PANSIES
They are never alone that are accompanied with noble thoughts.--SIR
PHILIP SIDNEY.
"I'VE finished my book, and now what CAN I do till this tiresome
rain is over?" exclaimed Carrie, as she lay back on the couch with a
yawn of weariness.
"Take another and a better book; the house is full of them, and this
is a rare chance for a feast on the best," answered Alice, looking
over the pile of volumes in her lap, as she sat on the floor before
one of the tall book-cases that lined the room.
"Not being a book-worm like you, I can't read forever, and you
needn't sniff at 'Wanda,' for it's perfectly thrilling!" cried
Carrie, regretfully turning the crumpled leaves of the Seaside
Library copy of that interminable and impossible tale.
"We should read to improve our minds, and that rubbish is only a
waste of time," began Alice, in a warning tone, as she looked up
from "Romola," over which she had been poring with the delight one
feels in meeting an old friend.
"I don't WISH to improve my mind, thank you: I read for amusement in
vacation time, and don't want to see any moral works till next
autumn. I get enough of them in school. This isn't 'rubbish'! It's
full of fine descriptions of scenery--"
"Which you skip by the page, I've seen you do it," said Eva, the
third young girl in the library, as she shut up the stout book on
her knee and began to knit as if this sudden outburst of chat
disturbed her enjoyment of "The Dove in the Eagle's Nest."
"I do at first, being carried away by my interest in the people, but
I almost always go back and read them afterward," protested Carrie.
"You know YOU like to hear about nice clothes, Eva, and Wanda's were
simply gorgeous; white velvet and a rope of pearls is one costume;
gray velvet and a silver girdle another; and Idalia was all a
'shower of perfumed laces,' and scarlet and gold satin mask dresses,
or primrose silk with violets, so lovely! I do revel in 'em!"
Both girls laughed as Carrie reeled off this list of elegances, with
the relish of a French modiste.
"Well, I'm poor and can't have as many pretty things as I want, so
it IS delightful to read about women who wear white quilted satin
dressing-gowns and olive velvet trains with Mechlin lace sweepers to
them. Diamonds as large as nuts, and rivers of opals and sapphires,
and rubies and pearls, are great fun to read of, if you never even
get a look at real ones. I don't believe the love part does me a bit
of harm, for we never see such languid swells in America, nor such
lovely, naughty ladies; and Ouida scolds them all, so of course she
doesn't approve of them, and that's moral, I'm sure."
But Alice shook her head again, as Carrie paused out of breath, and
said in her serious way: "That's the harm of it all. False and
foolish things are made interesting, and we read for that, not for
any lesson there may be hidden under the velvet and jewels and fine
words of your splendid men and women. Now, THIS book is a wonderful
picture of Florence in old times, and the famous people who really
lived are painted in it, and it has a true and clean moral that we
can all see, and one feels wiser and better for reading it. I do
wish you'd leave those trashy things and try something really good."
"I hate George Eliot,--so awfully wise and preachy and dismal! I
really couldn't wade through 'Daniel Deronda,' though 'The Mill on
the Floss' wasn't bad," answered Carrie, with another yawn, as she
recalled the Jew Mordecai's long speeches, and Daniel's meditations.
"I know you'd like this," said Eva, patting her book with an air of
calm content; for she was a modest, common-sense little body, full
of innocent fancies and the mildest sort of romance. "I love dear
Miss Yonge, with her nice, large families, and their trials, and
their pious ways, and pleasant homes full of brothers and sisters,
and good fathers and mothers. I'm never tired of them, and have read
'Daisy Chain' nine times at least."
"I used to like them, and still think them good for young girls,
with our own 'Queechy' and 'Wide, Wide World,' and books of that
kind. Now I'm eighteen I prefer stronger novels, and books by great
men and women, because these are always talked about by cultivated
people, and when I go into society next winter I wish to be able to
listen intelligently, and know what to admire."
