“Well, then, I am sure it is connected with Mr. Bewcastle’s niece, and if you are the gentleman that I have heard people talk about—are you a printer?”
“Yes,” said I, “and I am determined to trust you—my name is Parr; now tell me what you have heard.”
“Why, I have heard that one cause of the young lady’s aversion to this Mr. Anglesea, is her love for a young printer by the name of Parr.”
My face was like scarlet; to hear this talked of publicly—to hear that from others which I would give kingdoms to know was truth, rendered me almost incapable of listening any further.
“Well, you need not answer,” said the kind-hearted woman, “I was pretty sure last evening, that you were the very one, and now what can I do to serve you. We both love the young lady, and should be very sorry to see her married to a man she dislikes, particularly as she loves another.”
“Oh, do not say that,” said I, “there is no reason to say that, I have not the slightest hope that she has any other sentiment for me than friendship.”
“No matter, no matter, you are right,” said she, “not to expect too much, but if you give me leave I will just let the young lady know that you are here, and then you can see her yourself; perhaps you had better write a few lines.”
I thought so too, so I went to my room and wrote as follows:—
“You will not be surprised, dearest lady, to hear that I am once more near to you, nor will I disguise the truth, that my intention is to learn from your own lips, whether my honest and faithful love can ever meet with favour. You spoke kindly in your note to me, but I had not the presumption to make any further advances until my circumstances were so much improved that I could offer you competence. The anxiety of my mind has preyed on my health, and I am now determined to know my fate at once, for this suspense paralyzes all the energies of my soul.
“I learn that you are unhappy; confide but in me, give yourself up to my devoted tender cares, and my whole life shall be spent in loving and protecting you. Be generous, and give peace to my heart by saying that you will endeavour to return my affection, at present I ask no more.
“I do not want fortune, indeed I should infinitely prefer that you had not a cent in the world; if you are not ambitious I have enough to render you happy; my income is now nearly eight hundred dollars a year, and I shall soon have it in my power to increase it to a thousand. I know that your tastes are simple, and with your right-mindedness and my unceasing cares, you will find enough for all that is desirable. Dearest lady, listen to my entreaties,and do not drive me to despair by doubts, either of my love or my ability to make you happy.”
Martha Porter took this letter from my trembling hand, and promising to be back by noon, she departed, leaving me in a state to which I cannot look back without great pain—the answer was to seal my fate.
One o’clock, two o’clock came; but Martha Porter did not return; I invented a thousand excuses—it might have been difficult to see the young lady alone—she might be ill—married—every thing pressed on my burning brain at once, and when poor Martha made her appearance at last, I rushed up to my room unable to hear the result of her mission.
A gentle knock at the door, and a gentle voice as I opened it brought some comfort—Martha’s face too was in smiles, and a letter was in her hand—she saw that I was stupified, as it were, and unable to ask questions, so she quietly laid the letter on the table, and closing the door, went softly down stairs. Martha, dear Martha Porter, have I not been as a son to thee?
When the tumult of my feelings subsided I ventured to open the precious letter; my eye ran over the lines, but the sense came not, I did not comprehend a word. I sealed myself and prayed for composure, for my reason seemed departing, and as I prayed my strength returned. I am now persuaded that it was a sense of the blissful import of the letter that so completely unmanned me, although I would not allow myself to believe it. The blessed letter was as follows:
“I am convinced of your affection for me, I have known it for a long time, and I am sure that I can trust you. I am indeed very unhappy and with no hope that my uncle will ever cease his persecutions;but for your generous letter I should this day have sent for Martha Porter to confide in her, and to get her to go to the city. Will you love me the less when I say, that it was to see you and to make my situation known to you? But do not suppose that mere personal distress induces me to throw myself on your protection. I esteem you highly, and am perfectly willing to share your fortune be it what it may. Perhaps my repugnance to marry Mr. Anglesea would not have been so great—perhaps if I had never known you, I should have found less difficulty in obeying my uncle. You perceive that I trust in you entirely.”
It was not till I had read this dear letter over and over again that I could comprehend the full measure of my felicity; then came a rush of joy, then came an exquisite calm over my troubled heart. My aspiring eye shot a quick glance over days of happiness, of thankfulness, of usefulness, till my beloved and I had finished our duties on earth, and were safely and securely and for ever seated among angels in Heaven.
I was in this tranquil yet exhausted state when the kind Martha again came to the door; she thought by this time that I might be able to hear the particulars of her visit to my angel, and confer with me as to the best mode of proceeding.
“I found her in tears,” said she, “which she hastily dried when I entered the room, and after welcoming me, she asked whether any thing particular had brought me to her. I said, yes, something very particular indeed, but that I did not like to tell her all at once. ‘Have you a letter?’ said she, and oh, Mr. Parr, how the dear young lady coloured. I told her I had, so I gave her your letter and went to the window that she might read it unobserved. She wept a great deal while reading it, and then wentimmediately to the table to answer it; and when it was finished, and sealed, she called me to her. ‘Martha,’ said she, again blushing up to the temples, ‘do you know the person who wrote this letter?’ I told her that I did. ‘And can you get this conveyed to the gentleman soon?’ I looked at her in surprise; I found she did not know how near you were to her. ‘O yes,’ said I, ‘he shall get it in less than ten minutes, for my dear young lady, he is at our house.’ This threw her in a great flutter and she smiled, I suspect for the first time in a year; for the neighbours say, and they had it from the servants, that both the old man and the young one have been almost cruel to her, because she would not consent to the marriage. Well, I left her happy enough I dare say, and now what is best to be done; for old Mr. Bewcastle will be on the look-out now, and who knows what he may do next?”
I was not slow in deciding on what was best to be done; it was now three o’clock, and I despatched Mr. Porter to a clergyman living about six miles from us, requesting his attendance the next morning at eleven o’clock. Martha went to a jeweller’s in the village, and brought home several gold rings, going with them to my dear angel, and carrying also a letter, wherein I detailed all our plans. All that a tender love, all that a devoted, honest heart could dictate, was strongly urged, to reconcile her to this precipitous step, and I had the happiness to learn that she gave herself up wholly to my wishes. I arranged every thing as well as the short time would allow, and aunt Martha was not idle; she spent the evening with the dear young lady, packing up and preparing for her departure, observing the utmost caution lest they might be suspected. I knew that her uncle had no right to detain her, for she was of age, and of course her own mistress; but we both thought it better to preventdisagreeable scenes—scenes which might delay our marriage, perhaps prevent it altogether.
