +breakfast table, where but little food had been taken, "that you +will not exhibit toward Edward, on meeting him, any of the +preconceived and unjust antipathy you entertain. Let our feelings, +at least, remain uncommitted for or against him." + +"Aunt Helen, it is useless to talk to me in this way," Edith +replied, with more than her usual warmth. "The simple fact of an +obligation to love puts a gulf between us. My heart turns from him +as from an enemy. I will meet him with politeness; but it must be +cold and formal. To ask of me more, is to ask what I cannot give. I +only wish that he possessed the manliness I would have had if +similarly situated. Were this so, I would now be free by his act, +not my own." + +Seeing that all she urged but made the feelings of Edith oppose +themselves more strongly to the young man, Mrs. Ravensworth ceased +to speak upon the subject, and the former was left to brood with a +deeply disturbed heart over the approaching interview with one who +had come to claim a hand that she resolutely determined not to +yield. + +About twelve o'clock, Mrs. Ravensworth came to Edith's room and +announced the arrival of Edward Hamden. The maiden's face became +pale, and her lips quivered. + +"If I could but be spared an interview," she murmured. "But that is +more than I can ask." + +"How weak you are, Edith," replied her aunt, in a tone of reproof. + +"I will join you in the drawing-room in half an hour," said Edith, +speaking more calmly. + +Mrs. Ravensworth retired, and left Edith again to her own thoughts. +She sat for nearly the whole of the time she had mentioned. Then +rising hurriedly, she made a few changes in her attire; after which +she descended to the drawing-room with a step that was far from +being firm. + +So noiselessly did she enter the apartment where Hamden awaited her, +that neither her aunt nor the young man perceived her presence for +some moments, and she had time to examine his appearance, and to +read the lineaments of his half-averted face. While she stood thus +observing him, her countenance suddenly flushed, and she bent +forward with a look of surprise and eagerness. At this moment the +young man became aware that she had entered, and rising up quickly, +advanced to meet her. + +"Evelyn!" exclaimed Edith, striking her hands together, the moment +he turned toward her. + +"Edith! my own Edith!" returned the young man, as he grasped her +hand, and ventured a warm kiss on her beautiful lips. "Not Evelyn, +but Hamden. Our parents betrothed us while we were yet too young to +give or withhold consent. Both, as we grew older, felt this pledge +as a heart-sickening constraint. But we met as strangers, and I saw +that you were all my soul could desire. I sought your regard and won +it. No obligation but love now binds us." + +The young man then turned to Mrs. Ravensworth, and said-- + +"You see, madam, that we are not strangers." + +Instead of looking surprised, Mrs. Ravensworth smiled calmly, and +answered-- + +"No--it would be singular if you were. Love-tokens don't generally +pass, nor familiar meetings take place between strangers." + +"Love-tokens, Aunt Helen?" fell from the lips of Edith, as she +turned partly away from Hamden, and looked inquiringly at her +relative. + +"Yes, dear," returned Mrs. Ravensworth. "White roses, for instance. +You saw your own blushing face in the mirror, did you not?" + +"The mirror! Then you saw Edward present the rose?" + +"And did you know me?" inquired the young man. + +"One who knew your rather as well as I did could not fail to know +the son. I penetrated your love secret as soon as it was known to +yourselves." + +"Aunt Helen!" exclaimed Edith, hiding her face on the neck of her +kind relative, "how have I been deceived!" + +"Happily, I trust, love," returned Mrs. Ravensworth, tenderly. + +"Most happily! My heart swells with gladness almost to bursting," +came murmuring from the lips of the joyful maiden. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Home Mission, by T. S. Arthur + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOME MISSION *** + +***** This file should be named 4630.txt or 4630.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/3/4630/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Arthur + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +Release Date: November, 2003 [Etext #4630] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 20, 2002] + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Home Mission, by T.S. Arthur +*****This file should be named hmmsn10.txt or hmmsn10.zip***** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, hmmsn11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, hmmsn10a.txt + +This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com) + + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep etexts in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +The "legal small print" and other information about this book +may now be found at the end of this file. Please read this +important information, as it gives you specific rights and +tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used. + + + + + + + + + + +THE HOME MISSION. + +By T. S. ARTHUR. + +BOSTON: +PHILADELPHIA: + +1853. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + +A VISION OF CONSOLATION +THE STEP-MOTHER +POWER OF KINDNESS +BEAR AND FORBEAR +THE SOCIAL SERPENT +THE YOUNG MOTHER +THE GENTLE WARNING +KATE'S EXPERIMENT +"MY FORTUNE'S MADE" +THE GOOD MATCH +THE BROTHER'S TEMPTATION +THE HOME OF TASTE +THE TWO SISTERS +THE EVENING PRAYER +A PEEVISH DAY, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES +SISTERS +BROTHERS +HOME +A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE ON THE PATH OF A MONEY-LENDER +ENGAGED AT SIXTEEN +THE DAUGHTER +PASSING AWAY +THE LOVE SECRET + + + + + + +PREFACE. + + + + + +IF it were possible to trace back to their beginnings, in each +individual, those good or evil impulses that have become ruling +affections, in most cases the origin would not be found until we had +reached the home of childhood. Here it is that impressions are made, +which become lasting as existence itself. But the influence of home +is not alone salutary or baneful in early years. Wherever a home +exists, there will be found the nursery of all that is excellent in +social or civil life, or of all that is deformed. Every man and +woman we meet in society, exhibit, in unmistakable characters, the +quality of their homes. The wife, the husband, the children, the +guest, bear with them daily a portion of the spirit pervading the +little circle from which they have come forth. If the sun shines +there, a light will be on their countenances; but shadows, if clouds +are in the sky of home. If there be disorder, defect of principle, +discord among the members, neglect of duty, and absence of kind +offices, the sphere of those who constitute that home can hardly be +salutary. They will add little to the common stock of good in the +social life around them. We need not say how different will be the +influence of those whose home-circle is pervaded by higher, purer, +and truer principles. + +A word to the wise is, we are told, sufficient. He, therefore, who +speaks a true word in the ear of the wise, has planted a seed that +will surely spring up and yield good fruit. May we hope that all +into whose hands this little book is destined to come are wise, and +that the few suggestive words spoken therein, as "hints to make home +happy," will fall into good ground. If this be so, "The Home +Mission" will not be fruitless. Though no annual reports of what it +has accomplished are made, its silent and unobtrusive work, we +trust, will be none the less effectual. + + + + + + +THE HOME MISSION. + +A VISION OF CONSOLATION. + + + + + +THE tempest of grief which, for a time, had raged so wildly in the +heart of Mrs. Freeland, exhausted by its own violence, sobbed itself +away, and the stricken mother passed into the land of dreams. + +To the afflicted, sleep comes with a double blessing--rest is given +to the wearied body and to the grieving spirit. Often, very often, +the Angel of Consolation bends to the dreaming ear, and whispers +words of hope and comfort that from no living lips had yet found +utterance. + +And it was so now with the sleeping mother. A few hours only had +passed since she stood looking down, for the last time, on the fair +face of her youngest born. Over his bright, blue eyes, into whose +heavenly depths she had so loved to gaze, the pale lids had closed +for ever. Still lingered around his lips the smile left there by the +angels, as, with a kiss of love, they received his parting spirit. +In the curling masses of his rich, golden hair, the shadows nestled +away, as of old, while his tiny fingers held a few white blossoms, +as with a living grasp. Was it death or sleep? So like a sleeping +child the sweet boy lay, that it seemed every moment as if his lips +would unclose, his eyes open to the light, and his voice come to the +listening ear with its tones of music. + +If to the mother had come this illusion, it remained not long. Wild +with grief, she turned away as the sweet face she had so loved to +gaze upon was hidden from her straining eyes for ever. + +Hidden from her eyes, did we say? Only hidden from her natural eyes. +Still he was before the eyes of her spirit in all his living beauty. +But, to her natural affections, he was lost--even as he had faded +from before her natural eyes; and, in the agony of bereavement, it +seemed that her heart would break. Back to her darkened chamber she +went. Her nearest and dearest friends gathered around, seeking +lovingly to sustain her in her great affliction; but she refused to +be comforted. + +At length, as at first said, the tempest of grief, which, for a +time, raged so violently in the heart of Mrs. Freeland, sobbed +itself away, and the stricken mother passed into the land of dreams. + +For the most part, dreams are fantastic. Yet they are not always so. +In states of deep sorrow or strong trial, when the heart turns from +the natural world, hopeless of aid or consolation, truth often comes +in dreams and similitudes. + +The mother found herself in the company of two beautiful maidens, in +the very flower of youth; and as she gazed earnestly into their +faces, which seemed transparent from an inward celestial light, she +saw expectation therein--loving expectation. They stood beneath the +eastern portico of a pleasant dwelling, around which stately +trees--the branches vocal with the song of feathered +minstrels--lifted their green tops far up into the crystal air. +Flowers of a thousand hues and sweet odours were woven into forms +and figures of exquisite beauty upon the carpet of living green +spread over the teeming earth, while groups of little children +sported one with another, and mingled their happy voices with the +melody of birds. + +Yet, amid all this external joy and beauty, the hand of grief still +lay upon the mother's heart; and when she looked upon the sportive +infants around her, she sighed for her own babe. Even as she sighed, +one of the maidens turned to her and said, while her whole +countenance was lit up with a glow of delight-- + +"It has come. A new babe is born unto heaven." + +And, as she spoke, she gathered her arms quickly to her bosom, and +the wondering mother saw lying thereon her own child. The other +maiden was already bending over the infant--already had she greeted +its coming with a kiss of love. Quickly both retired within the +dwelling, and the bereaved mother went with them, eager to receive +the babe she had lost. + +"Oh, my child! my child!" she said. "Give me my child." + +And ere the words had died upon her lips, the maiden who had +received the babe gave it into her arms, when she clasped it with a +wild delight, and rained tears of gladness upon its face. + +For a time, the two maidens looked upon the mother in silence, and +in their bright countenances love and pity were blended. At length, +one of them said to her, (and she smiled sweetly, and spoke with an +exquisite, penetrating tenderness,)-- + +"Your heart is full of love for your babe?" + +"He is dearer to me than life--dearer than a thousand lives," +replied the mother quickly, drawing the babe closer to her bosom. + +"Love seeks to bless the object of its regard." + +There was a meaning in the words and tone of the maiden, as she said +this, that caused the mother to look into her face earnestly. + +"This is not the land of sickness, of sorrow, of death," resumed the +maiden, "but the land of eternal life and blessedness. Into this +land your babe has been born. You are here only as a visitant, and +must soon return to bear a few more trials and pains, a few more +conflicts with evil; but the end is your preparation for these +heavenly regions." + +A shadow fell instantly upon the mother's heart. Tears rushed to her +eyes, and she drew her arms more tightly about her babe. + +"Shall we keep this babe in our heavenly home, or will you bear it +with you back to the dark, cold, sad regions of mortality?" + +"Do not take from me my more than life!" sobbed the mother wildly. +"Oh! I cannot give you my child;" and more eagerly she hugged it to +her breast. + +For a time there was silence. Then one of the maidens laid gently +her hand upon the mother, and she lifted her bowed head. + +"Come," said the maiden. + +The mother arose, and the two walked into the open air, and passing +through the group of children sporting on the lawn and in the +gardens, went for what seemed the space of a mile, until they came +to a forest, into the depths of which they penetrated; and, for a +time, the farther they went the darker and more gloomy it became, +until scarcely a ray of light from the arching sky came down through +the dense and tangled foliage. At last they were beyond the forest. + +"Look," said the companion. + +The mother lifted her eyes--the babe had strangely passed from her +arms. A dwelling, familiar in aspect, stood near, and through an +open window she saw a sick child lying upon a bed, and knew it as +her own. Its little face was distorted by pain and flushed with +fever; and as it tossed restlessly to and fro, its moans filled her +ears. She stretched forth her hands, yearning to give some relief; +even as she did so, the scene faded from her view, and next she saw +an older child, bearing still the linaments of her own. There was +the same broad, white forehead and clustering curls; the same large, +bright eyes and full, ruddy lips; but, alas! not the soft vail of +innocence which had given the features of the babe such a heavenly +charm. The fine brow was contracted with passion; the eyes flashed +with an evil light; and the lips were tightly drawn, and with +something of defiance, against the teeth. The boy was resisting, +with a stern determination, the will of the parents--was setting at +naught those early salutary restraints which are the safeguard of +youth. + +"Oh! my unhappy boy!" cried the mother. + +The scene changed as she spoke. The boy, now grown up to manhood, +once more stood before her. Alas! how had the light of innocence +faded from his countenance, giving place to a shadow of evil, the +very darkness of which caused a cold shudder to pass through the +mother's frame. + +"Look again," said the maiden, as this scene was fading. + +But the mother hid her face in her hands, and turned weeping away. + +"Look again." And this time there was something so heart-cheering in +the maiden's voice, that the mother lifted her tearful eyes. She was +back again in the beautiful place from which she had gone forth a +little while before, and her babe, beautiful as innocence itself, +lay sweetly sleeping in the arms of the lovely maiden who had +received it on its first entrance into heaven. With a heart full of +joy, the mother now bent over the slumbering babe, kissing it again +and again. + +"Grieving mother," said the angel-maiden, in tones of flute-like +softness, "God saw that it would not be good for your child to +remain on earth, and he therefore removed it to this celestial +region, where no evil can ever penetrate. To me, as an angel-mother, +it has been given; and I will love it and care for it with a love as +pure and tender as the love that yearns in your bosom. As its +infantile mind opens, I will pour in heavenly instruction, that it +may grow in wisdom and become an angel. Will you not let me have it +freely?" + +"But why may I not remain here and be its heavenly mother? Oh! I +will love and care for it with a tenderness and devotion equal to, +if not exceeding yours." + +Even while the mother spoke there was a change. She saw before her +other objects of affection. There was her husband, sitting in deep +dejection, sorrowing for the loss of one who was dear as his own +life; while three children, the sight of whom stirred her maternal +heart to its profoundest depths, lay sleeping in each other's arms, +the undried tears yet glistening on their lashes. + +The wife and mother stretched forth her hands toward these beloved +ones, eager to be with them again and turn their grief into +gladness. But, in a moment, there passed another change. The +pleasant home in which her children had been sheltered for years, no +longer held them; the fold had been broken up and the tender lambs +scattered. One of these little ones the mother saw, sitting apart +from a group of sportive children, weeping over some task work. The +bloom on her cheek had faded--its roundness was gone--the light of +her beautiful eyes was quenched in tears. And, as she looked, a +woman came to the child and spoke to her harshly. She was about +springing forward, when another scene was presented. Her first-born, +a noble-spirited boy, to whose future she had ever looked with pride +and pleasure, stood before her. Alas! how changed. Every thing about +him showed the want of a mother's care and considerate affection; +and from his dear, young face had already vanished the look of +joyous innocence she had so loved to contemplate. + +Again the mother was in the presence of the angel-maiden, to whose +loving arms a good God had confided the babe, which, in his wisdom, +he had removed from the earth. And the angel-maiden, as she looked +first at the babe in her arms and then at the mother, smiled sweetly +and said-- + +"He is safe here; will you not let him remain?" + +And, with a gushing heart, the mother answered, "Not for worlds +would I take him with me into the outer life of nature. Oh, no! He +is safe--let him remain." + +"And you will return to those who still need your love and care?" + +"Yes, yes," said the mother, earnestly. "Let me go to them again. +Let me be their angel on earth." + +And she bent hastily to the heaven-born babe, kissing it with +tearful fondness. + +There came now another change. The mother was back again in her +chamber of sorrow; and undried tears were yet upon her cheeks. But +she was comforted and reconciled to the great affliction which had +been sent for good from heaven. + +Those who saw Mrs. Freeland in the first wild grief that followed +the loss of her babe, wondered at her serene composure when she came +again among them. And they wondered long, for she spoke not of this +Vision of Consolation. It was too sacred a thing to be revealed, to +any save the companion of her life. + + + + + + +THE STEP-MOTHER. + + + + + +THERE are few positions in social life of greater trial and +responsibility than that of a step-mother; and it too rarely happens +that the woman who assumes this position, is fitted for the right +discharge of its duties. In far too many cases, the widower is +accepted as a husband because he has a home, or a position to offer, +while the children are considered as a drawback in the bargain. But +it sometimes happens, that a true woman, from genuine affection, +unites herself with a widower, and does it with a loving regard for +his children, and with the purpose in her mind of being to them, as +far as in her power lies, a wise and tender mother. + +Such a woman was Agnes Green. She was in her thirty-second year when +Mr. Edward Arnold, a widower with four children, asked her to become +his wife. At twenty-two, Agnes had loved as only a true woman can +love. But the object of that love proved himself unworthy, and she +turned away from him. None knew how deep the heart-trial through +which she passed--none knew how intensely she suffered. In part, her +pale face and sobered brow witnessed, but only in part; for many +said she was cold, and some even used the word heartless, when they +spoke of her. From early womanhood a beautiful ideal of manly +excellence had filled her mind; and with this ideal she had invested +one who proved false to the high character. At once the green things +of her heart withered and for a long time its surface was a barren +waste. But the woman was yet strong in her. She must love something. +So she came forth from her heart-seclusion, and let her affections, +like a refreshing and invigorating stream, flow along many channels. +She was the faithful friend, the comforter in affliction, the wise +counsellor. More than once had she been approached with offers of +marriage, by men who saw the excellence of her character, and felt +that upon any dwelling, in which she was the presiding spirit, would +rest a blessing. But none of them were able to give to the even +pulses of her heart a quicker motion. + +At last she met Mr. Arnold. More than three years had passed since +the mother of his children was removed by death, and, since that +time, he had sought, with all a father's tenderness and devotion, to +fill her place to them. How imperfectly, none knew so well as +himself. As time went on, the want of a true woman's affectionate +care for his children was more and more felt. All were girls except +the youngest, their ages ranging from twelve downward, and this made +their mother's loss so much the more a calamity. Moreover, his +feeling of loneliness and want of companionship, so keenly felt in +the beginning, instead of diminishing, increased. + +Such was his state of mind when he met Agnes Green. The attraction +was mutual, though, at first, no thought of marriage came into the +mind of either. A second meeting stirred the placid waters in the +bosom of Agnes Green. Conscious of this, and fearful lest the +emotion she strove to repress might become apparent to other eyes, +she assumed a certain reserve, not seen in the beginning, which only +betrayed her secret, and at once interested Mr. Arnold, who now +commenced a close observation of her character. With every new +aspect in which this was presented, he saw something that awakened +admiration; something that drew his spirit nearer to her as one +congenial. And not the less close was her observation. + +When, at length, Mr. Arnold solicited the hand of Agnes Green, she +was ready to respond. Not, however, in a selfish and self-seeking +spirit; not in the narrow hope of obtaining some great good for +herself, was her response made, but in full view of her woman's +power to bless, and with an earnest, holy purpose in her heart, to +make her presence in his household indeed a blessing. + +"I must know your children better than I know them now, and they +must know me better than they do, before I take the place you wish +me to assume," was her reply to Mr. Arnold, when he spoke of an +early marriage. + +And so means were taken to bring her in frequent contact with the +children. The first time she met them intimately, was at the house +of a friend. Mary, the oldest girl, she found passionate and +self-willed; Florence, the second, good-natured, but careless and +slovenly; while Margaret, the third, was in ill health, and +exceedingly peevish. The little brother, Willy, was a beautiful, +affectionate child, but in consequence of injudicious management, +very badly spoiled. Take them altogether, they presented rather an +unpromising aspect; and it is no wonder that Agnes Green had many +misgivings at heart, when the new relation contemplated, and its +trials and responsibilities, were pictured to her mind. + +The earnestly-asked question by Mr. Arnold, after this first +interview,--"What do you think of my children?"--was not an easy one +to answer. A selfish, unscrupulous woman, who looked to the +connection as something to be particularly desired on her own +account, and who cared little about duties and responsibilities, +might have replied, "Oh, they are lovely children!" or, "I am +delighted with them!" Not so Agnes Green. She did not reply +immediately, but mused for some moments, considerably embarrassed, +and in doubt what to say. Mr. Arnold was gazing intently in her +face. + +"They do not seem to have made a favourable impression," said he, +speaking with some disappointment in his tone and manner. + +A feeble flush was visible in the face of Agnes Green, and also a +slight quiver of the lips as she answered: + +"There is too much at stake, as well in your case as my own, to +warrant even a shadow of concealment. You ask what I think of your +children, and you expect me to answer truly?" + +"I do," was the almost solemnly-spoken reply. + +"My first hurried, yet tolerably close, observation, has shown me, +in each, a groundwork of natural good." + +"As their father," replied Mr. Arnold, in some earnestness of +manner, "I know there is good in them,--much good. But they have +needed a mother's care." + +"When you have said that, how much has been expressed! If the garden +is not cultivated, and every weed carefully removed, how quickly is +it overrun with things noxious, and how feeble becomes the growth of +all things good and beautiful! It is just so with the mind. Neglect +it, and bad habits and evil propensities will assuredly be quickened +into being, and attain vigorous life." + +"My children are not perfect, I know, but--" + +Mr. Arnold seemed slightly hurt. Agnes Green interrupted him, by +saying, in a mild voice, as she laid her hand gently upon his arm: + +"Do not give my words a meaning beyond what they are designed to +convey. If I assume the place of a mother to your children, I take +upon myself all the responsibilities that the word 'mother' +involves. Is not this so?" + +"Thus I understand it." + +"My duty will be, not only to train these children for a happy and +useful life here, but for a happy and useful life hereafter." + +"It will." + +"It is no light thing, Mr. Arnold, to assume the place of a mother +to children who, for three years, have not known a mother's +affectionate care. I confess that my heart shrinks from the +responsibility, and I ask myself over and over again, 'Have I the +requisite wisdom, patience, and self-denial?'" + +"I believe you have," said Mr. Arnold, who was beginning to see more +deeply into the heart of Agnes. "And now," he added, "tell me what +you think of my children." + +"Mary has a quick temper, and is rather self-willed, if my +observation is correct, but she has a warm heart. Florence is +thoughtless, and untidy in her person, but possesses a happy temper. +Poor Maggy's ill health has, very naturally, soured her disposition. +Ah, what can you expect of a suffering child, who has no mother? +Your little Willy is a lovely boy, somewhat spoiled--who can wonder +at this?--but possessing just the qualities to win for him kindness +from every one." + +"I am sure you will love him," said Mr. Arnold, warmly. + +"I have no doubt on that subject," replied Agnes Green. "And now," +she added, "after what I have said, after showing you that I am +quick to see faults, once more give this matter earnest +consideration. If I become your wife, and take the place of a mother +to these children, I shall, at once,--wisely and lovingly, I +trust,--begin the work of removing from their minds every noxious +weed that neglect may have suffered to grow there. The task will be +no light one, and, in the beginning, there may be rebellion against +my authority. To be harsh or hard is not in my nature. But a sense +of duty will make me firm. Once more, I say, give this matter +serious consideration. It is not yet too late to pause." + +Mr. Arnold bent his head in deep reflection. For many minutes he sat +in silent self-communion, and sat thus so long, that the heart of +Agnes Green began to beat with a restricted motion, as if there was +a heavy pressure on her bosom. At last Mr. Arnold looked up, his +eyes suddenly brightening, and his face flushing with animation. +Grasping her hands with both of his, he said: + +"I have reflected, Agnes, and I do not hesitate. Yes, I will trust +these dear ones to your loving guardianship. I will place in your +hands their present and eternal welfare, confident that you will be +to them a true mother." + +And she was. As often as it could be done before the time appointed +for the marriage, she was brought in contact with the children. +Almost from the beginning, she was sorry to find in Mary, the oldest +child, a reserve of manner, and an evident dislike toward her, which +she in vain sought to overcome. The groundwork of this she did not +know. It had its origin in a remark made by the housekeeper, who, +having learned from some gossipping relative of Mr. Arnold that a +new wife was soon to be brought home, and, also, who this new wife +was to be, made an imprudent allusion to the fact, in a moment of +forgetfulness. + +"Your new mother will soon put you straight, my little lady," said +she, one day, to Mary, who had tried her beyond all patience. + +"My new mother! Who's she, pray?" was sharply demanded. + +"Miss Green," replied the unreflecting housekeeper. "Your father's +going to bring her home one of these days, and make her your mother, +and she'll put you all right--she'll take down your fine airs, my +lady!" + +"Will she?" And Mary, compressing her lips tightly, and drawing up +her slender form to its full height, looked the image of defiance. + +From that moment a strong dislike toward Miss Green ruled in the +mind of Mary; and she resolved, should the housekeeper's assertion +prove true, not only to set the new authority at defiance, but to +inspire, if possible, the other children with her own feelings. + +The marriage was celebrated at the house of Mr. Arnold, in the +presence of his own family and a few particular friends, Agnes +arriving at the hour appointed. + +After the ceremony, the children were brought forward, and presented +to their new mother. The youngest, as if strongly drawn by invisible +chords of affection, sprung into her lap, and clasped his little +arms lovingly about her neck. He seemed very happy. The others were +cold and distant, while Mary fixed her eyes upon the wife of her +father, with a look so full of dislike and rebellion, that no one +present was in any doubt as to how she regarded the new order of +things. + +Mr. Arnold was a good deal fretted by this unexpected conduct on the +part of Mary; and, forgetful of the occasion and its claims, spoke +to her with some sternness. He was recalled to self-possession by +the smile of his wife, and her gently-uttered remark, that reached +only his own ear: + +"Don't seem to notice it. Let it be my task to overcome prejudices." + +During the evening Mary did not soften in the least toward her +step-mother. On the next morning, when all met, for the first time, +at the breakfast table, the children gazed askance at the calm, +dignified woman who presided at the table, and seemed ill at ease. +On Mary's lip, and in her eye, was an expression so like contempt, +that it was with difficulty her father could refrain from ordering +her to her own room. + +The meal passed in some embarrassment. At its conclusion, Mr. Arnold +went into the parlour, and his wife, entering at once upon her +duties, accompanied the children to the nursery, to see for herself +that the two oldest were properly dressed for school. Mary, who had +preceded the rest, was already in contention with the housekeeper. +Just as Mrs. Arnold--so we must now call her--entered the room, Mary +exclaimed, sharply: + +"I don't care what you say, I'm going to wear this bonnet!" + +"What's the trouble?" inquired Mrs. Arnold, calmly. + +"Why, you see, ma'am," replied the housekeeper, "Mary is bent on +wearing her new, pink bonnet to school, and I tell her she mustn't +do it. Her old one is good enough." + +"Let me see the old one," said Mrs. Arnold. She spoke in a very +pleasant tone of voice. + +A neat, straw bonnet, with plain, unsoiled trimming, was brought +forth by the housekeeper, who remarked: + +"It's good enough to wear Sundays, for that matter." + +"I don't care if it is, I'm not going to wear it today. So don't +bother yourself any more about it." + +"Oh, yes, Mary, you will," said Mrs. Arnold, very kindly, yet +firmly. + +"No, I won't!" was the quick, resolute answer. And she gazed, +unflinchingly, into the face of her step-mother. + +"I'll call your father, my young lady! This is beyond all +endurance!" said the housekeeper, starting for the door. + +"Hannah!" The mild, even voice of Mrs. Arnold checked the excited +housekeeper. "Don't speak of it to her father,--I'm sure she doesn't +mean what she says. She'll think better of it in a moment." + +Mary was hardly prepared for this. Even while she stood with +unchanged exterior, she felt grateful to her step-mother for +intercepting the complaint about to be made to her father. She +expected some remark or remonstrance from Mrs. Arnold. But in this +she was mistaken. The latter, as if nothing unpleasant had occurred, +turned to Florence, and after a light examination of her dress, said +to the housekeeper: + +"This collar is too much soiled; won't you bring me another?" + +"Oh, it's clean enough," replied Florence, knitting her brows, and +affecting impatience. But, even as she spoke, the quick, yet gentle +hands of her step-mother had removed the collar from her neck. + +"Do you think it clean enough now?" said she, as she placed the +soiled collar beside a fresh one, which the housekeeper had brought. + +"It _is_ rather dirty," replied Florence, smiling. + +And now Mrs. Arnold examined other articles of her dress, and had +them changed, re-arranged her hair, and saw that her teeth were +properly brushed. While this was progressing, Mary stood a little +apart, a close observer of all that passed. One thing she did not +fail to remark, and that was the gentle firmness of her step-mother, +which was in strong contrast with the usual scolding, jerking, and +impatience of the housekeeper, as manifested on these occasions. + +By the time Florence was ready for school, Mary's state of mind had +undergone considerable change, and she half regretted the exhibition +of ill temper and insulting disobedience she had shown. Yet was she +in no way prepared to yield. To her surprise, after Florence was all +ready, her step-mother turned to her and said, in a mild, cheerful +voice, as if nothing unpleasant had occurred, + +"Have you a particular reason for wishing to wear your new bonnet, +this morning, Mary?" + +"Yes, ma'am, I have." The voice of Mary was changed considerably, +and her eyes fell beneath the mild, but penetrating, gaze of her +step-mother. + +"May I ask you the reason?" + +There was a pause of some moments; then Mary replied: + +"I promised one of the girls that I'd wear it. She asked me to. She +wanted to see it." + +"Did you tell Hannah this?" + +"No, ma'am. It wouldn't have been any use. She never hears to +reason." + +"But you'll find me very different, Mary," said Mrs. Arnold, +tenderly. "I shall ever be ready to hear reason." + +All this was so far from what Mary had anticipated, that her mind +was half bewildered. Her step-mother's clear sight penetrated to her +very thoughts. + +Taking her hand, she drew her gently to her side. An arm was then +placed lovingly around her. + +"My dear child,"--it would have been a hard heart, indeed, that +could have resisted the influence of that voice, "let us understand +each other in the beginning. You seem to look upon me as an enemy, +and yet I wish to be the very best friend you have in the world. I +have come here, not as an exacting and overbearing tyrant, but to +seek your good and promote your happiness in every possible way. I +will love you; and may I not expect love in return? Surely you will +not withhold that." + +As Mrs. Arnold spoke thus, she felt a slight quiver in the hand she +had taken in her own. She continued: + +"I cannot hope to fill the place of your dear mother, now in heaven. +Yet even as she loved you, would I love you, my child." The voice of +Mrs. Arnold had become unsteady, through excess of feeling. "As she +bore with your faults, I will bear with them; as she rejoiced over +every good affection born in your heart, so will I rejoice." + +Outraged by the conduct of Mary, the housekeeper had gone to Mr. +Arnold, whom she found in the parlour, and repeated to him, with a +colouring of her own, the insolent language his child had used. The +father hurried up stairs in a state of angry excitement. No little +surprised was he, on entering the nursery, to see Mary sobbing on +the breast of her step-mother, whose gentle hands were softly +pressed upon the child's temples, and whose low, soothing voice was +speaking to her words of comfort for the present, and cheerful hope +for the future. + +Unobserved by either, Mr. Arnold stood for a moment, and then softly +retired, with a gush of thankfulness in his heart, that he had found +for his children so true and good a mother. + +With Mary there was no more trouble. From that hour, she came wholly +under the influence of her step-mother, learning day by day, as she +knew her better, to love her with a more confiding tenderness. +Wonderful was the change produced on the children of Mr. Arnold in a +single year. They had, indeed, found a mother. + +It is painful to think how different would have been the result, had +the step-mother not been a true woman. Wise and good she was in her +sphere; loving and unselfish; and the fruit of her hand was sweet to +the taste, and beautiful to look upon. + +How few are like her! How few who assume the position of +step-mother,--a position requiring patience, long-suffering, and +unflinching self-denial,--are fitted for the duties they so lightly +take upon themselves! Is it any wonder their own lives are made, at +times, miserable, or that they mar, by passion or exacting tyranny, +the fair face of humanity, in the children committed to their care? +Such lose their reward. + +POWER OF KINDNESS. + +"TOM! Here!" said a father to his