Part 11 (2/2)
”An object to which you were devoted by your father in your infancy?”
”And which I have since adopted on my own intelligent conviction,” said Mary, earnestly, losing all timidity in a glow of that generous enthusiasm which sits so gracefully on a gentle woman.
There was silence in the little circle--silence with all; with one, thought was rapidly pa.s.sing down the long vista of the past, and pointing the awakened mind to the fact that elsewhere than in America was there ignorance to be enlightened and want to be relieved--that not here only did Christianity teach that man should live not unto himself alone, and that he should love his neighbor as himself.
The thoughts and feelings aroused on that evening colored the whole future destiny of Horace Danforth. Ere another day had pa.s.sed, he had confided to his host so much of his history as proved him to be an aimless and almost unconnected wanderer on the earth, with a prospect of a fortune which, unequal to the demands of a man of fas.h.i.+on in England, would give to a _worker_ in America great influence for good or for evil--as the personal property of Sir Thomas Maitland could not, as Horace Danforth was well aware, be valued at less than 50,000 dollars.
With that rapid decision which had ever marked his movements, the young Englishman determined to purchase land in the neighborhood of Mr.
Grahame, there to rear his future hope, and to devote his life to the like n.o.ble purposes. The land was purchased, the site for the house was selected and marked out--but the house was never built--for ere that had been accomplished Horace Danforth discovered that the companions.h.i.+p of a cultivated woman was essential to his views of ”Life in America,” and that Mary Grahame was exactly the embodiment of that youthful vision which he had sought in vain elsewhere; for she united the delicacy and refined grace, with the intelligent mind, the active affections and energetic will, which were necessary at once to please his fancy and satisfy his heart Mary Grahame could not consent to leave her father to a lonely home, but yet she could not deny that it would be a sad home to her if deprived of the society of him whose intelligent and varied converse and manly tenderness had lately formed the chief charm of her existence. There was only one way of reconciling these conflicting claims. Horace Danforth must live with Mr. Grahame; and so he did, having first obtained that gentleman's permission to enlarge his house, and to furnish it with some of those inventions by which art has so greatly lightened domestic occupation, and which had been made familiar to him by his life abroad.
Six months had been spent in this abode--six months of an existence of joy and love, untroubled as it could be to those who were yet dwellers upon earth--six months in which the fastidious and world-wearied man learned the secret of true peace in a life devoted to useful and benevolent objects--when a most unexpected visitor arrived in the person of Sir Edward Maitland--no, not Sir Edward. He came to announce that to this t.i.tle he had no right. That he had remained himself, and suffered his cousin to remain so long in ignorance on this point, had been the result of no want of effort to arrive at the truth, still less of any lingering love of the honors forced upon him. He had never a.s.sumed the t.i.tle, nor suffered the secret of his supposed change of circ.u.mstances to be known beyond himself and the lawyer to whom his cousin Horace had revealed it. This lawyer, it may be remembered, had lately succeeded in the care of the Maitland estate to an uncle, who had been compelled by the infirmities of advancing age to retire from business. The old man was absent from England when Horace Danforth left it, and it was not till his return that full satisfaction on the subject had been obtained, as it was judged unwise by Mr. Decker to awaken public attention by investigations which his uncle's return would probably render unnecessary. When he did return, and the subject was cautiously unfolded to him, he spent many minutes in _pis.h.i.+ng_ and _pshawing_ at the folly and impetuosity of young Baronets, who, knowing nothing of the tenure on which they hold their estates, cannot at least wait till they consult wiser people before they throw them away. The entail of nearly two centuries ago had, it seems, been set aside in little more than one, by an improvident father and son, who had in fact greatly diminished the very fine property so entailed, though most of it had been since recovered by the care of their successors. The intelligence thus conveyed to him who was now once more Sir Horace Danforth Maitland, was of mingled sweet and bitter. He could not be insensible to the joy of returning to the home of his childhood and the people among whom he had grown to manhood, yet neither could he leave, without tender regrets, that in which he had first learned to love, and to live a true, a n.o.ble, and a happy life.
When Mary was first saluted as Lady Maitland by Edward, she turned a glance of inquiry upon her husband, and then upon her father, for both were present by previous arrangement; and as she read a confirmation of the fact in their smiling faces, the color faded from hers, and after a moment's vain effort to contend against her painful emotion, she burst into tears.