"That's all very well for you, Alice; you were always poking over
books, and I dare say you will write them some day, or be a
blue-stocking. But I've got another year to study and fuss over my
education, and I'm going to enjoy myself all I can, and leave the
wise books till I come out."
"But, Carrie, there won't be any time to read them; you'll be so
busy with parties, and beaux, and travelling, and such things. I
WOULD take Alice's advice and read up a little now; it's so nice to
know useful things, and be able to find help and comfort in good
books when trouble comes, as Ellen Montgomery and Fleda did, and
Ethel, and the other girls in Miss Yonge's stories," said Eva,
earnestly, remembering how much the efforts of those natural little
heroines had helped her in her own struggles tor self-control and
the cheerful bearing of the burden which come to all.
"I don't want to be a priggish Ellen, or a moral Fleda, and I do
detest bothering about self-improvement all the time. I know I
ought, but I'd rather wait another year or two, and enjoy my
vanities in peace just a LITTLE longer." And Carrie tucked Wanda
under the sofa pillow, as if a trifle ashamed of her society, with
Eva's innocent eyes upon her own, and Alice sadly regarding her over
the rampart of wise books, which kept growing higher as the eager
girl found more and more treasures in this richly stored library.
A little silence followed, broken only by the patter of the rain
without, the crackle of the wood fire within, and the scratch of a
busy pen from a curtained recess at the end of the long room. In the
sudden hush the girls heard it and remembered that they were not
alone.
"She must have heard every word we said!" and Carrie sat up with a
dismayed face as she spoke in a whisper.
Eva laughed, but Alice shrugged her shoulders, and said tranquilly,
"I don't mind. She wouldn't expect much wisdom from school-girls."
This was cold comfort to Carrie, who was painfully conscious of
having been a particularly silly school-girl just then. So she gave
a groan and lay down again, wishing she had not expressed her
views quite so freely, and had kept Wanda for the privacy of her own
room.
The three girls were the guests of a delightful old lady, who had
know their mothers and was fond of renewing her acquaintance with
them through their daughters. She loved young people, and each
summer invited parties of them to enjoy the delights of her
beautiful country house, where she lived alone now, being the
childless widow of a somewhat celebrated man. She made it very
pleasant for her guests, leaving them free to employ a part of the
day as they liked, providing the best of company at dinner, gay
revels in the evening, and a large house full of curious and
interesting things to examine at their leisure.
The rain had spoiled a pleasant plan, and business letters had made
it necessary for Mrs. Warburton to leave the three to their own
devices after lunch. They had read quietly for several hours, and
their hostess was just finishing her last letter when fragments of
the conversation reached her ear. She listened with amusement,
unconscious that they had forgotten her presence, finding the
different views very characteristic, and easily explained by the
difference of the homes out of which the three friends came.
Alice was the only daughter of a scholarly man and a brilliant
woman; therefore her love of books and desire to cultivate her mind
was very natural, but the danger in her case would be in the neglect
of other things equally important, too varied reading, and a
superficial knowledge of many authors rather than a true
appreciation of a few of the best and greatest. Eva was one of many
children in a happy home, with a busy father, a pious mother, and
many domestic cares, as well as joys, already falling to the dutiful
girl's lot. Her instincts were sweet and unspoiled, and she only
needed to be shown where to find new and better helpers for the real
trials of life, when the childish heroines she loved could no longer
serve her in the years to come.
Carrie was one of the ambitious yet commonplace girls who wish to
shine, without knowing the difference between the glitter of a
candle which attracts moths, and the serene light of a star, or the
cheery glow of a fire round which all love to gather. Her mother's
aims were not high, and the two pretty daughters knew that she
desired good matches for them, educated them for that end, and
expected them to do their parts when the time came. The elder sister
was now at a watering-place with her mother, and Carrie hoped that a
letter would soon come telling her that Mary was settled. During her
stay with Mrs. Warburton she had learned a good deal, and was
unconsciously contrasting the life here with the frivolous one at
home, made up of public show and private sacrifice of comfort,
dignity, and peace. Here were people who dressed simply, enjoyed
conversation, kept up their accomplishments even when old, and were
so busy, lovable, and charming, that poor Carrie often felt vulgar,
ignorant, and mortified among them, in spite of their fine breeding
and kindliness. The society Mrs. Warburton drew about her was the
best, and old and young, rich and poor, wise and simple, all seemed
genuine,---glad to give or receive, enjoy and rest, and then go out
to their work refreshed by the influences of the place and the sweet
old lady who made it what it was. The girls would soon begin life
for themselves, and it was well that they had this little glimpse of
really good society before they left the shelter of home to choose
friends, pleasures, and pursuits for themselves, as all young women
do when once launched.
