The Young Lady CHAPTER 7.
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No reluctance, no repining, could stop the steady progress of events. In a little while, amid tears and sobs, Mrs. Merlin moved from her elegant residence, and, with but a remnant of her fine furniture, took up her abode in the half of a house, at two hundred dollars a year.
Thus suddenly reduced from a richly furnished mansion, with cook, chambermaid, nurse and waiter at command — to half of a small house, with three children, and one servant, Cecilia felt like giving up in despair. For such a condition, she had no resources. Although she had finished her education, it was for a condition in life far different from the one into which she had now been thrown — and therefore the acquirements, which she had spent some four or five years to obtain, were to her altogether useless.
One day, two weeks after she had retired to her now humble abode, Uncle Peter called in to see her, and found her in tears.
"Why do you weep, my dear niece?" he asked tenderly, taking her small white hand, unused to any severer employment than that of fingering the piano, or handling the drawing pencil.
"How can you ask me, Uncle Peter? Just see the condition to which I am reduced!"
"But you know, Cecilia, that there are hundreds and thousands in the world in the same condition, who are not only cheerful, but happy in their humble lot."
"And if they have no desire above such a condition — I am sure that I have!" Mrs. Merlin replied, somewhat warmly.
"You do not really know, my dear child, what you are talking about," Uncle Peter said, in a serious tone. "No repinings on your part, no reluctance at entering into the duties that are now required of you — can possibly avail anything. These will not change your new relations. It is painful, I know, deeply painful to be thus suddenly brought down. But true wisdom is to extract, like the bee, honey from every flower, whether it is the gaudy pride of the mirthful parterre, or the humble daisy of the meadow. To your new condition, there appertain delights, as well as there did to your former more elevated one. Enter then into these delights, my dear Cecilia. Be true to yourself, to your children, and to your husband."
"You still speak in riddles to me, Uncle, as you have almost always done. But you hear how little George is fretting! He is hungry, and I must go down into the kitchen and prepare him some food. Since I have had to let my nurse go, I have been compelled to attend to him all myself, for the servant I have, cannot be trusted to feed him. And, anyhow, she has enough to do without seeing after the children."
"Go then at once, Cecilia, and get the dear little fellow something to eat. I will keep him and take care of the other children, while you are gone."
In the course of ten minutes, Mrs. Merlin returned with a cup of milk and water, warmed and sweetened, and tried to feed her babe, who was only a few months old, and had just been weaned from its nurse. Although she could run her ringers with freedom and grace over the keys of a piano, or paint a flower with delicate skill — yet the spoon was held so awkwardly, or the food was, from some cause, so unpalatable, that, for a time, the child struggled and cried at every attempt to cause it to pass his lips. Poor Mrs. Merlin fretted and worried, and even cried as heartily as did little George.
"It's no use, Uncle. I can never learn him to feed!" she at length said, dropping the spoon in the cup, and leaning back in an attitude of despair.
"Wouldn't he let the nurse feed him?" Uncle Peter asked in a calm tone of voice.
"O, yes; she could feed him well enough."
"Then you can do the same, of course."
"But you saw, Uncle, as well as I did, that he wouldn't take a drop of the milk."
"O yes. But then, if he would eat for the nurse, and will not for you, it is a sign, of course, that you don't put the spoon into his mouth rightly, or that the milk has not been prepared to suit his taste. Let me taste it. I think I ought to know something about this business, if I am an old bachelor, for I have fed you, when you were not much older than little George, many a time. O, you've got it a great deal too hot, Cecilia. Why, even now, it is warm enough almost to burn his little mouth. Take another spoonful and blow it, and then try if he will not feed more kindly."
Mrs. Merlin made the effort, and, sure enough, little George sipped his food with evident tokens of satisfaction.
"See there!" Uncle Peter said; "anything is easy enough, when we once know how to do it." Then with one of his peculiar looks and smiles he added — "You remember that I told you some four or five years ago, that, notwithstanding you had completed your education, you would have a good deal yet to learn. The fact is, child, you have but just begunyour education. You have still the most important branches to acquire."
"Still talking in riddles, Uncle."
"Am I? Well, I will try to make myself understood. The end of all right education, is to make us useful to others — and especially is this true in regard to a woman's education. Her most important and useful position in society, is that of the wife and mother, and her education should embrace all those branches that would enable her to fill this station most perfectly. You are now a wife and mother, Cecilia, and have been for some years, and yet you know but little of the nature and extent of your duties as such. As the mother of that dear little innocent, who has no hand in the wide world to sustain him but yours, you were but a moment ago, ignorant of how to prepare the very food that is to nourish him, and sustain his life. And surely, the delight you now feel, as he lies sleeping so sweetly on your bosom, must repay you a thousand times for the little trouble it costs to prepare his food aright?"
"Dear babe!" Mrs. Merlin murmured, as her Uncle paused, drawing it closer to her bosom, and kissing its fair young cheek.
"You love him now more than you have ever loved him, do you not, Cecilia?"
"Yes, I believe I do, a great deal more."
"And can you tell the reason of this, Cecilia?"
"I do not know, unless it be because I feel that he has no one now to take care of him, but his mother."
"That is in part the reason," Uncle Peter replied. "The true one, however, lies in the fact, that you do really take care of him. There is about infants a sphere of innocence which penetrates the hearts of those who come near them, but more especially of those who have charge of them, and protecting them and doing them good. This sphere of innocence, when felt by a mother or a nurse, is peculiarly delightful, and causes her to love her babe with a most tender affection. This efflux of innocence you have felt, Cecilia, and it has added tenfold to the love which you had before borne your little one. You would not, now, I am sure, resign, if you could, to another, the care of little George."
"O, no! Dear little fellow!"
