Marion Graham, or, Higher than happiness
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ] MARION GRAHAM OR, "HGHER TNICOLSAN LEEA PPINESS." D P AUTHOR OF "IGHT ON THE DARK BIVE!" "THE BROKEN BUDs"ETO "7 WASHNGTON STRE. Tt. 1861. page: [View Page ] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, b CBOSBY, NICHOLS LEE AND COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: STEREOTYED AD PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON. MY BEST AND DEAREST FRIEiND, THS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED. IF IT SHTALL COUNSEL OR COMFORT ANY STRUGGLINGI SORROWING HEARTt OR AWAKEN ASPIRATIONS AFTER WHAT IS NOBLER THAN PRESENT GRATIFICAITION -WHAT IS HGHER AND SWEETER THAN EVEN THE PUREST EARTHLY HAPPINESSt I AM SURE GAIN A DOUBLE REWARD. page: [View Page ] Shakespeare. "And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incom- pleteness, Round our restlessness, his rest." "Rhyme of the Duchess May." page: [View Page ] - OlkV MARION GRAHAM. CHAPTER I. "He said he loved mklzAiudden, purple splendor Eclipsed the'amber of the moonlit sky; The night-time music round me grew more sweetly tender, Earth looked more beautifil--I know not why r" "New is her sorrow yet, Bitter her tears are yet, Leave her alone with her weeping awhile." "But I love you not a whit the less." "I believe it; but you are no longer dependent upon me. It is I that shall be the loser." Bessie made no direct reply, for her thoughts had strayed into another channel. "Stranger," said she, hiding her head on Marion's shoulder, " strange that Mr. Maynard should have loved me, when you are in every thing so superior." A sigh escaped Marion, as she replied,-- "It seems his judgment was different." "Hardly that," and she looked earnestly at her friend. "He has the highest esteem and admiration for you; "he told me so that first evening." Marion well knew what that first evening meant, and a strange sensation fluttered at her heart, but she was not without self-control, so she quietly asked, - page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 MARION GRAHAM ; "And how, dear, did my name happen to be men- tioned on that eventful evening?" "I will confess," said Bessie, casting down her eyes. it I have often wanted to tell you how it all happened, but you know you never asked me any thing about it." "It was not from want of interest, Bessie. You are usually so frank, I thought you would tell me of your own accord, all it was agreeable to communicate." "( Somehow you seemed as if you did not care to hear. But no matter;--it is not too late." And taking Marion's hand, she continued, : "You remember that on our walk, you were unu- sually lively. I thought I had never seen you so bril- liant. And I was sure Mr. Maynard loved you." "Foolish child!" ( Not foolish at all. I felt that it was right, but for all that, I was sad and could not talk. I had often fancied that I read in his eyes what made my heart beat quicker, but the thought of my interesting him seemed presumption, and I strove to banish it. And when I saw you so gay, I concluded that it was all set- tled between you, and a weight fell on my spirits. Do you remember, when we reached your gate, kissing me affectionately, and whispering, 'God bless you, Bessie?" Marion had good occasion to remember this, but she simply replied, - "Yes, dear." "Well, after we left you, there was a pause, which Mr. Maynard broke by saying, ' Your friend is a noble girl.' Now, thought I, he is going to confess. But I made out to reply, ' She is, indeed, and the more you know of her, the more you will find it out.' In spite OR, HGHER THANI HAPPINESS. 9 of myself, I felt my hand tremble on his arm. He must have noticed this, for he pressed it closer. But I never had a thought that it meant any thing. "When we had passed through the gate and reached our porch, I said, ' Good-night, Mr. Maynard!' He answered, ' Shall we not sit here a few minutes and enjoy this charming evening?' So- we sat down. ' Miss Vinton,' said he, ' I leave town' in a few days.' This was more than I could bear, and the tears began to drop. 'Bessie!' he had never called me so before, and it strangely thrilled me; 'will you not let me know the occasion of your sadness to-night?' It was a hard question, but I replied, ' I was thinking how very lonely I shall be, when you take dear Marion away.' He smiled a little, and then asked,' Will you not tell me with the same frankness, whether, in such an event, any part of your sorrow would be on my account? ' I thought this almost cruel, and I imagine my look conveyed as much, for he did not press for an answer, but added, ' And who told you that I was going to take Miss Graham away?' ' Nobody, but I had often fancied your heart was fettered, and to-night I am sure!' ' And so in truth it is, but cannot you guess better? ' "I could not answer such a question, but some- how he made me look at him, and I suppose my eyes and my blushes told him what a foolish little heart I have. At any rate, he seemed to think himself replied to, and, taking my hand in both his, he continued,-- 'Miss Graham is an honor to her sex, and I have the highest respect and admiration for her. Nay, more, I admit that at first she made a decided impression upon me, and there is no knowing to what it might have led 1* page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 - MARION GRAHAM; on my part. But I had not seen you, then, dear Bessie. You won my heart by your sweet simplicity and con- fidingness. And, shall I say it? I don't think I have been quite as blind as you, for I have ventured at times to imagine that I had a little place in your affections. Was I presuming?' 'But how could I think you, cared for me, when I am so inferior to her in mind as well as attainments? . I do not deny that, in these respects, she has few equals. But you must remember that her advantages have been superior to yours. That, however, is not the question,' said he, looking earnestly into my eyes,' but - do you love me? ' "You may think me foolish, Marion, for you are so dignified you would never do any such thing; but I could not speak, and so - you know he was close beside me - I laid my head on his shoulder. And then- " During this recital, Marion had a constant strug- gle with herself. It galled her pride that at such a time she should have been so coolly discussed and placed on the shelf. But when Bessie hesitated, with great effort she made out to say, - "You did just right, darling; go on. And then? -" "He put his arm round me, and - these lovers al- ways ask so much - he looked into my burning face with an expression which said, ' May I? I dare say he found his answer there, -at any rate, it was done; and may you some time know what is centred in the betrothal kiss! Only the moon and a few starry eyes were witnesses, and they never babble, you know. It was the very loveliest evening I had ever seen,"' (Marion found no difficulty in believing this), " and the air was fragrant with the honeysuckles on our dear old porch. "While we were sitting there, what must our great OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. h clock do, but begin its loud striking, as if to remind us that there comes an end even to the sweetest things! When it was through, he said, ' I did not think it was so late. Shall I go in and speak to your parents? I intended to go to them first, but you have somehow cheated me out of my purpose.' "Stepping lightly through the hall, I opened the door of the sitting-room. By this time, I trembled so that I could hardly stand, but I made out to reach my father, and kneeling at his feet, I burst into tears. This took Mr. Maynard by surprise as well as my parents. ' Hoot toot,' began my father, ' why, how is this? Mr. Maynard, can you explain these tears?' "I don't know what reply he would have made, but I could not bear to have them think me in trouble. So I raised my head, saying,' It is only because I am so happy,' and began to cry again. Mr. Maynard then told them all about it, and asked if they could intrust him with their daughter. Dear mother wiped her eyes, but made no reply. And father kept blowing his nose and trying to cough, as you know he always does when attempting to hide his feelings. At length, seeming to think he must say something, he ventured, ' I take no kind of exception, indeed I may say I would as soon give my darling to you as to any man living. But I want to know what the like of you expects to do with a little girl who has always been petted, and is nohow fit for a minister's wife.' ' I expect to make her my pet, sir, if you have no objection. And as to her fitness for any thing she is willing to undertake, I have no concern on that score.' Then take her and welcome, shan't he, mother?' And putting my hand in his, he added, ' It's a littld hand, but I guess she's got a large heart.' page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 MARION GRAHAMo "As it was now late, mother laid the old Bible on the stand, and I wish you could have heard Mr. Maynard read and pray. I think we all cried, he himself with the rest of us. But for all that, my heart seemed ready to break with its happiness. And that night, I could not close my eyes to sleep, but there that's enough.'" And so you expect him to-morrow," said Marion, while her arm lovingly encircled the confiding girl. "Yes, dear, but I have a great shrinking from the- office." "A You may be content, since it is not from the officer." Bessie blushed brightly. "Mr. Maynard says he is very glad you have at last consented to be bridesmaid, and very sorry you persist in declining to accompany us." "See what a flood of amber light the sun has left be- hind him," said Marion, changing the subject. It was one of those sweet June evenings when the soul is made drunk with beauty. The pleasant arbor, in which the above conversation had taken place, was now illumined with the rich sunset glow, which was brightly reflected on thosefair faces. Although both of these young girls thus communing together would have been pronounced beautiful, yet their appearance was strik- ingly contrasted. And had their feelings been daguer- reotyped upon the golden atmosphere, there would have appeared as wide a contrast in the pictured records. One heart, as we have seen, was revelling in the sweetest of all sentiments ; the other was bravely struggling with a secret sorrow, As the quiet sky looked- down in benediction, foot- steps were heard approaching, and, with a cry of joyj Bessie sprang from her neat. : OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 13 "My own Bessie!" and, childlike, her arms were thrown round his neck, and she was folded in a fond embrace. "May I accompany you?" he inquired of Marion, as she insisted upon returning immediately. "It is not necessary, sir." "Unless you forbid it." She yielded, but wished it had -been otherwise. She had not yet conquered the pleading voice in her heart. And in attempting to conceal her emotions, her manner wore a reserve which savored of coldness. Mr. May- nard had noticed this, and resolved, on account of the friendship between her and Bessie, as well as his own esteem for her, to attempt to thaw the ice between them. So, as they walked slowly along beneath the spreading elms, for she could not hasten him, he frankly addressed her, - "Miss Graham, may I ask a few blunt questions?" "Certainly," she replied, yet dreading what he might ask. "First, then, have you any thing against me?" "Surely not," in a voice which faltered in spite of herself. "Do you fear to trust the happiness of your friend in my keeping?" These probing questions pressed painfully upon her, and, instead of answering, she trembled so that Mr. Maynard paused, and looked her full in the face. Every vestige of color had forsaken it, and her lips quivered in the vain attempt at utterance, There are moments in life of sudden revelation, when the secretscof the heart are read as by a flash, and events long past, are interpreted in that light. Whether Mr. page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " MARION GRAHAM; Maynard now had one of these revelations, perhaps we shall never know. If he had, he was too wise to give sign or token. In a lower voice, he continued,- "You are unwell, and I have struck a tender chord. The giving up your dearest friend has distressed you." She quickly caught at this, and,with all the energy of truth, responded,- "You are right; it has cost me more than either of you has imagined." His face wore a look of unaffected sympathy, as he gently replied,- "I can appreciate your sacrifice." Whether he purposely expressed himself with vague- ness, we cannot say. They had now approached Judge Graham's residence. Walking in silence through the fine avenue, Mr. May- nard asked Marion to sit with him a moment on the piazza. Her proud reserve was broken down, and she readily complied. "Miss Marion, I have no sister, and you no brother. Shall we not be as brother and sister to one another?" "If you wish it." "Believe me," said he earnestly, "I will be a true and faithful brother to Bessie's dearest friend. And when you discover the love, which, if I have read aright, is burning for you, all unfuelled, in a noble heart, and re- turn for it the wealth of your own, you will be more than repaid for your sacrifice." This speech was incomprehensible to Marion, though she had occasion to remember it afterwards. And she could not quite assure herself that he had not read her long hidden secret, but in her heart she thaiked him for his delicacy and kindness. When he rose to go, he warmly grasped her hand. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 15 "Please not disturb dear Bessie with my foolish sor- row." "I will not," he promptly replied, and they parted. Long did Marion sit in her chamber, looking upon the evening sky, and,- communing with herself as she linked the present wita the past. Mr. Maynard had come into Glenwood as a teacher, while Bessie was away spending the winter with one of her married sisters. He was of a genial spirit, and had great moral worth. Marion's mind, as has been inti- mated, was of a high order, and, in accordance with her own tastes as well as her father's wishes, she had de- lli voted herself to its cultivation, thus forming but a lim- ited circle of acquaintance. In comparing Mr. May- nard, therefore, with the other gentlemen she knew, she found him intellectually much in advance of them, and naturally enough exaggerated his superiority. With that peculiar romance which paints every object of in- terest in rainbow hues, she invested her new friend with ideal excellences. Her illusion, if such it was, was strengthened by the consciousness, which she could not avoid, that he greatly admired her. But hers was a lofty spirit, and she had no thought of surrendering her heart unasked. Nor did she dream that she had done so. Love is very apt to enter the citadel under an as- sumed guise. It was not till she saw that another was preferred that she understood herself. She had often talked with Mr. Maynard of her dear friend, the youngest of Mr. Vinton's household. Bessie returned, and his fate was sealed. Her nature was so lovely and loving, her heart so fresh, her manners so simple and- confiding, and there was such an appeal from her azure eyes, "Love me and take care of me," page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 MARION GRAHAM; that,with all his caution and self-control, he surrendered at once. Nor had his eyes and manners given out the alphabet of love to her without effect. She could not help spelling what was so plain, yet it was slowly, from the fear of reading wrong. Marion read quicker, and the pain it cost, first revealed to her her fearful secret. For surely it was a fearful one. It is a serious moment to any woman when she first discovers that " self is not sufficient for itself." Not without a struggle can she admit it, even to her own heart. How much more severe the struggle when, with the discovery, she finds that her love is not returned, - a fire that consumes, instead of cheering. But Marion's was not an ordinary nature, and she resolutely undertook to conquer herself. On that even- ing which sealed her friend's happiness, by some wo- manly instinct, she had foreseen the coming event, and therefore she put on gayety as a covering. She com- pleted her sacrifice by her generous and heartfelt wish, "God bless you, Bessie." The struggles of that night were severe. But when the glad morning looked through the muslin curtains upon that pale, calm face, it could not have guessed the storms of midnight. So is strength born in suffering. Since that time, she had gradually been gaining the victory. But the sudden meeting with Mr. Maynard had waked up something of the old conflict. She had, however, found unexpected relief in the very walk she had dreaded. It must be confessed that, when he left Judge Gra- ham's door, he retraced his steps rather slowly, and Bessie, who met him in the porch, gave him an inquir- ing look. He led her into a cozy little parlor, where 1! OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 17 they often communed together, and as they sat on the lounge, he drew her to himself, saying,- "Your friend has been quite reserved with me of late. But I trust the ice is broken. We are now brother and sister." "I am very glad," replied she, earnestly. Mr. Maynard had much to tell Bessie of his situation and prospects, for he had just been settled over a parish in Brentford, in the bld Bay State. After describing the house he had hired, he added, - "It is not a fit cage for my bird, but you will sing there for my sake." Bessie knew nothing of inconveniences, and was ready to imagine it would be pleasant to endure them for the love of her friend, and so she told him. He smiled a little incredulously. "I have no doubt you will bear them cheerfully, but they can never be pleasant. And I fear you will suffer from disappointment." Every thing was to her, however, bathed in rose-light, and she had no idea how the realities of life can oppress even a loving heart. page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 MARION GRAHAM; CHAPTER II. "The unknown sea moans on her shore Of life; she hears the breakers roar; But, trusting him, she'll fear no more." THE preparations for the bridal day had been mostly completed before I Mr. Maynard's arrival, and they were now enjoying a little nooning before it came off.- But the hours flew on rapid wings, too rapid for Bessie, for her affectionate heart shrank from leaving the dear home circle. She was just nineteen, rather too young to be married,- so she said, and so they all said. But Mr. Maynard had found it difficult to secure a good board- ing place, and the upshot of it all was, he thought there were important reasons for a speedy consummation of his wishes; and he had a wonderful faculty of persuad- ing people to his mind. Wednesday was the appointed day, and on Tuesday the two married'sisters arrived from different directions, and little ones of all sorts and sizes, were hugging and kissing Bessie to their hearths content. Long, that night, did the young girl sit at her win- dow, after the household was wrapped in sleep. Voices from her far-off childhood came tremulously to her heart, stirring its hidden fountains. And, out of the dim, distant future, saddening whispers stole over her. Innocent pleasures, forever past, were blended with OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 19 grave images, that seemed beckoning her on. Life lay spread out before her, so earnest, so serious, that she trembled to advance. Must she leave gathering bright pebbles from the singing brook, to contend with angry billows on the tossing ocean? And who can supply to her the place of her father and her mother? Then an image silently rose before her, and the warmth returned to her heart, and the color to her cheek. The deep, joyous consciousness of loving and being beloved calmed her unquiet spirit, and, clasping her hands, she softly breathed, - "Where thou goest, I will go." When the eventful morning peeped in, a kiss of sun- shine awaked her. Going below, she found her father sitting alone, gazing ,pensively out of the window. She came softly behind him, and as he leaned back in his chair, she kissed him on the forehead, murmuring, "Dear father!" But seeing him take out his handker- chief, she ran away, to encounter Maurice, who pre- sented her with a bouquet, fragrant and glistening with dew, but who ventured not a word. When Bessie saw his swimming eyes, she could no longer control her feelings. Just then, a hand gently took her's, and looking up, she met a face so full of tender affection and concern, that she reproached herself, and shaking her curls, said,- "It is only an April shower." But the shower was not yet over, and drawing her arm within his, he led her away into a quiet corner. Nor did he suffer her to leave him, till he saw, by her unclouded smile, that the comfort he administered had taken effect. Marion came after breakfast, and well was it for all, page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 MARION GRAHAM; that it was a busy day. There was the cutting of cake, the arranging of flowers, the prosaic packing up, and all that bustle of preparation inevitable on such occa- sions. Bessie was as busy as the busiest, but in the after- noon, happening into her mother's chamber, she found her with her work in hand, but with tears in her eyes. She threw her arms round her neck, and kissing her again and again, thanked her for her increasing kind- ness, and asked forgiveness for all her waywardness. As if that mother had aught written down against her! But poor Bessie was like a rose at early dawn, of which the slightest touch scatters dew-drops on the ground. And now the lamps are lighted, and the company begins to assemble. Bessie's toilet is completed, and she stands thoughtfully by the window. A plain white muslin, trimmed with white ribbons, a delicate rose-bud on her bosom, and another among her glossy curls, with the bridal veil flung over her head --this is her simple attire. But never could there be a fairer bride, at least so thought William Maynard, as he came to usher -her into the presence-room. How that heart fluttered, and how that little hand trembled upon his arm! And well might this be. It is no light matter to cross the bridge from girlhood into womanhood,--to leave a sure haven for an untried sea. "Hear'st thou voices on the shore That our ears perceive no more, Deafened by the cataract's roar?" We have all been at weddings, and therefore we all OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 21 know how everybody is on the look-out for the entrance of the bridal party. "What a beauty the bride is! I declare I never saw her look so handsome.' "Nor I; but the bridegroom is a match for her." "Miss Graham makes a fine bridesmaid." "Yes, she has the air of a queen, and I never saw young Mr. Vinton look so well." "It seems strange, though, to see him waiting on a lady. I don't believe he ever did such a thing before."' "I suppose he couldn't help himself in the present case." But we have not yet introduced that ruddy old gen- tleman, with long, silvery locks, and wearing small- clothes. That is the minister, Mr. Morton. How rev- erently he spreads his-hands, "Let us pray!"None of your railway weddings this! All the services have length, as well as unction. The young couple were married separately, in the old- fashioned way. And it did everybody good to hear Mr. Maynard's fervent, I do," and Bessie's gentle but decided "Yes," even when asked if she promised " to love, honor, and obey," After the knot was tied, the presentations ensued. Old Mr, Vinton, noticing that his wife's eyes were tearful, went up alone, saying that he dared not trust himself in her company, "lest they should make a pretty scene of it together." Mr. Morton, therefore, led up Mrs. Vinton, and then the company followed pro- miscuously, the little ones making themselves very free with the bride. During all this shaking of hands, and curtsying back page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 MARION GRAHAM; and forth, Judy stood outside the door, alternately wiping her eyes with the corner of her white apron, and smoothing it down again. It was now time for her part of the entertainment, so, withdrawing to the kitchen, she soon reappeared with her loaded tray. Bustling up first to the bride, as in duty bound, Bessie gave her a smile, which, as she said afterwards, " e'ena- most took the strength clean out of her." She made a motion as if for the corner of her apron, but casting her eyes upon her tray, she desisted and tried to-wink back the rebel tears. Good justice was done her han- diwork by the company in general. But at length everybody was satisfied, and Judy got nothing but shakes of the head. Then she sat down in the kitchen, and, in the ears of her eager listeners, rehearsed the events of the evening. "It beats all natur a seein' how de quality eats cake. But I knowed dey would, cause ye see it's fust rate. But I an't got de heart to touch a crum on't. I'll try I}take a bite though, cause it's hern. ChMFid ye eber see nudder sich a sweet bride? I tell ye fe young minister tinks a power on her. Ye see arter dey were through de performances, and were done up strong, and eberybody was eatin', he jes' led her into dat leetle room o' hern. Den he sot her down on dat affair, whar dey allers sit togedder, and tinkin' no- body see 'em, he sez, sez he, 'Now, it's my turn.' Oh, but ye should ha'seen him a puttin'his arms round her, and a kissin' her, till her cheeks were as red as two roses. Den he puts a ring on her dainty finger, and kisses dat too. But arter a while, he sez, jes' as if he didn't wanter, ' Now we must go back, afore dey miss us.' CHAPTER III. "Long in its dim recesses pines the spirit, Wildered and dark, despairingly alone; Though many a shape of beauty wander near it, And many a wild and half-remembered tone Tremble from the divine abyss to cheer it, Yet still it knows that there is only one Before-whom it can kneel and tribute bring, Yet be far less a vassal than a king." IT was a sad hour at the farm-house .when Bessie departed. All the company left on the same day, and amid gay but fading garlands, and the various scat- tered reminders of the late festivity, reigned a silence almost like that of death. Old Mr. Vinton sat in his arm-chair by the window, without a single endeavor to conceal his sadness. And Mrs. Vinton, with her knit- ting-work, sat meekly beside him, not venturing a word, but feeling, as she privately told Judy, that " it would be a relief if Mr. Vinton would make his wonted attempts to cough away his emotion." Old Judy heartily responded tothis,- "For," said she, " to see him a sittin'so drownded in trouble, pears like Miss Bessie, bless her heart, was jes' dead and buried." "It's real good to see ye," said Judy, meeting Marion at the door soon after supper. "But somehow ye brings up fresh-like her dat's gone, poor ting." page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] As Marion entered the parlor, Maurice, who was looking over a newspaper, placed a chair for her beside his mother, and withdrew to a window. Observing the air of gloom that pervaded them all, she began to talk of Bessie, presenting the bright side of every thing, till they yielded to her cheering influence. "I am beginning to count on her letters," said Mrs. Vinton, placing a note in her hands, which she had found in her drawer, after Bessie's departure. "I haven't dared to show that to her father yet," she added, nodding significantly. "To my precious father and mother," repeated Marion, glancing at the superscription. "' Shall I read it aloud, Mr. Vinton?" "You're welcome to, if you have the heart." "I think I can succeed, at any rate I will try." When she had finished, Mr. Vinton set his foot de- cidedly on the floor, saying,-- "The child that wrote that, is as good a child as ever grew, or my name an't Vinton." And with this effort, he began to cough vigorously; a token that the crisis of his gloom was past. On the table beside Marion, lay several books. Tak- ing up one, she exclaimed,- "Goethe in German!" and turning towards'Mau- rice, she added, "I congratulate you on your enjoy- ment." "It is one I should be happy to share with you, Miss Graham," said he, moving towards her. "I am not qualified for such a pleasure." "But can be, I suppose." "I fear it is beyond my reach." "Not at all so," replied he, with more earnestness ) J? than she had ever seen in him. "I have heard my sis. ter speak of your desire to study German, and have thought of offering my assistance, if it could be of the least advantage. I hope you will not deem me obtru- sive, if I do so now." "Thank you,' returned she, cordially; " such assist- ance would be most acceptable." "My books are at your service; shall I call with them this week?" "If convenient." A strange event- to happen," thought she, as she slowly retraced her steps. And now, we owe it to our readers, to give some account of this same Maurice Vinton. The only son of the family, he had been early adopted by the bache- lor uncle for whom he was named,-a physician who ived in Leyden, a pleasant town on Lake Champlain. He was a man of wealth and oddities, and having for a long time given up practice, he had built a handsome house in a charming seclusion, a mile or two outof the village. There, provided with the best of house- keepers, and an extensive library, he lived many years with the child of his affections, lavishing upon him every thing that heart could desire. Maurice had always been a peculiar child, and his isolated life did not tend to make him any more like others. Confined almost entirely to the society of his uncle, and the noble dead, his natural reserve increased upon him. Every year he spent a few weeks with his parents, but always returned willingly to hs seclusion . His uncle having fitted him for college, 1he graduated with the highest honors of his class, but without one I particular acquaintance, " haughty as Vinton," being a page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 MARION GRAHAMM; common phrase with his classmates. He had subse- quently studied medicine with his uncle, completing his course, and receiving his diploma at Philadelphia. Not six months after his return, his uncle died, leav- ing him sole heir to his large estate. In that house of death he had spent three months, when he determined to comply with the entreaties of his parents and Bessie, and for a time make his father's house his abode. So, leaving the trusty housekeeper in charge of his estab- lishment, he returned to the home of his childhood. His parents had become accustomed to his quiet ways, and did not expect him to be like other people. He was always respectful towards them, and he showed his fondness for Bessie in a hundred silent ways. As Marion had always been his sister's most intimate friend, he had occasionally met her at his yearly visits, but no apparent progress had been made in their ac- quaintance. Marion was not wanting in pride, and his extreme coldness, never, even after a year's absence, going further than a respectful bow, had thrown her upon her dignity. Sometimes, when she thought of his fine, intellectual face, and his manly bearing, for, with all his reserve, he was everywhere the thorough gentle- man, the thought had stolen upon her, "What a pity he is such an iceberg!" An iceberg, Marion! If Ve- suvius is an iceberg, when her volcanic fires are smoth- ered within her bosom, then is Maurice Vinton an iceberg. From his calm exterior, none would conjecture the burning soul within. "There is a secret self that hath its own life, 'rounded by a dream,' unpenetrated, unguessed." In spite of Marion's pique, she held him in the high- est respect, and was more flattered by his recent offer OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 27 of assistance, than she would have been by the homage of a dozen ordinary men. Though Maurice Vinton had received his medical degree, he had no thought of becoming a practitioner. With all his vigorous powers and his high cultivation, he was but a dreamer, and, though not wanting in be- nevolent impulses, he did not deem it incumbent on him to seek out ways of doing good. Having said thus much, we must leave him to develop himself. During the week, he called on Marion with the books inquiring when he should come in and assist her. "I forewarn you,", said she; "that you must consider me a regular pupil." He shook his head. "But I shall insist upon it as a condition of my ac- ceptance of your kindness." "I will not begin by quarrelling with you, re And taking up the German Grammar, "Here then is your first lesson." Having thus formally assumed the relationship of teachers he left her, making, she thought,- as brief a call as was consistent with politeness. At length the appointed hour for the recitation ar- rived, perhaps equally desired and dreaded by both "Very little idea" soliloquized Maurice, "has Miss Graham of the struggle my proposal has cost me. How shall I be able to control myself in her exclusive pres- And Marion mused after this wise,- "Shall I ever learn to feel athome in the society of he only gentleman who keeps me somewhat in awe of As she had an artistic taste, she had taken pleas. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 MARION GRAHAM; ure in fitting up a little room, adjoining the parlor which she called her boudoir. Here were her books and her guitar, and here hung a few choice engravings among which was a Madonna and Raphael's Transfifg uration. Upon a rose-wood table stood her escritoire a vase of fragrant flowers, and a few books and maga zines, while in one corner of the room was a well-fillec secretary. In this boudoir, on the expected evening, she sat, e little more agitated than she would have cared to admit The bell rang, and Mr. Vinton was ushered into the parlor, but Marion appeared at the door, saying, - "( Will you venture into a lady's sanctum?" "Without the smallest objection," said he, casting around a look of pleased surprise. Seated in an arm-chair, he took the Grammar whic] Marion held out to him. , This is a new business, but I will endeavor to sue tain the dignity of my office. You may repeat the let ters, if you please." "Al, bay, tzay, day," and she went through the alpha bet with commendable correctness. With the sound of the letters, she had more difficulty, but succeeded ac mirably with the articles, verbs, and accompanyin phrases. She was obliged to struggle a little with en barrassment, but on the whole made out better than hE fears. "When you have finished the verbs, I think we ca take up Schiller." "So soon?" "Judging from my own experience, that is the bet way." "But there are so many idioms of which one knov nothing." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 29 "You learn their meaning from their frequent recur- rence, and thus get along as by magic." He soon departed, leaving Marion dissatisfied with him and with herself. After the same formal manner, passed two or three succeeding recitations. She would resolve, in spite of his coldness, to be more social, only waiting for the next opportunity to break her resolution. It was by slow degrees that he made any revelation of himself; yet, with every interview, Marion became more convinced that there was that in him, which she had never dreamed of finding there. "Ah! Carlyle's French Revolution," said he, after one of their lessons, at the same time taking up the book. "Yes, I have been attempting to read it." "And cannot you accomplish it?" "The pictures are very graphic, but I have no fancy for so foggy a style." "Have you read any other of his works?" "He certainly is trying to condescend," thought she, "and I will surely go half way to meet him." "I have read ' Sartor Resartus,' and I think with bene- -fit as well as great pleasure." i!"::i' "I have never happened to read that, but what, on , the whole, pleases me better than any thing else of his I X have seen, is a Review of Lockhart's Burns in the Ed- inburgh." "I have the Journal, but I have never noticed that article. Do you recollect in what volume it is?"And opening the secretary, she pointed to the long row on its shelves. "It is in one of the early volumes, I believe," and he took down one of them. "Here it is - No. 96." page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 MARION GRAHAM; Turning over the pages, he suddenly turned towards her with a searching glance, and inquired,- "Are you an admirer of Burns?" "I trust I shall not be convicted of heresy," replied she, smiling, " if I own that I am." "Do you dare to be so?" he repeated with earnestness. "Since you seem determined to play the inquisitor, I will answer frankly. I do dare to cherish a warm ad- miration for him and for Byron also, yet I often re- proach myself for it, knowing what fearful moelt wrecks they were." 6"What do you mean by a moral wreck, Miss Gra- ham?" "The same that you mean, I 'presume," answered she, looking at him with the half suspicion that he was quizzing her. " Will you not express your meaning?" Blushing at his earnest gaze, she replied,-- as I mean that they miserably perverted their exalted genius, and sinned- I shudder from thinking how fear- fully, against their own souls." "ikre the rest of the world, may you not be in dan- ger of doing them injustice? Here is something to the point." i In a deep voice, he read, - "The world is habitually unjust in its judgments of :] such men. It decides, like a court of law, by dead stat- ; utes, and not positively, but negatively, less on what is ; done right, than on what is, or is not done wrong. Not / the few inches of deflection from the mathematical or- bit, which are so easily measured, but the ratio of these to the whole diameter, constitutes the real aberration. This orbit may be a planet's, its diameter, the breadth "' . ':1iii! OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 31 of the solar system ;ior it may be a city hippodrome; nay, the circle of a gin-horse, its diameter a score of feet or paces. But the inches of deflection only are meas- ured; and it is assumed that the diameter of the gin- horse and that of the planet, will yield the same ratio, when compared with them. "i Here lies the root of many a blind, cruel condemna- tion of Burnses, Swifts, Rousseaus, which one never listens to with approval. Granted, the ship comes into harbor with shrouds and tackle damaged; and the pilot is therefore blameworthy, for he has not been all-wise and all-powerful; but to know how blameworthy, tell us first, whether his voyage has been round the globe, or only to Ramsgate and the Isle of Dogs." Marion did not speak, but her face wore such a glow of pleasure, that Maurice continued to read here and there a passage. "Alas! his sun shone as through a tropical tornado; and the pale shadow of Death eclipsed it at noon! Shrouded in such baleful vapors, the genius of Burns was never seen in clear, azure splendor, enlightening the world. But some beams from it, did by fits, pierce through: and it tinted those clouds wi h rainbow and orient colors into a glory and stern grandeur, which men silently gaze on with wonder and tears! He was often advised to write a tragedy; time and means were not lent him for this, but through life he enacted one of the deepest. We question whether the world has since wit- nessed so utterly sad a scene; whether Napoleon him- self left to brawl with Sir Hudson Lowe, and perish on his rock I amid the melancholy main,' presented to the reflecting mind such a spectacle of pity and fear, as did this intrinsically nobler, gentler, and perhaps greater page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] soul, wasting itself away in a hopeless struggle with base entanglements, which coiled closer and closer round him, till only death opened him an outlet." "Destiny,-for so in our ignorance we must speak, - his faults, the faults of others proved too hard for him ; and that spirit which might have soared, could it have walked, soon sank to the dust, its glorious faculties trodden under foot in the blossom, and died, we may say, without ever having lived. And so kind and warm a soul; so full of inborn riches, of love to all living and lifeless things, --what trustful, boundless love, what generous exaggeration of the object loved! It is mov- ing to see how, in his darkest despondency, this proud being still seeks relief from friendship; unbosoms him- self often to the unworthy, and amid tears, strains to his glowing heart, a heart that knows only the name of friendship. And yet he was quick to learn; a man of keen vision, before whom common disguises afforded no concealment. His understanding saw through the hollowness even of accomplished deceivers, but there was a generous credulity in his heart. And so did our Peasant show himself among us; a soul like an 2Eo- lian harp, in whose strings the vulgar wind, as it passed through them, changed itself into articulate melody. And this was he for whom the world found no fitter business, than quarrelling with smugglers and vintners, computing excise due upon tallow, and gauging ale- barrels! In such toils was that mighty spirit sorrow- fully wasted, and a hundred years may pass on, before another such is given us to waste." The subject, so full of interest, together with the ear- nest pathos of the reader, painfully affected Marion. "You will think me weak," said she, "but certain as- pects of life fill me with gloom." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 33 "I do not consider it weakness, Miss Graham. An observer of the least sensibility, cannot fail to be thus affected. I only wonder that any fall short of misan- thropy, ' But life will suit Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste.'" There was an indescribable melancholy in his tone as he repeated these lines, and when he had ended, Marion could not speak. With wonderful facility he immedi- ately changed the subject, and conversed with so much - animation that she soon regained her self-control. And not only so, but she was unconsciously borne far in the opposite current. While listening to the humorous de- scription of his intercourse with the people of Saginaw, a town on the sea-coast, her clear laugh rang out again and again. Thus had she never before seen him. Had he assumed the magician's wand, or was he now first revealing himself? Here certainly was matter for conjecture, and after his departure, she allowed her thoughts to be very busy concerning him. What maiden, under similar circum- stances, would not have done precisely the same thing? She recalled his conversation, marvelling at his ready transition from grave to gay. There was evidently something about him which she could not fathom, and after a long pondering, she ended her mu sings with a sigh of dissatisfaction. I never dreamed that he had such wonderful eyes," thought she. " But, indeed, I doubt whether he ever gave me the opportunity really to look at them before." 2* page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] MARION GRAEIAM; CHAPTER IV. "And as the full moon, spectral, lies Within the crescent's gleaming arms, The present shows her heedless eyes A future dim with vague alarms." AFTER what had passed, Marion expected there would be less constraint between her and Maurice at their next meeting. But she was disappointed. At the cornm- mencement of the recitation, he was as distant as she had ever known him, and it was impossible for her to remain unaffected by his cold reserve. Gradually, how- ever, it wore away, and before the hour was over she felt the charm of his social mood. "So you have been reading this review of Burns," said he, opening the Journal, and noticing her pencil- marks along the pages. Cc Yes; and I am greatly indebted to you for the feast I have enjoyed. I should not have imagined that Car- lyle could write such pure Anglo-Saxon." ," His early writings are comparatively free from those abundant compounds, and seeming affectations, that mark his later ones. But vitiated as his style has -be- come by foreignisns, he is hardly surpassed in vigor of thought and terseness of expression." "I have never read any thing of his, and scarcely of any writer, with more unmingled delight than this Re- view of Burns." ::.\ OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 35 "I am happy that we agree in our estimate of the piece. I should like to see what passages you have marked," and he turned over the leaves. "Do you remember your quotation from Byron the other evening?" inquired Marion with some hesitation, uncertain whether he would like the allusion. "I see you, at least, have not forgotten it," replied he turning towards her. "I have not. And while reading that article I marked a passage, which, it seemed to me, was a fair reply to it, by showing how both Byron and Burns mistook the true end of life." And taking the volume which he held out, she found the passage, which she requested him to read aloud. "So you mean I shall convict myself," said he with a smile. "I should like to convict you on that point certainly, for the view of life you presented is so full of gloom that I would fain hope it is untrue." "To you, Miss Graham, may the sad picture never I become a reality! But I will read:- We become men, not after we have been dissipated and disappointed in the chase of false pleasure; but after we have ascertained in any way, what impassa- ble barriers hem us in through this life, how mad it is to hope for contentment to our infinite soul from the gifts of this extremely finite world; that a man must be X sufficient for himself; and that, "for suffering and en- during, there is no remedy but striving and doing." a Byron, like Burns, is not happy; nay, he is the most X wretched of men. His life is falsely arranged; the fire that is in him is not a strong, still, central fire, warming page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 MARION GRAHAM; into beauty the products of a world; but it is the mad fire of a volcano; and now, --we look sadly into the ashes of a crater, which, ere long, will fill itself with snow.' "Here is a brief comment respecting Burns, which you have also marked. As you will probably cite it, in your endeavor to convict, if not convince me, I may as well read on: - He swerves to and fro between passionate hope and remorseful disappointment; . . . and to the last, cannot reach the only true happiness of man, that of clear, de- cided activity in the sphere, for which, by nature and circumstances he has been fitted and appointed.' " Laying down the book he said gravely, - "So you condemn me in toto." "Not at all, Mr. Vinton. I was simply unwilling to have you rest in what seemed to me a very melancholy opinion, to say the least." "I understand, and I thank you for your attempt to set me right. But I fear I may prove an obstinate case, Miss Graham. However, I will summon no more weird presences by attempting to argue the matter. Besides, I have no desire to convert you to my creed." "May I ask if you fully believe it yourself?" Affecting not to hear her, he took up a volume of British Poets that lay upon the table, and, turning it over with an absent-air, read aloud a few lines from Spenser's : 4"Fairy Queen," which suddenly changed the current of - thought. "Allow me to ask, Miss Graham, what, in your view, constitutes a true poet?" X "You don't expect me to be so presuming as to ven- ture an answer to such a question!" X .XET OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 87 "Yet I am sure you have one in your thoughts, and why should I not have the benefit of it?" I could assign the best of reasons, but, if you will let me take that Review once more, I think I can find an answer." He smiled as he replied, - "-Carlyle seems to have preceded us on our road, and set up his guide-boards all along. I would have pre- ferred your own opinion, but as you refuse it, I will read what you wish:- 'The poet can never have far to seek for a subject; the elements of his art are in him and around him o0n every hand; for him the Ideal world is not remote from the Actual, but under it and within it; nay, he is a poet, precisely because he discerns it there. Wherever there is a sky above him and a world around hint, the poet is in his place; for here too is man's existence, with its infinite longings and small acquirings ; its ever-thwarted, ever- renewed endeavors ; its unspeakable aspirations, its fears and hopes that wander through eternity; and all the mystery of brightness and of gloom that it was ever made of in any climate since man began to "I subscribe to Carlyle," said he, but on that repre- sentation, some, who are world-renowned as poets, have no just claim to the title."; "For instance? , "Wordsworth is a case in point. He has no strug- glings with mystery and no worthy aspirations; but is always unimpassioned, generally tame, and often child- ish and puerile." "All this of my great, my beloved Wordsworth?" Pardon me; I did not think I was touching one of page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] MARION mGHARAAM your idols. But unfortunately, I cannot retract a single word." "You surely do not know him." "As much as I desire, thoughI regret that we differ. We do not need to drink up the ocean to be sure that it is salt." "You are severe." "Not intentionally. It is enough for me to look over his bill of fare divided and subdivided like some botan- ical index. You have his works I presume." "I don't know whether I quite like to trust him in your hands." "I will commit no violence. But I want to edify you," said he, taking the volume which she reached him from the book-case, and rapidly reading from the Table of Contents: ' Poems referring to the Period of Childhood. ' Juvenile Pieces. ' Poems founded on the Affections. ' Poems of' the Fancy. ' Poems of the Imagination!"A nice distinction, that!" ' Miscellaneous Sonnets. ' Memorials of a Tour in Scotland. ' Sonnets dedicated to Liberty. Memorials of a Tour on the Continent. The River Duddon. A Series of Sonnets. Ecclesiastical Sketches. Parts 1, 2 and 3. ' Poems on the naming of Places. Inscriptions, etc. Poems of Sentiment and Reflection, etc., etc. ; Poems referring to the Period of Old Age. Epitaphs, etc., etc., etc.' "Here are poems all classified, and, as I think some one has remarked, labelled like phials in an apothecary's O1, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 39 establishment. What shall I help you to, Miss Gra- ham?" "To a little patience if you please. I am convicted by your array, but by no means converted to your be- lief. "How can such a systematic poetizing fail to quash all genuine inspiration? And then his subjects are so prosaic., "Worse and worse! You are truly unmerciful, but you will surely be obliged to change your opinion." I am ready for any experiment." "But you must promise to lay aside your prej- udices, and allow his poems to be tried, not by the mode of their announcement, but by their intrinsic - merit." "That is, if they have any," interrupted he, with a look ofmischief. "I believe you are 'an obstinate case,' and, but for my strong assurance, I should yield the point. I aim ready to admit that Wordsworth trammelled himself by what seems to me his mistaken theory. There may be an ideal side to most subjects, yet Inever could quite agree with him, or with the author of Margaret,' that every subject is a legitimate theme for the poet." "There we are certainly in harmony. Conceive of a sonnet to an onion or a cabbage." Marion laughed as she continued,- - "I dislike his system of classification as much as you; but that surely does not decide the rank of his poems And I amr confident you will yet be converted into an admirer. But your promise." "I promise to be as candid as possible, and, if con- vinced of my mistake, frankly to acknowledge it." page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] ) MARION GRAHAiM; "Here then is something to begin with." And find- cg a favorite poem, she held the book towards him. "Nay, that would not be a fair experiment. Please o read it yourself." Commencing in a tremulous voice, she read "Tintern Abbey," italicizing by her manner, the following passage ,I That blessed mood, In which the burden of the mystery, In which tlte heavy and the Weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lichtened':- that serene and blessed mood In which the affections gently lead us on, - Until the breath of this corporeal frame, And even the motion of our human blood, Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things." When she had finished, she looked in his face corn- placently. "Perhaps if you go on, you will succeed," said he trying to conceal his satisfaction. ", ill you read an- other poem?" "You cannot disguise your interest. But I will se- lect one more." And she began the ' Ode on the Intimations of Im mortality." As she proceeded, his whole spirit was stirred as by the wild, rich music of an XEolian harp; and when she looked up to him at its close, he said,-- "You have vanquished me. I admit that I never knew him before, at least, that I never knew his capabil- "And then," said Marion, warmed into enthusiasm, OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 41 c: his serene, elevated love of nature is so different from Byron's passionate admiration, which almost seems to wither and consume the object of his worship." "Hard again upon Byron!" "Not so hard as you have been on Wordsworth. But since our talk the other evening, and particularly since reading that review of Burns, I have had a great many thoughts about the matter." "May I ask to what issue?" "I believe I must return to my first position, that it is not safe to give one's self up to an unrestrained admira- tion of him." H "And what then becomes of Carlyle's, reasoning?" "Of course that remains good, and should teach us that to be truly just, is to be charitable." "But of what avail is a theory if set aside in prac- tice?" "It seems to me that our judgment of his blamewor- thiness may thus be modified. We must rejoice in the assurance that all the alleviating circumstances are known and considered by the Searcher of hearts, and will have due weight in his final award. But, MNrt Vinton, do you think it is therefore any the less true, that the moral quality of his writings must be deter- mined by their influence?" "H am afraid I shall pray to be delivered from my friends, if you, Miss Graham, have become a special pleader against Byron." "Do not misunderstand me. I confess that my sym- pathies and conscience are here at variance. And if I argue against him it is most reluctantly." "But what do you conceive to be 'the influence of these writings?"X page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 MARION GRAHAM; "They give false and gloomy views of life, and, by inducing misanthropy, dishearten one in the life-conflict, if they do not positively pervert his better nature." "And what do you understand exactly by the life- conflict?" In their conversations, Marion had occasionally felt that it was Mr. Vinton's object rather to draw out her views than to. express his own. And yet, while she was sometimes annoyed by his close questions, there was a fascination in his manner that insensibly led her along.: She surmised, however, that there was a con- cealed irony in his last query, and there was a slight consciousness of this manifest in her reply. "Why do you ask me, when you know so much bet- ter than I?" Fixing his clear eye upon her, he urged, - "I am sincere; will you not tell me just what you mean by the life-conflict?" Persuaded in spite of herself, with great seriousness she answered,-- "I mean simply this; --by the help of the Divine Spirit to overcome evil, and thus become fit for heaven." "Pardon my persistence, and indulge me once more. Why do you attribute to Byron's writings an influence so hostile to this?" "Because I have seen it, and because I have --felt it,"' she added, with a deep glow. "But, indeed, it is hardly fair for you, from your assumed office of teacher, to put me so under the screws. I think I shall revenge myself by beginning to catechize you." "Another time you shall have full liberty. Allow me a few words more. I fancied there was a warm re- ' , '- OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS.. 43 sponse in your heart to what I read you from Carlyle. How far was I mistaken?" "You read me rightly. I was greatly moved by his forcible plea, which to me was new, as well as by his striking illustrations. And I think my judgment does not differ materially from his. But, for the moment, I allowed myself to confound Byron with his writings. On thinking it all over, however, I saw my error." "And are not one's writings,then, a part of himself?" "I begin to think you are playing the sophist in order :to expose my shallowness." "Nay, Miss Graham, you will not do me such injus- tice. I asked the question in good faith." And he waited for her reply. "If they are an outflow, of course they must be an expression of himself. But I think we may strongly reprobate one's views, and yet at the same time, make great allowance for him who advances them, and cher- ish most kindly feelings towards him." "A just and generous sentiment. May this sweet charity always find a home in your heart! I am cer- tainly happy to agree with you here." "If you would like," said Marion with some timid- ity, I will read you a passage onthis ubject from my extract-book." "To convict me again? But I will hear it with pleasure." It is from Prof. Frisbie's writings, and first led me to distrust my passion for Byron. He says:-- His heroes are not machines, that, by a contrivance of the artist, send forth a music of their own, but in- struments through which he breathes his very soul in tones of agonized sensibility, that cannot but give a page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " MARION GRAHAM; sympathetic impulse to those who hear. The desolate misanthropy of his mind rises and throws its dark shade over his poetry, like one of his own ruined castles; we feel that it is sublime, but we forget that it is a sublim- ity it cannot have till it is abandoned by every thing that is kind and peaceful and happy, and its -halls are ready to become the haunts of outlaws and assassins. Nor are his more tender and affectionate passages those to which we can yield ourselves without a feeling of uneasiness. It is not that we can here and there select a proposition formally false or pernicious, but that he leaves an impression unfavorable to a healthful state of thought and feeling, peculiarly dangerous to the finest minds and most susceptible hearts. They are the scene of a summer evening, where all is tender and beautiful and grand; but the damps of disease descend with the dews of heaven, and the pestilent vapors of night are breathed in with the fragrance and the balm; and the delicate and fair are the surest victims of exposure.' " "I will not enter the lists against Frisbie, at least not now, while you are under his spell." "The spell of truth, Mr. Vinton." "So mote it be then. But we have strayed wide from our subject. Byron, after all, seems to have car- ried the- day against Wordsworth." "But, nevertheless, has not triumphed over him, as you will admit in time." "I have frankly conceded his capabilities, but I am yet to be convinced that he is not generally unimpas- sioned and heavy. What can you say in behalf of ' The Excursion?'" "I do not deny that there are many dull, prosaic lines in it, the result, I suppose, of his theory, which must of . OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 45 course make his poetry unequal. But allowing a wide margin for inferior passages, there is still enough left to admire, as I am sure you would acknowledge. Will you not read it?" 6"If I may be allowed to do so through your voice. I think his beauties strike my ear, sooner than they would my eye." Blushing at the delicate -compliment, she replied, - "You have not yet tried your eye." "But," continued he, "I have no expectation that even your reading could bring me to accept either the philosophy or the theology of Wordsworth." "It is now my turn to catechize. Did you not give me permission?" : The amplest." "To begin then, what do you mean by your last re- mark,?" ; "Simply that I am one of those perverse beings, who I presume to think for themselves." "A clear evasion. Allow me to ask what I shall 'understand exactly' by that remark. I hold you to your free permission." ,' ("I gave you full liberty to ask, buts did I promise to m': answer?" "I am evidently no match for you." "I fear not," said he, while a sudden shadow fell upon i his animated countenance. "But the clock strikes, and - it must be nine." "It will never, never do," said Maurice to himself, as, inn closing the gate, his eye caught the bright light re- I fleeted from the windows of the cheerful room he had & Just left. J "I could not have believed it ten," soliloquized Mar- page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " MARION GRAHAM; ion as she looked at her watch. "]But what a strange being! How provokingly cool he sometimes is! And yet he carries a resistless charm. Such wondrous eyes! I used to think he had no soul. But those eyes -alone could --" Beware, Marion! thy bark is setting towards that deep current which has made many a shipwreck. * OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 47 CHAPTER V. a And feelings .once as strong as passions, Float softly back, a faded dream; Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations, The taste of others' sufferings seem." MARION GRAHAM was of an enthusiastic nature, and, a lofty and highly cultivated intellect. To reverence was a necessity of her heart, and it was the respect which Mr. Maynard inspired, that had given him such an influence over her. He-was the first young man of her acquaintance that she had ever looked zup to; and : to be able to do this is a pleasure to one like her, as :. genuine as it is rare. Little indeed do those under- stand of a true woman, who seek to propitiate her favor : by descending, if not condescending. The mind of such a one, dissatisfied with the flippancies of conversation, i and the petty scandal that is forever going its eternal ' round, reaches towards a higher range- after nobler r" subjects of thought. And willingly and most warmly : does she acknowledge her indebtedness to him who can : a: lift her to that range, and supply her with those subjects. :; To such a heart there is no avenue but that which thorough respect lays open, and the surest way to shut X: up all approach is to degrade one's self to the rank of a H flatterer, a mere lady-pleaser. X Between such a flatterer and Mr. Maynard, the chasm X was great. It was his simplicity and manliness of char- X page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] ; .U1L.,cX IJ LU WJ .L mjLV JL .L L t un do I I acter that first awakened her interest. And with the strong ideality of her nature, she clothed him in brilliant hues, and then began to do secret homage to the being, in part at least, of her own creation. Thus a warmer sentiment stole unconsciously to her heart. But its sweetness had soon been imbittered, and had she been a weak woman, she might have sustained a real injury. As it was, she rose superior to the trial, and, after a time, having willingly entered into the' fraternal relationship Mr. Maynard had proposed, she came to regard him in a new light. t It was not long after this, that the study of the Ger- man, in which she engaged with her wonted enthusi- asm, caused a still greater diversion in her thoughts. Maurice Vinton was a thorough scholar, and under his instructions she made rapid progress. She had soon mastered the Grammar, and having finished "Marie Stuart," was now reading some of Schiller's other dramas. It would be difficult, perhaps, to draw the line, where, with Marion's interest in her studies, began- to be blended an indefinable interest in her teacher, as she con- tinued to call him. As their intercourse developed him more and more, she marvelled at his rich stores of knowledge, at the ease and elegance of his conversation, and at a fascination of manner entirely unlooked for in one who had stood so aloof from the world. In so- ciety, if indeed by any chance he ever happened there, he still wore his old reserve and hauteur. It was to Mar- ion only that he opened himself, on her alone that he lavished his mental affluence. Can we not pardon her for feeling flattered? ' We are sorry to admit any thing that might be con- anU nlEt;uK THAN HAPPINESS. 49 strued into womanly fickleness, but it must be acknowl- edged that the image of William Maynard now came far seldomer to her heart than that of another. And when she did think of him, it was not without wonder at herself. That old feeling came back to her as a faded dream. "It was a mere fancy," she said mus- ingly, " a ripple on the surface, but the deep waters were unstirred." Then she sighed-was it for sorrow or for joy? - as her thoughts reverted to Maurice Vin- ton. "So superior a being, how can one help reverenc- ing him?" She would not admit the fact that another feeling was springing up in the centre of her soul. But, like many a one before her, she blindly yielded to the current, and, with sweet snatches of music in her heart, she calmly floated down the stream. Was there no one to guard her from impending danger, no one to utter a warning voice? Marion's mother, a gentle, loving woman, had died when she was an infant, and, as her father had never married again, she was the only child of the family. A kind maiden aunt had the charge of her till she was fourteen, when she also was, removed by death. Since then, Marion had been nominally at the head of affairs, though her dependence was upon Polly Somers, a faith- ful old housekeeper, who had been for years in the fam- ily. Judge Graham, a man of high, intellectual character and fine feelings, was an indulgent father, lavishing upon her every thing which wealth could procure. He had taken great pleasure in developing her mind and direct- ing her studies. And he was proud of the result. But he was of quiet, undemonstrative manners, and much given to seclusion. Having the utmost confidence in 3s page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] O MARION GRAHAM; I X his daughter's discretion and delicacy, he left her with- out comment to pursue her own course, while he occu- pied himself in the library. Marion noticed that he always sat where he could look upon her mother's por- trait, but, much as she longed to do so, she did not ven- ture to break through his reserve, and speak of her in his presence. Nor, as he never invited her confidence, did she feel at liberty to open her heart, and ask for sympathy or counsel. Thus, amid coming perils, she was left to guide her own bark as she best could. Mr. Vinton had hitherto called only at the appointed seasons, but' on a bright September afternoon, he brought a bouquet of wild flowers which he had gathered in the woods. "My cousin Miss Whipple, Mr. Vinton," said Mar- ion, as he entered the parlor.. Mr. Vinton gave an involuntary start of pleasure as he glanced at the pretty apparition. All the attractions that could be presented by soft and beautiful coloring, regular features, graceful proportions, and tasteful drap- ing, were centred in the little figure before him. You might feel that she was a trifle overdressed, and yet every thing so well became her that you would hardly have suggested a change. Dancing golden curls hung coquettishy around her face, and, in either damask cheek, as well as in her plurmp chin, were laughing dimples, which, in her case, youdWould not scruple to call love's cradles. She seemed iAde on purpose to be looked at, and the evident pleasure that the sight occasioned be- holders, gave her an exalted,:idea of her own charms. But it was soon manifest that no soul inhabited this beautiful form, or, at least, that it had never been waked to consciousness. Having just burst out from OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 51 the boarding school, she had entered upon her great business. That business she believed to be to win general admiration, and then secure the best possible parti. Marion had put ithe bouquet into a vase, and now carried it for her cousin: to admire. "How lovely! I perfectly doat on wild flowers," said she with an affected lisp. "You must luxuriate in the country, dear Marion. Do you know I half envy you?" " i"Why so?" asked Marion, who saw that Maurice was quietly measuring the city girl. "Oh, because it is such a contrast to the noise and dust of Broadway." "Would -you like to live here?" asked Mr. Vinton. This was a home question she had not anticipated, and she was somewhat confused in answering it. "I am not accustomed to it, you know. But I doat on flowers and green grass. Don't. you?" said she, turning her pretty face towards him. ' "I cannot say that I do.', : , "I suppose you are fond, of city pleasures then?" "Not in the least." '. "What do you like?" "I am rather a savage in my mode of life." "Say, Marion, is he?" "Rather so, I think," said she, smiling. "Well, now, I took him for quite a gentleman." "It is easy for young people to: deceive 'themselves," added he drily. Miss Whipple could not quite get his drift, but she would not give him up, and she begged him .to describe the pleasures of the country, of which, she said, she had '"'?- page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 MARION GRAHAM; read a great deal. This he did with a sly humor which Marion had never before seen in him; and, between his descriptions and her merry laughter, Miss Whipple was a good deal mystified. But she took a great liking to Mr. Vinton, as she frankly told Marion. Nor did this liking diminish with further acquaintance. And, whether ; it was because he felt more free in the presence of a third person, or for some other reason, he now called frequently. It was evident to Marion that he had soon taken the altitude of her visitor; and, if the truth must be known, although he was always gentlemanly, it was not long before he began to quiz her. But Julia Whipple was so cased in vanity, and so wanting in quickness of perception, that his shafts glanced harm- lessly from her. She, however, had become increasingly satisfied that he was worth her efforts, and, during his calls, she made her most attractive displays. On a bright October afternoon, Mr. Vinton invited the cousins to a stroll in the woods. ( How perfectly charming it will be!" said Julia, as they left the room to prepare themselves. Marion gave her advice as to suitable apparel and walking-shoes, but paying no heed to it, she came trip- ping back in a sky-blue barege and French slippers. As they entered a forest at some distance from the vil- lage, she went into manifold ecstasies. "How romantic!" exclaimed she to Mr. Vinton. "Shouldn't you like to build a cottage here?" "For what purpose?" "Why, to live in, to be sure." "I think not," said he gravely. "Savage as I am, I prefer some degree of civilization, and do not yet covet the honor of being a wild man of the woods." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 53 "You don't mean so! Now, do you know I think this is lovelier than a ball or a theatre?" "When I have had your experience in the world, I1 may be driven to the same state of desperation." 1: "I don't know what you mean by desperation." "' I mean your precise condition at this moment;-- a state of bewitching romance." "You are very funny," said shef throwing herself down in a picturesque attitude. "But, Mr. Vinton, won't you make me a wreath of these bright leaves? I know country people do such things, but I could never guess how." "I presume your cousin is better skilled in that line than I am." "I will do the best I can," and Marion seated herself, while Mr. Vinton gathered the choicest leaves for her, and then placed himself at her feet. '"I wish you would try," said Julia. "I know you can make one, if you only will." - He commenced weaving a chaplet, mingling the dark evergreen with the brilliant leaves. "That is enchanting. It is prettier even than yours," said Julia to Marion, who had completed hers, but was holding it in her hand, expecting Maurice to crown her cousin. They had both thrown aside their hats, and through the gold and crimson foliage that still lingered upon the trees, the sunbeams, playing round their heads, seemed like showers of sparkling gems. "Allow me to crown you," said he in an under-tone, while he placed the chaplet upon Marion's brow. As she bent to conceal her sudden blush, he lifted her wreath, and approaching Julia,- "Now will you be garlanded?" page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 MARION GRAHAM; I like the other best," said she, pouting her pretty lips. "But that is already dedicated." "Won't you let me have it, Marion?" "If you wish," replied she, not without reluctance, it must be confessed, taking it from her own head and placing it on Julia's. "Now it's my turn to be offended," said Maurice, looking half reproachfully at Marion. "Let this be my peace-offering, then," and, picking up the garland she had made, she placed it lightly on his dark locks. "Commend me to a woman for-the amicable adjust- ment of all difficulties;" and he bowed gallantly. "You look exactly like some heathen god," said Julia. "Which of them, Miss Whipple?" "I never can remember their names." - "Of course your compliment is very doubtful. But I bear no malice." "You turn every thing about, Mr. Vinton. I meant it for a great compliment. Don't you see the likeness, Marion?" ( To Pan, perhaps." "See, Miss Graham, how those gorgeous leaves quiver and sparkle in the sunlight. Everybody flings at the 'sear and yellow leaf,' yet, after all, its beauty exceeds that of the glad summer leaf." "But how soon it vanishes! Yet I admit there is a peculiar glory crowning the autumnal season." "And do not its sad voices speak to a deeper part of your nature, than the gayer seasons can reach?" "Always," replied she earnestly. "But while they talk most plaintively of the mutation and decay of all OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 55 earthly things, they also, it seems to me, discourse elo- quently of the future and immortal life." "As a man listeneth, so heareth he," returned Mau- rice with a mournful smile. "Not such is their utter- ance to me. But what matters it?" "You have seen , The Closing Scene,' by T. B. Reed, have you not?" inquired she, dreading one of his mel- ancholy moods. "I have, and do not wonder at the admiration it has elicited. It is perfect of its kind, - a series of finished word-pictures. Could any thing be finer than this;- 'The thistle-down, the only ghost of flowers Sailed slowly by, - passed noiseless out of sight.'" "Nothing, I think, except this;- ' She had known sorrow. He had walked with her, Oft supped, and broke with her the ashen crust, And, in the dead leaves, still she heard the stir Of his black mantle, trailing in the dust!"' They sat some time, filled with the music of silence, fo Julia had wandered off by herself. "You remember 'Thanatopsis,"' said Maurice, break- ing the stillness. And in a dreamy voice he began,-- "To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.' " Nor did he cease till he had gone through the poem. Marion thanked him with her dewy eyes. And Julia Whipple, who returned as he was commencing, and who had been gazing into his face with affected rapture, now broke out, -- ' "How sweet! What name did you say?" page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 MARION GRAHAM; A "' Thanatopsis." "Fanny - who?" "Fanny Topsis," said he, with a quizzical look which nearly upset Marion's gravity. - "What a lovely poetess! She is English, I presume." "She is English," he replied with unmoved sobriety. "Where can I get her poems?" "At any New York bookstore; you couldn't find them in the country." "I should like them of all things. Won't you order the book for me?" . "With great pleasure." And Julia tripped away, hoping he would follow. "I did not know you could be so wicked," said Mar- ion in a low voice. "My poor cousin - to feel the edge of such satire." "She finds no edge, but if I have offended you, Miss Graham, I will make atonement." "Oh, dear! my shoes are full of rocks!" called Julia, holding out a foot in its tiny slipper. "You know I forewarned you, dear cousin. Those shoes are not fit to walk in; - look at mine." "And at mine," added Maurice, stretching out his boot. "But, Miss Whipple," bowing low," allow me to conduct you to a seat upon yonder knoll, and I will play knight, and assist in freeing you from those cruel rocks." Suspecting no raillery, she graciously consented; when, with the utmost gravity, he declared himself at her service. Untying her shoes, she reached them to- wards him. Taking the Cinderella slippers gingerly in his hands, he turned them upside down, shook them, and handed them back. She slipped her tiny feet OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 57 within, and, as he perceived she had some difficulty in tying the lacing, he said with a profound bow, "Permit me the honor," and proceeded to tie themn with as much ease as if he had graduated at Almack's. "I am sure you write poetry," said Julia, looking archly in his face. "(By what means did you arrive at the discovery?" "Oh, you talk like a poet, and I want you to write in my album."* "I could not possibly be guilty of such presumption, Miss Whipple ; " and, assisting her to rise, he appealed to Marion,- "I trust I have now made ample atonement for my former want of gallantry." "I give you up as incorrigible," replied!she in the same tone. "Cousin Marie, don't you think Mr. Vinton is a hand- some man?" It was two or three days after their walk, and Julia had been sitting in unwonted silence. "Certes, I do," replied Marion, amused that the sub- ject of her meditations should thus become manifest. "But I should not have supposed you would be attracted by intellectual beauty." "Oh, he is so tall, and has such a rich complexion, and thick, dark hair. And then he smiles very- sweetly." Another silence. "Has he any property?" "He is a rich man." "Of good family?" "His father is a farmer." ' I should not have thought it. But how old is he?" "Twenty two or three." 3* page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 MARION GRAHAM; "I thought he had an older look. I am glad he is so young." "Why are you glad?" "Oh, because." A third silence. "Marion, did you notice his attentions to me in the I latter part of our walk?" "Don't be foolish, Julia." "Have you any objections? I don't think one need be ashamed of him." "Ashamed of Mr. Vinton! A strange idea! But, dear cousin, he cares nothing about you, rand I beg you not to be guilty of such a folly as imagining that he does." "I hope you are not jealous.' At that moment, they discovered Mr. Vinton himself at the door, which had,- all the time, been slightly ajar. The expression on his face was peculiar, but Marion could not guess how much of the conversation he had overheard. 1 "As your servant forgot to name me," said he, "I con- ' eluded to announce myself." "Mr. Vinton, do take my part. Cousin Marion has been lecturing me." 'Indeed? And what can Miss Julia have done?" "I want to tell you all about it." "After our German, I will listen to your grievances if you wish." "Will you come out to the slummer-house?" "At your bidding," replied he bowing. "I will exult over Marion, yet, see if I don't;" and she knit her fair brows as she walked up and down the gar- -den. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 59 When the German hour was over, Marion was obliged to remind Mr. Vinton of his promise. "' Oh, yes! I must hasten to relieve Miss Whipple of her self-appointed task." Julia had made a picturesque arrangement of herself. She was half reclining in the arbor, her tiny feet peep- ing out from her rose-colored dress. She seemed to have been weeping, and her handkerchief was still; at her face. Mr. Vinton stood suddenly before her, saying in a brisk tone,- "Now, Miss Julia, for your business." "Please not call it business," said she, making room for him beside her. "What is it then?" "Can't you understand?" asked she, lifting her eyes into his, and quickly dropping them again. "I fear I am dull in interpreting young ladies' thoughts." "But you can see when they are not happy." "So you, then, are unhappy. Is there any thing I can do for you?" "A great deal." "What is it, Miss Julia?" "I don't like to have you ask me. I would rather you would find it out yourself." "But supposing I cannot, which is precisely my case." "Do you really wish I should tell you?" ! "Most certainly." "And won't you think me bold?" said she, looking coquettishy into his face. "Not for being frank, surely." "Well, then," continued she, casting down her eyes, page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 MARION GRAHAM; . while a soft blush tinged her fair cheek, I want to be. comforted." E "For what?" asked he, a little more puzzled in com- prehending her than if he had been a vain man. I "Well, I suppose I shall have to tell you all, only re- member that you have promised not to think me bold. I told cousin Marie how much I liked you, and that I thought you\liked me too. And don't you think she : said you did't?-"Then, fixing her beautiful eyes upon him, she asked, "You do like me a little, don't you?" She was certainly a very attractive object, as she sat with her half-downcast eyes, her flushed cheek, and her : bewitching smile, waiting for him to console her. It i was an embarrassing position for a man who had kept E so entirely aloof from all tender scenes with the fair sex. : Yet that a lovely girl should be anxious he should like her, was truly not an unpardonable offence. Totally ;i unprepared for any thing further, he hesitated, and finally said,- "I suppose your cousin meant there were some things about you which I could not like." "I should like to please you in every thing," contin- ued she, encouraged to adventure upon him a little 1 more of her charming frankness. A Since I came out,' I have had a great many attentions, but if I had you for my own friend, I shouldn't care for such things. Be- sides, I know papa would like you." , What she intended by comfort, began to be rather more clearly defined. How could he, in common gal- lantry, best dispose of so delicate a case? And yet he felt that she could not possibly mean what was implied in her words and manner. A , 4' OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 61 "I ought to feel flattered by your interest. But when you come to know me better, you may not like me as well." "I know I shall. You wouldn't ever be cross, would you?" Convinced, in spite of himself, that the end she con. templated was more serious than he had been willing to suppose, he said in a careless tone, - "I fear we are playing at cross-purposes. But as I am at a loss to determine just how much you want me to like you, I hardly know how to reply." "I don't like to tell you," said she, while a deeper crimson dyed her cheek. "And I think you might un- derstand me, if you only would. Can't you guess what I mean?" Pausing a moment, she added, "I suppose you have heard Marion speak of my prospects when I come of age." An expression, part comic and part kindly, stole over his face as he replied, - "I fear that will not be for a long time." "Oh, yes! in only one year from next May." Here was a fine opportunity to amuse himself by an easy flirtation with the pretty creature beside him. But not of that ilk was Maurice Vinton. Shaking his head, he addressed her in a low voice, - "Excuse my bluntness, Miss Julia, but I cannot be your lover, if that is what you desire. And, if you are really bent on conquest, I recommend you to use sim- plicity as your chief weapon. Were you my sister, I should counsel you to cultivate the grace of true wo- manly delicacy, as you see it in your noble cousin." The tears sprang into her eyes, and perceiving them, he added in a gentler tone, i page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 MARION xGRAHAM; "If you will put away all affectation, and be a sim- i ple, natural young girl, I shall be very glad to like you, jj if you can pardon my plain talk sufficiently to wish me I to do so" . "And, perhaps -love me some time?" "Never," said he smiling; " even though you should become a model of all the proprieties. But, Miss Julia, there are a great many young men in the world, and, if you really reform, you will, I doubt not, win some worthy heart." Julia, shallow as she was, was neither ill-tempered, nor, by nature, artful; hence her affectation was so appar- ent. She was a little piqued by his remarks, but she had sense .enough to respect him for his frankness, and goodness of heart enough not to be offended by it. With his " never," which she saw was final, all her man- nerisms dropped, and left her a very pretty, simple- i hearted, pleasing young lady, - ten times more attrac- tive than with all her previous embellishments. "My mother died when I was a child," said she, " and I have always been petted and praised, and told what an impression I should make. I have been kept at boarding school a great deal, but I don't believe I know half as much as Marion, do you?" "I don't think you do," replied he, smiling kindly at her simplicity. "Can't I study while I'm here, and won't you be my teacher?" ( With pleasure," said he, feeling at last a genuine interest in the petite figure sitting so demurely beside him. "And now we will go into the house." Julia unconsciously began to bridle. "Breakers ahead! Just be yourself." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 63 She instantly gave heed, and going up to Marion, she said frankly, - "I was wrong, and you were right; but Mr. Vinton and I have come to an understanding, and he is going to be my friend and teacher; aren't you?" added she, turning to him for confirmation. "Most willingly." Marion saw that there was a change in their relations, and that Maurice had lost his disposition to quiz her cousin; and, though somewhat mystified, she rejoiced at the new aspect of affairs. "What shall I begin with?" "With History, I think. That is philosophy teach- ing by example and illustration, and just what you need. You must read carefully, for I shall examine you hard." "I hoped it would be poetry, but just as you say." "This will be better to commence with." "You play Mentor admirably," said Marion, amused at the progress of events. "Who was Mentor?" asked Julia. "A wise and paternal character, about whom I will inform my pupil farther at another time." Marion looked earnestly at him, as much as to say,- "How has all this come to pass?" And he replied audibly,- "You must ask no explanation of me." After he had left, she said to Julia,- "What has happened between you and Mr. Vinton?" "I will tell you if you will not laugh at me." "By no means, little cousin." "Well, you see, I did like him very much. And I thought it would make me proud and happy to have him for a lover." page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " MARION GRAHAM; ! '"Proud indeed, you might well be!" interrupted Marion. "Now don't be vexed. I only hinted at my feelings- and prospects. But he said he did not love me, and then gave me some plain advice. And he looked so severe that I could not help crying. Then he grew more gentle, and said if I would lay aside my airs he would like me. So I thought he might in time come to love me, and I said so." "You dear little simpleton." "Well, I suppose, I am. He laughed and said 'never;' but he was very kind, and we are now good friends." "He will be a true friend, Julia, and you must try to please him." Coming in one evening to the German lesson, Mau- rice found Julia, as usual, seated at the table. At these seasons, she was to him rather a disturbing element, so, as Marion had not come in, he said to her frank- ly, - "Miss Julia, this is our time; and, as you can have no special interest in our recitations, suppose you read elsewhere." ii "And will it not be best for us to be alone during our lessons?" ( As you choose," replied he, laughing. ^ When Marion entered the room, Julia accosted her,- i "I have agreed to leave you and Mr. Vinton by your- ' selves, if you will leave us alone in our turn." il "Most cheerfully ;?" and Julia tripped away well satis- fied. "Let me explain the liberty I have taken. This hour * . A OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 65 is to me the music of the day, and an unappreciating presence affects me as an unwelcome discord." "Are you not through yet? What long lessons you do give her!" They had been walking among flowers, and the hours, which, to them, had sped by with such noiseless feet, had seemed interminable to poor Julia. She had waited and watched, and watched and waited, till her patience could endure no longer. So she rushed in, a most un- meet presence, harshy interrupting music sweet as the dreamy summer breezes when they sing among the will- ing pines. Alas! she had been entirely forgotten! With her return, Mr. Vinton's manner became ab- stracted, and he shortly withdrew. H "as he been lecturing you, that you are both so sober?" Marion gave an indefinite reply, and then excused herself for the night. She wished to be alone - to com- mune with her own spirit. Mr. Vinton had uniformly treated her with that pecul- iar deference so pleasing to a woman. But, while his attentions were always delicate, and, from him, conveyed more than would a multitude more marked from most men, -he had never breathed in words the first sylla- ble of love. The strange mystery which she had early noticed grew more and more unfathomable. His expres- sions were sometimes dark and enigmatical, and, not un- frequently, he completed a sentence very differently from what the beginning would have led her to expect. His sympathy, where they agreed, was full and entirely sat- isfying. Yet she was at times conscious of a certain want in him, not a want of depth, but of an unexplained page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " MARION GRAHAM; something, the absence of which a good deal disturbed her, though why she hardly knew. There are those with whom you can never get beyond a certain point, I because there is nothing beyond. Not so with him. - After every season of free intercourse, she felt that she had penetrated farther into the core of his being. And what she found always revealed more to be yet discov- ered. But the unsolved mystery loomed up before her like an ever-enlarging shadow. Again and again did she undertake to examine it. It invariably eluded her scrutiny. If a woman allows herself to attempt such an analysis with the view to comprehend a gentleman's character, she may expect to suffer a penalty for her pains-taking; - to find herself at last entangled in inex- tricable mazes, and utterly unable to retrace her way into independence and self-sufficiency. Never had any human being obtained the power over Marion's mind, that this man, seemingly without an effort, had acquired. The conviction that he had no common-place interest in her was increasing, and the thrill it awakened would have left her in no uncertainty as to her own sentiments, had she wished to pronounce sentence upon herself. But any such issue she care- fully evaded. It was enough for her to live in the present, made sweeter by the occasional memory of her former trial. Between Schiller's charming dramas, her teach- er's growing fascinations, and her day-dreamings to fill up the intervals, she was fully reconciled to past events. More than once she had recalled Mr. Maynard's mys- terious intimation. Could he have meant Mr. Vinton? ? And yet how should he have read what had, at that time, in no way. been manifested? Ah, Marion! your eyes were not then opened! But if her sometirne-sus- i OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 67 picions -(she would not call them hopes,) were well grounded, why did he not speak? "Perhaps, after all," she said to herself, "he cares nothing about me. Foolish that I am to be so full of fancies!" Before she slept that night, she resolved to keep a stricter guard over herself, and, by all means, not to part with her hoarded wealth till it had been asked for. But could she be sure she had not already bestowed it,- and that past recall? I* 1 , zsb I . page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 DMARION GRAHAM; ; CHAPTER VI. "Too much, too soon, despondingly we yield! A better lesson we are taught by the lilies of the field! A sweeter by the birds of heaven - which tell us in their flight, Of One that through the desert air forever guides them right." THE old house obtruded itself well nigh into the mid- dle of the street. Every new passer-by started with sur- prise as he came across the dingy edifice, setting itself thus unexpectedly in his path. It had a faded, would-be genteel air, holding on upon its shattered roof as if mindful of better days, while its rickety blinds clung to i it here and there as remnants of its pristine estate. Its head had pressed upon its shoulders, and its shoulders upon its loosened foundation, till the whole had settled down further than was quite consistent with uprightness and dignity. There it was, indubitably a gloomy-look- ing mansion, and yet, from its defenceless position, ir- viting the gaze of all beholders. The street whereon it stood, was the thoroughfare of the village, and whenever, by any chance, the curtains were not dropped, as no shrubbery veiled the windows from impertinent eyes, the constant throng could easily glance in at them. And now let us enter and see what j is going on in the interior. It is a bitter December day, though not one of those clear cold days when every thing sparkles in the sun- beams. The sky is in half mourning, the atmosphere OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 69 is tearful, and, consequently, the little parlor wears rather a cheerless aspect. It is, however, furnished comforta- bly, and seems as if striving to look pleasant, yet not quite able to make it out, The panes in the windows, and the windows them- selves, are of different sizes. Clumsy beams, with time- colored paint, lean like upright sentinels against the walls, without the faintest attempt at concealment. The paper is of a bright, gaudy pattern, purporting to have been handsome to those who cannot see through false pretences, but now bedimmed with smoke and old age. At the precise moment of which we speak, our old friend, Bessie Maynard, was busily at work on one of those unsocial, black intruders into the sunny fireside, ycleped air-tig'hts. But in the present case, it was evi- dently a misnomer, for, in spite of all she could do, the wind came whistling down the chimhey and into the room, like a thing of life. If it had only whistled, how- ever, Bessie would have deemed it quite civil, nay, in a certain mood, she might have listened to it with pleas- ure. There is, undeniably, music in the lod, fitful moanings and sobbings of the wind. But when it comes to puffing like a steam-engine, that is quite another thing. And this day, to Bessie's great discomfiture, it came puff- puff- puff. Nor was that all, for, with every I puff, there burst forth from this closely shut up air-tight, smoke and gas and forked tongues of fire. Poor Bes- sie! she battled it valiantly, but was forced to yield. 