Books: Lizzy Glenn
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T.S. Arthur >> Lizzy Glenn
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"You did!" Mrs. Mayberry said, quickly, her weak frame trembling,
although she struggled hard to be composed.
"Yes. And Mr. Easy is well acquainted with the publisher, and could
get me the place, I am sure."
"Then go and see him at once, Hiram. If you can secure it, all will
be well; if not, your little brothers and sisters will have to be
separated, perhaps sent into an orphan asylum."
Mrs. Mayberry covered her face with her hands, and sobbed bitterly
for some moments.
Hiram eat his frugal meal quickly, and returned to the store, where
he had to remain until his employer went home and dined. On his
return, he asked liberty to be absent for half an hour, which was
granted. He then went direct to the counting-house of Mr. Easy, and
disturbed him, as has been seen. Approaching with a timid step, and
a flushed brow, he said in a confused and hurried manner--
"Mr. Easy, there is a lad wanted at the Gazette Office."
"Well?" returned Mr. Easy, in no very cordial tone.
"Mother thought you would be kind enough to speak to Mr. G--for me."
"Haven't you a place in a store?"
"Yes, sir. But I don't get any wages. And at the Gazette office they
will pay four dollars a week."
"But the knowledge of business to be gained where you are, will be
worth a great deal more than four dollars a week."
"I know that, sir. But mother is not able to board and clothe me. I
must earn something."
"Oh, aye, that's it. Very well, I'll see about it for you."
"When shall I call, sir?" asked Hiram.
"When? Oh, almost any time. Say to-morrow or next day."
The lad departed, and Mr. Easy's head fell back upon the chair, the
impression which had been made upon his mind passing away almost as
quickly as writing upon water.
With anxious trembling hearts, did Mrs. Mayberry and her son wait
for the afternoon of the succeeding day. On the success of Mr.
Easy's application rested all their hopes. Neither she nor Hiram eat
over a few mouthfuls at dinner-time. The latter hurried away, and
returned to the store, there to wait with trembling eagerness, until
his employer should return from dinner, and he again be free to go
and see Mr. Easy.
To Mrs. Mayberry, the afternoon passed slowly.
She had forgotten to tell her son to return home immediately, if the
application should be successful. He did not come back, and she had,
consequently to remain in a state of anxious suspense, until dark.
He came in at the usual hour. His dejected countenance told of
disappointment.
"Did you see Mr. Easy?" Mrs. Mayberry asked, in a low, troubled
voice.
"Yes. But he hadn't been to the Gazette office. He said he had been
very busy. But that he would _see about it_ soon."
Nothing more was said. The mother and son, after sitting silent and
pensive during the evening, retired early to bed. On the next day,
urged on by his anxious desire to get the situation of which he had
heard, Hiram again called at the counting-room of Mr. Easy, his
heart trembling with hope and fear. There were two or three men
present. Mr. Easy cast upon him rather an impatient look as he
entered. His appearance had evidently annoyed the merchant. Had he
consulted his feelings, he would have retired at once. But there was
too much at stake. Gliding to a corner of the room, he stood, with
his hat in his hand, and a look of anxiety upon his face, until Mr.
Easy was disengaged. At length, the gentleman with whom he was
occupied, went away, and Mr. Easy turned toward the boy. Hiram
looked up earnestly in his face.
"I have really been so much occupied, my lad," the merchant said, in
a kind of apologetic tone, "as to have entirely forgotten my promise
to you. But I _will_ see about it. Come in again, to-morrow."
Hiram made no answer, but turned with a sigh toward the door. The
keen disappointment expressed in the boy's, face, and the touching
quietness of his manner, reached the feelings of Mr. Easy. He was
not a hard-hearted man, but selfishly indifferent to others. He
could feel deeply enough if he would permit himself to do so. But of
this latter feeling he was not often guilty.
"Stop a minute," he said. And then stood in a musing attitude for a
moment or two. "As you seem so anxious about this matter," he added
"if will wait here a little while, I will step down to see Mr. G--at
once."
The boy's face brightened instantly. Mr. Easy saw the effect of what
he said, and it made the task he was about entering upon
reluctantly, an easy one. The boy waited for nearly a quarter of an
hour, so eager to know the result, that he could not compose himself
to sit down. The sound of Mr. Easy's step at the door, at length
made his heart bound. The merchant entered. Hiram looked into his
face. One glance was sufficient to dash every dearly-cherished hope
to the ground.