The good clergyman came at the appointed time, and I went, as was previously arranged, in a carriage to meet my beloved at the head of the lane leading to the garden. She saw the carriage at a distance from her window, and by the time it stopped she was at the gate. The steps were down; I hastened to the dear creature, who trembled so much that I was compelled to lift her in the carriage; the door closed, and I pressed her to my heart—that heart which was filled with the purest esteem and affection, an affection which was to endure for ever.
I entreated her to be composed, assuring her that there was nothing to fear, that in a few moments it would be out of the power of any one to separate us. I thanked her over and over again for thus making me the happiest of men, pouring out my whole soul in words of love and truth.
In a few moments we stood before the clergyman; our vows were pronounced, which with our prayers, I trust, were registered in heaven.
Behold me now, my friends; look at the proud and happy being; see the swelling of his grateful heart. Was this the poor, despised, forsaken orphan, toiling through a thankless servitude, without a kind look or a cheering word; without pity, without a single comfort of any kind—suffering through twelve long years, and with a heart formed to love and be loved in return—could one short year have produced this blessed change?
My bride!—oh, what a tender name! how sweetly it falls on the ear of the man of tender sensibility. It is a word in common use; it is heard daily; thousands and tens of thousands repeat it; in itself it is nothing; but to the young husband, when it comes to behisbride, then does the magicof the name cast its glorious spell over him—it is then that he feels all its beauty and its loveliness.
“My bride! thou art wholly mine, beloved one,” said I; “no evil that I can avert shall ever come near thee. How is it that the few words which we have just uttered have given thee so wholly to my protection? but thou hast trusted to my strong arm and to my still stronger principles and feelings, and may I perish if I ever deceive thee.”
We spent three weeks in a retired spot among the Highlands, each day restoring tranquillity to my dear wife, and showing how infinitely happier I was than my ardent fancy had ever contemplated. We talked over our future prospects, and she drew a scheme and decked it out in such beautiful colours—all, too, within the compass of my abilities—that I no longer feared she would repine at the contrast of the humble home I could offer, and that to which she had been accustomed. We had a letter from our good friend, Martha, giving us an account of the consternation they were in at Mr. Bewcastle’s when they read the letter which I sent to them on the day of our marriage. They sent for her brother and questioned him angrily, threatening to prosecute him for allowing the ceremony to take place in his house; but he was not to be intimidated, as he told Mr. Bewcastle, for he knew that the young lady was of age. Martha proceeded to say, that as it was now exceedingly unpleasant for them to remain in their neighbourhood, they had determined to sell their little effects and go to the west. Her brother was to set out as soon as this was settled, and she was to remain at lodgings until he had selected a suitable place, his object being to purchase a small farm.
Nothing could have happened to suit our views better, for in all my dear wife’s little plans there would arise a little distrust of herself when it cameto the marketing for our little household, and now, at the very moment, came dear aunt Martha to our aid. We wrote immediately, begging her to remain with us as a friend as long as it suited her convenience—nay, to live with us always, if her good brother could do without her. I told her to join us in New York as soon as their effects were sold, and my dear wife added a postscript longer than my whole letter, telling her of our happiness, and of the little plans of our future establishment. She told her to reserve such articles as might be useful to us, such as a bed and bedding, all of which we would pay for as soon as she came to us.
It was on a beautiful September morning that we arrived in New York. As I had written to the good lady with whom I lodged, she was prepared to receive us, and I had the pleasure of finding that my beloved was satisfied with her apartments. But the moment came when I was to leave her for several hours—it would not do to linger in her dear presence any longer, and she was the first to hint that my duties must be resumed. To a solitary creature, whose existence was wrapped up in this one being, this separation, short as it might be, was most painful; I bade her farewell over and over again without moving, having a most horrible fear that something or some one would spirit her away during my absence. I was compelled at length to leave her, and I had the folly to beg her to lock herself in the chamber until my return. I smile now while I think of it, but O what tenderness steals over me when I look back to that dear one, and recollect how sweetly she soothed my apprehensions, and how careful she was not to ridicule my weakness.
I reported myself to Mr. Blagge, who expressed great pleasure at my return, complimenting me on my improved looks. “I told you,” said he, “thatyou wanted a little country air; where have you been?”
“I have been amongst the Highlands,” said I, “and I have brought back health, happiness, and a wife.”
“Ah! that was the trouble, was it?” said he; “I feared it was a love affair, but you are such a shy fellow that one cannot come at what is passing in your mind.”
“Well, my dear sir, you will not find that the case any longer,” said I, “I shall now carry my heart in my hand.”
“That is,” said Mr. Blagge, “you think you will; but excepting that your face will be beaming with pleasure as it does now, no one will be the better of what is going on within; I know you very well now; you will be more reserved than ever.”
I laughed at this, for I was in fact at that very moment grudging the time I spent in this little friendly talk, for I wanted to be thinking of my wife.
“Oh, by the way,” said Mr. Blagge, “there is a letter for you from your old master, Mr. Bartlett; it came enclosed to me, and he requested that it might be given to you immediately. Now as you did not let me know where you were going, I could not send it to you. I suspect the good gentleman wants your services: but you must not leave me now, Mr. Parr, for I am almost beside myself with business.”
I assured him that I would not; and as to Mr. Bartlett, much as I now desired an increase of income I would not live under his chilling influence, different as I was now in circumstances, for half his wealth. I actually shuddered at the thoughts of taking my wife to the scenes of my melancholy servitude.
It was curious, but the letter could not be found; high and low, in every corner, on every shelf, did we look, but in vain; so we were compelled to give up the search. I did not regret it in the least, for I had learned from one of the young men belonging to Mr. Bartlett’s office that he intended to make me an offer. Mr. Blagge had answered his letter, stating why I did not write myself, and as this thing did not concern me any further I dismissed the subject from my mind, not even thinking it worth mentioning when I returned to my wife.
