What impels me to take up my pen, compose myself to the act of
writing, and begin the record of feelings and events which will
inevitably throw a shadow over the character which too partial and
misjudging affection once beheld shining with reflected lustre? I know
not--but it seems to me, as if a divine voice whispered from the
boughs that wave by my window, occasionally intercepting the sun's
rays that now fall obliquely on my paper, saying, that if I live for
memory, I must not live in vain--and that, perchance, when I, too, lie
beneath the willow that hangs over _his_ grave, unconscious of its
melancholy waving, a deep moral may be found in these pages, short and
simple as they may be. Then be it so. It is humiliating to dwell on
past errors--but I should rather welcome the humiliation, if it can be
any expiation for my blindness, my folly--no! such expressions are too
weak--I should say, my madness, my sin, my hard-hearted guilt.
It is unnecessary to dwell on my juvenile years. Though dependent on
the bounty of an uncle, who had a large family of his own to support,
every wish which vanity could suggest, was indulged as soon as
expressed. I never knew a kinder, more hospitable, uncalculating
being, than my uncle. If his unsparing generosity had not experienced
a counteracting influence in the vigilant economy of my aunt, he would
long since have been a bankrupt. She was never unkind to me; for I
believe she was conscientious, and she had loved my mother tenderly. I
was the orphan legacy of that mother, and consequently a sacred trust.
I was fed and clothed like my wealthier cousins; educated at the same
schools; ushered into the same fashionable society; where I learned
that awkwardness was considered the only unpardonable offence, and
that almost any thing might be said and done, provided it was said and
done gracefully. From the time of our first introduction into what is
called the world, I gradually lost ground in the affections of my
aunt, for I unfortunately eclipsed my elder cousins in those outer
gifts of nature and those acquired graces of manner, which, however
valueless, when unaccompanied by inward worth, have always exercised a
prevailing, an irresistible influence in society. I never exactly knew
why, but I was the favorite of my uncle, who seemed to love me better
than even his own daughters, and he rejoiced at the admiration I
excited, though often purchased at their expense. Perhaps the secret
was this. They were of a cold temperament; mine was ardent, and
whatever I loved, I loved without reserve, and expressed my affection
with characteristic warmth and enthusiasm. I loved my indulgent uncle
with all the fervor of which such a nature, made vain and selfish by
education, is capable. Often, after returning from an evening party,
my heart throbbing high with the delight of gratified vanity, when he
would draw me towards him and tell me--with most injudicious fondness,
it is true--that I was a thousand times prettier than the flowers I
wore, more sparkling than the jewels, and that I ought to marry a
prince or a nabob, I exulted more in his praise, than in the
flatteries that were still tingling in my ears. Even my aunt's
coolness was a grateful tribute to my self-love--for was it not
occasioned by my transcendency over her less gifted daughters?
But why do I linger on the threshold of events, which, simple in
themselves, stamped my destiny--for time, yea, and for eternity.
It was during a homeward journey, with my uncle, I first met him, who
afterwards became my husband. My whole head becomes sick and my whole
heart faint, as I think what I might have been, and what I am. But I
must forbear. If I am compelled at times to lay aside my pen, overcome
with agony and remorse, let me pause till I can go on, with a steady
hand, and a calmer brain.
Our carriage broke down--it was a common accident--a young gentleman
on horseback, who seemed like ourselves a traveller, came up to our
assistance. He dismounted, proffered every assistance in his power,
and accompanied us to the inn, which fortunately was not far distant,
for my uncle was severely injured, and walked with difficulty, though
supported by the stranger's arm and my own. I cannot define the
feeling, but from the moment I beheld him, my spirit was troubled
within me. I saw, at once, that he was of a different order of beings
from those I had been accustomed to associate with; and there was
something in the heavenly composure of his countenance and gentle
dignity of manner, that rebuked my restless desire for admiration and
love of display. I never heard any earthly sound so sweet as his
voice. Invisible communion with angels could alone give such tones to
the human voice. At first, I felt a strange awe in his presence, and
forgot those artificial graces, for which I had been too much admired.
