CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES.
Oh, what a sweet charm there is in hope. How it beguiles the ambitious
lover, causes him to build castles he finds crushed at last under his
disappointments. How gently it lifts the drooping heart into an higher
realm of cheerfulness, still gilding and brightening the future. Day
after day and week after week it carries the timid, desponding soul over
its sea of trouble and disappointment, and pictures its love-dream in
colors more and more beautiful. How it ensnares us, and then betrays us
with its false visions of future bliss. It beguiles both you and me with
its featly spun tales of fame and riches, which it weaves so ingeniously
into its fascinating web.
Such were the thoughts invading Mattie's mind as she sat at the parlor
window one morning, looking out over Bowling Green, contemplating the
strange influences by which she was surrounded, and wondering what the
future would bring her. There was something so earnest and yet so kindly
in that pale, expressive face, and those soft blue eyes.
She had counted the days since Tite sailed. It was nearly three years
ago, and only one letter had been received from him. There was a report
in circulation now that the ship, with all on board, was lost. And
although this report could not be traced to any reliable source, it was
credited by the owners, who had heard nothing of the ship since she left
Coquimbo.
The love Mattie bore Tite burned as brightly now as on the day when
first it was kindled. She had thought of him always, dreamed of him,
prayed for him, for she had the heart of a good and true woman. Yes, she
had followed Tite in her love-dream through all the strange depths of
that mysterious ocean. But the more she traced for him the more it
seemed to deepen her disappointment. Still hope flattered her lingering
love, cheered her, and brightened the star of her future. Hope came to
cheer the heart that had longed for relief so lovingly, that had begun
to yield to the stormy forebodings which hope deferred oppresses the
soul with.
Notwithstanding all this, fear at times seemed to get the better of her
resolution. How she had watched and waited, and yet there was no tidings
of his coming.
Was Tite lost? If so, how, and where was he lost? Must she give him up
as gone forever? Must she give him up, and see him, and hold sweet
communion with him, only in her love-dream, among the flowers fancy
pictures in the garden of our hopes? Must she forget the idol of her
love, transport her affections, yield to her mother's wishes, which were
daily becoming more pressing, and marry Mr. Gusher, a man she did not
even respect, much less love? In gratifying a mother's ambition she
might, perhaps, make her own life wretched. If Tite was lost, what was
to become of his aged parents, Hanz and Angeline? Their welfare seemed
to concern her even more deeply than that of her own parents. Hanz had
found means of communicating with her, had made her acquainted with all
his troubles, and now the day set for a hearing of his case was near at
hand.
Mattie knew nothing really bad of Mr. Gusher. He had seemed to her one
of those uncertain characters who float about on the surface of society
without having any fixed position in it, who have no legitimate
occupation, depend on chance for everything, and lead an artificial life
generally. Such men, it had seemed to her, were poor companions to sail
down the stormy sea of life with. In Tite she saw something real, good,
substantial; one of those young men who prosper and build up their own
fortunes and future, because they apply themselves steadily and
energetically to the legitimate pursuits of life.
The door opened suddenly, and Mattie's reverie was interrupted by her
mother, whose portly figure quite filled the space, for, in truth, the
lady had enlarged her hip circumference with an unpardonable amount of
padding. Mrs. Chapman expected distinguished company that day, and had
arrayed herself in a tantalizing amount of finery. For the first time,
too, she had put her hair up in puffs, which was the fashion of the day
in Bowling Green. Indeed the lady flattered herself that there was
nothing in Bowling Green that could excel her in the magnificence of her
upholstery.
"Expecting company to-day, very distinguished company, too," said Mrs.
Chapman, advancing and bowing her head oppressively, "and how very
annoying not to be dressed as one wants to be." After viewing herself in
the glass for several minutes, turning first one side and then the
other, viewing and reviewing her skirts, and training her puffs into
more exact platoon, she turned to Mattie, and resumed, "Now tell me, my
daughter, how do my skirts hang? Does my dress become me? Do puffs
become me? You see my face is a little broad--puffs will, I am afraid,
make it look disadvantageously broad. Tell me now, my daughter, am I
presentable?" Mrs. Chapman waited with an air of self-admiration for a
reply. "You have such good taste in such matters, my daughter;" she
concluded.
"Why, mother," replied Mattie, smiling and viewing her mother from head
to foot, "how very worldly you are getting, and so vain. Never saw you
look better--and so young."
"I appreciate the compliment, my daughter," returned Mrs. Chapman,
dropping a bow and a courtesy. "A woman of my complexion may be excused
for refusing to get old."