"Then, even adversity has opened to you a new source of enjoyment, far more perfect than anything you had before experienced. Thrown down, suddenly, my dear niece from a position in society, where all your pursuits were out of the ordinary walks, and mere artificial substitutes for right and useful occupation of the mind, and where your enjoyments were necessarily artificial, and unreal — you are now brought into contact with life as it is, where each one is compelled to be useful, in some way to his fellow. It is in this condition, that the highest human enjoyment is felt. Try then to look upon this great change, involving, as it seems to you to involve, great evils — as a blessed change, in which you are to enjoy true happiness."
"Dear Uncle," Mrs. Merlin said, the tears starting to her eyes, "I am sure that you speak what you think to be the truth; but it sounds very strange to me. How can I be happy as I am?"
"There are many wives and mothers, in the same condition in life, who are happy, Cecilia. And why may not you be?"
"Because I have never be used to such a condition, and can, therefore never be contented in it."
"Did you ever read a little story by Washington Irving, called The Wife?"
"O, yes! and a beautiful and touching story it is!"
"And of course you remember the incidents there related."
"O yes!"
"You remember, then, that the wife mentioned there had never been used to the condition in life to which she was reduced, and yet, she was not only happy in this new condition — but made her husband, who was distressed for her, as happy as herself?"
"Yes, I remember it all." And Mrs. Merlin's face brightened under the impulse of a new thought, suddenly suggested to her mind.
"How admirable a lesson is taught in that brief sketch, my dear niece!" pursued Uncle Peter. "You love your husband, and I know that he loves you, and feels exquisitely the painful condition to which you find yourself reduced. It was only this morning that I called to see him and talk with him. He says, that as far as he is concerned, he cares but little for the change; but when the thinks of you and the children — his heart aches. 'I would work, Uncle Peter,' he said and his voice trembled with feeling, 'day and night with the utmost cheerfulness, if I could thus secure to Cecilia all the comforts to which she has been accustomed. But you know that this is utterly impossible. When, therefore, I see her forced to attend to household duties against her will, often in tears, and wearing a troubled countenance — I feel so discouraged and distressed in mind, that I know not what to do. O, if she would only try and be reconciled to what cannot now be changed, how happy I would be!'"
Before Uncle Peter had half finished the few first sentences, Mrs. Merlin was on her feet, looking him earnestly, and with a surprised expression, in the face.
"Did he say that? Did he say that, Uncle Peter?" she asked in a husky voice, interrupting him before he had concluded what he wished to say, catching, at the same time, hold of his arm and looking him still more earnestly in the face.
"They were his very words, Cecilia."
"How wicked I have been," the young wife and mother ejaculated in a changed tone — "thus to think only of myself, and care only for myself! From this time on, I will try and be cheerful, if it is only for his sake."
"I am glad to hear you say so, my dear niece! In this you will be successful, far beyond your own expectations; for, in the very effort to consider others, and make others happy — will you find a delight which never springs from merely selfish considerations. The consciousness that, by your endeavor to seem cheerful, you have dispelled a shadow from your husband's heart — will make you really cheerful. And thus you will gain strength to persevere. Gradually, the way will open before you, in which you may walk, and find pleasures strewn on either side, such as you never dreamed were to be found in the path of humble life."
"But my heart sinks when I reflect, dear Uncle, that I am thoroughly ignorant of the duties, which in my new station, devolve upon me."
"Be not discouraged at this thought, Cecilia, only be willing to learn, and that willingness will make you an apt scholar. In your mother, you will find a competent adviser; and my wonder is, and has been, why she never imparted to you a knowledge of those domestic duties so requisite for every wife and mother, of which she is so conversant herself."
"I feel, Uncle," Mrs. Merlin replied, "that my education has indeed been incomplete. I have studied and learned many things — but not a single one of them seems of use to me now. The poor girl who can scarcely read or write, could perform a large portion of the duties which now devolve upon me, far better than I!"
"Let not such thoughts discourage you. Think, rather, that in your keeping, is the happiness of your husband and children, and resolve that you will be true to the trust. I know that, hitherto, you have looked upon domestic employments as beneath you — as fit only for servants. In this you were wrong. No employment, in which we can be of use to others, is degrading. Surely, it cannot be more degrading for you to knead a loaf of bread, or cook a dinner, or make your children's clothes — than it is for your husband to sit at the desk all day, poring over account books, or for him to attend to the customers who come into his employer's store. By doing the one, he is enabled to procure you a house to live in, with wholesome food, and comfortable clothing; and by doing, or looking after the other, and seeing that it is done well, you assist to make the home he has provided much more comfortable for him and your children."
"I feel deeply the truth of what you say," Mrs. Merlin replied; "and still deeper my own thoughtlessness and folly. From this hour, I will try to be cheerful and do all I can to make my husband's home comfortable and happy. Come and see me often, Uncle; and when you go home, tell Ma that I wish she would come over here this afternoon."
"I will drop in frequently, my child; and when I come, freely tell me all your trials and difficulties. I must go now, and in going I would remark, that it will help you much to think, that this great change has taken place in your condition — for good. All events are under the direction or permission of the Lord, and are all overruled for our good. Adversity is as often as real a blessing, as prosperity. Try, then, to elevate your mind with a feeling of confidence in God, and this will give you a power to act, as duty calls, with calm contentment. Think of God as your father, and then remember that His very nature is love — that His eye is upon you, and that He is endeavoring all the while to lead you into those paths wherein true happiness is alone to be found. Such thoughts will give you confidence and hope. Forget all about what the world may say or think of you. That is nothing. Duty is everything."
When Uncle Peter went away, Mrs. Merlin felt that within her, existed a new impulse to action. She felt far more cheerful, and resolved to enter into, and perform the duties which might devolve upon her, with a willing heart.
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