The spring had returned with its new-born beauty, its swelling buds, it
tender grass; here and there a tree in the city anticipated the season of
leaves, and put forth its verdant honors. "Now, ma'am," said Lucy, who
had long been a faithful domestic in the family, "if you are going
particular, and don't expose yourself by going into the garden, and will
take the cough-drops regularly, morning and evening, you will get rid of
your cold. This is just the season when every body gets well that got
sick as you did."
"How was that?" said Mrs. Draper.
"Why, when the sap was going down the trees in the autumn; but now it is
going up."
But whether the sap had already gone up, or for some other reason, which
was as clear to human perception, Francis did not shake off her wearing
cough. Mr. Draper was not alarmed at it; it was very unobtruding, and he
had become _used to it_. It was not one of those vulgar, hoarse coughs,
that, till we connect danger with it, often excites indignation in those
who are listening to an interesting narrative, or to a reader, who is
obliged to wait till the impertinent paroxysm is over. Mrs. Draper's was
quite a lady-like cough, low and gentle, and seemed rather like impeded
respiration.
Visiters would sometimes observe, when they went away, "Mrs. Draper is
still a handsome woman, though she has lost her bloom. What a pity she
has that affected little cough! it really spoils her; it is nothing but a
habit; she could easily break herself of it, if any body would be honest
enough to tell her." This task rested with Lucy alone; but it was all in
vain. Frances took the cough-drops morning and evening, and still the
disagreeable habit remained. Mr. Draper was very little at home; and
when he was, his mind was engaged by new projects. Anxiety, however, did
not rob him of sleep: he was too successful; he seemed to have the Midas-
like art of turning every thing to gold:--his thousands were rapidly
accumulating, and half a million was now the point at which he determined
to stop. Mrs. Draper's slight cough did not attract his attention; but
if her appetite failed, he grew anxious, and feared she was not well.
Week after week passed, and still it was impossible for Mr. Draper to
leave the city. At length, a letter arrived from Charlotte, claiming the
visit; and he substituted one of his clerks to conduct his family to his
brother's residence. Here, though not more than forty miles from the
city, Mrs. Draper found the freshness and novelty of country life. The
family were farmers, children and all. Charlotte was acquainted with all
the little details belonging to a farm, and took as much interest as her
husband did in the growth of grain, the raising of pigs and poultry, and
feeding cattle in the best and most economical manner. She displayed her
dairy with its cheese arranged on shelves, her white pans of milk, and
her newly-churned butter, which impregnated the air with its sweetness.
It was with long-forgotten feelings of health that Frances breathed the
atmosphere around her; she perceived that her respiration was more free.
"How ignorant I was," said she to Howard, "to compare my city garden to
the country! There is music in every accidental sound. How fresh is the
air! how unlike the mornings to which I have been accustomed, where the
voice of the teamster urging on his over-loaded horse, or the monotonous
cry of the fishmonger, disturbed my slumbers!"
Her heart beat with pleasure as she saw her children go forth with their
cousins to rural enjoyments: her tender bud, which she had often feared
would never live to unfold its beauty, her little Charlotte, she saw here
as joyous and as active as her sister. New hopes and anticipations
brightened the future. How does returning health change the prospect of
external circumstances! The cough was much less constant, and Charlotte,
who professed to have wonderful skill in curing diseases, had undertaken
to eradicate it. She did not approve of late slumbers, and every morning
she brought her patient a tumbler of new milk, and challenged her to come
out and breathe the fresh air. "Do not wait," said she, "till its wings
are clogged by the smoke of the city; come and win an appetite for our
country breakfast, our new-laid eggs: the children are hunting for them
amongst the hay, and here comes my little namesake with her prize: she
has brought hers for your breakfast."
Mr. Draper did not arrive at the time he appointed, and Frances often
felt the sickness of hope delayed. "Deliver me from such excellent
husbands," said Charlotte to Howard, "who are wasting the best years of
their lives in acquiring wealth for their families, and yet never think
themselves _rich enough_. Here is poor Frances, kept in a state of
feverish anxiety, when rest and tranquillity are absolutely necessary for
the restoration of her health."
The Saturday evening following, Mr. Draper arrived. He was delighted to
see his wife and children, and thought they looked remarkably well. On
Sunday morning, he walked with his brother over the farm, and calculated
the probable receipts of the year. Away from the atmosphere of business,
his mind seemed to recover its former freshness. "How beautiful this
stillness is!" said he: "it reminds me of the mythology of the heathen
world; the ancients used to say that when Pan slept, all nature held its
breath, lest it should awake him. You have made an enthusiast of
Frances; nothing will do for her now but the country."