The sudden silence and then the whispers suggested to the listener
that she had perhaps heard something not meant for her ears; so she
presently emerged with her letters, and said, as she came smiling
toward the group about the fire,--
"How are you getting through this long, dull afternoon, my dears?
Quiet as mice till just now. What woke you up? A battle of the
books? Alice looks as if she had laid in plenty of ammunition, and
you were preparing to besiege her."
The girls laughed, and all rose, for Madam Warburton was a stately
old lady, and people involuntarily treated her with great respect,
even in this mannerless age.
"We were only talking about books," began Carrie, deeply grateful
that Wanda was safely out of sight.
"And we couldn't agree," added Eva, running to ring the bell for the
man to take the letters, for she was used to these little offices at
home, and loved to wait on Madam.
"Thanks, my love. Now let us talk a little, if you are tired of
reading, and if you like to let me share the discussion. Comparing
tastes in literature is always a pleasure, and I used to enjoy
talking over books with my girl friends more than anything else."
As she spoke, Mrs. Warburton sat down in the chair which Alice
rolled up, drew Eva to the cushion at her feet, and nodded to the
others as they settled again, with interested faces, one at the
table where the pile of chosen volumes now lay, the other erect upon
the couch where she had been practising the poses "full of languid
grace," so much affected by her favorite heroines.
"Carrie was laughing at me for liking wise books and wanting to
improve my mind. Is it foolish and a waste of time?" asked Alice,
eager to convince her friend and secure so powerful an ally.
"No, my dear, it is a very sensible desire, and I wish more girls
had it. Only don't be greedy, and read too much; cramming and
smattering is as bad as promiscuous novel-reading, or no reading at
all. Choose carefully, read intelligently, and digest thoroughly
each book, and then you make it your own," answered Mrs. Warburton,
quite in her element now, for she loved to give advice, as most old
ladies do.
"But how can we know WHAT to read if we mayn't follow our tastes?"
said Carrie, trying to be interested and "intelligent" in spite of
her fear that a "school-marmy" lecture was in store for her.
"Ask advice, and so cultivate a true and refined taste. I always
judge people's characters a good deal by the books they like, as
well as by the company they keep; so one should be careful, for this
is a pretty good test. Another is, be sure that whatever will not
bear reading aloud is not fit to read to one's self. Many young
girls ignorantly or curiously take up books quite worthless, and
really harmful, because under the fine writing and brilliant color
lurks immorality or the false sentiment which gives wrong ideas of
life and things which should be sacred. They think, perhaps, that no
one knows this taste of theirs; but they are mistaken, for it shows
itself in many ways, and betrays them. Attitudes, looks, careless
words, and a morbid or foolishly romantic view of certain things,
show plainly that the maidenly instincts are blunted, and harm done
that perhaps can never be repaired."
Mrs. Warburton kept her eyes fixed upon the tall andirons as if
gravely reproving them, which was a great relief to Carrie, whose
cheeks glowed as she stirred uneasily and took up a screen as if to
guard them from the fire. But conscience pricked her sharply, and
memory, like a traitor, recalled many a passage or scene in her
favorite books which she could not have read aloud even to that old
lady, though she enjoyed them in private. Nothing very bad, but
false and foolish, poor food for a lively fancy and young mind to
feed on, as the weariness or excitement which always followed
plainly proved, since one should feel refreshed, not cloyed, with an
intellectual feast.