boy, speaking in tones of +authority. + +The lad was at play. He looked toward his father, but did not leave +his companions. + +"Do you hear me, sir?" spoke the father, more sternly than at first. + +With an unhappy face and reluctant step, the boy left his play and +approached his parent. + +"Why do you creep along at a snail's pace?" said the latter, +angrily. "Come quickly, I want you. When I speak, I look to be +obeyed instantly. Here, take this note to Mr. Smith, and see that +you don't go to sleep by the way. Now run as fast as you can go." + +The boy took the note. There was a cloud upon his brow. He moved +away, but at a slow pace. + +"You, Tom! Is that doing as I ordered? Is that going quickly?" +called the father, when he saw the boy creeping away. "If you are +not back in half an hour, I will punish you." + +But the words had but little effect. The boy's feelings were hurt by +the unkindness of the parent. He experienced a sense of injustice; a +consciousness that wrong had been done him. By nature he was like +his father, proud and stubborn; and these qualities of his mind were +aroused, and he indulged in them, fearless of consequences. + +"I never saw such a boy," said the father, speaking to a friend who +had observed the occurrence. "My words scarcely make an impression +on him." + +"Kind words often prove most powerful," said the friend. The father +looked surprised. + +"Kind words," continued the friend, "are like the gentle rain and +the refreshing dews; but harsh words bend and break like the angry +tempest. The first develop and strengthen good affections, while the +others sweep over the heart in devastation, and mar and deform all +they touch. Try him with kind words; they will prove a hundred fold +more powerful." + +The latter seemed hurt by the reproof; but it left him thoughtful. +An hour passed away ere his boy returned. At times during his +absence he was angry at the delay, and meditated the infliction of +punishment. But the words of remonstrance were in his ears, and he +resolved to obey them. At last the lad came slowly in with a cloudy +countenance, and reported the result of his errand. Having stayed +far beyond his time, he looked for punishment, and was prepared to +receive it with an angry defiance. To his surprise, after delivering +the message he had brought, his father, instead of angry reproof and +punishment, said kindly, "Very well, my son; you can go out to play +again." + +The boy went out, but was not happy. He had disobeyed and disobliged +his father, and the thought of this troubled him. Harsh words had +not clouded his mind nor aroused a spirit of reckless anger. Instead +of joining his companions, he went and sat down by himself, grieving +over his act of disobedience. As he thus sat, he heard his name +called. He listened. + +"Thomas, my son," said his father, kindly. The boy sprang to his +feet, and was almost instantly beside his parent. + +"Did you call, father?" + +"I did, my son. Will you take this package to Mr. Long for me?" + +There was no hesitation in the boy's manner. He looked pleased at +the thought of doing his father a service, and reached out his hand +for the package. On receiving it, he bounded away with a light step. + +"There is a power in kindness," said the father, as he sat musing, +after the lad's departure. And even while he sat musing over the +incident, the boy came back with a cheerful, happy face, and said-- + +"Can I do any thing else for you, father?" + +Yes, there is the power of kindness. The tempest of passion can only +subdue, constrain, and break; but in love and gentleness there is +the power of the summer rain, the dew, and the sunshine. + + + + + + +BEAR AND FORBEAR. + + + + + +"DON'T talk to me in such a serious strain, Aunt Hannah. One would +really think, from what you say, that James and I would quarrel +before we were married a month." + +"Not so soon as that, Maggy dear. Heaven grant that it may not come +so soon as that! But, depend upon it, child, if you do not make +'bear and forbear' your motto, many months will not have passed, +after your wedding-day, without the occurrence of some serious +misunderstanding between you and your husband." + +"If anybody else were to say that to me, Aunt Hannah, I would be +very angry." + +"For which you would be a very foolish girl. But it is generally the +way that good advice is taken, it being an article of which none +think they stand in need." + +"But what in the world can there be for James and I to have +differences about? I am sure that I love him most truly; and I am +sure he loves me as fondly as I love him. In mutual love there can +be no strife--no emulation, except in the performance of good +offices. Indeed, aunt, I think you are far too serious." + +"Over the bright sky bending above you, my dear niece, I would not, +for the world, bring a cloud even as light as the filmy, almost +viewless gossamer. But I know that clouds must hide its clear, calm, +passionless blue, either earlier or later in life. And what I say +now, is with the hope of giving you the prescience required to avoid +some of the storms that may threaten to break upon your head." + +"Neither cloud nor storm will ever come from that quarter of the sky +from which you seem to apprehend danger." + +"Not if both you and James learn to bear and forbear in your conduct +toward each other." + +"We cannot act otherwise." + +"Then there will be no danger." + +Margaret Percival expressed herself sincerely. She could not believe +that there was the slightest danger of a misunderstanding ever +occurring between her and James Canning, to whom she was shortly to +be married. The well-meant warning of her aunt, who had seen and +felt more in life than she yet had, went therefore for nothing. + +A month elapsed, and the young and lovely Maggy pledged her faith at +the altar. As the bride of Canning, she felt that she was the +happiest creature in the world. Before her was a path winding amid +green and flowery places, and lingering by the side of still waters; +while a sunny sky bent over all. + +James Canning was a young lawyer of some talent, and the possessor +of a good income independent of his profession. Like others, he had +his excellencies and his defects of character. Naturally, he was of +a proud, impatient spirit, and, from a child, had been restless +under dictation. As an offset to this, he was a man of strict +integrity, generous in his feelings, and possessed of a warm heart. +Aunt Hannah had known him since he was a boy, and understood his +character thoroughly; and it was this knowledge that caused her to +feel some concern for the future happiness of her niece, as well as +to speak to her timely words of caution. But these words were not +understood. + +"We've not quarrelled yet, Aunt Hannah, for all your fears," said +the young wife, three or four months after her marriage. + +"For which I am truly thankful," replied Aunt Hannah. "Still, I +would say now, as I did before, 'Bear and forbear.'" + +"That is, I must BEAR every thing and FORBEAR in every thing. I +hardly think that just, aunt. I should say that James ought to do a +little of this as well as me." + +"Yes, it is his duty as well as yours. But you should not think of +his duty to you, Maggy, only of your duty to him. That is the most +dangerous error into which you can fall, and one that will be almost +certain to produce unhappiness." + +"Would you have a wife never think of herself?" + +"The less she thinks of herself, perhaps, the better; for the more +she thinks of herself, the more she will love herself. But the more +she thinks of her husband, the more she will love him and seek to +make him happy. The natural result of this will be, that her husband +will feel the warmth and perceive the unselfishness of her love; +this will cause him to lean toward her with still greater +tenderness, and prompt him to yield to her what otherwise he might +have claimed for himself." + +"Then it is the wife who must act the generous, self-sacrificing +part?" + +"If I could speak as freely to James as I can speak to you, Maggy, I +should not fail to point out his duty of bearing and forbearing, as +plainly as I point out yours. All should be mutual, of course. But +this can never be, if one waits for the other. If you see your duty, +it is for you to do it, even if he should fail in his part." + +"I don't know about that, aunt. I think, as you said just now, that +all this is mutual." + +"I am sorry you cannot or will not understand me, Maggy," replied +Aunt Hannah. + +"I am sorry too, aunt; but I certainly do not. However, don't, pray, +give yourself any serious concern about James and me. I assure you +that we are getting along exceedingly well; and why this should not +continue is more than I can make out." + +"Well, dear, I trust that it may. There is no good reason why it +should not. You both have virtues enough to counterbalance all +defects of character." + +On the evening of that very day, as the young couple sat at the +tea-table, James Canning said, as his wife felt, rather unkindly, at +the same time that there was a slight contraction of his brow-- + +"You seem to be very much afraid of your sugar, Maggy. I never get a +cup of tea or coffee sweet enough for my taste." + +"You must have a sweet palate. I am sure it is like syrup, for I put +in several large lumps of sugar," replied Margaret, speaking in a +slightly offended tone. + +"Taste it, will you?" said Canning, pushing his cup across the table +with an impatient air. + +Margaret sipped a little from the spoon, and then, with an +expression of disgust in her face, said-- + +"Pah! I'd as lief drink so much molasses. But here's the sugar bowl. +Sweeten it to your taste." + +Canning helped himself to more sugar. As he did so his wife noticed +that his hand slightly trembled, and also that his brow was drawn +down, and his lips more arched than usual. + +"It's a little matter to get angry about," she thought to herself. +"Things are coming to a pretty pass, if I'm not to be allowed to +speak." + +The meal was finished in silence. Margaret felt in no humour to +break the oppressive reserve, although she would have been glad, +indeed, to have heard a pleasant word from the lips of her husband. +As for Canning, he permitted himself to brood over the words and +manner of his wife, until he became exceedingly fretted. They were +so unkind and so uncalled for. The evening passed unsocially. But +morning found them both in a better state of mind. Sleep has a +wonderful power in restoring to the mind its lost balance, and in +calming down our blinding passions. During the day, our thoughts and +feelings, according with our natural state, are more or less marked +by the disturbances that selfish purposes ever bring; but in sleep, +while the mind rests and our governing ends lie dormant, we come +into purer spiritual associations, and the soul, as well as the +body, receives a healthier tone. + +The morning, therefore, found Canning and his wife in better states +of mind. They were as kind and as affectionate as usual in their +words and conduct, although, when they sat down to the breakfast +table, they each experienced a slight feeling of coldness on being +reminded, too sensibly, of the unpleasant occurrence of the previous +evening. Margaret thought she would be sure to please her husband in +his coffee, and therefore put into his cup an extra quantity of +sugar, making it so very sweet that he could with difficulty swallow +it. But a too vivid recollection of what had taken place on the +night before, caused him to be silent about it. The second cup was +still sweeter. Canning managed to sip about one-third of this, but +his stomach refused to take any more. Noticing that her husband's +coffee, an article of which he was very fond, stood, nearly +cup-full, beside his plate, after he had finished his breakfast, +Margaret said-- + +"Didn't your coffee suit you?" + +"It was very good; only a little too sweet." + +"Then why didn't you say so?" she returned, in a tone that showed +her to be hurt at this reaction upon what she had said on the +previous evening. "Give me your cup, and let me pour you out some +more." + +"No, I thank you, Margaret, I don't care about any more." + +"Yes, you do. Come, give me your cup. I shall be hurt if you don't. +I'm sure there is no necessity for drinking the coffee, if not to +your taste. I don't know what's come over you, James." + +"And I'm sure I don't know what's come over you," Canning thought, +but did not say. He handed up his cup, as his wife desired. After +filling it with coffee, she handed it back, and then reached him the +sugar and cream. + +"Sweeten it to your own taste," she said, a little fretfully; "I'm +sure I tried to make it right." + +Canning did as he was desired, and then drank the coffee, but it was +with the utmost difficulty that he could do so. + +This was the first little cloud that darkened the sky of their +wedded life; And it did not fairly pass away for nearly a week. Nor +then did the days seem as bright as before. The cause was +slight--very slight--but how small a thing will sometimes make the +heart unhappy. How trifling are the occurrences upon which we often +lay, as upon a foundation, a superstructure of misery! Had the +earnestly urged precept of Aunt Hannah been regarded,--had the +lesson--"Bear and Forbear," been well learned and understood by +Margaret, this cloud had never dimmed the sun of their early love. A +pleasant word, in answer to her husband's momentary impatience, +would have made him sensible that he had not spoken with propriety, +and caused him to be more careful in future. As it was, both were +more circumspect, but it was from pride instead of love,--and more +to protect self than from a tender regard for each other. + +Only a month or two passed before there was another slight +collision. It made them both more unhappy than they were before. But +the breach was quickly healed. Still scars remained, and there were +times when the blood flowed into these cicatrices so feverishly as +to cause pain. Alas! wounds of the spirit do not close any more +perfectly than do wounds of the body--the scars remain forever. + +And thus the weeks and months went by. Neither of the married +partners had learned the true secret of happiness in their holy +relation,--neither of them felt the absolute necessity of bearing +and forbearing. Little inequalities of character, instead of being +smoothed off by gentle contact, were suffered to strike against each +other, and produce, sometimes, deep and painful wounds--healing, too +often, imperfectly; and too often remaining as festering sores. + +And yet Canning and his wife loved each other tenderly, and felt, +most of their time, that they were very happy. There were little +things in each that each wished the other would correct, but neither +felt the necessity of self-correction. + +The birth of a child drew them together at a time when there was +some danger of a serious rupture. Dear little Lilian, or "Lilly," as +she was called, was a chord of love to bind them in a closer union. + +"I love you more than ever, Maggy," Canning could not help saying to +his wife, as he kissed first her lips and then the soft cheek of his +child, a month after the babe was born. + +"And I am sure I love you better than I did, if that were possible," +returned Margaret, looking into her husband's face with a glance of +deep affection. + +As the babe grew older the parent's love for it continued to +increase, and, with this increase, their happiness. The chord which +had several times jarred harshly between them, slept in profound +peace. + +But, after this sweet calm, the surface of their feelings became +again ruffled. One little incongruity of character after another +showed itself in both, and there was no genuine spirit of +forbearance in either of them to meet and neutralize any sudden +effervescence of the mind. Lilly was not a year old, before they had +a serious misunderstanding that made them both unhappy for weeks. It +had its origin in a mere trifle, as such things usually have. They +had been taking tea and spending an evening with a friend, a widow +lady, for whom Mrs. Canning had a particular friendship. As there +was no gentleman present during the evening, the time passed rather +heavily to Canning, who could not get interested in the conversation +of the two ladies. Toward nine o'clock he began to feel restless and +impatient, and to wonder if his wife would not soon be thinking +about going home. But the time passed wearily until ten o'clock, and +still the conversation between the two ladies was continued with +undiminished interest, and, to all appearance, was likely to +continue until midnight. + +Canning at length became so restless and wearied that he said, +thinking that his wife did not probably know how late it was,-- + +"Come, Margaret, isn't it 'most time to go home?" + +Mrs. Canning merely looked into her husband's face, but made no +answer. + +More earnestly than ever the ladies now appeared to enter upon the +various themes for conversation that presented themselves, all of +which were very frivolous to the mind of Canning, who was +exceedingly chafed by his wife's indifference to his suggestion +about going home. He determined, however, to say no more if she sat +all night. Toward eleven o'clock she made a movement to depart, and +after lingering in the parlor before she went up stairs to put on +her things, and in the chamber after her things were on, and on the +stairs, in the passage, and at the door, she finally took the arm of +her husband and started for home. Not a word was uttered by either +until they had walked the distance of two squares, when Margaret, +unable to keep back what she wanted to say any longer, spoke thus,-- + +"James, I will thank you, another time, when we are spending an +evening out, not to suggest as publicly as you did to-night that it +is time to go home. It's very bad manners, let me tell you, in the +first place; and in the second place, I don't like it at all. I do +not wish people to think that I have to come and go just at your +beck or nod. I was about starting when you spoke to me, but sat an +hour longer just on purpose." + +The mind of Canning, already fretted, was set on fire by this. + +"You did?" he said. + +"Yes, I did. And I can tell you, once for all, that I wish this to +be the last time you speak to me as you did to-night." + +It was as much as the impatient spirit of Canning could do to keep +from replying-- + +"It's the last time I will ever speak to you at all," and then +leaving her in the street, with the intention of never seeing her +again. But suddenly he thought of Lilly, and the presence of the +child in his mind kept back the mad words from his lips. Not one +syllable did he utter during their walk home, although his wife said +much to irritate rather than soothe him. Nor did a sentence pass his +lips that night. + +At the breakfast table on the next morning, the husband and wife +were coldly polite to each other. When the meal was completed, +Canning retired to his office, and his wife sought her chamber to +weep. The latter half repented of what she had done, but her +contrition was not hearty enough to prompt to a confession of her +fault. The fact that she considered her husband to blame, stood in +the way of this. + +Reserve and coldness marked the intercourse of the unhappy couple +for several weeks; and then the clouds began to break, and there +were occasional glimpses of sunshine. + +But, before there was a clear sky, some trifling occurrence put them +again at variance. From this time, unhappily, one circumstance after +another transpired to fret them with each other, and to separate, +rather than unite them. Daily, Canning grew more cold and reserved, +and his wife met him in a like uncompromising spirit. Even their +lovely child--their darling blue-eyed Lilly--with her sweet little +voice and smiling face, could not soften their hearts toward each +other. + +To add fuel to this rapidly enkindling fire of discord, was the fact +that Mrs. Canning was on particularly intimate terms with the wife +of a man toward whom her husband entertained a settled and +well-grounded dislike, and visited her more frequently than she did +any one of her friends. He did not interfere with her in the matter, +but it annoyed him to hear her speak, occasionally, of meeting Mr. +Richards at his house, and repeating the polite language he used to +her, when he detested the character of Richards, and had not spoken +to him for more than a year. + +One day Mrs. Canning expressed a wish to go in the evening to a +party. + +"It will be impossible for me to go to-night, or, indeed, this +week," Canning said. "I am engaged in a very important case, which +will come up for trial on Friday, and it will take all my time +properly to prepare for it. I shall be engaged every evening, and +perhaps late every night." + +Mrs. Canning looked disappointed, and said she thought he might +spare her one evening. + +"You know I would do so, Margaret, with pleasure," he replied, "but +the case is one involving too much to be endangered by any +consideration. Next week we will go to a party." + +When Canning came home to tea, he found his wife dressed to go out. + +"I'm going to the party, for all you can't go with me," said she. + +"Indeed! With whom are you going?" + +"Mrs. Richards came in to see me after dinner, when I told her how +much disappointed I was about not being able to go to the party +to-night. She said that she and her husband were going, and that it +would give them great pleasure to call for me. Am I not fortunate?" + +"But you are not going with Mr. and Mrs. Richards?" + +"Indeed I am! Why not?" + +"Margaret! You must not go." + +"Must not, indeed! You speak in quite a tone of authority, Mr. +Canning;" and the wife drew herself up haughtily. + +"Authority, or no authority, Margaret"--Canning now spoke calmly, +but his lips were pale--"I will never consent that my wife shall be +seen in a public assembly with Richards. You know my opinion of the +man." + +"I know you are prejudiced against him, though I believe unjustly." + +"Madness!" exclaimed Canning, thrown off his guard. "And this from +you?" + +"I don't see that you have any cause for getting into a passion, Mr. +Canning," said his wife, with provoking coolness. "And, I must say, +that you interfere with my freedom rather more than a husband has +any right to do. But, to cut this matter short, let me tell you, +once for all, that I am going to the assembly to-night with Mr. and +Mrs. Richards. Having promised to do so, I mean to keep my promise." + +"Margaret, I positively forbid your going!" said Canning, in much +excitement. + +"I deny your right to command me! In consenting to become your wife, +I did not make myself your slave; although it is clear from this, +and other things that have occurred since our marriage, that you +consider me as occupying that position." + +"Then it is your intention to go with this man?" said Canning, again +speaking in a calm but deep voice. + +"Certainly it is." + +"Very well. I will not make any threat of what I will do, Margaret. +But this I can assure you, that lightly as you may think of this +matter, if persevered in, it will cause you more sorrow than you +have ever known. Go! Go against my wish--against my command, if you +will have it so--and when you feel the consequence, lay the blame +upon no one but yourself. And now let me say to you, Margaret, that +your conduct as a wife has tended rather to estrange your husband's +heart from you than to win his love. I say this now, because I may +not have--" + +"James! It is folly for you to talk to me after that fashion," +exclaimed Margaret, breaking in upon him. "I--" + +But before she could finish the sentence, Canning had left the room, +closing the door hard after him. + +Just an hour from this time, Mr. and Mrs. Richards called in their +carriage for Mrs. Canning, who went with them to the assembly. An +hour was a long period for reflection, and ought to have afforded +sufficient time for the wife of Canning to come to a wiser +determination than that from which she acted. + +Not half a dozen revolutions of the carriage wheels had been made, +however, before Margaret repented of what she had done. But it was +now too late. The pleasure of the entertainment passed before her, +but it found no response in her breast. She saw little but the pale, +compressed lip and knit brow of her husband, and heard little but +his word of disapproval. Oh! how she did long for the confused +pageant that was moving before her, and the discordant mingling of +voices and instruments, to pass away, that she might return and tell +him that she repented of all that she had done. + +At last the assembly broke up, and she was free to go back again to +the home that had not, alas! proved as pleasant a spot to her as her +imagination had once pictured it. + +"And that it has not been so," she murmured to herself, "he has not +been all to blame." + +On being left at the door, Mrs. Canning rang the bell impatiently. +As soon as admitted, she flew up stairs to meet her husband, +intending to confess her error, and beg him earnestly to forgive her +for having acted so directly in opposition to his wishes. But she +did not find him in the chamber. Throwing off her bonnet and shawl, +she went down into the parlours, but found all dark there. + +"Where is Mr. Canning?" she asked of a servant. + +"He went away about ten o'clock, and has not returned yet," was +replied. + +This intelligence caused Mrs. Canning to lean hard on the +stair-railing for support. She felt in an instant weak almost as an +infant. + +Without further question, she went back to her chamber, and looked +about fearfully on bureaus and tables for a letter addressed to her +in her husband's handwriting. But nothing of this met her eye. Then +she sat down to await her husband's return. But she waited long. +Daylight found her an anxious watcher; he was still away. + +The anguish of mind experienced during that unhappy night, it would +be vain for us to attempt to picture. In the morning, on descending +to the parlour, she found on one of the pier-tables a letter bearing +her name. She broke the seal tremblingly. It did not contain many +words, but they fell upon her heart with an icy coldness. + +"MARGARET: Your conduct to-night has decided me to separate myself +from a woman who I feel neither truly loves nor respects me. The +issue which I have for some time dreaded has come. It is better for +us to part than to live in open discord. I shall arrange every thing +for your comfortable support, and then leave the city, perhaps for +ever. You need not tell our child that her father lives. I would +rather she would think him dead than at variance with her mother. + +'JAMES CANNING.'" + +These were the words. Their effect was paralyzing. Mrs. Canning had +presence of mind enough to crush the fatal letter into her bosom, +and strength enough to take her back to her chamber. When there, she +sunk powerless upon her bed, and remained throughout the day too +weak in both body and mind to rise or think. She could do little +else but feel. + +Five years from the day of that unhappy separation, we find Mrs. +Canning in the unobtrusive home of Aunt Hannah, who took the almost +heart-broken wife into the bosom of her own family, after the +passage of nearly a year had made her almost hopeless of ever seeing +him again. No one knew where he was. Only once did Margaret hear +from him, and that was on the third day after he had parted from +her, when he appeared in the court-room, and made a most powerful +argument in favour of the client whose important case had prevented +his going with his wife to the assembly. After that he disappeared, +and no one could tell aught of him. A liberal annuity had been +settled upon his wife, and the necessary papers to enable her to +claim it transmitted to her under a blank envelope. + +Five years had changed Margaret sadly. The high-spirited, blooming, +happy woman, was now a meek, quiet, pale-faced sufferer. Lilly had +grown finely, all unconscious of her mother's suffering, and was a +very beautiful child. She attracted the notice of everyone. + +"Aunt Hannah," said Margaret, one day after this long, long period +of suffering, "I have what you will call a strange idea in my mind. +It has been visiting me for weeks, and now I feel much inclined to +act from its dictates. You know that Mr. and Mrs. Edwards are going +to Paris next month. Ever since Mrs. Edwards mentioned it to me, I +have felt a desire to go with them. I don't know why, but so it is. +I think it would do me good to go to Paris and spend a few months +there. When a young girl, I always had a great desire to see London +and Paris; and this desire is again in my mind." + +"I would go, then," said Aunt Hannah, who thought favourably of any +thing likely to divert the mind of her niece from the brooding +melancholy in which it was shrouded. + +To Paris Mrs. Canning went, accompanied by her little daughter, who +was the favourite of every one on board the steamer in which they +sailed. In this gray city, however, she did not attain as much +relief of mind as she had anticipated. She found it almost +impossible to take interest in any thing, and soon began to long for +the time to come when she could go back to the home and heart of her +good Aunt Hannah. The greatest pleasure she took was in going with +Lilly to the Gardens of the Tuileries, and amid the crowd there to +feel alone with nature in some of her most beautiful aspects. Lilly +was always delighted to get there, and never failed to bring +something in her pocket for the pure white swans that floated so +gracefully in the marble basin into which the water dashed cool and +sparkling from beautiful fountains. + +One day, while the child was playing at a short distance from her +mother, a man seated beside a bronze statue, over which drooped a +large orange tree, fixed his eyes upon her admiringly, as hundreds +of others had done. Presently she came up and stood close to him, +looking up into the face of the statue. The man said something to +her in French, but Lilly only smiled and shook her head. + +"What is your name, dear?" he then said in English. + +"Lilly," replied the child. + +A quick change passed over the man's face. With much more interest +in his voice, he said-- + +"Where do you live? In London?" + +"Oh no, sir; I live in America." + +"What is your name besides Lilly?" + +"Lilly Canning, sir." + +The man now became strongly agitated. But he contended vigorously +with his feelings. + +"Where is your mother, dear?" he asked, taking her hand as he spoke, +and gently pressing it between his own. + +"She is here, sir," returned Lilly, looking inquiringly into the +man's face. + +"Here!" + +"Yes, sir. We come here every day." + +"Where is your mother now?" + +"Just on the other side of the fountain. You can't see her for the +lime-tree." + +"Is your father here, also?" continued the man. + +"No, I don't know where my father is." "Is he dead?" "No, sir; +mother says he is not dead, and that she hopes he will come home +soon. Oh! I wish he would come home. We would all love him so!" + +The man rose up quickly, and turning from the child, walked +hurriedly away. Lilly looked after him for a moment or two, and then +ran back to her mother. + +On the next day Lilly saw the same man sitting under the bronze +statue. He beckoned to her, and she went to him. + +"How long have you been in Paris, dear?" he asked. + +"A good many weeks," she replied. + +"Are you going to stay much longer?" + +"I don't know. But mother wants to go home." + +"Do you like to live in Paris?" + +"No, sir. I would rather live at home with mother and Aunt Hannah." + +"You live with Aunt Hannah, then?" + +"Yes, sir. Do you know Aunt Hannah?" and the child looked up +wonderingly into the man's face. + +"I used to know her," he replied. + +Just then Lilly heard her mother calling her, and she started and +ran away in the direction from which the voice came. The man's face +grew slightly pale, and he was evidently much agitated. As he had +done on the evening previous, he rose up hastily and walked away. +But in a short time he returned, and appeared to be carefully +looking about for some one. At length he caught sight of Lilly's +mother. She was sitting with her eyes upon the ground, the child +leaning upon her, and looking into her face, which he saw was thin +and pale, and overspread with a hue of sadness. Only for a few +moments did he thus gaze upon her, and then he turned and walked +hurriedly from the garden. + +Mrs. Canning sat alone with her child that evening, in the +handsomely-furnished apartments she had hired on arriving in Paris. + +"He told you that he knew Aunt Hannah?" she said, rousing up from a +state of deep thought. + +"Yes, ma. He said he used to know her." + +"I wonder"-- + +A servant opened the door, and said that a gentleman wished to see +Mrs. Canning. + +"Tell him to walk in," the mother of Lilly had just power to say. In +breathless suspense she waited for the space of a few seconds, when +the man who had spoken to Lilly in the Gardens of the Tuileries +entered and closed the door after him. + +Mrs. Canning raised her eyes to his face. It was her husband! She +did not cry out nor spring forward. She had not the power to do +either. + +"That's him now, mother!" exclaimed Lilly. + +"It's your father!" said Mrs. Canning, in a deeply breathed whisper. + +The child sprung toward him with a quick bound and was instantly +clasped in his arms. + +"Lilly, dear Lilly!" he sobbed, pressing his lips upon her brow and +cheeks. "Yes! I am your father!" + +The wife and mother sat motionless and tearless with her eyes fixed +upon the face of her husband. After a few passionate embraces, +Canning drew the child's arms from about his neck, and setting her +down upon the floor, advanced slowly toward his wife. Her eyes were +still tearless, but large drops were rolling over his face. + +"Margaret!" he said, uttering her name with great tenderness. + +He was by her side in time to receive her upon his bosom, as she +sunk forward in a wild passion of tears. + +All was reconciled. The desolate hearts were again peopled with +living affections. The arid waste smiled in greenness and beauty. + +In their old home, bound by threefold cords of love, they now think +only of the past as a severe lesson by which they have been taught +the heavenly virtue of forbearance. Five years of intense suffering +changed them both, and left marks that after years can never efface. +But selfish impatience and pride were all subdued, and their hearts +melted into each other, until they became almost like one heart. +Those who meet them now, and observe the deep, but unobtrusive +affection with which they regard each other, would never imagine, +did they not know their previous history, that love, during one +period of that married life, had been so long and so totally +eclipsed. + + + + + + +THE SOCIAL SERPENT. + + + + + +A LADY, whom we will call Mrs. Harding, touched with the destitute +condition of a poor, sick widow, who had three small children, +determined, from an impulse of true humanity, to awaken, if +possible, in the minds of some friends and neighbours, an interest +in her favour. She made a few calls, one morning, with this end in +view, and was gratified to find that her appeal made a favourable +impression. The first lady whom she saw, a Mrs. Miller, promised to +select from her own and children's wardrobe a number of cast-off +garments for the widow, and to aid her in other respects, at the +same time asking Mrs. Harding to call in on the next day, when she +would be able to let her know what she could do. + +Pleased with her reception, and encouraged to seek further aid for +the widow, Mrs. Harding withdrew and took her way to the house of +another acquaintance. Scarcely had she left, when a lady, named +Little, dropped in to see Mrs. Miller. To her the latter said, soon +after her entrance: + +"I've been very much interested in the case of a poor widow this +morning. She is sick, with three little children dependent on her, +and destitute of almost every thing. Mrs. Harding was telling me +about it." + +"Mrs. Harding!" The visitor's countenance changed, and she looked +unutterable things. "I wonder!" she added, in well assumed surprise, +and then was silent. + +"What's the matter with Mrs. Harding?" asked Mrs. Miller. + +"I should think," said Mrs. Little, "that she was in nice business, +running around, gossiping about indigent widows, when some of her +own relatives are so poor they can hardly keep soul and body +together." + +"Is this really so?" asked Mrs. Miller. + +"Certainly it is. I had it from my chambermaid, whose sister is cook +next door to where a cousin of Mrs. Harding's lives, and she says +they are, one half of their time, she really believes, in a starving +condition." + +"But does Mrs. Harding know this?" + +"She ought to know it, for she goes there sometimes, I hear." + +"She didn't come merely to gossip about the poor widow," said Mrs. +Miller. "Her errand was to obtain something to relieve her +necessities." + +"Did you give her any thing?" asked Mrs. Little. + +"No; but I told her to call and see me to-morrow, when I would have +something for her." + +"Do you want to know my opinion of this matter?" said Mrs. Little, +drawing herself up, and assuming a very important air. + +"What is your opinion?" + +"Why, that there is no poor widow in the case at all." + +"Mrs. Little!" + +"You needn't look surprised. I'm in earnest. I never had much faith +in Mrs. Harding, at the best." + +"I _am_ surprised. If there was no poor widow in the case, what did +she want with charity?" + +"She has poor relations of her own, for whom, I suppose, she's +ashamed to beg. So you see my meaning now." + +"You surely wrong her." + +"Don't believe a word of it. At any rate, take my advice, and be the +almoner of your own bounty. When Mrs. Harding comes again, ask her +the name of this poor widow, and where she resides. If she gives you +a name and residence, go and see for yourself." + +"I will act on your suggestion," said Mrs. Miller. "Though I can +hardly make up my mind to think so meanly of Mrs. Harding; still, +from the impression your words produce, I deem it only prudent to +be, as you term it, the almoner of my own bounty." + +The next lady upon whom