PREPARATION was at once made for the proposed removal. Mr. Walker
went back to the city, and the new owner of the cottage, Mr. Willet,
set carpenters and painters at work to make certain additions which
he thought needful to secure the comfort of his tenants, and to put
every thing in the most thorough repair. Even against the
remonstrance of Mr. Markland, who saw that his generous-minded
neighbour was providing for his family a house worth almost double
the rent that was to be paid, he carried out all his projected
improvements.
"You will embarrass me with a sense of obligation," said Mr.
Markland, in seeking to turn him from a certain purpose regarding
the cottage.
"Do not say so," answered Mr. Willet; "I am only offering
inducements for you to remain with us. If obligation should rest
anywhere, it will be on our side. I make these improvements because
the house is now my own property, and would be defective, to my
mind, without them. Pray, don't let your thoughts dwell on these
things."
Thus he strove to dissipate the feeling of obligation that began to
rest on the mind of his unfortunate neighbour, while he carried out
his purpose. In due time, under the assignment which had been made,
Woodbine Lodge and a large part of the elegant and costly furniture
contained in the mansion, were sold, and the ownership passed into
other hands. With a meagre remnant of their household goods, the
family retired to a humbler house. Some pitied, and stood at a
distance; some felt a selfish pleasure in their fall; and some, who
had courted them in their days of prosperity, were among the
foremost to speak evil against them. But there were a few, and they
the choicest spirits of the neighbourhood, who only drew nearer to
these their friends in misfortune. Among them was Mr. Allison, one
of those wise old men whose minds grow not dim with advancing years.
He had passed through many trying vicissitudes, had suffered, and
come up from the ordeal purer than when the fire laid hold upon the
dross of nature.
A wise monitor had he been in Markland's brighter days, and now he
drew near as a comforter. There is strength in true words kindly
spoken. How often was this proved by Mr. and Mrs. Markland, as their
venerable friend unlocked for them treasures of wisdom!
The little parlour at "Lawn Cottage," the name of their new home,
soon became the scene of frequent reunions among choice spirits,
whose aspirations went higher and deeper than the external and
visible. In closing around Mr. Markland, they seemed to shut him
out, as it were, from the old world in which he had hoped, and
suffered, and struggled so vainly; and to open before his purer
vision a world of higher beauty. In this world were riches for the
toiler, and honour for the noble--riches and honour far more to be
desired than the gems and gold of earth or its empty tributes of
praise.
A few months of this new life wrought a wonderful change in
Markland. All the better elements of his nature were quickened into
activity. Useful daily employment tranquillized his spirits; and not
unfrequently he found himself repeating the words of Longfellow--
"Something attempted, something done,
Had earned a night's repose."
So entirely was every thing of earthly fortune wrecked, and so
changed were all his relations to the business world, that hope had
yet no power to awaken his mind to ambition. For the present,
therefore, he was content to receive the reward of daily toil, and
to be thankful that he was yet able to supply the real wants of his
family. A cheerful tone of feeling gradually succeeded the state of
deep depression from which he had suffered. His spirit, which had
walked in darkness, began to perceive that light was breaking in
through the hitherto impenetrable gloom, and as it fell upon the
path he was treading, a flower was seen here and there, while the
roughness his imagination had pictured became not visible.
Nearly a year had glided away since the wreck of Markland's fortune,
and little or no change in his worldly prospects was visible. He was
sitting late, one evening, reading aloud to his wife from a book
which the latter had received from Mrs. Willet. The rest of the
family had retired. Mrs. Markland was plying her needle busily.
Altered circumstances had made hourly industry on her part a
necessity; yet had they in no way dimmed the cheerful brightness of
her spirits.
"Come, Agnes," said her husband, closing the book, "it is growing
late; and you have worked long enough. I'm afraid your health will
suffer."
"Just a few minutes longer," replied Mrs. Markland, smiling. "I must
finish this apron for Frank. He will want it in the morning." And
her hand moved quicker.
"How true is every word you have been reading!" she added, after a
few moments. "Manifold indeed are the ways in which a wise
Providence dispenses good to the children of men. Mercy is seen in
the cloud as well as in the sunshine. Tears to the spirit are like
rain to the earth."
"The descent looked frightful," said Markland, after a pause--"but
we reached the lower ground uninjured. Invisible hands seemed to
bear us up."
"We have found the land far pleasanter than was imagined; and the
sky above of a purer crystal."
"Yes--yes. It is even so. And if the flowers that spring up at our
feet are not so brilliant, they have a sweeter perfume and a diviner
beauty."