Alice, with both elbows on the table, listened with wide-awake eyes,
and Eva watched the raindrops trickle clown the pane with an intent
expression, as if asking herself if she had ever done this naughty
thing.
"Then there is another fault," continued Mrs. Warburton, well
knowing that her first shot had hit its mark, and anxious to be
just. "Some book-loving lassies have a mania for trying to read
everything, and dip into works far beyond their powers, or try too
many different kinds of self-improvement at once. So they get a
muddle of useless things into their heads, instead of well-assorted
ideas and real knowledge. They must learn to wait and select; for
each age has its proper class of books, and what is Greek to us at
eighteen may be just what we need at thirty. One can get mental
dyspepsia on meat and wine as well as on ice-cream and frosted cake,
you know."
Alice smiled, and pushed away four of the eight books she had
selected, as if afraid she had been greedy, and now felt that it was
best to wait a little.
Eva looked up with some anxiety in her frank eyes as she said, "Now
it is my turn. Must I give up my dear homely books, and take to
Ruskin, Kant, or Plato?"
Mrs. Warburton laughed, as she stroked the pretty brown head at her
knee.
"Not yet, my love, perhaps never, for those are not the masters you
need, I fancy. Since you like stories about every-day people, try
some of the fine biographies of real men and women about whom you
should know something. You will find their lives full of stirring,
helpful, and lovely experiences, and in reading of these you will
get courage and hope and faith to bear your own trials as they come.
True stories suit you, and are the best, for there we get real
tragedy and comedy, and the lessons all must learn."
"Thank you! I will begin at once if you will kindly give me a list
of such as would be good for me," cried Eva, with the sweet docility
of one eager to be all that is lovable and wise in woman.
"Give us a list, and we will try to improve in the best way. You
know what we need, and love to help foolish girls, or you wouldn't
be so kind and patient with us," said Alice, going to sit beside
Carrie, hoping for much discussion of this, to her, very interesting
subject.
"I will, with pleasure; but I read few modern novels, so I may not
be a good judge there. Most of them seem very poor stuff, and I
cannot waste time even to skim them as some people do. I still like
the old-fashioned ones I read as a girl, though you would laugh at
them. Did any of you ever read 'Thaddeus of Warsaw'?"
"I have, and thought it very funny; so were 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia.'
I wanted to try Smollett and Fielding, after reading some fine
essays about them, but Papa told me I must wait," said Alice.
"Ah, my dears, in my day, Thaddeus was our hero, and we thought the
scene where he and Miss Beaufort are in the Park a most thrilling
one. Two fops ask Thaddeus where he got his boots, and he replies,
with withering dignity, 'Where I got my sword, gentlemen.' I
treasured the picture of that episode for a long time. Thaddeus
wears a hat as full of black plumes as a hearse, Hessian boots with
tassels, and leans over Mary, who languishes on the seat in a short-
waisted gown, limp scarf, poke bonnet, and large bag,--the height of
elegance then, but very funny now. Then William Wallace in 'Scottish
Chiefs.' Bless me! we cried over him as much as you do over your
'Heir of Clifton,' or whatever the boy's name is. You wouldn't get
through it, I fancy; and as for poor, dear, prosy Richardson, his
letter-writing heroines would bore you to death. Just imagine a
lover saying to a friend, 'I begged my angel to stay and sip one
dish of tea. She sipped one dish and flew.'"
"Now, I'm sure that's sillier than anything the Duchess ever wrote
with her five-o'clock teas and flirtations over plum-cake on lawns,"
cried Carrie, as they all laughed at the immortal Lovelace.
"I never read Richardson, but he couldn't be duller than Henry
James, with his everlasting stories, full of people who talk a great
deal and amount to nothing. _I_ like the older novels best, and
enjoy some of Scott's and Miss Edgeworth's better than Howells's, or
any of the modern realistic writers, with their elevators, and
paint-pots, and every-day people," said Alice, who wasted little
time on light literature.
