MR. BYERS ON MATRIMONY.
HESPER had at length completed her seventeenth year, but her early
discipline of sorrow and toil had given her a judgment and experience
far beyond that age. During the time that she attended school, a
friendship had sprung up between her and Alice Smiley, the doctor’s
youngest daughter. They were often together, and nothing could delight
these girls more, than to secure Mr. Byers’ company in some of their
walks, for his sage remarks and peculiar mode of expression, was to
them a never failing fund of interest and amusement. At times, when a
convenient opportunity offered, they would all drop into aunt Nyna’s,
and sup with her from her little round table, which always seemed so
comfortable and cozy. Bread and butter never tasted so good anywhere
else, and tea, taken from those little China cups, so thin and small
that they seemed almost like egg-shells, was perfectly delicious.
One night, the good lady had a larger party than usual, for she had
previously sent out her invitations, comprehending both Juliana, and
Kate, the doctor’s eldest daughter. Aunt Nyna was in fine spirits that
day, on account of having received a letter from Harry, and with it
quite a sum of money, which he desired her to use according as her
pleasure or necessity demanded. After tea, when they had all sat down
together, the good lady, in the fulness of her heart, besought the
pleasure of reading the letter to the company, to which they readily
assented. In it, there was, as usual, a message to his “little wife,”
assuring her, that if he continued to succeed as well as he had of
late, he should come home soon, and claim her as his bride in reality.
The young people laughed when they observed that Hesper blushed deeply,
and Mr. Byers immediately offered her a large palm-leaf fan.
“Thee shouldn’t notice it when ladies blush, friend Byers,” said aunt
Nyna, as she laid down the letter and regarded Hesper with a pleasant
smile. “Once the good child only laughed at such things, but now she
blushes, and is silent. Canst thee tell me what makes the difference,
Hesper?”
“O,” replied Hesper, still blushing and smiling, “it is because I am
older, and because--because I don’t know why.”
“That’s it exactly,” said Mr. Byers. “I am entirely satisfied with
your explanation, it is so perfectly natural.”
“But,” continued Hesper, recovering her self-possession, “I don’t see
how Harry ever came to call me his ‘little wife,’ or why he still
persists in doing so, now that we are both so old.”
“Then let me tell thee,” said aunt Nyna, with an expression of great
interest. “I can well remember the first time he ever saw thee. He
was five years of age, and thou only five days when I took him with
me to see the new baby. I never saw a little fellow so delighted
with anything in my life. He kissed the baby’s soft round cheeks, so
tenderly--looked with wonder and admiration at the little tiny hands,
and then prayed us to let him take her in his arms, just one moment.
Finally, he asked the baby’s name. The father--he was well and cheerful
then--told him it was Hesper. The little fellow shook his curly head
thoughtfully, as he said--’I don’t like it--I would much rather have
her named sissy, or little Miss Muffit,’ of whom he had learned in his
nursery rhymes.
“We all laughed; at which the poor child seemed greatly disconcerted.
‘Look here, Harry,’ said thy father, and he took him kindly on his
knee. ‘When my little baby first came to me, it was evening--the
sun had gone down behind the hills, and the great clouds which were
sailing through the sky, were of many beautiful colors. As I stood at
the window, thanking God that he had given me such a precious little
daughter, I looked up, and there I saw a beautiful bright star, in the
midst of the clouds, shining calmly down upon me. It was the evening
star, and years ago the people called it Hesper. It was so very bright
and beautiful, that the same thankful, prayerful feeling came over me,
that I had when I first looked upon the face of my new-born child. Then
I said I will call my little daughter Hesper, for she came to me in the
evening, when the night shadows were falling upon the earth, and it may
be, as the years pass on, she will become like yonder star, a light to
the pathway of many, so we shall bless God that he ever sent her into
this world. That is the reason, Harry, why I called her Hesper.’ The
little fellow sat in silence, a few moments; then he looked up with
his face all aglow with pleasant thoughts. ‘I like it now,’ he said,
‘for the stars are the moon’s babies, and if she came down from God,
it is right to call her Hesper, for she, too, is a little star baby.’
It was a simple, child-like thought, but it pleased us much, and for
months after, thy mother called thee her ‘star-baby.’ When it was time
to go, I could not make the little fellow willing to part from thee.
He stole timidly up to thy mother’s bed-room and looked her long and
earnestly in the face. ‘Please ma’am,’ he said, at length, in his
coaxing, child-like way, ‘won’t you give me your baby?’ Thy mother laid
her pale hand gently among his curls, and said--’My dear child, I would
not part with my precious baby for all the wealth of the world.’ The
little fellow was disappointed. His lips quivered, and his eyes filled
with tears. ‘Never mind, Master Harry,’ said thy father, by way of
consolation. ‘Wait till you are older, and better able to take care of
her, and then you shall have her for your little wife, if you will.’ He
seemed well contented with this promise, and went away quite willingly.
In after years, thy father disapproved of it, when Harry called thee
by that name, but thy father himself was first at fault, for the child
never forgot the promise, but has called thee his little wife, from
that day to this.”
“And in all probability, he will call her so to the day of his death,”
said Mr. Byers, “only in a higher and more truthful sense.”
“No, no;” said Hesper, seriously, “I never shall marry. I said so when
I was a child, and I say so now.”