Mrs. Harding called, was a Mrs. Johns, and +in her mind she succeeded in also awakening an interest for the poor +widow. + +"Call and see me to-morrow," said Mrs. Johns, "and I'll have +something for you." + +Not long after Mrs. Harding's departure, Mrs. Little called, in her +round of gossipping visits, and to her Mrs. Johns mentioned the case +of the poor widow, that matter being, for the time, uppermost in her +thoughts. + +"Mrs. Harding's poor widow, I suppose," said Mrs. Little, in a +half-sneering, half-malicious tone of voice. + +Mrs. Johns looked surprised, as a matter of course. + +"What do you mean?" she asked. + +"Oh, nothing, much. Only I've heard of this destitute widow before." + +"You have?" + +"Yes, and between ourselves,"--the voice of Mrs. Little became low +and confidential--"it's the opinion of Mrs. Miller and myself, that +there is no poor widow in the case." + +"Mrs. Little! You astonish me! No poor widow in the case! I can't +understand this. Mrs. Harding was very clear in her statement. She +described the widow's condition, and very much excited my +sympathies. What object can she have in view?" + +"Mrs. Miller and I think," said the visitor, "and with good reason, +that this poor widow is only put forward as a cover." + +"As a cover to what?" + +"To some charities that she has reasons of her own for not wishing +to make public." + +"Still in the dark. Speak out more plainly." + +"Plainly, then, Mrs. Johns, we have good reasons for believing, Mrs. +Miller and I, that she is begging for some of her own poor +relations. Mrs. Miller is going to see if she can find the widow." + +"Indeed! That's another matter altogether. I promised to do +something in the case, but shall now decline. I couldn't have +believed such a thing of Mrs. Harding! But so it is; you never know +people until you find them out." + +"No, indeed, Mrs. Johns. You never spoke a truer word in your life," +replied Mrs. Little, emphatically. + +On the day following, after seeing the poor widow, ministering to +some of her immediate wants, and encouraging her to expect more +substantial relief, Mrs. Harding called, as she had promised to do, +on Mrs. Miller. A little to her surprise, that lady received her +with unusual coldness; and yet, plainly, with an effort to seem +friendly. + +"You have called about the poor widow you spoke of yesterday?" said +Mrs. Miller. + +"Such is the object of my present visit." + +"What is her name?" + +"Mrs. Aitken." + +"Where did you say she lived?" + +The residence was promptly given. + +"I've been thinking," said Mrs. Miller, slightly colouring, and with +some embarrassment, "that I would call in and see this poor woman +myself." + +"I wish you would," was the earnest reply of Mrs. Harding. "I am +sure, if you do so, all your sympathies will be excited in her +favour." + +As Mrs. Harding said this, she arose, and with a manner that showed +her feelings to be hurt, as well as mortified, bade Mrs. Miller a +formal good-morning, and retired. Her next call was upon Mrs. Johns. +Much to her surprise, her reception here was quite as cold; in fact, +so cold, that she did not even refer to the object of her visit, and +Mrs. Johns let her go away without calling attention to it herself. +So affected was she by the singular, and to her unaccountable change +in the manner of these ladies, that Mrs. Harding had no heart to +call upon two others, who had promised to do something for the +widow, but went home disappointed, and suffering from a troubled and +depressed state of feeling. + +So far as worldly goods were concerned, Mrs. Harding could not boast +very large possessions. She was herself a widow; and her income, +while it sufficed, with economy, to supply the moderate wants of her +family, left her but little for luxuries, the gratification of +taste, or the pleasures of benevolence. Quick to feel the wants of +the needy, no instance of destitution came under her observation +that she did not make some effort toward procuring relief. + +What now was to be done? She had excited the sick woman's hopes--had +promised that her immediate wants, and those of her children, should +be supplied. From her own means, without great self-denial, this +could not be effected. True, Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Johns had both +promised to call upon the poor widow, and, in person, administer +relief. But Mrs. Harding did not place much reliance on this; for +something in the manner of both ladies impressed her with the idea +that their promise merely covered a wish to recede from their first +benevolent intentions. + +"Something must be done" said she, musingly. And then she set +herself earnestly to the work of devising ways and means. Where +there is a will there is a way. No saying was ever truer than this. + +It was, perhaps, a week later, that Mrs. Little called again upon +Mrs. Miller. + +"What of Mrs. Harding's poor widow?" said the former, after some +ill-natured gossip about a mutual friend. + +"Oh, I declare! I've never thought of the woman since," replied Mrs. +Miller, in a tone of self-condemnation. "And I promised Mrs. Harding +that I would see her. I really blame myself." + +"No great harm done, I presume," said Mrs. Little. + +"I don't know about that. I'm hardly prepared to think so meanly of +Mrs. Harding as you do. At any rate, I'm going this day to redeem my +promise." + +"What promise?" + +"The promise I made Mrs. Harding, that I would see the woman she +spoke of, and relieve her, if in need." + +"You'll have all your trouble for nothing." + +"No matter, I'll clear my conscience, and that is something. Come, +wont you go with me?" + +Mrs. Little declined the invitation at first; but, strongly urged by +Mrs. Miller, she finally consented. So the two ladies forthwith took +their way toward the neighbourhood in which Mrs. Harding had said +the needy woman lived. They were within a few doors of the house, +which had been very minutely described by Mrs. Harding, when they +met Mrs. Johns. + +"Ah!" said the latter, with animation, "just the person, of all +others, I most wished to see. How could you, Mrs. Miller, so greatly +wrong Mrs. Harding?" + +"Me wrong her, Mrs. Johns? I don't understand you." And Mrs. Miller +looked considerably astonished. + +"Mrs. Little informed me that you had good reasons for believing all +this story about a poor widow to be a mere subterfuge, got up to +cover some doings of her own that Mrs. Harding was ashamed to bring +to the light." + +"Mrs. Little!" There was profound astonishment in the tones of Mrs. +Miller, and her eyes had in them such an indignant light, as she +fixed them upon her companion, that the latter quailed under her +gaze. + +"Acting from this impression," resumed Mrs. Johns, "I declined +placing at her disposal the means of relief promised; but, instead, +told her that I would myself see the needy person for whom she asked +aid. This I have, until now, neglected to do; and this neglect, or +indifference I might rather call it, has arisen from a belief that +there was no poor widow in the case. Wrong has been done, Mrs. +Miller, great wrong! How could you have imagined such baseness of +Mrs. Harding?" + +"And there _is_ a poor, sick widow, in great need?" said Mrs. +Miller, now speaking calmly, and with regained self-possession. + +"There is a sick widow," replied Mrs. Johns, "but not at present in +great need. Mrs. Harding has supplied immediate wants." + +"Well, Mrs. Little!" Mrs. Miller again turned her eyes, searchingly, +upon her companion. + +"I--I--thought so. It was my impression--I had good reason +for--I--I" stammered Mrs. Little. + +"It should have been enough for you to check a benevolent impulse in +my case by your unfounded suggestions. Not content with this, +however, you must use my name in still further spreading your unjust +suspicions, and actually make me the author of charges against a +noble-minded woman, which had their origin in your own evil +thoughts." + +"I will not bear such language!" said the offended Mrs. Little, +indignantly; and turning with an angry toss of the head, she left +the ladies to their own reflections. + +"I am taught one good lesson from this circumstance," said Mrs. +Miller, as they walked away; "and that is, never to even seem to +have my good opinion of another affected by the allegations and +surmises of a social gossip. Such people always suppose the worst, +and readily pervert the most unselfish actions into moral offences. +The harm they do is incalculable." + +"And, as in the present case," remarked Mrs. Johns, "they make +others responsible for their base suggestions. Had Mrs. Little not +coupled your name with the implied charges against Mrs. Harding, my +mind would not have been poisoned against her." + +"While not a breath of suspicion had ever crossed mine until Mrs. +Little came in, and wantonly intercepted the stream of benevolence +about to flow forth to a needy, and, I doubt not, most worthy +object." + +"We have made of her an enemy. At least you have; for you spoke to +her with smarting plainness," said Mrs. Johns. + +"Better the enmity of such than their friendship," replied Mrs. +Miller. "Their words of detraction cannot harm so much as the poison +of evil thoughts toward others, which they ever seek to infuse. Your +dearest friend is not safe from them, if she be pure as an angel. +Let her name but pass your lips, and instantly it is breathed upon, +and the spotless surface grows dim." + + + + + + +THE YOUNG MOTHER. + + + + + +[The following brief passage is from our story, "The Wife," in the +series "Maiden," "Wife," and "Mother."] + +A NEW chord vibrated in Anna's heart, and the music was sweeter far +in her spirit's ear, than any before heard. She was changed. +Suddenly she felt that she was a new creature. Her breast was filled +with deeper, purer, and tenderer emotions. She was a mother! A babe +had been born to her! A sweet pledge of love lay nestling by her +side, and drawing its life from her bosom. She was happy--how happy +cannot be told. A mother only can _feel_ how happy she was on first +realizing the new emotions that thrill in a young mother's heart. + +As health gradually returned to her exhausted frame, and friends +gathered around her with warm congratulations, Anna felt that she +was indeed beginning a new life. Every hour her soul seemed to +enlarge, and her mind to be filled with higher and purer thoughts. +Before the birth of her babe, she suffered much more than even her +husband had supposed, both in body and mind. Her spirits were often +so depressed that it required her utmost effort to receive him with +her accustomed cheerfulness at each period of his loved return. But, +living as she did in the ever active endeavour to bless others, she +strove daily and hourly to rise above every infirmity. Now, all was +peace within--holy peace. There came a Sabbath rest of deep, +interior joy, that was sweet, unutterably sweet. Body and spirit +entered into this rest. No wind ruffled the still, bright waters of +her life. She was the same, and yet not the same. + +"I cannot tell you, dear husband! how happy I am," she said, a few +weeks after her babe was born. "Nor can I describe the different +emotions that pervade my heart. When our babe is in my arms, and +especially when it lies at my bosom, it seems as if angels were near +me." + +"And angels are near you," replied her husband. "Angels love +innocence, and especially infants, that are forms of innocence. They +are present with them, and the mother shares the blessed company, +for she loves her babe with an unselfish love, and this the angels +can perceive, and, through it, affect her with a measure of their +own happiness. + +"How delightful the thought! Above all, is the mother blessed. She +suffers much--her burden is hard to bear--the night is dark--but the +morning that opens upon her is the brightest a human soul knows +during its earthly pilgrimage. And no wonder. She has performed the +highest and holiest of offices--she has given birth to an immortal +being--and her reward is with her." + +Hartley had loved his wife truly, deeply, tenderly. Every day, he +saw more and more in her to admire. There was an order, consistency, +and harmony in her character as a wife, that won his admiration. In +the few months they had passed since their marriage, she had filled +her place to him, perfectly. Without seeming to reflect how she +should regulate her conduct toward her husband, in every act of her +wedded life she had displayed true wisdom, united with unvarying +love. All this caused his heart to unite itself more and more +closely with hers. But now, that she held to him the twofold +relation of a wife and mother, his love was increased fourfold. He +thought of her, and looked upon her, with increased tenderness. + +"Mine, by a double tie," he said, with a full realization of his +words, when he first pressed his lips upon the brow of his child, +and then, with a fervour unfelt before, upon the lips of his wife. +"As you have been a good wife, you will be a good mother," he added, +with emotion. + +THE GENTLE WARNING. + +"Do not accept the offer, Florence," said her friend Carlotti. + +A shade of disappointment went over the face of the fair girl, who +had just communicated the pleasing fact that she had received an +offer of marriage. + +"You cannot be happy as the wife of Herman Leland," added Carlotti. + +"How little do you know this heart," returned the fond girl. + +"It is because I know it so well that I say what I do. If your love +be poured out for Herman Leland, Florence, it will be as water on +the desert sand." + +"Why do you affirm this, Carlotti?" + +"A woman can truly love only the moral virtue of her husband." + +"I do not clearly understand you." + +"It is only genuine goodness of heart that conjoins in marriage." + +"Well?" + +"Just so far as selfish and evil affections find a place in the mind +of either the husband or wife, will be the ratio of unhappiness in +the marriage state. If there be any truth in morals, or in the +doctrine of affinities, be assured that this is so. It is neither +intellectual attainments nor personal attractions that make +happiness in marriage. Far, very far from it. All depends upon the +quality of the affections. If these be good, happiness will come as +a natural consequence; but if they be evil, misery will inevitably +follow so close a union." + +"Then you affirm that Mr. Leland is an evil-minded man?" + +"Neither of us know him well enough to say this positively, +Florence. Judging from what little I have seen, I should call him a +selfish man; and no selfish man can be a good man, for selfishness +is the basis of all evil." + +"I am afraid you are prejudiced against him, Carlotti." + +"If I have had any prejudices in the matter, Florence, they have +been in his favour. Well-educated, refined in his manners, and +variously accomplished, he creates, on nearly all minds, a +favourable impression. Such an impression did I at first feel. But +the closer I drew near to him, the less satisfied did I feel with my +first judgment. On at least two occasions, I have heard him speak +lightly of religion." + +"Of mere cant and sectarianism, perhaps." + +"No; he once spoke lightly of a mother for making it a point to +require all her children to repeat their prayers before going to +bed. On another occasion, he alluded to one of the sacraments of the +church in a way that produced an inward shudder. From that time, I +have looked at him with eyes from which the scales have been +removed; and the more I seek to penetrate beneath the surface of his +character, the more do I see what repels me. Florence, dear, let me +urge you, as one who tenderly loves you and earnestly desires to see +you happy, to weigh the matter well ere you assent to this +proposal." + +"I'm afraid, Carlotti," said Florence in reply to this, "that you +have let small causes influence your feelings toward Mr. Leland. We +all speak lightly, at times, even on subjects regarded as +sacred--not because we despise them, but from casual +thoughtlessness. It was, no doubt, so with Mr. Leland on the +occasion to which you refer." + +"We are rarely mistaken, Florence," replied Carlotti, "as to the +real sentiment involved in the words used by those with whom we +converse. Words are the expressions of thoughts, and these the form +of affections. What a man really feels in reference to any subject, +will generally appear in the tones of his voice, no matter whether +he speak lightly or seriously. Depend upon it, this is so. It was +the manner in which Leland spoke that satisfied me as to his real +feelings, more than the language he used. Judging him in this way, I +am well convinced that, in his heart, he despises religion; and no +man who does this, can possibly make a right-minded woman happy." + +The gentle warning of Carlotti was not wholly lost on Florence. She +had great confidence in the judgment of her friend, and did not feel +that it would be right to wholly disregard her admonitions. + +"What answer can I make?" said she, drawing a long sigh. "He urges +an early response to his suit." + +"Duty to yourself, Florence, demands a time for consideration. +Marriage is a thing of too vital moment to be decided upon +hurriedly. Say to him in reply, that his offer is unexpected, and +that you cannot give an immediate answer, but will do so at the +earliest possible moment." + +"So cold a response may offend him." + +"If it does, then he will exhibit a weakness of character unfitting +him to become the husband of a sensible woman. If he be really +attracted by your good qualities, he will esteem you the more for +this act of prudence. He will understand that you set a high regard +upon the marriage relation, and do not mean to enter into it unless +you know well the person to whom you commit your happiness in this +world, and, in all probability, the next." + +"A coldly calculating spirit, Carlotti, that nicely weighs and +balances the merits and defects of one beloved, is, in my view, +hardly consonant with true happiness in marriage. All have defects +of character. All are born with evil inclinations of one kind or +another. Love seeks only for good in the object of affection. +Affinities of this kind are almost spontaneous in their birth. We +love more from impulse than from any clear appreciation of +character--perceiving good qualities by a kind of instinct rather +than searching for them." + +"A doctrine, Florence," said Carlotti, "that has produced untold +misery in the married life. As I said at first, it is only the moral +virtue of her husband that a woman can love--it is only this, as a +uniting principle, that can make two married partners one. The +qualities of all minds express themselves in words and actions, and, +by a close observance of these latter, we may determine the nature +of the former. We cannot perceive them with sufficient clearness to +arrive at a sound judgment: the only safe method is to determine the +character of the tree by its fruits. Take sufficient time to arrive +at a knowledge of Mr. Leland's character by observation, and then +you can accept or reject him under the fullest assurance that you +are acting wisely." + +"Perhaps you are right," murmured Florence. "I will weigh carefully +what you have said." + +And she did so. Much to the disappointment of Mr. Leland, he +received a reply from Florence asking a short time for reflection. + +When Florence next met the young man, there was, as a natural +consequence, some slight embarrassment on both sides. On separating, +Florence experienced a certain unfavourable impression toward him, +although she could not trace it to any thing he had said or done. At +their next meeting, Leland's reserve had disappeared, and he +exhibited a better flow of spirits. He was more off his guard than +usual, and said a good many things that rather surprised Florence. + +Impatient of delay, Leland again pressed his suit; but Florence was +further than ever from being ready to give an answer. She was not +prepared to reject him, and as little prepared to give a favourable +answer. Her request to be allowed further time for consideration, +wounded his pride; and, acting under its influence, he determined to +have his revenge on her by suing for the hand of another maiden, and +bearing her to the altar while she was hesitating over the offer he +had made. With this purpose in view, he penned a kind and polite +note, approving her deliberation, and desiring her to take the +fullest time for reflection. "Marriage," said he, in this note, "is +too serious a matter to be decided upon hastily. It is a life-union, +and the parties who make it should be well satisfied that there +exists a mutual fitness for each other." + +Two days passed after Florence received this note before seeing her +friend Carlotti. She then called upon her in order to have further +conversation on the subject of the proposal she had received. The +tenor of this note had produced a favourable change in her feelings, +and she felt strongly disposed to make a speedy termination of the +debate in her mind by accepting her attractive suitor. + +"Are you not well?" was her first remark on seeing Carlotti, for her +friend looked pale and troubled. + +"Not very well, dear," replied Carlotti, making an effort to assume +a cheerful aspect. + +The mind of Florence was too intent on the one interesting subject +that occupied it to linger long on any other theme. But a short time +elapsed before she said, with a warmer glow on her cheeks-- + +"I believe I have made up my mind, Carlotti." + +"About what?" + +"The offer of Mr. Leland." + +"Well, what is your decision?" Carlotti held her breath for an +answer. + +"I will accept him." + +Without replying, Carlotti arose, and going to a drawer, took +therefrom a letter addressed to herself and handing it to Florence, +said-- + +"Read that." + +There was something ominous in the manner of Carlotti, which caused +Florence to become agitated. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the +letter. It bore the date of the day previous, and read thus:-- + +"MY DEAR CARLOTTI: From the first moment I saw you, I felt that you +were the one destined to make me happy or miserable. Your image has +been present to me, sleeping or waking, ever since. I can turn in no +way that it is not before me. The oftener I have met you, the more +have I been charmed by the gentleness, the sweetness, the purity, +and excellence of your character. With you to walk through life by +my side, I feel that my feet would tread a flowery way; but if +heaven have not this blessing in store for me, I shall be, of all +men, most miserable. My heart is too full to write more. And have I +not said enough? Love speaks in brief but eloquent language. Dear +young lady, let me hear from you speedily. I shall be wretched until +I know your decision. Heaven give my suit a favourable issue! + +Yours, devotedly, + +"HERMAN LELAND." + +A deadly paleness overspread the countenance of Florence as the +letter dropped from her hands; and she leaned back against her +friend to prevent falling to the floor. But, in a little while, she +recovered herself. + +"And this to _you_?" said she, with a quivering lip, as she gazed +earnestly into the face of her friend. + +"Yes, Florence, that to _me_." + +"Can I trust my own senses? Is there not some illusion? Let me look +at it again." + +And Florence stooped for the letter, and fixed her eyes upon it once +more. The language was plain, and the handwriting she knew too well. + +"False-hearted!" she murmured, in a low and mournful voice, covering +her face and sobbing. + +"Yes, Florence," said her friend, "he is false-hearted. How thankful +am I that you have escaped! Evidently in revenge for your prudent +deliberation, he has sought an alliance with another. Had that other +one accepted his heartless proposal, he would have met your +favourable answer to his suit with insult." + +For a long time, Florence wept on the bosom of her friend. Then her +feelings grew calmer, and her mind became clear. + +"What an escape!" fell from her lips as she raised her head and +turned her still pale face toward Carlotti. "Thanks, my wiser +friend, for your timely, yet gentle warning! Your eyes saw deeper +than mine." + +"Yes, yes; you have made an escape!" said Carlotti. "With such a +man, your life could only have been wretched." + +"Have you answered his letter?" asked Florence. + +"Not yet. But if you are inclined to do so, we will, on the same +sheet of paper and under the same envelope, each decline the honour +of an alliance. Such a rebuke he deserves, and we ought to give it." + +And such a rebuke they gave. + +A few months later, and Leland led to the altar a young lady reputed +to be an heiress. + +A year afterward, just on the eve of Florence's marriage to a +gentleman in every way worthy to take her happiness in his keeping, +she sat alone with her fast friend Carlotti. They were conversing of +the bright future. + +"And for all this joy, in store for me, Carlotti," said Florence, +leaning toward her friend and laying her hand affectionately on her +cheek, "I am indebted to you." + +"To me? How to me, dear?" asked Carlotti. + +"You saved me from an alliance with Leland. Oh, into what an abyss +of wretchedness would I have fallen! I heard to-day that, after +cruelly abusing poor Agnes in Charleston, where they removed, he +finally abandoned her. Can it be true?" + +"It is, I believe, too true. Agnes came back to her friends last +week, bringing with her a babe. I have not seen her; but those who +have tell me that her story of suffering makes the heart ache. She +looks ten years older." + +"Ah me!" sighed Florence. "Marriage--how much it involves! Even now, +as I stand at its threshold, with so much that looks bright in the +future, I tremble. Of Edward's excellent character and goodness of +heart, all bear testimony. He is every thing I could wish; but will +I make him happy?" + +"Not all you could wish," said Carlotti, seriously. "None are +perfection here; and you must not expect this. You will find, in +your husband's character, faults. Anticipate this; but let the +anticipation prepare you to bear with rather than be hurt when they +appear, and do not seek too soon to correct them. It is said by a +certain deeply-seeing writer on spiritual themes, that when the +angels come to try one, they explore his mind only to find the good +therein, that they may excite it to activity. Be, then, your +husband's angel; explore his mind for the good it contains, and seek +to develop and strengthen it. Looking intently at what is good in +him, you will not be likely to see faults looming up and assuming a +magnitude beyond their real dimensions. But when faults appear, as +they assuredly will, compare them with your own; and, as you would +have him exercise forbearance toward you, do you exercise +forbearance toward him. Be wise in your love, my friend. Wisdom and +love are married partners. If you separate them, neither is a safe +guide. But if you keep them united, like a rower who pulls both +oars, you will glide swiftly forward in a smooth sea." + +Florence bent her head as she listened, and every word of her friend +made its impression. Long after were they remembered and acted upon, +and they saved her from hours of pain. Florence is a happy wife; but +how near did she come to making shipwreck of her love-freighted +heart? There are times when, in thinking of it, she trembles. + + + + + + +KATE'S EXPERIMENT. + + + + + +KATE HARBELL, a high-spirited girl, who had a pretty strong will of +her own, was about being married. Like a great many others of her +age and sex who approach the matrimonial altar, Kate's notions of +the marriage relation were not the clearest in the world. + +Ferdinand Lee, the betrothed of Kate, a quiet, sensitive young man, +had, perhaps, as strong a will as the young lady herself, though it +was more under the control of reason. He was naturally impatient of +dictation or force, and a strong love of approbation made him feel +keenly any thing like satire, ridicule or censure. To point him to a +fault was to wound if not offend him. Here lay the weakness of his +character. All this, on the other side, was counterbalanced by kind +feelings, good sense, and manly principles. He was above all +meanness or dishonour. + +Of course, Kate did not fully understand his character. Such a thing +as a young girl's accurate knowledge of the character of the man she +is about to marry, is of very rare occurrence. She saw enough of +good qualities to make her love him with tenderness and devotion; +but she also saw personal defects that were disagreeable in the +object of her affections. But she did not in the least doubt that +all these she could easily correct in him after she became his wife. + +From a defect of education, or from a natural want of neatness and +order, Ferdinand Lee was inclined to (sic) carelessnes in his +attire; and also exhibited a certain want of polish in his manners +and address that was, at times, particularly annoying to Kate. + +"I'll break him of that when I get him," said the young lady to a +married friend, alluding to some little peculiarity both had +noticed. + +"Don't be too certain," returned the lady, smiling. + +"You'll see." + +Kate tossed her head in a resolute way. + +"I'll see you disappointed." + +"Wait a little while. Before I'm his wife six months, you'll hardly +know the man, there'll be such a change." + +"The change is far more likely to take place in you." + +"Why do you say that, Mrs. Morton?" inquired Kate, looking grave. + +"Because I think so. Men are not so easily brought into order, and +the attempt at reformation and correction by a young wife generally +ends in painful disappointment. If you begin this work you will, in +all probability, find yourself tasked beyond your ability. I speak +from some experience, having been married for about ten years, and +having seen a good many young girls come up into our ranks from the +walks of single blessedness. Take my advice, and look away from +Frederick's faults and disagreeable peculiarities as much as +possible, and think more of his manly traits of character--his fine +sentiments, and honourable principles." + +"I do look at them and love them," replied Kate, with animation. +"These won my heart at first, and now unite me to him in bonds that +cannot be broken. But if on a precious gem there be a slight blemish +that mars its beauty, shall we not seek to remove the defect, and +thus give the jewel a higher lustre? Will you say, no?" + +"I will, if in the act there be danger of injuring the gem." + +"I don't understand you, Mrs. Morton?" + +"Reflect for a moment, and see if my meaning is not apparent." + +"You think I will offend him if I point out a fault, or seek to +correct it?" + +"A result most likely to follow." + +"I will not think so poorly of his good sense," answered Kate, with +some gravity of manner. The suggestion half offended her. + +"None are perfect, my young friend; don't forget that," said Mrs. +Morton, with equal seriousness. "To think differently is a common +mistake of persons circumstanced as you are." + +"It's no mistake of mine, let me assure you," replied Kate. "I can +see faults as quickly as any one. Love can't blind me. It is because +I see defects in Frederick that I wish to correct them." + +"And you trust to his good sense to take the work of correction +kindly?" + +"Certainly I do." + +"Then you most probably think him more perfect than he really is. +Very few people can bear to be told of their faults, and fewer still +to be told of them by those they love. Love is expected to be blind +to defects; therefore, when it is seen looking at and pointing them +out, the feeling produced is, in the very nature of things, a +disagreeable one. Take my advice, and let Frederick's faults alone, +at least for a year after you are married; and even then put your +hand on them very lightly, and as if by accident." + +"Do you think I could see him lounge, or, rather, slide down in his +chair in that ungraceful way, and not speak to him about it? Not I. +It makes me nervous now; and, if I wasn't afraid he might take it +unkindly, would call his attention to it." + +"Do you think he will be less likely to take it unkindly after +marriage?" + +"Certainly. Then I will have a right to speak to him about it." + +"Then marriage will give you certain rights over your husband?" + +"It will give him rights over me, and a very poor rule that is which +doesn't work both ways. Marriage will make him my husband; and, +surely, a wife may tell her husband that he is not perfect, without +offending him." + +"Kate, Kate; you don't know what you are talking about, child!" + +"I think I do." + +"And I know you don't." + +"Oh, well, Mrs. Morton, we won't quarrel about it," said Kate, +laughing. "I mean to make one of the best of wives, and have one of +the best of husbands to be found. He will require a little fixing up +to make him just to my mind, but don't you fear but what I'll do it +in the gentlest possible manner. Women have more taste than men, you +know, and a man never looks and acts just right until he gets a +woman to take charge of him." + +A happy bride Kate became a few months after this little +conversation took place, and Lee thought himself the most fortunate +of men in obtaining such a lovely, accomplished, and right-minded +woman for a wife. Swiftly glided away the sweet honey-moon, without +a jar of discord, though, during the time, Kate saw a good many +things not exactly to her mind, and which she set down as needing +correction. + +One evening, it was just five weeks after the marriage, and when +they were snugly settled in their own house, Frederick Lee was +seated before the grate, in a handsome rocking-chair, his body in a +position that it would have required a stretch of language to +pronounce graceful or becoming. He had drawn off one of his boots, +that was lying on the floor, and the leg from which it had been +taken was hanging over an arm of his chair. He had slipped forward +in the chair--his ordinary mode of sitting, or, rather, lying--so +far that his head, which, if he had been upright, would have been +even with the top of the back, was at least twelve inches below it. +To add to the effect of his position, he was swinging the bootless +leg that hung across the arm of the chair with a rapid, circling +motion. He had been reclining in this inelegant attitude for about +ten minutes, when Kate, who had permitted herself to become a good +deal annoyed by it, said to him, rather earnestly-- + +"Do, Frederick, sit up straight, and try and be a little more +graceful in your positions." + +"What's that?" inquired the young man, as if he had not heard +distinctly. + +"Can't you sit up straight?" + +Kate smiled; but Lee saw that it was a forced smile. + +"Oh, yes," he answered, indifferently. "I can sit up straight as an +arrow, but I find this attitude most agreeable." + +"If you knew how you looked," said Kate. + +"How do I look?" asked the young man, playfully. + +"Oh! you look--you look more like a country clod-hopper than any +thing else." + +There was a sharpness in Kate's tones that fell unpleasantly on the +ears of the young man. + +"Do I, indeed!" was his rather cold remark. Yet he did not change +his position. + +"Indeed, you do," said the wife, who was, by this time, beginning to +feel a good deal of irritation; for she saw that Frederick was not +inclined to respond in the way she had hoped, to her very reasonable +desire that he would assume a more graceful attitude. "The fact is," +she continued, impelled to further utterance by the excited state of +her feelings, although she was conscious of having already said more +than was agreeable to her husband, "you ought to correct yourself of +these ungraceful and undignified habits. It shows a want of"-- + +Kate stopped suddenly. She felt that she was about using words that +would inevitably give offence. + +"A want of what?" inquired Lee, in a low, firm voice, while he +continued to look his young wife steadily in the face. + +Kate's eyes fell to the floor and she remained silent. + +"Ungraceful and undignified. Humph!" + +Lee was evidently hurt at this allegation, as the tone in which he +repeated the words clearly showed. + +"Do you call your present attitude graceful?" Kate asked, rallying +herself under the reflection that she was right. + +"It is comfortable for me; and, therefore, ought to be graceful in +your eyes," was the young man's perverse answer. Not the slightest +change had yet taken place in his position. + +This was beyond what the high spirited lady could bear, and she +retorted with more feeling than discretion: + +"Love is not blind in my case, I can assure you, Frederick, and +never will be. You are very ungraceful and untidy, and annoy me, +sometimes, excessively. I wish you would try to correct these +things." + +"You do?" + +There was something cool and provoking in the way Lee said this. + +"I do, Frederick, and I'm in earnest." + +The cheeks of Kate were in a glow, and her eyes lit up, and her lips +quivering. + +"How long since you made the discovery that I was only a country +clod-hopper?" said Lee, who was particularly annoyed by Kate's +unexpected charges against his good-breeding. + +"I didn't say you were only a country clod-hopper," replied Kate. + +"I believe you used the words. My ears rarely deceive me. I must own +to feeling highly complimented." + +"Do sit up straight, Frederick! Do take your leg from over the arm +of that chair! You make me so nervous that I can hardly contain +myself." + +"Really! I thought a man was privileged to sit in any position he +pleased in his own house." + +The excitement of Kate's mind had, by this time, reached a crisis. +Bursting into tears, she hurried from the room, and went sobbing up +to her chamber. + +Here was a fine state of affairs, indeed! Was ever a man so perverse +and unreasonable? + +Did Frederick Lee follow, quickly, his weeping wife? No; his pride +was too deeply wounded for that. + +"A country clod-hopper! Undignified and ungraceful! Upon my word!" +Such were some of his mental ejaculations. And then, as his feelings +grew excited, he started up from his chair and began pacing the +floor, muttering, as he did so-- + +"It is rather late in the day to make this discovery! Why didn't she +find it out before? Humph!" + +Meanwhile, Kate had thrown herself across her bed, where she lay, +weeping bitterly. + +What