1"I shall certainly suffocate," she at length exclaimed. "I wonder how it fares with William."' Hastily ascending the stairs, and opening a door, a cloud of "smoke greeted her, but she faced it, and shut page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] MARION GRAHAM; ? to the door. The face of her husband, marked by ear- nest thought, was instantly turned towards her, and, through the misty waves of smoke, Bessie could see that, although his eyes were quite red, his brow was Tplacid, as hers, poor soul, was not. "O William! how can you sit there and write in this terrible smoke, as if nothing in the world were the matter-?" "Because I must finish my sermon to-day. But I confess, dear Bessie, it is rather uncomfortable." "Uncomfortable indeed! For my part, I am almost ready to pronounce it past endurance." "It is a great deal better to dwell here with you, ' than with a brawling woman' in a house without smoke," said he, laying his hand tenderly on her head. "I hope I shall not add to your trial. But I have been at work below for an hour, battling it with wind and smoke till I am tired out, yet all in vain. And you are in quite as woful a plight, if you would only think so." "What can't be cured, must be endured, you know." "Well, you are fit for martyrdom." "Not to be martyred, however, I trust." "I fear I should prove a recanter. But I must go down and see about our lunch, for I have concluded to give you for dinner what you have sometimes asked for; -pancakes and coffee." "Just what I should like." "Good-by, then. I hope the smoke won't make you blind. It seems too bad for us to be shut up to such a house." Bessie, as we have seen, had entered upon her new sphere with bright expectation. Notwithstanding Mr. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 71 Maynard's attempts to prepare her for disappointments, every thing had looked couleur de rose. Her dreams of love in a cottage had left no margin for poor servants, smoky chimneys, and other irritants of the temper. And Bessie, lovely and loving as she was, was not quite an angel. She was now encountering the stern discipline of life, and, in spite of her hopeful spirit, it was very hard for her. It is easy, in the glad sunlight, to talk of pos- sible storms, but it is another thing to battle with them when exposed to their fury. Who can predict how he shall endure temptation? Was it strange that Bessie, so new in all trying experience, should be disturbed, when she found herself launched upon a troubled sea? But though her cales sat heavily upon her, and some- times unconsciously fretted- her spirit, yet, for all that, she was a most affectionate, sympathizing wife and a true helpmeet. Their present house had, from the first, struck her un- pleasantly, but it was the best, on Mr. Maynard's small salary, which they could afford to hire. And as, from her childhood, she had been accustomed to a pleasant and commodious home, this accommodating herself to circumstances was harder than she had imagined. The prose of life she found very unlike its poetry. Her heart was not unfrequently heavy, and her brow over- cast, while her expressive eyes, to the quick sense of her husband, betokened coming showers of tears, in which prognostic he was generally correct. It was a season of trial too for Mr. Maynard. It was hard to see her whom he so tenderly loved exposed, on his account, to constant self-denial and sacrifice. It would be terrible should her sweet, confiding nature bes come soured by adversity. But way down in his heart ', 8s * page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 2 MARION GRAHAM; a vas an unshaken confidence that, in the end, she would Yain the victory. So he was content to abide his time. Bessie's theory was unchanged. But she belonged to the race with whom, infirmities are the common lot, and she was sometimes forced to acknowledge herself van- ! quished. Yet she struggled with her impatient spirit, and prayed against it. This very morning she had made it a subject of special supplication, andfelt quite confident of maintaining her equanimity during the day. But she had trusted to her own strength and, in the hour of trial, it had failed her. As she was leaving the study Mr. Maynard stepped towards her, and, kissing her forehead, looked so tenderly into her troubled eyes, that the tears started, but, smil- ing through them, she gaily said, - "A cup of coffee will make me goodnatured." Hastening down through the smoky hall into the smoky parlor, which smoked with more energy than ever, while the mingled gas made her head whirl, her assumed gayety vanished. With a lengthened face she went into the kitchen to inspect Bridget's proceedings. Be it premised that, with the fresh ambition of a young wife, Bessie had, till within a few weeks, been her own maid of all work. But, finding it too much for her health, her husband had recently brought from the "Intelligence Office" of a neighboring city, a fresh Irish recruit "used to all kinds of work." Bessie, who never had experience in this line before, soon found her- self launched on a new sea of troubles, and, many a time, sighed for dear old Judy. Poor Bridget was good-na- tured, and, as they thought, honest, but seemed pre- doomed to mistakes. On this day of misfortunes Mrs. Maynard had told onR, HGHER TA HAPN PiNESS. 73 Bridget to roast some coffee. She was very particular as to the exact shade of brown the coffee ought to as- sume. And she had taken unwearied pains to teach Bridget the art of roasting it, till she thought there was one thing at least which she could trust her to do. "Now mind, Bridget, and when you are roasting cof- fee, never leave it for one minute till it is done." "And sure I won't be afther laving it, ma'am." This morning she had renewed her charge, to which Bridget made her usual assent. Supposing it nicely done, she opened the kitchen door, when the smoke and flavor of burnt coffee greeted her eyes and nose, but no- body was visible. Stepping -to the window, what was her dismay to see Bridget with a spider full of coffee, burnt to a coal, deliberately pourifig it into the drain. Scarcely crediting her sensessj she waited till the girl re- appeared, who set down the empty pan with a most provoking air of self-possession. - And who ever saw a lassie from the Emerald Isle in any wise disconcerted by the detection of her offences? "Bridget, what have you been doing with the cof- fee?" "Sure, ma'am, and I han't been doin' nothin' with it. Wasn't ye telling me to be afther roasting some for din. der?" ' "You have done nothing with it-? What then were you pouring into the drain?" ' If Mrs. Maynard expected to confound her maid by this home-question, she was greatly mistaken. With the most imperturbable composure she repliedi "And sure, ma'am, 'twas only the lavingsa. In a sort of bewilderment at this bold denial her mis- tress said,- t , page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 MARION GRAHAM; , "Well, get the coffee quick, for there is no time to, lose." Bridget went to the cupboard, and came back hold- ing up an empty box, while, in great apparent surprise, ! she exclaimed, - "See, ma'am, if the rats haven't eaten up every ker- nel - the villains." Bessie's indignation waxed great, but, struggling to control it, she replied,- "The kitchen is full of smoke from the coffee you have spoiled, and, with my own eyes, I saw you throw- ing it away." Vain attempt to confound her! Bridget would in no wise recant her assertion that it was only " the lavings," and that " the rats had made off with the coffee." To Mrs. Maynard's .inquiry in the morning, whether she knew how to fry pancakes, she had replied,- - "For certain, ma'am. Didn't I do it often in the i great lady's house in swate auld Ireland?" The twelve o'clock bell rang. Mr. Maynard was one of the punctual class, and their dining hour was half past twelve. Hardly knowing what she was about, Bessie stirred the pancakes, and directed Bridget to fry them, and-make a cup pf tea as soon as possible. She then went into the parlor, and hoping the wind had changed, she opened the window to give vent to the smoke. Rolling out their little table she speedily laid it, and having closed the windows, she stirred the fire afresh, and hastened back to the kitchen. What a sight met her astonished gaze! The great round grid- dle for baking flatjacks, covered with dubious looking affairs, was smoking away as if in haste to help forward the dinner. And there stood Bridge t, with a very red OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 75 face, in the full tide of experiment, a dish beside her filled with her black, fat-soaked doings. Poor Mrs. May- nard stood for a moment aghast, and then, without a single word, retreated into the parlor. The old stove was working away most diligently, and had succeeded in filling the room with a fresh supply of smoke. At this point, her fortitude deserted her, and throwing her- self upon the sofa, she burst into tears. Finding it past the dinner hour, Mr. Maynard came down stairs to see whether any thing had happened. It was some time before his wife could explain her new misfortunes, and, as she was finishing, Bridget appeared placing her choice dish awry on the table. While Bes- sie was up stairs bathing her eyes, Mr. Maynard took the girl in hand. "Take out that dish, and throw it away. It is not fit to eat." Quite amazed, but not venturing to reply to the 4 mas- ther," the girl literally complied, throwing away the dish, contents and all. Thus the pancakes and the cof- fee, intended for their dinner, were both consigned to the drain. Directing Bridget to bring up a piece of pork, he did what many a minister haqs done before him, viz., with his own hand, cut it into delicate slices. As they sat in the kitchen at their simple dinner, Mr. Maynard made himself unusually agreeable. But al- though Bessie laughed at his bright sallies, she evidently had not much heart for merriment. "I am going to invite you to spend the afternoon abroad." She looked up in surprise. "Will you get ready? Just put on your shawl and hood." page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 MARTON GRAHAM; In a sort of maze she complied, and soon appeared, arrayed for a walk. Taking her hand, he led her through the little hall, and then, opening the opposite door, ushered her into the "best parlor." The fire-board had been removed and log andirons laid down, and the wood blazed and crackled with a cheerful sound, as if it were a real pleasure to it to burn for the comfort of such un- fortunate, smoked-out people. "Now, Bessie, if you will get your work, I will bring down my writing; and we will have a cozy time,-- you with your sewing, and I with my sermon. And next week we will have a stove put in here, so that we can have a refuge from the smoke." It was impossible for Bessie entirely to resist her hus- band's sunny manner, and besides, she was conscientious, and would have reproached herself for interrupting his study hours. So, while his pen glided over the white ! page, bearing along in its wake precious thoughts for his flock, she sat in a low rocking-chair in the corner, busily making shirts. Whenever Mr. Maynard's eye glanced towards her, she had a smile for him, though it evidently lay only on the surface. As she plied her needle, her thoughts were of the dear, romantic little par- sonage of her dreams, with its tastefully arranged rooms, its embosoming trees, and clustering vines. "How different," thought .she, "is a minister's lot from what I had imagined it! I almost wish William had followed out his first intention of being a physician." Thus the afternoon passed away, with many a sup- pressed sigh from Bessie, which her husband invariably I caught, and- faintly echoed. Even with his greater knowledge of life, and his moderate expectations, he was i conscious of a disappointment. And he felt deeply Foi OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. " pained at the unhappiness with which his wife was struggling. The evening was rather a silent one, and once Mr. Maynard detected Bessie wiping away her tears, though she tried to look as if she had been doing no such thing. As she sat gazing upon the dream-inspiring coals, she thought of her former pleasant home, hundreds of miles away. She seemed again to look upon its green sur- roundings, and its sparkling, singing streams, and to listen to the sweet bird-music that had charmed her childhood. In her sleep that night she murmured her mother's name, and when she awoke to new encounters with Bridget, and new struggles with herself, the day's possible troubles lay upon her brow. Poor Bessie! She saw not the Fatherly hand that ordered her minut- est trial; she had not yet learned the great secret of life- a quiet waiting upon God. She had faith in his kind providence, but it was a general faith. She could not quite comprehend how the little disappointments and the petty cares of daily life can be included in that charmed circle of the A all things " that " shall work to- gether for good." The sky was still veiled in gloom, the wind had not changed, and clouds of smoke continued to roll down the parlor chimney, and to burst forth from every possi- ble avenue. As Mr. and Mrs. Maynard sat at the break- fast table, again laid in the kitchen, he noticed that she had ceased even from all attempts at cheerfulness. She looked sad, disheartened; as if there were no use in trying to be contented. "I shall write again in the front parlor, where I hope you will join me as soon as you can;" and his eyes kindly followed her. page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 MARION GRAHAM; Bessie went about her morning duties, but it was with a dull, mechanical air. Then, going into her chamber, and throwing a shawl around her shoulders, she sat down to read her Bible. But the words were blurred, and she turned over leaf after leaf without getting any strength, or comfort, or even a single idea. She suc- ceeded no better in prayer, for her thoughts were earth- bound, and the wings of her faith fettered. In no wise strengthened, but with an additional weight of self-re- proach hanging about her, she returned to her mechan- ical duties. "Will you do me a favor this afternoon, dear Bes- sie?" She looked up with a faint attempt to smile her as- sent. "I should like to have you call upon a poor woman of our parish, and inquire whether she is in want of any thing. I only found her out last week, and I told her I thought you would call soon. I know it is not pleas- ant," said he, noticing her glance at the window, " but perhaps the walk will do you good." Although Bessie felt very little like going out, yet as she had no good excuse for declining, she acceded to his request; and having received directions to the place, she was soon on her way. The air was raw and pene- trating, and as she walked shivering along, her sense of discomfort increased. At length she turned down a lane, and,when nearly at the foot of it, climbed a steep little hill. Passing two or three ordinary houses, she came to what, from Mr. Maynard's description, she sup- posed must be the dwelling place of Elsie Green, or "old Elsie," as she was generally called. She looked OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 79 at it in astonishment, incredulous that any human being could find shelter in that poor, barn-like, tumbling-down place. It was a' two-storied dwelling, perfectly crazed with age. She placed one foot on the flight of steps leading to the front door, but, as they cracked beneath her, she feared to proceed. Going to one of the houses near by, she knocked at the door. Presently there ap- peared a middle-aged woman, who, to her inquiry where Elsie Green lived, pointed to the dwelling she had just left. "There, Missus, up in that ar second story. It's a sightly place from her windows, and old Elsie'll be right glad to see ye. Go up the standard, and then step over the stairs lightly, and never fear," she added, observing her hesitation. "Though it's a century old, it'll stand for long yet." Thus encouraged, Mrs. Maynard again ventured, and timidly mounting the creaking stairs, she gained the outer door. Lifting the latch and pushing it open, she glanced into the deserted rooms on either hand, and applied herself to the stair-case. Taking hold of the banisters, she carefully essayed every step till she had reached the top. Then, turning to the right, she knocked at the door. All was silence. She knocked again; still no one came. She opened it herself, and softly stepped in. Through the thick veil of smoke which again encircled her, she looked around. Upon the rusty andirons in the large, old-fashioned fire-place were laid a few, a very few sticks of green wood, above which 'hung a little tea-kettle. The lack of fire was made up for by the abundance of smoke, which generally poured into the room, and only by mis- take ascended the chimney where it belonged. page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] U MARION GRAHAM ; On a low settle, such as used to stand in the kitchens of our grandmothers, crouched over what was intended for the fire, sat a tall crone, who seemed like a petrified specimen of antiquity, that, by some strange accident, had floated down the stream of time. She had heard neither knock nor footstep, and Mrs. Maynard had an opportunity to gaze upon the picture unobserved. Old Elsie was dressed in a rusty bombazet, scant, short-waisted, and with straight, tight sleeves. A faded black shawl was pinned close around her neck, and on her head sat a snuff-colored turban-steeple. Her dry, yellow, leather-skin was full of deep furrows, to which, coarse, iron-gray hair gave a still more forbidding as- pect. On the time-worn brick hearth, stretching out her old yellow paws towards the smoking brands, lay her feline companion --Miss Tabitha, evidently as much of an antique as her mistress. At first, Mrs. Maynard was equally repelled by them both. But her dislike was checked by observing Elsie's eyes bent over a book, which, with delight, she soon discovered to be a copy of the large, clear-typed New Testament and Psalms;- that blessing to rich and to poor, to old eyes and weak eyes, and near-sighted eyes, published by the American Bible Society. Then she heard the tremulous voice of old Elsie slowly reading to herself,- "These things have I spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribula- tion, but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world." As Bessie drew near, Elsie raised her head, and, start- ing at the sight of her visitor, she extended her withered hand in cordial greeting, and, bustling about, placed a rickety chair for her. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 81 "How do you do to-day?" said Bessie. Three times she was obliged to repeat her question before the old woman could hear. "I'se very well, thanks to ye, and thank the Lord too. But I never saw yer young face afore." "You saw Mr. Maynard, the new minister, last week, and he told me about you, and wished me to call." "A purty spoken man, a very purty spoken man. And ye'se his bride!" said she with a pleasant twinkle of her small gray eyes, at the same time looking earnestly into Bessie's face. Notwithstanding her dull humor, and her decidedly unfavorable prepossessions, Mrs. Maynard began to feel a positive attraction towards poor Elsie. "How does ye like here? And has ye a snug nest?" "Comfortable I thank you;" and she looked around on Elsie's dismantled and comfortless room. "Like enough ye think this an old place, but it's a dear one to me, and sightly windows these, as I'll show to ye some lightsome day, if ye'll come again to see an old woman." Through large cracks in the old creaking floor,the wind came up in strong currents, and, through many an aperture in the discolored, mouldy walls, stole in chilling blasts. The fire, as we have seen, was mostly a pretence, though Elsie and her cat contrived to get some warmth out of it. While Bessie was pondering upon the enigma of Elsie's evident contentment, the old woman was doing her best to entertain her visitor. She pointed to the broad old mantel-piece, where stood her china-establishment ;-plates with dark colored cracks, handleless cups and unmated saucers. "Them all has their story, and sometime I'll tell it to ye." 4:* page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 MARION GRAHAM; Bessie took up the well-worn testament. "A beauty, isn't it? And 'twas gave to me by a purty behaved lady as iver ye see. And not long arter, she took wings-and flew away to heaven ;" and she rever- ently raised her eyes. "It's aGreal comfort to sit here and read about that world in Rivelation, and to think that some day the Master'll send for old Elsie." Bessie hoped that she too had a home among the "many mansions," but how unlike Elsie did she feel herself to be! "How long have you lived here alone?" A cloud passed over Elsie's brow, and a tear stole down her withered cheek. "For many a year, dear Miss. Ever since my man, and a brave one hewas, laid down his head under the blue waters. My lad too, he sleeps along with his sir. "I was purty once, at least they all telled me so. And George Green sought me for true love. But that are's past and gone," said she with a sigh. "Well, 'twas all for the best. And the Lord, he held the bitter cup, and made it ee'na' most sweet. He larnt me his secret, and hid me under his wings. And he's very kind to his old sarvant. No poor critter iver had more friends. They be'se all kind to me, every one on 'em. Some on 'em,to be sure, tried to force a stove on the poor old body, but I telled 'em I couldn't no how stand that are. Ye see I'se oilers used to the old fire-place, and it stands me in stead like a true friend, though it does smoke a leetle on times,-a very leetle," she added, as if fearful of scandalizing her Penates. "And then it's so asy jist to clap on yer tea-kittle, and so pleasant-like to hear it sing. Dark days, I oilers put mine on arly, it's so cheersome-like when ye're a little dull to take an arly OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 83 cup o' tea. And it oilers makes me feel live-er and strong-like. And my old Brindy here," she added laughing, while she cast a look of undisguised fondness towards the poor quadruped, , Brindy likes her supper arly as well as me." "Elsie has certainly a trap to catch sunbeams," said Bessie to. herself, " aye, and she has caught her trap full too, and her dark, cobweb-covered, mouldering room seems almost radiant with their light." Then turning to Elsie,-- "Is there nothing you want?" "Thanks to ye, no indeed, Miss, nothin' but a thank- ful, lovin' heart. I've more than enough for me and Brindy. In the mornin', I takes a cup o' tea, and a piece o' bread and cheese; and in the arternoon, as now I takes another cup o' tea and a piece o' cheese and bread, which is every grain as good," said she laughing; "and 'tweens I most oilers have meat, or somethin' strong-like from the neighbors. So ye see I'se well taken care of, and He," looking devoutly up, "blesses me in my soul. My dear ones are in his land, and I'se bidin' my summons to meet 'emr there. I'se sinful enough, I know that," said she, laying her hand on her heart, " but I does love the Saviour, and I know he'll wash me clean in his blood. Ye niver can do enough for him, ye niver can trust him too much, take an old woman's word for that," said Elsie looking tenderly in that sweet young face upturned to hers. She laid her hard, bony hand on that fair brow, and Bessie felt no shrinking, but stood like a child to receive the old woman's blessing. "The Lord be with ye, dear child, and give ye a con- tented spirit, which is a continual feast. And the Lord page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 MARION GRAHAM; bless the young minister, yer dear one, and make ye both a stay and a staff to his people." With misty eyes, Mrs. Maynard pressed Elsie's hand, but could not speak one word. When she passed again over the ancient staircase, she did not once think of the possibility of its breaking down. Old Elsie's sunbeams had shone full into her heart, and she saw what was hidden in its secret cor- ners. Thoughtfully she walked on till she reached her own threshold. How happy now seemed her lot, how pleasant her home! Gently opening the door she stole into her room. A veil had been removed from her eyes. She saw that she herself had been dissevering the golden threads in her warp of life. She saw how she had distrusted her great Father's love, and rebelled at his providence. She wept much, but those were healing tears. She prayed, and this time her prayers had wings. Bessie bathed her eyes, and then descended into the room where Mr. Maynard was still writing. As he did not observe her entrance, she paused a moment to watch the thoughts that flitted like blessing-laden clouds over his placid countenance. "Forgive me, dear William!" And seating herself on a cricket at his feet, she laid her head on his lap and wept like a penitent child. "My precious Bessie!" And William tenderly stroked the head of his young wife. He had not mis- judged her. Without one word of reproof, he had shown her her fault, and taught her a lesson more precious to them both than the gold of Ophir. ; As her tears still flowed, it all at once occurred to her why Mr. Maynard had been so anxious she should call OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 85 on Elsie Green this very day. Suddenly looking up in his face, her eyes expressed this thought as clearly as words could have uttered it. And what did his beam- ing eyes reply? Why, they said as clearly, "You have guessed right, dear Bessie." As a bright smile, the first genuine one he had seen on her face since the sun had been veiled in gloom, as this bona fide smile played around her mouth, a sun- beam, suddenly breaking from the clouds, shot through the window and lighted up her whole face. That face, in the eyes of her husband, seemed radiant with the soul s beauty. And from every one of the prismatic tears still lingering there, he saw beam out the resplendent colors of hope's bright bow. Nor was it all an illusion of lov- ing eyes, for golden as the sunshine, and lasting too, was the sweet lesson which his young wife had learned of old Elsie. page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 MARION GRAHAM; CHAPTER VII. "She wearies with an ill unknown; In sleep she sobs and seems to float, A water-lily, all alone, Within a lonely castle-moat." WINTER had now set in. And it found our friend Julia still lingering in Glenwood. She had become so much interestedin her studies and her new manner of life, that she had written home for permission to prolong her visit, which was readily granted. Her airs were entirely laid aside, and no longer top-heavy with self-consciousness, there was room for a better growth. Her feelings, not being on the stretch for wherewithal to feed her vanity, had subsided into their natural channel. Enjoying for so long a time the cultivated society of her cousin and her teacher, the whole tone of her character was, in a degree, elevated. There was not, to be sure, a great deal of her, but what there was, had come to be lova- ble. Always pretty, her beauty was now heightened by a childlike grace, and a naive manner, which made her at times truly charming. Marion loved her with a genuine affection, and her influence with her was as great as she could desire. As for Mr. Vinton, no wonder that he regarded her with peculiar interest, since she was, as it were, a creation of his own. And how could he help being flattered to have so fairy-like a being sit at his feet, and receive his word as law? She was not, it is true, capable of "el \ ^P9-;, OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 87 appreciating him, but she -knew he was a superior be- ing, and she felt that he had brought her into a vital element, and as it were regenerated her. Therefore she looked up to him with proud and grateful admiration. And he labored in good faith for her improvement. She continued to make blunders, but it was with such child- ish simplicity, and she was so willing to have them cor- rected, that they would really have been missed in her. "I don't believe you have ever thought to order the poems of' Fanny Topsis,'" said she to Mr. Vinton one day. Maurice and Marion exchanged a significant smile. "What are you both smiling at?" "At the recollection of those poems. I was quizzing you when I consented to order them." "I didn't suppose you would quiz people," said Julia, looking hurt. "I couldn't possibly quiz you now, dear Julia, for you are entirely changed. But I will make full confession." And going to the book-case, he took down "Bryant's Poems," and seating himself by Julia, he pointed out to her the piece which he had recited in the woods. "Than-a-top-sis," read she slowly. "What a hard word!" "Which you understood as Fanny Topsis. And as you were then in a state of self-complacency, we could not presume to correct you, and so had to be contented with amusing ourselves at your expense. Or, to speak more accurately, I amused your cousin and myself, for -I bethink me, that she expostulated with me for my of- fence. I was just hard-hearted enough, however, to continue sinning, for which, pardonnez-moi." "Willingly, for I know I behaved like a simpleton in page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 MARION GRAHAMH; those days," said Julia, as if years of wisdom had since passed over her young head. "And I don't blame you for making fun of me." "Pity that half the world had not your amiable dis- position,-myself into the-bargain." "I don't believe you are amiable," exclaimed Julia, as if the thought had for the first time occurred to her. "But you are affectionate, are you not?" and she looked earnestly at him. "Not over and above so. What else?" "Then your eyes are sometimes false, for I have " "No tales out of school," said Maurice putting his hand over her lips, as he saw that she was venturing on dangerous ground. "Besides, we have strayed from our subject. We were about to discuss this poem." "What for need people use such big words?" and she turned over the leaves of Worcester's Dictionary, as he had counselled her to do, when she found words she could not understand. 4 For their big meaning, I presume. But you will never find it there, little Jule." "Not find it in all this monstrous book?" "Nay, for it is not an Anglican, I should say, an Eng- lish, word, or you will be finding fault with me." "I do think you and Marion are famous for using great words. Why, when you are talking together, I can't understand half you say. I often fancy it might be two professors discussing mathematics or heresies." 4( What do you mean by heresies?" I'm sure I don't know. I only remember hearing you once say to Marion that she would think you were fond of heresies, but I hadn't the smallest idea what you meant." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 89 "You yourself are a dear little heretic, just from the schools." "Is that a bad -name he is calling me, Marion?" "Not as he used it then; but you are very close in your questions." "Now about this long, stupid word. If it is not Eng- lish, what is it?" "To answer you, I must talk learnedly. It is com- pounded of two Greek words, - thanatos, - meaning death, and opsis, - vision or sight; and was manufac- tured, I presume, by the poet himself, as an appropriate title for his piece." "I shan't remember any thing, only that it means something about death. But I have forgotten the piece. Won't you read it loud?" He complied. And when he came to those lines, - "So shalt thou rest. And what if thou shalt fall Unnoticed by the living-- and no friend Take note of thy departure? ;' - he fixed his eyes on Marion with such a mournful ex- pression, that tears sprang to hers;. 4 It is truly a wonderful poen," said she, controlling herself. 4 But, for sorite reason, it is not quite satisfac- tory." "Not from any want of truth?" "No, but it wants something." "Cannot you put that want into words?" "It seems pervaded with too profound a gloom. The Christian element would brighten and redeem it." "' You do not call it unchristian?" "Far from it. And that expressionl, - Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust,' page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 MARION GRAHAM ; may have great significance; yet I wish it was more ex- plicit. The subject is dark enough, but I don't like to have it presented so negatively, when the positive side is full of consolation." ("What do you mean by the positive side?" said he, looking at her searchingly. "Of course," replied she, returning his earnest glance, "there can be but one bright side of the grave, -a glo- rious immortality. And of that, the poem is entirely silent." "Do you consider Bryant an unbeliever therefore?" "Oh, no indeed!" answered she with, eagerness. "His poem ' To a Waterfowl' is not the language of one without faith." ( "Do you recall any of it?" "I can repeat the last stanza. ' He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.' "One who could write that poem from the heart, could not possibly be an unbeliever." " How do you account for the .different spirit of the last piece?" "I suppose he may have been in a melancholy mood, and unable to see the bright side of his subject." '"What if that had been his perpetual mood?" "He would have been a very ungrateful and, I fear, naughty man," said she smiling, " and I should not love him half so well as now. But I cannot understand where you wish to land me. And then your reasoning is in the Socratic fashion, and I always had a dread of being catechized." e1 OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 91 "I hope I am not so very formidable after all. But here is our little friend, as demure as possible. How do you like the poem, Miss Julia?" "Not half so well as I did before; not at all, indeed; " said she with the gravest face. "What's the need of funeral hymns when we are all well and happy? For my part, I think it is wrong to be gloomy, and I wish you did." "You wish I did?" "Yes, for you sometimes get on real long faces, and then Marion catches them, and they last a great while, even after you are gone. And at such times I can't make her laugh or talk, but she looks into the fire and sighs as if she had the blues." "I ought certainly to make atonement for setting so bad an example," replied he, glancing at Marion, to whose face Julia's unconscious words had sent the blood in one rushing tide. He saw that she was pained at the exposure, - that she could scarcely restrain her vexa- tion, and it made his heart beat quicker. But, intent on her relief, without appearing to notice her confusion, he continued addressing Julia, "I cannot allow you to pronounce me a gloomy man." Then, with his wonderful power of transition, he com- menced so amusing a story, that his auditors were soon sending forth the merriest peals of laughter. "Don't you think Mr. Vinton is an astonishing man?" said Julia after he had left. "In what respect?" "In every respect. I never saw anybody like him, did you?"A "Not exactly." "How provoking you are to give me such answers!" f I page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] "But you tell tales, cousin Julia, and that vexes me." "Did I vex you by what I said about your long face? I'm sorry if I did, and I wont -do so again. But will what I told him do any harm?" "You meant no harm, dear; but that's enough;-- your eyes ought to be closed by this time. Good night." "Good-night, Marie. I can't imagine how you like to sit up here all alone." And she tripped away, hum- ming gayly to herself. Then Marion drew her arm-chair close before the fire, and settled herself for that indescribable thing,- a maiden's reverie. In such a mood, how does thought wander up and down, and back and forth, hiving its hoard of bitterness, as well as of sweets. An unpleasant recollection will lash the soul to agony; and anon, some sudden remembrance will drop upon it the healing balm of hope, or the sweeter one of bliss. ' Thus it often was with Marion. But Julia's tell-taling had now brought her into unwonted agitation; and this time her reverie was woven of bitter rather than of sweet imagin- ings. "What must he think of me?" was her soliloquy. "And yet he did not seem to heed her remark. Perhaps he thought nothing about it. But how could he help noticing my burning cheek? Yet why should I care? What is his opinion to me?" Notwithstanding the want of any positive assurance from Maurice, there were times when Marion could not doubt his interest. But again his manner was stern and cold. He grew more and more incomprehensible, and, in some respects, unsatisfactory. It must also be admitted that her conscience was not quite at ease. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 93 For, in their many conversations, that which most deeply concerned them both found little place. As a scholar and a gentleman, he was all which her heart could de- sire. He made no pretensions, however, to a personal in- terest in the Redeemer; that is, he preserved an unbroken silence on that subject. And she could not escape self- reproach that she had not been more true to her own sentiments, --that she had not exhibited before him more distinctly the life of religion. Her reverence for him, indeed, was so great that she felt as if any effort for his benefit would be presumption. Yet she was dis- satisfied with herself and with him. She questioned whether it were right for a man of such commanding abilities, to turn them to no higher account. Yet what influence could she hope to exert? Of late, too, she had another occasional source of dis- comfort, which she would hardly acknowledge to herself. Her cousin was now a witching fairy, and was treated by Maurice with increasing fondness. She had this night firesh cause for suffering from this source. What could be those "tales out of school" that he was unwilling Julia should repeat? Must they not have referred to looks and passages of interest between them? And he even went so far as to put his hand over her mouth in his zeal to stop her revelations. What if her attractions were proving irresistible?"And why not?-" she said to herself. How unreasonable and selfish I am! Alas! this is a difficult pathway. But God will help me, if I cry unto him." The next time Mr. Vinton called, he found Julia alone in the parlor, and, going to the bay window where she was sitting, he placed himself beside her. page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " MARION GRAHAM ; "Little Jule," said he, " you did not tell me after all, what makes you think I am affectionate." "Because ,you wouldn't let me. You stopped my mouth."' "Well, I will let you now." "I have a great mind not to tell you." "Please do." "You can behave prettily when you choose. Well, as you are now good, I will reward you by saying that I have seen you give Marion a great many looks." "What looks?" "Why, love-looks of course, as if you were very affec- tionate." "And so have I looked at you affectionately, have I not?" "Not as you have at her," and she tossed her head as if she hoped he would believe she did know a thing or two. "She is older than you, and I have known her longer." "You can't deceive me. I see some things, if I don't others." "Well, Julia," and he spoke seriously, " such talk would displease your cousin. For her sake, I hope you will not allow yourself to make any more such re- marks." "Dear me! what a trouble I am! The other even- ing, I made Marion ever so unhappy by what I said about her catching your long face. But it was all true, and don't you think, one day after you had gone, she "Hush, Julia!" interrupted he, honorably resisting his strong desire to know what she had to say, " it would not be right for me to hear what your cousin would not j! OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 95 wish you to repeat. And you had better not say any thing about this conversation to her." "You and Marie are the queerest folks I ever saw. But I won't say any thing, if you don't wish me to." At this unfortunate moment Marion opened the door Maurice seemed less self-possessed than usual, and very naturally, for he was conscious that appearances were suspicious. And Julia looked as if she were tri- umphing in the possession of some pleasant secret. Marion's -presence was so evidently mnal-apropos, that she was about to withdraw, when Maurice stepped forward, saying earnestly, and with manifest sin- cerity, - "I have been bestowing, some of my wonted counsels on Julia. But we are through, and I am ready to com- mence I The Ancient Mariner as proposed, provided you are now at liberty." Marion was only in part relieved, but, not wishing him to read her suspicions, she readily assented to his proposition. So they gathered round the cheerful fire- side, Maurice reading while the young ladies worked. Julia was embroidering in worsted, consequently her thoughts were divided between whispered " one - two -three- four," and Coleridgian stanzas. Or rather they were pretty much absorbed in the handsome pat- tern before her. But Marion was making shirts for her father, being mostly guiltless of such elegant embroideries. She pre- ferred to devote her leisure to higher arts, feeling little ambition to perpetuate her fame in worked canvas, at the expense of ruined eyes. "I can't see any sense in that strange piece," ex- claimed Julia, when he had completed it. O page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 MARION GRAHAM ; I 6 "You find more beauty in your own handiwork, do you not?" "I dare say I do," replied she smiling. "But really, I can't understand what he means." "Suppose I should recommend some less absorbing work while you are listening to reading." "I don't like plain sewing." "Would you have any objections to hemming me some handkerchiefs?" "No, indeed. I should be delighted to do it." "Then I will straightway procure a dozen, and give you the delight of hemming them." Good!" cried she, " but how soon?" "To-morrow. On the condition, however, that they shall be reserved to occupy your hands when I am read- ing loud. Then your mind will be at liberty." "Oh, but I shall be thinking about the handkerchiefs and about you." "And so lose all the benefit of my readings? " Well, you know one can't attend to the same thing the whole time," said she holding up her work before him. "Now isn't that lovely?" "Oui, I suppose it is lovely, --a great deal lovelier than poetry, eh, Julia?" "But I do like some poetry." "Such as what?" "Well, --- let me think; - I don't remember names, -but you know I like several things you have read, and, - why, almost all the popular songs, - and besides, - well,- every thing that is lively and funny." "You certainly have a highly poetical taste." "Now please don't quiz me, for I haven't been pre- tending at all. And you do like me, don't you?" OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 97 "Most undeniably, and that is the reason why I am so anxious for your improvement.'" "Well, I am improving as fast, I think, as ought to be expected of a spoiled child. But I must get some more worsteds;" and she ran up stairs for them. -"Well, Miss Graham," and his tone immediately changed from a patronizing fondness to a manifest re-. spectfulness; "my little pupil seems to find neither rhyme nor reason in this piece." His manner, from the contrast, seemed almost formal, and Marion was a little hurt; but she replied,-- "She has been so entirely unaccustomed to protracted attention, that she does not easily seize the burden of a long poem. And yet in some cases her perceptions are very quick." "And she has a wonderful faculty of making her ig- norance attractive." "Are you talking about me?" asked Julia, breaking in upon him. "What makes you think so? "Oh, because you spoke of her ignorance;' and whom else could you mean but poor little me? But I must finish this darling leaf to show you before you go. One, two, three, four." "Five, six, seven, eight. The ' darling leaf' must re- main till I come again," said Maurice, taking out his watch and rising to leave. "But, Miss Graham, you have not expressed your opinion of the piece." "It has not been solicited," said she rather coldly. "Miss Graham knows, however, the value I attach to her opinion on all subjects; " replied he with warmth, page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 MARION GRAHAM; sitting down a moment beside her. "What we feel most, we sometimes talk of least." An embarrassing silence followed, which was broken by Julia's holding up her work before him. "There, I have done my leaf in time, and isn't it a darling?" "Entirely so."' "And arn't you glad you remained??" asked she, re' turning again to her work. "I shall be," said he, addressing Marion in a low voice, " if I can have the assurance that I have not, however innocently,'offended you." The cloud melted into sunshine, and with a bright smile she replied,-- "It was imagination, I have no doubt. But what- ever it was, it is past. And if I knew how to express my views of ' The Ancient Mariner,' I would do so freely. It is certainly a poem of great power." "It contains most forcible imagery," replied he, open- ing again at the poem. "This, for instance, - ' And straight the sun was flecked with bars, As if through a dungeon-grate he peered With broad and burning face.' "But I should like in one word your idea of the morale of the piece," said he, rising again to leave. "And yet I suppose I know what it is." "Why then do you wish me to give it?" "Because I like to prove myself in the right." "I don't know what you expect, but my answer I must take out of the Mariner's mouth. - . . OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 99 'He prayeth best, who loveth best, All things both great and small; For the dear God, who loveth us, He made and loveth all.'" "The precise answer that I expected." "Don't you agree with me then?" "In part; but of that, another time." "Here is a bud almost finished," said Julia. "Can't you stop a minute?" "Not for twenty buds." "Not if Marion asked it?" "She does not, you see. Good afternoon ladies." page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 MARION GRAHAM; CHAPTER VIII. "Her look, her love, her form, her touch, The least seemed most by blissful turn, -- Blissful but that it pleased too nmuch, And taught the wayward soul to yearn." "WHY do you never ask Marion to play on the guitar, Mr. Vinton?" said Julia to him one evening. "Hush, Julia!" "I shan't hush, need I, Mr. Vinton, when I know how well she plays? I asked Marion once, and she sup- posed it was because you had no ear for music. But what is your reason?" He gave a peculiar smile as he replied,- "Really, I hardly know how to answer your question. Partly, I presume, because we have always had so many other things on hand that I have not felt the want of it; and partly, I am afraid I must admit, because, never having happened to hear her, I was not aware that she played; although from seeing the instrument, I might have inferred it." ("Very poor reasons, I think." 4 I agree with you. But I trust your cousin will not punish me for my thoughtlessness by depriving me of a great pleasure." "Not if you are in earnest. But I really supposed you had no fondness for music." ("And was therefore 'fit for treasons, stratagems, and OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 101 spoils?' A severe, though perhaps logical conclusion, but will you not play and sing for me?" And rising he brought her guitar. "I hope you don't feel obliged, in courtesy, to ask me." "I never do any thing from mere courtesy. But I can say more. In the Elysian hours I have passed un- der this roof, I entirely forgot there was still another source of exquisite pleasure which you perhaps could furnish. This may seem strange, yet I trust you will not regard it as an unwelcome truth." He said this in an undertone, but with so marked a manner, that her face was suffused with blushes, which she tried to conceal by bending over her instrument as she carelessly struck the cords. Maurice sat in silence, evidently awaiting a song; and after a little preluding, she turned to Julia, saying,-- "What shall it be?" "I think he will like 'Auld Robin Gray.'" When she commenced, there was a slight tremor in her voice, but it only added to the effect of the song. By what strange electricity did Marion at once divine the emotion of Maurice as he sat drinking in her mu- sic? When she had completed the piece, he simply said as if to himself,-- "And all this time I have never heard you sing! One more, will you not?" And she played and sang another, and yet another, and another; and still he was unsatisfied. At length Marion stopped short- in the midst of a lively air, ex- claiming,- "I am as inconsiderate as you say you have been, for I am sure you sing also; indeed I remember to have heard Bessie say you did." , page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 MARION GRAHAM; With a smile he replied, - "I will accompany you if you wish. Will you take the Scotch ballad again?" In tones of the richest melody, his deep voice blended with hers as they went through the touching song. Then, with a glowing face, Marion emphatically re- peated his words, - "And all this time I have never heard you sing!" "We will take our revenge on each other by an extra quantity of music." And they sang several pieces together, Marion play- ing the accompaniment. At length she requested him to sing something alone. "If you wish," replied he, to her surprise taking up the guitar she had laid aside. Striking the chords with a master's hand, he commenced:-- "Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery." As, with the most simple accompaniment, he sang through this inimitable piece, Marion felt almost as if she had never heard music before. She sat spell-bound. And when he came to the last verse, her tears could no longer be restrained. After the song had ceased, there was unbroken silence. Julia had learned that there were times when her prattle was unwelcome; besides, she was a good deal affected. And Maurice was un- willing to lose the luxury of witnessing the emotion he had excited. After a time, however, he struck up a spirited air which partly diverted Marion's feelings. "I never heard ' Highland Mary' before," said she during a pause. "Why is it that we have so little of such music in these days? OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 103 "I suppose because of the depreciation in the litera- ture of song, as well as in other things. Many of the pieces now set to music are miserable trash, without either sense or rhythm. Of the good old songs it is almost impossible to get a copy. In these days, if a young lady is requested to sing ' Oft in the Stilly Night,' ' Bonnie Doon,' ' ,cots wha hae,' or other of the old-fashioned, simple, standard airs, she will often reply with a shrug, ' Dear me, that is passe!' And in their stead, she will give you the silliest French or Ital- ian love-songs, or some miserable imitations of opera- airs. En passant, how do you like opera-music?" "I doubt whether I ought to have an opinion, for the only specimens I have heard were from young ladies just graduated at a fashionable school. Judging by these, I should say it was an elaborate sham, a most preten- tious affectation of music. Julia, however, seems very fond of it." "It is perfectly splendid," said Julia. "But, Mr. Vin- ton, have you ever heard Jenny Lind?" He bowed an assent. "Then don't you think Marion is to be dreadfully pitied for not having had that pleasure?" "She is somewhat entitled to our commiseration, I admit," replied he smiling. "Isn't Jenny perfectly divine in her opera-songs?" "She is charming, assuredly. But at the risk of Ju- lia's astonishment," added he turning to Marion, "I must own that I preferred her in the simple Scotch bal- lad, and perhaps still more in that grand anthem, ' I know that my Redeemer liveth,' though its impression is one of profound melancholy." = An,;} -, - tY page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 RMARION GRAHAM; "How is that possible?" inquired Marion, but as she spoke, Julia broke forth impatiently,- "Oh, how could you like those best? But anyhow, I hope you don't mean to deny that you were enchanted also with her opera-songs?" "Not at all, Julia. I could not listen to such billows of melody without being ' enchanted.' " "As I have been rashy drawn into giving my own crude impressions," said Marion, "I think I am entitled to your opinion of opera-music." "You shall have it then. In respect to those mis- erable affectations, those heart-rending vocal exercises which, in common parlance, pass for; opera-music, we certainly do not differ. But when well executed, it is highly effective, especially to an ear somewhat accus- tomed to it. I decidedly prefer it, however, without the theatrical accompaniments; which, most unfortunately for genuine lovers of music, have become installed as a part of the regular opera. When last in the city, I at- tended a Concert of the Philharmonic Society, in which Grisi sang. It was certainly one of the finest I ever heard. The rich orchestral music, the ravishing tones of the singer, now trilling gracefully as a bird through the most intricate passages; and then, in some simple minor strain, sad and touching as the dying notes of the swan, - all this was most entrancing. And I am sure, Miss Graham, if you could only hear a good specimen, you would be won over." "Can you not give me that ' specimen??" "I fear not," said he shaking his head. ^ "But, Julia, don't you know any opera-songs?" "I neither sing nor play." :; OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 105 : "How is that?" "Because I wouldn't learn. But do try to give cousin Marie a song." After a little thought he complied, and, with perfect ease, sang through the beautiful "Spirito gentil." As Marion listened, all her prejudices melted away. She was not only astonished by his brilliant execution, but was charmed by the compass and flexibility of his voice. And her countenance fully expressed her satis- faction. "There, I knew it would be so," exclaimed Julia with triumph. "She's just as delighted as she can be. Do sing another." With a brief prelude he again commenced. Marion listened eagerly as the sweet and irresistibly touching melody rose softly on the air. It was the song to Le- nora, "Ah! che la morte," from the Tower-scene in " -a Trovatore." She did not lose a note, but sat enraptured, delicious tears quietly stealing to her eyes while the sad tones swelled and died away. "You have converted me," said she smiling through her tears. "I was sure of you from the beginning, for some of our most familiar as well as sweetest melodies are found in opera-pieces. 'Tis the last rose of summer,' for in- stance, is in Flotow's ' Martha.' " "May I ask if you prefer this kind of music?" "My own taste leans rather to a different style. Beethoven, with his wild storms of feeling, is one of my greatest favorites. As for ( Mozart's Requiem,' it is be- yond all praise;- completely subduing, completely sat- isfying. But I cultivated the operatic style, to please my uncle, who was passionately fond of it. I have *:5* page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 MARION GRAHAM ; - scarcely sung at all since his death," he added in a low voice. "Ten o'clock, and no German to-night! That is first rate," exclaimed Julia, " and it all comes from my pro- posing that you should ask Marion to play and sing. I only wish I had done so before." "I wish so too, yet not for the sake of forgetting Ger- man. The spell of music has certainly been upon us. Miss Graham," he rarely addressed her except thus for- mally, " will you learn ' Highland Mary?' " "I will try, though I have not much hope of success." "You are just the one to succeed. I will bring you my copy, for, though a very old one, I doubt whether I could procure another."- "And will you assist me in learning 'Ah! che la morte?'" "With pleasure." "And with encouragement of success in that also?" "Without- a doubt." From this time, music was installed as one of their familiar pleasures. It was an added link between them, perhaps of too dangerous sweetness. A blustering day in mid December. Marion sat in an arm-chair, while Julia was on a tabouret at her feet. She was prattling of the wonderful improvements she was going to make in her city-life on her return home, when Polly, the housekeeper, came in and held out a letter before her, saying,-- ," John just brought this from the office." She clapped her hands as she looked at the inscription. ( It's from dear papa. Isn't he good when he hates to write so?" :? ^ OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 107 But as she read, her face lengthened, and the tears began to drop. "What is it, darling?" "O Marion, how can I leave you? He says he can't possibly spare me any longer, and that I must come home before the Christmas holidays." As she was speaking, Mr. Vinton was ushered in. She removed her seat to his side, while she told him of the unwelcome summons. "And I'm afraid I can't be good any more." He laid his hand upon her-head, while his countenance expressed sincere regret. "I am glad you feel sorry, but I know you will ad- vise me to comply with my father's wishes." "Certainly; yet we shall sorely miss you." "And I don't know what I shall do without you. But then, if I must go, it will be delightful to see dear papa again, and to ride round the city;" and her eyes sparkled as sundry bright visions flitted before her. The parting day came, and it proved like several of the preceding, - an uncomfortable, drizzly day. A jun- ior partner of her father's, who had been sent to accom- pany Julia, stood waiting at the carriage door. "Good-by, dear Marie," and she threw her arms around her neck, and kissed her again and again. "Good-by, -my fairy! Don't forget to write to me;" and Maurice imprinted a kiss on her forehead, while glittering drops stood on her lashes. "You are shivering with cold, Miss Graham," said Maurice as he stood gazing after the receding car- riage. He closed the door, but she made no reply. A chill had struck to her heart. Looking at her sorrowful face, he said,- page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 - ARION GRAHAM; a"It is hard to part with dear little Jule. She is really charming. Since she took nature for her guide, she wins her way everywhere." "Everywhere indeed!" thought Marion; but she controlled herself and replied, - "It is indeed very lonely without her." "I wish I could do any thing towards supplying her place," and he looked at her so kindly that tears filled her eyes. "Miss Graham,"--he hesitated, and then, forcing back the dangerous words, he simply inquired, - "Shall I come and read to you this evening?" It was a long, long day. But the sun at length had set, and night enfolded the earth in her sable garments. Marion sat listening for the well-known step, yet started nervously when she heard it, and wished that Julia were back again. "What shall I read?" "Will you not select?" Taking up a book which lay on the table,-- "Well, the fates have decided for me. I will read in ' Sartor Resartus,' only you shall choose the passages." She shook her head. "Ah! but you have already done it. I shall take those you have marked." She little knew how he was battling his own spirit as he playfully commenced reading: "Will the whole finance-ministers and upholsterers and confectioners of modern Europe, undertake, in joint- stock company, to make one shoe-black happy? They cannot accomplish it above an hour or two; for the shoe-black also has a soul quite other than his stomach; " ;3 .. , OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 109 and would require for his permanent satisfaction and saturation, simply this allotment, no more and no less: - God's infinite universe altogether to himself, therein to enjoy infinitely and fill every wish as fast as it rose. Oceans of Hochheimer, a throat like that of Ophiuchus! speak not of them; to the infinite shoe-black, they are as nothing. No sooner is your ocean filled, than he grumbles that it might have been of better vintage. Try hinm with half a universe, he sets to quarrelling with the proprietor of the other half, and declares himself the most maltreated of men. Always there is a black spot in our sunshine; it is even as, I said, the shadow of our- selves." "' Tlhe shadow of ourselves,'- there is no doubt of that," said Maurice with bitterness, abruptly closing the book. Marion's interest was aroused, and she asked, - "Will you not read the next marked passage?" Opening again, he read,-- "Fancy that thou deservest to be hanged (as is most likely), and thou wilt feel it happiness to be only shot; fancy that thou deservest to be hung in a hair-halter,-- it will be a luxury to die in hemp." "Thank you," said he bowing ironically. "I hardly needed that to convince me that happiness is but a breath of mist." "You cannot suppose that was the passage I meant," said she deprecatingly, at the same time extending her hand for the book. "But is there not a happiness more enduring than mist?" "How can it be, when this same fearful shadow of ourselves is forever close behind us?" 7 . ' - .4-, page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O MARION GRAHAM; 4' But must this shadow necessarily be 'a black spot in our sunshine? '" "As we are made, I see not but that it must." "Yet if we ourselves were full of light, should we pro- ject darkness?" "A territory of meaning is included in that if. There- fore, suppose I say no to your question, what relief do you gain? For alas! who is 'iull of light? Where is the thinker, be it man or woman, who is not tormented with endless retrospection and introspection? And why, but because of the evil that he continually discov- ers in the past and present, - in his external and'internal life? Ah, Miss Graham! Carlyle has only hit the truth. 'The shadow of ourselves ' is truly 'the black spot,' ever enlarging in extent, till it overclouds heaven and earth." "But you believe in some exceptions?" "It may be," replied he in a melancholy tone. "Yes,- 'I do believe That two or one are almost what they seem.' But I trust you know nothing of this unceasing, useless struggle; this hopeless degradation; this striving to soar, yet sinking instead; this longing for the true, yet clinging to the false; this yearning for what is noble, yet yielding to what is vile." "You must not except me," she responded mourn- fully. "Too well I know it all. But, Mr. Vinton, 'we have not an High Priest that cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities.' " s( Of what avail is sympathy in our utterly hopeless condition?" XI OR, AIGHER THAN HAPPINESS. m "Ah! but can our condition be utterly hopeless ' For it is infinitely more than sympathy that our Saviour offers. He gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity.'" "I did not intend to draw you into a theological discussion. Will you not read the passage to which you alluded? ' Opening the volume, with great earnestness she read, - "The fraction of life can be increased in value, not so much by increasing your numerator, as by lessening your denominator. Nay, unless my Algebra, deceives me, unity itself divided by zero, will give infinity. Make thy claim of wages a zero then; thou hast the world underthy feet. Well did the wisest of our time write : ' It is only with renunciation, that life, properly speak- ing, can be said to begin." Turning to Marion, he said,- "What do you understand by 'renunciation? '" "Is it not the entire consecration of the soul to Christ, and, of course, the losing of our wills in his?" "I don't imagine that was Carlyle's idea of it. You give his philosophy a Christian baptism." "So have I read him. And his stirring appeals seem strikingly fitted to arouse Christian feeling and action." "I will not be so ungracious as to disparage an oracle so full of wisdom. Nor would I lessen your faith in him. l:Indeed, I have a genuine admiration of his ex- alted spirit and ennobling views, as well as a hearty sympathy with his utter abhorrence of all formalities, and hypocrisies, and falsities of every kind whatsoever. But do not think he can be regarded as a Christian in your sense.", page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 aMARION GRAHAM; "I am well aware that he is not made after the com- mon pattern. And he is outspoken and cutting in re- spect to many things among nominal Christians which the general opinion tolerates, but which he considers utterly inconsistent with their high profession. From one of such stern virtues and keen insight, to whose searching glance the verities of things lie bare; an un- due severity of judgment ought perhaps to be expected. And thus there may be a lack of charity and of other gentle virtues; but it would give me great pain to doubt that Carlyle was, after all, a Christian." "I will not dispute the matter with you," said he with some asperity, which both surprised and wounded Mar- ion. "Excuse me," she replied with dignity, "I did not mean to be persistent, and I will urge the -matter no fur- ther." ' Pardon my irritation, Miss Graham, which had not the smallest occasion in any thing you said. And unless you feel it necessary to punish me for my perversity, do not refuse to express all you feel on the subject." "I may have been needlessly sensitive. But I was only intending to say a few words more. Carlyle has uttered one sentiment, at least, which I can hardly conceive to have been born out of Christianity, and' which seems to me a gem :orthy of the richest set- ting." "Will you not repeat it?" "s There is in man a t HGHER than love of happiness; he' can do without happiness, and instead thereof find blessed. ness!" As she repeated this noble sentiment, her face glowed OR, HGHER THAN IIA1PI'NESS. 1 with enthusiasm. Mauricegave her a searching glance as he inquiredh- . "Do you really believe that??" "I admire it; but I am far fro having m ade the n- - having nade the, attainment which an unqualified assent would imply. Yet I long to say it out of the depths of my heart." "And have you, then, no unconditional yearnings for what your inmost consciousness tells you would bring exquisite happiness? - no feeling that you would grasp it, if possible, at almost any sacrifice?r , As he asked these questions, he gazed at her with an intensity which brought a rich color to her cheek. "It is one thing to know, and another to do. But my hope is in Him who giveth strength." "And would you immolate your dearest wishes, your sweetest hopes, your assured bliss, on the altar of some imagined duty?" "I know not what I should do, Mr. Vinton," said she with a quivering lip, " but I pray that God may help me always to do right, and without fear of conse quences." Maurice drew a long sigh; and having sat for a few minutes in profound silence, abruptly rose to leave. Taking Alarion's hand, he spoke in a low voice and with a look which went to her heart,-- "Forgive me if any thing I have said this evening has caused you pain." Then, with a pressure as if it were a last parting, he withdrew. And Marion sat alone and watched the fading embers till they died out in blackness. Could she doubt his affection? But why was it that the "more strongly she felt his spell upon her, and the quicker page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 MARION GRAHXAM; , his eloquent eyes caused the glow to spring to her cheek, the more fiercely did an impenetrable gloom seem contending in him for the mastery? All this was inexplicable. It sometimes kindled her pride, and im- parted a frostiness to her manner which stung him keenly, though she knew it not. But to-night his looks were unequivocal. The warm grasp of his hand still lingered with her, and her heart beat quicker at the recollection. Yet in all the deli- ciousness of this trembling hope, a strange dread crept over her. She longed for some positive assurance,- for the waking certainty of bliss. Alas! she is becoming more and more involved. The meshes are silken and seem flexible, but they may close upon her with a grasp like iron. / 1 ' ORB, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. I15 'I - CHAPTER IX. "Her summer-nature felt a need to bless, And a like longing to be blessed again; So, from her sky-like spirit, gentleness Dropt ever like a sunlit fall of rain, And his beneath drank in the bright caress, As thirstily as would a parched plain, That long hath watched the showers of sloping gray Forever, ever falling far away." THE sun clad in drapery of gray had slowly sunk to his hazy couch, leaving the earth a dreary waste. But when, the next morning, he climbed the ruddy east, hill and dale, glittering with rainbow hues, welcomed his golden beams in a spectacle of unrivalled splendor. Dur- ing his absence the Frost-King, breathing on the trick- ling mist, had transformed the sober, wintry valley of the Shawmut into a crystal dell of the most dazzling beauty. The broad landscape presented to Marion's enraptured eye a scene of magic enchantment, - of al- most unearthly grandeur. The broad, branching maples, and the graceful, towering dIms, shone out in their fair, hyaline garments, loaded with jewels of surpassing lus- tre and magnificence. Not a bough nor a twig but glittered with sparkling pendants. Not a shrub nor a blade of grass but was bespangled with brilliant gems. As Marion and her father stood outside the door, page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6. MARION . GRAHAM; she could hardly control her deep emotion. Thus to meet the spirit of Beauty face to face; to behold the wondrous transfigurations she had wrought, and the glory which she had poured out like a sea upon all nature, filled her with silent ecstasy and worship. At her father's request, who feared the exposure of her health, she left the portico, and took her seat in a deep bay window in the parlor, whence she could command an extended view. Is it strange that she thought of her last night's companion, and wondered whether he too were revelling in beauty? And if she longed to have him by her side, that they might commune to- gether upon this mount of vision, will any one blame her? As the sun ascended the meridian, the fairy scene be- came more and more resplendent. At a certain angle, there was a definiteness to the bewildering beauty, not visible at any other point. The various precious stones shone out in the radiance of their own distinctness and reality. Here glowed the topaz and the amethyst; there the beryl and the sapphire. Now blazed the diamond, the jasper, and the emerald; anon the ruby, the hyacinth, and the chrysolite. Every tree was strung with scintillat- ing pearls, and from every branch and bough leaped out myriads of tiny rainbows, dancing as if in exuber- ant gladness. The houses were incased in burnished silver, and their roofs and walls brilliantly frescoed with quaint and curious devices. The hills and the valleys gleamed with coruscating crystals of every shape and size, of every color and tint. The white fences were overlaid with a silvery enchasing, and thickly set with jewelled spikes, as if to forbid a rude approach. The gravel walks were transmuted into pavements of glit- OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. ;7 tering mosaics, while on every hand green leaf and sprig, bright bud and berry,were exquisitely imbedded in pellucid crystals. "Dear father, do let me sit out of doors. The sun- shine is warm, and 1 will wrap myself in a large shawl. And I never shall see another such sight, at least in this world." Judge Graham having smiled his consent, she placed a chair against a silvered elm, and seated herself. "Fancy me an Arabian princess," she called to him as he stood watching her at the door, " and that I have been rubbing Aladdin's lamp." "Behold in me one of your genii!" said a voice which startled her; and Maurice playfully dropped on one knee, saying, "Fair princess, accept my homage, and make known thy will!" Beneath his mask of pleasantry was an air of earnest- ness,that brought the color to her cheek as she gaily re- plied, "I bid thee rise and seat thyself. But how did you happen here at this precise moment?" "Did you not send a winged wish after me, and could I do otherwise than obey?" asked he with a searching glance. Her eyes fell in confusion, but she still felt the mes- meric spell; and, as he waited for a reply, she softly an- swered as if by compulsion, - "Why, then, have you delayed so long?" A sudden joy flashed over his face, succeeded by a darker shade of gloom as he replied, - "At some other time I may perhaps explain." That you may purchase pardon," said she, hasten. page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 MARION GRAHAM; ing to turn the subject, "I bid you gather me a handful of jewels." ("Shall they be rubies or diamonds, pearls or sap- phires?" "Some of every kind, s'il vous plait." Laying a sparkling gem within her hand, their fingers met. And the subtle magnetism thrilled along their veins, and kindled electric fire within their eyes. At this critical moment, Judge Graham again appeared at the door, suggesting to Marion that she had been out as long as was, safe. As she rose, he cordially invited Mr. Vinton to tea, saying,- "I foresee a fine evening, and I fear it will be more than I can do to keep my child within doors." Maurice hesitated, but one glance at Marion's eyes decided him, and going into the house, they sat down together in the same alcove where Marion had passed the morning. If Eden-land was spread out before their entranced vision, it was also Eden, that afternoon, in Marion's throbbing heart. Rapidly did the paradisal blooms of love spring up and expand beneath the warm, tender, glowing sunlight of those deep eyes. And sweet, sweet was the aroma of these Elysian flowers, stealing on the bewildered senses of this youthful pair, and causing a delicious intoxication to tremble through every vein, and to thrill every nerve with rapture. As the sun journeyed towards the west, the glorious scene was softened into a mellow and more exquisite beauty. The broad fields lay shining in the vista like a sea of molten silver, whose waves had suddenly con- gealed. And upon the fair bosom of this boundless sea, glistening pearls and starry gems were scattered in luxuriant profusion. By a spontaneous movement, XI OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 119 both Maurice and Marion rose, and went towards the door. "Marion," said her father coming from the library, "you had better take Mr. Vinton to the upper story, where you will command a more extensive view." They ascended and gazed silently from a western window. The round, setting sun, in drapery of gold and amethystine splendor, still lingered above the hori- zon, filling the heavens with glory, and bathing the land- scape in a flood of crimson light, while every object was broken into scintillations of a richer effulgence. The Naiads had opened the crystalline doors of the sea, and the fairies had unbarred the jewelled gates of earth; and, from their watery caverns and hidden mines, had gathered the rarest gems of every hue and shape and size, lavishy showering them over the land. Spell- bound in a blissful silence, these gazers stood till the night-shadows fell upon the scene. As they rose from tea, the gentle moon, ascending her triumphal car, shed a soft lustre on the crystal valley. "Shall we not walk out?" asked Maurice. Marion looked at her father, who readily gave his consent. That an evening was that! And how carefully would covetous Memory hive up every honeyed mo moent of those, delicious hours! Marion's heart was full to the brim. She was drunk with beauty. Shall we add that she was also drunk with the joy of knowing herself beloved? Yet how dare she yield to such wild emotion) when, as yet, his lips have never spoken one word of love? Gentle reader, there are utterances more potent than words. There is a freemasonry of affec- tion, by which many a sign and token, spelling naught page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 1 20 MARION GRAHAM; to the uninitiated, is charged with subtle import to those under the magnetic spell. If you had asked Marion whether Maurice loved her;-recalling the want of any literal assurance to this effect, she would unhesitatingly have answered "l Nay." And yet, while she did so, the tell-tale blood in her cheeks, and the sweet confusion in her eyes, would have given the directest contradiction to her negative. Words can be handled, and weighed, and bartered, if need be. But looks,--the thousand inex- pressible, unnamed tokens, which pass on electric wires between heart and heart, are not marketable commodi- ties. A woman may have fondly treasured up myriads of such invisible, uncounted jewels, but she dares not present these silent notes at the bank, and demand spe- cie thereupon, lest some one challenge her;- and then, dear heart! - what hath she whereby to prove her wealth? A trifler, that basest of men, well knows how to abuse the fearful power which this dangerous, irresponsible traffic gives him over a delicate woman. Irresponsible to the legal enactments of men, but not so, O trifler, in the sight of high heaven! For, if killing the body be accounted a crime, is it nothing to kill a loving, throbbing human heart? - ruthlessly to trample on its most cherished affections, and crush out forever its sweet confidingness and hope? With a noble nature, the spontaneous incantations of love, by which he may have thrown his spell around another, and drawn her closer and closer to himself, are as sacredly regarded as if his lips had uttered the vows of affection. On this showing, had not Marion reason in her joy? As her hand trembled upon Maurice's arm, she felt his arm tremble also. As her heart throbbed with that sweetest of all earthly passions, she knew that the puls- , ,4 Hji( OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 121 ations of his strong heart were quickened by the same passion. For a time they walked in a dreamy silence which was not silence, glancing through the gracefully drooping branches of the majestic trees, and revelling in their wealth of beauty. As they listened to the sil- very rustling of the jewelled boughs, kissing each other in their icy loves, Maurice exclaimed,- "Eden's crystal bells Ringing in the ambrosial breeze That from the throne of Allah swells." "That same passage was just upon my lips." As she said this, Maurice gave a sudden glance into her face, and involuntarily drew her arm closer within his own. Passing through the glittering streets, they ascended with some difficulty a wooded hill. What a spectacle was beneath them! As they stood rapt in this vision of resplendent beauty, gazing on the glittering spires; on the walls of chrysolite, "garnished with all manner of precious stones;" on the "gates of pearl;" on the streets, as it were transparent glass;" on the trees which bore every "manner of fruits;" on the churchyard with its pillars of enchased silver, like shining angels, guarding the quiet sleepers;and as they caught gleam ings of the fair Shawmut, fit emblem of the river of life, brightly meandering through the glorious scene, a praiseful psalm was chanted in Marion's worshipping heart. 'With clasped hands, and a countenance glowing in its spirit. ual elevation, she exclaimed,- Oh, what a fair similitude of the New Jerusalem The golden city set on yonder height, Its glittering walls with radiant jewels bright. page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 22 MARION GRAHAM; And lo! those glimpses of the crystal river From out the rainbow-throne! Over its ripples clear the light doth quiver As from a jasper-stonos Now lightly dancing in the ethereal breeze, Now brightly glancing from rich-fruited trees. What a place, Mr. Vinton, must the heavenly par- adise be! And how transcendent that love which has there provided mansions for the weary and sinning of earth!" Maurice had been gazing upon her with a deeper ad- miration than even the unrivalled, vision before him had inspired. But there was no outhurst of feeling. In- stead of this, setting upon his throbbing heart the iron heel of resolve, he suddenly and almost fiercely assumed an icy reserve, that congealed the burning soul of Mar- ion, and sealed her glowing lips. In unbroken silence, they retraced their steps over that same path which had so lately seemed like enchanted ground;- now, alas! disrobed of its wondrous spell. A formal good-night! Retiring to her room, Marion dropped the curtains to shut out the gorgeous Eden-landscape, on which she had just gazed with such an exultant spirit. Long she sat buried in sad musings, while a few lines from one of Mrs. Hemans's poems came painfully to her recol- lection. "Oh, make him not the chastener of my heart! I tremble with a sense Of grief to be; I hear a warning low- This wild idolatry must end in woe." OK, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 23 CHAPTER X. "It is the fate of a woman Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women Sunless, and silent, and deep, like subterranean rivers Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, unseen, and unfruitful, Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and profitless murmurs." "A LIT'ERL I from Julia!" said Maurice, as he one evening entered Marion's little-sitting room, holding up a well-filled sheet. Seating himself beside the table, in an animated tone he read it aloud. MY DEAR, DEAR FRIEND,' -For such I shall always consider you, whatever changes may happen. I ought to thank you for my happiness, for it has all come through you. I thank Marion too, but it was you that comnmenced my--reformations I think I shall have to call it. She will, therefore, let me give you the first place in my gratitude, and that is why I write to you And now I have as real a story to tell as if it were written out in a book. Only I wish it were begun, for it is so hard to begin any thing. And it was hard to lay aside my foolish ways, but I am glad I did. And it has all come to pass as you told me it would. But I must tell you in order. page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 MARION GRAHAM; Mr. McKinstry (isn't it a funny name? But I like it now, and you will when you hear all,) took first- rate care of me. You can't think how polite he was, and what nice refreshments he provided for me all along the road, and how, fast we chatted. He asked me a great many questions about you, indeed I thought he would never get satisfied. Of course I told.. him how much you had done for me, though I didn't tell him the whole of that scene; for you know it wouldn't be best. Why, he was so agreeable that I was almost sorry when we got to New York, and he looked as if he was too, though he didn't say so. He was so- very kind dur- ing our journey, that I suppose you won't be surprised to hear that I couldn't help thinking of him afterwards. You can't imagine how many times papa kissed me. He then looked at me a long time, holding me out at arms' length. At last he broke out,- - 'What have they done to you up there, Jule, for on my word, you seem vastly improved?' 'They told me my faults, dear papa, and that I mustn't be affected and have airs. And Mr. Vinton, of whom I wrote to you, has been just like a father.' ' Wiser than your old father, I guess,' he said. ' Well, papa, it was best, you know, and so I tried to to do just as he told me, and I think I am improved.' ' No doubt of it, child.' The next day I said to him, ' Papa, I am glad you sent Mr. McKinstry after me, for he was very kind.' ' Think it quite likely,' and he snapped his eyes as if he knew something. ' What is it, papa?' XOR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 125 'Oh, nothing for you now, child. I shall betray nobody's secrets.' That night father invited Mr. McKinstry to tea. And when I handed him his cup, he gave me such a look that I felt my face burning all over. Well, he kept coming every little while till New-Year's. I can't tell vou how many calls and presents I had during the day; but the one I wanted to see most did not come. In the evening, however, as we were sitting in the parlor, the door-bell rang. I don't know what made me start, but papa said, ' Be quiet, Jule, nobody is going to harm you,' and then he snapped his eyes. Presently the door was opened, and in walked - can't you guess who? He shook hands with us both, and began to talk about the weather. After a few minutes, papa jumped up and said he must call at Mr. Moody's. He had no sooner gone, than Mr. McKinstry came and sat down by me. 'You have had a great many beautiful presents to- day I see,' said he, pointing to the table which was cov- ered with them. And then I thought he was preparing to give me another. But, instead of that, he looked directly into my eyes, and inquired (don't you think he was presum- ing?) if I would not make a barter with him. 'For,' said he, ' I have already given you my greatest treasure, and I am bold enough to covet yours in re- turn.' Then, taking my hand, he added' In short, dear Julia, you have won my whole heart, and will you not bless me with yours in exchange? ' What could poor little I do, but blush and hang down iy head? But he seemed very well satisfied With the reply he got, so I made no effort to speak. page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 MARION GRAHAM; I Then he put a betrothal-ring on my finger. And so I i agreed to become his wife, for he said papa had already given his consent. He told me that he had always been charmed with my beauty, but that my manners did not please him. He did not care to go to Glenwood for me; and went only because papa requested it. But he said the moment he met me, he saw how changed I was, and that he could not help falling in love. I told him it was all owing to you, and that he must make you his best bow, which he said he would gladly do. When papa came home, and saw us sitting so confi- dentially together, he exclaimed, What have you been up to?' So Mr. McKinstry, or James, as he says I must call him, had to go over the -whole. Since it was all settled, I am as happy as a bird. Don't you think he is handsome? And then papa says he is so solid and good. But he'is all of twenty-eight years old. I don't object to that, however. He is in a great hurry to be married;--says he is afraid I shall be spoiled if he don't take me under his care. Very disin- terested, isn't he? I dare say you think he will spoil me, but he won't. He never flatters, and he wants me to be so good. But about our being married. Papa thought we had better wait two years, for you know I shan't be eighteen till a year from next May. But James says he is willing to share every thing with me; and that I shall have half of his additional years, which will make us each twenty-three. He is terribly urgent, so I sup- pose next September will be the time. Tell Marion 1 love her as dearly as ever, and that I long to hear from you both. YOUR GRATEFUL, HAPPY JULIA*. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 127 "P. S.- Tell dear uncle Graham as much as you think proper about me, but don't let him see my letter." "Isn't that charming?" said Maurice. "Dear little witch! I am rejoiced to hear of her happiness." All this was so genuine, that Marion saw how idle had been her old, occasional surmise. He talked freely of Julia's prospects, and then turned to other subjects, being careful, however, to avoid personalities. Indeed this had been the case since the memorable night of their walk. Having read several of Schiller's dramas, they were now commencing Wallenstein. "-I have always been greatly interested in the old as- trologers," said Marion, as they read of the ancient Seni. "And the fascination of the science seems per- fectly natural." "I suppose, then, you have some sympathy with Wal- lenstein's faith in the stars?" "Certainly I have; but it was a melancholy reliance on his lucky stars that led him into such recklessness." "It was indeed; and this belief in fate made him irresolute when nothing could save him but decision." "What a fin6 description of Theklas visit to the old tower!)" said Marion, as they read on. They lingered upon Max Piccolomini's reply, and his explanation of the science of the stars. - "Do you recollect Coleridge's translation of these beautiful passages?" inquired Maurice. Not particularly." Taking down Coleridge's Poems, he read a part of the scene. page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 MARION GRAHAM; "And if this be the science of the stars, I, too, with glad and zealous industry, Will learn acquaintance with this cheerful faith. It is a gentle and affectionate thought, That in immeasurable heights above us, At our first birth, the wreath of love was woven, With sparkling stars for flowers." "I ought to add the Countess Tertsky's comment. 4 Not only roses, But thorns, too, hath'the heaven; and well for you Leave they your wreath of love inviolate: What Venus twined, the bearer of glad fortune, The sullen orb of Mars soon tears to pieces.'" It was with a sad interest that they followed the story; especially the sorrowful fortunes of the young lovers. And Marion found a satisfaction in the original far greater than what she had felt in the translation. "Is this additional zest to be entirely accounted for from the pleasure of mastering another language?" ("Much of it probably; but there are also delicate shades, and freishnesses of thought, as well as naive expressions, which cannot be adequately translated. Here is an instance in point, to which Coleridge himself re- fers. After the death of Max, Wallenstein says,-- 'Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich, Denn was verschmerzte nicht de mensch?' which the translator has rendered, - This anguish will be wearied down, I know; What pang is permanent with man?' OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 129 but which, as he says, literally reads,- 'I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious, What does not man grieve down?'" "What a fine rendering of the words following that passage!" said Marion, looking over with him. ' The bloom is vanished from my life; For oh! he stood beside me like my youth, Transformed for me the real to a dream, Clothing the palpable and the familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn. Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, The beautiful is vanished and returns not.' "It is a touching tribute to Max," he added. "But one is so disappointed in Wallenstein. I know nothing more mournful than the discovery of any weak- ness in a great man." "You idealize, Miss Graham; and who would not fail when measured by your standard?" "Max would not," replied she smiling. "He was every thing that was noble, and though full of the ten- derest sensibilities, no littleness marred his character." "You do not, then, wonder at Thekla's feeling that there was but one place in the world, - that where he lay buried?" "It was a true womanly sentiment. 'That single spot was,' indeed, ' the whole earth' to her." "So bound up in one being, even in death!" and he looked as if he would fain read her soul. The color deepened on her cheek as she replied,- "He was worthy of such devotion; at any rate, it is beautiful poetry, But the end is too sad." page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 MARTON GRAHAM; "Yet you prefer tragedy to comedy?" ' "Decidedly; for it deals in deeper passions, and calls out higher sentiments.' "And sounds depths which the latter could never reach. I fully agree with you. And,forsomewhat sim- ilar reasons, I see that we both have a preference for mournful music."