From that memorable Sunday when Marion first renewed her friendship
and intimacy with Clara, her fair young countenance brightened into
its sunniest smiles, while day after day she carried her work to the
little "cottage of contentment," where Clara generally received her in
what she called her summer drawing-room, a small bowling-green in the
garden, bright and shining as an emerald, beneath a grove of
overhanging lilacs and laburnums. There Mr. Granville frequently
brought out books, which he read aloud and discussed, developing the
lofty aspirations of a mind fitted to be high among the highest in
learning and intellect, while his thoughts were like a well-tuned
instrument, from which every chord sounded to the praise of their
Divine maker, and his conversation was, as Pascal said of the Holy
Scriptures, even more addressed to the heart than to the head.
When reading aloud, Mr. Granville evinced so much interest, with so
quick a consciousness of the author's meaning, and so true a sympathy
in his sentiments, that it seemed as if he must himself have composed
every line; and when he occasionally lent Marion any volume that she
particularly liked, she found his favorite passages marked, and the
margin enriched by so many interesting notes, that she followed with
delight the course of his mind, while at the same time storing her own
memory with high thoughts and refined sentiments.
There was a degree of soul and spirit in the countenance of Mr.
Granville, which marked him as no ordinary man, and an indefinite
charm in his grave and courteous manner, suited to his holy
profession, and displaying the calmness and polish of one accustomed
to good society. He had an energy of expression irresistibly
influential, while illustrating with an eloquence peculiarly his own,
all the highest and holiest principles which can occupy the human
heart. His master mind conversed of Milton, Spenser, Cowper,
Montgomery, and of all the pious authors dear to every lover of nature
and of highly-wrought genius and devotion, while the most phlegmatic
must have been roused, and the most passionate become subdued, by the
indisputable dominion of a great mind, for his genius appeared to look
upon the trifles of existence with the passing glance of an eagle in
its lofty ascent.
Marion and Clara were often entertained by Mr. Granville when he
related characteristic anecdotes of pious and literary men with whom
he had associated, enlivened by original remarks, shewing strong
powers of observation, and displaying the best side of human life; yet
his wit and humor were evidently chastened and subdued by a thoughtful
estimate of existence, and by a continual consciousness of his high
vocation, while Marion scarcely knew whether to be most astonished at
the versatility of his talents, or at the extent of his information.
No subject seemed strange to him, no country unknown, no science
unstudied, no book unread,--while with ready memory and practised
judgment he spoke as he thought, betraying no reserve or affectation:
and religion still, like a golden thread, was to be traced running
through his whole conversation.
Marion's was a heart which required something in those she loved to
reverence and look up to; but here she had found that in its fullest
measure, and under the happiest auspices, among friends with whom she
had never spent an hour without feeling the happier and the better for
it. Now for the first time she discovered that there is an aristocracy
of conversation, which avoids everything low or mean in its origin,
while a new world of ideas opened upon her, in listening to sentiments
of high honor, and to feelings of universal benevolence. The genius of
Agnes for conversation lay only in the line of scandal, and she was in
the habit of sweeping away characters like cobwebs, at a single
stroke, by remarks full of flippancy, and often using her talents as a
mimic, while with tricks almost amounting to buffoonery, she rendered
the best and most estimable of her friends, though above the reach of
censure, at all events ridiculous. Ill-nature was to her conversation
what fuel is to the flame; and Agnes piqued herself on her penetration
in discovering the motive of others for all they did, while invariably
tracing it to something mean or contemptible; but with Richard and
Clara an equal ingenuity was shewn in tracing it to good; and while in
the one house every individual discussed was brought down to the same
level of absurdity or selfishness, it was cheering and gratifying to a
heart like Marion's, that at Mr. Granville's, the characters and
feelings of every one living were respected and elevated.
At St. John's Lodge, when Marion heard Sir Patrick and Agnes discuss
their acquaintances, she could not but wonder sometimes where all good
or commendable people had hid themselves, as it seemed as if they must
have fled from the face of man, or have closed their hearts in disgust
from all association with the mean and paltry world of fashion and
frivolity; but now at last she had discovered some whom malice itself
could scarcely criticise; and in thus associating intimately with the
"excellent of the earth," she felt an increasing ambition to resemble
them.
None were more fitted than Clara and Richard to appreciate the
single-hearted excellence of Marion's disposition, her utter
disregardlessness of self, her anxious desire to please, her gay
spirits, brilliant without effort, her heart generous without guile,
and her thoughts fresh and unsophisticated as the gentle summer breeze
from the mountains. No one could look at Marion, and not wish to be
her friend.
