"Give him not all his desire, so shalt thou strengthen him in hope;
Neither stop with indulgence the fountain of his tears, so shall he
fear thy firmness.
Above all things, graft on him subjection, yea in the veriest
trifle." TUPPER.
_Friday Evening, June 19th._
Emily continues convalescent, and her eye begins to have its former
lustre. She has sat in the chair nearly all the afternoon, while mother
and I were sewing and Pauline played with her toys upon the floor. I am
more than ever convinced that Emily's sickness is connected with her
mental trouble.
I am likely to have full employment for my needle. Little girls need so
many changes, and Miss Pauline had none, on her arrival, however large
her wardrobe may have originally been. Mother wishes to assist me; but I
declined her kind offer.
Poor little Pauline! she had a hard time this morning, and so did her
mamma. We had quite a controversy; but I will explain. Cæsar was going
to market in the village; and I told him if he would take the carriage,
I would ride with him, as I wished to make a few purchases.
It is very warm; and I did not think it best for Pauline to accompany
me, as she had generally done of late. She thought this very hard, and
began to cry. I stepped back, and said, "Aunty sick; Pauline mustn't
cry," when she fairly screamed, and showed a very naughty temper. I saw
there was to be a contest; and I told Cæsar not to wait. "I must
postpone my ride until another time." Then taking her in my arms I
carried her to a room the farthest removed from Emily's, and laying off
my bonnet, attempted to take her into my lap.
But no, she would not come to me. She ran across the room and threw
herself down on the floor, kicking and screaming. I was astonished, and
did not know what to do. I was afraid if she cried so, she would make
herself sick; at the same time I knew that she ought to be made to obey.
It was in my heart to take her up and coax her to be good; but this I
knew would injure her, and destroy my authority. In a low firm voice I
said, "Get up, Pauline, and come to mamma." She only kicked the more,
and screamed the louder. I had not supposed the child had half the
strength of limb or lungs. This was her first exhibition of temper. Till
now she had been uniformly yielding and mild, though to be sure, as
Frank says, this was the first time her wishes were ever crossed.
I never was so perplexed; and if Frank had been in the house I should
have left her with him, and ran off where I couldn't hear her scream. I
kept repeating my commands; but she paid no attention, though I spoke as
gently and caressingly as I could, and asked her to be mamma's dear
little girl. She would stop screaming a moment and look at me; and when
I thought she was going to yield, she would begin afresh.
I tried to think she did not understand me, and was thankful for any
excuse for her. But in this I soon found I was mistaken; for I told her
to pick up a block and put it in the chair. This she did readily; then
when I told her to come to me, she lay down and began to kick and scream
with all her might.
I left her on the floor, and calling mother out of Emily's room, told
her in a whisper my trouble, and asked her what I could do. I even
begged her to go in, and try her skill. But she said that would not
answer the purpose; Pauline must be made to submit to me, as her parent.
She encouraged me by saying, "I once had just such a contest with Frank;
but when he yielded, it was for life."
I therefore returned to the room, with a heavy heart, where the noise
had entirely subsided. Finding, however, that she was no more ready to
obey, but had stopped from sheer exhaustion, I kneeled by the chair, and
asked God to give me wisdom and strength for this emergency. And if
chastisement were necessary, I prayed that it might be administered in a
right spirit.
I arose and took my seat. "Pauline," said I, "if you do not come to
mamma, she will have to punish you." She looked at me earnestly,
attracted by the tone of my voice, which was very decided; but she did
not seem to know what punishing meant. "Will you come?" I repeated. She
shook her head decidedly. I went to her and taking her hand struck it
with mine. Oh, dear, how it made my heart ache! Her lip quivered, and
then she burst out afresh. Both the command and the punishment, I had to
repeat five or six times; but at length, when I resumed my seat and
asked, "Now will my little Pauline come to mamma?"
She ran and threw herself into my arms. The contest was over. I carried
her back two or three times, and then called her, when she readily
obeyed. Now I could act out the impulses of my heart; I kissed her, and
wept over her. Then I pressed her tightly in my arms, while I told her
mamma was sorry, her little girl had been so naughty. She took her apron
to wipe away my tears, and seeing me still weep, she sobbed aloud.
When she became composed, I carried her to mother, where, though her lip
still quivered, she was Pauline again. She kissed them all, and told
them, "mamma sorry," which she repeated to papa, and Ann. My grief made
a great impression upon her tender heart.
