A twelvemonth has elapsed, since the events recorded in our first
chapter. In the drawing-room of a spacious mansion, in the suburbs of
the city where Agnes Wiltshire resided, is seated a young man,
apparently perusing a volume which he holds in his hand, but, in
reality, listening to a gay group of young girls, who are chattering
merrily with his sister at the other end of the apartment. Scarcely
heedful of his presence, for he is partly concealed by the thick folds
of a rich damask curtain,--or, perhaps, careless of the impression
produced, they rattled gaily on, for not one of them but in her heart
had pronounced him a woman-hater; for were he not such, could he have
been insensible to the sweetest and most fascinating smiles of beauty?
But the last sound of their retreating footsteps, the echo of their
merry laugh, has died away, and Arthur Bernard emerges from his retreat,
in the enclosure of the window.
"I declare, Arthur, it is positively too bad," exclaimed Ella, his
sister, a gay and pretty young girl; "you are certainly the most
agreeable company in the world. Not a syllable to say beyond 'yes,' or
'no,' 'good morning,' or 'good evening.' I am really ashamed of you. You
are a woman-hater, I really believe. I am sure the girls all set you
down as such."
"I am much obliged for their good opinion, and shall endeavor to deserve
it," was the smiling reply. "But, can you imagine what I have been
thinking about, while you and your merry companions have been talking
all sorts of nonsense?"
"No, indeed. I should like to hear your wise meditations, most grave and
potent seigneur. Doubtless, they will prove very edifying, as the theme,
of course, was woman's foibles."
"I have been thinking rather of what woman might be, than of what she
is. What an exalted part she might perform in the regeneration of the
world, did she but fulfil her mission. An archangel might almost envy
her opportunities of blessing and benefiting others; and yet, with so
many spheres of usefulness open to her, with influence so potent for
good or evil, the majority of your sex do nothing, or, worse than
nothing, injure others by their example. I am not a woman-hater, Ella;
but I must deplore that so many are unmindful utterly of their high
calling, and careless of everything but how to spend the present hour
the most agreeably, instead of being found actively sustaining, as far
as in their power, every good word and work; and ever with a smile and
a word of encouragement to the weary toilers in the path of duty. That
there are such women, I have not the least doubt; but I have never met
with one yet. When I do so, and remain insensible to =her= charms, you
may then call me a woman-hater,"--and a smile concluded the sentence.
A merry, mocking laugh from his, sister rang through the room.
"I thought as much. We, poor women, are not good enough for your most
serene highness; nothing short of one endowed with angelic qualities
will suit you. I must really try if, in my long list of acquaintances, I
cannot find one to come up to your standard; though I am afraid it would
be rather a difficult task. And now, in reply to that grave lecture of
yours, (what a pity the girls were not here to be edified,) for my part,
I always imagined that woman's mission was to be as charming as
possible, and I am quite content with being that,"--and Ella looked up
into her brother's face, with an irresistible smile.
"But may you not be charming and useful both?"
"Well, I don't know about that; I should like to know what you would
have us do."
Do! what might you not do, if you were disposed? What an incalculable
amount of good, and that in the most unobtrusive manner. Society takes
its tone from you, and waits to be fashioned by your hand. But, I verily
believe, running the risk of speaking very ungallantly, that there is
not one in thirty, fifty, or perhaps a hundred of your sex, who have the
slightest idea of exerting their talents for the benefit of others. You
laugh and talk, and enjoy yourselves, careless of the impression your
example may produce, and conform to the usages of society, without one
inquiry, as to whether in those usages may not, sometimes, lurk
frightful dangers, if not to yourselves, to others who follow admiringly
in your steps."
"Frightful dangers! Really, brother, you are growing enigmatical. I
should like to have that sentence made a little plainer, for I certainly
do not understand you."
"Perhaps an incident that occurred not long ago, which I will relate to
you, may explain more clearly my meaning. I can vouch for its
correctness, for it came under my own observation. You have frequently
heard me speak of Henry Leslie, my room-mate at college, one of the
noblest and most gifted of young men, but who unfortunately had
contracted a taste for intoxicating liquors. Unfortunately for himself,
his agreeable manners and fine qualities rendered him a great favorite
with the ladies, and no party seemed complete without him; and thus
constantly exposed to the seducing influence of the wine-cup, the habit
of imbibing largely grew so strong, that he scarcely had any
restraining power left. I remonstrated with him, and, as I trusted, with
some success, for he solemnly promised to abstain totally from the
intoxicating beverage,--but the very next day we found, on returning
home from a walk, an invitation to an evening party lying on our table.
It was from the mother of the young lady to whom report alleged he was
deeply attached, and whatever influence I might have possessed in
dissuading him from attending any other social gathering, I found I was
powerless in this case. But he again renewed his determination to
abstain from intoxicating stimulants.
"'I know what you fear, Arthur, but I have made the resolution to "touch
not, taste not, handle not," as the teetotallers say, and I am
determined not to break it.'