Every evening, the moment the sun went down, I returned to that dear, solitary one, and then after taking our supper we would wander about from place to place, caring very little in what direction we strayed. We lived for ourselves, and most deeply and gratefully did we enjoy the felicity of being together unnoticed and unknown. We frequently passed a small, one-storied brick building; it was untenanted, and had been shut up for two years, not happening to suit any one. My wife thought, if it were repaired a little, it might answer for a dwelling house, for that a stack of chimneys could soon be run up. On inquiry I found that it had been built for lawyers’ offices during the last yellow fever that had appeared in the city, and that it had since that been only used occasionally for a school-house.
There were four very small rooms, only ten feet square, with a narrow hall in the centre, and neither cellar nor garret; but the house stood among trees and back from the street, so that this was a charm to counterbalance many inconveniences. I saw the owner of it, and he agreed to put it in repair provided I took it on a lease for four years; this I gladly did; the rent was to be eighty dollars a year, and cheap enough we thought it, as there was a good well of water directly in front of thehouse. Aunt Martha came in the precise moment that she was wanted, and now whilst the house was being repaired there came the pleasant task of going from shop to shop to purchase the tiny furniture that was to suit these tiny rooms. The front one of the left hand rooms was to be used as a bed room for aunt Martha, and the one behind it as a kitchen; of the other two the front was to be the parlour, and the back one our bed room. No one can tell the pleasure I had in hearing and seeing all that was going on—I had read of going to coronations and to brilliant spectacles, but I hastened home every evening with a far more exquisite pleasure to hold one end of a breadth of carpeting whilst my dear wife cut it off, or listen to her little rambles with aunt Martha, or looked at the neat candlesticks and the little set of china, all so cheap and yet so very simple and pretty.
By the first of October the house was finished and the smell of the new paint entirely gone; every thing, therefore, was ready, and I had begged a holiday that I might assist in the grand move. The sun set gloriously as I walked out of the office, and it seemed to my joyous spirit that it smiled graciously as I poured forth my grateful feelings in song. Only think of the poor, broken down, neglected apprentice, caroling along the street “home, sweet home,” and having a sweet home to go to in the bargain. Fast as I walked and quickly as I reached our lodgings, I did not come too soon for my dear wife, for she was expecting me at the door with hat and shawl, all equipped for a walk.
“What!” said I, “dearest, a walk before tea? or is it to be a little shopping expedition? here is my arm; and which way now, my life? not far, for I think you look fatigued.”
“Why, to tell the truth, Patrick, dear, I am a little tired, for I have worked hard to-day that Imay enjoy your holiday to-morrow. I am only going to the house; aunt Martha is there waiting for us. And you can be at home to-morrow, can you? oh, what a day of pleasure it will be! such a day as to-morrow comes but once in a married life, dear husband.”
To me every day was one of happiness, and with her near me, even the bustle of moving was a pleasant thing to anticipate; but in the abstract, apart from the thought of my wife, nothing could be more irksome than the hurry of change. It was not far to our new habitation, and in looking up there stood dear aunt Martha at the door, bending forward to look for us.
“Walk in, walk in,” said she; “walk in your own house, good folks; come and see if every thing is to your liking, Mr. Parr,” and open went all the doors of the four tiny rooms.
It was, indeed, as my darling said, a sight and a feeling that came but once in the married life—the first moment that the young husband and his bride put their feet on the threshold of their own house. I have changed that humble dwelling for the princely one that I now inhabit, but that same gentle touch came no more. My wife had an instinctive feeling that I should be annoyed by the moving and lifting and hurry of the scene, and she and Martha agreed to spare me; so there I stood, and it appeared to me that some good fairy had been at work, so neatly and beautifully every thing was arranged. In the middle of the little parlour stood the tea table, and after I had gone through the rooms and praised every thing over and over again, we sat down with grateful hearts to our own frugal meal.
Every day my spirit rose higher; and my thoughts grew loftier; I did not envy the greatest man in existence, so many and so varied were myblessings. Mr. Blagge placed the most unlimited confidence in me; and, as his profits increased through my exertions, he generously allowed me to close my labours an hour earlier every day. This was a great favour; and as the winter set in he moved the printing-office a great deal higher up, so that I had the additional comfort of dining at home. Our kind friend, aunt Martha, would not allow us to hire a servant, and my wife took a share in the household duties, working for me, keeping my drawers in order, and arranging every thing in the way she knew I liked. I could not but indulge her in it, seeing that it gave her such pleasure.
We made no acquaintances; we wanted none; there seemed scarcely time enough for ourselves; and why should we be troubled with strangers? Martha, seeing the innocent life we led, became sincerely attached to us; promising never to leave us; and thus passed the first winter of my married life. We were all happy. My dear wife was as cheerful as a bird; and, at times, when I was particularly weary—too weary to read, or even to listen to her reading—she would put away her little work-basket, set the candle in the farthest corner, and draw her chair close to mine, charming away my fatigue with her clear soft voice and gentle endearments. She had bright visions of the future; and they always ended as she knew I wished, in our purchasing the little estate on which I was born. How delightful it is to listen to the little nothings of a sensible woman; one that loves us too.
This was the way that heaven rewarded me for all that I had endured; and the reward came to me in such a shape too—a wife! I spoke of the rapturous feelings of a young husband, at the mention of his bride, but they are nothing in comparison tothose he has when she is called his wife—when the quiet evenings of winter bring him for ever near her; when he listens to her innocent conversation, full of love, and care, and thoughtfulness—all for him. I often wondered whether all men loved their wives as I loved mine. There was no way in which I could judge, for I had never been even in the same room with a husband and wife; but I had read of disagreements, and hatreds, and separations. It had given me great uneasiness before my marriage; but I always took the side of the wife, wondering why the man wanted to have his own way, in the merest trifles too. As to me, every thing my wife or Martha did, seemed the very best thing to be done; I was sure that their taste and judgment were more to be depended upon than mine; particularly as it related to household economy.