I know, dear mother, you will sympathize with me in this trial. I think,
however, it will do the child good. Frank remarked at dinner, that I
looked very pale, and I certainly felt worse for the excitement; but he,
and all the rest, rejoiced with me in the happy termination. Pauline
sobbed a long time after she was asleep; but this afternoon she has been
like a little lamb, coming every time she looked up from her play and
met my eye, to give me a sweet kiss.
_Saturday, June 20th._
This morning I went to the village, and though I trembled for my
daughter, lest the scene of yesterday should be repeated, she behaved
well; and I promised her a ride this afternoon with papa. Did I tell
you, I had taught her to say "Papa?" I had no idea of being her _only_
parent.
During the forenoon, I received a very pleasant call from Lucy Lee, the
daughter of Squire Lee, our richest citizen, who made his money, as I
have told you, by his distillery. She is a beautiful girl, modest and
sweet in her manners, but looked to-day very pale and careworn. My
thoughts recurred to what I had heard of her domestic trials. I was glad
she was unaccompanied by her brother, who is very disagreeable to me
with his talk of "_our_ place, _our_ horses, _our_ store." It seems
hardly possible that he can be her _own_ brother.
Lucy is said to be like her mother, now deceased. Joseph is like his
father, and has been so much indulged, especially since his mother's
death, that he is now the master. Emily says the whole family are afraid
of him; and that Lucy, with whom she is intimate, lives a very sad life
in the midst of all their splendor.
I invited the dear girl to come to tea next week, to which she
cheerfully consented. I hope, by that time Emily may be down stairs.
This afternoon I persuaded mother to take my place with Frank for a
drive. She has confined herself closely for the last week. Pauline was
delighted to accompany them, though she did not like to leave mamma. I
took my sewing into sister's room, where we were soon busy in
conversation. After a little time, she interrupted me, as I was
beginning a remark, "Cora, I want to say something to you while mother
is gone. I wish your advice and assistance."
"Well, dear Emily, it is very easy to give advice;" but while I spoke,
my heart began to beat very fast. I feared it would be something about
Mr. Benson, and then the truth concerning him would have to be told.
Emily suddenly covered her face with her handkerchief, "I have treated
him shamefully."
"Who?"
She looked at me as if she wondered that I should not know of whom she
was speaking, and could not bear to mention his name. As I still looked
inquiringly, she added, "Mr. Benson," and blushed crimson. "He made
proposals of marriage to me the evening after our ride to Waverley, and
I indignantly refused him. I treated him as no lady should treat a
gentleman under such circumstances, even if she cannot love him. But I
_did_ love him! I _do_ love him _now_!" she repeated earnestly, again
hiding her face.
"Then why, dearest Emily, did you treat him so cruelly? I think you were
very much in the wrong."
"I know it, I confess it," she replied, beginning to weep.
"I can't understand you, Emily. You loved him dearly?" She bowed her
head; "and yet refused him with scorn?" She bowed her head still lower.
"Why?" I again asked.
"Because," she said passionately, "he seemed so certain I should make a
courtesy, and say 'Yes, sir, I thank you.' I suppose he expected I
should fall right into his arms the moment he gave me leave. I loved him
when he was away, yet there was something in his manner toward me which
roused all my pride, and more ugly feelings than I knew I possessed. He
showed his love too openly, as if he were sure of success."
"I thought," said I with a smile, "that you wished the one you married
to be very loving and often assure you of his love."
"Pooh!" said she, trying to laugh, "that was all my nonsense. I would
rather a dozen times, that he would be like Frank. Now he almost
worships you; but he is not always talking about it, and showing it in
such silly ways." I now began to blush in earnest. "But it is foolish to
talk of all this now. The die is cast, and I have no one but myself to
blame. I have been thinking it all over, and have brought down my pride
to asking his forgiveness for my haughty manner; mind, I say for the
_manner_ of my refusal. But it has cost me a hard struggle."
"What made you treat him so the night he called when you were sick?"
"I don't know," she replied, sadly; "I believe I was possessed with some
evil spirit. If he had come in an hour earlier, he would have found me
humble enough."
"Did you expect him?"
"I half expected he would call," covering her face to hide her blushes.
"But my mind was all worked up, and my head ached so, and--and I thought
he'd think I was mourning for him. But I've suffered enough for my
foolish pride."
"Poor girl!" I thought; "if she knew what I do, she would suffer more."
"Emily," said I, rising and taking her hand, "I pity you sincerely; but
I cannot help telling you, I think you have been greatly to blame."