"I'm glad to hear you say so, for I have an old-fashioned fancy that
I'd rather read about people as they were, for that is history, or
as they might and should be, for that helps us in our own efforts;
not as they are, for that we know, and are all sufficiently
commonplace ourselves, to be the better for a nobler and wider view
of life and men than any we are apt to get, so busy are we earning
daily bread, or running after fortune, honor or some other bubble.
But I mustn't lecture, or I shall bore you, and forget that I am
your hostess, whose duty it is to amuse."
As Mrs. Warburton paused, Carrie, anxious to change the subject,
said, with her eyes on a curious jewel which the old lady wore, "I
also like true stories, and you promised to tell us about that
lovely pin some day. This is just the time for it,--please do."
"With pleasure, for the little romance is quite apropos to our
present chat. It is a very simple tale, and rather sad, but it had a
great influence on my life, and this brooch is very dear to me."
As Mrs. Warburton sat silent a moment, the girls all looked with
interest at the quaint pin which clasped the soft folds of muslin
over the black silk dress which was as becoming to the still
handsome woman as the cap on her white hair and the winter roses in
her cheeks. The ornament was in the shape of a pansy; its purple
leaves were of amethyst, the yellow of topaz, and in the middle lay
a diamond drop of dew. Several letters were delicately cut on its
golden stem, and a guard pin showed how much its wearer valued it.
"My sister Lucretia was a good deal older than I, for the three boys
came between," began Mrs. Warburton, still gazing at the fire, as if
from its ashes the past rose up bright and warm again. "She was a
very lovely and superior girl, and I looked up to her with wonder as
well as adoration. Others did the same, and at eighteen she was
engaged to a charming man, who would have made his mark had he
lived. She was too young to marry then, and Frank Lyman had a fine
opening to practise his profession at the South. So they parted for
two years, and it was then that he gave her the brooch, saying to
her, as she whispered how lonely she should be without him, 'This
PENSEE is a happy, faithful THOUGHT of me. Wear it, dearest girl,
and don't pine while we are separated. Read and study, write much to
me, and remember, "They never are alone that are accompanied with
noble thoughts."'"
"Wasn't that sweet?" cried Eva, pleased with the beginning of the
tale.
"So romantic!" added Carrie, recalling the "amber amulet" one of her
pet heroes wore for years, and died kissing, after he had killed
some fifty Arabs in the desert.
"Did she read and study?" asked Alice, with a soft color in her
cheek, and eager eyes, for a budding romance was folded away in the
depths of her maidenly heart, and she liked a love story.
"I'll tell you what she did, for it was rather remarkable at that
day, when girls had little schooling, and picked up accomplishments
as they could. The first winter she read and studied at home, and
wrote much to Mr. Lyman. I have their letters now, and very fine
ones they are, though they would seem old-fashioned to you young
things. Curious love letters,--full of advice, the discussion of
books, report of progress, glad praise, modest gratitude, happy
plans. and a faithful affection that never wavered, though Lucretia
was beautiful and much admired, and the dear fellow a great favorite
among the brilliant Southern women.
"The second spring, Lucretia, anxious to waste no time, and
ambitious to surprise Lyman decided to go and study with old Dr.
Gardener at Portland. He fitted young men for college, was a friend
of our father's, and had a daughter who was a very wise and
accomplished woman. That was a very happy summer, and Lu got on so
well that she begged to stay all winter. It was a rare chance, for
there were no colleges for girls then, and very few advantages to be
had, and the dear creature burned to improve every faculty, that she
might be more worthy of her lover. She fitted herself for college
with the youths there, and did wonders; for love sharpened her wits,
and the thought of that happy meeting spurred her on to untiring
exertion. Lyman was expected in May, and the wedding was to be in
June; but, alas for the poor girl! the yellow-fever came, and he was
one of the first victims. They never met again, and nothing was left
her of all that happy time but his letters, his library, and the
pansy."
Mrs. Warburton paused to wipe a few quiet tears from her eyes, while
the girls sat in sympathetic silence.