a storm had suddenly been blown about their ears! + +It was fully an hour before Frederick Lee's disturbed feelings began +to run at all clear. He was both surprised and offended. What could +all this mean? What had all at once come over his young wife? + +"A country clod-hopper!" he muttered to himself over and over again. +"Ungraceful--ungenteel, and all that! Very complimentary, indeed!" + +When Lee joined his wife in their chamber, two hours after she had +left him, he found that she had retired to bed and was sleeping. + +On the next morning both looked very sober, and both were cold and +distant. A few words only passed between them. It was the same when +they met at dinner-time, and the same when Lee came home in the +evening. During the whole of this day, the thought of each was upon +the other; but it was not a forgiving thought. Kate cherished angry +feelings toward her husband; and Lee continued to be offended at the +freedom of expression which his young wife had ventured to use +toward him. Of course, both were very unhappy. + +The formal intercourse of the tea-table having ended, Lee, feeling +little inclined to pass the evening with his reserved and +sober-looking partner, put on his hat, and merely remarking that he +would not return until bed-time, left the house. This act startled +Kate. With the jar of the closing door came a gush of tears. The +evening was passed alone. How wretched she felt as the hours moved +slowly on! + +It was nearly eleven o'clock when Lee came home. By that time, the +mind of Kate was in an agony of suspense. More than once the thought +that he had abandoned her intruded itself, and filled her with fear +and anguish. What a relief to her feelings it was when she heard the +rattle of his night-key in the lock! But she could not meet him with +a smile. She could not throw her arms around his neck, and press her +hot cheek to his. No: for she felt that he was angry with her +without just cause, and had visited with unjust severity a light +offence--if, so far as she was concerned, her act were worthy to be +called an offence. + +And so they looked coldly upon each other when they met, and then +averted their eyes. + +The morning broke, but with no fairer promise of a sunny day. Clouds +obscured their whole horizon. Coldly they parted after the brief and +scarcely tasted meal. How wretched they were! + +During the forenoon, Mrs. Morton, the friend of Mrs. Lee, called in +to see her young friend. + +"Why, Kate! What has happened?" she exclaimed, the moment she saw +her. + +Mrs. Lee tried to smile and look indifferent, as she answered-- + +"Happened? Why do you say that?" + +"You look as if you hadn't a friend left in the world!" + +"And I don't know that I have," said Mrs. Lee, losing, all at once, +her self-command, and permitting the ready tears to gush forth. + +"Why, Kate, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Morton, drawing her arm around the +neck of her young friend. "What is the meaning of all this? +Something wrong with Frederick?" + +Kate was silent. + +Mrs. Morton reflected for a moment, and then said-- + +"Been trying to correct some of his faults, ha?" + +No answer. But the sobbing became less violent. + +"Ah, Kate! Kate! I warned you of this." + +"Warned me of what?" + +Mrs. Lee lifted her head, and tried to assume an air of dignity as +she spoke. + +"I warned you that Frederick would not bear it, if you attempted to +lay your hand upon his faults." + +Kate raised her head higher, and compressed her lips. Still she did +not answer. + +"A young husband, naturally enough, thinks himself faultless--at +least in the eyes of his wife." + +"Very far from faultless is Frederick in my eyes," said Kate. "My +love is not blind, and so I told him." + +"You did!" + +"Yes, I did, and in so many words," replied Kate, with spirit. + +"Ah, silly child!" returned her friend. "Already you have the reward +of your folly. I forewarned you how it would be." + +"Are my wishes, feelings, and taste to be of no account whatever?" +said Kate, warmly. "Frederick is to be and do just what he pleases, +and I must say nothing, do nothing, and bear every thing. Was this +the contract between us? No, Mrs. Morton!" + +The bright eyes of Mrs. Lee flashed with indignant fire. + +"Come, come, Katy, dear! Don't let that impulsive heart of thine +lead thee too far aside from the path of prudence and safety. I am +sure that Frederick Lee is no self-willed, exacting, domestic +tyrant. I could not have been so deceived in him. But tell me the +particular cause of your trouble. What has been said and done? You +have given offence, and he has become offended. Tell me the whole +story, Kate, and then I'll know what to say and do for the +restoration of your peace." + +"You are aware," said Kate, after a brief pause, and with a +deepening flush on her cheeks, "how awkward and untidy Frederick is +at times,--how he lounges in his chair, and throws his body into all +manner of ungraceful attitudes." + +"Well?" + +"This, as you know, has always annoyed me sadly. Night before last, +I felt so worried with him, that I could not help speaking right +out." + +"Ah! when you were worried?" + +"Of course. If I hadn't felt worried, I wouldn't have said any +thing." + +"Indeed! Well, what did you say? Was your tone of voice low and full +of love, and your words as gentle as the falling dew?" + +"Mrs. Morton!" + +There was a half-angry, indignant expression in the voice of Kate. + +"Did you lay your hand lightly, like the touch of a feather, upon +the fault you designed to correct, or did you grasp it rudely and +angrily?" + +Kate's eyes drooped beneath those of her friend. + +"You were annoyed and excited," continued Mrs. Morton. "This by your +own acknowledgment, and, in such a frame of mind, you charged with +faults the one who had vainly thought himself, at least in your +eyes, perfect. And he, as a natural consequence, was hurt and +offended. But what did you say to him?" + +"I hardly know what I said, now," returned Kate. "But I know I used +the words ungraceful, undignified, and country clod-hopper." + +"Why, Kate! I am surprised at you! And this to so excellent a man as +Frederick, who, from all the fair and gentle ones around him, chose +you to be his bosom friend and life companion. Kate, Kate! That was +unworthy of you. That was unkind to him. I do not wonder that he was +hurt and offended." + +"Perhaps I was wrong, Mrs. Morton," said Kate, as tears began to +flow again. "But Frederick's want of order, grace, and neatness, is +dreadful. I cannot tell you how much it annoys me." + +"You saw all this before you were married." + +"Not all of it." + +"You saw enough to enable you to judge of the rest." + +"True; but then I always meant to correct these things in him. They +were but blemishes on a jewel of surpassing value." + +"Ah, Kate, you have proved the truth of what I told you before your +marriage. It is not so easy a thing to correct the faults of a +husband--faults confirmed by long habit. Whenever a wife attempts +this, she puts in jeopardy, for the time being at least, her +happiness, as you have done. A man is but little pleased to make the +discovery that his wife thinks him no better than a country +clod-hopper; and it is no wonder that he should be offended, if she, +with strange indiscreetness and want of tact, tells him in plain +terms what she thinks. Your husband is sensitive, Kate." + +"I know he is." + +"And keenly alive to ridicule." + +"I am not aware of that." + +"Then your reading of his character is less accurate than mine. +Moreover, he has a pretty good opinion of himself." + +"We all have that." + +"And a strong will, quiet as he is in exterior." + +"Not stronger, perhaps, than I have." + +"Take my advice, Kate," said Mrs. Morton, seriously, "and don't +bring your will in direct opposition to his." + +"And why not? Am I not his equal? He is no master of mine. I did not +sell myself as his slave, that his will should be my law!" + +"Silly child! How madly you talk!" said Mrs. Morton. "Not for the +world would I have Frederick hear such utterance from your lips. +Does he not love you tenderly? Has he not, in every way, sought your +happiness thus far in your brief married life? Is he not a man of +high moral virtue? Does not your alliance with him rather elevate +than depress you in the social rank? And yet, forsooth, because he +lounges in his chair, and permits his body, at times, to assume +ungraceful attitudes, you must throw the apple of discord into your +pleasant home to mar its beautiful harmonies." + +"Surely, a wife may be permitted to speak to her husband, and even +seek to correct his faults," said Kate. + +"Better shut her eyes to his faults, if seeing them is to make them +both unhappy. You are in a very strange mood, Kate." + +"Am I?" returned Mrs. Lee, querulously. + +"You are; and the quicker it passes away, the better for both +yourself and husband." + +"I don't know how soon it will pass away," sighed Kate, moodily. + +"Good-morning," said Mrs. Morton, rising and making a motion to +depart. + +"You are not going?" + +Kate glanced up with a look of surprise. + +"Yes; I am afraid to stay here any longer," was the affected serious +reply. "I might catch something of your spirit, and then my husband +would find a change in his pleasant home. Good-morning. May I see +you in a better state of mind when we meet again." + +And saying this, Mrs. Morton passed from the room so quickly that +Kate could not arrest the movement; so she remained seated, though a +little disturbed by her friend and monitor's sudden departure. + +What Mrs. Morton had said, although it seemed not to impress the +mind of her young friend, yet lingered there, and now began +gradually to do its work. + +As for Frederick Lee, he was unhappy enough. The words of Kate had +stung him severely. + +"And so, in her eyes, I am no better than a country clod-hopper!" + +Almost every hour was this repeated--sometimes mentally and +sometimes aloud; and at each repetition it disturbed his feelings +and awakened an unforgiving spirit. + +"A clod-hopper, indeed! Wonder she never made this discovery +before!" + +This was the thought of Lee as he left his place of business to +return home, on the evening of the day on which Mrs. Morton called +upon Kate. Why would he not look away from this? Why would he ponder +over and magnify the offence of Kate? Why would he keep this ever +before his eyes? His self-love had been wounded. His pride had been +touched. The weapon of ridicule had been used against him, and to +ridicule he was morbidly sensitive. Kate should have read his +character more closely, and should have understood it better. But +she was ignorant of his weaknesses, and bore heavily upon them ere +aware of their existence. + +It was in this brooding, clouded, and unforgiving state of mind that +Frederick Lee took his way homeward. On entering his dwelling, which +he did almost noiselessly, he went into the parlour and seated +himself in the very place where he was sitting when Kate began, so +unexpectedly to him, her unsuccessful work of reformation. Every +thing around reminded him of that unfortunate evening--even the +lounging position he so naturally assumed, sliding down, as he did, +in the chair, and throwing one of his legs over the arm. + +"It is comfortable for me," said he, moodily to himself; "and it's +my own house. If she don't like it, let her--" + +He did not finish the sentence, for he felt that his state of mind +was not what it should be, and that to speak thus of his wife was +neither just nor kind. + +Unhappy young man! Is it thus you visit the light offence--for it +was light, in reality--of the loving and gentle young creature who +has given her happiness, her very life into your keeping? Could you +not bear a word from her? Are you so perfect, that her eyes must see +no defect? Is she never to dare, on penalty of your stern +displeasure, to correct a fault--to seek to lift you, by her purer +and better taste, above the ungraceful and unmanly habits consequent +upon a neglected boyhood? What if her hand was laid rather heavily +upon you? What if her feelings did prompt her to use words that had +better been left unsaid? It was the young wife's pride in her +husband that warmed her into undue excitement, and this you should +have at once comprehended. + +If Frederick Lee did not think precisely as we have written, his +thoughts gradually inclined in that direction. Still he felt moody, +and his feelings warmed but little toward Kate. + +Thus he sat for some ten or fifteen minutes. At the end of this +time, he heard light footsteps coming down the stairs. He knew them +to be those of his wife. He did not move nor make a sound, but +rather crouched lower in his chair, the back of which was turned +toward the door. But his thought was on his wife. He saw her with +the eyes of his mind--saw her with her clouded countenance. His +heart throbbed heavily against his side, and he partially held his +breath. + +Now her footsteps moved along the passage, and now he was conscious +that she had entered the room where he sat. Not the slightest +movement did he make--not a sign did he give of his presence. There +he sat, shrinking down in his chair, moody, gloomy, and angry with +Kate in his heart. + +Was she aware of his presence? Had she heard him enter the house? +Such were the questioning thoughts that were in his mind. + +Footsteps moved across the room. Now Kate was at the mantel-piece, a +few feet from the chair he occupied, for he heard her lay a book +thereon. Now she passed to the back window, and throwing it up, +pushed open the shutters, giving freer entrance to the waning light. + +A deep silence followed. Now the stillness is broken by a gentle +sigh that floats faintly through the room. How rebukingly smote that +sigh upon the ears of Lee! How it softened his heart toward Kate, +the young and loving wife of his bosom! A slower movement in the +current of his angry feelings succeeds to this. Then it becomes +still. There is a pause. + +But where is Kate? Has she left the room? He listens for some +movement, but not the slightest sound meets his ear. + +"Kate!" No, he did not utter the word aloud, in tender accents, +though it was in his heart and on his tongue. Nor did he start up or +move. No, as if spell-bound, he remained crouching down in his +chair. + +All at once he is conscious that some one is bending above him, and, +in the next moment, warm lips touch his forehead, gently, +hesitatingly, yet with a lingering pressure. + +"Kate! Dear Kate!" + +He has sprung to his feet, and his arms are flung around his wife. + +"Forgive me, Frederick, if I seemed unkind to you," sobbed Kate, as +soon as she could command her voice. "There was no unkindness in my +heart--only love." + +"It is I who most need to ask forgiveness," replied Lee. "I who +have--" + +"Hush! Not a word of that now," quickly returned Kate, placing her +hand upon his mouth. "Let the past be forgotten." + +"And forgiven, too," said Lee, as he pressed his lips eagerly to +those of his wife. + +How happy they were at this moment of reconciliation! How light +seemed the causes which had risen up to mar the beautiful harmony of +their lives! Haw weak and foolish both had been, as their acts now +appeared in eyes from which had fallen the scales of passion! + +Both were wiser than in the aforetime. Kate tried to look away, as +much as possible, from the little faults which at first so much +annoyed her; while her husband turned his thoughts more narrowly +upon himself, at the same time that he made observation of other +men, and was soon well convinced that sundry changes in his habits +and manners might be made with great advantage. The more his eyes +were opened to these little personal defects, the more fully did he +forgive Kate for having in the beginning laid her hand upon them, +though not in the gentlest manner. + +"Six months have passed since you were married," said Mrs. Morton +one day to Kate. + +"Yes, six months have flown on wings of perfume," replied the happy +wife. + +"I saw Frederick yesterday." + +"Did you?" + +"Yes; and I knew him the moment my eyes rested upon him." + +"Knew him! Why shouldn't you know him?" + +Kate looked a little surprised. + +"I thought he was to be so changed under your hands in six months, +that I would hardly recognise him." + +There was an arch look in Mrs. Morton's eyes, and a merry flutter in +her voice. + +"Mrs. Morton! Now that is too bad!" + +"Your experiment failed, did it not, dear?" + +The door of the room in which the ladies were sitting opened at the +moment, and Frederick Lee entered. + +"Not entirely," whispered Kate, as she bent to the ear of her +friend. "He is vastly improved--at least, in my eyes." + +"And in others' eyes, too," thought Mrs. Morton, as she arose and +returned the young man's smiling salutation. + + + + + + +"MY FORTUNE'S MADE." + + + + + +My young friend, Cora Lee, was a gay, dashing girl, fond of dress, +and looking always as if, to use a common saying, just out of a +bandbox. Cora was a belle, of course, and had many admirers. Among +the number of these, was a young man named Edward Douglass, who was +the very "pink" of neatness in all matters pertaining to dress, and +exceedingly particular in his observance of the little proprieties +of life. + +I saw, from the first, that if Douglass pressed his suit, Cora's +heart would be an easy conquest, and so it proved. + +"How admirably they are fitted for each other!" I remarked to my +husband, on the night of their wedding. "Their tastes are similar, +and their habits so much alike, that no violence will be done to the +feelings of either in the more intimate associations that marriage +brings. Both are neat in person and orderly by instinct, and both +have good principles." + +"From all present appearances, the match will be a good one," +replied my husband. There was, I thought, something like reservation +in his tone. + +"Do you really think so?" I said, a little ironically, for Mr. +Smith's approval of the marriage was hardly warm enough to suit my +fancy. + +"Oh, certainly! Why not?" he replied. + +I felt a little fretted at my husband's mode of speaking, but made +no further remark on the subject. He is never very enthusiastic nor +sanguine, and did not mean, in this instance, to doubt the fitness +of the parties for happiness in the marriage state--as I half +imagined. For myself, I warmly approved of my friend's choice, and +called her husband a lucky man to secure, for his companion through +life, a woman so admirably fitted to make one like him happy. But a +visit which I paid to Cora one day about six weeks after the +honeymoon had expired, lessened my enthusiasm on the subject, and +awoke some unpleasant doubts. It happened that I called soon after +breakfast. Cora met me in the parlour, looking like a very fright. +She wore a soiled and rumpled morning wrapper; her hair was in +papers; and she had on dirty stockings, and a pair of old slippers +down at the heels. + +"Bless me, Cora!" said I. "What is the matter? Have you been sick?" + +"No. Why do you ask? Is my dishabille rather on the extreme?" + +"Candidly, I think it is, Cora," was my frank answer. + +"Oh, well! No matter," she carelessly replied, "my fortune's made." + +"I don't clearly understand you," said I. + +"I'm married, you know." + +"Yes; I am aware of that fact." + +"No need of being so particular in dress now." + +"Why not?" + +"Didn't I just say?" replied Cora. "My fortune's made. I've got a +husband." + +Beneath an air of jesting, was apparent the real earnestness of my +friend. + +"You dressed with a careful regard to taste and neatness, in order +to win Edward's love?" said I. + +"Certainly I did." + +"And should you not do the same in order to retain it?" + +"Why, Mrs. Smith! Do you think my husband's affection goes no deeper +than my dress? I should be very sorry indeed to think that. He loves +me for myself." + +"No doubt of that in the world, Cora. But remember that he cannot +see what is in your mind except by what you do or say. If he admires +your taste, for instance, it is not from any abstract appreciation +thereof, but because the taste manifests itself in what you do. And, +depend upon it, he will find it a very hard matter to approve and +admire your correct taste in dress, for instance, when you appear +before him, day after day, in your present unattractive attire. If +you do not dress well for your husband's eyes, for whose eyes, pray, +do you dress? You are as neat when abroad as you were before your +marriage." + +"As to that, Mrs. Smith, common decency requires me to dress well +when I go upon the street or into company, to say nothing of the +pride one naturally feels in looking well." + +"And does not the same common decency and natural pride argue as +strongly in favour of your dressing well at home, and for the eye of +your husband, whose approval and whose admiration must be dearer to +you than the approval and admiration of the whole world?" + +"But he doesn't want to see me rigged out in silks and satins all +the time. A pretty bill my dressmaker would have against him! Edward +has more sense than that, I flatter myself." + +"Street or ball-room attire is one thing, Cora, and becoming home +apparel another. We look for both in their places." + +Thus I argued with the thoughtless young wife, but my words made no +impression. When abroad, she dressed with exquisite taste, and was +lovely to look upon; but at home, she was careless and slovenly, and +made it almost impossible for those who saw her to realize that she +was the brilliant beauty they had met in company but a short time +before. But even this did not last long. I noticed, after a few +months, that the habits of home were confirming themselves, and +becoming apparent abroad. Her "fortune was made," and why should she +now waste time or employ her thoughts about matters of personal +appearance? + +The habits of Mr. Douglass, on the contrary, did not change. He was +as orderly as before, and dressed with the same regard to neatness. +He never appeared at the breakfast-table in the morning without +being shaved; nor did he lounge about in the evening in his +shirt-sleeves. The slovenly habits into which Cora had fallen +annoyed him seriously; and still more so, when her carelessness +about her appearance began to manifest itself abroad as well as at +home. When he hinted any thing on the subject, she did not hesitate +to reply, in a jesting manner, that her fortune was made, and she +need not trouble herself any longer about how she looked. + +Douglass did not feel very much complimented; but as he had his +share of good sense, he saw that to assume a cold and offended +manner would do no good. + +"If your fortune is made, so is mine," he replied on one occasion, +quite coolly and indifferently. Next morning he made his appearance +at the breakfast table with a beard of twenty-four hours' growth. + +"You haven't shaved this morning, dear," said Cora, to whose eyes +the dirty-looking face of her husband was particularly unpleasant. + +"No," he replied, carelessly. "It's a serious trouble to shave every +day." + +"But you look so much better with a cleanly-shaved face." + +"Looks are nothing--ease and comfort every thing," said Douglass. + +"But common decency, Edward." + +"I see nothing indecent in a long beard," replied the husband. + +Still Cora argued, but in vain. Her husband went off to his business +with his unshaven face. + +"I don't know whether to shave or not," said Douglass next morning, +running his hand over his rough face, upon which was a beard of +forty-eight hours' growth. His wife had hastily thrown on a wrapper, +and, with slip-shod feet and head like a mop, was lounging in a +large rocking-chair, awaiting the breakfast-bell. + +"For mercy's sake, Edward, don't go any longer with that shockingly +dirty face," spoke up Cora. "If you knew how dreadfully you look!" + +"Looks are nothing," replied Edward, stroking his beard. + +"Why, what's come over you all at once?" + +"Nothing; only it's such a trouble to shave every day." + +"But you didn't shave yesterday." + +"I know; I am just as well off to-day as if I had. So much saved, at +any rate." + +But Cora urged the matter, and her husband finally yielded, and +mowed down the luxuriant growth of beard. + +"How much better you do look!" said the young wife. "Now don't go +another day without shaving." + +"But why should I take so much trouble about mere looks? I'm just as +good with a long beard as with a short one. It's a great deal of +trouble to shave every day. You can love me just as well; and why +need I care about what others say or think?" + +On the following morning, Douglass appeared not only with a long +beard, but with a bosom and collar that were both soiled and +rumpled. + +"Why, Edward! How you do look!" said Cora. "You've neither shaved +nor put on a clean shirt." + +Edward stroked his face and run his fingers along the edge of his +collar, remarking, indifferently, as he did so-- + +"It's no matter. I look well enough. This being so very particular +in dress is waste of time, and I'm getting tired of it." + +And in this trim Douglass went off to his business, much to the +annoyance of his wife, who could not bear to see her husband looking +so slovenly. + +Gradually the declension from neatness went on, until Edward was +quite a match for his wife; and yet, strange to say, Cora had not +taken the hint, broad as it was. In her own person she was as untidy +as ever. + +About six months after their marriage, we invited a few friends to +spend a social evening with us, Cora and her husband among the +number. Cora came alone, quite early, and said that her husband was +very much engaged, and could not come until after tea. My young +friend had not taken much pains with her attire. Indeed, her +appearance mortified me, as it contrasted so decidedly with that of +the other ladies who were present; and I could not help suggesting +to her that she was wrong in being so indifferent about her dress. +But she laughingly replied to me-- + +"You know my fortune's made now, Mrs. Smith. I can afford to be +negligent in these matters. It's a great waste of time to dress so +much." + +I tried to argue against this, but could make no impression upon +her. + +About an hour after tea, and while we were all engaged in pleasant +conversation, the door of the parlour opened, and in walked Mr. +Douglass. At first glance I thought I must be mistaken. But no, it +was Edward himself. But what a figure he did cut! His uncombed hair +was standing up, in stiff spikes, in a hundred different directions; +his face could not have felt the touch of a razor for two or three +days; and he was guiltless of clean linen for at least the same +length of time. His vest was soiled; his boots unblacked; and there +was an unmistakable hole in one of his elbows. + +"Why, Edward!" exclaimed his wife, with a look of mortification and +distress, as her husband came across the room, with a face in which +no consciousness of the figure he cut could be detected. + +"Why, my dear fellow! What is the matter?" said my husband, frankly; +for he perceived that the ladies were beginning to titter, and that +the gentlemen were looking at each other, and trying to repress +their risible tendencies; and therefore deemed it best to throw off +all reserve on the subject. + +"The matter? Nothing's the matter, I believe. Why do you ask?" +Douglass looked grave. + +"Well may he ask, what's the, matter?" broke in Cora, energetically. +"How could you come here in such a plight?" + +"In such a plight?" And Edward looked down at himself, felt his +beard, and ran his fingers through his hair. "What's the matter? Is +any thing wrong?" + +"You look as if you'd just waked up from a nap of a week with your +clothes on, and come off without washing your face or combing your +hair," said my husband. + +"Oh!" And Edward's countenance brightened a little. Then he said +with much gravity of manner-- + +"I've been extremely hurried of late; and only left my store a few +minutes ago. I hardly thought it worth while to go home to dress up. +I knew we were all friends here. Besides, _as my fortune is +made_"--and he glanced with a look not to be mistaken toward his +wife--"I don't feel called upon to give as much attention to mere +dress as formerly. Before I was married, it was necessary to be +particular in these matters, but now it's of no consequence." + +I turned toward Cora. Her face was like crimson. In a few moments +she arose and went quickly from the room. I followed her, and Edward +came after us pretty soon. He found his wife in tears, and sobbing +almost hysterically. + +"I've got a carriage at the door," said he to me, aside, half +laughing, half serious. "So help her on with her things, and we'll +retire in disorder." + +"But it's too bad in you, Mr. Douglass," replied I. + +"Forgive me for making your house the scene of this lesson to Cora," +he whispered. "It had to be given, and I thought I could venture to +trespass upon your forbearance." + +"I'll think about that," said I, in return. + +In a few minutes Cora and her husband retired, and in spite of good +breeding and every thing else, we all had a hearty laugh over the +matter, on my return to the parlour, where I explained the curious +little scene that had just occurred. + +How Cora and her husband settled the affair between themselves, I +never inquired. But one thing is certain, I never saw her in a +slovenly dress afterward, at home or abroad. She was cured. + + + + + + +THE GOOD MATCH. + + + + + +"MY heart is now at rest," remarked Mrs. Presstman to her sister, +Mrs. Markland. "Florence has done so well. The match is such a good +one." + +Mrs. Presstman spoke with animation, but her sister's countenance +remained rather grave. + +"Mr. Barker is worth at least eighty thousand dollars," resumed Mrs. +Presstman. "And my husband says, that if he prospers in business as +he has done for the last ten years, he will be the richest merchant +in the city. Don't you think we have been fortunate in marrying +Florence so well?" + +"So far as the securing of wealth goes, Florence has certainly done +very well," returned Mrs. Markland. "But, surely, sister, you have a +higher idea of marriage than to suppose that wealth in a husband is +the primary thing. The quality of his mind is of much more +importance." + +"Oh, certainly, that is not to be lost sight of. Mr. Barker is an +excellent man. Every one speaks well of him. No one stands higher in +the community than he does." + +"That may be. But the general estimation in which a man is held does +not, by any means, determine his fitness to become the husband of +one like Florence. I think that when I was here last spring, there +was some talk of her preference for a young physician. Was such +really the case?" + +"There was something of that kind," replied Mrs. Presstman, the +colour becoming a very little deeper on her cheek--"a foolish notion +of the girl's. But that was broken off long ago. It would not do. We +could not afford to let her marry a young doctor with a poor +practice. We knew her to be worthy something much higher, as the +result has shown." + +"Doctor Estill, I believe, was his name?" + +"Yes." + +"I remember him very well--and liked him much. Was Mr. Barker +preferred by Florence to Doctor Estill?" + +"Why, yes--no--not at first," half-stammered Mrs. Presstman. "That +is, you know, she was foolish, like all young girls, and thought she +loved him. But that passed away. She is now as happy as she can be." + +Mrs. Markland felt that it was not exactly right to press this +matter now that the mischief, if any there were, had been done, and +so remarked no further upon the subject. But the admission made in +her sister's reply to her last question pained her. It corroborated +a suspicion that crossed her mind, when she saw her niece, that all +was not right within--that the good match which had been made was +only good in appearance. She had loved Florence for the innocence, +purity, and elevation of soul that so sweetly characterized her. She +knew her to be susceptible of tender impressions, and capable of +loving deeply an object really worthy of her love. This plant had +been, she feared, removed from the warm green-house of home, where +the earth had touched tenderly its delicate roots, while its leaves +put forth in a genial air, and placed in a hard soil and a chilling +atmosphere, still to live on, but with its beauty and fragrance +gone. She might be mistaken. But appearances troubled her. + +Mrs. Markland lived in a neighbouring city, and was on a visit to +her sister. During the two weeks that elapsed, while paying this +visit, she heard a great deal about the excellent match that +Florence had made. No one of the acquaintances of the family had any +thing to say that was not congratulatory. More than one mother of an +unmarried daughter, she had good cause for concluding, envied her +sister the happiness of having the rich Mr. Barker for a son-in-law. +When she parted with her niece, on the eve of her return home, there +were tears in her mild blue eyes. It was natural--for Florence loved +her aunt, and to part with her was painful. Still, those tears +troubled Mrs. Markland. She ought of them hours, and days, and +months after, as a token that all was not right in her gentle +breast. + +Briefly let us now sketch a scene that passed twenty years from this +period. Twenty years! That is a long time. Yes--but it is a period +that tests the truth or falsity of the leading principles with which +we set out in life. Twenty years! Ah! how many, even long before +that time elapses, prove the fallaciousness of their hopes! discover +the sandy foundation upon which they have built! + +Let us introduce Mrs. Barker. Her husband has realized even more +than he had hoped for, in the item of wealth. He is worth a million. + +Rather a small sum in his eye, it is true, now that he possesses it. +And from this very fact, its smallness, he is not happy--for is not +Mr. T--worth three millions of dollars? Mr. T--, who is no +better, if as good as he is? But what of Mrs. Barker? Ah, yes. Let +us see how time has passed with her. Let us see if the hours have +danced along with her to measures of glad music, or in cadence with +a pensive strain. Has hers indeed been a _good match_? We shall see. + +Is that sedate-looking woman, with such a cold expression upon her +face, who sits in that elaborately furnished saloon, or parlour, +dreamily looking into the glowing grate, Mrs. Barker? Yes, that is +the woman who made a _good match_. Can this indeed be so? I see, in +imagination, a gentle, loving creature, whose eyes and ears are open +to all things beautiful in creation, and whose heart is moved by all +that is good and true. Impelled by the very nature into which she +has been born--woman's nature--her spirit yearns for high, holy, +interior companionship. She enters into that highest, holiest, most +interior relationship--marriage. She must be purely happy. Is this +so? Can the woman we have introduced at the end of twenty years be +the same being with this gentle girl? Alas! that we should have it +to say that it is so. There has been no affliction to produce this +change--no misfortune. The children she has borne are all about her, +and wealth has been poured liberally into her lap. No external wish +has been ungratified. Why, then, should her face wear habitually so +strange an expression as it does? + +She had been seated for more than half an hour in an abstract mood, +when some one came in. She knew the step. It was that of her +husband. But she did not turn to him, nor seem conscious of his +presence. He merely glanced toward his wife, and then sat down at +some distance from her, and took up a newspaper. Thus they remained +until a bell announced the evening meal, when both arose and passed +in silence to the tea-room. There they were joined by their four +children, the eldest at that lovely age when the girl has blushed +into young womanhood. All arranged themselves about the table, the +younger children conversing together in an under tone, but the +father, and mother, and Florence, the oldest child, remaining +silent, abstracted, and evidently unhappy from some cause. + +The mother and daughter eat but little, and that compulsorily. After +the meal was finished, the latter retired to her own apartment, the +other children remained with their books in the family sitting-room, +and Mr. and Mrs. Barker returned to the parlour. + +"I am really out of all patience with you and Florence!" the former +said, angrily, as he seated himself beside his wife, in front of the +grate. "One would think some terrible calamity were about to +happen." + +Mrs. Barker made no reply to this. In a moment or two her husband +went on, in a dogmatical tone. + +"It's the very best match the city affords. Show me another in any +way comparable. Is not Lorimer worth at least two millions?