"I am sorry," Mr. Easy said, "but the place was filled this morning.
I was a little too late."
The boy was unable to control his feelings. The disappointment was
too great. Tears gushed from his eyes, as he turned away, and left
the counting-room without speaking.
"I'm afraid I've done wrong," said Mr. Easy to himself, as he stood,
in a musing attitude, by his desk, about five minutes after Hiram
had left. "If I had seen about the situation when he first called
upon me, I might have secured it for him. But it's too late now."
After saying this, the merchant placed his thumbs in the armholes of
his waistcoat, and commenced walking the floor of his counting-room
backward and forward. He could not get out of his mind, the image of
the boy as he turned from him in tears, nor drive away thoughts of
the friend's widow, whom he had neglected. This state of mind
continued all the afternoon. Its natural effect was to cause him to
cast about in his mind for some way of getting employment for Hiram,
that would yield immediate returns. But nothing presented itself.
"I wonder if I couldn't make room for him here?" he at length
said--"He looks like a bright boy. I know Mr.--is highly pleased
with him. He spoke of getting four dollars a week. That's a good
deal to give to a mere lad. But I suppose I might make him worth
that to me. And now I begin to think seriously about the matter, I
believe I cannot keep a clear conscience, and any longer remain
indifferent to the welfare of my old friend's widow and children. I
must look after them a little more closely than I have heretofore
done."
This resolution reliever the mind of Mr. Easy a good deal.
When Hiram left the counting-room of the merchant, his spirits were
crushed to the very earth. He found his way back, how he hardly
knew, to his place of business, and mechanically performed the tasks
allotted to him, until evening. Then he returned home, reluctant to
meet his mother, and yet anxious to relieve her state of suspense,
even if in doing so, he should dash a last hope from her heart. When
he came in, Mrs. Mayberry lifted her eyes to his, inquiringly; but
dropped them instantly--she needed no words to tell her that he had
suffered a bitter disappointment.
"You did not get the place?" she at length said, with forced
composure.
"No--it was taken this morning. Mr. Easy promised to see about it.
But he didn't do so. When he went this afternoon, it was too late."
Hiram said this with a trembling voice, and lips that quivered.
"Thy will be done!" murmured the widow, lifting her eyes upward. "If
these tender ones are to be taken from their mother's fold, oh, do
thou temper for them the piercing blast, and be their shelter amid
the raging tempests."
A tap at the door brought back the thoughts of Mrs. Mayberry. A
brief struggle with her feelings, enabled her to overcome them in
time to receive a visitor with composure. It was the merchant.
"Mr. Easy!" she said, in surprise.
"Mrs. Mayberry, how do you do?" There was some restraint and
embarrassment in his manner. He was conscious of having neglected
the widow of his friend, before he came. The humble condition in
which he found her, quickened that consciousness into a sting.
"I am sorry, madam," he said, after he had become seated, and made a
few inquiries, "that I did not get the place for your son. In fact,
I am to blame in the matter. But I have been thinking since, that he
would suit me exactly, and if you have no objections, I will take
him, and pay him a salary of two hundred dollars for the first
year."
Mrs. Mayberry tried to reply, but her feelings were too much excited
by this sudden and unlooked-for proposal, to allow her to speak for
some moments. Even then, her assent was made with tears glistening
on her cheeks.
Arrangements were quickly made for the transfer of Hiram from the
store where he had been engaged, to the counting-room of Mr. Easy.
The salary he received was just enough to enable Mrs. Mayberry, with
what she herself earned, to keep her little ones together, until
Hiram, who proved a valuable assistant in Mr. Easy's business, could
command a larger salary, and render her more important aid.
HUMAN LIFE.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
BENJAMIN PARKER was not as thrifty as some of his neighbors. He
could not "get along in the world."
"Few men are more industrious than I am," he would sometimes say to
his wife. "I am always attending to business, late and early, rain
or shine. But it's no use, I can't get along, and am afraid I never
shall. Nothing turns out well."
