Books: Heart Histories and Life Pictures
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T. S. Arthur >> Heart Histories and Life Pictures
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And then he gave directions to have relief sent to one and another
whom he now remembered to be in need.
"It is a good work that prompts to good in others," said the old
man. "What if it be dull and tame--commonplace to the few--it is a
good gift to the world, and thousands will bless the giver. Look
again!"
An angry mother, impatient and fretted by the conduct of a froward
child, had driven her boy from her presence, when, if she had
controlled her own feelings, she might have drawn him to her side
and subdued him by the power of affection. She was unhappy, and her
boy had received an injury.
The mother was alone. Before her was a table covered with books, and
she took up one to read. I knew the volume; it was written by one
whose genius had a deep power of fascination. Soon the mother became
lost in its exciting pages, and remained buried in them for hours.
At length, after turning the last page, she closed the book; and
then came the thought of her wayward boy. But, her feelings toward
him had undergone no change; she was still angry, because of his
disobedience.
Another book lay upon the table; a book of no pretensions, and
written with the simple purpose of doing good. It was commonplace,
because it dealt with things in the common life around us. The
mother took this up, opened to the title-page, turned a few leaves,
and then laid it down again; sat thoughtful for some moments, and
then sighed. Again she lifted the book, opened it, and commenced
reading. In a little while she was all attention, and ere long I saw
a tear stealing forth upon her cheeks. Suddenly she closed the book,
evincing strong emotion as she did so, and, rising up, went from the
room. Ascending to a chamber above, she entered, and there found the
boy at play. He looked towards her, and, remembering her anger, a
shadow flitted across his face. But his mother smiled and looked
kindly towards him. Instantly the boy dropped his playthings, and
sprung to her side. She stooped and kissed him.
"Oh, mother! I do love you, and I will try to be good!"
Blinding tears came to my eyes, and I saw this scene no longer. I
was out among the works of nature, and my instructor was by my side.
"Despise not again the humble and the commonplace," said he, "for
upon these rest the happiness and well-being of the world. Few can
enter into and appreciate the startling and the brilliant, but
thousands and tens of thousands can feel and love the commonplace
that comes to their daily wants, and inspires them with a mutual
sympathy. Go on in your work. Think it rot low and mean to speak
humble, yet true and fitting words for the humble; to lift up the
bowed and grieving spirit; to pour the oil and wine of consolation
for the poor and afflicted. It is a great and a good work--the very
work in which God's angels delight. Yea, in doing this work, you are
brought nearer in spirit to Him who is goodness and greatness
itself, for all his acts are done with the end of blessing his
creatures."
There was another change. I was awake. It was broad daylight, and
the sun had come in and awakened me with a kiss. Again I resumed my
work, content to meet the common want in my labors, and let the more
gifted and brilliant ones around me enjoy the honors and fame that
gathered in cloudy incense around them.
It is better to be loved by the many, than admired by the few.
JENNY LAWSON.
CHAPTER I.
MARK CLIFFORD had come up from New York to spend a few weeks with
his maternal grandfather, Mr. Lofton, who lived almost alone on his
beautiful estate a few miles from the Hudson, amid the rich valleys
of Orange county. Mr. Lofton belonged to one of the oldest families
in the country, and retained a large portion of that aristocratic
pride for which they were distinguished. The marriage of his
daughter to Mr. Clifford, a merchant of New York, had been strongly
opposed on the ground that the alliance was degrading--Mr. Clifford
not being able to boast of an ancestor who was anything more than an
honest man and a useful citizen. A closer acquaintance with his
son-in-law, after the marriage took place, reconciled Mr. Lofton in
a good measure to the union; for he found Mr. Clifford to be a man
of fine intelligence, gentlemanly feeling, and withal, tenderly
attached to his daughter. The marriage was a happy one--and this is
rarely the case when the external and selfish desire to make a good
family connection is regarded above the mental and moral qualities
on which a true union only can be based.
A few years previous to the time at which our story opens, Mrs.
Clifford died, leaving one son and two daughters. Mark, the oldest
of the children, was in his seventeenth year at the time the sad
bereavement occurred--the girls were quite young. He had always been
an active boy--ever disposed to get beyond the judicious restraints
which his parents wisely sought to throw around him. After his
mother's death, he attained a wider liberty. He was still at college
when this melancholy event occurred, and continued there for two
years; but no longer in correspondence with, and therefore not under
the influence of one whose love for him sought ever to hold him back
from evil, his natural temperament led him into the indulgence of a
liberty that too often went beyond the bounds of propriety.
