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Difference between revisions of "Volume III. The Mother CHAPTER 11."

(Created page with "'''Back to Volume III. The Mother''' ---- <p>Florence entered her father's house and hurried up to her chamber, without meeting either of her parents. Closing the door and lo...")
 
 
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'''Back to [[Volume III. The Mother]]'''
 
'''Back to [[Volume III. The Mother]]'''
 
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<p>Florence entered her father's house and hurried up to her chamber, without meeting either of her parents. Closing the door and locking it, she threw herself panting upon her bed. Her thoughts were all in confusion, and her heart oppressed with a suffocating burden.<br><br>
+
<p><strong>An Agreeable Surprise.</strong><br><br>
"I believe I am mad!" she at length said, in a low, solemn voice, rising up and looking around her. "What have I been doing? What have I promised?"<br><br>
+
The incident just related occurred about a year and a half after Clarence entered college. He had, then, nearly completed his sixteenth year.<br><br>
Sinking down again she covered her face with her hands, and lay motionless for a long time. Is about half an hour, she arose with a deep sigh, and after walking the floor of her chamber for half an hour, retired to bed.<br><br>
+
About a week afterwards, and before they had received any communication from their son, mentioning the circumstance, Mr. Hartley handed his wife a letter. Its contents were as follows:<br><br>
In the morning her mind was calmer, and she saw, with more accuracy than before, her true position, and the <em>folly </em>of the step she was about to take. But how could she a second time break her promise to the man whom, in spite of reason, she loved? She felt that she could not. As the day advanced, she grew more and more agitated. To conceal this from her mother, she pretended not to be well, and kept her room.<br><br>
+
"Mr. James Hartley — Dear Sir — As the President of University, permit me to express to you my own and the thanks of the whole Faculty. The <em>good and true principles </em>which you have stored up in the mind of your son, have saved us from the evils of a well-planned resistance of authority by the students. No persuasions, we are told, could induce him to join with the rest. Personal violence was threatened, but this only made him adhere more firmly to his good resolution. The consequence was, that his conduct opened the eyes of one and another to see the folly of what they were about to do. Two parties were formed, and, before any overt act of rebellion, the <em>peace </em>party prevailed. We shall ever remember your son with admiration and gratitude. From his first entrance into our institution, he has been known as the strict observer of all its rules, and a diligent student. It is but just that his parents should know all this from us. With sentiments of the highest respect and regard, Dr. John Miller, President of University."<br><br>
Sometimes she would feel strongly inclined to go to her mother and confess all. But this idea would be abandoned almost as quickly as it was conceived. Her parents, she believed, would hear to nothing but her total abandonment of all expectation of becoming the wife of Archer, and to this she was not prepared to submit.<br><br>
+
Tears of joy gushed to the eyes of Mrs. Hartley, as she finished the last line of this letter.<br><br>
In the afternoon the infatuated girl went, according to promise, to the house of Mrs. Leslie, there to await the hour appointed for the performance of the marriage rite, which was to stamp upon her whole life the <em>seal of wretchedness</em>. Mrs. Leslie received her warmly, and lavished upon her every attention. But Florence felt unhappy, because sensible that the step about to be taken was a <em>wrong </em>one. It was now, however, too late to think of retracting. She was ready to fulfill her promise, even under the clear conviction that in so doing she was acting insanely.<br><br>
+
"Noble boy!" she said with enthusiasm.<br><br>
Half an hour after Florence left her home, a servant brought to Mrs. Armitage a letter which had just been handed in at the door. She broke the seal and read as follows:<br><br>
+
"You are pleased with the letter, then," said her husband, with assumed gravity.<br><br>
"Madam The <em>wolf </em>is again entering the sheep-fold. Beware! As you value the present and future happiness of your daughter, guard her more carefully. Last night I saw her in company with that arch-deceiver whose attempt to possess her hand in marriage, I once thwarted! Could you have believed it? No! But it is true. The <em>hawk </em>is again seeking to consort with the <em>dove!</em>"<br><br>
+
"O yes! Are you not?" and she looked aim in the face with surprise.<br><br>
With this letter open in her hand, Mrs. Armitage went, acting from the impulse of the moment, direct to the room of her daughter. Florence was not there. She called to her, but no answer came from any part of the house. On inquiry she learned that she had gone out.<br><br>
+
"Not exactly."<br><br>
With much anxiety, and a mind greatly disturbed, the mother awaited her daughter's return. But the afternoon wore away, and evening found her still absent. When Mr. Armitage came home, she showed him the singular communication she had received. It made him very angry.<br><br>
+
"Why?"<br><br>
"If that girl is really so insane as to encourage and keep company with such an <em>unprincipled scoundrel</em> — she deserves to be turned out of the house!" he said.<br><br>
+
"It would have all been well enough, if the direction had not been wrong."<br><br>
