Katherine Morris
page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] KATHERINE MORRIS: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. BY THE AUTHOR OF "STEP BY STEP," AND "HERE AND HEREAFTER." "He saw that, in employing fiction to make truth clear and goodness attractive, he was only following the example which every Christian ought to propose to himself; and he determined to print." "ORD MACAULAY. BOSTON: WALKER, WISE, AND COMPANY, 245 WASHNGTON STREET. 1860. page: 0-1[View Page 0-1] Entered according to Act of Congress, -in the year 1860, by WALKER, WISE, & CO., in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. University Press, Cambridge: Electrvtyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. KATHERINE MORRIS. CHAPTER I. MANY years since, I witnessed an exhibition of dissolving views, which greatly interested me at the time, and now, as I contemplate it in the retrospect, seems to me no unapt emblem, with its rapidly changing scenes, of my own life. As I sat in the darkened hall, gazing upon what appeared to be a blank wall, gradually out of the shadow and chaos grew scenes of beauty and brightness, which soon melted away again into dim obscurity, and were succeeded by others of a character so sad and mournful that their vanishing was a relief to the beholder. Now the scene was a joyous landscape, hill and valley clothed in the beautiful garments of early slu-mmer, and flooded by the radiant beams of an unclouded sun; then slowly the splendor faded away, and the beau- page: 2-3[View Page 2-3] 2 IKATHERINE MORRIS. tiful picture soon lost all distinctness of outline. Presently followed the solemn funeral procession, which, after nearly three decades of years, filled the Church of the Invalids in Paris, to do honor to the remains of the exile of St. Helena. I almost held my breath as I looked upon this imposing pageant, so real, so life-like did it all appear,--the solemn stillness being in harmony with the occasion. This in turn disappeared from sight, though it still remains in the memory. And then came one, which impressed me more than all its predecessors; and the remembrance of it rises up vividly before me, whenever I recall some of the earliest events of my own history. This was the lovely valley of Goldau, in Switzer- land, sleeping in the calm repose of a summer's moon at the foot of the mountain, which cast its shadow into the beautiful lake below, and looked like a military sentinel keeping watch over the village. So calm, so peaceful was this scene, in its picturesque tranquillity, that I gazed upon it rapt and absorbed, when suddenly a shadow fell; dark clouds obscured the moon; the waters of the lake rose and fell in angry waves, and - O horror! --slowly, slowly the mountain seemed crumbling KATHERINE MORRIS. 8 and breaking, until at length the huge avalanche was? precipitated upon the peaceful village and its scarcely awakened inhabitants, burying them be- neath its awful ruins, and choking the lake with its huge fragments. Then came darkness and a blank, and the illusive spectacle ended; and with a deep sigh and a heavy heart I stepped forth once: more to the realities of life. How well I remember the abode of my child- hood, on the picturesque banks of the Wissa- hickon, a few miles from the city of Philadelphia! Not a home of luxury and wealth, but one of comfort, refinement, and peace. O, inl the tur- moil of life without, and the strife of passion within, in which I have since been working out my appointed lot, how have I loved to dwell upon the quiet and repose of those early days! After that period, it was not until many a weary, strug- gling year of my pilgrimage had passed that I found peace again; then it was that peace of which He spake who said, "My peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you." My father was of New-England, my mother of Southern origin. I do not think my father could page: 4-5[View Page 4-5] 4 KATHE1INE MORRIS. have inherited much of the traditional energy of his ancestry, -perhaps not quite enough for his own or his family's interest; but that mattered little to us in the days of which I am now writ- ing. How we all loved him, at once so gentle and so noble, so refined and so affectionate! I do not wonder that he abandoned battling with the world in his profession of the law, and betook himself to the place of my birth and childhood to cultivate a small farm. Our family, at the time of which I am writing, consisted of my father and mother, the latter having always been an invalid since my remembrance; my brother Walter, several years older than myself, now at home from college on account of his delicate health; and Alfred, younger, full of life and spirits, for the most part expended in out-of-door sports, so that he did not much disturb our do- mestic quiet. Alfred was my playmate, and I loved him; but Walter was my idol. To my father's noble and amiable qualities there was added in him an indomitable energy, which, tradition said, was derived from our New Eng- land grandmother. In this darling elder brother every thought of my life seemed bound up, and KATHERINE MORRIS. 5 the future, upon which the young are apt to dwell so much, presented no picture to my ac- tive imagination in which -he was not a promi- nent figure. Martha and John, a faithful brother and sister who had for many years served us, and had won our love and respect, completed, with myself, our humble household. What kind of child I was in those days I have not the least idea, excepting that I was a happy one. I was my father's and brothers' "Kitty," mother's "Katy dear;" and if Alfred did some- times call me "Cat," in roguish mischief, it was quite as often "Kath," pronounced in a tone which convinced me that he had a tender place in his fun-loving heart for his playmate. So I grew on towards twelve years of age, loving and be- loved, pursuing my studies at home with my mother, under the supervision of my father; I thought, and my friends thought, that I was not otherwise than an amiable child. But, as I have intimhated, there came a change,- a sharp, sud- den, terrible change. Years have passed since, and other changes have come to me, but there have been none like that. Dne evening my mother and I sat in our pretty 1* page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] 6 KATH HRTNE MORRIS. parlor, the windows of which, on one side, over- looked the winding stream, upon whose banks we lived, and on the other, the garden, affording here and there a glimpse of the road, along which I was watching for the return of my father and brother from the city. It was early autumn, and although the day had been warm, almost sultry, yet, in accordance with our usual custom on my mother's account, we had a fire burning on the hearth. Near it she sat in her comfortable arm- chair, with her little work-table beside her. In one corner ticked the old eight-day clock, a much prized heirloom. The furniture and arrangements of the room were simple, but tasteful and com- fortable. Books and flowers gave to it the aspect of refinement it so well deserved from the charac- ter of its inmates. With what emotion do I al- ways look back upon the peace and serenity of that home I Within, on the evening referred to, no sound was heard save the ticking of the old clock, which did not then say to my childish ears, as it does now, "Forever - never! Never here - forever there!"-but it was simply the one monotonous sound that broke the silence of the room. My - KATrhEliNE MORRIS. 7 mother was reading, and I sat upon -the broad seat by the window, now glancing towards the road, and then looking from earth to sky, and from sky to earth again, as my roving fancy prompted. Presently I became uneasy at a stillness unusual even in our quiet home. It seemed as if Nature herself was holding her breath in expectancy. I wondered at the unusual tint of green which col- ored the grass and foliage. A few minutes of anx- ious expectation of I know not what, and a shadow suddenly fell. I looked up and saw a lowering black cloud overhead. To my active imaginationi it took the frmn of an immense giant, whose outstretched right arm seemed pointing mena- cingly down to our humble roof. I felt uneasy, but thought I would not tell my mother that a thunder-storm was approaching, as in her suffer- ing state of health she was always unpleasantly affected by them. She would perceive it soon enough, for she was keenly sensitive to any change in the atmosphere. "Katy, dear." "Yes, mamma," and I went to her. "I think we shall have a thunder-storm, and I am afraid it will be a very severe one. Run out page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 KATUEkINE MOtRIS. and see whether your father and brother are com- ing. Just round the- bend of the road you can see to some distance. I scarcely know why it is, but I feel strangely disturbed to-night." She did indeed look very pale and anxious, and I hastened out as she requested; but I could dis- cover no sign of our wanderers on the distant road. I marked with trembling awe the angry tokens of the approaching tempest in the frowning sky. The demon of the storm had lost his form, but still the heavy black cloud out of which my fancy had cre- ated him hung over our house like a funeral pall. I ran shuddering back to n my mother, and, closing the windows, sat down beside her, and took her hand in mine. It was icy cold, and even in the fast gathering darkness I could see the lines of distress deepening on her pale, gentle face. Presently Martha came in, with lights, to close the shutters. Then Alfred came from his play, and soon John entered to replenish the fire, which I thought he was a long time in doing. I had a feeling that-my mother preferred being alone with her children. At last there was nothing more to detain the servant. I marked the expression of Martha's face, as she looked at my mother when KATHEtINE MORRIS. 9 she turned to go out, and the shadow on my spirit grew darker and darker. I noticed she left the door open, and soon after I discovered that she was sitting in the passage. Alfred had thrown himself upon the sofa, and, wearied with his sports, was half- asleep. I kept my station by my mother. At length the storm burst upon us in all its fury. Flash succeeded flash, and peal followed peal, till it seemed one continuous flame of light- ning and one unending roar of thunder. At last there was a flash which paled all its predecessors, and a peal of thunder so near, so terrific, that the very- walls of the house seemed to be opening around us. My mother could restrain herself no longer. "Great God!" she exclaimed, starting to her feet, ' will no one help him? I heard him shout, but where 'is my boy? I know where you will find them,- beyond the bend, where the bank is steepest, and the stream runs so near, and only a few slender rails between. I have been seeing that place all through the storm. Go there, if you have any love for me or for them. Stay: I will go myself." And she would have rushed out into the rain, but for Martha's strong arm, and my tears and page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 KA'rWH TNE- MORRIS. entreaties. It so happened that a man who had been at work on the farm had been detained by the storm, and he and John went forth together, while my mother and I remained behind in an agony of anxiety and dread. In vain Martha strove to convince my mother that there could not be any real cause for alarm;, that my father and brother must have stopped at some house on the way, as no one would be so insane as to continue out in such a tempest. My mother shook her head. "What you say is reasonable, Martha," she answered, "but it is not so; no, it is not so." Then, with a tone whose wildness terrified me, she continued: "Even now they are returning. Katy, light them to the vine-chamber, and see that they do not wake your grandmother with their heavy footsteps." Alas! the vine-chamber was our guest-rOom, and my grandmother had for many years slept the sleep of the just. But there was no time to speculate upon her words, for no sooner had she uttered them than we heard the heavy tread of moving feet in the yard, and, in the, mercy of God, my mother swooned at once. Martha sprang to the door to KATAHcKINE MORRIS. " meet- I cannot, even after so many years, dwell upon that scene, or enter into the detail of an event which cast a dark shadow upon our home. I never looked upon my father again. All that I ever saw was the closed coffin, which contained his remains, so mangled and disfigured as to have lost all resemblance to him I had so tenderly loved. But my brother, noble and beautiful as he had been in life, was far more so in death. There was no trace of earth's sins or sorrows upon his pure, serene brow. I believe that God granted us the comfort of that truly peaceful ex- pression. His life had been free from reproach, both in word and deed. Now that I have seen more of the world, and know what temptations everywhere beset the young, and how hard the battle is which they must fight if they would con- quer in the strife, I am sensible of the mercy of my Heavenly Father in taking him, my darling brother, in his innocence and purity, to a higher life. The dreadful calamity which took from us at the same moment husband and father, son and brother, occurred at the very spot my mother had imagined in her terrible forebodings. It was at that part of the road where but a slight rail- page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 IKA'THAINE MORRIS. ing separated it from the steep bank of the river. The probability is that the horse was frightened at the lightning, and sprang aside with so much violence that my brother was thrown from the chaise and instantly killed, and that then the terrified animal rushed on in his mad- dened fury against the slight railing, and, with my father and the carriage, was precipitated down the bank. We followed them -to their graves, the revered, the honored, the loved; and we returned, my brother and I, to our desolate home, with my pale, heart-broken mother. My heart was swell- ing with emotions and deep thoughts which few realize to belong to so tender an age as mine. I had carolled with the birds, danced with the stream, romped with my brother, and played with the flowers, till everybody thought me as un- thinking and careless as they. But I was not so; and when I heard Martha say to John, "Poor child! she little knows the loss she has met with," I was almost angry that they should think I did not feel it. But, alas! I did not know then, nor for years after, how much of strength and guiding power I had lost with father and brother. CHAPTER II. "T CANNOT bear it! I cannot bear it! Never, never! O, I would rather die at once!" "What is it you cannot bear, Miss Katherine? Cowards only shrink; brave hearts struggle, and struggle till they conquer." "Charlie, is it,-I should say, Mr. Clifford?" "Yes, Charlie to you as of old, Katy; never Mr. Clifford, I hope. I came with my father, who is, I suppose, with your mother. I little thought to meet you here, and in so great distress." "I did not know that you had -returned from Germany. O Charlie, I have suffered so much since we used to play together years ago,-you and Walter and I." "Yes, yes, I know; my father wrote me all about it; I never could be reconciled to it. But now, Katy, what is it now?" Charles Clifford was the son of my father's most valued friend, my own most favorite play- 2 page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " KATHERINE MORRIS. mate and companion, and had formerly been my brother Walter's. He rose from his seat in the shaded alley of our garden, and stood gazing upon me with the old kindly look of sympathy and interest; and I forgot how many years had passed since we had met; I forgot that he was now a young man of twenty, and I but a child of fourteen; I forgot everything but that I was in bitter grief, and he was ready to listen to me with a compassionate attention. "O Charlie," I said, "my mother is dying! For two years she has borne up bravely under her great sorrow, for our sakes; and now she is dying! And we are to be separated, Alfred and I. He is to go South to our Uncle Alfred, and I am to be sent to Aunt Green, somewhere in New England. '0, that is what I cannot bear,-- to lose both my mother and my brother, and be sent to those whose hearts are as cold as their wintry skies. I have seen Aunt Green; my mother never has. O, I can never love her,- I know I can never love her. Won't you tell me what to do? "Katy," said Charles, gravely, "your mother must have good reasons for wishing you to go to your aunt." KATHERINE MORRIS. 15 "She says, my father wished me to receive a part of my education in New England, and that my Aunt Green wrote, at the time of my father's death, saying she would take one of her brother's children, if the child could be content with her homely ways and country living. I know mother did not like the letter at the time, for I heard her say, 'Thank God, I am not reduced to that!' But now she wishes it. She has even written to Aunt Green about my going to her." "Perhaps there is no other alternative." "There is not; for do you know, Charlie, what mother has only lately learned, that we are without property, and that it is only owing to your father's generous kindness that we have been able to -stay here these two years?" Without answering my question, he said, "My father remarked this morning, on our way here, that, if my mother were living, he would gladly offer you a home with us. As it is, I do not see that there is any other plan for you than that of going to your Aunt Green. You must learn, as I have done, to conquer fate. You have a will, and a strong one too,-or you had, years ago. Life is a battle-field, and he who page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 KATHERINE MORRIS. struggles most bravely is sure. to- be the con- queror. Do not succumb to adverse circum- stances. It is not the intention, I presume, that you should live always with your Aunt Green?" "O no, I am to fit myself to become a teacher. In four years I can do that. But I shall have no heart to do it there. My aunt is odd, pre- cise, so particular, so - in short, I don't know what she is; I only know she is not like my mother. It is easy for you to talk, Charlie, you who are a man, and one whose life has been : so smooth and happy. I mean -" I hesitated, then I stopped abruptly, for IF was amazed at the change in his kind, handsome face. "My life smooth and happy! You forget I am motherless, and without sister or brother, and that all were taken from me in one short month. You forget too, or perhaps you do not know, that for the last four years I have been obliged to eat the bread of dependence, and drink the humiliating cup of charity. You do not know that I have been thrown among such associates, and have adopted such a philosophy, that the pure, simple, trusting faith of my childhood has gone from me, and gone also- with it are my ;j EKATHERINE MORRIS. 17 early aspirations to devote myself to a life of self-denying labor in the service of the Christian Church. But what am I saying? You do not know, Katy, and I do not desire you should, how much I have suffered. But this I was de- termined upon. I would not be overcome; I' have fought, and I have conquered." "Fought what? conquered what?"I thought. "Not yourself, Charlie?" But I said, "Have you, then, given up your purpose of entering the ministry?" "That I have, Katy, and with it many a hope and high aspiration of my boyhood. I am to be a merchant, as my father is--" "But, Charlie -" "Well, Katy, you look now as you used to, when you were going to combat some- opinion of mine." "4 My mother says, and my father used to say, that there is oftentimes more heroism in sub- mission than there His in resistance; -that it is more noble to wait, to endure, than to strive and contend; and- surely, Charlie, this is the more Christian rule. I shall be ready enough to fight, I know, if I go to live with my Aunt 2A* - " page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 KATrEIlMNE MORRIS. Green; I ought to learn to be patient, I sup- pose."- "And be trampled upon. When my father, after our family bereavements, failed in business, and Mr. Lorimer. offered me the situation of trav- elling-companion to his son, with the opportu- nity of continuing my studies during a residence abroad, it was concluded that I should go. I will tell you what it is, Katy, if I had tamely submitted to their petty tyranny, I should have lost all self- respect, and have become a thing too abject even for their contempt. As it was, I forced them to respect me, and I kept my situation when I might better have left it, because I was proud of my con- quest over them.'." "But did you win their love, Charlie? Did you do them any good?" "Love, child? Why, they had none in their hearts. No, I believe they hated me; but, at least, I was never their slave, --no, not I! Would you have wished that?" I did not answer him at once ; for I was think- ing how much he was changed, and how little good his advice was likely to do me. I was then a young, impulsive, ardent girl, knowing little of vATIUMNE MOnIS. t the doctrines of the Christian religion; but the Christian love which had ever been before me taught me that he was wrong, and that his plli- losophy, as he called it, did not accord with the plain precepts of the New Testament. Something of this it was in my mind to say, but I did not, for Mr. Clifford came to us from my mother. He looked sad and distressed. Taking my hand in his, and laying the other on my head, he said kindly: "Katy will do as we wish? -We have only your good at heart, and your mother- " "Yes, yes,--I know my mother is dying. I will do anything." '"And, Katherine," he continued, with a faint smile, " it will not be so very hard, I trust; you will always have friends in us. Such is life; it has many dreary days, but it has its sunshiny ones also. Remember this. Be patient, be sub- missive, from Christian principle, and all will be well with you at last." I turned and looked at Charles, but his face was averted, and I could not see its expression. I said, "You tell me to be patient and to submit; Charles tells me to be brave and struggle. Which am I to do?" page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 KATH1' INE DIORRIS. "Submit," replied Mr. Clifford, in a grave tone, and with an anxious glance at his son; " make the best of the circumstances in which your Heavenly Father - not fate, not blind chance-has placed you. Then, my child, you will be brave, and strug- gle with the enemy within; for within us, and not without, must the great battle of life be; fought." "Life then is a battle?"I said, noticing with some astonishment that the father and son had used the same expression. "Yes, child, yes, to most persons; to all, in- deed, in one way or another. But if God be with us, what matters it what foes are against us? Our armor then is war-proof, and we are certain of vic- tory at last." I felt then, as I looked on and listened, that I could easily do what was right, and that to fight the battle of life, though somewhat difficult, was at the same time something grand and noble. I suppose my kindling looks said as much to my kind friend, who, shaking his head with a half- smile, said in a low tone, "But trust not in your own strength alone, Katherine." Thus we talked, Mr. Clifford and I, while Charles sat and listened, sometimes with a grave and al- KATHERINE MORRIS. 21 most sarcastic expression; and at others with kindly interest and sympathy beaming on his face, which was a noble and fine one, when his good feelings were uppermost. For years afterwards, whenever I thought of him, it was as two different beings: the one, kind and noble and trustful; the other, proud, stern, and almost revengeful. For a few weeks longer my mother lingered. For her children's sake she had struggled. against the death-blow she had received two years before. For our sakes she had lived on in the old, quiet way, where wood and stream, hill and dale, and all life's joyous tones, ever awakened a sad echo in her heart. But the end was approaching now, and even parental love must surrender at last to the dread destroyer. A few days before her departure, my Uncle Alfred arrived from New-Orleans. He came to see her once more, and to redeem his promise of taking my brother to bring up. He was a kind-hearted, handsome man, and I became a good deal attached to him during his short stay with us, and thought how happy my brother was to find such a friend, and how contented he would be in his distant home. I did not look below the surface then, but my mother did. Only the day * page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 KATH!'I'IE MORRIS. before her death, she said to my uncle : "Alfred, my boy is wayward and passionate, and fond of pleasure. I am very anxious on his account, and I fear, unless he is wisely watched and restrained, he will fall into temptation. He has greatly missed his father's gentle but firm control. I fear, too, - your gay Southern life for him. O Alfred, be a '; father to my poor orphan boy; he has noble quali- ] ties and a kind heart. Under judicious guidance, !7^ he may be made to grow up a good man, I am : sure, and be an honor to the name he bears." And e much more she said. My uncle promised to do all that my mother 1 wished; but I heard her murmur, after he went A out; "I leave my boy with the Father of the , fatherless. Why should I fear?" My mother did not talk much with me about A my future home. I think it was a painful subject S to her, and she placed much more confidence in me than I deserved, as subsequent events proved. :- I had always been a docile, affectionate child to X her; she never dreamed what a smouldering fire : I of passion there was within me, which came one : day to be kindled into an intense burning. My mother died. With an aching heart and ' ,- iiii1 "g KATHERINE MORRIS. 23 a dreary foreshadowing of coming ills, I beheld *her cherished remains carried away to their last resting-place, by the side of my father and brother, at Laurel Hill. X X X X . . * Martha and John accompanied me a part of ;he way on my journey North, as they were going ;o visit some of their relatives in Connecticut. rhe last friends that connected me with my "arly home, I felt, on taking leave of them, that was indeed alone in the world; and it seems o me my heart must have broken, had not tears ome plentifully to my relief. Mr. Clifford went with me to my aunt's resi- ence, in the interior of the most eastern of the Few England States. Our journey, after arriving t Boston, was made by steamboat to one of the rincipal cities in Maine, whence we- took stage or a thirty miles' ride to the town of D - w . . *' 4 i page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] CHAPTER III. THROUGH a rough, uneven country, over corduroy roads, and up and down steep, stony hills, the stage-coach rattled on, which was conveying me to my new place of abode. In my heart, I felt I never could call it home; and home it never was to me. I remember well all my sensations that day; how I took a grim sort of satisfaction in looking upon the dreary region through which we passed,-the fields blackened with frost, the wild, uncultivated country, the stump fences and cheerless dwellings seen in the cold gray November light. It all accorded well with the desolate feeling at my heart. Mr. Clif- ford tried to draw me out of myself by attempts at conversation; utterly failing, however, he him- self at last relapsed into silent meditation. I had heeded nothing of what was said in the coach, until one of the passengers, wearily yawn- ing, exclaimed, "We are in D at last, and KATlHtINE MORRIS. 25 at the foot of the next hill is the village." I suppose I manifested some sign of interest or curiosity, for he added, not unkindly, "Going to stop at the village, Miss? where may it be?" "At Mr. Green's," I replied, as curtly as pos- sible?" "O, indeed! Deacon Green's, I suppose? Nice man, the Deacon,-very nice man. Rela- a tion of yourn, Miss? "Mrs. Green is my aunt, sir." "Ah, raily! then maybe you 're Lawyer Mor- ris's 'darter, who I heard say was expected at the Deacon's?" I bowed my head in reply; and he went on with an eulogium on the Greens in general and the Deacon in particular, until from the brow of the hill, which we had now reached, the village was' in view. It looked pretty and picturesque enough,-with its neat dwellings, simple churches, academy, and mill-pond and winding stream, as we clattered down one of the hills by which it was hemmed in on either side. As we descended, we lost sight of the declining sun, and found ourselves in the cold shadow of the mountain-ridge, in a dismal, 3 page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 KAT"H NINE MORRIS. premature twilight. My heart sank within me, it was so unlike my dear old sunny home and wide prospect on the hill-side by the winding Wis- sahickon. The driver cracked his whip, and, rap- idly whirling round into the principal avenue, deposited his mail-bags and some of his passen- gers; then, turning into an adjoining street, drew up before a house, which he announced as Deacon Green's. At a glance I took in its general aspect. Straight and square stood a two-story brick dwelling, with green blinds, in a yard surrounded by a prim white fence. On each side of the closed gate were Lombardy poplars, like grim sentinels of the spot. There were rows of shrubbery, too, on the right and left, in whih lilac and syringa alternated with remarkable regularity. The walk leading to the house was bricked, and was terminated by a square portico. Notwithstanding the noise of the stage-coach, no one came out to greet me until a loud peal from the brass knocker had been twice repeated. Then I heard footsteps; and presently the turning of a key, as if the door was seldom opened. I remember well how it sounded as I stood there KATktEIRINE MORRIS. 27 waiting for a welcome, and my aunt (I knew her at once) was before me. She extended her hand, and said, "Katherine Morris, I am glad to see you;" but her look belied her words, and she went on to say, without noticing Mr. Clifford in the least: "The driver should have brought you to the side door. Go in, child, while I see to your baggage." Seeing that I could not speak, Mr. Clifford in- troduced himself to my aunt as an old friend of my father's. She greeted him very coldly, and did not invite him to enter. - He whispered to me that he would call later in the evening, and so left me standing alone in the cheerless, cold hall into which the door opened. Presently my aunt ap- peared again, and led the way into the sitting- room, my heart throbbing the while with indig- nation, because the kindest friend of our family, who had come all the way from Philadelphia to accompany me, had not even been invited to cross the threshold of the house which was for years to be my home. It may be as well to state here, that the reason why I always speak of my aunt's house and of my aunt herself, is that her husband seemed to page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 KATHERINE MORRIS. be a mere cipher in his own household. He was at all times subservient to her stern and energetic will. However strongly persuaded he might be of the justness of what he was saying, or of the righteousness of the objections he might offer to a plan or proposition of hers, she could at any time silence him by the magic words, "Mr. Green, I am surprised that you should hold such an opin- ion;" or, "Mr. Green, I conceive that you can have no reason to doubt my judgment." In these days a great deal is heard about" women's rights," but I am sure in my youth there were some men besides my Uncle Green who were most sadly im- posed upon in their own homes, and sorely needed a champion in defence of their rights. Starched, stiff, and prim was the aspect of everything in this most orderly household. Square and straight stood the chairs against the walls in the family "keeping-room." Between the windows was the dining-table, and precisely opposite that, a small oblong one, used by the family in the evening. Two or three grim por- traits hung upon the walls. A wooden clock, with a fearfully wise face, ticked solemnly upon the mantel-piece, the only other ornaments of KA'iWH atINE MORRIS. 29 which were two bright brass candlesticks and two huge shells. A small, closed bookcase hung exactly opposite the fireplace, but there was no visible book or newspaper. When I entered the room, I found but a single occupant there. A little back from the fire, in the corner, in a high-backed arm-chair, placed straight and square- as line or plummet could have made it, sat an old lady, from whose mild, pleasant face there came to me a ray of hope for the future. She was knitting industriously. As I closed the door, she looked at me for a moment, then took off her spectacles, wiped her eyes, and said kindly, though, as it seemed to me, timidly, "Poor dear! she has come, hasn't she?" "Yes, Grandma'am, she has come," replied, in cold, measured tones, my aunt, entering by another door. "She 'll do best let alone, I conceive. Jane! Eliza Ann! where are you? Come and see your cousin, and show her to her room." Jane entered immediately. I looked up, hop- ing to see a kind expression of face, or at least a lively, girlish countenance. But no; that com- fort was not to be granted me. Jane had a 3* page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 KATEHRINE MORRIS. stupid look, and she moved like an automaton. Presently Eliza Ann came sauntering in, with ostentatiously flowing ringlets and affected air. It was easy to see she was the darling and spoiled child of this otherwise distressingly rigid house. She received me kindly enough, and offered to show me to my room, which I found, to my great relief, I was to share with no one else. It was small and desolate-looking enough, with scarcely place for my trunks in addition to the bed, chair, and wash-stand; but I did not care, since it was to be mine alone. With a dull pain at heart, but tearlessly, I arranged my toilet; and as it was cold, I descended again to the family-room, where I found my Cousin Jane laying the table 4for tea. She merely glanced at me, and, unno- ticed save by a benignant look from the old lady, I sat down to warm my aching fingers and feet at the fire. Presently Eliza Ann joined me, and made a great many inquiries about my former life, my journey, and similar matters, to all of which I suppose I gave rather constrained an- swers; for Grandma'am (she was Mr. Green's mother, but I never heard her called by any other name than Grandma'am) said, "Poor dear! KATH"iINE MORRIS. 31 she's tired; don't trouble her." And for an instant the features of Jane's dull face relaxed with something like an expression of interest as she said, "Don't, Eliza Ann." At last tea was ready; and precisely five min- utes before it was placed on the table Mr. Green came in from his store. He was a small, fright- ened-looking man, and had a habit, after making a remark; of looking at his wife to ascertain whether it was satisfactory to her. He gave me a cordial shake of the hand, and asked if I was not cold and hungry; both of which questions his wife answered, as he looked at her, while addressing me. "Cold! Why should she be cold? If she can't stand this weather, how can she bear our winters? I hope she has no fine-lady habits. If she's hungry, she can soon satisfy that want." I was irritated at what my aunt said, and im- mediately replied: "I am cold, Uncle Green, but not at all hungry, thank you." With a glare of her stony eye, my aunt said: "Well, hungry or not, you will, if you please, conform to the rules of the house, and come to the table and eat your supper." page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 KA'I H KNE MORRIS. When we were about half through the unso- cial meal, where Eliza Ann appeared to be the only person privileged to talk, a quick step was heard in the passage, and, humming a lively air, a youth about twenty entered. My aunt, after eyeing him with a severe gaze, introduced him to me: "Your Cousin Benjamin, Katherine." He scrutinized me curiously for a moment. Then, throwing himself into the vacant chair be- side me, he immediately commenced a rattling kind of talk, which required scarcely any reply. He was a good-looking young man, and possessed a flow of spirits which nothing apparently could check. It was in vain that my aunt tried by look and word to silence or subdue him. He at least avowed himself in open rebellion against her authority; but with such perfect good nature, that one was at a loss to decide whether' it was really a determination to have his own way, or the ebullition of feeling which would not be re- strained. In the mood in which I was, his gayety jarred upon my sensitiveness; but at the same time I could not help thinking that in the future I should find in him some alleviation of the dreary monotony to which my life seemed to be destined. KA'THRINE MORRIS. 33 After tea my aunt advised me to retire to rest early. I told her that Mr. Clifford had promised to call, and I must wait to see him. "Must is a strong word for a young miss to use, I conceive," she replied. "Pray what interest has this Mr. Clifford in you?" "He was my father's closest friend. He was everything to my mother after my father left us. He has been very kind to me." "Ah, indeed! but not kind enough, it would seem, to take the burden of your support and edu- cation,upon himself. Well, it matters not. I am sure I am ready and anxious to repay the debt I owe to your father's family by taking charge of you, provided you are conformable to the rules of my house. Your father was like a brother to me always." "Like a brother, aunt? Was he not really your brother? I always thought -" "Very likely you did, child," she interrupted me. "No, we were only cousins. I was adopted by his mother at an early age. I believe I was a good and dutiful child to her, more so than her own ungrateful daughter. But of that we will not speak. It is a part of my religion to harbor c page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 SKATHiEtINE MORRIS. no malice or ill-will, and also to strive to repay all the debts I owe to any one." And she went on in a strain of conversation so unlike anything I had been accustomed to at home, that I was amazed. I shall not in my account of my residence in D report the abundant relig- ious phrases and terms which my aunt was accus- tomed to use, because, distasteful as they were to me falling from her lips, I have since heard them employed by others, in whose religious character and professions I entertain the utmost confidence; and from such I have learned to respect certain modes of expression which otherwise, from habits of education and the natural tendency of my mind, I should have regarded as mere cant. I had little pleasure in Mr. Clifford's visit. My aunt was frigid, my uncle timid, Jane inexpressi- bly stupid and heavy, Eliza Ann silly and affected, and I heart-sick and homesick. "I shall write to you, Katy," said Mr. Clifford at parting, " and you must answer my letters. Perhaps, another year, Charlie and I will find our way here." "And who is Charlie?" cried Eliza Ann, as I entered the parlor after having followed Mr. Clif- ford to the door. "Is he a beau?" KAlX'IttE MORRIS. 385 "Hush, Eliza Ann," said Jane, roused for the, moment, to my surprise. But Eliza Ann persisted, "I say, is he your beau?" ' I do not know what you mean," I answered. "He is Mr. Clifford's son, and has always been like a brother to me." "O!" was the significant rejoinder of Rliza Ann, with' a nod to Jane; while my aunt inter- rupted, "A most improper mode of designating any young man who is not in fact or by adop- tion your brother." "But he is," I persisted, "by the adoption of the heart." "That will do, Katherine," answered my aunt, in a severe tone; " my daughters are not counte- nanced in speaking so freely of hearts and feelings. Be a little more guarded, if you please, for the future. Mr. Green," turning to her husband, "we will have prayers now. Grandma'am is tired, and it is time Katherine was in bed." Now I was longing to be alone in my room; but, with the newly-awakened spirit of perversity in my heart, I said, "I 'm not sleepy at all, ma'am; and I never go to bed so early." page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 KAT1tINE MORRIS. "How old are you?" was the reply. "Fourteen in the spring," I answered. "That decides the question. All my children have retired to bed at eight until they were fourteen years of age. You will do the same, I conceive." I made no reply; but I fear the lugubrious read-' ing of the Scriptures by my aunt, which followed, and the prayer offered by my uncle, were little heeded by me. 'My aunt was considered a very pious woman, I afterwards learned; but I scould never understand why. If hers was, true piety, I used often to think how different was that of my parents, --so quiet and unobtrusive and winning; and how different, too, was that inspired by the religion of love and trust, in which I had been early and affectionately taught. I was greatly puzzled at this. My aunt had the reputation of being a very devout woman. I had been taught to love and revere the Christian character; and yet, almost from the first moment of my entrance under her roof, I felt the repulsive chilliness of her religion estranging me from her. Weary and sorely tried with conflicting thoughts and emotions, I at last sank to rest, and it was KATHEBINE MORRIS. 37 with a heavy heart that I awoke in the morning at an early hour. I pondered long and sadly up- on my destiny, as it was unfolding before me. It is true I was but a child then in years, but that first night's experience in my aunt's family had suddenly changed me into a woman in my feelings. I was no longer thoughtless, unguarded, pliant; but reserved, self-reliant, and independent. 4 page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] CHAPTER IV.- PROCEED with great reluctance to the his- tory of the four years I resided in D ; for, even now that old feelings and prejudices have passed away with the causes that gave them birth, I fear I cannot give an entirely unbiassed account of what occurred of especial interest to myself dur- ing that time. But as some knowledge of that portion of my life is essential to the furtherance of the object I have in view in writing this narra- tive, I will rush into it at once, and, as briefly as I well can, relate all that may be useful for the reader to know. My aunt's life was a perfect tread-mill existence. Week in and week out she pursued the same un- varying round of duties, labors, and religious ex- ercises. Great, indeed, is the advantage of an- ,orderly and systematic employment of time; but with her this economy was carried to such an ex- cess of punctiliousness and rigid division, as to KATHEIINE MORRIS. 39 become almost, if not quite, an evil. Indeed, I am very certain that it gave birth to, or served to establish, more than one hideous fault in the char- acter of my cousins. To her own standard of right and wrong, to her own views and opinions and habits, she labored, with all the force of an iron will and an energetic mind, to bring all un- der her influence to conform. Mr. Green, Grand- ma'am, and Jane had succumbed to her; but Ben was still intractable, hiding under the mask of careless levity a will as resolute as her own. Eliza Ann had always been the pet and darling, and was allowed to waste more time, and do more ab- surd, nonsensical things, than any other girl I ever met with, in any station of life. If any one ever ventured to intimate that she was over-indulged, my aunt would reply, that she was too delicate and sensitive to be managed like the others. Under such an adamantine rule of order and method I was to be brought, after the free and careless life I had always led. I. can see now, what I neither could nor would acknowledge then, that my early education had been defective in these particulars, and that, severe as my aunt's house- hold discipline was, it would have been very salu- page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 KATH1IKRTNE MORRIS. tary to me, if I had tried to yield to it, rather than to oppose it. But the newly-caged bird pines and droops for freedom and its woodland home; and I was far more to be pitied than he, for I had a soul as well as a body to be cramped by constraint, - the one by being under the control of a despotic will, the other by being shut up within the limits of a dreary old house, and confined within the narrow range of a hill-enclosed village. The valley of D was no "happy valley" to me. Every night, when the sun disappeared from our view half an hour earlier than it did to those who dwelt on the hill-top, I used to sigh for liberty to go where at least I could witness its actual setting. But this privilege was denied me. Indeed, it seemed at times as if Nature herself had conspired against me; and even now that so long a period has elapsed, I never pass through a valley town without a sickening at heart, and a painful revival of old impressions. I do not say that I was wholly without fault in my discontent at that time. I can see now that I was often very per- verse; but my surroundings were adapted to de- velop what was bad in me rather than what was good. -q^ KATli'HNE MORRIS. 41 That I may not do any injustice to my aunt, let me here state, that she was a conscientious, God- fearing woman, -self-deceived, not hypocritical. If she labored in season and out of season, and obliged others to do the same, in order to secure order and economy in her household; if she vis- ited with severity any neglect of the appointed duty of any individual; if a five minutes' delayed meal, an overlooked cobweb, an undusted table, an unswept hearth, an unfinished stint, destroyed her comfort and amiability for the entire day, she seemed utterly unconscious that she herself, by her unreasonable exactions and unpleasant tem- per, was causing tenfold more injury in her house- hold than could have been done by the most slat ternly habits and manners in any member thereof. I think she never so much as dreamed in her phi- losophy that: there is a worldliness of thrift as well as of fashion, and that one is quite as destructive of the generous and Christian feelings as the other. Indeed, I know that she had a most intense horror of worldliness. Often in her talkative moods she would descant upon its sin and folly, sometimes making an application of her remarks to Mrs. Low, the fashionable lady of D . In all this, 4* f page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 KATlHLINE MORRIS. I repeat, she was self-deceived. She was not hyp- ocritical, though I then thought her so. A more worldly woman I think I never knew, and all the time she seemed to have the feeling that her saint- liness of character almost entitled her to transla- tion with him of old who walked with God. Well do I remember the first time my will came in actual, open collision with my aunt's authority. I attended the academy with Eliza Ann, and, owing to the desultory manner in which my education had been conducted during the last two years, I found-myself behind a majority of the girls of my own age. That I might hold a respectable rank in my class, I was obliged to study a great deal at home, - a plan which met my aunt's decided dis- approbation. "Eliza Ann did not study at home, - why should I?" In vain I told her in part the difference between Eliza Ann and myself in our early training. I did not add, that her daughter's superficial habits of study, and very scanty acqui- sitions, would neither satisfy me nor answer the purpose of my education, which was to furnish me with the means of earning my own living. She, however, was still unconvinced, and would not abate in the least the work she had allotted to me e*' :v, KATSJrINE MORRIS. 43 as my share of the family labor. " If you must study out of school, I conceive, you must find time for it as you can," was all the release I could obtain from her. I was naturally quick, and I found that, by con- stant application and industry, I could manage to learn my lessons and to perform my daily house- hold tasks besides. Proud and rebellious as I had already discovered myself to be, as yet I had not failed to obey my aunt, and conform to her wishes. But there was another hitherto undeveloped trait in my character, which became a source of unhappiness to myself and trouble to others. I have reference to what phrenologists call firmness, but what in household parlance was termed obsti- nacy. I had met with so little opposition in my childhood, my mother's management of me had been so entirely one of faith and love, that I was wholly unaware that I possessed any such unami- able quality. Under my aunt's regime of imperi- ous authority, however, I was not long in becoming sensible of its existence, and had no infrequent experience of its activity. I have said my aunt was very punctilious in page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " KA'rJitINE MORRIS. her religious duties and observances. She re- quired all under her rule to be so likewise. She seemed to ascribe a saving grace to' religious meetings, and to consider indifference to them one of the mortal sins. Three services on the Sabbath, prayer and conference meetings on Tuesday and Friday evenings, home and foreign missionary meetings on alternate Wednesday even- ings, it was incumbent on as many members of her family as could be spared from home to attend. When this formidable order of religious engagements was made known to me, and I was told how great my own share in it was, I said nothing; but I inwardly felt that I could not possibly fulfil what was required of me. How- ever, to church I went three times every Sun- day, and made no complaint, although it was what I had never been accustomed to before. 'But when week after week passed, and I was required to take turns with Jane in attending the evening meetings, I found it more than I could accomplish, and at the same time do jus- tice to my school duties and home labors. So on one occasion, at tea-time, when my '.: aunt, as was her custom, arranged the pro- ',! --3 KAT'ILkINE MORRIS. 