A VISIT OF CONDOLENCE.
The news of Lieutenant Lyndsay's intended emigration spread like
wild-fire through the village, and for several days formed the theme of
conversation. The timid shrugged their shoulders, and drew closer to
their own cosy fire-sides, and preferred staying at home to tempting the
dangers of a long sea-voyage. The prudent said, there was a
_possibility_ of success; but it was better to take care of the little
you had, than run the risk of losing it while seeking for more.--The
worldly sneered, and criticised, and turned the golden anticipations of
the hopeful and the benevolent into ridicule, prophesying
disappointment, ruin, and a speedy return. Lyndsay listened to all their
remarks, endeavoured to combat unreasonable objections, and remove
pre-conceived prejudices; but as it was all labour thrown away, he
determined to abide by the resolution he had formed, and commenced
making preparations accordingly.
Flora, who, like many of her sex, was more guided by her feelings than
her reason, was terribly annoyed by the impertinent interference of
others, in what she peculiarly considered, her own affairs. Day after
day she was tormented by visitors, who came to condole with her on the
shocking prospects before her. Some of these were kind, well-meaning
people, who really thought it a dreadful thing, to be forced, at the
caprice of a husband, to leave home, and all its kindred joys, for a
rude uncultivated wilderness like Canada. To such Flora listened with
patience; for she believed their fears on her account were
genuine--their sympathy sincere.
There was only one person in the whole town whose comments she dreaded,
and whose pretended concern she looked upon as a real _bore_--this was
Mrs. Ready, the wife of a wealthy merchant, who was apt to consider
herself the great lady of the place.
The dreaded interview came at last. Mrs. Ready had been absent on a
visit to London; and the moment she heard of the intended emigration of
the Lyndsays to Canada, she put on her bonnet and shawl, and rushed to
the rescue. The loud, double rat-tat-tat at the door, announced an
arrival of more than ordinary consequence.
"O!" sighed Flora, pushing away her desk, at which she was writing
letters of importance, "I know that knock!--that disagreeable Mrs. Ready
is come at last!"
Before Mrs. Ready enters the room, I may as well explain to the reader,
what sort of an intimacy existed between Flora Lyndsay and Harriet
Ready, and why the former had such a repugnance to a visit from the
last-mentioned lady.
Without the aid of animal magnetism (although we have no doubt that it
belongs to that mysterious science) experience has taught us all, that
there are some natures that possess certain repellent qualities, which
never can be brought into affinity with our own--persons, whom we like
or dislike at first sight, with a strong predilection for the one almost
amounting to love, with a decided aversion to the other, which in some
instances almost merges into downright hate.
These two ladies had no attraction for each other: they had not a
thought or feeling in common; and they seldom met without a certain
sparring, which, to the looker-on, must have betrayed how matters stood
between them.
But why did they meet, if such were the case?
It would be true wisdom in all such repellent natures to keep apart.
Worldly prudence, and the conventional rules of society, compel persons
to hide these secret antipathies--nay, even to present the most smiling
exterior to those whom they often least respect.
The fear of making enemies, of being thought ill-natured and capricious,
or even of making the objects of their aversion persons of too much
consequence, by keeping them aloof, are some of the reasons we have
heard alleged for these acts of mental cowardice.
Mrs. Ready was a low-born woman, and Flora belonged to a very old and
respectable family. Mrs. Ready wished to rise a step higher in the
social scale, and, thinking that Flora might aid her ambitious views,
she had, after the first calls of ceremony had been exchanged, clung to
her with a pertinacity which all Mrs. Lyndsay's efforts to free herself
had been unable to shake off.
Mrs. Ready was a woman of great pretensions, and had acquired an
influence among her own set by assuming a superiority to which, in
reality, she had not the slightest claim. She considered herself a
beauty--a wit--a person of extraordinary genius, and possessed of great
literary taste. The knowledge of a few botanical names and scientific
terms, which she sported on all occasions, had conferred upon her the
title of a learned woman; while she talked with the greatest confidence
of her acquirements. _Her_ paintings--_her_ music--_her_ poetry, were
words constantly in her mouth. A few wretched daubs, some miserable
attempts at composition, and various pieces of music, played without
taste, and in shocking bad time, constituted all her claims to literary
distinction. Her confident boasting had so imposed upon the good
credulous people among whom she moved, that they really believed her to
be the talented being she pretended.