On leaving college Mr. Clifford conferred with his son touching the
profession he wished to adopt, and to his surprise found him bent on
entering the navy. All efforts to discourage the idea were of no
avail. The young man was for the navy and nothing else. Yielding at
last to the desire of his son, Mr. Clifford entered the usual form
of application at the Navy Yard in Washington, but, at the same
time, in a private letter to the Secretary, intimated his wish that
the application might not be favorably considered.
Time passed on, but Mark did not receive the anxiously looked for
appointment. Many reasons were conjectured by the young man, who, at
last, resolved on pushing through his application, if personal
efforts could be of any avail. To this end, he repaired to the seat
of government, and waited on the Secretary. In his interviews with
this functionary, some expressions were dropped that caused a
suspicion of the truth to pass through his mind. A series of rapidly
recurring questions addressed to the Secretary were answered in a
way that fully confirmed this suspicion. The effect of this upon the
excitable and impulsive young man will appear as our story
progresses.
It was while Mark's application was pending, and a short time before
his visit to Washington, that he came up to Fairview, the residence
of his grandfather. Mark had always been a favorite with the old
gentleman, who rather encouraged his desire to enter the navy.
"The boy will distinguish himself," Mr. Lofton would say, as he
thought over the matter. And the idea of distinction in the army or
navy, was grateful to his aristocratic feelings. "There is some of
the right blood in his veins for all."
One afternoon, some two or three days after the young man came up to
Fairview, he was returning from a ramble in the woods with his gun,
when he met a beautiful young girl, simply attired, and bearing on
her head a light bundle of grain which she had gleaned in a
neighboring field. She was tripping lightly along, singing as gaily
as a bird, when she came suddenly upon the young man, over whose
face there passed an instant glow of admiration. Mark bowed and
smiled, the maiden dropped a bashful courtesy, and then each passed
on; but neither to forget the other. When Mark turned, after a few
steps, to gaze after the sweet wild flower he had met so
unexpectedly, he saw the face again, for she had turned also. He did
not go home on that evening, until he had seen the lovely being who
glanced before him in her native beauty, enter a neat little cottage
that stood half a mile from Fairview, nearly hidden by vines, and
overshadowed by two tall sycamores.
On the next morning Mark took his way toward the cottage with his
gun. As he drew near, the sweet voice he had heard on the day before
was warbling tenderly an old song his mother had sung when he was
but a child; and with the air and words so well remembered, came a
gentleness of feeling, and a love of what was pure and innocent,
such as he had not experienced for many years. In this state of mind
he entered the little porch, and stood listening for several minutes
to the voice that still flung itself plaintively or joyfully upon
the air, according to the sentiment breathed in the words that were
clothed in music; then as the voice became silent, he rapped gently
at the door, which, in a few moments, was opened by the one whose
attractions had drawn him thither.
A warm color mantled the young girl's face as her eyes fell upon so
unexpected a visitor. She remembered him as the young man she had
met on the evening before; about whom she had dreamed all night, and
thought much since the early morning. Mark bowed, and, as an excuse
for calling, asked if her mother were at home.
"My mother died when I was but a child," replied the girl, shrinking
back a step or two; for Mark was gazing earnestly into her face.
"Ah! Then you are living with your--your--"
"Mrs. Lee has been a mother to me since then," said she, dropping
her eyes to the floor.
"Then I will see the good woman who has taken your mother's place."
Mark stepped in as he spoke, and took a chair in the neat little
sitting room into which the door opened.
"She has gone over to Mr. Lofton's," said the girl, in reply, "and
won't be back for an hour."
"Has she, indeed? Then you know Mr. Lofton?"
"Oh, yes. We know him very well. He owns our little cottage."
"Does he! No doubt you find him a good landland."
"He's a kind man," said the girl, earnestly.
"He is, as I have good reason to know," remarked the young man. "Mr.
Lofton is my grandfather."
The girl seemed much surprised at this avowal, and appeared less at
ease than before.
"And now, having told you who I am," said Mark, "I think I may be
bold enough to ask your name."
"My name is Jenny Lawson," replied the girl.