45 gramme for the evening, and informed me that I would accompany her to the conference and prayer-meeting, I said quickly: "If you please, Aunt Green, I would' rather not go to evening meetings any longer. I have not time'to do it, and learn my lessons." For an instant or so there was an ominous silence; even Eliza Ann was quiet. As I cast a furtive glance around, I read in the grave and stern faces I looked into no support from any one except Ben. In his glance I saw encourage- ment to maintain my ground. Presently my aunt said: "I conceive you will find it useless to make excuses: you will go with us to-night." "Yes, yes," echoed Uncle Green, timidly, 4you better go, Katherine. I am sure you must find our meetings edifying." "I do not, sir," I replied, bluntly. "That is not the question, I conceive, Mr. Green," replied my aunt, without deigning to notice me. "I choose she shall go, and that suffices; or," she added, after looking at my pale, fixed face a moment, "if she braves my authority, she must take the consequences." page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " KATHERINE MORRIS. "I am ready to take them, ma'am," I replied. , "I cannot go with you, without neglecting my , studies." "In other words, Miss, you will not?" she coldly asked. = I made no reply, save by a look of angry '? defiance; for all the evil temper in my nature was aroused. i Then my aunt burst forth upon me in a storm , of passionate invective that terrified me, while it confirmed me in my resolution. Such a strange medley of religious phrases with angry railing I never listened to before. Now she reiterated what she owed my father's family, and anon she taunted me for my ingratitude. When she had fairly stormed herself out, she bade me go to my room. I needed no second bidding. My room was cold, but I was hot. My angry passions kept me warm enough. Over and over again I re- peated to myself, "Cruel, unjust! O, how thank- ful I am that woman is not my father's sister!" Thus, nursing my wrath, I passed the time until the closing of the side door told me my uncle and aunt had gone. I breathed more freely KATHARINE ZORRIS. 47 with the thought that I had conquered, and I re- newed the determination that I would not yield. As I now look back upon that contest, I freely acknowledge that I was both wrong and unwise. I believe in the young submitting to a legiti- mate authority, even if that authority be not always judiciously exercised. Of that they are not themselves the proper judges. While I was receiving my aunt's hospitality, I ought to have rendered obedience to her. In time, I think, she would have seen (for she was not hard- hearted or foolish) that I was over-taxed, and would have lightened my home duties and labors in some way, or perhaps even excused- me from attending the meetings, and I should thus have gained her good-will, instead of increasing her displeasure. She was narrow-minded, and could only see one side of a question at a time; but let her alone, and she was pretty sure, sooner or later, to relent in her unreasonable demands. This was fully exemplified in the case of Ben, as will be seen at a later period If Jane did not experience any benefit from her mother's better second thoughts, it was owing to peculiar causes, of which I need not give a particular account. page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 lKATI'INE MORRIS. I had not been long in my room before I heard a knock at the door, which I opened at once to Ben. He looked kindly at me, and said, "Come down stairs, Katy, into the kitchen." "No, no," I answered, angrily; "she sent me here, and I will stay here and freeze,--I'd as lief as not. No, no. Leave me; no one cares for me here." "I care for you, Katy," he said, "more than ever, now that I see you are not to be imposed upon by shams, or cowed by angry words or looks. Come, come, there is no one in the kitchen; we can talk it all over." Mechanically I followed him, and, sitting down by the dying wood-fire upon the broad hearth, warmed my feet, which were icy cold, while my hands and head were burning hot. "Now, Katy," Ben resumed, "I tell you what to do; hold out as you have begun. Will con- quers will in this world, depend upon that. If you want anything, you must fight for it;- that 's what I've learnt, long ago. Fight for it, I say; not fitfully, but resolutely. My mother had her will of me for the last time when she prevented \ my going to college. Father was willing, she ' j KA"THERINE MORRIS. 49 wasn't ; so I didn't go. If I don't get ruined first, I 'll go yet, in spite of her. An education is all I care for. I 'd as lief go round the country peddling tin-ware as be a country trader. I hate it; I hate farming, too. I want to be a doctor,--I know I shall make a good one. Some day yet, Katy, you'll see my name on a shingle in some big city. Benjamin Frank- lin Green, M D.! Won't that be the thing? If I had agreed to be a minister, and go a mis- sionary to be eaten up by South-Sea cannibals, mother would have consented to my going to college. But I laughed outright at that; for I am not a hypocrite, whatever else I may be, and it's pretty plain I'm not the stuff parsons are made of, - either the sneaking, drivelling sort, or the really good and honest ones, And I 've no fancy to bring my earthly career to an end by furnishing a dainty bit to a miserable set of man-eaters, and so I told her; and was n't she wrathy, and didn't she* let me know how the saints can talk sometimes! Well, that finished the college business for me. But I'm bound for it yet; it's the goodly land for me they sing so much about, when their piety gets agoing. 5 iD page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 KATlLtINE MOtRIS - That is," he added, gravely, "if I don't get : ruined outright first; for I've a precious set of - companions, I assure you, for such -a godly place - as this village is. I don't like drink; but I do ;: like society, and I must and will have it, such as I can find. The saints, both male and fe- male, frown on me,--I can't stand them; so there's nothing for it but I must go with the sinners. Well, I can't say much for some of them." "But, Ben," I said, quite drawn away from my own grievances by my sympathy with him; for under his reckless tone and manner I could dis- cover that he concealed deep and noble feelings, "do you think it is quite right to oppose your mother in this way?" "Whew! right? Well, to own up, my notions of the duty of obedience to parents have been pretty essentially mixed up by the wholesale ad- ministration of that good old proverb of Solo- mon, 'Spare the rod, and spoil the child,' in my childhood; it was never spared on me, that's a fact. No, no, you 'll never convince me that it's my duty to stand behind my father's counter, dealing out tenpenny-nails, old hyson, pork, mo- KA'tRBINE MORRIS. 51 lasses, and salt-fish, and the gewgaws our farm- ers' wives. and daughters barter butter and eggs for, when I have tastes for something nobler,- that you won't. Submission! See what submis- sion has done for poor Jane! Why, she dare not say her soul's her own. She's not stupid; her spirits are broken,--that's all that ails her. And mother thinks, because Jane lives and moves and has her being only in her, she's a standing witness and exemplification of the excellence of her arbitrary system of bringing up children. She has- found her match in me, however, I'm thinking. The fact is, my mother is altogether too pious a person for me. So hold out, Katy; be brave, and resist, and let the saints rail to their hearts' content." "'Be brave and resist,' "I repeated to myself,- "'Be brave and resist.' Is this counsel to follow me, and be ever sounded in my ears, go where I may? 'Be brave and resist,'-- the very words Charles Clifford addressed to me, almost his part- !rds, on the banks of the Wissahickon; and ear them echoed by Ben Green here, in the Djdny heart of Maine." Did I need the counsel? No; in -the depths of page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 KATHERINE MORRIS. my heart I knew that I did not. It accorded too well with the proud, passionate, rebellious feelings of my recently awakened nature, not to strengthen me in withstanding my aunt's authority. So I listened almost gratefully to the words, and deter- mined I would make no concession whatever; I would not even try to convince my aunt how im- possible it was for me to do all she required. No, I would shut myself up in my citadel of obstinate pride, and defy her. I, even persuaded myself that I was-greatly injured, quite a martyr, all the while. Alas! I knew not that I was that night laying the corner-stone of a structure to be speedily raised upon its foundation, which it would require years of assiduous labor and toil to undermine and overthrow. I knew not that I had then ar- rived at one of life's eras, one of those occasions which come to all, whose effect on character- no human skill can trace beforehand. I knew not that my own will was setting a seal on cii stances, whose results in my own experi should carry with me through the whole lL I did not consider consequences at all. If H soned upon the matter, it was only to arrive at 9' KATHERINE MORRIS. 53 the mistaken conclusion, that my situation drove me to insubordination. Althiough my aunt was plainly wrong in the ar- bitrary treatment which so aroused my obstinate temper, and I cannot excuse it in her, I now see very clearly that I was still more faulty in suffer- ing that temper to obtain such a mastery over me. It is natural to blame circumstances for our follies or faults, and it is easy to rail at arbitrary con- trol; but the stern fact still, remains, after all that can be said, that out of our own hearts are the issues of life, either for good or for evil. Our own reason decides for us as to the right or wrong of what we do; if it be not so, we are -neless; otherwise what is our free agency? If every idle whim or caprice of others is to compel us to alter our course, and be ever veering hither and thither, of what avail to the human heart is God's compass, the conscience? Our Heavenly Father has placed us in our re- spective situations in this present world, not that they may wholly control us, but that we may use them to our own highest good. A discriminating writer says: "It is character which builds an ex- istence out of circumstances. - Thus is it, in the 5* page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 KATHERINE MORRIS. same family and in the same circumstances, one raises a stately edifice, while his brother, vacillat- ing and incompetent, lives forever amid ruins. i The block of granite, which was an obstacle in a the pathway of the weak, becomes a stepping- - stone in the pathway of the strong." : Long would Ben have talked, and I listened, had I not remembered my lessons, not yet prepared for .. the next day; so I got up hastily, went into the sitting-room, and, taking my books, sat down to study by the light of Jane's candle. She was busy sewing on a frock- for Eliza Ann, who was sleeping in Grandma'am's deserted arm-chair. - 7 She half looked up, and then quickly dropped ,i her eyes, as if fearful of encouraging me in my rebellion even by a glance of recognition. When my uncle and aunt returned at the usual hour, no notice was taken of me, and I retired to rest that night without a word from any one excepting Ben, who whispered as I passed him, "Courage!" 4jfa For a week my aunt took no more notice of me than that which was absolutely unavoidable. At table she attended to my wants in silence; when I needed some direction in the performance of my l allotted tasks, she spoke but a word or two, and j KATHERINE MORRIS. 55 those with freezing indifference. With this excep- tion, she ignored my presence, and so did all the family, excepting Ben, and occasionally Eliza Ann. I went in and out among-them, but I was not of them. It was bad enough before, living without love and sympathy; but such a state of things as this was hardly endurable. Grim as my aunt's notice had been, it was better than none at all. I was determined, however, to continue my resist- ance. At the close of the week my aunt came into my room, and said: "( Katherine Morris, you have openly braved my authority and disobeyed my commands. Were you my own child, no punish- ment should be spared to bring you to submission. As it is, I shall contend with you no further, but leave you to your own ungodly desires and hard- ness of heart. You have been the' subject of prayer in our meetings for the last two evenings. I have now done my duty to you, I conceive; and my conscience is guiltless of the blood of your soul. ^ You must be left to your own evil course." Without giving me opportunity for reply, she left the room, closing the door energetically after her. I stood mute and motionless for some mo- page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 KATHERINE MORRIS. ments. What did she mean? Had I been broplght forward as a subject of prayer in public meetings? What could justify such cruel notoriety? Was I henceforth to be looked upon as one of the un- godly, and by people too who could never know me or understand my motives? Only a few weeks a resident in this village, and already openly dis- graced. O, how all the haughty passions of my undisciplined nature rose to confirm me in con- tumacy against my aunt, and resentment against those who had perhaps prayed for me in sincerity. I was now fairly committed to the course I had adopted; like Ben, I was driven far away from all religious fellowship, and with such feelings I en- tered in earnest upon my life-work. My own ill- regulated will was now to be my only guide, and I followed its vehement purposes with a greater energy of action than is often prompted by the highest principles. -4r. CHAPTER V. RECEIVED occasional letters from Mr. Clifford and my brother Alfred. The former always wrote in a soothing and encouraging tone, which under other circumstances would: have been very comforting. Much as I loved him, and great as was the confidence I reposed in his judgment, his counsel to me to bear patiently my troubles, and to strive to conform to my aunt's wishes, had no weight, because with all the energy of a strong will I was fully set upon pursuing the- path I had chosen for myself, or rather (as I felt) had been driven into. I argued with myself, that Mr. Clif- ford could know nothing of my peculiar trials and hardships; he could not know how encroaching my aunt was in the exercise of her authority,-- how she strove to make all under her control mere machines. It is true, he could not and did not know this; but he knew that discipline, even rough and severe, would be good for me, however unpal- page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 KATHEiRAINE MORRIS. atable I might find it. He knew too that there was no worse preparation I could make for enter- ing the arena of life, to battle there single-handed for my daily bread and being, than that of contest- ing the authority of those who had a right to my obedience, and asserting, almost child as I was, my own independence. So by degrees our correspond- ence became constrained. I did not write to him freely of my own follies and trials, and he was prevented from giving me the salutary advice that I needed. From Charlie I never heard; but I did not for- get his parting words, and, with Ben to reiterate them, I grew daily more and more self-willed and headstrong.' From Alfred I received glowing accounts of his Southern life, and his happiness with his uncle, and repeated assurances that, when he became a man and went into business, his first care should be to provide for me. Gay and frank as was the tone of his letters, I always read them with some mis- giving; for I felt that the life he was leading and the pleasures he was indulging in were not such as our mother would have approved of, nor were they likely to exert the best influence upon his charac- KATHJERINE MORRIS. 959 ter. And herein I first felt that my own unreason- able course of conduct was a disadvantage to my brother as well as myself; for how could I coun- sel him against too great self-indulgence and self- 'sufficiency, when I was yielding to the same fault in another form? So the little influence I might have had with him was not exerted, or exerted only in the feeble and inefficient, manner which betrays the consciousness of no right to speak. It is true, there were great allowances to be made for me. Fatherless and motherless; deprived of a home, the remembrance of whose tender and hallowed influences ever caused a gush of emotion to spring up in my heart; cast de- pendent upon the bounty of, a relative, with whom I could never have any- sympathy, and whose habits and thoughts and mode of life were diametrically opposed to anything I had ever known,--is it strange that I, endowed with a warm, loving heart, and a proud, resolute will, was unhappy? I have already alluded to the effect the pecu- liar situation of D---, the town where my aunt lived, had upon me. It was depressing at first, but it grew more and more so as the winter ad- page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 KATHERIlNE MORRIS. vanced, and I was prevented from climbing the hills which shut us in from the world. More- over, I was at that transition age between girl- hood and womanhood, my heart all aglow with thoughts of the future, my spirits restless and wild from exuberance of animal life, with the need of the most watchful care and loving-kind- ness. I was longing for action,-- not the tread-mill action of our daily routine of labor at my aunt's, but something whereupon to expend my sur- plus energies. In the happy freedom and timely sports of a loving home these would have found a natural outlet, but here there was none for them. Ben was lively enough, but his vivacity was of that satirical kind not healthy to a young mind like mine; and with Eliza Ann, though her spirits rose sometimes to the pitch of silliness, I had no sympathy whatever. Remembering my own trials at this age, I have the greatest sympathy with inexperienced girls in the transition period, and have ever been dis- posed to cover with the broad mantle of charity their many sins of omission and commission. I have ever felt a pang at my heart, when those who have either forgotten their own early feel- ings, or perhaps in consequence of their cold temperaments never experienced any which they care to recall, visit girls in their teens with sarcasm and severity because they are not free from faults and follies. Flush in health, effer- vescing with spirits, and looking out into the future througll the gold and purple coloring ill which the fancy of early youth invests it, how can they be expected never to transgress upon the cold proprieties of a measured con- ventionalism ? Do" not expect mature gravity and wise behavior always from young girls. Let them indulge, at least within proper limits, their gay spirits and merry feelings. If their voice or their laughter is a little louder than suits your taste, and if their pleasure in the society of a friend of the other sex is not quite enough dis- guised by womanly reserve, do not be too severe upon them. 0, deal gently with them! for rose- ate as is the future which dawns upon them now, we who have passed on, to middle life know it will bring cares and trials and sorrows, as surely to them as it has to us. Was not the future once as bright in our view? When our elders told us that we too should know cares page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 KATHERINE MORRIS. : and trials as they themselves did, did we not laugh, and say, " Let them come, if they must,- we can bear them " ? - not considering that we could not carry into mature life the spring and elasticity of early youth, by which the heart so easily rebounds from sorrow and trial. I was naturally as full of life and spirits as any girl of my age, but in the atmosphere of my aunt's home I was so much under con- straint, that, but for my interest in my studies and my daily walks to school, I should have become a mere automaton. All the energy of my mind, which was denied other exercise, was given to my school occupations. Fortunately I had a judicious instructor. How a man of Mr. Turner's abilities and scholarly attainments was ever induced to take up his abode in D-- has ever been incomprehensible to me. But what- ever may have been the cause of his choice of a location, I certainly have been a lifelong gainer thereby. Knowing that I wished to prepare my- self to be a teacher, he directed my studies to that end; and I do not think I could have been more thoroughly grounded in the solid branches of education anywhere, than I was under his -KAT:EBINE MORRIS. 63 tuition. ,My books became my companions, my friends, my all of interest and the only objects of my affection, and I was jealous of everything that drew me away from thlem. 3Iy aunt was not pleased, as I have already intimated, that I gave so much time to study. Slle often expressed her feelings strongly upon the subject. One encounter with my will, how- ever, had been quite sufficient for her; and as I performed faithfully all my home duties, she had no occasion to complain of me. But she did not believe in girls' studying Latin and matlematics, she said. SShe had never studied them; and she had taught the village school for years before her marriage with Mr. Green. To do her justice, I think she saw I was injur- ing my health by my close application; and while she had not the ingenuity to draw me away from my books, she feared the consequences of my devotion to them. One day, after my aunt had been talking in her usual tone at, rather than to me, I became irritated, and, instead of remaining silent, as usual, said, angrily: " The only pleasure I know here is in studying; I cannot understand why page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " KAT'1MNE MORRIS. you wish to deprive me even of that. If I do not learn myself, I do not see how I shall ever be able to instruct others." She looked at me for a moment in silence, and then said, with more real feeling than I had ever elicited before: "You have, indeed, a great deal to learn, Katherine, before you will be able to instruct others. But it is not out of books alone that you can learn it." And im- mediately she left the room. I was both surprised and touched; for there was a meaning in her words I could not fail to understand. Prejudiced, narrow-minded, and wedded to her own opinions as she was, even Aunt Green had been able to see how imperfect a preparation I was making for my life-work. How could I instruct others, who had not yet learned what was more indispensable to me than merely literary acquirements, the knowledge and government of myself? I suppose I looked soft-' ened and troubled, for Grandma'am, who sat knitting in her arm-chair, said, gently, "Poor dear!"The words touched my heart; and meet- ing the gaze of that eye which always beamed a kindly upon every one, I went to her, and, sit- K-ATTRRTNE MORRIS. 65 ting down upon a cricket at her feet, said, in a voice I vainly endeavored to make firm, "What do you mean, Grandma'am?" She hesitated for a moment, and then said, in her soft tone, stroking my hair at the same time with her wrinkled hands: "Daughter is right, dear. The holy book says, 'Greater is he that ruleth his own spirit, than he that taketh a city.'" "But, Grandma'am, how am I to rule my own spirit, when there is so much to aggravate and try me? I never was so, -I never was like this before i" "Because, dear, you were never tried before. Through suffering we are to be made perfect; but we must bear our burdens patiently, and not strive to cast them off in our own strength. He who died for us, who freely gave up his own life on the cross that we might live, had a far heavier burden of suffering than we are ever obliged to bear. Shall we shrink from following in his steps?" "I do not know," I answered, " it is all dark to me. I thought life was bright and joyous; but mine, since I have been here, has been so dark 6* E page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " KATHERINE MORRIS. and gloomy! Religion makes people so sober and unfeeling!-at least, such religion as my aunt professes." "Child! child!" interposed the good old lady, earnestly, "' Judge not, that ye be not judged.' Can you see into the heart? Do you know all the battles that are fought there?" "I know," I answered, with bitterness in my tone, " that life is a battle-field; I have heard it more than once. I have heard it said, too, that we must fight our way through life, if we would succeed; and that is what I am trying to do." Grandma'am looked grieved; but presently con- tinued: "Do you know who the enemy is you have to fight against, and where that enemy is to be found?" "Wrong and oppression," I answered; " and that is to be found everywhere." "Sin, my dear; and you say truly, it is to be found everywhere; but where it is to be met and battled with first of all is in our own hearts." I was silenced, but not convinced. I chose to consider myself a victim to my misfortunes, - al- most a martyr to oppression, - and I replied: "It I may be as you say, Grandma'am, but I do not g KATHERINE MORRIS. 67 think it is wrong to resist those who are injuring us, and who are exercising an unjust authority over us. If I am but a girl, I have some rights, and the great battle of life with me is to maintain them." "But our blessed Saviour said, 'Whosoever shall smite thee on thy-right cheek, turn to. him the other also.' My dear," she continued, affection- ately and earnestly, " what have we to do with the way others practise their religion? If we consider only the beam in our own eye, shall we have any occasion to look for the mote in our brother's eye? I am an old woman, dear, and have seen much trouble and sorrow, and now, of all that remains to me, nothing is so precious as my re- ligion, and nothing pains me so much as to hear that religion lightly spoken of, or its reality doubt- ed. It is Christ's religion, dear, and not one or another poor sinner's. Look to him as your ex- ample, as he is your salvation. Professing Chris- tians are weak and fallible, and are often guilty of grievous wrong; but do not judge religion itself harshy on that, account. Old and worn, desolate and weary, and almost blind, where and what should I be but for religion, my joy, my hope, page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 KATHERINE MORRIS. my stay, my ever-present help in every time of need? O my child! whatever you do, never make light of the religion of your Saviour. You and I, and all others, need to be washed white in his atoning blood." I was deeply affected. The words of this sim- ple-hearted woman, uttered with an earnestness that enforced conviction, the glow on her face almost angelic, told of the reality of her faith. I had never heard her before speak more than two consecutive sentences at a time, and I had never supposed that her calm exterior hid such strength of feeling. Here was a lesson for me, and one which I never forgot; for, though it was many years before I knew the joy of believing, it at least . taught me to respect the professions and convic- tions of others, and to be less hasty in judgment. Dear, kind Grandma'am Green! How distinctly I see before me now her mild, placid face; and !: how, remembering her gentle, loving nature, it shocks me to hear satirized -or harshy spoken against those who believed with her in what to many in these latter days seems a hard and un- scriptural creed! CHAPTER VI. ES, my last year at D was drawing to a close. How my pulse leaped and my heart bounded at the thought! No situation I could be placed in, I argued, could by any possibility be so distasteful to me as my present home. My spirits rose at the idea of regaining my freedom. All the household regarded me with astonishment, I was so gay as the day of my emancipation approached. I had not learned then that there are various kinds of slavery, and that one may escape from a wearisome tyranny dnly to fall into a worse kind of submission; neither did I know that I might be placed in the most eligible of situations out- wardly, and yet find myself the veriest bond- woman that ever bowed her neck to a tyrant,- a bondwoman to the hardest, the most exacting, the least considerate, and the most uncompromising of task-masters,-my own undisciplined temper. I did not know that in fact I was already such a page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 KATHERINE MORRIS. bondwoman; that faster and faster, and closer and ! closer, day by day and year by year, the fetters of ?; my vassalage were binding me, and from the gall- ing chains upon my feet and upon my hands there I was no way of release for me but in Him to whom has been given all power in heaven and on earth. No, I knew not these things then; but I have learned them all since. Yet there had been events occurring in my aunt's family which;, one would think, should have- brought me to reflection. Grandma'am had passed on. Her chair was vacant in the large family sitting-room, and there was no one now that smiled kindly, if often sadly, upon me. Her summons came at an hour when none were look- ing for it. In her chair, with her work in her hand and a holy smile lighting up her counte- nance, as if welcoming the heavenly call, her pure spirit- left its tabernacle of clay and ascended to the house of many mansions, to the place the Saviour had there prepared for her. My cousin Jane was summoned next. In the sickness which preceded her departure her rav- ings seemed like the fierce outgushings of a long pent-up torrent of sorrows. They were so intense KATHERINE MORRIS. 71 in their agony, so apparently real, that no one could listen to her without feeling that they had a foundation in truth. "O mother, mother!" was the burden of her piteous, imploring tones, 4 spare us, pity us; do not, do not send Edwin away! O don't, mother, don't! my heart is broken! O mother, he is dead, and I shall die too; yes, I shall die too and be at rest! They laid him in his coffin, and I was not there to die withhim. 0mother,youkilled him , you! How could you do it? I always obeyed you, and I al- ways will; but oh! my heart is broken!" My aunt was evidently disturbed at such times, although she maintained a calm, almost a rigid demeanor. After Jane's death I learned from Ben that her quiet, almost stupid exterior concealed a wounded and breaking heart. She had been attached from her childhood to a young man, every way suited to her, but his religious opinions and worldly pros- pects were- unfortunately unsatisfactory to her mother. As ruthlessly as she would have crushed an insect in her way, she set herself against the union, without allowing any probation or condi- tions whatever. The young man left the village page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 KATHERINE MORRIS. - ,. and established himself in a neighboring town. :: From time to time, Ben said, they had intelligence i of his prospering circumstances and of the high estimation in which he was held. A few weeks previous to her sickness, Jane had seen the record ! of his death in the newspaper; she was so affected by it, that, when the epidemic of the season at- tacked her, she fell a ready victim to it. After this event my aunt was evidently a changed woman. Though cold and uncommunicative as usual, she was less absorbed than formerly in the world, and more than ever foolishy indulgent to Eliza Ann. I think she learnt this lesson at least from her affliction, that our Heavenly Father never designed that one fallible will should be invested with such supreme control over another, as to decide without appeal or parley with regard to the most sacred interests of the heart. Her change was also evinced by her giving at last a reluctant consent to Ben's going to college, an event which, while I rejoiced in it on his account, rendered my situation more lonely than ever. After all, in her most marked characteristics Aunt Green was Aunt Green still. We were as I far as ever from love and sympathy, although I KATHERINE MORRIS. 73 tried to do all I could to make Jane's place good to her. But it was not heart-service that I ren- dered; and I do not doubt that it was as unsatis- factory to her as it was irksome to me. Mr. Clifford had kindly offered to obtain for me the situation of governess in Philadelphia; but I did not feel quite competent to the undertaking at that time, as my accomplishments were only such as I had acquired in my early days at home, and from long disuse were nearly forgotten. But at the same time some such situation I wished to secure, for my school days were fast drawing to a close, and the time had come for real indepen- dence. I had now my own living to earn, and my fortune to seek. My teacher, Mr. Turner, know- ing my circumstances and capacity, offered me his aid, and in a short time succeeded inl finding a promising situation for me in the city of B---, some thirty miles distant. It was that of gov- erness to the only child of Mr. Riley, a wealthy merchant in B--. She was prevented by a physical infirmity from attending school, and' was but ten years old. Although the compensation offered was paltry enough, being barely suf- ficient to provide me with proper clothing, so 7 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 KATHJEINE MORRIS. plausible and agreeable was the letter stating my duties, &c., that I was delighted with the offer. Youth is not mercenary in its ideas, and my spirits rose to a high pitch. The letter was written by Mrs. Deane in behalf of her daughter, Mrs. Riley, the mother of the child. When I read it to Mr. Turner, I observed that he looked disturbed, and did not at all enter into my enthusiasm, merely remarking, as I con- cluded: "I was not aware that Mrs. Deane was residing permanently with her daughter." "But she must be a delightful woman?"I said, interrogatively. "Ye-s, I believe she is so considered; a smart managing woman she is certainly." "And Mrs. Riley?" O, a genius, I believe." And the child? "I do not know anything about her." Nothing daunted by my good teacher's laconic answers, I continued: And what of Mr. Riley? As he is the master of the house, I suppose it is of some consequence to me what kind of a man he is." "I believe he pays all reasonable bills for his I RA'rqI HNE MORRIS. 75 family; further than that I do not know. Lum- ber is his hobby, I have heard; naturally so, as it has given him his fortune." "But, Mr. Turner, is n't this kind of Mrs. Deane, where she says, 'My dear, we wish to make your duties as light as is compatible with your situation, and that you shall consider your- self quite as a member of our family, rather than as a paid employee. Adele is a charming child, only too much intellect for her frail form. You will be quite one of us'?" Yes, so I found afterwards, but not precisely in the couleur de rose manner my imagination had pictured. For out of the very slight material Mrs. Deane's letter had given me, what a gor- geous fancy sketch I made! Mrs. Deane herself I had conceived to be everything that was digni- fied, urbane, and cordial; Mrs. Riley was one of those rare women of genius one reads of, so lovely and so admirable; the child, a pale, deli- cate creature, whose ingenious questionings and spirited remarks it might task my brains to an- swer, but who could not fail to interest and de- light me. The lumber-merchant I wisely suffered to remain in the background, in a mysterious and sombre shadow. page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 KA'THEIIKNE MORRIS. Before taking leave of my aunt's family I must add a few words respecting Eliza Ann, as hence- forth our paths in life diverged so widely that she has no further connection with my story. I must confess, however unable I am to justify I myself for despising any one, that from first to last I entertained the most profound contempt for her. She was weak, frivolous, and exces- sively vain, often spending hours before her glass, arranging her ringlets and her dress. She-did not use rouge, but she did not scorn to deepen the color on her cheeks with beet-juice, when pinching and rubbing would not answer the pur- pose. At the time of my residing in D she was engaged to a lawyer, a young man as vain and conceited as herself. A year later they mar- ried, and she became one of those characters of which almost every village furnishes at least one specimen, a would-be fashionable, carrying to a ridiculous excess every new mode. I am writing of the era of huge sleeves, short skirts, and starched petticoats, which took from the female i form all its gracefulness, and had the effect of a deformity when caricatured by extravagance. I have often thought how good a living satire such - KA'THHlINE MORRIS. " a-person as Eliza Ann is upon fashion, showing to what comic absurdities it will lead its blind votaries. To the last she continued her mother's darling; and, knowing as I did how entirely opposed her way of life and her modes of dress were to her mother's preference, I have always considered this one of the most striking instances of parental blind- ness I ever met with. Upon the breaking out of the California fever, her husband was attacked by it, and soon removed thither with his family, and I do not doubt that Eliza Ann is now astonishing even the denizens of that land of exuberance by a the size of her hoops. Good, kind, conscientious, though, wife-fearing Uncle Green! Notwithstanding the censure so lavishy bestowed upon the order of deacons, if there ever lived a man who was a good Christian, at home and abroad, I believe he was one. If he carried his submission to his wife beyond the limit of a true manliness, it is to be remembered that it was his nature to be gentle and timid, as it was hers to be stern and overbearing. I honored and respected him as much as I could any one whose infirmity of will I was always regretting. He has 7 page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 KATraiMNE MORRIS. now been dead many years, and I doubt not has received the reward of the good and faithful servant. As both my aunt and Ben will appear again in this narrative, I will only add, that the former ex- hibited some feeling upon parting with me, and expressed her best wishes for my future welfare. Fairly started on my journey to B , and feel- ing that a new phase of life was opening before me, I could 'not quite silence the monitor which ever and anon reminded me of past transgressions and short-comings. But I consoled myself as well : as I could with the reflection that the future . should make amends for them. I: CHAPTER VII. W1;yHEN I arrived at Mr. Riley's residence, in S- Street, I was most cordially received at the door by Mrs. Deane, who was not at all such a person as I had imagined. She was short and rather stout, with light-blue eyes, fair hair, and a complexion which still retained many of the roses of youth. A sharp-toned voice and a com- pression of the lips, which gave them a shrewish expression, were the only unpleasing things about her. She kissed me with the warmth of ah old friend, saying as she did so: "You must excuse me, Miss Morris, but I feel quite acquainted with you already. Will you go into the parlor, or at once to your own room?" I preferred the latter course. After giving di- rections about my baggage, Mrs. Deane herself showed me to a small but pleasant room in the second story. "This is to be quite your own little den, my page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 KATI BINE MORmS. dear, and no one shall molest you. This door on the left opens into Adele's room. Sometimes, when the poor dear is ailing, I dare say you will let it stand ajar. Mrs. Riley is out just now; but she will be at home by the time you are dressed. You will find your way to the parlor when you are ready. Make yourself at home at once, pray. Is there anything that I call do fof you?" I thanked her for her kindness, declining any assistance. When she had gone out I sat down, i quite bewildered for the time at my sudden change i of fortune. I was even more pleased with Mrs. i Deane than I had anticipated. Her manner was so unmistakably cordial, and her mild blue eyes I beamed with so much kindliness, that I thought I had at last found a motherly friend. I labored then under the delusion, that all persons with blue eyes $ and fair complexions were necessarily amiable and lovely. "Formed of nature's softest mould," they had always seemed to me of a higher order of cre- ation than those whose eyes and hair were of a darker hue. I have had reason to change my opinion upon the point; but, after all, I cannot quite get over the old feeling, that to be fair with- out is to be fair within also. KATeERlINE MORRIS. 81 This reminds me that some of my anxious readers may have been speculating with regard to my own look and mien. As I have now ar- rived at middle life, and, on account of sickness and sorrow, am obliged to confess to a face some- what sallow and wrinkled, and to hair beginning to look a little, just the least in the world silvery, it may not be deemed vanity in me to say, that in those days I was decidedly good-looking,-nay, by some admirers I was even pronounced beautiful. Be that as it may, I know that my glass used then to reflect a good, erect figure, a little above the medium height; a countenance whose features were all tolerably good, withl soft, hazel eyes, and a profusion of dark-brown hair; and a clear, though rather dark complexion, with a slight tinge of color, which excitement always deepened into brilliancy. What Mrs. Deane thought of my appearance I accidentally overheard as I was going down to the parlor on the day of my arrival. A door was open in one of the chambers, and she was speaking of me, I presume, to Mrs. Riley. "Yes," she said, "she has come. I assure you, I think she will create quite a sensation. She is page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 KATHiEIINE MORRIS. not at all in your style, my dear, but more of a brunette, and is decidedly brilliant and dis- tinguished looking. I think we have been remark- ably fortunate, and we must be very considerate of her comfort." What girl of eighteen would not have been flattered at such a description of herself from an- experienced woman of the world? I was, at all events. I thought to myself I would spare no effort to continue to give satisfaction. Candor * now obliges the confession, however painful to my vanity, that I think the above pretty catalogue of personal qualities and attractions was intended rather more for my benefit than for Mrs. Riley's. Certainly the speaker's voice was in a remarkably high tone, considering the proximity of her audi- tor. But I had no such impression then. Be- sides, my glass had long before that told me that I was beautiful. When I entered the parlor, I saw perched upon a corner of the sofa, almost doubled over a book, a little girl, whom I at once divined to be -my, future pupil, though I saw no appearance of de- formity. She cast a searching glance upon me, and then looked down upon her book again with- KA"HEIIINE MORRIS. 83 -out speaking. She was small, thin, and sallow, and had unnaturally large black eyes. I went toward her, and said: "Are you Miss Adele? I am Miss Morris." "Yes," she answered, shortly. "Why didn't you come sooner?" "I came as soon as I was expected, I be- lieve." "Did you? Grandma managed it to suit her- self, then, I suppose. I expected you a week ago." She then took another long, searching look at me, and presently said, "I hope you are good- natured." "I hope so," - I answered. "And perhaps it is not unreasonable for me to express the same wish with regard to yourself." She looked surprised; and then said, slowly, I thought menacingly, 'You will soon find out." "Do you like to read?"I asked, taking the book from her hand, and finding, to my surprise, that it was a novel. "Yes, stories and such things; but I hate study." "That is bad, is it not, Miss Morris?" said page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 KATHERINE MORRIS. Mrs. Deane, at that moment entering, followed by Mrs. Riley, who received me politely, but without any of her mother's warmth of manner. i Mrs. Riley was about my own size, but more slender in figure. She had the remains only of great beauty; for although little past thirty, she was pale, faded, and languid. Her face indicated intellectual cultivation and some genius, and her manners were agreeable, and to me almost fasci- nating. Altogether she was a very attractive woman, and just the person to captivate an im- aginative young girl, who knew little of the world, and who was longing for some one upon whom to expend her enthusiasm. As I recall her now, I cannot help thinking what a perfect exemplification she was of the effect of -fast liv- ing, which in America is by no means confined to the sterner sex. Her education had been- con- ducted upon the forcing system. She had been a precocious child, the genius of the family, and had been put forward in every way. At seven- teen she left a boarding-school in Boston, to commence the gayeties of life. These she had pursued from city to city, where she had rela- tives residing, until a few years had transformed I KATaIMNE MORRIS. 85 the beautiful, blooming Miss Deane into a pale, faded girl, and consigned her to matrimony with- out love. After making polite inquiries of me respecting my journey, and hoping I was not very much fa- tigued, Mrs. Riley sat down in an easy-chair, and, taking a book, read and talked alternately, accord- ing as her mother was disposed to listen or con- verse. As the conversation of that hour was char- acteristic of these two ladies, with whom my fortunes were cast for a few years, I will relate it as nearly as I can now recollect. I think my memory will serve me well, for on several ac- counts I was very much impressed by what was said. I had never before heard the like. Perhaps it will be thought that I was not a very sensible or discriminating person, even for my inexperienced age, not to have at once seen through both mother and daughter. But I am not ashamed to confess that at eighteen I had not quite the wisdom nor the judgment that a good deal of acquaintance with the world, and with man and woman kind, has given me now. I am not sorry either that it was so. Ignorance was happiness then, and that is something. So kind and cordial was Mrs. 8 / page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 KATHERINE MORRIS. Deane to me, and so fascinating and attractive was Mrs. Riley, I was drawn at once to them both. "My dear," said Mrs. Deane, addressing her ] daughter, " did you make arrangements for your French soiree this week, or is it to be postponed?" "It has been postponed, unavoidably. Mrs. La Grange has engagements every evening this week, and in fact I have only one disengaged myself. That is the evening of Mr. Bowen's Scripture Studies; and if I go anywhere or do anything, I suppose I must attend there, -after his rather pointed remarks the last time I met him." "Mr. Bowen is a good man, my dear,; but I think he is quite too one-sided in some of- his no- tions of the duties of his people. - I wish he had more consideration for your state of health; when he knows, too, that your position devolves so much responsibility upon you in social and intellectual gatherings," "Yes, he is a good man, and a great help to me in my German; but I think he ought not to expect me to view matters precisely as he does. One cannot put before everything else at all times and seasons- the observances of religion and the interests of the church. He says, with some KATHERINE MORRIS, 87 truth, I grant, that we are a new sect here, and we must be watchful lest we bring reproach upon ourselves." "All very well, my dear; Mr. Bowen is right, and my own sentiments correspond with- his with regard to our church. But you are worn to a shadow now; and it would look a little odd for you to attend these evening readings without Mr. Riley. In social gatherings it is all very well if he does n't go, but when it comes to religion, it is quite another thing; it would appear as if you were more devout than your husband. No one can be a greater advocate for the church, and for all religious duties and observances, tlian I am. But it cannot be expected that, situated as we are, we should not also feel the obligation of our pri- vate social duties and relations." "But, mother, Mr. Bowen contends that, if the flame of true Christian piety has been enkindled in our hearts, and we really love the things of God,-our religious duties will naturally take pre- cedence of all others, and we shall always consider that the church has the first claim upon us." "Very true, my dear. Mr. Bowen has most cor- rect ideas with regard to the church, of course. page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 KATHERINE MORRIS. But I sometimes feel that his enthusiasm in his profession is almost startling. I like enthusiasm, no one can more, when there is an occasion for it; but in matters of religion, I am afraid it is a little out of place, and tends to fanaticism. I like to see one calm and dignified in his religion. Indeed, it is one of the recommendations of our church, that it does not countenance the extravagances of the sects. Too much talking upon religion savors a little of cant. But as I was saying, my dear, what evening did you choose?" "A week from to-night. I have composed a little French- poem, which Mrs. La Grange is to recite then. We shall converse- upon Voltaire's Henriade; we had one of Corneille's plays when we last met." "Well, my dear, you are getting on finely. It is worth a good deal of an effort to obtain such a position in society as yours. My hopes all centre in you. As to Calista, she is so satisfied with her church and her family cares, she has no ambition for anything higher; but then she always was just such a common-sense sort of a girl, with no idea of rising in the world, and now she has become so thick with the Hill set, there is no hope of her im- KATHERINE 1MORRISo 89 proving at all. Very good, intelligent people they are, I dare say, but not quite up to your mark." '"Calista says, mother, with reference to making an effort to gain a higher position in society, ' Le je n 'en vaut pas la chandelle,' (almost the only French proverb I ever heard her quote, by the way,) and I declare I sometimes feel like agreeing with her. She is far happier than I am, mother." "No, my dear, you are quite mistaken there. She knows nothing of those high enjoyments and aspirations wlhich your higher intellectual culture and literary pursuits afford you. The sphere of your activity is far above hers. Indeed, what you but put forth your hand to pluck, she can- not reach." "For all that, mother, I think I should be quite willing to exchange natures with her, to gain her serenity of mind." "Depend upon it, my dear, it is better as it is. Now just run over your list of engagements for the next fortnight, that I may arrange for our party." "Party, mother, what party? I have n't said a word to Mr. Riley upon the subject." ( O0, don't trouble him about it, at present. I 'll page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 KATHERINE MORRIS. manage it all. I have a plan; all will be right. i Let me hear your list." "To-morrow a small social gathering at Mrs. Benson's; Thursday, Shakespeare reading at Mrs. Holland's; Friday must, I suppose, be crossed out, unless I run into Mrs. Lee's private con- cert. I could go there, you know, when it would be out of the question for me to walk as far as Mr. Bowen's, and Mr. Riley dislikes to have the horse taken out every evening. Saturday, of course, we must stay at home quietly, as the old Puritanic element of strictness still works too powerfully in our society to allow of amuse- ments on that evening. In New York it was different, you know, even before I was married. Mrs. Small used to have delightful little parties, you remember, and such nice oyster suppers, Saturday evenings!" "4 But, my dear," interposed Mrs. Deane, "Mrs. Small's subsequent career does not recommend her example as one to be generally followed. I confess I am not quite ready to abandon the old Puritanic way of spending Saturday even- ing. If it is not kept as holy time, it should at least be passed quietly and soberly at home. But go on, my dear." KATHERINE MORRIS. 