For any measure of thy love
This day vouchsafed to me,
Accept the tribute of my heart--
My gratitude to Thee.
_Yet pride may lurk in humble guise_;
May I no vain thought own,
If something whispers one short prayer
Has reached Thy heavenly throne.
The offer of dresses far more suitable to their former than their present
station, was a temptation Harriet did not resist. So that while the
elder sister accepted also the invitation to spend a month at Mrs.
Somerton's beautiful house, Mary wrote a grateful letter to that lady,
thanking her for her proffered kindness, but saying that she felt her
duty was to remain at home, and tend her blind father, more especially as
Harriet would be absent.
Although Mary could not avoid touching on their recent misfortunes, her
letter was not a complaining one: on the contrary, it was distinguished
by that Christian humility of spirit which is very nearly akin to
cheerfulness--that humility which, while it bends the heart meekly to the
chastising hand of God, teaches it also to look around, even in
affliction, for means of executing His will. As the time drew near for
Harriet to depart on the promised visit, it was remarkable that she did
not improve either in amiability of temper, or assiduousness of attention
to her father.
The truth was, she was too much occupied with her own arrangements, to
have much thought for the comfort of others; thus selfishness was the
first-fruit of her pride and vanity. Mr. Mannering always found the easy
chair and footstool in the same place, and his walking-stick within reach
of his hand: and he perceived, now that summer was come, and flowers
could be had for the gathering, that a vase of sweet-scented blossoms was
always near him; but the blind man did not know that it was Mary's
thoughtfulness alone which now provided for his comfort. And yet he had
a strange idea; he began to fancy that Harriet's voice was growing shrill
and querulous! How singular it was, for no one else had observed it; but
it is one of the merciful dispensations of the Almighty, by which we are
guarded, that when man is deprived of one faculty, the others are almost
always sharpened, to make up, in some measure, for the deficiency. Thus,
though poor Mr. Mannering could not see the frown or distressed
expression which often crossed Harriet's face, he _could_ distinguish the
different modulation of her voice, which was but another expression of
her feelings.
But why was Harriet distressed, ask some of my young readers, now that
she was about enjoying again the fine clothes and all the luxuries which
she had so much regretted?
Listen to a conversation which took place between the sisters, two or
three days before Harriet's departure, and then, perhaps, you will be
able to guess some of the reasons. Mary had just returned from guiding
her dear papa in a pleasant shady walk, and now, throwing off her bonnet,
and putting on her apron, she prepared to lay the cloth for dinner; for
as they had only one servant, and that was a mere country girl, to do the
drudgery of household work, Mary assisted by performing a thousand little
offices, which Harriet was too haughty to undertake.
"Cannot you come and help me?" said Harriet, who had been sitting at home
all the morning making one of her new dresses. "I shall never get this
sleeve finished if you do not. I am sure Peggy, (that was the servant,)
I am sure, for once, Peggy can get the dinner ready without your
assistance."
"No, Harriet, not exactly as papa likes it," replied Mary; "and you know
we are always so sorry when anything happens to remind him of his
misfortunes."
"But how should you know how to mash potatoes, or make pies, or hash meat
so much better than Peggy?" asked Harriet.
"Did I never tell you that, before we left the great house, I asked old
cook to teach me how to do a great many things. I cannot tell how it
was, but she cried all the while she was telling me about cookery--partly,
I think, at the thought of her dear master having to eat plain or ill-
dressed dinners, partly, I really believe, at her sorrow for leaving us.
However, I coaxed her into teaching me how to make a great many things
dear papa likes; besides, I have bought a cookery-book."
To mark the difference of character, it is worth noticing that Harriet,
before leaving the great house, had "coaxed" the lady's maid to give her
a few hints about the cutting-out of dresses--and since her preparations
for her visit began, she had bought a book of the new fashions.
As it was likely the sisters would henceforth have to make their own
dresses, it was a wise precaution to gain as much information as they
could on the subject; but in their inquiries, the one sister thought only
of her afflicted father's comfort.
"I will help you after dinner," resumed Mary, "that is to say, if papa
does not want me to read to him." And as, during dinner, Harriet
contrived to make her wishes very evident, Mr. Mannering dispensed with
the reading, and, accepting the arm of a neighbour, a new and homely
acquaintance, took a second stroll in the green lanes.
"What am I to do about a bonnet?" said Harriet, as they sat at work, and
after a pause, as if she had been summoning courage to commence a rather
disagreeable subject.
"About a bonnet?" said Mary, repeating the question.
"Yes, I _must_ have a new one; the old straw is so burnt by the sun, that
it is far too shabby to wear at Mrs. Somerton's; and it looks even worse
by the side of this bright new silk dress, than with a common one."
"I know that," replied Mary, with a sigh, "but you cannot afford a new
one. If you remember, we both agreed to have new ribbons to the old
bonnets, and thus make them serve."
