Part 20 (1/2)
”O! grandfather,” said Eliza, ”we saw thou wast too well a.s.sisted to need our aid.”
”Ay, and wha think ye my helper was?--naebody else but Edward Fletcher, that used to play wi' thee when ye were bairns, and that thou sae often talks aboot.”
Edward observed her blush deeply at this remark. He had at once recognized her as the lady who had yesterday crossed his path, and as he now accosted her, he felt all his prepossessions in her favour incalculably increased. Her personal appearance was very pleasing. She was rather tall. Her form was slender and graceful, and her complexion exceedingly fair. Her chestnut hair was parted on her forehead, a few stray tresses escaped from the border of her cap, and her light blue eyes sparkled with innocent cheerfulness and un.o.btrusive benevolence.
Her sister, a few years younger, was also a lovely girl, but her form and features were less fully developed.
Placed on this footing, Edward soon felt himself at home, and was delighted with the family into whose society he had fallen; but his observation was chiefly directed to the elder daughter. The more he saw, and the more he conversed with her, the more strongly did she rivet his affections. He found her possessed of a naturally strong, and highly-cultivated mind, stored with knowledge of the most useful kind; with a sweet and gentle disposition, and with a heart in which religion and virtue held supreme place. As he conversed with her, and found that her language breathed of an intellectual and religious spirit, he thought that in her were gathered all the qualities which he had so long sought for in vain. But it was not till the cool of the day, when they walked together by the lake, that he became fully aware of the change which the events of the last twenty-four hours had wrought upon him.
He was with her, whose mere glance had spoken to his inmost heart; her who was the playmate of his infancy--the only human being, except his parents, to whom he had ever looked with a higher feeling than that of esteem: he found that his first impression was increased by future acquaintance; that her features feebly shadowed forth her mental excellence, her modesty, good sense, and religious feeling;--he was with her in his native land at the close of that day, when, if the mind may be allowed to dwell upon any earthly feeling, it is upon that of honourable youthful love, the most purified of mortal pa.s.sions. They talked of the joys of former days, of the many little incidents which formed the chain of remembrance of their past pleasure, of the mutual thoughts of each other which had lingered in their bosoms; and before the expiration of Edward's sojourn the foundation was laid of a connection which might only terminate with life.
He returned to the metropolis an altered man. His gloom and abstraction had vanished, and he pursued his vocation with redoubled a.s.siduity. But still his heart was absent in ”the north countrie,” and many a journey did he take thither, no longer to admire the beauty of its scenery, but to indulge himself with the company of her, whose lot in after life was to be bound up with his own. She accepted the offer of his hand; the consent of her parents was asked and received, the requisite formalities gone through, and the necessary arrangements completed, when he asked his friend Charles to accompany him to his marriage. After some demur, on account of the pressing nature of his studies, and the difference of opinion between them as to the propriety of the step, Charles consented to go with him.
When they arrived at the house, they were of course warmly welcomed. The morrow was appointed for the wedding, and, as many relatives had been invited from distant parts, great preparations were making for their accommodation. Eliza seized the opportunity of stealing away, un.o.bserved, once more to visit her chosen walks and favourite seats, and to bid adieu to the scenes where she had spent the blissful days of youth. When she returned, she retired to her room, and having thrown off her bonnet and gloves, she pondered on the circ.u.mstances of her present situation. She was about to leave a peaceful home, tender parents, and affectionate friends; but to-morrow she would be a bride: she would gain one who was more to her than all these, who would cherish and protect her; and the tear that trickled adown her cheek, was gilded by the beam of a pure and subdued love. Then, turning her thoughts to Him who made, and had preserved her, she uttered a sincere and fervent prayer for his continued mercy and protection.
Never, perhaps, was the old meeting-house so filled as on the morning of the marriage. Besides the procession of friends and relatives from the house, the neighbours had gathered from far and near to witness the nuptial ceremony of one who was universally respected and beloved: and though there were none of those signs of outward show by which such occasions are commonly distinguished, though there was no firing of cannon, no ringing of bells, no flying of flags, yet it was not less a union of two faithful hearts, nor did their vow of ”affection until death” sound less solemnly and impressively on the ears of the hushed a.s.sembly.
O not in the halls of the n.o.ble and proud, Where fas.h.i.+on a.s.sembles her glittering crowd, Where all is in beauty and splendour array'd, Were the nuptials perform'd of the meek Quaker maid.
