A LADY sat alone in her own apartment one clear evening, when thesilver stars were out, and the moon shone pure as the spirit ofpeace upon the rebellious earth. How lovely was every outward thing!How beautiful is God's creation! The window curtains were drawnclose, and the only light in the cheerful room, was given by anight-lamp that was burning on the mantel-piece. The occupant, whoperhaps had numbered about thirty-five years, was sitting by a smalltable in the centre of the room, her head leaning upon one slenderhand; the other lay upon the open page of a book in which she hadendeavoured to interest herself. But the effort had been vain; otherand stronger feelings had overpowered her; there was an expressionof suffering upon the gentle face, over which the tears rainedheavily. For a brief moment she raised her soft blue eyes upwardwith an appealing look, then sunk her head upon the table beforeher, murmuring,
"Father! forgive me! it is good for me. Give me strength to beareverything. Pour thy love into my heart, for I am desolate--if Icould but be useful to one human being--if I could make one personhappier, I should be content. But no! I am desolate--desolate. Whoseheart clings to mine with the strong tendrils of affection? Who everturns to me for a smile? Oh! this world is so cold--so cold!"
And that sensitive being wept passionately, and pressed her handupon her bosom as if to still its own yearnings.
Mary Clinton had met with many sorrows; she was the youngest of alarge family; she had been the caressed darling in her early days,for her sweetness won every heart to love. She had dwelt in the warmbreath of affection, it was her usual sunshine, and she gave it nothought while it blessed her; a cold word or look was an unfamiliarthing. A most glad-hearted being she was once! But death came in aterrible form, folded her loved ones in his icy arms and bore themto another world. A kind father, a tender mother, a brother andsister, were laid in the grave, in one short month, by the cholera.One brother was yet left, and she was taken to his home, for he wasa wealthy merchant. But there seemed a coldness in his splendidhouse, a coldness in his wife's heart. Sick in body and in mind, thebereft one resolved to travel South, and visit among her relations,hoping to awaken her interest in life, which had lain dormantthrough grief. She went to that sunny region, and while there,became acquainted with a man of fine intellect and fascinatingmanners, who won her affections, and afterwards proved unworthy ofher. Again the beauty of her life was darkened, and with a wearyheart she wore out the tedious years of her joyless existence. Shewas an angel of charity to the poor and suffering. She grew lovelierthrough sorrow. A desire to see her brother, her nearest and dearestrelative, called her North again, and when our story opens she wasin the bosom of his home, a member of his family. He loved herdeeply, yet she felt like an alien--his wife had not welcomed her asa sister should. Mary Clinton's heart went out toward's Alice, hereldest niece, a beautiful and loving creature just springing intowomanhood. But the fair girl was gay and thoughtless, flattered andcaressed by everybody. She knew sadness only by the name. She had nodream that she could impart a deep joy, by giving forth her youngheart's love to the desolate stranger.
The hour had grown late, very late, and Mary Clinton still leanedher head upon the table buried in thoughts, when the bounding stepof Alice outside the door aroused her from her revery. She listened,almost hoping to see her friendly face peeping in, but wearied withthe enjoyment of the evening, the fair young belle hastened on toher chamber, and her aunt heard the door close. Rising from her seatat the table, Miss Clinton approached a window, and threw back thecurtains that the midnight air might steal coolingly over her brow.Her eye fell upon the rich bracelet that clasped her arm, a gift ofher brother, and then with a sad smile, she surveyed the pure dressof delicate white she wore. "Ah!" she sighed, "I am robed for ascene of gayety, but how sad the heart that beats beneath thisboddice! How glad I was to escape from the company; loneliness inthe crowd is so sad a feeling." At that moment the door of her roomopened, and Alice came laughing in, her glowing face all bright andcareless.
"Oh! Aunt Mary," she exclaimed, "do help me! I cannot unclasp mynecklace, and my patience has all oozed out at the tips of myfingers. There! you have unfastened it already. Well! I believe Inever will be good for anything!" And Alice laughed as heartily, asif the idea was charming. "When did you leave the parlours, AuntMary? I never missed you at all. Father said you left early, when Imet him just now on the stairs."
"I did leave early," replied Miss Clinton. "I chanced to feel likebeing entirely alone, so I sought my own apartment."
"Have you been reading, aunt? I should think you would feel lonely!"
"I read very little," was the reply, in a sad tone. No remark wasmade on her loneliness.