- As he spoke, he took up the guitar, and, with truest pathos, played and sang those exquisite lines by the lamented Carlos Wilcox. "If I had thought thou could'st have died,? I might not weep for thee." When the song was ended, he said to Marion,- "Now it is your turn." Attempting to smile through her tears, she shook her head, but could make no other reply. The wintry weeks glided away, and Maurice's silence on one subject remained unbroken. Yet there were electric communications between him and Marion, more potent than words. - For all things carry the heart's messages, And know it not, nor doth the heart well know, But nature hath her will; even as the bees, Blithe go-betweens, fly singing to and fro With the fruit-quickening pollen; hard if these Found not some all unthought-of way to show Their secret each to each; and so they did, And one heart's flower-dust into the other slid.' And now had come on the blossoming, sapful Spring, so full of sunshine and of hope. Those warm, genial OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 131 days were peculiarly favorable to reverie, and Marion yielded to their influence. Many an hour she sat at the window, w atching the fairy-transformations of nature, and, at the same time, listening to pleasant voices within her heart. Dream on while thou canst, O maiden, for a word, a breath - may, ruffle the smooth stream on which so willingly thou dost float, and imbitter the deep fountain at which thou art slaking thy thirst. While Marion thus dwelt in dream-land, Maurice was confronting the stern face of a terrible foe. "It will never, never do," said he to himself with bit- terness. "If things go on as they are, a double ship- wreck may ensue. I dare not longer remain. I will make my promised visit to Bessie, and, after that, re- turn to my old haunts. I must burst the chain which is enslaving me, and put off from this enchanted shore, a free, if a miserable man." His resolve was taken, and no after-pleadings of his heart could alter it. Knowing nothing of his internal struggles, and his consequent decision, Marion gave her- self up to the sweetness of the present hour, incredulous of coming change. It was at the close of one of the golden days of May, that Maurice entered Marion's presence, with an arm- ful of books. She looked up in surprise. "Assuming that you are an industrious being, I have brought work to employ you during my absence.' "Your absence!" she mechanically repeated, in vain attempting to speak with composure. In a careless tone, as if announcing the most ordinary event, he replied,- page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 MARION GRAHAM; "To-morrow I start on my long-talked of visit to Brentford. From, there, I go to my old home to look after my affairs, and to cheer my lonely housekeeper." Did he know that every word, so lightly uttered, was a drop of torture to that waiting heart? Her glorious sunset sky, so full of promise for a bright to-morrow, faded suddenly into the blank dreariness of night. "But he is indifferent," so she thought within herself, "and I will show him that I can be so also." Therefore, in measured words, she replied, - (4 You will have a delightful summer, and I will en- gage to accomplish a great deal while you are away." But as Maurice had not intentionally given her pain, so neither did he resent her apparent unconcern. He knew that she, as well as himself, was acting a part. But better so, he felt, than the fatal truth be confessed. And time -what would not time accomplish, at least for her? So they parted--with less seeming emotion on both sides than that with which they had sometimes separated for a single night. Of such partings life hath too many. Resentment, pride, or a maidenly sense of propriety, gives, for the moment, an outward calmness, while the heart is suffering in silence. But when the occasion that arouses this stoicism is past, then burst forth pas- sionate tears, and the external utterances of a woe that will no longer bear constraint. Thus it was with Marion after Maurice's departure. But soon followed a keen sense of injustice. What right had he to ply her ceaselessly with all the silent enginery of love till her proud spirit was conquered; - and then leave her to endure the mortifying, the merci- less pangs of unrequited affection? For a time, indig- OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 133 nation towered high above her grief, arming her with unnatural strength. "No mortal-shall ever know my weakness," she ex- claimed with energy, . least of all, he." But, in her generous nature, anger quickly subsided. Then Hope stole softly in, and sat down close beside her sorrow, gradually easing the pain of its presence. "Mau- rice was too noble for a deceiver. He was only testing her faith and her fidelity;"Thus whispered the charmer. "He shall not find me wanting," was her reply to Hope. In the power of this resolve, she applied herself with renewed energy to the cultivation of her mind, deter. mined to render: herself more worthy of Maurice's re- spect:- -that was the word on her lips, but there was a warmer one in her thoughts. With a woman's loving trust, her heart thus returned to its allegiance, and con- tinued to offer fragrant incense at the altar of its cher- ished idol. Alas! How dare she commit the hoarded wealth of her life to the keeping of one frail vessel? page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 MARION GRAHAM; CHAPTER XI. "God keep and shield thee, Sweet baby mine! Spirit-life yield thee From his Divine In blue eyes to shine, Serenely as stars through the azure night-arches." IT was a great day at the parsonage at Brentford, for a wondrous stranger had arrived. There was as much bustle on the occasion as if the Prince of Wales had honored the household with his royal presence. A smile of welcome was on everybody's face, and it was evident that the new comer was by no means regarded as an intruder. Let us peep into Mrs. Maynard's darkened chamber, and look at the stranger as he lies on the broad lap of Mrs. Ball. She has just drawn a delicate white robe over the small head, and is putting the tiny arms through the sleeves. Now she pulls it carefully down, and fastens it with baby-pins taken from a blue satin pin- cushion, on which "WELCOME" is printed with little pin-heads. Then, with a soft brush which she finds in the neat basket, she completes the infant toilet. "Mr. Maynard, just step here. I declare I never see the like of this head of hair on such a baby." During Mrs. Ball's performance, Mr. Maynard had S f, OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 185 been sitting by the bed-side, holding the hand of his wife, and looking with tearful tenderness on her pale face. Suddenly he was summoned to look at baby's hair. He knew almost nothing about such wee people, and could not be confident what was expected from them in said article of hair; but was ready to admire in any, or every direction. "Would you like to heft him, sir?" Smiling, he took the little one in his arms as carefully as if it had been made of glass; and, walking to the bed, stood there with his face softly pressed to it. What joy thrilled the mother as she felt the attraction of that new, mystical tie, and longed to clasp father and child to her beating heart! Good nurse Ball, who had left the room, now re- appeared with a pair of steelyards in her hand. With curious interest the new-made parents watched her pro- ceedings. Spreading a large silk handkerchief upon the cot bed, standing in the other corner of the room, she laid baby upon it, and tied the opposite corners to- gether in a hard knot. Then, addressing the young fa- ther,- "Now, sir, it's your part to find his exact heft; " and, carefully placing the hook in the knot, she motioned the steelyards towards him. He raised them with extreme caution, and not with- out some trepidation, fully expecting a loud outcry from his son and heir. But he was never more mistaken. The tiny piece of humanity was lifted up and swung in the air, without the smallest suspicion of insult; and received the declaration that it weighed exactly eight pounds, with astonishing equanimity. page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 86.,V MA RION GRAAM;, "Now for his name, Bessie, and then the important natters will all be settled." "Shall it not be William?" I :ehitnsbcider. Butshouldi"keto "If your preference is decided have him bear the name of your brother Y It would be very gratifying to Maurice' said she with a slight hesitation Well-if you pre fer, I agree to it'Viton. So the stranger was named Maurice inton. hem' aas, a ants to see you in " There's a jintleman, ma'am, as wants to see you in the parlor, and he didnit give no name, Bessie stepped lightly down the stairs, and opened th Darling Maurice!" and both her arms were around i his neck. , William and I have been wondering if you wouldrn't come here to see your little namese And without waiting for his reply, she hastened back toenreAynd u tting on I fresh bib, with alla i to the nurseryl and tt onMaurice mother's pride she exhibited her first-born. tenderly kissed his forehead. er But I must beg you, dear Bessie, not to be und the delusion of supposing I have coe this lo ng way only to see this wonderfully little mite of a being. I hye still mall egree toi interest in his young' mother ' centre of our BYS- i Maurice the Second is now the ee te n as ou all revolve around him, you expect me to do the same? Well, we shall see whether or n ot I can resist the law of attractionlo "We think he has something of you looks ur "I trust he inherits his uncle's virtues as well: OR , HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 137 Both William and Bessie thought they had never known Maurice in such excellent spirits. Had they been able to look below the surface, they might have judged differently. But this, no human eye was per- mitted to do. He soon attached himself to his little namesake, and, easily acquiring the art of entertaining him, devoted many a half hour to his amusement. "Who knows," said he one day to Bessie, " but that his bachelor uncle may carry him off some day? My mother gave me up, and why shouldn't you do the same by your boy? I should then feel less reluctance to es- tablish myself at my old home, as I am planning to do." "Oh, don't go back into heathendom, just as we are getting you civilized. And as for little Morry, look up into mamma's eyes, darling, and tell her whether you want to run off into the woods with uncle." The child did as he was bidden, but gave no answer. i "Morry, will you come to uncle, and be his boy, and live with him in his hermitage?" And fixing his deep eyes lovingly upon the child, he held out his arms. The baby sprang exultingly, and, stretching forth his little hands, leaped into his uncle's arms, nestling his head close upon his shoulder. Mau- rice tenderly pressed him to his heart, exclaiming,- "The child has settled the question. There is one, then, in this wide world, willing to leave father and mother and cleave unto me. Remember this, Bessie, when I come to claim him." As he spoke, his sister fancied there was a tear glis. tening on his lashes, but she' could not be sure. There was certainly more in the scene than met the eye, and, for some reason, ,she was deeply moved. After page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 8 MARION GRAHtAM,; a moment's silence, in a tremulous voice, she re- plied, - "Perhaps another may claim him." She hardly knew why she said this; but the time came when it returned to her with great vividness. "If I may speak my mind," said Maurice one day to Mr. Maynard, " your house is rather below par." "I am sorry I cannot contradict you." "Why then do you not hire a better one?" "From dire necessity. It is difficult to find a suita- ble house; and if there was one, we could not afford the rent." "If that is the case, I will build you a house." "Not so, dear brother. But if you are in earnest, you can do what will be better." "I am in earnest. So what do you propose? "If, after due deliberation, you choose to see a few of our leading men, and to tell them that if they will contribute two thousand dollars towards building a house, you will make it up to three thousand, I think you will be the means of putting us into a comfortable But why not let me have the pleasure of doing the whole?" Because it will be better for our people to depend, in part at least, upon themselves. And in that case, they will also feel a greater interest in the enterprise. Maurice did not long delay his negotiating; and it was soon noised through the town, that a parsonage was going to be built on Prospect Street. In this instance, rumor was not much ahead of the fact. in less than one week from the time when Maurice first OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 1389 broached the subject, the site was chosen, the lot pur- chased, and a contract made for the immediate erec- tion of the house. The whole parish took a great in. terest in the matter, and everybody was suggesting how it should be built. This important question, however, was not left to everybody's say so, but was quietly set. fled in Bessiels parlor, Maurice drawing the plan, and William and Bessie proposing such alterations as oc- curred to them. "I wish Elsie could see our boy," said Bessie one day, when Maurice had gone to a neighboring town. "We will take him there this afternoon,f if you like." Slowly they climbed the steep little hill, drawing X baby in the carriage. Lifting him over the tottering staircase, Mr. Maynard knocked at the chamber door. All as a mere form, however, for nobody expected Elsie to hear. After waiting the usual time for nobody to come, they-walked in. "Bless yer hearts!" said the old woman bustling towards them, and setting out chairs. "I was jist that minute a wonderin' if 'twas true as I've hearn tell, that they're buildin' ye a new nest." "I suppose there's no doubt of it, Elsie." "Well now, I'se glad, and thankful too." All this time she had been so intent on ascertaining the truth of the report, that she had no eyes or ears for aught else. Suddenly, however, she caught sight of the little one. "Land's end! If that ar' an't the wonderful critter of whom I've hearn ivery body a talkin'. Let me sight him nearer. La, now! niver ye fear, for I won't break E " ' 1 i -* page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O MARION GRAHAM; him. Miany more's the babies Eve dandled, than iver ye sot eyes one I guess likely. Bless his little soul, no harm'll come to him with me." And the old woman, making a broad lap, took Master i Maurice thereon, and began to trot him, as if she well knew what she was about. Her baby-talk, which she evidently had not forgotten, was strangely mingled with remarks to Mr. and Mrs. Maynard, producing altogether an original dish of conversation. " Did ye come to see old Elsie? Well ye'se a purty critter. I guess ye thinks a sight o' him, and well ye i may. Tell Elsie a story now. Goo: that's the ay-to begin. When do ye 'spect the new house will be done? That's right! Keep yer little arms a flyin' t as if ye was a vindmill. 'Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top.' It's queer though, the nonsense that tickles these like. Do see himlaugh. Ah! he minds me o' my own boy. I was as proud a mother as iver trod the airth. The curls grew thick all over his head, and he had a dimple in his chin. How pleased his sir was! But it's foolish for me tobe a pratin' thus. They're gone to i heaven, and I'll be there to rights. Now if he an't been a grievin' up his lip, 'cause I puts on a long face." And she resorted again to mother Goose. When) at X length, she returned him to his mother, she exclaimed,- "May the Lord make ye both better sarvants for this dear critter! And don't ye go for to settin' of him up for an idol. Jist as sure as ye do, he'll be taken, in i marcy to ye." A After a little breathing space, with increasing anima- ' tion, she continued,- "Dea. Jones tells me ye're havin' solemn meetins. And he says ye're a preachin' up o' the doctrines. i'* OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 141 They didn't do much at that when I was young, but anyhow, I loves the Lord." You get the doctrines fresh from the Bible." "I hopes I do. And I niver tire o' readin'. I sit by this ere winder, and look out on the water jist as ye'd look at the buryin' ground, if yer dear ones was there. For that's the grave of my man and the lad. And when Gabril's trumpet is a soundin', they'll hear it jist as quick, as if they laid in the green church-yard yon- It der. ' For this corruptible shall put on incorruption, and this mortal immortality.' What blessed truths them is." "Would you like to have me pray with you, Elsie?" "'Twould be a real treat." "What shall I pray for'?" "That I may have a thankful heart, and patience to bide my time." Elsie knelt close by the minister's side, drinking in every word that fell from his lips. Bessie sat next her in a low, straight-backed chair, watching the baby in her lap, as his tiny fingers were trying to close round a sunbeam that lay softly on his mother's arm. When Mr.- Maynard had finished, Elsie turned her head towards the baby before rising. "Only see them fingers! Mabbe he thinks he can climb up on the sunbeam." And she began to make noises and put down her head to attract his attention. Slily he reached up his arms as if with mischievous 'intent, and suddenly caught off her snuff-colored turban. Her gray hair caime flying down in every direction, giving her a most weird-like appearance. "There's roguery in him, if- he is the minister's son,; said she, quickly replacing her head gear. page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] MARION GRAHAM; "You still have all you want?" inquired Mrs. May- nard. '"Yes, indeed! I've more than I want for me and my cat. And now I've a mouse besides, that comes to me ivery day to be fed, and it's a purty critter, as iver ye see." "If you would like more such pets," said Bessie, speaking in her ear, "we can supply you with plenty, and not rob ourselves either." Elsie shook all over at this sally, her gray eyes spark- ling with laughter. "I have only one fault to find with Elsie," said Mrs. Maynard, as they were returning home. "I can guess what it is." "I suppose it must be owing to her extreme age, but she is so untidy." 4 I have a plan in my head," said Bessie,' as they- were taking tea not many days after their visit to Elsie. "What is it, dear?" "Oh, I am going to collect a little sum, and then get Molly High to give her a regular house-cleaning." "A harder task, I fear, to get Elsie's consent." "Well, I can but try." "You have never taken me to see that famous char- acter," said Maurice. "I shouldn't presume to do so with all your fastid- iousness. But when she is put in order you shall go, for she is truly worth seeing." "I think, then, I ought to pay for -the job," said he, taking out his portemonnaie. "I can't allow you the privilege, for everybody would be giving me the credit." The next day she set about the business, and, easily raising a sufficient sum, proceeded to Mrs. High's. "She has a drefful prejis agin water," said Molly, shaking her head ominously, " and I'm afeared ye'll niver make out. But so be she'll let me, I'll do't and welcome, for 'twould improve her a heap." , I'll go right over and try to persuade her." Mrs. High shook her fat' sides, and when she saw Mrs. Maynard going up the steps, sat down and laughed till the house rang again. "She's a purty-spolien lady, but if she gets the like o' Elsie Green to cussent to any such a scrubbin', my name isn't, and niver was Molly High." Bessie felt that her task was a difficult one, but her zeal for Elsie's improvement gave her courage. "Well, ye'se good to come agin so soon. And how is young master?" Having answered her questions, Bessie entered on her diplomacy. "Your room is airy, and it would be very pleasant if it were only cleaned up a little." Her delicacy made her timid, and she was obliged to repeat the remark several times before Elsie caught it. "It's far pleasanter to me. now than 'twould be with all the tumblins up in the world. I'm an inemy to all innowations." "But you would like to have your walls washed, and your ceiling white-washed, wouldn't you?" Elsie opened her small gray eyes'in astonishment. "I likes 'em a sight best jist as they ar'. They've stood for long, and will stand me yet, while I stays, like a good old friend." "But you like some new friends, and I am sure you page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 MARION GRAHAM; ' would like your walls better if they were once fairly cleaned." "'Twouldn't seem nat'ral like." "But it would be so much more healthy for ypu." "La sakes! Pse tough enough. 'And I an't a grain afeared but I'll last out my time." Bessie saw there was no persuading her in that wise, so she tried another tack. "The ladies have given me some money for the sake of having your room put in order." "Ise e'enamost sorry. But mabbe it's rude to say so." Bessie took no notice of her demur, but continued,-- "And Mrs. High is ready to begin to-morrow. Now please consent, just for our sakes; and when you are all in nice order, I know you'll be glad." Elsie laughed, saying, - 4"It goes right agin the grain, but I s'pose ye'll do what ye're a mind to for all me, so I won't fight no longer." This was all she could get; but she made the most of it, and went back in triumph to Mrs. High, who stood watching her from the window. "That ar' beats all," she exclaimed on hearing Mrs. Maynard's story. "Now you must go in to-morrow before she repents. And when you get all the rest done, you'll just persuade her to let you wash her face, won't you?" Mrs. High dropped into a seat, and putting her arms a-kimbo, she swung her body back and forth, giving vent to her boisterous merriment. "Ye'll take no offence, ma'am, but the wery idee tickles me mightily. Massy on me! Why, her face han't had a cleaning up for years, I may say. She only washes her hands once an age." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 145 it uite time then, I should think, that somebody do it for her." "Well, I'll try my best to plase ye, but the whole ont'll be a tough job, I guess." Bessie put two dollars into her hand, saying, - You shall have more when you get through, if you say so.. "Oh, no! Ye'll find me ready to do a neighborly turn, without extra pay." , Not many days after, Bessie, accompanied by Maurice, went to see how her commission had been executed, calling on their way at Mrs. High's. The moment Molly saw her, she broke out into one of her fits of im- moderate laughter, and it was some minutes before she could commence her story. "S ich a time I niver had afore. I feel as if I'd been through the wars. The day arter you was here, I took a pail o' whitewash and a brush, and, choosing the time when I knew she was out of her room, I hastened in and 'gan op'rations. Purty soon Elsie cum in, but jist noddin' to her, I went straight ahead. "What be you about here?' said she, arter starin' at one some time.- Mrs. Maynard says you cussented to have me come and clean you up.' 4 Great cussenting I did.' 'Well, ary way, she telled me to come and do't, and I've come, and mean to do't.' 'Well, well, it's rayther hard for an old body.' She's drefful sot, is Elsie; but she an't ugly. So, seeing she couldn't help herself no-how, she must needs stand and stare at me. It tickled me to see her looking for all the world suspicious-like, as if I was set on her ' 7 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 MARION GRAHAM; for harm, and she was a tryin' hard to forgive me. When I lugged in my pail of water, - land's end! what a sigh she fetched, and sot right down on that ar' settle o9 hern, as if she was clean beat out. She see there wa'n't no kinder use in fightin', so she wouldn't waste her powder. ;' I 'clare I niver did see sich a heap o' smoke and dirt, and I couldn't begin to get through that day. But the next day, I finished all up in the arternoon. As I kept eyin' her all along, I see that she really was gettin' to look kind o' pleased, though she tried hard enough not to let me know it. "I thought 'twas only right to gi'n the poor crit- ter a rest afore I came down on herself with the scrub- bin', so I waited. - Arter breakfast the next mornin', I took a pail of hot water, my own washbowl, some towels, a scrubbin' cloth and soap, and went in. Faith! but 'twas the wust job o' the whole. "' V What is it? ' says she, as I took a large towel to pin round her neck. ' Why, the parson's wife charged me to wash yer face clean, she did.' "'Well, I spose you must then,' and she seemed as if she was jist ready to go off into a cry. It was more than I could stand, to see her a lookin' for all the world as if I was a fixin' her out to be hung. So I had jist to drop and run. When I had got my full of laugh, I went at her as if she was a dirty piece o' furniture, as sure enough she was. Puttin' on soap, I scrubbed her face and neck with power, she sittin' all the time jist like a martyr. Then I rinsed her off a heap o' times. At last, says Elsie, says she, - 'Well, I shan't live so long for these ere doins; but no matter.' l?! OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 147 "La," says I, "ye'll live all the longer for yer good scourin.' "And then I combed her white hair, and brushed it smooth. But she was raal sot to have the old turban on, and so I humored her. Ye've no idee how much more wholesomer she looks, and I guess likely she's rec- onciled to herself now. So I don't think she bears you any malice." Bessie and her brother, having laughed abundantly during this recital, now went in to see Elsie. She was sitting on the well-scoured settle, with her Testament in her lap, and looking as if she belonged to a different race. The old woman jumped from her seat even quicker than usual, and, before Bessie had time to introduce her brother, she exclaimed with earnest- ness, - "Ye'se had it all yer own way, Miss, but I'se thank- ful to ye, though 'twas real tough. Ye see I'se got all out o' the way, and habit's a mighty powerful thing. But I'se free to say, I feels a sight better, and I think I look a' most as good as new," and she laughed with a will. "But what put it into your young head to have me fixed up so?" "You know the good Book says,' Let every thing be done decently and in order,' and I thought you would feel happier if you complied with the direction. Be- sides, I owed you something for the lesson of content- ment you taught me. And then you know, Elsie, God loves purity, and, it, seems to me, we should keep our bodies clean as well as our souls." "True for ye, Miss, and I'll mind me on't. I won- der none on 'em iver sot out on this like afore." As Bessie contrasted her wholesome, brown complex- page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 MARION GRAHAM; ion with her former yellow, begrimed, leathern face, she felt more than repaid for all her trouble. During this scene, Maurice had leisure for an ample survey of the room and its remarkable occupant, which he did not fail to improve., "This is my brother," at length said Bessie. Maurice accepted her offered hand, and bowed with great politeness. "A minister, is he?" "No, he is a gentleman at large,". replied she, archly looking at Maurice. "By which she means a good for nothing idler," was his comment repeated in Elsie's ear. "Ah! I see ye'se on terms together. Well, he's a real jintleman anyway, that's asy seen; and I hopes 'tan't hurt him none bein' one," said Elsie, entering into the playful spirit of her guests. "Can't you give him some good advice?" "I adwise him to be good hisself, and to do good to others; that's the best I can say," replied she laughing. "Both of them the hardest things in the world, Elsie, for me." Her face wore a serious look as she made answer, - "Not if ye puts away yer nat'ral pride, and looks to the Lord Jesus." "But -it's hard to change one's habits, as I heard you^ say yourself this afternoon," observed he, finding him- self really interested in the simple-hearted woman. "True for ye. I knows that ar' well. But ye an't got to do't without help. And what I said in sport- like, it's no more than ivery one on us oughter be and do. And we all can do't too, if we're villin' to look to the Saviour." - OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 149 "I am sorry not to agree with you there," said he, shalking his head. "-What! that we oughtenter do good?" interrupted she in her zeal, not giving him time to explain himself. , Supposin'! now, the sun there that's a shinin' away so beau'ful, should go to shuttin' up all them ar' bright beams o' his'n into his own bussum!" \ "This would be a colder, darker world even than it is now." "( True for ye. And 'twould be raal ongrateful-like in the sun, a grantin' it to' know any thing, to keep all God's dear light and heat to hisself. And 'twould be mighty selfish too, wouldn't it?" He bowed,- smiling to see how she was coming down upon him with her straight-forward logic. "Well, now, God has gi'n ye a warm heart;"-he shook his head. "Nay, I know he has by them eyes o' yourn, and talons too; and I hopes ye wouldn't be a hidin' on 'em in a napkin, when ye might make a heap o' folks happy. But ye won't be 'fronted with my bold- ness." "Oh, no! but I am afraid you will find me a hard case." "Yes, I will go with you now," said he to his sister, "but I'll come again, Elsie." Leaving the old place, they walked together till they came to a huge pile of rocks, heaped up by nature in disorderly profusion, and overgrown with gray and yel- low moss, and stinted shrubs. "Where are we now, Mistress Maynard?" asked Maurice, pausing in astonishment at the singular pas- sage before them. "These are the far-famed ' Universal Rocks,"' replied page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] LVV MARION GRAHAM; Bessie, as she laughingly climbed the narrow foot-path that led to their summit, and then began to descend. Universal Rocks, are they? Named from the Uni. verse I suppose." "Not quite so mighty an origin. They were chris- tened in honor of that Universalist Church we just passed." While this conversation was going on, they were laboriously descending a long flight of stairs, or a per. manent ladder over the rocks. It was constructed partly of earth and partly of logs, with a fence on one side, and a homely railing or baluster on the other. Proceed- g ing for a short distance along a narrow, winding road, they came out upon the broad street, and, turning to the left, found themselves in front of a large edifice of great symmetry, erected by a revolutionary officer for his own residence, but long used as a public building. Maurice had been struck by its appearance, and l-r. Maynard had proposed that he and Bessie should visit it this afternoon after their call on Elsie. 1 "It must have been a magnificent dwelling for those days," said Maurice, as he stood gazing upon it with folded arms. "Did Mr. Maynard tell you of Gen. Washington's visit to its owner?" . "I don't recollect it." "On dit the General pronounced it the handsomest private residence he had ever seen." "That is not improbable. But your Brentford seems i. to have figured largely in those days, and to have been quite noted for its public characters." And you know this is not the only i mansion that Washington has made memorable by his OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 151 presence. But do you see the boys? If we stand talk. ing much longer we shall have a mob about us. Are you ready to go in, Monsieur?" "Entrez, mnadame." As they entered, Bessie introduced her brother to one of the gentlemen, who courteously took them over the building. Maurice walked through the lofty rooms, surveying with admiration the exquisite carvings of oak !I over the mantel-pieces, and the window-sills of cedar, all of which adornments were brought from England. Then he ascended the low, broad stairs, with their rich mahogany balustrades, and looked with interest on the handsome panellings of the hall. "What a grand establishment this must have been!" exclaimed Bessie. "And what a pity that when it was put up for sale, you could not have been here to buy it!" "A very nice place for a stoic and a hermit to bury himself in, I admit. But I have never been covetous of quite so splendid a mausoleum. So I think I shall not attempt to trade for it." "Well, then, let us hasten to our humble tenement; for Morry darling will be wondering what has become of us." So they walked rapidly homewards, chatting as they went., In a few days, Bessie repeated her visit, accompanied this time by Mr. Maynard. He was quite as much pleased with the reformation as she expected, and his looks contained the fullest approval of her energy and perseverance. How pleasant was that old-fashioned room, the bright sunshine gilding its time-stained but now cleatnly walls. And when they looked through page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] "10 MARION GRAHAM ; : the clear windows, which they were never really able to do before, on the tranquil bay, dotted with white sails, they felt that it was indeed a sightly prospect, as Elsie e had often told them. Some good people, emulating their minister's wife, undertook to have Elsie arrayed in a new suit of clothes. And they succeeded admirably, save in one article. I No persuasions could induce- the old woman to accept of any head-dress. With singular pertinacity she in- sisted on retaining, in its long occupied position, the brown steeple turban. "I likes my old tattermauls best. But to please ye, I won't be sot, so I'll say nothin' agin a new gownd. But my ramshackles here," putting both hands tight on her brown turban, " nobody mustn't touch." "She has yielded so much," said Mr. Maynard, " that we had better not urge this point, at least for the pres- ent." Maurice wrote a full account of the matter to the I home-circle at Glenwood, thereby occasioning a great sensation. "Who'd a' thought of our little Bessie's being equal i to such undertakings? ,' said Mr. Vinton. "I allers knowed she was up to any ting," said old Judy with an air of triumph, as if she had just won a bet. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 153 CHAPTER XII. "To and fro in his breast, his thoughts were leaving and dashing, As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel, 5Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the ocean." IT is the lighter passions that are cured by change. The edge of many a so-called disappointment in love is often blunted by trifling diversions. But it is not thus with a passion which has struck its roots into the cen- tre of one's being, and absorbed the rich life-juices. To pluck up this is to transform the heart into an arid waste. In carrying out his stern purpose, Maurice soon found that he had undertaken no ordinary task. But his will was invincible. And his resolution to return to his home on the lake was, only strengthened by his internal conflicts. After many unsuccessful efforts to dissuade him, his sister abandoned the attempt, saying,- "You are an obstinate fellow. But at least you will meet me when I go to Glenwood, and spend the month of August with us there?" He shook his head. "Oh, don't be so odd, and bury yourself like a her- mit! What's the use? Why, Marion herself would attract anybody but a stoic." "But I am a stoic, as you know, and a hermit besides. And what should I gain by denying my character?" 7 ,; page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 MARION GRAHAM; "Oh, but you would make such a grand hero for a noble girl I wot of. Indeed, I can't feel reconciled to your decision." "I attach a proper value to your high estimate. But you must remember henceforth, Bessie, that I am not in the market. In short, I should prove too costly a pur-. chase, and should therefore be obliged to buy mysf in." "Maurice and Elsie have struck up a wonderful friendship," said Bessie to her husband on the last day of her brother's visit, " and I don't know how either of them will endure the separation." "She is an original, and has a fresh heart. In short, she is just such a character as Maurice can appreciate." "He is as much of an original as she indeed I never saw any one like him. But for all that, he's a regular darling." "Who is a darling?"asked- Maurice, suddenly com- ing in upon them. "You know the old proverb. But whither now?" "I only came in search of my hat. I am bound for a good-by stroll through your quaint old town." '"Be back in season for tea." "' Unless Elsie Green should invite me," replied he, smiling. Maurice walked leisurely through various streets and lanes, which, by their perverse crookedness, proved that the old cow-tracks, which marked them out, had been devious ones indeed. Here and there the buildings were strangely huddled together, as an earthquake, sud- denly suspended, might have left them. Catching pleasant glimpses of the sparkling water through occa- sional openings on the left, he at length climbed a bluff OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 155 called "The Head," whence he commanded a fine view of the unique town, as it lay sleeping in the afternoon sunshine. Never was there a place laid out so entirely at hap hazard. The dwellings, scattered upon the hills and among the rocks, of which last there was certainly no dearth, looked as if they might have rained down, every one continuing to stand just where it happened to alight. There were high and narrow houses, with gable-roofs; there were square houses, oblong houses, and L-houses, with gambrel-roofs, W-roofs, and flat roofs. There were tenements in the old style, tenements in the new style, and tenements in no style at all; while here and there, on the deserted wharves, stood ancient ware- houses, with empty, echoing rooms, and great iron- barred shutters, - all ghostly relics of the early, com- mercial days of Brentford. In the older parts of the town, no two streets were parallel. To say that no two hozuses were parallel, might be a slight exaggeration; but to assert, that as much irregularity had been indulged in as the circum- stances of the case would admit, is strictly true. Some- times it was the back side that looked towards the front, sometimes the hither, and sometimes the thither side, occasionally the front, and now and then, no side, but a sharp corner. In the newer parts of the town, in striking contrast with its general aspect, were a number of elegant dwell- ings, with grounds tastefully laid out and adorned with shade-trees. And in various directions throughout the village, tower, steeple, and turret, saint-like, pointed aloft. At the foot of the bluff, and sweeping gracefully round the village, was the fair harbor, the pride and the page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 MARION GRAHAM; glory of Brentford. The view on every side was as charming as it was peculiar,--the very jumble and oddity heightening the picturesque effect. Descending this bluff, Maurice threaded his way along the precipitous banks of the harbor, and through the lumbered ship-yard, whence has been launched many a "young bride of the sea; " While "lowly on the breast she loves Sinks down her virgin prow." Then he carefully piclked his steps among the ragged rocks, and over queer cross-ways, and curious by-paths, till he found himself on a still higher eminence. The sharp angles, rough edges, and incongruous features of the town were mellowed in the distance, giving to the landscape in that direction a softened and pleasing as- pect. Towards the east, lay stretched out before hin the long, white- narrow beach, which, in musing mood, and sometimes in the deep twilight with a feeling akin to awe, he had so often trodden from one end to the other. The glistening, crested waves bowed to him a pensive adieu, while the faithful breezes bore onward to his ear the melancholy farewell of the sea. Long he gazed "at the steel-blue rim of the ocean, ' Lying silent and sad in the afternoon shadows and sunshine." Retracing his steps, and passing through a street that ran along the shore, with here and there a fish-fence, denoting the occupation of a part of the inhabitants, he directed his course towards Fort Lawsel, famed in the history of our two wars with England. Instead of en- tering the gate which would have led him within the OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 157 fortress, he ascended the solid embankment. Beneath were the dilapidated, dismal barracks, and above them stood the small house erected for the commander. Of late years the fort had been manned by a solitary woman. Heavy pieces of ancient ordnance, whose iron throats had once hurled thundering defiance at the foe, now lay on the ground rusting in a glorious inactivity. As Maurice slowly trod this noted esplanade, his eye took in a wide and beautiful panorama. Below him rolled the deep blue waters of the bay, perpetually lav- ing the foot of these ruins, the mournful surges cease- lessly dashing against the steep bluff, and washing over the jagged, sharp-pointed rocks. A light-house, on a, tongue of land running out into the bay, was a' striking addition to the rich landscape. Indeed a number of light-houses dotted the distant coast, and gave life and beauty to the scene, especially when softly gleaming out upon the deepening twilight of a summer's eve. The placid bosom of the harbor was studded with glis- tening tiny craft, while on the outer horizon, tall ships, under full sail, swept gracefully by into the open sea. Beyond Brentford light-house, fair islets sat upon the water like sea-birds warming themselves in the golden sunlight. Among these was Tac Island, renowned in modern 'times for its chowder-parties, as it was in days of yore for its connection with celebrated events. During the last war a merchant vessel passed between this island and the fort, pursued by a long-boat from an English gun-ship. Running a short distance up the coast, she put in to the opposite shore, the crew barely escaping before the enemy reached and fired the ill-fated vessel. As Maurice gazed, the spirits of the past seemed. page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 ; MARION GRARAM; phantom-like, to gather round him. For it was a spot rich in historic and traditional interest. On a certain Sunday morning in 1812, the good frigate Constitution, being hotly chased by a- British man-of-war, came flying into Brentford harbor, where, in the arms of Fort Lawsel and under cover of her guns, she proudly turned to give warm welcome to her pur- suers. The news that the enemy was entering the port ran as on electric wires. Religious servicesI in the old' meeting-houses were brought to a speedy close, while the different congregations rushed in a body towards the scene of anticipated action. And soon the shores of the bay and the adjacent hill-tops were covered with eager spectators. From this port also was seen the unequal contest be- tween the gallant Lawrence of the Chesapeake, and the Commander of the Shannon, whose challenge the for- mer, unhappily for his country, felt himself bound to accept in vindication of the honor of the American flag. From the position of Brentford, it was greatly exposed in those perilous times. The ships of the enemy were so near,-that on a clear day the faces of those on board could easily be distinguished. For mere sport, they would sometimes pretend that they were about enter- ing the harbor, or setting fire to ,the town. And often at midnight, the cry that the enemy were landing at Gatnebar would suddenly rouse the slumbering inhab- itants. All these reminiscences, with which Maurice had of late become familiar, crowded upon him in that last stroll. Here in Brentford too, according to legendary and poetic lore, took place that notable visitation by the women of the town upon the " hord-horted "n Lyford 159 ORn, IGHER THAN HAPPINESS. Rosing, handing down his memory in the annals of an inglorious fame. And not far distant was the scene of the good par- son Avery's death-prayer. As Maurice recalled the le- gend, he repeated to himself a few stanzas from the lyrical version. "When the reaper's task was ended, and the summer wearing late, Parson Avery sailed from Newhury with his wife and children eight, Dropping down the river-harbor in the shallop Watch and Wait. , There was wailing in the shallop, woman's wail and man's despair, A crash of breaking timbers on the rocks so sharp and bare, And throulgh it all the murmur of father Avery's prayer. ,From the struggle in the darkness with the wild waves and the blast, On a rock where every billow broke above him as it passed, Alone of all his household the man of God was cast. "And still the fishers out-bound, or scudding from the squall, With grave and reverent faces the ancient tale recall, When tiey see the white waves breaking on the rock of Avery's fall." At length descending the fort, Maurice bent his steps towards the lower part of the town. After a time he made a sudden turn, and, climbing a steep hill, stood within the old burying-ground. Here, slackening his pace, he silently picked his way among numerous mounds and undecipherable, moss-covered head-stones, till he reached the summit. - On the right, the silver waters of Brentford harbor rippled peacefully at his feet, their gentle wavelets flow- ing softly into many a little cove, and lovingly kissing its pebbly shores. In the distance he caught gleams of the ocean's blue disk, while at his left an arm of the sea stretched itself out, opening, inland, another harbor, page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 MARION GRAHAM; once whitened with the commerce of the Indies. Within the sweep of his vision rose the dismantled Fort Lawsel which he had just left, the bright summer sun shining full upon the picturesque ruins. Below the hill, old-fashioned tenements were scattered along the wind- ing road, while further back, the dwellings lay compacted together like a city. After feasting his eyes with the surrounding view, Maurice turned towards the white marble monument beside him, erected as a memorial of more than three scores of seamen who had perished in a single gale. And he thought with compassion of those mothers and daughters and wtives who, during that sad night, listened with gloomy presagings to the terrific blasts. Presag- ings, alas, too true! For over many a loved and lost one, buried suddenly beneath the dashing billows, those howling winds had knelled out a dismal dirge. As the eye of Maurice ranged among the dwellings of the living, and the old, crumbling mansions of the dead;-- as it rested on the gleaming waters of the har- bor, and then stretched away towards the unbounded, restless sea, what'images of the past and the present, of life and death, of time and eternity, rushed upon his mind! There was a tumult of thought and feeling, which the changing shadows upon his countenance but faintly pictured forth. And many a painful questioning oppressed him, both as to the gloomy -Here, and the vast, dim, gloomier Hereafter. Long he gazed, for it was his last visit to a favorite haunt, and he was loth to tear himself away. At length, however, he descended the hill, and through cross-roads made his way to the tenement of his aged friend. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 161 "I have been into the old burying-ground, Elsie," said he, for with her he had laid aside much of his wonted reserve, and besides he liked to draw her out. "It's a sightly spot, Mr. Vinton, though I han't been there for many a year." ," This would be a glorious world were it not for sin; don't you think so?" "For what, did you say?" "For sin, Elsie." ," True for ye. It's sin that spiles it all." "( How can you explain it that God, whom you wor- ship as infinitely good, should have permitted such a terrible curse to pollute anrd deface our earth?" "Can't splain it, nor understan' it nuther; but then it's so." "Does it ever make you doubt whether after all God is so very good?" Opening wide her small eyes, she repeated as if she could not quite comprehend him, - "Doubt?- - doubt? - what does ye mane?" The repetition of the question served only to increase her bewilderment. "Does ye mane to ask if I iver has hard thoughts o' God 'cause why the Debbil 'suaded man to be wicked?" "Something like that," replied he, unable to repress a smile at seeing how his poisoned missiles, even as he had expected, or he would not have tempted her, glided harmlessly past that simple-minded saint. "Ah, sir! I'se bad nuff, but I hopes I'se not a blas- phemus, like that ar'. No, indeed! I couldn't no-how have sich a thought -not, sartin, while that ar' verse was a ringin' in my heart, ' God so loved the warld, that page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 MAORTON GRAHAMtl; lie gi'n his only 'gotten Son, that whos'ever b'lieveth on him, should not perish, but have lastin' life.' Ah! Mr. Vinton, that ar' was. love --' his only 'gotten Son ;'" and the tears rolled down her cheeks. "I can't praise him nuff, noways. But, as the blessit hymn-book says, When this poor lispin', stammerin' tongue Lies silent in the grave; Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing thy power to save.' " And with clasped hands, she lifted up her eyes, her countenance shining with the joy of heaven. In a few minutes she continued, - 1"Soon these old bones will lie in that ar' sightly spot where ye'se been." "And is not that a gloomy thought?" "' No, indeed! for I shall then be in the New Jerusa- lem, a praisin' my Redeemer." 1"But before you get there, the cold, dark river must be crossed." " Jordan's a frightful stream to the nat'ral man, and this old bark's got to ride over. But I'se longin' for my summons. ' Wi' Christ in the wassel, I'll smile at the storm.' And when I get on tother shore, and look out on them ar' ' sweet fields beyond the swellin' flood' that the hymn-book tells on, and when I see them dear ones that has gone ahead, and fall down on my knees afore my Saviour, ah, then, old Elsie's cup'll be brim-ful, Mr. Vinton, brimful." "Well, Elsie," said hle when he could control himself to speak, "I hope all you say will come true; and that, in another world, you will find a compensation for the sufferings of this." "'Tisn't 'pensation that I want, sartin. ' Surely good- ness and marcy has followed me all the days o' my life.' My cup has oilers. been full. But then it's a brighter day that's a comin'. I doesn't hope,- - I knows it sartin. Jist as sure as ye sits there, it'll all come true. I can't be mistaken noways, 'cause ye see, the Lord has prom- ised that all them who puts their trust in him shan't niver be disappointed. Now I does trust him with all my heart and soul. And ye don't s'pose the dear loving Lord would think for a minute of breakin' his promise to a poor critter who 'pended ivery thing on't. No, no. Ye'll see yersel how true it'll come. My black sins, ivery one on 'eml' be washed out, and I shall have on a shinin' starry robe, sich as the angels wear. Oh! but it's too much for a wicked critter like me, only he's promised it, he's promised it." "Well, Elsie," said he in a husky voice as he grasped her hard hand, "I must go, but don't forget me." "Forget ye! No, indeed! I'se truly sorry to part wid ye, Mr. Vinton. I shall ollers mind me o' yer kind- ness to the old woman; - how ye's brought me fruit and flowers almost ivery day. And 'mong all my friends, nobody afore hardly iver thought to bring me flowers; - su pose they thought rse past heedin' on 'em. No! I shan't forget ye noways, and I'll pray for ye as long as I lives." "We shall never see each other again, Elsie." "But indeed we shall. We'll meet in the holy city, on the streets of pure gold, only ye'll hardly know me then. But we shall meet, Ise sure o' that, and I'll pray page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] tu MARION GRAHAM; for't ivery mornin' and night. Ah, Mr. Vinton, ye knows a heap, but I knows one thing best. Go through the strait gate; get into the narrow way, and ye can't miss it, nohow. Now don't fail o' heaven."' And wiping her eyes, she shook his hand again ! and again. He could make no reply, but returning her warm pressure, he left her. The next day Maurice set out for his solitary home on Lake Champlain. But the place seemed strangely changed. His favorite haunts were dispossessed of their wonted charm. Day after day dragged by, and no re- lief. Alas! his life was running to waste. Full of no- ble aspirations and generous impulses, yet, from a mis- i taken view of the great end of his being, and for the want of some worthy object of pursuit, every thing cen- tred in self. Thus, in the utter neglect of his heaven- given faculties, and under the desolating influence of a passion which he was vainly attempting to crush, life was an oppressive burden. In the terrible conflict, his indomitable will began to waver, and, with an intensity not to be conceived of by an ordinary nature, he longed for a sight of that face, - for a-touch of that hand. It was a real soul-thirst that naught but the coveted draught could quench; It was on a sultry day in the latter part of July, that hei went out to stroll on the shores of the lake. Suddenly the heavens were overcast, and a dense cloud of portentous blackness began to discharge its fearful contents. Flash after flash of lurid lightning blazed out from the cloud- rifts, illumining the lake with resplendent coruscations, while from the terrific cannonry of heaven peal followed I peal in sublime majesty. Over the waters and from one hill-top to another, they leaped with appalling rapidity, OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 165 till Maurice was almost blinded by the constant sheets of flame, and deafened with the thunder's ceaseless re- verberations.- And yet all that was passing around him was well-nigh unheeded; for, as he strode along the shore, a wilder, madder tempest raged within his breast. The mighty tide of passion had been setting in and setting in, till it rode high and fierce above all ob- stacles. Either a dam must now be erected by superhu- man strength, or it must rush on in its resistless course. "The die is cast," he exclaimed, his voice mingling with the contending elements. "Am I then a monster to be shunned, that I should make so unheard-of a sac- rifice? Must I yield every thing and gain nothing? Long enough have I fought single-handed against winds and waves. From this moment I will fling myself upon the broad sea, and, like driftwood, float whithersoever fate may bear me." And his dark brow grew suddenly calm. Marion knew when Bessie was expected, and hastened to welcome her. Having exchanged the warmest and most sisterly greetings, she took the baby in her arms, and pressed a kiss upon his rosy cheek. Was it tenderer for the name he bore? But what is it that suddenly sends the blood coursing through her veins, while the light of joy blazes in her eye? Without a thought of meeting him, she had not schooled herself into the proper degree of warmth, -no more --no less. Fortunately, no eye was upon her, but his and little Morry's; and babies tell no tales. Maurice's heart secretly exulted in her uncon- scious display of emotion, yet neither by word or look did he betray his knowledge of it. i page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 MARION GRAHAM; "Ye nebber see nudder sich a baby, I'se sartin, MassEa Maurice." "Never, Judy! but, do you know the" secret of his charms?" asked he with the utmost gravity. "I nebber hearn nuttin tall pertickelar, 'bout any charmin' secret." "I can easily enlighten you. You know there's a great deal in a name. And how could you expect any thing but wonders from him, with the name he bears?" "La sakes, now!" laughed out Judy. "I nebber thought ob dat ar'. Ye be'se drefful funny. But, dear me! 'Pears like I'se gone 'stracted wid joy to see ye all agin." "You seem very like Bessie Vinton, only a trifle stouter," said Marion as she sat beside her friend, while Judy was tossing baby in her arms. ("And you seem exactly like Marion Graham, only more so." "More so?" "Yes, more so. But never mind what I mean. You might resent it as flattery." "You are wise, then, not to make the experiment ot explaining it." "Dare now, babby," said Judy, resigning her charge, "I'se got to see dat ye don't none on ye starve, 'cause I spects ye're mighty hungry." "Take care, Judy," said Bessie, " you must make no implications." "Wat is dat - 'plecations?" "I mean you mustn't think we're quite starved, though I never presumed to compare myself with you as a cook." "But dem snowy hands o' yourn wan't made to put OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 167 l inters ebery ting. And dese yer Irish knows nuttin t'all 'bout nice cookin'. So I'll take care dat ye lives high 'while ye'se unner my 'spensation." "Not too high ,s you wouldn't make us sick." "I'll do't, ye'll see. Dare's a right way, but 'tan't eberybody dat knows it." It was not till two or three days after the arrival that Maurice called to inquire into Marion's progress, and to propose resuming their studies. When, in answer to ' his queries, she showed him the amount of her reading, he exclaimed with surprise,- , 2'i4"You have indeed made good use of your time." "'And you?? "Me! Ah, I've been a most miserable idler, follow- ing every passing whim." As she looked up to see if he was serious, he added emphatically, - 1"It is literally so, Miss Graham. You surely have no -doubt that idleness is my vocation?" "I confess I have sometimes wondered," replied she ftimidly, " how one like you could rest in so limited a sphere." I "I certainly am not guilty of resting- in it. If your favorite text-book is at hand, I think I can point out my precise condition." g "Tell me first what the wonderful book is, and then, if I can, I will tell you where it is." "' Sartor Resartus,' to be sure. Have you forgotten how many sermons you have preached to me from that book?" "I recall some of them certainly," said she smiling as she handed him the volume. Turning over the leaves he read,-- page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 M RIARION GRAHAM; "Necessity urges me on; time will not stop, neither can he, a son of time; wild passions without solace- ment, wild faculties without employment ever vex and agitate him. He, too, must enact that stern mono- drama, No OBJECT AND NO REST; must front its suc- cessive destinies, work through to its catastrophe, and deduce therefrom what moral he can.' And adding no comment, he closed the book. His tone, his manner, the words he read, - all pro- duced a sad impression. But struggling against it, she replied with earnestness, - "1I should like to continue my sermons, and through this same Carlyle. May I?" "Most assuredly." "Listen then. 'Be no longer a chaos. Produce! Were it but the pitifullest, infinitesimal fraction of a product, produce it in God's name. Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. 'Speak forth what is in thee; what God has given thee; what the devil shall not take away.' "Ah! Mr. Vinton, you see he allows no plea for in- dolence." "But to what end this mighty effort? ' You surely would not have me worship at the shrine of ambition." "Popular applause is poor recompense for toil and self-sacrifice. But there are objects worthy of the no- blest ambition." As - for instance?" asked he in an incredulous tone. "Is it not noble to minister good to our fellow-be- ings?" "But it is an ungrateful race; and he who expends his best energies for the benefit of man, will very likely re- ceive maledictions as his only recompense." ORB HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 169 "You know ' The disciple is not above his master, nor the servant above his Lord.'" After a long pause,he replied,- "But a motive, Miss Graham; a motive that will reach the heart! If you- summon me to labor, you should supply an adequate motive power." "The consciousness of doing good ---" "My cold nature does not respond to that," said he, interrupting her. "I need something that is potent to rouse me from my apathy, to furnish a new spring for thought and action; something that will bear me on- ward against the obstacles of long cherished habits; against - a multitude of opposing forces." It was in Marion's heart to reply, "The love of God will do all this," but her tongue faltered. After a pause, in a voice of deep but suppressed emotion, he contin- ued,- "Should I ever become so wonderfully heroic, shall I have your respect, - your confidence --- ?" "Miss Marion, will you step -into the kitchen a min- ute?" The thread so suddenly snapped asunder, was never again joined. The month of Bessie's visit to Glenwood was a charm- ing one to her, especially when Mr. Maynard joined the home circle. Bidding good-by to care, they gave them- selves up to all sorts of recreations, in which Marion was always included. Sometimes they would take the double covered wagon, with Billy and Jenny, the old family horses, and drive off around the country. Again they' would have regular whortleberry parties, when the ladies wore cape bonnets, and the gentlemen straw hats, each page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 MARION GRAHAM; one carrying a basket or tin pail. And most excellent things did Judy make with their spoils; short cakes that, as she said, would melt in the mouth, with deli- cious corn-cakes, and puddings of various sorts, all thickly set with the little berries. But while the external life of this pleasant circle flowed on so quietly, with two of the number the inner current was often agitated. In placing himself once more under the spell of Marion's attractions, Maurice simply yielded to the strong tide against which he had for a time so resolutely set himself. Determining to drink the cup of fascination while he could, he left it to cir- cumstances to decide his future. With the first draught, his thirst seemed appeased. He had seen her face, he had touched her hand; and his cravings were for the moment satisfied. But not long could this state endure. His was not a nature to rest in uncertainty, and his oc- casional melancholy moods again returned, causing him to appear, at times, indifferent, and again, capricious and almost unkind. These changes Marion felt keenly, and in her turn was cold and repellant. In these alter- nations the weeks passed away, till the time had ar- rived for the return of Mr. and Mrs. Maynard.' The morning they were to leave, Mr. Maynard was standing in the porch with Marion, who had run in to say good-by. "Has my sister learned the truth of what I once told her?" said he with a searching look. She. could not affect to misunderstand him, for her face instantly betrayed her knowledge of his allusion. "And is it not a heart worthy even of her acceptance? continued he, assured that he had read aright. Tears sprang to her eyes as she answered in a trem- ulous voice, - OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 171 "The heart knoweth its own bitterness." In a moment he divined that she had some secret cause for unhappiness, and gently replying, - *, There is One that tempers the wind to the shorn lamb," he kindly pressed her hand and withdrew. Will the cloud that has so long overhung her path, ever be melted into the sweet sunshine of love? IS, page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 72 MARION GRAHAM; CHAPTER XIII. "Had we never loved so kindly, Had we never loved so blindly, Never met, or never parted, A We had ne'er been broken-hearted." IT was a bright September evening. The sun was slowly sinking as if to bathe himself in the Shawmut, whose glowing bosom was tremulous at receiving him. The perfumed airwas quivering in the rich light re fleeted from his glittering tent, with itsn hgings of crimson and purple, while a soft golden haze gently floated over the wide landscape. Upon rustic seats, on little mound in the rear of Judge Graham's dwelling, scene. The wee in gazing dreamily upon the ping willow, against Whose trunk the seats had been fashioned, drooped gracefully above them, while every bough and leaf was bathed in the resplendence of departing day. Beside them idly lay their books, fo, their vision was now centred on the glorious pages of Nature. "This is an enchanting world, after all," exclaimed Marion, as if speaking to herself. A sad smile flitted over Maurice's face as he echoed,- to the fall. So you too sometimes have doubts as "And do you not then agree with me?" OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 173 "Fully, Miss Graham, in your sometimes-doubts." "But it is only on account of the evils of my own heart, that the glory of the external world is obscured." As she spoke, she noticed a gray squirrel looking down upon them from the branch of a maple; and turn- ing to point it out to her companion, she met his eyes gazing upon her with such unutterable affection, that her own dropped in an instant, while the rich blood suf- fused her face. Yet mingled with that look of love was an expression of such peculiar sadness, that a chilling shadow crept over her warm sunlight. At length, continuing the conversation, he asked,-- "Are you never painfully impressed with the fact that in this same ' enchanting world' there is such a mournful preponderance of misery over happiness?" "I can hardly assent to that. I know indeed that the trail of the serpent has swept over this lovely creation. But I can confide in the wisdom and goodnesq of our great Father, and t believe that in the end he will bring good out of the fearful evil." "Can you always thus confide in him?" said he, gaz- ing at her earnestly, while a strange light kindled in his dark eye. "And do you so confide in him as to believe that of a bramble bush he will gather grapes?" Marion felt that there was more in this question than met the ear, and with evident pain she replied, - "I do not understand you, Mr. Vinton." "Pardon me for paining you, but it was inevitable." After a moment's pause, with increasing impetuosity, he continued, - "My head is dizzy and my heart faint from ceaseless tossings on the tumultuous sea of passion. I can no longer endure uncertainty. I must know my fate. I page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] MARION GRBAHAM; must know whether I may cast my moorings into the longed-for haven, and yield myself to the intoxication of bliss; or whether I am destined to float out further and further on the open sea-- a worthless, a rejected weed. Buttempted to deceive you as I have been almost be. yond measure, I can -ot deliberately do it. Never have I opened my heart to any-human being. Yet tam driven to lay it bare before you. "Miss Graham, I have no faith in the divine Being whom you adore. I can see neither wisdom nor good- ness in his government; nay, more, if there is a God, I cannot escape the conviction that he administers the affairs of this world with careless, if not with ruthless hands. "This avowal may lead you to withdraw your friend- 8hip. If so," said he proudly, while his quivering lips belied his words, "I submit. I will not be indebted to concealment W frhe f * nnobe indebted to concealment forf the most precious boon life could ever vouchsafe me." The evident sincerity of his manner left Marion no room for doubt. But she could not reply. words died away before they reached utterance. As Mr. Vin- ton glanced upon her facen wholly forsaken by the rich color with which it had just glowed, he reproached him velf for the shock he had given her. And when, after vain effortsto control her feelings, she buried her face in her hands and wept, he exclaimed,- "I have often cursed the day of my birth. But now I do it with tenfold bitterness. for I have brought sor row on one for whom I would gladly lay down my life.", F"orbear, 1M. Viinton, I entreat; I cannot talk with you now," and she held out her hand. He wrung it as if it were a final parting.' OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 175 And Marion was alone. What an oppressive gloom had, within a brief moment, fallen darkly around her,! Until the closing day had darkened into twilight, and the twilight into deep night, she sat there, with the dew of sorrow in her eyes, and desolation within her heart. And during that long, long night, in the stillness of her chamber, how did she plead with Heaven for strength to drink that bitter cup! Nor, till the gray light of morn- ing stole upon her, did she cease her importunings in behalf of himso erring, yet so dear. Early in the morning, a letter was placed in her hands. With trembling eagerness she tore the seal, and, with lightning glance, ran over the outpouring of Maurice's soul. "Never, Miss Graham, was a secret, hoarded for years, so unwillingly confided; but I had no alternative. It was folly to allow myself to come under your spell;- it was madness, knowing as I did into what a dizzying vortex I should inevitably be drawn. Reason fore- warned me in the beginning, but I would not give heed. During these many months, reason and passion have been in ceaseless conflict; hence my variable moods. But my soul was athirst, and how could I dash aside the cup which it was so sweet to drink? Reason grew importunate in her upbraidings, urging my total dissent from you on a subject that you deem of vital importance. Passion alleged the futility of such argu- ments, and pleaded for indulgence with a force that I could not long have resisted. Driven to desperation, I tore myself frorn your presence. Alas! absence proved worse than ineffectual. I returned. I renewed the maddening draughts. I yielded to the resistless cur- I , . page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] rent which has swept me onward,-to what issue, you must decide. With the quickened vision of a lover, I , have long studied your heart. And I have often fancied I could discover there some response to my own yearn- ings. In our recent interview,I read in your eyes' more .1 fully than ever before, the long coveted secret. Pardon my presumption. It were affectation to deny that I know you love me, at least that you did at that monent. After that unconscious revelation which both trans; ported and saddened me, I could not justify myself in longer concealment, especially as you yourself had most innocently prepared the way. Never shall I forget your look of anguish when the rash words escaped me. Yet impious as they seemed to you, I can only endorse them as the tanscript of my inmost convictions. I am a de-. liberate unbeliever. But must I therefore lose the only thing I ever coveted? I have fearlessly told you the worst. On the score of morality I will not pretend that I have any thing to confess. If you have seen aught good in me, it is as really there as ever. My in- fidelity did not I trust spring, as often, from a corrupt heart, but from a brooding mind. If it is a melancholy philosophy, it does not at least affect my ife. Can .t YOU not, then, trust yourself with me? If any thing in . the wide world could make me a believer, it would be your appealing eyes when you talk of God. But I Will a hold out no such Jure. I should be SOrrv to undermine your faith, yet I have no ex .ct'ation tmuch I er 0 dear sake I could wish it, that I shall ever be a Chris, 1 Uan. If you accept me as your dearest friend, it must . ; 'eas am. But cannot you do this? Marion, you know nothing of the intensity of the )assion you -have awakened.- It has grown with my =s^-H^^^!t ORi HlirrlrE JAxlN JarrJLinc. x, *u growth. I made no advances; I sought no return. Yet unobservant as I seemed, I did not fail to read your interest in another. What this cost me, it is not neces- sary to say. That suffering has long since past. I am vain enough to believe that your love for me has struck deeper, and taken firmer hold of the foundations of your being; that if you will only yield me the right, I can win from you what will satisfy even my wild crav- ings, I dare assert that every pulse in your heart is at this moment pleading my cause. I entreat you, do not sacrifice me) do not sacrifice yourself, to a mistaken sense of duty. I claim you as my own. I cannot resign you. And it shall be a charming world to me too, with your love to gild every object. The waters so long dammed up have now forced a channel, and they rush through it with uncontrollable impetuosity. I can suffer I can be, any thing in the wide world for your sake; any thing but- a disciple of the Gali- lean. In him I am unable to believe. But will you therefore spurn the illimitable wealth of an honest heart? You are above the weakness of prejudice. I conjure you then to be true to yourself. I am worn with excitement, and cannot long bear suspense. From your own lips this evening I will learn my fate. MAURICE' VINTON." Never had Marion known wretchedness like that oc- casioned by this outhurst of feeling. The intensity of Mr. Vinton's emotions, all concentrated on herself; his lofty intellect, his sensibility, his manliness, his refine- ment, and other blended traits realized her girlhood's ideal. But he lacked the pearl of great price, and with- 8* page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178. / MARION 0RAHAM; out this, of what value to her could be all else? - A glo- rious setting, but no enshrined gem! Yet must she refuse that for which she had so yearned? Must she give him up as an outcast forever? Might he not be won to her faith by his love for her? Kneeling, she poured out the anguish of her heart, but hardly dared to pray for light, lest it should lead her into misery. Then she opened her Bible, and read of those who stand " before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands." And when she came to the answer of the elder, "These are they which came out of great tribula- tion, and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb," she clasped her hands, pray- ing, - "If a life of sorrow is necessary to fit me for the con- flict with sin, strengthen me to endure it, O Lord! Let me but grow in holiness, and thus be prepared for heaven, and I will give up every dream of earthly bliss." Then she thought sorrowfully, "Alas! I dare not pledge myself to an unbeliever. I must still these wild yearn- ings, and prepare Maurice for my resolve." Writing over a page, she tore it ; and so she continued to write, tearing as fast as she wrote, until, feeling that the attempt to suit herself was useless, she sent the fol- lowing, - "Come, if you think best, but not to claim me. I have consecrated myself to that Jesus of Nazareth whom you reject. You must not urge me to what would be a denial of my faith. I dare not trust myself in your hands. Your influence over me is already too great. Alas! you have read me truly. Love has struck deep, -t179 *0-, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS.79 and every fibre of my heart protests against a determi- nda more fcruel to m e than to you, for I am a woman. Bu!t is it true, then, that you can see no beauty in Christ? Can nothing win you to him? Onmy knees, I entreat you to study the Scriptures with prayer. Lay aside entreatlse. Baounish me from your thoughts, j* MARION GRAUAM 7 A Mari ons father wasouto f town , suhe was roli uve from appearing at the tea-table. On a lounge in her boudoir she sat, her head bowed like a broken fower. How often she listened for his oming! And he to come this once ' and then no more forever 4 ing at her feet. s^A M arion!11" into his ey es. C lasping her c old hand in his, he mur- !I mured,-- - do not love I4 Never, till your own lips utter that you ame, wh I resign y0"^ he proft. " ted staggles bad A sleepless nighthed gle s ,had I: almost exhausted her. Her purpose remained good,but the power of resistance ws fast ebbg away. At l ebngthahe atsthe fedace. Its pale ands-eaing lf , madesuch an irresistible appeal, that,o . beside her and warmly pressing her hand within his fsoul. coeIet is needless cruelty, dear aon, foyou to thin f o n a a ' a tp tedorss page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 MARION GRAHAM; of sacrificing us both to a mere prejudice. I certainly am not the monster that such a denial of your own in- clinations would imply. By every thing that is sacred in your eyes, your happiness shall be dearer to me than life. And you shall never be pained by the utterance of my sentiments. You tremble. Your whole being is agitated with the contest. Our hearts have irrepressible mutual yearnings. The strong current will not set back at your- bidding. These divided waters of affection must inevitably flow together. Say only one word. Will you not trust the unerring instincts of your heart, and open its flood-gates to the bliss which is pleading outside, like an importuning beggar?" Is it strange that his thrilling tone, that his sweet' wooing, should lull the conflicting voices-in her soul?- Is it strange that, worn with her struggle, and long- ing to drink of the sparkling cup held to her lips,- she should lift her drooping lids, and suffer her impetu- ous lover to read in her truthful eyes, "I will?" In the sudden, ecstatic outgushing of heart to heart that followed, words were not needed. For two hours, every moment of which was laden with an untold weight of bliss, Marion gave herself up to the delirious dream of love. For every such moment, in the long hours of that sol- emn nfight, she paid the bitter penalty of a double weight of remorse and misery. Was her Lord never to be named between- them? Had she pledged herself to a rejector of her dear Redeemer? - and could she pray for a blessing on their union? Had she given her soul into the keeping of one who would have no cheering word to whisper to her in the deep waters of affliction, or on the bosom of death? Her conscience was stern !B OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 181 in its upbraidings, while a voice in her heart whis- pered, "And wilt thou also go away? It was a long and sharp conflict, but she rose from it a victor. She felt that her only safety was in follow- ing duty. She "could do without happiness, and," per- haps, " instead thereof, find blessedness." The recollec- tion of the time, when together they had read these words, sent a pang to her heart; yet through her tears she looked up to heaven. Awaking after but an hours slumber, she set herself to her task. It was hard to undo what had been so sweet in the doing;-- to untwine the arms which had wound so protectingly around her, and go on her way alone-. It was hard,- -but she did not hesitate. "M. VINTON,-I need say nothing of love, for you have sounded some of its depths. But, by a voice which I cannot silence, I am impelled to speak once more of duty. I have been very weak, and done a great wrong. Yet I trust I am forgiven. You must allow me to with- draw from our tacit contract, and, with the utmost kind- ness, to assure you that henceforth we can be to each other only as ordinary friends. Having sent her letter, she tried to compose herself for the interview which she knew must shortly ensue. As the evening shadows began to lengthen, her trial came. Mr. Vinton saw in a moment that he had lost his van- tage ground. Yet he spared neither argument nor eloquence to dissuade her from her resolve. But she was safe under the covenant wings, and he could not page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] reach her. As the conviction that his plea was hopeless fastened itself upon him, his countenance assumed such a settled melancholy,that she could scarcely control her emotions. "Marion!" how his unnatural voice startled her! "in two days, I shall sail for Europe. Farewell!" But in saying this he made no motion towards her. "Do you leave me in displeasure?" asked she, fixing her swimming eyes upon him, and, at the same time, extending her hand. "You have killed me, Marion, but I forgive your cruel mistake." Then, clasping her hand in both his, he once more pronounced "That word, that fatal word, in which, howe'er We promise, hope, believe, there breathes despair." It was with the greatest difficulty that Marion had retained her self-command throughout this trying inter- view. As she stood within the heavy folds of the cur- tain and watched his retreating form, there was a sudden reaction. Maurice seemed to her to embody every thing that was noble; and he surely must have belied himself. At any rate, he certainly could be won to the truth. And who had required her to interpose such barriers in his path? There was yet time to re- voke the sentence; and oh! how sweet it would: be to rest her aching head on that true heart! She stepped out into the quiet night. He was not yet beyond her reach. Tremblingly she essayed to call his name, but her voice died out in silence. She watched for the last glimpse, and then retired to her own chamber. She had been reading Lalla Rookh; and the book OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 100 lay open where, two days before, she had left it. Her eye was arrested by Hinda's prayer for Hafed, and, with deep emotion, she perused the closing lines. "Think, think what victory to win One radiant soul like his from sin, One wandering star of virtue back To its own native heavenward track. Let him but live, and both are thine, Together thine, - for, blest oreurst, Living or dead, his doom is mine, And if he perish, both are lost." Abruptly shutting the book, she struggled against the fierce temptation which this passionate plea had sug- gested. She removed to the window, and gazed at the stars shining tranquilly down through heaven's serene depths. She wondered if they ever looked upon suffer- ing so keen as hers. Then a voice from those infinite depths came floating through the air. "He hath trodden the wine-press alone, and of the people, there was none with him." ' Dear Saviour," she exclaimed, "why should I shrink from following in the dreary path which thy footsteps trod; from wearing the thorns which pressed thy bleed- ing' temples? Only let me cling to thee; only pity my weakness, and suffer me not to be tempted above what I am able to bear." The morning came as it always comes, be the dread night never so long. As Marion looked out upon the leaden sky, a cold whisper seemed to steal upon her, "Farewell, happiness! Come, stern duty!" And qui- etly, but with a face changed as if years had passed over it, she entered upon her usual routine. She had laid page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] happiness on the altar, but would she reach the higher good? And Maurice, without heavenly support!- alas! could he endure the burden laid upon him? As he walked rapidly down the street, ' "Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold and relentless, Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight and woe of his errand; "the dreams that' had faded, and all the hopes that had vanished, All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion, Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful faces." ORB HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 185 CHAPTER XIV. "O Father! draw to thee My lost affections back! - the dreaming eyes Clear from their mist- sustain the heart that dies, Give the warm soul once more its pinions free." IT was one of those- lovely days which autumn has in her gift. A dreamy haze hung like a curtain over the sky, and in the dim distance lay the sleeping hills, like purple islands of the sea. Through the softly- tinted drapery of the trees, the rich light fell in gentle wavelets upon Marion's book, as she sat beneath their spreading branches. But what was the sweet sunshine, or the varied beauty of the landscape, to her withered heart? It was a week after the departure of Maurice, but in the calendar of sorrow, months had swept by since their last interview. She had not, from that first hour of temp- tation, swerved from her high resolve. Yet the passing through that season of terrible trial had taxed her pow- ers to the utmost. When the intense excitement had subsided, there came a fearful reaction almost paralyz- ing in its influence. Her father had not yet returned; and she was thus left to entire solitude, that worst pre- scription for the sorrowing. The severe tension of her nerves was relaxed, and day after day she sat brooding over her griefs, while the hot, unshed tears lay burning in her heart. page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 MARION GRAHAM; The delicious languor of this autumnal day had somewhat softened her gloom, and for the first time during the week she had been reading. The book in her hand was the translation of Schiller's . Wallen- stein," a drama associated with some of the brightest moments of her life. In a half audible tone she read Thekla's song. ," The cloud doth gather, the greenwood roar, The damsel paces along the shore; The billows they tumble with might, with might; And she flings out her voice to the darksome night; Her bosom is swelling with sorrow; The world it is empty, the heart will die, There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky; Thou Holy One, call thy child away! I've lived and loved, and that was to-day-- Make ready my grave clothes to-morrow." These pathetic words dissolved the cloud, and she wept, -not passionate, but gentle drops of( grief.- Suddenly a footstep was heard, and her father stood before her. Marion sprang to her feet, and throwing her arms around his neck, she sobbed out,-- "Love me, dear father!" Gently releasing her, he looked into her wan, tearful face. Then, with a tenderness and warmth which had never before found expression, he kissed her forehead, and, pressing her to his heart, softly inquired, - "How, then, did you learn the sad tidings?" With her thoughts centred in one object, Marion looked into his face, crying out in the most agonizing tones, - "Dead - is he dead?" In nowise comprehending her question, Judge Gra- OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 8 ham began to fear that her reason had given way, but simply replying,-- " No, my daughter," he led her into the house. Go- ing into the library, he placed her on the sofa, and seated himself beside her. She gazed at the placid face of her mother, looking down upon them from the wall, and exclaiming, - " she buried her face "Oh that my moth er w ere she buried her face in her hands. Her father drew her closer to himself. "I did not think this calamity would affect you so much, Marion. Your father is still left to you . Tell me all, dear father. I can bear it now, said she, shuddering with the certainty that it related to Maurice. "But you have heard something?" said he, being confirmed in his conclusion that the news had already reached her. "Nothing, nothing; do not keep me longer in sus- pense." I In the gentlest tones, he replied,- In a fervent tone she uttered,-- "Thank God it is nothing worse. i If her father father had been surprised that she was so deeply affected, as he supposed,by the tidings of his reverses, he was still more so by her actual reception of them. But do you realize that you must leave your pleas- ing at her searchingly. page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 MARION GRAHAM ; "With your love, dear father, I can welcome pov- erty." "Dear Marion you must have tasted some bitter sor- row, or you could not be so insensible to this severe trial. I have been too reserved with you, and have not known how to win your confidence. But will you not open your heart to your father?" "If I can," she replied, yet hesitdting how to do it. "Does it concern our friend, Mr. Vinton?" r This question occasioned a fresh burst of grief, but soon controlling herself, with frequent interruptions, she told him her story. He listened with anxious interest, and when she had finished, said to her in a broken voice, - "You are the true child of your mother. You have done nobly. May God sustain and comfort you, my poor Marion!" Such words from him conveyed unspeakable conso- lation, and she looked her thanks through her tears. It was a touching scene, - that sorrowing daughter with her young head pillowed for the first time in her life, on the bosom of her father, his silvered locks, as he bent over her, mingling with her rich tresses. The ice between them had been suddenly broken up, and Marion felt that she still had something to live for. When they separated that night, it was with a feel- ing of relief on the part of each. It was late before Marion fell asleep, yet her thoughts were not of herself, but of her father's trials, so hard to be borne at his age. For his sake she would suppress her grief, and do her best to scatter sunshine over his declining years. The air of chastened cheerfulness which she wore in the morning, greatly moved her father, who had made the 189 OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 189 same effort on her account. In their mutual affection and syrnpatly, it would be difcult to tell which showed the most consideration for the other. He had always treated her with great kindness, but his manner was now marked by a tender reverence, and a delicate, almost a lover's fondness, which she repaid with the warmest filial devotion. It was delightful to see them as they walked together over-the old grounds, while he told her of his early life, and of her young mother who faded in the morning of her days. He also gave her information as to his busi- ness matters, telling her that he ^ saw no way but to sell his house and lands, and, with the income which these sales would furnish, to retire to a cottage which he owned about half a mile distant. To every word which O1 from his lips concerning himself and her mnother, Marion listened with the deepest interest, entering warmly into all his plans for the future, and striving by her playfulness to lighten his burdens. Owing to his sudden and great losses, he had separated from his busi- ness partner, and was obliged to spend much time in arranging affairs. One day he called together the servants of the house- hold, and having informed them frankly of the change in his circumstances, he told them that in a week they would be at'liberty to seek other places." Polly, the old housekeeper, fingered after the others had withdrawn, and coming up to Mr. Graham, she dropped a curtsy, saying,- "I beg pardon, yer honor, but my mind is sot never to leave you." "But I can no longer afford to pay yofu as you de; serve. We must get an ordinary servant on low wages. page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 MARION GRAHAM; "What odds is the wages to me?" said she, wiping her eyes. "Haven't I good $1200, what all came from yer honor, stored up in the bank?" ;' But, Polly --" "TiYer honor musn't bid me leave you, for I g'in my word to yer blessed lady on her dying bed, that I would bide wid ye while yer lived. And what can you say agin it, when I've got more than enough to last me, and to bury me decently when I'm dead and gone?" 1"You shall have your own way, my faithful Polly," said Judge Graham with emotion, warmly grasping her hand. As the evenings were chilly, a fire was kindled on the library hearth, for there Marion knew her father would prefer to sit. Lighting the wax candles upon the mantel-piece, and dropping the heavy damask cur- tains, she wheeled his arm-chair into the corner, with a low seat for herself beside it. That was a season of freer communion than they had yet enjoyed,- a season that would never be forgotten. He talked of his love for her angel-mother, of her dying moments, and of his subsequent grief and seclusion. Then with a skilful hand he gently probed her wounds, that he might be sure there was nothing that would secretly rankle. He could see that she felt this in every fibre of her being, yet she bore it bravely, notwithstand- ing. "This has been a charming evening," said he at its close, " though I have neglected to speak of some busi- ness matters that were on my mind. To-morrow, how- ever, I shall try to initiate you. In the mean time, be assured that, in spite of my reserve which I now see has placed barriers between us, you have always been a great comfort to me." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 191 Before they separated, he prayed with her. And what intercedings were those that fell from his lips- intercedings which never died out of Marion's heart! The good-night parting that followed was peculiarly tender, Mr. Graham calling her a second time to fold p her in his arms, while Marion looked up in his face with the most grateful affection. And yet again she returned to ask forgiveness for not having been a more considerate and dutiful daughter. "No father could desire a better daughter. But for- give me, dear Marion, that I have not given you more of a father's sympathy." f"How ungrateful I was," mused Marion, as she sat in her chamber, "to forget my precious father in my own sorrow! But I did not know that I could be of consequence to him; I never dreamed of the strength of his affection. There were many things I wanted to talk about to-night; but I must try to rest that I may i be the better able to minister to his comfort." Yes, Marion! rest this night if thou canst, rejoicing in the assurance of a father's love. To-morrow,- who knows what new burden may be laid upon thee? She sought her pillow, but sleep had fled. Restlessly she tossed, listening for the clock to name the laggard hours as they trod tardily by. More than once she was strongly tempted to go to her father, but she resisted the thought as weakness. Yet she felt chilled and oppressed, as by the falling of a cold shadow around her. "As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies, Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking Mimosa, So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil, Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it." page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 i MARION GRAHAM; "The room is strangely close," said -Marion. "I must have air." And wrapping herself in a dressing-gown, she raised a window and sat down by it. Only a few stars glit- tered on the dark brow of night, and their light was cold and distant. The wind moaned dismally through the old elms, and the lightning-rod creaked gloomily against the walls of the house. With an indescribable oppres- sion she gazed earnestly into the face of the sky, and wondered if, after all, heaven was so very far away. "How many," she thought, " are this moment gliding over the mysterious river! And how many, having crossed it, are now standing on those wildly longed-for, yet strangely dreaded shores, waiting for those who are to follow! But how shall we know our friends in the spirit-land? Do, they retain their familiar form and look? And oh! do they love there still?' But this dreadful oppression! Is there a new sorrow in store for me? Alas! how could I bear- it?" As this thought passed through her mind, a quick step -resounded in the long hall. She sprang to the door. There stood Polly, white as a ghost, with a light in her hand. She needed no more, but rush- ing past the old housekeeper, she flew down the broad, echoing stairs directly into the library, unheed- ing Polly's repeated call, "Wait, wait, Miss Marion; it will kill you." There sat her dear father, now tenfold dearer than ever. A letter "To my precious daughter," lay unfin- ished before him. The pen was still in his hand, but alas! it was the rigid fingers of death that held it there. Upon his left hand,his silvered head was gently bowed; and thus, without groan or struggle, he had departed OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 193 into those unknown regions towards which Marion's thoughts had been so wistfully travelling. Throwing herself at his feet, in tones that might seemingly have pierced the ear of death, Marion called ^upon him again and again. But no answer came. Alas! it was but senseless clay to which she appealed. The loved inhabitant of that now tenantless mansion had become a dweller in the spirit-land. When Polly had summoned the other servants, and again entered the room, Marion was lying at her father's feet, wellnigh as pale and cold and insensible as he. Of what followed, she knew nothing. But when the cold, gray morning aroused her, she found herself in a little bedroom adjoining her father's. The awaking after some fearful calamity,--who can forget it?-at first the vague, benumbing sense of some great calamity, and then the sudden flash of reality upon the shrinking mind! Maxion hid her face in the pillow as if she could thus shut out the dreaded fact; but her consciousness grew more and more vivid. At length she arose, and, with a trembling hand, opened the door. There was that dreaded sight which she knew would meet her;- a snowy sheet carefully drawn out, beneath which were distinctly marked the rigid outlines of that cold form,in all its fearful length. For a moment, terror-struck, she was unable to proceed. But after a brief indecision ishe went to the bed, and turning back the sheet, sh- laid her face to that icy cheek, while her tears dropped fast upon it. !"Dear, dear father!" she thought, " yesterday he was not thus unmoved by my sorrow." At this moment Polly appeared, to whom Marion said in a low but decided voice, - 9 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 MARION GRAHAM; "I cannot have this so. My father must not lie thus." Mrs. Milman, a kind-hearted neighbor, who had been with Polly, now entered, and to them Marion gave par- ticular directions, requesting to be called when they were complied with. "We must have it all to suit her, poor cretur, for she's a deal of trouble to carry on her young shoulders," said Polly, after she had left the room. When, some time after, the housekeeper went to her chamber, she was not there. Going down stairs she met Mrs. Milman, who exclaimed,-- "I never saw the like of Miss Graham. Why, she's been gathering flowers ever since she left us." "They're for her father, Pll be bound, and it's just her way." Reverently Marion entered the library, and, setting down her basket, full and fragrant, carefully shut the door. Kneeling beside the couch, she threw back the silken covering, which fell in soft folds over that beloved form. He was robed in a suit which she had often seen upon him, and lay a little on one side as was his wont when he slept. The sweet sunlight, chastened by the crimson drapery of the room, softened the grim ghastli- ness of death, while the serenity of heaven shone on his placid countenance. She scattered flowers around him, and then, taking from her bosom his unfinished and still unread letter, she knelt beside him to peruse it. He began it with a tender gush of affection, speaking warmly of the noble manner in which she had borne her peculiar and repeated trials, and of his desire and purpose to become more to her as a father than he had yet been. After thus pouring out his heart, he went on to say,-- ' r OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 195 "I could write all night in this strain, but I must not. Should I be suddenly removed, it would be of great im- portance that you should clearly understand my busi- ness matters. And as we know, not what a day may bring forth, I wish to say a few things before I sleep. I am thankful to be indebted to' no one. And from the sales which we have determined upon, a small but suffi- cient income will be realized. The furniture of this house, and the cottage, I trust you may always retain. There is one thing I feel constrained to say, but Here death took the pen, and what her father had wished her to know, was now buried with him in the grave. Relentless foe!