"Yes, and so you may do, Mary, very well; even if you were to go on
wearing your bonnet as it is, old ribbon and all, I do not see that it
would much signify; but it will be different with me at Mrs. Somerton's,
you know."
"Yet, though no one sees me here," replied the younger sister, musing, as
if to consider if it were possible to save the price of her own ribbon,
as something towards procuring the new bonnet which Harriet said she
"must" have, "though nobody sees me, it is right at least to be _neat_
and _clean_, and really my bonnet strings are very dirty."
"Could you not wash them?" said Harriet, really blushing at the meanness
and selfishness of her own suggestion.
"I did not think of that before. Yes, I can wash the ribbon, and I shall
not much care about it looking faded and shabby, if it be clean. So, at
all events, there will be that money towards purchasing what new things
you still require."
"I am sure it is very good of you, Mary," replied her sister, the anxious
expression of her countenance somewhat relaxing; but, alas! this was only
the removal of one of many similar troubles. The bright dress and the
new bonnet required many other articles to correspond, for the purchasing
of each of which some new sacrifice was exacted from the gentle Mary. And
Harriet suffered all this for the selfish gratification of a mere vanity,
which, disdaining their humble abode, and so repining at God's will,
which had changed her position from wealth to poverty, sought, at any
hazard, to flutter in fine clothes, and to maintain a false appearance!
Instead of perceiving the beautiful and unselfish character which Mary
was developing, in the careful and cheerful discharge of her humble
duties, Harriet had latterly begun to feel contempt for her,--a feeling
which grew so strongly, that, before she departed on her visit, she had
quite arrived at the conclusion that Mary was a very inferior person to
herself, and fit for no more exalted station than that which seemed to
await her.
On the whole, this opinion was a source of satisfaction to Harriet
Mannering, since it relieved her own mind from any anxiety about leaving
her father--she felt so very sure Mary would attend on him carefully.
Thus, the very virtues of the one sister were made the excuse for the
selfish vanity and haughtiness of the other; until, priding herself on
some beauty, and a few showy accomplishments, I believe the elder sister
at last thought she was conferring almost a favour by becoming Mrs.
Somerton's guest.
Mrs. Somerton was a kind-hearted lady; and her real motive for inviting
one of Mr. Mannering's daughters to pass some time with her, was to
ascertain if her disposition and acquirements were such as to fit her for
a situation in the family, as an assistant, or under-governess to her
children. I think her plan was a very good one, for it afforded her more
opportunity of judging of Miss Mannering's real character, than if she
had been quite conscious of Mrs. Somerton's intention; and, considering
the important trust that lady was confiding to Harriet, I think she was
justified in taking any measures short of deception, to ascertain the
real qualities of her heart and mind.
Certainly no deception was practised. Harriet was invited as a guest,
and treated with all the consideration of one, but Mrs. Somerton,
narrowly watched her conduct and her words.
It would be well if both young and old always remembered, that this life
is at best but a state of probation, and that in all our actions we are
but "on trial," watched over by the All-seeing God. And often, and
often, indeed, when we least suspect it, our doings are marked by our
fellow men, are weighed, even in an earthly balance, and so are permitted
to influence our earthly happiness. A poet has said--
"A deed can never die."
If my young readers do not yet understand how the consequences of our
actions follow us through life, and so do not perceive all the truth and
meaning of that line, I would advise them, nevertheless, to remember it;
some day they will understand it better.
We shall leave Harriet Mannering for awhile on her visit of pleasure and
gaiety, and return to the humble dwelling of her father and sister. What
with her household cares, and walking with and reading to her father, the
time flew rapidly with Mary: she met, too, with an unexpected return for
her attention and devotion.
At first, the books of history, divinity, and natural philosophy, which
were those her father had desired her to read, had seemed heavy and
abstruse, but gradually their meaning, like a dawning light, beamed upon
her mind, which, opening to receive it, let in the new delight of
intellectual pleasure! Then, in the long twilight of the summer evening,
when it was too dark to read, would she sit on a stool at her father's
feet, with one of his hands clasped in both of hers, and he would explain
away the difficulties at which her young mind had halted.
What did it signify that they sat in an humble, low-roofed chamber, and
that Mary's dress was one of cotton? They could discourse on the wonders
of creation, and the goodness of God!
But, if the pleasures of an enlarging mind were opening on Mary, new
cares were also stealing upon her. The many purchases Harriet had made,
had drawn heavily on their little stock of money, in addition to which,
Mr. Mannering had suffered so much pain in his eyes, that he had been
obliged to have further medical advice. Mary felt that some means must
be found of adding to their little income. At first, she thought of
attending pupils, and imparting what she had learned in the days of
prosperity. But, distrustful of herself, she sometimes doubted if she
were competent to undertake the task of tuition.