Mrs. Parker was a meek, patient-minded woman; and she had married
Benjamin because she loved him above all the young men who sought
her hand, some of whom had fairer prospects in the world than he
had; and she continued to love him and confided in him,
notwithstanding many reverses and privations had attended their
union.
"You do the best you can," she would reply to her husband when he
thus complained, "and that is as much as can be expected of any one.
You can only plant and sow, the Lord must send the rain and the
sunshine."
The usually pensive face of Mrs. Parker would lighten up, as she
spoke words of comfort and encouragement like these. But she never
ventured upon any serious advice as to the management of her
husband's affairs, although there were times when she could not help
thinking that if he would do a little differently it might be
better. To his fortunes she had united her own, and she was ready to
bear with him their lot in life. If he proposed any thing, she
generally acquiesced in it, even if it cost her much self-sacrifice;
and when, as it often happened, all did not turn out as well as had
been expected, she never said--"I looked for this," or "I never
approved of it," or, "If I had been allowed to advise you, it never
would have been done." No, nothing like this ever passed the lips of
Mrs. Parker. But rather words of sympathy and encouragement, and a
reference of all to the wise but inscrutable dispensations of
Providence. It might have been better for them if Mrs. Parker had
possessed a stronger will and had manifested more decided traits of
character; or it might not. The pro or con of this we will not
pretend to decide. As a general thing it is no doubt true that
qualities of mind in married partners have a just relation the one
to the other, and act and react in a manner best suited for the
correction of the peculiar evils of each and the elevation of both
into the highest moral state to which they can be raised. At first
glance this may strike the mind as not true as a general rule. But a
little reflection will cause it to appear more obvious. If an
all-wise Providence governs in the affairs of men, it is but
reasonable to suppose that, in the most important act of a man's
life, this Providence will be most conspicuous. Marriage is this
most important act, and without doubt it is so arranged that those
are brought together between whom action and reaction of
intellectual and moral qualities will be just in the degree best
calculated to secure their own and their children's highest good.
We are not so sure, therefore, that it would have been any better
for Mr. and Mrs. Parker had the latter been less passive, and less
willing to believe that her husband was fully capable of deciding as
to what was best to be done in all things relating to those pursuits
in life by which this world's goods are obtained. She was passive,
and therefore we will believe that it was right for her to be so.
Mrs. Parker, though thus passive in all matters where she felt that
her husband was capable of deciding and where he ought to decide,
was not without activity and force of character. But all was
directed by a gentle and loving spirit, and in subservience to a
profound conviction that every occurrence in life was under the
direction or permission of God. No matter what she was called upon
to suffer, either of bodily or mental pain, she never murmured, but
lifted her heart upward with pious submission and felt, if she did
not speak the sentiment--"Thy will be done."
Mrs. Parker was one of three sisters, between whom existed the
tenderest affection. Their mother had died while they were young,
and love for each other had been strengthened and purified in mutual
love and care for their father. They had never been separated, from
childhood. The very thought of separation was always attended with
pain. If in the marriage of Rachel with Benjamin Parker any thing
crossed the mind of the loving and happy girl to cast over it a
shade, it was the thought of being separated from her sisters. Not a
distant separation, for Benjamin was keeping a store in the village,
and there was every prospect therefore of their remaining there,
permanently, but a removal from the daily presence of and household
intercourse with those, to love whom had been a part of her nature.
In the deeper, tenderer, more absorbing love with which Rachel loved
her husband, she found a compensation for what she lost in being
separated from her sisters and father. She was happy--but happy with
a subdued and thankful spirit.
Not more than a year elapsed after their marriage before Parker
began to complain of the badness of the times, and to sit thoughtful
and sometimes gloomy during the evenings he spent at home. This
grieved Rachel very much, and caused her to exercise the greatest
possible prudence and economy in order that the household expenses
might be as little burdensome as possible to her husband. But all
would not do.
"I am afraid I shall never get ahead here in the world," Parker at
length said outright, thereby giving his wife the first suspicion of
what was in his mind--a wish to try his fortune in some other place.
The truth was, Parker was making a living and a little over, but he
was not satisfied with this, and had moreover a natural love of
change. An acquaintance had talked to him a good deal about the
success of a young friend who had commenced in a town some fifty
miles away, a business precisely like the one in which he was
engaged. According to the account given, on half the capital which
Parker possessed, this person was selling double the quantity of
goods and making better profits.