"I was only joking," resumed Mattie, laughing heartily. "My dear mother
takes everything so serious--"
"Come, come," interrupted Mrs. Chapman, her face coloring, "does my
dress become me? Am I presentable?"
"You are elegance itself, my dear mother, and would be presentable
anywhere," returned Mattie, with a merry twinkle of the eye.
"That's what I wanted to know," said Mrs. Chapman with a bow, and a
slight motion backward. "And now, my daughter," she resumed quickly,
"this is a good time for having a very serious talk on a very important,
but very different matter. What we were talking about yesterday, you
know. I hope you have made up your mind to banish Toodleburg." Mrs.
Chapman drew herself up into a stately attitude, and assumed a look of
uncommon severity. "You know how much your parents dote on you, my
daughter, and how much depends on you to give the family a firm
standing." The lady tossed her head haughtily and pretentiously. Mattie
remained silent and thoughtful.
"Toodleburg's at the bottom of the sea--that's my opinion. And if he
stays there it wouldn't distress me--it wouldn't," resumed Mrs. Chapman,
giving way to her temper and becoming more earnest. Just then tears
gushed into Mattie's eyes, and as they coursed down her cheeks told the
tale of her sorrow.
"What I said was intended for good advice, my daughter, not to wound
your feelings," continued Mrs. Chapman. "Even if the young man should
not be at the bottom of the sea, we should never be presentable with him
attached to the family--never in the world. Such a name, and such common
people for parents! What would Bowling Green say, my daughter? We must
all yield to the force of circumstances; and the circumstances are all
against this Mr. Toodleburg tumbling himself into our family." She
paused suddenly, and again viewed her ponderous figure in the glass, now
adjusting one side of her skirts and then the other. "I wonder if this
dress really does become me? Green and orange are in harmony with a
complexion like mine," she said, turning to Mattie, and waiting for a
reply. But Mattie was trying to relieve her feelings of the grief that
was filling her eyes with tears.
"To return to what I was saying, my daughter, sentimental marriages, I
was going to say, (well, I will say it,) are fools' marriages. Yes, they
are. Your father understands that. Never would have got him--never in
this world--if I had been given to sentimental love. Toodleburg's a good
enough young man in his place--but he's never, never coming back, my
daughter. But even if he was to come back, there's no place for him in
our family. View these things, always do, through the eye of
philosophy--I do." Mrs. Chapman again paused, bowed her head
admonishingly, and extended her fat, waxy hands. Mattie still remained
silent.
"After all the polishing you have had, my daughter, to let your mind run
to such an unpolished young man. Drag a family down when a family is
going up, and there's the end of that family--with society I mean." Mrs.
Chapman tossed her head, and again returned to the mirror, saying as she
viewed herself in it: "Drag a low bred fellow into a well bred family, I
repeat, and down that family goes."
"Well, well, my dear mother shall have it all her own way," replied
Mattie, cheering up and assuming an air of indifference. "Anything to
relieve your anxiety, my dear mother. How nice it would be to have a
husband you admire so much, and to think that I obeyed your wishes in
everything. The fact is I had a very serious talk with Mr. Gusher
yesterday--"
"You didn't offend him with your eccentricities, I hope?" Mrs. Chapman
interrupted, enquiringly. "Mr. Gusher is such a polished gentleman, and
so very sensitive."
"I don't know how sensitive he may be, mother; but I told him just
exactly what I thought, as I would have told any one else. I told him
how much you admired him, and what a favorite he was generally; and that
if I consented to accept him for a husband, it would be solely to
accommodate my dear mother--"
"How very obstinate my daughter is," interposed Mrs. Chapman. "How very
distressing to have a daughter always in rebellion."
"I am sure you would not have me flatter Mr. Gusher with a falsehood,
mother," resumed Mattie. "I tried to impress him with the fact that I
was not good enough for so accomplished a gentleman; but he insisted
that I was, adding that he cared nothing for riches or station. As for
loving him, I told him plainly I didn't think I ever could, though there
was no knowing what changes time might work in my feelings. I gave him
my hand, nevertheless, and told him if he took me it must be with the
consequences."
Mr. Napoleon Bowles announced visitors, and this put an end to the
conversation. The reader must know that this was not a voluntary
yielding on the part of Mattie to the wishes of her mother. She only
adopted this course as part of a plan by which she hoped to gain time,
during which Tite might return, and thus afford her the means of
averting a dilemma into which her mother was forcing her.