"A pretty name, that--Jenny--I always liked the sound of it. My
mother's name was Jenny. Did you ever see my mother? But don't
tremble so! Sit down, and tell your fluttering heart to be still."
Jenny sunk into a chair, her bosom heaving, and the crimson flush
still glowing on her cheeks, while Mark gazed into her face with
undisguised admiration.
"Who would have thought," said he to himself, "that so sweet a wild
flower grew in this out of the way place."
"Did you ever see my mother, Jenny?" asked the young man, after she
was a little composed.
"Mrs. Clifford?"
"Yes."
"Often."
"Then we will be friends from this moment, Jenny. If you knew my
mother then, you must have loved her. She has been dead now over
three years."
There was a shade of sadness in the young man's voice as he said
this.
"When did you see her last?" he resumed.
"The summer before she died she came up from New York and spent two
or three weeks here. I saw her then, almost every day."
"And you loved my mother? Say you did!"
The young man spoke with a rising emotion that he could not
restrain.
"Every body loved her," replied Jenny, simply and earnestly.
For a few moments Mark concealed his face with his hands, to hide
the signs of feeling that were playing over it; then looking up
again, he said--
"Jenny, because you knew my mother and loved her, we must be
friends. It was a great loss to me when she died. The greatest loss
I ever had, or, it may be, ever will have. I have been worse since
then. Ah me! If she had only lived!"
Again Mark covered his face with his hands, and, this time, he could
not keep the dimness from his eyes.
It was a strange sight to Jenny to see the young man thus moved. Her
innocent heart was drawn toward him with a pitying interest, and she
yearned to speak words of comfort, but knew not what to say.
After Mark grew composed again, he asked Jenny a great many
questions touching her knowledge of his mother; and listened with
deep interest and emotion to many little incidents of Jenny's
intercourse with her, which were related with all the artlessness
and force of truth. In the midst of this singular interview, Mrs.
Lee came in and surprised the young couple, who, forgetting all
reserve, were conversing with an interest in their manner, the
ground of which she might well misunderstand. Jenny started and
looked confused, but, quickly recovering herself, introduced Mark as
the grandson of Mr. Lofton.
The old lady did not respond to this with the cordiality that either
of the young folks had expected. No, not by any means. A flush of
angry suspicion came into her face, and she said to Jenny as she
handed her the bonnet she hurriedly removed--
"Here--take this into the other room and put it away."
The moment Jenny retired, Mrs. Lee turned to Mark, and after looking
at him somewhat sternly for a moment, surprised him with this
speech--
"If I ever find you here again, young man, I'll complain to your
grandfather."
"Will you, indeed!" returned Mark, elevating his person, and looking
at the old lady with flashing eyes. "And pray, what will you say to
the old gentleman?"
"Fine doings, indeed, for the likes o' you to come creeping into a
decent woman's house when she is away!" resumed Mrs. Lee. "Jenny's
not the kind you're looking after, let me tell you. What would your
poor dear mother, who is in heaven, God bless her! think, if she
knew of this?"
The respectful and even affectionate reference to his mother,
softened the feelings of Mark, who was growing very angry.
"Good morning, old lady," said he, as he turned away; "you don't
know what you're talking about!" and springing from the door, he
hurried off with rapid steps. On reaching a wood that lay at some
distance off, Mark sought a retired spot, near where a quiet stream
went stealing noiselessly along amid its alder and willow-fringed
banks, and sitting down upon a grassy spot, gave himself up to
meditation. Little inclined was he now for sport. The birds sung in
the trees above him, fluttered from branch to branch, and even
dipped their wings in the calm waters of the stream, but he heeded
them not. He had other thoughts. Greatly had old Mrs. Lee, in the
blindness of her suddenly aroused fears, wronged the young man. If
the sphere of innocence that was around the beautiful girl had not
been all powerful to subdue evil thoughts and passions in his
breast, the reference to his mother would have been effectual to
that end.
For half an hour had Mark remained seated alone, busy, with thoughts
and feelings of a less wandering and adventurous character than
usually occupied his mind, when, to his surprise, he saw Jenny
Lawson advancing along a path that led through a portion of the
woods, with a basket on her arm. She did not observe him until she
had approached within some fifteen or twenty paces; when he arose to
his feet, and she, seeing him, stopped suddenly, and looked pale and
alarmed.
