The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me;
Too many eyes are gazing
Upon the costly tree.
But there's a rose in yonder glen
That shuns the gaze of other men,
For me its blossom raising--
Oh, that's the rose for me!
HAYNES BAYLEY.
And Mary--her love and trust had indeed stood full proof against the
breath of warning and insinuation, which had passed over their strength
and beauty as unavailingly as the breeze across the hardy floweret.
There is a beautiful description of one of Bulwer's heroines, which so
exactly corresponds with the characteristics of our Mary's nature, that
we hope we may be excused from quoting it here in application to her
case.
"There was a remarkable _trustingness_, if I may so speak, in her
disposition. Thoughtful and grave as she was by nature, she was yet ever
inclined to the more sanguine colourings of life; she never turned to
the future with fear. A placid sentiment of hope slept at her heart. She
was one, who surrounded herself with a fond and implicit faith to the#
guidance of all she loved and the chances of life. It was a sweet
indolence of the mind which made one of her most beautiful traits of
character. There is something so unselfish in tempers reluctant to
despond. You see that such persons are not occupied with their own
existence--they are not fretting the calm of the present life with the
egotisms of care--of conjecture and calculation: if they learn anxiety,
it is for another; but in the heart of that other how entire is their
trust."
Thus the constant intercourse which from that day forth was maintained
between them, served but to strengthen the infatuation, (if we are
justified in applying such a term to such genuine affection) of Mary
towards her lover.
Scarcely a day passed on which Trevor did not arrive to stay, or at
least to spend some hours at Silverton. They walked--and often--for
there was Mrs. de Burgh's beautiful horse now at Mary's disposal--they
rode out together, attended only by a groom.
One day their discourse happened to fall on the subject of Christian
names, and Trevor was telling Mary how hers was, and ever had been (a
not uncommon taste amongst gentlemen) his greatest favourite. He had
always imagined, that every woman who possessed it must be the epitome
of all that was pure, sweet, and gentle; and of course he gave Mary to
understand that he saw in her, at length, a perfect embodiment of that
idea.
"And you, Eugene, you have certainly a very beautiful name," Mary
remarked, after listening with a blushing smile to this tender
flattery; and she uttered the name now in question, in accents, which
must certainly have rendered it even to its owner "a very beautiful
name."
"Oh yes!" he replied, laughing, "a most beautifully romantic, and
uncommon name; one ought to be a great hero to possess it."
"It was possessed by a very unfortunate hero," Mary replied.
"Oh! you mean Eugene Aram."
"Yes! have you read the book?"
"Why, no; I cannot say that exactly; (with a smile) but I saw that you
were reading it on a certain night of delightful memory; for when you
left me in so cowardly a manner to face your formidable cousin alone, he
found me standing before the fire, deeply absorbed in your late studies,
which I had picked up from the floor, in a jealous way, to see with what
romantic gentleman you had been so deeply occupied on my entrance. Fancy
my relief to discover it was an Eugene. Of course it was for the sake
of his name alone that he won your affections. I was even in hopes that
I might find the lady to have been a Mary, but I saw it was Madeline,
which I thought a great mistake."
Mary laughed with the sweet laugh which had become so clear and joyous
of late.
"I could not discover whether the Eugene resembled me in any way," he
continued; "to me he seemed a dark, mysterious sort of fellow."
"He was, indeed," Mary replied, "but a man of extraordinary genius."
"So you will not flatter me by the comparison."
"Flatter you! I do not think you need be ambitious of the compliment.
You know, I suppose, his dreadful end."
"Oh yes, of course, at least, I know the real villain was hanged for the
murder of Clarke. Well, that would not do for me, certainly: I
willingly concede the genius, if that were all its fruits."
