Is there not
A reverence in the very name of "mother"
Could thrill the ruffian purpose?
SHIEL.
He is the second born of flesh
And is his mother's favourite.
BYRON.
It was Eugene's birthday. He had coaxed Marryott to give him a treat of
cakes and fruit in the garden summer-house. His brothers were invited,
and even his father honoured the party with his presence.
Marryott presided over the entertainment. Eustace had been out of the
way, and did not arrive until the others were assembled. He made his
appearance at the banquet all bright, animated expectation, having but
just heard of the unwonted indulgence provided him, and prepared to
partake in it with full boyish enjoyment.
But at the threshold he paused. By one quick glance, his eye had taken
in each individual of the collected group. A sudden thought seemed to
press upon the wild beatings of his heart. A cloud overshadowed the
quick brightness of his brow.
"Come along, Eustace!" cried the boy Eugene, "if you mean to come at
all."
But no, he did not stir. There he stood, rooted to the spot, his
changing countenance betokening the struggle of strong feeling passing
through his breast, another glance--from which shot forth a gleam of
noble fire--around, and then his dark, full eye fixed itself with calmer
sternness upon his young brother's face.
"No, thank you, Eugene," he said firmly, "I cannot come. My mother she
is all alone in the house. I must go to _her_," and instantly he turned,
and
"Went away with a step strong and slow,
His arch'd lip press'd, and his clear eye undimmed,
As if it were a diamond, and his form
Borne proudly up, as if his heart breathed through."
On one occasion, Mrs. Trevor heard the voice of her husband raised in
long and angry accents. She listened with trembling misgiving as to the
object of his reprehension, but when to words sounds succeeded, plainly
betokening bodily chastisement, she could no longer refrain, but
hastened to the spot from whence they proceeded.
It was Mr. Trevor's study, and on opening the door and entering, she
found indeed her beloved boy Eustace under the hands of his father
undergoing severe and painful punishment; Eugene standing by like a
young Saul, witnessing the martyrdom of a Saint Stephen, holding his
brother's coat over his arm, a little pale perhaps, but watching with a
tolerably cold and steady eye the proceedings of the parental
persecution.
The look and tone of sore distress with which the gentle intercessor
supplicated for mercy, shamed even the unloving husband into compliance.
He released his victim, who turned aside with tearless eyes, but every
vein of his noble brow swollen with suppressed anguish.
But every thought of his own suffering or disgrace seemed soon to be
forgotten in the pain and grief he saw upon his mother's countenance, as
with trembling voice she made inquiry into the offence which had called
down such unwonted severity upon the culprit.
"He is a squandering spendthrift," was the father's reply; "and you,
Madam, with your fine ideas and lessons, have helped to make him so; but
I will teach him better. He was at the same trick once before, and I
warned him of the consequences. A long time will it be before he gets
another shilling from me, to waste upon a set of rascally vagabonds
lurking about the premises, seeking what they may devour."
"Mother!" said the boy firmly, "they were a party of poor mechanics,
turned out of their homes and deprived of all means of getting their
bread. One man carried his poor little girl, dying from starvation, in
his arms; what better could I do?"
Another sharp blow from the father cut short the explanation, and
Eustace was ordered to leave the room, not to approach his mother, or
touch a morsel of food, save bread and water, for the remainder of the
day.
The boy obeyed in silence, but with a bursting heart, and Mrs. Trevor
remained to listen, in resigned sorrow, to the anathemas poured forth
against her darling--of his evil and corrupt dispositions, and the
fearful predictions, that she would live one day to see him turn out the
disgrace and ruin of the family.
"Only see, Madam, in this one instance the difference between these two
boys. Eugene, bring your money-box."
The boy, with complacent alacrity, produced a small casket, and opening
it with a key attached to a ribbon round his neck, exhibited indeed a
shining store of silver pieces, slightly interspersed with gold.
"Eugene is indeed a rich boy," the mother observed very gravely.
"Yes, and a good, and wise, and prudent boy, and he shall be richer
still some of these days; I will see to that. Yes, _he_ can--he may
afford to be generous; he knows how to bestow his gifts in the right
direction. Eugene, show your mother what I have allowed you to buy out
of your savings for your attached and valued friend."
The boy, in the same manner as before, uncovered a parcel lying on the
table, and thereby displayed a roll of rich and handsome silk.
"Is it not beautiful, mamma?" he exclaimed innocently; "it is for
Marryott; this is her birthday you know."
Mrs. Trevor's lip quivered. She looked pale, and turned away her head.
When were _her_ birthdays so remembered?
"May I take it to her, papa?"
"Yes, yes, take it away, boy!" said Mr. Trevor, rather impatiently; and
Eugene, proudly shouldering his offering, marched off triumphantly with
it to Marryott's apartments.
A silent pause ensued. It was broken by Mrs. Trevor, quietly suggesting
the advisability of a more regular and impartial allowance being
bestowed upon the two younger boys, remarking that she feared the
present arrangement was likely to be prejudicial to the characters of
both, perhaps to their future conduct through life.
The mother spoke more firmly, more courageously than usual. Perhaps the
incident which had just been enacted, had a little hardened and
strengthened her spirit for the encounter. But her words were of little
avail.