--and is +not Harman his only son and heir? Surely you and the girl must both +be beside yourselves to think of objecting for a single moment." + +"A good match is not always made so by wealth," Mrs. Barker +returned, in a firm voice, compressing her lips tightly, as she +closed the brief sentence. + +"You are beside yourself," said the husband, half sneeringly. + +"Perhaps I am," somewhat meekly replied Mrs. Barker. Then becoming +suddenly excited from the quick glancing of certain thoughts through +her mind, she retorted angrily. Her husband did not hesitate to +reply in a like spirit. Then ensued a war of words, which ended in a +positive declaration that Florence should marry Harman Lorimer. At +this the mother burst into tears and left the room. + +After that declaration was made, Mrs. Barker knew that further +opposition on her part was useless. Florence was gradually brought +over by the force of angry threats, persuasions, and arguments, so +as finally to consent to become the wife of a man from whom her +heart turned with instinctive aversion. But every one called it such +a good match, and congratulated the father and mother upon the +fortunate issue. + +What Mrs. Barker suffered before, during, and after the brilliant +festivities that accompanied her tenderly-loved daughter's +sacrifice, cannot all be known. Her own heart's history for twenty +long years came up before her, and every page of that history she +read over, with a weeping spirit, as the history of her sweet child +for the dreary future. How many a leaf in her heart had been touched +by the frost; had withered, shrunk, and dropped from affection's +stem--how many a bud had failed to show its promised petals--how +many a blossom had drooped and died ere the tender germ in its bosom +could come forth into hardy existence. Inanimate golden leaves, and +buds, and blossoms--nay, even fruits were a poor substitute for +these. A woman's heart cannot be satisfied with them. + +In her own mind, obduracy and coldness had supervened to the first +states of disappointed affection. But her heart had rebelled through +long, long years against the violence to which it had been +subjected--and the calmness, or rather indifference, that at last +followed was only like ice upon the surface of a stream--the water +still flowing on beneath. Death to the mother would have been a +willing sacrifice, could it have saved her child from the living +death that she had suffered. But it would not. The father was a +resolute tyrant. Money was his god, and to that god he offered up +even his child in sacrifice. + +Need the rambling hints contained in this brief sketch--this dim +outline--be followed by any enforcing reflections? An opposite +picture, full of light and warmth, might be drawn, but would it tend +to bring the truth to clearer perception, where mothers--true +mothers--mothers in spirit as well as in name--are those to whom we +hold up the first picture? We think not. + +Wealth, reputation, honours, high intelligence in a man--all or +either of these--do not constitute him a good match for your child. +Marriage is of the heart--the blending of affection with affection, +and thought with thought. How, then, can one who loves all that is +innocent, and pure, and holy, become interiorly conjoined with a man +who is a gross, selfish sensualist? a man who finds happiness only +in the external possession of wealth, or honours, or in the +indulgence of luxuries? It is impossible! Take away these, and give +her, in their stead, one with whom her affections can blend in +perfect harmony--one with whom she can become united as one--and +earth will be to her a little heaven. + +In the opposite course, alas! the evil does not always stop with +your own child. The curse is too often continued unto the third and +fourth generation--yea, even through long succeeding ages--to +eternity itself! Who can calculate the evil that may flow from a +single perversion of the marriage union--that is, a marriage entered +into from other than the true motives? None but God himself! + + + + + + +THE BROTHER'S TEMPTATION. + + + + + +"COME, Henry," said Blanche Armour to her brother, who had seemed +unusually silent and thoughtful since tea time,--"I want you to read +while I make this cap for ma." + +"Excuse me, Blanche, if you please, I don't feel like reading +to-night," the brother replied, shading his face both from the light +and the penetrating glance of his sister, as he spoke. + +Blanche did not repeat the request, for it was a habit with her +never to urge her brother; nor, indeed, any one, to do a thing for +which he seemed disinclined. She, therefore, took her work-basket, +and sat down by the centre-table, without saying any thing farther, +and commenced sewing. But she did not feel quite easy, for it was +too apparent that Henry was disturbed about something. For several +days he had seemed more than usually reserved and thoughtful. Now he +was gloomy as well as thoughtful. Of course, there was a cause for +this. And as this cause was hidden from Blanche, she could not but +feel troubled. Several times during the evening she attempted to +draw him out into conversation, but he would reply to her in +monosyllables, and then fall back into his state of silent +abstraction of mind. Once or twice he got up and walked across the +floor, and then again resumed his seat, as if he had compelled +himself to sit down by a strong effort of the will. Thus the time +passed away, until the usual hour of retiring for the night came, +when Blanche put up her work, and rising from her chair by the +centre-table, went to Henry, and stooping down over him, as he lay +half reclined upon the sofa, kissed him tenderly, and murmured an +affectionate "good night." + +"Good night, dear," he returned, without rising or adding another +word. + +Blanche lingered a moment, and then, with a repressed sigh, left the +room, and retired to her chamber. She could not understand her +brother's strange mood. For him to be troubled and silent was +altogether new. And the cause? Why should he conceal it from her, +toward whom, till now, he had never withheld any thing that gave him +either pleasure or pain? + +The moment Blanche retired, the whole manner of Henry Armour +changed. He arose from the sofa and commenced walking the floor with +rapid steps, while the deep lines upon his forehead and his strongly +compressed lips showed him to be labouring under some powerful +mental excitement. He continued to walk thus hurriedly backward and +forward for the space of half an hour; when, as if some long debated +point had been at last decided, he grasped the parlour door with a +firm hand, threw it open, took from the rack his hat, cloak, and +cane, and in a few moments was in the street. + +The jar of the street door, as it closed, was distinctly heard by +Blanche, and this caused the troubled feeling which had oppressed +her all the evening, to change into one of anxiety. Where could +Henry be going at this late hour? He rarely stayed out beyond ten +o'clock; and she had never before known him to leave the house after +the usual bedtime of the family. His going out had, of course, +something to do with his unhappy mood. What could it mean? She could +not suspect him of any wrong. She knew him to be too pure-minded and +honourable. But there was mystery connected with his conduct--and +this troubled her. She had just laid aside a book, that she had +taken up for the purpose of reading a few pages before retiring for +the night, and commenced disrobing herself, when the sound of the +door closing after her brother startled her, and caused her to pause +and think. She could not now retire, for to sleep would be +impossible. She, therefore, drew a shawl about her, and again +resumed her book, determined to sit up until Henry's return. But +little that she read made a very distinct impression on her mind. +Her thoughts were with her brother, whom she tenderly loved, and had +learned to confide in as one of pure sentiments and firm principles. + +While Henry Armour still lingered at home in moody indecision of +mind, a small party of young men were assembled in an upper room of +a celebrated refectory, drinking, smoking, and indulging in +conversation, a large portion of which would have shocked a modest +ear. They were all members of wealthy and respectable families. Some +had passed their majority, and others still lingered between +nineteen and twenty-one,--that dangerous age for a young +man--especially if he be so unfortunate as to have little to do, and +a liberal supply of pocket money. + +"Confound the fellow! What keeps him so long?" said one of the +company, looking at his watch. "It's nearly ten o'clock, and he has +not made his appearance." + +"Whom do you mean? Armour?" asked another. + +"Certainly I do. He promised to join us again to-night." + +"So he did! But I'll bet a pewter sixpence he won't come." + +"Why?" + +"His sister won't let him. Don't you know that he is tied to her +apron string almost every night, the silly fellow! Why don't he be a +man, and enjoy life as it goes?" + +"Sure enough! What is life worth, if its pleasures are all to be +sacrificed for a sister?" returned the other, sneeringly. + +"Here! Pass that champagne," interrupted one of the company. "Let +Harry Armour break his engagement for a sister if he likes. That +needn't mar our enjoyment. There are enough of us here for a regular +good time." + +"Here's a toast," cried another, as he lifted a sparkling glass to +his lips--"Pleasant dreams to the old folks!" + +"Good! Good! Good!" passed round the table, about which the young +revellers were gathered, and each drained a glass to the well +understood sentiment. + +In the mean time, young Armour had left his home, having decided at +last, and after a long struggle with himself, to join this gay +company, as he had agreed to do. It was, in fact, a little club, +formed a short time previous, the members of which met once a week +to eat, drink, smoke, and corrupt each other by ridiculing those +salutary moral restraints which, once laid aside, leave the +thoughtless youth in imminent danger of ruin. + +Henry Armour had been blessed with a sister a year or two older than +himself, who loved him tenderly. The more rapid development of her +mind, as well as body, had given her the appearance of maturity that +enabled her to exercise a strong influence over him. Of the dangers +that beset the path of a young man, she knew little or nothing. The +constant effort which she made to render home agreeable to her +brother by consulting his tastes, and entering into every thing that +seemed to give him pleasure, did not, therefore, spring from a wish +to guard him from the world's allurements; it was the spontaneous +result of a pure fraternal affection. But it had the right effect. +To him, there was no place like home; nor any smile so alluring, or +voice so sweet, as his sister's. And abroad, no company possessed a +perfect charm, unless Blanche were one of its members. + +This continued until Henry gained his twenty-second year, when, as a +law student, he found himself thrown more and more into the company +of young men of his own age, and the same standing in society. An +occasional ride out with one and another of these, at which times an +hour at least was always spent in a public house, opened to him new +scenes in life, and for a young man of lively, buoyant mind, not +altogether unattractive. That there was danger in these paths he did +not attempt to disguise from himself. More than one, or two, or +three, whom he met on almost every visit he made to a fashionable +resort for young men, about five miles from the city, showed too +strong indications of having passed beyond the bounds of +self-control, as well in their use of wines and stronger drinks as +in their conduct, which was too free from those external decent +restraints that we look for even in men who make no pretensions to +virtue. But he did not fear for himself. The exhibitions which these +made of themselves instinctively disgusted him. Still, he did not +perceive that he was less and less shocked at some things he beheld, +and more than at first inclined to laugh at follies which verged too +nearly upon moral delinquencies. + +Gradually his circle of acquaintance with young men of the gay class +extended, and a freer participation with them in many of their +pleasures came as a natural consequence. + +"Come," said one of them to him, as the two met in the street, by +accident, one evening,--"I want you to go with me." + +"But why should I go with you? Or, rather, where are you going?" +asked Armour. + +"To meet some of our friends down at C--'s," replied the young +man. + +"What are you going to do there?" farther inquired Armour. + +"Nothing more than to drink a glass of wine, and have some pleasant +chit-chat. So come along." + +"Will I be welcome?" + +"Certainly you will. I'll guarantee that. Some half dozen of us have +formed a little club, and each member has the privilege of inviting +any one he pleases. To-night I invite you, and on the next evening I +expect to see you present, not as a guest, but as a member. So come +along, and see how you like us." + +Armour had no definite object in view. He had walked out, because he +felt rather listless at home, Blanche having retired with a sick +headache. It required, therefore, no persuasion to induce him to +yield to the friend's invitation. Arrived at C--'s, a fashionable +house of refreshment, the two young men passed up stairs and entered +one of the private apartments of the house, which they found +handsomely furnished and brilliantly lighted. In this, gathered +around a circular, or rather oblong table, were five or six young +men, nearly all of them well known to Armour. On the table were +bottles of wine and glasses--the latter filled. + +"Just in time!" cried the president of the club. "Henry Armour, I +bid you welcome! Here's a place waiting for you," placing his hand +upon a chair by his side as he spoke. "And now," as Armour seated +himself, "let me fill your glass. We were waiting for a sentiment to +find its way out of some brain as you came in, and our brimming +glasses had stood untasted for more than a minute. Can't you help us +to a toast?" + +"Here's to good fellowship!" said Armour, promptly lifting his +glass, and touching it to that of the president. + +"To be drunk standing," added the president. + +All rose on the instant, and drank with mock solemnity to the +sentiment of their guest. + +Then followed brilliant flashes of wit, or what was thought to be +wit. To these succeeded the song, the jest, the story,--and to these +again the sparkling wine-cup. Gayly thus passed the hours, until +midnight stole quietly upon the thoughtless revellers. Surprised, on +reference to his watch, to find that it was one o'clock, Armour +arose and begged to be excused. + +"I move that our guest be excused on one condition," said the friend +who had brought him to the company. "And that is, on his promise to +meet with us again, on this evening next week." + +"What do you think of the condition?" asked the president, who, like +nearly all of the rest, was rather the worse for the wine he had +taken, looking at Armour as he spoke. + +"I agree to it with pleasure," was the prompt reply. + +"Another drink before you go, then," said the president, "and I will +give the toast. Fill up your glasses." + +The bottle again passed round the table. + +"Here's to a good fellow!" was the sentiment announced. It was +received standing. Armour then retired with bewildered senses. The +gay scene that had floated before his eyes, and in which himself had +been an actor, and the freedom with which he had taken wine, left +him confused, almost in regard to his own identity. He did not seem +to himself the same person he had been a few hours before. A new +world had opened before him, and he had, almost involuntarily, +entered into, and become a citizen of that world. Long after he had +reached his home, and retired to his bed, did his imagination revel +amid the scenes he had just left. In sleep, too, fancy was busy. But +here came a change. Serpents would too often glide across the table +around which the gay company, himself a member, were assembled; or +some other sudden and more appalling change scatter into fragments +the bright phantasma of his dreams. + +The sober morning found him in a soberer mood. Calm, cold, +unimpassioned reflection came. What had he been doing? What path had +he entered; and whither did it lead? These were questions that would +intrude themselves, and clamour for an answer. He shut his eyes and +endeavoured again to sleep. Waking thoughts were worse than the airy +terrors which had visited him in sleep. At length he arose, with +dull pains in his head, and an oppressive sluggishness of the whole +body. But more painful than his own reflections, or the physical +consequences of the last night's irregularity, was the thought of +meeting Blanche, and bearing the glance of her innocent eyes. He +felt that he had been among the impure,--and worse, that he had +enjoyed their impure sentiments, and indulged with them in excess of +wine. The taint was upon him, and the pure mind of his sister must +instinctively perceive it. These thoughts made him wretched. He +really dreaded to meet her. But this could not be avoided. + +"You do not look well, brother," said Blanche, almost as soon as she +saw him. + +"I am not well," he replied, avoiding her steady look. "My head +aches, and I feel dull and heavy." + +"What has caused it, brother?" the affectionate girl asked, with a +look and voice of real concern. + +Now this was, of all others, the question that Henry was least +prepared to answer. He could not utter a direct falsehood. From that +his firm principles shrunk. Nor could he equivocate, for he +considered equivocation little better than a direct falsehood. "Why +should I wish to conceal any part of my conduct from her?" he asked +himself, in his dilemma. But the answer was instant and conclusive. +His participation in the revelry of the last night was a thing not +to be whispered in her ear. Not being prepared, then, to tell the +truth, and shrinking from falsehood and equivocation, Armour +preferred silence as the least evil of the three. The question of +Blanche was not, therefore, answered. At the breakfast-table, his +father and mother remarked upon his appearance. To this, he merely +replied that he was not well. As soon as the meal was over, he went +out, glad to escape the eye of Blanche, which, it seemed to him, +rested searchingly upon him all the while. + +A walk of half an hour in the fresh morning air dispelled the dull +pain in his head, and restored his whole system to a more healthy +tone. This drove away, to some extent, the oppressive feeling of +self-condemnation he had indulged. The scenes of the previous +evening, though silly enough for sensible young men to engage in, +seemed less objectionable than they had appeared to him on his first +review. To laugh involuntarily at several remembered jests and +stories, the points of which were not exactly the most chaste or +reverential, marked the change that a short period had produced in +his state of mind. During that day, he did not fall in with any of +his wild companions of the last evening, too many of whom had +already fairly entered the road to ruin. The evening was spent at +home, in the society of Blanche. He read while she sewed, or he +turned for her the leaves of her music book, or accompanied her upon +the flute while she played him a favourite air upon the piano. +Conversation upon books, music, society, and other topics of +interest, filled up the time not occupied in these mental +recreations, and added zest, variety, and unflagging interest to the +gently-passing hours. On the next evening they attended a concert, +and on the next a party. On that succeeding, Henry went out to see a +friend of a different character from any of those with whom he had +passed the hours a few nights previous--a friend about his own age, +of fixed habits and principles, who, like himself, was preparing for +the bar. With him he spent a more rational evening than with the +others, and, what was better, no sting was left behind. + +Still, young Armour could never think of the "club" without having +his mind thrown into a tumult. It awoke into activity opposing +principles. Good and evil came in contact, and battled for +supremacy. There was in his mind a clear conviction that to indulge +in dissipation of that character, would be injurious both to moral +and physical health. And yet, having tasted of the delusive sweets, +he was tempted to further indulgence. Meeting with some two or three +of the "members" during the week, and listening to their extravagant +praise of the "club," and the pleasure of uniting in unrestrained +social intercourse, made warm by generous wine, tended to make more +active the contest going on within--for the good principles that had +been stored up in his mind were not to be easily silenced. Their +hold upon his character was deep. They had entered into its warp and +woof, and were not to be eradicated or silenced in a moment. As the +time for the next meeting of the club approached, this battle grew +more violent. The condition into which it had brought him by the +arrival of the night on which he had promised again to join his gay +friends, the reader has already seen. He was still unable to decide +his course of action. Inclination prompted him to go; good +principles opposed. "But then I have passed my word that I would go, +and my word must be inviolable." Here reason came in to the aid of +his inclinations, and made in their favour a strong preponderance. + +We have seen that, yet undecided, he lingered at home, but in a +state of mind strangely different from any in which his sister had +ever seen him. Still debating the question, he lay, half reclined +upon the sofa, when Blanche touched her innocent lips to his, and +murmured a tender good-night. That kiss passed through his frame +like an electric current. It came just as his imagination had +pictured an impure image, and scattered it instantly. But no +decision of the question had yet been made, and the withdrawal of +Blanche only took off an external restraint from his feelings. He +quietly arose and commenced pacing the floor. This he continued for +some time. At last the decision was made. + +"I have passed my word, and that ends it," said he, and instantly +left the house. Without permitting himself to review the matter +again, although a voice within asked loudly to be heard, he walked +hastily in the direction of the club-room. In ten minutes he gained +the door, opened it without pausing, and stood in the midst of the +wild company within. His entrance was greeted with shouts of +welcome, and the toast, "Here's to a good fellow!" with which he had +parted from them, was repeated on his return, all standing as it was +drunk. + +To this followed a sentiment that cannot be repeated here. It was +too gross. All drunk to it but Armour. He could not, for it involved +a foul slander upon the other sex, and he had a sister whose pure +kiss was yet warm upon his lips. The individual who proposed the +toast marked this omission, and pointed it out by saying-- + +"What's the matter, Harry? Is not the wine good?" + +The colour mounted to the young man's face as he replied, with a +forced smile-- + +"Yes, much better than the sentiment." + +"What ails the sentiment?" asked the propounder of it, in a tone of +affected surprise. + +"I have a sister," was the brief, firm reply of Armour. + +"So Charley, here, was just saying," retorted the other, with a +merry laugh; "and, what is more, that he'd bet a sixpence you were +tied to her apron-string, and would not be here to-night! Ha! ha!" + +The effect of this upon the mind of Armour was decisive. He loved, +nay, almost revered his sister. + +She had been like an angel of innocence about his path from early +years. He knew her to be as pure as the mountain snow-flake. And yet +that sister's influence over him was sneered at by one who had just +uttered a foul-mouthed slander upon her whole sex. The scales fell +instantly from his eyes. He saw the dangerous ground upon, which he +stood; while the character of his associates appeared in a new +light. They were on a road that he did not wish to travel. There +were serpents concealed amid the flowers that sprung along their +path, and he shuddered as he thought of their poisonous fangs. Quick +as a flash of light, these things passed through his mind, and +caused him to act with instant resolution. Rising from the chair he +had already taken, he retired, without a word, from the room. A +sneering laugh followed him, but he either heard it not or gave it +no heed. + +The book which Blanche resumed after she had heard her brother go +out, soon ceased to interest her. She was too much troubled about +him to be able to fix her mind on any thing else. His singularly +disturbed state, and the fact of his having left the house at that +late hour, caused her to feel great uneasiness. This was beginning +to excite her imagination, and to cause her to fancy many reasons +for his strange conduct, none of which were calculated in any degree +to allay the anxiety she felt. Anxiety was fast verging upon serious +alarm, when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. +She listened breathlessly. Surely it was the sound of Henry's +footsteps! Yes! Yes! It was indeed her brother. The tears gushed +from her eyes as she heard him enter below and pass up to his +chamber. He was safe from harm, and for this her heart lifted itself +up in fervent thankfulness! How near he had been to falling, that +pure-minded maiden never knew, nor how it had been her image and the +remembrance of her parting kiss that had saved him in the moment of +his greatest danger. Happy he who is blest with such a sister! And +happier still, if her innocence be suffered to overshadow him in the +hours of temptation! + + + + + + +THE HOME OF TASTE. + + + + + +THERE are three words, in the utterance of which more power over the +feelings is gained than in the utterance of any other words in the +language. These are "Mother," "Home," and "Heaven." Each appeals to +a different emotion--each bears influence over the heart from the +cradle to the grave.--And just in the degree that this influence is +active, are man's best interests secured for time and eternity. + +Only of "home" do we here intend to speak; and, in particular, as to +the influence of the home of taste. We hear much, in these days, of +enlarging the sphere of woman's social duties; as if, in the sphere +of home, nothing remained to be done, and she must either fold her +hands in idleness, or step forth to engage with man in life's +sterner conflicts. But it is not true that our homes are as they +might be, if their presiding genius fully comprehended all that was +needed to make home what the word implies. Among those in poorer +circumstances, this is especially so. They are too apt to regard +matters of taste as mere superfluities; to speak lightly of order, +neatness, and ornament; to think time and money spent on such things +as useless. But this is a serious mistake, involving, often, the +most lamentable consequences. + +If we expect our children to grow up with a love for things pure and +orderly, we must surround them with the representations thereof in +the homes where first impressions are formed. The mind rests upon +and is moulded by things external to a far greater extent than many +suppose. These are not only a mirror, reflecting all that passes +before the surface, but a highly sensitive mirror, that, like the +Daguerreotype plate, retains the image it receives. If the image be +orderly and beautiful, it will ever have power to excite orderly and +beautiful thoughts in the mind; but if it be impure and disorderly, +its lasting influence will be debasing. If you meet with a coarse, +vulgar-minded man or woman, and are able to trace back the thread of +life until the period of early years, you will be sure to find the +existence of coarse and vulgar influences; and, in most cases, the +opposite will alike be found to hold good. + +There is no excuse for disorder in a household, no matter how small +or how low the range of income, but idleness or indifference. The +time required to maintain neatness, order, and cleanliness, is +small, if the will is active and the hands prompt. Every home, even +the poorest, may become a home of taste, and present order and forms +of beauty, if there is only a willing purpose in the mind. + +It is often charged upon men--particularly operatives with low +wages--that they do not love their homes, preferring to spend their +evening hours in bar-rooms, or wandering about with other men as +little attracted by the household sphere as themselves, until the +time for rest. If you were to go into the homes of such, in most +cases, you would hardly wonder at the aversion manifested. The +dirty, disordered rooms, which their toiling wives deem it a waste +of time and labour to make tidy and comfortable for their reception, +it would be a perversion to call homes. Home attracts; but these +repel. And so, with a feeling of discomfort, the men wander away, +fall into temptation, and usually spend, in self-indulgence, money +that otherwise would have gone to increase home comforts, if there +had been any to increase. And so it is, in its degree, in the homes +of every class. The more pleasant, orderly, and tasteful home is +made, in all its departments and associations, the stronger is its +attractive power, and the more potent its influence over those who +are required to go forth into the world and meet its thousand +allurements. If every thing is right there, it will surely draw them +back, with a steady retraction, through all their absent moments, +and they will feel, on repassing the threshold, that, in the wide, +wide world, there is no spot to them so full of blessings. + +What true woman does not aspire to be the genius of such a home? + + + + + + +THE TWO SYSTEMS. + + + + + +"IT'S no use to talk; I can't do it. The idea of punishing a child +in cold blood makes me shiver all over. I certainly think that, in +the mind of any one who can do it, there must be a latent vein of +cruelty." + +This remark was made by Mrs. Stanley to her friend and visiter Mrs. +Noland. + +"I have known parents," she continued, "who would go about executing +some punishment with a coolness and deliberation that to me was +frightful. No promise, no appeal, no tear of alarm or agony, from +the penitent little culprit, would have the least effect. The law +must be fulfilled even to the jot and tittle." + +"The disobedient child, doubtless, knew the law," remarked Mrs. +Noland. + +"Perhaps so. But even if it did, great allowance ought to be made +for the ardor with which children seek the gratification of their +desires, and the readiness with which they forget." + +"No parent should lay down a law not right in itself; nor one +obedience to which was not good for the child." + +"But it is very hard to do this. We have not the wisdom of Solomon. +Every day, nay, almost every hour, we err in judgment; and +especially in a matter so little understood as the management of +children." + +"Better, then, have very few laws, and them of the clearest kind. +But, having them, implicit obedience should be exacted. At least, +that is my rule." + +"And you punish for every infraction?" + +"Certainly. But, I am always sure that the child is fully aware of +his fault, and let my punishment be graduated according to the +wilfulness of the act." + +"And you do this coolly?" + +"Oh, yes. I never punish a child while I am excited with a feeling +of indignation for the offence." + +"If I waited for that to pass off, I could never punish one of my +children." + +"Do you find, under this system, that your children are growing up +orderly and obedient?" + +"No, indeed! Of course I do not. Who ever heard of orderly and +obedient children? In fact, who would wish their children to be mere +automatons? I am sure I would not. They are, by nature, restless, +and impatient of control. It will not do to break down their young +spirits. As for punishments, I don't believe much in them, any how. +I have an idea that the less they are brought into requisition the +better. They harden children. Kindness, long suffering, and +forbearance will accomplish a great deal more, and in the end be +better for the child." + +At this moment a little fellow came sliding into the parlour, with a +look that said plainly enough, "I know you don't want me here." + +"Run out, Charley, dear," said Mrs. Stanley, in a mild voice. + +But Charley did not seem to notice his mother's words, for he +continued advancing toward her, until he was by her side, when he +paused and looked the visiter steadily in the face. + +"Charley, you must run out, my dear," said Mrs. Stanley, in a firmer +and more decided voice. + +But Charley only leaned heavily against his mother, not heeding in +the smallest degree her words. Knowing how impossible it would be to +get the child out of the room, without a resort to violence, Mrs. +Stanley said no more to him, but continued the conversation with her +friend. She had only spoken a few words, however, before Charley +interrupted her by saying-- + +"Mother!--Mother!--Give me a piece of cake." + +"No, my son. You have had cake enough this afternoon," replied Mrs. +Stanley. + +"Oh yes, do, mother, give me a piece of cake." + +"It will make you sick, Charley." + +"No, it won't. Please give me some." + +"I had rather not." + +"Yes, mother. Oh do! I want a piece of cake." + +"Go 'way, Charles, and don't tease me." + +There was a slight expression of impatience in the mother's voice. +The child ceased his importunities for a few moments, but just as +Mrs. Stanley had commenced a sentence, intended to embody some wise +saying in regard to the management of children, the little boy broke +in upon her with-- + +"I say, mother, give me a piece of cake, won't you?" in quite a loud +voice. + +Mrs. Stanley felt irritated by this importunity, but she governed +herself. Satisfied that there would be no peace unless the cake were +forthcoming, she said, looking affectionately at the child: + +"Poor little fellow! I suppose he does feel hungry. I don't think +another piece of cake will hurt him. Excuse me a moment, Mrs. +Noland." + +The cake was obtained by Charley in the very way he had, hundreds of +times before, accomplished his purpose, that is, by teasing it out +of his mother. For the next ten minutes the friends conversed, +unmolested. At the end of that time Charley again made his +appearance. + +"Go up into the nursery, and stay with Ellen," said Mrs. Stanley. + +The child took no notice, whatever, of this direction, but walked +steadily up to where his mother was sitting, saying, as he paused by +her side-- + +"I want another piece of cake." + +"Not any more, my son." + +"Yes, mother. Give me some more." + +"No." This was spoken in a very positive way. Charley began to beg +in a whining tone, which, not producing the desired effect, soon +rose into a well-defined cry. + +"I declare! I never saw such a hungry set as my children are. They +will eat constantly from morning until night." Mrs. Stanley did not +say this in the most amiable tone of voice. + +"Mother! I want a piece of cake," cried Charley. + +"I'll give you one little piece more; but, remember, that it will be +the last; so don't ask me again." + +Charley stopped crying at once. Mrs. Stanley went out with him. As +soon as she was far enough from the parlour not to be heard, she +took Charley by the shoulders, and giving him a violent shake, +said-- + +"You little rebel, you! If you come into the parlour again, I'll +skin you!" + +The cake was given. Charley cared about as much for the threat as he +did for the shaking. He had gained his end. + +"I pray daily for patience to bear with my children," said Mrs. +Stanley, on returning to the parlour. "They try us severely." + +"That they do," replied Mrs. Noland. "But it is in our power, by +firmness, consistency, and kindness, to render our tasks +comparatively light." + +"Perhaps so. I try to be firm, and consistent, and kind with my +children; to exercise toward them constant forbearance; but, after +all, it is very hard to know exactly how to govern them." + +"Mother, can't I go over into the square?" asked Emma, looking into +the parlour just at this time. She was a little girl about eight +years old. + +"I would rather not have you go, my dear," returned Mrs. Stanley. + +"Oh yes, mother, do let me go," urged Emma. + +"Ellen can't go with you now; and I do not wish you to go alone." + +"I can go well enough, mother." + +"Well, run along then, you intolerable little tease, you!" + +Emma scampered away, and Mrs. Stanley remarked-- + +"That is the way. They gain their ends by importunity." + +"But should you allow that, my friend?" + +"There was no particular reason why Emma should not go to the +square. I didn't think, at first, when I said I would rather not +have her go, or I would have said 'yes' at once. It is so difficult +to decide upon children's requests on the spur of the moment." + +"But after you had said that you did not want her to go to the +square, would it not have been better to have made her abide by your +wishes?" + +"I don't think it would have been right for me to have deprived the +child of the pleasure of playing in the square, from the mere pride +of consistency. I was wrong in objecting at first--to have adhered +to my objection would have been still a greater wrong;--don't you +think so?" + +"I do not," returned Mrs. Noland. "I know of no greater evil in a +family, than for the children to discover that their parents +vacillate in any matter regarding them. A denial once made to any +request should be positive, even if, in a moment after, it be seen +to have been made without sufficient reason." + +"I cannot agree with you. Justice, I hold, to be paramount in all +things. We should never wrong a child." + +The third appearance of Charley again broke in upon the +conversation. + +"Give me another piece of cake, mother." + +"What! Didn't I tell you that there was no more for you? No! you +cannot have another morsel." + +"I want some more cake," whined the child. + +"Not a crumb more, sir." + +The whine rose into a cry. + +"Go up stairs, sir." + +Charley did not move. + +"Go this instant." + +"Give me some cake." + +"No." + +The cry swelled into a loud bawl. + +Mrs. Stanley became excessively annoyed. "I never saw such +persevering children in my life," said she, impatiently. "They don't +regard what I say any more than if I had not spoken. Charles! Go out +of the parlour this moment!" + +The tone in which this was uttered the child understood. He left the +parlour slowly, but continued to cry at the top of his voice. The +parlour bell was rung, and Ellen the nurse appeared. + +"Do, Ellen, give that boy another piece of cake! There is no other +way to keep him quiet." + +In about three minutes after this direction had been given, all was +still again. Mrs. Stanley now changed the topic of conversation. Her +manner was not quite so cheerful as before. The conduct of Charley +had worried and mortified her. + +The last piece of cake had not been really wanted. Charley asked for +it because a spirit of opposition had been aroused, but he had no +appetite to eat it. It was crumbled about the floor and wasted. His +mother had peace for the next hour. After that she went into the +kitchen to give directions, and make some preparations for tea. +Charley was by her side. + +"Ellen, take this child out," said she. + +Ellen took hold of Charley's arm. + +"No!--no!--Go 'way, Ellen!" he screamed. + +"There!--there!