Forgive and forget! Why the world would be lonely,
The garden a wilderness left to deform,
If the flowers but remembered the chilling winds only,
And the fields gave no verdure for fear of the storm! C. SWAIN.
"FORGIVE and forget, Herbert."
"No, I will neither forgive nor forget. The thing was done wantonly.I never pass by a direct insult."
"Admit that it was done wantonly; but this I doubt. He is an oldfriend, long tried and long esteemed. He could not have beenhimself; he must have been carried away by some wrong impulse, whenhe offended you."
"He acted from something in him, of course."
"We all do so. Nothing external can touch our volition, unless therebe that within which corresponds to the impelling agent."
"Very well. This conduct of Marston shows him to be internallyunworthy of my regard; shows him to possess a trait of characterthat unfits him to be my friend. I have been mistaken in him. He nowstands revealed in his true light, a mean-spirited fellow."
"Don't use such language towards Marston, my young friend."
"He has no principle. He wished to render me ridiculous and do meharm. A man who could act as he did, cannot possess a spark ofhonourable feeling. Does a good fountain send forth bitter waters?Is not a tree known by its fruit? When a man seeks wantonly toinsult and injure me, I discover that he wants principle, and wishto have no more to do with him."
"Perhaps," said the individual with whom Herbert Arnest wasconversing, "it is your wounded self-love, more than your highregard for principle, that speaks so eloquently against Marston."
"Mr. Welford!"
"Nay, my young friend, do not be offended with me. Your years, twicetold, would not make mine. I have lived long enough to get a coolhead and understand something of the springs of action that lie inthe human heart. The best, at best, have little to be proud of, andmuch to lament over, in the matter of high and honourable impulses.It is a far easier thing to do wrong than right; far easier to beled away by our evil passions than to compel ourselves always toregard justice and judgment in our dealings with others. Testyourself by this rule. Would your feelings for Marston be the sameif he had only acted toward another as he has acted toward you? Donot say 'yes' from a hasty impulse. Reflect coolly about it. If not,then it is not so much a regard to principle, as your regard toyourself, that causes you to be so bitterly offended."
This plain language was not relished by the young man. It wastouching the very thing in him that Marston had offended--hisself-love. He replied, coldly--
"As for that, I am very well satisfied with my own reasons for beingdispleased with Marston; and am perfectly willing to be responsiblefor my own action in this case. I will change very much from mypresent feelings, if I ever have any thing more to do with him."
"God give you a better mind then," replied Mr. Welford. "It is thebest wish I can express for you."
The two young men who were now at variance with each other had beenfriends for many years. As they entered the world, the hereditarycharacter of each came more fully into external manifestation, andrevealed traits not before seen, and not always the most agreeableto others. Edward Marston had his faults, and so had Herbert Arnest:the latter quite as many as the former. There was a mutualobservation of these, and a mutual forbearance towards each otherfor a considerable time, although each thought more than wasnecessary about things in the other that ought to be corrected. Afault with Marston was quickness of temper and a disposition to sayunpleasant, cutting things, without due reflection. But he had aforgiving disposition, and very many amiable and excellentqualities. Arnest was also quick-tempered. His leading defect ofcharacter was self-esteem, which made him exceedingly sensitive inregard to the conduct of others as affecting the general estimationof himself. He could not bear to have any freedom taken with him, incompany, even by his best friend. He felt it to be humiliating, ifnot degrading. He, therefore, was a man of many dislikes, for oneand another were every now and then doing or saying something thathurt more or less severely his self-esteem.
Marston had none of this peculiar weakness of his friend. He rarelythought about the estimation in which he was held, and never let themere opinions of others influence him. But he was careful not to doany thing that violated his own self-respect.
The breach between the young men occurred thus. The two friends werein company with several others, and there was present a young ladyin whose eyes Arnest wished to appear in as favourable a light aspossible. He was relating an adventure in which he was the principalhero, and, in doing so, exaggerated his own action so far as toamuse Marston, who happened to know all about the circumstances, andprovoke from him some remarks that placed the whole affair in rathera ridiculous light, and caused a laugh at Arnest's expense.
The young man's self-esteem was deeply wounded. Even the lady, forwhose ears the narrative had been more especially given, laughedheartily, and made one or two light remarks; or, rather, heavy onesfor the ears of Arnest. He was deeply disturbed though at the timehe managed to conceal almost entirely what he felt.
Marston, however, saw that his thoughtless words had done more than he had intended them to do, both upon the company and upon thesensitive mind of his friend. He regretted having uttered them andwaited only until he should leave the company with Arnest, toexpress his sorrow for what he had done. But his friend did not givehim this opportunity, for he managed to retire alone, thusexpressing to Marston the fact that he was seriously offended.
