IN one of the New England States, the little church-bell in Chestervillage rung merrily in the clear morning air of a bright summer'sday. It was to call the people together, and they all obeyed itssummons--for who among the aged, middle-aged, or the young, did notwish to fitness the marriage ceremonies of their favourite, EllenLawton? Ere the tolling of the bell had ceased, the gray-haired manwas leaning on the finger-worn ball of his staff, in the corner ofhis antiquated pew; the hale, healthy farmer came next; and then theseat was filled with rosy-cheeked boys and girls, till the dignifiedmatron brought up the rear at the honourable head. The church becamequiet, eager eyes were fastened upon the door. Presently a tall formentered, that of a handsome man, apparently about thirty years ofage, on whose arm was leaning, in sweet childlike smiling trust, theyoung and loved Ellen Lawton, whose rose-cheek delicately shaded thepale face, and who looked more beautiful in her angel lovelinessthan ever before, even to the eyes of the humble villagers, to whomshe ever was but a "thing of beauty" and "a joy for ever." If thusshe looked to familiar eyes, how transcendently beautiful must shehave appeared to him, who this hour was to make her his own chosenbride, the wife of his bosom, the pride, the priceless jewel of hisheart. They stood before the altar; he cast his dark eye uponher--she raised hers, beaming in their blue depths, all full of loveand tenderness, and as they met his, the orange blossoms trembledslightly in her auburn tresses, and the rose-tint, deepened on hercheek. The voice of the man of God was heard, and soon FredericGorton had promised to "love, cherish, and protect," and EllenLawton to "love, honour, and obey." As it ever is, so it wasthere, an interesting occasion--one that might well cause the eyeto fill with tears, the heart to hope, fearfully but earnestly hope,that that young girl's dreams may not too soon fade, that in him towhom she has given her heart she may ever find a firm friend, aready counsellor, a kind and forbearing spirit, a sympathizinginterest in all her thoughts and emotions. On this occasion manycriticising glances were thrown upon the handsome stranger, and manywhispers were circulated.
"I fear," said one of the deacon's good ladies, "that he is tooproud and self-willed for our gentle Ellen;" and she took off herspectacles, which she wiped with her silk handkerchief, as if shethought they were wearied of the long scrutiny as her own very eyes.
Is there truth in the good lady's suspicion? Look at FredericGorton, as he stands there in his stateliness, towering above hisbride, like the oak of the forest above the flower at its foot. Hiseye is very dark and very piercing, but how full of tenderness as hecasts it upon Ellen's up-turned face! His brow is lofty, and pale,and stern, but partially covered with long dark hair, with whichlady's finger had never toyed. His cheek was as if chiselled frommarble, so perfect had the hand of nature formed it. Hismouth--another space of Ellen's unpenetrating discernment, wouldhave been reminded of Shakspeare's
"O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip."
There was about it that compression, so indicative of firmness,which, while it commands respect, as often wins love.
A perfect contrast to him, was the fairy thing at his side; gentleas the floating breeze of evening, trusting as true-hearted womanever is, lovely, amiable, and beautiful, she was just one to win astrong man's love; for there is something grateful to a proud man inhaving a delicate, gentle, confiding girl place all her love andtrust in him and making all her happiness derivable from his willand wish. Heaven's blessing rest upon him who fulfils faithfullythat trust reposed in him, but woe be unto him who remembers not hisvows to love and to cherish!
The marriage service over, the friends of Ellen pressed eagerlyaround her, offering their many wishes for her long life andhappiness. The gray-haired man, and aged mother in Israel, laidtheir hands on the young bride's fair head, and fervently prayed"God bless thee;" and not a few there were who gave glances upwardto Frederic Gorton, and impressively said,
"Love as we have loved the treasure God transfers to thee."