91 Before proceeding further, let me add here, that, blinded as I was for a long time to Mrs. Deane's real character, I was early struck with the inconsistencies she exhibited in her conversa- tion. It was a frequent habit of hers, in talking upon the most worldly subjects, to break off now and then to utter a few moral reflections and well-worn axioms. She sought in this way to guard herself from the imputation of worldliness, which she seemed suspicious she should incur. It was an easy way to maintain a character for devotion and piety. She did her best to serve God and mammon together, and succeeded as well as any one could. 4' Monday," continued Mrs. Riley, consulting a small pocket memorandum-book, "my French soiree; Tuesday, Mrs. Belton's great party; Wed- nesday, German; and. Thursday, mother, is at your service. Only. I don't see how you are to get Mr. Riley's consent." "Give yourself no uneasiness about that, my dear; trust to me." "Well," said Mrs. Riley, yawning heavily, i' next week is filled up. After my party, I shall make a point of going to Mr. Bowen's readings. # page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 KATHERINE MORRIS. I think I understand pretty well how to manage him now; he has his weaknesses as well as the rest of us." "Thursday, then, be it. All I shall want of you, my dear, is to draw out the list and write the notes. Miss Morris will, assist me I am sure; and Adele will be interested in the preparations." "No, I sha'n't, Grandma, you know I sha'n't. I hate company and visiting as bad as father does. Is Miss Morris going to go all the time like the rest of you? If she does, it 's too bad." "Adele, do you know what you are saying?" said her mother. "What will Miss Morris think of you?" "I don't know, and I don't-" care, I sup- pose, from her defiant air, she would have an- swered; but at that moment, the outside door opening, she started up, saying, "There 's father 1"And as she hurried out of the room I saw she was lame. Immediately Mr. Riley entered, his little girl clinging to him. He was tall, thin, and sallow, with a profusion of wiry, sandy hair, and with piercing black eyes shining out from under shaggy eyebrows, He noticed a- somewhat elaborate in- KATHERINE MORRIS. 93 troduction of myself by Mrs. Deane by merelya nod of the head and a sound like a suppressed grunt; and to some questions his wife asked him he re- plied in monosyllables. To his daughter, with whom he conversed freely, he spoke in low tones; but I noticed that his voice was harsh, his lan- guage- not always grammatical, and his manners uncouth. His countenance, I thought, indicated shrewdness and kindness of heart. Tea was soon served, during which meal Mrs. Deane did her best to keep conversation from flagging. When it was over, Mr. Riley went out again; Mrs. Riley went to her German, Mrs. Deane to her work. Adele laid herself at full length upon the sofa, and was soon in a sound sleep; and I took a book and read until bed- time. I believe my thoughts were somewhat confused that night, and I retired to rest uncertain whether to be fully pleased with my situation or not. But I think, on the whole, feelings of satisfaction pre- dominated. I have already confessed my weak- ness in not seeing through Mrs. Deane at once; and, although there was much about Mrs. Riley that I could not quite reconcile with my ideas page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " KATHERtINE MORRIS. of a genius, yet she was unquestionably interest- ing and fascinating. She had at times a sad expression, too, as if she was not altogether happy. "No wonder," I thought, " married to such a man!"For I had the notions of a girl in her teens about beauty and manliness. And indeed it was, to all outward seeming, a most in- congruous match. I have seldom seen a more graceful, lady-like woman than Mrs. Riley; and Mr. Riley was - what I have described him. As lihe was that night, so he was, with only two or three exceptions, all the time I remained under his roof; always reserved, awkward, and monosyllabic, un- less some business friend called of an evening when he was at home. Then he was as free as could be desired upon such themes as logs, booms, lumber, the state of the market, &c., &c. I commenced, or rather I tried to commence, my duties as teacher the following day. Mrs. Deane showed me to a small room next Adele's, where books, maps, and ,writing materials were lying upon a square table in the corner. Mrs. Riley had merely said, in reply to my application to her with regard to the course of instruction to be pursued with her daughter: "I dare say, KA'hJINE MORRIS. 95 Miss Morris, we can safely leave it to your judg- ment what to teach her; "-a degree of licen'se I was not altogether pleased with, as it involved a good deal of responsibility. However, I "seated myself at the study-table, and said to Adele, who had followed me unwillingly enough to the school- room, d Will you tell me what you have aready studied?" "I don't want to," she answered, in an almost sullen tone. "Don't want to! How then can I tell what you are to study?" "I don't mean to study. My father says I need n't if I don't-want to; and I don't." "Well, then, what am I to do?" "I don't know; I guess Grandma will find work for you." "But I came here to teach you." "Did you? I can't help that." "At least," I said, " you can tell me what you do know. Have you studied geography?" '"A little; but I don't like maps." "But you like to hear stories- about different countries and different people, and their manners and customs, do you not?" page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 KATHJErINE MORRIS. "Yes," she answered, her eye brightening. "Well, I think I can tell you a good many such things not found in your book, And I should like to do it, if you will try to learn your lessons. You can begin with short ones. You like to read? And I think," taking up her copy- book, "you will make a good writer." "Yes, I like to read and write; but arithmetic and grammar I hate." "Well, we will not begin with these, then. By and by will do." "But I want to study French and German. I know I shall like to." "I can teach you French and Latin, but not German. Not many ladies study German." "My mother does." "She will teach you then, when you are older, I dare say." "She! I guess so!" "Why not?" ", she has no time to spare on me." The child spoke and looked with great bitter- ness. I immediately changed the subject, and by degrees persuaded her to adopt a regular plan in her lessons. But a harder task lay before me than KATHEIINE MORRIS. 97 I had calculated upon. She was not an obstinate child; if she had been, I could not have got along with her at all. But she was subject to sullen fits, and while they lasted, nothing could be done with her. I thought these were owing in a great meas- ure to ill-health. This and her lameness made her the object of tender interest to me, or elsa I should never have been so patient with her. Some days she would get on remarkably well with her lessons, and seem to be interested in them; and then, without any apparent cause, she would remit her efforts, and make no progress whatever. There was no one to enforce my authority; on the con- trary, I was expressly told not to oblige her to learn when she did not feel like it. So I was com- pelled to let matters take their own course. At first I wondered why, with her mother's indiffer- ence and her father's indulgence, my services were required at all. But I soon discovered that my being there was the work of the ruling spirit of the house, and that, although she thought a good deal of the Mclat of Adele's having a governess, that office might be merely nominal, provided that same governess made herself generally useful in the family. 9 G page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] CHAPTER VIII. I FOUND that Mrs. Deane took it for granted that I was ready to render her a great deal of assistance, not only in preparing for the party, but in a variety of common household duties. Her requests were always made so graciously, however, as if my granting them would confer upon her a great personal favor, that I seldom had the dispo- sition to refuse ; or, if it was anything I had done before, the favor asked would be delicately spiced with a little palatable compliment as to my supe- rior manner of doing that special thing. For in- stance, one day Alice, the maid of all work, (for in those days one maid-servant was considered quite sufficient, in that part of the country, for the most wealthy families,) was late in her preparations for dinner. Mrs. Deane came to me, in great apparent distress, to ask if I ever made bird's-nest pud- dings. As my aunt had not neglected to train me pretty thoroughly in all domestic accomplishments, XATHERINE MORRIS. 99 I was able to answer her in the affirmative, and inquired if I could assist her in that way. s' O, my dear," she answered, " if you would be so good as to make the pudding; otherwise Alice will be late, and Mr. Riley is very particular to have his meals punctually. I know I can trust it in your careful hands. I must myself prepare the chickens. You are really a most reliable friend in need, my dear." I made the pudding that day, Adele delighting to assist me rather than study. My effort was so successful, and was declared so far superior to anything the kitchen had ever produced before, that I was henceforth installed as pudding-maker in general. And so it was with regard to many other matters, to which by degrees it came to be considered my special province to attend. One day when I was engaged in the kitchen making cake, for which nice branch of cookery Mrs. Deane had discovered I had a remarkable gift, I saw Alice's broad face broader than ever with an honest laugh which she vainly endeavored to subdue. "What amuses you so much, Alice?"I asked. "I was thinking, Miss Katherine, what a good page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 KAT'1HNE MORRIS. day it was for me, when you came here to larn Miss Adely." "Why so?" "O, you helps me a great lot. The old lady likes fussing, but she don't care to work much herself.. She turns everything topsy-turvy, and thinks she's been helpin'. My, ain't she a master hand at gittin' it out of other folks?" And she gave a low chuckle. I made no reply to what she said, but I pondered it somewhat. By little and little Mrs Deane's skill as a manager became apparent to me. Mr. Riley kept a good table always; but it so happened that, a few days previous to the expected party, he was absent on business. During that time our fare was rather meagre; what it meant I could not conjecture, until the day of the party I was again in the kitchen busy at some preparations for the evening's entertainment, when the market-man left a piece of beef for roasting. "Thank goodness!" was Alice's exclamation, "we shall have something decent to cook now this party's saved. I'm 'bout tired of soup and beans for my part." I suppose I looked surprised; for Alice irnme- KAT'RJHNE MORRIS. 101 diately continued: "Bless your heart, Miss, we 've been livif' mean more than a month to scrape out this ere party. The old lady holds the house purse, you know. Miss Riley hates trouble, so when she wants to git up a company, she jest saves it out of our stomachs. Nat vows he 'll complain to Mr. Riley; but then the old lady she kinder throws dust in his eyes, as she does in everybody's else, and so he don't dare to speak up. The best or the worst on't is, if she 'd go straight for'ard to him, and say, 'Now, Mr. Riley, we want to have a party,' he'd shell out liberal, I know he would. But it 's some folks' natur to manage, when they could git a thing ever so much easier by straightfor'ard dealin'." Yes, it certainly was Mrs. Deane's nature to manage. I sincerely believe, as Alice said, she pre- ferred to manage privately to compass her ends, even in matters the most insignificant and trivial, when she would have succeeded far better, and with much less trouble, by openness of conduct. In the course of my life I have met with no incon- siderable number of persons who worked by indi- rect ways, taking apparent satisfaction in their own cleverness in finesse; but I think I never met 9* \. page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 KATHERINE MORRIS. with one who had such good faith in her own manoeuvring as she had. I almost think she de- ceived herself; I am very sure she imposed upon many persons older and wiser than I was, -conse- quently it was not strange I was for a time de- luded. Now Mr. Riley, I believe, actually hated his mother-in-law, but at the same time he had the utmost confidence in her judgment. He evident- ly thought his household affairs would all go to wreck but for her supervision. This was the ground of her confidence with regard to the par- ty; and this also accounted for his turning a deaf ear to Adele's not infrequent complaints of Grand- ma. The child was wiser than the rest of us, however; she alone fully understood her grand- mother. Even Alice, when in her presence, was completely under her control. Wise and learned men also succumbed to her power. I accidentally, on one occasion, overheard a distinguished lawyer say, "When I am with Mrs. Deane, I think her one of the most sincere, cordial, well-intentioned women I ever met with; but as soon as I am out of her sight, I am quite sure she has as many wiles as the Devil himself." KATHERINE MORRIS. 103 I mention these facts partly in extenuation of my own folly in being so much under her influence, and partly that the reader may get a better un- derstanding of her character. Indeed, with her gifts, I think she would have adorned the French court in the reign of Louis XIV. No wonder I yielded without a struggle to her oily sway, though my aunt's iron rule had not been able to bend my will. But I will pass to the party, which was a large gathering of the elite of the place; and, to my inexperienced eye, it was a brillianrt affair. The graceful and elegant Mrs. La Grange, the bloom- ing Mrs. Holland, the beautiful Mrs. Benson, and Mrs. Riley, the nominal hostess, might have graced any assembly. There were also present a goodly number of educated and gentlemanly men. But candor obliges the admission, that some persons found admittance who, in older and larger cities or in a more settled state of things, would scarcely have been tolerated in genteel society, on account of their open vices. Mrs. Deane moved about among the assembled guests with words and smiles for all. With Mr. Bowen, who was present a part of the evening, page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 TCA'.' kINE MORRIS. she conversed with great apparent interest and concern upon the state and prospects of his flock; or made a timely allusion to some interesting arti- cle in the last Churchman. With Judge Dawes she seemed to be quite at home in the discussion of some grave topic, whether relating to a case of interest then before the courts, or some principle laid down by Blackstone, I could not tell. With the Rev. Mr. Barry, another clergyman present, she descanted with great freedom upon German theology, his particular specialty, citing and com- menting upon a recent review of his upon the subject. And so, with a wonderful power of adaptation, she passed to Dr. Lunt, whose hobby was geology, and from him to a dapper little dry- goods merchant having a word suited to his com- prehension; thence to poor Mrs. Brown, in whose mind her children's infantile troubles were ever uppermost; thence to stout vulgar Mrs. Barrows, whose turban was an astonishing superstructure of lace, spangles, and feathers, with a fitting word to each one. Neither did she forget me. I was in- troduced to many of the most eligible among the guests as Miss Morris of Philadelphia." Once or twice I overheard the supplement, "the orphan KATraEINE MORRIS. 105. of very distinguished and aristocratic parents,- quite a treasure to secure for our Adele, -as superior in mind as lovely in person." Several gentlemen solicited an introduction to me that evening, and I smile now as I remember with what a cold and haughty manner I received the advances of those among them who were the farthest removed from my ideal of gentlemen. Fortunately for me that ideal was high; for in my stay at B I was a good deal in mixed society, and was sometimes compelled to receive the attentions of men of doubtful character, from whom, had I been less fastidious, I might have been induced to choose a husband. Very much to the. astonishment of one of that class, who thought he had only to ask to receive a joyful acceptance, the young governess found herself obliged polite- ly to decline his further attentions. I do not state these things from vanity; quite the con- trary. The admiration of fops and routs is hu- miliating and degrading to her who is the object of it. The period of which I am writing was previous to the fever for Western emigration, and a long time before the existence of California gold was page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 rKAllt,.NE MORRIS. suspected; consequently gentlemen outnumbered ladies in new and thriving cities like B , and almost any girl of good appearance could marry -if she chose. A kind Providence watched over me, however, and I was never in a single instance tempted to exchange my life of toil and hardship for the degradation of a marriage of convenience. I was introduced that evening to two persons, who, but for my wayward pride and the peculiar circumstances of my situation, might have influ- enced me for my highest good. When I think of the kind interest they took in me, and their Chris- tian efforts in my behalf, I can only wonder at the insane folly which induced me to harden my heart against them. I refer to Mr. Bowen and Mrs. Ladd, Mrs. Riley's sister. I was at the age of romance, and Mrs. Deane had represented her daughter as a most prosaic woman; yet I felt myself attracted towards her at our first meeting. She was not handsome, certainly; but hers was one of those good, honest, intelligent faces which command confidence at once,-such a countenance as gives the impression that the owner of it is a most re- liable person. She greeted me with much of her mother's cordial manner, and talked to me KATEfRlNE MORRIS. 107 about Adele with great interest. She led the conversation to other topics afterwards with an ease and judgment which bespoke the woman of liberal culture and much reflection. She lacked something of Mrs. Riley's grace and polish, per- haps; but the want of these qualities was more than supplied by her kindness of manner and her sincerity. Whether she was present or ab- sent, you never doubted her for a moment. When Mrs. Ladd left me, she apologized for not having called upon me, and warmly invited me to waive ceremony and visit her with Adele. "I am almost too domestic in my habits," she continued, with a smile, " to suit my mother and sister. As I cannot grace society as they can, it is fortunate that there is a quiet nook where I am all impor- tant. But come and judge for yourself." I promised her I would do so, and fully meant what I said; and yet it was long before I fulfilled my engagement. For some reason, which at that time I could not fathom, Mrs. Deane threw every possible obstacle in the way of any intimacy be- tween Mrs. Ladd and myself. Whenever I pro- posed going with Adele to see her, she was sure -to be just on the point of asking some favor of me, or , .i page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 KA'TtihINE MORRIS. requesting me to go to a shop to do some impor- tant errand. After we had thus been disappointed several times, Adele exclaimed, in her usual pet- ulant tone: "I declare, Grandma does her best to keep us from Aunt Calista's. She hates to have us go there; and if you don't set up, Miss Morris, and say you will go, you never will at all." I began to be of the same opinion; and the next time I fixed upon going, I was determined to forestall all objections on the part of Mrs. Deane. So I said to her, "I am going to Mrs. Ladd's this afternoon, and if I can execute any commands for you on the way, it will give me pleasure to do so." "O, are you?" she answered. "I had planned to take you with me to return some visits. But as it is some time since I have been to Calista's, I will accompany you." This was not what I wished; but I could not ob- ject to her company. I was as much pleased with the general aspect of Mrs. Ladd's house, and the appearance of her two children, as I had been with her. I experienced at once that soothed feeling which I always have in a warm and pure domestic atmosphere. She invited me to attend Mr. Bow- KATHjINE MORRIS. 109 en's Scripture readings, saying she could call for me when her sister could not go. I responded to her invitation in a somewhat constrained manner; but I did express a desire to accept it. Here Mrs. Deane interposed: "Why, Calista, you do not always go yourself." "Always, mother, when the children are well and the weather is suitable," she answered. "They are not formal meetings," turning to me. "Mr. Bowen reads a chapter or part of a chapter, selected by himself generally, but not always; upon this he makes some comments, and invites remarks from others. One advantage of the plan is the ease and freedom we all feel in conversing together and learning each other's views upon the sacred themes presented to our consideration." I began to be interested, and was upon the point of replying to Mrs. Ladd, that I should esteem it a privilege to attend the readings with her; but I was prevented by Mrs. Deane's saying, "I dare say Miss Morris will like to go occasionally; and we can send Nat with her, if you will see her home. It is too far out of the way; dear, for you to walk the distance twice." 10 page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O KATHE'IBNE MORRIS. This settled it. Occasionally proved to be rarely indeed. Somehow or other, some unexpected thing always occurred when Fridav evening came. Nat was busy, or Mrs. Deane had an engage- ment, and wished me to remain at home, or Adele did not seem to be very well. To acknowl- edge the truth, I cared very little about going, or I should have overcome all obstacles merely set up for the occasion. Mrs. Deane was too judi- cious a manager to carry matters too far; she had already discovered that I had a will of my own, when I chose to exercise it. Indeed, at that time I felt very little interest in religion in any way, and was very well content with myself as I was. I was leading such an active life of busy cares and pleasurable excitement, that I had little time for reflection. The impressions left on my mind by my Aunt Green's belief and practice quite disin- clined me to serious attention to the subject of religion. Great stickler as she was for all the forms and observances of her sect, and the words of the Gospel were continually upon her lips, I thought I saw plainly enough that all the real energies of her heart and mind were given to household thrift, and that she actually served the KATHlNE MORRIS. Itl world, and loved the world, far more than she loved and served her Maker. And how was it here? .Greatly to my surprise, I found that Mrs. Riley and Mrs. Deane were both church-members. But as I saw them in their daily life at home, it appeared to me plainly that the desire of their hearts and the delight of their eyes was not the religion of Christ, nor was it their meat to do the will of their Heavenly Father. Mrs. Deane, it is true, was a regular attendant upon the services of the sanctuary, and observed all the days prescribed by the ritual; she conversed with Mr. Bowen as if she would be thought second only to himself in zeal and interest for the church ; but a busier toiler in the world's vineyard I never have known. And as for Mrs. Riley, I looked upon her as one of the most thoroughly inconsistent per- sons I had ever met with., She was not like her mother; for she neither professed nor acted what she did not feel. But she was a creature of im- pulse. When her religious feelings were in the ascendant, she expressed herself with a power and beauty which many a time would deeply have touched my heart, had it not been for my per- ception of the contradictions in her life. While A page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 ]KATHBiINE MORRIS. she was in one of these moods,--and sometimes they lasted for days and weeks, - she would with the utmost constancy, and at any sacrifice of health and comfort, attend church, and discharge all her church duties and obligations. She would even suggest to others the most impracticable plans, in her desire for the increase of a holy zeal in the parish. Gradually, sometimes even suddenly, these serious moods would pass off, and then she would give all her thoughts and time to the whim of the hour, and be as dead to religion as if it had never had a place in her heart. At such periods the most frivolous excuses for neglecting public worship and other religious services would appear to her sufficient. Any intimation that her conduct was not quite consistent, she would repel with indignation. How she justified herself in her own mind, I never knew. So, what with my satisfaction in present duties and pleasures,--for Mrs. Deane took good care that I should have a due share of the latter, lest I should weary of the former, - and the examples I had before me of professing Christians, I was well content to remain as I was. Certainly Mr. Bowen was a most undignified gKATieINE MORRIS. 118 servant of the church, according to Mrs. Deane's ideas, - most unfashionably earnest. He even carried his zeal so far as to remonstrate once with Mrs. Riley, intimating that she did not main- tain that consistent deportment which she owed to the church and her professions as a Christian disciple. "As if he is to be my conscience!" said she to me afterwards, a deep flush of resentment burning on her cheek. What he said to her I do not doubt was said in kindness, though in grief; and it was only her consciousness that his reproof was just, that made her so sensitive. I was always interested in Mr. Bowen's plain, practical preaching, and was often moved by it. I think, had I given myself up to the spirit of his instructions, rather than to the influences which were daily acting upon me at home, I should not only have been a different character for the time, but all the subsequent fortunes of my life would have been materially affected by it. But this is a theme upon which I dare not dwell at present. I well remember being particularly wrought upon one Sabbath morning by a sermon of his addressed to the young. Itwas upon the text, "Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth." I o10* page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 'KATARINE MORRIS. recollect, as if it were but yesterday, the tender pleading of his expressive face as he urged the claims of religion upon the young, while yet they were hi the bloom and freshness of youth. "I ask, I entreat you," he said, "to come to Christ, as a duty you owe to your Maker, as the only way in which you can express your feelings of grati- tude to Him for having bought you with a price, and that price his own blood poured out on the cross. These considerations have been often urged upon you before. Have you heeded them? Re- flect, that the season of youth is rapidly passing away, and erelong evil days will come to you, as they have come to others, and - the years will draw nigh in which you can find no joy. Reflect, too, how great is the blessedness of a devout and sincere Christian faith. Yes, how great is the blessedness! If it is such to the old, the worn, the weary, and the heavy laden, how much more may it be such to you, whose natural buoyancy of spirits and gayety of heart may deepen tenfold every blessing of existence! If it is pleasant to look upon the aged Christian, serene in the enjoy- ment of undying hopes, how much more cheering must it be to behold the young and the joyous, KAT'1 ,rTNE MORRIS. 115 giving their fresh energies, their innocence, their ardor to the service of Christ the Redeemer, lay- ing all at the foot of his cross, and saying, ' Lord Jesus, I offer all to thee; take that which- is thine own.' And I ask you 'to do this, my dear young friends, not for your own peace only, but also that ye present yourselves a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable unto God, which- is your reasonable service. Now, while the temple of your bodies is fair and goodly to look upon, dedicate it to the Lord; now, while you have health and strength, and the future is opening with bright promises before you, be ye the Lord's. Do not wait until you have only a time-worn and shattered tene- ment of clay, exhausted powers and faculties, whose best use has been given to the world, to bring to Him." Much more he said in his earnest and persuasive way, and perhaps, had there been any one at hand to follow up and deepen the impression made upon my mind, it would not so soon have passed away. But Mrs. Riley was not at church, and Mrs. Deane merely remarked at dinner, "We had a most strik- ing and powerful discourse to-day, Cornelia. Did you not think it was, Miss Morris? It was intend- page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 XATHE MORRBS. ed, I presume, for the class of young people Mr. Bowen is preparing for confirmation. I think we have been very fortunate, my dear, in having a rector who has the interests of the church so much at heart." It was one of Mrs. Deane's peculiarities,-- which, however, she shared with many other per- sons I have met with, -that she had a remark- able faculty of applying Mr. Bowen's sermons to one person and another in his congregation, never seeming to consider that they contained aught that she might take home to herself. I thought this a peculiarity then; since that time I have been led to consider whether it were not one of the characteristics and evidences of our imperfect human nature. CHAPTER IX. HAT) now been in B - a little more than a year, and still continued quite a contented member of Mr. Riley's family. If I was a govern- ess, I was certainly a most irregular and unfaith- ful one. But as it was no fault of mine, and no one complained of me, I saw no particular cause for self-reproach. If I was but a sort of ladies' companion and upper servant, the family milliner and dressmaker, as the miscellaneous duties I per- formed might well indicate, I certainly had a great many privileges. I received more polite attention than, from my position, I had any claim to expect, and visited as much as it was desirable for any1 young person to do. Adele, although thus far she had not given much intimation of the rare genius her grandmother had spoken of, had made some progress in her studies and some improvement in character. She had become attached to me, and would do many things for love that no exercise of fs page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 xKAh'auK MORRIS. authority could have obtained from her. Through Mrs. Deane's all-powerful influence my salary had been raised, for I was too useful a person not to be retained in the family by the addition of a few dollars quarterly. Mrs. Riley showed more at- tachment to me than to any one else in the house. Discovering that I had a fondness for acquiring languages, she volunteered to teach me the Ger- man. I found many pleasant, if busy, hours in her society; for when she was ill or prevented from- going abroad, she never could bear to be alone. I occasionally heard from Mr. Clifford, although, as I have intimated, our correspondence was some- what constrained. Of late he had seldom spoken of Charles. In a recent letter, however, he was mentioned as greatly changed. In what respects I could not define, for, as he intended to write to me himself, his father would not forestall his com- munications. A few days subsequently I received by the same mail letters from Charles and my brother Alfred. As my brother's was highly char- acteristic, and the other has an intimate connec- tion with my story, I will transcribe portions of both. Alfred wrote in the highest spirits. He com- -KATlxBkINE MORRIS. 119 menced his letter with the information that, being now seventeen years old, he had been received into his uncle's store as a paid clerk. "So you see, dearest Kath, the way to fortune is open be- fore me. Uncle Alfred is prospering in business as he has never been before, and says he will act liberally by me. My duties are not difficult, and I have a plenty of time for recreation. And a jolly good time of it we young fellows have after work is done, I tell you. I wish uncle was mar- ried, for we have nobody about us but niggers,-- housekeeper and all. A precious lazy set they are, you may be sure, looking out for their own com- fort much more than they do for their too indul- gent master's. Depend upon it, Kath, it is all humbug, the stuff you hear at the North, about slaves being abused and hardly treated. Abused indeed! They are the idlest varlets in creation, and it is my opinion that a little of 'the cuffing and beating those miserable Abolitionists make so much fuss about, would be the best thing in the world for them. If some of them were mine, they 'd catch it rather oftener than they do, or I'm mis- taken. They oppress their owners, that's a fact. But I can't expect you to feel as I do, till you page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 KATBZEINE MORRIS. come out here and live mistress of one the pretti- est plantations anywhere about, just out of the city. With a little experience of Southern life, your Northern prejudices will all vanish like dew before the sun. Won't we have glorious times then! You shall dress in the gayest of clothes, and never lift your finger to do a thing,- that is, if you can get it out of those pesky lazy niggers. I talk big to the fellows here about my handsome sister, though they shall never one of them have you. They are not good enough for you. You are handsome, are n't you, Kath? I never let on that you are a governess. Such craft are of small account out here. And you sha'n't be one much longer. In three years, uncle says you can come out here and live if you will, as by that time I shall be able to set up an establishment of. my own. What a merry life we shall lead then, Kath! It will make up for all your past drudgery. I send you a part of my first quarter's salary, paid in ad- vance, to buy you a gay gown; don't get mouse- color. Living near the tropics makes me like to see bright colors." Enclosed was a check for twenty dollars, which the reckless boy, following a generous impulse, had KATHERINE MORRIS. 121 set aside for me. I shed tears over this letter, not altogether, nor even at all, tears of joy. Free- hearted and affectionate he still was; but then the general tone of his letter, his remarks upon slav- ery, and even his handwriting, left a painful im- pression upon my mind. I feared lest he was at least on the road to the terrible whirlpool of vice. It seemed to me no human power could rescue him when once drawn in. Ah! too well I knew that the influences of soci- ety there would serve to encourage, rather than restrain, indulgence in genteel dissipation, and that when he should become wholly lost, degraded irremediably by his vices, those of his associates who had helped on his ruin, but escaped his fate, would cast him off without remorse or regret. My heart sent up a cry, rather than a prayer, to God, for myself as well as for him; -for myself, because I was so poorly qualified to advise him judiciously; for him-because in the prescience of that hour I almost saw his unworthy meteoric career,--bright, dazzling for a season, then ending in smoke and darkness. O, to this day I have never, never been able to understand that mysterious Providence, which " page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 KATAEIRINE MORRIS. brings into existence beings endowed with noble traits and glorious gifts, such as my brother once possessed, and then suffers them to be overborne by temptation and sin, and the bright light which they might have shed abroad to go out "in the blackness of darkness forever "! But I know, for I feel, that He doeth all things well, and whatso- ever is obscure here shall be as clear as midday hereafter. At length I took up Charles Clifford's letter. I was not in a frame of mind to receive it favorably. I was vexed with myself that I had not the right of superior goodness and wisdom to counsel my brother in his hour of need. I was vexed, too, with every one who had ever given me unwise or pernicious advice. As I sat, indulging my bit- ter feelings, with Charles's unopened letter in my hand, I recalled hi's parting words to me years ago. I thought of the long, dreary time which had passed since, without his having shown any interest in me beyond sending sometimes a trivial message through his father, or having expressed any desire to come to see me. After pondering thus for some time, I opened the letter. I read and re-read it with a stony calm- 4, KATHERINE MORRIS. 123 ness inexplicable to me now. It did not move me in any other way than to increase my irritable dis- satisfaction with the writer and myself. It was as follows-- "MY DEAR FRIEND: "May I not call you so, Katherine, in remem- brance of our early happy days? On my part, I have never ceased to be your friend, notwithstand- ing my long silence. If an apology is due to you for this intrusion at this time, it must be found in the fact, that I have lately been strongly im- pelled to it, no less by a 'sense of duty than by a desire to renew our former friendship. "Do you remember our last interview, in the garden of your early home, on the banks of the Wissahickon? I wish I could feel that you do not, or at least that- part of it in which I dared in the fulness of my boyish presumptuous pride to give- you what I now see to have been false coun- sel. I fear that you attached more weight to those idle words than they deserved. This im- pression I have received from the tone of your letters to my father, which I have read from time to time. They have seemed to me almost like tlihe page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 KATHERINE MORRIS. echo of my own unhealthy musings in those days when my spirit dwelt in dark, selfish solitude, when I delighted in my own strength, and was fiercely ready to fight the battle of life. I hope I have drawn incorrect inferences from your expres- sions, however, and that I shall not have to add to my catalogue of errors the sin of misleading a young mind. "But how formally I am writing to you, Kath- erine, while my heart is all aglow with interest. I have taken my pen, not to give counsel, but to tell you of the change in my own heart, and my plans of life also. My early preference of the ministry for my life-calling has come back to me again, and I have no stronger desire than to enter that sacred profession, more sacred to my sober views now than it was to my boyish fancy. I think I see you start with surprise, Katherine, at this in- telligence; and I imagine almost that I hear you exclaim, ' Unstable as water, thou shalt not ex- cel.' No, Katherine, I am not unstable now, although I confess I have heretofore been veering hither and thither, like a vessel at sea without rudder or compass. He must ever be a waverer who undertakes to walk by the light of his own KATHERINE MORRISS 125 reason without a guide, and who places his whole trust in his own stout heart. "By what influences this change has been wrought in me, it would occupy too much space to narrate. I will only say, that I feel strong now in my faith, which is found again, because I know my own weakness, and rely on One who is my confidence and my joy, even Jesus Christ the righteous, my Teacher, Saviour, Friend. The views which I now entertain have given me new life and spirit, and my highest desire is to proclaim them to others in ear- nest simplicity and with power; I believe them to be meat and drink to the hungry and thirsty soul. "It had been my purpose to seek you out the coming season, and say to you what I find it so difficult to put on paper. But I am prevented from' so doing by other and imperative duties. Will you not allow me, Katherine, in considera- tion of our early friendship, my love for your departed brother, and the sacred ties of affection between your father and my own, to correspond with you? It would afford me opportunity to communicate to you some account of my new views, feelings, and motives, and I think it would greatly aid us both. "5 page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 KAllaHalNEl MORRIS. I ask this as a favor to myself, and I rely upon your generosity to grant it. Only let me speak, Katherine. Give me opportunity to retrieve my past error, if it had any weight with you, and I shall be grateful." After a second reading of this letter, I folded it carefully and placed it in my desk, and sat down to think. "So," I soliloquized, "he thinks I am a mere child still; he did his best to indoctrinate me with his former views; he succeeded but too well; now, forsooth, he wishes to reverse his teach- ing. But I am content to remain as I am. I consider myself quite as virtuous without religion as many of the people I know are with it; and besides, I should scorn to do what they do, and call it piety and godliness. Thus far, moreover, I have found a proud self-will my best friend; it kept me from being crushed at my aunt's; it gives me a good position here. I hardly think I shall turn about now, and meekly submit to be imposed upon and trampled under foot, if that is what he wants. As for the correspondence, I simply do not wish for it. He is not the Charles Clifford I once knew, my brother's and my own rKATHBINE MORRIS. 127 early friend; a change has come that divides him from me, such as I am. No, no!"I passionately exclaimed, "Walter, my noble Walter, is not more dead to me than he is Let him go his way, and I will go mine." Such were my thoughts. Did no good angel whisper to me, that I was again upon the verge of a life era, and that the decision I was about to make would, in its far-reaching consequences, affect my whole life. Alas! if any such solemn intimations were seeking to be heard in my inner heart, I heeded them not; on the contrary, I per- suaded myself that I was doing only what my self-respect demanded. There were some things in the letter that touched my pride, and therefore roused my tem- per against my adviser. He wanted to instruct me, did he? I was no longer a child of fourteen, with a character like wax to every impress; I was a high-spirited girl, and my own mistress, I thought. In the situation wlich I then held, I was the mere tool of a designing, managing woman, who knew how to avail herself of my weakness to her own advantage. Alas! I knew not this; for I had not then learned that there is but one page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] S 9KATHERINE MORRIS. way to freedom in this world, - not to be subject to one's own headstrong will, but to Christian principle. I was interrupted in my meditations by the en- trance of Adele, who came to inform me that Mr. Green was below in the parlor, and wished to see me. "Mr. Green!" thought I, " what can have brought him here? Business, I suppose." And I went down stairs, expecting to see my -uncle. No, it was Ben; but already how changed! Intercourse with intelligent minds and study had given him an ease and grace of manner quite unlike his former careless recklessness. He saw, I suppose, by my manner, that I was surprised and pleased; for he said: c Yes, Cousin Katherine, a year or two in college makes a change in one, I as- sure you. I labored under the delusion, at home, that I was somebody of some consequence. By comparing myself with others, I soon found my true level; and I believe I am none the worse for having learned that there are some young men in the world who are even superior to B. F. Green, M. D. that is to be. But how goes the world with you, cousin? You look anxious and sad. I hope you are not imposed upon here. If ATUIERINE MORRIS. 129 you are, the old rule still holds good: Fight for your rights." Ben was not exactly the person I should have chosen for a confidant ; but my heart was full, and I was longing to speak to some one. There was i no one in, the family to whom I could say a word upon subjects in which my feelings were especially interested. Ben had ever been kind to me, albeit his kindness proved in the end mistaken. He was the only person in D-- for whom I ever cared at all. When he spoke now, I burst into tears, al- though it has never been my habit to weep much. Ben looked distressed, and said: "'Don't stay here, then; there must be plenty of chances for girls like you anywhere." "No, no, it is not that. I am as happy here as I can be anywhere, and all are very kind to me; but--"Here my sobs choked my voice again. I composed myself as soon as I could, and proceeded to tell him my fears with regard to my brother, and my irritation on account of the letter I had received from Charles Clifford, of whom I had often spoken to him. He tried to soothe me with respect to my brother with the common phrases of consolation, prophlesy- page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 KATHERINE MORRIS. ing good-naturedly that he would come out right in the end. If he was a little wild now, it was not to be wondered at; his good feelings would prove his safety at last, I might be sure. I knew all the time that his reasoning was fallacious; still- I en- deavored to be comforted by it. Against Charles Clifford's letter he used that most successful of all weapons, ridicule. He did it cautiously, but skilfully, saying in conclusion, in his frank, kind manner: "Cousin Katherine, if you have changed your mind upon these matters, you cannot do better than to put yourself under the tuition of Mr. Charles Clifford; I do not doubt he will prove a very safe guide for you. But for myself, I believe in the broadest liberty of conscience. and that the only true course is for every one to inves- tigate such subjects for himself. To be sure," he added, smiling, "I am not a very good adviser for others; because I am content to remain as I am at present, without investigation at all. I don't believe in this world being such a vale of tears and groanings as most of the saints I have ever known make it. But perhaps I am prejudiced, and, as I said before, Cousin, I am not the wisest counsellor for you; for although I should hate to- see you- a IKATHERINE MORRIS. 131 snivelling, canting sectarian, I have no doubt there is a right kind of piety for you somewhere in the world, - and for me, too, if a fellow could only find it. I imagine, however, that your friend Clifford has not got upon the right track, quite.?' My interview with Ben gave me the little en- couragement I needed to persist in my course. As I review the past, however, I think that at that time good advice judiciously given could easily have led me into a better path. I replied to Alfred's letter at once, and as forci- bly as I could I warned him of the dangers which seemed to me to beset lhim. It was feebly done, I fear; at all events it had no other effect than to call forth a half angry, half jocose answer, in which he spoke with scorn of the loathsome vices of intemrn- perance and gambling, made sport of my fears for him, because " he owned up" to being gay and merry, and concluded with reiterating his determi- nation of having me all to-himself in three years. A few days later I replied to Charles Clifford. I thanked him in terms of civility for his interest in me, and assured him that I had not forgotten, and probably never should forget, his parting words to me, and that I was well content to go page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 KATHERINE MORRIS. on in life in conformity with their spirit. With regard to the correspondence he proposed, as my time and thoughts were already fully occupied in other ways, I should not be able to give it that attention it deserved; but in remembrance of early days I should always be pleased to hear from him, and would sometimes reply to his let- ters, when my other duties would allow. I as- sured him that I was most pleasantly situated, and had no desire of making a change. In the mood in which I then was, I was quite satisfied with the letter. I thought it full as friend- ly in its tone as he deserved from me, and that I had indeed been quite forbearing. The next let- ter I received from Mr. Clifford contained a polite acknowledgment from Charles of the receipt of mine, and the assurance of his continued friend- ship and regard, -and that was all! With a strange inconsistency that I hardly un- derstood myself, I was disappointed at such a result. I had expected he would write to me again. I did not consider that the cold, repellent tone of my letter was like water upon flame, quenching his interest in me forever. He could not find a single word of encouragement in it. If KATHERINE MORRIS. 133 I experienced any pangs of sorrow for what I had done, they were but momentary; they were soon quieted by the suggestions of my arrogant wilful- ness. I continued to walk in my self-appointed path, deceiving my conscience all the while with the idea that it was that which Providence had marked out for me. With what a determined self-deceit do people often listen to the evil promptings of pride, passion, or prejudice, pursue the course they point out, and say, "Thus Providence is leading us!" 12 *. page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] CHA:PTER X. IT is a common saying, but I do not know that it is any less worthy of note on that account, that there is no standing still in this world. If we are not advancing, we are retrograding. In character there must be first the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear. If it is not so, there is unfaithfulness in the husbandry, and a mischievous growth of weeds, alike exhaust- ing to the soil and unsightly to behold. In those moments - very rare they were - when I allowed myself to reflect, I was conscious of a change for the worse in' my character. I was self-reliant, but not in the best sense of the word,- a sense consistent with acknowledging my powers and gifts to be His who created me, and so to be faithfully employed with the view of rendering an account of them at last. I was frank and truthful, because I scorned to be otherwise, and thought it paltry and contemptible -to act hypo- KATHERINE MORRIS. 