And then, was I not to be envied when, with the dear creature’s arm linked in mine, we walked out either for exercise or business? A man never feels his power and responsibility so strongly as when a lovely woman leans on him for support, and relies on his courage and his ability to protect her. What a delightful sensation comes over a man when he knows that there is one being in the world who trusts to him entirely, and looks up to him as the first and the best—none but a husband can have this feeling—he enjoys it as long as life continues; it is a pleasure of which he never wearies.
May came, with all its pleasantness and its flowers, and our love for one another made every thing appear in the gayest and brightest colours. Nothing could be more inconvenient than our house; nothing could be more irksome than my occupation—the dullest of all dull employment, correcting proofs—yet it was for me that my wife overlooked the privations and difficulties she had to encounter from a limited income and a house of such diminutivesize—and it was for her that I continued to drudge on, monotonously, without a thought of change. My wife was far more prudent and economical than I was; that is, in every thing that related to herself. I could not resist the pleasure of buying her all the delicate fruits and early vegetables of the season; and I had great pleasure in taking all sorts of little pretty table ornaments and delicate perfumes, and prints, and books; in short, I scarcely went home without something in my hand.
“My dear husband,” said she one evening, when I came home with a present as usual, “have you found Aladdin’s lamp, that you are so lavish of your money? You will have to put a rein on your generous nature, for instead of laying up two hundred dollars this year, as we intended, there will be nothing left. Come, dearest, and look over this little statement with me, and then say whether we should not retrench? The worst of it, to me, dearest, is the knowledge that the two hundred dollars have been expended for my gratification: you have hardly allowed yourself any thing; I must put a stop to your dear generous spirit; aunt Martha and I have talked quite seriously about it.”
I promised to be more prudent for the future; and if there ever was any thing trying to my temper it was the inability to purchase such little articles of luxury as I thought my wife ought to have. Mr. Blagge, however, true to his promise, raised my salary to a thousand dollars; and with this welcome news I could not refrain from buying a pretty little set of chess men; for my wife had a great desire to teach me to play the game; and so, after telling her of the addition to our income, I gave her the chess men and board. I thought to make it the more welcome by hinting to her that it was for myself. The dear creature smiled andshook her head. “Ah, my husband,” said she, “you think you have found out a new way of indulging me; but I am not to be taken in. Do you think I don’t know that you have no particular fancy for games of any sort; and that the chess men are to give me pleasure? But I shall punish you by sitting down to the game this evening in good earnest; you will soon tire of it, however.”
In this way our evenings passed; part of them in playing at chess, in which I soon became interested, as I had such a pleasant teacher; and in part, in studying the German language. We had a German in the office, who taught me the pronunciation, and what he taught me in the morning I transferred to my wife in the evening; and it was really wonderful to find how quickly she conquered all the difficulties. But if it was wonderful that she acquired this language in so short a time, I could not but feel surprised that nothing was neglected; there seemed to be time for every thing; and she was always ready for a walk; always in time, and always neatly dressed. What a happy fellow I was, to have no care of my wardrobe; I, that never knew what it was to have a button to my collar or wristbands.
I thought that no event could make her dearer to me than she now was; but there did come the time when I found that, ardently as I loved her, my tenderness and my cares were still more strongly excited; but they came coupled with such apprehensions that I watched over her with mingled emotions of joy and fear. It was now that I saw the necessity of prudence and economy; and I could not but hope that some means might be found by which my salary would be increased; for I desired, of all things, to place my dear wife in a more comfortable house. Mr. Blagge had, I knew, done his very best in allowing me two hundred dollars ayear more, so I could not expect any thing from him; but I thought there might be ways to make money independently of the office. Perhaps I might write for the magazines; or who knows whether I might not write a saleable book. It was in vain that my wife discouraged me. It was in vain that she assured me the want of a cellar was nothing, as the grocer, at the corner, supplied her with every thing from day to day; and that the little cabin rooms were quite large enough; and that larger ones would but increase her labours.
I mentioned that Mr. Bartlett had written to me under cover to Mr. Blagge, but as the letter had been mislaid, I knew nothing of the contents. It struck me that he had made me an offer of partnership; and what I then shuddered at, seemed not so very bad a thing now that I had such an endearing prospect before me. I mentioned it to my wife, and she was surprised that I had not written to Mr. Bartlett; but I told her, that as Mr. Blagge had said to him, that he would give me the letter as soon as I returned from the country, I thought there was no use in saying any thing further, for I did not intend to avail myself of any offer he might make.
“O, but, Patrick, my love,” said she, “the letter might relate to your friends in Scotland; nay, I dare to say it did, for Mr. Bartlett, cold and heartless as he is, has some sense of honour and honesty. He never would have made you an offer, however advantageous, whilst you were employed by Mr. Blagge; all that you tell me of him proves this. Do you not think, dearest, that you had better write to him?”
This shows how much more acute a woman’s intellect is than ours; I never so much as dreamed of my old uncle Parr in Scotland; and now it almost amounted to conviction, that the letter relatedto him. I questioned Mr. Blagge respecting the letter, and he said, that as far as his recollection served, it appeared to be a double one, and he was quite surprised to find that I had not written. There was no doubt on his mind that the letter was still amongst the papers, and he proposed another search, particularly as there were two or three boxes that had not been opened since the office was removed, and he advised me to look there. We opened the boxes and assorted the papers; they were principally old manuscripts and the correspondence relating to them; but my letter did not appear. Just as we had gone through the last box, one of the clerks lifted up an old black morocco portfolio, which lay at the bottom, and as he slapped off the dust a letter flew out and fell near Mr. Blagge. The moment he saw the letter the whole thing flashed across his mind. That one reminded him of mine, and he now recollected that he had put it along with several others in this very letter book. Sure enough, there it was, unsealed, just as it came from the postman; but as it was quite dark, I hurried home, lest my wife should feel uneasy at my protracted stay: in truth, I met her at the door with her hat on, intending to walk down to the office, with Martha, to see what had detained me.
