The Young Lady CHAPTER 9.
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"He is very singular, but possessing one of the best of hearts," replied Mrs. Hartley, as Uncle Peter closed the door after him.
"He does not seem to me half so singular now, as he did a few years ago," returned Mrs. Merlin. "Many, many kind acts and lessons of wisdom have endeared him to me, and made even his odd ways and strange notions not only tolerable, but even pleasant. There is no doubt of his heart being in the right place."
"None in the world. Even his odd, rough ways, are only assumed as kind of counteracting agents to some follies which he wishes to correct. He can use polished, and even beautiful language, when he chooses, and always does so when presenting any subject in which he takes a deep interest. I remember, on one occasion at my house, that he joined in with a few gentlemen who were discussing some important general principles in the morality of political economy. I don't know when I was more surprised than I was at the clearness and soundness of his views, expressed in really eloquent language. The gentlemen present seemed to understand his worth fully, for he was listened to with marked attention and deference, and his opinions weighed with the candor and fairness they deserved. At least this was so except in a single instance. One of the most wordy and forward of those engaged in the conversation, was a young man with a really fine mind, well cultivated, but who was self-opinionated to rather an offensive degree. He replied to one of Uncle Peter's positions in rather a light manner. The old man, you know, warms up in an instant. He did so on this occasion. It was with difficulty that I could suppress a smile at the utter discomfiture of the young man; although I could not help blaming Uncle Peter a little for one biting sarcasm that he uttered, in the very truth of which lay its severity."
"I can understand that very well. Many a one of those cutting sarcasms have I had to bear — but , never, I am inclined to think, undeserved. I have no doubt that he used to do a great many queer things, and express a great many odd and vulgar sentiments in the presence of some of my double-refined young lady acquaintances, for no other reason than just to mortify me. But I heartily forgive him all. I know, now, that he loves me truly. His conduct towards me since our reverses, has fully satisfied me of this. He might have beengentler with me, and shown me more sympathy; but, perhaps, it would not have done me so much good. At least I am willing to think so."
"Such a thought will do you no harm, certainly. But, tell me, my dear Mrs. Merlin, how you are, and how you are getting along. Talk to me freely, as you would to your own sister. Your trials, I know, have been great. That you have nobly met them, I have already been told. But, even in a woman's heroism, there is much that she can speak of, only to a woman — much lingering in her heart, that only can be breathed into a woman's ear — much in her bosom with which only a woman can truly sympathize. Thus far you have been blessed with no friend into whose willing ear you could pour out every thought and feeling — to whom you could speak of trials under which the spirit had well-near sunk — of temptations resisted and overcome — of despondency that made the heart feel like yielding up the struggle. Some of these states of mind, Uncle Peter, so far as he saw them, viewed as weaknesses; and no doubt even opposed them, regardless of the acute pain he occasioned."
"And yet I will not blame him," Cecilia said, the tears gathering in her eyes. "He did all for the best. But, sometimes, when I felt unusually depressed, if, instead of opposing, as you say, he had met me with tender sympathy — had spoken some pitying word — had seemed to feel with me and for me — it would have been like oil upon the waters of my troubled heart. I was weak, I know, and vain, and foolish. But I could not see this all at once. Oh, how often and often have I wished for some woman's bosom upon which to lay my head! But my weary path I had to tread alone."
Mrs. Hartley was touched at this.
"Deeply do I now blame myself," she said, "for not having followed the promptings of my heart, when you first felt the heavy hand of misfortune. It was delicacy which kept me away — but I now acknowledge it to have been a false delicacy."
"A visit from an old friend who could truly enter into my feelings, and help me to bear up under painful trials, would have been felt as a great kindness, instead of an intrusion. It would have helped to reconcile me to the change which I had to endure. But to have every tie of friendship at once severed — to have loneliness and neglect added to my other sources of pain — was to crush my spirits to the earth. How I bore up under all these circumstances, I hardly know. Not in my own strength, I am sure."