"We thought it would kill her, that sudden change from love, hope,
and happiness to sorrow, death, and solitude. But hearts don't
break, my dears, if they know where to go for strength. Lucretia
did, and after the first shock was over found comfort in her books,
saying, with a brave, bright look, and the sweetest resignation, 'I
must go on trying to be more worthy of him, for we shall meet again
in God's good time and he shall see that I do not forget.'
"That was better than tears and lamentation, and the long years that
followed were beautiful and busy ones, full of dutiful care for us
at home after our mother died, of interest in all the good works of
her time, and a steady, quiet effort to improve every faculty of her
fine mind, till she was felt to be one of the noblest women in our
city. Her influence was wide-spread; all the intelligent people
sought her, and when she travelled she was welcome everywhere, for
cultivated persons have a free-masonry of their own, and are
recognized at once."
"Did she ever marry?" asked Carrie, feeling that no life could be
quite successful without that great event.
"Never. She felt herself a widow, and wore black to the day of her
death. Many men asked her hand, but she refused them all, and was
the sweetest 'old maid' ever seen,--cheerful and serene to the very
last, for she was ill a long time, and found her solace and stay
still in the beloved books. Even when she could no longer read them,
her memory supplied her with the mental food that kept her soul
strong while her body failed. It was wonderful to see and hear her
repeating fine lines, heroic sayings, and comforting psalms through
the weary nights when no sleep would come, making friends and
helpers of the poets, philosophers, and saints whom she knew and
loved so well. It made death beautiful, and taught me how victorious
an immortal soul can be over the ills that vex our mortal flesh.
"She died at dawn on Easter Sunday, after a quiet night, when she
had given me her little legacy of letters, books, and the one jewel
she had always worn, repeating her lover's words to comfort me. I
had read the Commendatory Prayer, and as I finished she whispered,
with a look of perfect peace, 'Shut the book, dear, I need study no
more; I have hoped and believed, now I shall know;' and so went
happily away to meet her lover after patient waiting."
The sigh of the wind was the only sound that broke the silence till
the quiet voice went on again, as if it loved to tell the story, for
the thought of soon seeing the beloved sister took the sadness from
the memory of the past.
"I also found my solace in books, for I was very lonely when she was
gone, my father being dead, the brothers married, and home desolate.
I took to study and reading as a congenial employment, feeling no
inclination to marry, and for many years was quite contented among
my books. But in trying to follow in dear Lucretia's footsteps, I
unconsciously fitted myself for the great honor and happiness of my
life, and curiously enough I owed it to a book."
Mrs. Warburton smiled as she took up a shabby little volume from the
table where Alice had laid it, and, quick to divine another romance,
Eva said, like a story-loving child, "Do tell about it! The other
was so sad."
"This begins merrily, and has a wedding in it, as young girls think
all tales should. Well, when I was about thirty-five, I was invited
to join a party of friends on a trip to Canada, that being the
favorite jaunt in my young days. I'd been studying hard for some
years, and needed rest, so I was glad to go. As a good book for an
excursion, I took this Wordsworth in my bag. It is full of fine
passages, you know, and I loved it, for it was one of the books
given to Lucretia by her lover. We had a charming time, and were on
our way to Quebec when my little adventure happened. I was in
raptures over the grand St. Lawrence as we steamed slowly from
Montreal that lovely summer day. I could not read, but sat on the
upper deck, feasting my eyes and dreaming dreams as even staid
maiden ladies will when out on a holiday. Suddenly I caught the
sound of voices in earnest discussion on the lower deck, and,
glancing down, saw several gentlemen leaning against the rail as
they talked over certain events of great public interest at that
moment. I knew that a party of distinguished persons were on
board, as my friend's husband, Dr. Tracy, knew some of them, and
pointed out Mr. Warburton as one of the rising scientific men of the
day. I remembered that my sister had met him years ago, and much
admired him both for his own gifts and because he had known Lyman.