"It seems so strange to me, Aunt Mary, that you are so fond of beingalone. I like company so much," said Alice, looking in her quietface. "But I must go," she added; she paused a moment, then pressedan affectionate kiss upon her aunt's cheek, and whispered a soft"good night." Miss Clinton cast both arms around her, and drew herto her heart, with an eagerness that surprised Alice. Twice shekissed her, then hastily released her as if her feeling had goneforth before she was aware of it. Alice stood still before her amoment, and her careless eyes took a deeply searching expression asthey dwelt upon the countenance before her. Something like sadnesspassed over her face, and her voice was deeper in its tone, as sherepeated, "Good night, dear Aunt Mary!" With a slow step she leftthe apartment, mentally contrasting her own position with that ofher aunt. Circumstances around her and the society with which shemingled, tended to drown reflection, and call into play only thebrighter and gayer feelings, that flutter on the surface of ourbeing. She had never known the luxury of devoting an hour to genuinemeditation on the world within--or the great world without. Theearth was to her a garden of joy; she lived upon it only to enjoyherself. Like many selfish people, Alice's mother made an idol ofher beautiful child, because she was a part of herself; and Mrs.Clinton was not one to perform a mother's duty faithfully ininstilling right views of life into her daughter's mind. Thus, witha depth of feeling, and rich gifts of mind, Alice fluttered on herway like a light-winged butterfly, her soul's pure wells of tenderthought unknown to her. How many millions pass through a whole longlife, with the deepest and holiest secrets of their being stillunlocked by their heedless hands! How few see aught to live for, butthe outward sunshine of prosperity, which is an idle sunshine,compared with the ever-strengthening light that may grow in thespirit! How strong, how great, how beautiful may life be, whensmiled upon by our Creator! how weak, how abject, how trampled upon,when turned away from his face!
With better and more quiet emotions, Mary Clinton retired to rest."I can love others, if I am not beloved," she murmured, and the doveof peace fluttered its white wing over her. Her resigned prayer was,"Lord, into thy hands I commit my spirit." Tears of earnest humilityhad washed away all bitterness from the wrung heart of that lovelybeing. How beautiful was the angel smile that played over her face,in her pure dreams!
A few weeks after, Alice entered her aunt's apartment one drizzling,damp, foggy, uncomfortable day. "Such miserable weather!" sheexclaimed, throwing herself idly into an arm-chair; "I believe Ihave got the blues for once in my life. I don't know what to dowith myself; it makes me perfectly melancholy to look out of thewindow, and nothing in the house wears a cheerful aspect. Mother hasa headache; when I proposed reading to her, she very politely askedme if I would not let her remain alone. She says I always want tosing, read, or talk incessantly if she wishes to be quiet. I can'tding on the piano, for it is heard from attic to basement. I don'twant to read alone, for I have such a desire to be sociable--now,Aunt Mary, you have a catalogue of my troubles, can't you relieveme, for I am really miserable, if I don't look so!" Alice broke intoa laugh, although it did not bubble right up from her merry heart asusual.
"If your attention was fully engaged, you would not mind the weatherso much," remarked Aunt Mary, with a quiet smile. "You are not in amood to enjoy a book just now, so what will you do, my dear?"
"Mend stockings, or turn my room upside down, and then arrange itneatly," said Alice in a speculative tone. "There is nothing in thehouse to interest me; there is Patty in the kitchen, I have justbeen paying her a visit. She is as busy as a bee, and as happy as aqueen. I believe poor people are happier than the rich, in suchweather as this, at least."
"Because they are useful, Alice; go busy yourself about somephysical labour for an hour or two, then come back to me, and Ipredict your face will be as sunshiny as ever. I am in earnest--youneed not look so incredulous!"
"What shall I do?" asked the young girl laughing. "I don't know howto do a single thing in domestic matters. Mother says I shall neverwork. It would spoil my fairy fingers, I presume, a terribleconsequence!"
"But seriously Alice, you are not so entirely incapable of doinganything, are you?"
"I am positively, but I can learn if I choose. I believe I willsweep my room and put it in order, as a beginning. That will besomething new: now I will try my best!" Alice sprang from her chair,and tripped from the apartment quite pleased with the idea. A smilebroke over Miss Clinton's features, after her niece had left heralone. "How easily Alice might be trained to better things, by loveand gentleness," she said half aloud. "Oh! if she would only loveme, and turn to me fondly. How I would delight to breathe a genialprayer over the buds of promise in her youthful heart, and fan themto warmer life." More than an hour flew by, as Mary Clinton sat inthought, devising plans to awaken her favourite to a true sense ofher duties--to a knowledge of her capabilities for happiness andusefulness. We may be useful with a heart full of sadness; but wecan rarely taste of happiness, unless we are desirous to benefitsome one besides ourselves. A quietness came over the lonely one asshe mused--a spirit of beautiful repose; for she forgot all thoughtsof her own enjoyment, in caring for another.