--thus to interpose between father and child! But he could not rob her of those precious expressions of affection which had so freely flowed out. And yet they gave her a keener sense of loss. As wave after wave rolled over her, she bowed her head in silent entreaty for strength to drink of the cup so variously embittered. It is not strangeithat she thought of Mau- rice, with deep yearning for his love and sympathy. Had she not erred in driving from her so true a friend? And where was he now? Who could tell what might be the consequences of her rash refusal? She strove to recall her thoughts, to tame her useless regrets, to be quiet and trusting. A gentle knock was heard at the door, and opening it, Mr. Morton, her venerable minister, stood before her. Laying aside his hat and cane, he stood beside the dead. After gazing in silence for a few minutes, he said, "Let us pray!" Kneeling with her there, his hand upon her head, he sought for God's blessing upon her, as if he w- page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 MARTON GRAHAM; really expected to obtain what he asked. And surely he was heard, for even while he prayed, white wings were lovingly folded over that throbbing bosom. Next came Mr. Vinton. - The old gentleman shook her hand warmly, saying,- "We were expecting you in to comfort us after our boy left. I never thought of coming here on such an errand. Well, we're short-sighted creatures. God for- give us, but this is a sorry world. And yet his honor looks so like life as he lies there, that I can't make out that he's really dead. He is better off though, there can be no doubt of that." The sight of Mr. Vinton recalled associations of happy days gone never to return, and Marion could: not re- strain her grief. And the kind-hearted man, with all his efforts at self-control, gave way and wept with her. At length night gently dropped her curtains over this house of mourning, and Marion went to her-lonely room. She tried to think of the peace of heaven, but the sor- rows of earth fettered her wings. She believed that she had with her, in her sore trials, a Father of infinite com- passion, yet she felt friendless and forsaken. As she wearily tossed on her pillow, sad images floated through her mind till at length, overpowered, she sank into a heavy slumber. In her extreme exhaustion she slept for hours, but it was not that repose which refreshes. And when she awoke, and the sense of her utter desola- tion rushed upon her, she could only cry out in her agony for the help of heaven. ^ : .OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 197 CHAPTER XV. "Yet the soul hath its cross and its passion, Its moments of uttermost woe, When the thought-Thoufor us hast suffered, Is all the repose it can know." THE solemn words, "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust," had been pronounced. Leaning on the arm of the venerable Mr. Morton, Marion had heard the clods fall upon the coffin, and, in the long, slow proces- sion, had walked back to her solitary home. She en- tered her room as one paralyzed, and throwing aside her mourning hat and veil, she read again the dying letter of her father, dwelling painfully on the last unfinished sentence. "I must not weep," said she to herself. "I must not even think. It only remains for me to act." And, with unnatural calmness, she began malking her plans for the future. "A few days longer," she thought, "I will remain in the home of my childhood, arranging matters of busi- ness, and gathering up reminiscences to bear away. And I will strive to honor my father's memory." At that word-father--the thought of her double orphanage stole over her. A choking sensation broke in upon her seeming quietude, and, leaning her head against the window, the tide of grief could no longer be stayed. How did that wild torrent sweep before it all page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 MARION GRAHAM; her deliberate conclusions, her sternest resolves! Unable to bear her overwhelming sense of desolateness, she stretched forth her hands imploringly, while her pale lips murmured, - "; Maurice!ceurice! come back to me!" But no response! To clasp her to his bosom, he would have sacrificed all the treasures of earth. But alas! the wide sea rolls between them, and in sad fancy she hears its billows break upon the shore, forever shriek- ing that despairing word, "Nevermore! nevermore!" Woe for the human heart, were there no rests written for its long wail of agony! But the fiercest storm that ever raged upon the maddest sea, must sooner or later be followed by a lull. And in the still depths of night, her weary spirit paused -in such a lull. She awoke calmer for the storm that had wellnigh prostrated her. She repented of her weakness, and asked strength of Heaven. Nor was it denied her. With heroic endurance and sweet submission, she set herself about her task, and faltered not in her purpose. Some days after this, as she sat in her chamber one afternoon, Polly looked in, saying,- "Miss Marion, Mr. Perley would like to see you." "Tell him I will be down directly." Mr. Perley had long been Judge Graham's partner in a large manufacturing establishment at Haley, about fifty miles from Glenwood. As the latter had great confi- dence in his associate's business talents, he had left the management of affairs chiefly in his hands. Marion naturally supposed he had now called on matters relat- ing to the late dissolution of partnership. She had oc- casionally seen him, and did not therefore regard him as a stranger. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 199 Concerning his personnel,- he was what many would call a handsome man;-that is, his complexion was fair and his features regular. But his countenance was lacking in honest manliness, and there was a certain expression about the lower part of the face, difficult to define, but not quite pleasant in its effect upon her. His voice was smooth and silken, and he had that bland, 'deferential air which never fails to command attention. As Marion entered, he made a low bow, and cordially offering his hand, said in a sympathizing tone, - "Miss Graham will excuse my intruding upon the sa- credness of her sorrow. I think I can feel for you in your sudden bereavement. I have business with you, it is true," continued he, answering her inquiring looks, 6" but as I shall spend some time in town, allow me to waive that till I can win something of your confidence. In the mean time, I shall be happy to serve you in any way in my power." His voice was so subdued, and his manners so respect- ful, that, although Marion had never been prepossessed in his favor, her feelings gradually softened towards him. Exerting himself to the utmost, he at length succeeded in drawing her into conversation. "As a pleasant proof of your father's kind feelings, I will put into your hands a few of the letters I have re- ceived from him. And I hope they will remove any objection you may feel at allowing me to serve you." "Thank you, sir; Mr. Godwin attends to all my affairs, and I presume has no need of assistance. But, for my father's sake, I shall be happy to see you when- ever you may feel like calling at so solitary a place." "My time is much occupied, but whenever I can command a leisure moment, you will be sure to see me; page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 MARION GRAHAM ; which," added he, "I trust you will yet be glad to do for my own sake." The letters Mr. Perley had left, Marion found fully expressive of her father's confidence, and of his friendli- ness towards him. "I fear he thought me cold," she said to herself, while a tear trembled on her eyelids. The next time he called, she received him with cor- diality, assuring him that it was a pleasure to see one whom her father had so highly esteemed. From this time, Mr. Perley became a frequent visitor, and grad- ually, by his insinuating address, succeeded in banish- ing Marion's reserve, and in ascertaining something of her future plans. "I think I am now able to attend to the business of which you spoke at our first interview," said Marion to him one evening. "' Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' I dread to disturb the serenity of these hours. And besides, I hardly know whether I have yet succeeded in winning your confidence." "I certainly confide in you as a true friend of my fa- ther." "And as equally so of his daughter?" asked he, look- ing earnestly at her. With a slight increase of color, she replied, - "I do not doubt your friendship." "Do you doubt that I would sacrifice much for your sake?" "I trust the question is not of sacrifice." For a few minutes, he seemed absorbed in thought, and then, with a glance of sympathy, he said,- a "It was not agreeable business that brought me here, -. . OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 201 and I shrink from making it known. Soon, however, it must be laid before you." At his next call, he seemed reluctant to enter into conversation. At length, casting his eyes to the floor, he said in a low voice,- "If what I communicate is painful to you, AMiss Gra- ham, I trust you will do me the justice to believe that it is hardly less so to me. TWill you allow me with frankness, to make a few inquiries?" "Certainly, sir," she replied, agitated in spite of her- self. "Are you aware of the precise extent of your father's reverses?" "I suppose so," and she raised her head rather proudly. "Nay, Miss Graham, talke no offence, but pity me that I have assumed a task to which my heart is un- equal." "Pardon me, sir, but this suspense is trying." "May I ask what was his own view in respect to his affairs?" "He told me," she answered with effort, " that by the sale of his estate, he should realize an income sufficient to live upon." "He was not then aware," and his voice was scarcely audible, ' that-that his daughter would be left penni- less." "What do you mean, sir?" "It must have been from ignorance, for he could never have intended any, thing dishonorable. But it is hard to account for." "Your implications, Mr. Perley, distress me." And, turning deadly pale, she seemed about to faint. 9 * 7.: ,? page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 MARION GRAHAM; He brought her a glass of water from the sideboard, and having drank freely, she regained her control, and begged Mr. Perley to finish what'he had to say. "You are not in a condition to hear any thing further at present. And I find I have undertaken what I can- not accomplish. Whenever you choose to send for Mr. Godwin, he will explain the whole. After that I will see you again. Believe me, Miss Graham, I have labored to avert this issue, but in vain. If in any way: I can bring you relief, be assured I shall account it a privilege to do so." Marion's was a generous nature, and he spoke with so much earnestness, that she was moved. Turning to- wards him her swimming eyes, shefaltered forth, ' I thank you for your kind interest in an orphan." An expression she could not understand crossed his face, but as she looked again, it was gone. After he left, she sat wondering what new trial was in store for her, and at length sent a request for Mr. Godwin to call immediately. Mr. Godwin, a man of known probity and excellence, was administrator on the estate of Judge Graham. In answer to Marion's inquiries, he told her that, at the dis- solution of -his partnership, her father had assured him that the estate was unencumbered by debt, yet that a few days after his death, Mr. Perley had presented a large claim. "To what amount?" "Fifteen thousand dollars. But he expressed great regret at the necessity of doing this. He told me that Mr. Ambrose, of Farland, who failed a -few weeks since, was owing the Company forty thousa'nd dollars, and that he was unable to secure more than twenty-five OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 203 cents on a dollar. I had known before, that this was all Mr. Ambrose could pay his creditors, but I was not aware that your father was involved in his failure. Mr. Perley was obliged to advance the remaining thirty thousand dollars, in order to refund the bank, which had discounted the notes. He then came to Glenwood, not doubting that your father had sufficient resources to meet his part of the loss, and yet be left with some- thing of an income. The news of his death was a great shock, and caused him much perplexity, for he could not bear the thought of distressing you. He finally concluded to break the subject gradually, suggesting the possibility of a compromise. ' It is unaccountable to me that your father should not have learned of Mr. Ambrose's failure, and thus have foreseen his own insolvency. And yet, as he could not have remedied the matter, we have reason to be glad that he was spared so much pain. As for Mr. Perley, I must say that he has behaved very honorably in the whole matter." The rain was descending in torrents, when Mr. Perley called for another interview. Marion exerted herself to be hospitable, and as he stood a moment before the cheerful fire, she rolled up an arm-chair for him. "Thank you, Miss Graham, but I fear you consider me an unwelcome guest." - As he spoke, the housekeeper came in and placed two tall, lighted candles on the mantel-piece. Mr. Perley, who had always graciously noticed Polly, followed her to the door, saying,- "My good woman, I am sure it is Miss Graham's wish that no one should interrupt us this evening." Marion was a little annoyed at this speech, but made page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 MARION GRAHAM; no comment. If she looked for an assuming air howl ever, she was mistaken, for the moment Polly left, he relapsed into a silence which continued so long, that she felt obliged to commence the conversation she so dreaded. "Mr. Godwin informs me that you have a large claim against my father's estate." "Be assured, Miss Graham, I do not impute any wrong to him; but - the world - the trouble is to stop people's tongues." Marion looked up indignantly. "Excuse me! but such things always get exagger- ated; and I shrink from the blame that, however un- justly, will be attached to your father's memory, when it is known that he died insolvent. Do not be dis- pleased with my frankness. My only object is to bring you relief." Marion was affected by his warmth, and replied,- "I cannot doubt your interest, sir. - I had not thought of such a misconstruction, but I see it is possible. I will do every thing in my power to meet these liabilities, and I am sure I can trust to your generosity for silence." "I need not reply that your wish is sacred. But, my dear friend, as you will suffer me to call you, pressed as I am at this juncture, I cannot consent to'have you dis- tressed. I admit that I have hesitated in coming to this conclusion, but my heart will not suffer me to do other- wise." And taking a paper from his pocket-book, he held it out to her, saying, "Here is a full release from my claims." Flushed with surprise, she exclaimed,- "I thank you with all my heart for your unexpected and most liberal offer. But it would be utterly out of my power to accept it." -2 Gus: -OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 20 "Let me urge you," he said, drawing his chair nearer. "How could I sleep with the thought of your being reduced to want ever present in my mind?" "It is of no use," replied she, smiling, while she wiped a tear from her eye. "How could I sleep with the feel. ing that your just claim was not met? No, sir, in some way I shall contrive to make full payment. But your sympathy has done me good." He saw his advantage, and bending towards her, in almost a whisper he said, "You are too proud to receive a favor; are you will- ing to grant one?" "Certainly, Mr. Perley. But how can I serve you?" "Let me become your protector, Miss Graham. Give me the right to repair your losses, and to restore you to wealth and happiness." She looked inquiringly, not catching his meaning, and he slowly added,- "Become my wife." "I thank you, sir, for the honor you do me. But your proposal is only another mode of your former one. And in this, you ask what cannot be." "And why not?" said he in the most persuasive tones. "Let me beg you, at least, to take my proposal ' into consideration." "I fully appreciate your kindness; but the thing is impossible." "Impossible! Are you not your own mistress?" Annoyed by his importunity, she answered a little curtly, "My mind is fully made up." With an injured air, he replied, "I beg pardon if I have offended. I am not skilled page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 MARION GRAHAM ; in paying court to the ladies, but my purpose was hon- est, if not wise. /You refuse to accept a release from my claims; and when I propose the only thing remain- ing, you scornfully reject my hand." Fearing she had wounded his feelings, she said, - "Forgive my abruptness. You know not how I have suffered." "You have my ready forgiveness; but how shall your father's name be shielded? and if you insist on making the payment, what is to become of you?" "And can you think that a union, without affection on either side, would bring happiness?" "I have pleaded for your father's sake, and your own. Now I conjure you to listen to me for another reason. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. If duty dictates compliance with my offer, love also en- treats it." She buried her face in her hands, unable to frame a reply. From her silence, he believed she was yielding, and exclaimed with vehemence, - "I entreat you to surrender yourself to me and to happiness.' Nay, you must be persuaded," and he attempted to fold his arms around her. Flinging them aside, she sprang to her feet, her tall form dilating, and the flush of scorn upon her brow. "It is ungenerous, it is unmanly for you to take such advantage of my circumstances. No motive nor array of motives shall induce me to sell myself." "To sell yourself? - that is a harsh expression." "To plight myself to one I do not love, and for mer- cenary motives, would be nothing better. You have shown your generosity; do not, I beg of you, mar it by further pressing this subject." . OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 207 "But I love you, and I cannot give you up. Will you not relent for the sake of your father's reputation, which is in my hands?" "That I can trust- with God." To save yourself from beggary?" "Not to save myself from beggary." "Can nothing move you?" "Absolutely nothing." "Beware, proud woman, how you anger me. Long would I lhave played the tender suitor but for your haughty refusal. I have sworn you should be mine, and mine you shall be; - if " "Cease!" she interrupted, "I bid you leave me." With a laugh that froze her blood, he repeated,- "Leave you? Do you not know that you are wholly at my mercy? Are you aware that it is past mid- night?" and turning the key, he put it into his pocket. "You heard me inform your housekeeper that you wished to be alone. Did you contradict my words? No, my dear lady, you are fated to be mine." He added more gently, "I can yet forgive your scornful words, I can love you passionately;- only listen to my entreat. A ies, and I will be your willing slave " and again he ap- proached her. "No nearer, sir. Your plea is useless." "Then I will be your tyrant, for you cannot escape me," She moved not-- she quailed not; but stood there in all the majesty of a noble, though injured woman, her brow pale as death, and her eye flashing upon him the burning fire of her indignation. "I scorn your power, for my appeal is to One mightier than you." page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 MARION GRAHAM; "You play the heroine well, but you shall not thwart me." "Not one step further, sir." There was a resoluteness in her aspect before which he cowered. It was a conquest of moral, over physical strength. Moving to the side of the room, and taking hold of the bell-rope which he had not noticed,- "Leave me, or I will summon the household." The craven blood was manifest. "Pardon me, Miss Graham. In the excitement of passion, I have used improper language. I will offend no more." She coldly bowed. "If I return to the hotel at this hour, it will occasion remark. Allow me the use of a chamber to-night." Hesitating a moment, her purpose was quickly formed. *' You can occupy the first right hand room up stairs." With an obsequious bow, he retired to the chamber, where, in no measured terms, he cursed his own folly. "How stupid I have been! She is moved by kind- ness, but threats rouse the very d---l1 in her. If I had only been more wily, I verily believe I should have sub- dued her. Well, my first lesson has cost me something. I She is unlike some women I know. But, should fate be propitious, I will yet triumph." When Marion heard the door of the chamber shut, she went into the library, and turning the key, she knelt down before the picture of her mother, and in a broken voice thanking the Lord for her deliverance, she be- sought his continued help. She then stepped lightly over the back-stairs to Polly's room, whom she quickly awaked. "Dress yourself in a minute, Polly. You must go with me to Mr. Vinton'*." v: OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 209 "Why, Miss Marion, you're white as a ghost. I boded no good from that fine-spoken man; but I thought you knew your own business best." They stepped out at the kitchen door, and through the back yard. The rain had ceased, but neither moon nor stars were visible, and the heavens bent gloomily above them. When they reached the street, Marion looked behind, and, seeing a light still'in the stranger's room, hastened on rapidly. "You're all of a tremble, -Miss, and I know something is going wrong, but I won't be troubling you with ques- tions." "Thank you, Polly; I can't talk now." After what seemed an interminable time, old Judy, answering their ring, appeared in her red night-cap. Opening her eyes wide, she held up the light again and again td Marion's face. "Massy on me! I should say yer was a ghost, only for Polly's bein' wid ye." "Will you give Polly a bed, arid let me sit in'the par- lor the rest of the night?" "Sure I will, Miss, and get ye summat to freshen yer sperits." And opening the bed of coals, she quickly had a fire kindled on the hearth. "I hope Mr. and Mrs. Vinton won't be disturbed by the noise." "It's not sich as you would 'sturb 'em, let yer come when yer might, young missie. And besides, they wouldn't forgive me for not callin' "em." So she went straight to the door, and putting in her head,-- "Here's Miss Maryn arter midnight, like a raal ghosts page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 MARION GRAHAM; P'raps her father's 'peared to her. But she needs a word o' comfort, or I nebber see one as did." By the time they were ready to go into the parlor, Marion's courage had ebbed away; and when Mrs Vinton expressed her tender concern, and, in the most motherly tone, inquired if any new misfortune had befallen her, she burst into tears. What bitterness was in those tears! Outraged and obliged to flee from her house in the dead of night, -her poverty, her father's death, and the worse than death of that never-named, but never- forgotten friend, - is it strange that she felt herself sink- ing as wave after wave broke over her? Mrs. Vinton tenderly put her arm round her, and al- lowed time for her feelings to have vent, while Mr. Vinton, not knowing what else to do, fidgeted in his chair, continually taking his handkerchief from his pocket, and returning it there. When Marion had sobbed herself into quiet, she gave the outlines of her story, and never had speaker more sympathizing audi- tors. Mr. Vinton paced back and forth, with his usual elaborate attempts to make people think he didn't care any thing about it, and with his usual want of success. The moment she had finished, he eagerly exclaimed, - "My dear child, my house and hands and heart are open to you and welcome;- don't we, mother?" To which mother gave her hearty assent. "Now let her go right into Bessie's room, and mind, child, that you don't go to hurrying up early, for we don't breakfast till we're a mind to." Old Judy had brought her a little hot sangaree, which all insisted on her taking. Then Mrs. Vinton went with her to the chamber where she had so often sat with Bessie, and smoothing her pillow, and spreading the white coverlet over her, she kissed her good-night. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 2" Marion soon fell asleep, and dreamed of being again a child with Bessie; but while her playmate was always in the sunshine, a strange, veiled figure ever went before - her, casting a dark shadow over h6r path. Yet she had no power to turn aside, for there was a spell that drew her on, and so she pursued the mysterious form to the edge of a precipice, when it suddenly disappeared, and she followed, falling and falling and falling, till her own struggles awaked her, again to lose herself in dreams of shrouds and burials, of cruel foes and bitter persecutions. Yet in all these varied scenes of distress and misery, she never lost sight of a radiant face, bending over her from the heavens, - she never ceased to hear a voice saying in angelic tones, "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter." Poor Marion! disappointed and tempest-tossed, af- flicted and insulted, desolate and forsaken,- yet the protecting wings of love are over her, and not a hair of her head shall be harmed! page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 MARION GRAHAM; CHAPTER XVI. "O dove of Peace! as once in record olden, Brood o'er the surges' breast; Spread wide ' thy silvery wings and feathers golden,' Till all be hushed to rest." THE skies were darkening around Marion, but, trust- ing in infinite wisdom, she sought to meet her accumu- lating trials with fortitude. Sending a note to Mr. Godwin, she requested an interview at Mr. Vinton's, where she had been prevailed upon to spend a few days. Without entering into particulars, she told him that she must close up matters with Mr. Perley at once. He expressed his surprise, telling her that Mr. Perley had had a long interview with him that morning, and that he expressed the deepest regret that she insisted on re- fusing a release from his claim. He hoped, however, she would consent to a compromise. "I can accept no favors, and I have concluded to give up every thing. Can you tell me how the property is valued?" "It is a very bad time for adjustment, and I wish you were willing to defer it, as Mr. Pealey kindly urges." "Impossible. Please tell me how the estate is ap- prized." ("At no more than half its worth. The house and grounds are valued only at $10,500, and, at auction, might bring even less. The cottage is apprized at i j; . ORn HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 213 $2,500, and the furniture at $1,200,- a great sacrifice of every thing, if given up." "And what should you judge a young lady's per- sonal effects, including of course some jewelry, would realize?" He smiled doubtfully as he answered,-- "Well, I don't know much about such things. If I should guess, however, I should say perhaps a few hun- dreds more, But what then? ' "Why, I must pay the whole demand." He looked keenly at her as she continued, - "I wish to give up every thing, and earn the re- maining sum that may still be due." He still gazed, and, as she fancied, with a hard ex- pression; and with a little wounded feeling in her tone, she asked,- "Do you think me boastful?" "I think you are a noble girl, and God will surely bless you. But," added he, warmly grasping her hand, "I cannot allow you to follow your impulses. You have no right -to ruin yourself. Besides, Mr. Perley would never consent to such an arrangement." "But I must " "Nonsense! I shall not suffer my ward to make so wholesale a sacrifice. Besides, your faithful Polly would have no home. Listen to reason. 'Keep your personal property and your cottage; and select what furniture you like, as Mr. Perley proposes. He has behaved nobly through the whole, and you have no right to wound him by such seeming distrust. And I think you will even then have done all that the most chival- rous sense of duty can demand." "Thank you, sir; but I could not endure such obliga- page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 MARIoN GRAHAM; tion. I do not mean to be obstinate, however, so I wil! retain what you suggest, on condition that you will write me a note to be given him for the remainder of the debt, securing him, so far as possible, by a mortgage on the cottage and furniture." "Mr. Perley would be displeased." "I must incur his displeasure, then'." "Is your decision irrevocable?" ' It is." "Then I will waste no more words. But it will only be a form, for Mr. Perley will make no use of it. And I shall make the best apology I can for your persistence," added he, smiling. The next day she received the following note:- "I cannot'express my chagrin, Miss Graham, that you refuse the smallest favor from me. I admit that my violence was unpardonable, and in palliation, I can only plead a love that could not endure denial. Will you not allow me to express my deep penitence in per- son, and to solicit your forgiveness? Perhaps I ought to expect that your resentment will be lasting; but I throw myself on your charity. Do not refuse to see me, if only for one moment. Yours, unworthily, AUGUSTUS PERLEY?. "MR. PERLEY,-I cannot doubt your sincerity, es- pecially as it is attested by such generous treatment. An interview, however, would be painful to us both. But I can assure you of my free forgiveness. And more, if by my harshness I gave you provocation, I frankly ask your pardon. : : OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 215 You will excuse my insisting on your taking the note. I could not otherwise find rest. MARION GRAHAM." "A thousand thanks, Miss Graham, for your precious assurance. Your request for pardon is unnecessary, for you had abundant reason for indignation. Your refusal to see me occasions me unfeigned sor- row. But if my life is spared and I am unable to serve you, it will not be for want of a will. Time will at length convince you of my entire sincerity, and will plead more successfully than I can now expect to do, for the restoration of a small measure of your confi- dence. Yours, with profound respect, A. PERLEY." The next day Marion removed to the cottage which Polly had put in readiness. In the evening, as they sat together in the little parlor, she said, - "I must leave you before long." Polly looked up for explanation. "Contrary to my father's opinion, there- is a large debt to be paid. And I am resolved to earn money to meet every demand." Polly listened with eyes and mouth wide open in as- tonishment. She had no idea of a woman's earning money in any other way than by actual labor. She could work her old 'fingers to the bone, but that her young mistress should be driven to work, wqs not to be thought of. So she got up, and going into her little bedroom, she unlocked her large blue wooden chest, and, rummaging round, soon fished up from its depths page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 MARION GRAHAM; the foot of an old cotton stocking carefully tied up. Returning, she tremblingly untied it, and emptied the contents into Marion's lap. "There, Miss Milly, them are good fifty silver dollars, and I've a heap more on 'em in the bank, and they're all yourn. Don't go a shakin' yer head so. It's to be as I say." "But, Polly, what would you live upon?" "I can take in washing, and keep us both." "But even if I should consent to your generous prop. sition, it would hardly begin to pay the debt, and you would be left penniless." Polly was confounded at this, and greatly surprised moreover, that her mistress was expecting to earn as much again as she had been all her days earning. "4 You know no more of life than a child, Miss Mar- ion, nor how tough it is to make yer own way." Marion thought she had of late had a little experience of life, but she made no reply. "Anyhow, you must use this too." 4"Not one cent of it, dear Polly. You must keep that to- take care of me when I'm worn out with work," and she tried to smile. Polly sighed as she again tied up her rejected treas- ure. "It will be a great deal better for me to teach than to be doing nothing." "Is it teaching?" said Polly, her eyes brightening. "I feared you was sot on goin' to sarvice, and I couldn't seem to brook that nohow." Marion laughed and Polly laughed, and then they went into a committee of the whole. "Why can't you take the district school here, and so live with me?" OR HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 217 "A good idea, Polly, and I wonder I had not thought of it myself. I will apply to-morrow." It so happened that none of Marion's friends were of the school-committee. So she called at Mr. Dogget's a coarse, pompous man, who, from the property he had acquired, was not without influence in the community. He had never liked the Grahams, because, as he said, they prided themselves on being gentlefolks. And he was not sorry for an opportunity to show his grudge. "Your father had better have set you to work in his lifetime, and not left you on the town." "I must ,beg you to make no reflections on my fa- ther, whatever you may think of his daughter," replied Marion with a burning face. "I should like to know, Miss, how you expect to git along with them proud ways. You'll have to step down a peg or two I guess." Choking back her uprising heart, she next went to Mr. Martyn, a timid man, who, though kindly disposed, dared not differ from his "betters," as he called them. "Have you been to Mr. Dogget's? She told him of the interview. "It's a thousand pities, for he's not a man you can af- ford to offend. But you can come to the examination with the other candidates next Thursday evening, and I'll do my best for you." The dreaded evening came, and with a faint heart but a firm step, Marion went alone to the school-house. The formidable Mr. Dogget was in the chair. "-Set down, set down, Miss Graham," exclaimed he roughly with an imperative wave of his hand, and a manner which seemed to say, Now we shall see how well educated the gentry are." 10 page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] Taking an Atlas, he looked over it for some time as if hunting for posers. "You may give m e the population of Ningoota." "I cannot, sir." \ "Well, then, on what river is Yakoutsk??" ("I don't know." "' Humph! - What is the circumference of Lake Su- perior?" She shook her head. "How long is the river Rhone?" Still no reply. Looking round on his compeers with affected dismay, - "'Pon honor, gentlemen, but if you can make any thing of her, ye're welcome to." She was embarrassed and distressed at such injustice; and, although one or two of the committee tried to en- courage her, she refused to submit to further examina- tion. Mr. Dogget having pronounced upon her the charge of incompetency, with a swelling heart she left the school-house, and the vacancy was filled by one who had not a tithe of her ability or education. Hard lessons has the world for the delicate and the sensitive to learn! Sharp corners pierce you on every side. The heavens above seem iron, and the earth brass under your feet. So thought Marion as she trod the cold streets. "I will call at Mr. Morton's and ask counsel." "There is a providence in all these things," said -he, having listened to her story with deep interest. "I have to-day received a paper from Carrisford, containing an advertisement for a teacher as principal of the High School there. It was marked, as if to solicit my at- tention. Carrisford is sixty miles from here, and though n ^ r^lNAjr ESS3. 219 I should be very sorry to have you go so far, yet the post is a much more fitting one for you than any district schoo1., "I shall be glad to apply for the place, but how had I better do it?" "The term commences, as I see, in a fortnight; and there is no time to lose. Your safest way will be to go there at once. To-morrow I will write a line introduc- ing you to Mr. Sunderland, a minister of that place whose father was an old friend of mine. He will give you every assistance you need." Marion dared not, spend time in thought, but occu- pied every moment in preparation for her absence. On the next Monday afternoon, she took the cars for Ramsdale, where she was to spend a part of the night, - completing her journey by stage. At half past one, she was awaked by a thundering rap at her door, and a loud call from the landlord. It was a raw, chilly night; and when she descended, the passengers, all male, were walking about, yawning and stamping and whistling. An indescribable sense of loneliness came over Marion as she sat waiting the summons. At length a stento- rian voice screamed out, "Stage ready!" Then fol- lowed a hurrying and crowding, and soon Marion, find- ing herself in a coarse, unmannerly company, drew her large shawl close around her, and tried to sleep. But the attempt was hopeless. As the fumes of tobacco sickened her, she asked one of the passengers if he would be good enough to roll up the curtain. "Can't, ma'am, without stopping the driver, and he's in too great a hurry I reckon." And they all laughed as if it were a great joke. I am very sick. Will one of you allow me to take a imiddle seat by the window?" page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 MARION GRAHAM; , "I reckon I'll make as much sacrifice as that, for I'd like the back seat anyhow." With a good deal of difficulty she was at length seated, and tried to raise the window. " That wa'nt in the bargain," called out the man next her with a coarse laugh. "You asked to sit by the window, not to have it open, and H reckon you may as well be content with what you've got." Just then they stopped to change the mail; and the coachman, a good-natured fellow, opened the door, and holding up his lantern looked in, saying, "All snug there?" "Will you please raise this window for me? I am very sick from the close air." "Certain, ma'am. Id do as much as that for not half so nice a lady as you." Marion leaned her aching head against the window, while her companions, as if to annoy her for having her own way, became more and more offensive. She thought the dark night would never end; but at length bright morning appeared with a single jewel gleaming upon her forehead. Never was a sunrise more welcome; and as she looked upon the glowing east, she tried to lift up her heart for healing and strength. As they stopped at a small village, a gentleman ap- proaching, inquired "Is there room inside?" There was something in his tones that spoke of refinement; and when a gruff voice called out "All full" and he turned to leave, Marion ventured to say,-- "I believe there's one vacant seat, sir." "Thank you." The two who had spread out so as to fill the front seat, now nudged each other, whispering in revenge, OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. i 221 "She's after a spark;" at which the whole crew laughed till the stage rang again. As the new-comer, howeveri got in, the two were obliged to curtail themselves, while he sat down opposite Marion. Though she could not help coloring at the rude remark concerning herself, yet the moment she had a full view of the stranger, she felt that there was protection in his presence, and was repaid fdr the effort of speaking. His features were not regular, but his countenance betokened peculiar sin- cerity, intelligence, and sensibility, while his mouth expressed unusual firmness, blended with sweetness. If his manners struck you as decided, they were at the same time marked by a delicacy, which prevented the impression that he was harsh or overbearing. All attempts at conversation between him and .Mar- ion were forbidden by the vulgar and noisy talk of their companions. They soon stopped for an early breakfast, but Marion declined going to the table, preferring to remain in a little room by herself. A maid, however, brought her a cup of tea and some dry toast. "I called for nothing." "No ma'am, but the gentleman placed them on the tray and told me to bring them to you. And he told me to ask you if you would have any thing else." "Nothing more, I thank you, and I will pay you for this." "But he paid himself, ma'am." The tears sprang to Marion's eyes, for she was in just the circumstances to appreciate such delicate kindness. And when he appeared, she cordially thanked him for a his attention. "There is a fine seat on the outside of the stage," said he, ' and if it will not be too cold for you, I page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 MARION GRAHAM; think you will be saved much annoyance by riding there." ( I have no fear of the cold, and shall -consider it a great gain." It was a charming valley they were passing through; and a flood of yellow sunshine was pouring into it, brightening up every sombre thing, and giving a richer glow to the gorgeous foliage of the trees, while the blue hills in the distance seemed tipped with fire. "With the sweet singer of old, I can say, ' Thou hast made me glad through thy works.' " Marion's new acquaintance said this with an air of sincerity which did her good, and smiling significantly, she replied, - "' My Father made them all.' " "Now I am twice glad." - There are moments of electricity between soul and soul, when a word from the one strikes upon the other with thrilling power. Such a moment was the present. They could both converse in the language of Canaan, and ceremony between them was annihilated. Every time Marion looked into the stranger's open counte- nance, she felt an increasing confidence; and on his part, he watched her varying expression with interest, while her deep mourning, and the air of profound sad- ness that occasionally fell upon her, touched his feelings. "Do you ever wonder," inquired she after a season of silence, " why such beings as those we have just left, were created?" "I have wondered, but now I trust." 'i Trust?" "Yes; I do not question as once. I trust in God, and there find rest." -. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 223 "But is not the subject of eternal misery most mys- terious as well as appalling?" "I know ' God is love,' as he has represented him- self; -that we can have but the faintest conception of the love that glows in his heart, and that moved him to the great work of redemption. Therefore I believe he does the best for every one of his creatures that the case will-allow; and that, if their doom is eternal misery, it is the fate they deserve, - the fate they choose." "But an eternity of suffering seems such an awful penalty for a benevolent being to inflict." "But, lady, suppose that on the whole they prefer hell to heaven, as we can have no doubt is the fact. By that law of attraction which -is univiersal, they go into the society to which their characters correspond. They prefer godless company here, and they continue to prefer it there. They are in their own element, infernal though it is; and heaven would be to them a worse hell than hell itself. And, to its holy inhabitants, their presence would well-nigh transform heaven into hell. Nay, friend, it is not possible, in the nature of things, for good and evil to dwell together. Is it strange, then, that God should separate them?" "It is a fearful subject," said Marion musingly. "It is indeed; but our dear Redeemer is the bright side of it. Suppose the tenderest earthly mother,- you have such an one, perhaps." Marion shook her head. "Pardon me," said he, glancing with sympathy at her mourning apparel. "Suppose such a loving mother were possessed of wisdom and energy corre- sponding to her affection. Now, if the perversity of any of her children should lead them into flagrant vice, and they should seek out the lowest society, destroying the page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 MARION GRAHAM; purity and peace of their pleasant home, and thus com- pelling their mother to exclude them from that home, would not all who knew the facts, acquit her of unkind- ness or severity? Surely we may trust our heavenly Father as well." Marion gave no answer but a deep sigh. Was she noting the difference between his trusting spirit, and the questioning, if not rebellious one of Maurice? "My father died many years since," resumed the stranger in a lower tone, "but God spared me my mother, and she is a mother." "I have neither father nor mother, brother nor sister," said Marion with a sudden impulse, while the tears rained from her eyes. "'Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.' " "I know it," replied she in a faltering tone; " but my way is so dark." "' Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him, and he will bring it to pass.'" "I can sometimes trust him, but again I am afloat on a troubled sea." Once more that deep, earnest voice, bearing along words which fell like sweetest music on her bruised heart, - '( God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.' Again that rain of grief; but it fell more gently now, as she replied,-- "You know not the heavy burden that is laid upon me, nor the bitter wrongs with which I have to con- tend." With the tenderest sympathy, he still quoted from OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 225 that divine Book, so wondrous in its adaptation to every case of sorrow and distress. "' I will cry unto God Most High, unto God that per- formeth all things for me. He shall send from heaven and save me from the reproach of him that would swal- low me up."' Marion looked at him in astonishment. Was it pos- sible that he knew her history? Yet how could he know of Mr. Perley's treatment? He could not help smiling at her puzzled air. "I am no diviner, though a little versed in reading the human heart." "You certainly have a wonderful skill in that line, as well as in ministering comfort. If not a diviner, therefore, you ought to be a minister." ' Which I have the honor to be; " and handing her a card from his pocket-book, she read,- Rev. HENRY SUNDERLAND, Carrisford, N. Y. "Is it possible?" she exclaimed with pleasure. "It must have been to you, then, that mygood minister, Mr. Morton, sent a line of introduction for me last week." "I was out of town, and have not received it. Will you not, therefore, introduce yourself?" In a few words Marion related all she thought neces- sary. "I am sorry that I am obliged to be away from home several weeks, and to leave di-rectly. My mother too is absent. But when we return, we shall hope to find you here." They were now entering Carrisford, and Mr. Sun- derland named the best hotel in the place to Marion, 10* page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 MLAKLUN WUijnlAn recommending her to remain there until she could make permanent arrangements. Having seen her safely landed, he committed her to the special care of "mine host;" and warmly shaking hands, they parted. It was to Marion the vanishing of a bright ray of sunshine, and with a heavy heart she retired to her chamber. But she did not indulge in musing; for, having engaged in the real battle of life, she felt it necessary to command her own spirit. Enclosing the letter of commendation from Mr. Morton in a note from herself, she sent them to the Committee. The next morning she received word that they would be happy to see her, With the other applicants, at half past seven that evening, in Oakley Hall. It was a clear autumnal day, and in the afternoon Marion went out for a stroll. Her thoughts flew over the blue sea, and lingered with a certain wanderer there. She wished, oh, how earnestly! that he had the ster- ling religious principle of her new acquaintance. She admitted the wisdom of her decision, but her heart would not cease to ache at the separation. Suddenly a glorious picture was unrolled to her, view. A dense patch of forest was before her, its foliage, lately so green, now melted into colors of the richest beauty. In the distance, the sleeping hills rose like islands in the sea, while a purple mist hung softly over them. Marion entered the wood, and, seating herself upon a mossy knoll, yielded to the influences around her. "Nature may well be tired," she soliloquized. "The throb and excitement of her gay blossoming time has exhausted her powers. But the fever of her bright summer life is over, and now she folds her arms in -^-'s -7 --- awash Ads. A "An3h =X-/( quiet repose. So my brief summer has ended. And why, alas, cannot I sit down in the - tranquillity of res- ignation? The monarchs of the wood, in their regal attire, lift up their hands in silent adoration, but my heart is not attuned to thanksgiving." Then she thought of her father's last days and hours, so full of delicate kindness and affection; and a sweet analogy was suggested by the scene before her. As the leaf assumes a richer beauty in the hour of decay, so, through loving eyes, a deeper and tenderer light looks out from the soul in the dying hour. Thought travelled backwards. The old clouds were gathering. Like a dark, forbidding background, the past lay behind her. The present hung about her as an oppressive garment dragging her down to earth. The weird future was spread out mistily before her, like solemn night, wrap- ping in its bosom untold and dreaded revelations. She longed to rise above the one fatal remembrance which so clung to her,-above all that could clog her path, or hinder her upward progress; but she felt powerless to soar. Suddenly the still air seemed stirred as by a seraph wing. Ambrosial odors were wafted towards her. The dear angel, Faith, drew nigh, and in a voice sweeter than the breath of summer, spoke softly to her heart,- "Hast thou laid thine own will on the altar? Dost thou not shrink from endurance and sorrow?" Then did the angel speak tenderly to her of the love of Christ, who wore a crown of thorns to win for her a crown of glory; who bore the heavy cross that she might bear the palm of victory. Why should she hedge up her own way, and make so difficult what God had made so easy? Why, in her weakness, should she page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] JLlZ IV L&L VI Ul ' u , attempt the battle, when, if she would but place her hand within her Saviour's, he would fight and conquer for her. Beautiful was the face of the angel as he thus pleaded. And the wild throbbings in Marion's heart were hushed, as her whole soul was concentrated in a petition expressed in one of her favorite hymns:- "A rose-cloud, dimly seen above, Melting in heaven's blue depths away, - O sweet, fond dream of human Love, For thee I dare not pray. ( But bowed in lowliness of mind, I make my humble wishes known- I only ask a will resigned, O Father, to thine own! "To-day beneath thy chastening eye, I crave alone for peace and rest, Submissive in thy hand to lie, And feel that it is best." As she earnestly repeated these lines, a ray of celestial light shone upon her. Her soul, weary of its vain strug- gles, and despairing of help in itself, ceased from all efforts in its own strength. In that silent temple of nature, in the still depths of her heart, she surrendered herself as a weary child into the hands of her kind and Almighty Father. Then a whisper stole upon her. "My peace I give unto you, not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." CHAPTER XVII. "We are daily cast Into the future, out of the past, - Through the sunshine into the night, - Through the darkness into the light. Thus we whirl in the noiseless stream, And the sky glides over us like a dream." AT the appointed time, Mr. Gretson, her landlord, attended Marion to the Hall, promising to call for her in an hour. She had lived so independent a life, that an ordeal like that now before her was no insignificant affair. Although self-possessed, her native loftiness and acute sensibility exposed her to peculiar suffering from contact with the world. Then, her single experi- ence in this line had sorely chafed her. But dread it as she might, there was no vacillation of purpose. So she quietly seated herself among her fellow-applicants, and endeavored to think of indifferent things. When the chairman began his questioning, she looked up in surprise, for that bland voice was familiar to her ears. Meeting the eye of Mr. Perley, she was for a moment agitated. But, with the most considerate re- gard, as she admitted to herself, he allowed her some time to recover her composure; so that, when he came to ask her questions, she was able to answer them with entire calmness. The trial being ended, he rose, and, in the most gentlemanly manner, announced that Miss Graham was the successful applicant. ' . - page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] '230 MARION GRAHAM; "He certainly was sincere," she said to herself. 'And it must have been he who sent the advertisement to Mr. Morton for my benefit. It was truly a delicate kind- ness." When the meeting was broken up, Mr. Perley ap- proached, and, frankly extending his hand, said in a low voice, - - "It gives me great pleasure to see you here, and to announce your success. Allow me to introduce you to the other members of the Committee." Marion's unpleasant impressions of Mr. Perley had been softened by his conduct since that painful interview. His recent considerate service produced a decidedly grateful feeling. She felt convinced that -in the wrong he had done her, he had yielded to a sudden tempta- tion, and that his repentance was immediate and thorough. She judged too much by her own spirit. Knowing little of human nature except from its better specimens, she could not sound the depths of villany. And what were Mr. Perley's musings, as he sat that night in a luxurious chair in his richly furnished apart- ments? "What a splendid creature! She's as proud as Lu- cifer, but her pride becomes her well. Like all women, however, she has her weak points. Her heart is gen- erous and kind; she can forgive and forget. That is my consolation, for by that door I shall win an entrance. So far my plan works finely. In her freak of independ- ence, I knew she would turn teacher. Ha! ha! ' All's well that ends well.' Patience, then." And he stroked his delicate moustaches, while a sinister smile worked across his features. Alas! for the innocent and unsuspecting! ua, HilHERt THAN HAPPINESS. 231 A few days after her term had commenced, Mr. Johnson called to inquire if she would not prefer a more quiet boarding place. When she gladly assented, he told her that there was a Mrs. Carson, a widow, who had recently removed to a pleasant cottage about half a mile out of the village, and would be glad to take a boarder. The next day Marion called; and, being every Way pleased with the situation, removed there at once. Mrs. Carson was a kind-hearted woman, and took great pains to accommodate her. "I have seen hard times, Miss Graham," said she, "and it is not long since I and my boy were suffering from actual want. But 'a kind friend was raised up, who has given me the use of this beautiful cottage, all furnished and supplied with provisions. He has also sent my boy away to learn a trade. He often runs in and takes a cup of tea with me." "And what is the name of this noble friend?" "He has charged me over and over again never to speak of his generosity, but I can't help it. Besides, you will see him here. His name is Mr. Perley." Always alive to generous deeds, Marion said to her- self, -- "Probably it is the same man. And this is not the first time I have heard of his liberality." By a-natural process, in her fear of having done him injustice, she was liable to go to the opposite extreme, and to be too credulous of good concerning him. Not many days after, Mr. Perley made his appear- ance bringing a basket of fruit. Mrs. Carson was all bustle, for he was to take tea with them, and nothing could be too good for his repast. While she was mak- page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 MARION GRAHAM; ing preparations, Marion was left to entertain the guest, which she did with less embarrassment than she could have anticipated. He was in a desponding mood, and apparently found it difficult to converse. After a mo- ment's silence, he told Marion that his ungentlemanly conduct and his passionate language to her continued to prey painfully upon his spirits. "And I fear," said he, "' that you never can cordially forgive me, and confide in me again." "If your regret for your hasty conduct is sincere, as I cannot doubt, I beg you to believe what I have already said, that I do most freely and fully forgive you." "And dare I hope that I can ever regain your confi- dence?" She hesitated, and then replied, "My distrust is greatly lessened; but if it should not pass away at once, I trust you will not censure me." "I expect this, Miss Graham, and will patiently bear the penalty, till I have power wholly to remove it, as I feel assured that I shall, sooner or later, be able to do." He then proceeded to tell her that his, conscience had of late been urging him no longer to neglect the sub- ject of religion. "But," added he, " it is very difficult to change one's course of life. And besides, I am sadly ignorant on this whole subject, and hardly know where or how to begin." "Cannot you talk with some minister, who could advise you?" "The only minister I know, in whom I should have any disposition to confide - I mean Mr. Sunderland- is unfortunately absent." "And have you no friend to whom you can open. your heart?" OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 233 "I am sorry to say it, for it pronounces judgment against my former life; but in the wide world I have not one. religious friend,--,unless Miss Graham will allow me to consider her in that light." "If in any way I could do you service, I should be glad to be your friend. But I feel my own unfitness to counsel you in so important a matter." "You know so much that is bad in me, that I should be sure of your faithfulness in rebuke. Perhaps you will at least recommend some suitable reading," added he with apparent timidity. "I will willingly do that, and any thing else in my power. But, if I may advise you, I would first of all things recommend a prayerful study of the Bible. I think I may have some books you will/ be interested to read, and which I shall be happy to loan you." Mrs. Carson now appeared, piling up the table with good things. Mr. Perley seemed to exert himself to be agreeable, but occasionally relapsed into silence, con- firming Marion in her impression of his sincerity. After tea she brought out a few books. "I will take one of them, if you please, and if I derive any advantage from it, I will exchange it for another." He soon withdrew, leaving Marion with an altered opinion of him, which he could not fail to read on her open face. She did not see his singular expression as he turned from the cottage. She did not hear his ex- ulting chuckle as he said to himself,- "It was an extravagant scheme, but I believe it is going to pay. She's a fool for her credulous efforts to convert me --me indeed! ha! ha! ha! Well, she's a divine creature anyhow, and mine she is fated to be. page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 MARION GRAHAM; But I owe her a little grudge, and when she's my wife, -I I have ample pay. Hang it! - but it will be sweet to see her on her knees, suing to me, her lord and master." And his face glowed with demoniacal exultation. Alas! the fowler hath well laid his snare, and her in- cautious feet will surely be entangled. ; ' r '! OR. HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 235 , e CHAPTER XVIII. "It was no path of flowers, Through this dark world of ours, Beloved of the Father, thou didst tread; And shall we in dismay, Shrink from the narrow way, When clouds and darkness are around it spread!" ON returning one day from school, .a letter was handed Marion, mailed from Glenwood, but with a for- eign post-mark. The sight of it sent the quick blood to her face, and her whole frame trembled as she read. "Although, Miss Graham, I have no leave to ad- dress you, yet I believe you will find in your own heart an excuse for me. When I left Glenwood I did not ask for such permission, because I did not wish for it. I resolved to put the ocean between us, and to banish your image from my heart. -In the latter I have failed. Shall we correspond? I pledge myself to keep my pages free, both from the words and the sentiments of love. But, on certain other subjects, I long to open my heart. If I write, it will be without varnish or gilding. You shall at least give me credit for honesty. I am in London. In this solitude more profound than that of a desert, I am striving to while away a few weeks. And now shall I talk to you of the Tower, of Cheapside, of Charing Cross, of the immortal West- page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 MARION GRAHAM'; minster Abbey, and of all the wondrous sights and scenes of this wonderful city? Or shall I tell you of my poor self? This morning I was waked by the cry, - One a penny, two a penny - hot-cross bunns.' How it carried me back to my innocent childhood, when I read ' London Cries' from the pictured book, and wondered if there was really such a place as Lon- don! Shall I confess that I dropped a tear over this simple reminiscence? Last Sabbath, I went to hear the famous preacher G . It was a strange scene. His nervous, vehe- ment eloquence, his awkward but impassioned gestures, and the burning torrent which flowed from his lips, amused and sometimes interested, but did not stir me. Because he was a fanatic, his earnestness had no effect but to excite my wonder or pity. He talked of an im- pending judgment as if the trumpet were already sounding in his ears; and the crowd who hung upon his lips listened, horror-stricken, as if they heard it too. I am too proud, or too stoical, to be thus moved; and therefore I hear the greatest preachers, on the most a exciting themes, as if I were an icicle. R-- de-, lights me by the depth of his thoughts and the affluence of his style, but I am as unmoved by his eloquence as by the fables of the ancients. You will undoubtedly set this down against me, but I am at the confessional. Let me, however, turn to a different subject. Yes- terday, as I was walking through the streets, a little' girl accosted me, - ' Please sir, do buy my flowers.' Her earnest tone attracted my attention, and as I looked into her large blue eyes, I saw they were filled OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 237 with tears. Through her rags and poverty-stricken aspect, was an air of neatness and refinement for which I could not account. ' What is your name?' 'Alice Green, sir,' and she held up her little bouquet temptingly before me. ' See how beautiful!' 'Where did you get this, Alice? ' A flower-woman gives me a bunch every day, and I sell them.' 'But don't you like the flowers?' Sir!' and she looked so wonderingly, that I con- tinued, - Why do you sell them?' 'Because dear mamma is ick, and we haven't any thing to eat,' she replied with a most wistful expression. ' Please buy them, sir, if you have any money.' I gave her a silver piece, and taking the flowers se- lected the one I enclose, and, returning the rest, said, - 'Now Alice, you must take these home to your mother.' She looked first at the silver coin in her hand, and then at me so inquiringly, that I added,- 'Of course you are to keep that for bread.' '0 sir! I thank you so much. Mamma said God would hear our cries. And now I can buy something very nice for her.' For some reason, I was strangely attracted towards the child, so I said, - 'Would you like to have me go home with you?' 'It would make mamma very happy.' I took the small, thin hand of the little flower-girl, and, calling on the way to get a few things that we consider necessaries, but that they, it seems, regard as page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] luxuries, I had them nicely packed in a basket. Then, taking it on my arm, we trudged along, little Alice chatting all the time of their former pleasant home in the country, and the lovely roses that grew there. She soon led me into one of those wicked streets that seem unfit for the steps of a pure child, and, climbing rapidly up a steep flight of stairs, she hastened into a dark, dis- mal closet of a room, and throwing her arms round her mother's neck, held up the flowers, crying out,- 'O mamma, he is so good.' The pale, consumptive face was lighted up, and, a stool being handed me, I entered into conversation with the woman. Sending Alice of an errand, she told me her sad history. It was the common tale of youthful love, of blind credulity, of temptation, and sin, and misery, followed by bitter repentance. Cast- out by her proud father, she had found a home in the country, where she had gained a living for herself and Alice by embroidery. Thinking she should succeed better in the city, she came to London where her health had gradu- ally failed. Then, the ladies who employed her were always deferring payment, and the result was that she and her child had been near starvation. But there was a quiet resignation in her face that touched me, and, Miss Graham, she talked of that Saviour whom you love. And taking me for a minister, she begged me to pray with her. I will own I was tempted to allow her delusion, and it required some courage to say, - I am neither a mini ster nor a Christian.' I added, - "But I will be a friend to you for all that, if for nothing else, because I have a friend across the waters who loves the same Saviour.' Her look of sorrow, as she clasped her hands in seem- S-. *^.L.^ aoljNE'SS. ^ ing intercession for me, somewhat moved my hard heart, I must confess. But Alice returned, and I took my leave hoping to arrange matters for their greater com- fort. You know me too well to give me the credit for be- nevolence that this woman did. I am worn with ennui, and a sensation of any kind is refreshing; therefore I am er debtor. But how do you explain the fact that God should leave such a woman to so bitter suffering? And her innocent child -how has she merited her hard lot? The world alas is filled with just such cases. As I am writing now, at midnight, I can hear the loud heart-beats of this great city. London has no sleep, for vice and want and misery never close their eyes. Groans and curses send up a ceaseless voice. But does the wail of earth pierce the crystal spheres? You say that above there is an eye that sees, an ear that hears, and a heart that feels. Yet not a hand is moved for earth's relief. You believe there is a Being of infinite power and love sitting at the helm of the universe. Thus cannot I. But I have taxed your patience long enough. Keep this flower for the sake of little Alice, whom you would surely love. MAURICE VINTON." Many and mingled were the emotions which this letter :xcited, and more than one shower of sorrow did it occa. ion Marion. Unconsciously she pressed it to her lips, vhile she blessed the writer for his kindness to the desolate "other and child. And then her heart ascended to leaven in earnest entreaties that the light of truth might kine into that troubled mind. After long pondering page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 MARION GRAHAM; the request for a correspondence, she concluded that duty was in full accordance with her inclination. Who could say that providence might not bless her as the in- strument of leading Maurice into the truth? Striving to lay aside every thought that had so moved her, she sat down to write, with the earnest desire of dispelling some of the many shadows that lay in his path, by persuading him to a simple trust, instead of a restless unbelief. Telling him in a few words of the changes which had crowded upon her, and of her pres- ent position, she continued,-- "This is a charming Indian summer's day, and I have just returned from a stroll in the woods. The trees, so lately draped in the gold and crimson of autumn, stretched out their almost leafless arms as if to embrace the bright rays dancing lovingly around them. The air was tremulous with its burden of purple light; which it poured in rich floods and with indiscriminate kindness upon every thing. The birds paused in their southern flight, and. sang as if they thought it their last chance. Judging bX their music, one would say they knew there was a Gol, and that his name wag Love. Strange that our human hearts should be so much slower in rendering up their tribute! And why should it not be with us as with these happy songsters, but that sin has debased the intellect and corrupted the heart? Ah, Mr. Vinton, you cannot help agreeing with me here. Is it not this that obscures the brightness of noon-day? Who feels no inward beauty, none perceives, Though all around is beautiful!' What you say of life is true; but is it all that can be ORE BteBEB TBAN TltA J1VAPPINEss. said? 241 The destroyer has indeed swe ?! ^ S t?^ ^ over the earth but the Redeemer has also been here, and his footsteps have blessed its tear wtee silA hcosuee of this watered sol. As the coal tep of this, hope has returned, love ha lighted ma ny ane eye, and faith bound up not a e has ghted manyr is brighter for his advent, and the City have' b een' fnt and the gates of the Celestia{ ^ asS -'sngwideopeS no hand has been s true, then do not discredit th movedforearth's relief? You surely doot disred i that e divine mission of Jesus. Andscan ithe that a mind so attuned to be u Ad ea no ing to attract it in the winning eceence, the transcen- dent grandeur of such a character? ButIdid not inted to preach. Withe trhsen hess, I With the deepest sympathy i your sad. Th will gventure to point out the star of Beth. If I have not yet soe it is fr ave nom yet Spoken of Alice and her mother, tsfru no lack of interest. He who 'tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, Will surely take care ofrhes . "yoi shrt, " lamb then.,y He is even now doing it through your kie ce tem. The minutest e ent0f hir Y u atenions. ful Prvideney an forthei life is ordered by a watch. ful providence, and, for therogwisofavsty there shall be richer fruit. The trust of that dorsaken mother is in God. 1-/ave you less of that for such a reliance? an she for I am sure you will excuse "O you, it Must be with - onli pinnes, rite Ta , VillMay be broughtito He btinncerity. That your Viu rea be rou harmony with the will of our est 'Father, is the earnest prayer of , arros GRAZA, " Among her many Upils !knuine inee+ ,i all ofwomsefla lnin nterestl-there WsWo sefl culiarly attracted. as one to whom AMarion was j Lenora Bensou was the' only page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 MARION GRAHAM; child of wealthy parents in the city of New York. She had been sent to an uncle's in Carrisford, partly for the advantages of country life, and partly to attend to cer- tain English branches of study. She was such a genuine child of nature, and so hated all mere forms and conven- tionalisms, that she would never have been taken for a city girl. Enthusiastic and impulsive in the last degree, yet her impulses were generally of the noble, unselfish sort. She had a good quantity of pride, rebelling with vigor and pertinacity against all authority. If you un- dertook to drive her, you would wish in the end, that you had not placed yourself at such disadvantage; for the harder you drove, the more she would not move one single step. But then, as a compensation, you could lead her anywhere, if you only knew how. She was strong in her prejudices, regarding with inveterate scorn all characters that had an iota of duplicity or meanness cleaving to them. She caused Marion more anxiety than all the rest of her scholars, yet she loved her better than all. For her part, Lenora, who had always entered every school pre- pared to contend for her rights, as she termed them, and who was particularly determined on this in the present instance, had, notwithstanding, come to cherish a bound- less affection for Marion. Feeling, as she honestly did, that there was no sacrifice she would not make for her teacher, she had little idea of the solicitude she occasioned her. Her inexperience, together with an excessive frankness, made her sometimes appear blunt and inconsiderate, yet she was by no means without delicacy. With her, almost every thing depended upon the circumstances which should complete the formation of her character. I- OB, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 248 She was on terms of freer intercourse with Marion than any of her fellow-pupils. And though her out. spoken manner was sometimes displeasing, yet she had so much heart, that it was almost impossible for one whom she loved to be seriously offended with her. ( How can you like such a stupid business as teach ing, Miss Grahamd busines as teach? "The question, dear Lenora, is not one of fancy. I do not teach because I like to teach, though Imay like the business notwithstanding. But 'I teach from a sense of duty.". that nis stupiderhyet. If there is any word in the English language that I perfectly loathe, it is that same high-sounding wor d uty. Why, you can hardly read a book that is not filled with its iron enactments, which sink like lead into the spirits. It is a veritable Juggewhich naut, crushing every flower of the heart over which it s Ponderous wheels get a chance to roll. For my part I think most people who use the word are nothing but I hypocrites. I can do anything for love, but I never will be governed by ugly, icy duty." "Do you think e me a hypocrite? asked Marion, smiling at her vehement tirade. ou hy, no indeed! how could I think so" and she opened her eyes wide upon her teacher. "(Your words certainly implied it." Forgive m e, y ou dear piece of perfection." And sh thrwherars around her. Why didn' t y ou box my ears? )s '," "hat good w od it h av e done? replied Marion, pres sing a kiss upon her forehead. Not much, I suppose, to either of us. Well, if you have forgiven My impertinence, do promise me that you page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 -MARION GRAHAM; will forswear that hated word henceforth, and forever- more." " What was it that induced you to ask my forgive- ness just now??' said Marion, looking archly into the clear eyes of her young friend. "' Never a bit of duty, if that's what you mean. It was impulse, affection, because I couldn't help it." "If I had time, I could convince you that you look upon an unflinching regard to duty with heroic admi- ration." "I don't want to be convinced, and so I'm glad you haven't time. But, there's another point where we differ. And now that my boldness has risen to fever- heat, I think I had better out with it." "Well," said Marion, waiting for her to proceed. "You'll be vexed with me, but I can't help it. There's' something that I dislike, if possible, more than your detestable ' duty;' and that is that soulless thing, your chief friend and admirer, ycleped Perley. I perfectly despise him from the tip-top of his unctuous locks, down to the very bottom of his shining patent boots. Now d6n't shake your head and look so grave. I have been pondering on the subject, and I am determined to have my say out. I consider it my bounden duty so to do; and of course you won't interfere. He, too, is one of those everlastingly prating about duty, duty, duty. He is nothing but a concocted piece of French tailor- ing and native dandyism, perfumed with essences and tipped off with jewelry. I should like, of all things, to see him knocked into pi." "Lenora, I cannot allow you to talk thus." "But I will, allow it or not;" and she put her hand playfully over Marion's mouth; "for I haven't said the S. ---7 ...^... x ^Ia arrPINESS. 245 worst of him. If he was simply a popinjay, he wouldn't be worth notice. But he's an audacious ras- cal, as you may find to your cost." "You are strangely prejudiced. Whatever may have been his past thoughtlessness, he is now disposed to serious reflection, and - "He never was good enough to be thoughtless. Ever since I can remember, he has worn a sanctimoni- ous face, and has walked about with the steadiest orthodox gait. But I believe he's a cold-blooded vil- lain; and I have no manner of doubt that he has, with the utmost unconcern, plotted and performed many a desperate deed. And I can't bear to have you so inti mate with him." "outyare bitterly unjust. And, besides, we are not Why, then, do you so frequently go to church toge. ther on Sunday evenings? interrupted the headstrong *Jr d f 8 P01upted the headstrong girl. ' "Listen one moment, dear Lenora, for it certainly is my turn to talk. Mr. Perley is far from agreeable to me. But I believe he sincerely regrets his past life, and is striving to reform. It requires some moral courage, more I fear than he possesses, to take a de- cided stand alone, and if, by occasionally going to church with him, I can encourage the habit, I consider it my duty to go." "Duty again! It's sheer nonsense. Hehasalways been to church fast enough when it has served his pur- pose.. But you are solemnly bound to perform your duty! So I Suppose if the sly scamp should ask you to marry him as a means of promoting his reformation, you would, forsooth, consider it your duty to comply page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] with his modest request, even if it should break your heart, which I verily believe would be the result." \ The blood suffuised Marion's face and neck, as, with some sternness, she replied, - "Lenora, I am not in the habit of being thus ad- dressed. You presume on my affection to take offen- sive liberties." "I knew you would be vexed," said Lenora some- what haughtily. "But when I hear the whole town talking about Mr. Perley's attentions and their probable issue, I can't keep cool; and so I determined to brave your anger. It was only last evening, that my aunt told me, that Mrs. Ayer told her, that Hetty Langdon told her, that widow Carson told her, that she consid- ered it, she might say, a settled- affair between you.' And, through this long round of tellings, it comes out that he sends you hot-house flowers and fruits; and what long talks you have together; and how you are only waiting to make a Christian of him, and then you will certainly marry him. I hate such tattling; and I was so thoroughly vexed with the whole set of gossips that I could scarcely sleep. And so I resolved to stay at school this noon with you and let it all out. But, precious little is the good it will do. I wish Mr. Sun- derland was at home, for he can read characters, and he would'nt hesitate a minute to give you his opinion of your paragon. I declare, if you should do such a pre- posterous thing as to marry that detestable coxcomb and hypocrite, I should never, never again have faith in any human being." "You need have no anxiety on that score," said Mar- i1 ion as she put her arm soothingly around her indignant friend. ( Mr. Perley has no wish to marry me. But if it will be the smallest relief to you, I will give you my word that in any event, such a union shall never take place." "I believe you, and feel greatly comforted.' "And now, if we have done with this subject, when is Mr. Sunderland expected?, "In a week or two at furthest, uncle Austin says. How I long to have you hear him preach!" "I have a great desire to hear him. But we must end this chat, dear, for it is almost school-time." Never had Marion passed a more uncomfortable after- noon in teaching than that following this conversation. She was more annoyed than she liked to admit. And if she found it unusually difficult to restrain her impa- tience with any perverse, or stupid pupil, it only proved that she was mort&l. She went home, vexed with her- self and with everybody else. It was galling to her pride that people should suppose any thing could induce her to marry Mr. Perley. "But after all," she thought with some bitterness, c" he is a great man among them, and I am only a poor school-mistress ; so the condescension would all be on his part, and I should be the debtor." She could by no means regard him as Lenora did and as there had been nothing lover-like in his conduct, she thought the impression as to his intentions was a mistaken one. And yet she could not help wishing herself well out of the whole matter. But she was too proud to change her course at present, even if justice to Mr. Perley would allow i. Always independent in her judgments, she had no idea of modelling her conduct to suit others, or even to convince them that they were mistaken. page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] a"I, too, wish Mr. Sunderland was here, for I could rely on his counsel. But I will strive to do right, and trust in providence for the result." In spite of her reasoning, however. she was not quite satisfied with herself. She began to fear that she had, after all, been a little credulous, as well as too thought- less concerning public rumor. And she resolved that, at the very first advances on Mr. Perley's part, all particu- lar intercourse should cease. The next Sunday evening, though she did not de- cline accompanying him, he could not help noticing that she was more distant and constrained than had been her wont of late. He had all along been extremely careful to play his cards skilfully, not allowing the smallest suspicion to attach to his motives. After his return home he fell into a soliloquy. "It is clear that some one has been exciting her dis- trust, and it will not do for me to dally with my good fortune. She has kindled a fire in my cold heart which will not be quenched. Love and revenge are .both gnawing at my life. Her words of biting scorn and of proud command have never ceased to rankle in my soul, and as my wife alone can she atone for them. But I must hurry up matters before Mr. Sunderland's return, for he has no faith in me, and his scent is keen as a bloodhound's. My plot is well laid, and my tools, are all reliable, except indeed Mrs. Carson, and I must get her out of the way. The cords are tightening round my victim, and no one can deliver her out of my net." - . CHAPTER XIX. "When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us, Pass by, hearing not. or answer not a word! Is it likely God, with angels singing round Him, Hears our weeping any more?" FOR two or three days, snow-clouds had been scud- ding over the face of'the sky, while the air was filled with dampness and chills. On Thursday morning, every appearance betokened a serious snow-storm. " ou will not think of going to-day," said Marion to Mrs. Carson as they stood together at the window. "I am sorry I promised; but Alfred will ride out a mile for me, and will be greatly disappointed if I don't come. You don't feel troubled on your own account?" "Not in-the least, especially as you will be back to- night. I have a great relish for a quiet snow-storm." In the course of the morning the wind rose, and so drifted the snow, that it was with much difficulty Ma- rion reached the cottage. School for the day had been dismissed, for a genuine, driving storm had evidently set in. 'So Marion sat alone in her cozy corner in the par- or, sewing and reading and writing, Sometimes she would stand at the window and watch the tiny whirl- winds of sleet, occasioned by the sudden gusts of wind. "Even thus," she said, "am I driven round and ound without any will of my own. I seem to myself ike a seared leaf that has outlived its time." And, with "* A n . . . ' page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] a comfortless feeling, she leaned her head on her hand and gazed into the glowing fire. "Mrs. Carson will never think of coming back to- night. I wish I had brought Lenora home, for it will be terribly gloomy here alone." Night early let fall her curtains; and, following her example, Marion lighted the lamps and sat down for the evening. She could interest herself in nothing; so she listened to the fitful moaning of the restless wind. Sometimes it seemed as if evil spirits were riding on the blasts, and filling the air with their infernal shrieks. Every hour added to her gloom, till she longed for the sight of some familiar face. Suddenly, towards the latter part of the evening, she heard the outside door opened and shut, then a loud stamping in the hall, fol- lowed by a gentle tap at the parlor door. Opening it with some trepidation, Mr. Perley greeted her with a low bow and his blandest expression. - "I knew Mrs. Carson would never return in this storm" said he in a respectful tone, " and though it is no light undertaking to get abroad to-night, I felt that I e ought to come in for an hour, and try to cheer your loneliness." "I thank you for the trouble you have taken," replied II Marion, trying to appear at her ease. "Shall I read to you?" "If you please." ( He read some extracts from newspapers he had brought with him, and was so evidently intent on inter- esting her, that gradually she regained composure. She was sitting by the fire on a lounge, with the work-table og before her, while he sat opposite in an arm-chair. "Ah! I have happened upon something here, which may interest you as a friend, but which I do not like to read myself," said .he, taking a seat beside her, and pointing out a paragraph in the paper. It was the notice of a large donation which he had given to a poor church in a distant town; and, as Marion read it, her face glowed with pleasure. "You will not, I trust, charge me with vanity for seeking your approbation." "The approval of one's own conscience is the best earthly reward for doing good." "Not for me exactly. You must remember that my purposes are weak, and need encouragement. If there is a little goodin me, as I hope, it is, in some sense but the reflection of your goodness." "But without a radical change of heart, of what avail is all outward reformation?" "Of none, certainly. But I did not mean to deny that I have a degree of confidence in myself. I only meant that, under God, my present hopeful state is entirely owing to your kind and persevering influence, and that a withdrawal of your interest would be most unfortunate for me." "I am glad to encourage good in any one, but am sorry to have you place the smallest dependence on me." "Such a regret is too late," said he, looking at her with an expression she could not fail to understand. You have taught me to depend on you-to feel that [ need a constant example before my eyes. In short, Hiss Graham, I may as well frankly admit, what you nust already know, that all my hopes for this world, as rell as for another, are centred in you." "I am truly pained to hear it, and must beg you to ;ay nothing further of this nature." h page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 MARTON GRAHAM; "Your request surprises me. You certainly cannot have been ignorant of my feelings, and your kind re- ception of my attentions has given me reason to sup- pose they were not unwelcome. Such also is the impression of the whole community. For a long time I was disturbed with doubts, but of late your treatment has made me confident of having gained your affec- tions. You surely will not deny this, and thus inflict upon me the most terrible disappointment." "Of any such feeling or impression on your part I have been entirely ignorant. And I am sincerely dis- tressed on account of this misunderstanding." "Let me tell you all my heart." "At some other time, - not to-night." "Yes, to-night it must be. I might as well contend against the north wind, as to suppress the love which your kind faithfulness and interest have strengthened and encouraged. You are too generous, after inspiring such hopes, to subject me to the mortification of being pointed at as one who has been trifled with- ay, jilted by a heartless coquette." i"Your words confound me," said Marion, greatly ag- itated. "But I must entreat youtto defer this conversa- tion till another occasion." "Nay, Miss Graham," replied he, throwing himself on his knees, and speaking with vehemence. "I must be heard now. If you smile upon me, I can be or do any thing; if you frown, I am a desperate man, and cannot answer for the consequences." "Be calm," said Marion, while her cheek grew pale, "and I will listen patiently." He detected her alarm, and it gave him boldness. "' Listening is not all I want. I must have love for love." 1' ,i OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 258 , ;L"Then I must say to you plainly, but in all friendli- ness ;--- that can never be." r "It is cruel for you to tamper with my feelings." "I would not do that, Mr. Perley; but kindness re- quires me to say the truth." inYou do not mean to intimate thatmy plea is utterly in vain?" "I am compelled to do so." "And that there is no hope of my yet winning you 7 " Such a thing is not possible." "Then," said he, springing to his feet and stamping with vexation, ," I may as well make known to you my determination. I shall not leave your presence till you solemnly pledge yourself to become my wife." Marion had risen from her seat, but she sank back like one paralyzed. The strength which had sustained her in that former painful interview was now wanting. She recalled with bitterness the words of Lenora, and she felt that her own credulity had brought her into this snare. Her self-respect was wounded, and, consequently, her self-possession failed. "Why are you so alarmed, my dear girl? You know I am a Christian, - one of your own making. Can't you trust yourself with me?" She gave him one scrutinizing glance, and, terrified by the expression of his countenance, she hid her face in her hands. His anger at her 'obstinate rejection,' as he termed it, had risen beyond all bounds. He had in- tended to use only persuasion till the last moment came ; but his self-restraint was gone, and, forcibly removing her hands, he fixed his eyes upon hers, while he said,- Hear me ! You had your way once, and now it's my turn. Whether you know it or not, it was my influence page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 MARION GRAHAM; that brought you to this town, and to this cottage;-- that has to-night involved you in toils which you cannot escape. I have served a long and wearisome time, and you can judge whether I am likely to abandon my reward. It is your best policy quietly to prepare your mind for what is inevitable." He looked at his watch, and continued, - ("It is now eleven. In one hour, a carriage will be here containing a minister and a witness, and it will take but a few moments to make you my wedded wife." "It will be no marriage if forced," said Marion, con- vulsively shuddering. "The minister is my friend, and he will go through the requisite forms, and pronounce us man and wife. The witness will testify to the same. Immediately after the ceremony, I shall take my bride out of town to a secure place I have provided, and to-morrow we shall set out for Canada, where we will spend our honey moon. Now, my love, you see that on every account it is best for you to submit gracefully. If you do this, all violence will be saved." And he put his arms around her shrinking form. She tried to throw them off, but he held her fast. "My hour has come, and my revenge is so sweet, that I could almost forgive the labor you have caused me." Her face was blanched-of every vestige of color, and, for a moment, utterly deprived of all power of resist- ance, she was passive in her despair. "That is as it should be. I will not use force while you are so yielding." And, believing his threats had actually subdued her will, he attempted to kiss her. By a desperate effort she suddenly freed herself, and falling upon her knees before him, she earnestly im-. plored, . OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 255 "Be merciful, Mr. Perley! It is true that I am in your power, but spare me for the love of God, and I will pray for you as long as I live." How his words hissed in her ear! "What, rebellious again? I have had plenty of your prayers, and now I want your submission. I have sued to you in vain. Shall I be more tender-hearted than a woman? It is too late. Your blind credulity has given you to my arms, and no mortal power can wrest you thence.' But where is your faith, my dear? Why don't you pray to God, that he would senid an angel to deliver you?" "Your rebuke of my unbelief is deserved. I do most fervently appeal to One that is stronger than vyou." And, clasping her hands and lifting her streaming eyes to heaven, her lips faintly uttered the prayer of her soul, "Save me, O God!" Every energy of her being was concentrated in that brief but intense supplication. And she arose tranquil, assured that her cry of agony had reached her Father's ear. The effect of that petition was no less wonderful upon her adversary than upon herself. As cherubim once stood sentinels guarding the gates of Paradise, so now there seemed present angels defending Marion from that madman's approach. It was a sublime sight-that delicate woman calmly confronting her foe. In spite of his desperate resolve, and her entire helplessness, he cowered before her. Enraged alike with himself and with his victim, he stood stamping and gnashing his teeth, and swearing that he would not be thwarted by a whining girl. Suddenly he exclaimed,- "Fool that I am! I forgot that I had with me what will break the spell of your cursed prayer." page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256 MARION GRAHAM; Hastily swallowing a large potion from a brandy flask he carried with him, he drew from his pocket a small phial, and approached her, saying,.- "I am provided against all extremities. Here, girl, is a draught that will speedily compose your nerves, and make you passive, if not happy, in the wedding cere- mony awaiting us. Will you submit quietly to your fate, or will you swallow this dose?" "I will do neither, Mr. Perley; God will protect me." "Let him do it, then, by ----." And with his aim around her, holding back her head, one hand forcibly opened her mouth, while the other placed the phial to her lips. But had not her Father heard her cry? Even then, she did not doubt it. As her heart ascended to him, the loud ring of the door- bell suddenly startled the guilty man. "It is too early for my confederates. And no one else shall intrude here this night, even if he be a mes- senger from heaven." "Help! help!" rang out piercingly upon the night air. Her agonizing call fell upon no indifferent ear. The door was shaken violently, and, as that did not yield, the window was raised by a strong arm, and Mr. Sunderland stood; before her. She stretched out her arms, and, uttering a cry of joy, fell fainting at his feet. , iOR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 257 CHAPTER XX. "Night is not forever, Darkness finds an end, - Light from higher, holier realms On me will descend. Though I wait in sorrow, Though I pine in gloom, There will be a morrow, Morning yet will come." WHEN Marion opened her eyes, she found herself lying on the lounge, while some one knelt beside her, tenderly chafing her face and hands. Conscious of having passed through some painful scene, she exerted herself to recall what it was, and what stranger was before her, whose face, shaded from the light, she could not distinctly see. Mr. Sunderland's gentle inquiry, "Are you better?" brought every thing to her mind, and, pressing his hand in both hers, she exclaimed,-- "It was God who heard my cry of anguish, and sent you to deliver me. My first thanks are due to him. Will you not speak them for me?" Eagerly did her drooping heart drink in his words of thanksgiving'and of supplication. 