"My wife is anxious about the health of yours," said Howard; "she thinks
her cough an indication of weak lungs."
"I know," said Mr. Draper, stopping short, "she is subject to a cough;
ours is a miserable climate; I hope the warm weather will entirely banish
it. I have a bad cough myself;"--and he coughed with energy.
"I wish, brother," said Howard, "that period had arrived, at which you
have so long been aiming, that you thought yourself _rich enough_ to
devote more time to your family."
"No one can look forward to it more eagerly than I do," replied Mr.
Draper; "but you can little understand the difficulty of withdrawing from
business. However, I fully mean to do it, when I have secured to my wife
and children an inheritance."
Howard smiled.
"O," said Mr. Draper, in reply to the smile, "you must not suppose my
wants can be measured by yours. Your farm supplies you with the
materials of life, and you get them at a cheap rate."
"I give for them what you give," said Howard, "time,--and a little
more,--I give manual labor; you know I belong to the working class. In
this money-making day, men despise small gains, and yet my own experience
tells me they are sufficient for happiness. Great wealth can add but
little to our enjoyments; domestic happiness, you will allow, is cheaply
bought, as far as money is concerned, and riches cannot add a great deal
to our corporeal enjoyment. The pleasures of sense are wisely limited to
narrow boundaries; the epicure has no prolonged gratification in eating;
though he may wish for the throat of the crane, he cannot obtain it;
neither does he enjoy his expensive delicacies more than the day-laborer
does his simple fare. Of all the sources of happiness in this world,
overgrown wealth has the least that is real; and from my own observation,
I should think it the most unproductive source of satisfaction to the
possessor. I have heard of many very wealthy men that have tormented
themselves with the fear of coming to actual want, but I never heard of
one man in moderate circumstances that was afflicted with this
monomania."
"You talk like a philosopher," said Mr. Draper, laughing, "who means to
live all his life in his tub. However, I assure you that I do not intend
always to pursue this course of hurry and business; in a very short time,
I expect to agree with you that I am _rich enough_; now, my only desire
is to hasten that period, that I may devote myself to my family."
"Is it possible," said Howard, "that this incessant toil is to purchase a
blessing which is already within your grasp! At least I hope you mean to
devote yourself to your family now, for a few days."
"I regret to say," said Mr. Draper, "that I must be off early to-morrow
morning. But I am thinking, as my wife and children enjoy the country so
much, that it is an object for me to purchase a snug little place where
they may pass the summer. Do you know of any such near you?"
"Clyde Farm is up for sale," replied Howard.
"I should like to ride over and see it," said Mr. Draper, musing.
"Not this morning," said Howard.
"This afternoon, then, will do as well."
"No," said Howard; "this is the only uninterrupted day I have with my
family, and it is our regular habit to attend public worship. To-morrow
morning we will ride over as early as you please, but to-day I hope you
will accept as a day of rest from business."
Mr. Draper had thought it quite impossible to give a part of the next
morning to his family, but he always found time for business.
Accordingly, when the morning arrived, they rode over to Clyde Farm.
"I remember that farm perfectly well," said Mr. Draper; "it was my
favorite resort when I was a boy."
"I remember those times too," replied Howard, "when I used to lie
stretched at full length by the side of the waterfall, getting my _amo,
amas_, and only now and then roused by the distant sound of your gun,
which put all the little birds to flight."
"Has it still that fine run of water?" asked Mr. Draper.
"Precisely the same," replied Howard; "this very stream that flows
through my pasture, and sparkles in the morning sun, comes from old
Clyde. Look this way, and see what a leap it takes over those rocks."
Clyde Farm was just such a spot as a romantic, visionary mind might
choose for its vagaries,--such a spot as an elevated, contemplative one
might select for its aspirations after higher hopes, which seldom come in
the tumult of life. Mr. Draper felt at once that the place was congenial
to the taste and habits of his wife; it awoke in his own mind the
recollection of his boyish days, and from these he naturally reverted to
the days of courtship, when he talked of scenery and prospect as
eloquently as Frances. With a light step he followed his brother along
the stream that came leaping and bounding from the hills, till they
arrived at the still little lake whence it took its course. The mists of
the morning had dispersed, and the blue sky and white clouds were
reflected from its glassy surface, while on its borders the deep, dark
foliage of the woods lay inverted. Both of the brothers stood silent
when they reached the edge of the water; both were impressed with the
beauty of the scene.
