LOVE IS DESTINY
"Love is the secret of life. Love redeemeth. Love lifts up. Love
enlightens. Love advances the soul. Love hath everlasting
remembrance. Love is a ransom, and the tears thereof are a prayer.
Oh, little Soul, if rich in Love thou art mighty.
"Love is Destiny. The heart is its own fate."
In the cold, hard light of the winter afternoon, we reached Glasgow;
entering the city by the Buchanan Street Station. I stepped quickly
out of the carriage, and saw Mr. Humphreys looking for me. He was
about fifty-six years old, tall, and rather stout, with a pleasant
face, and snow-white hair. I walked towards him, and the moment he saw
me, he smiled, and nodded his head.
"I was looking in the first-class carriages," he said.
"I was in the second-class," I answered. "I could not waste money on
the first, just for a short ride." Then he laughed, and, clasping my
hand, asked, "How many trunks have you?"
"One," I answered.
"Any parcels, valises, or bandboxes?"
"Nothing of the sort."
"I never heard the like. What kind of a girl are you? Stand right here
until I bring a carriage; then I will take both you, and your one
trunk, to Miss Pollock's."
In a few minutes he came with a carriage, and we were driven rapidly
up Sauchiehall Street, until we came to an Arcade. Here we stopped,
and, as there was a large grocer's shop there, I knew it was at the
end of my journey.
"Pollock," said Mr. Humphreys, "let a couple of your big lads carry
Miss Huddleston's trunk upstairs;" and then I was introduced, and told
Miss Pollock had been looking for me, and my rooms were ready and
comfortable.
I thought I would go through the shop, but no, Mr. Humphreys took me
to a stone stairway in the Arcade--a stairway pipe-clayed white as
snow--and, after climbing three flights, I saw an open front door and
a nice-looking woman, about forty years old, waiting to receive me.
Mr. Humphreys would not go into the house, but told me to be dressed
at five o'clock the next day. "Mrs. Humphreys wishes you to dine with
us," he said, "and we shall also have a few friends, so you must make
yourself smart. Five o'clock!"
Then I heard him going rapidly down the stairway, and I turned to Miss
Pollock with a smile. She took me into a little parlor, plainly
furnished, but clean and neat. There was a bright fire in the grate,
and a small, round table, set for one person, before it. She brought
me tea and lamb chops, and some orange marmalade, and delicious rolls,
and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The next morning I unpacked my trunk,
put my clothing in convenient places, and took my books into the
parlor. I had a silver lamp that Miss Berners gave me, and many pretty
little knick-knacks, and I was delighted with my sitting-room, when I
had arranged these ornaments.
At four o'clock I had a cup of tea, and then dressed myself in
readiness for Mr. Humphreys' call. I was a little at a loss to know
how to dress, but white could not be out of place on a girl, so I put
on a white lustrous alpaca, trimmed with narrow bands of white satin.
My hair was well and becomingly arranged, and I had my satin slippers,
and long, white, lace mitts, in a bag over my arm. I thought I looked
very pretty, and Mr. Humphreys said so, as he gave me a fresh camilla
to pin in front of my dress.
As I entered the Humphreys' house Mrs. Humphreys gave me a hearty
welcome, and, as soon as I was ready, introduced me to a number of
middle-aged ladies and gentlemen, who were sitting or walking about in
the large parlors. I wondered at seeing no young people, but every one
was so kind, I never thought of disappointment. I was particularly
attracted by a Mrs. Semple, a tall, dark woman, with unmistakable
signs of having been a great beauty. The moment I was introduced to
her, she said,
"You can leave the lassie wi' me, Mistress Humphreys. I'll make her as
wise as mysel' anent the notables in the room. I'm feared there's few
to brag about, but there's nae use in letting strangers ken we're just
common folk."
In pursuance of this intention, she said, as I was seated beside her,
"Look at Peter McIntosh. Do you see the man?"
"I do not know him," I answered.
"Then I'll make you acquaint. Peter is a good man to know, and his
wife is weel worthy o' him. Peter is a notable shoemaker. He makes
shoes by the thousands, and sends them to America for sale."
"Really?"
"Yes. His factory is in the Goose Dubs. He'll take you to see it
willingly. Ship loads o' his shoes go to the Yankees, but they are
getting on to his ways, and he had better make shoes while he can, for
they'll beat him at his own game soon. The little body in violet silk
is his wife; she is aye trotting after him. How long have you known
John Humphreys?"
