The Merchant's Son 3
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"Exactly so!" was the smiling reply.
Hour after hour glided by unnoticed, for Arthur and Lucy were too deeply engaged in serious conversation to heed the flight of time. They dwelt upon their childish days, and then turned to the deeper and stronger impulses which had been developed, as each succeeding year rolled on. A half-regretful tenderness was in their hearts, as they realized that they were indeed entering life — though its cares and strong responsibilities would sink heavily upon their spirits — there could be no shrinking back to their childhood. For every wrong action committed, they themselves were responsible; they could not with light-hearted carelessness throw the blame upon older people, or pass it idly by. Though the brother and sister were both naturally mirthful, and perhaps a little wild — still there was a vein of deep thoughtfulness in the character of each, which often called upon them to pause and reflect.
The right influence of that loving sister was felt; it was with holier emotions awakened in his bosom — with pure and high resolves — that the young votary at the shrine of Fame parted from his sister that night.
"Farewell, Lucy," said Arthur, turning to his sister the next morning, after he had bidden his parents adieu. He clasped her hand tightly in his own, and spoke in a choked voice. She cast herself in his arms, and the sobs which she had tried hard to repress under the stern eye of her father, burst forth unchecked. "Weep for me when you are alone, darling, if you will, and pray for me," whispered Arthur. "I will yet become all you desire. Father shall yet know that I do not act from the idle whim of an weak boy. Lucy, dear Lucy! tell me once more that you bless me before I go forth into the world." The young man had commanded himself by a strong effort; but now he bowed his head upon his sister's shoulder, and wept like a child. An expression radiant with affection flitted briefly over Lucy's fair young face, as she replied, in a low tone of tremulous sweetness, "I do bless you, Arthur. I shall always. Oh, may our Father above smile upon you!"
It was with a strong heart and a determined will, that Arthur Griswold engaged in his studies. But the ways of Providence are not like our ways. Often our most arduous efforts bring but little to pass; yet we should not repine, for, if we have done all we can do — that little is just as much as it should be. Not so felt the young student. Five years had passed over his head since he had begun to walk in the path marked out by himself. Where were his dreams of ambition — his visions of grandeur? Where were the thoughts he had sent out into the world, hoping to make deep echoes in a thousand hearts? They had gone forth indeed, the cherished idols of his imagination — but where was thesympathy he was to meet with? He found it not; and not until he saw how heedlessly his poems were passed by, did he realize the value he had placed, almost unknowingly to himself, upon the smiles of a thoughtless multitude.
He had entered into no profession; and, as each slow year had traveled on, the young poet had hoped with all the ardor of an enthusiastic spirit, that fickle fortune would yet reward his literary efforts. His habits had greatly changed since he had left the counting-room for the study; his time was not methodically employed; he was often sad and depressed. And yet he raised his heart upward, and endeavored to do well. Apparently he had not improved, but in reality he had been learning good but painful lessons. Bitter trial had taught him to look upon the world, upon men and things, as they are — not as they seem. Lucy was still the same fond sister; his mother's smile was kind but tremulous, for she thought her poor Arthur was sadly changed. His father never reproached him; he was sometimes pleasant and cheerful with him, but it was not the frank cheerfulness of other days. The warm, hearty grasp of the hand, the cheering words from a father's lips, "Well done, my boy!" were no longer his own.
Since the day he left home for college, his father's house had never been his permanent residence. One soft evening at twilight, Arthur sat alone in his chamber, watching the faint stars as they came out in the pale blue sky. A light, caressing breeze lifted the hair from his white forehead, as he leaned back against the window-frame, in deep musing. His thoughts were somewhat sad, and yet there was more strength in his heart than he had known in a long time. He had that afternoon been in the society of his sister, and theinfluence of her gentle soul was still upon him. She had married, but old affections were as dear to her as ever. She had strongly urged upon him the necessity of an active and useful life — and he was glad to hear her speak thus, for his own views had been changing fast, of late.
It was five long years before the dazzling bubble of worldly fame had lost to him its hues of radiant light. With something like a smile playing over his lip, he mused, half aloud, "I have indeed been pursuing a bubble — even if I had obtained it, it would have burst in my grasp." He leaned his head upon his hand, and over his thoughtful features a deeper shade fell. He cast a retrospective eye upon the past — it seemed almost a waste; with a sigh, he murmured, "I fear I have been self-deceived — I have not looked my motives in the face. I have endeavored to delude myself with the idea that I was trying to benefit others by the outpourings of my brain, when at the bottom I most deeply yearned for applause — it was that which my selfish soul craved. Such dreams shall no longer be mine;" and, bowing his head, the young poet struggled in silence with the feelings within.