"In that you have spoken truly, my dear friend," Mrs. Hartley said quickly, and with much emotion. "Not in our own strength are we able to bear up under any affliction, much less one so severe and all-pervading as that through which you have been called to pass. Though your earthly friends stood aloof, yet One was intimately near to sustain you, and impart strength according to your day. And He has sustained you, far better than could words of comfort and sympathy from any earthly friend. It rejoices my heart to find that you have learned to see the Source from whence true strength comes."
"I spoke but from a deep sense of my own weakness," Cecilia replied to this. "I cannot say that I have been able truly to see the Source from whence my strength has come."
"Do you acknowledge an overruling Providence?"
"Yes — I believe there is a general overruling Providence."
"And a Providence regarding every particular in a man's life?"
"That, I believe, is thought by many to be the case. But I don't know. There is, I have no doubt, a general Providence."
"Can there be any such a thing my dear, as a general Providence, except such as is made up of particulars. A whole cannot be conceived of without its parts. If there is, in regard to you, a general Providence, it must be in consequence of an aggregation of particular providences. But we need not reason upon this subject. The Word of God fully instructs us in regard to it. 'Even the very hairs of your head are numbered,' was not spoken as an unmeaning sentence. How strikingly does it set forth the consoling doctrine of a particular and intimate Providence."
"But does not that seem a strange Providence, which should so suddenly cast down, and so painfully afflict anyone as I have been afflicted?"
"Do you think that we were born to an eternal existence?"
"Yes, I fully believe that."
"Compared to which your brief stay upon this earth, will be as nothing?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Now, from this fact, what does reason teach you would be the operations of Providence? Would they mainly regard this natural life — or an eternal life?"
"An eternal life, I would think," Mrs. Merlin said, after a thoughtful pause.
"Yes, certainly. For that is of infinite importance. Then you can understand, I suppose, how, if it were necessary to our eternal good — even the deepest afflictions would be sent?"
"Yes."
"And can you not also understand another and kindred truth, that, as the Lord is a being of infinite goodness, from which must necessarily flow infinite compassion — He never allows any to be afflicted, unless it is necessary for their spiritual good?"
"I suppose that would follow, necessarily."
"Very well. Then endeavor, in all sincerity, to make an application of this truth to yourself. Let it be under your feet as something to stand upon firmly. Let it lead you to close self-examination, and determine you to oppose every principle that you discover within your bosom, which is not true, and every affection that is not good. Then will you be enabled toextract sweets from a bitter cup; to find even in the gloomy night — some bright star to guide you. Pardon me for thus turning your thoughts to a serious theme. It is one with which our best interests are so intimately blended, that I cannot refrain from alluding to it now. Feeling as I do, that your sufferings have been designed to lead you to see within your own bosom, things which must be removed before you can be truly happy, I feel anxious that you should not suffer in vain."
"Thus far, my dear madam, I feel that I have not suffered in vain. The scales have been torn from my eyes, and I have been led to see the difference between a true and a falselife. Before, I was a mere artificial being — a mirthful butterfly, with no thought beyond the sunshine and blossoms of a summer day. Now I am conscious that I have many duties to perform. Would that I could enter into them with a true affection! I see my duty, and go forward in the effort to perform it. But I am often grieved, because I do not love my duty."
"You are in the right way. Cecilia," Mrs. Hartley said, with earnest tenderness. "Obedience to truth is always first in order. The love of it will, surely follow sincere and persevering obedience. This is a spiritual law. Go forward, then, looking neither to the right nor the left. Your reward is before you."
"How pleasant a state it must be wherein one can love as well as see her duty," Mrs. Merlin said, with a smile of pleasure at the thought.
"Pleasant, indeed. But that state may be considered as a beautiful and delightful city — to reach which, a toilsome journey has to be taken. It is not attained, but by labor and toil, and earnest struggles against various difficulties and hindrances."
"I feel that truth sensibly. And I feel also another and all-sustaining truth: the reward is worth all the labor, a thousand and a thousand fold!"
"Yes, that it is. I have had many and many such a struggle, unseen and unknown, except an my own bosom, and my reward has been sweet," Mrs. Hartley said, while her voice trembled.