"A few hours, but he is an old friend of my father's."
"Weel, that's a fine beginning. John is another Glasgow notable. He's
only an exciseman, if you come dawn to facts, but they ca' him a
Supervisor. It's a grand place for John, and he fills it wi' great
credit to himsel'. The big man he is talking to is called Sage. His
wife hasna' ta'en her e'en off you since you came into the room.
She'll be telling hersel' that you will make a braw wife for her son
Alick. Alick will be here anon. Tak' care, or you'll lose your heart
to him. Thanks be! there's the dinner bell at the last, but it is
three minutes past ordered time. Annie Humphreys ought to be
reprimanded--only her husband daurna do it," and she lifted her long
velvet train, and took Mr. Sage's arm as she expressed this opinion.
I never was at such a dinner before, and I never saw such dinners
outside of Scotland. I do not remember a thing we had to eat, except
ice cream, and, as it was the first time I ever saw, or tasted ice
cream, there is no wonder it has a place in my memory. It was a
lingering pleasure of food eaten with constant merriment that charmed
me. Then, when there was nothing on the shining mahogany but the nuts
and fruits and the big toddy bowl, then, indeed, if it was not the
feast of reason, it was the flow of soul. Song followed song, and
story followed story. At first the songs were comic, such as the
"Laird o' Cockpen," or "O Johnnie Cope, Are You Waking Yet?", but, as
the music opened their hearts, these easily passed into the most
passionate national songs; and, in an hour, there were only
sentimental Scotchmen present. Every one was then tearful about Prince
Charlie. Two generations previously, the dinner would have been broken
up as a Jacobite meeting. But, oh, how I enjoyed it! A little later I
said so to Mrs. Semple, and she answered,
"Dinna delude yoursel' anent thae men wiping their eyes, as they sing,
they are only specimens of the after-dinner Scot."
"They are full of patriotic feeling," I said.
"To be sure, after dark, and over the toddy, but they have been in
Union Street, and Buchanan Street, Virginia Street, and the Cowcaddens
all day long, doing what? Getting their shilling's worth for their
shilling, ay, their farthing's worth for their farthing. Where was
their patriotism then? Wait till the Sawbath Day, and I'll show you
the Scot who is a Son of the Covenant, and who wouldn't lose his
soul--on that occasion--for the whole world."
Just as she said these words, she rose hurriedly to her feet, crying
pleasantly, "There's my Willie! We'll hae the dancing now," and
immediately a bevy of girls and young men pushed aside the portieres,
and curtsied to the company. Then the elder men and women went into
the out-of-the-way corners, and played "Catch the Ten" or "Bagatelle,"
though some men of fifty years old, or even more, danced with great
spirit in the national reels and strathspeys. I danced once with Mr.
Humphreys, and was stepping a pretty measure with Mrs. Semple's
Willie, when Mrs. Sage's son, Alick, entered. Immediately I caught his
look of pleasure and admiration, and something I knew not what, passed
between us, so that, when he was introduced to me, we both felt it to
be a supernumerary ceremony.
I have been a little diffuse concerning this dinner, because it
represented fairly the household hospitality of that time. I dare say
that they have a more stylish mode now, but I doubt if, with the
elegant restraint of later days, they have preserved the old
delightful flow of song and story, and that intense national spirit,
which made one involuntarily listen for the bagpipes, though the music
was all in the imagination. Many such entertainments I went to that
winter; always on Saturday nights to the McIntoshes', where there was
sure to be a boiled turkey stuffed with oysters and served with oyster
sauce. In another house, to which I went frequently, they had roast
turkey stuffed with plum pudding, and an old negro cook in Texas told
me his old master always had his turkeys stuffed in the latter way. If
any one thinks it could not be good, I advise them just to try the
recipe.
The two following days being Saturday and Sunday I rested, looked over
my clothing, and wrote long letters home. I also wrote Dr. Farrar, and
told him how comfortably all had been arranged for me. I was a little
nervous about my entry into the Normal School, but when Monday morning
came, I was ready for what it demanded, and more curious than
frightened. It was a foggy morning, and the big building amid the
small, poor buildings around it, loomed up gray and forbidding in its
bare black yard, where a lot of children were trying to be playful, in
the most discouraging surroundings. The janitor took me to the
recitation hall, opened the door, and left me. There were groups of
men and groups of women standing about, talking in an unconstrained
way; others sat alone on the benches of the great gallery, which rose,
bench above bench, nearly to the ceiling. No one spoke to me, and I
sat down and looked curiously at the women, who could be guilty of
such unkindness. I am sure many of them wished to speak, but did not
know how to take the initiative. If they would only have trusted their
hearts, and said a word of welcome, they need not have feared they
were breaking any social law. Kindness is always fashionable, and
always welcome.