About an hour after, he arose from his seat by the window, and lighting a lamp, he placed himself at his writing-table and opened his long-neglected journal. Before writing, he breathed forth a deep and silent prayer. His eyes were upraised, full of light, and the rich glow of beautiful thought upon his countenance was tempered by the quiet repose on his closed lips. Taking a pen, he wrote as follows:
"June 20th. What satisfaction in a dying hour, can be as substantial as the remembrance of a well-spent life? We must combat with ourselves, and gently aid others. What is life's lesson? To learn what we are — and then to conquer. Oh, God! give me a stern spirit to go forth unflinchingly, developing the life you have given me. Aid me to trample on the clinging reveries which entwine around my heart; they come almost imperceptibly, and, like links in a chain, they will not be broken and parted. Banish from my soul the enervating weight of idle, brooding feeling. Grant that I may be frank with my own heart! May it at last grow pure beneath your searching eyes. Is not your good providence over me now, guiding every minute action and thought? may I realize it — may I trust in You! Guard me from wandering from your fold. Give me an earnest love of usefulness, a willingness tolabor in anything which duty bids. Fill me with humility and heavenly charity — may I exert a pure influence on this world! Would that my spirit was strong as a martyr's, and as meek as a babe's!"
After thus briefly noting down his thoughts, Arthur sought the repose he needed after the excitement of deep and strong emotion. He was strengthened by what he had written; for to bring out good thoughts in a tangible form, both soothes and strengthens.
Ten years more rolled by, and our poet had become a lawyer of eminence. He had entered the profession and he had labored faithfully; he was, what is rarely seen — a lawyer at once successful, upright, and useful.
One cheerful day in autumn, a multitude was hastening to the court-house in our city, to listen to a case which had excited much interest. Justice was on one side — wealth on the other. Griswold had given his services, where he could hope for but little reward, to the weaker party. With generous uprightness, he had turned aside from the tempting offers by which the rich man had sought to gain his efforts in a bad cause. His reply was, "I am governed in my actions by truth, not money, sir."
But if there was not a spirit of truthfulness on the side opposed to Griswold, there was talent and eloquence, and over the multitude, they had their sway. The deep hum of applause that arose as Arthur's opponent seated himself with a somewhat triumphant air, caused a shadow to fall upon his noble heart. He slowly arose, with a dignified manner, and a calm strength expressed in his countenance. At first his words were somewhat measured, but as he proceeded he gathered might and force; his large, dark eye kindled brilliantly, and his usually pale cheek glowed, as he poured forth with burning eloquence, the words of truth and justice. There was a living power in all he uttered, which caused that breathless assembly to lean forward, and listen with a thrill. Truth is always powerful; if eloquently supported, it is irresistible with those who have one spark of honesty in their nature to be appealed to; and, thank Heaven! there is much honesty in this wicked world of ours.
The fascinating spell of the former speaker was broken; the plain, cutting words of sober truth had torn away the veil arranged with such skillful art. Suffice it to say, that Griswold gained the case. He retired almost exhausted, and, amid many enthusiastic congratulations, he hurried on to leave the crowded court-room.
"Arthur!" exclaimed a familiar voice, when he had nearly reached the door. He turned, and a white-haired old man grasped his hand and wrung it, while big tears of joy rolled down his furrowed cheeks. "My noble boy! God bless you!" were the choking words which burst from his father's lips.
"Father!" and the heart of the son swelled with more blessed feelings at those few words, than he had known in years. Placing his father's arm upon his own, they left the court-house; and they both felt that their cup of joy was full. Lucy and her husband met them upon the pavement. Arthur sprang forward, and clasping the extended hand of his sister, he looked upon her uplifted countenance with a smile; and yet it was mingled with a strange emotion. She glanced a moment upon her father's happy face, then raising her eyes again to Arthur's, she burst into tears of joy.
"Dear Arthur!" was all she could say.
The happy party bent their steps towards old Mr. Griswold's family mansion, and there Arthur met a joyful mother's smile.
"Well, my boy!" exclaimed Mr. Griswold, giving his son a hearty slap upon his shoulder, "I have learned one lesson today, and that is, that you were never cut out for a merchant!"
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