"There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told,
When two, that are linked in one heavenly tie,
With heart never changing, and brow never cold,
Love on through all ills, and love on till they die!"
MOORE.
"Come, Florence, put on your bonnet; we land in a few moments," said
Mr. Stewart, entering the splendidly furnished saloon of a Mississippi
steamer, where she sat, book in hand. Quietly the young wife, for such
she now was, complied with his request, and taking her husband's arm,
they advanced to the bow of the boat. It was a bright, sunny morning
in early May, and the balmy breath of the opening summer wafted
gladness to many a weary, aching heart. The margin of the river was
fringed with willow, poplar, cotton-wood, and cypress, the delicate
fresh green foliage contrasting beautifully with the deep azure sky,
and the dark whirling waters of the turbid stream. It was such a day
as all of us may have known, when nature wore the garb of perfect
beauty, and the soothing influence is felt and acknowledged
gratefully--joyfully acknowledged by every one accustomed from
childhood duly to appreciate, admire, and love the fair and numberless
works of God, who,
--"Not content
With every food of life to nourish man.
Makes all nature beauty to his eye
And music to his ear."
Florence was gazing intently, as each object receded from her view.
They turned an angle in the stream, and drew near a landing, with
only a solitary warehouse visible. She started, and her clasped hands,
resting on her husband's arm, pressed heavily. He looked down into the
flushed face, and said with a smile:
"Well, Florence, what is it? Why do you tremble so?"
"Mr. Stewart, I cannot be mistaken: this is my father's old landing!
Why do you look so strangely? Oh! if you knew what painful memories
crowd upon my mind, you could not smile so calmly!" and her voice
faltered.
Laying his hand tenderly on hers, he replied:
"You once asked me whereabouts on the river my plantation was
situated. I evaded your question. You are aware that I inherited it
from a bachelor uncle. He purchased it from your father, and to your
old home, my dear Florence, we have come at last. It is yours again,
and I should have told you long ago, but feared you might be impatient
of the journey; and then it is pleasant to surprise you."
Ere Florence could speak the mingled emotions of her heart, the boat
stopped, and the jangling bells warned them to lose no time.
Mr. Stewart placed her on the bank, and beckoning to a coachman
mounted on a large heavy carriage, opened the door, assisted her
in, and then cordially shaking the outstretched hand of the servant,
inquired if all were well at home?"
"Oh yes, sir! all well except your mother. She has had the asthma, but
is better. But ain't you going to let me look at your wife? You put
her in as if I wan't to see my new mistress."
Mr. Stewart laughed, and opening the door, bade Florence look out; she
threw back her long mourning veil, and bent forward; their eyes met,
and both started with surprise:
"Isaac!"
"Miss Florry! sure as I am alive!" and he grasped the white hand
heartily.
"I cannot understand this at all! Isaac, how came you here?"
"Why you see, when the plantation was sold, we were sold with it;
that's how I come to be here."
"My dear Florence, it is strange, very strange, that I never once
thought of your recognizing the servants, though I should have known
you could not forget them. In what capacity did Isaac formerly serve?"
"He was always our coachman; and many a ride in childhood I owe to his
kindness and wish to make me happy. Isaac, I am very glad to see you
again." And her smile confirmed her words.
Mr. Stewart took the seat by her side, and was closing the door, when
the old man interfered.
"Miss Florry, I know old master is dead--we heard that sometime ago;
but where is Miss Mary? that blessed good child, that never gave a
cross word to one on the plantation. Why didn't she come home with
you?"
Florence could not reply, and the tears rolled silently over her
cheeks.
"Isaac," said Mr. Stewart, in a low, saddened tone, "Mary has gone to
a brighter home in heaven! She is happier far than she could be even
here with us! She died about a month ago."
There was a pause, and then, wiping his rough sleeve across his eyes,
Isaac slowly said--"And Miss Mary is dead! Well, she has gone to
heaven, if ever anybody did! for she was never like common children.
Many's the time when my poor little Hannah was burnt, and like to die,
that child has come by herself of dark nights to bring her a cake, or
something sweet and good! God bless her little soul! she always was
an angel!" and again wiping his eyes he mounted the box and drove
homeward.
