Lovers and Husbands CHAPTER 4.
Back to Lovers and Husbands
"It was too lovely a day to remain cooped up in the city," said Whitney, after he had joined Emily and Flora, "and so I mounted Bucyrus and gave him the reins. The sagacious animal set out directly for Rose Hill, and here I am, thanks to the noble beast! I hope I am welcome?"
"Yes, right welcome," returned Flora, smiling. "Bucyrus is certainly a very sensible animal."
"That he is. After this evidence of it, I shall consider him worth his weight in gold. He could not have done better if he had known my very thoughts."
"Perhaps he did."
"Perhaps so, indeed. Horses have minds; that is one of my beliefs."
"And, no doubt, was able to read your wishes in your face."
"Exactly."
"Or," remarked Emily, "in your fingers. It is wonderful how, almost unconsciously, our hands do the will of our minds."
"Yes — yes, Emily is right," said Flora. "The whole case is clear. You gave Bucyrus the reins, it is true — but you kept it in your hand, in order to check him, should he startle from sudden alarm. Your thoughts were on Rose Hill, and without your knowing it, those thoughts flowed down into your fingers, and they contracted on the reins involuntarily."
"Yes — yes, that explains the whole thing. I now understand the matter perfectly!" the young man said, with mock gravity. "It is wonderful, is it not?" Then changing his tone and manner, he added, glancing around as he spoke,
"This is truly a lovely spot. A sylvan scene, and you the maidens of the place. 'God made the country — and man made the town,' is often said, by way of indicating the country's superior loveliness. I never saw much force in the saying until now. The city gives us nothing like this. We have red, and yellow, and brown, and orange — yes, even all the colors of the rainbow, on house and roof, on dome and spire; but nothing like that magnificent forest in its autumn robes. The seasons change, and we hardly know it, except by the heat or cold of the atmosphere; nothing of this is there in the city — nothing of this deep quiet — nothing of this pulsating stillness. The breeze awakens — but we see not its motions among the leafy boughs; we hear not the song of birds, nor see the bright waters of the gliding stream."
"You could love the country, then?" Flora remarked.
"Yes, for a time, at least; but, after all, the city has its attractions; and for me, I think, more permanent ones than the country can afford. There is reality in the city, and we can't get along without realities. In the country, our delights are too pure and poetical. But poetry doesn't always do for us. We can't always remain suspended far up on the wings of imagination. We have to walk upon the earth for the most of our time."
Flora and her young friend listened to all this, yet affected by it differently; the former with admiration of some of the sentiments uttered, the latter with admiration for him who uttered them. In varied conversation an hour passed, and then the little party returned to the cottage, Emily leaning upon the arm of Whitney, and listening to his words with a heart trembling in the fullness of its own delight. He was a man well calculated to win the admiration of one who could not look far below the surface. The exterior graces of his mind were many, and varied in their attractions. He conversed well in French, and was familiar with the German language and German literature. He had a taste for music, and had cultivated that taste a good deal. He sang with much grace and feeling. In external accomplishments, he was a perfect gentleman; but he had no fixed aims in life. Like the butterfly, he flitted from flower to flower, sipping honey; but, unlike the bee, he laid not up a store for future use.
As to principles, he had none that were fixed upon a sound, rational basis. But this, a woman like Emily had not the perception to discover. Herself governed more by impulsethan reason — she could not estimate another by a higher standard than was in her own mind. Still she was a woman in heart; she could love like a woman, tenderly, deeply, devotedly. In her bosom were treasures of affection, garnered up like hidden waters in the rock. It required only a touch to bring them forth — but when once revealed to the light, the fountain must gush unceasingly, whether the bright waters flowed peacefully on, blessing and blessed — or were wasted where they fell. Ah! little does fond woman dream, when, in the lovely springtime of life, with everything around her as beautiful, as innocent as her own thoughts, she gives up all her hopes and all her heart to one she loves — that so many pure drops from the outbursting stream of affection will fall upon the arid ground, as in after years she sadly finds have thus fallen and sunk forever fruitless.
No man is able fully to meet and reciprocate a true woman's love. The best of men, with all their willingness, with all their efforts, fail. There are deep places of the heart unreached — aching voids unfilled. And yet it is astonishing how small a return will seem to satisfy a woman, and make her heart glow with sunlight. A pleasant word, a tender look, a kiss of love — ah! these seem but small returns for the deep tenderness that ever burns in her bosom; and yet, alas! too often even these are withheld; and the selfish, reserved, cold, and at times morose "lord of creation," comes in and goes out daily, never dreaming that by this very coldness, reserve, and moroseness, he is breaking the heart of her who loves him better than her own life!