--never mind. Let him stay," said the mother. + +A jar of preserved fruit was brought forth. + +"Give me some?" asked Charley. + +"No, not now. You will get some at the table." + +"I want some now. Give me some now." + +A spoonful of the preserves was put into a saucer, and given to the +child. + +"Give me some more," said he, holding up his saucer in about half a +minute. + +"No. Wait until tea is ready." + +"Give me some sweetmeats. I want more, mother!" + +"I tell you, no." + +A loud bawl followed. + +"I declare this child will worry me to death!" exclaimed the mother, +her mind all in confusion, lading out a large spoonful of the fruit, +and putting it into his saucer. + +When this was eaten, still more was demanded, and peremptorily +refused. Crying was resorted to, but without effect, though it was +loud and deafening. Finding this unsuccessful, the spoiled urchin +determined to help himself. As soon as his mother's back was turned, +he clambered up to the table and seized the jar containing the +preserves. In pulling it over far enough to get his spoon into it, +the balance of the jar was destroyed, and over it went, rolling off +upon the floor, and breaking with a loud crash. At the moment this +occurred, Mrs. Stanley entered the room. Her patience, that had been +severely tried, was now completely overthrown. She was angry enough +to punish her child, and feel a delight in doing so. Seizing him by +one arm, she lifted him from the floor, as if he had been but a +feather, and hurried with him up to her chamber. There she whipped +him unmercifully, and then put him to bed. He continued to cry after +she had done so, when she commanded him to stop in a voice that he +dared not disobey. An hour afterward, when much cooled down, she +passed through the chamber. She looked down upon her little boy with +a feeling of repentance for her anger and the severity of her +punishment. This feeling was in no way mitigated on hearing the +child sob in his sleep. The mother felt very unhappy. + +So much for Mrs. Stanley--so much for her tenderness of feeling--so +much for her warm-blooded system. Its effects need not be exposed +further. Its folly need not be set in any plainer light. + +Some weeks afterward she was spending an afternoon with Mrs. Noland. +Her favourite topic was the management of children, and she +introduced it as usual, inveighing as was her wont against the +cruelty of punishing children--especially in cold blood, as she +called it. For her part, she never punished except in extreme cases, +and not then, unless provoked to do so. Unless she felt angry, and +punished on the spur of the moment, she could not do it at all. +During the conversation, which was led pretty much by Mrs. Stanley, +a child, about the age of Charley, came into the parlour. He walked +up to his mother and whispered some request in her ear. + +"Oh no, Master Harry!" was the smiling, but decided reply. + +The child lingered with a look of disappointment. At length he came +up, and kissing his mother, asked again, in a sweet, earnest way, +for what he had been at first denied. + +"After I said no!" And Mrs. Noland looked gravely into his face. + +Tears came into Henry's eyes. But he said no more. In a moment or +two he silently left the room. + +"Mrs. Noland! How could you resist that dear little fellow? I +declare it was right down cruel in you." + +The eyes of Mrs. Stanley glistened as she spoke. + +"It would have been far more cruel to him if I had yielded, after +once having said 'no'--far more cruel had I given him what I knew +would have injured him." + +"But, I don't see how you could refuse so dear a child, when he +asked you in such a sweet, affectionate manner. I should have given +him any thing in the world he had asked for." + +"That's not my way. I say 'no' only when I have good reason, and +then I never change." + +"Never?" + +"Never." + +Henry appeared at the parlour door again. + +"Come in, dear," said Mrs. Noland. + +The child came quickly forward, put up his mouth to kiss her, and +then nestled closely by his mother's side. The conversation +continued, without the slightest interruption from him. + +"Dear little fellow," said Mrs. Stanley, once or twice, looking into +the child's face, and smoothing his hair with her hand. + +When the tea bell rung, the family assembled in the dining-room. A +visiter made it necessary that one of the children should wait. +Henry was by the table as usual. + +"Harry, dear," said his mother, "you will have to wait and come with +Ellen." + +The child felt very much disappointed. He looked up into his +mother's face for a moment, and then, without a word, went out of +the room. + +"Poor little fellow! It is really a pity to make him wait; and he is +so good," said Mrs. Stanley. "I am sure we can make room for him. Do +call him back, and let him sit by me." + +And she moved close to one of the older children as she spoke. "Here +is plenty of room." + +Mrs. Noland thought for a moment, and then told the waiter to call +Henry back. The child came in as quietly as he had gone out, and +came up to his mother's side. + +"My dear," said Mrs. Noland, "this good lady here has made room for +you by her side. You can go and sit by her." + +The child's face brightened. He went quickly and took the offered +seat. By the time tea was over, Henry had fallen asleep in his +chair. Mrs. Noland, when all arose from the table, took Henry in her +arms, and went with him, accompanied by Mrs. Stanley, to her +chamber, where she undressed him, and kissing fondly his bright +young cheek, laid him in his little bed. + +Mrs. Stanley stood for some moments over the sleeping child, and +looked down upon his calm face. As she did so, she remembered her +own little Charley, and under what different circumstances and +feelings he had been put to bed on the evening of Mrs. Noland's +visit to her. + +Whether the contrast did her any good, we have no means of knowing. +We trust the lesson was not without its good effect upon her. + + + + + + +THE EVENING PRAYER. + + + + + +"Our Father." + +"OUR Father." The mother's voice was low, and tender, and solemn. + +"Our Father." On two sweet voices the words were borne upward. It +was the innocence of reverent childhood that gave them utterance. + +"Who art in the heavens." + +"Who art in the heavens," repeated the children, one with her eyes +bent meekly down, and the other looking upward, as if she would +penetrate the heavens into which her heart aspired. + +"Hallowed be Thy name." + +Lower fell the voices of the little ones. In a gentle murmur they +said: "Hallowed be Thy name." + +"Thy kingdom come." + +And the burden of the prayer was still taken up by the +children--"Thy kingdom come." + +"Thy will be done on earth, as it is done in heaven." + +Like a low, sweet echo from the land of angels--"Thy will be done on +earth, as it is done in heaven," filled the chamber. + +And the mother continued--"Give us this day our daily bread." + +"Our daily bread" lingered a moment on the air, as the mother's +voice was hushed into silence. + +"And forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors." + +The eyes of the children had drooped for a moment. But they were +uplifted again as they prayed--"And forgive us our debts, as we also +forgive our debtors." + +"And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil. For +Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen." + +All these holy words were said, piously and fervently, by the little +ones, as they knelt with clasped hands beside their mother. Then, as +their thoughts, uplifted on the wings of prayer to their heavenly +Father, came back again and rested on their earthly parents, a +warmer love came gushing from their hearts. + +Pure kisses--tender embraces--the fond "good night." What a sweet +agitation pervaded all their feelings! Then two dear heads were +placed side by side on the snowy pillow, the mother's last kiss +given, and the shadowy curtains drawn. + +What a pulseless stillness reigns throughout the chamber! Inwardly +the parents' listening ears are bent. They have given these innocent +ones into the keeping of God's angels, and they can almost hear the +rustle of their garments as they gather around their sleeping babes. +A sigh, deep and tremulous, breaks on the air. Quickly the mother +turns to the father of her children, with a look of earnest inquiry +on her countenance. And he answers thus her silent question. + +"Far back, through many years, have my thoughts been wandering. At +my mother's knee thus said I nightly, in childhood, my evening +prayer. It was that best and holiest of all prayers, "Our Father," +that she taught me. Childhood and my mother passed away. I went +forth as a man into the world, strong, confident, and self-seeking. +Once I came into great temptation. Had I fallen in that temptation, +I would have fallen, I sadly fear, never to have risen again. The +struggle in my mind went on for hours. I was about yielding. All the +barriers I could oppose to the in-rushing flood seemed just ready to +give way, when, as I sat in my room one evening, there came from an +adjoining chamber, now first occupied for many weeks, the murmur of +low voices. I listened. At first, no articulate sound was heard, and +yet something in the tones stirred my heart with new and strange +emotions. At length, there came to my ears, in the earnest, loving +voice of a woman, the words--'Deliver us from evil.' For an instant, +it seemed to me as if the voice were that of my mother. Back, with a +sudden bound through all the intervening years, went my thoughts; +and, a child in heart again, I was kneeling at my mother's knee. +Humbly and reverently I said over the words of the holy prayer she +had taught me, heart and eyes uplifted to heaven. The hour and the +power of darkness had passed. I was no longer standing in slippery +places, with a flood of waters ready to sweep me to destruction; but +my feet were on a rock. My mother's pious care had saved her son. In +the holy words she taught me in childhood, was a living power to +resist evil through all my after life. Ah! that unknown mother, as +she taught her child to repeat his evening prayer, how little +dreamed she that the holy words were to reach a stranger's ears, and +save him through memories of his own childhood and his own mother! +And yet it was so. What a power there is in God's Word, as it flows +into and rests in the minds of innocent children!" + +Tears were in the eyes of the wife and mother as she lifted her +face, and gazed with a subdued tenderness upon the countenance of +her husband. Her heart was too full for utterance. A little while +she thus gazed, and then, with a trembling joy, laid her head upon +his bosom. Angels were in the chamber where their dear ones slept, +and they felt their holy presence. + + + + + + +A PEEVISH DAY, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. + + + + + +"IT is too bad, Rachael, to put me to all this trouble; and you know +I can hardly hold up my head!" + +Thus spoke Mrs. Smith, in a peevish voice, to a quiet-looking +domestic, who had been called up from the kitchen to supply some +unimportant omission in the breakfast-table arrangement. + +Rachael looked hurt and rebuked, but made no reply. + +"How could you speak in that way to Rachael?" said Mr. Smith, as +soon as the domestic had withdrawn. + +"If you felt just as I do, Mr. Smith, you would speak cross too!" +Mrs. Smith replied a little warmly. "I feel just like a rag; and my +head aches as if it would burst." + +"I know you feel badly, and I am very sorry for you. But still, I +suppose it is as easy to speak kindly as harshly. Rachael is very +obliging and attentive, and should be borne with in occasional +omissions, which you of course know are not wilful." + +"It is easy enough to preach," retorted Mrs. Smith, whose temper, +from bodily lassitude and pain, was in quite an irritable state. The +reader will understand at least one of the reasons of this, when he +is told that the scene here presented occurred during the last +oppressive week in August. + +Mr. Smith said no more. He saw that to do so would only be to +provoke instead of quieting his wife's ill-humour. The morning meal +went by in silence, but little food passing the lips of either. How +could it, when the thermometer was ninety-four at eight o'clock in +the morning, and the leaves upon the trees were as motionless as if +suspended in a vacuum? Bodies and minds were relaxed--and the one +turned from food, as the other did from thought, with an instinctive +aversion. + +After Mr. Smith had left his home for his place of business, Mrs. +Smith went up into her chamber, and threw herself upon the bed, her +head still continuing to ache with great violence. It so happened +that a week before, the chambermaid had gone away, sick, and all the +duties of the household had in consequence devolved upon Rachael, +herself not very well. Cheerfully, however, had she endeavoured to +discharge these accumulated duties, and but for the unhappy, peevish +state of mind in which Mrs. Smith indulged, would have discharged +them without a murmuring thought. But, as she was a faithful, +conscientious woman, and, withal, sensitive in her feelings, to be +found fault with worried her exceedingly. Of this Mrs. Smith was +well aware, and had, until the latter part of the trying month of +August, acted toward Rachael with consideration and forbearance. But +the last week of August was too much for her. The sickness of the +chambermaid threw such heavy duties upon Rachael, whose daily +headaches and nervous relaxation of body were borne without a +complaint, that their perfect performance was almost impossible. +Slight omissions, which were next to unavoidable under the +circumstances, became so annoying to Mrs. Smith, herself, as it has +been seen, labouring under great bodily and mental prostration, that +she could not bear them. + +"She knows better, and she could do better, if she chose," was her +rather uncharitable comment often inwardly made on the occurrence of +some new trouble. + +After Mr. Smith had taken his departure on the morning just referred +to, Mrs. Smith went up into her chamber, as has been seen, and threw +herself languidly upon a bed, pressing her hands to her throbbing +temples, as she did so, and murmuring, + +"I can't live at this rate!" + +At the same time, Rachael set down in the kitchen the large waiter +upon which she had arranged the dishes from the breakfast-table, and +then sinking into a chair, pressed one hand upon her forehead, and +sat for more than a minute in troubled silence. It had been three +days since she had received from Mrs. Smith a pleasant word; and the +last remark, made to her a short time before, had been the unkindest +of all. At another time, even all this would not have moved her--she +could have perceived that Mrs. S. was not in a right state--that +lassitude of body had produced a temporary infirmity of mind. But, +being herself affected by the oppressive season almost as much as +her mistress, she could not make these allowances. While still +seated, the chamber-bell was rung with a quick, startling jerk. + +"What next?" peevishly ejaculated Rachael, and then slowly proceeded +to obey the summons. + +"How could you leave my chamber in such a condition as this?" was +the salutation that met her ear, as she entered the presence of Mrs. +Smith, who, half raised upon the bed, and leaning upon her hand, +looked the very personification of languor, peevishness, and +ill-humour. "You had plenty of time while we were eating breakfast +to have put things a little to rights!" + +To this Rachael made no reply, but turned away and went back into +the kitchen. She had scarcely reached that spot, before the bell +rang again, louder and quicker than before; but she did not answer +it. In about three minutes it was jerked with an energy that snapped +the wire, but Rachael was immovable. Five minutes elapsed, and then +Mrs. Smith, fully aroused from the lethargy that had stolen over +her, came down with a quick, firm step. + +"What's the reason you didn't answer my bell? say!" she asked, in an +excited voice. + +Rachael did not reply. + +"Do you hear me?" + +Rachael had never been so treated before; she had lived with Mrs. +Smith for three years, and had rarely been found fault with. She had +been too strict in regard to the performance of her duty to leave +much room for even a more exacting mistress to find fault; but now, +to be overtasked and sick, and to be chidden, rebuked, and even +angrily assailed, was more than she could well bear. She did not +suffer herself to speak for some moments, and then her voice +trembled, and the tears came out upon her cheeks. + +"I wish you to get another in my place. I find I don't suit you. My +time will be up day after tomorrow." + +"Very well," was Mrs. Smith's firm reply, as she turned away, and +left the kitchen. + +Here was trouble in good earnest. Often and often had Mrs. Smith +said, during the past two or three years--"What should I do without +Rachael?" And now she had given notice that she was going to leave +her, and under circumstances which made pride forbid a request to +stay. Determined to act out her part of the business with firmness +and decision, she dressed herself and went out, hot and oppressive +as it was, and took her way to an intelligence office, where she +paid the required fee and directed a cook and chambermaid to be sent +to her. On the next morning, about ten o'clock, an Irish girl came +and offered herself as a cook, and was, after sundry questions and +answers, engaged. So soon as this negotiation was settled, Rachael +retired from the kitchen, leaving the new-comer in full possession. +In half an hour after she received her wages, and left, in no very +happy frame of mind, a home that had been for three years, until +within a few days, a pleasant one. As for Mrs. Smith, she was ready +to go to bed sick; but this was impracticable. Nancy, the new cook, +had expressly stipulated that she was to have no duties unconnected +with the kitchen. The consequence was, that notwithstanding the +thermometer ranged above ninety, and the atmosphere remained as +sultry as air from a heated oven, Mrs. Smith was compelled to +arrange her chamber and parlours. By the time this was done, she was +in a condition to go to bed, and lie until dinner-time. + +The arrival of this important period brought new troubles and +vexations. Dinner was late by forty minutes, and then came on the +table in a most abominable condition. A fine sirloin was burnt to a +crisp. The tomatoes were smoked, and the potatoes watery. As if this +was not enough to mar the pleasure of the dinner hour for a hungry +husband, Mrs. Smith added thereto a distressed countenance and +discouraging complaints. Nancy was grumbled at and scolded every +time she had occasion to appear in the room, and her single attempt +to excuse herself on account of not understanding the cook-stove, +was met by, "Do hush, will you! I'm out of all patience!" + +As to the latter part of the sentence, that was a needless waste of +words. The condition of mind she described was fully apparent. + +About three o'clock in the afternoon, just as Mrs. Smith had found a +temporary relief from a troubled mind, and a most intolerable +headache, in sleep, a tap on the chamber-door awoke her, and there +stood Nancy, all equipped for going out. + +"I find I won't suit you, ma'am," said Nancy, "and so you must look +out for another girl." + +Having said this, she turned away and took her departure, leaving +Mrs. Smith in a state of mind, as it is said, "more easily imagined +than described." + +"Oh dear! what shall I do?" at length broke from her lips, as she +burst into tears, and burying her face in the pillow, sobbed aloud. +Already she had repented of her fretfulness and fault-finding +temper, as displayed toward Rachael, and could she have made a truce +with pride, or silenced its whispers, would have sent for her +well-tried domestic, and endeavoured to make all fair with her +again. But, under the circumstances, this was now impossible. While +yet undetermined how to act, the street-bell rung, and she was +compelled to attend the door, as she was now alone in the house. She +found, on opening it, a rough-looking country girl, who asked if she +were the lady who wanted a chambermaid. Any kind of help was better +than none at all, and so Mrs. Smith asked the young woman to walk +in. In treating with her in regard to her qualifications for the +situation she applied for, she discovered that she knew "almost +nothing at all about any thing." The stipulation that she was to be +a doer-of-all-work-in-general, until a cook could be obtained, was +readily agreed to, and then she was shown to her room in the attic, +where she prepared herself for entering upon her duties. + +"Will you please, ma'am, show me what you want me to do?" asked the +new help, presenting herself before Mrs. Smith. + +"Go into the kitchen, Ellen, and see that the fire is made. I'll be +down there presently." + +To be compelled to see after a new and ignorant servant, and direct +her in every thing, just at so trying a season of the year, and +while her mind was "all out of sorts," was a severe task for poor +Mrs. Smith. She found that Ellen, as she had too good reason for +believing, was totally unacquainted with kitchen-work. She did not +even know how to kindle a coal fire; nor could she manage the stove +after Mrs. Smith had made the fire for her. All this did not in any +way tend to make her less unhappy or more patient than before. On +retiring for the night she had a high fever, which continued +unabated until morning, when her husband found her really ill; so +much so as to make the attendance of a doctor necessary. + +A change in the air had taken place during the night, and the +temperature had fallen many degrees. This aided the efforts of the +physician, and enabled him so to adapt his remedies as to speedily +break the fever. But the ignorance and awkwardness of Ellen, +apparent in her attempts to arrange her bed and chamber, so worried +her mind, that she was near relapsing into her former feverish and +excited state. The attendance of an elder maiden sister was just in +time. All care was taken from her thoughts, and she had a chance of +recovering a more healthy tone of mind and body. During the next +week, she knew little or nothing of how matters were progressing out +of her own chamber. A new cook had been hired, of whom she was +pleased to hear good accounts, although she had not seen her; and +Ellen, under the mild and judicious instruction of her sister, had +learned to make up a bed neatly, to sweep, and dust in true style, +and to perform all the little etceteras of chamber-work, greatly to +her satisfaction. She was, likewise, good-tempered, willing, and to +all appearance strictly trustworthy. + +One morning, about a week after she had become too ill to keep up, +she found herself so far recovered as to be able to go down stairs +to breakfast. Every thing upon the table she found arranged in the +neatest style. The food was well cooked, especially some tender rice +cakes, of which she was very fond. + +"Really, these are delicious!" said she, as the finely flavoured +cakes almost melted in her mouth. "And this coffee is just the +thing! How fortunate we have been to obtain so good a cook! I was +afraid we should never be able to replace Rachael. But even she is +equalled, if not surpassed." + +"Still she does not surpass Rachael," said Mr. Smith, a little +gravely. "Rachael was a treasure." + +"Indeed she was. And I have been sorry enough I ever let her go," +returned Mrs. Smith. + +At that moment the new cook entered with a plate of warm cakes. + +"Rachael!" ejaculated Mrs. Smith, letting her knife and fork fall. +"How do you do? I am glad to see you! Welcome home again!" + +As she spoke quickly and earnestly, she held out her hand, and +grasped that of her old domestic warmly. Rachael could not speak, +but as she left the room she put her apron to her eyes. Hers were +not the only one's dim with rising moisture. + +For at least a year to come both Mrs. Smith and her excellent cook +will have no cause to complain of each other. How they will get +along during the last week of next August we cannot say, but hope +the lesson they have both received will teach them to bear and +forbear. + + + + + + +SISTERS. + + + + + +[We make the following extract from one of our books--"Advice to +Young Men on their Duties and Conduct in Life."] + +IF you have younger sisters, who are just entering society, all your +interest should be awakened for them. You cannot but have seen some +little below the surface, and already made the discovery that too +few of the young men who move about in the various social circles to +which you have admission, are fit associates for a pure-minded +woman. Their exterior, it is true, is very fair; they sing well, +they dance well, their persons are elegant, and their manners +attractive; but you have met them when they felt none of the +restraints of female society, and seen them unmask their real +characters. You can remember the ribald jest, the obscene allusion, +the sneer at virtue, the unblushing acknowledgment of +licentiousness. You have heard them speak of this sweet girl, and +that pure-minded woman, in terms that would have roused your deepest +indignation, had your own sister been the subject of allusion. + +You may know all these things, but your innocent sisters at home +cannot know them, nor see reason for shunning the society of those +whose real characters, if revealed, would cause them to turn away in +disgust and horror. From the dangers of an acquaintanceship with +such young men it is your duty to guard your sisters; and you must +do this more by warding off the evil than by warnings against it. In +order to this, you should make it a point of duty always to go with +your sisters into company, and to be their companion, if possible, +on all public occasions. By so doing, you can prevent the +introduction of men whose principles are bad; or, if such +introductions are forced upon them in spite of you, can throw in a +timely word of caution. This latter it may be too late to do after +an acquaintanceship is formed with a man whose character is +detestable in your eyes, provided he have a fair exterior. Your +sister will hardly be made to believe that one who is so attractive +in all respects, and who can converse of virtue and honour so +eloquently, can possibly have an impure or vicious mind. She will +think you prejudiced. The great thing is to guard, by every means in +your power, these innocent ones from the polluting presence of a bad +man. You cannot tell how soon he may win the affections of the most +innocent, confiding, and loving of them all, and draw her off from +virtue. And even if his designs be honourable--if he win her but to +wed her--her lot will be by no means an enviable one; he cannot make +her happy; for happy no pure-minded woman ever has been, or ever can +be made, by a corrupt, evil-minded, and selfish man. + +You are a brother; your position is one of great responsibility; let +this be ever before your mind. + +On your faithfulness to your duty, may depend a lifetime of +happiness or misery for those who are, or ought to be, very dear to +you. But not only should you seek to guard them from the danger just +alluded to--your affection for them should lead you to enter into +their pleasures as far as in your power to do so; to give interest +and variety to the home circle; to afford them, at all times, the +assistance of your judgment in matters of trivial as well as grave +importance. By this you will gain their confidence and acquire an +influence over them that may, at some later period, enable you to +serve them in a moment of impending danger. + +We very often--indeed, far too often--see young men with sisters who +appear to be entirely indifferent in regard to them. They rarely +visit together; their associates, male and female, are strangers to +each other; they appear to have no common interests. This state of +things is the fault, nine times in ten, of the young men. It is the +result of their neglect and indifference. There are very few sisters +who do not love with a most tender and unselfish regard their +brothers, especially their elder brothers, and who would not feel +happier in being their companions than in the companionship of +almost any one. Notwithstanding all this neglect and indifference, +how willingly is every little office performed that adds to the +brother's comfort! How much care is there for him who gives back so +little in return! The sister's love is as unselfish as it is +unostentatious. It is shown in acts, not in professions. How can any +young man be indifferent to such love? How can he fail in its full +and free reciprocation? + +A regard for himself, as well as for his sisters, should lead a +young man to be much with them. Their influence in softening, +polishing, and refining his character, will be very great. They have +perceptions of the propriety and fitness of things far quicker than +he has; and this he will soon see if he observe their remarks upon +the persons with whom they come in contact, and the circumstances +that transpire around them. While he is reasoning on the subject, +and balancing many things in his mind before coming to a +satisfactory conclusion, they, by a kind of intuition, have settled +the whole matter, and settled it, he will find, truly. In the graver +things of life, a man's judgment is more to be relied upon than a +woman's, because here a regular course of reasoning from premises +laid down is required, and this a man is much more able to do than a +woman; but in matters of taste and propriety, and in the quick +appreciation of character, a woman's perceptions are worth far more +than a man's judgment. And in the more weighty and serious matters +of life, a man will always find that he will receive aid, in coming +to a nice decision, from a wife or sister who loves him, if he will +only carefully lay the whole subject before her, with the reasons +that appeal to his judgment, and be guided in some measure by her +perceptions of what is right. This is because man is in the province +of the understanding, which acts by thought, and woman in the +province of the affections, which act by perceptions; not that a man +does not have perceptions and a woman reason, but the leading +characteristic difference between the sexes is as stated, and each +comes to conclusions mainly by either the one or the other of these +two modes. This position, which we believe to be the true one in +regard to the difference between the sexes, demonstrates the great +use of female society, especially the society of those who feel some +interest in and affection for us. In such society, there is a +reciprocation of benefits that is nearly, if not quite, equal. And +nowhere can this reciprocation be of greater utility than among +brothers and sisters, just entering upon life, with all their +knowledge of human character and human life to gain. + + + + + + +BROTHERS. + + + + + +[The following suggestions, on the relation and duties of a sister +to her brother, are taken from a volume by the Author of this book, +entitled, "Advice to Young Ladies on their Duties and Conduct in +Life."] + +OLDER brothers are not usually as attentive to their younger sisters +as the latter would feel to be agreeable. The little girls that were +so long known as children, with the foibles, faults, and caprices of +children, although now grown up into tall young ladies, who have +left or are about leaving school, are still felt to be children, or +but a little advanced beyond childhood, by the young men who have +had some three or four years' experience in the world. With these +older brothers, there will not usually be, arising from this cause, +much confidential and unreserved intercourse; at least, not until +the sisters have added two or three years more to their ages, and +assumed more of the quiet dignity of womanhood. + +Upon these older brothers, therefore, the conduct of sisters cannot, +usually, have much effect. They are removed to a point chiefly +beyond the circle of their influence. But upon brothers near about +their own age, and younger than themselves, the influence of sisters +may be brought to bear with the most salutary results. + +The temptations to which young men are exposed, when first they come +in contact with the world, are many, and full of the strongest +allurements. Their virtuous principles are assailed in a thousand +ways; sometimes boldly, and sometimes by the most insidious arts of +the vicious and evil-minded. All, therefore, that can make virtue +lovely in their eyes, and vice hideous, they need to strengthen the +good principles stored up, from childhood, in their minds. For their +sakes, home should be made as attractive as possible, in order to +induce them frequently to spend their evenings in the place where, +of all others, they will be safest. To do this, a young lady must +consult the tastes of her brothers, and endeavour to take sufficient +interest in the pursuits that interest them, as to make herself +companionable. If they are fond of music, one of the strongest +incentives she can have for attaining the highest possible skill in +performing upon the piano, will be the hope of making home, thereby, +the most attractive place where they can spend their evenings. If +they are fond of reading, let her read, as far as she can, the books +that interest them, in order that she may take part in their +conversations; and let her, in every other possible way, furnish +herself with the means of making home agreeable. + +There is no surer way for a sister to gain an influence with her +brother, than to cultivate all exterior graces and accomplishments, +and improve her mind by reading, thinking, and observation. By these +means she not only becomes his intelligent companion, but inspires +him with a feeling of generous pride toward her, that, more than any +thing else, impresses her image upon his mind, brings her at all +times nearer to him, and gives her a double power over him for good. + +The indifference felt by brothers toward their sisters, when it does +exist, often arises from the fact that their sisters are inferior, +in almost every thing, to the women they are in the habit of meeting +abroad. Where this is the case, such indifference is not so much to +be wondered at. + +Sisters should always endeavour to gain, as much as possible, the +confidence of their brothers, and to give them their confidence in +return. Mutual good offices will result from this, and attachments +that could only produce unhappiness may be prevented. A man sees +more of men than woman does, and the same is true in regard to the +other sex. This being so, a brother has it in his power at once to +guard his sister against the advances of an unprincipled man, or a +man whose habits he knows to be bad; and a sister has it in her +power to reveal to her brother traits of character in a woman, for +whom he is about forming an attachment, that would repel rather than +attract him. + +Toward her younger brother a sister should be particularly +considerate. In allusion to this subject, Mrs. Farrar has written so +well that we cannot repress our wish to quote her. "If your brothers +are younger than you, encourage them to be perfectly confidential +with you; win their friendship by your sympathy in all their +concerns, and let them see that their interests and their pleasures +are liberally provided for in the family arrangements. Never +disclose their little secrets, however unimportant they may seem to +you; never pain them by an ill-timed joke; never repress their +feelings by ridicule; but be their tenderest friend, and then you +may become their ablest adviser. If separated from them by the +course of school and college education, make a point of keeping up +your intimacy by full, free, and affectionate correspondence; and +when they return to the paternal roof, at that awkward age between +youth and manhood, when reserve creeps over the mind like an +impenetrable vail, suffer it not to interpose between you and your +brothers. Cultivate their friendship and intimacy with all the +address and tenderness you possess; for it is of unspeakable +importance to them that their sisters should be their confidential +friends. Consider the loss of a ball or party, for the sake of +making the evening pass pleasantly to your brothers at home, as a +small sacrifice--one you should unhesitatingly make. If they go into +company with you, see that they are introduced to the most desirable +acquaintances, and show them that you are interested in their +acquitting themselves well." + +Having quoted thus much from the "Young Lady's Friend," we feel +inclined to give a few passages more from the author's admirable +remarks on the relation of brother and sister. + +"So many temptations beset young men, of which young women know +nothing, that it is of the utmost importance that your brothers' +evenings should be happily passed at home; that their friends should +be your friends; that their engagements should be the same as yours; +and that various innocent amusements should be provided for them in +the family circle. Music is an accomplishment usually valuable as a +home enjoyment, as rallying round the piano the various members of a +family, and harmonizing their hearts, as well as their voices, +particularly in devotional strains. I know no more agreeable and +interesting spectacle than that of brothers and sisters playing and +singing together those elevated compositions in music and poetry +which gratify the taste and purify the heart, while their parents +sit delighted by. I have seen and heard an elder sister thus leading +the family choir, who was the soul of harmony to the whole +household, and whose life was a perfect example of those virtues +which I am here endeavouring to inculcate. Let no one say, in +reading this chapter, that too much is here required of sisters; +that no one can be expected to lead such a self-sacrificing life; +for the sainted one to whom I refer was all that I would ask my +sister to be; and a happier person never lived. 