Early the next morning, Marston called at the residence of hisfriend, in order to make an apology for having offended him; but hehappened not to be at home. On arriving at his office, he found anote from Arnest, couched in the most offensive terms. The languagewas such as to extinguish all desire or intention to apologize.
"Henceforth we are strangers," he said, as he thrust the note aside.
An hour afterward, they met on the street, looked coldly into eachother's face, and passed without even a nod. That act sealed therecord of estrangement.
Mr. Wellford was an old gentleman who was well acquainted with bothof the young men, and esteemed them for the good qualities theypossessed. When he heard of the occurrence just related, he was muchgrieved, and sought to heal the breach that had been made; butwithout success. Arnest's self-esteem had been sorely wounded, andhe would not forgive what he considered a wanton outrage. Marstonfelt himself deeply insulted by the note he had received, andmaintained that he would forfeit his self-respect were he to holdany intercourse whatever with a man who could, on so small aprovocation, write such a scandalous letter. Thus the matter stood;wounded self-esteem on one side, and insulted self-respect on theother, not only maintaining the breach, but widening it every day.Mr Wellford used his utmost influence with his young friends to bendthem from their anger, but he argued the matter in vain. The voiceof pride was stronger than the voice of reason.
Months were suffered to go by, and even years to elapse, and stillthey were as strangers. Circumstances threw them constantlytogether; they met in places of business; they sat in full view ofeach other in church on the holy Sabbath; they mingled in the samesocial circles; the friends of one were the friends of the other;but they rarely looked into each other's face, and never spoke. Didthis make them happier? No! For, "If ye forgive not men theirtrespasses, neither will your heavenly Father forgive yourtrespasses." Did they feel indifferent toward each other? Not byany means! Arnest still dwelt on and magnified the provocation hehad received, but thought that the expression of his indignation hadnot been of a character to give as great offence to Marston as ithad done. And Marston, as time passed, thought more and more lightlyof the few jesting words he had spoken, and considered them less andless provocation for the insulting note he had received, which hestill had, and sometimes turned up and read.
The old friends were forced to think of each other often, for bothwere rising in the world, and rising into general esteem andrespectability. The name of the one was often mentioned withapprobation in the presence of the other; and it sometimes happenedthat they were thrown together in such a way as to render theirposition toward each other really embarrassing: as, for instance,one was called to preside at a public meeting, and the other chosensecretary. Neither could refuse, and there had to be an officialintercourse between them; it was cold and formal in the extreme; andneither could see as he looked into the eyes of the other, a glimmerof the old light of friendship.
Mr. Wellford was present at this meeting, and marked the fact thatthe intercourse between Arnest and Marston was official only--thatthey did not unbend to each other in the least. He was grieved tosee it, for he knew the good qualities of both, and he had a highrespect for them.
"This must not be," said he to himself, as he walked thoughtfullyhomeward. "They are making themselves unhappy, and preventing aconcert of useful efforts for good in society, and all for nothing.I will try again to reconcile them; perhaps I may be more successfulthan before."
So, on the next day, the old gentleman made it his business to callupon Arnest, who expressed great pleasure in meeting him.
"I noticed," said Mr. Wellford, after he had conversed some time,and finally introduced the subject of the meeting on the previousevening, "that your intercourse with the secretary was exceedinglyformal; in fact, hardly courteous."
"I don't like Marston, as you are very well aware," replied Arnest.
"In which feeling you stand nearly alone, friend Arnest. Mr. Marstonis highly esteemed by all who know him."
"All don't know him as I do."
"Perhaps others know him better than you do; there may lie thedifference."
"If a man knocks me down, I know the weight of his arm much betterthan those who have never felt it."
"Still nursing your anger, still harbouring unkind thoughts! Forgiveand forget, my friend--forgive and forget; no longer let the sun godown upon your wrath."
"I can forgive, Mr. Wellford--I do forgive; for Heaven knows I wishhim no harm; but I cannot forget: that is asking too much."
"You do not forget, because you will not forgive," replied the oldgentleman. "Forgive, and you will soon forget. I am sure you willboth be happier in forgetting than you can be in remembering thepast."
But Arnest shook his head, remarking, as he so--"I would rather letthings remain as they are. At least, I cannot stoop to anyhumiliating overtures for a reconciliation. When Marston outraged myfeelings so wantonly, I wrote him a pretty warm expression of mysentiments in regard to his conduct. This gave him mortal offence. Ido not now remember what I wrote, but nothing, certainly, to haveprevented his coming forward and apologizing for his conduct; but hedid not choose to do this, and there the matter rests. I cannotrecall the angry rebuke I gave him, for it was no doubt just."