"It is no time, now, husband," was the reply of Mrs. Armitage, "to indulge our indignant feelings. Let us rather, looking solely to the <em>safety </em>of our child, strive to keep her away from this fiend."<br><br>
+
"What do you mean? Was it not our son that acted so nobly?"<br><br>
"But, don't you see that all our striving will be no better than the striving of a weak man against a strong current? If she is so infatuated already as to meet him without our knowledge, she will marry him, if so disposed, without our consent."<br><br>
+
"O yes. But the letter should have been addressed to <em>you</em>."<br><br>
"Let us not look at the worst side. And after all, perhaps this letter does not tell the truth. Perhaps it is the work of some cruel-minded person, whose delight it is to give pain to others."<br><br>
+
Mrs. Hartley smiled through her tears, and said —<br><br>
"I believe the letter to be genuine."<br><br>
+
"It is all right. Are we not one? But what would my efforts have been without your wise counsel to second them. I will never care for the praise, so long my boy does right. That is my sweetest reward. This is indeed a happy day. You know how much anxiety I have felt for Clarence. His peculiar temperament is, perhaps, the hardest there is to manage."<br><br>
"It may be. I fear it is."<br><br>
+
"And had you not been the most <em>assiduous </em>and <em>wisest </em>of mothers — you never could have molded it into any form of beauty."<br><br>
"What steps ought we to take? We must act promptly if we act at all."<br><br>
+
"Many an anxious day and sleepless night has it cost me. I sowed the seed in tears; but the <em>dews of Heaven </em>watered the earth, and when the tender blade shot forth, the <em>Sun of Righteousness </em>warmed and strengthened it. Oh, how often have I felt discouraged! The selfishness of the boy was so strong, and he had so little regard for order. To counteract these, I labored daily, and almost hourly. But I seemed to make little progress — sometimes all my efforts appeared fruitless. Still, I persevered, and it has not been in vain."<br><br>
"The best thing is, I suppose, to show this letter to Florence as soon as she comes home, and judge from the impression it makes upon her, how far she has suffered her feelings to become again impressed favorably in regard to the young man. When we see the extent of the evil, we shall be better able to guard against it."<br><br>
+
"O no. You have saved him from his worst enemy — <em>himself</em>."<br><br>
But they waited in vain. The <em>warning </em>had come <em>too late</em>. While they sat anxiously expecting her return, she was pledging herself to one who loved her — as the <em>wolf </em>loves the<em>lamb</em>.<br><br>
+
"Henry is now old enough for college. What shall we do with him?" the mother said.<br><br>
On the next morning the newspapers announced the marriage of William Archer and Florence Armitage, to the astonishment and grief of all who knew them. As early as eight o'clock, a letter was received by Mr. and Mrs. Armitage, from their daughter and her husband. It set forth all their reasons for the hurried step they had taken, pretty much in the order that Archer had previously suggested to Florence, and begged to be taken into favor.<br><br>
+
"Send him to University with his brother, I suppose. There is not a better institution in the country."<br><br>
Mr. Armitage flung the letter from him, and left the house, declaring that they would never cross his threshold while he lived! Mrs. Armitage shut herself up in her room and wept all the morning.<br><br>
+
"Do you think it will be safe to send him from home?" asked Mrs. Hartley.<br><br>
When the father and mother again met, both were calm, and deeply thoughtful. Nothing was said about the communication which they had received. The meal passed in silence. Mr. Armitage went slowly back to his store, and Mrs. Armitage again shut herself up in her room.<br><br>
+
"Why not?"<br><br>
"Poor Florence!" said Mrs. Armitage, thinking aloud, as she sat by the side of her husband after the tea things had been removed that evening.<br><br>
+
"His disposition has changed little since he was a child. He is still confiding, and <em>easily led away </em>by others. Clarence had a strong will and prominent faults, which could be attacked vigorously; but the defects of Henry's character were hard to reach. I have thought much on the subject of sending him to college, but feel more and more reluctant to do so, the nearer the time comes for making a decision on the subject."<br><br>
Mr. Armitage sighed.<br><br>
+
"We ought not to deprive him of the advantages of a good education. He would stand side by side with his brother in this respect."<br><br>
On the next morning, as her husband was about leaving with a gloomy countenance for the store Mrs. Armitage remarked that they should not forget that Florence was still their child.<br><br>
+
"True. But cannot we give him all these advantages at a less risk."<br><br>
Her husband looked at her for a moment or two. His face was not stern. It wore an expression of mingled grief and tenderness. But he made no answer; only sighing, and then turning away and leaving the house.<br><br>
+
"I know of no institution in this city where the same advantages may be secured."<br><br>
During the morning another letter came from the young couple. It was humble in its tone, and expressed great anxiety for a <em>reconciliation</em>. It was in the hand-writing of Florence, and was soiled, in many places, with tears. The mother wept over it for an hour. When her husband came home, she placed it in his hands. He affected a sternness of manner, when he saw from whom it had come. But this soon gave way to the power of his real feelings. Mrs. Armitage watched him closely as he bent over the letter. Her heart trembled as she saw his hand, after he had read a few lines, go quickly to his eyes, and dash aside a tear that dimmed his vision. He read on; but, long before he reached the last line, he had thrown down the letter and was weeping like a child.<br><br>
