"Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain,
Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain?" COWPER.
_Sabbath morning, June 14th._
DEAR MOTHER,--I must write you a few lines to tell you how happy I am.
Yesterday, you remember, I was to decide whether I would conduct the
family devotions when Frank is absent. My mind was so much occupied
during the afternoon, I hardly thought of it; but in the evening, I
retired to my closet, determined to ask for strength from one who is
ever ready to help the weak in the performance of duty.
When I arose from my knees, my fear was all dispelled. It appeared
almost like a privilege to do what I had so much dreaded. While I was
yet speaking, God answered.
This morning, when I was dressing my little daughter, an employment in
which I delight, Frank came in and inquired, "Have you thought upon the
subject I proposed yesterday?"
"Yes," was my reply.
"And what have you decided?"
"I will, at least, attempt the duty." My hand trembled so much, I could
scarcely button Pauline's dress; but I think he did not notice it, for
he walked quickly out of the room. I was taking her to Ann for her
breakfast, when he returned, and with such evident marks of strong
feeling on his countenance, I looked at him anxiously.
He took my hand, and pressed it to his lips, saying, "Will you soon
return to your boudoir?" I rang for Ann, and then followed him. He
clasped me in his arms, as he exclaimed, "my own Cora, you were never
before so dear to me. You little know what a struggle it has cost me to
see the conflict in your mind, and neither say or do anything for your
relief. I have blamed myself severely for expecting so much of you, my
dear child. Many times yesterday I was on the point of withdrawing my
request; but I hesitated. I felt sure you would decide aright, and that
I should rest satisfied with your decision. It is not the first time you
have set me an example. When I heard your decision, I considered it a
great triumph of duty over inclination."
"But you do not know all the naughty thoughts I had," said I, raising my
eyes for the first time. "I even wished,"--
"My own wife," said Frank, pressing me to his heart!--"And have all
these hard thoughts of your husband gone? Did you wish," he asked,
turning my face to his, "that you had never left home to live with such
an exacting man?"
"Oh, Frank! I never wished so; I did not say that. How could I be happy
as I am, if I felt thus? I wished something worse; which I had rather
not tell."
"You had better make a clean breast of it," said he, smiling.
"I wished," said I in a low tone, "that you were not quite so good; and
then you would not expect so much of me."
Frank looked very much amused. "That's the last thing in the world, I
expected my wife to complain of. But seriously, Cora, I have learned
many a lesson from you. One of your looks of wonder, a year since, upset
my favorite theory, and in the end secured to me the most precious wife
in the world."
_Monday, June 15th._
Poor Emily! I wonder if she knew Mr. Benson was to exchange with Mr.
Munroe, yesterday. If so, she did not speak of it. I never saw a man so
changed; he looked as if he had had a severe fit of sickness.
"He withers at his heart, and looks as wan
As the pale spectre of a murder'd man."
But his sermon was really sublime, and lifted me above myself. The text
was the last verse of the forty-second Psalm: "Why art thou cast down, O
my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I
shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God."
Trust in God, was his subject. Amid all the trials and vicissitudes of
life, trust in God is the only sure source of happiness for the
Christian. Trust him to bring good out of seeming ill; to make these
very trials "work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of
glory." If he withdraws the light of his countenance; if our beloved
friends sicken and die before our eyes; if our worldly estate takes to
itself wings and flies away; if our fondest hopes are suddenly dashed to
the ground; if we are ever left to call out in agony of spirit, "Why art
thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me?" we
may, by Divine grace, also exclaim, "hope thou in God, for I shall yet
praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God."
In the pale countenance of the speaker, I could read the struggle, and
the victory. I was actually startled at Emily's looks, as we turned to
come out of the pew. She caught my hand to save herself from falling;
and from the motion of her lips I understood her to say, "_faint_"
though no articulate sound came forth.
I whispered, "Dear Emily! lean upon me; don't faint here; try to arouse
yourself."
Never was I more thankful than when we reached the carriage and had
assisted the poor girl into it, without attracting notice. There was not
a particle of color in her face or lips. I drew off her gloves, and
chafed her hands, while mother loosed her bonnet strings, and applied
the smelling drops to her nose.