A long time did not pass before Parker, after a bitter complaint in
regard to his business, said:
"I don't know what is to be done unless we go to Fairview. We could
do a great deal better there."
"Do you think so?" asked Rachel, in a calm voice, although her heart
sank within her at the thought of being separated from those she so
tenderly loved.
"I know it," was the answer. "Fairview is a thriving town, while
this place is going behindhand as fast as possible. I shall never
get along if I remain here, that is certain."
Rachel made no reply, but the hand that held the needle with which
she was sewing moved at a quicker rate.
"Are you willing to go there?" the husband asked, with some
hesitation of manner.
"If you think it best to go I am willing, of course," Rachel said,
meekly.
Parker looked into the face of his wife, as it bent lower over the
work she held in her hand, and tried to understand as well as read
its expression. But he could not exactly make it out. Nor did the
tone of voice in which she so promptly expressed her willingness to
remove, if he thought it best, entirely satisfy his mind. Her
assent, however, had been obtained, and this being the thing he most
desired, he was not long in forgetting the manner in which that
assent was given. Of the cloud that fell upon her heart--of the
sadness that oppressed--of the foreshadowing loneliness of spirit
that came over her, he knew nothing.
A removal once determined upon, it was soon made. A large portion of
the goods in Mr. Parker's store was sold at a rather heavy sacrifice
and converted into cash. What remained of his stock was packed up
and sent to Fairview, whither with his wife and child he quickly
followed. While he looked hopefully ahead, the tearful eyes of
Rachel were turned back upon the loved and loving friends that were
left behind. But she did not murmur, or make any open manifestation
of the grief she felt. She believed it to be her duty to go with her
husband, and her duty, if she could not go cheerfully, at least to
conceal from others the pain she suffered.
For a time, things looked very bright in Fairview to the eyes of Mr.
Parker. He sold more goods and at better prices than at the old
place; but he had to credit more. The result of his first year's
business was quite encouraging. There was, however, a slight
drawback; very much more than his profits were outstanding. But he
doubted not that all would come in.
As for Mrs. Parker the year had not gone by without leaving some
marks of its passage upon her heart. Some are purified by much
suffering who, to common observation, seem purer far than hundreds
around them whose days glide pleasantly on and whose skies are
rarely overcast, and then only by a swiftly-passing summer cloud.
Rachel Parker was one of these. During the first year of her absence
from those who were loved next to her husband and child, her father
died. And what rendered the affliction doubly severe, was the fact,
that it occurred while she herself was so ill that she could not be
moved without endangering her life. He died and she could not be
with him in the last sad hours of his earthly existence! He died and
was buried, and she was not there to look for the last time upon his
beloved face--to follow him to his quiet resting-place--to weep over
his grave! She suffered--but to no mortal eye were apparent the
adequate signs of that suffering. Even her husband was misled by the
calm surface of her feelings into the belief that there was no wild
turbulence beneath. He did not see the tears that wet the pillow
upon which she slept. He did not know how many hours she lay
sleepless in the silent midnight watches. Daily all her duties were
performed with unvarying assiduity; and when he spoke to her she
answered with her usual gentle smile. That it faded more quickly
than was its wont, Benjamin Parker did not notice, nor did he remark
upon the fact that she rarely introduced any subject of
conversation. Indeed, so entirely was his mind engrossed by
business, that it was impossible for him to have any realizing sense
of the true state of his wife's feelings.
Four years were past at Fairview, during which time Parker barely
managed to get sufficient out of his store to live upon; the greater
portion of his profits being represented by the figures on the
debtor side of his ledger. Many of these accounts were good, though
slow in being realized; but many more were hopelessly bad. He was
very far from being satisfied with the result. He lived, it is true,
and by carefully attending to his business could continue to live,
and it might be lay up a little; but this did not satisfy Benjamin
Parker. He wanted to be getting ahead in the world.
"Why don't you go to the West?" said an acquaintance, to whom he was
one day making complaint of his slow progress. "That is the country
where enterprise meets a just reward. If I were as young a man as
you are, you wouldn't catch me long in these parts. I would sell out
and buy five or six hundred acres of government land and settle down
as a farmer. In a few years you'd see me with property on my hands
worth looking at."