135 critically, and not because I felt that thus I was I acting in conformity with the laws of the highest I morality, and doing the will of God.- I was active, obliging, and diligent, partly because it- was my nature to be so, and partly because I was stimu- lated by Mrs. Deane's adroit flatteries. To out- ward seeming, perhaps, I had many of the graces and virtues of the Christian chartcter; and yet I was not aware that I was ever governed by relig- ious influences and considerations. The motives of my actions would not, I am sure, have borne the scrutiny of an appeal to the New Testament. I have confessed that I was self-willed and proud, and I was becoming vain also. I overheard a conversation, one evening, which quite opened my eyes to some facts to which I had heretofore been blind, and which not only gave a rude shock to my vanity, but also forced me to reflection. I had accompanied Mrs. Riley to a small party, given by a purse-proud woman, who invited me only because it was the fashion to do so. In the course of the evening I found myself in a recess in the back drawing-room, looking -at the prints in the last annual. Presently I heard a lady in the front'parlor say: " ne of Mrs. Deane's page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 KATHERIaNE MORRIS. strokes of management. Don't you see how she deludes the poor thing into believing she is some- body? Why, I am told that she works harder for her pitiful salary than any servant in the city. Though she is not destitute of spirit, Mrs. Deane succeeds in wheedling all manner of services from her, and she never knows she 's imposed upon." "Yes," said a shrill voice, which I recognized as that of our hostess, and to see her airs and haughtiness, you'd think she was born to a for- tune at least, instead of being a poor governess." "Ah, well, we all live in delusions, more or less. Let her enjoy hers. But I did not expect to meet her in your drawing-room," rejoined the other, with something of irony in her tone. What more was said I do not know; some one spoke to me at the moment, and I was obliged to answer as best I could, while my heart was throb- bing with angry beats, and my cheeks burned with indignation. The ladies spoke in low tones, and there was a general hum of conversation in the room, but my position and silence forced me to hear every word they uttered. I do not know how I got through the remainder of the evening; I only know that I replied very rudely to some KA'i'HbINE MORRIS. 187 pleasant inquiries of Mrs. Deane, who had been sitting up for us. Immediately I sought my own room and locked myself in. Then I gave way to my feelings. Many and many a time I had asked myself, in weariness of body and mind, what was the need of living such a toilsome life as I did, and how long it was to last. I had sometimes thought I would speak to Mrs. Riley about-it, determining that, un- less there could be some change, I would leave; but a night's rest and Mrs. Deane's blandishments always found me ready to toil on as before. "It is true, what the lady said," I reiterated to myself. "I am overworked, both in body and mind. I will endure it no longer. I am weary of everything. No one here really cares for me. All the kindness I have received in this house has been bestowed just to wheedle- yes, that is the word - wheedle work out of me. But they shall all find that I am not to be trampled upon any longer. Fight! Yes, well I may! If I do not, where and what shall I be in time to come? But oh! why am I left thus single-handed to contend against the cold cruelty of a selfish world? Father, mother, brother, all taken from me! O for those early, happy days, 12 page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 KAxhmIhNE MORRMS. when love and kindness watched over and pro- tected me! There is no one now to take a friendly interest in my fate,--no one! I must battle on even to the end; and I will repay scorn with scorn! I doubt if Mrs. Deane was ever more surprised in her life than on the following day, when I de- clined performing some service for her, on the simple plea that I wished to speak with Mrs. Riley about it. Her blue eyes sparkled-yes, I am con- fident of it --with downright anger; but she answered, in a bland tone, "I think Mrs. Riley is out this morning." "No, ma'am," I replied, " she is in-her own room;" -and without further ceremony I left her. I entered at once and fully, with Mrs. Riley, upon the subject of my grievances, and related to her the conversation I had overheard the previous evening. She was one of those women who can talk for hours upon their own feelings and affairs, making the largest drafts upon your patience and sympathy, but are always uneasy and inattentive when a similar claim is made upon theirs. Long before I had concluded she began to show symp- toms of restlessness, tying and untying the strings i B' KA'THEINE MORRIS. . 189 of her morning-dress and tapping the floor with her foot. But I gave no heed to that, for I was determined to made a stand, now that my spirit was roused. "In short, Mrs. Riley," said I, finally, "if I cannot have my duties abridged and defined, I must leave you at the close of this year." That was the last thing she wanted. She hated care and trouble, and I entirely filled all the gaps in the household economy her mother might other- wise have left for her; besides, as I have intimated, she was in some measure attached to me. At all events, I was valued as a patient listener when she was in the talking mood. Seeing that I was thor- oughly in earnest, she was no longer indifferent. "I am very sorry for this,"- she said, "Adele has improved so much under your charge, - she is so happy. And, indeed, Katherine, I do not know what we shall do without you. If Mr. Riley had- not some peculiar ideas upon such matters, I would gladly offer you any salary to induce you to remain." "It is not that, Mrs. Riley," I answered, quickly; "it is the variety of my duties, and my undefined position. I cannot be spoken of as I was last night, and by such persons." page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O KA'TfI' INE MObLAIS. But such persons are not worth noticing, Katherine. Mrs. Dow is envious, and Mrs. Norris is very censorious. Do not leave us. I will speak to mother; she is not aware, I am sure, how ex- acting she is. In her own married life she was obliged to struggle and plan so constantly, that the habit has become a second nature. For my sake and Adele's, do not go. Katherine, I have never met with any one in whom I felt I could so thoroughly confide as I can in you. I wish very much to tell you somewhat of my youth and my marriage." I was moved by Mrs. Riley's earnest appeal to my sympathy. An arrangement satisfactory to my irritated self-love was made. Mrs. Deane, with apparent cordiality, approved of what her daugh- ter had done, and expressed great regret that she had not known earlier that I felt myself over- tasked. But I think she never forgave me my rebellion under her management. As I have already, perhaps, stated, Mrs. Deane's particular forte was diplomacy. She thought her- self remarkably skilful in the art of management-; consequently she could brook almost any disap- pointment better than that of having her plans or KATHERJINE MORRIS. 141 her stratagems fail. She belonged to that numer- ous class of persons whose means are insufficient for their pride or their desires. Almost all her life long she had been engaged in a war with adverse circumstances, which she had carried on with a zeal and perseverance that, in a more honorable or a more feminine contest, would have gained for her true and lasting renown. Never did woman strive harder than she did to make the worse appear the better part. Her husband had been a lawyer in one of the interior towns of the State, with a good but not very lucrative practice; and being a man of simple tastes and warm affections, he was quite content with his lot. Had she been like him in this par- ticular, they could have lived comfortably and happily, in a quiet way, on their income. But she was not willing to occupy an inferior position in society. She must keep open house to all stran- gers of note visiting their pretty country village, give parties, and, in short, take the lead in the little coterie of the first people in L . To do this, she managed, she labored, and she pinched; She-carried her point. By those who received the benefit of her household comfort, and did not look page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 KATHaERINE MORRIS. below the surface, she was regarded as a most generous and hospitable woman, - as, indeed, one of a thousand. When Mr. Deane died, - as some people said, wearied out of existence by his smart, energetic wife, - she moved to B , as affording a wider field for her matrimonial enterprises as to her now marriageable daughters. Mrs. Riley had been educated in a Boston boarding-school, her expenses defrayed by a wealthy uncle. Afterwards she had passed much time in different cities, wit'hout, however, obtain- ing the wealthy and desirable partner Mrs. Deane had confidently reckoned upon for her. About the period of her last return, from New York, pale, faded, and worn, but still elegant and attrac- tive, her mother had made the acquaintance of Mr. Riley. He had been a marked man from the date of her first removal to B . Such a capital husband as he would make for Calista!-Calista, who was never susceptible of polish, who always would see things just as they were, and had a most provoking way of stating facts and calling things by their right names,--who was always in a most innocent, unconscious way betraying her mother's KATH'1'INE- MORRIS. 143 pet manceuvres, and whose large eyes often di- lated still more largely at listening to some of her mother's embellished representations of common events and circumstances. Mr. Riley was just the man for Calista; he had money; she had common-sense and prudence and a good temper,-qualities which in her mother's judgment eminently fitted her to be Mr. Riley's wife. So the managing woman smiled her most gracious smiles upon him, laid her whitest cloths upon the table whenever he was a guest, ministered to his somewhat exacting palate by choice dainties at an inconvenient expense, and resorted to various other devices, which I suppose are the indigenous growth of managing brains, so very odd do they appear to straightforward practical people. But "The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft a-gley," and those of a scheming woman do not always succeed. Mr. Riley ate Calista's custards, jellies, and blanc-mange (he had a weakness for sweets), and ended by making Cornelia, instead of Calista, an offer of marriage, to the utter dismay of her mother, and the astonishment of every one but Calista herself. She coolly said she had foreseen it all along. page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 KATHERINE MORRIS. "And pray, Miss, if you foresaw it, why did you not speak sooner?" asked the irritated parent. "Why should I?" was the calm reply. "Why should you? Didn't you know that I thought he wanted to marry you?" "But I knew he wanted to marry Cornelia. Besides --" Here it is said the frank Calista blushed, and waited for her mother to say, "Besides what?"' "I did not wish to marry him." "' Sour grapes,' i' was the mother's not very elegant reply; for in her own parlor, with only her own family, she could use expressions which were more forcible than choice. "Yes; I knew Mr. Riley would never offer him- self to me, and if he had, I should not have ac- cepted him, because " - another pause - "I am, withl your consent, engaged to Mr. Ladd." "Mr. Ladd! a clerk in a bank, no fortune, and no prospect of any!" "I have no fortune, mother, and no prospect of any; so we are equal." But I will not dwell upon the manceuvring mother's vexation at this double contre-temps. * * $^ * - * KATHERINE MOBRIS. 145 Mr. Clifford came to see me once in the sum- mer whose events I am recording, and he gave me a most cordial invitation to return with him to Philadelphia, and make his house my home. I He told me that his business was again in a flour- :. ishing condition, and he was disposed to treat me in all respects like a daughter. I could not listen to his proposal a moment; and I think I was right in declining it, although perhaps a large share of mortified pride came in to influence my decision. After so scornfully repulsing the son's warm friend- ship, I could not lay myself under so heavy a debt to the father. But this was not all. I had already tasted -the sweets of independence, and I rejoiced even in my hard-earned wages ; I felt that it was not right for me to throw myself a burden upon any one, while I was so well able to support my- self. "I think Mr. Clifford was sensible that i was right, when I urged this consideration upon him, although I know that he really wished me to ac- cept his generous offer. He tried to make me believe that I should not be a dependent upon- his bounty, but that I should confer a greater- ben- efit than I received. His parting words were: 13 J page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 ATHEBINE MORRIS. "Remember, Katherine, that my house is always open to you. Should your health fail, you will know where to find a home. Promise me," he added, returning after he had bidden me good- by,--"promise me that, if you are sick or in trouble, you will consider me your father." He spoke so earnestly, and there was something about him which so forcibly brought up the recol- lection of my dear dead father, that I burst into tears, and answered, sobbing, "I will, I promise I will." "And you will not now change your decision?" he again asked, taking both my hands in his own. "No, sir," I answered in a broken voice. "Do not tempt me to do so. You think I am right." "I honor the spirit which actuates you, as much as I regret the result to which it leads you," he replied. I I turned away with a hasty good-by. I did not wish to be commended when my motives had not the entire approval of my own conscience; much less could they have his, had he known them fully. Mr. Clifford went away; and I returned to my chamber, not to weep, but with a burning brow KATHEINE MORRIS. 147 and a feverish heart to traverse the room, and repeat over and over again to myself the reasons why it was best for me to have refused such kind- ness,-why it was best that I, who so longed and pined for home and love, should debar myself from both, when they were so generously offered to my acceptance. At length I succeeded in calming my perturbed spirit; and as I reflected more com- posedly upon what I had done, I came to the conclusion that I had acted right. I still held firm to my decision; but upon what different grounds! A greater trial was now before me. And here let me pause for a moment, to suggest to the thoughtful reader how much pain and anxiety I might have been spared, had I not been over- confident in my own strength. Had I carried my perplexities in an humble, prayerful spirit to Him who ever careth for us, and whose loving- kindness and tender mercies are greater than those of any earthly parent, my mind would have been calmed at once. I feel that, on the whole, I acted rightly, even as one might have done, the guide of whose life was the example of the Sav- iour but through how much greater struggle, page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 KATHERINE MORRIS. self-combat, and weighing of contrary motives was the decision arrived at! So do we. In the pride of our own strength and the might of our own intellect we' toil for that certainty of being right, which to an humble, prayerful spirit would be vouchsafed at once. No sooner had my position at Mrs. Riley's be- come more desirable, because less equivocal, than I was obliged to resign it. I was one day sum- moned down stairs to see Mr. Green. This time it proved to be my uncle. He looked very much changed since I had seen him; he was paler, thinner, and more care-worn than of old. Upon my inquiring for my aunt, he at once en- tered upon the object of his visit. "She is sick," he answered. "She has met with a dreadful accident; she fell down stairs and broke -her hip. Perhaps it would have united better, but she was so restless and worried by it, that she couldn't keep still day or night. The doctor thinks she may never get up from it. She never will, if her mind is n't at rest. We've got a good girl; but things don't go on the old way, and you know, Katherine, your aunt is pretty partic- ular. I thought-- I did n't know but maybe.- KATHERINE MORRIS. 149 perhaps- you know she always meant to be kind to you; anyhow'"-he came to the point by a desperate effort-"I thought I'd come and ask you to come back to D ,and stop a spell." I had been wondering what he was aiming at, and when his meaning came out so suddenly, I almost cried aloud with vexation. In a rush of thought it was all before me, -my body caged again in that valley-town, my spirit subjected to the thousand petty annoyances sure to come from my aunt's temper, now rendered tenfold more ex- acting, probably, by her infirmities. My uncle no doubt read my repugnance in my telltale face; for he said, in a timid tone, which reminded me of the way in which he used to speak to his wife: "Well, well, if you can't go, perhaps the Lord will open a way for us; only I thought just now, if she could have a little more peace of mind, maybe she 'd get well; it's only for a few weeks or so ; but I dare say it 's too much to ask." I could have cried, and I could have laughed, at the incongruous ideas this little speech presented to my quick mind, - cried with vexation at hav- ing, by word or manner, called forth the old sub- missive, cringing feeling, which I hate to see in page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 ATHPi;WNE MORRIS. one human being towards another, and, most of all, in a man towards a woman,--and laughed at the supposition of my giving my Aunt Green peace of mind-I of all people--by my pres- ence. I neither wept nor smiled, but said, hastily: "No, no, sir, it is not too much to ask; but I do not know whether Mrs. Riley will consent to re- lease me. If she will, I will go with you at once. Wait here, sir, and I will ask her." I dared not trust myself to reflection, fearful, if I-did, my inclination to stay would prevail over an indubitable claim to my services. As a matter of experience and observation, I have almost inva- riably found that the first impulse or opinion, where duty is involved, is the right one, and that it is only by an ingenious course of sophistry that different conclusions are afterwards adopted. I found Mrs. Riley lying on the bed in her own room, and I opened at once my errand to her. She seemed too much surprised to be able to compre- hend me at first. Although I had never told her all my sufferings at D ,enough had inadver- tently escaped from me to make her understand how uncongenial I had found my home there. Mrs. Riley, without being hypocritical, like her KATC'fEtIN 'MORRIS. 151 mother, possessed a good deal of her plausibility. So she could generally make it out that the course she wished to pursue was the very wisest, best, and most conformable to duty. Her first reply to me was: "But do you really wish to go, Kath- erine? For, if you do not, it appears to me there are abundant reasons for declining." "No," I said abruptly, I' I do not wish to go; but I think I ought to, and I came to ask you if you would spare me for a few weeks. Perhaps a vacation will do Adele no harmn." "Yes," she replied, deliberately, partly to -her- self and partly to me, "Adele is not half the trouble she used to be. My cousin from Boston is coming here to spend some weeks, so I shall not miss you so much as at any other time, and mother will manage other matters, I dare say. But have you consulted her, Katherine? I am afraid she will not approve of it." "No," I answered again, bluntly; "I thought I was always to go to you in any such matters. I do not wish to say anything to your mother upon the subject." "O well, just as you like. I dare say she will make Clementina useful and she always does con- page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 KATHNEM MO0RIS. trive to manage in some way. But then," return- ing to the main subject, " if you don't want to go, Katherine, there are a great many reasons why you need n't." "None that I ought to allow to have any weight with me, if you are willing. to release me for a few weeks. When can I go?---at once?" O, I never thought of that. I thought when Clem came it would be more convenient. That will be, let me see, in three weeks at farthest." "By that time, there probably will not be any occasion for me to go at all. My aunt will either have fretted herself into the grave, or have in a good measure recovered. Can I go to-morrow?" "How I dislike people to do things in such a hurry! Well then, if you must, go at once." I could not help smiling, for Mrs. Riley her- self was always doing things in a hurry, thereby disarranging the plans of her whole household. If she went on a journey, it was sure to be from some sudden impulse; and all the forces parlor or kitchen could command must be marshalled into service to help her off. But I had her consent, and, secure of that, I hastened to Mrs. Deane to notify her of what was on foot. She was this timre downright angry. KATI'iBNE MORRIS. 153 "Upon my word!" she said, " the inconsider- ateness and selfishness of some people surprises me! Cornelia may well give her consent to your going, when not an additional duty or care will come upon her. And you, pray, what may your motive be? Do you not know that, if Cor- nelia can find any one fit to fill your place, she will be perfectly justified in engaging her?" "I am perfectly aware of that, Mrs. Deane, and am very willing that she should do so, if she wishes to." Failing there, she took me on another tack. "A young girl like you ought not to be tied to a sick-room. It is positively endangering your own health; and losing that, you will lose all your beauty,.my dear. Do you really choose to go?" "Yes, ma'am," I answered. Finding all she could suggest of no avail, she said, repressing all outward signs of displeasure: "Well, if you must, you must; but I must say that I think few young girls would have such strict notions of duty. I agree in opinion with Mr. Blackheath, that you really are a young lady of great force of character; he will miss your society sadly, my dear." page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 KATrfBINE MORRIS. Mr. Blackheath was a frequent visitor at Mrs. Riley's, but one for whom I entertained neither respect nor regard; so the sugar-plum did not produce the effect that Mrs. Deane expected. Finding that I was neither to be intimidated nor flattered into remaining, she let me. go at last to make my preparations, and even offered to assist me. I,imagine she was, after all, not very averse to my departure, in the new field open before her in the management of her expected niece, for whom she sent immediately. Behold me the next morning on my way to D-- again, this time accompanied by my Uncle Green; and going not to unknown, but certain, annoyances and trials! CHAPTER XI. AS we drew near to D--, I began to feel somewhat uneasy with regard to the recep- tion I should meet with from my aunt, and by the time the stage stopped I was positively nervous. It had never occurred to me to ask my uncle if I was expected. Indeed, I never thought he would dare take so decided a step as to come for me with- out his wife's concurrence. But now that I was at the end of my journey, the idea flashed upon me suddenly that he might have done so, and I was immediately confirmed in my suspicion by his saying timidly: "You won't mind,- Katherine, if your aunt is a little out o' sorts. She likes to manage things herself, you know." It was too late then to retract. So I went into the house, took off my outer garments, and bravely asked if I could see my aunt at once. "Yes," my uncle said; "' she is awake, and you may as well go in-now as any time." page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 KATHERINE MORRIS. So I went without further delay to her bed- room, which was on the first floor. How changed the autocrat of the household was! My heart re- lented when I saw her, lying pale, haggard, and care-worn on the bed, with none of those little marks of taste and attention about her which are so pleasant to behold in the sick-room. The small hard-wood stand at the bedside was covered with vials and glasses, and empty papers, which had contained those horrid powders so freely adminis- tered to the sick in my young days. The poor invalid looked astonished, and not at all pleased, to see me. I did not mind that, how- ever, I pitied her so sincerely; and approaching the bed, I took her hand, and said: "I am very sorry for you, Aunt Green. I have come to nurse you, if you will allow me." Her cold eye lighted up for an instant, and there was a faint attempt at a smile upon her grim fea- tures; but she only said: "You 'll soon get sick of that, I conceive. I don't want anybody to nurse me. You 'll only make one more to work for." "No," I said, still too much shocked at the change in her to feel hurt at such a repulse. "I KATHERINE MORRIS. 157 remember all you taught me. I know just how you like to have things done, and I will have everything in order very soon; I -will show the girl how to work too." O0 that girl!" she groaned in reply, -" she's the torment of my life. There's more clatter and confusion in the kitchen than there ever was be- fore since I began to keep house. She doesn't know anything. O dear! O dear! if I only could get up and work!" "But as you cannot, Aunt, I will do all I can for you. Now please to let me arrange the bed-clothes a little, and put the room in order." She said nothing, but watched me closely, while I made everything square and straight, as I knew she liked it, in the room. Then I began upon the little table. Here she interposed. "Don't meddle there, you 'll get all my powders and things mixed up." "No, Aunt. The bottles are marked, I see, and I only want to take away those empty papers and dirty spoons. And may I not put on a white cloth?" She did not object to this plan; but seeing me crumpling the papers in my hand preparatory to " page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 KASTBiINE MORRIS. throwing them into the fire, exclaimed: "Don't do that. What's the use of -wasting? Put them into the wood-box, they 'll help to kindle the fire." When my task was completed, the room looked as well as it could be made to; for the only arti- cles in it that could be said to make any preten- sion to the ornamental were the profiles of Mr. and Mrs. Green and the young Greens in one frame, and a worked sampler in another, displaying in cross-stitches a most remarkable tree, intended to shade an equally remarkable cow, almost as tall as itself. When I went into the kitchen afterwards to make her toast and tea, I was startled at the con- fusion that reigned there, and no longer wondered why my uncle had ventured upon such an ex- traordinary measure as coming for me., Inwardly I rejoiced that my aunt could not get into the kitchen, or know how matters were going on there. t Susan Howe was a good-natured Yankee girl, but not a favorable specimen of her class. She did not seem to have any more idea of order or neatness than if she had been brought up in an Indian wigwam, and was utterly astonished that o KATHERINE MORRIS. 159 I should have any fault to find with her in that respect. "Laws me, Katherine," with a prolonged drawl of the last syllable, always very distasteful to me, "how you deu pester a body. -I likes to have things round handy, like; but since you've been here, I can't never find nothin' I want." "Mrs. Green would never allow you to keep things in this way, if she were about." "Allow, is it? Well, I reckon then she need n't allow it. I ain't obliged to live out, I tell you; if I do, I guess I 'll do 'bout as I'm a mind to." I bit my lip in vexation; but having no desire to do the work of the kitchen in addition to that of the sick-room, I merely said: "But surely, Susan, you would like to please Mrs. Green, if you could. When you have a home of your own, and any one comes to live with you to do your work, you 'll wish to have it done in your own way." "La, sakes," she said, evidently gratified at the flattering suggestion, "I sha'n't be so partickeler as all that; ef my work's done, I sha'n't care. But, who told you, Katherine, I had a spark!" "Nobody," I answered, much amused, " only I naturally supposed so; and if I were you, Susan, page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 KATHERINE MORRIS. I 'd learn to be a nice housekeeper, and then he, whoever he may be, will love you all the better for making his house neat and pleasant." "Sakes, I guess he likes me well enough jest as I be; but I 'II try, if you 'll larn me. His folks is a sight smarter than ourn, and have things about right. I remember he did say once he liked to see folks look smart and nice, and have some spunk about 'em; he hated to go to a place where he could n't step for the cheers and crockery. That's why he broke off with Sal Grey, an old , sweetheart of hisen." "Well, then, you see you 'll be pleasing him, as well as me and Mrs. Green, if you learn to be orderly and neat." I never had thought myself a manager, but cer- tainly I had not lived two years with Mrs. Deane for nothing. At all events, I managed Susan Howe so cleverly that she never suspected it, and I soon made a very tidy, capable girl of her. My temperament was so active and energetic, and I was so fond of seeing the results of my own labor, that the first part of my stay at D ; was not nearly so irksome as I had anticipated. But as my aunt slowly began to recover, she became ATlEERINE MORRIS. 161 both irritable and morose, and nothing could be said or done that pleased her. My own patience and forbearance had no deeper foundation than a constrained sense of duty, and the satisfaction of seeing everything going on in an orderly manner about me; consequently, when winter had set in, with all its dreariness, my spirits began to give X way, and I knew not whither to turn for comfort or enjoyment. Ben, however, was coming home to take a school in a neighboring town in his long vacation; and that was a pleasant something to look forward to. But when he came, he only added to my cares; for he never seemed to re- member that his quick noisy step, and his loud whistling and humming, which had always been irritating to his mother, became tenfold more so in consequence of her low state of health and weak- nerves, For her sake I was glad when he took his departure to the field of his winter's duties. But I must confess I used to look forward to his occasional Sunday visits as one longs for a gleam of sunshine out of a darkened sky. On those days it was easy to keep him in check, and I great- ly enjoyed the humor with which he related his "boarding round," and other experiences as the " K page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 ARrINE O 2IS district schoolmaster. Even my aunt's fixed fea- tures would relax into something almost like a smile at some of his excessively droll accounts. But his visits were few in number, and for the most part we plodded on in dull routine, varied only by my incursions into the kitchen, which were often both amusing and vexatious. Unreasonable and fault-finding as my aunt was, and dissatisfied as she appeared to be with me, she was determined that I should not leave her, and I was obliged to write a formal request to Mrs. Riley for permission to remain in D until spring. As Clementina had proved agreeable and useful, and even Adele was happy with her, I ob- tained a reluctant consent. Mrs. Riley informed me that she was longing for my return, and she hoped it would be early 'in the spring; also that her health was feeble, and she feared the effect of the long cold winter upon it. Yet she spoke of attending balls and private parties, and said the season was unusually gay. I had no doubt she really desired my return, and I certainly wished to be with her again. I was becoming every day more and more per- plexed by my aunt's state of health, bo th. bodily xt'tt hrOBBRIS; . 163 and mental. Nothing seemed to give her any pleasure. Even the visits of her minister and pious acquaintances failed to cheer her. I heard her say one day, to one of the latter, who had been remarking to her that she must find much satisfaction on her sick-bed in the reflection that she had always done so much for the cause of re- ligion: "You don't know what you are talking about. Can you read my heart? and do yoit know how truly it has been given to God?'-' Her friend was silent, and I was astonished. I thought that perhaps she was beginning to perceive, what had always been so apparent to me, even when I was a child, that her way of serving God had not been the true one. This impression of mine was con- firmed when one day she asked me to hand her Grandma'am Green's Bible. After reading care- fully some of the marked passages, favorites of the old lady, she said in an absent tone, as if unmind- ful of my presence: 1"After all, Grandma'am had the true secret of the whole matter. She was n't always striving to make things go her own way; she took them as the Lord sent them." Then, seeing me, she added: "Perhaps you think, child, it's easy for one who professes to be a ,Christian to page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 KAT'EIIN"MOm;S. bear all this trouble and sickness; but if ever you come to be laid by on your bed, you'll know the difference, I conceive, between submission and res- ignation." Child was the only form of expression approach- ing to tenderness which she ever used in address- ing me, and her use of it at that time was evidence to my mind that she was softened in her feelings towards me. I answered: "I know, Aunt, it must be hard." As I could not by any possibility realize how hard it was to be helpless, I suppose my tone was not very sympathizing; for, after pausing a few moments, she resumed: "Yes, yes; it's easy to say so, but it's quite another thing to know it. Perhaps I have had too much of the Martha spirit in my day; but then I never could bear to see things going to destruction, and one must be care- ful for his own household. The Bible teaches that. But somehow or other, Katherine, these things don't give me any comfort now, and I can't abide to have folks tell me how good and pious I have been. I wish I could feel my religion more now. I conceived it would be a blessing to me in sick- ness and trouble, and make me calm and resigned; KAT'BiINE MORRIS. 165 but it does n't. Well, well, we are all weak and sinful, and must rest on the merits of the Lord, who bought us with his own precious blood, and not on our own. I trust in him; he will set me among his ransomed ones in heaven. But I don't know; I am not happy now." After this manner she often talked when I was alone with -her, not exactly to me, yet evidently expecting some reply. Perhaps she hoped that I might say something to, reassure her, or that I might, by some word or suggestion, point out to her some better way ; for she knew very well that I never sympathized with her in her ideas of a religious life .and of religious duties. But, alas! I, who could not guide myself, was not the person to undertake to lead another; and as I was yet without that faith myself which is as the everlast- ing rest and peace of the soul, I knew not what words to speak, that should prove the balm of hope and comfort to any stricken and desponding heart. At other times, she would speak of her children in this wise: "I have toiled and labored for them, with my own hands, until my very bones ached ;- and what is my reward? Jane is dead; I hope she is at peace, but I don't know. Eliza Ann cares page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 KATHERINE MORRIS. for no one but herself, ungrateful child that she is, after all I have done for her, making a slave of myself; and Ben," she concluded, with bitterness, "Ben despises his own mother! Many other par- ents, who have not done for their children the half I have done for mine, receive from them constant affection and respect, while I have neither. This is all the comfort I have on my sick-bed. Truly I can say, in the language of the prophet, I have nourished and brought up children, and they have rebelled against me.' I conceive it was my duty to teach my children the fear of the Lord, and to make them obedient; and it was no less my duty to be careful and thrifty. I thought I was a con- scientious, God-fearing housewife and mother; but I don't know but I was mistaken." I did not dare to tell her--indeed, I did not wish to add to her evident distress of mind by say- ing what I thought - there had been an error in judgment, even where the intention was right, and that, where too great rigidity of discipline was exercised, there was danger -that a rebellious spirit would thereby be awakened, which would manifest itself in disobedience and disrespect. I could have told her, that qne might be careful and KATHERINE MORRIS. 167 thrifty up to the requirements of duty to a family, without giving the whole mind 'and strength to household care and labor, making it the chief end and aim of life, rising early and going to bed late, to gain worldly prosperity. In fact, I was begin- ning - in my office of nurse and listener in that sick-room -to be very sceptical with regard to the duty or the righteousness of such constant toil and striving as had been the ruling law of life to her who lay on that sick-bed. What did it profit, after all? What had it profited her? It had brought her weariness alike of body and spirit, to which her Christian faith, such as it was and had been, could afford no relief or palliation. It could not be, I thought, that our Heavenly Father ever de- signed us to make such a use of our powers. I did not consider, indeed I had never then realized, how the hardest toil and the meanest drudgery can be sanctified and made subservient to the holi- est ends by the spirit in which it is performed. I only knew what my aunt's course and its results had been; and of Mrs. Deane's toiling and striv- ing! foresaw that the end would be the same. When the spring opened, my aunt had so far re- covered as to be able to walk from room to -room page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 KATHERINE MORRIS. with the aid of a cane, and I began to speak of returning to By-. She avoided the subject as long as she could, evidently loath to part with me; but I was at length compelled to bring the matter before her, in consequence of a letter I received from Mr. Clifford, which made it important for me to leave D-- immediately. "Well," she said, " if you must go, Katherine, you -must. I am sorry to part with you. I was n't much pleased when you came without my being consulted about it; but I must own you 've done me good. I felt more willing to keep quiet after I saw you had remembered what I taught you, and so my hip got a chance to heal. If ever I can do anything for you, I hope you will let me know it." This was a great deal for Aunt Green to say. I replied with warmth, that I was very grateful for what she had done for me; and in taking care of her now, I had only done what was my duty. "Yes, child, I know it was duty that made you come here. You used to feel hard enough towards me when you lived here but if I was too strict, I only did what I thought was right by you, and you see you have got some good from me-after all." KATHERINE MORRIS. 169 "Yes, Aunt, a great deal," I said, and then hes- itated, just on the point of acknowledging my own faultiness, when she resumed,- "' There 's one thing I want to say to you, Kath- erine, before you go. You must hear me patient- ly. I could never get you to take any interest in religion. Perhaps I did n't go the right way to work ; perhaps I had n't the true spirit of it my- self, and did n't show it to you in a way to attract you to it. I don't know, - I am afraid it was so. But -this' I do know, since I have been lying here on my bed for months as helpless as a baby, hav- ing to depend on others for everything, I 've felt as I never did before, that we are poor, miserable creatures when we trust to ourselves. I trusted in myself; I thought I was strong in myself; but I found I was altogether weak. I was one of the self-righteous ones, because I was so particular in my religious duties and exercises; but I have found, since I have been here, that the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. I thought I was serving God and the cause of re- ligion, when in reality I was seeking the applause of poor, weak, sinning mortals like myself, and anxious most of all for tlthe reputation of being a 15 page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 KATHERINE MORRIS. very pious woman. Now, Katherine, I want you to believe, that, if I have n't lived as a Christian ought, it is n't the fault of my -religion. When you remember Grandma'am, you 'll believe what I say. Another thing you think, or used to think, hard of me for ,-my being so busy and working so much. Now, I dare say you 'll be surprised if I tell you that you are just the one to do the same thing yourself, - not exactly in the same way per- haps; but whatever you do, you 'll do with all your might; and if you don't get religion, you are just as likely to be so taken up with your work as to make it the chief thing, as anybody else. Then if you should be sick or disabled, I conceive you 'll feel as I do. Don't look as if you did n't believe me, - it 's just as I say; some day you 'll find it out." I pondered her words a good deal at the time, perhaps acknowledged there might be some foun- dation for her opinion; but then I was so young and strong and full of life and hope, how could the evil days come nigh to me, I thought! How could I ever become helpless and dependent! and even should my body be preyed upon and weak- ened by disease, my mind would still preserve its KATHERINE MORRIS, 171 tone and strength. On the whole, however, my aunt's counsel was not without its good effects, though it was a long time in taking root and bringing forth fruit. In after years I know I dwelt withf more satisfaction upon a review of those dreary months in D , than upon any other period of my early life, after its strugglesl had commenced. I felt that I had in some small degree atoned for my former disrespect to my aunt; and I knew that, if my motives were not the highest, they were at least in a measure unselfish; and that I had often repressed my hasty temper when irritated either in the sick-room or in the kitchen. I parted from my aunt in kindness, and she evinced more feeling than I had ever seen her manifest before. I never saw her again. What I occasionally heard of her, through Ben, convinced me, that from that sickness dated her actual change of heart; for, although he would never allow that religion had anything to do with it, he always spoke of her as softened and subdued. Her last words to me were a reiteration of the peculiar phraseology of her creed,- "Get religion, Kath- erine, if you get nothing else." page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] CHAPTER XII. M/UR. CLIFFORD'S letter, to which reference was made in the preceding chapter, con- tained the proposal of a situation as governess to the two younger children of a gentleman of his acquaintance residing in Boston. What are called accomplishments were not required; a correct knowledge of the English branches of education was sufficient, but the applicant must be recom- mended as a person to whose care and compan- ionship children could safely be intrusted. The salary was more than double what I had received from Mrs. Riley, and my good friend Mr. Clifford thought that the situation offered some peculiar advantages. I had never made any definite agree- ment with Mrs. Riley, and felt at liberty to leave her as soon as a more lucrative situation could be secured. I was attached to Adele, but not enough so to suffer my regard for her to interfere with my ambitious hopes. The idea of teaching in a family KAT'ERINE. MORRIS. 173 of Mr. Clifford's acquaintance, and the probable opportunity his friendship would undoubtedly give me of seeing much of the best society of that in- tellectual and refined city, were very agreeable to. my aspiring mind. I was vexed to think that in this matter anything depended upon Mrs. Deane. I knew that, if she considered it for her interest for me to remain in the family, her daughter could easily be persuaded to withhold her consent to my going, in which case I should lose her good-will if I persisted in it. But my anxiety was wasted. I had not been an hour in the house before Mrs. Deane, making some pre- text for coming to my room, began to expatiate upon Clementine, - her wondrous capabilities, and her peculiar adaptedness to the wants of the family. "Poor dear!" she continued, "her. father met with sad reverses last winter. Indeed, that was one cause of her coming to us. It was trying at first, after the style she had lived in at home. Two maids and a man-servant, you know, and coachman too; a carriage at command whenever she chose, and her time at her own disposal, for she was not obliged to lift her hand to do anything. 15 'I- page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 KAt'HlTNE MORRIS. But I tell her, we must bear our afflictions patient- ly, knowing whence they come. Though, to be sure, she has been very patient all along. Only I always think it my duty to give good advice; it seldom comes amiss. As I was saying, her father is quite poor now, and Clem must earn her own living, and H" Here I interrupted her. "Perhaps, ma'am, your niece would like to take my place. In that case, I should be willing to resign it at once, if Mrs. Riley will consent." Now, although this was the very thing Mrs. Deane desired, she did not look at all pleased with my announcement. She didn't know; she could n't tell how Mrs. Riley would feel; but she would ask her about it. "No, ma'am," I said, "I will speak to her myself to-morrow, if you .please; I should prefer it." "O, just as you like, Katherine. On the whole, I think Mrs. Riley will not object; for in fact it has only been out of regard to you that the arrange- ment was not made before." "I am very happy to be able to say, ma'am, that it will not be otherwise than agreeable to me." 'THESINE xOKRIS. 175 , Indeed! Going back to live with your aunt in the country, perhaps? Wonderful self-denial - for so young a person!" "No, ma'am, that is not my intention." "Very well, my dear; probably you have some plan in view, else I must say you are hasty in throwing up this situation at once. I don't wish to alarm you, my dear," she added, in heri most friendly manner, but with an unmistakable spite- ful snap of her blue eyes, " but" you must not al- ways expect to be treated with the consideration which has been shown you here. -Some people are shockingly unfeeling, without being the least aware of it. O dear! I have visited in families in Boston, where I pitied the dreary lives of their seamstresses and governesses. A certain kind of civility was shown' them, it is true ; but always a marked, dis- tinction was kept up between them and the rest of the family, - a certain (not to be irreverent) thus-far-shalt-tlhou-come-and-no-farther manner to- wards them. But advice and -warning are not needed by a young lady of your force of charac- ter; and I do not doubt you will keep your ground, wherever you are. By the way, did you know Mr. Blackheath is to be married to that little, silly, af- page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 KATHERINE MORRIS. fected blonde, Lizzie Nelson? I thought once he i would marry you, my dear." "I did n't think so, ma'am," I replied, inward- ly chafed by the provoking insinuations concealed under her friendly manner. And I added, "I am fully sensible of Mrs. Riley's kindness to me, since I have been under her roof. Do you know, ma'am, where' I can find Adele? I have not seen her yet." Taking the hint, Mrs. Deane withdrew after answering my inquiry, and directly Adele came in. She had been out with Cousin Clem. She liked Cousin Clem; and she studied just as much or as little as she chose. But she was right glad to see me, for all that. The next morning I told Mrs. Rilev of the prop- osition that had been made to me, and of my wishes respecting it, adding, that from some remarks of her mother I inferred that her niece would take my place. "Yes," she said, " that is what mother wishes, and I suppose Clem will like it well enough. She likes to do as mother tells her, and she had to work rather hard at home." "I understood that her father had recently , KATHERINE 'MORRIS. 1" failed, and that previously the family had lived in a good deal of style." "Perhaps they did, years ago, when my uncle owned a farm; but not lately. Mother forgets a great deal,-because she has so much on her mind, I suppose. Yes, Katherine, mother has managed it all for the best, I dare say;, but I shall miss you. Clem is a nice girl, and she can teach Adele mu- sic too; but then she is no companion for me. I don't believe she ever thinks at all, and she does not sympathize with me in any of my tastes. To tell the truth, Katherine, I am dying of ennui. I wish I had been as commonplace as Calista, find- ing my highest enjoyment in darning stockings, making toast for my husband, and taking care of my children." "Mrs. Ladd seems to me a very intelligent wo- man," I ventured to say. "O yes; but then that is not the same thing as having talent or genius, you know, and she won't enter at all into my feelings. Nor, in fact, can any one. It might be supposed Mr. Bowen might, as he is undeniably a man of gifts; but he is so wedded to his one idea, the Church, that he can't sympathize at all with me. He actually told me L page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178 KATHELINE MORRIS. I was indulging in morbid feelings, and if I would attend church more constantly, and take more in- terest in practical matters, I should be happier,- - more content with my lot." I had no reply to make to her, not doubting in the least that Mr. Bowen was right, so I returned to the subject of my departure. It was finally agreed that I should go as soon as my services were required- by my new employer. During the remainder of my stay I had a good deal of conversation with Mrs. Riley, and obtained some new insight into the causes of her unhappi- ness. One day she spoke of her marriage, with tears in her eyes. "My mother," she said, " persuaded me into it, but you can see how unfit a union it was. We have no sympathy, my husband and I, no true love for each other. I believe Mr. Riley loves me as well as he is capable of loving any one but Adele; she is his darling. I suppose I did marry for a home and for money; for my mother kept me going from place to place till I was weary of it, and wanted to escape. Katherine," she added, rising from the sofa, where she had been reclining, "whatever you do, don't marry for money; don't KATHERINE MORRIS. 