There was a tone of frank and entire confidence in her manner, which
instantly gained that of others in return--a softened sensibility in
her expression--a deep fascination in her smile--and in her voice a
tone of joyous hilarity, indicative of her sunny mind, though, like her
countenance, it was capable of intense expression, and deepened
sometimes, now, into a tone of reflection and feeling beyond her years,
while before long it appeared evident, in Clara's opinion, that she had
become all and everything in this world to Richard, and Richard to
her--that her amiable, single-hearted _naivete_ of disposition had at
once carried all the outworks of Mr. Granville's affection, and that
already she was established not only in his friendship, but in
something more.
Unsuspicious of Mr. Granville's increasing preference, Marion smiled
and talked in his society with unembarrassed vivacity, or in their
graver moods replied to his remarks as she might have done to those of
any aged clergyman. The perfect harmony of their tastes, and the
sympathy of their feelings, produced that gradual communion of thought
which is the essence of friendship, while heart answered to heart, as
if each had a telegraph instantaneously to reveal all that passed
within. The highest qualities of Mr. Granville's mind, as well as the
deepest feelings of his nature, were brought into visible exercise,
while he who had hitherto lived only for others, now felt that there
was not a link in the chain of human sympathies and affections which
had not become sacred and dear to himself. There was even something
that might be considered romantic in his feelings--a poetry of the
heart, which led him to believe that a refined and sanctified love,
such as men read and write of, but seldom feel, might yet exist on the
earth--such love as could survive the lapse of time, the withering
influence of prosperity, the chilling blast of adversity, and the
growing infirmities of age, till at length, nourished and perfected by
every vicissitude of sunshine and storm, it should be transplanted in
renewed holiness and beauty to another and a better world.
Marion's character was rapidly matured and developed by her
intercourse with Mr. Granville, who raised in her ardent mind the most
enthusiastic interest; and while with timid pleasure, but increasing
confidence, she joined in the conversation, her voice dwelt on his ear
long after she ceased to speak, her looks were imprinted on his memory
in his most solitary hours, and to Marion a new degree of interest and
of happiness had suddenly become known, when with a vivid blush, and a
beaming smile of pleased emotion, day after day, she thought over all
that had passed, though ignorant yet of the extent to which her heart
and feelings were already engaged. How much of life's most interesting
emotions now passed through her mind during a few weeks, the heart of
Marion alone could testify; while the attachment of Mr. Granville was
concealed from common observation, to be only the more ardently
testified towards herself; and their happiness being the result of no
precipitate impulse, they became attracted together by that love of
excellence, which is the only permanent source of mutual attachment.
Marion's mind had always a propensity to admire, and whether in nature
or in art, she found it more congenial to her feelings ever to seek
for beauties rather than defects, therefore now she was delighted to
associate with one who not only appreciated everything as she did, but
pointed out unexpected excellencies in all the objects of animated
nature, in all the books she read, and even in many of the companions
with whom she associated. With Richard and Clara she first visited the
abodes of poverty; and in attending to the sufferings and sorrows of
others, she saw that Miss Granville found the best relief from a
depression of spirits, under which Marion could not but see with
surprise and regret, that her friend had recently suffered. Clara's
piety was testified in deeds much more than in words, for good actions
she evidently considered as the necessary embellishments of that holy
faith which alone can render any mortal acceptable in the eyes of his
Divine Maker, while salvation by the cross of Christ is the pivot on
which all depends--the crowning stone to the arch, giving stability
and grace to the whole fabric of Christian hope.
Miss Granville gave not only her time and money, but her feelings and
sympathies to the poor; while it evidently cheered her very heart when
she could do a kind action; and though ever ready, heartily and
gratefully, to acknowledge the Divine goodness to herself, whether in
joy or in sorrow, yet nothing appeared so keenly to stir up her
gratitude as any opportunity allowed her of doing a benevolent or a
friendly action, as she considered that the knowledge of religion,
without active exertion, testifying our love to God by our love to our
fellow-creatures, was worse than useless. "The most depraved of
sinners," as Mr. Granville said, "could repeat the creed, but a
Christian only can believe and follow it like Clara."
Graceful and useful in all she does,
Blessing and blest wher'er she goes.
Marion, on returning one day over the hills and through the fields,
with Mr. Granville and Clara, from a tour of interesting visits to the
abodes of chilling poverty and agonised wretchedness, such as she had
never even imagined, could not but contrast the smiling aspect of
nature in all the sunny joy and verdure of spring, with the mournful
lot of man as she had so recently witnessed it.
"How strange," said she, "to take a bird's-eye view, as we do this
evening, of that great city, all glittering in sunshine, and every
window illuminated with a flood of light, as if nothing but festivity
and joy were there, and yet to know what a world of anxiety, and fear,
and pain, and sorrow, are all fermenting within its walls! Silent as
the whole scene appears, yet, for every window we can look upon, there
is probably some living being full of schemes, hopes, and fevered
wishes, dissatisfied with his own lot, and envying that of another!