The widowed mother of Ellen gazed upon the scene with mingledemotions. Ellen was her eldest child, and had been her pride, herjoy, and delight since the death of her husband, many years before.She was giving her to a stranger, whose reputation as a man oftalent, of worth, and honourable position in the world wasunquestioned; but of whose private character she had no means ofacquiring a knowledge. It was all uncertainty if a stern, businessman of the world, should supply the tenderness and devoted love of afond mother, to her whose wish had been hitherto scarcely everdisregarded. Yet it might be--she could only hope, and her trust wasin "Him who doeth all things well."
For the two previous years Ellen had been at a female boardingschool in a neighbouring state, on the anniversaries of which shehad taken an active part in the examinatory exercises. FredericGorton, who was one of the board, was so much pleased with her, thathe made of the teachers minute inquiries in regard to her character,which were answered entirely satisfactorily--for Ellen had been ageneral favourite at school, as well as in her own village.Afterward he called on her frequently, and on her final return home,Frederic Gorton, who had ever been so confident in his eternal oldbachelorship, accompanied her, and sought her from her mother as hisbride. Seldom does one so gifted seek favour of lady in vain; andEllen Lawton, hitherto unsought and unwon, yielded up in silentworship her whole heart, that had involuntarily bowed itself in hispresence, and became as a child in reverence.
But Frederic Gorton had lived nearly thirty-five years of his lifeamong men. His mother had died in his infancy, his father soonafter, and he, an only child, had been educated in the family of anold bachelor uncle.
The influence of woman had never been exerted on his heart. In hisboyhood he had formed, from reading works of fiction, an idea ofwoman as perfection in all things; but as he grew in years and inwisdom, and learned the falsity of many youthful ideas and dreams,he discarded that which he had entertained of woman, and knowingnothing of her, but by her general appearance of vanity and love ofpleasure, he cherished for her not much respect, and regarded her asan inferior, to whom, he thought in his pride, he at least wouldnever level himself by marriage. He smiled scornfully, on learninghis appointment as trustee of the female school, and laughingly saidto an old bachelor companion:--
"They will make me to have care of the gentle weak ones, whether Iwill or no."
"O, yes," replied his friend, who was somewhat disposed to besatiric, "classically speaking, 'pulchra faciant te proleparentum.' Depend upon it this will be your initiation; you willsurely, upon attendance there, be caught by the smiling graces ofsome pretty Venus--but, be careful; remember there is no escape whenonce caught. Ah, my friend, I consider you quite gone. I shall soonsee in the morning daily--'Married, on the 12th, Hon. FredericGorton, of M--, to Miss Isabella, Mary, or Ellen Somebody, andthen, be assured, my best friend, Fred, that I shall heave a sighimo pectore, not for myself only, but for you."
Some prophecies, jestfully uttered, are fulfilled--so were those ofFrederic's friend; and when they next met, only one was a bachelor.
But we will return to that bright morning when the bell had rungmerrily--when Ellen Lawton had returned from the village church toher childhood home as Ellen Gorton, and was to leave it for a newhome. After entering the parlour, Mr. Gorton said,
"Now, Ellen, we will be ready to start in as few moments aspossible."
"Yes," answered Ellen, "but I wish to go over to Aunt Mary's, justto bid her good-bye."
"But my dear," answered Frederic, "there is not time;" looking athis watch.
"Just a moment," persisted Ellen, "I will hurry. I promised AuntMary; she is sick and cannot leave her room."
And, as Frederic answered not, and as Ellen's eyes were brimful oftears, she could but half see the impatience expressed on hiscountenance, and hastily departed.
But, Aunt Mary had innumerable kisses to bestow upon her favourite,and many words and wishes to utter, brokenly, in a voice choked withtears; and it was many minutes ere she could tear herself away, andon her return she met several loiterers from the church, who stoppedher to look, as they said, upon her sweet face once more, and listto her sweet voice again. She hurried on--Mr. Gorton met her at thedoor, and taking her hand, said, sternly,
"Ellen, I wish you not to delay a moment in bidding adieu to yourfriends--you have already kept me waiting too long."