Without meaning to play the part of a hypocrite, my real disposition
was completely concealed. During the three days we were detained, he
remained with us; and aloof from all temptation to folly, the best
traits of my character were called into exercise. On the morning of
our departure, as my uncle was expressing his gratitude for his
kindness, and his hope of meeting him in town, he answered--and it was
not without emotion--'I fear our paths diverge too much, to allow that
hope. Mine is a lowly one, but I trust I shall find it blest.' I then,
for the first time learned that he was a minister--the humble pastor
of a country village. My heart died within me. That this graceful and
uncommonly interesting young man should be nothing more than an
obscure village preacher--it was too mortifying. All my bright visions
of conquest faded away. 'We can never be any thing to each other,'
thought I. Yet as I again turned towards him, and saw his usually calm
eye fixed on me with an expression of deep anxiety, I felt a
conviction that I might be all the world to him. He was watching the
effect of his communication, and the glow of excited vanity that
suffused my cheek was supposed to have its origin from a purer source.
I was determined to enjoy the full glory of my conquest. When my uncle
warmly urged him to accompany us home, and sojourn with us a few days,
I backed the invitation with all the eloquence my countenance was
capable of expressing. Vain and selfish being that I was--I might have
known that we differed from each other as much as the rays of the
morning star from the artificial glare of the skyrocket. _He_ drew his
light from the fountain of living glory, _I_ from the decaying fires
of earth.
The invitation was accepted--and before that short visit was
concluded, so great was the influence he acquired over me, while _I_
was only seeking to gain the ascendancy over _his_ affections, that I
felt willing to give up the luxury and fashion that surrounded me, for
the sweet and quiet hermitage he described, provided the sacrifice
were required. I never once thought of the duties that would devolve
upon me, the solemn responsibilities of my new situation. It is one of
the mysteries of Providence, how such a being as myself could ever
have won a heart like his. He saw the sunbeam playing on the surface,
and thought that all was fair beneath. I did love him; but my love was
a passion, not a principle. I was captivated by the heavenly graces of
his manner, but was incapable of comprehending the source whence those
graces were derived.
My uncle would gladly have seen me established in a style more
congenial to my prevailing taste, but gave his consent, as he said, on
the score of his surpassing merit. My aunt was evidently more than
willing to have me married, while my cousins rallied me, for falling
in love with a country parson.
We were married. I accompanied him to the beautiful village of ----. I
became mistress of the parsonage. Never shall I forget the moment when
I first entered this avenue, shaded by majestic elms; beheld these
low, white walls, festooned with redolent vines; and heard the voice,
which was then the music of my life, welcome me here, as Heaven's best
and loveliest gift. How happy--how blest I might have been! and I
_was_ happy for awhile. His benign glance and approving smile were,
for a short time, an equivalent for the gaze of admiration and strains
of flattery to which I had been accustomed. I even tried, in some
measure, to conform to his habits and tastes, and to cultivate the
good will of the plebians and rustics who constituted a great portion
of his parish. But the mind, unsupported by principle, is incapable of
any steady exertion. Mine gradually wearied of the effort of assuming
virtues, to which it had no legitimate claim. The fervor of feeling
which had given a bluer tint to the sky and a fairer hue to the
flower, insensibly faded. I began to perceive defects in every object,
and to wonder at the blindness which formerly overlooked them. I still
loved my husband; but the longer I lived with him, the more his
character soared above the reach of mine. I could not comprehend, how
one could be endowed with such brilliant talents and winning graces,
and not wish for the admiration of the world. I was vexed with him for
his meekness and humility, and would gladly have mingled, if I could,
the base alloy of earthly ambition with his holy aspirations after
heaven. I was even jealous--I almost tremble while I write it--of the
God he worshipped. I could not bear the thought, that I held a second
place in his affections--though second only to the great and glorious
Creator. Continually called from my side to the chamber of the sick,
the couch of the dying, the dwelling of the poor and ignorant, I in
vain sought to fill up the widening vacuum left, by becoming
interested in the duties of my station. I could not do it. They became
every day more irksome to me. The discontent I was cherishing, became
more and more visible, till the mild and anxious eye of my husband
vainly looked for the joyous smile that used to welcome his return.