"Well, I'm willing to hear that from you; and I have acknowledged it."
"In the first place," I continued, "it was entirely your imagination
with regard to him. His manner, as far as I saw it, was uniformly
respectful and tender, perhaps too openly the latter to suit my taste;
but not the least bordering on undue confidence in your attachment.
Indeed, I thought he did not sufficiently respect himself, and was too
distrustful. Then I can't understand how you could love him, and yet
give him such pain. You saw how very pale he looked."
"Oh, don't repeat it! I have thought of nothing else;" and the poor girl
wept bitterly. Suddenly she looked up, as she heard the carriage, and
trying to wipe away her tears, said quickly, "Not a word of all this for
the world. I want you to take charge of a note from me, and send it to
him."
"When shall you write it?"
"Some time next week," she answered, putting her finger on her lip, as
she heard mother at the door.
I was glad to escape from the room; and ran down to take Pauline from
papa. My head was all in a whirl. I am glad I did not promise secrecy,
for I must tell Frank the first chance I get. He will know what to do.
_Sabbath Evening, June 21st._
I remained at home with sister this morning, while mother went to
church. It is a rainy day. I suppose we ought to be thankful, for the
earth was very dry and dusty; but I do love a pleasant Sabbath. This
afternoon I went with Frank to church, and from thence to the house of
Mr. Lewis. Mr. Munroe and Deacon Jackson rode with us, and after the
horse had been driven under a shed, we all proceeded to the sick room,
the deacon carrying with him a basket containing the sacred elements.
One of the tenants of the house had opened her room opposite, for the
convenience of the company; and I was surprised as I passed up the
stairs to see that it was crowded with people; many of them, I suppose,
members of the church who came in to unite in the ordinance.
A clean white linen cloth was spread over the table at the foot of the
bed, upon which Deacon Jackson placed two cups of wine and a plate of
bread, covering the whole with a napkin. In the midst of intense
feeling, I noticed all this, with pleasure, as evidence of the reverence
and awe with which he handled the elements which were to represent the
body and blood of our Lord.
The poor dying man, in clean clothing, lay on his bed with everything
about him spotless and white as snow. Though he looked exceedingly pale,
yet there was an elevation and glory in his face, which showed that his
soul had communion with his Saviour, and that the gracious Spirit was
strengthening him for this solemn occasion.
Though it rained very hard, yet the window near the bed was open to give
the poor man fresh air, while his wife stood near him with a fan. I was
affected to see that she had reserved two seats near the bed for the
Doctor and myself. Mr. Munroe occupied a place at the door that he might
be heard in both apartments. Frank gently moved one of the chairs toward
her, motioned her to sit in it, and stood by my side.
The solemn service commenced with an invocation, after which the
covenant and creed of the church were read, and heartily responded to by
the invalid, if I may judge from his rapt attention; then a short prayer
consecrating the elements, which were distributed. The Doctor took the
cup from Deacon Jackson, and gently raising the sick man, held it to his
lips. There was truly a sublime expression on his countenance. With
uplifted hands, he whispered,
"Dear--_dear_--Jesus--died--for--me--glory--_immortal_--GLORY!!"
In a moment the expression changed, and Frank, who was closely watching
him, stepped to Mr. Munroe, and told him he feared Mr. Lewis would
faint. The clergyman immediately pronounced the benediction, and
requested the friends quietly to withdraw.
I stepped to the backside of the room, while the Doctor opened the other
windows for a moment to change the air, and with the help of strong
restoratives, the patient soon revived, and was able to swallow a little
of the wine and water the Doctor had prepared. I went toward the bed to
bid him farewell, doubting whether I should ever see him alive again. He
looked at me affectionately and gratefully, and pointed up, as if he
would ask me to meet him in heaven. I pressed his cold hand to my lips
and silently left the room.
Mrs. Lewis followed us to the door, where she took Frank's hands in
both of hers, and burst into tears. The most ardent desire of her soul
for her poor dying husband had been realized; her prayers for years,
answered; and though he was to be taken from her, she trusted she should
meet him in a better world, to part no more.
I was deeply solemnized and impressed by this scene. It is the first
time my dear husband and I have together tasted the memorials of our
Saviour's love. I think I shall not soon forget it.
_Monday Morning, June 22d._
Mr. Lewis breathed his last this morning soon after eight o'clock. The
Doctor reached there a few moments after, and made all the arrangements
for the funeral, which is to be on Wednesday afternoon in the chapel
near the church.