There was no tenderness in his voice as he uttered this, and it fellas a weight upon Ellen's heart, already saddened at the thought ofthe parting with her mother and home friends, which must be now, andwhich was soon over.
As the carriage rolled away, Ellen grieved bitterly. Mr. Gorton, whoreally loved Ellen sincerely and fondly, encircled her waist withhis arm, and said, kindly,
"Do you feel, Ellen, that you have made too great a sacrifice inleaving home and friends for me?"
"O, no," answered Ellen, raising to his her love-lit countenance,"no sacrifice could be too great to make for you; but do you notknow I have left all I had to love before I loved you? And they willmiss me too at home, and will think of me, how often, too, when Ishall be thinking of you only! Think it not strange that I weep."
Nevertheless, Mr. Gorton did think it strange. He had no idea of thetender associations clustering around one's home. He had no idea ofthe depth and richness and sweetness of a mother's love, of asister's yearning fondness, for they ever had been denied him;consequently the emotions that thrilled the heart of his bride couldfind no response and met with no sympathy in his own. It was ratherwith wonder, than with any other sensation, that he regarded hersorrow. Was she not entering upon a newer and higher sphere of life?Was she not to be the mistress of a splendid mansion? Was she not tobe the envied of many and many a one who had feigned everyattraction and exerted every effort for the station, she was toassume; and should she weep with this in view?
Thus Mr. Gorton thought--as man often reasons.
After having proceeded a little distance, they came within view ofan humble cottage, when Ellen said,
"I must stop here, Mr. Gorton, and see Grandma Nichols (she was anelderly member of the church of which Ellen was a member), and whenI was last to see her, she said, as she should not be able to walkto to see me married, I must call on her, or she should think meproud. I will stop for a moment--just a moment," she added, after apause, observing he did not answer.
They were just opposite the cottage at that moment, yet he gave noorders to stop. With a fresh burst of tears, Ellen exclaimed,
"Please, Mr. Gorton, let me see her. I may never see her again, andshe will think I did not care to bid her a last farewell."
But Mr. Gorton said,
"Really, Ellen, I am very much surprised at the apparent necessityof trifles to make your happiness. You went to see your aunt after Ihad assured you there was not time. I wish you to remember that yourlittle wishes and whims, however important they may scene to you,cannot seem of such importance to me as to interfere with myarrangements. What matters it if my bride do not say farewell to anold woman whom I never heard of, and shall never think of again, andwho will soon probably die and cease to remember that you slightedher?"
And he laid Ellen's head upon his shoulder, and wiping the tearsfrom her face, wondered of what nature incomprehensible she was.
But, it did matter to her in more respects than one, that she wasnot permitted to call at the cottage. A mind so sensitive as Ellen'sfeels the least neglect and the slightest reproof, and is equallypained by giving cause for pain, as receiving. Besides, how much wasexpressed in that last sentence of Mr. Gorton's, accompanying thedenial of her simple request! How much contained in that denial,too! How plainly she read in it the future--how fully did it revealthe disposition of him by whose will she saw she was herself to behereafter governed! Though her mind was full of these thoughts,there was no less of love for him--love in Ellen Lawton could neverchange, though she wondered, too, how he could refuse what seemed toher so easy to grant. And so they both silently pursued their way,wondering in their hearts as to the nature of each other. This,however, did not continue long; and soon Ellen's tears ceased toflow, and she listened, delighted, to the eloquent words of hergifted husband, spoken in the most musical and rich of all voices.
Woman will have love for her husband so long as she has admiration,and Ellen knew she would never cease to admire the talents andbrilliant acquirements of Frederic Gorton.
After several days travel through a delightfully romantic country,they reached the town of M--, where was the residence of Mr.Gorton. It was an elegant mansion, the exterior planned and finishedin the most tasteful and handsome style--the interior equallyso--and furnished with all that a young bride of most cultivatedtaste could desire. The eye of Ellen was delighted and surprised,even to tears, and inaudibly, but fervently in her heart shemurmured, "how devotedly will I love him who has provided for me somuch comfort and splendour, and how cheerfully will I makesacrifices of my feelings, 'my wishes and my whims,' for him who hasloved me so much as to make me his wife!" and she gazed into herhusband's face through her tears, and kissed reverently his hand.