"I am glad to meet you again, Jenny," said Mark, going quickly
toward her, and taking her hand, which she yielded without
resistance. "Don't be frightened. Mrs. Lee did me wrong. Heaven
knows I would not hurt a hair of your head! Come and sit down with
me in this quiet place, and let us talk about my mother. You say you
knew her and loved her. Let her memory make us friends."
Mark's voice trembled with feeling. There was something about the
girl that made the thought of his mother a holier and tenderer
thing. He had loved his mother intensely, and since her death, had
felt her loss as the saddest calamity that had, or possibly ever
could, befall him. Afloat on the stormy sea of human life, he had
seemed like a mariner without helm or compass. Strangely enough,
since meeting with Jenny at the cottage a little while before, the
thought of her appeared to bring his mother nearer to him; and when,
so unexpectedly, he saw her approaching him in the woods, he felt
momentarily, that it was his mother's spirit guiding her thither.
Urged by so strong an appeal, Jenny suffered herself to be led to
the retired spot where Mark had been reclining, half wondering, half
fearful--yet impelled by a certain feeling that she could not well
resist. In fact, each exercised a power over the other, a power not
arising from any determination of will, but from a certain spiritual
affinity that neither comprehended. Some have called this "destiny,"
but it has a better name.
"Jenny," said Mark, after they were seated--he still retained her
hand in his, and felt it tremble--"tell me something about my
mother. It will do me good to hear of her from your lips."
The girl tried to make some answer, but found no utterance. Her lips
trembled so that she could not speak. But she grew more composed
after a time, and then in reply to many questions of Mark, related
incident after incident, in which his mother's goodness of character
stood prominent. The young man listened intently, sometimes with his
eyes upon the ground, and sometimes gazing admiringly into the sweet
face of the young speaker.
Time passed more rapidly than either Mark or Jenny imagined. For
full an hour had they been engaged in earnest conversation, when
both were painfully surprised by the appearance of Mrs. Lee, who had
sent Jenny on an errand, and expected her early return. A suspicion
that she might encounter young Clifford having flashed through the
old woman's mind, she had come forth to learn if possible the cause
of Jenny's long absence. To her grief and anger, she discovered them
sitting together engaged in earnest conversation.
"Now, Mark Clifford!" she exclaimed as she advanced, "this is too
bad! And Jenny, you weak and foolish girl! are you madly bent on
seeking the fowler's snare? Child! child! is it thus you repay me
for my love and care over you!"
Both Mark and Jenny started to their feet, the face of the former
flushed with instant anger, and that of the other pale from alarm.
"Come!" and Mrs. Lee caught hold of Jenny's arm and drew her away.
As they moved off, the former, glancing back at Mark, and shaking
her finger towards him, said--
"I'll see your grandfather, young man!"
Fretted by this second disturbance of an interview with Jenny, and
angry at an unjust imputation of motive, Mark dashed into the woods,
with his gun in his hand, and walked rapidly, but aimlessly, for
nearly an hour, when he found himself at the summit of a high
mountain, from which, far down and away towards the east, he could
see the silvery Hudson winding along like a vein of silver. Here,
wearied with his walk, and faint in spirit from over excitement, he
sat down to rest and to compose his thoughts. Scarcely intelligible
to himself were his feelings. The meeting with Jenny, and the effect
upon him, were things that he did not clearly understand. Her
influence over him was a mystery. In fact, what had passed so
hurriedly, was to him more like a dream than a reality.
No further idea of sport entered the mind of the young man on that
day. He remained until after the sun had passed the meridian in this
retired place, and then went slowly back, passing the cottage of
Mrs. Lee on his return. He did not see Jenny as he had hoped. On
meeting Mr. Lofton, Mark became aware of a change in the old man's
feelings towards him, and he guessed at once rightly as to the
cause. If he had experienced any doubts, they would have been
quickly removed.
"Mark!" said the old gentleman, sternly, almost the moment the
grandson came into his presence, "I wish you to go back to New York
to-morrow. I presume I need hardly explain my reason for this wish,
when I tell you that I have just had a visit from old Mrs. Lee."
The fiery spirit of Mark was stung into madness by this further
reaction on him in a matter that involved nothing of criminal
intent. Impulsive in his feelings, and quick to act from them, he
replied with a calmness and even sadness in his voice that Mr.