“Pshaw!” said Mr. Byers, with seeming impatience, “who ever heard
such nonsense! A good looking, useful, affectionate girl, making a
resolution at seventeen, to be an old maid to all eternity! Why, you
deserve the censure of all sober-minded, rational people. If I were
only a young man of twenty, the first thing I would do, would be to
offer myself to you, and I don’t know,” he added, “but what, even
now--” Here he hesitated, and looked over towards Hesper, with that
indescribable twinkle of sly humor in his eyes which was perfectly
irresistible. The whole company burst into a hearty laugh, and Hesper,
falling in with the old man’s merry mood, signified her willingness at
once to receive a formal proposal.
“Attention, girls!” said Mr. Byers, after the laugh had subsided--and
putting on a more serious countenance, he assumed at once a lecturing
attitude. “I have somewhat to say to you on this subject of matrimony.
It is now more than sixty years that I have looked the world in the
face, and I feel, by this time, that I have a right to say that I know
something about it. From sixteen till twenty-one I sowed my wild oats
like any young fellow. At twenty-five I married, and began life in real
earnest. I was a poor man, and had to earn my bread by the sweat of my
brow. As time passed on, and the little ones began to gather around
my table, I thanked God and worked all the harder. But fortune often
made wry faces at me, and sometimes cast me headlong into the slough of
despond. I didn’t stay there long, however, for the thought of Hannah
and the children set me on my feet again, and called up energies I
never knew were mine. When Mary, the eldest, was sixteen, she went into
a decline, and fading slowly like a spring violet, at length she died.
It was a heart breaking thing to us, but before we had fairly recovered
from it, Willie, our second child, was upset in a pleasure boat, and
drowned. Scarcely a year after, our blue-eyed Charlie died of a fever.
Then I cannot tell you how entirely we placed our affections upon sweet
little Fanny, our last remaining one, nor how hopelessly we mourned,
when we found that the hand of the Destroyer was upon her also. O,
girls! Heaven grant that you may never know such hours of watching and
anxiety as we experienced, when, one night in mid-winter, the dear
child lay upon her pillow, suffering beneath the croup, that scourge of
childhood. I never shall forget how piteously she moaned, stretching
up her trembling hands to us, and praying us for relief. Our utmost
exertions were in vain, and at length, after hours of suffering, the
little creature sobbed and moaned her soul away into the hand of her
Creator.” The old man was silent for a few moments, and then continued.
“It was too much for my poor Hannah, for the saddest, loneliest thing
in this wide world, is the heart of a childless mother--one who has
watched faithfully and tenderly over her little flock, and followed
them one after another to the grave. She may carry a quiet face
before the world, but inwardly the broken chords are still bleeding,
and the busy fingers of memory, with frequent touches, keep the wound
ever open. Thus it was with Hannah. She tried to be cheerful, but the
blow was too heavy, and at length she sank beneath it. Twenty years
she walked by my side, and shared the cup of my joy and sorrow. That
score of years was full of toil, and care, and trouble. If I had never
married, I might have escaped that experience. But no: I thank God
for it! With all its shadows, the memory therof is pleasant, and I am
twice the man that I should be without it. Girls! you will never know
what real life is, till you have learned to love with all the heart and
soul--- to live no longer for yourselves, but for others, never mind
what the consequences may be.”
Kate Smiley looked up timidly, and in her own, gentle, unaffected
manner, repeated these lines of Tennyson’s--
“I hold it true whate’er befall,--
I feel it when I sorrow most;
‘Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.”
“That’s it, exactly!” exclaimed Mr. Byers; “God, knew when he placed
us in this world, what was best for us, and all these sad experiences
which spring from our hearts’ best affections, work out a wonderful
weight of good at last. The ‘wise man’ says, ‘with all thy getting,
get understanding;’ and I say to you girls, with all your getting, get
husbands.”
“But,” said Kate Smiley, who had already refused several offers, “you
certainly wouldn’t have a woman take up with anybody, for the sake of
getting married, and may be if she refuses two or three offers, because
they do not seem suitable, that she will have to be an old maid at
last, in spite of herself?”
“No, girls, no!” said Mr. Byers with much emphasis, “don’t throw
yourselves away, under any circumstances, but wait till Mr. Right comes
along, if ‘tis half a century, and if he never comes, then die happy in
the thought that you did the best you could.”
“But, supposing,” said Juliana, with a mischievous look, “that I, for
instance, should think I had married Mr. Right, and in the course of a
few years he should prove to be Mr. Wrong--perhaps take to drinking and
other bad habits--abuse me shamefully--threaten my life, and make me in
all things as miserable as possible.”
“O, that’s an extreme case,” said Mr. Byers.
“But then you know such things happen.”
“Well, then, I’ll tell you what to do,” said the old gentleman, very
decidedly--“rake up the fire, turn the cat out of doors, tie up the
baby in the table cloth, and taking it on your back, start for parts
unknown immediately.”
They all laughed, but Hesper shook her head.
“No:” she said, “that would be utter selfishness. I should say stand by
him till the last moment. Love, suffer, beseech and entreat, and if all
availed nothing, then die for him, or with him, but never forsake him.”
Mr. Byers regarded her seriously and affectionately.
“O Hesper! Star of Peace and never failing Charity,” he said, “where
will thy long-suffering end! God grant thou mayest never be brought to
the trial!”