"How delighted Frances would be with this spot!" said Howard. "It is
like the calm, tranquil mirror of her own mind, which seems formed to
reflect only the upper world, with its glorious firmament. I think we
have before us two excellent prototypes of our wives:--while the clear,
peaceful lake represents yours, this happy, joyous, busy little stream
may be likened to my Charlotte, who goes on her way rejoicing, and
diffusing life and animation wherever she bends her course."
"I wish Frances had a little more of her gayety," said Mr. Draper.
"Depend upon it," said Howard, "they will operate favorably on each
other. I perceive already a mingling of character. I will venture to
predict, Charlotte will have a boat with its gay streamers winding the
shore before long, and persuade her sister to become the 'Lady of the
Lake.'"
The matter was soon decided; the sisters visited the place, and were
enchanted with it; and Howard was authorized by his brother to make the
purchase.
The house had been built many years. It was irregular in its form, and
certainly belonged to no particular order of architecture. There was a
large dining-room, and doors that opened upon the green, and plenty of
small rooms; in short, it was just such a house as Frances fancied; it
was picturesque, and looked, she said, "as if it had grown and shot out
here and there like the old oaks around it."
Charlotte begged that on herself might devolve the care of furnishing it.
"I know better than you," said she, "what will save trouble. Banish
brass and mahogany; admit nothing that requires daily labor to make it
fine and showy. I do not despair of setting you up a dairy, and teaching
you to churn your own butter." She truly loved and honored her sister-in-
law, and trembled for her life, which she was persuaded she held by a
frail tenure. She was eager to prevent her returning to the city during
the warm season, and readily undertook to go herself and make all
necessary arrangements. Frances furnished her with a list, and left much
discretionary power to her agent.
In the course of a few days she returned.--"We must be at Clyde Farm to-
morrow," said she, "to receive the goods and chattels of which I am only
the precursor. Your husband enters warmly into the furnishing of your
country residence, and therefore we must let him have a voice in it. His
taste is not so simple as ours, so we must admit some of the finery of
the town house; pier and chimney glasses are to be sent from it. I did
not make much opposition to this, for they will not only reflect our
rustic figures within, but the trees and grass without. How I long to
have haying-time come! You must ride from the fields with your children,
as I do, on a load of hay, when the work of the day is over, and look
down upon all the world. O Frances," added she, "if we could only
persuade your husband to turn farmer, our victory would be complete."
"It will never be," said Frances.
"I don't know that," replied Charlotte; "he seemed to set very little
value on the city residence, and would fain have stripped his elegant
rooms to dignify your rustic retreat; but I would not consent to the
migration of a particle of gilding or damask, but told him he might send
the marble slabs, with the mirrors,--and I speak for one of the slabs for
the dairy. But I have been more thoughtful for you than you have for
yourself: look at this list of books that I have ordered."
Frances was surprised; she had never seen Charlotte with a book in her
hand, and she candidly expressed her astonishment that, amidst all her
hurry, she had remembered _books_.
"Where do you think I acquired all my knowledge," said Charlotte, "if I
never open a book? But you are half right; I certainly do not patronize
book-making; and yet all summer I am reading the book of Nature. I open
it with the first snow-drop and crocus which peeps from under her white
robe; and then, when she puts on her green mantle, strewed with
'The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose,'
I study the lilies of the field. Depend upon it, there is more wisdom
without doors than we can find within,--more wisdom there than in books."
"I believe it," said Frances; "all nature speaks of the Creator,--of the
one great Mind which formed this endless variety, and can give life to
the most insignificant flower that grows by the way-side."
"I should like to know what flower you call insignificant," said
Charlotte; "not this little houstonia, I hope; that has a perfection of
organization in which many of your splendid green-house flowers are
deficient. But that is the way with us: we call those things sublime
which are on a large scale, because they are magnified to our narrow
minds, and we can comprehend them without any trouble.--But I must not
display all my wisdom to you at once--how, like Solomon of old, I can
speak of trees, from 'the cedar-tree that is in Lebanon even unto the
hyssop that springeth out of the wall.'--And now, fair sister,
'Up, up, and quit your books,'
and come with me to one of my studios--namely, my poultry-yard. I hear
the bipeds clamorous for their supper."
"This is the woman," thought Frances, "that I have sometimes wondered
Howard, with his reflecting mind, could select as his partner for life!
Because I saw her, like the Deity she worships, attending to the most
minute affairs, I foolishly imagined she comprehended no others."
From this time the two sisters resembled in union Shakspeare's twin
cherries growing on one stem.