"Why weep you, my Ellen? Are you not pleased?"
"O, yes; but you have done too much for me. I can never repay you,only in my love, which is so boundless I have not dared to breatheit all to you, nor could I."
Gorton looked upon her in greater astonishment than before. Tears hehad ever associated with sorrow; and surely, thought he, here is nooccasion for tears, and he said,
"Well, if you love me, you will hasten to wipe away those tears, andlet me see you in smiles. I do not often smile myself, therefore themore need for my lady to do so. Moreover, we may expect a multitudeof callers; and think, Ellen, of the effect of any one's seeing thebride in tears."
Calling a servant to conduct her to her dressing-room, andexpressing his wish for her to dress in her most becoming manner, heleft her.
It is unnecessary to say that Ellen was admired and loved by all thefriends of her husband, even by his brother judges and politicians.Herbert Lester, the particular friend of Mr. Gorton, whose prophecyhad thus soon been verified, came many miles to express personallyhis sympathy and condolence. These he changed to congratulations,when he felt the influence of the grace and beauty of the wife ofhis friend--and he declared that he would make an offer of his handand heart, could he find another Ellen.
Meanwhile time passed, and though Ellen was daily called upon toyield her own particular preferences to Mr. Gorton's, as she haddone even on her bridal day, she was comparatively happy. Had shepossessed less keenness of sensibility, she might have been happier;or had Mr. Gorton possessed more, that he could have understood her,many tears would have been spared her. Oftentimes, thingscomparatively trifling to him would wound the sensitive nature ofEllen most painfully, and he of course would have no conceptionwhy they should thus affect her.
Occupied as he was mostly with worldly transactions and politicalaffairs, Ellen's mind often, in his absence, reverted to the scenesof her youth, and her childhood home, her mother, and the brightband of her young sisters; and longings would come up in her heartto behold them once more.
Two years having passed without her having seen one member of herfamily, she one day asked Mr. Gorton if it would not be convenientsoon to make a visit to Chester. He answered that his arrangementswould not admit of it at present--and coldly and cruelly asked herif she had yet heard of Grandma Nichols' decease. Ellen answerednot, and bent her head over the face of her little Frederic, who wassleeping, to hide her tears. Perceiving her emotion, however, headded,
"Ellen, I assure you it is impossible for me to comply with yourwish, but I will write to your mother, and urge her to visitus--will not that do?"
Ellen's face brightened, as with a beam of sunshine, and springingto her husband's side, she laid her glowing cheek upon his, and thensmiled upon him so sweetly that even the cold heart of FredericGorton glowed with a warmth unusual.
Seven years passed away, leaving their shadows as the sun does. AndEllen--
"But matron care, or lurking woe, Her thoughtless, sinless look had banished, And from her cheek the roseate glow Of girlhood's balmy morn had vanished; Within her eyes, upon her brow, Lay something softer, fonder, deeper, As if in dreams some visioned woe Has broke the Elysium of the sleeper."
Never yet, since that bright bridal morn, had Ellen looked upon hernative village, though scarcely three hundred miles separated herfrom it. Now her heart beat quick and joyfully, for her husband hadtold her that business would call him to that vicinity in a fewdays, and she might accompany him. With all the willful eagerness ofa child she set her heart on that visit, and from morning till nightshe would talk with her little boys of the journey to what seemed toher the brightest, most sacred spot on earth, next to her presenthome. And the home of one's childhood! no matter how sweet, how-dearand beloved the home the heart afterwards loves, it never forgets,it never ceases most fondly to turn back to the memories, and thescenes, and the friends of its early years.