'To do good and make +others happy,' was the rule of her life; and in this she found the +art of making herself so. + +"Brothers will generally be found strongly opposed to the slightest +indecorum in sisters.....Their intercourse with all sorts of men +enables them to judge of the construction put upon certain actions, +and modes of dress and speech, much better than women can; and you +will do well to take their advice on all such points. + +"I have been told by men, who had passed unharmed through the +temptations of youth, that they owed their escape from many dangers +to the intimate companionship of affectionate and pure-minded +sisters. They have been saved from a hazardous meeting with idle +company by some home engagement, of which their sisters were the +charm; they have refrained from mixing with the impure, because they +would not bring home thoughts and feelings which they could not +share with those trusting and loving friends; they have put aside +the wine-cup, and abstained from stronger potations, because they +would not profane with their fumes the holy kiss, with which they +were accustomed to bid their sisters good-night." + + + + + + +HOME. + + + + + +SOCIETY is marked by greater and smaller divisions, as into nations, +communities, and families. A man is a member of the commonwealth, a +smaller community, as a hamlet or city, and his family at the same +time; and the more perfectly all his duties to his family are +discharged, the more fully does he discharge his duties to the +community and the nation; for a good member of a family cannot be a +bad member of the commonwealth, for he that is faithful in what is +least, will also be faithful in what is greater. Indeed, the more +perfectly a man fulfils all his domestic duties, the more perfectly, +in that very act, has he discharged his duty to the whole; for the +whole is made up of parts, and its health depends entirely upon the +health of the various parts. There are, of course, general as well +as specific duties; but the more conscientious a man is in the +discharge of specific duties, the more ready will he be to perform +those that are general; and we believe that the converse of this +will be found equally true, and that those who have least regard for +home--who have, indeed, no home, no domestic circle--are the worst +citizens. This they may not be apparently; they may not break the +laws, nor do any thing to call down upon them censure from the +community, and yet, in the secret and almost unconscious +dissemination of demoralizing principles, may be doing a work far +more destructive of the public good than if they had committed a +robbery. + +We always feel pain when we hear a young man speak lightly of home, +and talk carelessly, or, it may be, with sportive ridicule, of the +"old man" and the "old woman," as if they were of but little +consequence. We mark it as a bad indication, and feel that the feet +of that young man are treading upon dangerous ground. His home +education may not have been of the best kind, nor may home +influences have reached his higher and better feelings; but he is at +least old enough now to understand the causes, and to seek rather to +bring into his home all that it needs to render it more attractive, +than to estrange himself from it and expose its defects. + +Instances of this kind are not of very frequent occurrence. Home has +its charms for nearly all, and the very name comes with a blessing +to the spirit. This, however, is more the case with those who have +been separated from it, than it is with those who yet remain in the +old homestead with parents, brothers, and sisters, as their friends +and companions. + +The earnest love of home, felt by nearly all who have been compelled +to leave that pleasant place, is a feeling that should be tenderly +cherished: and this love should be kept alive by associations that +have in them as perfect a resemblance of home as it is possible to +obtain. It is for this reason that it is bad for a young man to +board in a large hotel, where there is nothing in which there is +even an image of the home-circle. Each has his separate chamber; but +that is not home. All meet together at the common table; but there +is no home feeling there, with its many sweet reciprocations. The +meal completed, all separate, each to his individual pursuit or +pleasure. There is a parlour, it is true; but there are no family +gatherings there. One and another sit there, as inclination prompts; +but each sits alone, busy with his own thoughts. All this is a poor +substitute for home. And yet it offers its attractions to some. A +young man in a hotel has more freedom than in a family or private +boarding-house. He comes in and goes out unobserved; there is no one +to say to him, "why?" or "wherefore?" But this is a dangerous +freedom, and one which no young man should desire. + +But mere negative evils, so to speak, are not the worst that beset a +young man who unwisely chooses a public hotel as a place for +boarding. He is much more exposed to temptations there than in a +private boarding-house, or at home. Men of licentious habits, in +most cases, select hotels as boarding-places; and such rarely +scruple to offer to the ardent minds of young men, with whom they +happen to fall in company, those allurements that are most likely to +lead them away from virtue. And, besides this, there being no +evening home-circle in a hotel, a young man who is not engaged +earnestly in some pursuit that occupies his hours of leisure from +business has nothing to keep him there, but is forced to seek for +something to interest his mind elsewhere, and is, in consequence, +more open to temptation. + +Home is man's true place. Every man should have a home. Here his +first duties lie, and here he finds the strength by which he is able +successfully to combat in life's temptations. Happy is that young +man who is still blessed with a home--who has his mother's counsel +and the pure love of sisters to strengthen and cheer him amid life's +opening combats. + + + + + + +A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE ON THE PATH OF A MONEY-LENDER. + + + + + +MR. EDGAR was a money-lender, and scrupled not in exacting the +highest "street rates" of interest that could be obtained. If good +paper were offered, and he could buy it from the needy seeker of +cash at two or even three per cent. a month, he did not hesitate +about the transaction on any scruples of justice between man and +man. Below one per cent. a month, he rarely made loans. He had +nothing to do with the question, as to whether the holder of bills +could afford the sacrifice. The circle of his thoughts went not +beyond gain to himself. + +Few days closed with Mr. Edgar that he was not able to count up +gains as high as from thirty to one hundred dollars: not acquired in +trade--not coming back to him as the reward of productive +industry--but the simple accumulation of large clippings from the +anticipated reward of others' industry. Always with a good balance +in bank, he had but to sign his name to a check, and the slight +effort was repaid by a gain of from ten to fifty dollars, according +to the size and time of the note he had agreed to discount. A shrewd +man, and well acquainted with the business standing of all around +him, Mr. Edgar rarely made mistakes in money transactions. There was +always plenty of good paper offering, and he never touched any thing +regarded as doubtful. + +Was Mr. Edgar a happy man? Ah! that is a home question. But we +answer frankly, no. During his office hours, while his love of gain +was active--while good customers were coming and going, and good +operations being effected--his mind was in a pleasurable glow. But, +at other times, he suffered greatly from a pressure on his feelings, +the cause of which he did not clearly understand. Wealth he had +always regarded as the greatest good in life. And now he not only +had wealth, but the income therefrom was a great deal more than he +had any desire to spend. And yet he was not happy--no, not even in +the thought of his large possessions. Only in the mental activity +through which more was obtained, did he really find satisfaction; +but this state was only of short duration. + +Positive unhappiness, Mr. Edgar often experienced. Occasional +losses, careful and shrewd as he always was, were inevitable. These +fretted him greatly. To lose a thousand dollars, instead of gaining, +as was pleasantly believed, some sixty or seventy, was a shower of +cold water upon his ardent love of accumulation: and he shivered +painfully under the infliction. The importunities of friends who +needed money, and to whom it was unsafe to lend it, were also a +source of no small annoyance. And, moreover, there was little of the +heart's warm sunshine at home. As Mr. Edgar had thought more of +laying up wealth for his children than giving them the true riches +of intellect and heart, ill weeds had sprung up in their minds. He +had not loved them with an unselfish love, and he received not a +higher affection than he had bestowed. Their prominent thought, in +regard to him, seemed ever to be the obtaining of some concession to +their real or imaginary wants; and, if denied these, they reacted +upon him in anger, sullenness, or complaint. + +Oh, no! Mr. Edgar was not happy. Few gleams of sunshine lay across +his path. Life to him, in his own bitter words, uttered after some +keen disappointment, had "proved a failure." And yet he continued +eager for gain; would cut as deep, exact as much from those who had +need of his money in their business, as ever. The measure of per +centage was the measure of his satisfaction. + +One day a gentleman said to him-- + +"Mr. Edgar, I advised a young mechanic who has been in business for +a short time, and who has to take notes for his work, to call on you +for the purpose of getting them cashed. He has no credit in bank, +and is, therefore, compelled to go upon the street for money. Most +of his work is taken by one of the safest houses in the city; his +paper is, therefore, as good as any in market. Deal as moderately +with him as you can. He knows little about these matters, or where +to go for the accommodation he needs." + +"Is he an industrious and prudent young man?" inquired Mr. Edgar, +caution and cupidity at once excited. + +"He is." + +"What's his name?" + +"Blakewell." + +"Oh, I know him. Very well; send him along, and if his paper is +good, I'll discount it." + +"You'll find it first-rate," said the gentleman. + +"How much shall I charge him?" This was Mr. Edgar's first thought, +so soon as he was alone. Even as he asked himself the question, the +young mechanic entered. + +"You take good paper, sometimes?" said the latter, in a hesitating +manner. + +The countenance of Mr. Edgar became, instantly, very grave. + +"Sometimes I do," he answered, with assumed indifference. + +"I have a note of Leyden & Co.'s that I wish discounted," said +Blakewell. + +"For how much?" + +"Three hundred dollars--six months;" and he handed Mr. Edgar the +note. + +"I don't like over four months' notes," remarked the money-lender, +coldly. Then he asked, "What rate of interest do you expect to pay?" + +"Whatever is usual. Of course, I wish to get it done as low as +possible. My profits are not large, and every dollar I pay in +discounts is so much taken from the growth of my business and the +comfort of my family." + +"You have a family?" + +"Yes, sir. A wife and four children." + +Mr. Edgar mused for a moment or two. An unselfish thought was +struggling to get into his mind. + +"What have you usually paid on this paper?" he asked. + +"The last I had discounted cost me one and a half per cent. a +month." + +"Notes of this kind are rarely marketable below that rate," said Mr. +Edgar. He had thought of exacting two per cent. "If you will leave +the note, and call round in half an hour, I will see what can be +done." + +"Very well," returned the mechanic. "Be as moderate with me as you +can." + +For the half hour that went by during the young man's absence, Mr. +Edgar walked the floor of his counting-room, trying to come to some +decision in regard to the note. Love of gain demanded two per cent. +a month, while a feeble voice, scarcely heard so far away did it +seem, pleaded for a generous regard to the young man's necessities. +The conflict taking place in his mind was a new one for the +money-lender. In no instance before had he experienced any +hesitation on the score of a large discount. Love of gain continued +clamorous for two per cent. on the note; yet, ever and anon, the low +voice stole, in pleading accents, to his ears. + +"I'll do it for one and a half," said Mr. Edgar, yielding slightly +to the claim of humanity, urged by the voice, that seemed to be +coming nearer. + +Love of gain, after slight opposition, was satisfied. + +But the low, penetrating voice asked for something better still. + +"Weakness! Folly!" exclaimed Mr. Edgar. "I'd better make him a +present of the money at once." + +It availed nothing. The voice could not be hushed. + +"One per cent! He couldn't get it done as low as that in the city." + +"He is a poor young man, and has a wife and four little children," +said the voice. "Even the abstraction of legal interest from his +hard earnings is defect enough; to lose twice that sum, will make a +heavy draught on his profits, which, under the present competition +in trade, are not large. He is honest and industrious, and by his +useful labour is aiding the social well-being. Is it right for you +to get his reward?--to take his profits, and add them to your +already rich accumulations?" + +Mr. Edgar did not like these home questions, and tried to stop his +ears, so that the voice could not find an entrance. But he tried in +vain. + +"Bank rates on this note," continued the inward voice, "would not +much exceed nine dollars. Even this is a large sum for a poor man to +lose. Double the rate of interest, and the loss becomes an injury to +his business, or the cause of seriously abridging his home comforts. +And how much will nine dollars contribute to your happiness? Not so +much as a jot or a tittle. You are unable, now, to spend your +income." + +The young mechanic entered at this favourable moment. The +money-lender pointed to a chair; then turned to his desk, and filled +up, hurriedly, a check. Blakewell glanced at the amount thereof as +it was handed to him, and an instant flush of surprise came into his +face. + +"Haven't you made a mistake, Mr. Edgar?" said he. + +"In what respect?" + +"The note was for three hundred dollars, six months; and you have +given me a check for two hundred and ninety dollars, forty-three +cents." + +"I've charged you bank interest," said Mr. Edgar, with a feeling of +pleasure at his heart so new, that it sent a glow along every nerve +and fibre of his being. + +"Bank interest! I did not expect this, sir," replied the young man, +visibly moved. "For less than one and a half per cent. a month, I +have not been able to obtain money. One per cent, I would have paid +you cheerfully. Eighteen dollars saved! How much good that sum will +do me! I could not have saved it--or, I might say, have received +it--more opportunely. This is a kindness for which I shall ever +remember you gratefully." + +Grasping the money-lender's hand, he shook it warmly; then turned +and hurried away. + +Only one previous transaction had that day been made by Mr. Edgar. +In that transaction, his gain was fifty dollars, and much pleasure +had it given him. But the delight experienced was not to be compared +with what he now felt. It was to him a new experience in life--a +realization of that beautiful truth, "It is more blessed to give +than to receive." + +Once or twice during the day, as Mr. Edgar dwelt on the little +circumstance, his natural love of gain caused regret for the loss of +money involved in the transaction to enter his mind. How cold, +moody, and uncomfortable he instantly became! Self-love was seeking +to rob the money-lender of the just reward of a good deed. But the +voice which had prompted the generous act was heard, clear and +sweet, and again his heart beat to a gladder measure. + +Evening was closing in on the day following. It was late in +December, and winter had commenced in real earnest. Snow had fallen +for some hours. Now, however, the sky was clear, but the air keen +and frosty. The day, to Mr. Edgar, was one in which more than the +usual number of "good transactions" had been made. On one perfectly +safe note he had been able to charge as high as three per cent. per +month. Full of pleasurable excitement had his mind been while thus +gathering in gain, but now, the excitement being over, he was +oppressed. From whence the pressure came, he did not know. A cloud +usually fell upon his spirits with the closing day; and there was +not sunshine enough at home to chase it from his sky. + +As Mr. Edgar walked along, with his eyes upon the pavement, his name +was called. Looking up, he saw, standing at the open door of a small +house, the mechanic he had befriended on the day before. + +"Step in here just one moment," said the young man. The request was +made in a way that left Mr. Edgar no alternative but compliance. So +he entered the humble dwelling. He found himself in a small, +unlighted room, adjoining one in which a lamp was burning, and in +which was a young woman, plainly but neatly dressed, and four +children, the youngest lying in a cradle. The woman held in her hand +a warm Bay State shawl, which, after examining a few moments, with a +pleased expression of countenance, she threw over her shoulders, and +glanced at herself in a looking-glass. The oldest of the children, a +boy, was trying on a new overcoat; and his sister, two years +younger, had a white muff and a warm woollen shawl, in which her +attention was completely absorbed. A smaller child had a new cap, +and he was the most pleased of any. + +"Oh, isn't father good to buy us all these? and we wanted them so +much," said the oldest of the children. "Yesterday morning, when I +told him how cold I was going to school, he said he was sorry, but +that I must try and do without a coat this winter, for he hadn't +money enough to get us all we wanted. How did he get more money, +mother?" + +"To a kind gentleman, who helped your father, we are indebted for +these needed comforts," replied the mother. + +"He must be a good man," said the boy. "What's his name?" + +"His name is Mr. Edgar." + +"I will ask God to bless him to-night when I say my prayers," +innocently spoke out the youngest of the three children. + +"What does all this mean?" asked the money-lender, as he hastily +retired from the room he had entered. + +"If you had charged me one per cent. on my note, this scene would +never have occurred," answered the mechanic. "With the sum you +generously saved me, I was able to buy these comforts. My heart +blesses you for the deed; and if the good wishes of my happy family +can throw sunshine across your path, it will be full of brightness." + +Too much affected to reply, Mr. Edgar returned the warm pressure of +the hand which had grasped his, and glided away. + +A gleam of sunshine had indeed fallen along the pathway of the +money-lender. Home had a brighter look as he passed his own +threshold. He felt kinder and more cheerful; and kindness and +cheerfulness flowed back to him from all the inmates of his +dwelling. He half wondered at the changed aspect worn by every +thing. His dreams that night were not of losses, fires, and the +wreck of dearly-cherished hopes, but of the humble home made glad by +his generous kindness. Again the happy mother, the pleased children, +and the grateful father, were before him, and his own heart leaped +with a new delight. + +"It was a small act--a very light sacrifice on my part," said Mr. +Edgar to himself, as he walked, in a musing mood, toward his office +on the next morning. "And yet of how much real happiness has it been +the occasion! So much that a portion thereof has flowed back upon my +own heart." + +"A good act is twice blessed." It seemed as if the words were spoken +aloud, so distinctly and so suddenly were they presented to the mind +of Mr. Edgar. + +Ah, if he will only heed that suggestion, made by some pure spirit, +brought near to him by the stirring of good affections in his mind! +In it lies the secret of true happiness. Let him but act therefrom, +and the sunshine will never be absent from his pathway. + +ENGAGED AT SIXTEEN. + +"MRS. LEE is quite fortunate with her daughters," remarked a visitor +to Mrs. Wyman, whose oldest child, a well grown girl of fifteen, was +sitting by. + +"Yes; Kate and Harriet went off in good time. She has only Fanny +left." + +"Who is to be married this winter." + +"Fanny?" + +"She is engaged to Henry Florence." + +"Indeed! And she is only just turned of sixteen. How fortunate, +truly! Some people have their daughters on their hands until they +are two or three-and-twenty, when the chances for good matches are +very low. _I_ was only sixteen when _I_ was married." + +"Certainly; and then I had rejected two or three young men. There is +nothing like early marriages, depend upon it, Mrs. Clayton. They +always turn out the best. The most desirable young men take their +pick of the youngest girls, and leave the older ones for second-rate +claimants." + +"Do you hear that, Anna?" Mrs. Clayton said, laughing, as she turned +to Mrs. Wyman's daughter. "I hope you will not remain a moment later +than your mother did upon the maiden list." + +Anna blushed slightly, but did not reply. What had been said, +however, made its impression on her mind. She felt that to be +engaged early was a matter greatly to be desired. + +"My mother was married at sixteen, and here am I fifteen, and +without a lover." So thought Anna, as she paused over the page of a +new novel, some hours after she had listened to the conversation +that passed between her mother and Mrs. Clayton, and mused of love +and matrimony. + +From that time, Anna Wyman was another girl. The sweet simplicity of +manner, the unconscious innocence peculiar to her age, gradually +vanished. Her eye, that was so clear and soft with the light of +girlhood's pleasant fancies, grew earnest and restless, and, at +times, intensely bright. The whole expression of her countenance was +new. It was no longer a placid sky, with scarce a cloud floating in +its quiet depths, but changeful as April, with its tears and smiles +blending in strange beauty. Her heart, that had long beat +tranquilly, would now bound at a thought, and send the bright +crimson to her cheek--would flutter at the sight of the very +individual whom she, a short time before, would meet without a +single wave ruffling the surface of her feelings. The woman had +suddenly displaced the girl; a sisterly regard, that pure affection +which an innocent maiden's heart has for all around her had expired +on the altar where was kindling up the deep passion called _love_. +And yet Anna Wyman had not reached her sixteenth year. + +All at once, she became restless, capricious, unhappy. She had been +at school up to this period, but now insisted that she was too old +for that; her mother seconded this view of the matter, and her +father, a man of pretty good sense, had to yield. + +"We must give Anna a party now," said Mrs. Wyman, after their +daughter had left school. + +"Why so?" asked the father. + +"Oh--because it is time that she was beginning to come out." + +"Come out, how?" + +"You are stupid, man. Come out in the list of young ladies. Go into +company." + +"But she is a mere child, yet--not sixteen." + +"Not sixteen! And how old was _I_, pray, when you married me?" + +The husband did not reply. + +"How old was I, Mr. Wyman?" + +"About sixteen, I believe." + +"Well; and was I a mere child?" + +"You were rather young to marry, at least," Mr. Wyman ventured to +say. This remark was made rather too feelingly. + +"Too young to marry!" ejaculated the wife, in a tone of surprise and +indignation--"too young to marry; and my husband to say so, too! Mr. +Wyman, do you mean to intimate--do you mean to say?--Mr. Wyman, what +do you mean by that remark?" + +"Oh, nothing at all," soothingly replied the husband; "only that +I"-- + +"What?" + +"That I don't, as a general thing, approve of very early marriages. +The character of a young lady is not formed before twenty-one or +two; nor has she gained that experience and knowledge of the world +that will enable her to choose with wisdom." + +"You don't pretend to say that my character was not formed at +sixteen?" This was accompanied by a threatening look. + +Whatever his thoughts were, Mr. Wyman took good care not to express +them. He merely said-- + +"I believe, Margaret, that I haven't volunteered any allusion to +you." + +"Yes, but you don't approve of early marriages." + +"True." + +"Well, didn't I marry at sixteen? And isn't your opinion a +reflection upon your wife?" + +"Circumstances alter cases," smilingly returned Mr. Wyman. "Few +women at sixteen were like you. Very certainly your daughter is +not." + +"There I differ with you, Mr. Wyman. I believe our Anna would make +as good a wife now as I did at sixteen. She is as much of a woman in +appearance; her mind is more matured, and her education advanced far +beyond what mine was. She deserves a good husband, and must have one +before the lapse of another year." + +"How can you talk so, Margaret? For my part, I do not wish to see +her married for at least five years." + +"Preposterous! I wouldn't give a cent for a marriage that takes +place after seventeen or eighteen. They are always indifferent +affairs, and rarely ever turn out well. The earlier the better, +depend upon it. First love and first lover, is my motto." + +"Well, Margaret, I suppose you will have these matters your own way; +but I don't agree with you for all." + +"Anna must have a party." + +"You can do as you like." + +"But you must assent to it." + +"How can I do that, if I don't approve?" + +"But you must approve." + +And Mrs. Wyman persevered until she made him approve--at least do so +apparently. And so a party was given to Anna, at which she was +introduced to several dashing young men, whose attentions almost +turned her young head. In two weeks she had a confidante, a young +lady named Clara Spenser, not much older than herself. The progress +already made by Anna in love matters will appear in the following +conversation held in secret with Clara. + +"Did you say Mr. Carpenter had been to see you since the party?" +asked Clara. + +"Yes, indeed," was the animated reply. + +"He's a love of a man!--the very one of all others that I would set +my cap for, if there was any hope. But you will, no doubt, carry him +off." + +Anna coloured to the temples, half with confusion and half with +delight. + +"He used to pay attention to Jane Sherman, I'm told." + +"Yes; but you've cut her out entirely. Didn't you notice how unhappy +she seemed at the party whenever he was with you?" + +"No; was she?" + +"Oh, yes; everybody noticed it. But you can carry off all of her +beaux; she's a mere drab of a girl. And, besides, she's getting on +the old maids' list; I'm told she's more than twenty." + +"She is?" + +"It's true." + +"Oh, dear; there's no fear of her then. If I were to go over sixteen +before I married, I should be frightened to death." + +"Suppose Carpenter offers himself?" + +"I hope he won't just yet." + +"Why?" + +"I want two or three strings to my bow. It would be dangerous to +reject one unless I had another in my eye." + +"Reject? Nonsense! Why should you reject an offer?" + +"My mother had three offers before she was sixteen, and rejected two +of them." + +"Was she married so early?" + +"Oh, yes; she was a wife at sixteen, and I'm not going to be a day +later, if possible. I'd like to decline _three_ offers and get +married into the bargain before a year passes. Wouldn't that be +admirable? It would be something to boast of all my life." + +Pretty well advanced!--the reader no doubt exclaims; and so our +young lady certainly was. When a very young girl gets into love +matters, she "does them up," as the saying is, quite fast; she +doesn't mince matters at all. A maiden of twenty is cooler, more +thoughtful, and more cautious. She thinks a good deal, and is very +careful how she lets any one--even her confidante, if she should +happen to have one, (which is doubtful)--know much beyond her mere +external thoughts. Four or five years make a good deal of difference +in these things. But this need hardly have been said. + +"You are going to Mrs. Ashton's on Wednesday evening, of course?" +said Clara Spenser to Anna, on visiting her one morning, some weeks +after the introduction to Carpenter had taken place. + +"Oh, certainly; their soirees, I'm told, are elegant affairs." + +"Indeed they are; I've been to two of them. Fine music, pleasant +company, and so much freedom of intercourse--oh, they are +delightful!" + +"Did you ever see Mr. Carpenter there?" + +"Oh, yes; he always attends." + +"I shall enjoy myself highly." + +"That you will--the young men are so attentive." + +Wednesday night soon came round, and Anna was permitted to go, +unattended by either of her parents, to the so-called soiree at Mrs. +Ashton's. As she had hoped and believed, Carpenter was there. His +attentions to her were constant and flattering; he poured many +compliments into her ears, talking to her all the time in a low, +musical tone. Anna's heart fluttered in her bosom with pleasure; she +felt that she had made a conquest. But the fact of bringing so +charming a young man to her feet, and that so speedily, quickened +her pride, and made it seem the easiest thing in the world to be +able to reject three lovers and yet be engaged, or even married, at +sixteen. + +Besides Carpenter, there was another present who saw attractions +about Anna Wyman. He wore a moustache, and made quite a dashing +appearance. In the language of many young ladies, who admired him, +he was an elegant-looking young man--just the one to be proud of as +a beau. His name was Elliott. + +As soon as he could get access to the ear of the young and +inexperienced girl, he charmed it with a deeper charm than Carpenter +had been able to impart. She felt almost like one within a magic +circle. His eye fascinated her, and his voice murmured in her ear +like low, sweet music. + +A short time before parting from her, he said-- + +"Miss Wyman, may I have the pleasure of calling upon you at your +father's house?" + +"Oh, yes, sir; I shall be most happy to see you." She spoke with +feeling. + +"Then I shall visit you frequently. In your society I promise myself +much happiness." + +Anna's eyes fell to the floor, and the colour deepened on her +cheeks. When she looked up, Elliott was gazing steadily in her face, +with an expression of admiration and love. + +Her heart was lost. Carpenter, that love of a man, was not thought +of--or, only as one of her rejected lovers. + +When Anna laid her head upon her pillow that night, it was not to +sleep. Her mind was too full of pleasant images, central to all of +which was the elegant, accomplished, handsome Mr. Elliott. He had, +she conceived, as good as offered himself, and she, much as she +wished to reject three lovers before she accepted one, felt strongly +inclined to accept him, and so end the matter. + +Now, who was Mr. Thomas Elliott? A few words will portray him. Mr. +Elliott was twenty-six; he kept a store in the city; had been in +business for some years, but was not very successful. His habits of +life were not good; his principles had no sound, moral basis. He +was, in fact, just the man to make a silly child like Anna Wyman +wretched for life. But why did he seek for one like her? That is +easily explained. Mr. Wyman was reputed to be pretty well off in the +world, and Mr. Elliott's affairs were in rather a precarious +condition; but he managed to keep so good a face upon the matter, +that none suspected his real condition. + +After visiting Anna for a short time, he offered his hand. If it had +not been that her sixteenth birthday was so near, Anna would have +declined the offer, for Thomas Elliott did not grow dearer to her +every day. There were young men whom she liked much better; and if +they had only come forward and presented their claims to favour, she +would have declined the offer. But time was rapidly passing away. +Anna was ambitious of being engaged before she was sixteen, and +married, if possible. Her mother had rejected two offers, and she +was anxious to do as much. Here was a chance for one rejection--but +was she sure of another offer in time? No! There was the difficulty. +For some days she debated the question, and then laid it before her +mother. Mrs. Wyman consulted her husband, who did not much like +Elliott; but the mother felt the necessity of an early marriage, and +overruled all objections. Her advice to Anna was to accept the +offer, and it was accepted, accordingly. + +A fond, wayward child of sixteen may chance to marry and do well, +spite of all the drawbacks she will meet; but this is only in case +she happen to marry a man of good sense, warm affections, and great +kindness, who can bear with her as a father bears with a capricious +child; can forgive much and love much. But give the happiness of +such a creature into the keeping of a cold, narrow-minded, selfish, +petulant man, and her cup will soon run over. Bitter, indeed, will +be her lot in life. + +Just such a man was Thomas Elliott. He had sought only his own +pleasures, and had owned no law but his own will. For more than ten +years he had been living without other external restraints than +those social laws that all must observe who desire to keep a fair +reputation. He came in when he pleased and went out when he pleased. +He required service from all, and gave it to none--that is, so far +as he needed service, he exacted it from those under him, but was +not in the habit of making personal sacrifices for the sake of +others. Thus, his natural selfishness was confirmed. When he +married, it was with an end to the good he should derive from the +union--not from a generous desire to make another happy in himself. +Anna was young, vivacious, and more than ordinarily intelligent and +pretty. There was much about her that was attractive, and Elliott +really imagined that he loved her; but it was himself that he loved +in her fascinating qualities. These were all to minister to his +pleasure. He never once thought of devoting himself to her +happiness. + +On the night of the wedding, which took place soon after Anna's +sixteenth birthday, the bride was in that bewildered state of mind +which destroys all the rational perceptions of the mind. Her whole +soul was in a pleasing tumult, and yet she did not feel happy; and +why? Spite of the solemn promise she had made to love and honour her +husband above all men, she felt that there were others whom she +could have loved and honoured more than him, were they in his place. +But this, reason told her, was folly. They had not presented +themselves, and he had. They could be nothing to her--he must be +every thing. To secure a husband early was the great point, and that +had been gained. This thought, whenever it crossed her mind, would +cause her to look around upon her maiden companions with proud +self-complacency, They were still upon the shores of expectancy. She +had launched her boat upon the sunny sea of matrimony, and was +already moving steadily away under a pleasant breeze. + +Alas! young bride, thy hymeneal altar is an altar of sacrifice. Love +is not the deity who is presiding there. Little do they dream who +have led thee, poor lamb! garlanded with flowers, to that altar, how +innocent, how true, how good a heart they were offering up upon its +strange fires. But they will know in time, and thou wilt know when +it is too late. + +Two years from the period of their marriage, Elliott and his wife +were seated in a small room moderately well furnished. He was +leaning back in a chair, with arms folded, and his chin resting on +his bosom. His face was contracted into a gloomy scowl. Anna, who +looked pale and troubled, was sewing and touching with her foot a +cradle, in which was a babe. The little one seemed restless. Every +now and then it would start and moan, or cry out. After a time it +awoke and commenced screaming. The mother lifted it from the cradle +and tried to hush it upon her bosom, but the babe still cried on. It +was evidently in pain. + +"Confound you! why don't you keep that child quiet?" exclaimed the +husband, impatiently casting at the same time an angry look upon his +wife. + +Anna made no reply, but turned half away from him, evidently to +conceal the tears that suddenly started from her eyes, and strove +more earnestly to quiet the child. In this she soon succeeded. + +"I believe you let her cry on purpose, whenever I am in the house, +just to annoy me," her husband resumed in an ill-natured tone. + +"No, Thomas, you know that I do not," Anna said. + +"Say I lie, why don't you?" + +"Oh, Thomas, how can you speak so to me?" And his young wife turned +toward him an earnest, tearful look. + +"Pah! don't try to melt me with your crying. I never believed in it. +Women can cry at any moment." + +There was a convulsive motion of Mrs. Elliott's head as she turned +quickly away, and a choking sound in her throat. She remained +silent, ten minutes passed, when her husband said in a firm voice, + +"Anna, I'm going to break up." + +Mrs. Elliott glanced around with a startled air. + +"It's true, just what I say--your father may think that I'm going to +make a slave of myself to support you, but he's mistaken. He's +refused to help me in my business one single copper, though he's +able enough. And now I've taken my resolution. You can go back to +him as quick as you like." + +Before the brutal husband had half finished the sentence, his wife +was on her feet, with a cheek deadly pale, and eyes almost starting +from her head. Thomas Elliott was her husband and the father of her +babe, and as such she had loved him with a far deeper love than he +had deserved. This had caused her to bear with coldness and neglect, +and even positive unkindness without a complaint. Sacredly had she +kept from her mother even a hint of the truth. Thus had she gone on +almost from the first; for only a few months elapsed before she +discovered that her image was dim on her husband's heart. + +"You needn't stand there staring at me like one moon-struck"--he +said, with bitter sarcasm and a curl of the lip. "What I say is the +truth. I'm going to give up, and you've got to go home to them that +are more able to support you than I am; and who have a better right, +too, I'm thinking." + +There was something so heartless and