"No," continued Mary, more seriously, "but there is one person, whom,
above all others I have ever known, might in some points have reminded
me of Eugene Aram, had I read the book before, (the Eugene Aram as
represented in the novel, I mean,) for the real character, it is said,
resembled Bulwer's hero in nothing but his intellect and his crime. Not
that Mr. Temple," she continued, "could be called a dark and mysterious
character, no, for he gave one the idea of being naturally of a
disposition clear and open as the day; but there was a mystery and
impenetrability about his coming to Wales, and his former history. And
then the seclusion and obscurity to which a man of his talents, nobility
of demeanour, seemed to have doomed himself; his great charity; his--"
"Stop, stop, in mercy, Mary; do you think I can listen to all this,
without bursting with jealousy? Oh, I have no doubt now, that this
noble, excellent, mysterious genius, was a worthy imitation of his
likeness, and is guilty of theft, murder, and all other possible
atrocities."
Mary smiled at her lover's jesting philippic; but she added with perfect
seriousness:
"I do not say that Mr. Temple was any such gigantic genius--rather may
he be said to possess a mind which might have arrived at any extent of
acquirement, had, in early life, his powers been rightly tested or
employed; and as to any guilt being attached to his life or character,
the most suspicious person, who had once looked upon his countenance,
could not for a moment have retained such an idea. No, it was easy to
read there, the history of one who had been more 'sinned against than
sinning.'"
Though Mary said all this with no show of enthusiasm, but in the firm,
quiet manner of one who, irrespectively of personal feeling, would give
all due justice and honour to some highly revered and superior being;
her companion seemed not altogether unmoved by her earnestness; for he
fixed his eyes attentively on her as she spoke, and although he still
assumed a tone of light and playful tenor, there was something of real
anxiety, in the manner in which he demanded how it had possibly
happened--if indeed it had happened, though he could not bear to imagine
the contrary--how it had happened that she was not enchanted into a
second Madeline by this most sublime of Eugene Arams?
"Because I suppose," Mary gravely responded, "I had not the high taste
and capability of Madeline, for though I honoured and esteemed Mr.
Temple, I did not love him; and when he proposed to me the night before
I left Glan Pennant, I refused him. I have never told this to any one
else--but with you, I suppose," she added with a tender smile, "I must
have no secrets."
Her smile was returned with a depth of ten-fold love and tenderness; but
Trevor rode on more silently, thoughtfully pondering perhaps on the
privilege which he found thus so peculiarly to have been procured him,
and the why and wherefore such privilege had been awarded to his share.
There was another point in Mary's disposition greatly in Trevor's
favour--the extreme humility of feeling she entertained concerning
herself, and the consequent exaltation of her lover's prerogatives; that
humility of true love,
"Which does exalt another o'er itself
With sweet will-worship."
For beauty especially, of a degree more accordant with her idea of
Trevor's due claims and privileges, she would sometimes in his absence
breathe a sigh. True he had had all the world before him, with plenty of
time and opportunity before he loved her, of choosing from amongst the
most fair and beautiful with whom he must have come in contact; but
still when he came to see her placed in contrast with other women,
might he not, though she was sure it would not make him love her
less--might he not then be struck and mortified perhaps by her
inferiority in that respect. Some such ordeal, however, ere very long it
was given her to prove.
A very great beauty of the two or three last London seasons, who
happened to be staying in the neighbourhood was amongst the dinner
guests assembled one evening at Silverton. She of course, like all
wandering stars--who under similar casual and unusual circumstances,
shine forth in all their glory, "to be a moment's ornament"--created no
slight degree of sensation amongst the assembled company, especially the
gentlemen; and Miss L---- might certainly have stood the test amongst a
score of beauties as to all outward perfection which the severest
critics could require. The perfection of well moulded features,
brilliant colouring, symmetry of form, all had been bestowed upon her by
bountiful mother nature; and Miss L---- walked and moved this night the
conscious favourite of that very partial and unequal distributer of her
gifts--in short, a very queen and goddess of beauty.
Mary was perhaps the most enthusiastic amongst her dazzled admirers; for
she, unlike most of the other guests on this occasion, had not been
accustomed to the frequent sight of beauties of every kind and degree,
equally in their turn "the Cinthia of the minute," "the cynosure of
neighbouring eyes." Nor was a shade of envious feeling excited in her
breast by all the sensation and attention of which the dazzling beauty
was made the object. There was nothing in this which could have stirred
the sentiment, even had it been one to which her bosom was more prone.