It is true, there were many things I was obliged to tolerate, which
must inevitably be distasteful to one, educated with such false
refinement as I have been. But I never reflected they must be as
opposed to my husband's tastes as my own, and that christian principle
alone led him to the endurance of them. Instead of appreciating his
angelic patience and forbearance, I blamed him for not lavishing more
sympathy on me for trials which, though sometimes ludicrous in
themselves, are painful from the strength of association.
The former minister of the village left a maiden sister as a kind of
legacy to his congregation. My husband had been a protegee and pupil
of the good man, who, on his death-bed, bequeathed his people to the
charge of this son of his adoption, and _him_, with equal tenderness
and solemnity, to the care of his venerable sister. She became a
fixture in the parsonage, and to me a perpetual and increasing
torment. The first month of our marriage, she was absent, visiting
some of her seventh cousins in a neighboring town. I do not wish to
exculpate myself from blame; but, if ever there was a thorn in human
flesh, I believe I had found it in this inquisitive, gratuitously
advising woman. I, who had always lived among roses, without thinking
of briars, was doomed to feel this thorn, daily, hourly, goading me;
and was constrained to conceal as much as possible the irritation she
caused, because my husband treated her with as much respect as if she
were an empress. I thought Mr. L---- was wrong in this. Owing to the
deep placidity of his own disposition, he could not realize what a
trial such a companion was to a mercurial, indulged, self-willed being
as myself. Nature has gifted me with an exquisite ear for music, and a
discord always 'wakes the nerve where agony is born.' Poor aunt Debby
had a perfect mania for singing, and she would sit and sing for hours
together, old fashioned ballads and hymns of surprising
length--scarcely pausing to take breath. I have heard aged people sing
the songs of Zion, when there was most touching melody in their tones;
and some of the warmest feelings of devotion I ever experienced, were
awakened by these solemn, trembling notes. But aunt Debby's voice was
full of indescribable ramifications, each a separate discord--a sharp
sour voice, indicative of the natural temper of the owner. One Sunday
morning, after she had been screeching one of Dr. Watts' hymns, of
about a hundred verses, she left me to prepare for church. When we
met, after finishing our separate toilettes, she began her
animadversions on my dress, as being too gay for a minister's wife. I
denied the charge; for though made in the redundance of fashion, it
was of unadorned white. 'But what,' said she, disfiguring the muslin
folds with her awkward fingers, 'what is the use of all these
fandangles of lace? They are nothing but Satan's devices to lead
astray silly women, whose minds are running after finery.' All this I
might have borne with silent contempt, for it came from aunt Debby;
but when she brought the authority of a Mrs. Deacon and a Mrs. Doelan
of the parish to prove that she was not the only one who found fault
with the fashion of my attire, the indignant spirit broke its bounds;
deference for age was forgotten in the excitement of the moment, and
the concentrated irritation of weeks burst forth. I called her an
impertinent, morose old maid, and declared that one or the other of us
should leave the parsonage. In the midst of the paroxysm, my husband
entered--the calm of heaven on his brow. He had just left his closet,
where he had been to seek the divine manna for the pilgrims it was his
task to guide through the wilderness of life. He looked from one to
the other, in grief and amazement. Aunt Debby had seated herself on
his entrance, and began to rock herself backward and forward, and to
sigh and groan--saying it was a hard thing to be called such hard
names at her time of life, &c. I stood, my cheeks glowing with anger,
and my heart violently palpitating with the sudden effort at
self-control. He approached me, took my hand, and said, 'My dear
Mary!' There was affection in his tone, but there was upbraiding,
also; and drawing away my hand, I wept in bitterness of spirit. As
soon as I could summon sufficient steadiness of voice, I told him the
cause of my resentment, and declared, that I would never again enter a
place, where I was exposed to ridicule and censure, and from those,
too, so immeasurably my inferiors in birth and education. 'Dearest
Mary!' exclaimed he, turning pale from agitation, 'you cannot mean
what you say. Let not such trifles as these, mar the peace of this
holy day. I grieve that your feelings should have been wounded; but
what matters it what the world says of our outward apparel, if our
souls are clothed with those robes of holiness, which make us lovely
in our Maker's eyes? Let us go together to the temple of Him, whose
last legacy to man was _peace_.' Though the bell was ringing its last
notes, and though I saw him so painfully disturbed, I still resisted
the appeal, and repeated my rash asseveration. The bell had pealed its
latest summons, and was no longer heard. 'Mary, must I go alone?' His
hand was on the latch--there was a burning flush on his cheek, such as
I had never seen before. My pride would have yielded--my conscience
convicted me of wrong--I would have acknowledged my rashness, had not
aunt Debby, whom I thought born to be my evil spirit, risen with a
long-drawn sigh, and taken his arm, preparatory to accompany him.