Lofton did not expect--the calmness was from a strong effort: the
sadness expressed his real feelings:
"I will not trouble you with my presence an hour longer. If evil
arise from this trampling of good impulse out of my heart, the sin
rest on your own head. I never was and never can be patient under a
false judgment. Farewell, grandfather! We may never meet again. If
you hear of evil befalling me, think of it as having some connection
with this hour."
With these words Mark turned away and left the house. The old man,
in grief and alarm at the effect of his words, called after him, but
he heeded him not.
"Run after him, and tell him to come back," he cried to a servant
who stood near and had listened to what had passed between them. The
order was obeyed, but it was of no avail. Mark returned a bitter
answer to the message he brought him, and continued on his way. As
he was hurrying along, suddenly he encountered Jenny. It was strange
that he should meet her so often. There was something in it more
than accident, and he felt that it was so.
"God bless you, Jenny!" he exclaimed with much feeling, catching
hold of her hand and kissing it. "We may never meet again. They
thought I meant you harm, and have driven me away. But, Heaven knows
how little of evil purpose was in my heart! Farewell! Sometimes,
when you are kneeling to say your nightly prayers, think of me, and
breathe my name in your petitions. I will need the prayers of the
innocent. Farewell!"
And under the impulse of the moment, Mark bent forward and pressed
his lips fervently upon her pure forehead; then, springing away,
left her bewildered and in tears.
Mark hurried on towards the nearest landing place on the river, some
three miles distant, which he reached just as a steamboat was
passing. Waving his handkerchief, as a signal, the boat rounded to,
and touching at the rude pier, took him on board. He arrived in New
York that evening, and on the next morning started for Washington to
see after his application for a midshipman's appointment in the
navy. It was on this occasion that the young man became aware of the
secret influence of his father against the application which had
been made. His mind, already feverishly excited, lost its balance
under this new disturbing cause.
"He will repent of this!" said he, bitterly, as he left the room of
the Secretary of the Navy, "and repent it until the day of his
death. Make a fixture of me in a counting room! Shut me up in a
lawyer's office! Lock me down in a medicine chest! Mark Clifford
never will submit! If I cannot enter the service in one way I will
in another."
Without pausing to weigh the consequences of his act, Mark, in a
spirit of revenge towards his father, went, while the fever was on
him, to the Navy Yard, and there entered the United States service
as a common sailor, under the name of Edward James. On the day
following, the ship on board of which he had enlisted was gliding
down the Potomac, and, in a week after, left Hampton Roads and went
to sea.
From Norfolk, Mr. Clifford received a brief note written by his son,
upbraiding him for having defeated the application to the
department, and avowing the fact that he had gone to sea in the
government service, as a common sailor.
CHAPTER II.
IT was impossible for such passionate interviews, brief though they
were, to take place without leaving on the heart of a simple minded
girl like Jenny Lawson, a deep impression. New impulses were given
to her feelings, and a new direction to her thoughts. Nature told
her that Mark Clifford loved her; and nothing but his cold disavowal
of the fact could possibly have affected this belief. He had met
her, it was true, only three or four times; but their interviews
during these meetings had been of a character to leave no ordinary
effect behind. So long as her eyes, dimmed by overflowing tears,
could follow Mark's retiring form, she gazed eagerly after him; and
when he was at length hidden from her view, she sat down to pour out
her heart in passionate weeping.
Old Mrs. Lee, while she tenderly loved the sweet flower that had
grown up under her care, was not, in all things, a wise and discreet
woman; nor deeply versed in the workings of the human heart.
Rumor of Mark's wildness had found its way to the neighborhood of
Fairview, and made an unfavorable impression. Mrs. Lee firmly
believed that he was moving with swift feet in the way to
destruction, and rolling evil under his tongue as a sweet morsel.
When she heard of his arrival at his grandfather's, a fear came upon
her lest he should cast his eyes upon Jenny. No wonder that she met
the young man with such a quick repulse, when, to her alarm, she
found that he had invaded her home, and was already charming the ear
of the innocent child she so tenderly loved and cared for. To find
them sitting alone in the woods, only a little while afterwards,
almost maddened her; and so soon as she took Jenny home, she hurried
over to Mr. Lofton, and in a confused, exaggerated, and intemperate
manner, complained of the conduct of Mark.
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