In a few minutes an exceedingly tall, fair, thin man slowly entered,
and every one went instantly to their places. I presented to him Dr.
Farrar's letter of introduction, and he threw it on a small table,
and said irritably, "Third row, left corner." Somehow I walked
straight to the place indicated.
I am not going to describe this school, or the method of teaching
used there. I have but an imperfect remembrance of all concerning it,
and the system is likely superseded long ago by something better.
Yet, I was much interested in the hall recitations and exercises;
and the teaching of men and women together, on the basis of perfect
mental equality, was then a great novelty, and far from being
universally approved. My own impression was that in every department
the women excelled the male students. Certainly Professor Hyslop
appeared to think so, and to please himself hugely and frequently,
by illustrations of the fact.
During my first hour in that room, I saw him call a young man to the
blackboard, and give him an algebraic problem to solve. He failed
completely. Another young man was called, and also failed. Then the
Professor said, with an air of assurance, "Miss Grace Laing," and a
girl of about eighteen stepped lightly forward, made a few figures,
and, to me, cabalistic signs. The Professor's face brightened, and he
said decidedly, "correct," and Miss Grace Laing walked back to her
place. The men, however, were not ungenerous, for a half-audible
murmur of admiration followed the Professor's verdict of "correct."
The theological lessons were exceedingly interesting, for theology
touches the average Scot on both his weakest and strongest side, and a
barely veiled dispute was always lingering between the Calvinistic and
Arminian students. Every lesson, however, in that school turned to
argument; the system provoked it, and was intended to do so.
I liked the life at the school, but very early felt within myself that
it was only a stepping-stone to my real destiny; and the remembrance
we give to stepping-stones, is washed out by every other tide. But I
did all my duty and enjoyed doing it, so the days were full of
pleasant work, the evenings of pleasant company, and the time went
swiftly by, though it left none of those sharp, indelible etchings on
memory which direct personality gives. I was in a crowd there, and all
my recollections of the place are evasive and uncertain.
With the advent of June I began to look forward to home and home
influences; then I received an invitation to join an excursion party,
going with Captain Scott on his own steamer to "Fife and all the lands
about it," north as far as St. Andrews, and then further north, even
to the Orkneys and Shetland Islands. I could not bear to think of
missing such an opportunity, and I wrote Dr. Farrar and asked him to
obtain liberty for me to accept the invitation. He sent me a kind
permission to do so, saying he had no doubt many would afterward see
the places I visited through my eyes. And, as I have written "Jan
Vedder's Wife," "A Daughter of Fife," "Prisoners of Conscience," "Paul
and Christina," "Thyra Varrick," "Sheila Vedder," "The Heart of Jessie
Laurie," and so forth, from material and impressions gathered on this
voyage, Dr. Farrar's estimate has brought forth fruit a thousand-fold.
I need not enter into details here: the above books will amply reveal
to their readers the noble men and women of "the ancient kingdom," and
of the Ultima Thule of the Shetlands.
When the trip was over I did not return to Glasgow; we landed at
Leith, and from Edinburgh I got a train direct to Kendal, where I
arrived about tea time. I found all better than I expected. My father
had assumed the duty of visiting the poor and the sick in their
affliction, of comforting the broken in heart, and of going as far as
a mortal man may go with the dying. Mother thought he was happy in his
self-imposed charge, but he must have had terrible hours among the
books he no longer used; for he was only fifty-five years old at this
time, and still retained much physical strength and beauty.
I had two weeks of perfect peace and happiness, and then, just as I
was thinking of returning to Glasgow, I received a letter from Mrs.
Humphreys, telling me that the government had removed Mr. Humphreys to
Liverpool, and that they were on the point of leaving for that city.
She said further, that she had had a conversation with Mrs. Semple
about me, and that Mrs. Semple was anxious I should stay with her; she
pointed out the advantages of living in such respectable care and
surroundings, and urged me to accept Mrs. Semple's offer.