What an awful world this is to be born into, when, amidst its many
pleasures and its many beauties, we yet consider all its solemn
responsibilities and fearful trials!"
"Yes," replied Mr. Granville, in that voice, the deep melody of which
was like no other voice, "we are placed here in a great theatre; and
while, as interested spectators, we admire the decorations, let us
remember, in respect to the actors, that nothing is either ours or
theirs, but each has his part to perform, for which he is responsible,
and all shall then be swept away to take an abiding place, according
as we are fitted for it, in that real and unchangeable scene for which
here we are only rehearsing our parts. If actors on the stage were to
become actually and permanently for life, the great characters they
represent, provided only they supported the part well for a night, the
stake would be nothing in proportion to what a Christian shall gain if
grace be given him to fulfill his allotted part in this short and
transitory life, which is but a final rehearsal for eternity."
"Very true," said Clara; "this world is a mere preparatory school,
where, like wayward children, we become surprised and irritated at the
slightest correction, being most unwilling to acknowledge that it is
either required or deserved."
"Yet," added Mr. Granville, "nothing brings out the best qualities of
man like suffering. It is a hard rub given to gold, which becomes only
the brighter; and I often think how much interest and dignity is
bestowed on every event of our short lives, by thinking that we are
trained and disciplined as a part of a mighty plan which has been
going systematically on from the beginning of time, and must be
continued to the very end."
"As you observed yesterday," replied Clara, "we are woven into the web
of human life which is passing on daily into eternity, carrying us
along on its surface with irresistible speed. We have no choice
allowed either in coming into the world, or in going out of it; but
the existence thus given to us leads on to an eternity of joy or of
insufferable misery, according to the state of preparation in which we
are found at last. It often occurs to me, as a solemn reflection, that
the two principles of good and evil are, as long as we live, to
continue at war in our minds, but that, like fire and water, one of
these will finally extinguish the other, and that, when death
overtakes us, we shall then become either entirely holy or entirely
reprobate."
"It is a solemn truth," said Mr. Granville, with his usual tranquil
dignity of manner. "The tide of this world's history rolls on, while
generation after generation, like the successive billows on a troubled
ocean, rises and swells into momentary importance, till it be dashed
in pieces and followed by another; but one great Omnipotent power
directs the whole, and watches over each insignificant atom as it is
hurried along. He, by whom the very hairs of our head are numbered,
ordains for our good and for His glory, all events and circumstances,
whether great or small; and if our wills are implicitly conformed to
His, we shall see the trifles of this life through a blaze of
religious light, which will display us their importance as a means of
attaining good, but their insignificance if pursued as an end."
"Even now," observed Clara, "the very occupations and habits essential
to a Christian life, in themselves confer a degree of happiness which
the world cannot give, and does not know--a faint but pleasing emblem
of what is promised in a better state."
"It appears to me," said Mr. Granville, "that those who live for mere
amusement, are no wiser than if they embarked for a voyage round the
world, in a little pleasure-boat, dancing lightly on the billows, with
its white and flowing sails glittering in the sunbeams, rather than in
a strong and sturdy vessel, cutting its dignified way with deep,
steady and undeviating course, in gladness and in safety, through
tempest or calm, whether the breeze be adverse or favorable. Life is
one long struggle, where the Christian must learn to hate much that he
naturally loves, and to love much that he naturally hates, continually
steering his course against nature, to advance in grace."
"I have heard it said," observed Marion, "that Paris is the place, of
all others, where men can most easily do without happiness, because if
any one can entirely forget himself in mere pleasure, it is there."
"How often have I pitied those who squandered their years abroad on an
aimless, amusement-seeking life," said Clara. "What a weight of _ennui_
they must endure! What a sense of utter worthlessness they must feel! A
fever of delirious pleasure is probably the best they occasionally
enjoy! I have sometimes been astonished lately, when in confidential
conversation with the gayest, and apparently the happiest of my
companions, to find that they were actually laboring under the deepest
depression of spirits."
"You need never be surprised by such discoveries, for I meet with them
continually in my clerical visitations," replied Mr. Granville. "The
bright sun above our heads was not created to look down on scenes of
merely selfish enjoyment. It cannot be; and if a thermometer could
visibly display the relative degree of cheerfulness enjoyed through
life by the slave of amusement, who consults only the impulse of his
own passions, or the servant of God who obeys the dictate of reason
and revelation, how astonished most men would be at the measureless
disparity of actual felicity. The one wrapped up in selfishness, yet
anxious to escape amidst a wild uproar of amusement, from his own
thoughts; the other retiring often, voluntarily, to the companionship
of his reflections, while his heart expands to embrace the true
interests of all mankind; the one rich in everything but real
happiness; the other poor, perhaps, in respect to wealth, but yet
possessing great riches."