Martha brought the candle, and then a little doubt arose as to who should read the letter first; but Martha decided in my wife’s favour. “She can bear good or bad news better than you, Mr. Parr,” said the good woman, “and if the news is good, why, she will break it to you by degrees, and you will not be set all on a tremble; and if it is bad news, such as the loss of your money in the Savings Bank, or the mortgage”—Heavens, I had never thought of this—“why she will teach you to bear it.” My darling, therefore, opened the nowdreaded letter; but you may judge of her astonishment when she read as follows—
“Sir—Yesterday I received by the packet ship Monongahela, the following letter, enclosed in one directed to me; mine, I presume, was a copy of yours; by it you perceive that your uncle is dead, and that you are the sole heir to his estate, provided you go to Glasgow and identify yourself before the month of October—next October year. I had intended to write to you on my own account, offering you a third partnership in our concern, but I presume this piece of good fortune will make it unnecessary for you to toil at your profession.”
I sat watching my wife’s countenance, as did our good Martha likewise, and we saw her change colour, first pale and then red; but she did not speak until the letter was folded and in her bosom. “Patrick, love,” said she, “what month is this?” I told her it was July—the first of July. “Oh my,” said she, “then we have no time—it will all be lost—July, August, September; only three months—but come, here is the tea; let us drink it first, otherwise some people may forget to eat—aunt Martha, I know you will not get a wink of sleep to-night; I shall sleep as sound as a top, as I always do—and you, dearest, you will have golden dreams; oh, what a fine house you will build at Camperdown; and how snugly uncle Porter will be ensconced in the little, neat, comfortable stone house; and dear aunt Martha, what a glorious south room you are to have on the first floor, along with us; and oh, what planning and what perplexities we shall be in for the next two years. Why, Mr. Bartlett has made a most princely offer.”
And thus the dear creature went on, leading me to believe that the good news related to him; but aunt Martha knew better. So, when tea was over, and she was seated on my knee, I heard the wholetruth. I pressed her to my bosom in an ecstasy, at the thought of placing her in affluence; but too soon came the reflection, that the ocean must be crossed before this desirable event could take place. Sleep, dream, did she say? not I; no sleep nor dreams for me; but she, the dear creature, with a mind so justly balanced, and thinking nothing an evil that was to save me from anxiety; she slept like a top, as she said she would. It was aunt Martha that had the dreams all to herself.
Mr. Blagge expressed both joy and sorrow; joy at my good fortune, and sorrow at parting with me. He, too, he said, intended to offer me better terms the next year; perhaps an equal partnership; so that if the event did not equal our expectations I had two means of advancement, and I need not say that my choice would have fallen upon Mr. Blagge. He never, for a moment, thought there could be a doubt on my mind as to the propriety of going to Scotland; and I absolutely hated him for the ease with which he discussed the subject; just as if there were to be no fears, no struggles. When I went home, there was my dear wife, looking calm, and receiving me cheerfully, but with an inquiring eye; and there sat aunt Martha, ready for a thousand questions, and with a thousand observations.
Long and painfully did the subject occupy me; I said nothing, but my dear wife left off her interesting needlework and employed herself in preparing for the voyage. As I had not made up my mind whether I would go at all, the point of her going with me had not been discussed, and I sat with a stupid wonder looking at certain dresses which she and Martha were making, and at certain convenient caps that were to suit both the cabin and deck. They talked and they chatted on, and congratulated themselves that the smallness of the ship’s cabin would not be an inconvenience, seeingthat they had been so long accustomed to our small rooms.
I still went daily to the office as if nothing had occurred, but my mind was in a terrible state. To go, and leave my wife to the mercy of strangers, and at such an interesting time too, was very painful; to take her with me was to expose her to certain danger, for if there were no storms, no shipwrecks, yet sea-sickness might prove fatal. When I made up my mind to take her I reproached myself as being the most selfish of mortals, and when I finally concluded to leave her behind, her death knell rung in my ears. Most sincerely did I wish that the hated letter had never been found. It became at length the subject of discussion, that is, with me. My opinion was asked on several points, and answers were wrung from me; but there seemed one thing certain in my wife’s mind, that although I might not decide on her going with me, yet I could not but choose to go. She never questioned it.
I fell to reading the biography of voyagers to see how the females of their party bore the perils of the sea, and then I made many inquiries as to their perils on shore, even with the tenderness of a husband to sustain them. Recollect, my friends, that this beloved being was my only tie on earth, and that without her, existence would be a burden. I was not going rashly to decide on her fate and mine; it was therefore but consistent with the love I bore her to weigh well the difficulties on either side. She, too, had thought of every thing, and her mind was made up at once—and that was to go with me. “I have but this to say, dearest husband,” said she at the beginning, and her mind underwent no change, “if we are permitted to go safely, we shall be a comfort to one another throughout the voyage and on shore; but if otherwise—ifthe sea is to be our grave, then we shall perish together; I could not survive your loss, and you, dearest”—
I never could let her proceed further; as to live without her seemed a thing impossible. At such times I seemed to yield assent, and began to make preparations; but having read an account of the illness and death of a lady on her passage across the Atlantic, I determined at once, if the going was insisted upon, that I would let her remain behind. Then again, if I saw in the papers the death of a young mother, I repented of my former decision; and in this miserable state of mind I was during the whole month of July. August still found me irresolute; but I had only two weeks left to waver, for there would then be but little time left to come within the limits of the bequest. There were but six weeks from that time to the first of October; it therefore became necessary to bring my mind to the painful decision of leaving my wife behind. I wrote to Mr. Porter, entreating him to come immediately, and remain in the house during my absence. I saw an eminent physician, and interested him in such a way that I was sure he would never let a day pass without paying her a visit, whether she were indisposed or not; and I took every precaution, in short, that love and prudence could dictate to make her comfortable and happy.
How she bore with all this nervous, morbid irritability, I cannot tell; but never by word or look did she betray any impatience; her sole object was to sooth me and make light of her own sufferings. She promised to take great care of her health, and Martha exhausted words in her desire to set my mind at rest. Mr. Porter declared she should never be out of his thoughts, and Mr. Blagge promised to take his wife and daughter toher the day after I should sail. But all this was nothing, absolutely nothing, in my estimation, when I considered how much more than all this I could do for her were I near her myself.