But she had better reason than she had any idea existed, for this
unconcern; had she but known how there was more real and abiding
influence exercised by the, comparatively speaking, pale, and quiet girl
who, without any pretentions to ostentatious retirement, so calmly and
gently played her part in society--the more real and heartfelt
influence inspired by the nameless charm which she exercised over all
those who approached her; no need, indeed, of envy on her part!
"It was not mirth, for mirth she was too still;
It was not wit, wit leaves the heart more chill;
But that continuous sweetness, which with ease,
Pleases all round it, from the wish to please."
No, there was nothing in all this; but still, at times this night, her
dark eyelashes might be seen to droop somewhat sadly and seriously on
her cheek, and once when she raised them and turned a nervous admiring
gaze upon Miss L----, a gentle sigh was breathed unconsciously from her
lips.
That bright beauty, who was not, as may be supposed, without some of
those beauty airs in which she felt herself privileged to indulge, yet
by no means disdained bestowing a few of her most bewitching smiles,
upon the handsome, and as she had heard reported, eldest son of the
wealthiest commoner of the county, and of course it was not in Trevor's
nature to refuse to submit himself in some degree to the distinguished
favour; besides, although Trevor and his thoughts were with his own Mary
all the evening--and indeed his eyes pretty often too--yet their
publicly unacknowledged engagement did not admit of his paying her that
particular and undivided attention it was his wont to do on other
occasions.
Eugene was therefore, at the moment when Mary gave that sigh, sunning
himself complacently, if not a little indolently, in the beams of that
radiant beauty's smile and those still more radiant eyes. Mary had no
jealous thought upon the subject; she only sighed and wished that she
possessed but one tenth portion of the beauty's conspicuous charms for
Eugene's sake--for Eugene's glory!
"She looked down to blush, though she looked up to sigh," for surely she
had caught that glance, so full of fond reassurance with which her
lover tried to attract her earnest, anxious gaze:--
"Yes, lift thy eyes, sweet Psyche, what is she
That those soft fringes timidly should fall
Before her, and thy spiritual brow
Be dark, as if her presence were a cloud--
A loftier gift is thine than she can give,
That queen of beauty,
She may give all that is within her own
Bright cestus--and one silent look of thine,
Like stronger magic, will out-charm it all.
Ay, for the soul is better than its frame,
The spirit than the temple--
Marvel not
That love leans sadly on his bending wing,
He hath found out the loveliness of mind
And he is spoilt for beauty."[1]
[Footnote 1: _Psyche before the Tribunal of Venus, by_ N. P. WILLIS.]
A month since the engagement of Trevor and Mary had passed. Before the
expiration of this period, the latter, with her lover's full consent,
had written to her sisters in Scotland and in Italy, to confide to them
her happy prospects, and from the former she had already received in
return the most affectionate and fervent congratulations, another drop
added to the already well filled cup of Mary's happiness; for before
this, there had been times when she could not but feel regretfully the
want of that real participating sympathy in her joy, which like as in
our sorrow, those bound to us by the ties of close family relationship,
can alone fully and adequately impart.
The mind, diverted and absorbed by new interests and attractions, may
for a time wander contentedly through other pastures--may find
gratification and satisfaction in the new and flattering friendship of
other hearts; but when that sorrow comes of which the heart alone can
know the bitterness, or that "joy with which the stranger intermeddleth
not,"--then, like the child, who beguiled by the flowers of the fields
to stray far from the parent home, yet when sudden fear assails his
breast, or some bright found treasure fills his little heart with
rapture, flies back at once to pour forth his grief or his ecstacy upon
his mother's bosom--so then he that was lost is found; the recreant
heart or the diverted affections, seldom fail to reassert their power to
testify and prove, that those ties which nature's early associations and
kindred interests have sanctified and connected, alone in such seasons
can suffice to comfort or to satisfy the mind.