"I am more and more convinced every day," said Clara, "that no living
creature has a sufficient portion of happiness for himself, unless he
shares that of others, while imparting his own; and that no kind of
traffic brings so large a return to all parties, as that of giving and
receiving the sympathy and good offices of Christian kindness. It is
twice, or rather thrice blessed!"
"I often think," said Marion, "if we could step into the chamber of
any person's mind, and look around us there, how astonishing it would
be to survey even that of our most intimate friend! Many would appear
large and spacious, bright, well furnished, and in good order; while
others that make a tolerable appearance in society, because they need
only show a few samples in the window, would turn out to be filled
with rubbish, narrow, gloomy, and disordered."
"Some minds," replied Mr. Granville, "resemble a show-house laid out
for display, where strangers are brought to envy, admire, and exclaim;
but home-feelings are the real ornaments of life, which I covet for
myself, and for those who are dearer to me than myself."
"It would be curious," observed Clara, smiling, "if every human being
might choose the sort of happiness which, in a future life, he wishes
to enjoy! There would be a strange diversity of inclination! I suppose
a foxhunter, who now finds his best enjoyment in riding six hours
a-day, would then bespeak a horse which was never, in a long course of
ages, to tire, accompanied by a fox ready to be killed every three
hours. A gourmand would ask for a perpetual dinner, and a perpetual
appetite; and Captain De Crespigny would wish for a continual
succession of young ladies, all living on his attentions, and dying of
broken hearts when he disappointed them."
"Only ask yourself in respect to any earthly pleasure, if you would
wish it to be continued for ever, and that will convince you more than
anything, Clara, that this world is not our home," said Mr. Granville.
"There is never a moment of our lives in which we could hear with any
satisfaction that what we then enjoyed was to continue throughout
eternity. No! there is a mighty vacuum in our souls, which can only be
filled by that which 'eye hath not seen, nor ear heard,' and which it
hath not entered into the heart of man yet to conceive."
There is a free-masonry,--a sort of electrical connection between
those who suffer and those who sympathise. It was evident to Marion
that, beneath the look of calm, deep, and chastened composure, which
might be traced in the large lustrous eyes of Clara Granville, there
was the heavy aspect of one who had suffered, as well as thought much.
The high arched forehead, in which the meanderings of the smallest
blue vein was visible, and the ethereal transparency of her alabaster
cheek, gave an almost poetical, but very melancholy expression to her
countenance, and there was a subdued tenderness in her voice and
manner, most touching to the heart.
She seemed like a lily blighted in the storm, and often did Marion
wonder what that sorrow could be, which shunned all notice, and seemed
to bury itself beneath a multitude of thoughts and occupations for the
good of others.
Once, and only once, Marion observed an alteration in the settled
composure of Clara's manner, the occasion of which caused her
considerable surprise. Hitherto, when she inadvertently mentioned Sir
Patrick, the Granvilles insensibly changed the subject almost
immediately, but without the slightest appearance of dislike or
resentment, while Marion could not but silently blame her own
forgetfulness of her brother's conduct to Mr. Granville, which she
thought might well render his name unacceptable in their family
circle. One day, however, her eyes were accidentally fixed on Clara,
when she mentioned that Sir Patrick had escorted her to the chapel
door on the previous Sunday, and seemed more than half inclined to
enter, but had suddenly burst away in a most unaccountable paroxysm,
and hurried out of sight.
A deep and sudden blush overspread the pale cheek of Miss Granville,
who hastily looked up, and meeting Marion's eyes, the color rushed in
torrents over her face, arms, and neck, and her long eye-lashes became
heavy with tears, while her emotion growing evidently uncontrollable,
she threw down her work, and glided out of the room.
"Clara dislikes him for his rapacious conduct to Mr. Granville. Why can
I never learn to avoid Patrick's unlucky name," thought Marion. "It
comes in _a propos_ to everything or to nothing. I am unaccustomed to
think before I speak, but this will make me remember to forget him in
future. I could not have believed that Clara would feel that affair so
very acutely."
Marion's thoughts now reverted with some anxiety to her brother and
sister. They were either ignorant of her renewed intimacy with the
Granvilles, or indifferent to it, but which might turn out to be the
case, however important to her own happiness, she scarcely dared to
investigate, and day after day passed on finding her almost
domesticated with her newly-restored friend, and scarcely missed
apparently by Agnes. Marion was truth itself, and would have abhorred
any clandestine engagements, but after having mentioned the first few
times that she was going to call on Clara, the intimation being
received by her brother and sister in solemn silence, she thought it
unnecessary to make a repetition of the announcement; yet, as her
feelings became more deeply and engrossingly interested, her anxiety
became the greater to know what Sir Patrick might say or think on the
occasion; and to Marion's experience it became true as to that of the
poet,
"Love's first step is on a rose; the second finds a thorn."