MAGGY
I cannot speak, tears so obstruct my words
And choke me with unutterable joy. —Olney.
With goddess-like demeanor forth she went,
Not unattended, for on her as queen
A pomp of winning graces waited still. —Milton.
That what she wills to do or say
Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best. —Milton.
The venerable edifice of Christ Church, the oldest house of worship of
its denomination in Philadelphia, still retains the outward appearance
it wore five and seventy years ago. But its stately front and exquisite
steeple, instead of rising within view of the fashionable quarter of the
town, as it did then, now overlooks a wilderness of shops, while its
pavement is encumbered on market days with the eggs, chickens, and
vegetables of farmers, who chaffer for a cent. The interior of the
ancient edifice, however, has undergone great changes, not the least of
which is the substitution of comfortable modern sittings for the stiff,
high-backed pews in which Lady Washington and the _elite_ of that day
used to worship.
The appearance of the Aylesfords in their family pew at Christ Church
attracted universal attention. The worthy rector lost no time in paying
his respects to them, and was charmed with little Maggy as well as with
Kate. He became a frequent visitor. He often seemed lost in thought, as
he gazed on the child. At last, when Kate and he were alone together one
day, he said,
“I have long wished, my dear young lady, to broach a delicate subject
to you. I hope you will not think I wish to interfere impertinently in
your family matters; but permit me to ask whether that beautiful child,
who has just left the room, is really, as report declares, your
cousin.”
“She is,” answered Kate. “But why this question?”
“The daughter of Mistress Margaret Rowan, so called?”
Kate inclined her head in assent.
“From what I know of you then, my dear young lady, and from the kind
countenance I see you bestowing on the child, you will rejoice to hear
that the fraud, so basely attempted on her mother, utterly failed.”
“What!” cried our heroine, with sparkling eyes, clasping her hands
in joy. “Can it be possible?”
“Never was there wife, if that poor girl, whose father I knew in
England, was not legally wedded to the late Charles Aylesford,
Esquire.”
“Thank God!” ejaculated Kate, fervently.
“Yes! we may well thank the Almighty one,” reverently replied the
clergyman; “for out of evil counsel he brought good. But I must
explain. It happened in this way.”
The rector then proceeded to state that, a few months before the
Aylesfords arrived in Philadelphia, he had been summoned, one evening,
to the bedside of a dying man in one of the miserable taverns then, and
still existing, by the water-side. The invalid was undergoing the most
terrible agonies of remorse, having, on his own confession, lived a life
of the greatest depravity for many preceding years. He had been, he
said, originally a clergyman of the Church of England, had been left a
small fortune, and had graduated at Trinity College, Cambridge. But,
having fallen into evil courses, through his fondness for company and
wine, he had gradually been excluded from the society he was born for,
and, finally, had been obliged to fly to America to escape the vengeance
of the law. In the colonies he had met Arrison, had become a confederate
in his villainies, and had consented to be the tool of Aylesford and him
in the clandestine marriage of Miss Rowan. Neither of his employers,
however, were aware of his true clerical character; but supposed his
assumption of the robes was only a cleverly managed disguise. Nor was
this all. Abandoned as he was, the fallen clergyman had still some
conscience left, so that he secretly procured the documents necessary to
render the marriage a valid one, in all respects. Subsequently he had
left Philadelphia, and had remained absent for years, having only
returned, in the last stage of a consumption, a few weeks before sending
for the rector. A principal object of his coming back, he confessed, was
the desire to make reparation for the great wrong he had done Mistress
Rowan. Nothing in his whole career, though he acknowledged to being
stained with the blackest crimes, had ever affected him, he said, like
his share in that treacherous transaction. He had just succeeded in
tracing the poor victim, in discovering that she had been abandoned by
her husband, and in ascertaining that she died after a few years of toil
and shame, when his disease assumed so violent a character that he was
unable to prosecute further inquiries. What had become of the child,
whether it was dead or living, he had been unable to ascertain. In this
extremity, tormented by restless anguish, he had sent for the rector of
Christ Church, and placing in the good clergyman’s hands the proofs of
the legality of the marriage, enjoined him to endeavor to discover the
fate of the orphan. Having done this, he seemed more at ease, and
expired the same night, shortly after the rector had departed.
“As soon as you came to town, and I saw your little cousin in your
pew, I felt that the lost child was discovered,” continued the
clergyman. “But it was not until I had more certainly ascertained that
she was really your blood-connection, that I ventured to take the
present liberty.”
It now became necessary to acquaint Mrs. Warren with Maggy’s real
parentage, and consequently with one of those transactions in her
nephew’s life which had been studiously concealed from her. It was, at
first, a terrible shock to the poor creature. But after awhile she
became more reconciled to it, finding those excuses which simple, loving
hearts like hers always will. It had the beneficial effect, in the end,
of making her almost worship little Maggy, whom heretofore she had
treated, as we have seen, with comparative indifference. The orphan now
came in for the love that had been lavished on Aylesford, and Mrs.
