“I love, and shall be beloved! O, life!
At last I feel thee!”
No locomotive that was ever invented could prevent old time from
traveling in his own way, and at his own pace; and thus it was that some
six months passed away on leaden wings—at least so thought our young
aspirant for fortune’s favor. He was becoming very impatient for the
return of summer, and the dull business months, that he might take
another trip to New England. Just at this juncture, he, to his great
delight, received a letter from Mr. Pluribusi, dated from Albany. It
commenced with—
“Where, in the name of wonder, have you been hiding? Mr. Bryarly
has long been expecting you to visit this part of the world
again. How unsought and how unmerited do the favors of fortune
fall into the caps of some men who do not even give themselves
the trouble to hold it out to receive them. Here has Mary been
asking again and again, what had become of you. Now, tell
me—how was I to answer these questions, when I knew nothing
about you, absolutely nothing, except that you had changed your
residence from Virginia to New Orleans? My niece and I are
spending a few weeks in Albany; and a gay time we have here,
too. Mary’s health has been somewhat delicate, but I am happy to
say it is much improved. But here she comes—and having found
out that I was writing to you, she insists upon reading my
letter; but as I intend she shall not always have her own way, I
refused. She is much amused at what she calls my obstinacy, and
stands laughing at me—the witch! She has made me forget all I
was going to say. I will write again to you, when I hope to be
free from such interruption.
Your friend,
P. Pluribusi.”
After reading this letter, as may be supposed, Harry was not long in
determining what course to pursue. After a few hurried preparations, he
started for Albany.
The weather was intensely cold; the snow lay on the ground, and the sun
beamed on the icicles which hung from the houses, retaining, probably,
their fantastic pendules by the keen easterly wind which seemed to
penetrate through every crevice. It was St. Valentine’s day. Mr.
Pluribusi, his niece, and Miss Medford, the daughter of the lady with
whom they were staying, were wending their way to a fair, which was
gotten up by the ladies of Albany for the benefit of a missionary
cause—and many of the most beautiful and fashionable took a deep
interest in the matter. Some furnished articles for sale, and others
acted as sales-women on the occasion. Among the latter our heroine shone
conspicuous for grace and beauty; her table was soon surrounded by a
crowd of admirers, who pressed forward in every direction to catch a
word or a look from one so celebrated. Mary, however, did not appear to
take much interest in the group around her, but ever and anon she cast,
by stealth, her dark eyes over the room, apparently endeavoring to
discover if she recognized among any of the faces, that of an old
acquaintance, (for her uncle had told her that Mr. Thatcher was in the
city, and would visit the fair that day,) but she could see nothing to
repay the effort.
“I declare, this is an Arabian desert,” said she, sighing, as she split
one of her white kid gloves in pulling it on.
“Why, Mary, they look like the best French kid,” answered Miss Medford,
who misunderstood her.
“My dear,” said her uncle, “do not you see an old admirer of yours
sauntering about the room in the most lounging, lazy style?”
“Which of your admirers, Mary?” asked Miss Medford.
“Pray, Miss Bryarly, have you got your list in your pocket?” inquired
one of the danglers at her side.
“Not at all—she left it at home,” said Miss Medford, finding Mary did
not answer.
“How unfortunate!” observed the young man.
Mary was becoming actively engaged in tossing over all sorts of
merchandise. In a few moments Harry approached through the crowd, and
stood before her. She crimsoned as her ear drank in the tones of his
voice, and his heart thrilled, and his cheek burnt, when he met her
glance of recognition.
“What a beautiful color your friend has, Mary,” whispered Miss Medford;
“and, I declare, you are blushing, too.”
Poor Mary’s color deepened; she stood with a trembling heart, and
downcast eye, fancying every one was looking at her—every one guessing
her treasured secret, with scarcely the power to answer the remarks of
her companions.
Their mutual emotion supplied the gossips of Albany with material for a
week’s talk.
It was a relief to both when Mr. Pluribusi proposed a walk around the
room. Harry remained with our party until late at night, and repeatedly
testified his happiness in the enjoyment of Mary’s society by all those
little ingratiating attentions which appeal so silently but effectually
to the human heart.
I will not linger over the happy hours the lovers spent together. They
flew away rapidly, each winged with bliss—for happiness lends wings to
time. Harry accompanied Mr. Pluribusi and Mary home. Every evening he
intended to depart, and every morning he changed his intention.
The limits we have allotted to this narrative will not admit of a minute
detail of circumstances; let it suffice to know that the attachment
which existed between the lovers had grown and strengthened, and now
twined, like the tendrils of a vine, around the tree which supports it,
closer and closer around them, until they felt that parting would be
like severing the very chords of existence.
One evening they sat at a window; the silvery beams of the pale moon,
which fell on objects around, lent their softening influence to the
feelings of the lovers. They both became silent from some overpowering
emotion—for at such a moment mirth seemed sacrilege. The hour was
growing late, and its quiet was unbroken, save by the distant rumbling
of carriage-wheels. We do not know how it happened, except her conscious
heart lent a deep flush to her cheek, and a softer light to her dark
eye, but Mary never looked so lovely. Harry gazed upon her until he
could no longer contain the emotions of his soul; the time, the place,
favored his wishes—and words which, when heart responds to heart are
never breathed in vain, were now uttered—that hour witnessed their
betrothal.