"You! What struggles for duty could you have endured? When in affluence, I never thought of duty."
"And it is, doubtless, for that reason, that our Heavenly Father has seen best to afflict you. No one here is permitted to lead an altogether useless life. If blessed with affluence, and this is so used in selfish gratifications as to encourage mere idleness and neglect of all social uses — it happens in nearly every such instance, that worldly goods are taken away, and their former possessor compelled to enter upon the performance of duties which cannot be put aside. How strikingly does your own case illustrate this!"
"It certainly does. But nearly all who moved in fashionable life with me, were alike unmindful of duty."
"And have not a large number of these very individuals fallen, like you, from their condition of ease and idleness? But, even in the richer circles, Mrs. Merlin, are many who feel sensibly their social and domestic obligations. I know many who give the strictest attention to household cares, from a conscientious regard to duty."
"Who shut themselves up in their kitchens, and neglect the virtues of social life?"
"No, Mrs. Merlin. That does not follow as a natural consequence. A woman who has the means at command, is bound to employ suitable servants to perform her household labors. But she is at the same time as much bound to direct and govern her servants, as to employ them; and this as well for the sake of true order in her family, as for the comfort and happiness of the whole."
"But, surely, you do not consider social visitings, an idle waste of time?"
"By no means. If I did, I would never pay another visit in my life. Is my visit to you, a mere waste of time?"
"I hope not," Cecilia returned, earnestly. "To me it is a blessing. You are lifting up my heart, and filling it with strength."
"And so should every visit we make, be a blessing to someone; or, rather, I should have said, a blessing either to another or to ourselves. For either in giving or receiving strength, we are in the way of duty. Sometimes I have stepped from my door, feeling much depressed in spirit on account of some trial through which I have had to pass. There was some friend upon whom I felt that I ought to call; and yet I would much rather have remained in the seclusion of my own chamber. But in obedience to what seemed to me right, caused me to conquer my own reluctant feelings. Under such circumstances, I have always been comforted. That very friend has been the medium of communicating some encouraging sentiment; or she has strengthened me by an example of firmness and self-sacrificing devotion."
"But, in my circle of friends, I never heard the solemn word, duty. I never remember to have heard anyone converse about domestic economy," Mrs. Merlin said.
"And you frequently called in to see me?"
"Yes, but you never alluded to such subjects."
"True. And it was because I knew that you could not feel any interest in them. I therefore met you, where you could be met. But I had and still have many friends whom I often meet, and with whom I often converse about social and domestic duties. Mutually we strengthen each other's hands, and confirm each other's wavering purposes."
"Few, very few such were numbered among my friends."
"More than you might be inclined to think. Wealth does not necessarily make a woman, a mere glittering butterfly. It is intended to give her greater power, and to enable her to perform higher uses in society. There are those who understand this, and who feel deeply the responsibility of their station. I know women whose thoughts are rarely occupied with reflections on their own elevated position; who think mainly of the performance of duty, and who act well their parts in society; and these are some of the happiest women I know."
"You surprise, at the same time that you gratify me much," Mrs. Merlin said, in a cheerful voice, while there was a tone of elevation and strength in her countenance. "The more I hear, and see, and feel, satisfies me that it was a merciful Providence that wrought a change in my external circumstances."
"No doubt of it. But I must break away from you, Mrs. Merlin, although I would feel interested, were I to sit here for hours. Several engagements remain to be met this morning. But I will call again right early, and then I shall insist upon a renewal of our intimacy, and upon a plan of perfect reciprocity. I trust that I have learned to value a true heart, abovethe glitter of a gilded exterior."
After Mrs. Hartley had gone away, Cecilia sat for a long time, communing with her own heart. It was not a painful communion, but fraught with hope. She experienced an elevation of mind, and a strength of purpose, which produced a calmness that was soothing to her spirit.
"Sweet, indeed, are the uses of adversity," she murmured in a low, half-audible tone; and then with a light step and a cheerful countenance, resumed her daily cares.
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