Warren entered eagerly into all Kate’s plans for the instruction of
Maggy; but especially did the good lady interest herself in what she
called the “domestic” education of the child, saying naively to her
protege; “my dear, as every woman’s proper destiny is to be a wife,
and to be happy as a wife, it is indispensable that you should know how
to prepare a good table for your husband, as all men like good eating,
and can indeed be best kept in humor by tickling their palates.” This
remark was the nearest approach to wit which the dowager ever made; and
was slyly quoted to Major Gordon by Kate, as a commentary on his sex.
No one could have progressed with greater rapidity in her studies than
did Maggy. Perhaps it is a mistake, into which modern times have fallen,
that they put children to school too soon; for, if the young intellect
was left unvexed awhile longer, it would probably learn all the quicker
when once it began. Certainly, little Maggy, who, at ten years old,
could read with difficulty, made the most astonishing progress, so that,
by the time she was fourteen, no young lady of her age could boast of so
many acquirements. The superior education which Kate herself had
received was doubtless of benefit to the child, because it enabled our
heroine to impart much instruction not then taught in American schools.
In music Maggy had an exquisite ear, while her voice was one of great
promise. To hear her sing the simple ballads, then so popular, often
brought tears into the eyes of the listeners. It is a strange sight to
see such effects produced in our days; but it would be heretical
nevertheless to say that we ought to give up opera music in parlors, and
return to the artless, plaintive song; for of course we are wiser in
this, as in other things, than our ancestors; and it is quite absurd to
think that there can be music unless the windows shake, the piano
shudders as if in an ague fit, and the dear, sweet performer, opens her
month as if she was about to swallow music sheets, instruments and all.
Among those who shed tears, at hearing Maggy’s ballads, were several
French noblemen, officers in the army of his most Christian Majesty
Louis the Sixteenth, at that time the good ally of the confederated
States of America. These members of the most artificial and luxurious
court in Europe, the principal part of whom had joined the expedition to
reinforce Washington out of sheer ennui, having long ago exhausted every
phase of life that even Paris presented, were delighted beyond measure
at the artless singing of this innocent child of nature. It was not mere
highbred courtesy either, which induced them to extol her simple
ballads, though never were men more polished in manner than the French
nobility of that day. But, as we have said, the unbidden tears started
into their eyes as they listened, and there was an earnestness in their
tones, that carried the conviction of truth with them, when they told
Major Gordon that they had never heard such singing from the gay
Marchionesses of Versailles, or even the stars of the opera.
For it was with Major Gordon that these visitors always came. Whenever a
French officer brought letters of introduction to the city, our hero was
one of the first he called upon; and the latter took his guest to the
Aylesfords, as a matter of course. Indeed, had he not done so, he would
have constantly been besieged for an introduction to our heroine, as the
Duc de Lauzun, who had met her early in the winter, went back to camp
enthusiastic in her praise. “La belle Americaine,” as he called her,
had, he said, the grace and refinement of a Marchioness, with a
freshness and originality that was perfectly bewitching. It was said of
him, by his intimates, that he had really lost his heart; and it is
certain that, years after, when he had became le Duc de Biron, he would
talk of the fair Philadelphian; and once he was heard to declare, with a
sigh, that he had seen, in America, “the sprightliness and beauty of
Marie Antoinette, combined with the innocence and truthfulness of St.
Pierre’s Virginia;” and it was to our heroine that he referred.
If Mrs. Warren worshipped Maggy, the orphan adored her cousin. It was
beautiful, indeed, to see the constant evidences which the child gave of
her affection for Kate. When the latter spoke even the most trivial
words, Maggy listened eagerly, and seemed by her looks to appeal to
others to hear also. On one occasion, when our heroine was sick for a
few days with cold and fever, the orphan went almost distracted. She
always waylaid Dr. Rush on his retiring, in order to receive the
assurance from himself, that Kate was really only triflingly indisposed.
When her cousin recovered sufficiently to come down again to dinner,
Maggy was nearly beside herself for joy, dancing and skipping about the
convalescent, bursting into snatches of song, and continually catching
Kate’s hand and kissing it.
This slight indisposition reminded our heroine of an unfulfilled
intention regarding Maggy. Kate had early resolved to dower the orphan
with a portion of her own wealth, and now, as soon as she had recovered,
she sent for her attorney and directed him to make out a deed of gift,
in favor of the child, as well as to prepare other law papers for her.
“If anything should happen to me,” she said, “I wish my affianced
husband to inherit the principal part of my estate; but I wish, as much,
that Maggy shall not be unprovided for; and I desire also to leave a
competence to my aunt.”
These generous wishes were accordingly fulfilled. The Major, when he
heard of the intentions of his betrothed with respect to himself, would
have remonstrated; but Kate silenced him by the gravity of her reply,
declaring that, “if he was not worthy to be entrusted with her
fortune, in case of her decease, he surely was not with her happiness,
if she lived.”
Thus the winter passed on. March, with its blustering winds, succeeded;
April, fickle as ever, followed; and May, blushing and beautiful, came
in. The appointed time of the wedding had nearly arrived, and every body
was on the _qui vive_ for an event which promised to be so dazzling.