As other people were listening, I felt no delicacy about doing the
same, for the conversation was an eloquent one, and well worth
catching. So interested did I become that I forgot the great rafts
floating by, the picturesque shores, the splendid river, and leaned
nearer and nearer that no word might be lost, till my book slid out
of my lap and fell straight down upon the head of one of the
gentlemen, giving him a smart blow, and knocking his hat overboard."
"Oh, what DID you do?" cried the girls, much amused at this
unromantic catastrophe.
Mrs. Warburton clasped her hands dramatically, as her eyes twinkled
and a pretty color came into her cheeks at the memory of that
exciting moment.
"My dears, I could have dropped with mortification! What COULD I do
but dodge and peep as I waited to see the end of this most untoward
accident? Fortunately I was alone on that side of the deck, so none
of the ladies saw my mishap and, slipping along the seat to a
distant corner, I hid my face behind a convenient newspaper, as I
watched the little flurry of fishing up the hat by a man in a boat
near by, and the merriment of the gentlemen over this assault of
William Wordsworth upon Samuel Warburton. The poor book passed from
hand to hand, and many jokes were made upon the 'fair Helen' whose
name was written on the paper cover which projected it.
"'I knew a Miss Harper once,--a lovely woman, but her name was not
Helen, and she is dead,--God bless her!' I heard Mr. Warburton say,
as he flapped his straw hat to dry it, and rubbed his head, which
fortunately was well covered with thick gray hair at that time.
"I longed to go down and tell him who I was, but I had not the
courage to face all those men. It really was MOST embarrassing; so I
waited for a more private moment to claim my book, as I knew we
should not land till night, so there was no danger of losing it.
"'This is rather unusual stuff for a woman to be reading. Some
literary lady doubtless. Better look her up, Warburton. You'll know
her by the color of her stockings when she comes down to lunch,'
said a jolly old gentlenoan, in a tone that made me 'rouge high,' as
Evelina says.
"'I shall know her by her intelligent face and conversation, if this
book belongs to a lady. It will be an honor and a pleasure to meet a
woman who enjoys Wordsworth, for in my opinion he is one of our
truest poets,' answered Mr. Warburton, putting the book in his
pocket, with a look and a tone that were most respectful and
comforting to me just then.
"I hoped he would examine the volume, for Lucretia's and Lyman's
names were on the fly leaf, and that would be a delightful
introduction for me. So I said nothing and bided my time, feeling
rather foolish when we all filed in to lunch, and I saw the other
party glancing at the ladies at the table. Mr. Warburton's eye
paused a moment as it passed from Mrs. Tracy to me, and I fear I
blushed like a girl, my dears, for Samuel had very fine eyes, and I
remembered the stout gentleman's unseemly joke about the stockings.
Mine were white as snow, for I had a neat foot, and was fond of nice
hose and well-made shoes. I am so still, as you see." Here the old
lady displayed a small foot in a black silk stocking and delicate
slipper, with the artless pride a woman feels, at any age, in one of
her best points. The girls gratified her by a murmur of admiration,
and, decorously readjusting the folds of her gown, she went on with
the most romantic episode of her quiet life.
"I retired to my state-room after lunch to compose myself, and when
I emerged, in the cool of the afternoon, my first glance showed me
that the hour had come, for there on deck was Mr. Warburton, talking
to Mrs. Tracy, with my book in his hand. I hesitated a moment, for
in spite of my age I was rather shy, and really it was not an easy
thing to apologize to a strange gentle-man for dropping books on
his head and spoiling his hat. Men think so much of their hats you
know. I was spared embarrassment, however, for he saw me and came to
me at once, saying, in the most cordial manner, as he showed the
names on the fly leaf of my Wordsworth, 'I am sure we need no other
introduction but the names of these two dear friends of ours. I am
very glad to find that Miss Helen Harper is the little girl I saw
once or twice at your father's house some years ago, and to meet her
so pleasantly again.'