179 marry for anything but love ; if you do, you 'll be wretched, as I have been. My husband's kindness - for he is kind, in his way - is a constant re- proach to me. I do not feel that I deserve it from him; and I hlave felt so debased that I have no comfort in life. I am always thinking that I am but the shadow of what I ought to be, and that I have no right here; so I turn to whatever comes first for relief and recreation." This was all true, I did not doubt, and it was nothing new to me, although she had never put it in words before. But why, I thouglit, not strive to- perform better her duties to her husband and her child, if she is really so filled with self-re- proach? So much, at least, she could do, if she could not give him her love. Why, if there is any reality in her religion, not seek strength and comfort thence? I was inexperienced then in the ways of the world, or I should have known that there are many besides Mrs. Riley who think they atone for neglect of duty by words of penitence and self-accusation; many who, in the indulgence of a morbid selfish- ness, sigh for that sympathy they have no honest right to claim; many who can talk and write page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 KATHERINE MORRIS. beautifully upon religion and its duties, when in reality it has very little power over their daily lives. Before leaving B ,I received a letter from my brother, which filled me with regret and con- sternation. It brought the intelligence that he was married,' having made a runaway match with an orphan heiress. He had consequently incurred 'the severe displeasure of his uncle and her guar- dian. ' But what," he asked, " do Alline and I care for that? We love. each other, and that is enough. She is as beautiful as the -morning. I worship the very ground she stands upon, and now I shall never go astray any more. Dear Kath, I have been a wild boy these last two years, but Alline will make a new man of me, she is so beautiful, so winning, so angelic!" I knew little enough of the world then, but I knew at least as much as this,--that if Alfred had gone as far astray as his own confession intimated, and as I had feared from the tone of his letters during the last two years, it was a perilous exper- iment for a young girl of sixteen to put her happi- ness into his keeping. The letter went on to say, that Uncle Alfred still KATHERINE MORRIS. 181 retained him in his employment, and, after a severe' i a reprimand for his rashness and folly, had again re- ceived him, and had increased his salary. "I shall make a bridal tour with my Peri this summer," he wrote,- " and halt wherever you may be for a holiday, dearest Kath; and then we shall bring you home with us to our little plantation; and a merry, jolly life we 'll all have. The sunny South is the land for me, where hearts are as glowing as the skies, and life is one long summer's day of pleasure. "Don't look solemn, wise Sister Kath, but come and see for yourself if all I say is not true." With the depressing contents of this letter to dwell upon, and a sad parting from Mrs. Riley and Adele, I left B-- in the steamer, to com- mence, amid different scenes and associations, another chapter in my life-history. Mystery and darkness were still before me. Whether it were my destiny henceforth to glide smoothly on with favor- ing tide and gentle breezes, or to buffet adverse winds and stormy waves, I would fain have known; but there was no prophet to tell me. 16 page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] CHAPTER XIII. MW E arrived in Boston at an early hour on the following morning; and I was safely depos- ited at Mr. Clayton's house on Tremont Street be- fore the family were astir. I was expected, how- ever, and received and shown to my room in the third story by a pretty young girl. Seeing my pale face,--I had passed a sick and sleepless night, - she said, "Mrs. Grey told me to say to you, Miss, that you better lie down and rest, and she would let you know when- Mrs. Clayton was ready to see you." "Mrs. Grey?" "Mr. Clayton's sister; she lives here. She thinks of everybody. She bid me ask you if you would n't like a cup of tea." "No, I thank you," I answered; "I want nothing so much as a little quiet rest. I will lie down, if you will call me in season." "O yes, to be sure! Mrs. Grey won't forget KATHEINE MORRIS. 183 it." So saying, with another look to ascertain if everything was in order for my comfort, she left me. I could not sleep for some time, my mind was so full of anticipations and conjectures as to my future career. Everything in the house, so far as my observation extended, gave evidence of taste, refinement, and wealth. I had been thought of and cared for. This time, I said to myself, I shall not be disappointed in my expectations. For I had always been taught at home that refinement and kindness of heart were inseparable. At last I fell asleep, and was awakened about ten o'clock by the same nice-looking girl - Lucy by name - who had received me on my arrival. "I knocked," she explained, " but you did n't hear, so I came in. It seemed a shame to wake you, sleeping so sound, but Mrs. Clayton wishes to see you at eleven; and Mrs. Grey thought you would like an hour to dress and eat your breakfast in. When you are ready, Mrs. Grey bid me tell you to knock at the door next to this; and if she is not in, you are to go in and wait for her." Accordingly I did. Mrs. Grey was not in; so I entered and sat down. It was a pleasant room, page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 KATHERINE MORRIS. overlooking the street and the Common, and had an air of grace and purity that cheered me. The furniture was neat and pretty; the curtains and toilet and bed-covers were spotlessly white. A few choice plants and books upon the table and shelves indicated the tastes of the occupant. I had scarcely made these observations, when Mrs. Grey entered. I almost started when I saw her. Was it Mrs. Deane over again? Fair hair and skin, blue eyes, and short, plump figure. No; a second look reassured me. The expression of Mrs. Grey's face was very sweet and pleasing when she smiled; at other times it had a touch of sad- ness, that indicated past, if not present suffering. Her voice was low and sweet in its tones, and her manner kind without being too cordial for sin- cerity. She asked me about my passage; pointed out objects of interest from her window; spoke of her little nieces, Emma and Isabella, and then rung her bell to order- breakfast to be brought for me into her room. After this meal was concluded, she said she would accompany me to Mrs. Clay- ton; and then, turning round, she gave me rather a searching look. out of her bright blue eyes. If KATHERINE MORRIS. 185 she intended to say anything, she altered her mind, and led the way in silence to Mrs. Clay- ton's apartment, in the front part of the second story. We found her sitting in a comfortable chair by the window; and near by, upon a small work- table, was some light work. Lucy was laying out upon the bed some garments, evidently for street wear. She was a very handsome, stately-looking woman of about five and forty. I approached her with the expectation of shaking hands, an act which she was too well bred to decline, although she merely touched the tips of my fingers with her own, and motioned me to a seat. "I hope," she said, turning to Mrs. Grey, "Miss Morris has had some breakfast." "Yes," was the reply. "Then we will proceed at once to business." Forthwith she commenced a detail of my future duties. They were not particularly difficult, and the compensation was liberal; and I saw that I should have more time at my command than I had ever had at B-- . It appeared to me that Mrs. Clayton would be very rigid in her require- ments, however, and that I was as near to her that 16* page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 KATHERINE MORRIS. morning as I should ever be, however many years I might be a member of her family. The little girls were called in and presented to -me. They were pretty, well-behaved children, a little too artificial for my taste. That, however, I afterwards discovered, to my cost, was only in mamma's presence. Just as I was leaving Mrs. Clayton to follow Mrs. Grey to the school-room, a young lady entered, whom her aunt introduced as Miss Clayton. I had no expectation of shaking hands with her, and indeed was rather surprised that she condescended to bow graciously. I afterwards discovered that the Claytons prided themselves upon being polite to every one. Polite they were, perhaps, according to their definition of the word, but not according to mine. Miss Clayton was the most beautiful girl I had ever yet seen; somewhat slighter and shorter than her mother, and with manners most easy and graceful. She was dressed for a drive in the car- riage, which, she informed her mother, was wait- ing at the door. I heard her say, as I passed out: "Rather pretty, - almost too genteel for a governess. I hope, mamma, she will know her place." f KAT'HEINE MORRIS. 187 ' No fear but she will learn it soon, my dear, if she does not," was all I heard; but it was enough to send the blood'to my temples. Instantly my resolution was taken. I would do my very best to discharge my appointed duties; but I would foil this proud mother and daughter with their own weapons. I would meet pride with pride, and never for a moment intrude upon them, or seek to lessen the distance between us. I do not say that this was the right course for me to pursue. It was the one I resolved upon. Later in the morning I had occasion to go down stairs, when, through Mrs. Clayton's partly opened door, I heard her say: "Really, it is very vexa- tious. I wish, Maria, you hadn't such peculiar notions. -You infect your'brother with them." "My brother's opinions are quite independent of mine, Isabella, as you well know," I heard Mrs. Grey reply, in her low but distinct 'tones. "If you persist in your plan, however, of exclud- ing this young lady from your table, how will you account for it to Mr. Clifford, when he visits you?" I heard no more. When the dinner-bell rung I remained quietly in my room, determined that I reandqityi!m page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 166 KA" H KKTNE MORREIS. would not descend until I was asked. Mrs. Grey, however, sent Lucy up to me. When I entered the dining-room, I found the family all assembled. Mrs. Grey beckoned me to a seat beside herself, near the lower end of the table, and introduced me to her brother, a fine, gentlemanly-looking man about fifty. He addressed a few pleasant words to me respecting my journey, spoke of Mr. Clifford, and then the conversation became gen- eral. I, however, maintained what I considered a dignified silence, unless I was addressed. Mrs. Clayton was right. I very soon learned to know the place I was expected to fill; and so strong was my pride, which I mistook for self-re- spect, that I made no attempt to pass beyond it. If I had intelligence, playfulness, or vivacity, I never gave it vent, so determined was I that they should not, at least, accuse me of meanness or servility. I did not reflect that I was going to another ex- treme, and doing injustice to myself. If I had, without forwardness, maintained an easy and nat- ural, yet dignified demeanor, I should have won the respect of my employer far sooner than by the course I adopted. By my reserve and withdrawal from any kind of intercourse with Mrs. and Miss' KATHERINE MORRIS. 189 Clayton, excepting such as was absolutely required by my situation, I tacitly admitted them to be right, and- admitted their claims to superiority, though not without incurring the imputation of being too proud for my position. I was not. That I had many faults and follies, the reader does not require to -be told; but the petty, contemptible weakness of being ashamed to labor for my own support was not one of them. If I had any particular feeling with regard to what was so evident a necessity, it was that of self-gratification that I had the ability to take care of myself; and I am afraid that, in those earlier years of independence, I entertained a contempt, not only for those of my own age and sex whom education and habit had rendered help- less and inefficient to sustain themselves, but also for those frivolous people who were driven to the empty pursuits of fashion and pleasure to while away their time. I had not then learned to consider the question, "Who maketh thee to differ from another?" and, as I have plainly shown in these, my honest con- fessions, was somewhat wise in my own conceit. Before proceeding further withl this narrative, let me do Mrs. Clayton the justice to acknowledge page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 KAThELBINE MORRIS. that she was not a monster of pride and selfish- ness. To those whose position of social inferiority was undoubted, she was always urbane and gra- cious, and to the very poor a positive good angel, so unwearied was she in her benevolence. But she had been educated in the most scrupulous prejudices of a would-be aristocracy, and had early learned the lesson which she had so success- fully taught her daughter, that there were distinc- tions to be observed in society, and that it was necessary to keep at a proper distance the many struggling aspirants to a place in its first circles. So, while she would be kind and affable to her maid or her washerwoman, to one who stood just outside of her own rank she was distant and un- approachable. If she should talk as freely to me as she did to a woman whom she employed to do her sewing, I might fancy myself her equal; so to me her demeanor was ever as cold as ice, yet as polished as marble. If she and her daughter had been even rude to me, I think I should have been far less fretted than I was by their extreme polite- ness; it wore upon me, and at times chafed me to the quick. When anything in my instruction and management of my pupils was not exactly to her KATHEINE MORRIS. 191 mind, Mrs. Clayton would speak to me of it in such measured terms of civility, and with such icy coldness of manner, that I think a sharp rebuke would have been infinitely less trying to my feel- ings. Then I should at,least have looked for the reaction of cordial kindness. I often smile now when I remember how these things annoyed me. Not that I consider them unimportant in themselves, by any means. Few persons, probably, are aware how much of life's discomfort, and even sorrow, is caused by this same petty tyranny of manner and false assump- tion of superiority. But I made them of too much importance, allowing them to embitter my feelings and render me morose and unjust. For, after all, what was Mrs. Clayton? A woman clothed in a little brief authority,-an individual whom circumstances, and not real merit, had raised to the position she occupied, or she would not have been so jealous of her rank. Even then I was always ready to pay reverence to actual superiority, and hold it in that respect to which I felt it was entitled. My heart was very loyal, but real superiority is never found where so much is arrogated. True greatness and humility are inseparable. page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 KATHERINE MORRIS. Mrs. Grey, I think, watched me narrowly, and was grieved to see the change which gradually came over me. She, as I afterwards learned, took an early interest in me, and often pondered in her mind how she could best serve me. She knew it would be useless to talk to me upon the subject, for that would be admitting there was ground for complaint, which she wished as long as possible to ignore. So she determined indirectly to acquire as much influence over me as circumstances would permit, by gaining my affections. It needed little effort on her part to do that. I was a poor orphan girl, with no one in the wide world in whose heart I held the first, or even a prominent place, now that my brother was married, and I had in a great measure lost him. Then Mrs. Grey was so lovely. and so lovable, that a person who had no lack of friends would have rejoiced to win an interest in her heart. I thought she was the most amiable person I had ever seen; not in the insipid sense in which that word is sometimes used, but in thor- ough, genuine kindness of feeling and gentleness of temper. The only indication I ever saw of her being in the least irritated,- and it was a long time before I learned to distinguish even that sign, KATHERINE MORRIS. 193 --was a slight flush upon her forehead, and a more measured and slower manner of speaking. I thought she must almost lack sensibility to be so contented in her position; for whatever it was nominally, in fact it was that of housekeeper. Little did I know of the sad, sad history hidden underneath that calm manner and usually placid face. Involuntarily I one day exclaimed, when she was speaking of some household duty to which she had to attend, "Why, Mrs. Grey, you could not do more if you were housekeeper." "Well, I am housekeeper," she answered, laugh. ing, "though Mrs. Clayton does not like to have me called so. I should prefer it, however, my- self." Seeing my astonished look, she continued: "I could never eat the bread of dependence; my health unfits me for more arduous duties, and as I have only myself to labor for," - and a sad ex- pression for a moment shadowed her face,--"I was glad to accept my brother's offer of a home with him, upon the express condition, however, that I should take upon myself certain cares, and receive a fixed salary." "But why should you work in your own broth- 17 M page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 KATHAINE MORRIS. er's house, and that brother so abundantly able to support you?" I inquired. "He is no less willing than he is able," she an- swered; " but employment is essential to my hap- piness; and other reasons I have which would not interest you. The time may come, and I fear it will, not long hence," she added, after a few mo- ments of thoughtful pause, "when my life's his- tory may be of service to you. If I think it will, I will draw it forth from the dark corner to which it has been long consigned, to read it to you, pain- ful as it would be to me. May I give you one ad- monition now, Katherine?" "O do, Mrs. Grey! I will hear anything from you." ' Yes," she answered, mournfully, " hear, per- haps, but not believe. Whatever others are, be true to yourself. Always act up to your highest conception of duty; then you will have little occa- sion for regrets or repining." "Do I ever repine?"I asked. "No, I did not say that exactly. I do not quite know you yet," she added, smiling. "I have the impression that you are somewhat reserved, even to me." KAThrE'RINE MORRIS. 195 "But I will not be so, if I may tell you all." "Tell me all you wish of your past life; but at this time nothing of your present feelings. Some day you will understand the wisdom of this. By the way, Katherine, it strikes me that, as we both have the greater part of our evenings to ourselves, we might make them profitable by a course of reading or study." To this proposal I gladly consented; and many golden hours did I pass in her pleasant room, and much intellectual progress did I make under her guidance. The time had not come for her to sow the seed which should bring forth better fruit. The soil was not yet quite prepared. She was doing her best to prepare it, and was patiently biding her time. A. page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] CHAPTER XIV. IN midsummer my brother and his child-bride came from New Orleans, and remained several weeks in my immediate vicinity. Was it the same Alfred, this tall, graceful, hand- some young man, whom I had parted from a few years ago a wild, rude boy? Was it Alfred, this man of the world, au fait in all matters pertain- ing to gentlemanly etiquette and genteel dissipa- tion? Could it be my brother, who spoke of slavery as a blessing to the enslaved race, and of masters as martyrs in their behalf? Was it my father's son who laughed and sneered at our Northern notions and our niggardliness? Yes, it was Alfred! After a while I was able to recog- nize old familiar traits, - generosity, impulsive- ness, and fiery flashes of temper. Then there was the old, sweet smile, my mother's own, and still the loving heart. As for my sister Alline, I did not wonder that KATHERINE rORaIS. 197 Alfred almost worshipped her. No description that I am capable of inditing could do justice to that lovely Southern flower. Although her com- plexion and features were almost faultless, it was not in mere beauty that lay her chief charm. It was in the sweetest expression I ever saw on a human face, and manners as winning as ever woman possessed. Yet she seemed to me like a sensitive plant, all unfit for the trials and conflicts from which the most favored married life is never wholly exempt. O, before her gentle,- feminine loveliness, how Miss Clayton's haughty beauty faded! I never again said or thought she was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. Her brilliant, flashing orbs would not compare with the soft, dreamy dark eyes of my sister, veiled by their long fringes, nor her brilliant tints, which made one think of rouge, with the pale but transparently clear complexion of Alline. I took my sister to my heart at once. At last I thought I had found some one to love. She looked surprised at my emotion, which at the time she could not share. Her heart felt no void; Alfred was her all; and any interest she evinced for me was due to the fact that I was his sister. 17* page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 KATHERINE MORRIS. She watched with soft, dove-like eyes his every motion, and drank in every word that fell from his lips. She did not talk much to him or to any one; but when she spoke his name, or addressed him in her sweet, musical tones and Southern accent; I almost held my breath to listen. I spent all my leisure hours at their hotel, Mrs. Grey kindly allowing a servant to go with me in the evening, and Alfred and Alline always accom- panying me home. One evening, after they had been there some days, I went earlier than was my wont, and, not finding them in their parlor, entered the bedroom, of which the door stood partly open. There I found Alline lying in a heap on the couch, looking like a crushed flower. Her face was hid in her hands, while low sobs burst from her lips. Alline, dearest, what is the matter? Where is Alfred? Has anything happened?" 'No answer,- ohly a convulsive grasping of the bed-covering, and a still more averted face, while her sobs became deeper and deeper. I sat down and took her hands by gentle force from her face. I stooped and kissed the flushed forehead. "Tell me, dear, what is the matter?" "Nothing, nothing. Why did you come? I IKTHERINE MORRIS. 199 sent word to you not to. Go, will you?" she answered, passionately. "No," I said, "I cannot leave you thus, and alone, Alline. If you will only believe in my love, and tell me what it is. Indeed, I continued, vehemently, "you must. - I have a right to know, at least, where Alfred is; he was my brother long before he was your husband." My earnestness effected what entreaty would not have done. She rose, and, pushing back her long, dark hair, looked me full in the face, with a most sad, heart-broken expression in those dreamy- eyes, and said: "True ; but you never gave your all, your own self to him, to be rejected, cast off- for-" She paused a moment, and then pro- ceeded rapidly: "I will not tell you for what. But I will tell you, that here at the North, with your cold skies and colder hearts, you know not how we of the sunny land love. Deep and burning is the passion, bringing such ecstasy of joy if re- turned, but blasting and withering the heart if repulsed! Even he does not know the meaning of love. But oh! I thought he did, when for love of him I left all! I will go back to my guar- dian. O the misery I have endured here!" And she paused from sheer exhaustion. page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 KATI E MORRIS. I knew not what to say. I had had a shrinking apprehension of the fearful trouble to which she alluded. Once or twice of late, when I had seen Alfred, I had had my misgivings that all was not right. How could he thus ruthlessly wound this gentle- dove, this child-bride, as I had thought her, - no longer a loving child-bride, but the in- jured, passionate woman! Ah, how soon grief transforms us all! We stand yet on that boundary-line where child- hood and womanhood separate, holding out one hand for the toys of the past, and reaching forward with the other to the untasted joys of the future, with hearts kindling and countenances glowing, ready for whatever may betide, as we fondly think, when lo! sorrow throws his dark shadow over us, and at once we are changed. Gone the joys of untroubled youth, and in their place painful mem- ories, crushed hopes, disappointed expectations! So to me appeared yesterday's child, to-day's woman! I trembled, when I considered to whose keeping this sensitive being had confided her hap- piness. As I have said, I knew not what reply to make to poor Alline. I longed, while I feared, to * , KATHERINE MORRIS. 201 hear all her sorrows. So I sat down by her side, and endeavored to soothe her by gentle caresses as best I might. At first she seemed disposed to repulse me. But when her poor heart could be forced no longer to bear its burden in proud lone- liness, lower and lower drooped her beautiful head upon my shoulder. Resting it there, she again began to weep, but this time softly. Presently the parlor-door opened quickly, and shut with a heavy slam. Irregular but rapid steps were heard approaching us. Alline started up; her first impulse, evidently, was to go to meet Al- fred. She did not, however; she only disengaged herself from my arms, and awaited her husband's approach. He came into the room, and, upon see- ing us sitting side by side, began to laugh,---O' such a discordant laugh! ' "What's to pay now, All? Hysterics, eh? Kath 's here to help 'em on? Well, I'm dev'lish tired. It's -- hot to-night; ring for iced soda- water, can't you? Attentive, I must say. This comes of being an old story,- six months married! It's time you got out of leading-strings, All. I can't endure a baby wife to drag me down all my days. Why the devil don't-" page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 KATHERINE MORRIS. I do not know what "he would have said; but I started up, and, confronting him, exclaimed in as stern a voice as I could command: "Alfred, do you know what you are saying? If you do not, wait until you are yourself before you speak again. I cannot hear such language." He was sobered at once; but not so readily could he return to his usual frank good-humor. "What the devil is all this row about? Can't a fellow slip away from his wife's apron-strings without all this fuss? It's folly in you, Kath, who are older than Al, to encourage her in her babyishnest." The little graceful figure was straight now, the drooping head erect, the slight nostrils dilated, and the dewy eyes almost flashed, though the tone was as sweet as ever in which Alline replied, with- out giving me time to speak: "Twice to-night you have called me babyish, Alfred. You shall have no occasion to repeat the taunt. I feel that I am a woman now." Alfred looked exceedingly foolish, and half dis- tressed; but he rallied instantly, and said, care- lessly: "That's right, All. Now, we shall get on. After all, you know I am a pattern hus- KATHERINE MORRIS. 203 band. Remember Hatton and Dawson and La- font and-" ta That will do, Alfred,e"Alline replied, in a tone of quiet dignity. "You degrade yourself and me by comparing yourself with them." "I must go home," I said. "It is past my usual hour. Mrs. Clayton gave me a most lady- like hint yesterday that I was out too late." This unfortunate remark aroused Alfred again. "And who is this fine Mrs. Clayton, to lay down the law to my sister?" cried he, furiously. "Let her go to - !" "She might ask in return," I answered, trying to laugh, "who this Alfred Morris is, who dares to speak of her in this disrespectful manner." "Let her ask him," he said, fiercely. '"Kather- ine, you shall go home with us; sha'n't she, All? It's a degradation for a Morris to be such a slave as you are, going and coming at the beck and call of a purse-proud aristocrat. Why, our niggers have more liberty than you." "Mrs. Clayton is not purse-proud," I replied, "whatever else she may be that is unpleasant to one's self-love. While I am a member, of her family, I am bound to observe her household regu- page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 KATHERINE MORRIS. lations. As to going home with you, Alfred, if you will walk home with me, we will talk about it." He got up, evidently loath to move. "Won't you go too, All?" "No, I thank you," she answered; "I am quite fatigued with a long walk I took to-day, and shall go to bed. Good night, Katherine," and she kissed me more warmly than ever before. I need scarcely say I returned the embrace with equal fervor. Poor young thing! I felt indignant towards my brother on her behalf; and for some time we walked on in silence. Alfred's gait grew steadier as the evening air cooled and revived him; and present- ly he said: "Well, about going back with us, Kath; we are going to housekeeping, and you'll be a world of good to Alline. Poor child! she has so much to learn. She does not know the ways of the world yet." "There are some things, Alfred, she ought never to learn, from you at least." "But I 'm not a saint, Kath, and she knew it before we were married. I told her all about it." "Did you also tell her you intended to continue in your dissipation?" KATHERINE MORRIS. 205 "No, of course not; I told her I meant to re- form; but then a man can't do that in a minute; and where 's the sense of being so shocked at what everybody does? Uncle Alf is in the habit of drinking every day, and has been all his life; though, to be sure, he's never the worse for it. I don't take half what he does. And then I dare say you know, Kath, what his housekeeper really is to him." ,' No," I said, vehemently, " and I do not wish to know, if it is anything wrong, - my holy mother's brother. And you, Alfred, with the memory of such parents, how can you think to excuse your- self by saying it 's only what everybody else does? You know our father's life was pure and blame- less; you never can forget him. How he used to entreat us to live pure and spotless lives! O Al- fred, you will kill your lovely wife; if you go on as you have begun, you will surely kill her. Unkind- ness she cannot bear." "But this is n't answering my question,"' he re- plied, sulkily. "Will you go back with us?" "No, never, --at least never for my own sake. I would rather be in fact Mrs. Clayton's slave, than endure the torture of living under institu- 18 page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 KATHERINE MORRIS. tions and in a state of society that has made you defend, nay, advocate, vices. Do not start; I say vices. If Alline cannot keep you from them, I cannot. I could neither save you nor her." "Are you a Methodist, Kath?" asked Alfred, sneeringly. "No; I wish I were, or anything that would make me better able to bear this trial, Alfred." "O, I thought you must be one of the saints, on the road to glory at least. Well, I 'm glad that 's spared me." "Alfred," I answered; " if I am not one of the saints, or even a religious person, I cannot listen to your sneers upoi the subject. I, at least, re- spect those who are sincere professors." "Ah, that's it, sincere! Come out South, and see how the professors do- and live there; how - But I forget I shall shock your maiden prudery. Well, but, Kath, do come and live with us, for Alline's sake." "No," I replied; "I am firm there. I am inde- pendent now; I will remain so." "Perhaps you mean to take up with old Clif- ford's offer yet?" "No; -I have no such intention. Nothing but KATHERINE MORRIS. 207 necessity will ever induce me to burden any one." "Necessity!" "Yes; sickness, or loss of ability to take care of myself." "Well, it's unkind of you, is all I have to say. You used to write as if you'd come and live with me." "You have a wife now, and---" "Yes, a wife! A child, a perfect infant." 4 Indeed, Alfred, she is not. You wrong her; she has more character, more depth, than you have any idea of. You love her, that beautiful, gentle girl; O Alfred, you must! I never saw a human being I thought so lovable in my life; and you wounded her sorely to-night. Mark me, she will pain you no more by- her tears and reproaches; she will bear and suffer in silence. But it will kill her; I tell you, it will kill her." "What will kill her? A school-madam should at least be able to speak intelligibly." "Your habits will kill her, Alfred." "I tell you, Kath," he answered, half angrily, "I only do as every gentleman does, where we live, down South. He believes life is to be en- page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 KATH RiTNE MORRIS. joyed, not moped through or crowded with pen- ances." "Perhaps so, Alfred. Yet I am loath to believe that men are not to be found, South as well as North, who fear and seek to obey God." "O yes, we have our snivelling Methodists there, and puffed-up, conceited Episcopalians in plenty, if that 's what you mean; but men who are men, there, live and enjoy life. I don't imbibe, as I said before, half as much as my elders; and I'm not very often the worse for drinking. I don't know why Alline makes such a fuss about what she has seen practised all her life. Her guardian goes a point beyond the rest of us; pretty often he gets rather glorious, I can tell you." "Probably for that very reason she the more dreads its effects upon you." "Well, well, let's say no more about it.' I 'U1 manage to keep straight while I'm here, at least. But say, Kath, you'll go to Niagara with us? We're off next week." "I do not like to ask Mrs. Clayton. I know she depends upon leaving the children under my care while she is absent on a journey herself." KATHEKINE MORRIS. 209 "That deuced Mrs. Clayton again! Well, well, I never thought my proud sister Kath would ever be any fine lady's handmaid. Good night; I shall come to-morrow, to make you change your mind." "I shall -not." And I did not,- punishing myself for my ob- stinate pride, as I often did, rather than conquer it. I knew that Mrs. and Miss Clayton contemplated a month's absence, and my brother would be away only a week, and that Mrs. Grey would readily have taken my charge during that time. But I should have been obliged to ask Mrs. Clayton to grant me the favor. That I would not do, al- though it would have been an intense delight to me to visit Niagara; and I know my presence would have been a restraint upon my brother for. the time. I do not exactly know what I fancied was my governing motive; but I have no doubt I 'consid- ered myself quite a martyr to a sense of duty. My brother and his wife went on their journey. After they had left, I incidentally mentioned it one day to Mrs. Grey. She said at once, "I won- der you did not go with them." 185 N l page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 KAThSHaINE MORMS. "I -they wished to have me, but-" "But what? Mrs. Clayton would have given her consent at once. You cannot have so mis- judged her as to suppose she would not." "No, not exactly that. Indeed, I had no doubt she would; but I did not care to ask her." She looked at me for a moment, and then said, sadly, "I am afraid; my dear, you have a great deal to learn yet." I made no reply. I felt rebuked, and was vexed with myself. This was a day or two previous to Mrs. Clayton's departure, and it chanced that her dressmaker was unable to attend to some alterations in a dress that Miss Clayton thought were essen- tial. Mrs. Grey, knowing I had some skill in that line, suggested that I should offer to do it. Ac- cordingly I did very cordially, through her. My assistance was accepted, and I went to Mrs. Clay- ton's room, where the young lady was. I was received with ceremonious politeness: "Vastly good of you, Miss Morris, to take so much trouble." It was rather a difficult job, and I found it hard to suit the young lady. I sat two hours in the room, ripping, altering, and sewing. During the XKATHERINE MORRIS. 2" whole time, neither mother nor daughter addressed any of their conversation to me,- beyond a remark of Mrs. Clayton, that Isabella was almost cured of her stooping, and some question relative to the alteration in her dress. No one would have sup- posed a third person, unless it were a servant, had been present. After I had finished the dress, and seen it tried on, the young lady thanked me very politely, and Mrs. Clayton as politely requested me to send Isabella to her, thus intimating that, as my task was completed, I might retire. I was very indignant, and I dare say my face showed my feelings; for I overheard Mrs. Clayton say, after I left the room: "Wlhy, what is the mat- ter with her? I am sure I made a point of thank- ing her as politely as if sh6 had been a princess. Pride and--" I lost the rest, and, quickly gaining my room, I walked to and fro, in a state of mind little short of frenzy. I never was so angry in my life. I never had been able to see why I; Katherine Mor-l ris, the daughter of educated and refined parents, should not receive such consideration as my intel- ligence and education gave me a claim to. I had no foolish expectation of being invited into the page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 KATH'RlINE MORRIS. society in which Mrs. Clayton visited ; I knew my duties required me to be mostly at home. But I felt- that she and her daughter had no right to treat me thus, as if I had been of a different mould from themselves. And, moreover, she might, I thought, have taken some pains to introduce me to the notice of a few of her less fashionable ac- quaintances, in whose society I might have found recreation, without a giddy round of dissipation inconsistent with my office and duties. Hitherto I had been accustomed to the best society which the place where I lived afforded. I asked for no condescension. But I was treated with a cold- politeness, which left no opening for complaint, and yet was so aggravating to my haughty temper that I could not bear it any longer. And yet what could I do? Go to my brother's home? No, never. Go to Mr. Clifford? Still less could I resolve to do that. And, in the excitement of my mortified and bitter feelings, I cried aloud, " O, 'why was I left alone and friendless?" "You are not alone, my dear, since God careth for the fatherless. And you are not friendless. Do not speak thus; I cannot bear to hear you." Turning to the door, I perceived Mrs. Grey, rKAT'lRtINE MORRIS. 213 whose low knock had been unheeded by me in my stormy reverie. She had entered my room in search of a book. Unasked, she sat down, and said, "Tell me, Katherine, what is your trouble now?" "Perhaps," I answered, angrily, "'you will not consider it a trouble; but it is not the less real to me. If Mrs. Clayton would scold and fret at me ; if Miss Clayton were rude and disagreeable on the whole, and yet showed upon occasion a recogni- tion of my claim to good-will and fellowship, why then I would not care. But to be treated con- stantly as if they sat on a height unapproachable to me, and as if all their tastes, aspirations, and feelings were of a higher and nobler kind than mine, that is what I cannot bear any longer. Suclh an assumption of superiority on their part is what I cannot patiently submit to. More money, more beauty, more accomplishments they have than I, to be sure. I allow them these claims to consid- eration; but I do not think them remarkable as to refinement, or intelligence, or cultivation of mind. Do I not enjoy - O, how intensely no one but myself knows! - all that pertains to the elegances of life and the culture of a refined taste? page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 KATHERINE MORRIS. Are not my aspirations as lofty as theirs? If my parents had lived, and we had met, as met we might have done, in the best society of Philadel- phia, would they have treated me as they do now? And should I then have been one jot more enti- tled to notice than I am now? No, no, Mrs. Grey, I tell you no; I should not have been one half as much so. If they had any real kindness of heart, my lonely, orphaned state would interest their sympathy." I paused, not being able to proceed further from the intensity of my emotions. Mrs. Grey had tears in her eyes as she answered: "Poor, poor child! has it indeed come to this? Have you so long brooded over your imaginary and real wrongs, as to be wrought up to so high a pitch of desperation?" "Imaginary wrongs?"I repeated, vehemently. "Yes, my dear, they are at least in part fanci- ful. Mrs. and Miss Clayton would be shocked, if not grieved, to know that their treatment of you had excited such feelings. Can you not under- stand, my dear, that they, knowing only the smooth side of life, have no conception of your peculiar trials? Only one who has suffered as I have,-- KATHERINE MORRIS. 215 become orphaned, widowed, childless, thrown rude- ly from the highest round of the social ladder down to almost the lowest, -can understand you and pity you. Come to my room this evening, and I will tell you the stry of my past life. You will see that I have had my trials, too." "O yes, Mrs. Grey, I do not doubt it. I did not mean to say that no one ever had such trials as I. But then you could never have had such a temper to contend against as I have, - such proud, pas- sionate feelings! You, at least,-were always hum- ble and gentle and amiable." "I humble, gentle, amiable! You do not know what you say. After to-night, you will understand me better." page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] CHAPTER XV. E VENING found me sitting by Mrs. Grey's pleasant window, through which came the soft summer breeze, waving the white muslin cur- tains, and bringing upward the many pleasant sounds of busy life in the streets below. Mrs. Grey plunged into her narrative without preface or remark. It seemed as if she dared not trust herself to pause, lest her courage should fail her. "My father was one of the wealthiest merchants of New York. I was an only daughter, the child of religious parents, and the almost spoiled sister of two fond brothers. I possessed at least an aver- age share of youthful attractions. I had every outward thing a young lady could desire, to ren- der life joyous and happy; and I had that rather doubtful kind of happiness, at least, which arises from the indulgence of every wish and caprice. I had naturally a quick temper, and dearly loved -a-"LnrKltli IVltMMiMUl Z1 to have my own way; but as I was always in- dulged if possible in whatever I desired, I seldom found any occasion for outhursts of passion. When I was enraged, however, my ebullitions of wrath were very violent. But I was considered amiable and gentle by those who did not know me inti- mately, and judged me as you do by my usual manner. "I was eighteen when I first met George Grey. A nobler-looking man I had never seen. I cannot describe him to you; I have his miniature, but it will give you only a faint idea of him, since the flash of his eye and the varying expressions of his face cannot be transferred to ivory or canvas. We were drawn to each other at once, and, after six months of constantly increasing intimacy we were engaged. This event, as it gave me greater oppor- tunity of studying his character, had the effect to open my eyes in some measure to the defects of my own. In daily intercourse with the man of my heart's choice, whose standard of right was high, whose motives were honorable, and whose purposes were elevated, I felt at times the unworthiness of my own butterfly existence, the unsatisfactoriness of a life of selfish ease and indulgence. I sympa-- 19 page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 KATHtEINE MORRIS. thized fully with him, and not hypocritically either, for I could appreciate what I could not then even strive to become. He thought me all I ought to have been. The course of true love did run smooth for once; and in a year we were mar- ried. We did not set up an establishment of our own, as we should have done, but, yielding to the entreaties of my parents, remained with them. "I do not think 'my husband ever liked the arrangement. Perhaps, in our increased intimacy during the preparations for our wedding, some- what of my spoiled, wilful, childish character ap- peared, and he judged the cares and responsibil- ities of a home of my own would be my best cure. Or perhaps he wished for more quiet and repose than was to be found in my father's open, hospi- table house. Whatever he thought, however, he consented to the plan- for one year. ' After that, Ellen,' he said, 'we, will have a home of our own.' I laughed and made no reply, but I thought, 'It will be as I choose then, as it is now.' "You are doubtless shocked, Katherine, at such an early determination on my part to have my own way; you think it not at all in accordance KATHx BHTNE MORRIS. 219 with your notions of true love, which should seek to promote another's happiness in preference to one's own. It was but the legitimate result of my early training, and therefore I was not so blame- worthy, perhaps, as I seem to have been. "The year passed rapidly, and in most respects joyously. But there were times when I had many unhappy and distrustful feelings. My husband did not know at first what to make of my wilful and childish caprice. I could not abide his grave looks and tones, when I was only acting out my spoiled, long-indulged self. When I look back dispassion- ately upon those early days of our married life, I think, if my husband had been a little more lenient to my weaknesses, and had tried persuasion and advice rather than silent displeasure, I should have been sooner aroused to a sense of my duty. I could not understand his want of tenderness and consideration for my faults'; it seemed want of love. Consequently, shadows occasionally fell upon our path; affecting much more deeply and permanently my husband's reserved disposition than they did my own joyous and elastic nature. "When that first year had elapsed, I was in no condition to assume the cares of a household; I page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 KATHERINE MORRIS. was too feeble for any unusual effort. My heart was beating with the first mysterious ecstatic emo- tions of motherhood. My darling, my precious infant Georgie lay in my arms. It was many months before I regained my health. My husband devoted himself to me with. untiring assiduity, and the second year of our married life began and passed almost like a blissful dream. Our little one was healthy, promising, and of course beau- tiful. My husband began in earnest, when my health was restored, to make plans for our re- moval to a house of our own. Seeing that I did not second, though I did not oppose them, his old grave manner, of which I had scarcely seen a glimpse during the whole year, reappeared. One day, after talking upon the subject for some time with his usual earnestness, while I listened with indifference, he turned his face upon me, and said, suddenly assuming a look of displeasure, ' You do not seem to take much interest in this matter, Ellen.' O yes, I do,' I answered, ' if you do; but I hate the thoughts of managing servants, and all that; and we are so comfortable and easy here, and baby is so petted and cared for!' KATHERINE MORRIS. 221 "The very reason, my dear, why we should go home. Life is not all a holiday. Let us prepare our child for life's duties. I can conceive of no greater misfortune for him than to be constantly accustomed to indulgence and adulation, as you yourself have always been in this luxurious house. Already the little fellow is quite aware of his im- portance. And you, dear Ellen, you are not doing full justice to yourself; your talents, here are laid by in a napkin.' 'c I know not,' I said, coldly, ' what great ex- ercise for my talents there can be in superintend- ing unfaithful and unthankful domestics, or in the other drudgery of housekeeping. You must think my capacity of a very low order.' There spoke in- dulged self-love; in my heart I felt I was wrong. "'I think too highly of your abilities, Ellen,' he replied, ' to wish to see them rust for want of exercise. However petty the details of house- keeping may be, nothing is a trifle which is neces- sary to the happiness of life. Family cares bring discipline with them, at least.' ' I do not want discipline,' I said, pettishy. "' The time may come, Ellen, when you will need the fruits of it, at least,' was the grave an- 19* - page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 KATU 'TNE MORRIS.. swer. 'Neither riches nor life are to be depended upon; your treasures may be taken from you, - heart-treasures as well as those of gold and silver.' "'It is not kind of you, George,' I said, pas- sionately, 'to talk so to me, when I am ready to go to housekeeping, or to do anything else in my power to please you.' "'Then I will say no more.' Rather abruptly he left me. "We made our preparations forthwith, and- were soon established in a residence suited to our means. And really it was pleasant to be by ourselves, and the novelty of ordering dinners and superintending household affairs interested me for a time. I soon wearied of it, however; and when cooks, chamber-maids, and nursery-girls were im- pudent and unfaithful, I was not quite disposed to be patient with them. "'So unnecessary for dear Ellen to have all this trouble,' said my mother to an elderly friend one day, when I was recounting in their presence some of my grievous trials. 'We so wanted her to live with us always, but Mr. Grey couldn't be brought to consent; he has rather peculiar notions.' KA'BTHRINE MORRIS. 223. "' Very just notions, if to wish his wife to keep house was one of them,' replied the lady. 