+
"I believe there is none. But, should we look alone at this? Will our child be safe there? Is his <em>character </em>yet decided enough for us to trust him from our side? I think not. The frankness with which Clarence has written to us of the various temptations that have assailed him from time to time, has opened my eyes to the <em>dangers </em>which must encompass a boy like Henry in such a place, and I would not feel happy a moment were he to go there."<br><br>
Before an hour passed, Florence was in her mother's arms.
+
"Then he must not go," said Mr. Hartley, firmly. "You have ever been a true mother to our children, and your love has thus far led you to determine wisely in regard to them. Though I must own that I feel very reluctant to deprive the boy of the advantages of a thorough college course of instruction."<br><br>
 +
"Have not my reasons force in your mind?" asked Mrs. Hartley. "Do you not believe that it would be wrong for us to jeopardize the <em>spiritual </em>interests of our child, in the eager pursuit of <em>intellectual </em>advantages."<br><br>
 +
"I certainly do. The latter should only be for the sake of the former. The <em>intellect </em>should be cultivated as the means of developing the <em>moral </em>powers, that both in union may act in life with true efficiency. If all the higher objects of education can be secured by keeping our child at home, we ought not, under any circumstances, to send him away."<br><br>
 +
"They may often be better secured away from home, if the boy has firmness enough to resist the temptations that will assail him. But the question whether the boy can so resist, must be decided by the parents before he is sent out to make his first trial on the world-arena."<br><br>
 +
"My own feeling is, that we had better keep Henry under our guidance as long as it can be done. He is not a boy with the quick intellect of Clarence, and will, probably, never be ambitious to move in a sphere where the highest attainments are required. It would be much more agreeable to him now to go to work in your store, than to go to school."<br><br>
 +
"And I shall not grieve over his choice of a pursuit in life, if he should prefer the calling of a <em>merchant</em>."<br><br>
 +
"Nor I. <em>Active employment </em>is the best for all, and in choosing a profession in life, that should always be chosen which will give the mind great activity, while, at the same time, it brings in the affections also. The pursuit of any calling which a man does not like, can never result to his own and the public advantage in so high a degree as it would were his heart in what he was doing. For this reason, we ought to be governed very much, in deciding for our children, by their <em>fitness </em>for and <em>preference </em>for a pursuit in business."<br><br>
 +
"Children's <em>preferences</em>, however, do not always arise from any peculiar fitness in themselves — but often from caprice."<br><br>
 +
"It is the business of a wise parent to discriminate between a <em>natural fitness </em>for a thing and a <em>fleeting preference </em>for it. The <em>imagination </em>of young people is very active, and apt to throw a <em>false light </em>around that upon which it dwells."<br><br>
 +
Many conversations of a like nature were held by Mr. and Mrs. Hartley, who finally came to the determination to keep Henry at home. The boy was disappointed at this. He wanted to go to college; not for the sake of the superior advantages there to be obtained, but because his <em>imagination </em>had thrown a peculiar <em>charm </em>about a college life."<br><br>
 +
Before making a final decision on the subject, Mrs. Hartley thought it right to bring <em>Clarence </em>into their confidence. She wrote him a long letter on the subject, and asked him to give his opinion of the effect that would be produced upon a boy like Henry, if introduced among the students. "You know his disposition," she said, "and how he would be affected by the kind of associations into which he would be thrown."<br><br>
 +
Clarence wrote back immediately, that he did not believe it would be good for Henry to be exposed to the temptations of a college life. "He is too easily led away by others," he remarked. "I have noticed more than a dozen instances, since I have been here, of boys just like Henry, who were innocent and confiding in their dispositions when they came — who soon became so changed that it made me sad to think about it. There was one boy in particular. His mother came with him when he first entered college. She appeared to be deeply attached to him, and he to her — they both wept bitterly at parting. She was a widow, and he her only remaining child, upon whom all her care, affection and assets were lavished. He soon made friends, for all seemed drawn towards him. Singular as it may seem, the boy, between whom and himself the warmest attachment arose, was as <em>unlike </em>him as it is possible to imagine. He was a bold, bad boy — full of life, and ready to do almost anything that his reckless spirit prompted. In a little while, they were inseparable companions. At the end of six months, the spirit of the one seemed to have been transfused into that of the other. I almost wonder, sometimes, if the mother would know her son, were they to meet unexpectedly. I hope you will not send Henry here. He might pass through his course uncontaminated, but I think it would be dangerous to expose one like him to so many temptations."<br><br>
 +
This letter fully decided Mr. and Mrs. Hartley.
 