One fault, if fault it might be called, among so many excellenciesin Ellen's character, was that of putting off "till to-morrow whatshould be done today." This had troubled Mr. Gorton exceedingly,who, prompt himself, would naturally wish others to be so also, andnotwithstanding his constant complaints, and Ellen's desire toplease him, she had not yet overcome her nature in that respect,though she had greatly improved. The evening preceding the intendeddeparture, Mr. Gorton said to his wife,
"Now, Ellen, I hope you will have everything in readiness for anearly departure in the morning. Have the boys and yourself all readythe moment the carriage is at the door, for you know I do not liketo be obliged to wait."
Almost before the stars had disappeared in the sky, Ellen was busyin her final preparations. She was sure she should have everythingin season, and wondered how her husband could suppose otherwise,upon an occasion in which she had so much interest. Several minutesbefore the appointed time, Ellen had all in readiness for departure,the trunks all packed and locked, the children in their ridingdresses and caps; and proceeding from her dressing-room to the fronthall door, she was thinking that this time, certainly, she shouldnot hear the so oft repeated complaint--
"Ellen, you are always too late!"--when, to her dismay, she metGeorgie, her youngest boy, dripping with mud and water from thebrook, whence he had just issued, where, he said, he had ventured inchase of a goose, which had impudently hissed at him, which insultthe young boy, in his own conception a spirited knight of theregular order, could not brook, and in his wrath had pursued theoffender to his place of retreat, much to the detriment of hisdress.
Ellen was in consternation; but one thing was evident--Georgie'sdress must be changed. With trembling hands she unlocked a trunk,and sought for a change of dress, while the waiting-maid proceededto disrobe the child.
Just at this moment Mr. Gorton entered, saying the carriage was atthe door. Various things had occurred that morning to perplex him,and he was in a bad humour. Seeing Ellen thus engaged with thetrunk, as he thought, not half packed, various articles being uponthe carpet, and Georgie in no wise ready, the cloud came over hisbrow, and he said, harshly,
"I knew it would be thus, Ellen--I have never known you to be inreadiness yet; but you must know I am not to be trifled with."
And with this, not heeding the explanation she attempted to make, heseized his valise and left the room. Jumping into the carriage, hecommanded the driver to proceed.
Ellen heard the carriage rolling away in astonishment. She ran tothe door, and watched it in the distance. But she thought it couldnot be possible he had gone without her--he would return: and shehastened the maid, and still kept watching at the door. She waitedin vain, for he returned not.
The excitement into which Ellen was thrown by the anticipation ofmeeting her friends once more, may be readily imagined by thosesimilarly constituted with her, and the reaction occasioned by herdisappointment, also. Her heart had been entirely fixed upon it, andwhat but cruelty was it in her husband to deprive her thus sounreasonably of so great an enjoyment--to her so exquisite apleasure?
In the sudden rush of her feelings, she recalled the last sevenyears of her life, and could recollect no instance in which she hadfailed doing all in her power to contribute to her husband'shappiness. On the other hand, had he not often wounded her feelingsunnecessarily? Had he ever denied himself anything for her sake, butrequired of her sacrifice of her own wishes to his?
The day wore away, and the night found Ellen in a burning fever. Theservant who went for the physician in the early morning, said shehad raved during the latter part of the night. As the familyphysician entered the room, she said, mildly,
"O, do not go and, leave me! I am all ready--all ready. Do notgo--it will kill me if you go."
The doctor took her hand; it was very hot; and her brow was terriblythrobbing and burning. He remained with her the greater part of theday, but the attack of fever on the brain had been so violent thatno attempt for relief was of avail.
She grew worse and about midnight, with the words--
"O, do not go, Mr. Gorton,--do not go and leave me!"--her spirittook its flight.
And the morning dawned on Ellen in her death-sleep--dawned asbeautiful as that bright one, when the bell rang merrily for herbridal. Now the dismal death-note's pealed forth the departure ofher spirit to a brighter world. Would not even an angel weep to lookupon one morning, and then upon the other?