'Ellen will find it easier after a while. Young people are best by themselves, I think.' "But I must not dwell longer upon these de- tails. I did not make a good housekeeper, of course, and my husband's serious looks and in- creasing absence of manner showed that he felt very keenly the annoyances and discomforts which surrounded him, through my neglect of duty. "So passed six years, and then another child gladdened our home. He came as if, an angel visitant, he had strayed from heavenly mansions only for a brief season, to be suddenly recalled again. When he was taken away, I felt that our Father knew I was no fit guide for such a cherub. Heretofore I had- only imagined trials, or created them for myself; but now they came upon us in earnest. Soon after the death of our infant, my- father failed in one of the commercial crises so - frequently occurring in our country, and all my husband's hard earnings and savings from his pro- fession, which he had intrusted to my father's care, were involved in the general wreck. My father could not bear the humiliation of being a bank-. page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 KATIlKE i MtORRI$. rupt; and not being able to establish himself in business again at once, mortification and anxiety so affected his bodily health that he died of a broken heart. Then my mother came to live with us in the retired and humble residence into which we had removed. She was querulous and discontent- ed; her bereavement touched her less than the loss of her position in the world. Of all the evils un- der the sun, she had never anticipated that of pov- erty and dependence. As I saw her day after day brooding selfishy over irremediable evils, I was induced to consider how it would be with myself in similar circumstances, and I discovered that I was walking the same road to a cheerless old age. I roused myself to an effort to overcome my indo- lence and self-will; and I really wished to give more attention to my husband's desires, and to the comfort of my household. The deepest springs-of action were wanting, however, and it was to very little purpose that I wound up the clock, since there was no steady motive power within to keep it going. Discouraged by the first petty difficul- ties, and disheartened by my mother's constant fretfulness, I relapsed into my old selfish indiffer- ence. So passed four years full of struggle and KATHiiERINE MORRIS. 25 discomfort, which my mother and I called poverty. But we were not necessarily poor, - or only made so by my neglect of household economy." "It seems to me," I said, "as if you were talk- ing of some one else, and not of yotrself, you are now such a careful housekeeper. How strange it sounds!" "Understand me, Katherine," said Mrs. Grey, eagerly; "my husband and I never lived unhap- pily together. I almost idolized him; I would have done any great thing for him joyfully; I was only not careful to attend to the thousand little things that go to make up the comfort of life, and a great part of its happiness. I seldom had any intimation that I was in fault for the dis- orderly state of our household, or I should have been fretful. I could not endure any blame from my husband. He loved me far more than I de- served, and he made great allowances for my unfortunate education, no doubt; but--"Mrs. Grey made a long pause, and my own heart beat in sympathy with her evident distress ; " but he did not love me with all the tenderness of which his large, generous nature was capable, I knew. And it was all,- all my own fault. My fretful- O page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 KATHERINE MORRIS. ness, my wilfulness, my discontent, repressed his nobler feelings, and often sent him wearied and disheartened to his books and his professional duties for comfort. "Four years had passed heavily away, when one bitter cold night my husband returned home, looking pale and ill. My fears were instantly aroused. My terror was not without cause; for before morning he was raving in the frenzy of brain-fever. From the first the physician gave me no hope. 'Overworked, overworked,' he said, shaking his head mournfully. "O the agonies of the succeeding fortnight, when not a single look of love or intelligence from my husband met my own despairing, search- ing gaze! O, how busy was conscience then at her mysterious work! Day or night, sleeping or waking, she gave me no rest. ' But for me,'-so I felt every hour,--' bhut for me, but for my careless- ness, my want of thrift and oversight, he would never have had so many anxieties to struggle with, such constant exertions to make for our support.' I could see then, that, from the first day of our wedded life up to this awful hour of self- reckoning, I had been intensely selfish. I had KATHERINE MORRIS. 227 never sought his happiness, but constantly my own. Self, self, forever self, encountered me at every point in the retrospect; and so petty too, so contemptible, were the acts and the omissions of my life, which caused this overwhelming flood of remorse to roll over me, that I felt more hum- bled aso I looked back, than if I had committed some one great sin. "My husband recovered his reason for a few brief moments before the last struggle; but he could not speak. I knew he understood my im- ploring looks, beseeching his forgiveness, as I alternately kissed and pressed his wasted hands. Motioning me to stoop down to him, he put his arms around me, and held me clasped closely to his breast. As I raised my head, he pointed above, and gave me a look of tender love, such as an angel might have done i and then, taking our boy's hand and pressing it and mine in his own, he again looked upward, as if commending us in silent prayer to the God of the widow and the Father of the fatherless. O, could I have had one word from his lips, one single word! But that was not granted me. I had only his sweet look of forgiveness and love to treasure up. To know page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 K- ATIKNE MORRIS. myself forgiven gives me peace now; but at the time it only made my remorse more acute, and the agony of my mind threw me into a fever. When I recovered, I nerved myself to do some- thing for the support of my family. My brothers were not then able to assist me. I was a profi- cient in music, and soon obtained employment as a teacher. "I arose from my sick-bed a different woman; humbled, subdued, but not yet seeking comfort where alone it could be found. I never com- plained; but I never felt grateful. I was almost heart-broken. To Him who healeth the bruised, and lifteth up those who are cast down, I had not learned to go. My mother never changed much. She had set her heart early upon the world, and all her treasures had been those which are laid up on earth; she was little com- fort to me. "My boy, my George, my darling, my husband's very self again in juvenile mould, ah! he was my all of earthly solace. On earth I knew no hope that was not centred in him. For him I was willing to toil early and late, and around him I threw the strongest protection a mother's love ]KATHERINE MORRIS. 229 could furnish, to guard him against evil. But I was not worthy,-0, I was not worthy even to have the charge of him, and he was taken in his innocence and purity to a home above. His death was so awful and sudden!- I see him now, pale, cold, and dripping, as they brought him in and laid him down before me, every spark of life ex- tinct, - my boy, my beautiful, my all! "' We had been invited to pass the day with a friend in the country. After dinner, Georgie had strayed out with some other boys into the gar- den, at the foot of which wound a beautiful river. Contrary to a standing command, they went down to the shore, and he ventured out too far upon some tempting rocks, and fell into the stream; the others, terrified, ran shrieking everywhere. But it was too late, too late. I thought I could not live; I prayed to die. But my Heavenly Father had work for me to do, and it was not his will that I should depart. Tried and purified in the fiery furnace of affliction, I brought my rebellious heart into submission to him. I at last met a friend, a holy minister of Christ's religion, whose gentle words of peace and trust proceeded from - a heart trained in the school of sorrow, and 20 page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 KATHER1NE MORRIS. , he directed me where to find rest. My heart must have been harder than flint had it not now - been softened and ready to receive the good seed sown by this faithful pastor. O Katherine, the hopes, the .comforts, the supports of religion are a blessed reality! They have sustained me and given me strength to look back cheerfully on the past. What will it not do for you, if you ! accept it now in your youth? Will it not keep you safe in all the perils and snares which beset you, and save you from life-long regrets? I sighed involuntarily. Was there not much for me to repent of already? "While my mother lived, I continued to keep house, and took care of her, my brothers contrib- uting to her support. When she died, Mr. Clay- ton invited me to come and live with him. It was not the situation I should most have desired; but I found I could be of service, and I accepted the kind offer, upon the conditions I formerly stated to you. "I need scarcely tell you, Katherine, how my heart has been wrung in relating my past history; : neither do I need to tell you what use to make of it. I hope -it will not be in vain that I have made i -"^rX ,4Ijxa MLMUalbo 281 this painful effort for your benefit. Now you can- judge of my natural gentleness, as you thought it, and know the real spring of my desire to make others happy. Many of our trials in this world are made, and all are greatly aggravated, by our think- ing so much of self. Believe me, there is other work for us all to do than to please ourselves; and there is peace, deep, abiding peace,-nay, joy,--to be found in self-denial, if we seek help of our Heavenly Father, who has come so near to us in Christ our Saviour. Even if all our outward joys are taken from us, and we are left bare like, trees of the forest in autumn, we need not despair. Believe this, dear, dear Katherine; and make faith no more a speculative thing, but a matter of personal experience. Without it you have no stay, no sure support. Friends may die, riches may fail you, health may leave you, but the word of the Lord abideth forever. Promise me that you will think of these things." " I will, I will!"I answered. "Forgive me my passionate outhurst to-day. How insignificant to you must seem my complaints, my rebellion against my fate, when you recall your own real sor- rows!" page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 KATHEBRINE MORRIS. "No, no, they do not. I remember all too well my own folly and ingratitude, when I had far more blessings than you. Dear Katherine, I know you have trials; and I know they are hard to bear. Learn to bear them patiently, and you shall find in them a heavenly discipline, and see the gracious hand of your all-merciful Father in all that befalls you. Otherwise the Lord winnoweth, until the chaff is separated from the wheat." CHAPTER XVI. ROM this period dates my first real interest in religion. Heretofore I had experienced religious spasms, but they were short in duration and evanescent in their effects. It became to me a subject of vital moment, even the under-current of all my thoughts; and it was the one great hope and desire of my heart to grow into the Christian character, and to experience the blessedness of religion in my own life. I might have heard in my state of indifference the most powerful sermons upon the worth and happiness of faith, and they would not have moved me, nor convinced me of the blessed reality of re- ligious truth and belief as Mrs. Grey's simple nar- rative did. She needed not to tell me how to draw inferences. I had for weeks had her daily life of cheerful, trusting Christian faith before me; and now I had from her own lips the record of her past life, - a story which revealed a character 20 page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] once as faulty as my own, and a selfish, headstrong temper, now so wrought upon and changed by Divine influences that no one could fail to be im- pressed by its devoutness and simplicity. And how keenly I felt the need, not only of the sustaining, but also of the soothing power of Chris-' tian faith! My eager inquiry was, "Where is' what I seek to be found?" The question arose, "What is truth?" In each of the families in which I had of late lived, a different creed had i been professed, with its own peculiar forms of wor- i ship. I could accept neither of them; I was unable i to discover much to choose between them, so far as I saw them exemplified in the life and charac- ter. At the same time I was well aware that I: the inconsistencies of my Aunt Green and Mrs. Riley were not justly chargeable^ to their belief. The religion of formalism, which was so repulsive to me in the one, and the religion of conventional proprieties and outside show, which so annoyed me in the other, were not the necessary results of their respective creeds. Their deficiencies were attributable to causes lying far back of doctrinal- speculations. It was worldliness, not faith in any peculiar system, that was the cause of their short- comings. Both believed sincerely, and were with- out any conscious hypocrisy, not knowing what- manner of spirit they were of. Still, in the re- spective churches in which both these families worshipped, I had heard views advanced and doc- trines preached to which my mind could not con- sent, so dishonorable did they seem to me to be to the character of an infinitely good, holy, and just Being, -so contradictory to reason, and so much did they shock my sense of right. But I do not think I was in a very favorable state of feeling to judge of. such matters then. Possessed of a resolute will, and having a strong desire to make myself of some service in the world in which my Heavenly Father had placed me, I had come in the pride of my heart to entertain but a poor opinion of the value of purely dogmati- cal religion. I thought, when I reflected upon the subject, that a life of active well-doing would ren- der me much more acceptable to God than mere assent to a formula or creed, however correctly drawn up. I was not disposed, therefore, to give myself much anxiety about doctrinal points, upon which there had been so much bitter contention, even among those who professed to be the conse- page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 KATHraXINE MORRIS. crated disciples of the same Lord and Master. I had once supposed that I could become religious at any time, so far as I cared to be, in my own way of thinking and by my own strength. I now began, however, to reflect more deeply and anx- iously. Mr. Clayton's family belonged to yet another sect of Christian believers from those I had before known. Although there were in my judgment very few of the fruits of genuine piety to be seen either in Mrs. Clayton herself or in her .children, yet at the altar at which I worshipped with them- I heard the great truths of the Gospel so preached that I could accept them heartily. The holy man who then mifiistered there has now joined-the communion of the saints above. I owe him a large debt of gratitude for his calm, earnest, and forcible delineations of the Christian life and the character I must attain, and for the manner in which he spoke to my very soul of God and Christ and duty, and for that lofty ideal of Christian ex- cellence which he ever held up before me. I am not about to describe any sudden or re- markable change of feeling or belief; but a change, and that a very marked one to myself, I did expe- KATHERINE MORRIS. 237 rience. Although, as I have already remarked, I can distinctly trace my first serious interest in, religion as a personal concern to Mrs. Grey's narrative, still it was some time before I became established in a fixed faith, which was able to exert a controlling influence over my daily life. But now that my attention was awakened, every sermon I heard was fraught with the instruction which I needed; every hymn and every prayer of the sanctuary moved my heart as it had never been moved before; every Scripture lesson that was read recalled me to myself, and seemed ad- dressed peculiarly to me, sometimes in the lan- guage of rebuke, and sometimes in that of heavenly soothing. The dullest preacher that stood in our pulpit never failed to bring some nourishment to my hungry soul. I saw now that: one reason why the ministrations of religion had hitherto been so dry and uninteresting to me was that I had never before hungered and thirsted after righteousness.. As in a diseased state of the body the appetite craves only luxuries and rejects wholesome food, so in a state of spiritual unhealthiness I had only been interested in sermons, marked by intellectual vigor and adorned with the graces of rhetoric. page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 . KARTHNICINE MORRIS. One Sunday morning, as I took my accustomed place at church, and sat waiting for the truth which my soul needed, I perceived, with my usual feeling of disappointment, that our good pastor had made an exchange. Without particularly noticing the person who occupied his place, fur- tlher than to observe that he was a young man, I rested my head upon my hand, and was lost in earnest thought. At the first word of the service I started, and for a moment scarcely knew where I was, so great was the confusion of my thoughts and feelings. I could not have imagined that the unexpected sound of Charles Clifford's voice would affect me so powerfully. I almost held my breathl as I listened to his impressive reading of the beau- tiful service, imparting to the familiar words a new power and depth of meaning. His figure was commanding, .!s expressive face in every linea- ment betokened a sincere and holy purpose, and a spirit prepared and earnest to do his Master's work. A voice of uncommon richness, with a distinct and forcible enunciation, secured to him the closest attention of the audience, as soon as he had announced his text and commenced his sermon. His treatment of his subject was original and masterly, and so deeply impressed me, that, in my absorbed thoughtfulness after it was ended, I was upon the point of leaving the church without giving a look or a word to my old friend. But our recognition had been mutual, and he hastened into the vestibule to speak to me, with the same old, kindly smile, but not the same look of self- satisfied pride, which I so well remembered in our last interview. "I arrived late last evening," he said, " or I should have sought you out at once. I shall call to see you to-night." "Mrs. Clayton and her daughter have not yet returned," I stammered out. I know not why I demurred at receiving him, for I did not wish to be ungracious. He did not answer at once, but looked in my face earnestly. "I shall come, however," said he, with a smile, as if he read permission in my blushes. He did come. And I was struck with the 'en- tire change in his conversation and manners. It was Charles Clifford, and yet not he. I did not know what he thought of my abstractedness, and my leaving it to Mrs. Grey almost entirely to page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] IKATHiRINE MORRIS. keep up the conversation. I thought perhaps he was disappointed that, when his friendly interest had brought him to see me, I was constrained and distant. There was something that came between us like a phantom; I was conscious that it might be only the illusion of my imagination, and it was therefore capable of embarrassing me more than any certainty could have done. When he left, he said: " I must see you again, Katherine, some time, and hope to be permitted to say to you what you formerly would not give me leave to write." "I should now be glad to listen to your advice," I answered. "I have been deeply interested in your sermons to-day. I do riot regard religious subjects as I once did." "It is a great gratification to me to hear you say so, very great," he replied, with animation. "I shall no longer feel so guilty with regard to certain things that are past." So he left me. I told Mrs. Grey to what he referred in his parting words. "He is in earnest in his wish to lead you aright now," she said, "and you may safely trust him. I have seldom seen a countenance which inspired more confidence, or one seemingly so illumined with zeal in his Master's service." "I only wish," I said, "I knew where to begin; what to do first in this great work of becoming a : Christian." "What," she asked kindly, "must always be the first step in reformation ?" "Repentance, I suppose," I answered; " but I do not know that I have sinned so very deeply that I should be overwhelmed-with remorse, and I do not feel so,-ought I?" "Remorse, my dear, it is not necessary for you to experience, that you may repent. Re- morse, I suppose, proceeds from a conviction of guilt. Your sins, it may be, have been more those of omission than commission. Study the charac- ter of the Saviour, and you will see your defects; make yourself familiar with his teachings; learn what he requires of you, and reflect upon your own life, past and present, upon your habits of thought, your motives, your actions. Do this con- scientiously and sincerely, and I think you will discover whether or not repentance is the first step for you to take in a new life." I promised to follow my good friend's advice, page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 KATHERINE MORRIS. and I entered at once upon a calm and considerate study of the Gospels. As far as possible, I strove to forget that Christians were divided into differ- ent sects; I sought only to ascertain clearly what Christ himself had taught. I shall not attempt now, or- at any future time, a formal exposition of my belief. Indeed, I am not sure -that I should succeed in it, were I to un- dertake the task, since there are some things in religion very mysterious to me still; or rather in the ways in which our Heavenly Father has conde- scended to us in our sinfulness, to reconcile us to himself, and to make us feel that we are his chil- dren. But I shall enter into such details ag am able, as my narrative advances, and recount some of the conclusions to which the course I pursued has brought me, even at the risk of being called dull and prosy, as I cannot but think that what has proved such a comfort and blessing to me must find a response -in other seeking and wait- ing hearts. Mrs. Clayton and her daughter returned from their journey earlier than they were expected, in consequence of an accident which happened to the latter. Although she seemed for a time to have KATHERINE MORRIS. 243 partially recovered from its effects, her cheek lost its bloom, her eye its lustre, and her friends feared for her an early decline. With the not unusual caprice of an invalid, she preferred my attentions to those of any one else; and there gradually grew up between us a very friendly feeling. I discov- ered that her haughtiness was only an acquired manner, and that there was a foundation of genu- ine kindness at heart. During Miss Clayton's sickness my brother and Alline returned from their journey, and I marked with deep distress increased indications of vicious self-indulgence in his habits and life. The sad ex- pression of my sister's face grieved me to the heart. Upon their leaving for their Southern home, he renewed his invitation to me to coine and live with them. I shook my head; I could not speak. "Be it so," he said, proudly. "You might do us much good, but you do not choose it." Alline clung to me as a child might to a mother. "I do not ask you now to come, Katherine dear, but you will if I send for you?" "Yes, Alline, yes, if there is need of me; but I, hope there will not be any." So we parted,-my brother displeased, and I sad and fearful; but the end was not yet. page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] CHAPTER XVII. URING Charles Clifford's stay in Boston, he was much at Mr. Clayton's; but I avoided perversely any opportunity for confidential conver- sation. I would rather not be indebted to him, I thought, for aid at this critical period. If I had to unlearn all I had before learned, I would do it independently of one who had himself given an unfortunate bias to my character. I knew he was vexed by this; I thought sometimes that his eye rested upon me with an interest greater than that of simple friendship; but I banished the thought as an illusion caused by self-love, and was the more determined it should not obtain a hold on my mind, because I began to hear rumors of his devotion to a young lady in C , in whose moth- er's family he had been a boarder. When Mrs. Clayton laughingly questioned him one day as to the truth of certain reports of this sort that had gone abroad, he appeared much an- KATHERINE MORRIS. 245 noyed, and begged her not to give credence to the idle gossip. One day, when I was out with Mrs. Grey, I met him walking with two ladies. One I saw was young and beautiful,- blue eyes,. light- brown hair, a face of which poet or painter might have made a study when about to paint a Madon- na. A pang shot through my heart. Was it envy? No, no, it was no such mean and selfish emotion, though I felt that one who had looked upon her with interest could never have more than a passing glance of approbation to bestow on me. Was it jealousy then? No indeed; no. What right had I to be jealous? I had no claim upon Charles Clifford. Even his offered friendship I had cast from me; I had resisted all his efforts to bring me to stand on the old familiar footing with him. What then was the pain I felt? After careful and long self-examination, I could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion; and as my mind and heart were at that period in almost a chaotic state in consequence of the upheaval of old feelings and thoughts, while the new were not yet arranged and settled, I concluded that this was another of the mysteries of the life now so fast opening before me. I think now my state of feeling 21 page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 KATHERINE MORRIS. grew out of our former relations. Early playmates and friends, bound together by the ties of childish associations and pursuits, our youthful attachment had been strong. Then came separation; then, apparently, an entire change in his character; and then the sudden desolation of my own home hap- piness! Unable to resist the impulse of my own dispo- sition to follow advice, which I knew to be unsafe, I had for years remembered our parting interview with a feeling of resentment against him, which, whenever we should meet, I had supposed would be confirmed into fierce dislike. But now that we had met again,- -I still the undisciplined girl, he the man of settled belief and holy life,--a man whose earnest words and persuasive manner carried con- viction to my proud heart,- of what nature were my feelings towards him? I must either dislike him thoroughly or cordially approve him. I could not do the former; he had put it out of my power to do that. The result was certainly a deep inter- est in him. Upon the old childish affection was grafted the womanly appreciation of whatever was noble and admirable in his character. Then why did I avoid him? Did I not wish for his regard? KATHERIN VMOBMS. 247 I know not even now, unless ,it were from that perversity of disposition which I had yet to over- come, or from a prudent desire to keep strict guard over my heart, after my meeting with the lovely Louise Low, the young lady to whom he was reported to be attached, if not betrothed. Certainly, if I wished to become an object of particular interest to him, I took a novel way to effect any such purpose, always, as I have said, avoiding private interviews with him, and never expressing half I felt when any subject of conver- sation was introduced upon which I had thoughts or feelings. He was determined, however, that he would not leave Boston without having a confidential inter- view with me; and to bring it about, he communi- cated to Mrs. Grey his reasons for wishing it. In going to meet him in her sitting-room, I felt like a culprit about to receive the deserved sentence of the law. He rose as I entered, and, approaching me, said: "Katherine, have you forgotten old, happy times, - all the ties that bound us together in those hal- cyon days long gone by?" "No," I answered, "I have forgotten nothing. page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 KATH'lkhINE MORRIS. I sometimes wish I could forget, since I shall never, never know such joy, such happiness again." "You are mistaken," he said, gravely, yet kindly. "You cannot know the same joys, it is true, for they were childish joys. I never hear people regret the happiness of childhood, that I do not feel sure that they have very imperfect conceptions of what our life is intended to be. Katherine, believe the word of one who has both sinned and suffered, when he tells you that the joys of the most sunny, cloudless youth shrink into utter insignificance in comparison with the joys of those who have fought the good fight with evil, and have come off victorious, - who have con- quered themselves,--who have earned the right through the solemn mystery of suffering to speak with some measure of positiveness of the bliss of believing,-who thus, and thus alone, have come into a knowledge of and communion with Christ, Saviour, Redeemer. The child's joy is fulness of animal life and health, sunshine upon this fair world, upon which neither cloud nor storm can long cast a shadow. The man's joy should be higher than this: simplicity and godly sincerity of KA'i'a1lIINE MORRIS. 249 heart. His own spirit, purified, ennobled, sancti- fied by suffering, conflict, victory, and not outward things, makes the true joy of life." He paused. I was moved. It was not thus, as a means of a purer happiness, that I had viewed trial and suffering. Heretofore its highest minis- try had seemed to me disciplinary; I had thought trials were to be patiently endured, because God had appointed them for our eternal benefit. But that the fruits of suffering in this world could ever be righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost, I had never seriously considered. I said as much. And Charles resumed, with lglowing face and kind- ling eye: "It is so, Katherine. Trial and suffer- ing such as no man ever knew our Saviour bore, and all for us, that through faith in him we might have life; and through these means he was per- fected, and consequently ever more shall they be sanctifying agencies unto men. Shall we not re- joice, dear Katherine, that we are permitted to follow where he leads the way, that we are counted worthy to suffer as he suffered, and thus to be- come sharers with him in his divine life and in the sovereignty of his kingdom here on earth?" "You have changed, Charles," I replied. "You page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 KATBIRItNE MORRIS. did not think, a few years ago, as you do now; then you counselled me to return smiting for smiting and evil for evil; to stand up for my rights, and to be strong in my own might." "Yes, yes, Katherine, do not remember my boyish words. I am changed; and now I should counsel you quite differently, if you would allow me the friendly privilege. I was on the borders of scepticism and proud of my folly, with the usual conceit of early manhood. I did not take into account that it is when we have overcome the evil in our own hearts that we become strong in - the strength of our Divine Master; then we are prepared against the evil that is in the world, we can withstand all outward enemies, and resist successfully all untoward influences. It has not been one of the least of my trials, Katherine, to remember that I gave you such in- jurious counsel, and at- such a tender age. My first desire, when I came to see you again, was to undo the wrong; but you would not suffer me to approach the subject. Why would you not?" "I do not know. I was - I was vexed, and I did not sympathize in your change of temper and principles; and - and I suppose it was hard KAT'1'EINE 'MORRIS. 251 for me, being no longer of a tender age, to be tutored to meekness by one not so very much older." "6 Hard! O that it is for us all! And need we blush to own it, especially when we remember the garden of Gethsemane, and the agony of Him who there sought for -not without prayer - and ob- tained submission? But now- " I could not speak. Thoughts, feelings rose in tumultuous rush to my lips ; but 'they were dry, parched, sealed. "How is it now, Katherine? will you still repel me? Will you not allow me to aid you as far forward in a new life, at least, as I once helped to draw you backward?" "You are going away," I stammered. u How : can you?" - "We can correspond. Tell me your difficulties without reserve. Can any one better than I, who have myself passed through so many phases of feeling similar to yours, render you the assistance you need?? "I cannot write freely to you, and you could never understand my difficulties," said I, feeling my old spirit stirring within me. L' Mrs. Grey is i' , F page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 KATHERINE MORRIS. my friend; she too has sinned and suffered, and she will help me." How I regretted this cold answer afterwards. I only grew more determined when I saw the look of disappointment with which he heard it. And yet it pained me! "Be it so, Katherine; I will not seek to change your determination. I should have considered a correspondence with you a privilege. But I de- serve your repulses." Surprised at his long silence, I looked up, and my heart was touched by his agitation. He recov- ered himself immediately, and said: "Another favor I had to ask, or rather communication to make, before I left for foreign lands; but I per- ceive that it would be annoying to you, and of no avail for me. We shall continue to be friends at least, I trust, though separated from each other with no means of exchanging a word." "Certainly, but - I did not know. Are you really going abroad? Why? When? Where?" said I, surprised into animation. "It is a sudden thing. My father wishes it for a year,-perhaps two. My health is not equal to my weighty task at present. Will you revoke your KATHERINE MORRIS. 253 decision?" he asked eagerly, seeing perhaps some betrayal of feeling. I thought of the other communication he had to make. Doubtless he wanted to say something to me with regard to Louise Low; and this impres- sion at once confirmed me in my first resolu- tion. "No," I answered; " it would be a useless trouble to you, and perplexing to me; but I thank you.' "And at least you forgive me the past? Say that, if nothing more."' "I do, certainly. Indeed, I have nothing to for- give. My own proud heart liked your counsel, or I should never have followed it." "I am glad, at least I ought to be, that I had not the degree of influence over you I thought I had. Good by, Katherine. I wish--if I dared to say-to intimate--your friendship perhaps would excuse it." "Trust not too much to my friendship," I said, lightly;' "pray do not give a secret into my keeping. I am too frank and careless to be trusted." He became grave at once. "I do not wish it to be a secret," he said; "I should be proud to own, O2 page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 KATHERINE MORRIS. to proclaim it. But you are right. I will not an- noy you any further." And with one grasp of my hand he was gone. I thought he would come to take leave of me be- fore he went abroad. No, it was years before we met again. With my characteristic perversity and inconsist- ency of disposition, I permitted Charles Clifford to leave me thus, and immediately went to my room and cried as if my heart would break. Af- ter the fit was over I tried to think for what. Because I had rejected his proposal of a corre- spondence, and aid in my present difficulties? That could not be it surely, for at the last I might have retrieved that error. Because he wished to tell me he loved another? No, surely; I had long known, or I supposed I knew, that. Because-- yes, it must have been that--because I had pained him? There could have been no other reason; and for that reason alone, doubtless, it was, that I half repented my refusal. If so, my -heart was hardened again when two days later Mrs. Clayton read in the list of passengers on board the packet for Liverpool, "Mrs. and Miss Lowe, Rev. C. Clifford;"-and added to her daughter: "An KATlHEIINE MORRIS. 255 engagement, evidently. I had a hint of it from a friend. I suppose the young lady for some rea- son wished it to be kept private. He could not have found a lovelier bride anywhere. They will be married, probably, before their return." page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] CHAPTER XVIII. FOR some time after the events narrated in the preceding chapter I was depressed. The old feeling of self-sufficiency was gone, and I had not yet laid fast hold of that faith which is adequate to all our mortal struggles. I, who had been so proud of my strength; was just beginning to learn that strength of will without principle was weakness. I, who had deemed it so much of a virtue to battle with outward circumstances and the opposing self-will of those about me, must now begin the real warfare of life; I must engage with foes within my own heart, a more severe encoun- ter than I had yet attempted. I was proud; I must now humble myself. I was independent of advice, and impatient of restraint; I must prac- tise submission. I, who had almost come to de- spise labor as unworthy a being whom God had crowned with glory and honor, must now rejoice in it as a heavenly appointed means of our earthly fKATHElINE MTORRIS. 257 discipline, and, as such, a necessity of which we need not be ashamed. Afar off, it is true, light was beginning to appear; but as yet its rays scarcely brightened the path in which I was seeking to walk. It was a lonely way that lay before me; and as yet I had not seen angel forms at my side cheering and guiding me-; I had not heard angel voices sweetly sounding from the skies; I had not begun to dream of the guardian watch of spiritual messengers, who, I love to be- lieve, are sent by the Infinite Father of all on such errands of mercy to his struggling and often de- sponding children. My father, my mother,-do they not minister to my spirit, divided from me only by my own mortal flesh? Lonely! Yes, lonely! That was to be my des- tiny. No heart would ever throb beat to beat in unison with my own. To no one would the depths of my impassioned nature ever be revealed. One there might have been, perhaps, by whom the out- gushings of a long repressed, but now recognized affection, might have been welcomed,-one who at the same time charmed my imagination and satis- fied my heart. But him I had coldly, capriciously repulsed. Now that the ocean divided us, now 22* page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 tITHERNE MORrIS. that he was the betrothed of another, I saw it all clearly. However charming the woman he loved now, he had loved me first. Of this I was con- vinced. Had-I not read it in his glance, heard it in his tones, divined it in a thousand nameless ways, which form the language of the heart.? Now I was sure that, in the first earnest look bestowed upon me after our long separation, his heart went forth to mine. And how was it met. My pride gave way. I was forced to acknowl- edge to myself, that, under all my wrong-headed' shyness and assumed resentment, there lay hidden more than a sister's or a friend's interest. -Yet I did not love him, - no, not then. I was only so far interested in him above others as to have for the first time a clear perception of the happiness I might have secured for life, and what a treasure I had thrown away and lost. In this confession, I am only doing justice to him,- whose devoted, unspoken love I understood and valued when it seemed too late. And it was to this my wayward wilfulness had led me! I will not dwell upon the remorse and self-reproach I endured; for those who have never suffered in the same way could not understand EATHEI&NE MOBBIS. 259 me, and those who have need no descriptions of mine. Every heart knoweth its own bitterness. Long I struggled with mine; and when the con- test was over, and calmness and content had re- turned once more, I put away this blighted prom- ise among other buried treasures of love, and, as I thought, turned the key upon them forever. X With the earnestness which was so essential a part of my character, I now turned my thoughts to-the subject of religion. I followed Mrs. Grey's advice, and, with my New Testament in my hand, put away as far as practicable all preconceived notions. Settled opinions I had none, except those that lie at the foundation of all religious faith and are common to all sects. I strove to come to a clear understanding of my duty, and of my rela- tions to my Heavenly Father and to my Saviour. I had told Mrs. Grey that I did not feel that I needed repentance for sin, not being aware of hav- ing committed any grave offences. - But when I came to read-not mechanically, but with a sin- cere desire for the truth - the history of the life, sufferings, and death of Jesus Christ, my eyes were opened. I was enabled better to comprehend the page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 KATHERINE MORRIS. fulness of the meaning of his words, as in' thought I myself was one of his listeners, on the hill-side, by the sea-shore, along the crowded street, or in the temple at Jerusalem. I received such an im- pression of his holy life and teachings as I had never conceived before; and with it came a clear revelation of my own character, with all its weak- nesses and its sins. Need I add, that I. saw a necessity for repentance? I had an overwhelming conviction that what is understood by a good moral life, a life of outward proprieties, respectability, and merely impulsive benevolence, would never make me a disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ, and that such a life would never of itself bring me into spiritual fellowship with him, so that I might be one with him, even as he was one with the Father. As I meditated on these things in'humility of heart, how different appeared the many acts prompted by pride or self-love from the few which had their spring in a sincere and earnest desire to obey -the commandments of Christ, my Example, Teacher, and Saviour. My feelings were not re- morseful so much as regretful, for I had sinned, in a great measure, unwittingly. How had I been KATHERINE MORRIS. 261' living far from my Father these many years, feed- ing upon husks, when the full table of Gospel love, and its rich fruits of righteousness and joy, might have been mine! In my new apprehension of Christ's spirit and teachings, all earthly sorrows dwindled into utter insignificance. Toil seemed to be toil no longer, privation no privation, suffering not worth a thought, when I remembered Him-who had endured all this, and more than all, for us and with us. This was my first state of mind after I had passed through the stage of repentance, or rather that of poignant grief, in view of my former indif- ference to the holy truths of religion. In the in- scrutable providence of God it is not permitted that these blessed foretastes of heavenly joys shall be constant or long in duration. Sometimes that gracious Father, whose loving-kindness- never fails, takes his tried and wearied children into the moun- tain-top, and gives them glorious visions of the far- off promised land, to cheer and strengthen them in their toilsome journeying along their appointed way. But such privileges are rare, and are grant- ed only to those who are faithful as the consecrated disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ, But who, that page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 KATH"ERINE MORRIS. has been so favored, has not felt, for the time at least, that he was no longer- in the flesh, but in the spirit? And who, after having come down again from the mountain-top of beatific vision into the plain of daily labor and strife, has not found him- self strong for the work before him, in consequence of the experience there afforded him? Old forms of expression lost their meaning to me, and for them H began to substitute a new vo- cabulary, and to attach a new signification to the words peace, hope, and joy, which once they did not suggest to my understanding, and still less to my heart, as I strove to bring up my life to the new standard in my mind. Sitting alone in Mrs. Grey's room one day, med- itating upon the cheerfulness of her daily life, formerly so unaccountable to me, I understood it all. She came in while my thoughts were dwell- ing upon the subject, and I said to her, abruptly, "Do you remember asking me one day, when I was mourning after the happiness which I thought denied me, ' What is happiness?" "Yes," she answered, smiling; " and I remem- ber your definition of it,-- something like this, was it not? 'Why, happiness is enjoyment, is doing as one likes.'" KATHREINE MORRIS. 263 ' How very profound!"I answered, smiling; "a child's appreciation of it. And I have been thinking over your reply when I asked you to define it, in turn." "What did I say? "You said it was an indefinable thing, since what was happiness to one person might be misery to another. As for yourself, you had never found it all the years you had sought for it; but when you abandoned the pursuit, and thought only of doing what seemed to be your'appointed duty and work, it came to you. In your opinion, a genuine happiness could be found only in that toil, both of body and mind, which our Heavenly Father has made a condition of all worthy living, --that it is never granted to the idle." "I remember something of the kind. But you did not then agree with me."' "How could I? I had not then received a rev- elation of the true meaning of life. tHow could I, being unspiritual, understand the things of the spirit? What a mystery to me was your life of busy labor! May I tell you what I thought?" "Certainly," "I was astonished that a lady of your cu!tiva-, page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 KAtE'IINE MORRIS. tion and refinement could be content to attend to all the petty details of housekeeping; to do coarse sewing; to visit poor hovels, and dismal attics, and drearier cellars. I admired you for it, for I knew you did it all voluntarily; but I could not understand it." I "And now?" "Now I not only see that there is true enjoy- ment in work in general, but I also appreciate many of the particular motives that ennoble your most menial service, and make it an acceptable offering to the Lord." "How so? I am not always referring my ac- tions to particular motives, my child." "Am I not correct? Our Saviour, in his own life, gave examples of carefulness; you look after household matters that there may be no waste, and you scorn no labor or painstaking which will conduce to the comfort of others, whether that comfort consists in a well-ordered meal or a taste- fully arranged apartment. Again, your coarse work is turned into embroidery of the -richest hues by the spirit of love which prompts it; and your visits to the poor are a step higher in follow- ing the Master's example. And- so I have been KATHERTINE MORRIS. 265 thinking, Mrs. Grey, that there can be no truer proof that the spirit of Christ rules in our heart, than the going Out among our poor, squalid fellow- creatures, that crowd our cities, to minister to their wants and instruct them in heavenly truth. I should like to join you in these labors in future, if I can be of use." "Do you not, then, think that kindness of heart, a natural or instinctive feeling, would lead one to do this?" "No indeed, I do not think it would; at least, as you do it. It may, and often does, prompt very worldly people on peculiar occasions to give food and clothing, and even assist personally in the care of the sick and needy. But a consistent course of charity comes from a higher motive. A certain feeling of equality is necessary to the enjoyment of sympathy; this must come of Christ's spirit within, that sees a child of God and a brother in the lowest and meanest, as well as in the noblest. O Mrs. Grey, how have I felt my own fastidious- ness rebuked again} and again by your example of noble consideration, even when I could not under- stand it!" "It is as you say, Katherine. The many happy 23 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 KATHERINE MORRIS. hours I have spent in relieving the sick and the destitute I owe, in part, to having taught myself to overlook the squalid exterior, the tattered garments, -the diseased bodies, and see only the immortal soul,-that priceless jewel which often shines out in great beauty in its wretched set- ting. Your astonishment at my finding so much happiness in labor is the consequence of a very common mistake. All of us, at times, I fancy, have experienced the delusion that selfish idleness is enjoyment, and labor, unhappiness. The Sav- iour, by his life of labor, sanctified it; and thus has shown'us that our true life consists in disin- terested service, - ministry to the welfare of oth- ers; and surely his immediate disciples, after they gave up the expectation of an earthly kingdom, show us the same great truth in their own lives." "Yes, I understand and feel it. One hears a great deal at the present day about the dignity' of labor, and how the mind ennobles the most mechanical employment. It is rightly said, too, I think. And yet I do not think the idea of dis- interested usefulness comes in for its proper share of respect. Labor is never truly dignified, unless it is undertaken and performed in the spirit of Christ, I see plainly." KATHERINE MORRIS. 267 ,c Recently I listened to a discourse upon this subject, of great power and beauty. The preacher portrayed our Saviour on earth in the character of a working-man actively occupied in the world and interested in it, a man sharing in its toils and labors, but not in its follies and sins. The preach- er's text was-taken from Isaiah: c Travelling in the greatness of his strength.' He objected to the prevalent representations of Christ in art, as well as in sermons; they do not rise above the idea of a mere man of passive endurance and submission. He thought his gentler character- istics had been dwelt upon to the exclusion of the hardier and more practical. He described him as travelling ever in his appointed way, from the time he said to his parents, ' Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business?' going from city to city, teaching upon the hill-side and by the sea-shore. He was ever seeking work, and doing it with all his might. Particular instances were pointed out where his example might cheer and encourage those whom busy toil kept ever at their post of duty. I am never successful at giv- ing an abstract of a sermon ; I can only say, that I gathered strength from that precious lesson to page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 2068 KATHERINE MORRIS. strive and never to weary in the path our Lord has trod before me. How I wish you could have heard that graphic and stirring sketch of his labors in the short period of his public ministry! It would enable you more fully to realize the toil and privation he endured." "I should not have supposed you needed such encouragement." "You know little of my heart, then, Katherine; and you are mistaken, if you think struggle and conflict is not the lot of all. I do not pretend to be able to explain the mystery of our natures, about which so much breath has been spent and so many volumes have been written; but this I know, that, like the Apostle, full oft I am obliged to say, ' To will is present with me, but how to perform that which is good I find not.' And like him, at such seasons I thank God, through Christ Jesus our Lord, who hath given us the victory, and shown us the way to the Father." I said nothing; but Mrs. Grey resumed, as in reply to my thoughts, which she truly divined from my disturbed countenance: "Yes, Katherine, it is a great and arduous work you- have undertaken. He who would run well the Christian race, and KAT HERINE . MORRIS. 