Here was another stepping-stone towards destiny: where would it lead
me? Mrs. Semple had a large circle of friends, and entertained and
went out frequently. I should meet at her house a different class of
people; traders, perhaps, but traders with gentry behind them;
ministers, lawyers, and men who had to do with books and literature,
and doubtless women who might be more stylish, and perhaps less kind,
than Mrs. Humphreys or Mrs. McIntosh. It looked pleasant enough in
prospect, and, I may as well say, it proved pleasant enough in
reality.
I found, on my return to Glasgow, that Miss Pollock and her brother
were on their way to Australia; then, my course being quite clear, I
went to Mrs. Semple. She received me joyfully, and at first would not
hear of my paying a farthing for my board; but I soon convinced her
that she would have to take the sum it had cost me to live with Miss
Pollock. Of course, even then, I had greatly the best of the
bargain--handsome rooms to dwell in, an excellent table, and ready
sympathy in all my perplexities, likes and dislikes. In a way I made
the balance more even by giving to my hostess those little helps and
personal attentions I would have given to my mother, if in her place,
and we were mutually pleased and satisfied.
When I returned to the school, Professor Hyslop looked glumly at me,
and hoped I had "enough of stravaging," and was ready to attend to my
duty. I assured him I was glad to do so, but I was not glad in my
heart. A kind of dissatisfaction lurked in all my plans. I wanted, I
knew not what. I worked steadily, but with a kind of eager looking
forward to something beyond the work.
One morning Mrs. Semple and I were eating a luxurious little
breakfast. The sunshine and the fresh air came in through the open
window, and some working men were going up West Regent Street,
whistling delightfully. I was happy, but thoughtful, and Mrs. Semple
said, "You're thinking lessons, and that isna in our bargain--lovers
would be mair wise-like. What did you dream last night?"
"Why," I answered, "I had a singular dream. I was thinking about it,
when you said lessons."
"Tell me, then."
[Illustration: MRS. BARR AT 18]
"I dreamed of going into a large warehouse, full to the roof of
bundles of gray and white wool. Many men were at desks writing, but no
one spoke, and I walked forward, until I came to a door covered with
green baize, and pushed it open. Then a young man, who sat writing at
a handsome desk, turned and looked at me, saying in a pleasant,
authoritative way, 'Come in, Milly. I have been waiting for you.' The
dream passed away as he spoke."
"What kind of a young man? Handsome?"
"Yes, very handsome. He was dressed in a suit of shepherd tartan."
"That is likely enough. Every other man you meet, is wearing shepherd
tartan. It is precious few that look decent in it."
"My dream-man looked well in it."
"A red or green necktie with it, of course."
"No, a black one."
"Wonderful! It is either red or green wi' most men. My Willie would
have naething but white. He thinks he looks ministerial in the black
and white, and he is trying to behave accordingly. You must have
noticed him?"
"Yes, I have. Perhaps Willie's dress gave me my queer dream."
"Reason the dream awa', of course. That's what fools do wi' a dream. I
think you dreamed of the man who will be your husband."
"Then," I said, "my husband is not among the men I know. I never saw
the young man of my dream before."
"There's few people in town yet," explained Mrs. Semple. "They are at
Arran, or Bute, or somewhere down the water. It will be September ere
they get back to Glasgow." At these words she lifted the morning
paper, but in a few moments threw it down in great excitement, crying,
"Milly! Milly! the Queen, and Prince Albert, and the Prince o' Wales
are coming to Glasgow; every blessed wife, and mother, and maid, will
be here to see the Royalties. We, also, we must see them! We must hae
a window; some one must get one for us!"
"Do you know any one who can?"
"Yes. When you come back from school, we will go and ask him."
"Need I go?"
"I'll not go a step wanting you."
So I came home without delay, put on a clean white frock, and went
with Mrs. Semple to a street called Virginia Street. The warehouse we
entered was so old that the stone steps at its entrance were nearly
worn away. A kind of porter stood at the door, and Mrs. Semple told
him she wished to see his master. He led us through a long room piled
to the ceiling with bundles of wool, and through a green baize door
into a handsome office, where the young man of my dream sat writing.
He turned as we entered, and Mrs. Semple said, "Weel, Robert, how's a'
with you?"
For a moment he did not answer. He was looking at me--perhaps
expecting an introduction, but his smiling face appeared to be saying,
just the words I heard in my sleep, "Come in, Milly! I have been
waiting for you."
Really what he said was an effusive welcome to Mrs. Semple, and a
polite offer of his chair to me. It was a large office chair, but I
took it; after a little while he asked me if I was comfortable, and
then laughing lowly added, "Now I shall forever dream dreams in that
chair."