With a deep sigh she recovered her consciousness, and was ashamed and
mortified that her feelings should have been betrayed even to her loving
friends. She tried to conceal them with the flimsy excuse, that she
arose in the morning with a head-ache, and the heat of the house had
overcome her.
I wonder if Emily thinks, she really deceives us, or is she deceiving
herself? In the afternoon, she declared that she was fully able to go to
church; and when, at the last moment, she was forced to acknowledge
herself sick, and mother was removing her own bonnet to remain with her,
she insisted that she had rather be left alone, and mother very
reluctantly left her.
"Poor girl!" I exclaimed, as mother related the circumstance, "my heart
aches for her."
"I never saw a child so changed," said mother sadly; "I cannot but
think, she regrets her hasty decision. I have never before known her to
be irritable. It seems to annoy her exceedingly to have me notice her
languor or want of spirits. Frank," she continued, "I wish you would
persuade Emily to take an anodyne. I think the want of sleep is partly
the cause of her head ache." Frank asked if she would be likely to come
over to the house to tea; but mother could not tell; she was so
changeable in her feelings.
I could not help thinking, Mr. Benson noticed sister's absence. He
looked very sad. I was so anxious about the poor girl, that I must
confess, I could not confine my thoughts to the discourse. Frank, too,
was called out; and mother looked pale and troubled. Altogether, I
worked myself up into quite a fever of excitement; and was glad when the
services were through.
While we waited a moment in the porch for Cæsar to bring the carriage to
the door, Mr. Benson passed down from the pulpit and came out. He would
evidently have avoided the meeting, if possible; but mother stepped
forward with much kindness and thanked him for his faithful discourses.
He unbent at once, and inquired for my health and that of the family.
I told him, I was well, but quite anxious about my sister, as she had a
severe head-ache which detained her at home. What could have come over
the man to look so pleased that she was ill?
Fearing I had said something to compromise her delicacy, I added, "she
has had the head-ache for several days." Now I think of it, I only made
it worse. He spoke, as he conducted us to the carriage, of his sorrow at
the intelligence, while he looked perfectly delighted.
When we reached home, Phebe met us at the door, and said "Misse Emily
here, and my pinion is dere's mighty smart chance for her to have a
fever if Mass'r Frank don't doctor her."
As we entered the parlor, sister started up, and looked eagerly for a
moment as if expecting some one with us; and then sank back again on the
sofa pillow, evidently disappointed. Could it be that she thought Mr.
Benson would return with us?
Cæsar went toward the village to meet his master, and soon returned with
him. The Doctor had been called to a child in a fit from indigestion.
That reminds me to tell you that in accordance with his wish, I have
restricted Pauline's diet to bread and milk, which she eats heartily,
sitting in Ann's lap.
Emily's sickness touched the little girl's heart; I held her in my arms,
and let her put her soft-hand on "Aunty's head to make it better." Frank
came behind and put his on too, with the tenderness of a woman. He sat
down by her side and held her head while she covered her eyes as if she
feared, he would read her thoughts.
"Emily," said he, gently, "you have too much heat; I fear you and Cora
have lately been unduly excited. I thought yesterday, she was going
beyond her strength; and such is also the case with you. I must give you
a little powder, which, I hope, will soon afford you relief; does it
ache less when I hold it so?" he asked, as he pressed the throbbing head
between his hands.
"Oh, yes! sometimes it feels as if it would fly to pieces."
"Poor girl! how it throbs. Cora, will you hold her head while I prepare
something for her?"
He soon returned with a wet bandage, which he bound tightly around her
head, and then gave her ammonia. I had finished my tea and was
returning through the hall, when Cæsar answered the door bell, and to my
amazement announced "Mr. Benson."
In my confusion, I ushered him into the parlor where Emily lay upon the
sofa, with her face toward the wall. I hoped, she was asleep, and was
just coming to my senses, and intending to invite him into the library,
when he asked, "Is she then _so ill_?"
At the sound of his voice, Emily sprang upon her feet, tore the bandage
from her head, while the light actually flashed from her eyes at what
she fancied an intrusion. But perceiving his ghastly pallor, she sank
back upon her seat, saying, "Frank has been making a great fuss over me,
as if I were sick." Truly, one would never have thought so at that
moment. She was perfectly brilliant with excitement. The fever lit up
her cheeks, while her eyes even dazzled my sight.