chilling in the words and +manner of her husband, that Mrs. Elliott made no attempt to reply. +Covering her face with her hands, she sunk back into the chair from +which she had risen, more deeply miserable than she had ever been in +her life. From this state she was aroused by the imperative +question, + +"Anna, what do you intend doing?" + +"That is for you to say"--was her murmured reply. + +"Then, I say, go home to your father, and at once." + +Without a word the wife rose from her chair, with her infant in her +arms, and pausing only long enough to put on her shawl and bonnet, +left the house. + +Mr. and Mrs. Wyman were sitting alone late on the afternoon of the +same day, thinking about and conversing of their child. Neither of +them felt too well satisfied with the result of her marriage. It +required not even the close observation of a parent's eye, to +discover that she was far from happy. + +"I wish she were only single"--Mr. Wyman at length said. "She +married much too young--only eighteen now, and with a cold-hearted +and, I fear, unprincipled and neglectful husband. It is sad to think +of it." + +"But I was married as young as she was, Mr. Wyman?" + +"Yes; but I flatter myself you made a better choice. Your condition +at eighteen was very different from what hers is now. As I said +before, I only wish she were single, and then I wouldn't care to see +her married for two or three years to come." + +"I can't help wishing she had refused Mr. Elliott. If she had done +so, she might have been married to a much better man long before +this. Mr. Carpenter is worth a dozen of him. Oh dear! this marriage +is all a lottery, after all. Few prizes and many blanks. Poor Anna! +she is not happy." + +At this moment the door opened, and the child of whom they were +speaking, with her infant in her arms, came hurriedly in. Her face +was deadly pale, her lips tightly compressed, and her eyes widely +distended and fixed. + +"Anna!" exclaimed the mother, starting up quickly and springing +toward her. + +"My child, what ails you?" was eagerly asked by the father, as he, +too, rose up hastily. + +But there was no reply. The heart of the child was too full. She +could not utter the truth. She had been sent back to her parents by +her husband, but her tongue could not declare that! Pride, shame, +wounded affections, combined to hold back her words. Her only reply +was to lay her babe in her mother's arms, and then fling herself +upon the bosom of her father. + +All was mystery then, but time soon unveiled the cause of their +daughter's strange and sudden appearance, and her deep anguish. The +truth gradually came out that she had been deserted by her husband; +or, what seemed to Mrs. Wyman more disgraceful still, had been sent +home by him. Bitterly did she execrate him, but it availed nothing. +Her ardent wish had been gratified. Anna was engaged at sixteen, and +married soon after; but at eighteen, alas! she had come home a +deserted wife and mother! And so she remained. Her husband never +afterward came near her. And now, at thirty, with a daughter well +grown, she remains in her father's house, a quiet, thoughtful, +dreamy woman, who sees little in life that is attractive, and who +rarely stirs beyond the threshold of the house that shelters her. +There are those who will recognise this picture. + +So much for being engaged at sixteen! + + + + + + +THE DAUGHTER. + + + + + +IT often happens that a daughter possesses greatly superior +advantages to those enjoyed, in early years, by either her father or +mother. She is not compelled to labour as hard as they were obliged +to labour when young; and she is blessed with the means of education +far beyond what they had. Her associations, too, are of a different +order, all tending to elevate her views of life, to refine her +tastes, and to give her admission into a higher grade of society +than they were fitted to move in. + +Unless very watchful of herself and very thoughtful of her parents, +a daughter so situated will be led at times to draw comparisons +between her own cultivated intellect and taste and the want of such +cultivation in her parents, and to think indifferently of them, as +really inferior, because not so well educated and accomplished as +she is. A distrust of their judgment and a disrespect of their +opinions will follow, as a natural consequence, if these thoughts +and feelings be indulged. This result often takes place with +thoughtless, weak-minded girls; and is followed by what is worse, a +disregard to their feelings, wishes, and express commands. + +A sensible daughter, who loves her parents, will hardly forget to +whom she is indebted for all the superior advantages she enjoys. She +will also readily perceive that the experience which her parents +have acquired, and their natural strength of mind, give them a real +and great superiority over her, and make their judgment, in all +matters of life, far more to be depended upon than hers could +possibly be. It may be that her mother has never learned to play +upon the piano, has never been to a dancing-school, has never had +any thing beyond the merest rudiments of an education; but she has +good sense, prudence, industry, economy; understands and practises +all the virtues of domestic life; has a clear, discriminating +judgment; has been her husband's faithful friend and adviser for +some twenty or thirty years; and has safely guarded and guided her +children up to mature years. These evidences of a mother's title to +her respect and fullest confidence cannot long be absent from a +daughter's mind, and will prevent her acting in direct opposition to +her judgment. + +Thoughtless indeed must be that child who can permit an emotion of +disrespect toward her parents to dwell in her bosom for more than a +single moment! + +Respect and love toward parents are absolutely necessary to the +proper formation of the character upon that true basis which will +bring into just order and subordination all the powers of the mind. +Without this order and subordination there can be no true happiness. +A child loves and respects his parents, because from them he derived +his being, and from them receives every blessing and comfort. To +them, and to them alone, does his mind turn as the authors of all +the good gifts he possessed. As a mere child, it is right for him +thus to regard his parents as the authors of his being and the +originators of all his blessings. But as reason gains strength, and +he sees more deeply into the nature and causes of things, which only +takes place as the child approaches the years of maturity, it is +then seen that the parents were only the agents through which life, +and all the blessings accompanying it, came from God, the great +Father of all. If the parents have been loved with a truly filial +love, then the mind has been suitably opened and prepared for love +toward God, and an obedience to his divine laws, without which there +can be no true happiness. When this new and higher truth takes +possession of the child's mind, it in no way diminishes his respect +for his earthly parents, but increases it. He no longer obeys them +because they command obedience, but he regards the truth of their +precepts, and in that truth hears the voice of God speaking to him. +More than ever is he now careful to listen to their wise counsels, +because he perceives in them the authority of reason, which is the +authority of God. + +Most young ladies, on attaining the age of responsibility, will +perceive a difference in the manner of their parents. Instead of +opposing them, as heretofore, with authority, they will oppose them +with reason, where opposition is deemed necessary. The mother, +instead of saying, when she disapproves any thing, "No, my child, +you cannot do it;" or, "No you must not go, dear;" will say, "I +would rather not have you do so;" or, "I do not approve of your +going." If you ask her reasons, she will state them, and endeavour +to make you comprehend their force. It is far too often the case, +that the daughter's desire to do what her mother disapproves is so +active, that neither her mother's objections nor reasons are strong +enough to counteract her wishes, and she follows her own +inclinations instead of being guided by her mother's better +judgment. In these instances, she almost always does wrong, and +suffers therefore either bodily or mental pain. + +Obedience in childhood is that by which we are led and guided into +right actions. When we become men and women, reason takes the place +of obedience; but, like a young bird just fluttering from its nest, +reason at first has not much strength of wing; and we should +therefore suffer the reason of those who love us, like the +mother-bird, to stoop under and bear us up in our earlier efforts, +lest we fall bruised and wounded to the ground. To whose reason +should a young girl look to strengthen her own, so soon as to her +mother's, guided as it is by love? But it too often happens that, +under the first impulses of conscious freedom, no voice is regarded +but the voice of inclination and passion. The mother may oppose, and +warn, and urge the most serious considerations, but the daughter +turns a deaf ear to all. She thinks that she knows best. + +"You are not going to-night, Mary?" said a mother, coming into her +daughter's room, and finding her dressing for a ball. She had been +rather seriously indisposed for some days, with a cold that had +fallen upon her throat and chest, which was weak, but was now +something better. + +"I think I will, mother, for I am much better than I was yesterday, +and have improved since morning. I have promised myself so much +pleasure at this ball, that I cannot think of being disappointed." + +The mother shook her head. + +"Mary," she replied, "you are not well enough to go out. The air is +damp, and you will inevitably take more cold. Think how badly your +throat has been inflamed." + +"I don't think it has been so _very_ bad, mother." + +"The doctor told me it was badly inflamed, and said you would have +to be very careful of yourself, or it might prove serious." + +"That was some days ago. It is a great deal better now." + +"But the least exposure may cause it to return." + +"I will be very careful not to expose myself. I will wrap up warm +and go in a carriage. I am sure there is not the least danger, +mother." + +"While I am sure that there is very great danger. You cannot pass +from the door to the carriage, without the damp air striking upon +your face, and pressing into your lungs." + +"But I must not always exclude myself from the air, mother. Air and +exercise, you know, the doctor says, are indispensable to health." + +"Dry, not damp air. This makes the difference. But you must act for +yourself, Mary. You are now a woman, and must freely act in the +light of that reason which God has given you. Because I love you, +and desire your welfare, I thus seek to convince you that it is +wrong to expose your health to-night. Your great desire to go blinds +you to the real danger, which I can fully see." + +"You are over-anxious, mother," urged Mary. "I know how I feel much +better than you possibly can, and I know I am well enough to go." + +"I have nothing more to say, my child," returned the mother. "I wish +you to act freely, but wisely. Wisely I am sure you will not act if +you go to-night. A temporary illness may not alone be the +consequence; your health may receive a shock from which it will +never recover." + +"Mother wishes to frighten me," said Mary to herself, after her +mother had left the room. "But I am not to be so easily frightened. +I am sorry she makes such a serious matter about my going, for I +never like to do any thing that is not agreeable to her feelings. +But I must go to this ball. William is to call for me at eight, and +he would be as much disappointed as myself if I were not to go. As +to making more cold, what of that? I would willingly pay the penalty +of a pretty severe cold rather than miss the ball." + +Against all her mother's earnestly urged objections, Mary went with +her lover to the ball. She came home, at one o'clock, with a sharp +pain through her breast, red spots on her cheeks, oppression of the +chest, and considerable fever. On the next morning she was unable to +rise from her bed. When the doctor, who was sent for, came in, he +looked grave, and asked if there had been any exposure by which a +fresh cold could be taken. + +"She was at the ball last night," replied the mother. + +"Not with your approval, madam?" he said quickly, looking with a +stern expression into the mother's face. + +"No, doctor. I urged her not to go; but Mary thought she knew best. +She did not believe there was any danger." + +A strong expression rose to the doctor's lips, but he repressed it, +lest he should needlessly alarm the patient. On retiring from her +chamber, he declared the case to be a very critical one; and so it +proved to be. Mary did not leave her room for some months; and when +she did, it was with a constitution so impaired that she could not +endure the slightest fatigue, nor bear the least exposure. Neither +change of climate nor medicine availed any thing toward restoring +her to health. In this feeble state she married, about twelve months +afterward, the young man who had accompanied her to the ball. One +year from the period at which that happy event took place, she died, +leaving to stranger hands a babe that needed all her tenderest care, +and a husband almost broken-hearted at his loss. + +This is not merely a picture from the imagination, and highly +coloured. It is from nature, and every line is drawn with the pencil +of truth. Hundreds of young women yearly sink into the grave, whose +friends can trace to some similar act of imprudence, committed in +direct opposition to the earnest persuasions of parents or friends, +the cause of their premature decay and death. And too often other, +and sometimes even worse, consequences than death, follow a +disregard of the mother's voice of warning. + + + + + + +PASSING AWAY. + + + + + +[From our story of "The Two Brides," we take a scene, in which some +one sorrowing as those without hope may find words of consolation.] + +IN the very springtime of young womanhood, the destroyer had come; +and though he laid his hand upon her gently at first, yet the touch +was none the less fatal. But, while her frail body wasted, her +spirit remained peaceful. As the sun of her natural life sunk low in +the sky, the bright auroral precursor of another day smiled along +the eastern verge of her spiritual horizon. There was in her heart +neither doubt, nor fear, nor shrinking. + +"Dear Marion!" said Anna, dropping a tear upon her white transparent +hand, as she pressed it to her lips, a few weeks after the alarming +hemorrhage just mentioned; "how can you look at this event so +calmly?" + +They had been speaking of death, and Marion had alluded to its +approach to Anna, with a strange cheerfulness, as if she felt it to +be nothing more than a journey to another and far pleasanter land +than that wherein she now dwelt. + +"Why should I look upon this change with other than tranquil +feelings?" she asked. + +"Why? How can you ask such a question, sister?" returned Anna. "To +me, there has been always something in the thought of death that +made the blood run cold about my heart." + +"This," replied Marion, with one of her sweet smiles, "is because +your ideas of death have been, from the first, confused and +erroneous. You thought of the cold and pulseless body; the pale +winding-sheet; the narrow coffin, and the deep, dark grave. But, I +do not let my thoughts rest on these. To me, death involves the idea +of eternal life. I cannot think of the one without the other. Should +the chrysalis tremble at the coming change?--the dull worm in its +cerements shrink from the moment when, ordained by nature, it must +rise into a new life, and expand its wings in the sunny air? How +much less cause have I to tremble and shrink back as the hour +approaches when this mortal is to put on immortality?" + +"Yours is a beautiful faith," said Anna. "And its effects, as seen +now that the hour from which all shrink approaches, are strongly +corroborative of its truth." + +"It is beautiful because it is true," replied Marion. "There is no +real beauty that is not the form of something good and true." + +"If I were as good as you, I might not shrink from death," remarked +Anna, with a transient sigh. + +"I hope you are better than I am, dear; and think you are," said +Marion. + +"Oh, no!" quickly returned Anna. + +"Do you purpose evil in your heart?" asked Marion, seriously. + +Anna seemed half surprised at the question. + +"Evil! Evil! I hope not," she replied, as a shadow came over her +face. + +"It is an evil purpose only that should make us fear death, Anna; +for therein lies the only cause of fear. Death, to those who love +themselves and the world above every thing else, is a sad event; but +to those who love God and their neighbour supremely, it is a happy +change." + +"That is all true," said Anna. "My reason assents to it. But, in the +act of dissolution--in that mortal strife, when the soul separates +itself from the body--there is something from which my heart shrinks +and trembles down fainting in my bosom. Ah! In the crossing of that +bourne from which no traveller has returned to tell us of what is +beyond, there is something that more than half appals me." + +"There is much that takes away the fear you have mentioned," replied +Marion. "It is the uncertain that causes us to tremble and shrink +back. But, when we know what is before us, we prepare ourselves to +meet it. Attendant upon every one who dies, says a certain writer, +are two angels, who keep his mind entirely above the thought of +death, and in the idea of eternal life. They remain with him through +the whole process--protecting him from evil spirits--and receive him +into the world of spirits after his soul has fully withdrawn itself +from the interior of the body. The last idea, active in the mind of +the person before death, is the first idea in his mind after death, +when his consciousness of life is restored; and it is some time +after this conscious life returns before he is aware that he is +dead. Around him he sees objects similar to those seen in the +natural world. There are houses and trees, streams of water and +gardens. Men and women dressed in variously fashioned garments. They +walk and converse together, as we do upon earth. When, at length, he +is told that he has died, and is now in a world that is spiritual +instead of natural--that the body in which he is, is a body formed +of spiritual instead of natural substances, he is in a measure +affected with surprise, and for the most part a pleasing surprise. +He wonders at the grossness of his previous ideas, which limited +form and substances to material things; and now, unless he had been +instructed during his life in the world, begins to comprehend the +truth that man is a man from the spirit, not from the body." + +Anna, who had been listening intently, drew a long breath, as Marion +paused. + +"Dead, and yet not know the fact!" said she, with an expression of +wonder. "It seems incredible. And all this you fully believe?" + +"Yes, Anna; as entirely as I believe in the existence of the sun in +the firmament." + +"If these doctrines can take away the fear of death, which so haunts +the mind of even those who are striving to live pure lives, they are +indeed a legacy of good to the world. Oh, Marion, how much I have +suffered, ever since the days of my childhood, from this dreadful +fear!" + +"They do take away the fear of death," returned Marion; "because +they remove the uncertainty which has heretofore gathered like a +gloomy pall over the last hours of mortality. When the soul of lover +or friend passed from this world, it seemed to plunge into a dark +profound, and there came not back an echo to tell of his fate. 'The +bourne from which no traveller returns!' Oh! the painful eloquence +of that single line. But, now, we who receive the doctrine of which +I speak, can look beyond this bourne; and though the traveller +returns not, yet we know something of how he fared on his entrance +into the new country." + +"Then we need not fear for you," said Anna, tenderly, "when you are +called to pass this bourne?" + +"No, sister," replied Marion, "I know in whom I have believed, and I +feel sure that it will be well with me, so far as I have shunned +what is evil and sought to do good. Do not think of me as sinking +into some gloomy profound; or awakening from my sleep of death, +startled, amazed, or shocked by the sudden transition. Loving angels +will be my companions as I descend into the valley and the shadow of +death; and I will fear no evil. Upon the other side I will be +received among those who have gone before, and I will scarcely feel +that there has been a change. A little while I will remain there, +and then pass upward to my place in heaven." + +The mother of Marion entered her room at this moment, and the +conversation was suspended. But it was renewed again soon after, and +the gentle-hearted, spiritual-minded girl continued to talk of the +other world as one preparing for a journey talks about the new +country into which he is about going, and of whose geography, and +the manners and customs of whose people, he has made himself +conversant from books. + +Not long did she remain on this side of the dark valley, through +which she was to pass. A few months wound up the story of her +earthly life, and she went peacefully and confidently on her way to +her eternal dwelling-place. It was a sweet, sad time, when the +parting hour came, and the mother, brother, and dearly loved adopted +sister, gathered around Marion's bed to see her die. That angels +were present, each one felt; for the sphere of tranquillity that +pervaded the hearts of all was the sphere of heaven. + +"God is love," said Marion, a short time before she passed away. She +was holding the hand of her mother, and looking tenderly in her +face. "How exquisite is my perception of this truth? It comes upon +me with a power that subdues my spirit, yet fills it with ineffable +peace. With what a wondrous love has he regarded us! I never had had +so intense a perception of this as now." + +Marion closed her eyes, and for some time lay silent, while a +heavenly smile irradiated her features. Then looking up, she said, +and as she spoke she took the hand of Anna and placed it within that +of her mother-- + +"When I am gone, let the earthly love you bore me, mother, be added +to that already felt for our dear Anna. Think of me as an angel, and +of her as your child." + +In spite of her effort to restrain them, tears gushed from the eyes +of Mrs. Lee, and fell like rain over her cheeks. For a short time +she bent to her dying one, and clasped her wildly to her bosom. But +the calmness of a deeply laid trust in Providence was soon restored +to her spirit, and she said, speaking of Anna-- + +"Without her, how could we part with you? I do not think I could +bear it." + +"I shall go before you only a little while," returned Marion, "only +a very little while. A few years--how quickly they will hurry by! A +few more days of labour, and your earthly tasks will be done. Then +we shall meet again. And even in the days of our separation we shall +not be far removed from each other. Thought will bring us +spiritually near, and affection conjoin us, even though no sense of +the body give token of proximity. And who knows but to me will be +assigned the guardianship of the dear babe given to us by Anna? Oh! +if love will secure that holy duty, then it will be mine!" + +A light, as if reflected from the sun of heaven, beamed from the +countenance of Marion, who closed her eyes, and, in a little while, +fell off into a gentle sleep. Silently did those who loved her with +more than human tenderness--for there was in their affection a love +of goodness for its own sake--bend over and watch the face of the +sweet sleeper, even until there came stealing upon them the fear +that she would not waken again in this world. And the fear was not +groundless; for thus she passed away. To her death came as a gentle +messenger, to bid her go up higher. And she obeyed the summons +without a mortal fear. + +No passionate grief at their loss raged wildly in the bosoms of +those who suffered this great bereavement. For years, the mother and +son had daily striven against selfish feelings as evil; and now, +comprehending with the utmost clearness that Marion's removal was, +for her, a blessed change, their hearts were thankful, even while +tears wet their cheeks. They mourned for her departure, because they +were human; they suffered pain, for ties of love the most tender had +been snapped asunder; they wept, because in weeping nature found +relief. Yet, in all, peace brooded over their spirits. + +When the fading, wasting form of earth which Marion's pure spirit +had worn, as a garment, but now laid aside forever, was borne out, +and consigned to its kindred clay, those who remained behind +experienced no new emotions of grief. To them Marion still lived. +This was the old mortal body, that vailed, rather than made visible, +her real beauty. Now she was clothed in a spiritual body, that was +transcendently beautiful, because it was the very form of good +affections. To lay the useless garment aside was not, therefore, a +painful task. This done, each member of the bereaved family returned +to his and her life-tasks, and, in the faithful discharge of daily +duties, found a sustaining power. But Marion was not lost to them. +Ever present was she in their thought and affection, and often, in +dreams, she was with them,--yet, never as the suffering mortal; but +as the happy, glorified immortal. Beautiful was the faith upon which +they leaned. To them the spiritual was not a something vague and +undeterminate; but a real entity. They looked beyond the grave, into +the spiritual world, as into a better country, where life was +continued in higher perfection, and where were spiritual ultimates, +as perfectly adapted to spiritual sense as are the ultimates of +creation to the senses of the natural body. + + + + + + +THE LOVE SECRET. + + + + + +"EDWARD is to be in London next week," said Mrs. Ravensworth; "and I +trust, Edith, that you will meet him with the frankness he is +entitled to receive." + +Edith Hamilton, who stood behind the chair of her aunt, did not make +any answer. + +Mrs. Ravensworth continued--"Edward's father was your father's own +brother. A man of nobler spirit never moved on English soil; and I +hear that Edward is the worthy son of a worthy sire." + +"If he were as pure and perfect as an angel, aunt," replied Edith, +"it would be all the same to me. I have never seen him, and cannot, +therefore, meet him as one who has a right to claim my hand." + +"Your father gave you away when you were a child, Edith; and Edward +comes now to claim you by virtue of this betrothal." + +"While I love the memory of my father, and honour him as a child +should honour a parent," said Edith, with much seriousness, "I do +not admit his right to give me away in marriage while I was yet a +child. And, moreover, I do not think the man who would seek to +consummate such a marriage contract worthy of any maiden's love. +Only the heart that yields a free consent is worth having, and the +man who would take any other is utterly unworthy of any woman's +regard. By this rule I judge Edward to be unworthy, no matter what +his father may have been." + +"Then you mean," said Mrs. Ravensworth, "deliberately to violate the +solemn contract made by your father with the father of Edward?" + +"I cannot receive Edward as anything but a stranger," replied Edith. +"It will not mend the error of my father for me to commit a still +greater one." + +"How commit a still greater one?" inquired Mrs. Ravensworth. + +"Destroy the very foundation of a true marriage--freedom of choice +and consent. There would be no freedom of choice on his part, and no +privilege of consent on mine. Happiness could not follow such a +union, and to enter into it would be doing a great wrong. No, aunt, +I cannot receive Edward in any other way than as a stranger--for +such he is." + +"There is a clause in your father's will that you may have +forgotten, Edith," said her aunt. + +"That which makes me penniless if I do not marry Edward Hamden?" + +"Yes." + +"No--I have not forgotten it, aunt." + +"And you mean to brave that consequence?" + +"In a choice of evils we always take the least." Edith's voice +trembled. + +Mrs. Ravensworth did not reply for some moments. While she sat +silent, the half-closed door near which Edith stood, and toward +which her aunt's back was turned, softly opened, and a handsome +youth, between whom and Edith glances of intelligence instantly +passed, presented the startled maiden with a beautiful white rose, +and then noiselessly retired. + +It was nearly a minute before Mrs. Ravensworth resumed the light +employment in which she was engaged, and as she did so, she said-- + +"Many a foolish young girl gets her head turned with those gay +gallants at our fashionable watering-places, and imagines that she +has won a heart when the object of her vain regard never felt the +throb of a truly unselfish and noble impulse." + +The crimson deepened on Edith's cheeks and brow, and as she lifted +her eyes, she saw herself in a large mirror opposite, with her +aunt's calm eyes steadily fixed upon her. To turn her face partly +away, so that it could no longer be reflected from the mirror, was +the work of an instant. In a few moments she said-- + +"Let young and foolish girls get their heads turned if they will. +But I trust I am in no danger." + +"I am not so sure of that. Those who think themselves most secure +are generally in the greatest danger. Who is the youth with whom you +danced last evening? I don't remember to have seen him here before." + +"His name is Evelyn." There was a slight tremor in Edith's voice. + +"How came you to know him?" + +"I met him here last season." + +"You did?" + +"Yes, ma'am. And I danced with him last night. Was there any harm in +that?" The maiden's voice had regained its firmness. + +"I didn't say there was," returned Mrs. Ravensworth, who again +relapsed into silence. Not long after, she said--"I think we will +return to London on Thursday." + +"So soon!" Edith spoke in a disappointed voice. + +"Do you find it so very pleasant here?" said the aunt, a little +ironically. + +"I have not complained of its being dull, aunt," replied Edith. "But +if you wish to return on Thursday, I will be ready to accompany +you." + +Soon after this, Edith Hamilton left her aunt's room, and went to +one of the drawing-rooms of the hotel at which they were staying, +where she sat down near a recess window that overlooked a beautiful +promenade. She had been here only a few minutes, when she was joined +by a handsome youth, to whom Edith said-- + +"How could you venture to the door of my aunt's parlour? I'm half +afraid she detected your presence, for she said, immediately +afterward, that we would return to London on the day after +to-morrow." + +"So soon? Well, I'll be there next week, and it will be strange if, +with your consent, we don't meet often." + +"Edward Hamden is expected in a few days," replied Edith, her voice +slightly faltering. + +Her companion looked at her searchingly for a few moments, and then +said-- + +"You have never met him?" + +"Never." + +"But when you do meet him, the repugnance you now feel may instantly +vanish." + +A shadow passed over Edith's face, and she answered in a voice that +showed the remark--the tone of which conveyed more than the words +themselves--to have been felt as a question of her constancy. + +"Can one whose heart is all unknown to me, one who must think of me +with a feeling of dislike because of bonds and pledges, prove a +nearer or a dearer friend than--" + +Edith did not finish the sentence. But that was not needed. The +glance of rebuking tenderness cast upon her companion expressed all +that her lips had failed to utter. + +"But you do not know me, Edith," said the young man. + +"My heart says differently," was Edith's lowly spoken reply. + +Evelyn pressed the maiden's hand, and looked into her face with an +earnest, loving expression. + +Mrs. Ravensworth, to whose care Edith had been consigned on the +death of her father, had never been pleased with the unwise contract +made by the parents of her niece and Edward Hamden. The latter had +been for ten years in Paris and Italy, travelling and pursuing his +studies. These being completed, in obedience to the will of a +deceased parent, he was about returning to London to meet his future +wife. No correspondence had taken place between the parties to this +unnatural contract; and, from the time of Edward's letter, when he +announced to Mrs. Ravensworth his proposed visit, it was plain that +his feelings were as little interested in his future partner as were +hers in him. + +During the two or three days that Mrs. Ravensworth and her niece +remained at the watering-place, Edith and young Evelyn met +frequently; but, as far as possible, at times when they supposed the +particular attention of the aunt would not be drawn toward them in +such a manner as to penetrate their love secret. When, at length, +they parted, it was with an understanding that they were to meet in +London. + +On returning to the city, the thoughts of Edith reverted more +directly to the fact of Edward Hamden's approaching visit; and, in +spite of all her efforts to remain undisturbed in her feelings, the +near approach of this event agitated her. Mrs. Ravensworth +frequently alluded to the subject, and earnestly pressed upon Edith +the consideration of her duty to her parent, as well as the +consequences that must follow her disregard of the contract which +had been made. But the more she talked on this subject, the more +firm was Edith in expressing her determination not to do violence to +her feelings in a matter so vital to her happiness. + +The day at length came upon which Edward Hamden was to arrive. Edith +appeared, in the morning, with a disturbed air. It was plain to the +closely observing eyes of her aunt, that she had not passed a night +of refreshing sleep. + +"I trust, my dear niece," she said, after they had retired from the +breakfast table, where but little food had been taken, "that you +will not exhibit toward Edward, on meeting him, any of the +preconceived and unjust antipathy you entertain. Let our feelings, +at least, remain uncommitted for or against him." + +"Aunt Helen, it is useless to talk to me in this way," Edith +replied, with more than her usual warmth. "The simple fact of an +obligation to love puts a gulf between us. My heart turns from him +as from an enemy. I will meet him with politeness; but it must be +cold and formal. To ask of me more, is to ask what I cannot give. I +only wish that he possessed the manliness I would have had if +similarly situated. Were this so, I would now be free by his act, +not my own." + +Seeing that all she urged but made the feelings of Edith oppose +themselves more strongly to the young man, Mrs. Ravensworth ceased +to speak upon the subject, and the former was left to brood with a +deeply disturbed heart over the approaching interview with one who +had come to claim a hand that she resolutely determined not to +yield. + +About twelve o'clock, Mrs. Ravensworth came to Edith's room and +announced the arrival of Edward Hamden. The maiden's face became +pale, and her lips quivered. + +"If I could but be spared an interview," she murmured. "But that is +more than I can ask." + +"How weak you are, Edith," replied her aunt, in a tone of reproof. + +"I will join you in the drawing-room in half an hour," said Edith, +speaking more calmly. + +Mrs. Ravensworth retired, and left Edith again to her own thoughts. +She sat for nearly the whole of the time she had mentioned. Then +rising hurriedly, she made a few changes in her attire; after which +she descended to the drawing-room with a step that was far from +being firm. + +So noiselessly did she enter the apartment where Hamden awaited her, +that neither her aunt nor the young man perceived her presence for +some moments, and she had time to examine his appearance, and to +read the lineaments of his half-averted face. While she stood thus +observing him, her countenance suddenly flushed, and she bent +forward with a look of surprise and eagerness. At this moment the +young man became aware that she had entered, and rising up quickly, +advanced to meet her. + +"Evelyn!" exclaimed Edith, striking her hands together, the moment +he turned toward her. + +"Edith! my own Edith!" returned the young man, as he grasped her +hand, and ventured a warm kiss on her beautiful lips. "Not Evelyn, +but Hamden. Our parents betrothed us while we were yet too young to +give or withhold consent. Both, as we grew older, felt this pledge +as a heart-sickening constraint. But we met as strangers, and I saw +that you were all my soul could desire. I sought your regard and won +it. No obligation but love now binds us." + +The young man then turned to Mrs. Ravensworth, and said-- + +"You see, madam, that we are not strangers." + +Instead of looking surprised, Mrs. Ravensworth smiled calmly, and +answered-- + +"No--it would be singular if you were. Love-tokens don't generally +pass, nor familiar meetings take place between strangers." + +"Love-tokens, Aunt Helen?" fell from the lips of Edith, as she +turned partly away from Hamden, and looked inquiringly at her +relative. + +"Yes, dear," returned Mrs. Ravensworth. "White roses, for instance. +You saw your own blushing face. in the mirror, did you not?" + +"The mirror! Then you saw Edward present the rose?" + +"And did you know me?" inquired the young man. + +"One who knew your rather as well as I did could not fail to know +the son. I penetrated your love secret as soon as it was known to +yourselves." + +"Aunt Helen!" exclaimed Edith, hiding her face on the neck of her +kind relative, "how have I been deceived!" + +"Happily, I trust, love," returned Mrs. Ravensworth, tenderly. + +"Most happily! My heart swells with gladness almost to bursting," +came murmuring from the lips of the joyful maiden. + +THE END. + + + + + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Home Mission, by T.S. 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