"I made no answer, but prepared to accompany him, with a heavy heart;
for I felt certain, in my own mind, of the result, at least to some
extent, of that evening's visit. I need not enter into particulars;
suffice it to say, that Henry Leslie bravely withstood all
solicitations, from our sex, to partake of the destroying beverage, and
I was beginning to hope that my fears would prove unfounded, when the
daughter of our hostess, the young lady to whom I before alluded,
approached him with a glass of sparkling wine in her hand. She was
beautiful,--I cannot but acknowledge that,--and I shall never forget
her appearance as she stood there, a fascinating smile lighting up her
animated countenance, and, in her sweetest tones, begged him to take a
glass of wine with her. I thought of Satan, disguised as an angel of
light, and trembled for the result, as I stood anxiously listening for
his answer. It came in the negative, but the hesitating, half-apologetic
tone was very different from the firm and decided one, in which he had
resisted all other solicitations. But she was not yet satisfied. Womanly
vanity must triumph, no matter how dearly the victory may be purchased.
"'You surely will not be so ungallant as to refuse a lady so small a
favor,'--and her eyes added, as plainly as words,--'but much less can
you refuse me.'
"'You see how society is degenerating, Mr. Bernard,' she said, turning
to me, 'there was a time when a lady's request was deemed sacred, now we
poor women have little or no influence over your sex.'
"'I devoutly wish you had less, Madam,' was my uncourteous reply; but
she scarcely heard me, for Henry, taking the proffered glass, and in a
low tone, murmuring, 'For your sake alone,' quaffed its contents. A
flush of gratified vanity passed over the lady's countenance, for she
had laid a challenge with some of her friends, who had observed his
previous abstinence, that she would make him drink a glass of wine with
her, before the evening was over. That night week I sat, a lonely
watcher, by the corpse of Henry Leslie. He had died in the horrors of
delirium tremens, and his last cry had been for brandy.
"Oh, it stings me almost to madness," exclaimed Arthur, rising and
pacing the apartment with hurried steps, "when I reflect that that
woman, knowing well his fatal propensity,--knowing, too, how powerful
was her influence over him, for, poor fellow, I believe he would have
laid down his life for her sake, was the immediate instrument of leading
to destruction one who might,--had she encouraged him in his resolution
to abstain, instead of luring him to depart from it,--have been an
honored ornament to society, not filling, as he does to-day, a
drunkard's grave, 'unhonored and unsung.'"
There was silence for a few moments in the apartment, for even the
volatile Ella seemed affected at the narration. At length she spoke in a
subdued tone.
"That is certainly a melancholy story, Arthur, and I shall not be able
to get it out of my mind soon. But now that I think of it, have you seen
Agnes Wiltshire since your return?"
"No; but I have been about to inquire several times where she is, and
why have I not seen her before?"
"Simply, because she has abjured society."
"Abjured society!" and Arthur looked up, with a glance full of
astonishment. "What do you mean, Ella? Has she become a nun?"
"Not exactly; but she certainly is a Sister of Charity, in the fullest
sense of the term. It was only yesterday morning she passed our windows
quite early, followed by a servant carrying a large basket, and I can
easily imagine it was on some charitable mission. You must know, Arthur,
for I see by your looks that you are impatient to hear all about
her,--by the bye, it is singular that you should take any interest in
her, considering she is a woman,"----
"Dear Ella, do go on with your story."
"It is well for you, Mr. Arthur, that I am very good-natured, for I
should have an excellent opportunity now of retaliation, for all the
unkind things you have been saying about our sex. But I can be generous,
and will forgive you this time,--so now to our story. You must know,
then, that a great change has taken place in Agnes, ever since the
sudden death of poor Lelia Amberton, the particulars of which I wrote to
you at the time it occurred. Agnes grew very low-spirited, and in
consequence lost her health, and was ordered by the physician to the
country, to recruit her failing strength. On her return, her dejection
had entirely vanished; but still she was very different to what she had
formerly been. To the great astonishment, and even displeasure of her
relatives, she gently but firmly declined all invitations to balls, or
gay parties, refused to attend the theatre, and, to her friends' earnest
expostulations and inquiries as to the reasons for such a course,
declared 'that she had, at length, become convinced of the vanity and
sinfulness of such pursuits, and no longer dared to peril her immortal
interests by engaging in them.'"
"But, Edward Lincoln, how does he approve of this strange alteration?"
inquired Arthur, in a tone which, in spite of himself, could not conceal
his evident interest.
"Oh, poor Edward has been discarded long ago."
"Discarded! What do you mean, Ella, that she has broken her engagement
with him?"
"Yes; or, rather, they mutually agreed in the matter, and thereby caused
fresh disappointment to Agnes's friends, whose opposition has risen to
such a height, that I believe they have almost threatened to expel her
from home."
"Barbarous!" exclaimed Arthur, hastily, his eye flashing with
indignation. "But I suspect they would hardly carry that threat into
effect. And what reason was assigned for the breaking of the
engagement?"