"You are quite a physician, Aunt Mary, to a mind diseased,"exclaimed Alice, breaking her revery as she came in with a smilingface, after the performance of her unaccustomed labour. "I am quitein tune again now. I believe there is a little philosophy in beingbusy occasionally, after all."
"There is really," replied Miss Clinton, raising her deep blue eyesto Alice's face, with their pleasant expression; "and there is alsophilosophy in recreation--in abandoning yourself for a time toinnocent gayety. An hour of enjoyment is refreshing and beneficial."
"Why, Aunt Mary!" said Alice in some surprise, "I had no idea thatyou thought so. You are always so industrious and quiet, I imaginedyou disapproved of the merriment of ordinary people. When we have alarge company you almost always retire early. Why do you do so,aunt, may I ask you?"
Mary Clinton was silent a moment, then she said gently, "When Ithink I can add to the ease or enjoyment of any person present, Itake pleasure in staying; but when I feel that I am rather arestraint than otherwise, I retire--to weep. You are yet young andbeautiful, my child, for you have never known such feelings. I amtoo selfish, or I would not be sad so often; it is right that Ishould pass through such a school of discipline. I hope it hasalready made me better." The look of resignation that beamed fromMiss Clinton's tearful eyes, caused a chord in Alice's heart totremble with a strange blending of love, sweetness, and sorrow.
"You should be happy, if any one should, dear aunt," she said in alow voice, and she partly averted her head, to conceal the tearsthat started down her cheek. "I am happy so often, she resumed,turning around and seating herself upon an ottoman at her aunt'sfeet. "You deserve so much more than I--to be as good as you are,Aunt Mary, I would almost change situations, for then I should besure of going to heaven."
"You can be just as sure in your own position, as in that of anyother person. But, dear child, the more deeply we scan our hearts,the more we see there to conquer, in order that we may become fitcompanions for the angels."
Alice remained thoughtful for some moments, then she folded herhands over Aunt Mary's lap, and lifted her eyes to the loving facethat bent over her. "Be my guardian angel," she prayed tearfully,"your love is so pure; a gentleness comes over me, when I am withyou. All tumultuous feelings sink down to repose. I have not knownyou, Aunt Mary; you have shown me to-day how lovely goodness is. Ican feel it in your presence. Oh! to possess it! I fear it will belong years before I grow so gentle in my spirit--so unselfish--solike a child of Heaven!"
"Hush, hush!" was Mary Clinton's gentle interruption. "You do notknow me yet, Alice. Perhaps I appear far better than I am."
Alice smiled, and laying her arm around Aunt Mary's neck, drew downher face, and kissed her affectionately, whispering, "You will be myguide, I ask no better."
"Thank you, thank you," broke from Aunt Mary's lips; she pressedAlice's cheek with the ardent haste of love and gratitude; thenyielding to the emotions that thrilled her heart, she burst intotears, and wept with a joy she had long been a stranger to. She feltthat her life would no longer be useless, if she could live forAlice, and lift up to God her heart. How beautiful in its freshness,is the early day when the light of a good resolve breaks like a haloover the soul, and by its power, seeks to win it from its selfishidols! Earnest and strong is the hopefulness that bids us labourtrustingly to become all we yearn to be--all we may be. Howtremblingly Mary Clinton leaned upon her Saviour! experience hadtaught her the weakness of her fluttering heart; sorrow wasfamiliar, yet she prayed not to shrink from it. How clear andvigorous was the mind of Alice--how shadowless was her unerring pathto be--how all weakness departed before the sudden thought that roseup in her soul! How rich was the light that beamed from her steadyeye--how calm and trusting the slight smile that parted her lips!How meek and confiding she was, and yet how full of strength! Shewas a young seeker after truth, and she realized not yet, that thatsame truth was the power to which she must bow every rebelliousthing within her. Months rolled on, and the quiet gladness in herheart made it a delight to her to do anything and everything itseemed her duty to do. The unexplored world within opened to hergaze, and threw a glory upon creation. Infinitely priceless in hereyes, were the thousand hearts around her, in which the Lord hadkindled the undying lamp of life.