The time came at last; Mr. Blagge had taken my passage, and my trunk had gone to the ship. I had been to get some necessary papers of the British consul, and was hastening home—that home where I had enjoyed such exquisite happiness—like a fool I was leaving it—for what?—for an uncertain good—and when I returned, if Providence permitted me to return, might I not find that dear and cherished spot desolate! Whilst I was thus tormenting myself with these fearful fancies, the funeral of a lady passed me; she had been married at the same time with us, and she had died of inflammation of the lungs. I inquired of a person who was acquainted with her, and I found that she had taken cold from sitting in the draft of two doors, and, he added, the room was very small, so that there was no avoiding the exposure—the very situation in which I had left my dear wife only an hour before!
Of course I hastened home with greater speed and opened the door of the little parlour with the dismal feelings that I came too late. But she had removed to the window, and the sash was down. Oh, how I blessed her for this act of prudence. She saw my nervous apprehension and asked what had thus disturbed me, and finding my fears groundless I was ashamed to tell her the cause. She looked earnestly at me and said, “My dear husband, you are wearing yourself out with fears and anxieties; I am well, and with the blessing of Providence I hope so to remain; nay, I am strong enough to encounter the voyage, much more able to bear it than you are with your excited feelings. There are our trunks, Martha’s and mine, readypacked, and we are only hoping and waiting for your assent to go with you; so, dearest, knowing how unhappy you will be to leave me behind, even let me go. I shall not urge you any further, my love, but think of it this evening, and we shall have time in the morning to get ready what little remains to be done. Now throw all care from your mind and let us sit down cheerfully to our supper; depend upon it we shall be sitting here together this day four months laughing and talking over our present anxieties.”
Laugh, indeed, thought I; there never can come a time when I shall laugh at what I am now feeling so keenly. But I cast all selfishness aside, and determined to go alone as the lesser evil of the two, going over and over again the whole argument, and more fully convinced that although it was most painful to leave her, yet it would be cruel and presumptuous to make her encounter the risks of a sea voyage. I had but little sleep this last night; but my dear wife, after vainly endeavouring to prevail on me to court repose, fell asleep like an infant and slept soundly till morning. She suffered as acutely as I did, but her nervous temperament was of a less irritable cast; her sensibilities were more equally balanced. A knowledge of this always gave me comfort.
The dreaded morning came; all was hurry and bustle, and of course but little time for conversation. The trunks still stood in the room; mine had gone the day before, and I cast a look at them, and then on my wife, who, pale as death, was looking at the carriage that was to convey me to the boat. She saw my look and said, “I may go then, dear husband, you consent then that we shall go?” But I shut my eyes, as if to shut out the temptation, and shook my head. “Put the trunks out of the room, Mr. Porter,” said I, “for I shall be tormentedwith the desire to take her with me, and that I ought not to do; I must not waver any more, or I shall be unable to go at all.” The trunks were removed, and my dear wife seated herself and sighed. “But why do not you and Martha accompany me to the wharf?” said I—“perhaps we shall feel the parting less. There will be no time for any thing there but getting on board. Do you think, Martha, that she can bear it?”
“Oh yes, I dare say she can,” said Martha, “and I am sure it will do her good, and we can keep the carriage for an hour or so and take a little ride, for she has sat too much at her needle lately. Brother, do you get another carriage for us, and let them go together; Mr. Parr will feel the better for having her all to himself. We can return with her, you know.”
I was thankful for being a few minutes longer with my beloved, and I hoped that we might remain at the wharf an hour at least, as it was now only nine o’clock. We thought it best to go, however, as the wind was fair, and the captain might be anxious to sail; so we entered the carriage, leaving Martha to come with her brother. We drove slowly to the wharf, and there the first person we saw was Mr. Blagge, who had kindly come to see me off. My dear wife drew back in the carriage and begged that he might not see her, so I went to him and thanked him for this proof of his friendship, and again entreated him to remember how essential it was to my peace of mind that he should do all in his power to lessen my wife’s anxieties—if I could not ask a favour for myself, I would for this dear one.
Mr. Porter came to us and said that they had better return, as the horses were restless and Mrs. Parr might get frightened. Mr. Blagge thought so too, and blamed me for bringing her down to ascene of so much confusion; so I hastily snatched one kiss, pressed her dear hand as she held it out to me after the door was closed, and she and Martha disappeared from my sight.
What Mr. Blagge said to me I don’t know, but I now and then heard the sounds of new publications, and letters, and manuscripts, but I could only dwell on the grief that my poor wife was now in; it was too much to expect I could listen to him on such uninteresting subjects; why did he not talk of what he knew was the only feeling of my mind?—and to hold me by the arm too, lest I should get away. The steamboat, however, called all hands aboard, and passengers with all their friends jumped on board to go to the ship, which lay in the stream. I made a move to go also, but the captain, coming up at the instant, told me he would give me ten minutes longer, as he had to see a man on business, and that I could go with him in the ship’s boat which lay there ready for him. The steamboat left the wharf, and Mr. Blagge talked on; I never knew him so loquacious before, and he kept jerking me around as if the nervousness under which I was labouring had imparted itself to his arm.
At length the captain returned, and Mr. Blagge, shaking hands with me, promised to look most carefully—and, he added with strong emphasis—most affectionately, after all the concerns I left behind. The oars cut the water, and as soon as we were on board the captain gave orders for sailing. The steamboat was just departing, and on turning my eye towards it I saw poor Mr. Porter. I called out to him that I was safely on board, most thankful that he had seen me, for what would have been the agony of my dear wife if he had returned and reported that the vessel had sailed without me. He entered the boat, thought I, with the intention of seeing me safely to the ship; his consternationmust have been great when I was not to be found amongst the passengers. He waved his hat, however, on seeing me as I bent over the side of the vessel, and pressing his hand to his heart he pointed towards the shore—it told me that he intended to fulfil his promise of guarding well the sacred trust I had confided to him.