269 figh!t the good fight of faith, must be up and doing. He has need to be ever watchful, ever active, ever seeking strength from God." "Who is sufficient for these things?"I asked. "Who? I can do all things, through Christ, who strengtheneth me. Who? The lowliest of the children of men, if only they have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ." This conversation with Mrs. Grey, together with her example ever before me, completed the change in my feelings with regard to my future life. I gave up at once the false notion, that any peculiar circumstances of outward condition were essential to happiness. In my heart I thanked God, who had given me the ability to work for others' good, and I prayed that whatever I did in time to come might be in his service. I never had really dis- liked work,--it was my nature to be active and diligent,- but I was always looking forward to a time when I should not feel the necessity for it. Now I had a clear and firm faith that He who made us, and who alone seeth the end in the be- ginning, knoweth what is for our good, and leaves nothing to chance in what concerns us. But I had, not yet learned that to serve him 23* page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 KATHERINE MORRIS. truly was not to serve him in spasms of grateful zeal, which must necessarily soon flag and leave me exhausted and powerless in body, weak in will, and for a time incapacitated for consistent and healthful effort. So I began to make work for myself, in addition to the cares already wearing upon me too much, and I gave myself no time for recreation. All the leisure I had left I thought I wanted for meditation and devotion. Mrs. Grey shook her head; but she did not say much to me, deeming it wisest, doubtless, to let me win my own experience. Thus far I had studied my New Testament with a view to learning my duty. I had contemplated the Saviour, mainly as an example, and thus had come to see and to feel that a life of labor and self-sacrifice was the only true Christian life. I was beginning to have some experience of the hap- piness of such a life. Although my new hopes and purposes were somewhat faint and undefined, yet they were deepening and strengthening daily. I trusted that erelong they would make my life blessed indeed. So far as I can distinctly recall the successive periods of my religious interest and growth, I should say the first step in it was a sense of un- ATHEMNE MORRIS. 271 worthiness, and the desire of a better, truer life. Then, as I sought for this better life, by means of the earnest study of the Word of God, devout at- tention to the preached Gospel, and prayer, came the feeling of regret and grief that I had so long neglected the highest interests of my soul. Then came the study of the character of the Saviour, and the contemplation of him as my example. That in the progress of this growth I have been acted upon and strengthened by the direct influ- ences of the Holy Spirit I cannot doubt, for such influences are vouchsafed to the sincere seeker. This I know, that when I had been depressed by doubts and anxiety, the Comforter was given, - the Holy Spirit of peace and of hope. I became conscious of a strength within me beyond that of my own- resolutions and determinations; and I know, and am certain, that in proportion as I sought Divine aid this strength of purpose in- creased. Now that my views with regard to the life I should lead as a Christian had become settled, my mind naturally turned to the investigation of some of the great questions of theology. I had no fixed views; I had never examined the grounds of the vague opinions I had passively admitted. The page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 KATrlfrMNE MORRIS. character of God, as it is revealed by his Son; the nature and character of the Saviour, his relations to the Father, and the purpose and the significance of his ministry; 1" the unfathomable mysteries of a future life ;"- these were some of the subjects which began intensely to occupy my thoughts. I shall endeavor to give some of the conclusions at which I arrived, and their effect upon my life and conduct. I believe that, next to love, sound doctrine lies at the very foundation of a good and holy life, and gives it character and direction, Here I am tempted to lay down my pen, and ask in humility, Who am I, that I should dare to handle such high and difficult themes? They have engaged the best powers, and called into requi- sition the highest culture, of the great and good of past and present times! But I am reassured, when I reflect that comparatively few are philosophers and theologians, and that the great reading public is composed mainly Of common-sense men and women, who care very -little for learned disqui- sitions or argumentative discourse upon the mo- mentous topics of religion, and that they may be glad to know what the honest convictions of a mind like their own are, or what to such a mind seem to be the teachings of the Bible. CHAPTER XIX. SIATALL ever be grateful for the assistance I received in my spiritual growth and progress from the excellent man upon whose ministry I attended. The first sermon I heard from him impressed me with the conviction that preaching with him was not merely a professional duty, but a necessity of his faith, and consequently whatever fell from his lips had a peculiar interest to me. He treated his subjects in such a clear and forci- ble manner, that he never failed of commanding my entire attention, convincing my understand- ing; and he not unfrequently stirred the deepest emotions of my heart. When I came to him for instruction and enlightenment, as one suffering the pangs of hunger seeks for food, I was never disap- pointed. I returned from church almost every Sunday in new amazement at the manner in which he had met my deepest wants. I was always even unreasonably disappointed when his place was oc- cupied by another. page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 KATHERINE MORRIS. One Sunday the pulpit was supplied by a young man, the subject of whose discourse was "God the Father." He employed a great variety of apt illustrations to show forth the great and unchange- able and eternal love of the Father towards us, his erring, but still dear children. I was not wholly satisfied with his views. The Divine compassion and forgiveness were too exclu- sively dwelt upon. It seemed to me that, if an earthly parent had been represented as treating his children with the same undiscriminating ten- derness in their wilful wrong-doing and disobedi- ence, I should have felt that an essential element of the paternal character was wanting in him. I told Mrs. Grey of my objections to the sermon, as we sat in the evening enjoying a quiet hour in her room. She looked at me inquiringly, and said: ' You do not mean, Katherine, that you are cherishing old Jewish notions with regard to God; consid- ering our Father only a stern and inexorable Judge?" "No, indeed," I said; " but I do not tlink we do justice to the representations of Scripture if we consider God, who is infinitely wise and holy and KATHERINE MORRIS. 275 just, more indulgent Athan a judicious earthly parent should be. Do you, Mrs. Grey? Would he then be truly the Father?" "Certainly not; and perhaps that is a rock upon which many careless Christians split. There are some who dwell upon the love of God, and ex- clude his justice; others who delight to dwell upon the sterner attributes and the terrors of the law. For my own part, while I would avoid these extremes, I would gratefully receive our Saviour's revelation of the character of God as a Father, combining more than an earthly parent's love, ten- derness, and pity with the wisdom, majesty, and justice of an infallible being." "And do we not revere as well as love the Saviour himself?"I interrupted. "He does not promise to save us in our sins, but from them." "In' what scathing language," replied Mrs. Grey, "did Jesus rebuke the Scribes and Phari- sees! How he exposed their self-delusion, their arrogance, and their hypocrisy! ' Ye are whited sepulchres, which, indeed appear beautiful out- ward, but are within full of dead men's bones and of all uncleanness.'" "Christ indeed shows us the Father 'as a right- eous, though a' merciful Judge." page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 276 KRATERINE MORRIS. "He has taught us that God will deal with us in the great day of retribution as we deal with one another; that He will not forgive us our tres- passes unless we forgive others their trespasses." "And yet how many wretched grudges and piques some people choose to cherish;!" "Still, in language that cannot be misunderstood or explained away, Christ has declared to us the Father's hatred of uncharitableness, and his dis- pleasure at every form of sin. On the other hand, how tender he was toward the penitent and stricken,-those whom the formal moralities of the world would follow with execrations and pursue unto death. He was ever tender and compassionate to the sinning and sorrowing, as they bowed in himility before his matchless puri- ty. The bruised reed he did not break, the smoking flax he did not quench. So has he re- vealed to us the Father; so has he made us sure that we have a Father in heaven,. O Katherine, this is to my mind a great truth. When our feel- ings have been grieved and tortured in reading the Old Testament narratives of ordained, or at least permitted wars of vengeance, and terrible judgments, we can turn with a soothed and KATHERINE MORRIS. 2" grateful heart to this glorious doctrine of the Father, the God of love, Jesus Christ the right- eous has revealed!" "No longer do we see the dreaded judge; no longer a being awful to contemplate, sitting apart on his throne,-a Deity whom our prayers and our tears can never reach or move. He is shown to us as the Father, our Father, who yearns for us, who is ever watching over us, who never slum- bers nor sleeps in his care of us, who never forgets us, even when we forget ourselves," I said, with animation. Yes," said Mrs. Grey, " we trust in his un- fathomable love, which sends upon us blessings or chastening as it seemeth to him most expedient for us. His all-embracing fatherhood is sufficient for the. lowliest as well as the noblest of the sons of men. We love the tender, all-compassionate Father, who goes out to meet the returning prod- igal, and receives him to his bosom as thie son who was lost and is found; we revere the wise and just Father, who will reward every one at last, accord- ing to the deeds done in the body; who has taught us, by his Son and by the mouth of apostles, that if any one builds his house upon the sand, it shall 24 , page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 KATHERINE MORRIS. not stand, that the tree;.whichf' bringeth not forth good fruit. is .hewn down and 'cast into6 the fire, thht to whom much is given,.of him 8hall: much bei required,. and that according. to tlat a man soweth, so shalll ,he alsowre p.^ The FatLfhel-'s love for the children. of,.men!-. ow great, liow inex- -haustible is this love withl whilchl he still loves us, however. nnaortliily'we isfe '.the gift .of life.! And whao are : e, -that ,the .Fath -r,;shounld love Us so? So, it seemns to me,'does the i:6n reconcile ius t the - Father I it is by. the :reveiatioin wrlrlie hIeas Imaade to us of his character. 'e ethat liatlhseen e;: lie S ' x*'; s r. -q" -A'. ' -says, ' hath see: the; ather?- A ds we krow. wa he ;was; twhat his lovewags,; : at 'his icom :as'ion, 'his 'teiderness was, we 'knb-w W'hAtf:hehl Fter:is.- , and ,we feel that he' is our 'Fatlh'er:.ideed. -Tlisis, by bringing is to thie Eather's. feeit, likeF3i;Alrdre lwho had' strayed and feared- to -rektir., '-ii ChristJ tie Savioula made an, atonenienit.- ' . .' . .' .' ". ' - I asked, "Is Christ our :atohneefi':iai io" othler' way thn this?" - ; ' - "I do not sayhe is 'not, ;Eatherine'; ,t I. dc:.n prtend to uinderstand the wiiole' of t6e.' mystry of the great redemption:. ' Butlihts 4is..'qu'i e-.i1itl- ligible to mie, that 'Qhrist,- by lis " : andiisfferings ,b hO- ie ai ufeig KATIK'INE MORRIS. 279 and death, has shown Uls what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon u, a:nd has so revealed his character to us that we are drawn to him by the attractions of his love.': So simple and plain do the Scriptures make this- as I read them, I am amazed tlat all do not see thisand feel it as I do." "The Gospels are[ plain, I know, for the most part, and easily understood;- .but I find myself often very much. confused -and -perplexed in read-, ing the Epistles.'" : l. lHow so-? - .They all breathe the. same spirit." "Whyithey. seem to me to..;teach some doctrines I do not fin din the Gospels, . "Tiey: mnay, unless; you study the light shed Upo A-tlheir: pages from the Gospels. Besides this, in readi'ng thel Episetles, you must recollect- that thlere:;were. very marked individualities in thleir 'setVeral . uthors;' and however they may have been un,:dgrle superintendence of the Holy Spirit, aid Itay: have 'taughat essential truthl in their writ-' ings.; hey gave:sth utterance to their thoughts as their. previoysly:established 1habits of mind led them t ;,: :to .Pdi i, th'e zealous and learned, tearing .downi j' if.:h:is abrupt, epigraminatic style old. prejudices andridlJeefe;rto biUild upon their ruins Jesus Christ page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 KATHERINE MORRIS. and him crucified; Peter, fiery, impulsive, peni- tent; John, the gentle, loving, and Christ-like, as became him whlom the Master loved ; James, the calm, practical, impartial, - these all used such illustrations, in enforcing their instructions, as were most natural to them from their early edu- cation and associations." "I see very well all that. But they seem to make a great deal of the Saviour's crucifixion and death; it almost appears as though everything in our salvation depended upon them." "If in their remembrance of the awful scenes of Gethsemane and Calvary they dwell more upon those facts in the life of the Saviour than on oth- ers, it is not at all to be wondered at. It is just what you and I would have- done. But at the same time I think you must confess that you find these great doctrines distinctly taught in the Epis- tles: God the Father and Judge of all; Jesus Christ the manifestation of the Father; the Holy Spirit helping our infirmities; the necessity of re- pentance and regeneration, of prayer and faith, and of a life of self-denying holiness. And these are the doctrines you find in the Gospels." CHAPTER XX. T HEARD frequently from my constant friend, Mr. Clifford. In one of his letters at this time he very strongly urged again my coming to him; but I was useful where I was, and did not feel that I ought to give up the situation. A very kind re- lation now existed between Miss Clayton and my- self; and during her illness I had been able to be of service to her. I will not deny, that Mr. Clif- ford's renewed invitation was a temptation to me, but I declined it from a sense of duty, and he was satisfied with my reasons. It was a still greater temptation to my poor, lonely heart, I must confess, when a gentleman, whom I highly esteemed and -respected, and had long known as a frequent visitor at Mrs. Clayton's house, made me an offer of marriage. Nothing on my part was wanting but affection. Wanting that, however, was wanting everything. I could not perjure myself by promising a love I could not 24* page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 KATHEMRlE MORRIS. feel, neither would I be so hypocritical to a true, loyal heart as to give the semblance of a heart, in- stead of the substance. I put aside the picture of a home of luxury and refinement, with the love and tender respect of a man any girl might have been proud to call husband, for I thought myself unable to give the only requital looked for from me, -love in return. I wrote to the gentleman, honestly expressing my feelings on the subject. I did not lose his friendship, and the affair was known to none but ourselves. I did sometimes wish that I could liave decided differently; life at times seemed to me such a dreary, lonely path. I was in constant correspondence with my broth- er's wife, and occasionally received letters from Alfred himself. Alline wrote in' a gentle, sad strain, which betokened that she felt that for her life's illusions were over. Young as she still was in years, she was old in experience and in the knowledge of the world. She spoke of her hus- band with tenderness and affection always, never alluding to his faults or vices, if such he still in- dulged; but I thought I could discover from that very reserve, that care and anxiety were weighing her down, and that she was the guardian where she should have been the guarded. KATHERINE MORRIS. 283. After a while, there was an interval of several weeks, in which I did not hear from either her or Alfred, and I began to be troubled about them. At length I received a letter from my brother an- nouncing the birth of twins, a boy and a girl. He wrote in a hurried, excited manner, now dwelling on Alline's perfections and her beauty with more than a lover's fondness, now expatiating upon the wonderful charms of his babies, and at last launch- ing into eulogy upon a, Southern home, with sar- castic allusions to my prim preference for the dormant state we at the North called life. At the close of the letter he informed me that he had been ill with an attack of brain-fever, or he should have written before, and then abruptly closed, as if fearful of betraying something he wished to keep concealed from me. I could not feel any joy at this intelligence. I could only pity the little innocent creatures, when I thought of the evil examples among which they must be reared; and O how my heart yearned to the sweet, young mother, and longed to aid her in her new responsibilities! A fortnight later Alline wrote to me. She spoke- of her new joy and care, and dwelt as glowingly page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 XATHE'1R MORRIS. upon the loveliness of her children as Alfred had done. She wrote upon other topics for a while; but in an absent manner, as if her heart was not in them, or as if she was preparing the way to enter upon some matter of deeper moment. Then there came a heavy black dash with her pen; and she rushed into the subject at once. "It is of no use-no use, dearest friend and sis- ter -for me to deny myself your sympathy any longer. I must have it, and your counsel too, or my heart will break. - I do not wish-- I am not complaining of Alfred. An evil demon has taken possession of him, and holds him bound fast and firmly, and compels him to do what he would not. I must tell you, for it is necessary that you should know, that he is daily sinking lower and lower, yielding without a struggle to the fatal spell which has enslaved him. "O my children, my darlings! to whjat an in- heritance of woe are you born! Soon they are to be left fatherless and motherless! Alfred can- not- his physician has told him so - he cannot much longer bear up under his present way of life; and I have no hope that he will reform, -no hope,-none whatever! O, it is an awful thought! KATIv'mINE MORRIS. 285 "For me, dear sister, do not think I am weakly yielding to my trials, and forgetful of my duties as a mother, giving myself a prey to discontent and depression. O no! gladly would I live even the most toilsome life for my children and my unhappy husband But I feel that this cannot be, that the very foundations of my being are fast crumbling beneath me. I was too young for even the most favored married lot, - far too young for all I have endured. "So, Katherine, I know that I must die, and I cannot depart in peace and with submission, until you have promised to take charge of my mother- less orphans. I have bound Alfred by a solemn promise to consent to this plan, if you do. I shall look for an immediate reply; for though I have little doubt you will accept this trust, I must have the assurance from under your own hand. "O, do you ask why I have no hope for Alfred? It is because he has gone steadily down, down to the very brink of ruin, since our visit North ; and now there remains but one fatal plunge, and he is gone. No hope! no hope! If my own critical condition when our babes were born,--hovering between life and death for hours (and, believe me, page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 KATHERINE MORRIS. he loves me most cordially stilD, - if the sight of these helpless little ones could not restrain him, what can? They had not long breathed the air of this sad, sad world, and I was not out of danger, before he left us. He was called away by some of his reckless, heartless companions, and he was brought back in the ravings of fierce delirium. "I know the first impulse of your generous heart will be to come to us, dear Katherine. Do not do it, I entreat you. Alfred is changed in temper, though his heart is, I know, still tender and true. If he thought I sent for you to admon- ish him, to influence him, he would be angry with us both. Then you could do nothing to relieve my anxieties, already greater, it seems to me, than I can bear; your presence would rather add to them. I have made every arrangement that the children may be taken to you- at my death. There will be property enough for their support, saved by my guardian from the wreck of my inheritance. They will be orphans then: I feel that I may out- live my husband. "O, but for these precious ones, how I should long to be at rest! And why should I wish to live for their sakes, when I know you will be more to , , KATHERINE MORRIS. 287 them than I could ever be? O, my heart swells with joy within me, desolate as is my life, when I think of these sweet babes growing up in a happy New England home, over which the angel of peace shall spread his wings, through religious faith and love. Knowing that such will be their lot, I shall die content, nay, joyful. I am not equal to the cares and duties which have fallen upon me, and I long to go to Him who, I humbly trust, will for- give my errors and sins." I wrote to Alline by return post. Is there one of my readers who has not rightly anticipated my an- swer? Is there one who supposes this charge was not accepted, not only submissively, in obedience to God's will, but joyfully, as giving to me, the lonely, the desolate, a life-work? I entreated Alline to give me liberty to go to her. What duty had I on earth to compare with that which I owed to my brother and to her, my sister in affection, if not in blood? If they were poor, I would share their poverty; I could not feel it right for me to be living in comparative ease, and she overburdened with care. She wrote to me immediately, declining my visit. The whole tone of her answer was that of trusting faith and page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 KATHERINE MORRIS. Christian submission. She said I never could know how grateful she was for my sympathy; but I must not come to them. Her own health had' temporarily improved, and Alfred was more like his old self; the dear ones were growing and healthy; really, I was not needed. Then, as if she felt I should not be satisfied, she added, with evident reluctance: "Alfred does not wish it; he says you would not come when he had everything to offer you, and now you shall not. And indeed, dear Katherine, you must not think of it; in ev- ery way it is best that you should not." And thus it was settled. I determined, how- ever, if anything should happen, I would disregard my brother's pique, and go to render to his family all the help in my power. This continual anxiety was hard to bear, and it affected my nerves. I was all the time longing for letters, yet dreading them; and, for the first time in my life, my own health began to give way. I do not know but that it would have gone alto- gether had it not been for a fresh call upon my energies, which most unexpectedly arose. I had kept up a correspondence with Mrs. Riley from the time of my leaving her, and had often KATHERINE MORRIS. 289 been pained at the depressed tone of her -letters. She spoke of her own health as precarious, and often expressed the conviction that she should not live long. In a recent letter she had alluded somewhat despondingly to her husband's altered fortunes. He had been a sufferer in one of the mercantile crises which - ever and anon sweep over our land, as if in rebuke of the reckless, headlong haste of the many to be rich. They had removed to- a smaller house, and dismissed all their ser- vants, the family labor being performed by Mrs. Deane and Clementine. tI knew this was a hard trial for Mrs. Riley, and that she must have found it exceedingly difficult to submit to it. I supposed that, as her health had already been much affected by her spirits, the necessity for active exertion would be of service to her. I was not a little shocked, therefore, on receiv- ing, a months later, a letter from Mrs. Ladd, in which she informed me that her sister was sinking in a rapid decline. c Your name is often on her lips," she wrote, " and she wishes to see you more. than any one else living. Can you not come to her for a few weeks, - days, at least, - without too great a sacrifice? - I know you will if it is 25 S page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 KATHEMNE MORRMS practicable, and I think you may be a great bless- ing to her. She has never been very confidential with me. I think, if she has anything on her mind, she will speak to you about it." It happened that Mrs. Clayton was going with her family into the country for some weeks, and had graciously announced that we were all to have a vacation to enjoy the freedom of country life. I needed rest, I thought. Still I could not be deaf to such a call. -Mrs. Grey shook her head; she feared it would be too much for me. But I considered it a question of duty, and she said nothing to dissuade me from making the trial. "It is only obeying the great law of self-sacri- fice," she said, " which should ever govern a Chris- tian. I cannot advise you not to go, though you seem hardly well enough. You must be careful of yourself, for our sakes." I promised her that I would; and wrote a hasty note to Mrs. Ladd, agreeing to visit her, and act as I thought best at the time with regard to re- maining at her house or going to Mrs. Riley's. But I had no option. Mrs. Riley, feeble and child- ish, could not bear to have me out of her sight; and I found that Mrs. Deane much preferred the KATHERINE MORRIS. 291 bustle of the household below to the confinement of a sick-roomr so that my care was needed. Thus in less than a week I was installed as nurse to as capricious and exacting an invalid as it has ever been my lot to meet with, and my summer vaca- tion seemed likely to be a season of arduous toil. '.'. page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] CHAPTER XXI. FOUND Mrs. Riley much more feeble than I had expected. Consumption had already set its seal upon her countenance. I never saw her look so beautiful as she did now, on her journey to the grave. The spoiler had given her a fatal loveli- ness in exchange for the springs of life, which he was causing to dry up at their source. Her eyes shone with unusual brilliancy; and the rich color upon her cheeks, with the transparent delicacy of her complexion, made her look younger than I had ever seen her before. She was full of whims and fanciful wants, and at times so irritable that it was very wearing to my patience to attend upon her. I pitied her so sincerely, however, that I was able to please her better than any one else. I was soon con- vinced, moreover, that, however much she endured physically, her principal sufferings were mental. She never looked peaceful or resigned, and her KAT'i'lNE MORRIS. 298 face, even in her brightest days, wore an anxious expression, which betokened a heart ill at ease. I did not wish to force her confidenbe; I waited patiently for her to give it unsought, and at length the time came. One beautiful summer's morning, it happened that no one was in the house with her but myself. There was something in the atmos- phere peculiarly soothing to the feelings. It was one of those pleasantly warm days when there is an elasticity in the air which seems to bring strength to the feeblest. I had carefully attended to all her wants, and was sitting near an open window. She was reclining in an arm-chair, her head rest- ing upon a pillow; and as she looked out upon the river in the distance, and the hills of the coun- try beyond, all beautiful in the light of that glad morning, she said, as if to her herself: "How lovely! Can heaven itself offer anything more beautiful than this?" "'Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him,'-"I answered. "Ah, yes! 'For them that love him!' The recording angel has not written my name as one 25* page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 KATHERINE MORRIS. of them. And I am sure I have not the redeem- ing virtue of loving my fellow-men either. 0 Katherine, my heart is troubled. Whichever way I turn, all is sadness; backward I look upon wasted talents, lost time; forward I gaze into the swift- coming future, for which I have made no prepara- tion. All is dark to me. I am like a traveller, obliged to set out for unknown lands without clothes or money. This future life, how dim, how uncertain it all seems! And yet I must go thither. What a mystery enshrouds us from our cradles to our graves!'-' "Yes," I replied, " there is much that is mys- terious. And yet has not our Saviour revealed all that we need to know? The love of the Father, so deep, so tender,-has he not assured-us of that? And has he not given us his example, even his own life?" "Yes, Katherine ; but that Christ had died for us, I should have no hope. I rest upon his merits. His precious blood was shed for me as for all; and I trust God will pardon my many sins and trans- gressions for his dear Son's sake." "Truly our hope is in Christ. He has shown us in what our true life consists. He has revealed KATHERINE MORRIS. 295 God to us in his true character of the loving Father and the upright Judge. He has declared to us what we are ourselves ; although sinful, erring creatures, yet children of the Most High, and capable, through heavenly grace, of loving and obeying him as children." "1 Yes, yes, I understand; but that is not suffi- cient for me, Katherine. I must feel that Christ has borne my sins in his own body on the tree, that he has expiated them all on his ignominious cross, or I have no hope. I know not how else I can be forgiven." "But does the cross of Christ avail you aught, Mrs. Riley, without your own repentance and faith? Christ has indeed suffered for us, 'the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God.' He has borne our sins in his own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteous- ness. By his stripes we are healed. "ove so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.'" ' Yes, I see it all. He was bruised' for my in- iquities; and he has borne them for me; and now I dare to look to God for his forgiveness," said Mrs. Riley. page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 KATHEINE MORRIS. "And did you ever consider, Mrs. Riley, how keenly the Saviour must have suffered, all the time he abode in this world, in consequence of what he must have seen and felt of human sinfulness and depravity? I do not think we have or can have any conception of the exceeding 'sinfulness of sin,' as he contemplated it, and as it lay daily on his own soul. -He saw it with the eye of holiness; we see it only reflectively, as our own depraved passions and feelings show it to us." "You think, then, that it was not in his death alone, but in his whole life also, that he was expi- ating our sins?" "That is my opinion, if you choose to express his great work by that term. And, moreover, Mrs. Riley, however unable I am to explain, even to myself, the whole of the mystery of the life and death of the Saviour, this at least is plain to me: he lived and suffered and died, even that cruel death of the cross, that he might bring us in filial obedience and love to God; that he might thus make us feel that we are the children of God; and that we should obey God and love him as chil- dren." "I have not been a loving and obedient child of KATHEBINE MORRIS. 297 God. I have served the world more than I have served him; and if I may not hope that Christ has suffered for me, the just for the unjust, and him- self borne my sins, how should I dare to enter into his awful presence?" "And yet it was for this very end, was it not, namely, that he might bring us to God, that Christ suffered for us, the just for the unjust? He suf- fered for us, leaving us an example that we should follow in his steps." "O if my life could be prolonged, I should live very differently now," said poor Mrs. Riley, with a sigh. "I think my very disposition would be changed; my heart would not be full of vain, friv- olous emotions and selfish impulses. I would live more like my great Example, for the good of others. Will God accept this wish, which now I can never fulfil?" "O Mrs. Riley, I believe he will. If there is one truth that Christ has taught us which it is of infi- nite moment for us to learn, it is this, as it seems to me, --that upon that great law of sacrifice, which he so fully exemplified in his own life, depends everything that is most worthy and most holy in character. Self-sacrifice,-that was the law which page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 KATHERINE MORRIS. was above every law in the life of the Saviour; that must be the ruling law in the Christian's life, -the sacrifice of ourselves, our ease, our self- love, to the good of others,--the sacrifice of the promptings of passion and pride and prejudice, and every selfish feeling, that we may be the fol- lowers of the Lord's Anointed, and may know him in the spirit. Is it not so?" "Ah, yes! When I have been thinking upon this subject, as often I have done since I have been in this sick-room, I have tried to persuade myself that this law cannot be such a stringent one as it is generally represented to be in sermons and religious books; but I have found it of little avail. There is the declaration of the Apostle, 'If any man .have not the spirit of Christ, he is none of his.' I cannot explain that away. As I contem- plate that matchless life, and think of the great and good of past times, and the devout and hum- ble Christians living now, I see how they were all governed by this law of self-sacrifice, - Christ for i mankind, the patriot for his country, the reformer AtI for his faith, the philanthropist for his works of iI rmercy, the citizen for his neighborhood, the father I for his family, and the mother for her child! O, KATHERINE MORRIS. 299 it is a sublime thought, Katherine, that of this great law of self-sacrifice,- the ruling law of life with Christ the Redeemer and man the redeemed! But those like me, whose ruling law of life has been the love of self, those who have labored and toiled all their lives long, even to the bed of death, for what they find at last, as I do now, to be van- ity of vanities, how have they treasured up for themselves wrath against the day of wrath! O, the remorse I feel in reviewing the irrevocable past! But will remorse undo it? Will it enable me to live over again those misspent hours? No, no! Where then is my hope, if I cannot lay my burden on-another? "In God, Mrs. Riley, who is our strength, and from whom cometh our salvation. He is abun- dantly able and willing to pardon all who come to him in humility and repentance." "But the past, Katherine, the past, the inexora- ble past! Will not God remember that against me, if Christ has not taken away my sins?" "Surely, you must not think that you are to be cast off forever, and that without remedy, although your sins be many. God is a father, and his ear is open to hear the cry of his" repentant children. page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 KATHERINE MORRIS, His arm is not shortened, that he cannot save What is past is past, and it cannot be retrieved but it can be repented of." "Yes, Katherine, it must be so. I believe Go will accept my sincere repentance. But his fol giveness cannot restore to me what I have lost, - the blessed privileges which I have neglected, th opportunities for doing good which I have disre garded. When I think of all this, it seems to m there is very little hope for me from anything can now do." "Prayer is your resource here, my dear Mrs Riley. God can give you the peace you need Only put your trust in him, as he has been reveale !. to you in the New Testament. Only believe i 4him as your Father, and pray to him as you Father, as Christ has taught us all to do, and h will listen to you out of his parental tendernes and love, as the father in the parable embraced thl returning prodigal." "But the difficulty is, I cannot seem to con i- mand my thoughts; they will wander back to th past, and the feeling will arise, 'Who art thol !f: sluggard, that God should accept thee? After s many years of selfish indulgence, dost thou thin i- KATHERINE MORRIS. 301 of atoning for the past by giving the feeble rem- nant of thy days to him?' " "Yet the laborer who wrought but one hour in the vineyard received even as the others.' "But he who came in to the wedding of the king's son not having on a wedding-garment was bound hand and foot, and carried away and cast into outer darkness." "But it is not too late for you to put on the wedding-garment. Repentance sincere, prayer de- vout and humble, will weave one; and praise will j j make it white and glistening like the robes the angels wear." jMrs. Riley paused long, and seemed exhausted. At length she resumed: "Is salvation, then, all our own work, after all?" ".By no means. ' Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God which work- eth in you, both to will and to do of his good- pleasure,' the Apostle says. Christ shows us the way to work out our salvation, and God worketh in us both to will and to do of his good pleasure. What, therefore, we are to do seems plain. Pre- cisely how God works in us, is it not presumption in us -to pretend to know? We plant the seed; 26 page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 KATHERINE MORRIS. but how God causes it to germinate, and spring up, and bring forth fruit, that we do not know. And yet it-is all of God's grace." I had spoken as I felt, earnestly, sincerely, out of the abundance of a full heart, and I suppose Mrs. Riley was struck with my manner; for she, said at once, with surprise and wonder in her tone and look: "Katherine, is this really yourself who are speaking to me? or is it somebody'else, sent in your guise to warn and instruct me? I find it difficult to recognize you, as I once knew you, in all this enthusiastic earnestness. You were indif- ferent once, as much so as myself, I think; nay, more so, for I never found you sympathizing when I had seasons of religious interest and zeal." "I am changed, I trust, Mrs. Riley. At least, I know my whole plan and purpose of life to be changed. Whereas once I thought chiefly of my own ease and pleasure, and was always contending for my rights, I have learned now - if but dimly - to see in what a true life consists. No. I aml wrong," I continued, earnestly; "I do not see dimly; the defect is in my practice. No midday sun shows outward objects more clearly to my vision, than the Gospel declares to me the princi- KATHERINE MORRIS. 303 ples and conditions of a true life. And this at present is sufficient for my need. What higher light may be granted to me I know not. We are not at all times in a condition to receive all the truth God may be intending to vouchsafe to us. Milk for babes, and meat for the strong." " Your views of the life and death of our Sav- iour seem to me both simple and intelligible, Kath- erine, I must confess. But' do you not make too little of his atonement, - or rather make nothing of it? Do you not consider him simply an example and teacher, and undervalue his sacrifice? You do not seem to me to -honor the cross of Christ as I honor it. Perhaps you think too much promi- nence has been given to it in the plan of salva- tions?" "-I will try to tell you what I think, and you shall judge. I believe in Christ as the revealer of the Father, and as reconciling man to God. I be- lieve in Christ as our example, the perfect man, to whom all must look, and from whom all must learn, however exalted in station or however hum- ble in condition. I believe in Christ the atone- ment, whose whole life on earth was sacrificial, whose descent into this world was sacrificial, all - page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304 KATHERINE MORRIS. whose labors and sufferings in the flesh were sac- rificial, as really so as his death, however less they may have been in degree; who endured the pangs he did, and submitted to the humiliation he did, that he might soften and subdue our hard and re- bellious hearts, and bring us, in repentance and faith and filial love, to God. I believe he came also to teach us what must be the law of our lives if we would be true followers of him, as he went ever onward and onward, against the hostility, the persecution, the scorn and contempt of the world, to Gethsemane and Calvary. I feel in my heart that I do honor the cross of Christ as truly as you do, if not in the same way. I regard it as the emblem of that redemption which he has wrought for the world by the agony of his humiliation, or the symbol of discipleship to him, the witness of a consecration, of a self-surrender, which orders and shapes every emotion, thought, action. That cross, whose cruel nails pierced the hands and the feet of the Saviour of the world at every step he took ill his mortal pilgrimage, - shall I not forever honor it, as my glory and my rejoicing ? There may have been a necessity for the sufferings and death of the Saviour in the feelings of God towards his KATHERINE MORRIS. 305 sinful children, to render it consistent, so to speak, for him to forgive their transgressions. I do not find it revealed, however. It belongs to the secret things of the Most High, if we cannot be forgiven as we forgive those who trespass against us, freely and wholly; and there I am willing to leave it. It is plain that approach to: my Heavenly Father must be by repentance and faith and filial love." Mrs. Riley looked surprised as I concluded; and I was surprised at myself, for speaking with so much freedom upon themes which I felt myself so poorly qualified to handle. Presently she said, "Are these your own convictions, Katherine?" "They are mine, certainly; and they have given me comfort and strength and peace." Here our conversation was abruptly terminated by the entrance of Mrs. Deane. 26 T page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] CHAPTER XXII. MOURS. RILEY had known me a wilful girl, ready to resent any real or imagined indig- nity, and quite as much absorbed as herself, only in a different manner, by the world. It was plain to her that I was a much happier person than formerly, through a marked change of dispo- sition. Perhaps this was as much an inference from my conversation, as from any remarkable difference in my life; for the adoption of a new governing principle, deeper than a'mere general desire to improve, would not at once show itself outwardly. Regeneration is a gradual work, not an instantaneous change. Indeed, if we for years have been assiduously cultivating weeds, we can- not, however earnestly we may desire it, have them at once, or indeed at all, transmuted into beautiful flowers and rich fruits. There must be a new growth for that, which shall displace the old. KATHERINE MORRIS. 307 Mrs. Riley was comforted by my conversation, for she saw that religion, -during my absence from her, had become a blest reality to me, and she felt that it might become so to her. Wearied in body and. spirit, finding no comfort in the recollection of past pleasures, to what could she turn but to religion for support? To what could she cling, but to its immortal and sustaining truths and doc- trines? What but the cross of Christ could be her refuge now? Could not he, the Crucified One, help her bear the burden of bodily suffering, and infirmity? And would not he also satisfy the cravings of her spirit? While I was with her she was induced to see Mr. Bowen, which she had not before desired. I know she was greatlyf comforted and aided by him in her perplexities and doubts. I disclaim being a sectarian. I have an estab- lished faith,--one which I have derived from a dili- gent study of the New Testament, -and that faith is very precious to me. I cannot conceive how I can ever be brought to relinquish it. Mr. Bowen was not of that denomination of Christians with whom I found my views in sympathy. Yet when worshipping at the altar at which he served, I page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 KATHERINE MORRIS. always felt that there was indeed a broad church, within whose fold we might both be embraced. No narrow bigotry characterized him, earnest and devoted minister as he was in the interests of his chosen and cherished communion. He was ready to extend the hand of Christian fellowship to all who confessed to the name of the Saviour of the world, and strove to walk in conformity with his teachings. Much had I respected him during the period of my first acquaintance with him, but now I appreciated and revered him, as I ought, as a faithful and earnest Christian minister. As Mrs. Riley's mind became more at ease, and her faith more clear, she grew more thougltful and considerate of others, and was the first, after Mrs. Ladd, to observe that I was evidently becom- ing ill myself. She insisted that I should give up attending upon her, and take rest. As soon as my mind was relieved from the tension of constant anxiety, I found that I was really very unwell; and I feared that, if I did not soon return to Mrs. Clayton's, I should be unable to undertake the journey. Mrs. Riley consented at once to my leaving her. "You have done me a great deal of good, Kath- KATHERINE MORRIS. 309 erine," she said; "'and I should be selfish indeed to wish to detain you longer from other duties, the foremost of which is to take care of your health. I shall see Calista daily, and she is a great comfort to me now that I understand her lovely, consistent character." The day before I left, she said to me as I sat beside her, "We shall never meet again in this world, depr Katherine." We had been talking upon the now familiar themes of Christ and heaven; and she had been telling me how sadly the thought of misspent years, and of the repressed affections of her only child, engrossed her mind, and how hard she still found it not to spend her precious time in profit- less remorse over these remembrances. "I try not to do so, Katherine," she said; "mere pain is not repentance. But I wish to make my regrets known, for I would be a warning to others. I had gifts that might have done good in the Saviour's service; but I perverted them. While I live, the sad echo of lost opportunities will ever be sounding in my ears, even when my thoughts are most peaceful. And then, too, when I look onward to- the future, trusting as I do in a page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310 ' KATHERINE MORRIS. Saviour's love and a Father's tender mercy, I feel that for me, as for others who have wasted time and talents, there must be a retribution." As she spoke, she took up a Bible which lay be- side her, and said, in a -tone more and more sad: "-It is written on every page of the Saviour's teacnings; I cannot get away from it. I find here mercy and pardon for the penitent; but I find also everywhere written to me, as in letters of fire, As a man soweth, so shall he also reap.' 'Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?' ' I never knew you; depart from me, ye that work iniquity!' ' Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.' ' For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.' A wasted life here is not a preparation for the joys of hereafter. My reason and the reve- lation of the character of our Heavenly Father in the Gospels justify, it seems to me, the hope that this retribution will not be eternal; but as I read the New Testament, I am unable to find the doc- trine there. I must trust to the mercy of my God, and to that loving-kindness which all my days I have been disregarding." I interrupted her. "At least, if we do not know KATHERINE MORRIS. 3" what our punishment or discipline may be here- after, we do not fear those literal fires and burn- ings once so much dreaded." "I do,'; she answered, with an earnestness that startled me. "I fear the worst fires I can conceive of, the fires of an awakened conscience. To stand in the presence of Infinite Holiness; to see God as he is, and ourselves as we are; to have a clear conviction of sin, compared with which what we now have is faint indeed? what burning can be more awful, more torturing than this?" I tried to lead her mind away from these themes, and induce her to dwell upon subjects more sooth- ing; and at last succeeded. She spoke of her husband and child witlh interest and affection, gratefully acknowledging Mr. Riley's kindness to her.. "So tender, so considerate," she said, " and so indulgent. I never thought he had so much heart. And Adele, she too will do a good deal towards' filling your place when you leave me. I have to thank you, Katherine, for much that is good in her." "I did not do all for her, Mrs. Riley, that I could wish now. As far as I went, I tried to do my page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 812 KA'HERINE MORRIS. duty. Now I see it all differently, and am not satisfied with having madQ mine a mere literary office." "I predict a life of happiness for you in future; not," she added, seeing .me involuntarily make a gesture of dissent, -"not, perhaps, such a life as you once looked forward to, but still one of serene happiness, because devoted to the truest interests of living, for yourself and others." "Yes," I answered, after a few moments of thought, in which what might have been my fate and the probable future both appeared before me,- "yes, I think I shall live a happy life, and if I do not, what matter? Life is a mere point of time compared withi eternity's boundless years!" "What matter, do you ask, Katherine?"Mrs. Riley replied, earnestly. "How we live is no indif- ferent matter, since, though life is such a mere point of time, even one of our allotted years is long enough to do a great deal which, looking back upon, we wish undone. You have the secret of a happy life." "Thank you," I said, rising as I spoke. "You have done me good now. I will remember this, and strive to be cheerful, and to enjoy gratefully all the blessings God has given me." KATHERINE MORRIS. 