"A man who writes a letter in a passion, and afterwards forgets whathe has written," said Mr. Wellford, "may be sure that he has saidwhat his sober reason cannot approve. If you could have the letteryou then sent before you now, I imagine that you would no longerwonder that Marston was offended."
"That is impossible; without doubt, he burned my note the moment hereceived it."
Mr. Wellford tried in vain to induce Arnest to consent to forgetwhat was past; but he affirmed that this was impossible, and that hehad no wish to renew an acquaintance with his old friend.
About the same time that this interview took place, Marston wasalone, thinking with sad and softened feelings of the past. Theletter of Arnest was before him; he had turned it over by accident.
"He could not have been himself when he wrote this," he thought. Itwas the first time he had permitted himself to think so. "My wordsmust have stung him severely, lightly as I uttered them, and with nointention to wound. This matter ought not to have gone on so long.Friends are not so plentiful that we may carelessly cast those wehave tried and proved aside. He has many excellent qualities."
Pride came quickly, with many suggestions about self-respect, andwhat every man owed to himself.
"He owes it to himself to be just to others," Marston truly thought."Was I just in failing to apologize to my friend, notwihstandingthis offensive letter? No, I was not; for his action did notexonerate me from the responsibility of mine. Ah, me! How passionblinds us!"
After musing for some time, Marston drew towards him a sheet ofpaper, and, taking up a pen, wrote:
"MY DEAR SIR:--What I ought to have done years ago, I do now, andthat is, offer you a sincere apology for light words thoughtlesslyspoken, but which I ought not to have used, as they were calculatedto wound, and, I am grieved to think, did wound. But for your note,which I enclose, I should have made this apology the moment I had anopportunity. But its peculiar tenor, I then felt, precluded me fromdoing so. I confess that I erred in letting my feelings blind mycooler judgment.
"Your old friend, MARSTON.
"To Mr. Herbert Arnest."
Enclosing the note alluded to in this letter, Marston sealed, and,ringing for an attendant, despatched it.
"Better to do right late than never," he murmured, as he leanedpensively back in his chair.
"Let what will come of it, I shall feel better, for I will gain myown self-respect, and have an inward assurance that I have doneright,--more than I have for a long time had, in regard to thismatter at least."
Relieved in mind, Marston commenced looking over some papers inreference to matters of business then on hand, and was soon so muchabsorbed in them, that the subject which had lately filled histhoughts faded entirely therefrom. Some one opened the door, and heturned to see who was entering. In an instant he was on his feet. Itwas Arnest.
The face of the latter was pale and agitated, and his lips quivered.He came forward hurriedly, extending his hand, not to grasp that ofhis old friend, but to hold up his own letter that had been justreturned to him.
"Marston," he said, huskily, "did I send you this note?"
"You did," was the firm but mild answer.
"Thus I cancel it!" And he tore it into shreds, and scattered themon the floor. "Would that its contents could be as easilyobliterated from your memory!" he added, in a most earnest voice.
"They are no longer there, my friend," returned Marston, withvisible emotion, now grasping the hand of Arnest. "You have wipedthem out."
Arnest returned the pressure with both hands, his eyes fixed onthose of Marston, until they grew so dim that he could no longerread the old familiar lines and forgiving look.
"Let us forgive and forget," said Marston, speaking in a brokenvoice. "We have wronged each other and ourselves. We have let evilpassions rule instead of good affections."
"From my heart do I say 'Amen,'" replied Arnest. "Yes, let usforgive and forget. Would that we had been as wise as we now are,years ago!"
Thus were they reconciled. And now the question is, What did eithergain by his indignation against the other? Did Arnest rise higher inhis self-esteem, or Marston gain additional self-respect? We thinknot. Alas! how blinding is selfish passion! How it opens in the mindthe door for the influx of multitudes of evil and false suggestions!How it hides the good in others, and magnifies, weakness intocrimes! Let us beware of it.
"Reconciled at last," said old Mr. Wellford, when he next saw Arnestand heard the fact from his lips.
"Yes," replied the latter. "I can now forget as well as forgive."
"Rather say you can forget, because you forgive. If you hadforgiven truly, you could have ceased to think of what was wrong inyour friend long ago. People talk of forgiving and not forgetting,but it isn't so: they do not forget because they do not forgive."
"I believe you are right," said Arnest. "I think, now, as naturallyof my friend's good qualities as I ever did before of what was evil.I forget the evil in thinking of the good."
"Because you have forgiven him," returned Mr. Wellford. "Before youforgave him, your thought of evil gave no room for the thought ofgood."
Mr. Wellford was right. After we have forgiven, we find it no hardmatter to forget.
THE END.
* * * * * * * * * * * *