THE EVENING STAR.
“HESPER,” said aunt Betsey, as she dropped in one afternoon with her
knitting, “has that Mr. Clyde come a courting?”
“Come a courting!” repeated Hesper--(using an expression which she
greatly disliked)--“who?”
“Why you, to be sure,” said aunt Betsey. “I asked for information,
because, if he has, I should like to know for a very particular reason.”
“Well, no,” said Hesper, “he merely came to see Mose, and only intends
remaining till after the marriage.”
“Dear me! I’m sorry,” said aunt Betsey, “for, Hesper, I tell you the
truth--I verily believe you will be an old maid, and if you don’t talk
up to Mr. Clyde or somebody, pretty soon, it will be a gone case with
you.”
“Very well,” replied Hesper--“if it depends upon my making the first
advances, my fate is already decided, and my case hopeless, for I never
shall offer myself directly or indirectly to any man.”
“But,” said aunt Betsey, after a few moment’s thoughtful silence--“if
you should change your mind, and Mr. Clyde or some one else should
offer himself, do let me know in time, for that satin bed-quilt of
mine, is packed away in the attic, with a whole chest full of other
clothes, and I want to get it down to shake, and brush, and air it as
it should be, before I make you a present of it; for I never shall do
the least thing in the world with it.”
“Well,” said Hesper, “I will let you know in time;” and with this
promise aunt Betsey seemed perfectly contented. She looked very
graciously over her spectacles at Mr. Clyde, when he came in, and in
the course of conversation, took occasion to remark that she thought
Hesper had improved wonderfully during her absence from home. She was
most unusually condescending and amiable, and when she arose to depart,
she remarked that she should call often while Mr. Clyde was there, as
she enjoyed the conversation of such intelligent people very much.
There was a glorious sunset that evening. The whole western sky seemed
all a blaze with the gold and crimson splendors of the King of Day. The
trees and the green hill-tops were glowing with the radiant light, and
the ocean, in its waveless calm, reflecting back the brightness of the
heavens, seemed like a molten sea of gold.
“Come, Hesper,” said Mr. Clyde, “let us go along the brook side, and
climb up the old rock, where we can watch these sunset fires die out on
Nature’s altar.”
“Ah! this makes me think of old Italy!” he said, as they wandered along
the forest path--“fair Italy! And yet, with all the splendor and beauty
of that favored clime, which I have so often gazed upon, this scene is
dearer far to me, because it is my own native land.”
“There is no place like home, after all, Hesper,” he added, as he
put forth his arm to aid her up the steep ascent; “I cannot tell you
how often my heart turned back with an unutterable yearning to these
shores, and even to this very spot, where I saw you last, weaving
violets and green leaves together, while the lights and shadows through
the forest boughs were playing across your countenance.”
“You have changed very much since then,” he continued, as he looked
her thoughtfully in the face. “You are less of the child, and more of
the woman now, in experience. There is a soft and chastened expression
upon every feature, and in your eyes a deep, spiritual light, such as
can only come through a long and trying discipline of sorrow. O Hesper,
you and I both know what it is to pass under the shadow of a great and
desolating grief, but your soul has come out chastened and purified by
the trial, while mine still lingers in darkness and unreconciliation.
My very existence, as it creeps slowly onward, day by day, has become
a wearisome burden--- for what is the future without hope, or life
without love?”
“Let us not think of such things,” said Hesper, gently, “for the heart
cannot forget its bitterness while memory continually renews its grief.
Beyond and around us all, lie sweetly harmonizing influences, which
we can draw into our hearts if we will, and soothe all discordant
murmurings to rest.”
“See yonder,” she continued, “where the evening star looks brightly
forth amid the fading glories of the sunset. The twilight will deepen,
and the evening shadows prevail, but that star will grow brighter and
brighter, until at length it will be the fairest object to which the
eye of the way-worn and weary will turn. Thus is it with the patient,
persevering heart; the shadows of life may deepen and darken around it,
but its light grows clearer and brighter, until it becomes a guiding
star of peace to many a troubled spirit. God grant, friend, that such a
high and holy mission may be yours!”
“Not mine, but yours, good angel,” said Mr. Clyde, as he turned towards
her; “it is already yours. Three years ago, as we sat together at the
foot of this rock, you bade me go forth to the world and live for the
sake of others as far as in me lay, and I did so, and all the peace
I have experienced has come through that channel alone. Now, as if
an emblem of our own spiritual progress, we meet again, not at the
foot, but at the summit of the rock; yet over me the shadows are still
brooding. O Hesper! star of peace and never failing charity, send down
the light of thy love into the darkened depths of my heart!”
As he spoke, he drew her, like a frightened dove, close to his
bosom. For one moment she shrank and trembled, and then, with all
the loving gratitude of her nature, she accepted this strong refuge
from her loneliness and sorrow. Far off, in the distant woods, the
whip-poor-will sung his plaintive song, and the soft rippling brook
made sweet music below. The evening star looked mildly from the
western sky, and all nature with mute sympathy, seemed to mingle in
their joy, but no eye, save those of God and his angels, witnessed the
consecration of these two faithful hearts. One week after this, there
was a double wedding at the doctor’s, against which no disapproving
word was spoken, for the village gossips entered by mutual agreement
into a treaty of peace, on account of the general invitation that
was extended. Aunt Betsey’s countenance was wreathed with smiles of
satisfaction, and Mr. Byers, who always had an eye to business, retired
to a corner, and covered several pages of his note book with wise
remarks and philosophical conclusions, which the occasion had called
forth.
“Mrs. Dorothy,” he said to aunt Nyna, very privately, when a convenient
opportunity offered, “I think that the example of these young people
is worthy of all imitation, and I feel, moreover, that considering our
lonely condition, it behooveth both you and I, that we mutually agree
to go and do likewise.”
“Yea, verily, friend,” replied the good lady, in her usual quiet
manner, “thee hast spoken my mind exactly;” and from that time forth
the matter was decided.
Years have intervened since then, but even now, in a pleasant cottage
by the brook, where the spring flowers bloom earliest and the autumn
leaves are last to fall, dwells Hesper, the Home Spirit, for her
mission is not yet ended. Joyful little ones, with dancing feet and
smiling countenances, come and go over the threshold, and he who chose
that star of peace as the guide to his earthly pathway, still walks by
her serene light, rejoicing in a “love that never faileth.”
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
--Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
End of Project Gutenberg's Hesper, the Home-Spirit, by Elizabeth Doten