313 I never saw 'Mrs. Riley again. The autumn leaves of that year fell on her new-made grave. Mrs. Ladd wrote me much that was pleasant and soothing of her last days. She had a peaceful death; but her peace was not that deep serenity of mind which is often granted to those who, although conscious of many faults, are able to look back upon a life whose aims were high, and whose actions in the main have been no- ble. She attained at last that peace which tle Holy Spirit grants to the truly humble and re- pentant. When, upon my return to Boston, I arrived at Mr. Clayton's, Mrs. Grey met me with a star- tled, anxious look. "You are ill, I see, Kath- erine," she exclaimed; "'you have been doing too much. Now you shall be taken care of yourself." I offered no resistance to her gentle decision, that I was to be an idler for a time. I thought a few days', or at most a few weeks' rest, would be suffi- cient to recruit my strength. But I had been over- taxing my energies for years, and now their vigor was not to be brought back at will. Very prodigal 27 page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314 KA"rHlNE MODMS. had I been of the strong young life which flowed in my veins and gave elasticity to my step and motions.- What I had so lavishy wasted, I must for a season do without. I was so utterly pros- trated, that, in the six weeks' confinement to my room which followed, I thought I was going down to the dark valley. I came out of my room at last a convalescent; but I was the shadow of my former self. Contrary to Mrs. Clayton's wish, I tried to re- sume my duties. - My first attempt ended in my fainting and falling on the floor. Mrs. Clayton's true nobility of heart shone out now. No attention was omitted; and as for her daughter, my devotion to her during her sickness had long since won her to me. It is useless to say that Mrs. Grey was all that the kindest friend could be. But I had no natural claim on them. I felt deeply my inability to make any return for their kindness, and I felt, too, that it would be a long time before I could undertake the care of my pupils again. What was I now to do? Should I go to Alfred? Not immediately, for I could not endure the fa- tigue of the journey. At least I must write to him, and request his assistance. Perhaps, if he KAT'HiJOINE MORRIS. 815 thought, as I did, that my health was failing, it would touch his once kind, generous heart, and he would, for my sake, make an effort. I was sitting at my desk with the unfinished letter before me, when I was told that Mr. Clifford was waiting in the parlor to see me. Mr. Clifford! I started like a guilty thing at the name, and turned so pale that Lucy thought I was fainting. I rallied in- stantly. It was Mr. Clifford, and not Charles. Throwing a crimson shawl over my shoulders, with rapid yet trembling steps I went to the drawing-room. Mr. Clifford started from his seat as the light from the opened blind opposite fell full upon my thin face, glistening eyes, and cheeks as vivid in color as my shawl from excitement. "-Katherine dear child!" - and for the first time he folded me in his arms almost with a father's love, and pressed me to his heart. "Is this right? Is this keeping your promise to me?" he asked. When seated on the sofa beside him, I pres- ently recovered my composure. "What promise?"I asked, though I remem- bered it well. page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 3816 KATHERINE MORRIS. "That you would not fail to apply to me in sickness or trouble." Again the too ready blood rushed to my cheeks. This promise never recurred to me without the reflection that there were circumstances that made it impossible for me to fulfil it. "Do not apologize or explain, Katherine," he added, kindly; "your motives were doubtless good, however mistaken. Now you are to obey me. I promised your mother, if the time ever came when you were unable to take care of yourself, you should be to me in all things as a daughter. That time has come. I exact a filial obedience. In one week you are to go with me to Philadelphia; thence farther south, perhaps to Cuba. Npt a word; Mrs. Grey will attend to all needful preparations. You have nothing to do but to obey me and remain quiet. By the way, Charles will be at home in the course of the winter." "One thing, Mr. Clifford," I said, aroused to sudden energy by the thronging thoughts called up by his last remark; " promise me that, as soon as I am able; I shall return to my duties here, if Mrs. Clayton wishes for me." KATHT' INE MORRIS. 317 "Yes, that I promise, if you desire it. But I should so like to keep you always to cheer my lonely home. Charles is mine no longer, you know. Other claims are resting on him now. But we will settle that hereafter." Charles, then, is married, thought I. Well, it is better so,-yes, far better so. Mrs. Grey attended to all my wants, and I spent the week preceding my departure in perfect quiet. When I took leave of Mrs. Clayton's family, it was with very different emotions from those with which I entered it. My sensations were peculiar, as I commenced this new phase of life. For years I had been self-asserting and self-dependent. What a change it was for me not to have anything I was under obligation to do, while every wish and want was anticipated. How pleasant it was, too! All my energy both of body and mind had apparently died out, and I was quite content to be a cum- berer of the ground. I only thought of the de- lighlt of being loved and cared for, and of having no anxi6ty for the present or the future. I did not consider that this listless state- of mind was in. itself an evidence of disease, and could not be 27* w - page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 318 KAH'XBRINE MORRIS. permanent. I only know how tranquil I felt then, as I journeyed on with intervals of rest, and how happy I was as I lay down in the pleas- ant room prepared for me at Mr. Clifford's, and submitted myself to the motherly care of the good old housekeeper. CHAPTER XXIII. iT first my return to my native air, and entire freedom from care and anxiety, had a favor- able effect upon me; and Mr. Clifford's benevolent face lighted up with satisfaction, and my own heart beat with hope at the prospect of a speedy recovery. But as winter approached, and damp, chilly weather began to prevail, my cough re- turned, and my strength and spirits flagged again. I had now been for nearly three months an idler. Formerly I had prided myself upon my strength and activity; upon always being able to confer, and scarcely ever obliged to receive, favors. But now I could not go through with my toilet without assistance, and for all the kindness I received was unable to make the least return. In all my life, I have never known a harder struggle than I endured at this period, to bear with Christian submission this dispensation of Providence. Dispensation of Providence, do I page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 320 KAT'HERINE MORRIS. call it? Rather the inevitable result of my own carelessness and prodigality! Little reck the young, in the levity with which they abuse their overflowing health, of the fearful accountability which one day will be required of them, even in this world. Little reflect they, how many weary, sad hours they shall pass, when the phantom of a wasted constitution and of departed vigor shall be ever rising up before them in seeming mockery of their present feebleness, - when love and duty and desire all shall say, "Arise, and be up and doing thy life-work!" and a disabled and inefficient body and-an inert, -paralyzed will answer, "Nay, not so, my strength has departed from me." I had learned the true meaning of life, and the joy of laboring with all my might for others, and in the service of my Divine Master. I had even learned to forego some of my dearest hopes and wishes, and to lay them at the foot of the cross. Whatever required active labor I could do, and that cheerfully, and thought thus I was giving up my own will wholly in submission to the will of my Heavenly Father. Thus do we deceive ourselves, and, deem that we are perfect Christian disciples, until the hour KATHEH'INE MORRIS. 321 of trial comes, when our appointed duty is not to do, but simply to wait; not to labor and overcome, but simply to be passive and submissive; recogniz- ing in enforced inability the same overruling Prov- idence which orders, our active hours. Ah! it was hard. As the traveller in the burn- ing desert longs for the cooling draught of water once so little valued, so I on my bed of languish- ing longed, O how ardently! to return to my hardest day of toil at my aunt's or in Mrs. Deane's service. My strong, energetic will, my boasted pride of intellect, what did they avail me now? I could scarcely rise from my couch, and I was a child in mind as well as in strength. I repeated the simple hymns and prayers of my childish years ; I said, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,"-but only mechanically. My heart did not respond to what my lips uttered. I said, ".God's will is not my will. He wills that I should be a helpless sufferer, dependent on, and grateful to, others; I will that my health may be restored, that I may be able as of old to toil for myself and others." Again and again I prayed the Father to teach me to say with sincere resig- nation, (' Thy will, not mine, be done." U page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 322 KAT IERINE MORRIS. O those dreary struggles, hours when the thing made strove, as it were, to enter into a compact with its Maker, saying, "If thou wilt grant me what I now most desire, I will render service and submission unto thee.", There was no peace for me. Turn whichever way, I would, there was no escape out of my affliction. I cannot tell how, by slow degrees, after much vain sophistry and unreasonable reasoning on my part in striving to justify my rebellious will, light at last dawned upon me. Not partial submission to the Divine wisdom, but entire, unreserved trust in his love, was what I needed to bring me to sincere self-renunciation; a willingness to endure sickness, helplessness, or wliatever my Heavenly Father ordained, and the acknowledgment on my part that all was right. Then, for my comfort, came to me, as in angel tones of sweetest harmony, the words, Whom the Lord loveth, he chasteneth." My heart leaped. Was I worthy to be loved of the Lord? For sorely, very sorely, had I been chastened. By some natures, my state of comparatively comfort- able sickness might have been easily borne,-nay, almost turned into an enjoyment. But to me it KATHERINE MORRIS. 823 had been torture, to be thus folded up and put away, as it were, upon the shelf, just as I had come to learn the true significance of life, and. the true value of toil and discipline. Could I hope that I was loved of the Lord, and that there was not one needless pang in all I had suffered? That thought was joy. My faith was restored to me, and I said in humility and gratitude: "It is His will. Why it is so, I cannot now see, but I may know hereafter. It is His will that I should bear this cross. I will strive to- bear it patiently and submissively. Now, O Father, Thy will, not mine, be done." That, I think, was the great epoch of my life- history. As I review my-struggles and my victo- ries, I cannot recall any others which were so momentous to me. Now I understood what it meant to be one with Christ, as hle was one with the Father, knowing no other will but His alone. Now I understood the fulness of the meaning of self-conquest. Now it- had really been given to me to win a full victory over self. Other victories I thought I had won, but they-were partial, the enemy ever returning, ever harassing me at each unguarded point. I page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 824 KATRJ'1INE MORRIS. can never be grateful enough for that peacefulness of mind I had worked out for myself, and God had worked in me by his Holy Spirit, on my bed of sickness. -I do not claim to have won an entire exemption from mortal temptations. I do not say that dark clouds of disappointment and sorrow do not yet at times overshadow my soul, and for a period veil from my desponding gaze the sun of light and hope. But they soon - pass away, and at each trial, as my heart is cheered, my faith is deep- ened. The remembrance of this one period of depression, and how God gave me peace then, has been an unspeakable source of comfort and strength to me in many a hardy. conflict since. Something of the state of my mind must have been apparent to Mr. Clifford, who passed most of his leisure hours with me; for one day, after I had recovered in a great measure my serenity, he said to-me, "-Katherine, you will no longer refuse to employ any means that I think may be necessary to your restoration to health?" "I have been very ungrateful, sir," I answered; "but I did not think my poor life worth so much trouble." "God gave you your life, dear child," he re- KATHERINE MORRIS, 325 plied. "What he gives is worth all the efforts we can make to keep. I have business in the South, which will take me from home some time, and I wish you to accompany me. After my business has been attended to, I shall be at leisure; and if your health requires it, we will go to Cuba for the remainder of the winter." "It is too much, sir, too much. I do not de- serve such kindness; and you are expecting Ch- your son?" Mr. Clifford looked up with surprise at my hesi- tation. "Yes, I am expecting him. , He may ar- rive home before we leave; but even 1if he should not, my promise to your mother is sacred." "Pardon me, Mr. Clifford, for the ungrateful return I am making you for your great kindness to me, by my depression of spirits and my unwill- ingness to be advised." "Do not speak of it, Katherine," he said. "I know what trials you have been passing through. Precisely such as yours I have never had; but I can understand how trying the first illness in your life must have been to you. I know how hard it is for us all to yield unreservedly to God's will under a new form of trial. Unreservedly-! that is 28 page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 KATHUIRINE MORRIS. it,--no compromises, no conditions. His will, not ours. When we have learned this unhesitating trust in God, how changed is the path of life to us! We accept it submissively, not as we have strug- gled and striven to make it, but as God ordains it; not a tortuous, uncertain course of our: own:de- vising, but the strait and narrow way of lieavenly wisdom. God careth for us. Do you not realize that now as you never have done before? Do you not find now that you are very near to that lov- ing Father, who hath chastened you very sorely in his love?" My heart was glowing, my voice was trembling. I was able to answer: "O yes, yes! as I never felt it before. Blessed be every trial which gives me such nearness to God,--which makes me feel that he is truly my Father and Friend." I consented to Mr. Clifford's plans for our jour- ney. In the course of our conversation I learned that New Orleans was our destination. Was I glad or sorry? I should then see Alline and Alfred once more; but might not- that bring me sorrow rather than joy? I resolved that I would at least look forward to it with pleasure. I watched the preparations for our departure with a thankful and grateful heart. CHAPTER XXIV. FOUND a great deal to enjoy in the new and varied scenes opened before me, both in trav- elling and in our stay at each of the principal cities of the South upon our route. I had written to Alline to inform her of our in- tended visit, and had received from her a reply which I too well knew how to interpret. There was joy in it mingled with sadness, and even re- gret. In one line she would express the greatest delight at the thought of seeing me again, and showing to me her darlings; in the next she would almost deprecate my coming, lest the jour- ney would be too much for me. She never al- luded to Alfred in any way, except to s5y, in speaking of the twins, that their father thought the little girl resembled me. It was therefore with no slight misgivings at heart that I found myself near our place of destination. Mr. Clifford watched me narrowly, and, per- page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 328 KATIqERINI; MORRIS, ceiving my agitation, strove to divert my thoughlts. He succeeded so well, that, when we reached my brother's house, I was quite calm and cheerful. Alline did not meet me at the door. I had written to apprise her that we should probably reach New Orleans on that day, but had charged her not to expect me confidently. Why then was I disappointed, and at once filled with gloomy forebodings? The respectable-looking colored woman who ushered me into the parlor said, in reply to my inquiries, "Massa sick. Missus be down d'rectly. She been 'specting you." "Sick! What is the matter?" She shook her head. ' Dunno. Very bad; better now t Mr. Clifford had left me, at my request, at the door. Ah!! as I sat down in my brother's house, I was reminded of another journey that kind friend had made with me, and how he then also left me at the door unwelcomed, my proud little heart rebel- ling against coldness from one upon whom I had no real claim. I sat a stranger in my brother's home, as yet uncertain of welcome. But I had little time for bitter thoughts or sad retrospection,- for, a mo- ment after the colored woman went out, the door KATHERTNE MORRIS. 829 opened again, and Alline held out her arms to me. Alline, was it, or an angel visitant come to cheer and soothe me? Such an expression of holy love- liness I never had seen before in mortal face. Such deep, deep glances of spirit-life as shone out of those always beautiful eyes! The thought at once came into my mind, "God's own seal is on that face; now I see what it is to be sanctified by suffering;" -and I approached her almost with reverence. She spoke no word; but I, the invalid, took her in my arms and clasped her to my heart. I must be strong. I had now a great object to live for. God would - yes, I felt a divine assurance in my heart at that moment--God would raise me up again to fill the place of that angelic being so soon to be called home. Presently she said, "O Katherine, this is a blessing indeed." "Alfred? I asked. "He is better, at least for the present. He is asleep. Will you go to look at him'? But no - I forget--you yourself are ill and must be weary. It is better not." "Alline, what is the matter with Alfred?"I asked with choking voice. 28* page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 330 KATHERINE MORRISo "Matter! Nothing new, - one -of 'his old at- tacks," she replied, almost abruptly. "But,' and an; expression of radiant joy illumined her face, "I hear the children. Come to- the nur- sery, and then you shall go to your room and lie down." I followed her, and as I looked upon the love- liest of earthly sights, happy infant faces, where innocence and wisdom far beyond our comprehen- sion are enshrined, I thought almost with bitter- ness of my brother. How could he withstand the mute eloquence of those cherub faces? He might -men sometimes did, I knew-harden his heart against his wife, lovely as she was,- nay, her very loveliness made his wrong against her the greater, and consequently the greater reproach to him,- but how he could shut his heart to those guileless messengers of God's love, those yet angelic spirits, links between heaven and earth, I could not un- derstand. They were part of his own life and being, - lovely in their innocence, - pleading for a father's protection in their helplessness. The boy, upon whom my gaze was fixed most intently, for his baby features recalled my dear dead brother Walter to my remembrance, caught- '!,'asHNE MOiRIS. 331 my troubled and severe look; and his sweet face, assutming that grieved, touching expression, pecu- liar to infancy and innocence, immediately began to sob. I never could resist that silent manifesta- / tion of an infant's sorrow. It always had power over me; and now that I knew somewhat of an inner, spiritual life, I thought I could see therein a faint reflection of the Saviour's grief in the con- templation of sin. That little trembling lip so suddenly changed from the expression of mirth, those drops welling from their pure fountains, all told me of the heav- enly spirit of those little ones of whom Jesus said, "Of such is the kingdom of Heaven;, and whom harsh tones and the manifestations of dark passions fill with fear and dismay. How different is their grief from the anger of resentment in older chil- dren or in mature life! The child's distress recalled my thoughts, and, looking up, I saw Alline regarding me with pain and astonishment. "I was thinking, Alline," I said, "how these little ones reproach those of us who are sinful and erring." "Yes," she replied in her low, sweet tones, I page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 332 KATHERINE MORRIS. feel it often. I am not worthy to have the charge of them. They are monitors to me ever. One must be a mother, or," she added, smiling, " a very dear lover of infancy, to understand the ful- ness of the meaning of the Saviour's language, when he took little children in his arms and blessed them. Such grieved and pitying reproach as I read on their little faces at harsh tones and unkind looks! I made no answer. I could not tell her of what I was thinking. She knew her own heart and her own deficiencies, though to me she seemed pure as an angel. In her words I only recognized that humility which so eminently qualified her to be a disciple of Him who said, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven." After a time, with recovered cheerfulness, I took Walter in my arms, and I think the little one felt that there was a strong bond between us; for he came to me trustingly and lovingly. It seemed to me that I could almost read in his clear eyes a message from the long-lost brother,-the object of my childhood's admiration. I pass briefly over my meeting with Alfred. Why should I dwell upon an ,interview so harrow- KATHERINE MORRIS. \ 333 ing to my feelings. Those who have gazed upon such wilful wrecks of manhood once noble and beloved, can- understand how I was affected by it. He did not appear in the least glad to see me. He was in that irritable state of self-reproach which manifests itself in blaming others. "You have come at last," he said,-" too late to do much good, but perhaps not too late for-" "I have been sick, Alfred," I replied, " and I am still feeble; but I think I can do something to relieve Alline in the care of you and the babies. Whllat darlings they are!*" Yes, much like other babies, I suppose." ' With this important exception," I answered, trying to force a laugh from him, " that they are yours." He looked annoyed, and asked about Mr. Clif- ford; and then there was one of those awkward pauses which are embarrassing enough with stran- gers, but very hard to endure with one's own kindred. I passed from Alline's room to my own. This was hard to bear! There was no help for him save in heaven; and even God himself could not re- verse his own unchangeable decree, that as a man page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] 334 KATHERUINE MORRIS. soweth, so shall he also reap. Time for repentance might yet be granted to him, and his heart turn, like that of the prodigal,.even at the last hour; but the irremediable past could not be blotted out or lived over again. Retribution! yes, there must be, in that future world to wlich we are all has- tening with such rapid stride, a retribution for wasted lives and perverted gifts, for talents not simply buried in a napkin, but- ruthlessly thrown away, or put to the vilest of uses. My meeting with my uncle was far from pleas- ant. He received me cordially enough; but he soon began to speak of Alfred in terms of bitter reproach. And why? Because, in following his uncle's example, he had fallen, where that relative had been able to stand. Cup after cup could the elder man drain, and keep a cool brain and a steady hand, while one or two- maddened the younger, fired his hot blood, and took away his reason. My uncle, too, was -a gambler, yes, I might as well say it, outright, - but he gambled prudently. -He did not sacrifice his fortune, not he! He knew when to stop. My uncle, too, lived that I should write it of my mother's broth- er! -in open violation of God's holy law of chas- KATHJEIINE MORRIS. 335 tity, with none of the sacred ties of married life to purify and ennoble his home; yet he could speak with bitter severity of my brother's unkindness to his wife. His own conduct he seemed to suppose needed no justification. It was not unusual in hil circle of acquaintances. Since he maintained a decent observance of the customary rules of the society in which he lived, why was he to be blamed? No one could have a deeper conviction of my brother's utter sinfulness, in thus wantonly throw- ing away his life, than I had; but I could not but ask myself, as I looked upon the two men, which, at the bar of unfailing justice, would appear in the darker colors, he who led- or he who followed? he who could sit long at his cups, and still main- tain a decent exterior, or he who could scarcely indulge even in a moderate degree in the baleful sin without losing his self-control? My brother must now yield up his life, a sacri- fice to his vices. Yes, his life! The physician said that no mortal power could save him if he should have another attack like that from which he was recovering from at the time of my arrival. O, my heart tells me that God, who is just and page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 336 KATHELINE MORRIS. holy, will mete out a fearful retribution to those who, by their example, lead the young into temp- tation!- But I must bring this portion of my narrative to a close. The recollection of it almost maddens me even now. Alfred recovered slowly from his sickness, and went forth into the world again. In just one week he was brought home a raving ma- niac. It seemed, as we watched over him, that all the fiends of hell were busy at their work of torment. May I never, never be called to such another dying-bed as his, whence peace and hope and faith had fled, and the demons of rage and despair had free dominion! O Alfred, my brother! was it you who lay toss- ing in the agonies of that fearful delirium, utter- ing words which it well-nigh drove one mad to hear? Was it you, Alfred, the once fair-haired boy of our peaceful home by the Wissahickon, the child of our mother's last prayers and fears? How we wept and prayed by that bedside! How the angel-wife wiped the big drops from his brow, and tried to soothe with loving words him who had broken her own gentle heart! God heard our prayers, in that he granted to Alfred a brief KATHERINE MORRIS. 337 interval of reason before the last great change. It seemed as if the demon powers had finished their work of torture, and left him for a short space to better visitants. He recognized us both, and, with beseeching looks, implored his wife's forgiveness. He tried to speak; but all that could be understood was, "My mother!" "God be merciful!" When the spirit at length took its flight, the look of agony passed away, and there remained an expression of calm resignation, as if some hope had been permitted to his repentant soul. As for ourselves, we could only, in prayer that could not be uttered, commend him to God, who is a loving Father as well as a righteous Judge. 29 page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] CHAPTER XXV. WHTHEN all was over, the sad fact came forcibly home to my mind, that I alone remained of our once happy family circle. The transient en- ergy which the exigency of the occasion had called forth now left me, and I was confined to my bed for weeks. During all this period of trial and anguish, Mr. Clifford was devoted to us, sharing our anxieties and hopes as if they were his own, and bestowing upon Alline, who so much needed it, a father's care and a father's love. Afterwards he watched by my sick-bed, ever ready to soothe and encourage me by kind words and kinder looks. Gradually he led me to resignation, assuring me that hereafter all that was now so dark would be made clear as noonday. He incited me to make the most of my slowly returning strength, by pointing out how glorious a duty lay before me, - that of protecting and educating my brother's orphaned children. \ r' KATHERINE MORRIS. , 339 Alline's physicians had long since decided that she was in a hopeless decline. My ill-health they ascribed to other causes, and urged my return to my native climate as soon as it was practicable, as the surest means for my restoration. Alline begged to be permitted to go North with us, al- though very feeble, and apparently unequal to the journey. She said to Mr. Clifford: "You have been so kind, I know you will not refuse me this. Let me go and see my children safely in their home, under Katherine's care, and I shall die content." It seemed a mad scheme to take this frail, droop- ing Southern flower into our keen spring air. Her physician, however, suggested that a disappoint- ment would probably be a greater injury to her than would attend the gratification of her wish. So it was arranged that, at the end of March, we should commence our journey North. We were now dependent upon Mr. Clifford only for kindness. Alline had come into the possession of her property, hitherto in the, hands of her guar- dian, and it was amply sufficient for our needs. Her parting with her faithful servants, some of whom she had known from her infancy, was her page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] 340 KATHERINE MORRIS. greatest trial. Her guardian, although a distant relative, had never taken much interest in her, and but for us she would have been alone in the world. Upon our arrival in Philadelphia, Mr. Clifford took us to his own house, and made every arrange- ment for us that could conduce to our comfort. Contrary to our fears, Alline rallied upon coming into a more bracing climate, and but for that ex- pression of her face, that told 'of her nearness to a better world, we should have been deceived. In June, Mr. Clifford was able to effect the pur- chase of the dearly loved home of my childhood, and soon after we were comfortably settled there. Although the estate was bought with Alline's money, she insisted that the deed should be made to me. Shall I ever forget that beautiful, fleeting sum- mer, during which the remembrance of old joys and the sadness of present sorrows were inter- mingled? How the spirits of dear and loved de- parted ones seemed to slied down upon my own hitherto perturbed and restless spirit some portion of their own ineffable peace! How my father's kindly gaze and cheering words seemed almost to KATHERINE MORRIS. 341 meet my eye and strike upon my ear! How the patient gentleness, the winning sweetness, of my mother came back to my mind, bringing with them some of the feelings of my childhood! and how my brother Walter, in his fresh, young, manly strength and vigor, seemed to return to me as he was on the morning of that fatal day, whichi was to me but the commencement of many bitter sor- rows! How even the remembrance of the merry, laughing boy, the youngest of the flock, soothed my bereaved heart; for the scenes around me caused me to think of him as he then was, and his. downward course seemed but an uneasy dream. I accounted it no slight privilege to be allowed to spend hours in conversation with Alline, who appeared to be the connecting link between earth and heaven. She seemed to be endowed with more than mortal perception of the joys of another life. As day after day passed away, and I listened to her words of trusting faith, and her desire to depart and be with her Saviour, I felt that I had indeed been blest in having her with me at the last. This world held nothing so precious that she could not cheerfully and indeed gladly leave 29 page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] 342 KATHERINE MORRIS. it, if such was God's will. From the careless ease of a school-girl and heiress, she had awakened to a dream of-life and love as fleeting as it was inthrall- ing and joyous. Where she had placed her hopes, her pride, her love, she found the bitter ashes of disappointment. He whom in the girlish romance of a loving heart and a guileless nature she had almost deified, had sunk almost to a level with the brute. But her children! Had she no wish to live for them? I wondered at her calmness whenever she spoke to me of the future. But what poor judges we are of the hearts of others, even when we think we have the key to their most secret thoughts! That we never can have. Shallow indeed must that nature be, in which there are not some inner recesses into which no eye save that of the Infi- nite One looks. Precious indeed are human Icon- fidences and sympathies; but every true heart beats with aspirations and is conscious of feelings which are known only to its Maker. In these, it may be, consists our union with the Father, -I say it with all reverence. As we are all the children of God, however sinful and fallen, we are all shar- ers in some way of his spirit. KATHERINE MORRIS. 343 All Alline's struggles I never knew; but enter- ing her room one day unexpectedly, I found her bowing in an agony of silent grief over her sleep- ing boy, and these words, uttered in low tones, fell upon my ear: "Must I leave thee alone, -my dar- ling, to the trials and temptations of an evil world? Yet not alone! for God is the Father of the father- less and motherless. Very bitter is this cup which has been given me to drink." I withdrew unno- ticed; and when I saw her again, her usual serene expression had returned. And I perceived that the victory had been won, and she was again at peace. Once only she spoke to me of her grief at the prospect of parting with her children, but her words were few,; and it was evident she was re- signed even to that. Summer with its rich beauty passed into golden autumn, and as I looked upon Alline's angelic face I thought each day would be the last. But hers. was not an ordinary decline. She had no cough, and but little pain. The tide of life ebbed away very gradually, and when at last the end came, it was simply ceasing to breathe. It was a lovely autumn afternoon, and Alline was sitting in her arm-chair, one hand resting con- page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] 344 KATHERINE MORRIS. fidingly in mine, the other pointing, first to the beautiful landscape in view from her window, and then to heaven above. Smiling sweetly, she said, "This is very lovely, is it not? and yet, There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign, Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain.' Then her hand tightened its pressure upon mine, then it relaxed; I looked, and her pure spirit had fled. * * * * A few weeks previous to Alline's death, I had been surprised by a visit from my cousin Ben,- now Dr. Greene. He had realized the dream of his boyhood, and told me, in playful exultation, that he had " hung out his shingle " in Philadel- phia, "Benjamin Franklin Greene, M. D." I knew he thought me much changed, though he did not say so. His face assumed a grave expression, and he inquired with some anxiety after my health. Thinking perhaps that I might read his fears in his face, he added, laughingly: "Professional, Coz, strictly. I've a shocking habit of looking grave and interested at every delicate face I see. I 've KATHERINE MORRIS. 845 learned many a trick of life since we parted, Kate. And you, how does the world use you in these days?" "Better than I use it, I fear, Cousin Ben." I replied, trying to fall in with his lightltone, which, however, jarred painfully upon my feelings. "Ah! blows the wind from that quarter, Coz? Then I suppose you're done with your old bel- ligerent ways, and have come to believe in the law of peace and love; in short, joined the anti- war party? Eh, Coz?" It is too painful for me to relate our conversa- tion further. It is sufficient to say, that, when I told him in few but serious words of my changed feelings and purposes, I could not discover that I touched any answering chord of sympathy in him. He was respectful, and dropped his bantering tone and manner; but I saw that he pitied my delusion, and thought himself far the wiser of the two. So we parted, he probably with a mixed feeling of pity and contempt for me, "once a fine, high- spirited girl," as he had said, "and now a deluded religionist," and I with feelings of sadness and pity for lim. Ah, Cousin Ben, your war-spirit and your poor philosophy can never, never bring , , . page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 346 KATHMtfNE MORRIS. you the peace vouchsafed to the humblest follower of Christ the Redeemer. For a brief period after Alliine's death a sense of loneliness oppressed me, and I found it difficult to set my house in order for life and its duties. The shadow of death had been impending over me so long, and his actual presence in Alline's departure had been so peaceful and lovely, that I longed to depart and join the company of loved ones in my Father's heavenly mansions. But youth, return- ing vigor, and above all, faith and love, triumphed over this temporary despondency, and in answer to earnest prayer came a sense of serene happiness such--as I had never known before. For never be fore had I been fully resigned to my. Heavenly Father's will, wishing to leave my times in his wise and loving guidance. There had been seasons in the -sad past when I dared to stretch out my hands into the mysterious future, and to cry aloud, ", Let it be thus and thus for me, for I know it will be for my good ;" and when my prayer was denied, I cried, "My trials are greater than I can bear."- Now I shrank trem- blingly from such awful responsibilities. I was KATHERINE MORRIS. 347 willing, nay, thankful, that the future with its joys and trials should be a sealed book to me, - thank- ful to resign myself and all that concerned me into the hands of a loving Father. And now came the blessing of faith and hope in a contented and happy spirit. The storm-tossed years of mny early youth were over, and I was safe- ly anchored in a sure haven of rest, where no tem- pests reached me. From within, and not from without, come our sorest trials. The heart that is one with God has peace. I, who had created many of my earlier trials, and magnified all, could now look about me with a renewed and baptized vision, and see in some good degree the meaning and use of my hardest fortunes. And the present, - how peaceful and happy it was! How brightly the sun shone upon the landscape around my quiet home! The sweet notes of woodland music, and the answering carols of the happy infants under my charge, gladdened my heart. The stream at my feet, beautiful even though some stain of earth's defilement ever tinged its current, reminded me of the still waters by which the good Shepherd leadeth his flock. Friendship page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 348 KATHERINE MORRIS. and kindness were given to me, the once lonely orphan,-and I was no longer desolate. There was a work for me to do,-the noblest which God has granted to woman,-the guidance and train- ing of young, immortal souls. And - greatest boon of all! I had an abiding faith in Christ, my Saviour and Redeemer, who has sanctified the path of trial and suffering to all who believe in his name, and who is to us all the way to the Father, the God of heaven and earth, the Maker of all things, the wise and righteous Judge. If the record of these pages has been a sad one, it is, I believe, what the record of all unregenerate lives must be, even though there be to them more of outward happiness than has fallen to my lot. Whited sepulchres are the youngest and fairest of us, so long as we acknowledge no will but our own, and heed not the monitor within. I had my seasons of outward enjoyment and mirth, like others of my age; but this. record has been the history of my inner life and experience, and in being true to that, it has of necessity been sad. A living novelist has said, that when happiness comes, the story is ended, the book finished. I was happy. CHAPTER XXVI. I REPEAT it, I was happy. But happiness has its degrees. There is the happiness of content, of gratitude for one's lot, and of resignation to an overruling Providence. There is also the happi- ness of a heart, the fulness of whose joy is to mor- tal comprehension complete, and where both earth and heaven have been gracious and loving, and have bestowed their choicest gifts. Such happi- ness came to be mine; and, as the smallest recom- pense I can offer to those who have followed me thus far in my sober narrative, I add a supplemen- tary chapter, hoping its sunshine may be consid- ered some equivalent for past shadows. I am a happy wife and mother now, and I have not been false to my only love, for my husband is Charles Clifford. Had it been the object of the foregoing pages to give a history in which love should make the chief interest, many incidents would have been related which have been omitted. 30 page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] 350 KA'THEIINE MORRIS. For my present purpose, it is sufficient to say, that our mutual misunderstanding was at length cleared up, and we found that each had been laboring un- der wrong impressions, which a frank word would have removed. It is true, when he returned from abroad unmarried, and announced the marriage of Louise Low, who, accompanied by her mother, had gone abroad to meet the lover who could not come to her, I knew that one barrier between us was removed. But the imagination of youth is as quick-sighted in discovering lions in the way as it is ingenious in building air-castles. I thought him changed in his feelings towards me, wearied out by my perversity; he thought me, as ever, indifferent. I shall keep ever sacred in my own heart the circumstances of the interview which revealed to each the actual state of the other's feelings, and which changed the whole future course of my life. If that change has increased my responsi- bilities, it has also given me the, blessed boon of a true, loyal heart to share them with. When 'Mr. Clifford said to me that "Charles was no longer his, having other claims upon him," he referred to his entering upon the active duties KATHERINE MORRIS. 351 of his profession, which he did immediately after his return; and at the time of our explanation he was settled over a flourishing society, in one of the beautiful seaport towns of New England. At my husband's desire, the little ones whom God had providentially given into our care were taught to call us father and mother; and when children of our own came to claim the title also, we felt there was room enough in our hearts for all. We have never been obliged to analyze the difference in our feelings between the real and the adopted. The deepest emotions of the heart cannot, I am persuaded, be expressed in the language of earth. In the heavenly world we trust they will find ade- quate utterance. But, be that as it may to the experience of others, I know that, as for myself, words fail me when I attempt to tell how joyous my life has been. Not that I have been exempt from trial. I have had sorrow in many forms, The trivial annoyances incidental to every human lot, and which some magnify into heavy burdens, have been ours, of course. Once, a misunder- standing arose between my husband and a portion of his people, in consequence of a sermon upon page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] 352 KATHELINE MORRIS. one of the great moral questions of the day, in which, perhaps, he allowed himself in a stronger expression of feeling than was quite consistent with due dignity. But all was explained, and this shadow passed away. We have had sickness, too, in our family, and one of our little ones was taken from us, and we were born anew into a still higher life. But we knew in whom was our trust, and, though our hearts were rent very sorely, yet we knew for him who would no longer light our earthly path it was exceeding gain. But while our trials have been few, our bless- ings have been many. We are a happy household iband now. Love and duty walk hand in hand, and the bonds that unite us grow daily stronger. and stronger. Comfort and taste were consulted in our domestic arrangements, and a few choice pictures are our only luxuries. Our well-selected library and fine garden seem to us a necessity for our own wants, and for those of our less fortunate friends, who are not forgotten. Here let me say, that of all the enjoyments aris- ing from the possession of a competency, none to me seems so great and enduring as the power it gives of aiding the deserving and needy, -a Yt KATHERINE MORRIS. 353 power so often denied- to the majority of our clergy in consequence of the inadequacy of their support. No one is in a position to know more of -the actual wants of the poor than the devoted Christian minister, and no one oftener has his, heart sorely tried, because his ability is not coin- mensurate with his will. This is one of our blessings, and we prize it very highly, my husband and myself; and among our happiest hours are those in which we are planning and executing relief for one and another of our overburdened fellow-creatures.. Very highly, too, do w'e prize the privilege which has beeii afforded us, of bringing up our children in an atmosphere of refinement, and of giving them every advantage of education. More than half the allotted years of man, ac- cording to the Psalmist, have passed over our heads; but we scarcely realize that we are on the declining plane of life. We are young in our feel- ings and in the buoyant spirits of our children, of whom we have four on earth, Walter, Allilne, Charles, and Ellen. I am happy. THE END. page: 354-355 (Advertisement) [View Page 354-355 (Advertisement) ] I 1 O I i WALKER, WISE, & CO.'S NEW JUVENILE BOOKS. All the Children's Library. This entirely new and original series of Juveniles combines several especially attractive features. The plan adopted is that of gradation, the first tw9 books on the list being designed for very young children, just commencing to read. Numbers 3 and 4 meet the requirements of those three or four years older; while the last two of the set will interest older boys and girls, and may be read with pleasure by almost any one. 6 vols., neatly put up in box, $3.50, or, -sold separately, as fol- lows: .- NOISY HERBERT, and other Stories for Small Children, 50 cents. THE R. B. R.'s: MY LITTLE NEIGHBORS, 50 cents. BESSIE GRANT'S TREASURE, 50 cents. A SUMMER WITH THE LITTLE GRAYS, 50 cents. FAITH AND PATIENCE. A Story-and something more- for Boys, 75 cents. MODESTY AND MERIT, 75 cents. All fully and finely illustrated, and tastefully bound. "s These Books may be unreservedly recommended." - Daily Advertiser. "We cordially recommend them." - Sunday-School Gazette. - This charming Library, for variety and adaptation to meet the wants of the various ages of a family group, is certainly unsurpassed." - Christian Revoister. "' For lessons of truth, honesty, generosity, courtesy, and all of manliness (not more) that should be found in the ingenuous boy,--and these lessons, not in a didactic form, but insinuated in the natural course of a gracefiul and charming story, --we have seldom seen Faith and Patience' paralleled, never sur- passed, in juvenile literature. Its morality is that of the Sermon on the Mount, aid it is redolent throughout of the spirit of the Divine Teacher."-V - Jorth Aim. Renipin. "( We can recommend these books as particularly adapted to the amusement and instruction of children. The plots of the stories are unexceptioable2 and they are made the vehicle of imparting valuable information on general subjects. "' Faith and Patience' is a capital story, and no child can read it through withou t receiving with the pleasure a great mnany interesting facts."-Oreenfield Gazette. "' Very pretty, useful, and amusing, admirably adapted to instruction and amluseent."-- Boston Post. " These six volumes, enclosed in their neat box, form a very rich entertain- ment for children of variou s ages, iegitinng with the youngest. We commnend the series to parents " - - Monthly Religious JMagazine. ' - page: 356 (Advertisement) -357[View Page 356 (Advertisement) -357] 2 NEW JUVENILE BOOKIS. ALICE'S DREAM. A Tale of Christmas-Time. Two exquisite Illustrations by Billings. 50 cents. A charmingly written Christmas Story, worthy the perusal of old and young. "A tone of practical common sense and piety pervades 6 Alice's Dream,' and we strongly recommend it." - Saturday Express. It The story is pleasantly told, and conveys a fitting Christmas lesson of true, unselfish charity."- Boston Journal. ( Calculated to exercise a good and refining influence upon the hearts of the young.'" Essex Co. Dem. "Most excellent reading for the little folks."- Dcdham Gazette. Lt A beautiful little book." 1"A charming and instructive story, full of natural incidents, and set off with the graces of a cultivated manner and the gems of moral illustration." - Phil. City Item. "I The story is one of much pathos, is written in a chaste and elegant style, the moral lessons it teaches of the highest and purest character."- JNew Cov- enant, Chicago. "It is a book that mothers may safely place in the hands of their youngn daughters, because its pure and beautiful teachings could only emanate froml a true Christian's heart."-- Penn. State Journal. "We cannot get too many such books into the hands of children."- Hartford Religious Herald. FRED FREELAND; or, The Chain of Circumstances. 75 cents. "The story and the moral are of the very best character for the young." Rev. C. F. Barnard. "Fitted to exert a salutary influence upon-young minds."- Ret.. *./ . 3. iner. ; "We cordially recommend this finely written and instructive tale." - Pltila- delphia J\'ational Jirgus. "Exceedingly interesting and instructive."- Dover, Gazette. " Cannot fail to interest and improve.'- Burlington Sentinel. ' Attractive in style, and unexceptionable in matter."-- [Foodstock Spirit of the Jivfe. "' Well conceived and happily, executed."- Boston Christian Era. 1c An excellent volume."--Greenfield Gazette. "We can, with much pleasure, commend it."- Fall River JNews. "A good book." - Haverhill Banner. ," Inculcating an excellent moral." - Peterson's Magazine. ' Qiuite spirited, and will be read with interest.?" -JNorthampton Gazette. "The general tendency of the book is wholesome." - Salem Observer. "A most attractive little volume."---utfrusta Agte. "An absorbingly interesting story."-- School Vlisitor. Scores of other notices could be added; but these serve to indicate the estimation in which the book is held. It should be in every Sunday-School Library and every family. WALKER, WISE, & CO.,- Publishers, 245 Washington Street, Boston.