How I pitied the young suitor! He stood where he did upon his first
entrance, with his hat in his hand. His countenance changed as he gazed
at her until her eyes fell; then with an air which was almost haughty,
he said "Farewell! FAREWELL, FOREVER!!" and left the room.
I followed him silently to the door, my heart being almost paralyzed. He
stopped, took my hand in both of his, pressed it warmly and said, "I
appreciate your kindness, but you are mistaken." The last words he
uttered in a cold, bitter tone, and was gone.
I started to run to my chamber, but remembering my poor, strange sister,
I turned back to the parlor, where I found her prostrate upon the floor.
I screamed, "Frank! mother!" and soon the whole household came rushing
into the room. The Doctor dismissed the servants, and taking Emily in
his arms carried her up stairs to the room, she formerly occupied.
It was some time before she revived. When she perceived where she was,
her woe-begone look penetrated my heart. Poor mother! How quietly she
goes about everything that ought to be done, with an expression of
patient suffering! How can Emily make herself and all of us so unhappy!
She lies this morning in a deep sleep, and, I hope, will awake
refreshed. I have been sitting by her while mother went over to the
cottage on some business. She has now returned, and I have persuaded her
to lie down on the couch in sister's room. She was so anxious, she
scarcely slept at all.
Dear Pauline, what a comfort she is to me! She is the most affectionate
little creature I ever saw, and has already woven herself closely around
our hearts. Even Frank laughs merrily at her cunning ways.
Phebe wears a turban, generally made of a bandanna handkerchief, or
something equally bright. Miss thought, she too must wear one. So she
watched her opportunity when Ann laid down her duster, which happened to
be an old silk kerchief of similar colors to madam's turban, and tried
to weave it round her head. Ann observed her unsuccessful efforts with
silent amusement, and perceiving that when one side was arranged, the
other came tumbling down, offered to assist her.
Pauline shouted with delight: "Mamma, see! mamma, see!!" The kind
hearted girl brought the child to me. I laughed well at her grotesque
appearance. Her head was top-heavy with the turban, while the dark short
curls peeping out here and there made her look like a boy. She evidently
thought it a good joke, and was unwilling to have it taken off. You see,
we make a great pet of her; but since I began to manage her aright, she
obeys instantly. Sometimes her lip quivers a little, and she looks as if
she were about to burst into a hearty cry; and then, with a sigh,
restrains herself.
Almost every morning, from eleven till two, I have received calls; and
shall have business enough for the fall and winter if they continue.
Many of them are formal and ceremonious; others, I suppose, are prompted
merely by curiosity to see the stranger. I find the report of my three
years' residence in Paris creates quite a sensation. People look at me
as if I ought to be something more than Americans who have never been
out of their native land, and appear somewhat disappointed to see in me
nothing more than a simple, frank girl, just like their daughters or
sisters at home.
A few have called whom I like exceedingly; who entered into conversation
upon subjects profitable and interesting. You, my dear mother, have
spoiled me for enjoying the society of persons who cannot talk, except
of individual character and conduct; as for instance: "I suppose, your
husband has told you of the trouble in Squire Lee's family. He attends
there, I believe."
"No," I replied.
"Ah, indeed! Well, Lucy has had to break her engagement with young
Mansfield just to please her brother, who is no better than he should
be." I remained silent simply because I had nothing to say, and was glad
when the entrance of other company put a stop to such gossip.
Of the more select class, are Mr. Munroe, Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, Miss
Proctor,--Frank's favorite,--and I must not forget Friend Estes, who
frankly said, "I came, my dear, to see thee out of the regard I have for
thy husband."
I rather think, she was well enough acquainted with human nature to
know, that she was making her way directly to my heart.
"How is Susan, thy mother?" she asked. I stopped and hesitated a moment,
before I remembered that the Friends always use the first name. She was
overflowing with love and good-will to everybody; and before she went
away we grew so friendly, that she kissed me twice and said, "I must
bring Jotham to see thee, my dear"--"Cora," I said, seeing she hesitated
for the name,--"and thou wilt come with thy husband for a visit to our
house." She warmed my heart finely by her praise of Frank.