Through the narrows and out in the broad ocean we soon were; but I stood immovable with my eyes turned to that dear shore where all my hopes were centred. I could not realize it—what! voluntarily to leave the only creature on earth to whom I was attached?—she, too, who had chosen me when poor and unknown. Could I not be content with the independence that my own honest labour procured, but must I show how much more I valued money than the pains to us both of such a bitter separation—a separation that might be for ever! Before the pilot left us I had serious thoughts of returning with him; but the captain was at my elbow, and assuming a kind of authority; I was forced to see him depart without me. The wind blew fresh, and before night there was a heavy gale; yet I cared not, my feelings were too strong even for that to subdue. I could not go down to dinner, nor was I disposed to sit with strangers at the supper table; but the captain showed so much good natured solicitude that I yielded and took my seat beside him.
I do not recollect now how many of the passengers were at supper, but they were not all there, for some were already seasick and in their berths. I only remember that opposite to me sat a young lady who looked at me very frequently, and who could scarcely keep from laughing, although the gentleman next her reprimanded her once or twice for her ill breeding. I could not imagine what had caused her mirth, unless it were the melancholyexpression of my countenance. There was not much time, however, to speculate on any thing, for the gale increased and every body on board became anxious and watchful. The captain advised me to go to bed, but I chose rather to remain on deck, hoping that if there were any danger I might be of some use. Just as I was leaving the cabin I heard the laughing lady say to her companion, “I am glad he is going on deck, for I can hardly stand it.”
I had been so unaccustomed to the society of women, and my dear wife and the gentle Martha, in all my various moods of gaiety and melancholy, had always shown so much tenderness and sympathy for me, that the mirth of this young lady excited something like uneasiness in my mind, and I could not help referring to it in the midst of the storm that was raging. Perhaps it was of service to me; but I could not help thinking how indignant my wife would be had she been witness to it; for, as she respected me herself, she could not but suppose that I would be entitled to the same respect from others.
Having never been on the ocean before, the violence of the gale was truly appalling, though the captain assured me there was no danger; it continued unabated for two days and nights, and at every meal, there set the laughing lady. I asked who the young lady was, that seemed so amused when I went to the table. The captain laughed heartily and then begged my pardon. “Indeed, Mr. Parr,” said he, “you must cheer up; why man, we want mirth and not melancholy on shipboard. I cannot find out why you look so very unhappy, for Mr. Blagge tells me that you have a lovely wife, and are in expectation of getting a large fortune. Why you did not bring your lady along with you is more than I can tell; this gale is nothing, the ship is a fast sailer and thevoyage will be a short and a pleasant one, no doubt, so you might have enjoyed her society in comfort, if it is the leaving her behind that makes you look so miserable. I am sure I do not wonder that the young lady is amused; why I could hardly keep my own countenance at the breakfast table this morning, you looked so disturbed, and cast such suspicious glances at the harmless young thing who was looking at you.”
But this did not mend the matter, for I was not to become gay merely because others were amused by the expression of sadness in my countenance. That I had willingly parted from my wife was a reality that could not be forgotten, and I told the captain that to avoid giving the tittering lady any further food for her mirth, I should take my seat on the same side of the table with her. He consented that I should, and the dinner passed off very well, for my opposite neighbour was a decrepit old woman whose head was bent low, and who seemed to suffer too much from sickness to care who looked sad or merry.
The gale abated, and by sundown it had died away to a pleasant breeze; the full moon rose beautifully out of the ocean, and my whole soul was filled with wonder and admiration. If my wife had been at my side, what a happiness to enjoy it with her; I sighed heavily, and the good natured captain broke in upon my meditations. “I am more and more sorry Mr. Parr,” said he, “that you did not bring your wife with you; if I had only known how hard you were going to take it, I should have brought her along by main force. You will destroy yourself if you continue thus to grieve, and yet I cannot blame you much neither, for I had pretty nearly the same kind of feelings when I left my wife for the first time. It was different with me, however, I was only mate then, and had not thepower to bring her with me, but I warrant you I did so as soon as I became captain.”
“Why, is your wife on board now,” said I, frightened out of my senses lest the laughing lady might be her. “I have not seen her, have I.”
“No, she is quite indisposed,” said he; “in fact she goes this voyage to see whether it may not cure her eyes; she has to wear goggles all the time as the light is so painful; if it were not for that she would be a very pretty woman; one of these evenings I will get her to take them off, and you must come down and see her. Do you play at chess? You do hey; well, I am glad of it, for she plays a good game, and it will keep you both to while away the time, particularly since my wife’s eyes won’t allow her to sew. She has beautiful hair, too, though I say it,” continued the warm-hearted captain, and I liked him all the better for talking so tenderly of his wife. “That old lady that sits opposite to you now, almost bent double, as you see, is a friend of my wife’s, and we are taking her on a visit. Poor old thing she is so near-sighted, that every thing must go close to her eyes, or her eyes be sent close to the object, otherwise she could not see to cut her food even. Excuse me, Mr. Parr, is your wife handsome?”
“I think she is,” said I, “to me she appears beautiful, and I wish she was here to enjoy this delicious evening with me.”
“Why yes, as I said, it would be better to have her here. My wife has a few freckles on her face—is your wife freckled?”
“Freckled!” said I indignantly, “no, why do you ask that question; she has a remarkably clear skin.”
“Oh, I meant no offence; what colour are her eyes? my wife has blue eyes; people say they are handsome, and I think so too.”
Would any one believe me when I say, that to this moment, I could not tell the colour of her eyes. To me they always beamed with intelligence and love; and as to whether they were blue or grey, I never thought. But the persevering captain thinking that it gave me great pleasure in talking of her, went on in this way to question me about her dear face until I got as miserable as possible. “Well, well,” said he, moving off, “you can’t bear more to-night, so I’ll go below and talk to the ladies a little, and tell my wife the good news that you can play chess.”
Good news, indeed, to sit opposite to his goggle-eyed wife, and play at chess, when she that taught me was sitting solitary at home. I thought I should go mad, if I did not try and invent some excuse; for the idea was intolerable, and yet I pitied the poor woman too.