This set Parker to thinking and inquiring about the West. The idea
of becoming a substantial farmer, with broad acres covered with
grain and fields alive with stock, soon became predominant in his
mind, and he talked of little else at home or abroad. His wife said
nothing, but she thought almost as much on the subject as did her
husband. At length Benjamin Parker determined that he would remove
to Northern Indiana, more than a thousand miles away, upon a farm of
five hundred acres, that was offered to him at two dollars and a
half an acre. It was government land that had been taken up a year
or two before, and slightly improved by the erection of a log hut
and the clearing of a few acres, and now sold at one hundred per
cent. advance. Instead of first visiting the West and seeing the
location of the land that was offered to him, Parker was willing to
believe all that was said of its excellence and admirable location,
and weak enough to invest in it more than half of all he was worth.
The store at Fairview was sold out, and Mrs. Parker permitted to
spend a week with her sisters before parting with them, perhaps,
forever. When the final moment of separation came it seemed to her
like a death-parting. The eyes of Rachel lingered upon each loved
countenance, as if for the last time, and when these passed from
before her bodily visions, love kept them as distinct as ever, but
distinct in their tearful sadness.
If the wishes and feelings of Rachel Parker had been consulted--if
she had been at all considered and her true feelings and character
justly appreciated--a removal to the West would never have been
determined upon. But her husband's mind was all absorbed in ideas of
worldly things. Not possessing the habits and qualities of mind that
ensure success in any calling, he was always oppressed with the
consciousness that he was either standing still, or going
behind-hand. Instead of seeking to better his condition by greater
activity, energy, and concentration of thought upon his business, he
was ever looking to something beyond it, and to change of place and
pursuit as the means of improving his fortunes. This at last, as has
been seen, led him off to the West in the ardent hope of becoming in
time a wealthy farmer. In an inverse ratio to the hopeful elevation
of spirits with which Parker set out upon his journey was the
sorrowful depression experienced by his wife. But Rachel kept meekly
and patiently her feelings to herself. It was her duty, she felt, to
go with her husband. She had united her fortunes with his, and
without murmuring or complaining, she was ready to go with him
through the world and to stand bravely up by his side in any and all
circumstances.
After a journey of five weeks, Benjamin Parker and his wife, with
their family of three children, arrived at their new home in the
West. It was early in the spring. The main body of the farm, which
was densely wooded, lay upon the eastern bank of a small, sluggish
river, with broad, marshy bottom-lands. The cabin, which had been
put up the year before on a small clearing, stood on an eminence
just above this river, and was five miles away from any other human
habitation. It consisted of two rooms and a small loft above. One of
these rooms had only a ground floor. The windows were not glazed.
The last thirty miles of the journey to this wild region had been
performed in a wagon, which contained their furniture and a small
supply of provisions.
The first night spent in this lonely, cheerless place was one that
brought no very pleasant reflections to either Parker or his wife.
He was disappointed in his expectations, and she felt as if a heavy
hand were pressing upon her bosom.
But there they were, and the only thing for them to do was to make
the best of what was in their hands. Parker obtained an assistant
and went to work to prepare the cleared ground for spring crops, and
his wife, with a babe at her breast and no help, assumed all the
duties pertaining to her family. In cooking, washing, milking,
sewing, etc., she found enough to occupy all her time late and
early. It was a rare thing for her to lay her head upon her pillow
without extreme weariness and even exhaustion.
Time went on, and they began to reap the first fruits of their
industry. The wilderness and solitary place blossomed. The little
clearing widened gradually its circle, and many little comforts, at
first wanting, were obtained. Still they suffered many privations
and Mrs. Parker far more than her husband imagined.
The first summer, hot and sultry, drew near to its close. Thus far
they had been blessed with health. But now slight headache, nausea,
and a general feeling of debility were experienced by all. The first
to show symptoms of serious illness was the oldest child. She was
nearly five years of age, her name was Rachel, and she was aptly
named, for she was the image of her mother. The bright eyes, sweet,
loving face, and happy voice of little Rachel, that was heard all
day long, lightened the mother's toil, refreshed her spirits, and
often made her forget the loneliness and seclusion in which they
lived. She was like a cool spring in the desert, a bright flower in
a barren waste, a ray of sunshine from a wintry sky.
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