----
 
----
 
'''Back to [[Volume III. The Mother]]'''
 
'''Back to [[Volume III. The Mother]]'''

Latest revision as of 21:14, 18 November 2012

Back to Volume III. The Mother


An Agreeable Surprise.

The incident just related occurred about a year and a half after Clarence entered college. He had, then, nearly completed his sixteenth year.

About a week afterwards, and before they had received any communication from their son, mentioning the circumstance, Mr. Hartley handed his wife a letter. Its contents were as follows:

"Mr. James Hartley — Dear Sir — As the President of University, permit me to express to you my own and the thanks of the whole Faculty. The good and true principles which you have stored up in the mind of your son, have saved us from the evils of a well-planned resistance of authority by the students. No persuasions, we are told, could induce him to join with the rest. Personal violence was threatened, but this only made him adhere more firmly to his good resolution. The consequence was, that his conduct opened the eyes of one and another to see the folly of what they were about to do. Two parties were formed, and, before any overt act of rebellion, the peace party prevailed. We shall ever remember your son with admiration and gratitude. From his first entrance into our institution, he has been known as the strict observer of all its rules, and a diligent student. It is but just that his parents should know all this from us. With sentiments of the highest respect and regard, Dr. John Miller, President of University."

Tears of joy gushed to the eyes of Mrs. Hartley, as she finished the last line of this letter.

"Noble boy!" she said with enthusiasm.

"You are pleased with the letter, then," said her husband, with assumed gravity.

"O yes! Are you not?" and she looked aim in the face with surprise.

"Not exactly."

"Why?"

"It would have all been well enough, if the direction had not been wrong."

"What do you mean? Was it not our son that acted so nobly?"

"O yes. But the letter should have been addressed to you."

Mrs. Hartley smiled through her tears, and said —

"It is all right. Are we not one? But what would my efforts have been without your wise counsel to second them. I will never care for the praise, so long my boy does right. That is my sweetest reward. This is indeed a happy day. You know how much anxiety I have felt for Clarence. His peculiar temperament is, perhaps, the hardest there is to manage."

"And had you not been the most assiduous and wisest of mothers — you never could have molded it into any form of beauty."

"Many an anxious day and sleepless night has it cost me. I sowed the seed in tears; but the dews of Heaven watered the earth, and when the tender blade shot forth, the Sun of Righteousness warmed and strengthened it. Oh, how often have I felt discouraged! The selfishness of the boy was so strong, and he had so little regard for order. To counteract these, I labored daily, and almost hourly. But I seemed to make little progress — sometimes all my efforts appeared fruitless. Still, I persevered, and it has not been in vain."

"O no. You have saved him from his worst enemy — himself."

"Henry is now old enough for college. What shall we do with him?" the mother said.

"Send him to University with his brother, I suppose. There is not a better institution in the country."

"Do you think it will be safe to send him from home?" asked Mrs. Hartley.

"Why not?"