Mary often yearned for that true, lively and affectionate sympathy in
her present joy which it had been her privilege so tenderly, and
cheerfully to impart to each successive sister, when placed under
similar circumstances to her own; and she began to think the necessary
lack of all this on her own account to be certainly one of the worst
consequences which can accrue from being left the last unmarried.
But every thought and feeling of this kind was soon dispelled and
changed into those of most unalloyed pleasure and delight.
The long-wished-for and expected news at length arrived. Arthur Seaham
wrote to inform his sister that the next American packet which was to
reach England, would number him amongst its passengers, and accepting
the kind invitation of Mrs. de Burgh, conveyed to him by Mary, he should
immediately upon his disembarkation proceed to Silverton.
A truce now to every sigh, lest sympathy should fail, that no dear
familiar face was near, in which to see her joy reflected--no dear
familiar voice to repeat the glad echoes of her heart.
In Arthur, her own beloved brother, how fully she should meet all this!
They two had been sworn friends and special companions from their
earliest childhood to their later youth. Whatever turn their fortunes
took, they were to have shared them together; one home was to have
received them. Where had flown those visions now? But would he not
rejoice in the bright prospects of his favourite sister?
How he would love Eugene, if only for her sake! what friends he and
Eugene would become--what constant companions should they all be still!
Besides, until her brother's return to England, no important arrangement
could be set on foot with regard to the projected marriage; therefore
her brother's speedy return was on that point alone a subject of
congratulation to the parties interested in that event, and to Trevor of
course more particularly so.
Now too, Mary would be able to write by the next mail to her sisters in
India, and give them that information it had been deemed at such a
distance, more satisfactory to defer, until the brother's arrival had
placed matters on a more definite and circumstantial footing, and any
day from the week succeeding the receipt of that welcome letter, young
Seaham might make his appearance.
He would arrive in England perfectly uninformed as to his sister's
engagement; but in the joyful letter he would find awaiting him at the
post-office at Liverpool, Mary had hinted of some news she should have
to break to him when they met, which she was sure would cause him
satisfaction--nay, delight!
The happy suspense of the interval which ensued may be imagined. Eugene
playfully declared himself quite jealous, though he was at the same time
very properly sympathetic on the occasion, a little fidgetty and anxious
perhaps, as is but natural for those to be who for the first time see
the object of their affections anxiously excited by any feeling or
expectation irrelevant to themselves; and he laughingly declared that it
was his intention to take the opportunity of her brother's first
arrival, to run up to London for a day or two, till the first
effervescence of her ecstasy was past, to spare himself the envious
feelings its contemplation might excite, whilst at the same time he
might prepare his lawyers for the work they soon would have to put in
hand.
Mary did not much approve this determination; she told him her brother's
arrival would be incomplete unless he were near to participate in her
joy, and make Arthur's immediate acquaintance; but as Trevor more
seriously assured her, that a short absence at that time would be really
indispensable, she submitted with resignation.
The happy hour at length arrived--the afternoon of the same day in which
the morning paper announced the arrival in port from Canada of the ship
'Columbia,' and amongst its passengers the name of Mr. Seaham--Mary, who
had taken leave of her lover an hour before, and was in her room
recovering from the slight dejection this first parting, even for so
short a period, had necessarily occasioned, heard the carriage-wheels
swiftly sounding along the park, and a post-chaise, bearing evident
marks of travel, soon appeared in sight.
No need to ask her beating heart who that traveller might be. She
watched it nearer--nearer--her hands clasped together, almost trembling
with the power of that strong delight which overflowed her breast; but
the carriage stopped before the door, and then with almost a cry of
gladness, she had disappeared from the room.
What would Trevor have said had he seen her then? What indeed! for
perchance he may be amongst the number of those who do not know the
force and purity of natural affection; and how, far from detracting from
other ties, other affections, it is but the fountain in which these have
learnt to flow with a singleness and strength to which those unexercised
in such a school can seldom attain. Perhaps he may be one of those to
whose ear the name of "brother" bears no glad and holy signification.