"In this land," said Mrs. Markland, "we see in the visible things
that surround us what was rarely seen before--types of the invisible
things they represent."
"Ah, yes, yes! Scales have fallen from my eyes. I have learned a new
philosophy. In former times, Mr. Allison's words seemed full of
beautiful truths, yet so veiled, that I could not see their genuine
brightness. Now they are like sudden gleams of sunlight on a
darkened landscape."
"Seekers after happiness, like the rest of the world," said Mrs.
Markland, resting her hands upon the table by which she sat, and,
gazing earnestly into her husband's face, "we had lost our way, and
were moving with swift feet in the wrong direction. Suddenly, our
kind Father threw up before us an impassable mountain. Then we
seemed shut out from the land of promise forever, and were in
despair. But he took his weeping, murmuring children by the hand,
and led them gently into another path!"
"Into a narrower way"--Mr. Markland took up the words of his
wife--"and sought by few; yet, it has already brought us into a
pleasant region."
"To speak in less ideal language," said Mrs. Markland, "we have been
taught an all-important lesson. It is this: That there is over each
one of us an intimate providential care which ever has regard to our
eternal good. And the reason of our many and sad disappointments
lies in the fact, that we seek only the gratification of natural
life, in which are the very elements of dissatisfaction. All mere
natural life is selfish life; and natural ends gained only confirm
this selfish life, and produce misery instead of happiness."
"There is no rest," said Markland, "to the striving spirit that only
seeks for the good of this world. How clearly have I seen this of
late, as well in my own case as in that of others! Neither wealth
nor honour have in themselves the elements of happiness; and their
increase brings but an increase of trouble."
"If sought from merely selfish ends," remarked his wife. "Yet their
possession may increase our happiness, if we regard them as the
means by which we may rise into a higher life."
There followed a thoughtful pause. Mrs. Markland resumed her work,
and her husband leaned his head back and remained for some minutes
in a musing attitude.
"Don't you think," he said at length, "that Fanny is growing more
cheerful?"
"Oh, yes. I can see that her state of mind is undergoing a gradual
elevation."
"Poor child! What a sad experience, for one so young, has been hers!
How her whole character has been, to all seeming, transformed. The
light-hearted girl suddenly changed to a thoughtful, suffering
woman!"
"She may be a happier woman in the end," said Mrs. Markland.
"Is that possible?"
"Yes. Suffering has given her a higher capacity for enjoyment."
"And for pain, also," said Mr. Markland.
"She is wiser for the first experience," was replied.
"Yes, there is so much in her favour. I wish," added Mr. Markland,
"that she would go a little more into company. It is not good for
any one to live so secluded a life. Companionship is necessary to
the spirit's health."
"She is not without companions, or, at least, a companion."
"Flora Willet?"
"Yes."
"Good, as far as it goes. Flora is an excellent girl, and wise
beyond her years."
"Can we ask a better companion for our child than one with pure
feelings and true thoughts?"
"No. But I am afraid Flora has not the power to bring her out of
herself. She is so sedate."
"She does not lack cheerfulness of spirit, Edward."
"Perpetual cheerfulness is too passive."
"Her laugh, at times, is delicious," said Mrs. Markland, "going to
your heart like a strain of music, warming it like a golden sunbeam.
Flora's character is by no means a passive one, but rather the
reverse."
"She is usually very quiet when I see her," replied Markland.
"This arises from an instinctive deference to those who are older."
"Fanny is strongly attached to her, I think."
"Yes; and the attachment I believe to be mutual."
"Would not Flora, at your suggestion, seek to draw her gradually
forth from her seclusion?"
"We have talked together on that subject several times," replied
Mrs. Markland, "and are now trying to do the very thing you
suggest."
"With any prospect of accomplishing the thing desired?"
"I believe so. There is to be company at Mr. Willet's next week, and
we have nearly gained Fanny's consent to be present."
"Have you? I am indeed gratified to learn this."
"Flora has set her heart on gaining Fanny's consent, and will leave
no influence untried."
"Still, Fanny's promise to go is withheld?"
"Yes; but I have observed her looking over her drawers, and showing
more interest in certain articles therein than she has evinced for a
long, long time."
"If she goes, she will require a new dress," said Mr. Markland.
"I think not. Such preparation would be too formal at present. But,
we can make that all right."
"Oh! it will give me so much pleasure! Do not leave any influence
untried."
"You may be sure that we will not," answered Mrs. Markland; "and,
what is more, you have little to fear touching our success."