1"And how shall I ever express what I owe to you? said she, looking up through her tears. "You owe me nothing. It was, as you say, a Higher . page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] L0 3 IAkUIN UAR-lAI R Power that sent me here, and all your gratitude belongs to him." "But how did it happen? I was not aware that you had returned." "I will explain all in due time. Now you must in- form me where I can find some wine for you." "That is not necessary." "I am your physician to-night, and require implicit obedience. You see for yourself it is necessary;" for, having attempted to rise, she sank back exhausted. Giving him directions, he soon prepared and brought her his prescribed medicine. "One thing more must be done," and his voice low- ered. "I found Mr. Perley perfectly infuriated, and his feelings were not improved by his unceremonious eject- ment. He will be on the alert to do us both injury, with his tongue, if in no other way; and I know you will wish to avoid all explanation, so far as possible. On this account, Miss Graham, I must either try to bring my mother here, or to get you to her." Marion looked her thanks for his considerate kindness, and said, "Let me go with you then." "But I must be absent ten minutes to order a sleigh." He gave her an inquiring glance. With a shudder she replied,- "He told me a minister and a witness would be here at twelve." "The rascal!" said he, with a stern look, but, in a moment, resuming his natural expression, he added, "It is after that already, for it took me a long time to bring you out of your fainting fit. And you may be sure the first thing Mr. Perley did was to arrest that movement." -.... OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS; 259 "I will remain, then." And, without further delay, he made all fast and departed. "It is not a very inviting ride we have before us, Miss Graham, but I think Isaac will get us through. Now you must keep quiet and let me bundle you up. I have a mother, you know, and am used to such things. Shall I find your clothes in the hall?" Marion could not forbear smiling when he returned with his arms full, and -began to wrap her up as if she were a child. She could hardly account for her feeling so entirely at home with one whom she knew so little-; but it was a pleasant reliance, and she did not care to contend against it. With Mr. Sunderland's help, she was soon in the sleigh, which; however, was by no means the end of difficulties. The problem was to ride through the drifts and keep right side up. Isaac urged and coaxed the poor beast, which struggled and floun- dered, and made but slow progress. At length, how- ever, the parsonage was reached, and they entered the parlor, where the pleasant fire-light from the glowing grate cast a cheerful look upon every thing. "Miss Graham, this is my mother," Marion instinctively extended both her hands, and was at once folded in Mrs. Sunderland's arms. A gen- uine lady of the old'school, her warm heart had melted all its formalities into a genial kindness. She was tall and dignified, yet with such a charming face and man- ner that Marion was at once attracted. Mr. Sunder- land observed this with pleasure, for his mother was the delight, as well as the pride of his heart. The next afternoon, as Marion lay upon the sofa, for she still found herself greatly exhausted, Lenora came page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 MARION GRAHAM; in, and, having greeted her affectionately, proceeded to say, "Mr. Sunderland was at Uncle A'ustin's this morn- ing, and, in strict confidence, told me something of what has happened. I have been all impatience to see you ever since, but he forbade my coming till this hour." 4' I have found that your impressions were right, and as you feared - to my cost." "It was terrible, dear Marion, but, thank Heaven, you are safe out of his talons now. My blood boils when I think of what you must have endured." "I wished a great many times that I had taken you home with me." "I verily believe I should have had strength to knock down the jackanapes. But that is too good a name for the wretch. I should like to expose him to the view of the civilized world. But don't look so distressed. For your sake I will hold my tongue, even if I have to bite it, as I think is probable." "I am afraid, Lenora, your excitement may prove contagious, and injure our friend." "( So far from that, Mr. Sunderland, I am operating as a safety valve. Consider how much steam has accu- mulated, and that there is consequently danger of an explosion. So, as she is too weak to let it off, I am doing it for her. Thus I shall come in for my share of credit in her cure." "You are certainly entitled to credit for pleading your cause so ingeniously." "I undertook to argue with her once," said Marion; "now, I have learned to let her have it all her own way. But do you know that you have told me nothing about your return, and how you happened to call just then?" OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 261 "Good!" exclaimed Lenora, "I have been aching to know that very thing." - To make a beginning, then, we came home on Mon- day, and the very first report that greeted us was that Mr. Perley was about to marry Miss Graham." He took care not to look at her flushed face, but continued: "(I have never had but one opinion of that man, and I could not give credence to the story. Yet it was re- peated in so many ways, and confirmed by such state- ments, that I became convinced there was false play somewhere. "Yesterday afternoon, while at Mr. Austin's, your good friend Lenora Benson waxed very eloquent on the subject, and from her I think I obtained a pretty correct idea of the case. I have been absent so long that, I found myself -pressed with pastoral duties, but I deter- mined to call on you the evening of the following day. After tea, I sat down to- commence a sermon for the Sabbath. I had selected my text, and written a page or two, when a sudden idea arrested me, ' I will see Miss Graham to-night.' I resisted it, and wrote on. Again that impression. I sternly put it down as folly, and forced my pen along the page. Thus the conflict pro- ceeded, my impulse gaining strength as it was baffled. A strange misgiving stole over me. I went to the win- dow and looked and listened, and then seated myself again at my task, feeling that it would be madness to venture out on such an evening. But I grew more and more restless, and at length started up saying, ' I must go. It is clearly an intimation of Providence, and who can tell what she may suffer if I neglect it.' By some this might be regarded as superstitious; but 1 believe that a Divine Hand guides us in the minutest events. L page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 MARION GRAHAM; "When I left my study, I found it was later than I supposed, and that my mother had retired. I went to her door and told her that duty called me out." "Duty again!" broke in Lenora. "Have you any objection to that word?" "The greatest possible; but I won't interrupt you-now, only your first expression, impulse, does you better jus- tice." "Before leaving the house, actuated I suppose by 'impulse,' I put a fresh supply of coal upon the fire, cer- tainly an unusual thing for me to do. I then sallied forth into the dark night, every step strengthening my purpose to reach Mrs. Carson's as soon as possible. The lights in almost all the dwellings were extinguished, not a star was visible, and the air was filled with unearthly howlings. Wild with haste, I pressed onward, nor did I pause till my hand was on the door bell. Just then your shriek fell- upon my ear, and I thanked Him who had sent me to your relief." When he had finished, tears stood in the eyes of all his auditors. Dashing her own away, Lenora exclaimed, - "I am a fool, To weep at what I am glad of." "I am in the same condemnation, who have more occasion for gratitude and joy than any one." "Mr. Perley's conduct might justly lead us to shed tears of compassion," said Mrs. Sunderland. "I, for one, shall be forever guiltless of all tears in his- behalf," responded Lenora, " though I might perhaps be tempted to cry for joy if he got his -deserts." The week Marion passed at the parsonage was a de- ; A* ' r N OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 263 lightful one. Mr. Sunderland had a wonderful faculty of government, and contrived to carry out all his plans for the improvement of her health and spirits. He was quite in the habit of using the imperative mood, though his tones were remarkably gentle. h "You must not read in that light, Miss Graham,'9 said he one day as she was looking over a book "which Lenora had just brought in. I She was about to obey, when, on second thought, she answered playfully,-- ' I don't know about always letting you have your own way. I think I shall finish this passage." "Then I must insist;" and taking the book from her, he laid it on the mantel-piece. If She was inclined to be vexed, one glance at his face effectually forbade it. Lenora, who stood at the win- dow, had looked up in astonishment, and now, in her headstrong fashion, started forward, saying, - "You shall have it, Marion," and reached her hand for the book. "Lenora!" and his clear eye was fixed upon her. She blushed and yielded, but consoled herself by saying, - "I wouldn't have heeded his orders, but he magnet- ized me." It's his way," replied Marion, smiling, " and there is no use in resisting." "Put on this shawl," said Mr. Sunderland one day, as Lenora was about leaving the house without any outer garment. "I came here as I am, and I shall return in the same style, if it is only to have my own way for once." "Then you will not go home," replied he in his own quiet but decided manner. page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 MARION GRAHAM; She understood him too well to debate longer; so, with the best grace she could command, she submitted, saying,- "I hope the time will come when you will know how pleasant it is to obey." "When it does, I shall think of you." It was decided that Marion should board at Mr. Vaughan's, a pleasant family belonging to Mr. Sunder- land's society, and living not far from him. She found there an agreeable home, and cheered in her leisure hours by the society of her new friends and of Lenora, the weeks passed swiftly away. She had a great respect and affection for her own minister, Mr. Morton, but in hearing Mr. Sunderland, X her ideal of a preacher was first answered. There was ! thought and reasoning, imagination and fervor, all in their due proportion. His logic was kindled by love, and his arguments blazed with illustration. "How much I shall miss Mr. Sunderland's ser- mons!" said Lenora. "It will be next to my missing of you." She had been suddenly summoned home, in the : expectation of going abroad with her parents in the spring. She promised to call on Julia McKinstry, who i had written to Marion with much sympathy, urging her to spend the winter in New York. "Papa says we get along as cozily as two old shoes,' - she said, " but you must come and see for yourself." Lenora spent her last afternoon at the parsonage, in company with Marion. She tried to rattle off with her usual gayety, but was evidently under a cloud. Seat- ing himself beside her, Mr. Sunderland drew her into a serious conversation, while his mother and Marion were I: 1; OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 265 chatting together. What he said to her they did not know, but they saw it was almost impossible for her to control her feelings. In the evening, when Marion and she returned home, Mr. Sunderland accompanied them. They came first to Mr. Austin's, and as Lenora was to leave early the next morning, they would not see her again. To Mr. Sunderland's earnest farewell she could make no reply; but throwing her arms around Marion's neck, she sobbed aloud, and then, suddenly breaking away, rushed into the house. Mr. Sunderland and Marion walked on in silence, both of them partakingof the emotion of their friend. More than once when going home in the evening, on turning the corner in which Mrs. Vaughan's house stood,- Marion had fancied a dark form slinking among the trees. A few nights after Lenora's departure she had gone down to the door to receive a message from one of her pupils. She stood a moment after her caller had left, gazing into the starry sky, while thoughts of her wandering friend stole over her. Suddenly, the same dark form she had before noticed emerged from behind a wall, and appeared in her presence. Before she could collect her thoughts, she heard her own name called in a voice which made her start. "Good evening, Miss Graham !" Without replying, Marion was about to close the door when the voice continued, - "I have only a single word to say to you. Although by base means my plan was defeated, yet you cannot have forgotten that, by your own voluntary act, you are sth in my power. I therefore demand the immediate payment of your unconditional note. If you fail in this, 12 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 MARION GRAHAM; I shall circulate the story of your father's insolvency. And I shall also seize upon your cottage and furniture, not excepting your personal effects. One week I will allow you in which to meet my claims. If I fail to hear from you then, beware!" After he had glided away, she stood for a moment like one paralyzed. It was an unexpected stroke, and she saw no way of deliverance. The night wore away, but brought her no rest. u"I will ask Mr. Sunderland's advice," she said to her- self. Soon after breakfast, she went to the parsonage, and was met at the door by the minister. Are you sick??" he said with concern, noticing a change in her appearance. "I did not sleep well last night, and I have come to consult you on a painful matter." He invited her into his study, and giving her an arm chair, he seated himself beside her. Telling him more par- ticularly than she had before done of the circumstances attending her father's death, she related the occurrence of the preceding evening. As she repeated Mr. Per- ley's words, an angry flush passed over his face. Lean- ing his head upon his hand, he sat for a few mements buried in thought, while Marion anxiously watched him. At length he broke the silence. , Have no fear of his: dastardly threat with regard t( your father. And now let me ask a few questions You are sure your father told you there was no clain on the estate?" , Entirely sure." ". Have his books and papers been thoroughly e, amined?" OR, HGHER ,THAN HAPPINESS. 267 "Mr. Godwin has looked them all over." "Are there no other papers?" "There is a trunk of old letters at the cottage, but I think there can be no business papers there." He sat in silence for a time, and then said, "You must allow me to carry you to Glenwood, and to assist you in reexamining matters, for I believe there has been a great fraud practised." "If you can spare the time, I will follow your coun- sel, though I have little expectation of any favorable result." "I must find some one to take your place in school, and we will start this afternoon. It is fine sleighing; so we can travel rapidly." At one o'clock he called for her, amply provided with cloaks and buffaloes. "You see I am an old traveller," he said, as he placed a heated soap-stone underneath her feet, and laid a smaller one in her hands. "I see you know how to take good care of your friends." They had no lack for conversation, and Mr. Sunder- land drew out of Marion many incidents of her past life. But not- the first word concerning Maurice fell from her lips. In the afternoon of the next day they drove up to the cottage, and presently Polly was at the door overjoyed to see her young mistress. "You haven't been and got married?" asked she, while Mr. Sundefland was taking the horse to a hotel. "Oh no, indeed!" she replied, laughing at Polly's gravity. "That is my Carrisford minister, and he has come to help me on some business matters." "He's a likely man, anyhow." "To be sure, and deserves a, good supper for bring- ing me here so nicely." page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268- MARION GRAHAM; Polly bustled round, and, soon after Mr. Sunderland's return, a warm supper was in readiness for the travel- lers, After tea, the old trunk was brought in and carefully searched, but no business documents could be found. -"What were you expecting to discover? "I hardly know myself, but I think I shall somewhere find the evidence of his fraud. Is there no other pos- sible place?" "There is a little trunk containing the correspondence of my father and mother," answered Marion in a falter- ing voice. "But I have never ventured to unlock it, and there can hardly be any such evidence there." "We had better assure ourselves." She brought the trunk, and, handing him the key, motioned that he should open it. The memories of the past overflowed her, and she could not speak. When he had complied, he paused; and they both looked silently within, where lay the record of two loving hearts. - Her father's letters were tied with white ribbons, though now yellowed by time. Her mother's were tied with black, and bore the marks of frequent perusal. Marion shook her head, signifying that nothing could be found there. "Shall I look?" "If you think best." Reverently he lifted the neat packages and laid them on the table. At the very bottom of the trunk was a pocket-book which had disappeared a few months since, her father supposing he had lost it on a journey. Mr. Sunderland held it out to Marion. "Please open it." He did so, and examining the contents, he said, - "Here are two fifty dollar bills." ;i;: ^.OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 269 "I remember father's speaking of having lost them with the pocket-book." Nothing further could be found. But Mr. Sunder- land was by no means discouraged. The next day he spent in Mr. Godwin's office, carefully examining Judge Graham's papers. In looking over the list of notes, he- came to those of Ambrose & Co., which Mr. Godwin told him were the ones that had proved so disastrous to Marion, owing to the- failure of the company. Without saying a word of his intentions to Mr. God- win, whose prepossessions were in favor of Mr. Perley, he determined to go to Farland, thirty miles distant, and call on Mr. Ambrose. Finding him at homre, he begged permission to ask a few questions, and then in- quired if it was true, that, at the time of his failure, he only paid twenty-five per cent. on his debts. "It was all I was able to do, sir." "Perhaps you are not aware how unfortunate this was for the daughter of Judge' Graham, who had just been left an orphan." "I certainly do not know; nor can I understand how it should be so," returned he, opening his eyes wide upon Mr. Sunderland. "Mr. Perley presented a claim for $15,000, as he had advanced $30,000 to refund the bank. To meet this claim, she was obliged to give up every thing." "The scamp!" broke out Mr. Ambrose indignantly. ' A precious stroke of villany, indeed!" And looking confounded, he sat gazing on the carpet as if he was there tracing out Mr. Perley's doings. After waiting a few moments in silence, Mr. Sunderland ventured to hint that he should like to;ae enlightened in the matter. Recovering himself, Mr. A/nbrose said, - page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 MARION GRAHAM; l "I had been engaged in large speciulations; and Mr. Perley had become fearful, and at length refused to sell me any more goods, unless I procured an indorser for the notes already due, as well as for any future ones I might give. I had no difficulty in obtaining the signa. ture of my- friend, Mr. Blois; and, to Imy certain knowl- edge, he made up my deficit, and paid )every cent of the $30,000. A precious stroke, indeed!" added he with emphasis, again concentrating his gaze on the carpet. "Where does Mr. Blois live?" I "Not half a mile from here." f "I should like his affidavit." "Of course you would, and I will go with you." Well satisfied with his day's work, Mr. Sunderland returned to Glenwood. He had no sooner opened the door of Mr. Godwin's office, than that gentleman ex- claimed, --- "I have been watching for you all day. A smooth- faced rogue, indeed! But sit down, sit down." And rubbing his hands with glee, he continued, "Here is a telegraphic despatch from an agent of mine, and an old friend of the Judge's. And as good luck would have it" "Or a kind Providence," interrupted Mr. Sunderland, smiling. "Just so; you're right there. Well, he has just dis- covered a fraudulent transaction by which Mr. Perley had sponged the Judge out of $20,000." "And your convictions of his integrity are somewhat shaken thereby, eh, Mr. Godwin?" "Well, well! You see I had known him for years, and the Judge had confidence in him too. But we're OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 271 all liable to -be mistaken. Yes, I can now believe with you, that the will to cheat the daughter was not want- ing; but the way, - I see no way." ("Where there's a will, a villain usually finds a way," and he held Mr. Blois' affidavit before Mr. Godwin's eyes. v "Indeed! indeed! indeed!" and he ended a long survey of Mr. Sunderland by saying, "It's a thousand pities you are not in the law. But does our friend know this?" "No, sir. Shall we call there together?" "Without delay. I have been waiting for you to go with me and announce the telegram." As they entered the cottage, Mr. Sunderland looked earnestly at Marion, while on Mr. Godwin's face sunshine sat triumphant., "Well, Miss Marion," said he, cordially shaking her hand. "We have taken the crafty in his own net. But the praise is all due to this minister, who ought, by all rights, to have been a lawyer. He has turned dark- ness into daylight." "What is that you say?" broke in Polly. "Is it any good news for Miss Marion? , 6"Yes, Polly, taking the discoveries together, it's as good as $35,000 in money, and worth inconceivably more than that in freeing her from a base man's toils." "The Lord be praised!" cried Polly, while tears rolled down her cheeks. "I was sure he wouldn't let her be cheated in the long run, for I knowed she was cheated, though she didn't think so. It didn't seem as if God was minding nothing 'bout it. But he was minding, for all that." Mr. Godwin then explained the matter to Marion, who sat with her face covered and her head bowed. page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 MARION GRAHAM; "Many, my dear young friend, will rejoice in your re- turn of prosperity. It was my plan," he continued, " to arraign the villain- for public trial, but my friend here seemed to think that would be putting you on trial too, which I should be sorry to do. So, at his suggestion, I shall to-morrow morning send Mr. Perley a plain talk on paper, allowing him, for your sake, to choose between being arrested for fraud, or immediately returning the embezzled funds and leaving the country forever. So, if he prefers the former, my young lady, you must put on a brave face and make the best of it. For I shall make it clear that, if he is not off in short metre, we shall put the screws on." "I fervently hope it will never come to that." "Not likely. But, in the mean time, what is your purpose?" "To put my good Polly back into the, house with our old John, if I can procure him." And for yourself?" "To complete my engagement at Carrisford." "Well, well, that's not a bad plan." Mr. Sunderland's face wore a look of undisguised satisfaction as he inquired when sh6 would like to re- turn. . "Perhaps you cannot conveniently remain over the Sabbath." "I have made conditional arrangements for the sup- ply of my pulpit, and shall therefore be happy to stay till Monday." The next day, which was Saturday, they called at Mr. Morton's, who received Marion with paternal tenderness, at the same time cordially greeting her companion. "I have not seen you, Henry, since I was at your -::X% OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 273 father's when you were a mere lad. But my affection for him never abated, and I am glad to welcome his son. Your mother still lives? ' "Yes, sir, she is enjoying a green old age, and look- ing, as always, after the welfare of her boy. We should both be rejoiced to see you in our parsonage, sir." "Thank you; there's no one to whom I should be more happy to pay my respects than ; to your honored mother." Their next call was at Mr. Vinton's, where they were met by Judy, whose eyes were red with weeping. ' I is right glad to see you, Miss Marion, but our dear Miss Bessie's trouble e'ena'most takes the life out o' me." "What is it?" exclaimed Marion in alarm. "And does'nt you know? But in course yer couldn't, for we'se only jes' hearn. Deary me! She's lost dat ar' angel o' hern. But walk in; it'll comfort 'em to see you," Mr. Sunderland hesitated. "It will be no intrusion, I am sure,' said Marion earnestly, " and besides you are a minister." On meeting her, a fresh burst of sorrow escaped Mr. and Mrs.;Vinton, while Marion's tears flowed in sym- pathy. Dirawing his chair beside Mrs. Vinton, Mr. Sunderland began to converse with her. "Will you not read and pray with us, sir?" When he had complied with this request, Mr. Vinton said, "God bless you, sir, for you have taken us up to the gate of heaven." "Poor Maurice will feel this deeply," said Mrs. V in- ton, addressing Marion, " for his little namesake was a great pet of his." 12 * page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 MARION GRAHAM; "When did you hear from him?" "We had a few lines last week. He was still in England, and knew not when he should leave." As these words were exchanged, a flush overspread Marion's cheek, and it was a relief to her that the gen- tlemen were busily talking. When they left the door Mr. Sunderland said, - "I suppose there are some other places you will wish to visit? Are you willing I should accompany you?" 6"If you have any interest in doing so." She said this sincerely; for the delicacy and sym- pathy of her companion prevented her from regarding him as an intruder, even when retiring into her most sacred sorrows. They proceeded on their walk, and soon turned into the street where stood Judge Graham's fine old mansion. "Mr. Godwin gave me the key which Mr. Perley had left with him. But for the recent change of owners I should not venture there." Silently they walked through the venerable yard, the snow-crust bearing them over the long untrodden paths. Entering the deserted mansion, Marion found the fur- niture just as she had left it. / They silently passed through the variousoms, lin- gering in the library where Marion and her father had spent their last evening together. Her closing visit she made to her own boudoir, having requested her com- panion to wait a moment in the parlor. It was a spot hallowed by the memory of that friend who, she felt, was more truly lost to herathan if the high thick walls of death rose between them. Kneeling upon the floor and bowing her head on the table, a flood of grief flowed over her. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 275 The door was ajar, and after a few minutes Mr. Sunderland stole in, and, standing beside her, said in a gentle tone,- "Do not forbid my sympathy." "I fear sorrow makes me selfish, but the heariknow- eth its own bitterness." ( And our High-Priest knows it also. But you ought not to linger here. Had you not better return directly to the cottage?" Marion shook her head, and they bent their steps towards the churchyard, where the pure snow glistened on many a stone and hillock. As they stood beside her father's monument, the wind swept circling round them in melancholy gusts, causing Marion to shiver from head to foot. Mr. Sunderland hastily drew her arm within his, and hurried her away, saying, "Pardon me, but you are seriously exposed." The next morning, in looking over Marion's books, Mr. Sunderland exclaimed with pleasure, "You have German books then?" "Most of them belong to an acquaintance, who is now abroad." Opening a volume he read aloud upon the fly leaf the name of "Maurice Vinton." Marion was busy adjusting the window curtain, and, with as much indif- ference as she could assume, replied, "Yes; the son of that Mr. and Mrs. Vinton on whom we called yesterday, and the brother of my best friend, Bessie Maynard." As he was intent on the books, her confusion, fortu- nately or unfortunately, escaped his notice. "Shall we take back some of the volumes, and read them together?" page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 276 MARION GRAHAM; "I should enjoy it very much." 'When the sleigh drove up to the door, Polly had the stones heated and nicely wrapped up. She was in fine spirits at the thought of being reinstalled again in the old Hall. "John and me shall have every thing in prime order agin you return." ( I have no doubt of it. Good-by, Polly." "Good-by, Miss Marion." And she stood at the door till they were out of sight. "That's the likeliest young man I ever sot eyes on. And 'twouldn't be strange neither if Miss Marion should come to think as much." With this wise reflection she closed the door. For a time the travellers rode without exchanging a word. But at length Marion broke the silence. "Death has always been to me a most gloomy sub- ject." "But it is the bridge over which our thoughts can instantly pass to a very bright one." "It ought to be so, I suppose, but I have no definite conceptions of heaven; and that of which we have only vague ideas cannot present the attractions we might otherwise feel." "But why have you no distinct impressions of our future home?" "Because, on the one hand, it is impossible for me to conceive of pure spirit, or of the dwelling-place and employments suited to it. And, on the other hand, I have been afraid to think of heaven as in any respect corresponding to earth, lest I should thus materialize it." "The beloved John, then, has been guilty of mate- rializing it. With such authority, I think we are safe OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 2" in giving the reins to our imagination, allowing it to soar in the direction which the divine oracles have pointed out. They speak in the boldest language of celestial fruits and flowers, of trees of life full of healing leaves, and of streams pure as crystal. Therefore I feel justified in thinking of heaven, not as a shadow-land, but as a place fitted up with the most exquisite beauty. I believe its crowning glory and delight is the presence of the Lord; but I also believe that he has filled it with every object suited to satisfy the enlarged and various desires of redeemed and holy beings." "I am rejoiced to hear your views. Do you remem- ber to have met with a gorgeous poem, entitled ( Over There?"' "I do not; but cannot you repeat it?" "I can give you some of my favorite passages." "Always brooding warm and olden, Sleeps the shimmer, mellow-golden Over there. Never blighting shadow passes O'er the silky, star-eyed grasses, Waving wide their flowing hair, Over there. "Brilliant blossoms breathe and burn Over there; Nectar-drunken nods the fern By the tulip's ruby. urn, Over there; And the rose's red, divine, Flashes by the saintly shrine Of the lily's argentine, Over there. Orange buds and passion flowers Lattice hymeneal bowers, Over there; page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 MARION GRAHAM; Violets and heliotropes Pant along the purple slopes, Over there; Fringed eyes of gentianelles, Drowsing in the dreamy dells, Are by wooing zephyrs kissed Into humid amethyst, Over there; All the heavenly creatures born Of the breeze, the dew, the morn, Still divinelier breathe and blow, Drape their purple, drift their snow, Quaff their crimson, sheen their gold, Throb their odors manifold On the palpitating air, On the back-impulsing air Over there. "Oh, the royal forests growing Over there! Breath of balsam ever blowing Over there; Pine-trees swing their odory chime, Palm-trees lift their plumy prime, In the ever Eden-time Over there; And a passionate perfume Thrills the dim, delicious gloom, Starry with the blossomed planets Of the scarlet pomegranates Over there. "Through arcades of fig and myrtle, Over there, Mailed insects flash and hurtle In the air; O'er the dewy groves of spice Floats the bird of Paradise, Over there; Other lustrous birds are winging Lower flights for sweeter singing, ?i!!]! OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. ( 279 And their silver-throated story Filleth all the woods with glory Over there. "Tendrilled bowers are always vining Over there; Bloomy grapes are always wining Over there; Pendulous and brown bananas Ripen in the warm savannas, Tolling refluent hosannas On the sleepy, scented air, Over there. No salt tears the ground are drenching Over there; '\ Faint with fear no form is blenching Over there; And no lifted hands are reaching In a frantical beseeching - Over there. "No more desperate endeavors, No more separating evers, No more desolating nevers Over there." "That is glowing as the sunset, and affluent as an India ship freighted with spices. Commend me to a woman for gathering up and hiving the genuine Hymet- tus honey of poesy." Not many-days after their return from Glenwood, Mr. Sunderland came in with an unusually grave face. "I have had a letter from Mr. Godwin which tells me that Mr. Perley has given up the deeds, but refuses either to return the money, or to leave the country. He evidently trusts to your reluctance to appear in court. Mr. Godwin, justly incensed, has had him arrested, and the time of trial is fixed for the fourteenth of April." page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 MARION GRAHAM; CHAPTER XXI. "I have thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became In its own eddy boiling and overwrought, A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame, And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, My springs of life were poisoned." ON returning from school one day, Marion found two letters on her table. One was in the hand-writing of Lenora. The other had a foreign post-mark, and was a letter she had been looking for with feverish impa- tience. She turned it over and over, trying to still her throbbing heart, and then, woman-like, laid it carefully in her writing desk, and opened Lenora's. "Your cousin Julia and I have become quite intimate. She is a dear little affectionate soul, full of grace and confidingness, with a lord who worships her, and has just sense enough- (not an ounce more), to keep from spoiling her. Her tiny Marion is now six weeks old, and, I dare say, will be a paragon of babies; but I can as yet perceive very few of those charms which set her young mother raving about her. It is enough to make old Hilary laugh to see the whole family convened together'; for it is time you should know that Julia got homesick in her new estab- lishment; and nothing would do but it must be sold, OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 281 trappings and all. So they are back again at the old- gentleman's. They constitute a genuine Mutual Admi. ration Society. Mr. McKinstry never makes his appear- ance but that Julia must besiege him with caresses, calling him a darling old fellow, and so on. Of course he is obliged, being sold you see, to pay her in the cur- rent coin; and thus I am rmade the blessed witness of a real honey-mooning. J When her father appears, she is still more patroniz- ing. 'You blessed love of an old man,' with a flood of appropriate blandishments. By this time, little queen Marion is brought upon the stage, and after being oh-ed and ah-ed to satiety, she is assailed with a perfect shower of baby-talk, and a most wonderful series of en- dearments. I sometimes feel that it is a desecration to call the gypsy aftdr you. But all is sincere, if not profound; and I am getting really attached to Julia, only I don't fancy being called 'a lovely puss,' 'a charming mouse,' and various other sundries of kindred nature. ' And now for my plan. - Father defers our travels till" fall; so in June I am coming to Uncle Austin's, chiefly to make you a visit, understand. And next September I am determined to have you with me in Fifth Avenue; where I shall expect you to be in subjection to my lady- ship, as you now are to one I wot of. En passant, has he yet attained to the dignity of a ferule as a needed ally to the sustainment of his crown?" Having laughed over this letter, Marion drew her chair to the fire, and waited for the tea-summons. On returning again to her room, with great composure she took the foreign epistle from her desk, and quietly seated " page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 MARION GRAHAM; herself at the table. But she has in nowise deceived us. Beneath the calm exterior we have seen the inward rushing of the tide, and we can hear the beatings of her heart as she reads her communication from London. 'i It would be a relief to me, Miss Graham, did I dare express my depth of sympathy for you in your great be- reavement, and in the accompanying trials of which you make no mention, but of which I have heard from others. I cannot, however, trust myself to follow this impulse, as it would inevitably lead me upon forbidden ground. And I must content myself with saying that every pang which pierces your heart, pierces mine also. That, with such a burden of sorrow laid upon you, you should still remember me, is most grateful to my feel- ings. Ana while I warmly appreciate your kind, inter- est, I am not without reverence for the spirit your letter breathes. It tempts me more fully to open my heart, and give you some of the reasons which have made me a miserable sceptic. You yourself will not deny that the world is sadly out of joint. At times the universe seems to me, ':void of life, of purpose, of volition, a huge, dead, unmeasurable steam-engine, rolling on in its dead indifference to grind me limb from limb.', Again it is an arch-foe, waking up through its illimitable regions million-voiced woes, and, with a sardonic smile, triumphing in its malignant power. In the lower creation, I find ugliness everywhere in- congruously wedded to beauty. Th -thistle and the night-bane spring up among the fairest flowers, and thorns grow upon the same stem with the rose. The apples of Sodom are mingled with the choice clusters A- w n X,;[i - OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 283 of Eshcol, and beside the stately tree with its odorous gums, stands the Upas, forever dripping poison. If I ascend into the sentieht world, to similar discord- ant elements, I find added the sharp cry of suffering. The involuntary movements of the larger beasts cause destruction to thousands of the smaller tribes. Loath- some insects and venomous reptiles carry terror and death among the noblest and most innocent of animals, while myriads of happy, floating ephemera are con- tinually slaughtered in the very dawn of their existence. And what, Miss Graham, can you say in defence of that organized system of prey, by which some animals are formed expressly to subsist upon others? Does all this breathe of love? Alas! ghastly death, with the multifarious and frightful ills which precede it, casts -a terrific shadow over the whole earth. No species, no individual, is exempt from the curse. On that remembered day, I told you that if there was a God, his government seemed reckless, if not ruthless. It was no hasty conviction, but one that has struck its roots into the depths of my being. The face that looks out to me from the earth and sky is not one of love, but a cold and stern, if not a malevolent face. Though many a tragic tale has been written in blood, yet no pen can adequately describe the various woes which afflict our race. Tantalus-like, we thirst for what we cannot reach. We grasp pleasure, and find her but a shadow that- tauntingly mocks us as she flies. Wisdom, standing on the mountain-top in the crimson dawn, tempts us with her radiant brow and her beckoning hand. With unswerving purpose, our feet toil wearily up the steep, and as the shadows lengthen we reach the sumrnit, to discover, too late, that the form page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 MARION GRAHAM; ! we have so yearned to embrace is wrapped in an im' penetrable veil. We fall heart-broken at hpr feet, our life-toil unrecompensed. Or the soul that has wings X to cleave the blue vault is bound in an iron cage, and base poverty is the jailer, feeding it on the pettiest : cares, or tempting it to freedom through the black gate- way of crime. X As a brighter picture, you may point me to the exhi- bition of the kindly sentiments. Alas! i ' Few find what they love or could have loved, Though accident, blind contact, and the strong - Necessity of loving, have removed Antipathies.' And then there is the long gauntlet to run, of misun- : derstandings and neglects; alienations, and changes, and : separations;-with dcath to close the rear. Thus in vain do we pant for clear light, for celestial flowers and fruits. In the merriest laughter and the gladdest music ! is ever mingled sorrow's low refrain. 'Imagine,' says Pascal, ' a number of men in chains, and all condemned to die, and that, while some are slaughtered daily in sight of their companions, those who yet remain see their own sad destiny in that of the slain, and, gazing on each other in hopeless sorrow, await their doom. This is a picture of the condition of human nature. ' Such is the universal dominion of sorrow. And he who is capable of a more exquisite happiness than his a fellows, is also susceptible of a misery proportionably keener than theirs. Who can weigh the accumulated burden of woe pressing down many a heart that throbs X beneath a calm exterior? or estimate the unavailing OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 285 sorrow of a benevolent soul, over ills which he has no power to remedy? unrequited affection, deceived confi- dence, disappointed hope, and an infinitude of sufferings that no law can reach, or in any- wise control! To my own trials, Miss Graham, I could oppose a resolute will. But my fellows; - Poor, wandering, wayward man! Art thou not/ tried and. beaten with stripes, even as I am? Ever, whether thou bear the royal mantle or the. beggar's gabardine, art thou not so weary, so heavy laden? And thy bed of rest is but a grave.' But the social evils which oppress humanity present, as it seems to me, even a darker view. What gloating sensuality, what sharp and wrangling cruelty, and what cold-blooded oppression cover the face of the earth! while Crime, Briareus-handed and with bloodshot eyes, stands upon every highway, and the demon of War tramps from continent to continent. The world, tricked out in the garments of virtue, comes upon'the stage with a mincing step, glittering in jewelry and crowned with garlands, while music and dancing breathe around her their meretricious charms. But go behind the curtains, where her mask drops and her tinselry and gewgaws fall from her, - and you dis- cover her rottenness and deformity. Her chaplets are turned to ashes, and, instead of the gay viol and the bounding step, you have but groans and curses. Such poverty and degradation and immeasurable misery everywhere meet the eye; -- there is such a rioting of the senses, such ajdethronement of reason, and such am unrighteous triumphing of vice over virtue, that the appalled heart cries out, 'Is there a God in heaven?' What, Miss Graham, should we say of a father, page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 MARION GRAHAM; whose whole family was in anarchy and rebellion, but that he was most unfit for his position? Alas, for the "f gross misrule, and the wild disorder in the great family : of man ' We wither from our youth, we gasp away- Sik - sick; unfound the boon - unslaked the thirst, fA Though to the last, in verge of our decay, ; ^ Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first- But all too late,- so are we doubly curst. Love, fame, ambition, avarice, -'tis the same, Each idle and all ill, and none the worst- For all are meteors with a different name, And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame.'" For long hours, Marion yearned over Maurice as a : .-) mother yearns over a sick child. But why was it that ! she dwelt with such a lingering pleasure on the first few X lines of the letter? If there was any inconsistency in this, it was one by no means a stranger to woman's heart.' The night watches passed slowly, but with the morn- ing light the strength to endure returned. She was now : reading' Faust' with Mr. Sunderland. But although she ? entered into the study of this drama with great enthusi- ? asm, her enjoyment was tempered with sadness from her vivid recollection of the past. This sadness in- creased as she was constantly reminded of the unbeliev- ing, almost despairing spirit of Maurice, in contrast with the trusting, hopeful one of her present companion in study. j They had frequent discussions concerning Goethe; Marion, from her warm admiration, inclining to give him a higher rank as a moralist than Mr. Sunderland could do. ! OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 287 "But is not this wonderful drama full of the most impressive lessons?" i"Without a doubt, as I understand it; although there is a great diversity of opinion among literary men as to its true import. But with due respect to the savans, it seems to me to represent the struggle between man's spiritual, and carnal or lower nature, the dominance of the latter being symbolized by the temporary triumph of Mephistopheles. Now here was a grand theme for a philosophical artist. It is admirably handled, and the lessons it teaches are of vital importance. This, how- ever, only shows of what Goethe was capable, and by no means lessens the evidence of his blameworthiness. But I fear you will regard me as rather ungracious thus to damp your enthusiasm.", "It is painful of course to have our heroes brought down from their pedestal. Still I wish to have my judg- ment correct." "I admire no less than you his comprehensive and unrivalled genius. I also fully appreciate his sterling good sense, his freedom from pretension and affectation, s his entire exemption from jealousy, and that kindly but t rare generosity which rendered him so quick to discern, I and so ready to acknowledge, every shade of merit in others, But, with this unusual combination of excellen- ces,I am compelled to admit some striking deficiencies, which make questionable his claim to the highest moral i greatness. In his devotion as a priest of nature, he i appears to regard nothing as too precious to be immo- j lated on her altar. His boundless worship of art, in every department, seems to have congealed in him the common humanity. Tearing open the soul, he detects and analyzes its deepest and holiest, as well as its page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 MARION GRATAM; basest passions, - with a master's hand, indeed, but with a cold-bloodedness that makes you fancy you detect in him something of his own Mephistopheles.1" 1"This is truly a sad view."9J "I am sorry to disturb your ideal of the great poet. But, though clearly not a moralist, neither- perhaps can he, in strict parlance, be termed an immoralist. What -:: I deplore is the seeming absence of a nice sense of moral 2 obligation. He may not, indeed, have been without some general desire to do good; but the deliberate pur- pose to elevate his fellow men, or even in any way to ameliorate their woes, seems never to have entered his thoughts as a high, fixed resolve;--to have been no part of his great life-business. If, in his supreme hom. ^ age to art, he is led to portray the triumph of virtue, it is well; if that of vice, it is just as well. And what is worse, the instincts of common delicacy, his friends, - every thing in short, is sacrificed without scruple to artistic effect." 1 "Worse indeed, if this be really so! With all his noble gifts, must you then regard him as cold, egotistic, and selfish?" "I have no wish, Miss Graham, to pronounce judg-: ment upon him. My early admiration was as bound- less as your own can be. And, for a long time, I would not credit the charges brought against him, so reluctant was I to believe that he could thus abuse his transcen- dent powers. It gave me acute pain to learn of his unworthy trifling with the beautiful and innocent Fred- erica of Sesenheim, which he so coolly records in his Autobiography, for the sake, apparently, of an effective scene. His unkind betrayal of the confidence of his tried friends Kestner and Lotte, whom he so cruelly and X lly? 1!4i OR, HGHERB- THAN HAPPINESS. 289 unjustly renders notorious as his heroine in the ' Sor- rows of Werther,' - is a melancholy instance of his ruth- iess -trampling upon character, and playing with the finest sensibilities, in his desire to produce an interest- ing tale. Then, his entire want of sympathy with Ger- many, in her long and hard struggles against oppres- sion, seems an unpardonable sin in one so eminently gifted to sound the clarion notes of courage in the ears of his suffering countrymen. In the face of my hero- worship, I was thus unwillingly forced to"acknowledge that my paragon was wanting in some of the highest elements of character;--and that, on system, he was accustomed to sacrifice the dearest interests, and the most sacred claims of friend and country, when they came into collision with his own comfort, or pleasure, or his love of art." "I have seen an end of all perfection," said Marion with a sigh. "You may well say so. But; thank God, we have one faultless model, ' holy, harmless, undefiled.' Mr. Maynard and Bessie had written, renewing their invitation to Marion for the summer. Her engage- ments forbade compliance, but she concluded to pro- vide a substitute in her place for the fall term, and had promised to visit them soon after her release. In her earnest labors for self-culture, as well as in efforts for the highest good of her pupils, the weeks trod by, not indeed on fairy feet, yet bearing with them the sustaining consciousness that she was gaining ground, as well as doing right. But while her outward life thus flowed on in quiet- ness, there was an under-current which no one sus- 13 page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 MARION GRAHAM; i pected. The melancholy tone of Maurice's letter was constantly echoing in her heart and touching the springs of deep emotion. She wrote over many sheets before she could satisfy herself in her answer, but at length she sent the following: -- c' Your letter, Mr. Vinton, was so sad and so sadden. ing, that I can hardly find heart for a reply. Well do I know that the shadows of life are dense and fearfully deep. And to view them softened by no glimmerings of light, must be to dwell in Cimmerian darkness. Rest assured of my true sympathy, and of my prayers that our great Father may lead you into his own truth and light. You say pleasure mockingly flies from our embrace. And how can it be otherwise, since mortal good was not designed to satisfy the immortal nature? Surely it is a proof of the love of God, that we find no rest short of the soul's infinite centre. The world. is indeed full of mystery and of misery; yet I cannot for one moment admit that its Governor is chargeable with a ruthless or a reckless administration. You will not deny that the design everywhere manifest in creation is a beneficent one. All philosophers, I suppose, concede that pleasure is the normal expression of the senses, while pain is only a liability or accident, and even then- often comes as a warning to deter from greater evils. For the system of prey which you think argues a want of benevolence, do you not find some compensa- tion in the greater fecundity of those species most exposed to it, and the consequent increase of happy animal life? And death in this form is usually attended with less suffering, than as the result of sickness and OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 291 decay. Besides, death- in the animal world is regarded as having secured that advance from the lower to the higher organisms which has been discovered by geol- ogy; and thus seems to be a necessary condition of organic progress. You may still argue that such an arrangement indicates the want of wisdom, or of power. I can only say that, in my view, the evidence in favor of God's goodness, as well as of his wisdom and power, far exceeds that which can be arrayed against these attributes. And I lcan rest quietly in this evidence, feeling assured that many things now inexplicable to our finite faculties, will, in the spiritual world, be made plain. And yet, Mr. Vinton, I must frankly acknowledge that I am at times most painfully oppressed by the dis- cords and the apparent incongruities of life. The love- liness of earth has indeed been marred by the trail of the serpent! I am not versed in theology, but it has always been my individual belief, that it was in connec- tion with man's lapse from holiness, either prospective or consequent, that thorns and thistles sprang up, and inharmonious elements were introduced, thus despoiling our fair heritage of much of its beauty and its glory, and reflecting, in the view of man, his own perverted humanity. In this way I reconcile to myself many things that might otherwise obscure the attributes of our great Father. Your painting of human life, dark as it is, I cannot charge with being overdrawn. But you represent it only on one side. -It wearss:an aspect of happiness as unmistakable as that of misery. It is indeed true that sorrow is a universal presence, shading every earthly joy. How could it be otherwise in a world where sin reigns? And ought we not to consider that this is our page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 MARION GRAHAM; season of probation, and that sorrow is the divine dis-o cipline suited to fit us for a higher life? i For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory;' Our blessed Master was made perfect through suffering, and thus also may we be purified, if he sits beside us while we are in the furnace, refining us 'as silver is refined.' I love to think of sorrow as man's ministering angel, subduing his selfishness, kindling his energies, filling him with gentlest sympathies, awaking the noblest pur- poses, and thus making him the benefactor 6f his race. I admit that her lessons may be perverted, and the heart grow cold and hard under her teachings; but such is not her legitimate influence. ' Because she bears the pearl that makes the shell-fish sore, Be thankful for the grief that but exalts thee more: The sweetest fruit grows not when the tree's sap is full, The spirit is not ripe till meaner powers grow dull. Spring weaves a spell of odors, colors, sounds; Come, Autumn, free the soul from these enchanted bounds. My tree was thick with shades; O blast, thine office do, And strip the foliage off to let the heaven shine through. They're wholly blown away, bright blossoms and green leaves; They're brought home to the barn, all colorless the sheaves.' Ah, Mr. Vinton, from the divine depths of sorrow, there often radiates a heavenly sunshine, - a genial influ- ence, which ripens and strengthens and ennobles the character. Is not the mother of Alice an illustration of this? While, however, sorrow is thus allied to good, I am aware that the difficulty is by no means removed. But if brought into a darkness where I cannot see, I can still trust. Of what use is faith, unless it can lead us ! * * OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 293 across these terrible bridges of doubt? The mystery of sorrow is involved in the still deeper mystery of sin. Indeed, does not this one great cause, in itself inexpli- cably dark and appalling, throw a faint light on all the other difficulties we have been considering? It seems to me that the presence of sin accounts both for the va- rious discords in the natural world, and for the physical and social disorders of humanity, thus causing suffering to wear a punitive aspect; '3 The introduction of this fatal element is an abyss, which of course I am totally unable to sound; but, that -it in nowise militates against infinite goodness, I am constrained to believe. And I cannot doubt that God will finally bring great good out of this fearful evil. Did you ever read the argument in Bulwer's r Student / for the immortality of the soul? The one who is pre- sented as considering the question, first discovers design in the Creation, which implies an active and intelligent Being. Then he proceeds to the attributes revealed in his works,-- wisdom, power, and benevolence. From these combined attributes, he infers justice as a neces- sity. But here, injustice is seen. Vice frequently tri- umphs, while goodness goes unrewarded. Men are trained to crime from their childhood, and then suffer penalties from following an education they could not resist. Clearly, then, this world is not the theatre for the full awards of justice; therefore there must be a future state for correct and final adjustment. In that blessed world, Mr. Vinton, reparation will be fully made for all the cruel wrongs of life; and there the sorrowful and oppressed shall lift up their weary heads. When, by God's creating hand, this globe was swung into space, and fastened in its wide orbit, his page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 MARION GRAHAM; own kingly seal,' VERY GOOD,' was affixed to it. But sin entered, and that he might restore the harmony it had broken, our Lord 'Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.' Surely this was a gauge of love which infinity alone could give. Your heart aches for he woes of our fellow men. And was not that of Jesus moved when he wept over the doomed city? nay, was not his whole life one cease- less, burning testimony to the divine cohpassion that glowed in his soul, and impelled him onward, even to Gethsemane's garden ;- that led him up the cruel steep of Calvary, and nailed him to the malefactor's cross? In his glorious object of redeeming the race, he invites us all to be co-workers with him. Oh, that you would be persuaded to consecrate your energies to this noble service! But I may be taking an unwarrantable lib- erty. If so, excuse the earnestness of one who does not forget to pray for you. MARION GRAHAM." The eventful 14th of April arrived. The place of county court was at Barnwell, midway between Glen- wood and Carrisford. Mr. Perley had engaged as his counsel one of the finest special pleaders in the State,. but a man of lax principles. Polly Somers was thoroughly tortured and twisted, but stood to her text, like a true woman as she was. Marion's turn at length came. She walked in, leaning on the arm of Mr. Morton, and, by her noble bearing, made an immediate impression in her favor. When called to confront the prisoner, she did it with such a calm and searching look, that his face was at once blanched. To every question she made only so much reply as was necessary, all who heard her believing that she might have implicated him still more. The counsel for the defence laboriously built up the, character of Mr. Perley, reading Judge Graham's letters to him, and throwing doubts on the character of the chief witness, by representing her as an artful, in-. triguing woman. In reply to the charge concerning the note, he arguedAhat, as the debt was saved by his client's foresight, the profit, whatever it was, belonged to him. The pleas having been made, the jury retired, but quickly returned with the unanimous verdict of "Guilty." Sentence was then pronounced, which was confinement for five years in state prison. a page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] f- , *a CHAPTER XXII. "Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies Deeply buried from human eyes." TEr month of May arrived, vividly recalling to Ma- rion the last happy spring-time. On a sweet Saturday afternoon, Mr. Sunderland invited her to go Maying. Any request from him of this nature was rather unu- sual, and she hesitated whether, under the circum. stances, she had not better decline it. Observing her hesitation, he said with marked earnestness, G Deny me at any other time, but not to-day, Miss Graham." "If what I fear is in reserve," she thought, "the sooner it is over the better." Alld she hastened to pre- pare herself. Passing out of the village, he took her into those same woods where she had strolled alone the first day after her arrival at Carrisford. She alluded to that walk, but as he seemed absent-minded, she made no further attempts at conversation. When they reached a pleasant knoll he arranged a seat for her, and saying playfully, "Let me place you on your throne," he seated himself where he could look at her. "I was in this same spot last night, Miss Graham; and I here resolved, that to-day I would ask you that question, the answer to which must settle my earthly OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 297 destiny. You cannot have been entirely blind to the sentiment you have awakened in me; yet you have no conception of its depth and strength. You are the only woman I have ever gloved. , I have waited long before venturing on this declaration, from my entire uncertainty as to your feelings. But I cannot longer endure suspense. I have had sweet dreams of serving my Master with you for my ministering angel; of loving you tenderly, protectingly, passionately; and of receiving in return the wealth of your loving heart. It is fearful, I know," he continued, as she sat with her face covered, utterly unable to interrupt him, " to hazard one's all on a single venture, but I have no alternative. Say, Miss Graham, can you love me?" Poor Marion sat bowed with sorrow, while not a word was at her command. Alas! in listening to his tale of love, no such sudden bloom had mantled over her, as in some bright moments, he had ventured to pic- ture to himself. After gazing upon her for an instant in silence, with a tone of the deepest sadness he in- quired, -- "Have I displeased you?" With this question, resolution came, and, looking into his face with her clear, truthful eyes, she answered,-- "God knows that I am unworthy such love as yours. Your friendship has been to me more than words can tell. I have often desired to open my whole heart to you, and most earnestly do I now wish that I had done so. Pity me, my friend, in this new sorrow of being Obliged to give pain to one of the noblest spirits God ever made. You have a claim to the undivided heart of any one you can honor with your love. I have not such a heart to give." Her voice faltered as she added, 131 page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 9MARION GRAHAM; "I love Maurice Vinton. He is an unbeliever, and we are separated, but alas, I love him still." The silence of the grave ensued. Tears were raining from Marion's eyes, while a deadly pallor overspread Mr. Sunderland's countenance, and cold drops stood on his forehead. The strong spirit quailed in the terrible struggle, but he knew where to look for strength. Tak- ing her hand, and pressing a kiss upon it, he gently laid it back with an air which seemed to say that he resigned forever the thought of possessing it. I' My dear sister, for such you will allow me to con- sider you, I can -measure something of your suffering. Forget all I have said, and let me henceforth be to you a sympathizing and true-hearted brother. All hearts are in the hands of our Father, and our prayers for the wanderer may yet be heard. Had I only known before, you should have been spared this pain." And the noble man buried his own sorrows in the deep grave of his heart, and thought only how he might alleviate hers. Marion could merely reply, "God bless you, my brother!" Then, heedless of the spring- ing blossoms, and of sweet perfumes swung lavishy around them, they walked back in silence, - the bright drama closed. Leaving Marion at her door, Mr. Sunderland took a solitary stroll that he might recover his composure be- fore he met his mother. She had long been aware of his feelings, and had not quite understood the delay, having no doubt herself of a happy issue. As he en- tered, he attempted some playful remark, but she could not be thus deceived. "Dear Henry," she exclaimed in tones of alarm, "what has happened?" I OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 299 Kneeling beside her, he replied, "I did not mean to tell you, mother, but my life-dream is ended." Softly she laid her hand upon- his forehead, inquiring, - "How is it possible, my son?" "She loves a sceptic; her heart will not cease its lov- ing, and thus her earthly happiness, as well as mine, is wrecked." And as when a boy, he once more laid his head in his mother's lap, and yielded to the wild torrent of emo. tion. She did not seek to restrain him, but as she passed her hand caressingly over his locks, her own tears fell fast. That hour between mother and son was one never to be forgotten. At length he looked up with, serenity, saying, - "The storm is over now, and God helping me, it shall not return again. With such a mother to care for me, I cannot be very unhappy. And we both will help poor Marion to bear her heavy burden." As out of a breaking heart that self-forgetting wish arose, the light of heaven shone clearly in his face. His mother pressed him to her bosom, saying in a cheerful tone,- "God will help you, Henry." The holy day arose upon'them in loveliness,- a real George Herbert Sabbath, - "so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky." The fresh green grass glittered all over with jew- els; the trees, full of budding beauty, sent out a goodly fragrance, and glad concerts were heard from page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 800 MARION GRAHAM ; every copse and grove, while the murmuring waters : sounded forth a gentle bass. When Mr. Sunderland' ascended the pulpit, two - ! hearts beat with anxious sympathy. But there was no need for fear. God had hidden him in his pavilion. He was a little paler than usual, and when he com- menced, his voice was slightly tremulous. These were all the indications of the fierce tempest that had swept over him. He announced as his text, "Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye who hope in the Lord." From these words he preached a most-consolatory discourse, every sentence of which sank into Marion's soul. So the day passed by, and from that time Henry Sunderland seemed like his old self. Even his mother was in part deceived, and, Marion had little idea that the plucking up by the roots oj the tender plant of love, was as if an earthquake had shaken him to the centre of his being. , : H She wrote the history of the past, and enclosing Mr. Vinton's letters, she handed the whole to Mr. Sunder- land, asking his counsels and prayers. Over her sor- rows he wept tears that he henceforth denied to his own. And he talked with her freely on the subject, supplying her with books which assisted her in her re- plies to Maurice. - Their German studies, which for a time had been suspended, were resumed; and they also read together some new volumes in their own language. "I see," said Mr. Sunderland, after one of their read- ings, that Carlyle is a decided hero with you." "I certainly have the warmest admiration of him, and I hope you do not dissent from, me in this."? ' OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 301 "Not exactly, for I too admire him. Yet I am forced I 'to throw in some buts." "I am sorry for that. Please express them, however." "Let me commence with the positives then, and thus insure your patience for the negatives. I think he is earnest, generous, and sympathetic. He is also true as the polar needle, pursuing to the death formalities, cants, hypocrisies, and all falsities whatsoever, and arousing every power of the soul to an intense activity. But his representations are often one-sided and extravagant, and thus carry the influence of error. And though he has passages which breathe a deeply religious spirit, yet in i - other places the self-reliant philosophy is urged, and men are given to understand that if they work to the extent of their capacity, they will have fulfilled the end of their being. "But some of those clarion calls to labor I have con- sidered as among his finest passages. And he is cer- tainly as much out upon all mere happiness-seekers as any minister in the land. I could hardly overrate the benefit I have derived from ' Sartor Resartus.' I have read it in the deep night; and under its spell the tumult of passion has been stilled, and heavenly voices have filled the solemn air. Nowhere have I seen the struggles of the soul so graphically portrayed. The passage from ' The Everlasting No,' to ' The Everlasting Yea,' is perfectly thrilling in its almost terrific strength, while the final issue breathes the sweet hush of repose." Marion spoke with feeling, for iln the varied and pain- ful discipline of the past year, her favorite "Sartor Re- sartus " had acquired for her a deeper import than ever before. "I can appreciate your enthusiasm," said Mr. Sun- page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 MARION GRAHAM-;, ,derland earnestly. "On all these subjects his utterances are healthful, manly, and truly noble. And it may have been as foolish for me to enter any caveat, as to fore- warn the bee that there is poison in the flower,-- since he gathers only their honey." "I shall not release you from the buts, notwithstand- ing." "You forget that I have already marshalled forth some of them. However,! if you are covetous of objec- tions, I will add that my chief complaint against him is, that he makes this earnest working the very alpha and omega of religion,-- to the exclusion of many things that I consider of vital importance. Yet, to a certain extent, I can say amen to him with all my heart. I hope you will give me credit for so much." "Certainly; but --- " "But what?" "Why, nothing, only you are rather hard upon my heroes. I fear I shall lose my organ of reverence." "Never, my friend, while the matchless character of the man Christ Jesus is fresh in your memory. But as to Carlyle, I would not of course constrain your as- sent." it I should like to think over the subject. After Chat, I shall be able to plead his cause more skilfully, or else I will frankly surrender." "He will never suffer from your advocacy, Miss Gra- ham." "Miss Graham!" repeated she with emphasis. "I have often thought your address rather formal from a brother." "I will gladly call you by your first name, if you will do the same by me." OR; HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 3G3 "A more difficult matter; but if you, wish it, I will- try." "I do wish it. But it, is late, so good-night, Ma- rion!" "Good night, brother Henry!" July came, and with it Lenora on her promised visit, with a heart as fresh and true as ever. She exulted over the downfall of Mr. Perley, and could not be in- duced to commiserate him in the least, especially as he had rudely repelled Mr. Sunderland's offer to loan him books. At the parsonage she was cordially welcomed; and her minister quietly assumed his old Mefitorship over her. "I should have thought you would have cured him of- his tyranny by this time," said she to Marion, after hav- ing received a check from him in one of her extravagant speeches. "It is one of the best things about him," quietly replied Marion, " and I should be very sorry to have it dropped." "So you flatter him with the knowledge that you quite enjoy his despotism," said she archly. "I allow him to understand that I rely implicitly upon his sincerity and fidelity." "But honestly, Miss Propriety, had you not any day rather be praised than blamed?" "I could never trust a friend who had not discern- ment enough to perceive my faults, and true interest enough to point them out." "A clear evasion. I ask again, - is not praise sweeter than censure?" "I will answer plainly, imperative Miss. A kind re- page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304 MARION GRAHA; - buke from one I esteem, is sometimes sweeter to me than the most eloquent words of praise*" "Bravissimo, you dear little saint. Now, Sir Perfec- tion, I hope you will allow me to see you feed her with plenty of such sweetness. 'Twill ease my own smart- ings wonderfully." "With all their rebukes, Miss Lenora, your -friends do you far more justice than you sometimes do your- self." Lenora blushed at the compliment evidently concealed in this reproof; for, coming from the source it did, she knew it was sincere. But struggling against her emo- tion, she exclaimed with bitterness, - "If any one in the wide world understood me, I should have some hope for myself," and rushed from theroom. "She possesses some of the noblest traits," said Mr. Sunderland, A but she has such a special dislike to me, that I believe I always call forth her perversities." When Marion repeated to her Mr. Sunderland's re- marli, a smile of strange triumph lighted her face. "I shall show him a multitude of my perversities yet, sweet Marion; so you need not try to buy me over." For some days, Marion had been looking for tidings from over the waters, and not long after Lenora's arrival, the wished-for missive came. "The winds, Miss Graham, have wafted me across the Channel, and now I am in this wonderful Paris, zealously flitting from one pleasure to another. This gay city sits as the aesthetic queen among the- nations, preeminent in clothing with beauty the bald realities of life. The science of external life is here brought to OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 305 such perfection, that even one who has looked into things, and discovered of what pretences they are made up, might be almost pardoned for embracing a delusion. Art and conventionalism are brought to so high a cul- ture in this luxurious hot-bed, as to be easily mistaken for nature and simplicity. Paris furnishes the ne plus ultra of sc nic representa- tion, as heartless and hollow, as it is attractive and splendid. Such a place is, to me, the most intense and bitter of all solitudes. In a desert, although we find no sympathy from nature, it at least does not mock us with its perpetual want of it. The atmosphere I am now breathing is not the pure, free air of heaven, but it concocted of unwholesome stimulants, and oppresses me as if poisoned. Why, then, you may ask, do 1 seek this eecitement? Simply for a change, Miss Graham, -fo/variety;-because any thing is better than the intolerable ennui which consumes me. But I must not longer evade the subject of your letter, though it is with reluctance that I return to a theme, which I cannot discuss without, giving you pain. You evidently perceive the same confusion and mis- rule of which I complain; and you are constrained to admit that there is no spot on earth inhabited by man, where want and misery do not exist. The difference between us is simply this: - You have faith. I have it not. It is, I grant, a lovely flower, but it blossoms not for me. I am so constituted that I must have evidence before I believe. I cannot blindly worship a Deity, who presents himself to my reason, if not as positively malignant, yet as wanting in the noble attributes which the heart spontaneously admires. Do you say, this is page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 MARION GRAHAM; ;4 irreverent? But, Miss Graham, where my adoration is commanded, -do I not owe it to myself, to inquire whether the object is worthy of it? What is a credu. lous homage worth? I must therefore challenge the right to examine the character and claims of the Su- preme, before I can render to, him my devotion. Is would do it fairly, and with no overweening confidence in myself; but I would do it fearlessly and thoroughly, else my homage is forced, and not one whit better than that which the cringing minion renders to a hated despot. For a long time I have been intent on these inquiries. I have sought to pursue them with candor ;,- of what avail would it be to deceive myself? But, so far, my conclusions have been painfully hostile to the claims made upon me. In the language of another, I find, - 'That Calvaries are everywhere, whereon Virtue is crucified, and nails and spears Draw guiltless blood; that sorrow sits and drinks At sweetest hearts, till all their life is dry; - That Hell's temptations, clad in Heavenly guise, And armed with pain, lie evermore in wait Alonrg life's path, giving assault to all, - Fatal to most; that death stalks through the earth, Choosing his victims, sparing none at last; That in each shadow of a pleasant tree, A grief sits sadly sobbing to its leaves; And that, beside each fearful soul, there walks The dim, gaunt phantom of uncertainty, Bidding it look before, where none may see, And all must go; ........ * * God forgive me! but I've thought A thousand times, that if I had his power, - Or He my love, we'd have a different world From this we live in.' is OR. HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 307 You plead that pain and sorrow are often severe taskmasters, which accomplish wonders in disciplining the character. To-a certain extent I admit this plea. But it applies only to an extremely limited number of the myriad on myriads of cases with which life abounds. Suffering is often the most exquisite, where there is no possibility of moral benefit as the result. And even those instances where it has a refining influence, offer no solution of the difficulty. When you claim that, under the administration of a Being of infinite love, wisdom, and power, such bitter discipline is necessary, as a part of the moral system, you only increase the tax upon my faith. If it staggered before, you have now imposed upon it a burden which crushes it to the ground. In referring to sin as the explanation of misery, you plunge me still more hopelessly into the mire. This is the profoundest mystery of all, and one for which I see no possibility of a solution. With inexpressible long- ings for the light, I have studied the various systems which attempt to elucidate this subject. The theory of 'Metaphysical Imperfection,' which Leibnitz advocates, and which was previously advanced by Augustine, has no weight with me. And that so great a theologian as Chalmers should defend it, as in any degree unrid- dling the enigma, only shows how strongly he felt the pressure of the unmanageable theme. The theory of 4 Contrast' equally fails to meet the difficulty. The former of these theories makes sin a mere privation; the latter regards it as a negation, con- sidering it an essential ingredient in the formation of character. They both confound moral with mental deficiency, and by regarding sin as a negative pole- the necessary counterpart to the positive one of good, r1 page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 MARION GRAHAM; :: or. an inevitable product of finiteness, they entirely destroy its character. Nor do the ' Sensational' or ' Dualistic' theories, in my view, cast any light on this intense darkness. These - various hypotheses are alike unsatisfactory,- though such minds as Kant and Schleiermacher have used all their acumen in the investigations which have led them to some one of these different results. The labors of the modern Pantheistic school in the same direction, have no more influence with me; for while they do not relieve the subject, they also reduce sin to a mere infirmity, the result of limited powers;- according to which doctrine, man must either become God, or sin be eternal. All these various and elaborate attempts only aggra- vate the difficulty, which may be reduced to a single point. The God whom you believe to be infinite in power and benevolence, has created a world which he foresaw would overflow with sin and misery. Either he could not prevent the evil, or he chose it for the good which would result from it. In the former case, weak- ness is stamped upon his works in ineffaceable charac- ters; in the latter, his holiness cannot be infinite. If you charge sin to the account of the great Tempter, there recurs the question which Friday put to Robinson Crusoe, under similar instruction, ' Why God not kill Debbil?' We are thus hemmed in, and shut up to a fearful alternative; and for refuge E: am driven to my gloomy scepticism. The endless limitations, and the hopeless aspirations and struggles of life, oppress my spirit, even as they did that of Faust; but I would not thence- league myself with the base demon 6'that still denies.' I am not yet quite prepared to say, with the long-wearied doctor,-- OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. \309 * In the depth of senses' enjoyment iLet us cool our glowing passions.' But I am head-sick and heart-sick. My whole nature yearns after a Supreme Being, worthy of its profound- est love and adoration. Ah! Miss Graham, believe as you may, 'Tis not in The harmony of things, - this hard decree, This uneradicable taint of sin, This boundless Upas, this all-blasting tree, 'Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be The skies which rain their plagues on men like dew - Disease, death, bondage - all the woes we see - And worse, the woes we see not, which throb through The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. " After every letter from Maurice, Marion had an inva- riable season of depression. But it was a relief that she now had a friend to whom she could open her heart. By a previous arrangement, she and Leriora spent the next afternoon at the parsonage. After tea, while; Mrs. Sunderland and Lenora were walking in the garden, Henry and Marion sat together by a retired window shaded with climbing roses. He returned Maurice's letter, which she had previously given him, saying,- "We must not be discouraged. Your friend is resit lessly tossing in the port where he hoped for quiet waters. I can see that there is a deep under-current in' his being which protests against his desolate infidelity." Marion eagerly drank in every word, but she made no reply. So Mr. Sunderland continued his encouraging talk, till her agitated spirit was soothed. For more than an hour they sat there in the fading twilight, commun- ing of earth and heaven. When Lenora came in, her f page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310 MARION GRAHAM-; quick eye at once perceived the air of mutual confi- dence between them, and she said to herself,- "All is settled. How perfectly absorbed they are in one another, and how blind to my bitter sorrow! Strange that she confides nothing to me of this. But I will ask her no questions. And as to myself, I will wear an im- penetrable mask." Alas! alas! that there should have been such total blindness on every hand! What agony might not have been spared to them all, had their hearts only been open to one another! And so, in the great game of life, do we often play at ! cross-purposes! A veil is closely wrapped about" souls that we deem transparent, and thus the heart's precious cargo is wrecked. "Oh! we bear within us mysterious things, Of memory and anguish - unfathomed springs, And passion, those gulfs of the heart to fill With bitter waves, which it ne'er may still." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 3" CHAPTER XXIII. "Life treads on life, and heart on heart- We press too close in church and mart, To keep a dream or grave apart." "REMEMBER!" said Lenora, as she was about return. ing to the city, " some time in September we are to see you in New York. There you shall breathe free air, with no Sir Charles Grandison to be forever preaching propriety and perfection. But I shall be sorry for you, sir, with nobody to lord it over," she saucily added, as i Marion was leaving the room. "When you can no I longer play the despot, you will assuredly pine to a shadow." "Lenora," said Mr. Sunderland, in a low voice, "I am your true friend and well-wisher. And is this en- mity to last forever? Believe me, I would make no small sacrifice to win your regard." The tears sprang to her eyes, and by a sudden impulse she extended her hand, saying in an agitated voice,- "Forgive me, Mr. Sunderland; and do not judge me too harshy." Grasping her hand cordially, he asked,- "Will you not let me read your heart, Lenora? A strange bitterness at times comes over you, as if you were struggling with some heavy sorrow. God knows I can sympathize with the suffering; and if I am right page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 812 MARION GRAHAM; S in my conjecture, it would be a great satisfaction to me, could I bring you the smallest comfort." The blood rushed tumultuously to Lenora's face, and her whole frame trembled with emotion. He too was moved, and again entreated her to speak freely. She tried to reply, but the words died on her lips. Could he only have lifted the curtain which she had drawn close over her heart, who can tell what might have been the result? The hopes of a life hung on that single moment. He looked searchingly into her face, and at length caught her half-uttered words, "I am indeed very miserable, but : " At this unpropitious moment Marion's step was heard, and struggling for composure, Lenora hastily added, - "Nothing more, only I am unwilling you should sup- pose I have any enmity towards you. 'Ha y you, I never could!" So they parted. He did not dream that she had wil- fully shown to him her worst side; that she had worn a mask which had hidden from his sight a heart freighted with affection's wealth. He often thought of that inter- view, but no other came to extend his knowledge; and he concluded that her emotion must have sprung from one of her generous impulses, and the fear that she had wounded his feelings. Marion's term at length closed, and she left, with the high esteem and best wishes of the Carrisford people. Her plan was to remain a month in Graham Hall, dur- ing which time Mr. Sunderland had promised to bring his mother to spend a few days with her. After that, she would pass a week or two with Mr. and Mrs. May- nard, proceeding from Brentford to New York. i OdB, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 313 It was a strange dream to be again treading the familiar places of her childhood; and it required all her resolution to break up her inclination to perpetual rev- erie. A pleasant interruption occurred in the visit of her Carrisford friends. It was a delight to have them under her own roof, and to be able to do a little towards repaying their abundant hospitality. She prevailed on Mr. Morton to dine and take tea with them while they remained, an arrangement which they all enjoyed. The last evening of their stay, as Mrs. Sunderland and Mr. Morton were talking over old times, Henry and Marion sat together in her boudoir. Handing him her reply to Maurice's letter, she left him alone to peruse it. "You have my hearty sympathy, Mr. Vinton, in your impression of solitude in Paris. I fully agree with you that the most rugged and barren desert is often more congenial than the gayest crowd. You remember those lines of Bryant's, ' And she glides Into his dark musings with a mild and gentle Sympathy which steals away their sharpness Ere he is aware.' But it is the God of nature, from whom she derives her charms,-that God, Mr. Vinton, whom, as it seems to me, you totally misapprehend. Never did I so deeply feel my own ignorance as now. I know almost noth- ing of the schools, and am far less acquainted with the sacred oracles, and with our own system of theology than I ought to be. -But as knowledge is not what you need, I will not shrink from my part of the correspond- ence., " page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 814 MARION GRAHAM; - I am rejoiced that you have no disposition to receive those labored theories as to the origin of sin. They must tend to destroy that consciousness of guilt which is God's testimony against the evil-doer. Of course I have no doubt that in some way; God will overrule this moral evil for the greatest good of the universe. To this you may reply, ' How can a system embracing sin, be better than one which would exclude it?' But, Mr. Vinton, does not the fact that there is no explanation of this mystery, itself cast some light upon it? It is its opposition to divine holiness that stamps upon sin its base character. The bitter testimony to it; as the most direct and flagrant violation of the law of heaven, springs out of the accusing conscience. Consequently, laying waste as it does the natural and the moral world, and thwarting God's purposes of love, it must be utterly repugnant to his nature. Besides, the measureless suffering, inevitably con- nected with transgression, is a perpetual and visit le demonstration of God's abhorrence of it. But I fear that any thing I may say on this subject is only dark- ening counsel by words without knowledge. From the divine oracles, however, we catch no uncertain sound. There, God is revealed to us in his holy and infinite attributes. Nothing in kind is wanting to pro- duce a matchless symmetry of character; nothing in degree to form a complete realization of the highest ideal excellence. In these blended attributes there is no room for partiality or mistake; for undue severity or weak indulgence; or for incompetent or inefficient action. They thus give us the surest pledge that there can be no mal-administration in the divine government. Upon the dark background of sin, God's character i OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 315 shines with transcendent lustre. We see him hating the sin, yet loving the sinner, and, at infinite cost, pro. viding for his redemption. 'He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was upon him, and by his stripes we are healed.' Thus, out of this profoundest darkness, radiates the effulgence of the divine love, the glorious central luminary, around which all the other attributes revolve. Can you esteem Him ruthless who assumed our nature, that He might be tempted even as we are; and by a series of unparalleled victories, and a final submis- sion to a torturing and disgraceful death, procure our salvation from sin and from hell? Why will you not be persuaded candidly and prayerfully to study the life of Jesus Christ? It seems to me that such a study could not fail to fasten upon your mind with irresistible conviction, the great foun- dation-truth of Christianity, that' God is love.' And with all your fastidiousness, you can surely find noth- ing to object against the Hero of Galilee. Unlike other heroes in whose triumphal marches are found mighty men and warriors, -in the vast procession that follows Him, are gathered the deaf, the dumb, and the blind; the leprous, the lunatic, and those possessed with demons;-one great moving hospital. Neither did the hosanna shouts of the multitude deceive him nor the cruel taunts of his enemies turn him aside from his mission of love. The avarice and selfishness, the ingratitude and malice of their hearts are bared to his glance; yet with outstretched hands he calls, ' Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.' page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 316 MARION GRAHAM; But pardon my enthusiasm. Deeply as I feel, I did not mean to preach a homily, but only to persuade you, if possible, to read the Gospel with a childlike spirit. And may God bless you, and give you peace!" When Marion returned, Mr. Sunderland was leaning upon his hand in a thoughtful attitude, and as he looked up, she perceived that his eyes were glistening with tears. "I hope, Marion, nay, more, I believe that God will grant your intense desire, and send light into that deso- late soul. But I entreat you to remember that even should this be, - other barriers may rise up to separate you."5 At these words the bright color faded from her cheek, and he continued in a still gentler voice, - "By my deep interest in you, I dare not have you connect too closely the thought of his conversion and dreams of future happiness. God only knows what discipline we need! My sister will pardon me for say- ing this; and will believe that I do not forget to pray for her earthly, as well as her eternal happiness." "I thank you for your plainness. I had not thought of the danger, but I will strive for unconditional sub- mission. May God grant him deliverance from his bondage, and, if need be, I will lay myself on the altar." Her lip quivered, but a holy light was in her up- turned eye. Will this vow ever be recalled? As they rose to go into the parlor, Mr. Sunderland said with earnestness, - "Will you not promise to let me know yonr sorrows, --to come to me with an open heart as to an own brother?" I OR, HGHER THAN -HAPPINESS. 