"Weel," answered Mrs. Semple, "maybe the dreams will come true." Then
she explained the reason for our call, magnifying very much my desire
to see the Queen. And Mr. Barr assured her there would be tickets for
a good window at her house before nine o'clock that night, if it was
possible to get them. It was a pleasant call, a fateful call, for I
knew I had met the man whose fate--good or bad--I must share. A
feeling of deep sadness overcame me. I said I was sick, lay down on my
bed, and fell into a deep sleep.
Before nine o'clock Mr. Barr brought the tickets, and, on the day
appointed, went with us to see what there was to see. It was not much.
Her Majesty disappointed me. Prince Albert was not as handsome as his
pictures represented him to be, and the Prince of Wales was in a bad
temper, and showed it as plainly as a boy nine years old could do. The
Queen wore a royal Stuart tartan shawl; it was heavy and cumbersome,
and she looked ungraceful in it. But this bit of sightseeing was the
beginning of a new order of things. My life took a turn then and
there, and, as I look back, I could weep at the memory of that fateful
royal visit; but through the years that hour had been fixed, and the
dormant love in my soul needed but a look to awaken it.
Until the New Year Mr. Barr was all the most devoted lover could be,
then there was a pause in his attentions. It would be folly to say I
did not care. I did care. I went about my duties with a heavy heart.
"It is his mother," said Mrs. Semple. "She is a hard, old soul, and
she wouldna be willing for Robert to marry an angel from heaven, if
she hadna plenty o' siller. Forbye, you are English and an Arminian,
when you should be a Calvinist, and, worse than that, you are
over-educated."
"I thought the Scotch believed in education."
"They do--for men--not for women. They prefer them to watch cheese
parings and candle-ends. It doesna need an educated woman to sweep,
and darn, and cook, and save a farthing, wherever it can be saved."
One evening in February Mr. Barr called. He said he had been "on a
long business journey through the West Riding," and those two words
softened my heart, and we began to talk of some mutual acquaintance
there. Then, before he knew it, without his will or effort, love broke
into audible words. It was the healing love, the comforting love, and
one little word, and one long kiss, made all things fast and sure. But
that night I knew the old troubler and heartache of the world had me
in his power, and would have, until life with all its troubles and
heartaches was over.
* * * * *
I had told Robert that the first thing was to get my father's and my
mother's consent to our marriage, and he went to Kendal the following
day for this purpose, arriving there about four in the afternoon.
Father was out visiting the sick, Mary and Alethia were at school, and
Jane had been recently married, and had gone to live in Manchester.
Mother was making some school pinafores for Alethia, and Robert's
knock did not interest her at all. Lots of people in those days came
after Mr. Huddleston, and she thought it was some case of sickness or
trouble. But when the girl opened the parlor door and Robert entered
she was astonished. However, my name and the letter he brought from me
put him at once in Mother's favor, and in a few minutes he was telling
her how dear I was to him, and that I had promised to be his wife in
July, if my father and mother approved it. He stayed to tea with my
parents, and had a long conversation with them, and they were
thoroughly satisfied that I had chosen well and wisely. As if I had
had any choice in the matter! The event had been destined, even when I
was born, and Robert Barr only a lad of seven years old.
In my mother's letter to me on the subject, she said, "I will tell you
something, Milly, that I suspect neither Mr. Barr nor your father will
tell you, yet you will be glad to know it, and you ought to know it.
It is this. Your father told Mr. Barr about your indebtedness to the
school board, and Mr. Barr asked how much it was. When Father said he
thought about seventy pounds, Mr. Barr laughed, and answered,
'Suppose, Father, we sent a donation of two hundred pounds to the
school board. Won't that be best?' Then Father laughed, and Mr. Barr
took from his valise a small book, and wrote a check for two hundred
pounds, asking Father to send it the next day, which Father did."
In this letter I was urged to come home at once, and so I went next
day to the school to remove my name from the list of Wesleyan
students. Professor Hyslop looked angrily at me.
"You will get no diploma," he said.
"I am going to be married, sir," I answered.
"I have heard--I have heard!" he continued, "and I think a marriage
certificate will be the best diploma for you--Reverend Dr. Barr's son,
is it not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then, Miss, where will your Arminianism be? You will become a
Calvinist!" And, with this Parthian fling, he left the room so quickly
I had no opportunity for a denial.