Nor yet in the temple those rites which she took, By the altar, the mitre-crown'd bishop, and book: Where oft in bright jewels doth stand the fair bride, To whisper those vows which through life shall abide.
The building was humble yet sacred to Him, Before whom the pomp of religion is dim; Whose presence is not to the temple confin'd, But dwells with the contrite and lowly of mind.
'Twas there, all unveil'd, save by modesty stood The Quakeress Bride, in her pure satin hood, Her charms unadorn'd by the garland or gem, Yet fair as the lily just plucked from the stem.
A tear glisten'd bright in her dark shaded eye, And her bosom half utter'd a tremulous sigh, As the hand she had pledged was confidingly given, And the low murmured accents recorded in heaven.
I've been at the bridal where wealth spread the board, Where the sparkling red wine in rich goblets was pour'd: Where the priest in his surplice from ritual read, And the solemn response was impressively said.
I've seen the fond sire, in his thin locks of gray, Give the pride of his heart to the bridegroom away; While he brush'd the big tear from his deep-furrowed cheek, And bow'd the a.s.sent which his lips might not speak.
But in all the array of the costlier scene, Nought seem'd in my eye so sincere in its mien; No language so fully the heart to resign, As the Quakeress Bride's, ”Until death I am thine!”
Edward found in wedlock all the happiness of which he was in quest; nay, in his relation of a husband and a parent, he partook of many a heartfelt joy, and many a dear and tender feeling, which, in his days of speculative bachelorhood, he was not able to antic.i.p.ate. No longer a dweller among strangers, living in the cold and cheerless atmosphere of a hired lodging, and meeting only from the other inmates of the house with that common-place regard which exists between those who have little community of feeling, he was happy in the delights of his home, in the smiles of his child, in the warm affection of his loved and lovely wife.
He no longer sought the company of others as a relief from his cares; he found an enchaining attraction to his own fireside. No longer neglectful, or indifferent to the result of his mercantile engagements, he entered upon them with increased ardour, not with the base and grovelling view of ama.s.sing unprofitable wealth, but as an honourable employment, affording him the means of supporting those who are dependent upon him, and of relieving the distresses of his fellow-creatures.
In difficulty, his wife was a constant, judicious adviser. She endeavoured to mitigate his afflictions, she attended him with unremitting care in sickness, she heightened his joys, and alleviated his sorrows. Her intellectual endowments qualified her to be his companion in study, and she trod with him the humbler walks of literature and science. Her mild and amiable disposition softened every harsh and unkind feeling of his heart, while her piety a.s.sisted him in endeavouring to perform those high and holy duties which man owes to his Maker. No longer ill at ease with himself or the world, he became a useful member of the great human family, desirous of fulfilling his allotted part, by engaging actively in schemes of philanthropy, and in the exercise of a pure, unostentatious benevolence.
So apparent, indeed, was his happiness, that it was soon rumoured even of Charles Manson, that, having become a convert to his opinions, and being convinced that domestic life is the surest source of present happiness, and a genial nursery of those qualities which fit us for future felicity, had taken more than one trip among the green hills of Westmorland, in quest of a companion for life.
My tale is simple, but so are truth, and virtue, and happiness; and to enforce this moral is the purpose of my story. I might have filled my canvas with the brilliant colours and iris tints of romance and fiction; but the eye of the spectator would have been dazzled, and he would have found nothing on which to rest his gaze: the chaste and sober hues of truth alone are healthful to the mental sight. If in this humble colouring I have so traced the picture of Edward and Eliza, as to show that marriage is one of the first of blessings, and that its joys, though removed from the superficial and fastidious, may yet be attained by the simple and sincere; if I have at all shown what are the qualities to be sought for in a virtuous wife, and how, and where they may be found; if thus my humble page shall have shed a beam of hope over the desponding and the solitary, its object will be attained.
”Domestic happiness! thou only bliss Of paradise, that has survived the fall!
Though few now taste thee unimpaired and pure, Or tasting, long enjoy thee; too infirm, Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets Unmixed with drops of bitter, which neglect Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup; Thou art the nurse of virtue; in thine arms She smiles appearing as in truth she is, Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again.
Thou art not known where pleasure is adored, That reeling G.o.ddess with the zoneless waist.
And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm Of novelty, her fickle, frail support.
For thou art meek and constant, hating change, And finding, in the calm of truth-tried love, Joys that her stormy raptures never yield.”
THE BEAUTY OF b.u.t.tERMERE;