"Not at all, not at all," was the angry interruption. "Allow me, Madam,
to act as I please on that point. I give what I please, and withhold
what I please, as I see fit and proper; and I have found out pretty well
before to-day, that whilst I could trust one boy with a whole bank of
money, the other is not, nor ever will be, worthy to possess one
shilling of his own. I shall, therefore, act accordingly, and beg you
will not attempt to interfere upon the subject; it is my department, not
yours."
Mrs. Trevor could only sigh, and was about to retire. But no. She must
first undergo another ordeal.
The door opened, and Eugene re-appeared, attended by Marryott.
"She is so pleased, papa, and so obliged," cried the boy, "and is come
to thank you."
Mrs. Trevor arose with gentle dignity.
Mabel Marryott had not been apprised of her mistress' presence in the
library, but the expression of her well-disciplined countenance--that
"face formed to conceal"--scarcely evinced this fact as she paused upon
the threshold, and with the utmost composure and respect, apologised for
her intrusion; but begged to be allowed to express her grateful thanks
for the beautiful present which her dear master Eugene had just brought
to her. It was much too handsome for her, appealing with the greatest
deference to Mrs. Trevor; but she would gladly wear it for her dear
boy's sake.
"Do--do so, Marryott, it is Eugene's present--quite his own," Mr. Trevor
replied with some embarrassment of manner.
"Indeed, Sir?" with the utmost simplicity; "well, I must say, he is
always a dear generous child," and she stooped and kissed the boy, who
rather unwillingly submitted to his nurse's fondling. Mrs. Trevor knew
that this was the same woman, who had so short a time ago betrayed her
generous child Eustace, to the unjust anger of his father, and there was
something in this present demonstration of affection towards this other,
which went greatly against her feelings.
She rose--never with all her provocations, was her mild ladylike
deportment laid aside, and said:
"Eugene, dear, open the door for me; I am going up-stairs."
The boy, though unaccustomed to any such _exigeant_ demands on his
respectful attention, from his mother, nor trained to yield them
unasked, shook off Marryott's arm, still encircling his waist, and
willingly obeyed, running to comply with the request. Mrs. Trevor left
the room as Eustace had done not long before, in silence, and with a
swelling heart, whilst Mrs. Marryott's glance after her retreating
figure, seemed to ask what was the meaning of this undue assumption of
importance in her unassuming mistress.
* * * * *
The same partial fate which attended the young Eustace under his
father's roof, extended itself to his life at school. In the rather
inferior establishment to which he, and his younger brother were
sent--one very unworthy and inefficient to develope the genius and
talent, inherent in the boy--qualities which nevertheless struggled
forth, spite of all disadvantages, into life and power, too little
appreciated by others--there the favour of the sycophant master, was
lavished exclusively on the rich father's favourite, to the apparent
detriment and depreciation of the other. The high and generous spirit of
the boy, was reported as ill-disposed and unruly, and treated
accordingly with severity, or more properly speaking, tyranny and
injustice.
A crushing or hardening effect upon the mind and character, must have
inevitably been the result of such a process, had it not been for the
superior nature of the being upon whom it worked; to say nothing of that
counter charm which ever lay upon his heart, a talisman against the
power of every evil influence--his mother's love. But there was one
effect produced by the state of things we have endeavoured to show
forth, which could not be averted. We mean the seed of future misery,
thereby sown between the youthful brothers.
In early childhood there had subsisted between them an affection almost
bordering upon enthusiasm, remarkable in children of their age; in the
younger how soon, like every other good and truthful inclination of his
heart and character, contracted and undermined by the still more
pernicious influence to which by his different circumstances he was
exposed. It might have been supposed that were the invidious feelings of
envy, or jealousy, to be engendered in either mind by the system of
partiality to which they were subjected in such a lamentable degree, it
would have been in that of the least favoured; but jealousy belonged not
to the noble nature of Eustace.
Sad surprise--indignant risings in his breast against the injustice of
his father's conduct, were the consequence, but no invidious feeling
against the rival object himself. That one indeed, he would ever have
loved and cherished, borne with and forgiven, as in those young days,
whilst any evidence of brotherly feeling was given in exchange. But
no--it was the favoured one, as we often see to be the case--the rich
and favoured one, who began to envy his poorer brother, even the scanty
portion which fell to his share.
And of what was there in those early days that Eugene could envy
Eustace?
What but that boon, which though influenced outwardly to despise--his
inherent taste for the good and beautiful, caused him secretly to covet,
above every other gift--the fervent love which he saw bestowed by his
despised, but angelic mother, on the child, whose affection drew it so
freely forth--love how ready to be poured as largely on his own head,
but for the barrier of slight, coldness, and constraint she saw so soon
interposed between herself and that else equally beloved child.
Oh! the pain, to mark the glances of that dark, clear eye grow cold and
dim, when turned upon her--the once open brow
"Cloud with mistrust, and the unfettered lip
Curled with the iciness of constant scorn."
But all this belongs more properly to a later, and, alas! darker period
of the lives of those it is our task to trace, and to which we must
hasten forward; that period, in which boyhood merges into manhood, and
the seed sown for good or ill springs forth, and bears--some thirty,
some sixty, and some an hundred-fold.