One evening, at rather a late hour, Alice Clinton sought the chamberof her aunt and seated herself quietly beside her, saying in asubdued voice as she took her hand, "I am inexpressibly sadto-night, Aunt Mary. There is no very particular reason why I shouldfeel so; no one can soothe me but you. Put your arms around me, AuntMary, and talk to me--give me some strength to go forward in the wayI have chosen. I almost despair--I have no good influence, no moralcourage. Perhaps, after all, my efforts have been in vain to becomebetter, and I shall sink back into my former state. If all who aremy friends were like you, it would be an easy thing to glide on withthe stream. But I am in the midst of peril--I never knew untilto-night that it was hard to speak with a cold rigour to our friendswhen they merit it. If I were despised, or neglected, I could moreeasily fix my thoughts on heaven. I dread so to hurt the feelings ofany one."
"What do you refer to, dear?" inquired Aunt Mary, tenderly.
"My friend Eleanor Temple, and her brother Theodore, have beenspending the evening with me. You know how gay and witty they are.In answer to a remark of mine, Theodore gravely quoted a passage ofScripture, which applied to my observation in an irresistiblyludicrous manner. I yielded to a hearty laugh which I could notrestrain; it came so suddenly I had no time for thought. But in amoment after my conscience smote me, and I felt that my respect forTheodore had lessened. I had no right to rebuke him, even if I hadthe moral courage, for my laughter was encouragement. I turned awayfrom him and spoke to Eleanor; I was displeased with myself, and Ifelt a sort of inward repugnance to him. But that was not the end;several times afterwards Theodore did the same thing.
"'There are subjects which are not fit food for merriment;' I saidonce in an embarrassed manner. 'If I do wrong, it is notdeliberately done.' Theodore was silent a moment, and he looked atme as if he hardly knew how to understand me--then smiling, heturned the conversation, and was as gay as ever. When they had takentheir leave, I entered the parlour again, and threw myself in a seatby the open window. I turned the blind, and looked out after them.Eleanor had caught the fringe of her mantilla in the railing of thearea. I was about to speak with her on the little accident, whenTheodore laughed, and said to his sister, 'Alice is as fond oftaking characters, as an actress. She attempted to reprove me, forthe very thing she had laughed at a little while before. Ratherinconsistent in our favourite, Nelly, don't you think so?' Eleanorlaughed, and said good-naturedly, 'Alice is impulsive, she don'tmeasure what she says, before it comes out.'
"I rose, and left the window. I felt sad, and peculiarly discomposedand dissatisfied with myself. I knew that I had tried to do right insome degree, and it grated on my feelings that my effort should becalled 'a taking of character.' Oh! if I could only live with goodpeople altogether, who would bear with me, and trust my motives! Youhave my story, Aunt Mary, it amounts to nothing, but I am so sad."
"Life is made up of trifles," said Miss Clinton. "Few circumstancesare so trivial that we may not draw a lesson from them. Do not feelsad, Alice, because you are misunderstood. Do not repine on accountof your position; no one could fill it but yourself, or you wouldnot be placed in it. Be resigned to meet those who call outunpleasant feelings; they teach you better your own nature than everthe angels could. They bring forth what is evil in you, that it maybe conquered. Do not understand me to mean that you should ever seekthose who may harm you. But a day can hardly pass over our heads,that we do not meet with persons who ruffle that harmony of soul weso labour after. It is keenly felt when one is as young in a betterlife as you are. You need strength, and then you will be calm andeven. Time, patience, combating, prayer, good-will to man, mustbring your soul to order, then you will bear upon the spirits ofothers with a still, purifying power which will soothe and softenlike far-off music. You have it in your power to do much good; yourCreator has blessed you with that inexpressible sympathy which mayglide gently into another human heart and open its secret springsalmost unconsciously to the possessor. I have watched you, child ofmy love, and perhaps I know you better than you know yourself. Thereare many latent germs within your being; Oh! Alice, pray God toexpand them to heavenly life. Bear on--and live for something worthya creature God has made." Mary Clinton paused in an unusual emotion;her cheek glowed deeply, and the burning softness of her eyeschained Alice's look as with a spell, to their angel expression. Theheart of the young girl throbbed almost to bursting, with the worldof undeveloped feeling that rushed over her. It was a moment whichmany have experienced--a moment which breaks over the young for thefirst time with such a thrill--she realized that God had gifted herwith power--with a soul that might and must have its influence.Bowing her head upon Aunt Mary's knee, she wept; and a flood of joy,humility, and thanksgiving came over her, as she more deeplydedicated herself to the holy Lord, and laid her gifts upon Hisaltar. Aunt Mary's words sunk peacefully into her soul, and a clearlight irradiated it and filled it with a calmness that made allthings right. With a look of irrepressible tenderness, and a voicefull of low music, Alice said to Aunt Mary, as she rose to retire,"You have charmed away every discordant note that was touchedto-night, dear aunt. How unaccountable are our sudden changes ofmood! You have now thrown over me your own spirit of peaceful reposeand contentment. Good-night, and think you!"