After this event I returned home, and the days went by in a dream of
happiness. Robert came every Friday or Saturday to Kendal, and we rode
over to Windermere, if it was fine weather, and strolled about its
laurel woods, whispering to each other those words which lovers have
always said, and always will say, even till time shall be no
more--unless, the march of what is called "progress and efficiency"
put love out of the question altogether. It was a wooing that fitted
wonderfully into my happy girlhood, blending itself with my
childhood's memories, with the wind and the sun, and the mountains and
lakes I loved. And I took with a grateful heart the joy sent me--a joy
glorified by all the enchanting glamours and extravagant hopes of
youth and love. It was always the old antiphony of love:
"I love you, sweet, how can you ever learn
How much I love you?" "You I love even so,
And so I learn it." "Sweet, you cannot know
How fair you are." "If fair enough to earn
Your love, so much is all my love's concern."
"My love grows hourly sweet." "Mine, too, doth grow,
Yet love seemed full so many hours ago."
Thus lovers speak.--ROSSETTI.
If the weather was wet we discussed damasks and cretons and books
about furniture, which Robert brought with him every week--the colors
to be dominant in various rooms--and every trifle of housekeeping; and
were as happy as birds building their first nest. Or, I showed any new
addition to my wardrobe, about which I had been very fortunate. For it
happened that thirty years previously my mother's uncle had spent four
years in Glasgow, and had been very happy there; so he was pleased I
was going to marry a Glasgow man. When he met Robert he liked him, and
he liked me "for choosing so fine a fellow," and as a reward gave me a
hundred pounds to buy things for the wedding. I went to Bradford for a
couple of weeks, had my wedding frock made there, and brought home
with me alpacas and mozambiques, bareges and chantilly muslins, and
lots of other pretty things. But what pleased me more than anything
were the full sets of ready-made underclothing which Mrs. Humphreys
sent. I had never even heard of ready-made clothing, and I was
delighted with the beautifully trimmed slips and gowns, and so forth,
which far exceeded anything I had ever seen. Indeed they were talked
about so much that many Kendal ladies asked to look at them.
My sister Jane had married quietly, almost secretly, only my father
and sisters and a friend of the groom being present; but Robert would
hear of no such privacy. He wished the whole town to witness his
happiness, and I was not averse to his desire. So the dawn of our
wedding-day, the eleventh of July, 1850, was ushered in by the
beautiful chimes of Kendal church, and the ringers, being well paid,
marked, every hour of the day by a carillon until night covered the
earth. The ceremony was nine o'clock in the morning, but the church
was full, and the sidewalks full, and every one had a smile and a good
wish for us.
Robert looked exceedingly handsome, and his sister and brother-in-lave,
David Colville, the great iron and steel manufacturer of Glasgow,
were at his side. I had only one bridesmaid, a lovely Yorkshire girl,
who had been my playmate in childhood. Robert had one attendant also, a
young Scot, called James Sinclair. I wore the usual white satin dress
consecrated to brides, but it was not made as bridal dresses are made
now. It was of ordinary length, and had three deep ruffles of lace
on the skirt. A small polka jacket--they were just coming in
then--made of white lace, and trimmed with white satin, covered my
neck and arms, and a very small bonnet of white lace, trimmed with
orange flowers, was on my head. My sandals were of white satin, and
my gloves of white kid, but I had no veil. I walked to the altar on my
father's arm; I left it leaning on my husband's. That seems but a small
change, but it typified the wrench of life and destiny. For that hour
had broken the continuity of life. I could never! never! go back to
where I stood before it.
There was a pretty wedding breakfast at my father's house, where
everything was profusely adorned with large white pansies; for, in
Kendal there was, and likely yet is, a miraculous profusion and
perfection of this exquisite flower in July and August. My father
blessed the breakfast, which was happily and leisurely taken, then
Robert glanced at me, and I went upstairs to put on a pale blue dress,
a white silk India shawl, and a little bonnet trimmed with blue
flowers. The shawl was of wonderful beauty and of great value, but
what girl of nineteen would now wear a shawl? Yet, it was far from
unbecoming, and it shared my fortunes in a remarkable manner.
It was considered proper and elegant in those days for brides to show
great emotion, and even to weep as they left their home and father and
mother. I could not do so. I loved my home and my kindred with a deep
and strong attachment, but I knew from that moment when I first saw
the man who was now my husband that, among the souls allied to mine,
he was of
"... nearer kindred than life hinted of;
Born with me somewhere that men forget,
And though in years of sight and sound unmet,
Known for my soul's birth-partner well enough."