Ah! gentle Mary! no sculptured monument marks thy resting-place! No
eulogistic sermon, no high-flown panegyric was ever delivered, on
thy life and death! Yet that silent tear of old Isaac's outspoke a
thousand eulogies! It told of all thy kindness, charity, love, angelic
purity of heart, and called thee "Guardian Angel" of the house of
Hamilton.
Night found Florence sitting alone in the parlor of her old and dearly
loved home. The apartment was much as she had left it five years
before, and old familiar articles of furniture greeted her on
every side. She sat down to the piano, on which in girlhood she had
practised, and gently touched the keys. The soft tones, waking the
"slumbering chord of memory," brought most vividly back the scenes of
other days. Again she stood there an only cherished daughter, and her
father's image, as he used to stand leaning against the mantel-piece,
rose with startling distinctness before her. And there, too, stood her
cousin, with the soft blue eyes and golden curls of her girlhood; and
she fancied she heard, once again, the clear, sweet voice, and felt
the fond twining of her arms about her. Long forgotten circumstances
in primitive freshness rushed upon her mind, and unable to bear the
sad associations which crowded up, Florence turned away from
the instrument, and seating herself on the sofa, gave vent to an
uncontrollable burst of sorrow--
"Oh! what a luxury it is to weep,
And find in tears a sad relief!"
And calmly Florence wept, not bitterly, for she had had much of sorrow
to bear, and schooled her heart to meet grief and sadness. Yet it was
hard to come back to her cherished home and miss from her side the
gentle playmate of her youth, the parent she had almost idolized, and
feel that she had left them in far distant resting-places. She heard
her husband's step along the hall, and saw him enter--she strove to
repress her tears and seem happy, but the quivering lips refused to
smile. He sat down, and drawing his arm around her, pressed her face
to his bosom, and tenderly said:
"My mother had much to say, after my long absence, and I could not
leave her till this moment My own heart told me that you suffered, and
I longed to come to you and sympathize and cheer."
"Do not think me weak, Mr. Stewart, because you find me weeping. It is
seldom I give vent to my feelings, but to-night I am overwhelmed with
recollections of the past. Oh! now, for the first time, I realize that
Mary has indeed gone forever. Mary! Mary! my heart aches already for
you, and your warm unchanging love! Oh! how can I look forward to the
long coming years, and feel that I shall never see her again?"
"Florence, my own Florence, I would not have you repress a single
tear. I know how sadly altered all things are, and what a dreary
look your home must bear. All I ask is, that when you feel lonely and
unhappy, instead of hiding your grief, come to me, lay your weary head
upon my shoulder, and I will strive to cheer you my precious wife! Let
nothing induce you to keep aught from me--let perfect confidence reign
between us: and do not, for a moment, doubt that I wish you other
than you are. The past is very painful both to you and to me, and the
memory of Frank and Mary constantly saddens my spirit. Yet we will
look forward to a happier future, and strive to guide and cheer each
other." He kissed the broad brow as he spoke, and drew tighter the arm
which encircled his wife, as though no danger could assail while he
was near.
"Of late, Mr. Stewart, I have wondered much how you ever learned to
love me; for I am much changed, and in my girlhood I was cold, proud,
and often contemptuous in my manner. Ah, Mary, how different from you!
If I have higher aims in life, and purer joys, I owe it all to her,
for she led me to love the law of God, and exemplified in her daily
life the teachings of Christ! But for her, I shudder to think what I
should now have been! O God, I thank thee that I am saved even as a
burning brand from the fire! I have hope of happiness on earth, and
at last a joyful reunion with the loved ones that have gone on home
before me. And you, my husband, help me to conquer myself to break
down my pride, and to be more like Mary. Oh, forgive my weaknesses,
and ever love me as you now do!"
He clasped her to his heart, and whispered--"Fear not, Florence, that
I will ever love you less! I, too, have faults which you may be called
on to excuse, yet all is bright for us, and I trust no common share of
happiness will be our portion through life!"
"Oh, sweet reward of danger past!
How lovely, through the tears
That speak her heart's o'erflowing joy,
The young wife's smile appears.
The fount of love for her hath gushed,
Life's shadows all have flown,
Joy, Florence! thou a heart hast found
Responding to thine own!"
THE END.