The next morning the captain’s wife was at table; she had taken her seat before I went down, so that I could not see her distinctly, although she was on the opposite side. She wore green spectacles and plenty of curls, which were certainly of a beautiful colour; but the cap she wore hid the back hair entirely; so I thought, after all, it was only a little brag of the captain, for these curls might be artificial. As to the freckles, there they were, sure enough; ugly little yellow things. She did well, I thought, to let the curls cover her face as much as possible, for these freckles were well worth hiding. And then, such great clumsy hands too; and to make them look still larger by wearing gloves. I was at last quite ashamed of myself, for I really felt spiteful towards this poor lady; more particularly as the tittering one opposite to her was now fairly laughing out; and all the rest, but the captain’s wife and the poor old lady opposite to me,laughed along with her. I looked at the captain, and he sat with his handkerchief to his face.
I made a short meal of it; and I determined if this foolery was continued at dinner, that I would eat in the steerage, any where, rather than encounter such incivilities; for I, somehow or other, associated it all with myself; but to my great relief, neither the captain’s wife nor the young lady were at table, so that I ate my dinner without annoyance. But there was no getting rid of the captain’s desire to amuse his poor wife with a game of chess. He set aside every excuse; and at length, fairly told me that he saw through my artifice; but that he knew better than I did, how to make the voyage endurable; and that the sooner I broke through my reserve and shyness the better able I should be to bear up against the separation with my wife.
There were but three gentlemen passengers, so that, in all, there were, besides myself and the captain’s wife, only the laughing lady and the one who sat opposite to me. There were, to be sure, a number in the steerage; but I had not taken any notice of them, nor, in fact, had I exchanged a word with the gentlemen in the cabin. I was, therefore, very much surprised when they all three left the table and went with me on deck, talking with me as familiarly as if I had been the most communicative person in the world. They were in high glee, and said a number of pleasant things, all of which I might have enjoyed at any other moment; but the chess and the captain’s wife crowded out all social feelings; and when the captain came for me, and said the chess board was arranged, and his wife waiting, I went down provoked enough.—Only to think of being placed in such a dilemma—to sit with the captain’s wife, dawdling over the chess men, with a mind so far away. My only hopewas, that she would beat me so easily that she would not ask me to play with her again.
When I got in the cabin, the first person I saw was the old lady, who was pulling and jerking at her black hood, and laughing heartily. Surely, thought I, that laugh is familiar to me; but she could not untie the string of her hood, so I offered to help her. Thereat she laughed louder and pushed me away. I then turned to the captain’s wife, and she seemed beside herself too. I never heard of such a cracked set of people in my life; they all seemed bursting with fun. She threw, first one, and then the other, ugly glove, across the floor; and then away went the spectacles, away went the cap, and away went the curls, and I stood amazed and wondering what was coming next, when a voice that sprung fresh and warm to my heart, said, “Patrick, my dear Patrick, do you know me now?” I had no words; not a syllable could my overjoyed heart allow me to utter, as my dear wife lay in my fond arms.
And there she was, and Martha too. The captain and his wife, who was the laughing lady, all were in the plot; and I was for a long time in such agitated bliss that I did not want to hear how it had all happened; but it was a surprise—a most joyful surprise.
“And so, Patrick, dearest,” said she, “you never knew I had freckles, just look at them.” “No, no,” said I, kissing the dear cheek that she held towards me, “nor do I see them now; nor could I tell the colour of these eyes; all I was ever sensible to is their tender expression. And here is dear Martha too; how completely were you both disguised. By and by you must tell me all about it; but now I only want to feel the bliss of being near to you, and to know that this is all reality.”
In half an hour some one tapped at the door, andin came my late tormentor, and in came the captain; and now they laughed heartily; and I smiled in return, for my heart was too full to break out in loud mirth. It seems it was as much as they could all do to restrain the lively lady, fearing that the plot would be discovered before the time. My wife intended to show herself as soon as the pilot left us; but she was so very seasick that she thought I could better bear the pain of thinking her away from me than witness suffering which I could not relieve. The gale came on, and her sickness continued, and she thought it most prudent to wait till it was over. Her plan was to write me a note, and prepare me for it, but the captain and his wife, as well as the gentlemen, begged her to allow of this little artifice, which, as they had taken such an interest in her affairs, she thought it right to indulge them in. Finding me so averse to her going, and knowing that I should so bitterly regret it, she and Martha went in a carriage, one day, and interested Mr. Blagge in her scheme. The captain and his wife were delighted; and whilst he detained me by a sham business, on shore, Mr. Porter saw her and Martha safely on board. She had left the trunks till the last, hoping that I might relent, and thus prevent any necessity of a plot; but as I would not consent, Mr. Porter, who had another carriage in waiting, took them down to the wharf.
What more is to be said? Our voyage was delightful. I had no difficulty, whatever, in identifying myself; and I returned in possession of a large estate, which I trust I shall spend with grateful feelings. Dr. Bently and his amiable niece, Miss Sidney, now Mrs. North, were our fellow-passengers on returning. They little knew what an interest I had in the village of Camperdown, when they so earnestly pressed me to settle in their neighbourhood. My beloved wife was not at all the worse for thethree months’ excursion; and two months after our return, we were made still happier, if possible, by the birth of a son. My wife, always mindful of my feelings, has called him Cyrus, after my poor father; and we are, I trust, bringing him up in the love of his Maker, and in the fear of breaking his commandments. Aunt Martha, as you know, lives with us, and Mr. Porter resides altogether in the stone house, where I was born; we could not do without him. Now that you all know my dear wife, you can easily imagine that my love for her can never diminish; and that, to be separated from her, would be the greatest of evils.
You have asked me to write a memoir of my life; but, after all, what is it? It is only a description of my heart and its feelings; of my early sorrows, and of my deep, deep love for one, whom I still continue to think is far too good—too far above me. Of her unworthy uncle I will not speak; she was his sister’s only child, and he could neither appreciate nor love her. All my felicity has arisen from his blindness, and I therefore forgive him. But if there has been nothing remarkable in this memoir, if the events are such as we meet with frequently, surely there is some novelty in the Surprise.