THE ST. LEGERS.
John Temple had been a three month's volunteer at the commencement of
the war. But his business so much suffered, and his absence so
distracted his wife, that he considered it his duty, after his term of
service had expired, to remain at home. John Temple, for the son of an
Irishman, was a man of a great deal of equanimity. He could face a body
of soldiers without flinching, and he could meet daily the frivolousness
and folly, the bagatelles and boutades of his pretty wife without losing
patience. That he could do the one was not strange or uncommon; but to
do the other without seeking the satisfaction of slamming a door,
kicking a footstool across the floor, or boxing the children's ears, was
truly remarkable.
It was well for Juliet that she had married a man whose disposition and
temperament was so the reverse of her own. She was one of those who
delight in fancying her own life to be filled with more trials and
troubles than any other person's can be. And why? She had a beautiful
home, rich and fashionable in its appointments, plenty of servants at
her command, horses, carriage and driver at her disposal, a niece of
remarkable loveliness and beauty, a son and daughter somewhat spoiled,
who inherited fortunately their mother's beauty and their father's good
sense; a kind and indulgent husband--what more could she wish?
Ah, Juliet Temple! the hand of sorrow had never touched thee. The sacred
form of grief had passed thee by. Death had flitted around thee, taking
others, leaving thee and thine. Father and mother, brother and sisters,
husband and children all remained to thee! Yet did'st thou never raise
thy heart in thanksgiving unto God, but suffered it to be depressed and
fretted at the nameless trifles that came vexingly.
Few persons, like Juliet, live to the age of thirty-five without having
suffered losses and afflictions. Juliet never paused to consider this.
She never reflected, even at a funeral, that thus far she had been
spared, but that her turn must come. When she gazed upon poverty and
distress no thought that such might have been, or might still be hers,
crossed her mind. She was more unhappy than the cripple or the beggar
that passed her by.
To such souls come awakenings, soon or late; sometimes gentle, sometimes
startling as an earthquake.
Captain St. Leger, who had seldom visited home of late years, on a
recent return had taken with him his invalid wife to China. He had
opened business relations at a principal port, which had gradually
become his more usual stopping place and home. Mrs. St. Leger had
improved somewhat on the voyage; and the first letter received from her
on her arrival was favorable. Little then were the daughters prepared
for the succeeding letter which contained intelligence of her death.
The long illness of their mother had prepared the elder daughters in a
measure for the event. Juliet had not anticipated such a thing. She had
thought only of seeing her mother return from her lengthy voyage
recruited in health and spirits, with her old taste and ability revived
for society and amusements. She shut herself up in a room and grieved
inordinately. Had her own and father's household lay dead before her,
she could not have assumed a wilder sorrow. In vain her husband soothed
and reasoned. Her mother had been a great sufferer; she could not expect
but that she must some time die; she was beyond the reach of pain; for
her the agony of death was over. All to no purpose. She would have no
comfort in husband, children, or sisters; her mother was dead, and she
would not be comforted.
John Temple thought it would do her good to see Dr. Browne; he
accordingly sent for him, and without her knowledge.
Dr. Browne called; but to see him Juliet persistently refused. The real
reason was because she was in wretched _deshabille_, her face was
swollen with weeping, and it would be such a weary work to do her hair.
No; her vanity was yet stronger than her grief, and she would not be
seen by Dr. Browne.
Two months passed, and Juliet had recovered her usual composure, if
composure can be used in connection with so unrestful a creature.
And now came a letter from the hand of a stranger, bearing news of the
sudden death by apoplexy of Captain St. Leger.
This was indeed unexpected, and created in the family a much greater
sensation than had the death of the mother.
The Van Rensaleers and the Langs began to inquire about the condition of
the property. Without consulting Mr. Temple, the husbands of Leonora and
Estelle sailed at once for China.
Juliet's anxiety about her share of the estate somewhat modified her
grief in this instance. She had but slightly known her father; he had
been home but seldom, and for brief visits. He was an austere man, very
fine-looking, but silent and undemonstrative. She should not miss him so
much, still his death was such a shock--as she was fond of repeating to
her friends; she should never recover from the effects of two such
terrific shocks.
So selfish in her grief was Juliet, nobody's sorrow had ever been like
unto her own. Whereas, had she only stopped to consider, had she been a
Christian instead of a heathen, a woman instead of a child, she would
have borne silently this affliction as a necessary dispensation of
Providence; she would have bowed her heart humbly before God, kissing
the hand that had chastened her, thankful that those nearer and dearer
had been left unto her.
The two elder brothers-in-law in due time returned from their mission
with the doleful intelligence that the late Captain St. Leger had died
insolvent, so far as his foreign wealth was concerned. They swore in
open court, for Mr. Temple summoned them to appear and obliged them to
take oath, that they received not sufficient from the assets to defray
the expenses of their voyage.