"Oh, nothing more than non-agreement of sentiment. When I was reasoning
with Agnes about it, one day, she said to me, 'How can two walk together
except they be agreed? I grant, dear Ella, that Mr. Lincoln is all you
have said, handsome, intelligent, and possesses many estimable
qualities; but these qualities, to be permanent, must be based on
principles drawn from the Word of Truth. Do not think, my friend, that
it was without a struggle I have resigned him. No, the conflict was long
and bitter; but I was enabled, at last, to yield to my convictions of
duty. And, indeed, he himself has confessed, that whatever I might have
done once, I should never have suited him now. Our views are
diametrically opposed; the gayeties of life, which I have gladly
resigned, he still takes delight in, and when I have endeavored feebly,
but earnestly, to lead him to seek for more enduring joys, his only
reply is a merry laugh at my enthusiasm, which, he predicts, will soon
evaporate. No, Ella, there is little in unison between us, and it is far
better to break our engagement now, than to find, when too late, that we
had entered into a union productive of misery to us both.'"
"Agnes is certainly a singular girl," said Arthur, musingly.
"Oh, but I have not told you all. She has been a Sabbath-school teacher,
has established a day school for poor children, which she superintends,
and there is no fear of her tempting a gentleman to take a glass of
wine, for last, but not least, she has become a teetotaller. There, what
think you of that? and yet, I do not know how it happens, but in spite
of her singular ways, I seem to like her better than ever. There is
nothing in her manner that indicates a consciousness of superior merit,
but she is so truly kind, and her countenance wears so peaceful and
heavenly an expression, that I can never weary of gazing at her, and in
my sober moods, which occur once or twice in a twelvemonth, have some
idea of following her example. And now, Arthur," Ella added playfully,
"if Miss Wiltshire comes not up to your standard of female excellence, I
should despair of ever finding one that did."
Arthur was about to reply, but was interrupted by the announcement of a
visitor. Slightly annoyed, for he had become really interested in the
conversation, and, resolving to slip away the first convenient
opportunity, he turned to salute the lady, whose name he had not heard,
when, Ella's exclamation of surprise and pleasure fell on his ear.
"Why, Agnes, have you came at last? I almost thought I was never to see
you again. I called twice, but you were out."
"Yes, I was very sorry, but a particular engagement called me from
home."
"Arthur, have you forgotten your old friend, Miss Wiltshire?" inquired
Ella of her brother, who was waiting an opportunity to address her.
"It would be a difficult task to do that," was the reply, while the
cordial clasp of the hand and kindly tone, told how pleasant was that
meeting to one of the party at least. "You should rather have inquired
if Miss Wiltshire had forgotten me, which is far more probable."
"I never forget my friends," said Agnes, with a slight emphasis on the
word friends.
"And to be numbered among Miss Wiltshire's friends, I consider no
ordinary privilege," was Arthur's reply, as he insisted on her occupying
an easy chair by the blazing fire, which the clear but chilly air of
autumn rendered indispensable to comfort.
"I am afraid you have learned the art of flattery in your travels, Mr.
Bernard."
"Flattery!" exclaimed Ella, drawing up a chair close to her friend, and
smiling at her brother, who was seated opposite; "I only wish you had
heard him, Agnes, a little while ago, in what terms he spoke of our sex,
for if you had, you would agree with me, that the title of woman-hater
would be far more appropriate than flatterer."
"Ella, Ella, that is hardly fair," said Arthur, while his cheek became
slightly flushed.
"But what did he say about us, Ella?" Agnes inquired, smiling half
mischievously at his evident embarrassment.
"Say, all sorts of things; he declared that the great majority of us
care for little else but pleasure; that the idea of exerting our
influence for good is one that we seldom ever entertain, and he wound up
his exceedingly edifying lecture by a dismal story of a lady, whose
persuasions induced a friend of his to break a promise which he had made
to abstain from intoxicating liquors, and was, thereby, led to an
untimely death."
"You have been bringing very grave charges against our sex, Mr.
Bernard," said Agnes, with a sweet seriousness, that, however unusual,
well became her fair youthful face; "and I am afraid we should have to
plead guilty in too many instances. Still, even those who appear the
most thoughtless, have their hours of reflection, no doubt, when they
feel the utter insipidity of a life of pleasure--false pleasure--and
form many resolutions to abandon it; but habit is strong, and example
powerful, and once immersed in the gayeties of life, nothing short of
strength from above can make them to 'come out from the world, and to
become separate.'"
A deeper shade of seriousness passed over Agnes's expressive countenance
as she uttered these words. It was evident they had evoked some painful
recollections, and, as Arthur gazed on the down-cast face, on the long
silken eyelashes that but half concealed the tear that unhidden rose to
the lustrous eye, and observed her lip quivering with suppressed
emotion, he easily divined, from his previous conversation with his
sister, the cause of her agitation.
"She has suffered, and in the cause of truth," was his mental
ejaculation. Oh, to have the privilege of cheering and sustaining one so
lovely! but
"Man may not hope her heart to win,
Be his of common mould."