'No,' said I, 'you will not be alone. You need not wait for me. In
aunt Debby's company, you cannot regret mine.'
Surely my heart must have been steeled, like Pharaoh's, for some
divine purpose, or I never could have resisted the mute anguish of his
glance, as he closed the door on this cold and unmerited taunt. What
hours of wretchedness I passed in the solitude of my chamber. I
magnified my sufferings into those of martyrdom, and accused Mr. L----
of not preparing me for the trials of my new situation. Yet, even
while I reproached him in my heart, I was conscious of my injustice,
and felt that I did not suffer alone. It was the first time any other
than words of love and kindness had passed between us, and it seemed
to me, that a barrier was beginning to rise, that would separate us
forever. When we again met, I tried to retain the same cold manner and
averted countenance, but he came unaccompanied by my tormenter, and
looked so dejected and pale, my petulance and pride yielded to the
reign of better feelings. I had even the grace to make concessions,
which were received with such gratitude and feeling, I was melted into
goodness, transient, but sincere. Had aunt Debby remained from us, all
might yet have been well; but after having visited awhile among the
parish, she returned; and her presence choked the blossoms of my good
resolutions. I thought she never forgave the offending epithet I had
given her in the moment of passion. It is far from my intention, in
delineating peculiarities like hers, to throw any opprobrium on that
class of females, who from their isolated and often unprotected
situation, are peculiarly susceptible to the shafts of unkindness or
ridicule. I have known those, whose influence seemed as diffusive as
the sunshine and gentle as the dew; at whose approach the ringlets of
childhood would be tossed gaily back, and the wan cheek of the aged
lighted up with joy; who had devoted the glow of their youth, and the
strength of their prime, to acts of filial piety and love, watching
the waning fires of life, as the vestal virgins the flame of the
altar. Round such beings as these, the beatitudes cluster; and yet the
ban of unfeeling levity is passed upon the maiden sisterhood. But I
wander from my path. It is not _her_ history I am writing, so much as
my own; which, however deficient in incident, is not without its moral
power.
I experienced one source of mortification, which I have not yet
mentioned; it may even seem too insignificant to be noticed, and yet
it was terribly grating to my aristocratic feelings. Some of our good
parishioners were in the habit of lavishing attentions, so repugnant
to me, that I did not hesitate to refuse them; which I afterwards
learned, gave great mortification and displeasure. I would willingly
accept a basket of fragrant strawberries, or any of the elegant
bounties of nature; but, when they offered such plebeian gifts as a
shoulder of pork or mutton, a sack of grain or potatoes, _I_
invariably returned my cold thanks and declined the honor. Is it
strange, that I should become to them an object of aversion, and that
they should draw comparisons, humbling to me, between their idolized
minister and his haughty bride?
My uncle and cousins made me a visit, not long after my rupture with
aunt Debby, which only served to render me more unhappy. My uncle
complained so much of my altered appearance, my faded bloom and
languid spirits, I saw that it gave exquisite pain to Mr. L----, while
my cousins, now in their day of power, amused themselves continually
with the old fashioned walls of the house, the obsolete style of the
furniture, and my humdrum mode of existence. Had I possessed one spark
of heavenly fire, I should have resented all this as an insult to him
whom I had solemnly vowed to love and honor. These old fashioned walls
should have been sacred in my eyes. They were twice hallowed--hallowed
by the recollections of departed excellence and the presence of living
holiness. Every leaf of the magnificent elms that overshadowed them,
should have been held sacred, for the breath of morning and evening
prayer had been daily wafted over them, up to the mercy-seat of
heaven.