But it is ever so. Hundreds, thousands, yes, tens of thousands of wives, are performing their round of duties hourly and daily — unblessed by smiles that warm the bosom, or words that make the heart tremble with interior joy — while, all unconscious of their cruel indifference, those who provide fine houses, fine furniture, and fine garments for theirvictims, proudly imagine that they are the best of husbands!
Maiden — innocent, loving maiden! — do not turn away from this picture now, or else the time may come when you will seek to turn from it, and shall not be able. When one comes asking your love, know well if he is worthy of such love as you can give. Do not look alone at his attractive exterior; seek to know what ends actuate him. It is the loveliness of pure, high principles that remains verdant longest — yes, forever verdant. These, and these alone, can make you permanently happy. Without them, an angel's grace, an angel's form would lose its attractions; with them, the plainest exterior soon grows beautiful to the eye of a loving wife. Lay this up in your heart; think of it in the morning, and when your head presses your pillow at night. It may save you from a woman's hardest lot — that of being bound for life to a man who does not even try to make her happy!
During the day, Flora, who saw that Whitney was inclined to say things intended only for Emily's ear — managed to leave her young friend and her lover alone, frequently for an hour and more at a time. These opportunities were improved by the young man. He had made up his mind to ask of Emily her hand in marriage, which he did during one of their walks. He was tremblingly and blushingly referred, as a matter of course, to her parents.
In the afternoon, Doctor Arlington came over to Rose Hill again, and spent a couple of hours. His awkwardness and plainness of exterior were never more annoyingly apparent to Flora than they were on this occasion — being contrasted with the polished manners and elegant person of Charles Whitney. The latter conversed fluently on a great variety of subjects, while the former said but little, and that seemingly not to the point, until a sentiment was dropped by Whitney, that the doctor's conscience would not let him pass withoutcorrecting. He did so at first by merely objecting to it with mildness; this brought upon him quite an avalanche of sentences, uttered with great ease and in well-chosen language. His reply was brief — but much to the point, and given with unusual elegance of expression. Flora felt its force, and so did Whitney; but the latter rallied to the charge with a renewed flourish of words. On his ending his argument, Arlington, in a calm, collected, thoughtful voice, laid down certain positions bearing upon the subject, and from these demonstrated, in a beautiful and lucid manner, the fallaciousness of all that Whitney had said, showing that he had taken mere appearances of truth — for truth itself. So fully did he establish the point assumed, that the other had the good sense to drop the discussion.
This little incident made the heart of Flora glow with pleasure. A veil had been lifted from off the exterior of both the young men, and she could see deeper beneath the surface, and estimate both by a more correct standard. Doctor Arlington seemed no longer awkward; she listened with more attention to all that he said, and perceived more in his words than she had ever before perceived. When he took her hand at parting, and held it in his longer than usual, looking her earnestly in the face as he did so — she felt her heart flutter and her cheek burn.
"We shall always be happy to see you at Rose Hill, doctor," she said, her voice changed a little from its usually calm tone.
The doctor bowed low, pressed her hand slightly, and departed. Emily had noticed this little interview from the window, and, with a maiden's intuition, understood just what it meant.
"The doctor's over head and ears in love with you, Flora!" she said, laughing, as her friend came in.
Flora could not entirely conceal her blushes at this remark.
"I thought," the other resumed, "that he didn't come here so often, unprofessionally, without his eye being upon somebody. I was vain enough to suppose, at first, that I was the object of his regard; but I see that I have been mistaken. He has been looking past me."
"The doctor is quite a character," remarked Whitney, laughing; "but it wouldn't be a perfect world if there were no characters in it. He has his good points, I suppose, as everyone has, and makes, no doubt, a capital country doctor."
"I have met with city doctors, in my time," Flora said, "with double Arlington's pretensions, and not half his merit. A rich gem is sometimes concealed in a rude casket."
"Oh, very true," returned the young man; "Doctor Arlington is doubtless a gem of the very first water."
There was more in the manner than in the words, that displeased Flora. The latter had not been spoken from a right spirit. She said no more, and the subject dropped. Towards evening Whitney mounted Bucyrus, and returned to the city. The maidens were again alone.
Back to Lovers and Husbands