She might have taught music, but, for want of an instrument, she was
sadly out of practice, and feared that this, with her youth, and her want
of experience, would be a hindrance to her success; and so she found it.
Yet something must be done; for Mary's humility of heart was not that
inert apathy of idleness, that is sometimes by foolish, unthinking people
mistaken for it; and I suppose, in the eyes of the vain and worldly,
there was some degradation in Mary Mannering employing several hours of
the day in needlework, for which, at the end of the week, she received a
few shillings; but the gentle girl herself never fell that there could be
disgrace in earning this trifle honestly, however humbly; although, in
one of Harriet's letters, she professed to be quite "shocked" at the
necessity of such a thing, while she made it a plea for her own prolonged
absence, saying that there was one less to support while she was away. It
would seem that it never occurred to her to contribute her share of
industry by the labour either of head or hand.
Alas! her heart was indeed becoming hardened by her selfish pride.
Mary and her father had one evening been enjoying their usual walk, when
one of those sudden storms, which often succeed sultry weather, came on.
They were not within a mile of any house where they could ask for
shelter; but they chanced to be near a wide arch which had been
constructed across the road for the convenience of a railway line. Above
them, rolled the hissing engine and its long train, and glad enough were
they of the protection the archway afforded. They had not, however, been
there many minutes before they perceived an open carriage coming rapidly
along the road, and as, just when it reached the point where Mr.
Mannering and his daughter had found shelter, the storm increased to its
utmost violence, the elder of the two gentlemen, whom the carriage
contained, desired the coachman to draw up under the archway until the
pouring rain should have somewhat abated. The gentlemen were Dr. Vernon,
a celebrated physician, and his son.
I should have told you before that Mary was not considered so handsome as
her sister, and, as you know, she had not the advantage of gay and
fashionable attire; but both the gentlemen have often said since that
there was something inexpressively interesting in her appearance. I
suspect hers must have been the loveliness of a kind, affectionate, and
contented heart, which showed itself in her watchful attention to her
blind father, and in her always unaffected manner.
Dr. Vernon was the first to address Mr. Mannering, when he not only
perceived his affliction, but also discovered he was conversing with no
ordinary individual; for it is astonishing, when two persons of great
acquirements and high moral worth are thrown together, how speedily they
understand each other. The storm continuing, prolonged the interview,
until, in the course of conversation, it appeared that Dr. Vernon and Mr.
Mannering had known each other in their youth, though circumstances had
separated them in later years. This, of course, was an additional source
of interest, and, after a little while, Dr. Vernon insisted on Mary and
her father getting into his carriage, and promised to set them down at
their own door.
The acquaintance thus renewed, was not likely again to drop, and from
paying them frequent visits, it very soon happened that either Dr. Vernon
or his son was sure to call to see the invalid every day. Arthur Vernon
was at this time about five and twenty, and was no less remarkable for
his great talents than for his amiable disposition. He had inherited an
independent fortune from a distant relative, but, from love of science,
and a consciousness of the wide field of active benevolence that they
might open to him, he had studied medicine and surgery with great
perseverance. Latterly he had devoted himself more particularly to the
consideration of the eye, and the truth was, he began to think that Mr.
Mannering's sight was not irrevocably gone, and that he had a knowledge
of remedies which, by the blessing of God, would restore the sight of his
father's old friend.
It was to Mary herself that Mr. Vernon first breathed his hopes of
effecting a cure, and is there much wonder that henceforth she looked
forward to his visits with interest and delight? And, as day by day hope
seemed to promise recovered sight more and more surely, it was very
natural that she should feel deep gratitude to the young surgeon.
Sometimes when Mr. Vernon came, Mary was at needlework, sometimes
attending to the necessary domestic arrangements, and sometimes reading
to her father; and, if the last was the case, the conversation not
unfrequently turned upon the book before them.
Mary had acquired one valuable piece of information. She knew enough to
understand how very trifling was the sum of all her knowledge; it may be
remarked that very ignorant persons are almost always the most conceited.
Such individuals have no more idea of knowledge than those born blind or
deaf can have of sight or sound. But the gentle humble-minded Mary
Mannering was a very opposite character. She was _not_ ignorant; she
had, as it were, peeped, through books and conversations with her father,
at the vast stores of knowledge and learning which human reason has been
permitted to accumulate; and, though she knew how little, in the longest
life, could really be mastered, in comparison with the mighty whole, she
also knew that one of the purest pleasures that life affords proceeds
from acquiring the sort of information which opens to our view the
wonders of creation. Thus would she quietly listen to conversations on
many improving subjects between her father and Mr. Vernon, seldom joining
in them, it is true, unless she was addressed. But hers was that
"eloquent silence" which is the opposite of indifference.