I returned with my uncle to the metropolis. It is true, he protested
that he would not, could not leave me behind--and that change of scene
was absolutely necessary to the restoration of my bloom, and Mr. L----
gave his assent with apparent cheerfulness and composure. But I
knew--I felt that his heart bled at my willingness, my wish to be
absent from him, so soon after our marriage. He told me to consult my
own happiness, in the length of my visit, and that he would endeavor
to find a joy in solitude, in thinking of mine. 'Oh!' said one of my
cousins, with a loud laugh, 'you can never feel solitary, when aunt
Debby is'--
Behold me once more 'mid the scenes congenial to my soul--a gay
flower, sporting over the waves of fashion, thoughtless of the caverns
of death beneath. Again the voice of flattery fell meltingly on my
ear; and while listening to the siren, I forgot those mild,
admonishing accents, which were always breathing of heaven--or if I
remembered them at all, they came to my memory like the grave rebuke
of Milton's cherub--severe in their beauty. Yes, I did remember them
when I was alone; and there are hours when the gayest will feel
desolately alone. I thought of him in his neglected home; him, from
whom I was gradually alienating myself for his very perfections, and
accusing conscience avenged his rights. Oh! how miserable, how poor we
are, when unsupported by our own esteem! when we fear to commune with
our own hearts, and doubly tremble to bear them to the all-seeing eye
of our Maker! My husband often wrote me most affectionately. He did
not urge my return, but said, whenever I felt willing to exchange the
pleasures of the metropolis for the seclusion of the hermitage, his
arms and his heart were open to receive me. At length I received a
letter, which touched those chords, that yet vibrated to the tones of
nature and feeling. He seldom spoke of himself--but in this, he
mentioned having been very ill, though then convalescent. 'Your
presence, my Mary,' said he, 'would bring healing on its wings. I
fear, greatly fear, I have doomed you to unhappiness, by rashly
yielding to the influence of your beauty and winning manners, taking
advantage of your simplicity and inexperience, without reflecting how
unfitted you were, from natural disposition and early habits, to be a
fellow-laborer in so humble a portion of our Master's vineyard. Think
not, my beloved wife, I say this in reproach. No! 'tis in sorrow, in
repentance, in humiliation of spirit. I have been too selfish. I have
not shown sufficient sympathy for the trials and vexations to which,
for me, you have been exposed. I have asked to receive too much. I
have given back too little. Return then, my Mary; you were created for
nobler purposes than the beings who surround you. Let us begin life
anew. Let us take each other by the hand as companions for time--but
pilgrims for eternity. Be it mine to guard, guide, and sustain--yours,
to console, to gild and comfort.' In a postscript, he added:
'I am better now--a journey will restore me. I will soon be with you,
when I trust we will not again be parted.'
My heart was not of rock. It was moved--melted. I should have been
less than human, to have been untouched by a letter like this. All my
romantic love, but so recently chilled, returned; and I thought of his
image as that of an angel's. Ever impulsive, ever actuated by the
passion of the moment, I made the most fervent resolutions of
amendment, and panted for the hour when we should start for, together,
this immortal goal! Alas! how wavering were my purposes--how
ineffective my holy resolutions.
* * * * *
There was a numerous congregation gathered on the Sabbath morn, not in
the simple village church, but the vaulted walls of a city dome. A
stranger ascended the pulpit. Every eye was turned on him and none
wandered. He was pallid, as from recent indisposition; but there was a
flitting glow on his cheek, the herald of coming inspiration. There
was a divine simplicity, a sublime fervor, an abandonment of self, a
lifting up of the soul to heaven, an indescribable and spiritual
charm, pervading his manner, that was acknowledged by the breathless
attention of a crowded audience, composed of the wealth and fashion of
the metropolis. And I was there, the proudest, the happiest of the
throng. That gifted being was my husband. I was indemnified for all
past mortifications, and looked forward to bright years of felicity,
not in the narrow path we had heretofore travelled, but a wider, more
brilliant sphere. My imagination placed him at the head of that
admiring congregation; and I saw the lowly flock he had been lately
feeding, weeping, unpitied, between the porch and the altar.