Of this Juliet was disposed to believe not a word. Her brothers-in-law
had ever been ill-disposed toward her because she married for love, and
looked down on Temple because he had industriously labored for his
wealth instead of having received it, like themselves, from dishonest or
thrifty grandfathers. She believed they had connived together to enrich
themselves at her expense.
Here, then, was another ground for anxiety. She begged Mr. Temple to
institute legal proceedings, and have the matter thoroughly sifted. Mr.
Temple liked no man to believe he was to be tamely cheated, and was at
first disposed to accede to Juliet's suggestion. Upon farther
reflection, however, he thought it wiser to let the matter drop. Aside
from anxiety, the expenses would be great. His adversaries had taken
time by the forelock, and had taken care doubtless to cover up their
tracks.
He was now independent; his business needed all his attention; he would
not risk the certain for the uncertain. He would look out for his share
yet unappropriated in the city, though Captain St. Leger, at his last
visit home, had given deed to Juliet of the house she since her marriage
had occupied.
But the settlement of the St. Leger estate does not materially concern
us. It had the effect, however, of completely alienating Juliet from her
sisters.
Leonora was still childless, though she had so far changed her
resolution as to have received two children into her house. She could
scarcely have done otherwise. It had been announced by letter from
Philip that a cargo of eleven children from his mission were about to
sail, and would reach New York at about a given time. Three of these
children were his, and he hoped his sisters would find places for them
in their families, and interest themselves in seeking good homes for the
remaining others.
Philip wrote that expediency alone could have induced them to part with
the dear children. Their hearts were torn asunder, etc., etc. The
touching letter was read from the preacher's desk. There was not a dry
eye in the house, nor a heart that did not long to clasp the foreign
missionary waifs. The trouble was not in getting homes in sufficient
number for the children--there were not enough children for the homes
offered. It would be such a blessed privilege to have a missionary's
child in the house. The various Judson children that were scattered here
and there were perpetual curiosities. Their very presence was enough to
sanctify, dignify, and make illustrious any house wherein they might
dwell.
There never occurred to Philip when he wrote, to the city preacher when
he read, nor to the congregation who listened to the pathetic story of
the "hearts torn asunder," an idea as to the incompatibility of
missionary life with raising a family of children; nor that each and
every missionary father had better have given his heart a decided wrench
in the beginning, by abstaining from marriage, than have been a victim
to perpetual domestic anxiety and have suffered such ever-recurring
wounds.
At first Leonora had taken Philip's three children, although a
childless, wealthy couple had offered to adopt the eldest, a boy of nine
years. He was handsomer and finer looking than his two little sisters,
who were both quiet and pretty. Leonora thought she should have
something to be proud of in the boy, who was a St. Leger thoroughly, and
might readily enough be mistaken as her own son.
She was not long, however, in discovering that she had taken more upon
herself than she could bear. This handsome nephew was the exact
counterpart of what his father had been at similar early age. Leonora
remembered well that Philip had been an imp of mischief, and that she
had suffered torments on his account. This young Marius--named for Mary
Selby in full--like his father before him, seemed to think his young
sisters made for no earthly purpose but for his amusement. If they were
out of his presence he was wretched; when with them he left them no
peace; he would fling at them paper darts, almost strangle them with an
impromptu lasso, demolish their playhouse, decapitate their dolls, and
do all the mischief his really inventive genius could suggest.
Leonora knew how worse than vain would be all reasoning with such a
subject. The example of her brother was all she needed. She took him in
her carriage, and set him down, with his baggage, at the door of the
wealthy couple who had been so anxious to gain possession of him. She
was not surprised, two weeks later, to learn that he had been
transferred to the family of the Presbyterian clergyman, nor shortly
after to be informed that a collection had been taken up among the
wealthy members of the church for his education at a country school; to
this she was invited to contribute, which she did liberally.
Captain St. Leger had given all his city property to his daughters,
leaving his only son unprovided for.
As to Estelle, Mrs. Lang, she rejoices in five daughters, which, added
to her four sons, makes her family equal in number, if not in degree, to
that of Queen Victoria's. She has had a wing added to her already
extensive mansion, wherein she has had her children installed, with
their nurses at command, one being an aged lady, trusty and faithful.
Unlike Juliet, Estelle became wise enough to give over fretting and
borrowing trouble. She goes much into society, though less devoted to it
than her elder sister, but looks considerably to her household affairs,
and on the whole makes a tolerable wife and mother. She would be
religious perhaps if she knew how to be. But this she has never learned
at St. Mark's Church, and she knows not where else to go.