And thus several months passed away; for the remedies Mr. Vernon
recommended to his patient were slow in their operation. Winter came,
and still he was a daily visitor. Oh! how sadly Mary would have missed
him!
An event, however, was about to occur of some importance; nothing less
than Harriet's return home from her protracted visit at Mrs. Somerton's.
Yes, Harriet returned to her lowly home, less inclined than ever to be
content in her own station. She returned to it, however, because Mrs.
Somerton had not found her distinguished by the gentleness and humility
she had hoped to recognise in her character. For the proud and vain are
always selfish, and perhaps Harriet Mannering had been quite unconscious
that, while eagerly bent on her own enjoyment and frivolous
gratification, her conduct had been narrowly watched. And what had she
to show as the harvest or even gleanings of the last few months?
Literally nothing, for her time had been utterly wasted--her fine clothes
were worn out, and neither mind nor prospects improved.
It appeared that Mr. Vernon had sometimes visited at Mrs. Somerton's,
but, though Harriet recollected him immediately, she had made so little
impression on his mind that he did not at first remember her. And now it
was no small mortification to the vain girl to discover that Mary, in her
humble home and common dress, was treated both by Dr. Vernon and his son
with a consideration _she_ had never found among any of the gay guests at
Somerton Park. For the truth was they already loved and esteemed Mary.
This was, perhaps, the first happy awakening of Harriet to the faults of
her own character; she began to perceive the sweetness of gentle,
unselfish humility, which, prompting ever to a contented fulfilment of
our duties, is sure to make its presence felt, even as we know, by its
delicious perfume, that the violet is near, though hidden from sight
beneath its green canopy of leaves.
Time passed on. At last, one happy day of returning spring, light
gleamed again on the darkened orbs of the afflicted father! The cure was
working, and soon--very soon, he could recognise his dear children; and,
throwing back their hair to gaze yet more fondly on their countenances,
he would talk of the change of time, of their growth, and, above all, of
his deep thankfulness to the Almighty for the blessing of sight. And now
it was that Harriet fancied--was it fancy?--that he looked more fondly at
Mary than herself. And then _they_ had so many subjects of interest to
talk about, of which she knew nothing. But whose fault was it that she
had not shared her gentle sister's cares and pleasures?
The happy time had come when Mr. Mannering no longer required the guiding
hand of either daughter. He was walking in the little garden which
belonged to their dwelling when Dr. Vernon and his son arrived. Contrary
to his custom, the old gentleman, perceiving his friend, joined him out
of doors, while Arthur, who well knew his way up stairs, tapped at the
door of their one sitting room. He did not perceive any occupant but
Mary as he entered, and indeed, I am not quite certain that even she was
aware that Harriet was in the room, Mary herself having only just come
in, and her sister being nearly hidden by a thick curtain which half
covered the window.
It was then and there, with the haughty sister for a listener, that
Arthur Vernon asked the gentle Mary to be his wife!--hinting at his hopes
and wishes at first in answer to some expressions of gratitude from her
for the service he had rendered her father, and begging her thus to repay
it by giving him herself.
Mary wept, but they were very happy tears she shed; for now she might own
that gratitude and admiration, for his noble qualities had made Arthur
Vernon very dear to her. Yet she could not refrain from asking if his
father were willing he should marry one poor and humble as herself.
"Think not, dear Mary," he replied, "that I would tempt you to
disobedience by setting you the example. I am almost sure my father has
spoken to Mr. Mannering this morning on the same subject, and here our
parents come to complete our happiness by giving their sanction."
And so it was. Dr. Vernon kissed her affectionately as he said, "My son
has chosen wisely and well. A dutiful daughter will make a good wife;
and though now he is rich, he knows how mutable is all earthly fortune.
And so he has chosen a wife whose wealth cannot be taken from her, for it
consists in good principles and a well-stored mind; and an humble,
loving, and gentle nature, that will add to all the joys of prosperity as
it would comfort him in the sorrows of adversity, prompting her, in
either case, to 'do her duty in that state of life unto which it shall
please God to call her.'"
And after awhile Harriet came forward with streaming eyes, but her tears
did not now spring from envy or selfish regrets. "Father!" she
exclaimed, "in this happy hour, forgive me my haughty selfish conduct.
Mary! teach, oh, teach me some of your virtues!"
"I forgive all, Harriet," replied Mr. Mannering, with much emotion, "for
the acknowledgment of your error is half-way to repentance and atonement.
And this is a day of triple happiness, for I have just heard that, now my
sight is restored, I have a fair chance of again entering into mercantile
pursuits, and arriving at independence. But oh! my children, neither in
prosperity nor adversity let us forget to pray for true humility of
heart--the Christian spirit!"
VICTORINE DUROCHER;
OR,
THE BLESSINGS OF PEACE.
BY
MRS. SHERWOOD,
AND
HER DAUGHTER, MRS. STREETEN.