"That made everything easy and delightful, and when I had apologized
and been laughingly assured that he considered it rather an honor
than otherwise to be assaulted by so great a man, we fell to talking
of old times, and soon forgot that we were strangers. He was twenty
years older than I, but a handsome man, and a most interesting and
excellent one, as we all know. He had lost a young wife long ago,
and had lived for science ever since, but it had not made him dry,
or cold, or selfish. He was very young at heart for all his wisdom,
and enjoyed that holiday like a boy out of school. So did I, and
never dreamed that anything would come of it but a pleasant
friendship founded on our love for those now dead and gone. Dear me!
how strangely things turn out in this world of ours, and how the
dropping of that book changed my life! Well, that was our
introduction, and that first long conversation was followed by many
more equally charming, during the three weeks our parties were much
together, as both were taking the same trip, and Dr. Tracy was glad
to meet his old friend.
"I need not tell you how delightful such society was to me, nor how
surprised I was when, on the last day before we parted, Mr.
Warburton, who had answered many questions of mine during these long
chats of ours, asked me a very serious one, and I found that I could
answer it as he wished. It brought me great honor as well as
happiness. I fear I was not worthy of it, but I tried to be, and
felt a tender satisfaction in thinking that I owed it to dear
Lucretia, in part at least; for my effort to imitate her made me
fitter to become a wise man's wife, and thirty years of very sweet
companionship was my reward."
As she spoke, Mrs. Warburton bowed her head before the portrait of a
venerable old man which hung above the mantel-piece.
It was a pretty, old-fashioned expression of wifely pride and
womanly tenderness in the fine old lady, who forgot her own gifts,
and felt only humility and gratitude to the man who had found in her
a comrade in intellectual pursuits, as well as a helpmeet at home
and a gentle prop for his declining years.
The girls looked up with eyes full of something softer than mere
curiosity, and felt in their young hearts how precious and honorable
such a memory must be, how true and beautiful such a marriage was,
and how sweet wisdom might become when it went hand in hand with
love.
Alice spoke first, saying, as she touched the worn cover of the
little book with a new sort of respect, "Thank you very much!
Perhaps I ought not to have taken this from the corner shelves in
your sanctum? I wanted to find the rest of the lines Mr. Thornton
quoted last night, and didn't stop to ask leave."
"You are welcome, my love, for you know how to treat books. Yes,
those in that little case are my precious relics. I keep them all,
from my childish hymn-book to my great-grandfather's brass-bound
Bible, for by and by when I sit 'Looking towards Sunset,' as dear
Lydia Maria Child calls our last days, I shall lose my interest in
other books, and take comfort in these. At the end as at the
beginning of life we are all children again, and love the songs our
mothers sung us, and find the one true Book our best teacher as we
draw near to God."
As the reverent voice paused, a ray of sunshine broke through the
parting clouds, and shone full on the serene old face turned to meet
it, with a smile that welcomed the herald of a lovely sunset.
"The rain is over; there will be just time for a run in the garden
before dinner, girls. I must go and change my cap, for literary
ladies should not neglect to look well after the ways of their
household and keep themseves tidy, no matter how old they may be."
And with a nod Mrs. Warburton left them, wondering what the effect
of the conversation would be on the minds of her young guests.
Alice went away to the garden, thinking of Lucretia and her lover,
as she gathered flowers in the sunshine. Conscientious Eva took the
Life of Mary Somerville to her room, and read diligently for half an
hour, that no time might be lost in her new course of study, Carrie
sent Wanda and her finery up the chimney in a lively blaze, and, as
she watched the book burn, decided to take her blue and gold volume
of Tennyson with her on her next trip to Nahant, in case any
eligible learned or literary man's head should offer itself as a
shining mark. Since a good marriage was the end of life, why not
follow Mrs. Warburton's example, and make a really excellent one?
When they all met at dinner-time the old lady was pleased to see a
nosegay of fresh pansies in the bosoms of her three youngest guests,
and to hear Alice whisper, with grateful eyes,--
"We wear your flower to show you that we don't mean to forget the
lesson you so kindly gave us, and to fortify ourselves with 'noble
thoughts,' as you and she did."