317 "I do promise this with all willingness." A day or two after the departure of her friends, Mr. Vinton had a severe attack of paralysis. As the other sisters could not leave their large families, Bessie came to spend a fe'w weeks with her parents, and Marion's visit to Brentford was consequently deferred. In fulfil- ment of her promise, at the appointed time she left for New York, where she was warmly greeted by her friend. Lenora was determined that she should see and be seen, and, having a large circle of acquaintance, this was easily accomplished. "I was never made for a city life," said Marion one day as they were walking in Broadway. "But you were made to produce a sensation here, country girl that you are; and you must begin this very evening at Mrs. G's party." When they were ushered into the splendid drawing- room, the rush about Lenora proved her a favorite in society, although possessing little claim to beauty. Her sprightly and piquant manner made her popular with all who did not dread her sarcasm. Marion had prom- ised " to make an effort," and she soon had a circle around her. "Who is that new star?" asked Mr. Compton, a wealthy, self-satisfied widower, owner of an elegant establishment, but with the incumbrance of four chil- dren. "I hear she is Miss Graham from the country some- where in western New York. But really she is too splendid for a rural production." "I think a great deal better of her for being country- bred, seeing she has no country awkwardness. Why, I page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 318 MARION GRAHAM; came from the country myself." And complacently stroking his beard, he continued, "If the genuine article corresponds to the appearance, she stands a pretty fair chance." "Of being lady of the Compton establishment, eh?" "May be so. Of course we can't decide without further examination of her claims. Do you know who brought her here?" "( I saw her come in with Miss Benson, whom I hear she is visiting." "All very well. She must belong to the upper crust, then." Making his way towards Lenora, after a profound bow and some common-place remarks, he begged of her the honor of an introduction to her friend. i"With the greatest pleasure," she replied, secretly ex- ulting; for, knowing his wants and his supposed claims, she made calculations for some amusement in that quarter. "Allow me, Miss Graham, to introduce to you my friend, Mr. Compton." Marion courteously noticed the introduction, conclud- ing from her manner that he was a particular acquaint- ance. "You have long known Miss Benson?" "For some time, sir." ("You find her a person of great powers." "Do you mean physical or intellectual powers?" she asked, with a little intent at mischief. "Well, I should say both," he replied, with the ut- most innocence, He remained by her half an hour, condescendingly delivering himself of oracular utterances similar to r OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 319 those above cited. Then, feeling that he had made sufficient impression for the beginning, and that it would not answer to be too suddenly overpowering, he left her with a patronizing bow, which said as clearly as bow could say, that he would honor her with further notice at another time. Approaching Lenora, he whis- pered,- "One word with you, if you please." "I Twenty, if you wish," and she withdrew with him into an alcove. "I have been attempting to draw out your friend, and have succeeded, to a degree. She is very modest, -a commendable thing in woman," and he waved his hand as if her modesty were an act of homage to him- self." "I am glad you understand her so well." "Thank you. I know a little something of the fe- male character. Your friend appears to be well edu- cated." "Thoroughly so." "And of good family?" "Highly respectable." "And doubtless of handsome property." "Nothing in that respect to boast of." "Some reverses, probably," and a faint little smile stole over his grave face, which she easily translated, "Under the circumstances, money could readily be dis- pensed with." "I have been thinking," he added, " that in consider- ation of my long acquaintance with your family, it might be desirable for me to call occasionally, and to \ pay your friend, as a stranger here, some little atten- tions." - - page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 820 MARTON GRAHAM; "Call as often as you please, sir," she replied, with a mischievous twinkle of her eye. Their carriage being announced, Mr. Compton was on hand as an escort for the ladies, and complacently bowed them away. "Well, Marion, how have you enjoyed your debut into New York society?" "Just passably. But who is that strange man to whom you gave me so particular an introduction?" ' Did you not understand his name then? It is Mr. Compton, an old friend of our family, and formerly a partner of my father's." "Is he a married man?" "Why, he has four children. Did he not talk about them?" And Lenora rattled on briskly, congratulating herself that Marion could not see her face. In the course of a day or two, Mr. Compton made his appearance, and studied to be generally agreeable. From that time, he called frequently, and was received by Lenora with invariable politeness. "Really, Mr. Compton is a pleasant man. Don't you find him so, Marie?" "I cannot say that he interests me." "Of course I ought not to have expected that he would. There's nobody fit company for you, but Sir Charles Grandison, forever obtruding his counsels and rebukes. For my part, I continue to prefer homage to tyranny." Marion had ceased to argue this point with Lenora, as it seemed only to irritate her. Although Mr. Comp- ton was unremitting in his attentions, yet as Lenora shared in them, and she had not the remotest suspicion OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 321 of his being a widower, she could not dream that he had any particular designs with reference to herself. So, while she wondered that his wife neither called nor sent an apology, she thought it best to make no com- ments on the matter. "Would you not consider it well," said he one day to Lenora, " for me to take you both out on a drive, stopping to lunch at my place in order that your friend may see it for herself?" "I think it a capital plan," was her grave rejoinder. Lenora would not allow Marion to decline, so they rode away in style, and,calling at Mr. Compton's, were furnished with an elegant repast, after which they were invited to walk over the premises. When they had returned, Marion threw herself on the sofa, saying,- "Mr. Compton must either be half-witted, or in his dotage." ' "You shock me, Marion, and I must beg you not to be so uncharitable." "Well, all I can say is, that if you, Lenora Benson, think that man agreeable, it is one of the unaccounta- bles." "You will please remember that you have mystified me after the same fashion." "What?" "You cannot have forgotten your warmly defending Mr. Perley against my fierce onslaught." "That is a tabooed name." "Then you must not dare me to utter it, by attack- ing my friend." "I did not suppose it possible you could be sensitive with regard to Mr. Compton. But I will say no more." page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 322 MARION GRAHAM ; Not many days after, there was a nervous ring at the -door. "There is character in that ring," said Lenora to herself, " and I am sure it must be the widower's. Now, for some sport." According to her expectation, Mr. Compton was ushered in. From the extreme uprightness of his col- lar, the extra polish upon his boots, and his whole indescribable bearing, denoting a condescending reso- luteness, Lenora saw that he had come heroically bent on doing the deed. Knowing that there was no senti- ment ' in the case requiring solitude, she resumed the book she was reading, saying with an absorbed air,-- "Excuse me, Mr. Compton." Marion, who was sitting at a bay window, was thus left to do the honors. He approached her briskly, and having inquired after her health, and remarked upon the weather, he drew still nearer, and delivered himself of the following, - "I will say to you in the words of another, 'To descant upon your virtues or your grace, would be rude in me, and offensive to you,' but this I must say, I thank the Lord for making you as you are, and for bringing you to my knowledge!" Having made this brilliant effort in pyrotechnics, he paused to recover breath, and to note the effect of his exhibition. But Marion, fearing that he was actually demented, was too much confounded to attempt any reply. Satisfied that he had caused a sensation, he drew a chair confidentially near, and continued,-- "I have, from time to time, given you intimations of the impression you were making on my somewhat fas- tidious nature. And it has gratified me to perceive OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 323 that you have encouraged my--presumption," he said; but with so complacent an air, that it was evident he meant condescension. "Y our friend has doubtless given you all the information concerning me that you could desire. And you have seen my humble establishment, - though I regret that my children were at school. But there's time enough for them," said he,-with an attempt to be facetious. "And now," working his hands as if wiping them with a towel, "if you have any questions you would like to ask, I hope you will propose them l without the smallest hesitation. I shall be happy to have no concealments from you. My wealth, my chil- dren, and myself, I cheerfully lay at your feet." Lenora, who sat where, unobserved, she could view the whole scene, was almost convulsed in her efforts to control her risibles. And as- for Marion, she was per- fectly overcome with amazement. By a great effort, however, she summoned her scattered ideas, saying, - -"But-sir--" "Do not be disturbed. Your friend has made me aware of your circumstances, and I candidly assure you it makes no difference whatever." Determined, before committing herself, to discover whether her visitor was really a madman, or whether she was actually listening to a, bona fide offer of mar- riage from one who had a right to make it, Marion quietly remarked,- "This is singular conversation for a married man." It was now his turn for astonishment. "A married man?" "Yes, sir, I understood you were a married man." "Bless you! so I was," retorted he, surprised out of his formalism. "And so I expect to be aEain, with page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 MARION GRAHAM; your consent, madam." And he made one of his bland- est bows. ' But your wife --- " persisted Marion, resolute on getting out of the labyrinthine maze before she ven- tured on a specific reply to his proposal, or rather de- mand. "If that is your difficulty, I can easily dispel it. My wife has lain in Greenwood Cemetery above a year." The scene was becoming so tragico-comical, that Lenora's emotion could no longer be suppressed, and her loud peals of laughter broke suddenly upon her startled auditors. Both Mr. Compton and Marion turned upon her with indignation. "Have you been imposing on me?" burst forth from Marion. "And on me?" he added. "Hear me, Sir," said Lenora, when she was able to command her voice. "Had my friend known you were in pursuit of a wife, her native modesty would have prevented her from receiving your attentions. I accord- ingly left it for you, after you had won your prize, to inform her that you were in a condition to receive it." "Precisely so, and very considerate in you," he replied, entirely mollified, and turning towards her with a dep- recatory wave of his hand. "And I beg, Miss Graham, that this tardy announcement of my marriageable con- dition may make no difference whatever with you. The facts remain unchanged; and now that you compre- hend my purpose, I trust your modesty will not prevent your making me an explicit answer." "It certainly will not, Mr. Compton," said Marion, divided between indignation at his presumption, and amusement at the irresistible ludicrousness of -the scene. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 325 "And, in all humility, I beg you to understand that, with many thanks for the honor conferred by your pro- posal, I must entirely decline it." "Not possible?" he said, starting as if he had mis- understood her. "Quite certain, sir." "This has come upon you suddenly, and your mind is confused. I am willing to allow time for consider- ation." "Thank you, sir, but you must permit me to say explicitly, and once for all, that my mind is fully made up, and a month's consideration would make no differ- ence." "You may regret so hasty a decision." is I will incur the risk. But I am truly sorry that my mistake has given you any inconvenience." "That is of little consequence. But I wish to know whether I am to understand you as decidedly rejecting my proposals of marriage?" ' I do decidedly reject them," replied Marion, unable to suppress a smile at his difficulty in comprehending her. "Then, Miss Graham, I must express my conviction that you are an eccentric woman."' "' I may be so. But I beg you to accept my wishes that you may speedily find some one more worthy of the honor you propose." "There are plenty who will be proud to fill the place. But I really regret your view of the matter, for you suit my fancy, and I think you admirably fitted for the position. But I must bid you good morning, ladies." And he departed without a single ruffle on the plu- mage of his self-conceit. page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 MARION GRAHAM; In the mean time Marion was giving vent to her mingled indignation apd merriment. "How could you, L'nora?" "How could I help A? I had his good in view, and am provoked that we have failed to bring him down a notch or two from his high pedestal, - the audacious fellow! I verily thought he would never give o'er. Well, he xwill tell his own story, and the eclat of the thing will make you all the rage. Every fool must be in the fashion, even if that is--to get the mitten. So, unless you commission me to spread abroad -the fact that you are already ensnared, you may make up your mind that this is not your last siege." A deep flush overspread Marion's face, as she re- plied,- "I have no concern on that score, if you will only X leave off plotting." "I am heartily vexed," soliloquized Lenora. "With all her privacy, the fact of an attachment between her and Mr. Sunderland would be plain even to a mole. Such a foolish concealment of what she may well glory in, is unworthy of Marion. But I'll be as mute as she." : "A penny for your thoughts," said Marion, who had been watching her expressive countenance. "But I shall not tell them for a hundred pennies." "I am afraid from the shadows on your face that they were not of an agreeable nature." "You know listeners never hear any good of them- selves, - no more at the gate of expression, than at that of audition. Are you answered, madam?" OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 327 CHAPTER XXIV. ' "Still must I on, for I am as- a weed, Flung from the rock on ocean's foam to sail, Where'er the storm may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail." '"HERE, Miss Graham, in the eternal city, I am drink- ing inspiration from the great masters with delight, blended with an inexpressible sadness. .Can there be more striking evidence of the immortality of the soul than is furnished by these works? I was conscious of this reaching towards infinity as I gazed upon Ra- phael's ' Transfiguration.' But I must admit that I was at the same time drawn earthwards by a kindlier force; for it reminded me of a charmed spot upon whose walls hangs an engraving of this unequalled painting. But a truce to these memories! As I stood upon the Piazza of St. Peter's, and, looking up, tried to grasp the grand architectural idea, I felt that such works must grow out of an immortal nature, strug- gling for expression amidst weakness and formidable obstacles. How strikingly did our own Allston exhibit this discontent with the attained, and this ceaSeless striving after perfection! But to return to St. Peter's. Architecture is so new in our own country, that there is little to awaken pleasure in that direction; and my im- pressions were therefore proportionably vivid. You would have hardly thought me an unbeliever, as I stood page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 328 MARION GRAHAM; in those vast aisles, and looked up to the mighty dome. Never did work of man so stir my being to its depths. It is, indeed, 'a Te Deum in stone.' Last Sabbath, I was present there at high mass. But, - ' Mid the gorgeous storm of music, - in the mellow organ-calms, Mid the- upward, streaming -prayers, and the rich and solemn psalms, my thoughts bounded over the waters, and lingered in a certain little room, where I have heard music, which to hear but once more, I would barter all the enjoyment that this art-land can afford. Had you been with me, Miss Graham, we might have communed together in silent worship to the Great Unknown. Is not the pro- found homage of the heart, thus awakened, better than a forced assent to certain dry dogmas, and that too against the dictates of reason? When God reveals himself to me in his moral attributes; as he does at times in the world of nature and of art, then my heart will instinctively adore. Is it irreligion that I cannot do so, until then? In my strolls about Rome, I hae used ' Corinne' as a guide-book, yet at the expense osome sadness, for I can never read it without. To s, so noble a character as Oswald's marred by the weakest irresolution, and by a surrender of the higher instincts to a morbid clamor- ing of prejudice, falsely called principle, arouses my indignation. But you may charge me with too severe a judgment. Certainly if a woman can forgive his vacil- lating course towards Corinne, I ought to. do so. To come to the main theme of our letters, - for, de- lay this as I may, I cannot evade it,- I must confess myself not unmoved by your eloquent reasoning. But the further you advance, the more fully do you bring out my obstacles. ' OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 329 There is such an outcry against German Neology, that I know it will pain you when I avow my sympathy with that school. Not that, by any means, I can accept the substance of their teachings. All their philosophiz- ings as to sin, I most heartily reject, as you know; and also their belief in the intuition of man, as a sufficient and infallible guide. But I am constrained to admit the force of the rationalistic objections against the Bible as a revelation from heaven. On this assumption, it contains, in my view, inexplicable inconsistencies and contradictions. We should expect a book standing on such a plane, to be perfectly accurate in all its scientific statements, whereas almost every advance in Astron- omy, Geology, or Physiology, brings science more and more into direct conflict with this reputed revelation. And the very first narrative of the Bible is altogether beyond my credence. To believe that God made the destiny, not only of Adam, but that of the whole hu- man race, depend upon the mere act of taking, or ab- staining from the fruit of a certain tree, seems to me to reflect dishonor upon him. Of the utter depravity of human nature I have no doubt, but this account of its origin is too puerile to command my assent. i Again, if Christianity has triumphs to win, it must be a by its subjective evidence,-the legitimate and most i direct avenue to the heart. Consequently, I distrust j the utility, as I do the fact of miracles. What does any one pretend was accomplished by those of Moses, ; but the hardening of many hearts? Their object, therefore, even if genuine, I cannot discover; and I see i little evidence for their authenticity, which might not equally prove that miracles are still wrought. As to the Old Testament, there appears to me a glar- -s Am page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 330 MARION GRAHAM; ing inconsistency between some of its teachings, and certain portions of its history. And while the moral law takes the highest spiritual ground, the ceremonial seems objectless and absurd. The Israelites, as a nation, were sunk in barbarism, and were truly a gross, sensual peo- ple, while God, according to their writers, was a change- ful and often vindictive Deity, tolerating polygamy, slavery, and other palpable vices, and encouraging the stratagems of war, and universal rapine and bloodshed. The sacred lyrist denounces his personal enemies with unsparing bitterness; and this chosen people at length prove themselves out and out a stupid, arrogant, and thankless race, and are cast forth, - a by-word among all nations. To the New Testament narratives, I find little to object, and did I really credit the story of the cross, even my cold heart would not fail to be moved by it. But I have made a sufficient expose of my sentiments for once. Because you cannot pronounce my absolu- tion, do not, I beg you, repent admitting me to the con- fessional. I am not trifling, Miss Graham, however this may seem like it. In the march of life, I advance reluctantly, for I have no bravado, and the iron gates of death stand before me like the mysterious day of doom. I am fain to utter Aristotle's prayer: 'I entered this world a helpless being. I have lived anxiously. I depart tremblingly. Thou Cause of all causes, have mercy on me.' If: this be weakness, I owe you its confession. I am far from glorying in my scepticism. It is a melan- choly alternative, but one from which I have no escape. Shall I enclose a hasty effusion which I penned dur- ing one of my late sleepless nights? OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 331 'Rest! rest! rest! tlhere is no other Elysium for a heart like mine.' Oh! could I lay my weary head ' Down with the lowliest of the dead, And rest from all life-cares and woes, How welcome were that deep repose! Then would emotion wild be hushed, - These fierce, unquiet passions crushed, That now my soul with anguish thrill, And Life's fair cup with poison fill. Peace has no home on earth. I've sought Her far and wide, but found her not. This heart can never cease to ache, Till on Death's bosom cold, it break. How sweet did Life's bright morning seem! Forever faded now that dream! Enduring friendship, changeless love, But:fairy, flitting shadows prove. The blooms and flowers of life are dead; The angel Hope far hencelhath fled. Still yearning for the spirit's home, Forever restless, on I roam. Thee now I woo, O beauteous Death! To thee I yield this bounding breath. Dismal and dark the grave may be, - 'T would be a paradise to me. Ah! proudly, thoughtlessly I rave Of a calm refuge in the grave; For though I lay my weary head In slumber, on that dreamless bed,-- page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 332 MARION GRAHAM; And quenched may be my mortal fears, And wiped away my burning tears, - Yet, then, unbound, my soul will be Launched trembling on eternity,. Oh, fearful is the spirit's doom! Drear that illimitable gloom! Worn with the soul's eternal blight, How long will be that endless night! Talk not of islands bright and fair Within the deep, cerulean air; Of all who leave this mortal shore, Their star is set -their history o'er. Where then is found the spirit's home? Must it in endless darkness roam? Peace! Peace! angelic, holy Peace!- Oh/ bid this restless anguish cease! I send this simply as the transcript of one of my gloomy moods. MAURICE VKNTON." "I think, Mr. Vinton, I can in some degree appre- ciate the impressions made upon you by the noble monuments of that great art-land. And I can read- ily believe that 'Corinne' with its lofty sentiments and glowing descriptions, must be an appropriate com- panion for a traveller in beautiful Italy. As to forgiv- ing Oswald, I am compelled to own that my magnan- imity does hot rise so high. But what shall I say to the shadows which seem to increase around you? Except for my hope in God, I should hot have the courage to venture another word. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 333 Yet, is it true that science is in conflict with revela- tion? Galileo was indeed denounced as a heretic while theologians trembled for the sacred oracles. But notwithstanding this, the Copernican system is not at war with them. As the Bible was not given for the purpose of promoting science, it would naturally be written according to appearances, would it not? Con- sidering the nature of its claims, therefore, it would seem that we ought to be satisfied, if it does not contra- dict science. As to the discrepancy between Geology and the Mosaic accounts of the creation, I have sup- posed that men of the highest scientific attainments, such as Hugh Miller, Agassiz, Brewster, and Lyell, had abundantly proved that there is no real want of har- mony. And to some parts of the sacred records, the' natural sciences bring direct confirmation. But I can best argue by citing from another : ' Infidelity has asserted the eternity of matter. The Bible implies the contrary, and Geology-affords a physi- cal demonstration that the material universe had a be- ginning; and entirely demolishes the idea of an infinite series, on which Atheism has built its complicated chance-work. Infidelity assumes that there has never been a single creative act; that all organized beings came into existence by means of chemical combinations according to natural laws, making development its deity. The Bible teaches the contrary. And Geology, turning over her leaves of stone, reads in scientific language of successive epochs of creative acts, of systems of organ- isms, plants, and animals, which sprang by divine fiat out of inorganic matter, of which no hypothesis of eter- I nal matter or eternal law can afford the slightest expla- nation. Infidelity declares that God never interposes !, 2 page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] iOn IMARUION GRAHAM; miraculously to alter the processes of nature; that a miracle is impossible and absurd. The Bible declares that God has thus interposed, suspending and changing these processes in the history of man; and Geology con- firms the fact of miracles, and shows, in her rocky are chives, the immutable record of at least five such mira- cles in the pre-Adamite earth.' Have you seen, Mr. Vinton, the account of Ledyard's discovery of the name of Fonah among the hieroglyphics on the old monuments of Nineveh? In the advances of natural history, many such fingers of stone are dis- closed, pointing out harmonies before unsuspected. 'By piecing the two records together,' says Hugh Miller, -' that revealed in Scripture and that revealed in the rocks, - records which, however widely geologists may mistake the one, and commentators misunderstand the other, have emanated from thd same great Author, we learn that in slow and solemn majesty has period succeeded period, each succession ushering a higher and yet higher scene of existence.' As to the sacred miracles, those performed in Egypt served, as you will admit, to authenticate .to Moses his own high commission, and to point him out to the Israelitish nation as their divinely appointed leader. And multitudes were attracted to Christ by the fame of his miracles, while on account of them, many believed. Thus, although objective in themselves, they become subjective in their influence. I am aware that many were only hardened by these displays of power; but were they not equally obdurate in view of Christ's ex- alted character, and his matchless love? If they be- lieved not Moses and the prophets, they would not ( believe on any kind or amount of evidence. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 8335 I cannot contradict what you say of the Israelites. They were indeed a rude people, and poorly appre. hendedlthe higher moral and religious truths of their own system. Yet, notwithstanding the sins into which they so often fell, they were certainly in advance of the nations around them. They held to the idea of one God and of spiritual worship. Love to their neighbor, char- i ity to, the poor, social purity, and private and public -honesty, imperfectly as they were practised, still seem to have been more generally observed among the Jews than in any other part of the woqrld, at that period. The ' inhabitants of the promised land had filled up the meas- ure of their iniquities, and God employed the Israelites as his executors, thus preserving them from the contam- inating influence of idolaters. In the language of another,- -- 'The tendency to halt in mere forms, was strongly evinced by the Hebrew people. The Levitical econ- omy, containing a large machinery ok divinely appointed rites and ceremonies, though cumbersome compared with the dispensation of the Gospel, was admirably adapted to the state of the Israelites, in conveying to their minds, and, preserving in the midst of them, those elements of divine truth which have been fully devel- oped, in all their simplicity and majesty, in the Gospel age. But their history, as faithfully recorded in Scrip- ture, shows that their besetting sin was to idolize the symbol, instead of rising from it to the thing signified; to go the mere round of external observances, neglect- ful of the cultivation of the heart and the spiritual wor- ship which God requires. And it deserves notice that, in the same record where the typical and ritual system is so fully and minutely detailed, the most strict cau- page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 836 IMARION GRAHAM; tions are given against resting in it; and the most terrible denunciations are uttered against those who substitute the symbol in place of the invisible reality. The bearing of the ceremonial law seems therefore to have been, to the enforcement of the moral precepts of the Decalogue. And it is maintained by thorough Biblical students, that a careful analysis of it discloses its profound wisdom, as a scheme of ethical and relig- ious culture in that rude age. That, after all the labor bestowed upon them, the Jews should have become a race of outcasts, proves their utter perversity, and is a literal fulfilment of prophecy. I am so poorly qualified to meet your difficulties, that I am tempted, as you see, to fill up my letter with'quo- tations. What you need, however,-pardon me for saying it, - is a submissive, trusting spirit. 'To him who hath no faith, Nothing on earth remains unwrenched and firm.' Let me tax your patience by two brief extracts more, exhibiting the difference between a humble, confiding Christian, and that self-reliant spirit, Margaret Fuller Ossoli. Says Athe former: ' To the praise and glory of God's name be it spoken, I have substantial reasons to call these my better days, in which I am visited with incurable disease. They are not only my better, but my best days, because, through grace, I am thus enabled to cultivate the life of faith.' ,Says the latter: 'O God! help me, is all my cry. Yet I have little faith in the paternal love I need, so ruthless or so negligent seems the government of this earth. I feel calmly, yet sternly, towards fate. I sub- i I OR, HGHER THTAN HAPPINESS. 337 mit, because useless resistance is degrading. But I demand an explanation.' According to her biographer, seif-culture was the great end of Margaret Fuller's life. I feel the highest admiration for her earnestness, her powers of endurance and sacrifice, and her lofty aims. Yet those divine words steal over me, 'Wherefore do ye spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which satisfieth not?' Had she been willing to sit at the feet of the crucified One, the limitations and struggles of life would have been quietly accepted as the discipline of a kind Father, and life itself would have become harmonious. Wearily I iurn away from these vain aspirations and exhausting emotions. In the sweet shadow of the Cross is the fulness of plenty, and the deep peace of rest, and complete satisfaction. Would that you believed this! Then you would not so sorrowfully exclaim, ' Rest! Rest! Rest ! ' Shall I venture to send an answering voice to your sad refrain? He whose promises never fail hath said,- 'Come unto me, all ye who labor and are heavy- laden, and I will give you rest.' Pilgrim o'er-life's desert dreary, Heavy-laden and oppressed; Way-worn, sorrowful and weary, Ever yearning after rest;- - Are thine aching eyes and tearful, J Dim with looking for the light '? Lo! a star of radiant lustre Sparkles on the brow of night! 'Tis the star of Peace celestial, I Guiding to eternal rest; I 15 , , I; page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] 338 MARION GRAHAM; Come, thou sorrow-stricken pilgrim, And repose upon my breast. On that star but fix thy vision;-- O'er thee shall glad morning burst; Stilled shall be thy restless yearnings, Quenched thy soul's immortal thirst. Weep not then in hopeless sorrow Through this dark, bewildering night; Let thy tired, aching spirit Rest upon the Infinite. In this sweet and heavenly union Thou serenely shalt abide, All thy sins and sorrows hiding A In my wounded, bleeding side. Resting in my faithful bosom, Let thy fears and doubtings cease. i Soon shall come the white-winged angel, Bear thee to the land of peace. There, is felt no parting anguish, Passions wild disturb no more ;- Ne'er a wave of sorrow breaketh On that sunlit, tranquil shore. I cannot help hoping that, if you travel further, you will visit Palestine. I am almost sure that such an ap- peal to your heart as would be made by that land so full of sacred and touching associations, would be far more effective in overcoming your scepticism, than the most cogent theological arguments. If you go, will you not, amid those hallowed scenes, read the story of our Saviour's life and death? MARION GRAHAM." ORY HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 339 CHAPTER XXV. c' Zeal, without judgment, is an evil, though it be zeal unto good." "F I were going to live in the city, and supposed I could exert the smallest influence, I should be inclined enter upon a private crusade against some of the follies of fashionable society." "A herculean task, benevolent Marion, in which years of eloquentjabor would find you not one whit advanced. But upon what frivolity would you first make war?" "I think I should commence with fancy dancing; and I would not give o'er, till I had fought it to the death." "Mercy on us! What then, in the name of all that is pitiful, would become of our exquisites, who know how to do nothing in the wide world, except to waltz, and stare at the ladies through an opera-glass." "Then let them stare; and, when wearied of this, go home and sleep, in which I suppose they have some experience." "Alas! it makes me sigh to think what ,a long list of broken hearts would be the result of your cruel reform. Why, there are people who accept of the con- dition of life, solely for the glorious opportunities of Waltzing which it affords them AIow in the world could such whirling creatures contrive to drag through . . 9 page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] 340 MARION GRAHAM; the wearisome round of parties, if dancing were ex- eluded? Really, I did not know you were so much of an ultra." "You need not try to frighten me by a name., But if it were only the simple, old-fashioned contra-dances and quadrilles of our grandmothers' days, I wouldn't say a word; especially if our young ladies would ap- pear in befitting attire, and go home in good season. In family gatheringp and small social circles, SUch dancing, by way of variety, may be a suitable as well as healthful amusement; and certainly far preferable to the gossip and scandal which s'ome consider so deIecta- ble." "There are those who would pronounce you a here. ticefor being so liberal." "I am not afraid of that name, either. If, however, it were necessary to abjure dancing in all forms, even the most innocent, in order to set one's face against the present rage for gallopades, I, for one, would be willing to bind myself never to take a quickstep for the rest of my days." "Out upon yous Marie! Be a nun, then, and done with it." "Please hear me through. I said, if that were the alternative; but I have no idea it is. However, I admit that there is a great difference between good people as to what is expedient in these matters. Every one, therefore, must decide the case conscientiously for himself." "Absurd! As if there were any thing more out of the way in moving one's feet rapidly and gracefully over the floor, than one's hands over the piano! Pray, what has conscience to do in such a case? 9 OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 841 "A great deal, it may be. I should say it was wrong for one even to dance against the convictions of his conscience." "A pretty conscience one must have to be sensitive on such a point! Really, I wonder we have never had an anti-dancing association. Suppose a colt, in his cogitations, should conclude it sinful to frisk! His qualms of conscience, in my view, would be just about as sensible." "You are unjust, dear Lenora. I have no doubt that many young people scrupulously refrain from dancing to avoid giving offence;- a regard to the law of Christian charity, which certainly is to be- hon. ored." "But will get no honor from me, nathless. A mod- est claim, truly! - that we are to give up every inno. cent pleasure, to which any grumbling hypochondriac, or weary-of-the-world saint chances to take exception! I should deem myself performing a veritable act of Chris- tian charity, to make such complainers sing and dance, nilly willy. What they need is charity for young people. And yet you must indorse this most unchar- itable charitableness." "Not in the leaqt. I merely said that I respected the motives of those who sacrifice this pleasure for con- spience' sake. But I suppose I am at liberty to differ from them. It seems to me that 'Ie juste milieu,' if we can only ascertain where it is, is better than any extreme. And we sometimes lose our true vantage- ground by insisting on too much. If we would only rob the syren-of her powers of mischief, nobody could object to her being received into civilized society. But we have wandered from the point. The question of page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] 342 MARION GRAHAM; promiscuous waltzing is what I began with. What business have we, pray, with the semi-barbarous prac- tices of dissolute courts, especially when they outrage common decency?" "Fie upon you! Are you aware how many charm. ing people you are condemning?" "I cannot help it. I am determined for once to free my mind. The blandishments and languishments, the unmaidenly style of dress, and the ridiculous propinqui. ties that one observes by the wholesale in connection with waltzing, I have no hesitation in affirming, ought to be interdicted in all respectable society. And they world be, except that our young people early become hardened to them, as the Spanish ladies .do to looking upon bull-fights." "Worse and worse! I beg you to pause till I can recover breath. We-refined ladies and gentlemen-- the very elite of New York,- wedded to heathenish prac. tices! And our elegant amusements compared to bull- fights! It is well for you that free speech is one of our immunities." "I can retract nothing. That self-respect so essential to true womanhood must be strangely wanting, when a refined young lady can, for one moment, tolerate the promiscuous and tender conjunctions, and the disgust- ing liberties authorized by the present style of dancing." "But refined ladies do submit, and with sweetest res- ignation to these endearing conjunctions!" "It must be, then, at the expense of true womanly dignity and elevated sentiment. Let a young girl of delicacy and nice instincts make her first entrance into gay company, and I venture to assert that she will be disgusted, if not shocked by these things." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 343 I ' How delightful if our Sir Charles Grandison could only have heard this most eloquent tirade! I don't be- i lieve he could have done the thing better himself." "In your heart, Lenora, I have not a doubt you agree with me." ; Well, I cannot gainsay you. And to be generous, I will admit that I have heard young gentlemeh, who did not hesitate to waltz themselves, declare that it would excite their wrath, if their sisters should do the same; - illustrating the profound respect they must en- tertain for those obliging young ladies who are willing to be their partners. I saw something touching this matter, in one of yesterday's papers, which is written with a will." Going to the table, Lenora soon found the passage, which she read deliberately and with mock solemnity. I "The gents encircle their partner's waists with one arm. The ladies and gentlemen stand close, face to face. The gents are very erect, and lean a little back. The ladies lean a little forward. (Music.) Now, all wheel, whirl, circle and curl. Feet and heels of gents go rip-rap, tippity-tip. Then all go rippity, clippity, slippity, tippity, hippity, skippity, hoppity, jumpity, bumpity, thump. Ladies fly off by centrifugal momen- tum. Gents pull ladies hard and close. They reel, swing, slide, sling, look tender, look silly, look dizzy. Feet fly, hoops fly, dresses fly, all fly. It looks taggity, pullity, squeezity, rubbity-rip. The ladies tuck down their chins very low, or raise them exceedingly high. Their faces are brought against those of the gents, or into their bosoms, breast against breast, nose against nose, and toes against toes. Thus the thing goes on by woman's love of it. If I were a woman, I might ob- page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] '344 MARION GRAHAM; ' ject to-these dances; but being a man, I do not. WE certainly ought to be satisfied if they are." "There, my lady Particular," said Lenora, tossing down the paper, "is an elegant description, which I pre. sume will suit you to a notch. It is the quintessence of sarcasm with a vengeance, and the ladies in question ought to consider themselves annihilated." ":It is, indeed terribly severe, but I think the castiga, tiohnis richly merited." "4 And yet a lady might as-rell go out of the world, as set her face against any custom in fashionable life." "Let her go out of such a world then; andi in nobler employments, live to some purpose." "But what would become of Haper, Ballou, and a host of that ilk,if obliged to dispense with their ridicu- lons illustrations of these glorious waltzings?" "-Plenty of frivolities would remain to be shown up; and I would therefore risk their stagnation for the lack of subject-matter for ridicule." "Well, the question after all comes back, -how is a change to be effected?" "Not, I imagine, by taking extreme ground. If young ladies of good sense and decision would give the influence of their opinion and practice against pro- miscuous fancy dances, I am sure an improvement would soon be manifest. You, dear Lenora, have a great many young acquaintances, and are very popular with them. Will you not make a beginning?" "If you will promise that I shall be dubbed Saint Lenora, and have a magnificent church for my name- ' sake, I will engage, on my part, to, take the matter into profound consideration. But of course I must defer all reform measures till my return." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 345 "I can hardly realize that I am to lose you so soon." "I only wish you were going with us. It would be worth while to visit glorious Italy and the lands of an- tiquity with you by my side. I suppose I shall find you married and settled when I come back." "Nonsense!" replied Marion with a sudden flush, while an expression of pain flitted over her counte- nance. J "Oh, you ne ed not be disturbed. I am no inquisi- tor to stretch you on the rack. Only, when you are act- ually married, I hope you will not consider it a viola- tion- of propriety to inform me of the fact." The day of the departure arrived, the farewell words were exchanged, and Lenora, with her parents, was on the bounding main. Although Marion was tired of the conventionalities and time-killing forms of city life, yet she had promised to spend a few weeks with her cousin, whom she found the same affectionate little body as ever. As they sat together one day, Julia, according to her old fashion, placed herself on a stool at her cousin's e feet, and looking archly into her face, said,- "Now please tell me all about my dear old Mentor." "You know he has gone abroad," replied Marion with some reserve. "Oh yes, of course I know that. But don't look so dignified. Simple as I was, you could not have thought me so blind as not to see that there was something be- tween you. And I expected long ago to hear of your engagement." "I hope you have said nothing of this to Lenora." "Not a word. I should though, only Mr. McKinstry ^ h page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 346 MARION GRAHAM; . told me I had better not, and I always do as he says, you know." "You are a dear little wife, and worth a whole room- full of dashing girls, such as many I have seen in your city. Now let me say once for all that there is nothing between Mr. Vinton and myself. And when I tell you that it pains me to have the subject mentioned, I am sure you will not name him again." "I will not, dear Marie. But I am so disappointed. Why I named our baby as much to please him as you. And I owe him so much." "I assure you it is a great satisfaction to have such a namesake,- and I hope this will content you. Now, let us adjourn into the nursery." Marion was soon enjoying a fine game of romps with her pet, who was just 'learning to walk. The little witch would catch hold of her hands and clamber into her lap. And then, in utter defiance of all danger to herself or discomfort to Marion, she would walk all over her, not even excepting her face from the joyous pastime, evidently supposing that to serve as a play- ground for her little ladyship was the special purpose for which Marion had been created. Then she would rumple her collar, and, slily taking out her combs, would pull down her long hair all over her face, that she might play at peep-boo through it. And the more entirely she succeeded in putting Marion into complete dishabille, the more kisses and caresses and praises did she get from the latter as her reward. Before' she went to Mr. McKinstry's, Marion had heard of old Mr. Vinton's death, and also that Mr. Maynard had. received a call to become a colleague with Mr. Morton. Nbw, a letter came from Brentford, OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 347 informing her that a sweet bird-ing, )Bessie the second, had alighted in the Maynard nest, and that the mother's health was-very frail. "We therefore," said Mr. Maynard, 6' unitedly implore you to hasten your visit. It is true that we expect to remove to Glenwood in the spring, but Bessie's heart is set on seeing you here, and I feel assured you willh not disappoint her." It was art uncomfortable day when Marion left the city for Brentford. Taking hef seat in the cars, she found the air so close that she raised a window ior re- lief. The cold, leaden sky looked down unsympathiz- ingly upon her, while the damp air struck her with a sudden chill. As she was whirled rapidly along, her thoughts travelled over the events of the last few years; -her fancied disappointment, Bessie's wedding, her German teacher, with those months of sweet dreaming; then the sudden and bitter: awaking, the loss of prop- erty, her father's death, her flight from home at mid- night, the journey to Carrisford, her weak credulity in Mr. Perley's professions, and the snare into which she consequently fell, her happy rescue, and the subsequent recovery of her estate. Nor did she fail -to recall the love of Mr. Sunderland, and his manly and disinterested kindness. And--with what intensity did she dwell upon the letters of Maurice, -the frail thread upon which hung all her hopes of earthly happiness! As she re- flected how full of doubt and melancholy they were, she cast a sickening glance at the future, "Nothing but changes and disappointment and sorrow! How sweet will be the rest in my Father's house!" In the midst of these musings, she reached Brent- ford, where she was received with abundant welcomes. page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 848 MARION GRAHAM; But sad forebodings stole over her at the sight of Bes- sie's pale facie, and it- was with difficulty she could con. trol her feelings to greet the smiling infant. In the course of the week, at her own request, Mr. Maynard called with Marion on Elsie Green. After this introduction, she went frequently to see her. And one day having received some hot-house flowers, she carried a part of them to her aged friend. "Ah! but now you mind me o' that sweet young man, Mrs. Maynard's brother. He used to bring me i heaps o' flowers. Does you know him?" The blood mounted to Marion's face as she bowed in assent, and for a moment Elsie's small eyes were fixed keenly upon her. She seemed satisfied with her scrutiny, and, in a musing tone, she said,- "He was a raal jintleman ivery way, and only lacked one thing! May the Lord soon g'in it to him!" "Yes," replied Marion; " if he were only a Chris- tian! But he seems more and more opposed to the truths of the Bible." "Niver you fear for him! He's 'mong the 'lect, sar- tin. But he's got a great mind, and he hankers to reason every thing all out square. But nobody can't do't. And he can't do't nuther. T'ant no manner o' use argufying with him. But he's sure. Haven't I prayed for him believinly ivery day, and oftener? And a'nt the promise made to sich? Have faith, dear miss," said she, laying her hand kindly on Marion's arm as she met her earnest gaze, " for jist as sartin as the warm sunbeams of spring 'll thaw the ice in this ere bay, so, some day or another, a shinin' ray o' God's love will touch his heart, and it'll be all melted down to once. And he's one what won't stop half-way nuther. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 349 i! 'Twon't be the halt and maimed with him, but he'll g'in 1 hisself right out, a whole burnt-sacrifice." In spite of all Marion's efforts, the tears would fall, and from Elsie's unwonted tenderness, she was sure she ' had divined her secret. : "How does her faith put mine to shame!" she said to herself as she left the old house. Prolonging her : walk towards the lower part of the town, she gazed : with delight upon the bold landscape which greeted her eyes in its wintry aspect, as it had formerly done those ii of Maurice, clothed in summer beauty. It was pleasant to be treading the same streets where he had often h' walked, and to look on the same high bluffs and glis- tening waters, on which he had loved to gaze. One day when Mr. Maynard was out, he heard that Elsie Green was sick. He went to the old place, and i inquiring of one of the neighbors who was present ,1 what was the matter, she replied, - i "Well, sir, the doctor says she's got a compilation of disorders. In the fust place, she was taken all of a crim; then a rebellious fever sot in; and last night she J was ravin' melirious. And the doctor-he fears her brains are gettin' disaffected, and says maybe she'll go off in a sleepin' letherargy." As Elsie expressed a wish to see her minister alone, the neighbors left the room. "I wants to tell you, that I've bee a savin' my money presents agin my funeral, for I don't like some- how to come on the town arter I am dead. If you'll 41 jist open that are upper drawer, 'way back there in the ! j farder corner, ye'll find twenty dollars tied up in a rag. !\ I wants you to take it to have me decently buried with, for the token's come, and I shan't be here long." ' -- . .e page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] 350 MARION GRAHAHM; E He promised to do all she wished, much affected by her true delicacy. She then particularly requested that Miss Graham would calfthe next day. Before leaving the house, Mr. Maynard spoke to those who were with her of the importance of removing -her oppressive turban. They answered that they had tried several times to do so, but as she clung tena- ciously to it with both hands, they had desisted from their attempts. In accordance with Elsie's request, Marion called the next day. Surprised to see her with a cap on, a neigh- bor told her that when she repeated Mr. Maynard's remark about the turban, the old woman took it straight off, saying, "I ain't the one to 'set my minister to nought." Being left by themselves, Elsie said, - "I wants you to write to Mr. Vinton my dyin' mes- sage. Tell him I ha'n't forgot his goodness to poor Elsie, and that I thought a deal o' him jist as I was a steppin' my feet into the cold river, what he and I talked about. And that I had no fear, but could see the bright shore on t'other side as plain as I now see yer young face, only with different eyes. And tell him I'se sure o' meetin' him there, for Ise prayed for him arnest and believin', and I've had the answer right here in my heart. Take that ar' precious Testament ye sees on that settle, and g'in it to him as a keepsake from old Elsie jist on her way to glory. The Lord bless ye both, dear child! How it'll be with you on arth, I dunno, for God takes curis ways with us. But it'l all be right, hows'ever it is, and ye'll say'so when ye get to heaven. Now, farewell, dear Miss." Elsie was not mistaken. Her token had indeed OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 351 come, and tranquil was her departure for the eternal shores. Her funeral was in the church, -and was at- tended by a large assembly. It was a long procession that slowly wound through the crooked streets and fol- lowed her remains to the quiet old graveyard on the hill. The day after, poor Brindy was found near the an- cient settle, but life had been extinct for some hours. Elsie Green had no more sincere mourner than Mrs. Maynard. She had been bolstered up in a rocking chair to see the procession pass. And when Mr. May- nard and Marion returned, they found her leaning on her hand, while tears were slowly trickling through her fingers. They sat down on each side of her, while Mr. Maynard spoke of the bright world to which Elsie had gone. "Vhat a contrast," said he, " to her dingy, dismantled room! e And yet, dear Bessie, how hard you labored to make that room comfortable." "And how much I owed her!'" said she, looking up in his face with a sweet smile. "The lesson she taught me sank so deep in my heart, that I don't think I have ever quite forgotten it." Something in her tone and expression deeply moved her auditors. Tenderly kissing her, Mr. Maynard left the room, while Marion clasped her hand in silence. Di- vining Bessie's wishes, she overcame her reluctance to approach the dreaded subject, and allowed her friend the free expression of her feelings. That evening she reported their conversation to Mr. Maynard, who was completely unmanned. Yet, notwithstanding Bessie's impressions, hope was still strong. The physicians all said that if Mrs. May- nard could only get through the winter, there would be no doubt of her recovery. f page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] 352 MARION GRAHAM; "If," repeated Marion; " alas, his hopes are resting on a frail reed!" For a long time she had anticipated this visit, as one in which she should gain strength and courage. It had only brought her into circumstances of fresh sorrow. She had longed for the ministrations of her friends, but she found that God had placed her, where, forgetting herself, she must minister unto others. "So be it," she said, as burdened with a sad presenti- ment concerning the result of Bessie's sickness, she one night laid her weary head upon her pillow. "If every ray of sunshine must be blotted out of my life, before I can be fitted for heaven, God's will be done. Excelsior must be my motto. ' Through woe to joy! And though at morn thou weep, And though the midnight find thee weeping still, Good cheer! good cheer! the Shepherd loves his sheep,- * Resign thee to the watchful Father's will.'" OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 353 CHAPTER XX VI. "And bore her where I could not see, Nor follow, though I walk in haste, And think that, somewhere in the waste, The Shadow sits and waits for me." "A LETTER for you, Marion," said Mr. Maynard signifi- cantly, when they were alone one day in the parlor, Giving a single glance at the superscription, she hastened to her own room, and, with what composure she could, read the following epistle from Rome:-- "As yet, Miss Graham, I have said nothing of the tricks and jugglery attendant upon all religious services in this country. Here, the greater the lie, the greater the honor to Christianity. I am sick of these Christian ceremonies, and of these saints,-I might well say, more sick of saints than of sinners. -This is my chief objection against going to Palestine, where the case is even worse. I intend to go, however; indeed I leave shortly for Egypt on my way thither. How much your wishes have to do with this determination, I need not say. And, of course, it is not necessary that I should tell you how sacredly I shall regard your request when there. Many thanks for ' The Answering Voice,' but its com- forting words are not for me. page: 354-355[View Page 354-355] 854 MARION GRAHAM; 'The race of life becomes a hopeless flight To those that walk in darkness.' But what matters it to you, to any save myself, that my weary bark, long tossed on the wild billows of this mortal sea, is now drifting among the quicksands;- that it will soon be dashed on the shores of time - a mere wreck? The principal objections I have to urge against the Christian system are nearly completed. My closing one may shock you more than all the rest; but I will conceal nothing. My whole being revolts against the doctrines of Christianity. If there be such a God as you suppose, the moral sentiments which he has implanted in the heart, should be in perfect harmony with his revelation to man. Now, the peculiar tenets which people, styling them- selves orthodox, have deduced from the Bible, and which are drawn out in , The Assembly's Catechism,' are obnoxious alike to my reason and feeling. It would take many sheets fully to detail my objections, and I will touch upon only a few of them, and that briefly. And first: The doctrine of the Trinity as commonly held cannot, I conceive, be accepted by the human mind, without its admitting Tritheism. It may be done un- consciously; but I would almost venture to challenge any man to think of three persons, without being neces- sitated to think of three distinct individuals. And I believe if you could get at the inmost consciousness of many Trinitarians, you would find their concep- tions of the different persons of the Trinity, as distinct and separate, as of any three beings having a general harmony of character. This divine Arithmetic, three in OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 355 one, and one in three, about which theologians are for- ever discussing and forever differing, is, to me, utterly impracticable and absurd. And I cannot help respecting the fearless honesty of one of America's most renowned preachers, in the public expression of his views. ' All thet there is of God to me is bound up in that name, (Christ Jesus). A dim and shadowy effluence rises from Christ, and that I am taught to call the Father. A yet more tenuous and invisible film of thought arises, and that is the Holy Spirit. But neither is to me aught tangible, restful, accessible.' I have no doubt that these sentiments have found an echo in many a devout heart numbered in Trinitarian ranks. At any rate, not a few must feel a sympathy with him in his difficulty. I Again, the common doctrine of the Resurrection seems to me to present not only a physical and moral impossibility, but without any imaginable utility. If the soul of a Christian enters, at death, into felicity, it surely has organs of reception and communication, as rell as an identity such as will secure instant recogni- tion and free intercourse with other redeemed saints. But, according to this doctrine, it exists an indefinite number of ages as a mere unsubstantial spirit, till, at length, it is clothed with a material body, which long before had mouldered in the grave, and passed into myriads of different forms, but which is somehow mys- teriously brought together from the four winds, and refined and sublimated into a spiritual garment, suita- ble for the soul, - when it receives the formal sentence which has already been practically pronounced upon it. Have I misstated the doctrine? And is it reasonable to believe that God will be at the superfluous expense of such an almost infinite number of individual mira- page: 356-357[View Page 356-357] 356 MARION GRAHAM; cles, simply to furnish the soul with an organism which it has done ages without, and therefore can in no wise need? - or that he will, under circumstances of great pomp, award a last judgment, which for myriads of cycles has been in process of execution? From this same creed I learn that, 'for his own glory,' God ordained the existence of sin, the blighting of our fair earth, and the ruin of the race; and that even the sacrifice -of his well-beloved Son was for the purpose of displaying his immaculate justice on the grand theatre of an admiring universe. ' For his own glory,' a certain limited number, with no more claim to mercy than their fellow men, are ' from all eternity' decreed to be saved, however persistent their efforts at self-destruction. For this same end, thousands of wretched creatures, who are not of the ' elect,' - many of whom have never received the offer of salvation, and whom God could annihilate by a breath, are every moment plunged into that bot- tomless pit, whence the smoke of their torment ascend- eth forever. And at the final account, the saints will be so dazzled by the glory of the Judge, as, without emotion, to behold their kindred and friends shut up in the prison of God's wrath; nay, according to one of the greatest champions of this system, their own felicity will be enhanced by a sight 'of the torments of the damned.' Ah! Miss Graham, such is not the God whom I can worship. Every better feeling, every purer sentiment of my nature, revolts from adoring in the Supreme, what I should justly abhor as transcendent selfishness in an earthly ruler. The doctrine of eternal punishment is too awful to be contemplated even by the human mind, which cannot grasp the idea. What, then, must it be in the view of Him, who can look OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 357 down the infinite abyss, and measure it in its terrible' length and breadth, its height and depth? And can that be holiness, can that be seraphic love, which could impel a redeemed spirit to rejoice the more exultingly over his own bliss, because contemplating the unutterable misery of his brother or sister, his wife or child? Nay, nay! better no God for me than one who can sit cold and impassive on his throne, while the beings he has made are writhing in agony at his feet, And if He have no pity on us, let us, in view of our mutual ruin, at least pity one another! I would not speak irreverently of doctrines which are sacred to many a pious heart, and which you undoubt- edly cherish; yet if I speak on this subject at all, you would not have me untrue to my own convictions. But enough. You can now see how hopeless is my condi- tion; how impossible it is for me to find that rest to which you so eloquently invite me. To the heaven of the saints I feel no attraction; and if, in the wildness of delirium, I once dreamed of a heaven on earth, the dream was brief as sweet. A bright vision of bliss shone upon me for one blessed moment, and then faded into the blackness of darkness. But I make no com- plaints. If the sirocco's breath has swept over me and consumed my spirit to ashes, outwardly at least, I am unscathed. Pardon me if I have transgressed. I have no plea to urge. But I wished you to know that, if the reverent and undying homage of the heart for what is beautiful and good establishes any claim to religion, I surely am far from being an irreligious man. And, without return, without hope, this homage will continue till my heart has ceased its beatings. , MAURICE VINTON." J page: 358-359[View Page 358-359] 858 MARION GRAHAM; Is it strange that a torrent of feelings swept over Marion as she perused this letter, -that blinding tears obscured many of its words? In the very bitterness of sorrow she wept until she dared weep no longer. It was soon evident that Bessie, Maynard was fading away. Yet no one admitted this, and the uniform an- swer to the many inquiries after her health was,-- "About the same." Thus do we all deceive ourselves. Death darkens our threshold, but we will not believe; he casts over the pale face that shadow which cannot be mistaken; - still we are incredulous. Not till our loved ones have actually entered the cold stream, and passed out of our sight, are we aroused from our blindness by the aching sense of bereavement. But a day at length came when all suspense was ended. While Marion sat beside Bessie's couch, and, from time to time, moistened those parched lips, Mr. Maynard was alone, wrestling with God in voiceless prayer. Nor did he rise from his knees, till he felt that his petitions had reached the heart of God. Awaking from a short slumber, Bessie called for the little one, and kissing it fondly, she motioned Marion to take it, saying,- "Love my motherless baby." Marion could only reply by pressing it to her heart. The angel of Death kindly lingered for the last mes- sages to absent loved ones - for the latest accents of affection. The gentle sufferer's breath had been grow- ing fainter and fainter, when, suddenly pressing her husband's hand, she exclaimed,- "Sweet visions! my father! my darling! They are OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 359 all around me. Glory! glory! Blessed, blessed Sav- iour!" Brokenly came the words, but a world of consolation was in them. The morning dawned in unclouded brightness, but Bessie was not there. "Yet high in the infinite summer Beyond the pale kingdom of fear, God's angels have crowned a new comer! She smiles from her beautiful sphere; She calls them- the Morning is near." I , page: 360-361[View Page 360-361] 860 MARION. GRAHAM; CHAPTER XXVII. "I am content to touch the brink Of the other goblet, and I think ,My bitter drink a wholesome drink." THE sorrowful event which had taken place neces- sarily modified Mr. Maynard's plans. H- e decided to take Bessie's lifeless form at once to Gleriwood, and, leaving the little one at her grandmother's, return and make arrangements for his immediate remodal. We shall not attempt to describe the bitter wailing of poor Judy, or the speechless grief of the widowed mother. Bessie's revered old pastor performed her funeral rites. And with many tears she was laid in the pleasant cemetery. Before Mr. Maynard left for Brentford, he wrote a long letter to Maurice, giving him a full account of his sister's sickness and death, and repeating her dying messages. Not long after, Marion sent the following reply to his last communication. '4 That one so formed to soar, Mr. Vinton, should be dragged down by the demon of infidelity, and to the jeopardy of his eternal interests, is more saddening to me than words can express. So entirely is your mind arrayed against the doctrines of the gospel, that I have not the smallest hope of your prejudices being softened by any process of argument. If, exalting our own OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 361 reason, we question God's wisdom and goodness, con- fusion, doubt, and misery, must be the result. In the wreck of man's moral nature,all his attributes suffered; and I see not how reason can be regarded as a safe guide. Sin, by the blindness and prejudice it occa- sions, and the passions it cherishes, warps our judg. ments, and thus disqualifies us for forming correct moral conclusions. We acknowledge a distinction be- tween the true and false, between good and evil. But as our distorted rational faculties prevent us from abso- lute reliance on their judgments in the one case, even so do our equally distorted moral faculties operate in the i other. Thus- we are unable to rely securely, either upon the decisions of reason, or the dictates of con- . science. i In this state of miserable darkness and degradation; . finite, hemmed in on every side, and crippled in our whole being;-- how can we be sure of obtaining true knowledge, except by sitting at' the feet of Him who has opened to us the two vast books of nature and' revelation? Let me speak frankly, Mr. Vinton, out of a full heart. Never, till laying aside all prejudice, you humble yourself as a little child, and go to your Father for light and guidance, will you see aught but darkness, t or your feet tread, save in inextricable mazes. l To one who looks upon the vast enginery of nature, taking cognizance only of the seemingly confused and contradictory motions of her mighty wheels, there may. ' be an appearance of disorder. But on a more pro- longed examination, he begins to see the wonderful unity of design manifest in all its varied complications, i and to realize that infinite wisdom and power could I alone have devised and set in motion this stupen- : 16 .4 * , j ; i-r page: 362-363[View Page 362-363] 862 MARION GRAHAM; dous system. I have been greatly interested in reading Mitchell's 'Astronomical Lectures,' and am tempted to quote a passage in point. ' There are no iron tracks with bars and bolts to hpld the planets in their orbits. Freely in space they move, ever changing, but never changed; poised and balanc- ing; swaying and swayed; disturbing and disturbed ; onward they fly, fulfilling with unerring certainty their mighty cycles. The entire system forms one grand, complicated piece of celestial machinery; circle within circle; wheel within wheel; cycle within cycle; revo- lutions so swift as to be completed in a few hours; movements so slow that their mighty periods are only counted by millions of years. Are we to believe that the Divine Architect constructed this admirably ad- justed system to wear out, and to fall in ruins, even before one single revolution of its complex scheme of wheels has been performed? No! I see the mighty orbits of the planets slowly rocking to and fro, their figures expanding and contracting, and their axes revolving in. their vast periods; but stability is there. Every change shall wear away, and after sweeping through the grand cycle of cycles, the whole system shall return to its primitive condition of perfection and beauty.' Now, if such a grand unity of design and law of order are manifest to the diligent observer in the nat- ural creation, and that notwithstanding the disturbing force of sin;- since the revelation God makes of him- self in his Word must necessarily be in agreement with that made in nature, may we not properly reason from the world of effects to the world of causes? And, to the reverent inquirer after truth, will not order and harmony be more and more distinctly evolved from OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 863 God's vast moral system? Not at onc7, not all in this world indeed, will the intricate machinery be clearly unfolded to our view. But the light shed upon the attributes of the Supreme, as upon his works and his providence, shall grow clearer and clearer till we enter that world where the Lord God is the light thereof. In the mean time, if we do God's will, we are assured that we shall know his doctrine. We may not--we cannot comprehend all his dealings. The entrance of sin must always be a- spot of intense darkness and mystery, yet God's light may flow in -refluent waves all round about it. And we may see that through this bitter experience of evil, through this life-long struggle, through these repeated draughts from the chalice of sorrow, God may at last raise up man, proved by discipline and confirmed in good, to a state of holiness and felicity, almost infinitely transcending that of his primal innocence. And when this celestial temple is completed, and the headstone thereof is brought forth with shoutings, the,hosts of redeemed ones shall cry, ' Grace, grace unto it.' I admit that the- doctrine of future punishment must ever remain a terrible doctrine to be contemplated. And yet, - ' There is no power can exorcise From out the unbounded spirit, the quick sense Of its own sins, wrongs, sufferance and revenge Upon itself; there is no future pang Can deal that justice on the self-condemned He deals on his own soul.' And when we consider that, to the persistent rejector of God's grace, heaven would be the most intolerable page: 364-365[View Page 364-365] 364 MARION GRAHAM; hell, where he would be eternally consumed by the brightness of God's presence;--and that he goes 'to his own place' by-the necessary law of his being, we surely can find nothing in his exclusion from heaven, upon which to base a charge of cruelty or injustice against God. Let me plead with you, Mr. Vinton, to retrace your steps, and begin your life-work anew. In the language of another,-- ( Sit humbly at the feet of him who will guide' the meek in judgment. Count all other knowledge dross, compared with the excellency of the knowledge of Christ. If you lean to your own understanding and forget your dependence upon God, you have no safe- guard against any kind of error. Look then to Him who is the light of the world. Follow Him and you shall not walk in darkness.' You will pardon my introducing two quotations, one from Spinoza, and one from John Huss. The for- mer writes, - ' When experience had taught me, that what is gen- erally talked of among men, was vain and empty; when I saw that all which I used to fear or love, was neither good nor bad in itself, b t only so far as the mind is affected by it; I concluded at last to search, whether there was any true good which would communicate it- self, and by which, if I should renounce every thing else, my mind might be influenced; whether there was any thing by which, if I should find it and possess myself of it, I might attain to an eternal and supreme happi- ness. I say I concluded at last; for at first it seemed unreasonable to lose a certain thing for an uncertain one. For I perceived the advantages connected with OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 365 i honor and riches, and that I should have to renounce them, if I should pursue a different object. And it was plain to me, that if supreme happiness consisted in them, I should lose that happiness in pursuing a differ- ent end; but if happiness did not consist in them, and I should seek them supremely, I should lose it in that way. I then reasoned, whether it was not possible for me to enter upon my new work, or at least to come to some certainty on the point, without leaving my old course of life. But that I tried in vain. For that which is generally the topic of men's conversation, and that, which, judging from their conduct, they esteem most highly, comes at last to these three things, riches, honor, pleasure. But these things so distract the mind, that it can think seriously of no other good. Wvhen I therefore saw that all this was inconsistent with my new project, and even opposed to it, so that I should necessarily have to relinquish one of these two things, I was compelled to decide which I should prefer. It was not without reason that I used the words, if I could only consider it seriously.: for although I saw it all clearly before my mind, yet could I never on that ac- count lay aside all avarice, ambition, and love of pleas- ure.' In striking contrast, John Huss says: 'I confess before God and his anointed, that from my youth up I doubted and hesitated long as to what I should choose; whether I should praise what all praised, approve what all approved, and excuse what all excused; whether I should gloss over the Scriptures as others glossed them over, who seemed to be clothed with sanctity and wisdom, or whether I ought man- fully to accuse and condemn the unfruitful works of page: 366-367[View Page 366-367] 366 MARION GRAHAM; darkness; whether I should do better to enjoy a comrn- fortable life with the rest, and seek for honor and prefer- ments,- or else go without the camp, cleave to the pure and holy truth of the Gospel, and bear the poverty and reproach of Christ. - I confess freely, I doubted and hesitated long. At length I turned to God in sincere and fervent', supplication. With my Bible raised in my hands towards heaven, I cried opt with my whole heart, "O God, my Lord, and Author of my life, guide me into thy truth!"' You are doubtless familiar with these passages, but I could not resist my desire to copy them for you. If I have read you aright, it is not worldliness in any of its forms, which is keeping you from Christ, but a ques- tioning, self-reliant spirit, --the pride of reason. Will you not take your Bible in your hand, and, uttering the prayer of John Huss, study the inspired pages. Oh! do this earnestly and perseveringly, and you must, you will find light. Ere you receive this, you will have heard the partic- ulars of dear Bessie's departure, and received her fare- well words. During her sickness she was sustained by a sweet trust in God, and we feel assured that she has passed from the troubled scenes of earth to a glori- ous home in heaven." Then telling him of Elsie's closing days, she gave her last touching message, adding, - "Do not disappoint her, Mr. Vinton. She will look to meet you in the golden streets. Heaven has rapidly increased its attractions since you left., Your sweet little namesake, your father, your sister, and good old Elsie, now await you there. Whatever of discipline and sorrow be appointed for us, God grant that we too 9P OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 367 may at last enter those gates of pearl, and dwell for- ever in that celestial city which the glory of God doth lighten. MARION GRAHAM." The delicate allusion, at the close of Maurice's letter, to his deep and unalterable devotion, had moved Mar- ion, every time she perused it, with a secret tremor of joy. She longed, in reply, to assure him that her heart likewise was unwavering in its affection, or ,at least to intimate this. But she dared not unseal the closed fountain. Besides, she felt that such words were un- needed. Had she only uttered them! In contrast with his own desolate hearth-stone, it was a cheerful fireside that Mr. Maynard found on his return to Glenwood. And the frequent presence of Marion was an unspeakable comfort to them all. But while she made a great effort to cheer others, her lonely room bore witn ss to many a secret struggle with her- self. Worn by the consuming sickness of hope deferred, she found it difficult to become. interested ir her once favorite employments. Yet there were seasons when she meekly accepted the severe discipline of life; when peace rested in her bosom, and in quiet confidence she could utter that holy sentiment, so hard for the natural heart, "Thy will, O God, be done." / Not long after her return from Brentford, she /received a letter from Lenora, dated Cairo, from which Iwe shall take the liberty to steal a few extracts: . ) "On our way from Rome to Egypt we had quite a * s I f \ page: 368-369[View Page 368-369] 368 MARION GRAHAM; company collected from the four quarters of the globe, and a right merry set we were, I do assure you. There was one of our number to whom I must devote more space, though I have not the temerity to attempt describing him. He is too genuine a hero for mny poor pen. So give -wing to your imagina- tion, and picture to yourself a tall, pale, intellectual- looking man, with the most melancholy mouth, and the deepest, most wonderful eyes that you ever saw. Papa inquired of everybody who he was, but nobody could tell positively, though all presumed him to be an Engw lishman, while I privately suggested that he was some lord or other, travelling in disguise. He assumed no airs, and scarcely ever made a remark, but all the time veiled himself in the most impenetrable reserve. To the ladies of our company he demeaned himself, courteously indeed, but as a veritable icicle. My curiosity was strangely piqued, an you will readily believe; and I resorted to several femininities, for the sake of discover- ing something about him, but invariably got my trouble for my pains. We could not even arrive at his name, so we all dubbed him 'The Stranger,' and a stranger he seems likely to remain. .... You will not of course expect from me the presumption of striving to paint for you the grand pyramid of Geezeh. Not my rash hand shall make such a bold attempt. But I will tell you that I was carried up those terrific heights by wild Arabs, sav- age-looking enough to have strangled us. They climbed and climbed, and climbed, but-for all that did not seem to get any nearer the top. On our upward way, I was careless enough to drop a charming bouquet which I held in my hand, and which provokingly rolled down Geezeh's steep side. Of course, I supposed that was OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 369 the last of it, 'and was perfectly overcome with amaze- ment, when our famous incog., not without some risk, descended a few steps, secured my bouquet, and returned it to me as I sat perched on the hands of those savages. He did this with as courtly a grace as if he had been bred-at St. James. I thanked him with all the complai- sance of which I 'am mistress, and would have shared my flowers with his lordship, had I dared offer them. But my warm acknowledgments made no impression whatever on his imperturbable nature, -and falling by himself, he proceeded upward. The view from the summit of the pyramid you can never conceive of, till you yourself have beheld it. In the height of my enthusiasm, I suddenly exclaimed to papa, ' Oh, how I do wish Marion Graham was here!' Such a look as that our stranger gave me. It startled me like a thunderbolt out of a clear- sky. It was so searching a gaze, that I was sure he had asked a question, and abruptly exclaimed, - : What did you say, sir? A strange smile passed over that mournful face, and he replied,' I said nothing.' 'But you looked something,' I added, in self-defence. Still that indescribably sweet smile, which, on that face, looked like a rainbow on a dark cloud. 'I have no doubt of that, Miss Benson. To hear the name of one we have met in former years, suddenly pronounced in an assembly of strangers, and by strange lips, pnd that on the summit of Geezeh, was a little unexpected. I trust therefore you Wvill absolve me from impertinence.' So much--not one word more, from our English nobleman. My curiosity was on tip-toe, but all in vain. He had assumed his quiet reserve, and stood, with the 16* page: 370-371[View Page 370-371] 370 MARION GRAHAM; air of a duke, gazing upon the broad panorama beneath. I was determined, however, not to be entirely balked, so approaching him, I ventured, - (I fear I shall draw upon myself the charge of imper- tinence, bat it is a mystery to me how you, an English- man, should be familiar with the name of my dear friend in America.' I am an American myself.' 'May I take the liberty to ask where, in that great country, is your home?' 'In Leyden, on Lake Champlain.' With this pittance of information, I was obliged to content myself; for though entirely courteous, he was any thing but communicative. There was one more tack however on which I could try him; so, with great skill, as I imagined, I alluded to my acquaintance with you. He listened with evident interest to all that I chose to say; but I could draw neither question nor comment out of him, and that was all the good I got by my amiability. Very provoking, is it not? I won- der if by strange good fortune, you came any nearer to him? He is manifestly one of the invulnerables; but if he pleased, and I think wherever he pleased, he would be irresistible. To be loved and wooed by so lordly a being, possessing such a lofty soul as is written on every line of his countenance, might well excite a tu- mult in the proudest woman's bosom. But I fear he has- cruelly devoted himself to bachelorship. Do tell me where you met him, and how much you know of him; only don't fancy me smitten. For I should just as soon think of falling in love with the divine Apollo. I flatter myself with fancying that, since the scene on the pyramid, he treats me with a shade more of complai- NN Q OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 371 sance; but I have precious little to boast of. If I have not given you his name, it is of course, simply because I do not know it. But you must know, for there can be only one such impersonation of attractions, or of powers of attraction, as I should say;-- for he is guiltless of their use. So don't forget to enlighten me." What an uncontrollable tempest did this letter occa- sion in Marion's heart! As months had rolled away, and what seemed an interminable distance stretched between them, she had thought of Maurice as changed. Sometimes the past, in its connection with him, seemed like a wild dream of romance. But, Lenora's descrip- tion had brought him vividly before her, with all his pecul- iar fascinations, and his wonderful power of influence. From the little she had been able to impart, Marion gathered afresh the sweet confirmation of his steadfast affection. She dwelt with renewed satisfaction upon the closing part of his last communication; and for a time, gave herself up to the delight of knowing that she was beloved by this peerless being. But how shall she reply to Lenora? She cannot pass the great theme of her letter in silence ;-yet what shall she say? And how can she be sure that Lenora would not repeat any thing she might write, without a special injunction of secrecy? And if she makes such an injunction, she leaves a wide, margin for conjecture. There seems no discreet course but to defer her answer. So, hoping Lenora would write again, she concluded on delay. Alas, - could she only have foreseen! The days pass slowly away, and she is again indulg- ing in reverie. Between the divided claims of love and duty, her heart sometimes wavers; and there are bitter page: 372-373[View Page 372-373] 372 i MARION GRAHAM; moments when she upbraids the latter as a :relent- less foe, pursuing her to the death. Why had she not allowed herself to write one word of tenderness in reply to Maurice's intimations of enduring homage? If she could only dare to love him, to recall him to her side,- what a flood of illimitable bliss would roll over her soul! Pity for the weakness of human nature, when the conflict to be waged is between a sensitive con- science and a loving heart! It- was now time for another letter from Maurice. Day after day she awaited the expected treasure, and day after day she was chilled by its non-appearance. She made an effort to rally her spirits, but a heavy weight settled upon them. While in this unhappy state she received an urgent application to go for a single quarter to Monteith, where they were disappointed in an ex- pected teacher. She was conscious of needing just such employment to break in upon her sad dreamings; but it seemed to her she could not bring her mind to it. After balancing the matter for some time, she wrote to Mr. Sunderland, begging his advice. She well knew how entirely his own conduct was actuated by the high- est principle, and that she needed just the influence he always brought to bear upon her. From her letter, he saw that she was becoming morbid, and needed rousing to action. And, in his wonted kind, but authoritative way, he replied: "I fear my sister has been self-indulgent, and that the enemy has obtained some advantage. It seems clear to me that under these circumstances, you ought to accept the proposed situation; and therefore I ven- ture to say you will do so. - ,- ' ' . ' q OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS.- 373 In this great life-conflict in which you and I are en- gaged, there is no safety in laying aside our armor. Fight we must. - Let us do it, prepared for the strongest onset of our foe. We both have bitter memories that must be kept buried, or they will rob us of our strength. These ubiquitous phantoms plead hard to abide with us, but their presence is a dangerous snare. Without one backward, lingering glance,- onward and upward must be our watchword. ' Let the brave toil of the present, Overarch the crumbled past.' Looking to our Lord for strength, let us press towards the mark. So shall we obtain the victory, and on the heights of heaven, shall wear the conqueror's crown. God bless you, my dear sister! Be true to your con- science; be courageous; - and, though you may not thus win earthly happiness, you will gain what is worth infinitely more. 7 Your brother, HENRY SUNDERLAND.? Marion knew nothing of the continued struggles of that noble heart, and presumed that he spoke in the plural, from a delicate regard to her feelings. As their inter- course had been so free, she had sometimes wondered that he had not proposed a correspondence; little sus- pecting that he dared not trust himself with so sweet an indulgence. But his words of counsel never failed to fall upon her heart like the notes of a clarion. She was not only aroused by his letter, but she felt strengthened for her work. That very day she wrote to Monteith a page: 374-375[View Page 374-375] 374 MARION GRAHAM ;i letter of acceptance, and, greatly to the regret of the family at the Vinton farm-house, she soon left Glen- wood for her new post. The weeks sped on, and Marion had completed her engagement. She had striven bravely, but suspense I was wearing heavily upon her. The letter did not come. She tried to make herself believe she had done expecting it. But the feverish flush that invariably came over her when the mail arrived,.belied this. The innocent postman was at length transformed in her view into a relentless fate. Oh! it is sickening to be thus tortured! The purpose may be resolute, but the heart! - the poor, loving, aching human heart! -- A thousand sad fancies thronged like evil spirits around Marion. Maurice was sick-- he had forgotten her--he was dead. Agonized by these alternations of feeling, it was a relief to her to return home. Mr.,May- nard called immediately, and expressed his concern at her worn appearance. "I am very well, only weary with my long confine- ment. After a little recruiting, I shall be as bright as ever. To-morrow I am coming down to have a romp with my pet." In the course of the evening, he told her that they had had a letter from Maurice, written on the eve of his leaving Egypt for Palestine, and that it was full of deep feeling concerning Bessie, but contained not a word from which his state of mind could be inferred. "May I ask," he added, " if you have heard any thing more definite?" He was startled, when, drawing herself up, She re- plied,- OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 375 "Our intercourse has ceased; and, if you have any regard for me, you will never name him in my presence." And she immediately changed the subject. After he left, she regretted her hasty words. She had spoken proudly and not without resentment. And she could fancy Mauricels melancholy eye; looking reproachfully upon her. But she could not take back her words with- out entering into an explanation, and that she was un- willing to do. She however wrote Mr. Maynard a line, saying, - "Do not misjudge my rash. language. From my heart the curtain may not be lifted. This is all I can say." Mr. Maynard had -pondered in vain the incomprehen- sible words Marion had spoken, nor was he at all en- lightened by her brief note. It did not enter his mind as a possibility that Maurice had first ceased to write; and, of course, he could not suppose any such thing in the case as a woman's pique. Besides, he knew noth- ing of what had actually transpired between them. Having long ago, divined Maurice's love, he had, seen some indications from which he inferred that it was returned. But even of their correspondence he had not been aware till her visit to Brentford. After revolving the matter over and over, he concluded that, for some reason which he had no means of conjecturing, Marion had put an end to their intercourse, and to all Maurice's hopes. He felt that it must have - been a terrible blow to him, and he saw that she too suffered from unwonted depression. So he brought her books to read, tried to interest her in her flower-garden, and, by many delicate attentions, sought to return some of the kind ministra- tions she had rendered to his cherished Bessie. page: 376-377[View Page 376-377] By constant effort, Marion at length regained her 'tward cheerfulness, and, as before she went to Mon- th, contributed much to the happiness of her friends the farm. Old Judy's face always brightened-at the ,ht of her, while Bessie invariably clapped her hands d sprang towards her. The little fairy took by storm i citadel of Marion's affections, and soon contrived, her loving ways, to bring genuine sunshine into that solate heart. In her sweet, tiny face, Marion not only Lced the likeness of her angel-mother, but she also ught something of Maurice's peculiar expression, pecially in her earnest eyes. And when alone with r, she would tenderly press her to her bosom, and vish caresses upon her, even while the tears wet that mpled cheek, laid so close to hers. Is there a sweeter inistry to sorrow than that which is unconsciously idered by tender innocence and beauty? f i tl CHAPTER XXVIII. "Forgive, O God! The blindness of our passionate desires, The fainting of our hearts, the lingering thoughts, Which cleave to dust! Forgive the strife; accept The sacrifice, though dim with mortal tears, From mortal pangs wrung forth!" IT was the soft twilight hour. Marion sat near an open window, where the fragrance of honeysuckles, min- gled with that of roses, came stealing in. TennysonLs "In Memoriam " lay idly in her hand, as she glanced listlessly from the window. Suddenly her eye fell upon Mr. Maynard, walking with unusual rapidity towards the house. As she watched him pass through the gate and hasten up the long avenue, there was a strange fluttering at her heart, for which she chided herself, but which she could not subdue. Entering the parlor, he vas too much agitated himself to notice her agitation. A breathless silence ensued, for he could with difficulty command his emotions sufficiently to speak. Marion felt certain that he bore heavy tidings. My dear sister, you must allow me to speak on a forbidden theme. But I pray you to be calm." She grew pale as death. After a pause he continued "Dear Maurice-'- but tears again interrupted him, while Marion sat rigid as a statue. Beginning once more, he sobbed out, "Dear Maurice-is a Chris- tian." page: 378-379[View Page 378-379] The words had hardly escaped his lips when he sa Lhat Marion was falling in a fainting fit. - Laying her gently upon the sofa, and sprinkling water- in her face, her color soon returned. It was some little time before she could recall what had happened. When at length it came back to her, she sprang up, and looking wist- Fully into his face, she asked,- "Did I hear aright?" "Yes, dear sister! God has answered your prayers. Maurice has renounced that infidelity of which I was :nly partially aware, and is now a Christian." The tears flowed silently from her eyes as -she took the extended letter. And Mr. Maynard, divining her wish, left her to her own thoughts, saying to himself, is he walked slowly home, -- "She certainly does love him. What strange mys- tery can have separated them?" Marion pressed the letter to her heart, and retiring to ;he solitude of her chamber, gave herself up to un- 3ontrollable emotion. Every other feeling was merged in the immeasurable joy of that unexpected announce- ment. And fervent was the outgushing gratitude of her soul, as she read the following letter dated at Jerusalem: "Could I sit down beside you, my dear Brother, I might, perhaps, give you some idea of what my pen is utterly inadequate to convey. From your letters, I have been aware that you had but little apprehension of my entire and confirmed scepticism. Yet I ought to admit that, in my discussion with a Christian friend, there occasionally crossed m mind a vague suspicion of the fallacy of my rationalistic conclusions. By OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 379 speculation, I was a settled infidel, but the voice of m- better nature harmonized with the utterances of truth. I must also acknowledge that I have never been able to efface the peculiar impressions I received in my fre- quent religious conversations with that illiterate, yet wise woman, Elsie Green. When under the spell of her singular influence, I used sometimes to ask myself, '.whence hath she this wisdom, unless she is taught of heaven?' Her earnest words of simple trust in God, never wavering amid the deepest obscurities and mys- teries of his moral government, and firmest, when in the depths of her own personal afflictions, sank into myv heart with a power of emotion which no eloquence of man could have produced. I never shall forget with what simple fervor she repeated that text, 'God so loved the world;' hor the energy with which she re- plied to me, when in order to test her faith, I warily suggested some doubts as to the Lord's designs of mercy towards her. In her unschooled language, she said, --- 'I can't be mistaken no ways, 'cause you see He's promised that all them who puts their trust in Him shan't niver be disappointed. And you don't s'pose the dear, lovin' Lord would think for a moment of breakin' his promise to a poor critter who pended ivery thing on't. No, no. Ye'll see yersel' how true it'll come. My black sins, ivery one on 'em 'll be washed out, and I shall have on a shinin' starry robe, sich as the angels wear. Oh! but it's too much for a wicked critter like me, only He's promised it, He's promised it.' And the tears streamed down her cheeks. Her last words as 4 shook hands with her were, 'Now, don't fail of heaven!' Their echo has never died page: 380-381[View Page 380-381] 5UV MARION GRAHAM; out of my -soul. But the pride of reason wholly forbade that childlike spirit which alone could lead mne into the ruth. The death of my dear little namesake was a greater grief to me than any of you have imagined. And while musing upon his passing out of life so early, I often asked myself,-'Was that precious bark launched on this great sea, merely to float for a moment, like a bubble, upon its waters; and then drift silently away into the dark dreariness of annihilation?' When, so soon after, came the tidings of my father's death, the question oecurred to me,' Are these repeated blows the work of chance, or is there a God who inflicts them, and for some definite purpose? ' But I sternly and persistently shut down out of hearing these earnest and tender monitions, and wandered further and further into the gloomy regions of eternal doubt. In compliance with the earnest request of a friend, I had given my promise carefully to peruse the Bible in the land where it was written; and although I some- times regretted this promise, yet I sacredly fulfilled it. I was at once forcibly struck with the abundant and re- markable illustrations which this whole region furnishes of the historical truth of Scripture, so far as its allusions to ancient places and customs are concerned. And I was compelled to admit that it is the most accurate guide-book to any traveller in those lands of antiquity. But I will not attempt to enumerate the external evi- dences, which gradually overcame my objective difficul- ties. As I continued to study the sacred oracles, their intrinsic excellence, and transcendent sublimity and divinity, were increasingly manifest; and I became more and more penetrated with the assurance of their - v i ^-Y OR, HGHER THAN, HAPPINESS. 