After all, there are a great many pleasant people in the world. I wish,
you could see how kindly her deep blue eyes looked out from her drab
poke upon your Cora. Your heart would come across the water to meet
hers.
The more I see and hear of Miss Proctor, the better I love and esteem
her. She is truly a "Dorcas," in whom the sick and afflicted always find
a friend and helper. She has been an efficient aid and cooperator with
Frank in his gratuitous practice.
Speaking of this class, I must relate to you an incident, Emily told me.
A short time since, when Frank had fairly established himself in his
profession, and had collected a good practice, a young physician came to
the place, rather to the annoyance of some of his brethren of the
profession, who took no pains to call upon him. The Doctor, however,
embraced the first opportunity to visit him at his office, to which
there was little more than a showy sign, announcing to the public that
"Dr. Clapp, Physician and Surgeon, was ready to extract teeth and cut
off legs at the shortest notice, and for the lowest price imaginable."
Frank entered into conversation with this young son of Æsculapius, and
found, he was well learned in his profession, and had high
recommendations from his professors as to his qualifications for his
office. My good husband encouraged him to persevere, and offered to
recommend him wherever it was in his power.
"I shall never be displeased," he added, "if I hear, you are taking my
practice, except in the case of my poor patients. Most of these have
grown up with me, and I flatter myself, I am, with them, an exception to
the general rule, 'a prophet is not without honor, save in his own
country.'"
The sequel to this visit is quite romantic. Dr. Clapp, who is about
twenty-four years of age, walked to the window, where he vigorously
plied his handkerchief, as if afflicted with a sudden cold. After this
operation he was relieved, and came back offering his hand to Frank. He
said, or tried to say, for his voice was rather husky, "Your kindness,
Dr. Lenox, inspires me with new life and courage. I am yet waiting for
my first patient." Then, encouraged by Frank's kind interest, he
unburdened his heart, and asked advice with regard to a little private
affair of his own.
It appears that, like a great many foolish young men, (I don't say it
was foolish in _his_ case, not knowing the circumstances,) he had fallen
in love, while in college, with "the most amiable girl in the world."
That was five years ago, so that their courtship had been quite
protracted. To the ardent lovers, at least, it had seemed sufficiently
so.
Harriet Phillips, who, at the time of their engagement, was but
fourteen, had now arrived at the mature age of nineteen years,--"Quite
old enough," he added, with an inquiring look at the Doctor, "to take
charge of a family."
The decided tone in which Frank replied, "_Certainly_," gave the suitor
new courage. To marry, or not to marry, that was now the question; and
the judge who was to give the important decision, acknowledged that he
found himself in rather a novel predicament. However, he shielded
himself as many judges do, behind general principles. He acknowledged
the great propriety of a physician being a man of family, and as soon as
he could support a wife in comfort, he certainly advised him to marry.
"This," said Dr. Clapp, "is exactly the way I view the subject."
The young man soon after returned the call in the Doctor's absence. With
a frankness which seems rather peculiar to him, he told Emily all the
first part of the interview, and more than hinted at the latter; so that
she, who has a considerable share of curiosity, coaxed Frank to tell her
the rest, saying, "I'm sure Dr. Clapp wants me to know about it."
Now she says, "I shall advise him to bring his Harriet without delay. I
fancy, he thought her old enough when he saw you at mother's levee.
Besides Frank is so much older than he is."
Emily insists that I do not look more than sixteen, and that I keep
blushing like a girl of twelve. I wish I could break myself of this
habit; but the more I try, the more the blood will rush to my face. It
is very disagreeable, and sometimes places me in awkward situations.
But to return to my story, Dr. Clapp intends to profit by the excellent
example set him by an elder brother of the cloth, and will soon be
joined in the bands of Hymen to his beloved Harriet,--when he will bring
her to the goodly town of Crawford, here to make up to her, by every
means in his power, for the trials and sacrifices, she has, for a series
of years, been called upon to make as the eldest sister in a large, and
not very prosperous family.
Poor Emily, I wonder when she will laugh again, as she did when she
related that to me. I must go and see if she is awake. I have not heard
the least sound from her room all the time I have been writing. Ann
carried Pauline about the garden until she went to sleep, that the house
might be quiet.