"Well, I am content, entirely content," soliloquized Mary Clinton,when the loved form of the child of her heart had disappeared. "Totry to bless another, how richly does the blessing fall back upon myown soul! Yes! I have my joys. Why am I ever so ungrateful as tomurmur at aught that befalls me? I am blest--a sunshine is breakingover the tender earth for me; all clouds are gone." With feelingsmuch changed from what they were a few months previous, Mary Clintonsought the window, and with loving and devoted eyes dwelt upon thenight and stillness of the heavens--so boundless and so pure. Themoon was full; near it was one bright cloud of silver drapery, uponthe edge of which rested a single star. "So shall it be with me,"she murmured, "be the clouds that float over the heavens of my soulbright or dark, the star of holy trust shall linger near, everbringing to my bosom--peace."
About two years after, on a winter evening, there was a largecompany assembled at Mr. Clinton's dwelling. It was in compliment toAlice, for that day completed her twentieth year. As she moved fromone spot to another, her sweet face radiant with happiness, AuntMary's eyes followed her with a devoted expression, which betrayedthat the lovely being was her dearest earthly treasure. The merrygirl was now a glad-hearted, but thoughtful woman. An innocentmirthfulness lingered around her, which time itself would neversubdue, except for a brief season, when her sweet laugh broke outwith a natural, rich suddenness; there was a catching joy in it,that could not be withstood. She was the gentle hostess toperfection; with tact enough to discover congenial spirits, andbring them together, finding her own pleasure in the cheerful homethus made. She possessed the rare but happy art of making every bodyfeel perfectly at home, one knew not why. For a moment, Alice stoodalone with her little hand resting upon the centre-table. Behindher, two rather fashionable young men were talking and laughingsomewhat too loud, and jesting upon sacred things. A look of painpassed over the face of the fair listener as she slowly turnedround, and said in a low but earnest tone, "Don't, Theodore! Excuseme, but such trifling pains me." The young gentlemen both appearedmortified. "Pardon me! Alice," exclaimed Theodore Temple, "I willtry to break that habit for your sake. I was not aware that itpained you so much--a lady's word is law!" and he bowed gallantly.
"No, no! Base your giving up of the habit upon principle, then itwill be permanent. Much obliged for the compliment"--Alice bowedwith assumed dignity, and her sweet face dimpled into a playfulsmile, "but I have no faith in these pretty speeches. Remember, now,I have your promise to try to break the habit; you will forfeit yourword if you do not; so you see your position, don't you?" Thussaying, and without waiting for a reply, the young lady left them.
"I believe Miss Clinton is right, after all," remarked Temple'scompanion. "What is the use of jesting on such subjects? We neverfeel any better after it, and we subject ourselves to thedispleasure of those who respect these things. I pass my word togive it up, if you will, Temple."
"Agreed!" was Theodore's brief answer. Without saying how mingledthe motive might have been, which induced the young men to forsakethe habit, they did forsake it permanently. Aunt Mary's lonelylife was at last smiled upon by a sunbeam--and that sunbeam was thesoul of Alice, which she had turned to the light. For that cherishedbeing Mary Clinton could have offered up her life, and there wouldhave been a joy in the sacrifice. Strongly and nobly were theirhearts knit together--beautiful is the devotedness of holy,unselfish love! Blest are two frank hearts, which may be opened toeach other, pouring out like lava the tide of feeling hoarded in theinward soul--such revelations are for moments when the yearningheart will not be hushed to calmness. But "there is a moonlight inhuman life," and there is also a blessing in that subdued hour whichwhispers wearily to the loving one, of weaknesses and sins, with aprayer for consoling strength to triumph yet, leaving them in thedust. Thus was it with Mary and Alice Clinton; their souls were openas the day to each other. They travelled along life's pathway withearnest purpose, fulfilling the many and changing duties that fellupon them, ever catching rich gleams of joy from above. And sorrowscame too! but they purified, and taught the slumbering soul itsrarest wealth--its deepest sympathies with all things good andheavenly. It seemed a slight thing that took away the desolationfrom the heart of Mary Clinton--she turned away from self, anddevoted her efforts to the eternal happiness of another. Is thereone human being in the wide world so desolate, that he may not dolikewise? Only a mite may be cast in, but God has made none of hischildren so poor, as to be without an influence. The humblesteffort, if it is all that can be made, is as full of greatness atthe core, as the most ostentatious display.
THE END.
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