381 celestial origin. These convictions, however, were of of the reason, rather than of the heart. The news of my favorite sister's death plunged me into the depths of sorrow. But as I read the account- of her'peaceful departure, I could not help asking my- self again and again, - 'How could that frail, clinging woman, calmly bid farewell to those whom she so tenderly loved? - how could her vision joyfully leap the frightful abyss of death, but that heaven is an assured, a glorious reality?' The perfect serenity with which she launched on the dark waters, was an irresistible argument for the faith she professed. And my yearning heart exclaimed, ' Let me embrace that faith, even though it prove a delusion.' Then, for the first time in my life did prayer break from my- lips. ' Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief!' Ah, my dear brother! the evidence that came in an- swer to that one earnest petition, outweighed whole volumes of argument. How could I' doubt my own consciousness? I have neither time nor ability to describe the in- creasing clearness and glory of the new light which had dawned on my soul, nor the rich sweetness of that peace which I had begun to taste. But I ask you to unite your thanksgivings with mine, that, having long experienced the miserable unrest of the sceptic, I now know the precious repose of the believer. It is my most earnest desire that I may honor my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. And I have no higher ambition than to proclaim to my lost and guilty brothers and sis- ters, his unsearchable riches; -to allure them from the broken cisterns of earth, to the inexhaustible fountain of eternal love. *I page: 382-383[View Page 382-383] a^A MARION GRAHAM . Before closing, let me request you to make Miss Graham acquainted with the contents of this letter. My obligations for -her kind and Christian faithfulness, eternity alone can measure. I believe it will be her best reward to know that I have consecrated my re- maining life to my Redeemer. Express to her my heartfelt wishes for her highest happiness here and hereafter. And tell her that it was in the garden of Gethsemane I first prayed; and that, raising my Bible in my clasped hands, my heart cried' out with John Huss, I O God, my Lord, and Author of my life, guide me into thy truth.' Perhaps she will keep the enclosed leaf, which, on that memorable occasion, I gathered for her from the sacred garden. In addition to the hallowed associa- tions for which she will chbrish it, it may serve as a token of my unceasing remembrance of her fidelity, and an encouragement for her future labors, even in the most unpromising soil. Say to her that Elsie's legacy of her well-worn Tes- 4tament will be doubly precious to me; also that the prediction she repeated, proved true;- when a shining ray of God's love touched my cold heart, itzoas melted like the ice in the warm sunbeams of spring. I hope not to disappoint Elsie's expectations of meeting me in the golden streets, and I have not a doubt that we shall know one another. Rapidly, my dear brother, are the swift currents of time bearing us on! And the mountain-waves of sor- row which are now perpetually breaking over us, and sometimes threatening to engulf us, will soon be passed. God grant that I may meet all my cherished friends on that bright shore where change and partings never i I OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 883 come! Till then, I bid welcome to all the griefs a Father's hand has appointed me, assured that he will not inflict one needless pang. I go directly to Germany for the purposes of study, and cannot now fix the time for my return. But tell my dear mother that I long to see her face, and that, /whether present or absent, I hope I may yet bring some comfort to her declining days. Your brother in new bonds of affection, MAURICE VINTON." - No description could do justice to the strangely min- gled emotions with which Marion read and re-read this letter. The indescribable joy, tat, like a glad torrent, had flooded her soul at the assurance of Maurice's con- version, was gradually tempered with an inexplicable sadness. With the fullest expressions of his repose in the love of God, there breathed a chastened, mournful undertone, that was unconsciously echoed in the depths of her heart. The closing parts of the letter fell upon her like a dirge over all earthly hopes - a requiem, for the dead and buried. And she passed a few hours in a tearful conflict, which no earthly being could have fully comprehended. But,with the reaction of an elastic nature, hope at length sprang up anew, whispering a thousand bright suggestions. "He wished her to learn this change through others. He feared the effect of too sudden an announcement upon one with whom he was second only to God. And now, having given her time to drink in the full joy of the present, and to grow sober from the first intoxication of anticipating the boundless , bliss of the future ;-with every barrier broken down, page: 384-385[View Page 384-385] 384 MARION GRAHAM; and their souls free to rash into an eternal embrace;-- now, he would break the long, long silence." And her maidenly heart thrilled with unutterable happiness as she pictured to herself what a world of long sup- pressed affection that letter would contain. So, with tears of blended gratitude and joy, she ten- derly placed the Gethsemane token between the leaves of her Bible, failing not to press it to her glowing lips. Woe worth all earthly dreams! Days passed away -weeks marched relentlessly on-but the letter-- THE LETTER--did not come. And as her hopes died a slow and torturing death, the old burden, with its new weight of aggravated suffering, heavily settled down upon her weary spirit, as if a load she was forever to bear. She chided herself for ingratitude and peiverse- ness, but the gloom only gathered about her in deeper shadows. Alas! - "How many watchers in life there be, For the ship that never comes over the sea!" It was now about a year since she had seen Mr. Sun- derland. His words at their last interview occasionally came over her as a prophetic warning. As she sat thinking of him one evening, and longing for some of his cheering words, he suddenly appeared before her, having contrived to take Glenwood on his return from a journey. On hearing the tidings concerning Maurice, his face was lighted up with the purest pleasure. "But my sister looks worn and weary." Tears sprang to her eyes as she repld, "Do you remember saying,' God may hear your prayers, and yet other barriers rise up between you? '" "4 But has any thing happened?" OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 385 " His last communication to me was written more than a year since." i"There is surely some mistake." She had copied his letter to Mr. Maynard, and she now silently placed it in Mr. Sunderland's hand. Hav- ing carefully read it twice over, he sat for some minutes absorbed in thought, while Marion waited as if her fate huh on his lips. At length he broke the painful silence. I , "There is a mystery about the matter; but I cannot doubt for one moment that it arises from some misap- prehension which time will dispel. Can I in any way mediate for you?" he added, with some hesitation. "Nay, dear brother," replied she, mournfully shaking her head. "Slf-respect would forbid that. It belongs to. him to inquire into any apparent misunderstanding; and, if he still loved me, he would not fail to do it." "I will not urge what I wish I had liberty to do. But it will never answer for you to brood over your own thoughts. How comes on the German?" "Not at all." "How much do you work in your garden?" She shook her head. "How often do you walk? And " "No more, if you please. I plead guilty of indolence and selfishness. My time has passed according to my mood. I have neglected study and exercise, and, what is worse, I have not interested myself in trying to do good. I owe you this wholesale confession, and I will meekly receive your deserved lecture." "I have no lecture to give," replied he, smiling kindly upon her. "I can safely leave you to the custody of conscience." 17 page: 386-387[View Page 386-387] 886 MARION GRAHAM; ' "But you see I have been very heedless of her ad- monitions." ) "In the clamoring of other voices, hers may, for a time, have been lost. But you have now caught her gentle tones, and I am sure you will give heed." Then, in a subdued voice, he added, "Your health is too precious to be sacrificed, and your influence is worth too much to be wasted in vain dreamings. Like the sunshine, it should be wide spread, and everywhere gladden desolate hearts. Through sorrow's ripening power, many a one has become the benefactor of his race. To live for such an object is worthy of my sis- ter's ambition. But I trust happiness also is written for you. Be patient, be cheerful, and----" "And if otherwise?" Hesitating a moment, "Then may God comfort you!" And silently pressing her hand, he left her. A O God, help me!" was his cry to heaven, when, on his solitary return home. "I could lay down my life to secure her welfare. But to see her so weary, so wretched,- to long to clasp her to my aching heart, and to bless her with its untold wealth, yet to be sternly forbidden to yield to these irrepressible yearnings ;- it is a hard, a bitter task, to a love like mine. Poor Marion! she little dreams how her sorrows reduplicate themselves in me. May God strengthen us both!" -And he wiped the cold drops of agony from his pale face. To Marion, Mr. Sunderland's visit proved not in vain. It was like dew on the parched earth, and, under its influence, her life once more blossomed out in kind and gentle deeds. o OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 387 CHAPTER XXIX. "Father in heaven! Thou, only thou canst sound The heart's great deep, with floods of anguish filled, For human life, too fearfully profound. ...... * * It well may be, That Thou wouldst lead my spirit back to Thee, By the crushed hope too long on this world poured, The stricken love which hath perchance adored A mortal in Thy place." 'IT was now approaching the second anniversary of that scene with Maurice so engraved on Marion's mem- ory, and which was soon followed by her father's sudden departure from earth. The wide sea separated her from the one, and the river of death from the other. With both, all communication seemed equally cut off. Nothing had been heard from Maurice since the letter from Palestine. His mother's health had been quite feeble all summer, and now she was evidently failing. Marion spent a part of every day with her, endeavoring, so far as possible, to supply the place of a daughter. Mrs. Vinton often expressed a strong desire to see Maurice, but seemed unwilling to have any thing said, which should interfere with his plans. At length, how- ever, she consented to have Mr. Maynard inform him of her condition, and of her earnest wish to behold his face once more. The last authmnal month had come, and Mr. May- page: 388-389[View Page 388-389] 388 MARION GRAHAM; nard was every day looking anxiously for a reply to his letter. Mrs. Vinton was not, indeed, suffering from any acute disease. Her sickness was a gradual failure of the powers of life. But although, on some days, she was quite comfortable, yet it was felt that her departure could not be very distant. She still cherished a lively interest in what passed around her,- and great pains was taken to give her room a cheerful aspect, while Marion brought a frequent offering of flowers. It was one of those sweet fall days, all the more charming for being out of season. Marion came from Graham Hall with her accustomed bouquet in one hand, and a small, empty basket in the other. What this signified was soon manifest; for, as she slowly walked beneath the maple trees, decked out in all their gor- geous beauty, she began to fill her basket with the bright-tinted leaves, which were continually dropping in gold and crimson showers. This season had always been one full of melancholy to her, but the associations now linked with it deepened this feeling. The strange dreaminess of the atmosphere, the subdued tone of na- ture in all her variety of perfumes- and sights and sounds, and the golden haze which lay softly upon the distant hills, - all this luxuriant but fading beauty and glory oppressed her with an indefinable sadness. The past, with its bitter and repeated trials, the present, with the burden of its deep- and sorrowful mystery, and the fu- ture, wrapped in gloom,--alike came vividly before her. While thus musing, she continued gathering the choicest leaves. When her basket was full and closely packed, she proceeded to -Mrs. Vinton's. But before she enters, we will take a glance into the sick room. , OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 389 In a large easy chair, not a modern improvement, but :of the old-fashioned kind, and wearing a white dimity cover,- sat the grandmother, with a rose-blanket around her, while her feet rested on a low stool. She had on a snowy cap, beneath which her soft brown hair, just sprinkled with silver, was parted over her forehead. A smile played on her serene face, for she was watching baby's unsuccessful attempts to creep, which generally ended in a harmless roll, when, nothing daunted, she would begin again, only to arrive at the same mortify- ing conclusion. Her nurse, Maria, sat on the carpet beside her, while. her father's eyes were playing traitor to the open book before him. Old Judy, having just happened in, found occasion, as she often did, to linger near the door, and join the rest in admiring Bessie's wonderful doings. Suddenly a light tap, and Marion enters. Having kissed Mrs. Vinton, she held up the flowers before her, and then did the same to baby, who, imitating grandma, snuffed at them again and again, vastly to the entertain- ment of the beholders. This scene being ended, Marion put the flowers into a vase, and then displayed -her gay basket. "Beautiful!" exclaimed Mrs. Vinton, as she touched the leaves with her thin fingers. When they were held before Bessie, she began to snuff at them as she had done at the flowers. "But these are not good to smell of, darling; touch them with your fingers as grandma did." Whereupon little Miss 1t her two tiny plump hands into the basket, and began showering leaves all over the carpet, old Judy laughing till the tears rolled down her cheeks. page: 390-391[View Page 390-391] vV VLtARtlUN GRAHAM ; "She's a 'cute one. And so was her mother afore her." "There, that will do," said Marion, gathering them up. And having volunteered to look after baby, Maria and Judy both left thq room. Marion then plaited a gold and crimson wreath for her favorite, and, having crowned her sunny curls, took her to the glass, whereat she crowed most lustily. Then Marion placed her again on the floor, and showered leaves on her head. ) The golden, rustling things rolled down baby's face and neck, and fell about her arms and feet, causing the little victim a delight most edifying to behold. The shouts of laughter brought back Judy, who, with all the freedom of a privileged servant, planted herself on the threshold, holding the door in her hand. Suddenly, it was softly pushed open from the outside, and a tall form entered. As it glided past, Judy held up both hands, exclaiming,- "Massy on me,- but it's Massa Maurice hisself." Speaking to no one, seeming to notice no one, but hastening past them all, he tenderly kissed his mother's cheek, and, without uttering a word, knelt down beside her. Marion took up Bessie and left the room, motion- ing to Judy to come with her, while Mr. Maynard fol- lowed, carefully closing the door. And the mother and her long-parted son were there alone. What a sweet content filled the one!--what an impetuous tide swept over the other! As Memory unrolled her rapid panorama, touching recollections of the prattling child, the kind father, and the loving sister, - all passed away forever, - rushed upon him with the vividness of present reality. Then came images of part- ing, of death, of unlooked-for change, of heart-breaking OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 391 disappointments, and of consuming, life-long sorrow. To him, that brief moment seemed an age of agony; aI and, bowing his head on his mother's lap, he wept as man seldom weeps. The gentle mother had no suspi- cion of the strength of his emotions, but she sought to soothe him with tender endearments. And Maurice remembered her feeble state; and, fervently lifting up his heart for divine strength, the storm gradually sub- sided. In the mean time Mr. Maynard and Marion sat ab- stracted and silent in- another room, while the baby was left to amuse herself on the floor. Every now and then, Judy would put in her head, turn it in all directions, and then suddenly withdraw it. At length a step was heard crossing the hall. Mr. Maynard sprang forward, and, in a moment, his hand warmly grasped that of TMaurice. The latter next advanced towards Marion, but avoided her eyes. Her emotion was, at first, un- controllable, but his distant manner gave her instant composure. And had they then and there met as etire strangers, their greeting could 'not have exhibited Iore coldness and formality. All this time not one word had been spoken. "Is this Bessie?" inquired Maurice in a husky voice, while he lifted the child from the floor. The little one looked wistfully in his eyes, hid her face for a moment on his shoulder, and then stretched out her hands to Judy, who had been standing just outside the door. She now stepped forward, and, taking the baby in her arms, received a cordial shake of the hands. O"O Massja, I can't tell nohow, how thankful I is to see you agin. Dis yer child is our Bessie, and the pootiest cretur ye ever sot eyes on, allers barrin' her mother." page: 392-393[View Page 392-393] V" -LTL-&-MA taU1hAJUA1 2- While this scene was passing, Marion softly slipped out of the room, and giving one hasty glance at the travel-worn, dusty trunk that stood in the porch, she hurriedly retraced her steps over that golden, rustling pathway where she had just now lingered to gather the bright leaves. Entering her own chamber, she closed the blinds and dropped the curtains to shut out the gar- ish day, and then sat down to feed herself upon the ashes of bitterness. With fearful intensity she dwelt on that terrible struggle between reason and passion, followed by that bitterest of partings; on her long, long sorrow, her ever-returning conflict, her days and nights of vain hoping - waiting - watching - and her boundless love that had triumphed over all. And this had been their meeting- this was her reward! Strange that the heart-strings can be so tightly pressed, and yet not snap asunder! Whether the scene through which she had passed, had been too much for Mrs. Vinton, or whether she had been sustained for that very meeting, cannot be told. But having experienced the fulness of satisfac- tion in once more embracing her son, she now sank rapidly. And not three days had gone by, when she passed into the spirit-land. As they were gathered in the cemetery, Marion stood where she could see Maurice without being seen. This was the first opportunity she had had really to look upon his face, and she was saddened to find it so pale and worn with suffering. Yet she also read there a chastened elevation, which spoke of heavenly commun- ings. Her gaze was long and earnest, but she did not meet his eye, that sure revelator, and thus his heart remained shrouded with impenetrable mystery. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 393 She knew not how to resist the pressing invitation of Mr. Maynard, and Bessie's sisters now in Glenwood, to return to tea with them that night. Besides, who could say that an explanation might not thus, in some way, be brought about? Mr. Morton also was there, and it was an hour of tender recollections to them all. But little attempt was made at conversation, and that was chiefly on Mr. Morton's part. In reply to his in- quiries, Maurice stated that it was his intention to go the next day to New York, and, as soon as he could make the necessary arrangements, to proceed to the South for the purpose of recruiting his health; after which he should return to the city, and resume his studies there.- And Marion listened to all this with ap- parent unconcern. After tea, as they were passing into the parlor, in or- der to relieve her almost insupportable oppression, Ma- rion, unnoticed as she supposed, stepped to the door, and, seating herself beneath the clustering vines of the old porch, leaned her aching head against the trellis. But there was a watchful eye that had not lost one of her movements. Maurice entered the room, but pres- ently came out again and stood beside her. "Miss Graham!" She looked up, but he was careful not to meet her gaze. After an evident struggle with himself, he said,- "I cannot leave without once more expressing my fervent thanks for all your patient labor in my behalf. Nor am I ungrateful for your very kind and constant attentions to my departed father and mother and sister. I had hoped --" The words died on his lips. Paus- ing, he continued with effort, "Whatever maybe the 17' page: 394-395[View Page 394-395] 394 MARION GRAHAM ; appearance, you cannot doubt that your happiness is still dear to me, and that " A moment's suspense, during which Marion's heart almost stopped beating! Then, taking her hand in both his, and wringing it in silence, he abruptly withdrew. There is not a more torturing gift in the power of the fates than suspense. Nothing can so wear away the stoutest heart. When a blow actually falls, terrible as it may be, the faculties, after awhile, recover from its stunning effect. The wounded spirit rallies its forces, looks its sorrows in the face, and gauges its dimensions. But in suspense, it. is with a shadow the battle is fought; and shadows are invulnerable - unconquera- ble. There is no armor that can defend us, no weapon by which we can make resistance. Whichever way we turn, there it looms up, an indefinable spectre, shutting out the sunshine, and spreading gloom in our pathway. Many a conflict had Marion already waged with this dreaded foe. Fortune, or rather that divine providence whose wisdom none may challenge, had appointed to her dreary seasons, when she knew not whether to turn to the right hand or the left. And now she feels too weary to struggle longer. But there is no re- prieve; - she must fight or die. For hours she pondered that last, inexplicable inter- view. Certainly Maurice's manner was most tender, his voice trembled, the warm pressure of his hand be- trayed emotion. What then could it be - this intan- gible wall that had risen up so high between them? Explanation she could not ask. There was nothing left for her but patience and submission. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 395 CHAPTER XXX. "I fell, flooded with a Dark, , In the silence of a swoon- When I rose, still cold and stark, There was night, --I saw the moon: And the stars, each in its place, And the May-blooms on the grass, Seemed to wonder what I was." As Marion came in one day from a long walk, she Wmet John in the hall. "I was just after putting a letter on the table, ma'am. The postmaster said it was from New York." "God be praised!' was the utterance of her heart as she quickly seized it, and bounded up the broad staircase into her own chamber. She then carefully locked the door; not that she feared intrusion, but for the luxury of perfect solitude. Did she sit down quietly, and think about the expected feast? Nay! no more depositing of letters in some choice corner, with miserly care hoarding their contents for future use. As the drooping flower piteously lifts up its tiny cup to catch the first drop of rain, so did her parched heart prompt her, with eager haste, to seek for some life-giving drops. She had not a doubt that it was the long-expected missive, and with feverish impatience she glanced at the superscription. - Alas! it was not from him. The page: 396-397[View Page 396-397] 396 MARION GRAHAM; hand-writing was small and unformed. It was "only from cousin Julia," and, with a sickening disappoint- ment, she flung it aside. "But after all," thought she, "it is from New York, and may contain tidings." Yes, Marion! it may indeed contain tidings! - there- fore pray for strength. She catches up the rejected letter, and, tearing open the seal, tries to devour the contents at a glance. Over the first page-- over the second --ah! now she reads moreslowly. But has she looked upon Medusa's head, that her face suddenly wears that ghastly whiteness, and her eyes that stony glare? The first page was filled with the wonderful sayings and doings of little Marie. In the second, after sound- ing the praises of her lord, Julia breaks out as if in, sudden recollection, - cu Do you know, dear Coz. that you have never ap- plauded me for my obedience? You remember asking me not to name my dear old Mentor again, in connec- tion with yourself. Well, I have ever since been per- fectly silent on the forbidden theme, though it has been very-hard to give up my old conceit, that you and he would some day be married. And even now, when it is all decided so differently, it seems unaccountable that you did not come together. But then, nobody can decide for another. I am sure you would not have chosen me for Mr. McKinstry, and yet I know he wouldn't change me for anybody else. But to return. As the reward of my silence, I have the pleasure of announcing to you a great piece of news --at least, I hope you have not heard it before-.- I OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 397 have for a day or two been anticipating a treat in tell- ing you. Fifth Avenue is full of it. Are you all impa. tience to hear? Well, then, Mr. Vinton, your old flame, is actually engaged. She is a fine girl, and yet I hate to give up my own fancy. You certainly seem better suited to him than she, and I wonder he does not feel so. But I shouldn't dare to say so to him. Nobody knows when the wedding is going to take place." "Will she ever tell who?" gasped Marion. "Since his return, he has only called on me once, and that, too, when I have such a dear little Marie. Isn't it a shame? He was never like anybody else, though. But for my story. Lenora happened in last week, as gay as possi- ble, and no wonder. I caught her round the waist, and forced her into a dance. ' That is in honor' of your wedding.' 'So the news has reached even you, little Julia,' replied she, looking as happy and mischievous as possible. ' Well, how false tidings do fly!' 'False! you don't mean to contradict it, then? ' Not I, indeed! I have no idea of fashing my brains in any - such useless attempt.' ' And you don't deny his frequent visits and letters?' ' Not at all. But that is nobody's business save our own, I conclude.' ' And you know very well, that a wedding always follows such things! ' 'A logical conclusion!' said she, with a roguish look. I suppose she was alluding to my courtship. I wanted to tell her what I had once thought about you and him, but I remembered my promise. An't I good? Suddenly she looked very sober, exclaiming, 'I am seriously provoked with your cousin for not felicitating me on this great event. Her congratulations would be worth having. And she has been owing me a letter for more than a year.' 'Perhaps she has not heard the page: 398-399[View Page 398-399] 398 MARION GRAHAM; news.' ' You will speedily inform her, of course. And be sure to ask her if she does not admire my presump- tion in appropriating to myself the Adonis of the pres- ent generation,-nay, the very king of the race!' And then she danced out of the room. You know, I suppose, that Mr. Vinton accompanied her from England, coming home in the same steamer. And when he is in the city, he calls at her father's al- most every day, as I have told you she admitted. He also writes to her twice a week when absent. High time they were engaged, isn't it? She says he has been here once since he left for the South, and that she expects him again in a few weeks. But enough for the present." Yes, enough! Having bound her victim on the wheel, and slowly kept it turning on its agonizing cir- cult, till she is broken piecemeal by these successive, random strokes, - the innocent executioner has allowed her, little by little, to tear out the whole dreadful mean- ing. Therefore, thoughtless torturer, thou mayst now stop the wheel, and unbind the sufferer! -She has her death-blow. , Words at length broke forth from those ashen lips; -words of passionate misery- words of proud re- solve. "O God, pity me, or I shall sink! Nay, I will calmly drink the cup to the very dregs. This is man's con- stancy!-this his return for my gloomy days, and weary, weary nights! And this is woman's friendship! Yet she knew not what she did, and can. I blame her for listening to that voice? But he is not worth my re- grets, and he shall not triumph over me.-- O Maurice'! Maurice!" . I , ORB, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 399 With that loved name, the stout wall of pride fell down, and the swelling surges engulfed her. Bitter were the burning drops that fell in those passionate storms of woe! Life's wormwood and gall were pressed into them. Terrible is that sorrow, to which weeping brings no relief, but which leaves the brain and heart dry and arid, as if the blasting sirocco had passed by, with its hbot breath consuming every blossom and bud, -yea,-every tender leaflet of love, and hope, and hap- piness. It was a wild tempest that raged within that breast, -a tempest in which reason, conscience, religion,- every thing, for a time, was swept-away. Could there be a righteous God in heaven, and yet such remediless injustice, such hopeless anguish crush her into the depths of despair! How long she sat there, she knew not. Her door was fastened, and the servants were too much accus- tomed to her independent habits to take notice of them. The sun sank as in a sea of blood, and twilight spread her grey mantle over the earth, but brought no soothing to Marion. Thee household retired to rest. Spectral midnight came solemnly down. And still she sat there in darkness and misery. No moon! Only a few cold stars glistened on the black- brow of heaven. The wind rushed sobbing round the house, and through the old moaning elms. It was on such a night as this, two years agone, that her father had suddenly drifted out upon the shoreless sea. She thought of that night. Her brain seemed cinctured as by a band of red hot iron. She must have air, or faint. Stealing down the stairs, and passing into the dining-room, she rapidly swallowed large draughts , , page: 400-401[View Page 400-401] 400 MARION. GRAHAM ; of water. Then, going to the hall-door, she softly un- barred it, and stepped out into the -damp, cold night. She flew, rather than walked,--down the yard,- through the gate, - on - on - unheeding, - unfearing. Was there no gentle hand to calm that throbbing brow? Were there no angel-wings outspread to pro- tect her? She had so longed to be delivered from the tortures of suspense; - now she would have welcomed them as a blessed boon in comparison with this intolerable cer- tainty. She had been unable to cope with a gigantic, ubiquitous shadow; she now shrank in terror from the dread reality, which, in fatal distinctness of outline, stood tauntingly before her. Was there no escape from memory? Were there no oblivious waters to overflow her thought-racked soul? Away from the dwellings of men! - away - where the dead are gathered! In that hushed air, who knows whether her gasping bosom may not inhale one breath of peace? She enters the old churchyard, and gliding like a spectre among the white monuments, she reaches her father's grave. Unmindful of the heavy dews, she throws herself upon the hard earth. Clingingly she flings her arms over the cold mound, as if there alone on the wide globe was rest for her weary spirit. O weeper! dost thou think to waken him with thine orphan cries? Nay, he is not under those damp clods. It may be he Angers near thee in this night of agony. But Marion perceives no angelic presence. The clouds of human passion and human woe have shut up all her faculties to unmitigated anguish. Not yet can heavenly influences reach her. , OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 401 Through hours that swept tumultuously by, that dew-covered grave was her cold pillow. But at length those long, heavy-laden moments were numbered, and there quivered upon her burning eyelids the faintest crimson ray from the orient. Lifting herself with diffi- culty, she slowly retraced her weary steps, noiselessly reentered the hall-door, cautiously barred it, and, seek- ing her own chamber, sank into a heavy lethargy. Late in the morning Polly stood at her bedside. Her white cheeks and lips, and swollen eyelids, told a sor- rowful tale. "Something has sorely fretted her," said Polly to herself. "And now I'm afeared she's sick. But sleep is the best thing for her." Softly drawing down the curtains, which had not been dropped all night, she left her alone. Oh, that miserable waking! -that sudden tide of agony which rushed through the portals of memory! - that tight closing of the eyes, as if could be thus shut out all thought and all sensation! Polly is again at her side. "You're dreadful sick, Miss Marion, aind I must send for the doctor." ' "Oh no, Polly, I need nothing but rest. Say to all callers that I am not quite well; and.:be sure that you tell no one, not even Mr. Morton, of my sickness." She was so positive, that Polly dared not disobey, though greatly perplexed as to what she ought to do for her mistress. So passed away several dreary, burning days, full of desolating fire. Marion said nothing, ate nothing, drank nothing but water, and scarcely slept. Sometimes she tossed upon her bed; again, wrapped in her dressing- page: 402-403[View Page 402-403] 402 MARION GRAHAM; gown, she would sit for hours; gazing from her window, yet seeing only the gloomy, distorted pictures of her unsettled mind. Since that night, indelible in memory, the well-spring of tears had been sealed. Not one had overflowed. But that burning, boiling, closed-up foun- tain was consuming her heart. For two years she had silently endured. It is the last drop that brims over the cup. If any are inclined to reproach her as wanting in womanly dignity, let them bless themselves that they are made of sterner stuff. Marion had no lack of self- respect, but she was a true woman. If she had a woman's dignity, she had also a woman's acute sensi- bilities. Yet, torn and bleeding as they now were, she made no outcries. Hiding her incurable wounds, she resolutely turned the key upon her writhing soul, and the world was none the wiser. "A letter from Carrisford, Miss Marion. I mistrust but it's from the parson, and contains a drop of com- fort." Marion had longed for such a letter, and with eager hands she opened it. Commencing in his usual, broth- erly way, Mr. Sunderland at length alluded to strange rumors, which had undoubtedly reached her, of the betrothal of Mr. Vinton and Miss Benson. ' I heard this inexplicable news over and over again, but gave no credence to it. Yesterday, however, I called at Mrs. Austin's, who .showed me a letter from Lenora, which, I am compelled to say, puts the matter beyond a doubt. She writes:--' So you too, it seems, OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 403 have heard of my splendid daily visitor, and of our con- sequent engagement. In spite of all my efforts to veto the tidings, it has flown far and wide. It would there- fore be vain for me to deny it. I suppose you will now expect me to leave off sowing my wild oats, and to be a very model of propriety and excellence. You must not, however, forget the old proverb, - "There's many a slip 'tween cup and lip." When the event really comes off, I shall expect extraor- dinary congratulations. Even Mr. Sunderland's keen vision could not easily detect a blemish in the character of my peerless friend and admirer.' I have copied this literally, because you will prefer to know exactly what she says. I am tempted to make a few comments, by way of dissenting from Miss Ben- son's estimate of her friend.. It certainly does not re- quire extraordinary vision to discover some moral obli- quity -but I forbear. Your own cool judgment cannot differ from mine. What more shall I say? Tell me, will you not, if there is any way in which I can serve you." Poor Marion! Her yearning for sympathy had not been met. Mr. Sunderland too had disappointed her, and with a deep sigh she laid aside the letter. Polly left the room, more puzzled than ever. Noth- ing seemed to go right. Thereupon she fell into a hard thinking. In her view, there was nobody that quite came up to Mr. Sunderland. Then she had seen his influence over her mistress, and she felt sure she needed it now. The prohibition to speak of her sickness could page: 404-405[View Page 404-405] 404 MARION GRAHAM; not extend out of town. After long meditation, her mind was made up, and, full of her enterprise, with great pains-taking and secrecy, she collected writing materials, and indited the following epistle: "MR. SUNDERLAND, - Miss Maryan's in a strange way, and won't hav the docters-she don't eat, and can't sleep, and i dunno- what to do with her - so i've bin a thinking as how if you was here- you mite ad- vise her - and mabbe she'd give heed. i've wrote this, feeling as if you mite kind o' like to know. POLLY SOMERS." Having spent more than an hour in this production, she folded it up square, sealed it thick and strong, and wrote the direction at the top of the letter. "PARSON SUNDERLAND, Carisford. please deliver quick.1" She then summoned John, and insisted on pinning it into his pocket. This being accomplished, and sundry charges given concerning the important document, she sent him on his way to the post-office, bidding him "say nothing to nobody." Great was Mr. Sunderland's perplexity when the aforesaid epistle, having safely arrived at its destination, was put into his hands. And, as everybody does in a similar case, he also tried to solve the mystery from without, carefully turning the letter on every side, but the inside. No clue, however, could be found, till he broke the ponderous seal and glanced over the contents. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 405 In a moment his decision was made. He felt that no one on earth had now a nearer claim than he, and it was his right to hasten to his suffering friend. Towards the latter part of the next day, a carriage drove up to the large gate of Graham Hall, standing expectantly open, and passed through into the yard. As Polly had been on the look-out all the afternoon, her quick ears at once caught the sound. Glancing through the window, her eyes confirmed her ears, and stepping out at the back door, she cordially greeted VMr. Sunder- land. "I was sure you'd come, and there's need enough," she said, as she took him into the house. "Shan't I get you some supper now? "No, Polly. Let me wash my hands, - right here in the kitchen," he added, as she was about to guide him up stairs. "You did just right to send me that letter. And hosw is your patient now?" "She's jest the same. - She's had -spells afore now, but she's come out of 'em quick. She seems clean worn out. Shall I tell her you've come?" "Don't say a word about me. Go and inquire if she wants any thing, and I will immediately follow." He had at once comprehended her state, and hoped to arouse her by his sudden presence. So they went up the stairs silently together, he having made a sign to Polly not to speak on the way. "Isn't there nothing in the world you would like now?" asked the good woman, leaving the door ajar. "No, I thank you," replied Marion, as if it were an j effort to speak. When Polly left the room, he entered; and as she did not notice him, he had time to gaze upon her for a mo- page: 406-407[View Page 406-407] UO MARTON GRAHAM ; ment, unobserved. Her face was pale and pure as Parian marble. Her lips, too, were almost colorless, her eye had lost its fire, and the long lashes drooped pityingly upon her cheek. She did not look up till he was just before her. At sight of him, she uttered a cry of joy, while the faintest possible flush tinged her cheek. Tenderly pressing her hand, he sat down beside her. "My poor sister!" he breathed in the gentlest tone, while tears stood in his eyes. "Believe me, my heart has bled with yours. It would, at this moment, gladly take the whole weight of your great sorrow." He spoke with so much emotion, that, for the first time for days, tears sprang to her eyes. And as she wept, she looked so utterly woe-begone, so like a deli- cate lily breaking down under the pitiless storm, that his whole being was moved. That mute appeal was irresistible, and drawing nearer, as a brother might have done, he laid her head upon his shoulder, simply say- ing, -- "My sister needs support as well as sympathy." Sinking as she was from exhaustion, his tender min- istry was truly soothing. So, while his strong arm encircled her, she closed her heavy eyelids, and, like a weary child, soon fell into a light slumber. She had been so long stretched on the rack, that he had feared the setting in of some acute disease, and was grateful for this favorable indication. When she awoke, she was evidently refreshed, and trying to smile, she said, - "You have already done me good, and I can release you now." "But do you wish me to say good-night so early?" on, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 407 "Oh, no! I did not mean that," replied she, evidently dreading to be again left a prey to unsolaced woe. "Then I will soon return, and read to you, if you would like. I am now going to take my supper, and to send up yours." "I cannot possibly eat." g"Well, I will not trouble you to-night. But to-mor- row, I shall try the virtue of my old authority." "I dunno what'll become of her, if she goes on so without eating so much as a morsel," said Polly, as she took in his supper. "In the morning, make up the most tempting deli- cacy in your power, and I promise you she shall eat some of it." "He's fit for a pope," said Polly to herself, as -she left the room. "But I can tell him he'll have a tough match to get her to eat. It's lucky I sent for him, though," added she, with considerable self-complacency. An hour later, when Polly was taking lights up stairs, he followed, and placing a chair for her, said, - "Now, Polly, I am doctor, and you, nurse; and you must sit there ready to do my bidding." Then, placing his own chair near the bed, he sat so as to shade Marion from the light. Choosing a quiet book with the intention of lulling her to sleep, he began to read. One of his auditors was soon nodding time to him, her head resting against the comfortable chair in which he had disposed her. But Marion's eyes seemed to dilate; "Does my reading disturb you?" "Oh, no! But I cannot help thinking, and it would be a relief to talk with you." "Certainly," replied he, laying down the book and turning towards her. page: 408-409[View Page 408-409] 408 MARION GRA ;AM; "I am very rebellious," said she, looking earnestly into his face. "Sometimes the wailings of sorrow drown all other voices for a season." "A tempest often rages in my heart. And when there comes a lull, I am paralyzed. But through it all, I have had inexpressible yearnings for human sympathy, and I thank God for sending you to me.'.' "And I will thank him too, if I can minister the small- est comfort to my sister." "I thought I had too much pride to be crushed by such a blow." "Pride, Marion, is a poor support for a wounded spirit." "But you were not expecting such weakness." 9"What makes you think so?" She hesitated. -"Tell me all." "Your letter did not indicate that you supposed me suffering very keenly, and " "And what? - Confess the whole, will you not?" "My heart was broken," she replied, with an outhurst of feeling. "And when your letter came, I expected sympathy, but- it seemed almost cold." "And grieved my dear sister? - Well, I can explain it. The truth is, I did not know what to say. If I of- fered condolence, your pride might be wounded. And if, on the other hand, you needed a tonic, sympathy would only aggravate the difficulty. I did as well as I could, in the dark. Now that I understand the case, I hope to do better. Certainly my heart was not, cold. Do you believe me?" She tried to smile her assent. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 409 n1 "L And are you satisfied?" "Entirely, Mr. Sunderland." Then, opening "Keble's Christian Year," he read that soothing hymn for the second Sunday after Christ- mas, entitled "The Pilgrim's Song." Having finished it, he impressively repeated, - "'Thou, who didst sit on Jacob's well The weary hour of noon, The languid pulses thou canst tell, The nerveless spirit tune. Thou from whose cross in anguish burst The cry that owned thy dying thirst, To thee we turn, our last and first, Our Sun and soothing Moon." page: 410-411[View Page 410-411] "O MARION GRAHAM; CHAPTER XXXI. "What hast thou to do With looking through the lattice-lights at me, A poor, tired, wandering singer? - singing through The dark, and leaning up a cypress-tree? The chrism is on thine head, - on mine, the dew, - And death must dig the level where these agree." IT was not easy that night for Henry Sunderland to compose himself to sleep. Indignation against Maurice, alternated with regret and sympathy for Marion.. And if we say that, down in the very depths of his heart, a purpose had sprung up, which gave a new light to his eye, and infused new energy into his whole being , will it prove any thing against him- any thing except that he was mortal? "I can wait," he said, 1" months if need be, but her heart shall not continue desolate, if there is power in love to quicken it into life and happiness." He, too, the long drilled, sternly disciplined man,-- - vas beginning to dream. He had listened to that syren's voice, whose fascinations not the wisest can withstand; he had tasted of that cup, of which not the strongest can drink, without the madness of inebriation. In the slumbers of the night, his dreamings continue. He fancies himself and Marion on a fairy island, set, like an emerald, in the bright blue sea. The softest sunshine smiles upon them, while, on every hand, the 51 OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 4" most exquisite beauty and music fill their charmed senses. Tropical flowers blossom along their path, graceful and luxuriant trees wave above them, and the perfume-laden air fans their glowing cheeks. But sud- denly the ground opens, and they sink into its dark bosom. Again, they float in the blue ether, their wings glis- tening in the unclouded light. But in a moment, Ma- rion falls to earth, and he, bending over her with gentlest ministries, is unable to heal her bleeding wounds. While, however, his visions were thus disturbed, the wing of slumber rested softly on Marion's brow, and for many hours she was unconscious of life's burden. Such a nice dish of jelly as Polly had prepared! but with precious little faith that any of it would go in the intended direction. "She's bad in a different way this morning, indeed she does nothing but weep. I carried this dish in, but she sent it straight out." "Take it back, and I will come with you." Having placed the waiter on the little table, she with- drew, but leaving the door slightly ajar, she applied her eye to the crack, curious to see how he was going to accomplish what she deemed impossible. After exchanging " good morning," he placed the table beside Marion. "I Cannot, Mr. Sunderland; it would choke me." Her nervous system was so shattered, that there was no other way but to use kind authority as he would with a child. So, taking out some of the jelly page: 412-413[View Page 412-413] "2 MARION GRAHAM; into a saucer, he Imelt down before her, saying in a gentle but decided tone,- "I have come all this way to prescribe for you, Ma- rion. And now I am going to feed you myself." Tears were starting in her eyes, but without noticing them, he put a spoonful to her mouth. "Now, take this - and this - and this. You will find it very nice, for it is one of Polly's extras." Here he caught a smothered laugh outside, but as Marion did not observe it, he continued,--"A little more. - There, that will do. I don't think it would be- safe to take any more at present." A faint smile stole over Marion's face. It was not hard to submit to such sway. "Now you are to promise that you will take this, or something as good, three times every day,- to begin with." Having- some knowledge of his persistence, after a little hesitation, she gave the required pledge. - Here- upon Polly stole down stairs, saying to herself,- "I never saw the like of him. I declare he beats all for getting his own way. Wasn't it lucky though, that I sent for him? But she, poor thing, don't suspect nothing, and she won't be none the wiser for me, I can tell her." And big with her important secret, and its wonderful effects, she returned to her kitchen duties. l"Marion, I think I must go to Carrisford to-day." Was there, after all, so much human nature about Mr. Sunderland, that he wished to make her sorry first, that he might make her glad afterwards? At any rate, his sudden announcement brought a quick cloud over her face. "I find you have something of a slow fever. And OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 413 though I flatter myself I am a pretty good nurse, yet you need one still more skilful. So I think of bringing my dear mother to take care of you, and if possible, we shall be here day after to-morrow. Remember your promise, and try to keep up good courage. God com- fort you, my sister!" On the third day, towards the middle of the after- noon, Marion caught the sound of wheels entering the yard, and was soon folded in' Mrs. Sunderland's epn- brace. "I was allers considered real good in nursing fever, and such like," said Polly to Mrs. Sunderland, " but when it comes to fretting troubles, I dunno nothing what to do." "So I'm real thankful you could come, for I can see Miss Marion sets a store by you. And I hope you'll give me directions jest as if you were in yer own house." The next day, Mr. Sunderland returned to the lonely parsonage. Resolution it required to resist the wishes of his heart, - to resist the silent, unconscious pleading of those sorrowful eyes. But he had made up his mind that this was best, and at the appointed time, he tore himself away. As Marion's malady was chiefly mental, Mrs. Sun- derland was obliged to resort to every possible appli- ance to meet the difficulty. But her kindness and her skill were alike unfailing, and she was rewarded by see- ing an evident, though very slow improvement in her patient. Meantime her son was a changed being. The hid- den fountain, which he had long attempted to choke up, now gushed forth in a clear, sweet, sparkling, per- page: 414-415[View Page 414-415] "4 MARION GRAHAM; petual stream. A new impetus impelled him, and though he looked forward to months that might inter- vene, yet at length he should reach the blissful goal. The last evening in November found Mr. Sunder- land in a fit of deep musing. A letter lay upon his study table which it was evident had moved him strongly. While he slowly paces back and forthwe will venture to read it. "C MY DEAR SON, - I see not but that Marion's health is restored, so far at least as it can be under the present adverse circumstances. She displays the most affect- ing docility, readily complying with every request- walking, riding, or doing any thing I propose to her. But, Henry, the spring is broken, the motive power gone. It is saddening to see her thus unlike herself. Tears often roll down her pale cheeks, and sighs escape her when I am sure she is not aware of it. 1 fully approved -your purpose of waiting. But now I doubt whether every thing that can be done to arouse and stimulate, ought not to be done immediately. I am not confident, but I give you my impression. If any one has power to kindle a new flame in her deso- late heart, it is you. The only question is one of time. Suppose you come and judge for yourself." "So soon!" asked reason. His heart whispered, "Why not? Then reason suggested, "Would it not be more prudent to wait?"But his blood was stirred, and could not so easily be calmed. "You had better see for yourself," urged feeling. "If you go undecided, iH X , OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 415 you will not have strength to resist temptation"' re- sponded reason. L'I will go, and leave the result for careful consideration when there," said Mr. Sunderland, taking the decision into his own hands. And thus the reasonable, strong-willed man, .was borne away by the deep current of emotion. It seemed to Mr. Sunderland that he had never seen Marion so lovely as she now was in her pensive gentle- ness. And when his sudden presence kindled a smile on her pale face, all his purposes of " careful consider- ation" vanished like mist in the sunshine. Her sub- dued, appealing manner, seemed to say, "Protect me from further suffering." And he yearned instantly to spread over her the wing of his affection. In short, the case turned out precisely as reason had predicted. He had placed himself within the sphere of her attractions, and he could not resist temptation. The dam was broken down, - the stream swept onward. Their intercourse had always been free and fraternal; but from extreme delicacy, he now unconsciously as- sumed a reserve, entirely foreign to his usual brotherly air. They were sitting in silence one evening by the cheerful fireside. Mr. Sunderland had felt painfully embarrassed, by the frequent failure of his attempts to introduce that subject which so fully possessed his mind. Whenever he had approached it, an unaccount- able hesitation had withheld him. But he resolved to open his heart before they parted for the night. Uncon- scious of his thoughts, Marion broke the silence. "I would prefer a severe reproof to sich continued coldness." "Coldness!" page: 416-417[View Page 416-417] "6 MARION GRAHAM; "Yes, coldness! I know I have wearied out your patience, but I cannot bear your displeasure." He struggled for composure, while she continued, - "Are you seriously offendedl with me, my dear brother?" "O Marion! how entirely you misjudge me! But I must beg- you,do not any longer call me brother." She looked at him with an inquiring, sorrowful ex- pression. "Can you not, then, understand why I am now pained at that appellation, which I once proposed?" And fixing his love-lighted eye upon her, he gazed as if he would read her soul. There could be no mistak- ing that language. And that she understood it, the instant change in her manner made evident. Beginning with the faintest blush, her color deepened and spread, till her face and neck were entirely suffused. "Can you blame me, Marion, for coveting a dearer relation?" A tremor passed over her. And bowing her head, the tears dropped fast. "Have I then offended you? Forgive my abrupt- ness, but indulge me this once. If your heart was buried in the grave, the case would be different, but can you reproach me for trying to win you from such a past? Whether I have been willing to sacrifice my own feelings, I need not say. But, Marion, I am not willing that your life should be passed in vain regrets-- that the opulence of your heart should be expended on one, who, by his inconstancy, has proved himself unworthy. You have no object claiming your care. You are without father or mother, brother or sister. I am presuming enough to aspire to be all these, and more, to you." ll OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 417 His allusions to the cold return with which her boundless affection had met, a}oused her pride. And now, his gentle, loving words fell like balm upon her bruised spirit. He saw his advantage, and con- tinued, "' He who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, has seen fit to lay upon you a heavy burden. No language can express the sympathy I have felt with you in your prolonged and bitter trials. Gladly would I have suf- fered every pang in your stead. I have yearned to wipe away your tears, to win your love, and to take you forever to my heart. But these repeated, and some- times almost irrepressible yearnings, I have been forced sternly to deny. And often, I have not dared even to attempt consolation, lest my own feelings should break through the barriers I had raised against them, and- thus cause you pain. Those barriers, Marion, have been removed by another. I have now the right to love you .- the right, if I can, to win your love." "But my heart is crushed and desolate." "For this very reason, I long to take it into the warmth and sunshine of my own." As he spoke, he tenderly took her hand; but ob- serving a slight shade flit over her face, he instantly resigned it, saying,- "Pardon me. I will venture upon no more such lib- erties, until your heart fully consents to them. But you are weary, and I will not tax you longer to-night." It was impossible for Marion to be unmoved by his delicate consideration for her feelings ;--impossible to resist his peculiar spell. When, however, she retired to the solitude of her own chamber, there was a reac- tion. With strange tenacity, her heart still clung to 18 * page: 418-419[View Page 418-419] "8 MARION GRAHAM; Maurice. And though she was conscious of a strong attachment to Henry"Sunderland, and felt that it would pain her inexpressibly to lose his friendship, yet she could not bring herself to think of a change in their relation, without a shudder. He did not resume the subject at once, but from a thousand unconscious signs and tokens, she had a per- petual revelation of his feelings. When, at length, he again ventured to plead his cause, she tried to express her painful shrinking from the subject. But the shock her sensitive nature had received, made her weak and irresolute; and she knew not how to meet his exhaust- less arguments, except with silent tears. Besides, she was so much accustomed to respect his authority, and to yield to his will in little matters, that she found her- self unequal to the effort of prolonged resistance now. In this way, his advantage gradually increased. If he did not read her with his wonted accuracy, something must be pardoned him for his present excitement. Since he had dared to open the floodgates, the full stream rushed forth in one impetuous torrent. He cer- tainly did not wish her to become his wife against her will, but he was resolutely bent on conquering that will. For he had fully persuaded himself, and that not without apparent reason, that the current of her being must be speedily directed into another channel, or she would be a wreck. He therefore brought the whole force of his logic and his love to bear upon her. But he did it with so much delicacy as to quiet her first alarms. . And at the same time, he made himself indis- pensable to her in so many ways, that she was restless out of his presence. Is it strange that, exposed to such a constant assault, X - OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 419 she should find her attitude of defence slowly changing - for that of submission? But few could so long have resisted the combined attractions of such a man, and that too, when he himself plied the siege so vigorously. Ah I Marion i the silken chains thy lover is throwing around thee, may yet be transformed into bands of iron! But bow thine head, and fold thine arms, for verily thou art his captive. And if weird shadows from the future darken warningly around thee, turn thy gaze into those eyes whose light can dispel them, and cling the closer to him in whose strong heart thou canst find pro- tection. Look neither into the deepening past, nor the misty future, but let thy heart rest content with the un- ruffled present. Thou canst not alter the destiny writ- ten out for thee. Therefore, sun thy chilled heart in the warm rays of affection. 1 3g page: 420-421[View Page 420-421] 420 MARION GRAHAM; CHAPTER XXXII. "Can it be right to give what I can give? To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years Re-sighing on my lips renunciative Through those infrequent smiles, which fail to live For all thy adjurations?" ("I FEAR I have not the faculty of winning," said Henry Sunderland one day to his mother. "( You know the proverb, ' Faint heart -' But I think I must encourage you by telling tales out of school. Only yesterday, something occurred which led me to ask Marion, ' Do you think Henry wanting in any of those traits essential to woman's happiness? ' Oh, no!' she exclaimed with warmth. 'He is one of the noblest characters I ever knew, and deserves the best woman in the land.' ' Then why-- ?' ' Simply be- cause of the past. And my crushed heart is not worthy his acceptance.'" That same evening, he stood leaning thoughtfully against the mantel-piece, while Marion sat sewing upon the sofa, which was drawn up cozily before the fire. A deep sigh escaping him, she looked up as if inquiring the cause. 4( You know it already," said he in a mournful tone, sitting down beside her. "It is because you are afraid to trust that little hand in mine." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 421 She hesitatingly shook her head. "If not afraid, still you are unwilling." "Not exactly that," replied she, moved by his sadness. "What is it then?" / A It is not worth giving, unless my whole heart goes with it." "And that ?" "Cannot be," said she sorrowfully. "But suppose I covet the hand, even with a divided heart, hoping and believing that in time, I shall be able to heal its wounds, and fill it with fresh happiness." "Your affection, then, is most unselfish and gener- ous," replied she, while tears sprang to her eyes. "I am selfish enough; - but let that pass now. Cir- cumstances make me a modest suitor. I can rejoice in the free gift of your hand, with just so much of your heart as it is in your power to bestow. On this condi- tion, Marion,' will you not trust it with me?" One moment she paused;- then, meeting his implor- ing gaze, as by a sudden impulse, she timidly laid her hand in his. How did his strong heart beat, as he said slowly, "For life!" and tremblingly pressed it to his lips. The deed was done- -they were betrothed. And now he might lay aside those iron restraints, which had so chafed his ardent spirit. Clasping her to his heart, he gave full expression to the tenderness of his rich na- ture.- To him, the cup was full and sparkling. It con- tained the very elixir of life. To her, it was a mingled draught. The same strange tremor that had seized her when he first named the subject, again crept over her, and her lips half turned from the sweet chalice he held to them. But as she thought of his tried affection, page: 422-423[View Page 422-423] 422 MARION GRAHAM; burning on so long unfuelled; as she gauged the depth of the fountain, ever flowing for the laving of her weary nature, her soul was stirred. It was sweet thus to be loved, and she began to feel that she could give more than he had asked. Looking into the transparent mir- ror of her soul, he saw the glow he had kindled, and his rapture was complete. A few paradisal days flew by, he, on the mount of Blessedness,--she, in the vale of Peace. Then he felt that it was time the sweet chains should be riveted. ("Having granted so much," he said persuasively one day, " you must make your gift complete. I shall not rest till you are my wedded wife." "I entreat you not to name that subject yet; you must wait, certainly, one year." "Never, dearest," replied he, with emphasis. "' That would not be within the bounds of possibility." "Six months then, at least." "And leave you here alone, a prey to blue and black spirits? No, Marion, not while I am vain enough to believe that I have power to charm them away. Not one month even can I wait. In this, I shall be an ab- solute autocrat. I go home to-morrow to make arrange- ments. In a fortnight I return, and then, the irrevoca- ble bond shall unite us." "Irrevocable?" said she, shuddering. "( Do you wish our agreement annulled?" asked he, with a searching gaze. "( Oh no, - but - but "-and feeling that it was of no use,-that his will would certainly triumph, she ceased speaking, and wearily laid her head on his shoulder. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 423 "You consent then," said he, tenderly kissing her pale cheek. "It is useless for me to object, --though Lenora would say I was pretty well tyrannized over." "Nay! you shall not complain of my despotism. I will give you ample time for consideration, and to-mor- row you shall tell me your decision." When Marion was alone, thoughts and feelings chased each other in rapid succession. For a long time Henry had given up his mother, - and she knew he would not consent to take her back with him, unless she would go too. Besides, she was conscious of lean- ing upon him, and she dreaded the dreary loneliness of a separation. She could not, it is true, conquer her in- stinctive repugnance at the thought of so speedy a union, but she felt that it would be ungenerous to him and to his mother, as well as unhappy for herself, to yield to it. Thus, the fates seemed to decide the case for her. The next day, when he asked for her conclusion, she answered,- Have it all your own way, Henry." After Mr. Sunderland's departure, a weight again fell upon her spirits. She felt irresolute and uncertain, and longed for the tranquillity which his strong will and settled convictions inspired. So, many as were her mis- givings with regard to the future, the days of his ab- sence trod on tardy feet to her, as well as to him. They were cheered, however, by a frequent interchange of letters. page: 424-425[View Page 424-425] 424 MARION GRAHAM ; "If I cannot help exulting in my happiness, dearest , Marion, it is not from the lack -of a full appreciation of X your feelings, or of the tenderest sympathy with them. But I anticipate the blessedness of wiping away every tear that may dim the light of those dear eyes. I be- ; lieve that my love will in time penetrate to the depths X of your soul, - that it will yet call forth a gushing tide e : of the sweet waters of human affection, which shall all 'flow into my garden, and cause to spring up there beautiful leaves and blossoms in the richest profusion and variety. I sometimes fear my attachment is idola- ! trous, and then my heart sinks with -the dread of - chastisement. The sudden change in my earthly des- tiny has given to my emotions a wild ecstasy that is not safe, and which I trust time will moderate. But while X my love for you is thus boundless, I am covetous of a full return. Not immediately --I will try to wait-- but I shall never be content, till I have taught you to return without measure what is given without measure. You see how bold your modest suitor has grown. But you must remember that he has been making invest- ! ments in your affection, and that, should -you prove 1 bankrupt, it would be worse for him than if he had re- mained a beggar, outside your gate. I conceal nothing A of my expectations. It is better that you should know beforehand how exacting I shall one day become. But : I have looked into your heart enough to feel assured that its riches are inexhaustible, and if I can only once become its full possessor, I shall have no fears of im- poverishment. May our mutual affection, as I trust I can even now call it, elevate us nearer and nearer to - Hinm who is the fountain of all love! Do you miss me, Marion? Tell me that you count 1 OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 425 the days before my return, as I do the hours and min- utes." "I will not attempt, dear Henry, to describe the emo- tions awakened by your letter. But, in the language of another, I can truly exclaim, - 5 'What can I give thee back, O liberal And princely giver--who hast brought the gold And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold, And laid them on the outside of the wall, In unexpected largesse? Am I cold, Ungrateful, that for these most manifold High gifts, I render nothing back at all? Not so. Not cold! - but very poor instead! Ask God who knows! for frequent tears have run The colors from my life, and left so dead And pale a stuff, it is not fitly done To give the same as pillow to thy head.' And yet, poor as I am, since you ask it,--all that 1 have to give is freely, gratefully yours. Shall I avow that you can scarcely count the hours or the minutes of our separation, with more impatience than I? In this, I am a wonder to myself. But in your absence, my struggle with that dark shadow which has fallen around my path, is perpetual. And some- times a strange presage of ill broods over me, which only fastens itself the more closely with every attempt to banish it. At such times, the thought of being bound by irrevocable vows, even to you, dear Henry, makes me shudder. All this because you axe away, for my sufferings have rendered me weak and childish. Ah! keep near and close, Thou dovelike help! and when my fears would rise, '[ page: 426-427[View Page 426-427] 426 MARION GRAHAM; H With thy broad heart, serenely interpose! Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies These thoughts, which tremble when bereft of those, Like callow birds, left desert to the skies.'" ' "Marion is a different being since you came back," said his mother, soon after Henry's arrival. "When you were absent, all animation seemed to have left her. But the spell of your presence is truly wonderful." "She is mine, dear mother, and she shall yet share my immeasurable happiness. But- shall I confess it?--I am sometimes infected with. her strange sad- ness, and I long for the time when no earthly power can separate us." : "You are excited, my son, but you have passed through what might well unman you. Be quiet,jand put your trust in God." ii "I fear you will think me a most impatient lover," said he to Marion that same evening, " but since return- I ing, I have been strongly tempted to beg you to pre- date that hour, which will make you exclusively and forever my own. These two days that intervene, seem, in perspective, intolerably long." "I shall begin to think you an unreasonable being." ' I am unreasonable, but it is love that has made me so. I have grown jealous of that 'shadow,' and I long to take you this moment out of its reach, into the bosom of my own home. Can nothing persuade you to - anticipate the appointed day?" 3 "Do not ask it, dear Henry, for it is impossible." "Forgive my importunity, but to-night I am strangely depressed. Tell me, Marion," he added, with sad energy, " do you love me?" I! OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 427 She calmly placed her hand on his fevered brow, and looking unshrinkingly into his searching eyes, she an- swered, - "God knows that the poor wreck of my wasted affec- tions is of little worth in exchange for such largesses- as yours, but such as it is, I do most freely give it. And I pray heaven that, as your wedded wife, I may in time make a more equal return, and bring you the happiness you deserve." "Bless you for those soothing words.'"And he held her to his heart in a long and tearful silence. page: 428-429[View Page 428-429] 428 MARION GRAHAM; CHAPTER XXXIII. 1 "In the room I stood up blindly, and my burning heart within, Seemed to seethe and fuse my senses, till they ran on all sides, darkening, And scorched, weighed, like melted metal, round my feet that stood therein." : IT was a clear, cold day. The windows were hung A with shining pendants, while an occasional jewel glit- tered on the naked arms of the trees. Marion sat at X her window, gazing at the noble elms, fhe loved com- ?n panions of her childhood and youth.. She traced their outline against the azure pillars on which they seemed to lean, and listened to the solemn wind as it swelled A and died away among their branches, like the surging ; waves upon the sea-shore. In her musings, time ap- peared like a phantom, and earthly joys and sorrows. faded into misty shadows. The spiritual world seemed to surround her, as the only world of realities, and eternity to stretch in dim vista before her vision. She looked into the infinite depths of the blue ether, and thought how soon all that now moved her would be. but as a dream when it is past. What mattered it, then, that she was to become a bride, even while stand- ing by the open grave of her yet unburied love? She had not deceived him who sought her, and why should she shrink from a shelter within his enfolding arms? Yet while she thus reasoned, that same ceaseless, con- suming regret forced bitterest drops from her eyes, and it was only in her supplications to Heaven that tran- quillity was restored. The time for the nuptial ceremony, which was fixed OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 429 at eleven, had now arrived. Marion appeared in a sim- ple travelling-dress, while her face wore a look of tran- quil resolve. Mr. Sunderland's fervent, "God bless you!" as he drew her pand within his arm, deeply moved her. And whenf came her turn to reply to the significant question, - Wilt thou?" - her unhesitat- ing and distinct response sent a nameless thrill through the heart of him to whom her troth was now so sol- emnly pledged, The wedding scene was over. Mrs. Sunderland re- mained in conversation with Mr. Morton, while Marion passed into her favorite little room. "I will not intrude long," said Henry, following her, "as I must complete my packing. But I cannot deny myself one moment. I wish I could express my sense of happiness, in feeling that no mortal power can now part us. Yes, dear Marion, you are all my own, - the exclusive possession I have so long coveted. And God's universe holds not a richer man." \ "I did not dream you could be so extravagant," said she, playfully putting her hand over his mouth. "I am too poor, to make you feel so rich. You may, per- chance, soon cease glorying in your supposed treasure. Besides, it'is not quite safe, dear Henry." "Do not conjure up any of those dismal phantasms. From this hour I bid them all defiance. Hidden in my heart, no harm shall come to you. I thought my affec- tion was boundless before, bnut since all restraint has been removed, I find myself a very prodigal in love." And in the transports of a new-made husband, his affection poured itself out in the fondest endearments, while she,-who can tell what passed within her heart? 'l I page: 430-431[View Page 430-431] UV MARION GRAHAM; "Do not look grave, dearest, so almost sorrowful. Is not this my right? Consider for how much time, I have compensation to make. I may well be intoxicated with these first sparkling draughts. As I drink deeper of the delicious wine, my outward emotion will be moderated. But I must hasten, though to leave you, even for a moment, seems like exiling myself from Par- adise." And he tore himself away. Marion sat where he had left her,'her head resting on , her hand, and her eyes fixed on the bright mass of glow- : ing coal. What sees she there, that the old, fearful shudder, yet tenfold aggravated, now coldly creeps over her? Alas! the dire spectre is not laid. Slowly the misty form arises. As she gazes, it grows larger and more defined, till at length it looms up before her, a ter- A rible, measureless, shadowy phantom, covering her whole horizon. I Suddeply the bell is violently rung, and, without any waiting for the response, the front door is opened. The door of her room had been left ajar, and her straining eyes are fastened on it; for a sure presentiment tells her who will enter there. I Eager footsteps were echoed along the hall, and, in a shorter time than it has taken to describe the scene, the door was pushed open, while with an air of strange ex- t citement, Maurice Vinton rushed in. Marion lstarted to her feet, but her white lips essayed in vain tform ? a sound. He looked searchingly into her face with a gaze which asked, "Do you love me still?"And what did that pallid face reply? Pardon for her! - She was but the bride of an hour; -- she had no time to control its expression. The sorrow- ing, struggling, yet triumphant love of years was plainly OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 431 written there. He read, and without the exchange of a single word, clasped her passionately to his bosom. It was, with him, a moment of delirious bliss, in which the sorrows of a life-time were compensated by that, his fond, his final embrace of her whom he had never, for one moment, ceased to love. But what was it to her? What, save a fearful mingling of ecstasy and woe? Her whole being was thrilled by the certainty of his un- changing love, but with it was blended the despairing anguish of knowing that it came too late. Her senses failed, her reason staggered, her strength was paralyzed. She felt his burning kisses on her lips,--she felt that she was his, - heart and soul, and yet, - oh misery! - sheiwas another's wife! But, in the bewildering ecstasy, in the overwhelming anguish, in the utter helplessness of that awful moment, she did not, nay, she could not break from his enfolding arms. The door opened. The unconscious bridegroom en- tered. Alas! alas! what time can wash away the memory of that scene? Marion tore herself from her lover's embrace, and, standing white and rigid as a statue, said in distinct tones, that struck like a death-knell on the listener's ear, "Mr. Sunderland, you have killed me.' Then turning to the speechless Maurice, "I am his wife. O God, pity me! And this was Henry Sunderland's introduction to one for whom he had striven and prayed as for an own brother. This was the first interview of two men, as peerless in honor and high nobility of soul, as God ever made. Marion, may that loving heart forgive those poisoned words! Uttered in the madness of frenzy, they have drunk up the life-blood of his spirit. . page: 432-433[View Page 432-433] 432 MARION GRAHAM; An awful silence followed, in which the three stood transfixed as by the day of doom. Presently Henry ob- i served that Marion was about to fall. Taking her in his arms, he carried her up stairs, and, laying her on the bed, committed her to his mother's care. Then, return- ing, he took the arm of his fellow in suffering, and led him into the library. From the heights of bliss, Maurice had, in an instant been plunged into the depths of misery. But for the new principle implanted in his being, we cannot tell of what violence he might not have been guilty in that moment of maddening revelation. Now, although stand- ing in the presence of him who had wrecked his earthly happiness, his passion was under, entire control. r When seated together, Mr. Sunderland grasped his hand, exclaiming,- - ," Forgive, if you can, and pity me! My misery is greater than yours. I could have died for her sake,-- but alas, I have 'killed' her." For an hour they sat there mutually unveiling their hearts. And when each had given his own recital, they j bowed together before the infinite Father. ^ "Poor Marion!" said Mr. Sunderland, in a fresh burst of sorrow, as they rose from their knees. "How ... madly I longed to make her mine! And now, I would cheerfully lay down my life to restore her freedom. But such regrets are useless. It will, however, be some al- g leviation to her tortured heart, to learn your story." "But is it not better that she should still believe me guilty of neglect and baseness?" "No, dear brother. She must know the truth. And it is my express desire that you would write her a full account of your unhappy misunderstanding." misundrstading OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 433 Entering Marion's chamber, Mr. Sunderland stood beside her bed, and looked tenderly into her face, white and immobile as alabaster. No answering look! With a bursting heart he knelt, and taking her hand, whispered, - "Forgive me, Marion-!" He did not say, my wife. She withdrew her hand, and turned \ away. Such a change had one moment wrought! The next day a note was brought from Mr. Vinton, with an accompanying letter. i"I have written the enclosed out of my heart;" - his note said, " read it carefully, and then do what you think best with it." "To MY FRIEND MARION, - Induced by the generous request of Mr. Sunderland, I will attempt to explain that course, which has involved so many in unhappiness. Never, for a single instant, has my heart wavered in its love. And when, through infinite mercy, the seed I you had so long been sowing took root, the whole 1 world was flooded with sunshine. The only'barrier be- tween us seemed removed, and together we could serve God. Previous to this I had met Miss Benson, and ac- cidentally had been informed of your mutual friendship. A letter which I commenced in Egypt, alluding to this, I subsequently destroyed. For as 1 soon after became interested in reading the Divine Word, I concluded to wait till I could give you my final impressions. When, at length, the love of Christ warmed my soul, and shed light on my darkness, I began another letter. I was at this time in Tiberias, so full of sacred associa- tions. In the fulness of my joy, I went out alone for a quiet stroll by the sea of Galilee. As I stood gazing 19 page: 434-435[View Page 434-435] "MARION GRAHAM; 434 upon its limpid waters, glorified in the setting sun, Miss Benson passed me. Feeling an unwonted dispoition go be so al, s mI joi ed her andproposed that we should walk t ogether on those hallowed shores. Foratime our conversation was general, but at last I ventured to say, wa g You once spoke of Miss Graham. Do you corre- spond with her?' I wrote her from Cairo, but have preeivend with her. I suppose, however, I can account I for her silence? , May I ask h eow you dereeo delighted to discover the smallest degree of human nature about you, and to gratify a curiosity I preonsider highly commendable, I will answer frankly that I pr- sume she is too happy to write. But does not happi- S^ It r fre as aIneral ness make people cial?' It m ay, as a g ene ,leyathatnan o e bion a 3 thing. And yet I fancy that an love, renders most people selfish, e at least. At any rate,I ean Dcount for Miss Graham' sien in ? no other way.' fard Her remark startled me, but, preserving an utw composure, I said,-' So you r friend has assumed the chains of lov% has she? And may I inquire who is i?] che fortunateimans?' ' It is Rev. Mr. Sunderland, a the fortunate man - St y1 1 t of Carrisford. But you mu suppose him more fortunate than she ar- the highest order, and altogetherthemostperfectchar- : atter I ever met, bating, I might say, his despohis. : ,atr Io eyor me a n ' Exactly what I say. He's an unmistakable tyrant. it is really amusing hosi% how he lords it over the queenly Marion, and ho charmingly she submits. His ord m s that although I owe himn a grudge, I must say think hers a most felicitous lot. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 4835 Her playful words dropped into my soul like molten lead, but I wore an unmoved front, as I replied,-' I should not expect a high-spirited woman to be quite happy with an arbitrary man.' 'But you must not get a wrong idea of him. I never saw another such. With all his lordliness, he is invariably gentle, and though he is quick-sighted to discern her faults, and does not hes- itate to rebuke them, yet his homage falls not one whit short of idolatry, - Christian idolatry, I suppose I should say. But you ought to see them together. They will make one of the best-mated, finest-looking couples in all America.' Every syllable of that conversation is burned into my memory, and I repeat it verbally, that you may see what occasion I had for my sad belief. Of the agony it cost me, I will not speak. But, in order to satisfy myself that there could be no mistake, I wrote to you the next day, stating what I had heard, and entreating you, if false, to contradict it immediately. I never heard from you again. Mr. Sunderland tells me that my letter did not reach Glenwood, and that you suf- fered much from protracted suspense. This I can well understand. Slowly, one by one, my hopes died away. Looking above earth, I then consecrated myself to the work of the ministry, and went to' Germany to pursue my studies. I am not sure that I have named the little flower- girl, Alice Green, since my first letter. As she has some connection in- this double misunderstanding, I i must now speak of her. During my travels, I heard occasionally from her and her mother, and, a little before I left Palestine, news reached me of the mother's death, and of Alice's overwhelming grief. Previous, page: 436-437[View Page 436-437] t86 MARION GRAHAM; therefore, to commencing my' studies in Germany, I went to England, and was affected by her exuberance of joy at meeting me. I had, from the first, been deeply interested in her; and I promised that, when I returned to America, I would take her with me, in/the mean- time placing her at school. When summoned home by my mother's sickness, I did not forget this promise, and was rejoiced, on Alice's account, to find Miss Benson on board the steamer. They were mutually attracted, so much so, that I finally imparted the child's story to her new friend. This common link brought us much together. And on our arrival at New York, Miss Ben- son took Alice home with her, till I could make suita- ble arrangements. Our formal meeting in my father's house, you have not forgotten. I could not greet you as an ordinary friend, and therefore, to maintain my self-control, I was obliged to assume a stoicism I little felt. I did indeed make one attempt to say a few words, but I failed almnost, entirely, as you will remember. The day of my mother's death, Miss Benson wrote me of Alice's sudden sickness, and of her grief at my ab- sence. This hastened my return. While she was sick, I called every day, and it seemed to bring Alice so much comfort, that I continued the habit, little think- ing what rumors would grow out of it, especially as I seldom saw Miss Benson. The sweet child had en- twined herself round my heart, and seemed to be the only thing I could call -py own. So, while absent at the South, I frequently wrote to her, enclosing my letters to Miss Benson. On my first arrival in the city, I had called on Mrs. McKinstry, but carefully avoided all personal matters, UR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 437 not even mentioning your name. On Tuesday last, just after my return from Virginia, I repeated my call. When about leaving, she broke out, I will not thus be awed into silence. You must allow me, Mr. Vinton, to con- gratulate you on your approaching marriage.' What do you say?' Why, on your marriage to Miss Ben- son, to be sure. But somehow I had hoped you would choose my darling cousin.' I could make no reply; but she must have read my utter astonishment, far she con- tinued,-' Everybody knows how you call there, and how you write to her, and Lenora herself does not deny your engagement. Why, weeks ago, I wrote a long and particular account of the matter to Marion.' ' Who,' I interrupted with. some bitterness, 'isabout to be mar- ried to Mr. Sunderland, as I understand.' 'It is false,' said she eagerly. ' I don't believe she ever came so near loving any One as you. When she was here last winter, I began to inquire about you. She looked very grave, replying that there was nothing between you, and charging me never to mention your name. So I concluded that you had quarrelled and parted; and when I heard this late news, I supposed you had con- soled yourself by making love to Lenora.' Some further inquiries I made, and then, hastening to Miss Benson, I ascertained that her information as to your engagement, was founded only on her own con- jectures. With emotions which I cannot describe, I became convinced that circumstances, and not change of feeling, had separated us. The thought that you might have suffered in some degree as I had, and that you might have credited the story of m y falseness, drove ne almost to frenzy. By the first express, I left New York, travelling day and ni ght till I reached you. ^^^^^d.1 sz^^^^^^1th page: 438-439[View Page 438-439] 438 MARION GRAHAM; Thus, Marion, in the orderings of that Providence which cannot err, the rapturous meeting to which I had looked forward, was turned into a bitter and final parting. One moment of indescribable bliss;-and I ; was then plunged into the most exquisite misery. But j why do I dwell on this? f We must both acquit Miss Benson of all blame. In her information, as she begs me to assure you, she had I not a thought that mischief or unhappiness to any one 5 could be the result. And she said only what she be- lieved. The reports concerning her and myself she considered too absurd for credence, but finding her denials discredited, without a suspicion of harm, she indulged herself in her love of sport. Still less have we occasion to reproach MNr. Sunderland. From his first r knowledge of our mutual interest, his conduct has :;! been marked with the utmost magnanimity. Nor has his chivalrous high-mindedness for one moment been :: remitted. Not till he believed you to be cruelly for- -- saken, did he make the slightest attempt to win your affections. If censure attaches to any one, I must take : it to myself. I blame my own proud reserve. Had I only made inquiries on my return, my mistake would have been corrected. But from the time of that never- forgotten conversation with Miss Benson till my late interview with your cousin, your name did not once pass my lips. I need not say that I find it hard to submit, but I : have not a doubt that all these events have been per- mitted for our higher attainment in the life of heaven. If we only improve by the stern discipline, this bitterest of trials will be transmuted into an inestimable good. I dare not yet trust myself to think of you as another's OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 439 wife. But I can earnestly pray for heaven's richest bless- ings upon you botlh. Mr. Sunderland is far more worthy of you than I, and though you both suffer now, he, in some respects perhaps, more keenly than you, yet time will bring you mutual happiness. It cannot be other- wise with those so peculiarly adapted to one another. Let no thought of me, and no bitter regrets for my fate, cloud your sunshine. God will take care of me; and in his service, I shall find consolation and joy. Farewell!" Mr. Sunderland read this account with intense inter- est, feeling that he would willingly die to bring together the loving hearts he had separated. He enclosed the letter anew, simply saying,- "May God give you peace, dear Marion, for man cannot do it. In sorrow and in love, HENRY SUNDERLAND." Passionate were the tears Marion shed over this let- ter, but they were not drops of healing. Weakened and unnerved by her protracted trials, this last shock seemed to have changed her very nature. She wrote in reply . "You, Maurice, are not perjured by false vows. You are not frenzied by a hopeless bondage, in which it is a crime even to think of one, who yet possesses your whole being. Your heart has not been crushed and bruised till not one single drop of life-blood remains. You may yet find happiness and consolation. I never can. If my words are bitter, they are wrung from me by my tenfold bitterer anguish and despair. Farewell-- forever! 't page: 440-441[View Page 440-441] "O MARION GRAHAM; She sent this to Mr. Sunderland through his mother, asking him to read it, and, if he thought proper, enclose and direct it. "O Marion!" he said to himself with a burst of emotion, " you are driving the iron deeper and deeper into my soul." He forwarded the note, adding,- "God bless you for your kind and generous spirit! And God help our poor Marion! I am obliged to say that she regards me with fixed aversion. My life-pur- poses are changed. I cannot give her liberty, but she shall be free from my presence. I leave to-morrow." That evening he had a long talk with his mother. "You will stay with Marion, I feel assured, for after all she is my wife." "I will do any thing you wish, my son." 4"I need not ask you to be gentle and forbearing. She has suffered so much that her own intense misery blinds her to the sorrows of others. But for my fatal urgency, we might all have been saved this wretchedness." "Do not reproach yourself, Henry. You did every thing with the best intent." "But I was blinded by the madness of passion, and took advantage of my influence to persuade her against her own decided judgment. Oh, had I only waited, as she besought!" "We are all liable to err, my dear child; but you do wrong to add such bitter self-reproac4 to your great burden of sorrow. God may yet restore peace to us." The next morning he went to the chamber of his bride, - ah, what a misnomer! "I have come to bid you farewell, Marion." OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 441 Taking her hand, he pressed it in silence, and then, without word or token in reply, he passed out, feeling that he had entered upon the Sahara of life. When he was getting into the carriage, Mr. Maynard came up, and, warmly grasping his hand, placed in it the following line ;- "I know how your heart must be stung. But Ma- rion's is a noble nature, and this mood will pass. I be you to do nothing in haste. Your brother in sympathy and sorrow, MAURICE VINTON." But his decision was not to be revoked. According to his plan, he found a substitute for his pulpit, and then started on his lonely journey westward. With a constant change of place, there was no change of feel- ing. Everywhere he carried with him that unvarying burden, that ceaseless sorrow, that consuming regret. 19 * ' , page: 442-443[View Page 442-443] 4' MARION GRAHAM; g CHAPTER XXXIV. ^ "Up in heaven, Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find: Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving,- We look up for God, but tears have made us blind." i THE wintry weeks and months dragged slowly by. Marion had resumed her external life, if indeed it could be called life. She took no interest in any thing. She rarely spoke, except in answer to questions, and then, sometimes, with an unwonted harshness in her tone. The sunshine had faded from her wan face, and the sweet light from her sunken eyes. All hope and joy, all animation and energy, had died out of her; and instead, was the blankness of despair, the dull silence of a constant, hopeless sorrow. :i Mr. Sunderland felt that it would be unwise to write at present to Marion, and, as she never inquired after him, his name was gradually dropped. Alas! another misunderstanding was springing- up, to poison the only fountain of earthly happiness yet open to her. In the madness of those moments when she learned, X too late, that Maurice's love had never wavered, she had - given utterance to the most scathing words; "You have killed me!"--"I am perjured by false vows!"'