A person of very moderate abilities can be spiteful; and Mrs. Ready was
so censorious, and said when offended such bitter things, that her
neighbours tolerated her impertinence out of a weak fear, lest they
might become the victims of her slanderous tongue.
Though living in the same house with her husband, whose third wife she
was, they had long been separated, only meeting at their joyless meals.
Mrs. Ready considered her husband a very stupid animal, and did not fail
to make both him and her friends acquainted with her opinion.
"There is a fate in these things," she observed, "or you would never see
a person of _my_ superior intellect united to a creature like _that_."
The world recognised a less important agency in the ill-starred union.
Mrs. Ready was poor, and had already numbered thirty years, when she
accepted the hand of her wealthy and despised partner.
No wonder that Flora, who almost adored her husband, and was a woman of
simple habits and pretensions, should dislike Mrs. Ready: it would have
been strange indeed if persons so differently constituted, could have
met without antagonism.
Mrs. Ready's harsh unfeminine voice and manners; her assumption of
learning and superiority, without any real title to either, were very
offensive to a proud sensitive mind, which rejected with disdain the
patronage of such a woman. Flora had too much self-respect, not to say
_vanity_, to tolerate the insolence of Mrs. Ready. She had met all her
advances towards a closer intimacy with marked coldness; which, instead
of repelling, seemed only to provoke a repetition of the vulgar, forcing
familiarity, from which she intuitively shrank.
"Mrs. Lyndsay," she was wont to say, when that lady was absent, "is a
young person of some literary taste, and with the advice and assistance
of a friend (herself of course) she may one day become an accomplished
woman."
Lyndsay was highly amused at the league, offensive and defensive,
carried on by his wife and Mrs. Ready, who was the only _blue stocking_
in the place; and he was wont to call her Flora's Mrs. _Grundy_.
But _Mrs. Grundy_ is already in the room, and Flora has risen to meet
her, and proffer the usual meaningless salutations of the day. To these
her visitor returns no answer, overwhelmed as she is with astonishment
and grief.
"Mrs. Lyndsay!" she exclaimed, sinking into the easy chair placed for
her accommodation, and lifting up her hands in a tragic ecstasy--"Is it
true--true, that you are going to leave us? I cannot believe it; it is
so absurd--so ridiculous--the idea of your going to Canada. Do tell me
that I am misinformed; that it is one of old Kitson's idle pieces of
gossip; for really I have not been well since I heard it."
Mrs. Ready paused for breath, and applied her handkerchief to her eyes.
Flora remained silent and embarrassed. What could she say? She placed no
confidence in the grief of the weeping lady, and despised the
affectation of her tears--till she gasped forth--
"Do not leave me in suspense; I would rather hear the truth at once. Are
you really going to Canada?"
"I believe so. That is, if no untoward circumstances arise to prevent
it."
"Good heavens!--And you can regard such a dreadful event with such
stoical indifference? Why does not your mother exert her authority, to
make you give up such a mad project?"
"My mother would never interfere with my husband's wishes, particularly
when she considers them reasonable, and knows that no real objections
can be offered on the subject."
"But think of the dreadful sacrifice!"
"Such sacrifices are made every day. Emigration, Mrs. Ready, is a matter
of necessity, not of choice. Mr. Lyndsay thinks it necessary for us to
take this step, and I have no doubt that he is right. Did I consult my
own feelings, I should certainly prefer staying at home."
"Of course you would, and you affect this unconcern on purpose to hide
an aching heart. My dear, you cannot deceive me; I see through it all. I
pity you, my sweet friend; I sympathise with you, from my very soul; I
know what your _real_ feelings are; I can realize it all."
Flora remained silent. She certainly did wish that Mrs. Ready occupied
any other place in the United Kingdom at that moment than the
comfortable seat in her easy chair. But what could she do? She could not
inform the lady that she was tired of her company, and wished to be
alone. That would be considered an act of ill-breeding of the most
flagrant description; in common courtesy she was compelled to act a lie.
Rather irritated at the small impression her eloquence had made upon her
companion, Mrs. Ready removed the cambric screen from her face, on which
not a trace of grief could be found, and clasping her hands vehemently
together, continued,--
"Your husband is mad, to draw you away from all your friends at a
moment's warning! I would remonstrate--I would not go; I would exert a
proper spirit, and force him to abandon this Quixotic expedition."