Before we bade farewell to my uncle, I had abundant reason to believe
my vision would soon be realized. The church was then without a
pastor. No candidate had as yet appeared in whom their opinions or
affections were united. They were enthusiastic in their admiration of
Mr. L----, and protested against the obscurity of his location. With
such hopes gilding the future, I left the metropolis with a
cheerfulness and elasticity of spirits, which my husband hailed as a
surety for long years of domestic felicity. I would gladly linger here
awhile. I fear to go on. You have followed me so far with a kind of
complaisant interest, as a poor, vain, weak young creature, whose
native defects have been enhanced by education, and who has
unfortunately been placed in a sphere she is incapable of adorning.
The atmosphere is too pure, too rarified. Removed at once from the
valley of sin to the mount of holiness, I breathe with difficulty the
celestial air, and pant for more congenial regions. Must I proceed?
Your compassion will turn to detestation: yet I cannot withdraw from
the task I have imposed on myself. It is an expiatory one; and oh, may
it be received as such!
It was scarcely more than a week after our return. All had been peace
and sunshine: so resolved was I to be all that was lovely and amiable,
I even listened with apparent patience to aunt Debby's interminable
hymns, and heard some of her long stories, the seventy-seventh time,
without any manifest symptom of vexation. It was about sunset. We sat
together in the study, my husband and myself, watching the clouds as
they softly rolled towards the sinking sun, to dip their edges in his
golden beams. The boughs of the elms waved across the window, giving
us glimpses of the beautiful vale beyond, bounded by the blue outline
of the distant hills. Whether it was the warm light reflected on his
face, or the glow of the heart suffusing it, I know not, but I never
saw his usually pale features more radiantly lighted up than at that
moment. A letter was brought to him. I leaned over his shoulder while
he opened it. From the first line I understood its import: it was the
realization of my hopes. The offer was there made--more splendid, more
liberal than I had dared to anticipate. I did not speak: but with
cheeks burning and hands trembling with eagerness and joy, I waited
till he had perused it. He still continued silent. Almost indignant at
his calmness, I ejaculated his name in an impatient tone; when he
raised his eyes from the paper and fixed them on me. I read there the
death-blow of my hopes. They emitted no glance of triumph: there was
sorrow, regret, humility, and love--but I looked in vain for more. 'I
am sorry for this,' said he, 'for your sake, my dear Mary. It may
excite wishes, which can never be realized. No! let us be happy in the
lowlier sphere, in which an All-wise Being has marked my course. I
cannot deviate from it.' 'Cannot!' repeated I: 'say, rather, you will
not.' I could not articulate more. The possibility of a refusal on his
part had never occurred to me. I was thunderstruck. He saw my
emotion--and, losing all his composure, rose and crushed the letter in
his hand. 'I could not, if I would, accept this,' he cried; 'and, were
my own wishes to be alone consulted, I would not, were I free to act.
But it is not so. I am bound to this place, by a solemn promise, which
cannot be broken. Here, in this very house it was made, by the dying
bed of the righteous, who bequeathed the people he loved to _my_
charge--_me_, the orphan he had protected and reared. "Never leave
them, my son," said the expiring saint--"never leave the lambs of my
flock to be scattered on the mountains." I pledged my word, surrounded
by the solemnities of death: yea, even while his soul was taking its
upward flight. It is recorded, and cannot be recalled.'
Did I feel the sacredness of the obligation he revealed? Did I
venerate the sanctity of his motives, and admit their authority? No!
Totally unprepared for such a bitter disappointment, when I seemed
touching the summit of all my wishes, I was maddened--reckless. I
upbraided him for having more regard to a dead guardian, who could no
longer be affected by his decision, than for a living wife. I
threatened to leave him to the obscurity in which he was born, and
return to the friends who loved me so much better than himself. Seeing
him turn deadly pale at this, and suddenly put his hand on his heart,
I thought I had discovered the spring to move his resolution, and
determined that I would not let it go. I moved towards the door,
thinking it best to leave him a short time to his own reflections,
assured that love must be victorious over conscience. He made a motion
as if to detain me, as I passed--then again pressed his hand on his
heart. That silent motion--never, never, can I forget it! 'Are you
resolved on this?' asked he, in a low, very hoarse tone of voice.