”Your father has promised to spend his life with us, dearest,” said Sir Horace Maitland, as he threw his arm around her and drew her to his side.
”But this dear home,” sobbed Mary; ”this people, for whom and with whom we have lived so happily.”
”All that made this home dear, my daughter, you will take with you to another home.”
”And there, too,” interposed Sir Horace, ”my Mary will find a people to enlighten and to bless, over whom her influence will be unbounded, and to whom she will prove an angel of consolation.”
”And can you carry your American life to your English home?” she asked of her husband, smiling through her tears.
”As much of it as is independent of outward circ.u.mstances, Mary--its spirit, its aims; for they belong to a Christian life, and that I hope, by G.o.d's blessing, to live henceforth, wherever I may be.”
”And what will become of all our projected improvements here?” she inquired of her father.
”I shall not leave this place myself, Mary, till I can find some one like-minded, who will take our place and do our work. To such a man I will sell the property on such terms as he can afford, or if he cannot buy, he shall farm it for me.”
This last was the arrangement made with one whom Mr. Grahame had known in early life, and who had always been distinguished by true Christian uprightness and benevolence The terms offered by Mr. Grahame to this gentleman were such, that the conscientious and excellent agent became in a few years the proprietor and under his fostering care, all those plans for the intellectual and moral improvement of the neighborhood which had been so happily commenced, were matured and perfected.
It was nearly a year after the departure of his children before Mr.
Grahame was able to join them at Maitland Park. With his arrival Mary felt that her cup of joy was full. It had been with a trembling heart that she a.s.sumed the brilliant position to which Providence had conducted her; not that she feared the judgment of man: her fear had been lest in the midst of abundance she should forget the hand that fed her--lest amidst the fascinations of an intellectual and polished society, she should forget the thick darkness which covered so many immortal minds around her. But already she had cast aside this unworthy fear, unworthy of Him in whom is the Christian's strength.
The early dream of the Proprietor of Maitland Park is fulfilled. The softening and refining presence of woman diffuses a new charm over its social life, and while his Mary is to his tenantry what he himself predicted, an angel of consolation, she is to him a faithful co-worker in all that may advance the reign of peace and righteousness, of intelligence and joy, throughout the world.
CHAPTER VII.
A Sabbath in the country, with a Sabbath quiet in the air, and a cheerful sunlight beaming like the smile of Heaven on the earth--how beautiful it is! Donaldson Manor is only a short walk from the church whose white spire gleams up amidst the dark grove of pines on our left; at least, it is only a short walk in summer, when we can approach it through the flowery lanes which separate Col. Donaldson's fields from those of his next neighbor, Mr. Manly. Now, however, the walk is impracticable, and all the sleighs were yesterday morning in requisition, to transport the family and their visitors to their place of wors.h.i.+p. I was a little afraid that the merry music of the sleigh-bells and the rapid drive through the clear air might make our young people's blood dance too briskly--that they would be unable to preserve that sobriety of manner becoming those who are about professedly to engage in the wors.h.i.+p of Him who inhabiteth Eternity. I was gratified, however, to perceive that they all had good feeling or good taste enough to preserve, throughout their drive and the services which followed it, a quiet and reverent demeanor. It may seem strange to some, that I should characterize this as a possible effect of ”good taste;” but in my opinion, he who does not pay the tribute at least of outward respect to this holy day, is incapable not only of that high, spiritual communion which brings man near to his Creator, but of that tender sympathy which binds him to his fellow-creatures, or even of that poetic taste which would place his soul in harmony with external nature. Let it not be thought that I would have this day of blessing to the world regarded with a cynical severity, or that the quietness and the reverence of which I speak are at all akin to sadness. Were not cheerfulness, in my opinion, a part of G.o.dliness, I should say of it as some one has said of cleanliness, that it is next to G.o.dliness. Like my favorite, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
”I think we are too ready with complaint In this fair world of G.o.d's;”
and like her, I would utter to all the exhortation,
”Let us leave the shame and sin Of taking vainly, in a plaintive mood, The holy name of Grief!--holy herein, That, by the grief of One, came all our good.”
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