"You speak hastily, Mrs. Ready. Why should I attempt to prevent an
undertaking in which I most cordially concur, and which Mr. Lyndsay
thinks would greatly benefit his family?"
"Nonsense! I hate, I repudiate such passive obedience, as beneath the
dignity of woman! I am none of your soft bread-and-butter wives, who
consider it their _duty_ to become the mere _echo_ of their husbands.
If _I_ did not wish to go, no tyrannical lord of the creation, falsely
so called, should compel me to act against my inclinations."
"Compulsion is not necessary: on this subject we both agree."
"Oh, yes, I see how it is!" with a contemptuous curl of the lip, "you
aspire to the character of a good, dutiful wife,--to become an example
of enduring patience to all the refractory conjugals in the place,
myself among the rest. I understand it all. How _amiable_ some people
can be at the expense of others!"
Flora was thunderstruck. "Indeed, Mrs. Ready, I meant no reflection upon
you. My words had no personal meaning; I never talk _at_ any one."
"Oh, certainly not! You are not aware," with a strong sneer, "of the
differences that exist between Mr. Ready and me (and which will continue
to exist, as long as mind claims a superiority over matter); that we are
only husband and wife in name. But I forgive you."
"You have nothing to forgive, Mrs. Ready," said Flora, indignantly; "I
never trouble my head with your private affairs--they cannot possibly
concern me."
This gave rise to a scene. Mrs. Ready, who lived in an element of
strife, delighted in scenes.
"Oh, no," she continued, eagerly clutching at Flora's last words, "you
are _too_ selfishly engrossed with your own happiness to have the least
sympathy for the sorrows of a friend. Ah, well!--It's early days with
you _yet_! Let a few short years of domestic care pass over your head,
and all this honey will be changed to gall. Matrimony is matrimony, and
husbands are husbands, and wives will strive to have their own way--ay,
and will fight to get it too. You will then find, Mrs. Lyndsay, that
very little of the sugar of love, and all such romantic stuff, remains
to sweeten your cup; and in the bitterness of your soul, you will think
of me."
"If this is true," said Flora, "who would marry?"
"It is true in my case."
"But fortunately there are exceptions to every rule."
"Humph!--This is another compliment, Mrs. Lyndsay, at my expense."
"Mrs. Ready, I do not wish to quarrel with you; but you seem determined
to take all my words amiss."
A long silence ensued,--Mrs. Ready smoothed down her ruffled plumes, and
said, in a pitying, patronising tone, very common to her--
"You will be disgusted with Canada: we shall see you back in less than
twelve months."
"Not very likely, if I know anything of John and myself."
"What will you do for society?"
Flora thought, solitude would be a luxury and Mrs. Ready away--and she
answered, carelessly, "We must be content with what Providence sends
us."
"Ah! but you may be miles from any habitation. No church--no schools for
the children--no markets--no medical attendant--and with your poor
health--think of that, Mrs. Lyndsay! And worse, far worse, no friends to
sympathise and condole with you, in distress and difficulty."
Now Flora was answering all these objections in her own mind; and, quite
forgetful of Mrs. Ready's presence, she unconsciously uttered her
thoughts aloud--"These may be evils, but we shall at least be spared the
annoyance of disagreeable visitors."
Imprudent Flora--to think aloud before such a woman as Mrs. Ready. Who
will venture to excuse such an eccentric proceeding? Would not the whole
world blame you for your incorrigible blunder? It had, however, one good
effect. It quickly cleared the room of your intrusive guest; who swept
out of the apartment with a haughty "Good morning." And well she might
be offended; she had accidentally heard the truth, which no one else in
the town dared have spoken boldly out.
Flora was astonished at her want of caution. She knew, however, that it
was useless to apologise; and she felt perfectly indifferent as to the
result; for she did not care, if she never saw Mrs. Ready again; and
such a decided affront would render that event something more than
doubtful.
"Thank heaven! she is gone," burst heartily from her lips, when she
found herself once more alone.
It was impossible for Mrs. Lyndsay to contemplate leaving England
without great pain. The subject was so distressing to her feelings, that
she endeavoured to forget it as much as she could. The manner in which
it had been forced upon her by Mrs. Ready, was like probing a deep wound
with a jagged instrument; and after that lady's departure, she covered
her face with her hands, and wept long and bitterly.