The birds, from the cage in the window, poured forth their songs;but they fell unheeded on the ears they had so often delighted. Thevoices of Fred and Georgie, ever as music to the loving heart of theyoung mother, would fall thrillingly on her ear no more. She laythere, still and cold--her dreams over--her hopes all passed by--thesun of her young life set--and how?
People came in, one after another, to look upon her--and wept thatone so young and good should die. They closed her eyes--they laidher in her grave-clothes, and folded her pale hands--and there shelay!
And now we leave that chamber of the too-early dead. Mr. Gorton'sfeelings of anger soon subsided. In a few hours he felt oppressedwith a sense of the grief Ellen would experience. His feelingsprompted him to return for her. Several times he put his head out ofthe window to order the driver to return, but, his, prideintervening, he as often desisted. Yet his mind was ill at ease. He,also, involuntarily, reviewed the period of his wedded life. Herecalled the goodness, and patience, and sweetness, which Ellen hadever shown him--the warm love she had ever evinced for him: and hisheart seemed to appreciate, for the first time, the value andcharacter of Ellen. He felt how unjust and unkind he had often beento her--he wondered he could have been so,--and resolved that,henceforth, he would show her more tenderness.
As he stopped for the night, at a public-house, his resolution wasto return early in the morning. Yet, his business must be attendedto. It was a case of emergency. He finally resolved to intrust itwith a lawyer acquaintance, who lived a half day's ride distant fromwhere he then was. Thus he did; and, about noon of the followingday, returned homeward. He was surprised at his own uneasiness andimpatience. He had never so longed to meet Ellen. He fancied hismeeting with her--her joy at his return--her tears for herdisappointment--his happiness in restoring her heart to happiness,by an increasing tenderness of manner, and by instantly gratifyingher wish of a return home.
All day and night he travelled. It was early morning when he arrivedat his own door. He was surprised at the trembling emotions andquickened beating of his heart, as he descended the steps of hiscarriage, and ascended those to his own door. He passed on to theroom of his wife. The light gleamed through the small opening overthe door, and he thought he heard whispers. Softly he opened thedoor. O! what a terrible, heart-rending scene was before him!--Thewatchers left the room; and Mr. Gorton stood alone, in speechlessagony, before the being made voiceless by himself.
The sensibility so long slumbering within his worldly, hardenedheart, was aroused to the very keenness of torture. And Ellen,gentle spirit that she was,--how would she have grieved to have seenthe heart she had loved so overwhelmed with grief, regret, remorse,despair!
"Ellen! my own Ellen!"
But she could not hear!
"I have killed thee, gentlest and best!"
But the kindness of her heart was not open now!
"I forgive thee," could not fall from those lips so pale!
"I love thee," could never come upon his earagain--never--"NEVER!" thrilled his soul, every chord of which wasstrung to its intensity!
If anything could have added to the grief inconsolable of the manstricken in his sternness and pride, it was the grief of his twomotherless boys, as they called on their mother's name in vain, andasked him why she slept so long!
Few knew why Ellen died so suddenly and so young; but, while Mr.Gorton preserved in his heart her memory and her virtues, heremembered, and mourned in bitterness and unavailing anguish, thatit was him own thoughtless; but not the less cruel, unkindness, thatlaid her in her early grave.
Never came the smile again upon his face; and never, though fondmammas manoeuvred and insinuated, and fair daughters flattered andpraised, did he wed again; for his heart was buried with his Ellen,whom he too late loved as he should have loved. His love--"It camea sunbeam on a blasted flower."
Washington Irving, in his beautiful "Affection for the Dead," says:"Go to the grave of buried love, and meditate. There settle theaccount with thy conscience, for every past benefit unrequited,every past endearment unregarded. Console thyself, if thou canst,with this simple, yet futile tribute of regret, and take warning bythis, thine unavailing sorrow for the dead, and henceforward be morefaithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to theliving!"