'Yes, if you persist in your refusal. I leave you to decide.' I went
into the next room. I heard him walk a few moments, as if agitated and
irresolute--then suddenly stop. I then heard a low, suppressed cough,
but to this he was always subject, when excited, and it caused no
emotion. Yet, after remaining alone for some time, I began to be
alarmed at the perfect stillness. A strange feeling of horror came
over me. I remembered the deadly paleness of his countenance, and the
cold dew gathered fast and thick on my brow. I recollected, too, that
he had told me of once having bled at the lungs, and of being
admonished to shun every predisposing cause to such a malady. Strange,
that after such an entire oblivion of every thing but self, these
reflections should have pressed upon me, with such power, at that
moment. I seemed suddenly gifted with second sight, and feared to
move, lest I should see the vision of my conscience embodied. At
length, aunt Debby opened the door, and for the first time, rejoicing
in her sight, _I_ entreated her to go into the library, with an
earnestness that appalled her. She did go--and her first sharp scream
drew me to her side. There, reclined upon the sofa, motionless,
lifeless--his face, white as a snow-drift, lay my husband; his
neck-cloth and vest, saturated with the blood that still flowed from
his lips. Yes, he lay there--lifeless, dead, dead! The wild shriek of
agony and remorse pierced not his unconscious ear. He was dead, and
_I_ was his murderer. The physician who was summoned, pronounced my
doom. From violent agitation of mind, a blood vessel had been broken,
and instant death had ensued. Weeks of frenzy, months of despair,
succeeded--of black despair. Nothing but an almighty arm thrown around
my naked soul, held me back from the brink of suicide. Could I have
believed in annihilation--and I wrestled with the powers of reason to
convince myself that in the grave, at least, I should find rest. I
prayed but for rest--I prayed for oblivion. Night and day the image of
that bleeding corse was before me. Night and day a voice was ringing
in my ears, '_Thou hast murdered him!_' My sufferings were so fearful
to witness, the at first compassionate neighbors deserted my pillow,
justifying themselves by the conviction that I merited all that I
endured.
My uncle and aunt came when they first heard the awful tidings, but
unable to support my raving distress, left me--after providing every
thing for my comfort--with the injunction that as soon as I should be
able to be removed, to be carried to their household. And whose kind,
unwearied hand smoothed my lonely pillow, and held my aching brow?
Who, when wounded reason resumed her empire, applied the balm of
Gilead and the oil of tenderness; led me to the feet of the divine
Physician, prayed with me and for me, wept with me and over me, nor
rested till she saw me clinging to the cross, in lowliness of spirit,
with the seal of the children of God in my forehead, and the joy of
salvation in my soul? It was aunt Debby. The harsh condemner of the
fashions of this world, the stern reprover of vanity and pride, the
uncompromising defender of godliness and truth; she who in my day of
prosperity was the cloud, in the night of sorrow was my light and
consolation. The rough bark was penetrated and the finer wood beneath
gave forth its fragrance. Oh! how often, as I have heard her, seated
by my bedside, explaining in a voice softened by kindness, the
mysteries of holiness, and repeating the promises of mercy, have I
wondered, that I, who had turned a deaf ear to the same truths, when
urged upon me with all an angel's eloquence, should listen with
reverence to accents from which I had heretofore turned in disgust.
Yet, at times, there seemed a dignity in her tones; her harsh features
would light up with an expression of devout ecstacy, and I marvelled
at the transforming power of christianity. Well may I marvel! I would
not now, for the diadem of the east, exchange this sequestered
hermitage for the halls of fashion--these hallowed shades for the
canopies of wealth--or the society of the once despised and hated aunt
Debby, for the companionship of flatterers. I see nothing but thorns
where once roses blushed. The voice of the charmer has lost its power,
though 'it charm never so wisely.' My heart lies buried in the tomb on
which the sunlight now solemnly glimmers--my hopes are fixed on those
regions from whence those rays depart. Had he only lived to forgive
me--to know my penitence and agony--but the last words that ever fell
on his ear from my lips, were those of passion and rebellion--the last
glance I ever cast on him, was proud and upbraiding.
The sketch is finished--memory overpowers me.