-" frenzied by a hopeless bondage!" Is it strange her husband should conclude that that wild tempest had swept away the sweet blossoms, and destroyed, root and branch, OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 443 the tender plant of love which he had so carefully nur- tured? Is it strange that, believing this, his extreme delicacy should lead him to a voluntary exile? Had he better understood her, or rather, had not his own con- nection with the case affected his judgment, there might still have dawned some hope of a brighter future. Had he lingered near, cherishing her with fond assiduities, as in those days before that fatal marriage, she might, perchance, have been gradually warmed into tenderness and love. But she neither realized the full significance of those frantic utterances, nor dreamed of their terrible influence. Consequently, his considerate absence and reserve were, to her, only evidences of coldness and es- trangement. And these, when feeling that she had a claim to peculiar kindness and sympathy, not only wounded, but irritated her. So she nursed in herself a sense of wrong, which in its turn begot a proud and bitter resentment, entirely foreign to her better nature. Thus the fruit of her suffering was not the genial graces of the Spirit, but a ranker growth of human infirmities and passions. Weary to exhaustion of her sad round of tedious hours and days, she at length began to feel as if almost any change would bring a measure of relief. "I. trust you 'are not confining yourself to this gloomy prison on my account," said she one day to Mrs. Sunderland. "I am happy to stay here, dear Marion, if I can be any company for you; or I will go with you anywhere you desire." "I only know that I am tired of staying here." "I have thought I ought to go to Carrisford during my son's absence, and look after matters a little. Are you willing to go with me?" page: 444-445[View Page 444-445] "4 MARION GRAHAM; "I have no objection," replied Marion, hoping that new scenes would render her wearisome days more en- X durable. But she was doomed to disappointment. That air of i pleasant repose which the parsonage had always worn, : had now given place to a desolate gloom, which, if pos- sible, deepened her depression. She felt assured that I Mr. Sunderland was entirely alienated, and that his mother tolerated her only from a sense of duty. She was indeed trebly bereft, having in one moment lost her lover, her brother, and her husband. In her bitterness at being deserted, she occasionally indulged in thoughts of Maurice, which ought not to have been harbored for a single moment. And -at night, she would sometimes passionately murmur his name, while tears watered her I pillow. Such indulgence could not fail of its retribution. Mrs. Sunderland had written frequently to Henry, . and, for a time, had encouraged him with the hope of - g a change. But 'at length she felt constrained to say,- - "I perceive no softening in Marion, and I begin to fear that her nature is hopelessly imbittered. But I see - nothing to be gained from your protracted exile, and I long for the comfort of your society. Marion cannot be more indifferent to your presence, than she is ap-"; parently to -your absence, and I sometimes think she i would be less so. I am perplexed to understand her. I could never have believed it possible for so generous a being to be so unjust. But come to your mother, my i son, in whose heart you will find a warm welcome." Spring was now advancing, and beauty and fragrance sprang up everywhere beneath her footsteps. Marion OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 44b would wander away alone for hours, but her commun- ion with nature was not healthful. Living in the past was, to her, sin, yet almost unconsciously she expended much time in this worse than useless reverie. Where, alas, was IWr trust in God? Had she meekly accepted the discipline of life, her whole spiritual nature would have been refined and elevated. But, rebelling as she did, how could it do otherwise than drag her down into the low plane of selfish earthness? Her moral sen- timents were thus, for the time, deadened, and her soul, being out of harmony with the divine will, was filled with chaotic and discordant elements. One day she strolled into the woods, where she had rambled on her arrival at the place as a teacher, when the departure of Maurice and the death of her father were fresh sorrows. In that same forest, she had lis- tened to Henry Sunderland's avowal of love. Memory now vividly recalled the scene. And as she dwelt upon her tried acquaintance with him, his kind generosity came out in full perspective. She was touched with many a tender recollection of his considerate friendship, and she wept that they were now so entirely sundered. This opening of her heart to genial influences was followed by a quickening of conscience. That stern monitor reminded her of wrong feelings indulged, of bitter resentments cherished, and of the plainest duties neglected. Stung by self-reproach, she resolved to ban- ish all unkind recollections, and to return to her forsaken duties. But though her penitence was sincere, it was not thorough. Her eyes were not yet sufficiently cleared from the mists of passion, nor was her heart sufficiently humbled, to en'able her to repent of and renounce her darling sin--that fatal reverie--that impassioned page: 446-447[View Page 446-447] "6 MARION GRAHAM; I cherishing of the dear image of him, between whom, and the holy sanctuary of wedlock in which she was so tenderly enshrined, stood an angel with a flaming sword. She sinned neither deliberately nor boldly; - perhaps not X even consciously; for, as we have seen, her nice sense . of wrong was transiently blunted. But in the deep i secresy of her heart, she thought of Maurice, waking ' and dreaming; she dwelt over and over again on the wild transports of that brief moment when she was - folded to his throbbing bosom. Ah, Marion!- thy Redeemer has led thee safely through the wilderness;- and wilt thou now die of unhallowed thirst'? i Returning from her walk, she was met at the door by Mrs. Sunderland, who, with assumed composure, told it her that she had received a letter from Henry, announc- : ing his speedy return ; - that she looked for him, .{ indeed, that afternoon. Marion hastened to her room to collect her thoughts. It was a long time since she had heard that name, and, with a foolish reserve, she had refrained from asking questions, lest they might be e deemed intrusive. She was moved at the tidings, in spite of herself, but she determined not to betray her ? emotion. Feeling assured that Mr. Sunderland and : t his mother were both estranged, she was unwilling to owe to their compassion, what did not spring from affection. Under the influence, however, of her partial . repentance, she resolved, if he met her with kindness, to return that kindness. As her old friend and brother, she could rejoice to receive him, though for more than this she was not prepared. With feverish interest, she sat down at her window, being careful to place herself where she could see with-* OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 447 out being seen. About an hour had thus passed, when she heard the stage rolling rapidly along. Presently it turned a corner, and drove up towards the door. She saw Mr. Sunderland descend the steps and enter the gate. She saw his mother go out, she witnessed their tender embrace, and she felt more than ever alone. "Does Marion know of my arrival?" b "She knows you were expected. Shall I call her?" He shook his head mournfully. "I would not have her welcome constrained." When summoned to tea, Marion put on all the com- posure she could command, and slowly walked down into the sitting-room. She looked so wan and sad that Henry yearned to take her to his heart, and had there been no legal ties between them, or had she evinced the smallest emotion, he would have ventured to do so. But she was his wife--she looked upon him as her gaoler, and this would only remind her of her galling yoke. He had hoped, oh, how much, from this meet- ing! But their mutual misunderstanding made it like that of two cakes of polar ice. Marion had concluded to spend the evening below; after tea therefore, she took a seat by the window, while Henry gave his mother some account of their western friends. She thought of their old, free intercourse, and she felt that one such hour would be to her like a draught of cold water to a faint- ing soul. But she could not leap the barrier between them. So she choked back her vain longings, and drew closer the mask over her bleeding heart. The hour for family worship arrived, and they all bowed together, while Mr. Sunderland pleaded for strength and heavenly consolation in behalf of those, whose earthly lot was disappointment and sorrow. page: 448-449[View Page 448-449] ":8 MARION GRAHAM ; When Marion reached her own room, she cried to Heaven for light to guide her on her difficult pathway. She began to perceive that her severe trials had only 'produced bitter fruits, and she renewed her determina- tion to return to duty. In accordance with this resolu- tion, she assumed certain domestic cares, and inquiring from Mrs. Sunderland after the sick of the parish, she began to make calls upon them. ( Young Mrs. Sunderland is a purty spoken woman," said old Mrs. Church to her returned minister, "but they do say she's had dreadful trials." Many were the aimless arrows that reached that no- ble heart, but only One could read the agony they caused. It cannot be supposed that so unheard of an event as a bridegroom's leaving his new-made bride for months, could take place in any community without exciting gossip. An action so directly contrary to the Scripture warrant, by which even a soldier, newly married, was exempted from his duties for a year, must necessarily occasion many surmises. Speculation, consequently, had been rife, both in Glenwood and Carrisford. Under these circumstances, it was fortunate that the clergyman whom Mr. Sunderland had procured as his substitute, was a man of discretion, whose judicious conduct had done much to allay prying curiosity. Time passed on, and Marion satisfied herself that she was fulfilling the requirements of conscience. Had she forgotten those cruel words for which she had never sought forgiveness--never made atonement? The strictest performance of her external duties brought no balm to her husband's wounded spirit. Since that fatal moment, she had given him neither word nor look of \ * I I OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 449 affection; nay, her heart was still barred against ac- knowledging him in the endearing relation into which she had admitted him. Till this invisible but invinci- ble barrier was removed, had she then discharged her whole duty?- had she done what is most fitting for a wife to do? Oh! -how do we enwrap ourselves in delusions! How often does pride draw the bolts of a woman's heart against her husband! Yet!she calls it self-respect, or, perhaps, self-distrust. Would that there were less self- consciousness and more self-forgetfulness in our human love! Afraid to go beyondi her limits, afraid to make advances lest she should be repelled, afraid to trust the gushing instincts of her nature! And so she reasons herself into formality and reserve'! - how many an alien- atibn has been occasioned from no other cause! What deep channels do such mistakes work for the misery of many a household! Love is- a tender plant, and ever needs the fostering sunshine. Its delicate leaves and blossoms are easily touched with blight, and if perchance it strikes down to the root, woe to the heart whose hopes are there centred! "Miss Benson has called to see you," said Eliza, tapping at Marion's door. "And Mrs. Sunderland wishes to know whether you will have her come to your chamber." With heightened color she assented, and in a moment the long separated friends were clasped in one another's arms. They were neither of them able to restrain their tears, but after an instant, Lenora dashed her own away, saying,- "This is all nonsense. But, Marion, what a criss-cross page: 450-451[View Page 450-451] 450 MARION GRAHAM; game is this of life ' There's no use in weeping about it though. I have spoiled several letters to you this win- ter by crying over them, and I concluded not to make any more attempts in that line. If I behave no better now, however, I might as well have staid away. But let me tell you that I have been meaning and expecting to come to you ever since- the flood, and have been delayed only by my mother's long sickness. Now, what have you to say for yourself?" "Nothing," replied Marion, whose face had assumed its usual wearied expression. "Then I must straightway go into the confessional. You know I never mince matters. Therefore let me dash at once into the thickest of the battle, and repeat emphatically what you have already heard, to wit;- that when in my simplicity I told Mr. Vinton what I : solemnly believed to be the truth, I never dreamed of any possible mischief. How could I? And when I learned the result, under the lash of remorse I virtuously resolved that, cost what it would, r would reveal to you a secret, which, but for this, should have been buried with me. "You will at least be convinced that I could have no motive for deceiving any one." "I never supposed your assertion was an intentional wrong, Lenora, but only one of your thoughtless random speeches, for which," she added with slight bit- terness, "the happiness of three persons must be sac- rificed." "Hear me," said Lenora determinedly, while emotion ! mantled her face, and gave a peculiar brilliancy to her ! eye. "Hear me, and then judge whether it was a ran- dom speech, - whether you alone have been compelled to drink wormwood and gall, --you, Marion, the only OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 451 woman on the wide earth whose lot I ever envied. But remember that my terrible secret is to be shared by no other." The words came with increasing difficulty as she continued, - You know nothing of the pangs of unrequited love." As she paused, a rush of feeling swept over Marion. Had Lenora then loved Maurice? and, in her madness, had she deceived him, hoping thus to win him to her- self? Her eye kindled and her lip curled with scorn, while hot words sprang to her lips which would have scathed her friend like lightning. Lenora read her sus- picion, and indignantly exclaimed, - "Can you believe me guilty of so mean a thing? No, Marion, it was not Mr. Vinton that I loved." Her voice dropped, and as she faltered out Mr. Sun- derland's name, she covered her face with both her hands, and sobbed aloud. As the sudden light flashed upon Marion, many events in the past were, in one moment, illumined. Incapable of a single word, she too broke into convulsive weeping. After a brief silence, Lenora proceeded, - "There! it was a dreadful thing to confess, but it's done.- You can judge now, whether there was any pleasure to me in the tale I told Mr. Vinton." Marion wrung her hands, exclaiming, - "Blind, blind, blind that I have been! And we might all have been spared this unmeasured suffering, - all have been happy! Alas for us! ' "Had you only confided in me, dear Marion!" "I could not; "- and she told Lenora her own sad story, adding -"I too have innocently done a great wrong. Had my eyes been open, there would have been no such mistake on your part; you would have acted page: 452-453[View Page 452-453] 452 MARION GRAHAM; yourself, Mr. Sunderland would have loved you, and all would have ended differently. Forgive me, Lenora!" f (I have nobody to forgive but myself, for doing so silly a thing as to fall in love unasked. And yet he was a very kind to me, and I used sometimes to fancy that had he not known you,--but that was nonsense. ? When I saw how he worshipped you, mingled disap- : pointment and pride brought out all my perversity. So ! I made myself as disagreeable to him, one look of love from whom would have been worth more than all the treasures of the Indies, as if I were bent on his hat- ing me. And if you were blind, I was equally so in not discovering that my information was torture to Mr. Vinton. But then he's a hero -a very Spartan for en- : durance. I don't believe he would flinch outwardly at the greatest amount of suffering." "She has not witnessed his agony as I have," thought Marion, while Lenora continued,- ("The report which sprang from his calling to see Alice, vexed me from its absurdity. I contradicted it till I was tired, but as nobody believed me, I concluded 0 to let them have their own way. I own to, imposing upon Julia, because she is so credulous. But I really - supposed the Austins knew me well enough to under- stand my badinage. How little I dreamed of the con- ! sequences of my thoughtless words! I have since then ? been ready to forswear all raillery, and confine myself to ! the Quaker yea and nay. I said as much to Mr. Vin- ton, when he had been doing his best to exonerate me j from blame. But he's a noble fellow as ever trod the earth. Have you heard his plan?" "6 I have heard nothing." t Why, he is determined, after another year's study, OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 453 to go as a missionary to China. He is a man of too much cultivation and elegance to be thrown away upon barbarians and cannibals, such as I have no doubt he will find plenty of. But there is no dissuading him; and he is as assiduotas in his studies as if he were pre- paring himself for the United States Senate." 4"How far has he risen above me!" thought Marion. Then, addressing Lenora, "Tell me something of Alice." "She is truly a remarkable young girl, with the most acute sensibilities, and the finest natural instincts of any child I ever saw. It is really touching to observe her affection for Mr. Vinton, and her quick perception in every thing that concerns him. On his first call after that sad return from Glenwood, I did not see him. But Alice came up stairs, and - throwing her arms round my neck, burst into tears. ' What is the matter?' I asked. 'My dear uncle is so unhappy.' 'Did he tell you so?' 'No! he never talks of himself, and he was just as kind as ever.' What, then, put it into your wise head?' 'Oh, I saw it, Miss Lenora, in his eyes. I can always read his eyes. And I can't bear to have him suffer so.' ' "And where is she nowl.?" "She is boarding with Mr. Vinton, and attending an I excellent school. She makes wonderful progress, but he I is her motive-power. I don't know how she will ever endure his departure. But he has not yet dared to tell her his purpose." The friends continued their conversation until they 2 were summoned to tea, when Lenora was cordially greeted by Mr. Sunderland. He and his mother gave her an urgent invitation to spend a few weeks with them, hping her company would be a benefit as well as a gratification to Marion. The present state of affairs, page: 454-455[View Page 454-455] 454 MARION GRAHAM; i which Lenora soon apprehended, inclined her to accept the invitation, but wishing to elicit some expression X from her friend, she said,- - "And have you not a word to say, madam, in behalf : of this request?" I "Such a visit would be very pleasant to me, of course," replied Marion, blushing at being forced to express her- - self. Lenora's was an unselfish nature, and the deep cloud which rested over the young couple, saddened her heart. She nobly resolved to do her utmost to unbind the po- tent spell of repulsion which kept them asunder, and, if possible, to bring them into a sphere of mutual attrac- tion. To break up the formality which prevailed in all their intercourse, was her first endeavor. And by her skilful and determined efforts, she soon kindled some- t thing like a smile upon both those grave faces. Her Ii presence was like a ray of day-light, which has suddenly ! penetrated some dark cell, greatly to the surprise of its ? gloomy inmates. ' One evening, Lenora put her arm round Marion, and led her down from the verandah into the broad garden path, where they slowly walked back and forth. Glanc- ing towards the window, and observing Mr. Sunderland ! wistfully watching them, she beckoned to him. He r joined them at once, his delicacy leading him to Le- nora's side. Strolling towards the lower end of the garden, she proposed that they should sit for a while in the arbor. "I am ashamed of you both for neglecting this lovely spot," exclaimed she, rattling away with seeming thoughtlessness. "Only see how these luxuriant vines want pruning and training!" And asking Mr. Sunder- tE OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 455 land for his knife, she began to cut away the decayed branches with great vigor. "Let me take it, Miss Benson." "Not until you drop that formal address, sir." i "Lenora, then." ' What heathen these have come to be!" audibly ! soliloquized Lenora. Then turning to Mr. Sunder- i, land. "If I stay, I shall insist on an immediate im- j provement in this department of taste." a You shall be appointed professorin of 2Esthetics." Having trimmed the vines, she proposed that they g should extend their walk. The dew was falling, and I after taking a few steps, she broke out, - "I declare I never saw such a change in any human being. The proverb ought not to read, ' Femina,' but Homo ' mutabilis.' I really ache to see you tyrannizing over Marie in your old fashion. Are you aware that ! she is not well, and that it is the height of imprudence % for her to be out in this night air, unshawled and !s unbonneted?" He looked concerned, but giving him no time to reply, she continued, - "Why don't you use your prerogative, and order her It in, or else insist on the shawl and rubbers?" Both he and Marion colored, but Lenora was bound to deliver herself. "Well, I suppose you took it out in tyranny before you were married; certainly I can testify there was no i; lack on that score then. But I must say, I do like to see a husband assume the reins, when necessary." No allusion to their mnarriage had ever before been made in their presence, and, by a tacit understanding, t it was as though it had not 'been. It is not strange, page: 456-457[View Page 456-457] J-09 MAKiLON GtrAHAIlA M then, that Lenora's outspoken words sent the conscious blood into their faces. But embarrassed as he was, Mr. Sunderland playfully responded, "You seem to have taken the reins." "I resign them this moment. Please put your wife under immediate and stringent orders, sir captain." "Well, then," he replied with an air very unlike that of a commander, "I will bring out her shawl and rub- bers."' "It is of no consequence," said Marion, turning towards the house. She did this to save him from the awkwardness of waiting upon her, but her husband could only infer that she was unwilling their mutual reserve should be in any degree lessened. The two fell into a silence, from which Lenora could not arouse them. She soon found that she had undertaken a hard task, not only difficult to be accomplished, but one hard for her to perform. Absence had not-wholly conquered her unfortunate attachment, and present circumstances, appealing to her constant sympathy, brought peculiar temptation. Longing to see the perpetual cloud ban- ished from Henry Sunderland's brow, it was only human nature that she should sometimes long herself to dispel it. But she was a brave spirit, and while forced to struggle against the pleadings of her own heart, she did not relax her earnest efforts for her friends. And so cheerful was she, that not even Marion, who knew her secret, had any suspicion of the extent of her self- sacrifice. ; OI HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 457 I- CHAPTER XXXVIII. "Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love, - Yet love me-wilt thou? Open thine heart wide, And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove." ON the evening following Lenora's unsuccessful ex- periment, Mr. Sunderland went directly from the tea- table into his study, and did not again appear until the hour for family worship. Lenora was moved by the unusual pallor of his countenance, and after Marion had retired to her room, she followed her there. "I am vexed with you, Marie, beyond all bounds. Here you are the idolized wife of a man who has no superior, and yet you behave as if you were determined to make yourself and him perfectly wretched. I have tried my best to break up the polar ice between you, but am convinced that no one can do it save yourself." "He does not wish it broken." "Sheer nonsense! -when you are the very apple of his eye!" Marion shook her head. "I tell you I know what I affirm, but he is too deli- cate to be intrusive; and so he dons an impenetrable reserve. I am out of patience with you both, but far the most with you. I am proud, but if I stood in your place, Marie, not an hour should pass before the sweet sunshine was raying into both our souls." "But what can I do?" 20 page: 458-459[View Page 458-459] 458 MARION GRAHAM; "Extract those poisoned arrows which you planted in that generous heart, and which have never ceased to rankle there. And yet, if you would only give him one look of affection, he would instantly forgive and for- get his cruel wrongs. How you, of all persons, can rest short of this, is a strange mystery ." 4 You know nothing of the difficulties. Even now my crushed heart cannot always pardon him that fatal step. And though I sometimes long for his restored friendship, love is another and harder thing." "Marion! Marion!- for your own sake, forbear! I could not have believed this of you,- so bitterly un. just to one who would sacrifice his life for your sake - so cold and unloving--!" And, overcome by her own emotion, she burst into passionate tears. Marion could not resist this, and, putting her arms tenderly around her, she said,- I will try to feel right; and to-morrow I will be amiable and do as you wish." "To-morrow, Marie? Do not sleep again I entreat, till you are at peace with one another." "But it is too late." "That makes no difference, for he never retires early. Night after night I hear him pacing his room." I cannot go now, for I could not sincerely say all you wish to, have me. I am not prepared to receive him as my husband, and I might only make the matter worse." Disheartened, Lenora made no reply, and immedi- ately withdrew. The friends had parted in mutual displeasure. But those searching words gradually un- veiled Marion's heart to her own view. And during that almost sleepless night, thought was busily at work. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 459 Her self-accusations grew more and more acute. Not another day would she delay some attempt at a better understanding. Not another day! Oh, why are we all so stupidly blind? The tedious hours of darkness at length wore away. Through the snowy curtains the soft morning rays stole into Marion's room, rousing her from the uneasy slum- bers into which she had fallen. But they could not reach her sick heart, and she hid her face in the pillows. Suddenly, quick footsteps fell bodingly on her ear. She entered Lenora's room. It was deserted. Leaving it, she met her on the stair-way. Her friend gave her one sorrowful glance, and then led her back to her own chamber, saying, - "Be composed, dear Marion!" "What is it?" she exclaimed'in tones of alarm. "It seems he has been struggling against disease for some days. You must have noticed how frightfully pale he was last evening, During the night, his mother, hearing unusual sounds in his room, went in, and found him in a delirious fever." Marion stepped towards the door. "Where are you going?" "To Henry, - to my dear husband." "Poor child! It is too late," Lenora murmured to herself, adding audibly, The doctor is with him, and you must wait till we hear." "I will not wait." "His mother shall come to you directly." When Mrs. Sunderland complied with Lenora's re- quest, she was startled by Marion's haggard appearance. She threw her arms round her mother's neck, sobbing out, "Forgive me!" page: 460-461[View Page 460-461] "U MARION GiKHAMA "Most heartily, my dear child." "And you will let me go to him?" "He has the brain-fever, and the doctor says we must keep him in an oblivious state, so far as possible. It would excite him to see you, and I should fear the result." Marion's sorrow was pitiful to behold. Mrs. Sun- derland kindly soothed her, saying, - "This trial is very hard to bear, but it is ordered by One who cannot err. And for dear Henry's sake, you will control your feelings. Pray for him, and for us all." Alas! poor heart! into what a yawning gulf is it now plunged! What concentrated bitterness is com- pressed into that moment!"I have murdered him," she said to herself. Then flashed upon her reeling brain - startling as if a ghostly voice had echoed them- her own frantic words of maddening cruelty. Then too, an evil thought, which, in a moment of blind reverie had flit- ted through her like a bird of ill omen - that thought came back in a sudden blaze. It lighted up, with ter- rible distinctness, the secret chambers of her heart;--it flared out upon their shaded walls, hung round with sweet but forbidden imagery - revealing, in dread trans- parency, the sins she had unconsciously indulged. That thought - it came - it went - it had never returned. It was but this - "f I were only free!"Yet oh! how much was hidden there! And now, in solemn retribu- tion, that same thought -- written out in lurid light, at one moment looked mockingly within her shrinking eyes; anon, it crept over her with shudderings which forced cold drops upon her brow; and again it lashed ORB HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 461 her as if it were an avenging fury. And to aggravate her sharp remorse, there floated from out the darkness of the past, kindly memories of him who now lay near the dim Border Land;--of his rescuing her from un- told- misery and disgrace, of the fervor of his long, unselfish devotion, of his generous sympathy, his broth- erly counsel and cheer. There came also touching recollections of his womanly tenderness, when he found her bruised and bleeding - of his protecting, reverent affection; and of his delicate, unwearied efforts to win her from consuming regret, to a sweet and enduring repose on his broad bosom. Nor did she forget his gen- tle treatment when that stunning discovery burst upon his sad patience under her frenzied reproaches, - his mild, uncomplaining forbearance with her continued resentment,--his considerate withdrawal from her presence, and his late unobtrusive kindness. And had he not suffered equally with her? But what return had she made for his boundless, enduring love? What sympathy had she given him, borne down as he had been, under the burden of his mute sorrows? Alas! alas! she had cast from her a jewel, outweighing in value California's uncounted wealth. Awake to his priceless worth, - it was too late! She darkened her room - she flung herself upon the floor-and her smitten spirit writhed in all its im- measurable self-reproach and agony. Prostrate, she bared her soul before Heaven, while from the depths of contrition she pleaded in voiceless prayer for pardon and for strength. Prostrate, her heart breathed its ear- nest resolve--from that moment to banish all vain re- grets and perilous dreamings, all morbid indulgencies and forbidden yearnings. page: 462-463[View Page 462-463] "2 MARION GRAHAM; "O God! spare my husband, - and in thy presence I vow that henceforth he shall be my earthly all. Every \ thought and wish and feeling, every hope and joy, every aspiration and energy of my being, shall centre, first in Thee, and then in him." She arose pale and calm. It was a crisis in her soul's history. From that solemn moment she was a changed being. No longer attempting to satisfy herself with mere external duties, she entered upon her new course with all the earnestness of a thoroughly repentant heart. It was affecting to see one, recently so absorbed in her own griefs, now so self-forgetful, so meek, so consider- ate for all around her. "God knew where to lay his finger on her," said Mrs. Sunderland. "But poor Henry may pass away, and never know the change." 4"He will live," replied Lenora, with energy. As she spoke she returned a paper to Mrs. Sunderland, adding, ! It would break her heart to read that.", At this moment Marion entered, and catching her last words, she asked, "What is it, Lenora?9 t u Oh, nothing but a fragment." And she looked at Mrs. Sunderland. "My dear child, it is the commencement of a letter to you from Henry, which I found on his desk, and concluded it was not best to give you. But as you have heard it named, it is for you to determine what shall be done with it." Unable to speak, Marion held out her hand. It was written oh the evening preceding his sickness, perhaps at the moment when Lenora was urging her to go to him: OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 463 ,' The thought, Marion, of the utter wretchedness into which I have plunged you, is wearing away my life. My brain is strangely oppressed; my heart is sinking. The sight of me is a continual torture to you. I feel this more and more. I must flee from your presence, and thus give you the only relief in my power. In a few days I sail for Europe. O Marion, Marion!- still too dear'! would that I could make you free! Would that- " Marion welcomed the pain this occasioned. Suffering was a penance which her soul coveted. And when, on passing the door, she caught the ravings of delirium; when she heard Henry talking wildly of his intended departure; passionately calling upon her name; adjur- ing her to be merciful; to grant him but one forgiving look, and he would then go from her, and die content- edly;-when she listened to all this again and again, she only laid her white hands across her throbbing bosom, and meekly whispered, "I deserve it all." As the sufferer often earnestly begged to see Maurice Vinton, Mrs. Sunderland at- length sent him a letter, informing him of her son's dangerous sickness, and beg- ging him, if possible, to come to them. With this request he complied without an hour's delay. The subdued meeting between him and Marion was in striking contrast with their last. He had looked for help to the everlasting hills, and was borne high above the range of earthly joys and sorrows. And from her idolatrous heart, the confronting and avenging face of death had suddenly and forever crushed out that ab- sorbing passion, which she could no longer innocently indulge. Henceforward Maurice and Henry had changed , , . page: 464-465[View Page 464-465] "4 MARION GRAHAM; places in her heart. The lover was now the friend and brother. I They did not meet till after he had seen the invalid. Then, having quietly exchanged salutations, she asked in an almost inaudible voice,- A "Will he live?" "It is possible, but not probable." I "O Maurice! entreat God to be merciful!" - and sobs interrupted her. "We will both wrestle for his life, but we must not forget to add, ' Thy will be done.' Believe me, it is in love that this trial is sent." As Maurice found that his presence was a great comfort to the family, he concluded to remain and devote himself to the sick chamber, whence poor Marion was debarred an entrance .. The crisis at length approached. A single night would determine the fierce struggle between life and death. Since there was nothing to be done, Maurice- preferred to watch -alone, especially as the others were worn by constant attendance. With the pronmise, there- I fore, of being called in case of any change, Mrs. Sun- derland and Lenora with the faithful Polly who had been sent for, retired to rest. But Marion, still more worn by remorse and misery, had no thought of sleep.' All that lingering night she spent upon her knees, rising only to steal to thedoor of the sick room. Once, when there, Maurice came out and beckoned her to enter, whispering, It is safe now, for he is unconscious." How those words smote her! f For the first time, she stood beside his bed. As she fixed her gaze upon that wasted face, whose ghastly pallor seemed that of death, her blood curdled, and her OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 465 heart beat audibly. He lay motionless and silent as the grave, except an occasional low moan. At length even the moaning died away, and only an irregular, scarcely perceptible breathing, gave token of life. In that presence, how was her 'sin rebuked! Sick at heart, Marion turned away. Maurice joined her in thy hall, saying in a low voice, "To-night, Marion, we must pray with intense fervor and faith! God have pity on you!"And they went their separate way. Till the pale morning broke, there was no interrup- tion to her prayerful vigils - no cessation to the tears and cries she poured. out before God. With the first ray of light, she again crept silently to the door. Maurice stepped out and pressed her cold hands, saying, "God has heard you, my sister. He will live." The invalid was slowly making progress. As his i mind cleared, he would often look wistfully in the faces of those, about him. Footsteps were never heard, but that he looked eagerly to the door, invariably turning away disappointed. There was one for whom he always watched. She never came. "Are you sure you can control yourself?" asked Maurice one day. Divining his purpose, Marion eagerly assented, and he continued,- "We have appointed you as watcher for to-night." i A sweet light shone out of her eyes, as she in- quired, "But what if he should awake and know me?" "He probably will lo so, in which case your own instincts must guide you. His disease has left him but he needs a cordial which only you can administer." :l 20 * ^ 20* , . it J D page: 466-467[View Page 466-467] "6 MARION GRAHAM; Since that fated and fatal day, Marion had laid aside all those garments which had been associated with their brief season of love. Now, she looked over that dis- carded clothing, selecting Henry's favorite dress for her coming vigils. With something more of color in her cheeks than they had worn for months, and with a heart whose pul- sations were strangely quickened, she stole into the room. Seating herself where she could see without being seen, she gazed on the sufferer's pale face, and watched his quiet breathing. Tender and 'solemn thoughts crowded upon her, and a holy prayer rose in her soul for blessings upon his head, which no earthly language could express. At the time directed, she bent over him to moisten his lips, and venturing to linger a. moment, her fond gaze was fastened upon his face. Was it a magnetic consciousness that led him to open his eyes? She fell on her knees, and taking his hand in both hers, she said, - it was all she could say -"( DEAR HENRY!" What eyes were those now thrilling her with their electric beams! He opens his arms, -she is folded to his bosom, heart beating to heart, while upon her lips he presses a long, sweet kiss of rapturous content. As her tears flow, he presses her the closer, and breathes tenderer words into her ear. But we must drop the curtain of silence, for, "Not easily forgiven Are those, who setting wide the doors that bar The secret, bridal chambers of the heart, Let in the day." OR, HGHER TEHAN HAPPINESS. 467 . X CHAPTER XXXVI. Now "o'er the deep seas there is calm, Full as the hush of all heaven's psalm; The golden goal, the victor's palir! And at'her heart Love sits and sings, And broodeth warmth-begetting wings Shall lift her life to higher things." WHAT a wondrous summer-morning was that, which, softly rising, found Marion still lingering at -Henry's bedside, her hand clasped in his! A flood of yellow sunshine, streaming through the open casement, quivered in golden wavelets upon the wall. Never before looked sunshine so bright to those gazing eyes; never was the sighing breeze so heavy-laden with delicious per- fumes; never did the silvery warbling of the birds fall so ravishingly upon those two hearts, as now, while gently rippling through their loving words. It needed no necromancer's art to reveal to the ten- der mother the passage of that night. And while pro- nouncing her benison, who should look in but Lenora? Shaking her finger at the happy group, she said to Marion, - - "A pretty watcher you make! Why, our patient don't look as if he had slept an eye full. See if we trust you again! And yet, somehow, his countenance is marvellously improved. I do believe you have been feeding him with cordials all night long; - has she not, reverend sir? " page: 468-469[View Page 468-469] 168 MARION GRAHAM; '- "She has given me the very elixir of life," replied Mr. Sunderland, extending his hand. "And now, dear Le- iora," he continued in an earnest tone, " you must let j me thank you for all your sisterly attentions in this sick X room. But more than this, Marion has told me some things, which make me feel how much I am a debtor to your true friendship for us both." And he held her hand in both his., Tears sprang to Lenora's eyes, and having in vain tried to laugh off her emotion, she exclaimed, - ' !"The disease is contagious. We are all bound to struggle with it. And here comes another victim! Be- ware, Mr. Vinton, or you will certainly be deluged by this infectious flood!" "I have waited for this hour?'." And taking Marion's hand, he placed it in Henry's, and pressing them to- gether, he fervently exclaimed,- "God bless you, my brother and sister!" while a tear dropped upon their clasped hands. - No unmoistened eye beheld that scene; and the prayer he there offered, no one hearing it, ever forgot. But had Maurice, then, so easily laid^ to sleep the wild cravings of his heart? Could he be in the presence of her who, for years, had been enshrined in his soul, and no secret throbbing-s of his passion disturb him? Ask the burning stars, which had looked down upon his midnight struggles! Ask the listening moon, which had caught the fearful sobbings of his grief! Ask the heavens, to which he had sent up his agonizing cries for strength to drain the bitter cup! Nay! not without many a fearful conflict had even outward composure been maintained. But the secret- OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 469 of the Lord was with him, and in His heart were the hidings of power. From the pulsations of infinite love, was his strength derived. The deep mystery of Chris- tian endurance, and of holy joy in this endurance, is high up on a celestial plane far beyond the worldling's ken. If a child of God is cast into the furnace, seven times heated, it is "that the trial of his faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honor and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ." And Lenora, too, was still in the furnace. "Happy Marion! - she exclaimed when in the solitude of her own chamber,- thrice happy in the love of that noble heart! What a heaven of bliss shines out of those glo- rious eyes! If I should meet one such glance as he gives to her . But what nonsense! God helping me, nobody shall dream what a sepulchre my heart is." Such noble deeds as Lenora's never go unrewarded. And in due time, perchance, the glad sunlight shall softly steal in among those ruins, and cause a fresh spring-time of joy. When Mr. Vinton returned to the city, a young heart was in warm expectancy. The door-bell had scarcely rung, when childish footsteps were heard in the hall, and Alice's arms were twined round his neck. He led her into his pleasant parlor, and seating himself in the armchair, which she had already drawn out, he took her on his lap. But Alice had no words for him that day. And when he attempted to look into her face, she hid it on his shoulder, while her golden curls fell about her like- a glittering veil. e ,J * - , k - ic page: 470-471[View Page 470-471] 470 MARION GRAHAM; i "What is the matter, my bird?" She lifted her clear eyes, as deeply blue as the sum- . mer heavens, while, with an earnest gaze, she tremu- lously replied,-- i( "The school girls say you are going to China, never to return." ' And then the full fountain overflowed. For a long time he held her to his heart in silence. At length he said, - - "That is a great ways off yet, Alice, so far that I did not think it necessary to tell you." - "When?" she inquired through her sobs-. "A whole year --time enough for us to have a great deal of happiness." "That does not make it much better, for I shall be thinking of it all the while, and I shall never be happy another minute after I have lost you." As she broke out into fresh weeping, he laid his hand on her head, and asked,- - "Do you love me?" Her look of innocent surprise was a sufficient an- swer. "Would you go anywhere for my sake?" Her quick assent was eloquence. "Well, Alice, I have a friend who has done infinitely more for me than I have ever done for you. There are a great many in this dark world who have never heard his name, and he has called me to go and tell them the story of his love. You understand, for my Friend is also your Friend. Now, would you keep me back?" Slowly she shook her head, while her face was full of thought. After a brief silence, looking up wistfully, she said,- OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 471 " If the Saviour is calling you, I think he is calling me too. So, dear -uncle, when I have learned all you wish to have me, may I not come out to China and help you? You know I could talk to the little children." As he hesitated, she threw her arms around his neck, entreating,- "Do say yes." Smiling at her eagerness, he gently replied,- "Yes, then, dear child, - if at that time your mind is unchanged." "It will be, it will be," she exclaimed, clapping her hands. "I shall never forget your promise." As she spoke, her face assumed an expression of affecting earnestness, while she solemnly folded her little hands, and looked up, as if registering in heaven the vow of her heart. Years after, in his lonely wanderings on a distant shore, often did that saintly child rise on his vision, as she looked in her infantile consecration,- while those deep violet eyes, so pure in their spiritual light, seemed again to gaze into his own. Serene and bright were those summer days at the parsonage, which followed the night of reconciliation. It seemed as if Henry Sunderland could hardly remove his eyes from Marion; indeed, her countenance was beautiful in its fresh light of' happiness and love. She had suffered so long and variously, so acutely and almost hopelessly, that her present calm content was inexpressibly sweet. She had not forgotten Maurice, but she felt that he had soared above her, and needed not her sympathy. And-for her husband -no lan- guage could express his bliss. As he drank rich draughts page: 472-473[View Page 472-473] 472 MARION GRAHAM; from that well-spring of love, now ever gushing for him in Marion's heart, the long thirsting of his soul was 4 satisfied. In the balmy June weather he was rapidly regaining his strength, and was now able to take drives, and to walk slowly round the garden, while Marion was ever at his side. v "You look worn," said he to her one day. "I have a slight headache, that is all." "You must take a long walk with Lenora." "Not till you can go with me." "Nay, you must go now; quit your work, both of you." . :' "May I not have permission just to finish this little piece?" asked Lenora in a saucy tone. ! "Not another stitch." "Capital!" exclaimed she, clapping her hands. "That positively sounds like the olden times. All things must be going on surprisingly, now that you domineer over i us once more. What a real tyrant it is!" added she, making a mock curtsey as she went to prepare herself. She was to leave town the next day, and the friends had much to talk about, while they strolled far from the village. As they sat together on a shady knoll, with sunny streamlets singing in their ear, Marion ex- claimed, I "How I wish I could see you happy in loving and being beloved!" * "I beg you not to go fashing your brains about that, Mistress Sunderland. I am very well as I am, and I will endeavor not to disgrace the sisterhood.' It is a glorious independence." "But seriously, dear Lenora," replied Marion, putting ^ OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 473 her arm coaxingly around her, "please lay your banter- ing aside, and let me peep into that same independent heart." "Away with you for a spy! I have no idea of hav- ing my secrets read and proclaimed." "But I have kept that one secret most faithfully Will you not, then, trust me with more?" "What do you wish to discover, madam?" And lifting up her eyes, Marion saw that a mist lay over them. "I only want your promise for a few things." "Name them!" "That you will bury the past; that you will lay aside that brusque air which does you such injus- tice; and-last, but not least -that you will open the doors ofyour heart. For surely you will not deny that you would be happier in the affection of some worthy object, than in your boasted independence." With a somewhat astringent tone, she replied,- "Wonderfully magnanimous! You know my ideal. I shall not offer homage before any object on a lower pedestal. To marry simply for the sake of marrying, I never will; therefore I am destined for the maiden ranks. Q E. D. Art thou answered?" Marion only sighed, while Lenora energetically plucked flowers, and pulled them to pieces. "Do you suppose there is any possible hope of I Lenora's going to China?" broke from Marion one day after a long fit of musinrg. "I fear not. But I am glad to have you fel so," i replied her husband, with a look of satisfaction. i 1 page: 474-475[View Page 474-475] 474 MARION GRAHAM; "It has cost me a struggle; but now, I really desire it." "There is no harm in wishing. I am glad she is to meet Mr. Vinton and Alice at the Springs." A few weeks after this conversation, Mr. Sunderland received a letter from Maurice, from which we make some extracts. "Since I came to Reton, I have met with ministers and Christians of all denominations, and have enjoyed much in their intercourse. But it pains me to find so ! X strong a sectarian feeling; to see how, in discussions pro- fessedly for the truth's sake, prejudice and passion creep in, and, imbittering their spirit, swerve men aside. If it is important to rear these high walls of demarcation, it certainly cannot be necessary to labor upon them so continually. Oh that all Christians would leave their hair-splitting metaphysics, their bitter, and often worse than profitless controversies, and, burning with love to Christ, would labor, with one heart, to satisfy the hun- gerings of immortal souls! I often find myself uttering this petition in the une- qualled church litany. 'From all uncharitableness, good Lord, deliver us!' On the stormy arena of po- lemic strife, our saintly garments must needs be defiled. Let us ascend, dear brother, into a higher region, where we shall inhale the fragrant air of heaven! No one can deny Milton's assertion, that 'a wicked race have taken the virgin Truth, and hewed her lovely form into a thousand pieces and scattered them to the four winds.' Divine Charity alone has the power to gather them up, and again 'to mould them into an immortal feature of loveliness and perfection.' Then would OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 475 Christians of every name be harmonized, like the pris; matic colors so 'set in the resplendent arch of glory which spans the darkened heavens, as to betoken that the wrathful storms are past, and to give promise of perpetual peace.' And then would the world be speed- ily redeemed. For my own part, I belong to no school save that of my Master, and I trust I can say with Paul, ' I am dtermirned to know nothing among men, save Jesus rist and Him crucified.' To proclaim his unsearcha- ble riches to my perishing fellow-creatures, is my one great desire, my highest and only ambition. But I know you wish to hear something more per- sonal. I was glad to have so many particulars con- cerning you both, from Miss Benson. From certain intimations in your letter, I infer that you would not be sorry to have our friendship ripen into love. I am free to acknowledge that I regard her as one of the noblest, most disinterested of women. But, for me, there can be no second love. Do not let this pain you. My heart cries out to God, ' Whom have I in heaven but thee, and there is none upon earth that I desire be- sides thee.' And I needed every pang I have endured to bring me here. My Redeemer is now my portion, and in him is an infinity which leaves nothing lacking. Think then of me and of my destiny with the satisfac- tion with which I think of you both, and I shall be content. Your brother in affection, MAURICE ^ VINTON." As Marion sought to suppress the emotion awakened by this letter, her husband kindly said to her,- "Do not let my presence be any restraint, for I can fully appreciate your feelings." page: 476-477[View Page 476-477] MARION GRAHAM; It is not every one who has so fine an instinct as Mr. Sunderland discovered. Many men in his peculiar position, would never have been able entirely to divest themselves of disquietude. . But he coveted free admis-I sion to the innermost sanctuary of that cherished heart, and to gain this privilege, he must grant some largesses. To have allowed her to feel that he was suspicious, - that he could misconceive her emotions,-would have been to make her, on some points, reserved. But he rightly interpreted her nature, and he had his reward. Such generous confidence, no high-minded woman will ever betray. And how beautiful in wedded life, such unbounded trust, such full and sweet sympathy, such indissoluble oneness! OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 4" I I i s; CHAPTER XXXVII. "How sweetly he implies her praise! His tender talk, his gentle tone, The manly worship in his gaze, It nearly makes her heart his own." "DEAR LENORA,-We have missed you sadly, and it is our united petition that you come again to us without delay. Very presuming, you will say. But indulgence has made us bold, and I know there is noth- ing in your circumstances to confine you at home. Henry began to labor too soon, and is suffering in con- sequence. We are expecting to make a little visit at my old home, hoping that he will get recruited. And dear mother will be very lonely unless you are here to keep her company. She s8ays Lenora is one of the family. I write in haste in the midst of sundries. But you know my heart. Come next week without fail. Affectionately, MARION." "MADAM SUNDERLAND, You are fast assuming your husband's dictatorial airs, the end whereof I sup- pose will be, that I shall be forced to yield to you as I always have to him. Making a virtue of necessity, therefore, I submit without a murmur. Yours in obedience, "ENORA." page: 478-479[View Page 478-479] On her return to Carrisford, Marion won her father's consent to take Bessie home with her. "What wee fairy have you picked up?" asked Le. nora as she ran to meet them. Lenora was one of those who have a genuine passion for these fairies, and, as a consequence, gained their love almost at the first glance. It was not, therefore, any thing out of the usual course, that after two or three days there should be nobody in the house like "Aunt Lenny." The high chair, procured purposely for her little ladyship, must always be by Lenora's side; in short, they were soon inseparable friends. One day, as Henry and Marion sat by the window, they saw the pair in high glee, playing catcher in the shady yard, the one caught being devoured with kisses. A significant smile stole over Marion's face. "A penny for your secret." "You cannot buy it, sir." "If I prove a true diviner, will you promise on your honor, to give me a kiss within five minutes?" She hesitated. "Promise quick!" "I promise, then, tyrant." "You have made a capital plan; it is working ac- cording to your mind, and you are quite confident of success." She shook her finger at him. c; Now for the kiss, madam Manceuverer!" and he sprang into another room. "You are very provoking," said she, giving chase. Up stairs and down stairs with his watch in hand, and constantly reiterating, "Your promise!" till, just as the five minutes' grace was over, he planted himself upright in a corner. -"'U, nimb njt H BAJN HAPPINESS. 479 ; "You shall not escape it;" and twining her arms round his neck, she brought his head down to her level s .and paid her forfeit, for which she had to take several similar ones on her glowing cheeks and lips. "That is more than was in the bargain." "I find it so pleasant to be wooed, that I can afford to be generous." "You are a vain man, and deserve to be humbled." "Humble me, then!" "Audacious! see if I try to keep any more secrets from you." "I beg you not to threaten that, for I covet just such another chase." As Lenora entered, she called out, "What now? '" "Oh,- he has only been playing at his old game- lord of the creation." "Tell me more, please. I am sure it is something worth knowing, for your eyes are perfect jets of flame and nischief." "I shall never tell you, unless, perchance, on your wedding day!" and a quick glance of intelligence was exchanged between her and Henry. Mr. Maynard had promised that when he came for Bessie, he would spend a week at the parsonage. One night, to the surprise of all, he walked in just before tea. Bessie clapped her hands, and began to jump aboutifor joy. Suddenly, however, she led him across the room, and pointed to her new friend, saying,- C"See my Aunt Lenny." Such was their only introduction, for though he looked to Marion for the name, she would add nothing more, and he was obliged to make the best of his small amount of knowledge. Tea being announced, a seat was assigned him, opposite Lenora and Bessie. page: 480-481[View Page 480-481] "Bessie must sit by papa." Lenora began to move the high chair. "( Bessie must sit by Aunt Lenny too." There was no pacifying her wee ladyship, so, much to the disarrangement of the table, and the discomfiture of Lenora, Mr. Maynard was removed to the other side. Such was the little witch's perpetual management. There was no silencing her, and no resisting her; for papa and Lenora were, in her esteem, almost equally dear, and neither would do alone. "I believe I shall have to run away from you, Ma- rion." "What is the matter now?" "That Bessie is such a torment!" "I thought you loved her beyond all computation." "That may be, too; but she vexes me out of all en- durance." "Be patient. They will return home soon." "You are very much attached to Miss Benson, I see," said Mr. Maynard on a certain occasion to Ma- rion. "To be sure I am, and so is. Bessie!" "Is she not a little sarcastic sometimes?" "Yes, but with one of the truest, best hearts I ever knew." The week passed, and nothing was said about re- turning. Nor, although Bessie became more and more of a tormentor, did Lenora see fit to execute her threat of leaving. Another week-and Mr. Maynard still lingered. To own the truth, his little daughter's favorite was making sad havoc of his peace. "Does Bessie want to go home and see Judy?" said he one day to his little girl as she sat in his lap. "Bessie can't go, unless papa take Aunt Lenny." "enora could have cried from vexation, the more so as, in spite of herself, the blood mantled all over her face. Taking a sly side glance at her, " papa " kissed the demure piece of mischief, looking so quietly up into his face, and said gravely, though not without a little tremor in his voice,-- "I fear we could not make Aunt Lenny happy, even if we could persuade her to go home with us'." This was, of- course, intended for Lenora's ear, but the child caught its drift, and as if she could forever dispose of all difficulties, eagerly exclaimed,- "Aunt Lenny loves Bessie." As there was no gainsaying this fact' on Lenora's part, and no safety in pursuing the matter in the pres- ence of the prattler, the discussion ended here. But that night, Mr. Maynard resolved to improve his first chance to ascertain whether "Aunt Lenny" would be per. suaded to go home with them. To resolve, however, was easier than to execute. Lenora was decidedly one of the coy maidens. But there comes a time when the shyest must confront her fate, and so it prdved with our friend. One evening, she bounded, humming, into the par- lor, not seeing in the dim twilight that any one was present. But at length, perceiving Mr. Maynard, she paused in confusion, and was about to withdraw. This was not for a moment to be thought of. Controlling himself, therefore, he quietly said,- "If you are at liberty, Miss Benson, I should like a word with you about Bessie." Lenora could do no otherwise than sit down, vexed at herself for having felt at all discomposed. page: 482-483[View Page 482-483] 482 MARION GRAHAM ; "She is getting too wise for her nurse and old Judy, and I am not fit to train such a child. Can you not assist me in my difficulty?" Lenora looked up in astonishment, replying, "Mrs. Sunderland is far more competent than I to advise in such a matter;" and she rose to leave. "Nay, Miss Benson, grant me one moment to propose the plan which .for some daSs has filled my mind and - heart. Let me ask you frankly if you will not take my darling under your charge, and her father also. Ob- serving a quickening of her color, he added, "You have gained Bessie's heart, and- " "I must beg leave to decline your proposition," inter- rupted Lenora. . Her tone of pique encouraged him, and drawing near, he said in earnest tones, - "Before you decide this question, will you not let me tell you of myself as well as of my child? Miss Lenora, I know not how to part with you. The lost sunshine of my home and my heart, you can restore. The mem- ory of my angel Bessie is as fragrant as ever, but my soul pines for human sympathy. I can love you most tenderly, and repose my whole heart upon you. And must you forbid these yearnings?" Tears sprang to Lenora's eyes, notwithstanding her continued efforts to command them back. One dewy pearl fell large and round upon her hand, which lay on the arm of her chair. He looked at that little hand. Might he not venture? A difficulty, however, of which he has thought much, now recurs to him. "I have only one thing against you; and it occasions the fear that, in my condition, I may not be able to make you happy." She lifted her humid eyes. "It is that you are a rich man's daughter." OR, BIMHER THAN HAPPINESS. 483 Lenora was aboe any of the tricks of coquetry, and she archly replied,- c of etry, and "If you would think the better of me for being poor perhaps I could persuade my father to disinherit mne." He needed no more, but taking that appealing hand, he kissed away the tear, and-but what need of further detail ? Enough that those two desolate hearts were thenceforth one. After those long years of struggling love and sorrow, it was sweet to Lenora to feel at liberty to expend the affluence of her affectionate nature. It was still as true as it ever was, that Mr. Maynard was not quite Mr. Sund land. But he was in every way worthy. And then,-Ase now beheld him through those lenses, which, fortunately for lovers, glorify the object of their worship. Early the next morning, Marion stole to her room, and, with a quick, inquiring glance, said, - 'I see it all. You have surrendered your glorious independence, and are bound in chains you can never break. Ah, Lenora!" "How do you know? ', "Did I not catch the lover-tones last night, as I went ! past the door? But better than that, I Can at this mo. , ment read the sweet dream in your own eyes. Why, your whole ountenance is transfigured, dear." hy "Well, Marie, I must even make the best of my cap- tivity. But I am not tobe reproached for my former ; boasting I said there was no man who could persuade me to Change my mind. N ow , you mumst remember that this little puss has done more than half the mischief. But for Bessie, you would not be glorying over me." Hearing er name, Bessie concluded it was time to wake up, and opening her bright eyes, she said,- "(Aunt Lenny, kiss Bessie." . page: 484-485[View Page 484-485] 484 MARION GRAHAM.; ! "Mamma Lenny, soon,' whispered Marion. The child-caught the words, though not designed for, her ear, and laid them up to be brought forth on a suit- able occasion. This happened at the breakfast table, when she suddenly turned to her father, exclaiming,-- "Auntie say, Mamma Lenny soon." The speech was out, and there was no help for it. So while Lenora blushed, and began to talk to Marion, pretending not to have heard Bessie, her father whis- pered, -- "I hope so; but Bessie must eat her breakfast now." The consent of Lenora's parents was soon obtained, and Mr. Maynard was so persuasively urgent, that the bridal day was not long deferred. Marion was unable to be present at the wedding, but she sent a letter, re- vealing the secret she had half Fromised to communi- cate on that occasion. "I might have known," replied her friend, " that you had a hand in planning my capture. If you were within reach, I would give you a good shaking, so it may be well for you that you are at a safe distance." Judy, it must be admitted, was " a good deal agin Miss Benson," as she insisted on calling her. "But you see how Bessie loves her." "Dat ar's jes' de way wid dem little ones, to forget dare ole friends, and be mighty tickled wid new tings." When, however, she saw with her own eyes, the evi- dent exuberant affection that obtained between the two, her heart gradually softened towards the new comer, till she was brought to a full surrender. In the society and love of "Mamma Lenny," as Bes- sie now called her, Mr. Maynard realized his fondest : OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 45 expectations, and entered with fresh zeal upon his la- bors for his beloved flock. And Lenora found more and more reason to rejoice in the decision she had made. All the latent activities of her nature were called into action, and she developed traits of character, which no one had supposed her to possess. Even Mr. and Mrs. Sunderland, who had expected much, Were not prepared for the golden opinions she won from all. Such was the potency of love. c "Do you think it so very hard to be inister's wife?" asked Mr. Maynard. "My opinion of the station has not changed. Pray, did you expect such a wholesale conversion? , "That is an evasion. You know how many mis. givings you expressed. Now, do you really find the case so bad?" 'Don't you know well enough already, Mr. Inquisi. "But I want to hear it out of your own mouth." "A vanity, which in your profession, I think it wrong : to encourage." "Dear Lenora! remember what a dreary waste I have travelled through !" As he spoke, a sudden change passed over her face, and running her fingers caressingly through his hair, she [ made answer,-- "Well, if you must be fed with sweetmeats, mio carissimo, let me say to you out of an honest heart, that I am more happy as your wife than my range of Eng- 1 lish can express;- more happy, I sometimes fear, than :f is quite safe. Is my lord satisfied?" As he soon convinced her on that point, she con. tinued,.i t page: 486-487[View Page 486-487] MARION GRAHAM; 486 cI used to say hard things ofMr. Sunderland, but I e all alike. And if we, poor victims, will believe you are plunge headlong into the guf of matrimony, there is nothing remaining for us but obedience." , Which the good Book strictly enjoins , Yes, but please not forget your part of the ordi Neveran dearest! I even exceed the Gospel rule, for sure! am that love my perverse little wife, far more than I to my on self. So we both are content, are I we not? ight eyes) he And looking straight into her midnight eyes, he found there a sufficient answer. found there aJ' OR. HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 187 CHAPTER XLI. "But ever and anon of griefs subdued There comes a token like a scorpion's sting." ALICE GREEN was now spending a few weeks with Lenora, although in this she had yielded to the evident desire of Mr. Vinton, against her own wishes. The affectionate child had:so endeared herself to'him, that it was a trial to part with her even for a short time. But foreseeing the pain she would suffer in their final separation, he felt that, for her sake, it was best she should become gradually accustomed to his absence. It was with a swelling heart that she left him who was more to her than all the rest of the world. But she had been early schooled in adversity, and, notwith- standing her impulsive nature, possessed a degree of self-control and thoughtfulness for others, quite beyond her years. So, fearing to give pain to her friends, she made a great effort to be cheerful. From Glenwood she went to Carrisford, where Mr. Vinton had promised she should also make a visit. Whether, by some instinct, she had divined the past history of Mr. Vinton, or whether he had briefly ex- plained his sorrow to one who so anxiously watched his every look, we cannot determine. But at their first interview, she gave Marion one keen, searching glance, and then, throwing her arms round her neck, burst into page: 488-489[View Page 488-489] n88 MARION GRAHAM; ears. She felt a little reserve with Mr. Sunderland, but he soon overcame this, and in a few weeks, gained a place in her affections, second only to that of her uncle and Marion. The following is r. Vinton's reply tor a letter from Alice's new friends concerning her. "MY DEAR BROTHE' AND SISTER,- Your kind pro- posal to receive my little girl into your beloved family, brought a relief to my feelings, of which you can poorly conceive. How dear she has become to me, I cannot xell express; but the pain of our approaching separa- tion w'll be softened to us both by your cordial affection for her. That this might be so, has been my long-cher- ished wish, and my warmest gratitude is due to Him who has thus inclined your hearts. : Yours, in the best of bonds, i MAURIGE VINTON"' Unheeding whether he brought joy or sorrow, old I father Time marched steadily on. Fickle April now held sway, but smile or weep, it was all the same to the household of 1r. Sunderland. A dense cloud, heavy with a portending sorrow, had suddenly obscured their calm sunshine, and upon every face sat unwonte Poly Somers ontinuedsoftly to bustle about, b ever and anon applied her apron to her eyes. And even the self-possessed, sorrow-tried minister, walke up and down the study with rapid strides, seeking to regain his self-command ere he again ventured into the presence of his suffering wife. At length his mother softly opened the door. "Henry, you have a son!" ORB HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. X 89 "And Marion?" asked he, in a scarcely audible tone. She sorrowfully shook her head. "Not dead?" "No, God be thanked! Yt, she seems very near the end of her journey." "Mother, how can I have it so? ^ "It is the Lord; let him do what seemeth him good.' But we will pray and hope while we can." For three long days and nights, the grim shadow of death lingered on that sunny threshold. Indeed, to look upon the sufferer, one would have said that the spirit had already departed, - so death-like was the pallor of her face, so still she lay, without motion- without sound - almost without breath. But the good Lord, with whom are infinite compas- sions, heard their importuning cries, and from the bor- ders of the spirit-world, Marion returned again to her husband's arms. When the light of those dear eyes once more shone into his heart,-then, and not till then, did he taste the outgushing joy of a father. Clasp- ing in his own, the almost transparent hand of the mother, and laying his face close to that round, tiny face, he felt that the humanity in him was completed, --that the last precious link had riveted the other links into a pure, golden, perfected circlet. The month of blossoms had nearly completedgiher welcome round, when Henry came one day into the chamber, with an offering of wild flowers. Placing the vase upon the table, he seated himself beside Ma- rion, and gave her a look containing a whole world of affection. "Have I done any thing particularly good to deserve 21 * page: 490-491[View Page 490-491] )0 MARION GRAHAM; I that??" she asked, while a soft color stole over her ieek. "I was thinking of this time one year ago, when we irdly exchanged words. What a dreary, burning des- t that! And what an Elysium this! Then, looking at the fairy boy, now one month old, ing asleep in his mother's arms, he continued--"I ive a request to make, Marion." "Say on." "e May I name our darling?" Certainly; though I considered that matter settled." "We may differ perhaps." ( What name do you propose?" "Maurice Vinton." A quick flush overspread her face, but her clear, uthful eyes did not shrink from his. ("Do you really choose that name?" "I do really choose it." It was a grateful token of his confidence in her, as rell as of his high respect for Maurice. And had she ot been already won, his generosity would have corn- leted the conquest. A tear stood in her eye, as she aid fervently,- - "God bless you, dearest and best! My heart is more ian satisfied." "I believe I told you," said Henry, at length breaking he sweet hush which followed those words, " that Mau- ice is to be ordained early next month. He has prom7 ged to spend -the Sabbath after with us, and he shall hen baptize our child." The anticipated holy day dawned in serene beauty.4 rhe deep blue heavens looked lovingly down upon the rerdant earth, with its umbrageous trees, and its myriads OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 491 of starry flowers; and the green earth, sending back a ra. diant smile to the heavens, flung thitherward her broad, flower-perfumed censer. Glad to escape from the close city atmosphere with all ots noisy din, the balmy air and quiet hush of nature infused a genial influence into Maurice's whole being. After public service, the family were gathered for the baptism. Maurice had taken it for granted that the son would be called for his father and when the name was announced, for a moment he could not speak. After the solemn rite was over, he took the child in his arms, tenderly kissed it, and then hastened from the room. But he soon returned with an unclouded face. As for Alice, she was overjoyed that the baby bore the name of her dearest friend. "How I shall love him, Uncle Maurice! why he is almost my little brother!" He only replied by gently stroking her head. In three months Maurice was to sail, and they were busy months. Besides all his arrangements for a life- time in a foreign land, his large estate was to be dis- posed of. Reserving a moderate allowance for himself, for he was to bear his own expenses, he made hand- some legacies to Bessie Maynard, and his baby name- 1 sake, not forgetting little Marion McKinstry. He also II appropriated a large sum to the founding of an orphan asylum, besides distributing generous donations among J various benevolent associations. The remainder of his property he settled upon his adopted child. In his last visit to Leyden, the only spot on earth A1 which he could call home, not only Alice, but Henry i' and Marion Sunderland, with little Morry, accompanied i page: 492-493[View Page 492-493] MARION GRAHAIM; him. Two or three days after their arrival, Maurice sat in the library with Alice, who had been expressing, in the most enthusiastic terms, her -admiration of the place. "How delightful it would be if we could live here always! I shouldbe your little housekeeper, you know, and our friends could visit us, and we should be so happy!M You shall live here if you like, dear child. The house and every thing it contains, and these grounds, which you think so beautiful, are all yours." She looked at him in bewilderment. "I mean just what I say, dear." As she slowly comprehended him, her bright young face assumed a sadder and sadder expression, till at length large drops began to fall from her eyes. , What is the matter, my love?" tenderly inquired Maurice. In a broken voice, she answered,- - " I see you don't mean to let me come to China. And I can't bear it. I don't want this great house. I had rather live with you in a hovel, and help you talk to the heathen about Jesus, than to have every thing else you could give me. Please to take back your great pres- ent. You don't know how unhappy it makes me." He pressed the sweet child to his heart, saying,- "You could not surely think I would break my word, darling; but to comfort you, I will promise again that, if when you are of age, God still inclines your, heart to the missionary life, you shall certainly come out and help me." "Then you will take back this place." "I cannot do that, Alice, for if our Father should OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 498 call me home before that time, you might wish to live here." He spoke with great gentleness, but regretted it the moment the words had escaped him, so wild was the I grief which they caused that .sensitive spirit. When she was somewhat calmed, he suggested, - "You can give the place to little Morry, when you come to China." "I should like that," she exclaimed, looking up through her tears. "And dear MolTy ought to have it." "You have made peace with me then?" "Darling uncle!" said she throwing her arms round his neck, "you are always so patient, and so very kind!" One day, when Maurice was coming in at the front door, Alice ran to meet him, exclaiming,- "Please, dear uncle, come here, and tell me what this is." And taking his hand, she led him rapidly through the library into a large closet at its further end, and pointed to something standing in a case, which she had ventured partly to open. "That is a guitar," replied he,quickly closing the door. Then leaving her abruptly, he went to his own room, where Alice could hear him walking back and forth. The poor child felt assured that in some wavy she had given him pain, and was very unhappy about j it. But she had too much delicacy to intrude into his presence, so she could only wait till he gave her an opportunity to express her regret, At the -sight of that well-known instrument, a sharp pang had shot through Maurice. Never, since his avowal ri of love, aind his bitter parting from Marion, had he page: 494-495[View Page 494-495] 4 TMARTON GRAHAM; ached its chords. It had been forwarded with other ings from Glenwood, and since he went abroad, he td not only shunned the sight and sound of a guitar, it had entirely abandoned singing. And now a world ' memories besieged him, and it was no easy task to sell their contending voices. After tea, he invited Alice to walk with him through he grounds. "I am sorry I did any thing to trouble you, dear tncle." "And I am sorry I grieved you by my abruptness. But now, you can ask any thing you please." As she lesitated, he continued, "Did you never hear your aunt Marion play on the guitar?" : , I did not even know she had one." "Memory with her, too, I fear," said he to himself. Then speaking aloud," Come, Alice, I know you hajve some curiosity carefully hidden away." ," Won't my questions trouble you " "Not at all, my child." , Then I should so much like to know whether you can sing and play on that instrument" "If I have not forgotten." "And will you carry your guitar to China?" 4"Do you wish it?" . "( Oh yes'! so much!"! "Then I will, dear. She clapped her hands, and then continued with some timidity, "Do you think Aunt Marion will teach "I will ask her, and you shall have a guitar of your own." The little girl looked the thanks she could not utter, but something was still wanting. OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 495 "I see another request in your eyes, &birdie. Just make it known, and it shall be granted." I 4"Then will you play and sing for me?" How did those eyes dance with joy when he re- . plied, - ' "I thought that was coming. Yes, dear, this min- ute." . ,. Passing through the hall into the side-door of the library, he took the familiar instrument out of its case, and withdrew with her into one of the large bay win- dows, neither of them observing in the gathering twi- light that Marion sat in a similar alcove. With a beating heart, she heard Maurice tune the guitar, and then commence a gentle prelude. To escape from her increasing emotion, she would have left the room, but she feared to attract observation. So she remained, the tide of memory swelling higher and higher. Alice sat at Maurice's feet, looking and listening with rapt atten- tion while he sang-- ah! it was a dangerous experi- ment'- that song of other days, - "Oft in the Stilly Night," The sound of suppressed sobs broke the silence which followed, and first made Maurice aware of another's presence. Bidding Alice leave the room, he walked I towards Marion, and, struggling with his own emotions, I' sat down beside her. "In heaven, my sister, memory will never bring us pain." , "Nor will thoughts of the future," responded she, when she could speak. "That you are to go alone on your missionary life, is a grief to me which I cannot ex- j press." i Maurice did not venture a reply. The plaintive mu- ; ! page: 496-497[View Page 496-497] b16 MARION GRAHAM ; sic, burdened with sad recollections, Marion's presence, and the mutual rush of thought and feeling,- all these together came upon him when he believed himself strong to endure, and found him- but a man. Lean- ing his- head upon a chair, he tried in vain to stem the swift current. There was no safety for him then, but in retreating. "I am not well to-night," said he, rising suddenly. "I will see you again to-morrow." "Marion is in the library," he observed to Mr. Sun-- derland as he met him in the hall. Opening the door, Henry was in a moment at her side. My dear wife in tears?" "I have not heard Maurice sing and play before, since those old times; and it recalls so many sad asso- ciations." He drew her to himself, and soothed her with gentle caresses. "You understand me, I trust, dear Henry." "I do, my own Marion, and confide in you implicitly, unwaveringly." "I am not ungrateful for your confidence. But why have you never asked me to play?" "Because I feared it might give you pain." "Delicate and generous as always!" said she, laying her hand in his. And as they sat there in the deepen- ing twilight, no forbidden thought on her part,- no unworthy suspicion on his, marred their communion. In the mean time, Maurice was walking back and forth on the shores of the lake. The spell of music had evoked the dead from the tomb of memory, while-the sympathetic emotion of Marion caused the saddest re- OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 497 membrances to press upon him with a torturing power. Not for the wealth of the Indies, would he have her or her husband know aught of this renewed struggle with the great sorrow of his life. Pausing suddenly in his rapid strides, he seated himself on a rock, and re-- called that scene of' long ago, when, on those same shoresa a fierce storm had raged unheeded around him, ' while he had battled with a wilder tempest in his own i bosom. As a deep sigh broke from him, he heard light footsteps, and in a moment, Alice knelt on the sand, and i laid her head in his lap, while heavy sobs escaped her. "What is it, Alice?" "O my dear, dear uncle, it makes my heart ache to know you are so unhappy. And I can do nothng to comfort you," added she, wringing her hands. Not so, precious one," replied he, drawing her into his lap. Your affection is an unspeakable comfort." !! "Is it truly? But, then, why cannot I love away all it your sorrow?" " He laid his hot cheek against her golden curls, softly whispering,- - " God bless you, darling, and save your affectionate heart from pain!" "But I don't want to be saved from it," exclaimed I she impetuously. "I had rather suffer when you suffer. i And oh!" - added she, kissing away a tear which had dropped on his hand, for he was melted from his stern mood by her tenderness,--"I think I am strong enough to bear a great deal of pain, and of any kind, if it could ' I only make you happy." "Sweet ministering angel!" said he to himself, as he I ' folded her to his heart. Then, speaking aloud, " You 1 i know, dear, that the wise Book, which never mistakes, i e* , I '! bi i page: 498-499[View Page 498-499] MARION GRAIIAM; says,' It is good to be afflicted,' so you must not wish to have me free from suffering." "But you prayed that God would keep my heart from pain. Why is it not good for me to be af- flicted, as well as you?" "You are right, and we will both ask God to send just what he sees best. And believe me, child;- my Father has made up to me in ' that peace which pass- eth all understanding,' infinitely more. than he has taken from me of earthly happiness." . t "But don't you think that he will make you happy too, even in this world?" "He will do every thing exactly right, my et. Ad am sure he will give me great delight in trying to tell poor sinners of his wonderful love." "Yes," exclaimed she, in a tone of relief. And you know when I come and helpyou talk to them, you will go home every day to rest , and I shall always be there to get your supper, and to take good care of you. "So be it, my own Alice," replied he, greatly moved. . But now, dear, you must run back to the house." "Do you feel a little better?" "A great deal better for your visit, precious one!" and he watched her retreating figure as it slowly wound among the rocks. -6 And thus le sends an angel to strengthen me, said Maurice, folding his arms musingly across his breast. "Could I love her more- if she were my own child?" l The spell of memory was broken, and he no longer wrestledwith the phantoms of the past. He had well known where was to be -found the sweetness of con- solation. And he would not have rested till he had OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 499 j reached that dear retreat. But the child, dispelling the ghosts of memory, by a shorter road had led him thither. And so ended his last conflict with that one over- mastering earthly passion! "I was unable, yesterday," he said to Marion the next ? morning, " to reply to your kind expressions of sympa- i thy in my prospective lonely life. But why should I v speak of it as lonely, when my Saviour accompanies me ad in my wanderings, and has pledged himself never to i leave nor forsake me? It is true that unbidden memo- ries have at times inflicted a sudden pang, and, for a brief moment, renewed the sharp conflict; yet, Marion, I wish you could know how assured is my confidence in the wisdom and goodness of God, and how unwaveringly I rest in him as my portion. The views which he sometimes gives me of himself are beyond language. I seem bathed in a shoreless sea of love, and every de- sire is satisfied. And shall I repine that he has made me a bankrupt on earth, when he has given me heav'en, aye, HMSELF, as my ihheritance?" ?1 * ' ' lX page: 500-501[View Page 500-501] ;00 MARION GRAnAb; CHAPTER XXXIX. "Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught him. So was his love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices, Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma. Other hope had he none, nor wish in life, but to follow Meekly with reverent steps, the sacred feet of the Saviour." THEIR last day at Leyden arrived,- a day long sor- rowfully anticipated.' In the morning, the little circle of friends took a drive together on the shores of the sunny lake. Their conversation was on cheerful sub- jects, but the subdued tones in which it was carried on, showed that the approaching separation was ever present to their thoughts. On their return, they again met in the library, all seeming instinctively to cling to one another, as those do who are about to separate for a long time, perhaps forever. The weather was charming, and after tea, they ad- journed to the verandah to watch the decline of day. It was a group worthy of the limner's art. Henry Sunderland's arm rested on the chair of Marion, whose face was full of sad, but elevated thought, while little Morry, in her lap, was intent on his father's watch, which he held in both his dimpled hands, now and then- putting it to his ear to hear it talk. Maurice Vinton sat next, with Alice, as usual, at his feet. The sun lingered as if to give the finishing touches OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS., 501 to a painting of unrivalled magnificence. The most royal colors on his palette were dashed on with a bold hand and a princely prodigality. But the artist rested not, till, with this gorgeous splendor, he had blended the sweetest, softest tints, toning down the picture into a resplendent -beauty and glory, suggestive of the Celestial Land. Gleaming turrets and glittering walls and battlements were there, There, too, were- gates of pure rose-pearl, just swung ajar, through which the kin- 'dled fancy caught faint glimpses of the golden streets, the jasper light, the hyaline sea, and almost of some white-winged angel hovering over it. The whole scene was reduplicated in the placid lake below, which was scintillant with golden and amethystine jewels, scat- tered all over its fair bosom. And, as the fit setting to this breathing, burning picture,;was a broad rim of rich amber sky, so clearly reflected in the sparkling waters, that the whole glowing scene seemed set within that fair frame. As the little company lingered in the spell of that enchanting vision, on this the last night of their stay, a tender and chastened feeling was written on every face. , And as the gorgeous Cloud-land softly faded away, and the fair landscape grew dim in the gray twilight, and the solemn stars came out and shone serenely above the peaceful lake,-that feeling deepened into a sacred awe. The thought of the approaching separation, final probably for this life, stole over them, and the past, like a misty phantasm, flitted slowly by. Loving eyes that had closed upon the light of earth, seemed looking down upon them through the dazzling veil which shuts t"I out heaven from mortal ken. White hands that had been silently folded upon the pulseless bosom, beck- [ oned to them from behind it. page: 502-503[View Page 502-503] )2 MARION GRAHAM; In that solemn hush, when the past, the present, and the future were centred in that one point of time, the Unseen, Mysterious Land, - always receding from the view,-drew near. The Dark River, stretching no longer in the dim, uncertain distance, seemed to wind at their very feet. Almost they could see- "Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood," but as they strain their eyes for at clearer view of the seraphic vision, - A blaze of glory blinds their mortal sense, : And like a radiant curtain, shuts it in. The child had fallen asleep in his mother's arms, and there reigned a silence which no one felt like break- ing. But at length Maurice whispered to Alice, who stole into the house and brought out his guitar. ! It seemed to all present, that sweeter, more ethereal ? notes never gushed from human instrument, than those to which they listened in the holy hush of that caltn sunset hour. After a touching prelude, Maurice sang an exquisite strain, tenderly expressive of the thoughts which filled their hearts no less than his own. "None return from those quiet shores, Who cross with the boatman cold and pale; We hear the dip of the golden oars, And catch a gleam of the snowy sail, - And lo! they have passed from our yearning hearts; They cross the stream, and are gone for aye. We may not sunder the veil apart, That hides from our vision the gates of day; . OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. 503 We only know that their barks no more May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea; Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, 'They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold Is flushing river and hill and shore, I shall one day stand by the water cold, And list for the sound of the boatman's oar; I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail; I shall hear the boat as it (gains the strand; I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale To the better shore of the spirit-land; I shall know the loved who have gone before, And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, When over the river, the peaceful river,* The Angel of Death shall carry me." . As his rich, mournful tones floated on the silent air, -not a heart present but that beat quicker with emo- tion, -not an eye but that glistened with humid ten- derness! It was a fitting close to those days of sweet communing. Its influence lingered with them, as, the i next morning, they went their separate ways. It fol- lowed them in their remaining earthly life. The day for Maurice's final departure was at length X fixed. As little Bessie Maynard was not quite well, ^ her father and mother concluded not to go to New York as they had intended. So Maurice went to Glen- wood instead. For the last time he stood by the graves of his loved ones, and then gave his parting benediction to his friends. "Are you sure?" asked Lenora, "that in the depths of your heart, you have forgiven me the bitter, life-long trial I have caused you?" page: 504-505[View Page 504-505] )4. MARION GRAMAliA, "Very sure," replied he, pressing her hand, while he gave her one of his sweetest smiles. "Nay, I am your debtor, for it has proved a rich blessing, and I am more than reconciled." "Uncle, send Alice to Bessie," said a lisping voice beside him. "Yes, Alice will come soon," replied he, tenderly caressing his sainted sister's child. God bless you, little ! Bessie, and don't forget Uncle Maurice." It was a marked group that stood together upon the vessePs deck, on that clear October morning. The cap- tain's loud commands; the sailors' boisterous responses, the hoisting the sails, the drawing in the cable, and all that bustle of preparation attendant upon the getting out to sea, - fell upon the ears of that silent company with- out the smallest attention. The azure heavens looked down smilingly upon them, the soft sunshine lay around them in mild splendor, and the blue, rippling waters danced gleaming at their feet;-but all un- heeded! Their thoughts were otherwhere. Mute and solemn they stood, as if, beyond the mystical river, they caught glimpses of the eternal shores, - as if an- gels were beckoning them up the shining steeps to the golden city on high! At length came the moment so long thought of--so long dreaded; - the moment of final separation. Talk- ing his little namesake in his arms, with uncovered head, Maurice offered up a wordless prayer, and having pressed a kiss upon his forehead, gave hinm back to his nurse. He then warmly embraced Henry Sunderland, ORn HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. .50.5 looking the thoughts he could not speak. Turning to Marion, he -held her hand in a long and silent pressure, with the last warm grasp saying in tones which she never forgot,-- An eternity together'in heaven." Lastly, he folded the poor weeping Alice to his heart, kissing her again and again. It was hard for him to look upon that sweet young face, so pale and despair- ing in its woe, - hard to untwine those clinging arms, -hard to bid adieu to that loving and beloved child who was now his all of earth. But there was no re- 1 prieve. The last sacrifice was made-the last farewell ut. tered--the last tear shed. Then, clasping his hands, ?1 and lifting his eyes to heaven, Maurice pleaded for strength for himself, for blessings upon her--upon them all. As Marion gazed on his face, radiant in its eleva- tion and self-sacrifice, it was as if she had looked on the face of an angel. Then, a scene from the past flashed upon her with startling vividness;- an evening embalmed in memory, when, sitting together in her pleas- ant library, with the soft astral lamp shining upon them, and the ruddy fire-light sending out a cheerful glow, they had read those immortal words of Thomas Carlyle; "There is in man a Higher than love of happiness; he can do without happiness, and instead thereof find bless- edness." She remembered his intense gaze as he asked her that significant question, Would you immolate your dear- est wishes, your sweetest hopes, your assured bliss on the altar of some imagined duty?" She recalled the deep sigh, and the melancholy glance that were his re- sponse to her reply. 22 I'i page: 506-507[View Page 506-507] 506 MARION GRAHAM; OR, HGHER THAN HAPPINESS. The fire of earthly passion which had then glowed in his face, and thrilled his whole being, had faded from his eye, and died out of his heart. In its place, a sphere of celestial love encompassed him,- the light of heaven shone in his eye,- and its glory rested like an aureole upon his brow. As she saw this, and as she thought of his whole-hearted consecration to the Saviour; - of his sublime victory over sorrow and over self, she felt that he had indeed won the nobler gift; - that he had attained the more glorious end; -- that INSTEAD OF HAPPINESS, HE HAD FOUND BLESSED-NESS. . ,i. I