"His disposition has changed little since he was a child. He is still confiding, and easily led away by others. Clarence had a strong will and prominent faults, which could be attacked vigorously; but the defects of Henry's character were hard to reach. I have thought much on the subject of sending him to college, but feel more and more reluctant to do so, the nearer the time comes for making a decision on the subject."

"We ought not to deprive him of the advantages of a good education. He would stand side by side with his brother in this respect."

"True. But cannot we give him all these advantages at a less risk."

"I know of no institution in this city where the same advantages may be secured."

"I believe there is none. But, should we look alone at this? Will our child be safe there? Is his character yet decided enough for us to trust him from our side? I think not. The frankness with which Clarence has written to us of the various temptations that have assailed him from time to time, has opened my eyes to the dangers which must encompass a boy like Henry in such a place, and I would not feel happy a moment were he to go there."

"Then he must not go," said Mr. Hartley, firmly. "You have ever been a true mother to our children, and your love has thus far led you to determine wisely in regard to them. Though I must own that I feel very reluctant to deprive the boy of the advantages of a thorough college course of instruction."

"Have not my reasons force in your mind?" asked Mrs. Hartley. "Do you not believe that it would be wrong for us to jeopardize the spiritual interests of our child, in the eager pursuit of intellectual advantages."

"I certainly do. The latter should only be for the sake of the former. The intellect should be cultivated as the means of developing the moral powers, that both in union may act in life with true efficiency. If all the higher objects of education can be secured by keeping our child at home, we ought not, under any circumstances, to send him away."

"They may often be better secured away from home, if the boy has firmness enough to resist the temptations that will assail him. But the question whether the boy can so resist, must be decided by the parents before he is sent out to make his first trial on the world-arena."

"My own feeling is, that we had better keep Henry under our guidance as long as it can be done. He is not a boy with the quick intellect of Clarence, and will, probably, never be ambitious to move in a sphere where the highest attainments are required. It would be much more agreeable to him now to go to work in your store, than to go to school."

"And I shall not grieve over his choice of a pursuit in life, if he should prefer the calling of a merchant."

"Nor I. Active employment is the best for all, and in choosing a profession in life, that should always be chosen which will give the mind great activity, while, at the same time, it brings in the affections also. The pursuit of any calling which a man does not like, can never result to his own and the public advantage in so high a degree as it would were his heart in what he was doing. For this reason, we ought to be governed very much, in deciding for our children, by their fitness for and preference for a pursuit in business."

"Children's preferences, however, do not always arise from any peculiar fitness in themselves — but often from caprice."

"It is the business of a wise parent to discriminate between a natural fitness for a thing — and a fleeting preference for it. The imagination of young people is very active, and apt to throw a false light around that upon which it dwells."

Many conversations of a like nature were held by Mr. and Mrs. Hartley, who finally came to the determination to keep Henry at home. The boy was disappointed at this. He wanted to go to college; not for the sake of the superior advantages there to be obtained, but because his imagination had thrown a peculiar charm about a college life."

Before making a final decision on the subject, Mrs. Hartley thought it right to bring Clarence into their confidence. She wrote him a long letter on the subject, and asked him to give his opinion of the effect that would be produced upon a boy like Henry, if introduced among the students. "You know his disposition," she said, "and how he would be affected by the kind of associations into which he would be thrown."

Clarence wrote back immediately, that he did not believe it would be good for Henry to be exposed to the temptations of a college life. "He is too easily led away by others," he remarked. "I have noticed more than a dozen instances, since I have been here, of boys just like Henry, who were innocent and confiding in their dispositions when they came — who soon became so changed that it made me sad to think about it. There was one boy in particular. His mother came with him when he first entered college. She appeared to be deeply attached to him, and he to her — they both wept bitterly at parting. She was a widow, and he her only remaining child, upon whom all her care, affection and assets were lavished. He soon made friends, for all seemed drawn towards him. Singular as it may seem, the boy, between whom and himself the warmest attachment arose, was as unlike him as it is possible to imagine. He was a bold, bad boy — full of life, and ready to do almost anything that his reckless spirit prompted. In a little while, they were inseparable companions. At the end of six months, the spirit of the one seemed to have been transfused into that of the other. I almost wonder, sometimes, if the mother would know her son, were they to meet unexpectedly. I hope you will not send Henry here. He might pass through his course uncontaminated, but I think it would be dangerous to expose one like him to so many temptations."

This letter fully decided Mr. and Mrs. Hartley.


Back to Volume III. The Mother