Newspaper Page Text
178
feeble, and seldom leaves her home. A jour
ney of a few days is, in her mind, a thing to
be dreaded. But come, let me read my let
ter.”
“ Well, love, have you finished ?”
u I was right, Charles; mamma cannot
come. She wishes to see us, and soon. A
friend, an early friend of hers, she says, is to
visit her from the North, and we must come
to assist in making Oakville pleasant for
them. She says too —I will read :
“‘ My friend has a sick child, who has
been advised to visit the South as a last re
medy for a disease which it is feared must
prove fatal. She will now embrace the long
standing invitation, extending from our school
days, and will bring her suriering daughter,
perhaps, she says, to die with me; yet this is
her last hope. Come then, Meta, with Charles.
I am not strong, and your presence must enli
ven the home which has been all -too lonely
since you left it. My friends are expected
daily.’ ”
“Is there no name, Meta—who are these
expected guests I You have heard your mo
ther make mention of this school-friend be
fore V }
“ Oh, yes, she has many ; but among them
all [ cannot think who this can be. Strange,
even the place where she resides mamma has
neglected to mention: she had been much
agitated when she wrote. We must prepare
immediately.”
“ Yes, Meta, we must go.”
“ But what ails you, dearest 1 you are pale,
and—do you not wish to leave home ?”
“Certainly, Meta: we will prepare to-day.
Our parents here will care for all things till
our return. They will be lonely without
their pet, sweet one.”
“Yes, Charles, 1 love them. But, my own
dear mamma—oh ! I shall see her soon!”
And Meta, in her joy, forgot the cloud upon
her husband’s face, and thought not of the
dying creature who was the immediate occa
sion of her visit to her childhood's home. —
Meta longed to see her mother once more.
Did Charles forget and No: the letter of
Meta’s mother had had a strange effect upon
him, which he could not account for. There
was no clear idea on Charles’ mind of what
he had to dread ; yet an indefinable sense of
horror was taking possession of him, which
he vainly strove to conquer.
The preparations were completed, and they
left their home for a season. Charles was
still moody and absent; Meta was all joy
Lizzie Carlton, the sweet, pale, dying Liz
zie, lay on silken pillows, in the luxurious
dwelling of her mother’s early friend. The
southern breeze blew gently in through the
opened casement, but she breathed it as if
in pain; sweet southern flowers lay around
her, and Lizzie saw their beauty, but they
wooed her back vainly to a world on whose
borders she only lingered. White as the
magnolias that she gazed upon, she lay await
ing the last embraces of decay. Near her sat
her mother, and h-xr mother’s friend. Neither
spoke to the other of hope ; they knew that
for Lizzie it was a vain word, and they look
ed only for death.
Sooner, by a day, than they had been ex
pected, the daughter and her husband arrived.
No one met the carriage at the door-step, and
the impatient Meta bounded in, without a
word, to her mother's favorite parlor. Her
husband followed. Meta, quick as thought,
was folded in her mother's arms.
Charles Ashford followed his young wife,
hut paused when he had reached the centre
of the apartment. Fascinated, spell-bound,
he stood and gazed.
“ Lizzie!”
“ Charles!”
A dark-red stain flowed over the white folds
on Lizzie’s bosom, and her mother, shrieking,
fell helpless at her side. Charles became
suddenly active; he was kneeling in a mo
ment by the suffering girl. Her head was
raised to his shoulder; the purple torrent
ceased, and Charles wiped her fading lips.—
She whispered; he bent to hear.
“I dreamed you would come to me,” she
faintly murmured; thank God! I am dying!
dear, dear Charles; help me to die!”
Bewildered, awe-stricken, Charles could
only draw her closer to his breast.
“There, you are helping me ; oh! now how
easy, how heavenly! You did not know,
Charles, how I loved you when we said that
cold ‘good bye.* I was deceitful when 1
laughed, and seemed unfeeling; but oh! I was
myself the most deceived. Tears came after
wards, and reason came with tears: I knew
then my mind had wandered. Do not be sor
ry, Charles; you weep!—oh. this is Heaven
begun—l am so happy!”
A beautiful expression stole over her face,
as the tears of hint thus loved unto death
fell warm upon her forehead. As in the em
brace of ecstacy. poor Lizzie closed her eyes.
§ ® m& a m mitsie&sb'y ® ®sitit s *
“ Charles—God —Heaven !”
The breathless ones who listened could dis
tinguish no more. Closer, closer, Charles
still held her to his heart. Once more her
eyes unveiled themselves, and looked up
beamingly into the blushing sky, now bright
with the sun-set glory. The lids fell then,
long and silky the lashes lay upon the mar
ble cheek —and Lizzie Carlton was dead.
New- York.
CMtmps£3 of Nm Books.
CAPT. WEATHERSFIELD’S STORY,
OR
A REMEDY FOR HYSTERICAL WIVES.
[From “ Pete r Schlemil in America,” a new work
published by Lea & Blanchard.]
“‘You must know, that last October was
a year, when I arrived at Babylon with a car
go of teas from Canton, and as soon as it was
possible, I left the ship, and under the high
est steam-pressure, set out for my little nook
of a village, on the Hudson, where my whole
stock of human hopes and affections lay in
vested in a wife and three children. It is sin
gular, perhaps, but so it is, that I never have
any dread that anything can have happened
to my family, till I get on soundings, and
then 1 can neither sleep nor eat, till l get in
to port, and have seen my owners, and found
out if all is well at home. 1 had the happi
ness to learn that my family had been increas
ed by a line boy, born one month after my de
parture. You may guess my impatience to
see him. 1 sent oil’a letter announcing my
arrival, and the day on which I should be at
home. My welcome was as joyous as I could
have wished it to be. The boy was a noble
fellow, a year old, and as like me as two peas.
These are bright days of sunshine, which re
pay a sailor for some of the storms of his
ocean life, and of which his owners, though
they get all the profit of the voyage, can’t de
prive him, though they would do so if they
could, for they grudge everything to their
ship-masters.
“ ‘After I had been at home three days, 1
returned to finish up the voyage with the own
ers, and haul up the ship. This done, 1 re
turned. bag and baggage, to my wife, to make
a long stay at home. The opening of a sai
lor's boxes is always a matter of interest to
captaino’ wives, and I hud piucuicd ieft my
self all the presents Canton provides. Two
pieces of rich silk for dresses, a set of lac
quered tea-tables, a set of carved chessmen,
and things of that sort. I saw a look of dis
appointment upon my wife’s face, but she
said nothing, and so the matter passed otf.
But when Sunday morning came, my wife
was exceedingly cross, and declared she w ould
not go to church, though she was as regular
as the sexton, “ for,” she said, “ I’ve nothing
fit to wear.” I thought it very odd, but said
nothing, and taking my little boy and girl, set
oil'for church. Everybody was glad to see
me, and I quite forgot that all was not right
at home, till I found my way hack into my
house. There my wife stood, ready to scold
the children for muddying their shoes, and
would have spanked them on the spot, if I
had not interfered, with a good deal of firm
ness in word and look. The children were
undressed, and dinner served, and nothing on
the table was cooked fit to eat. And so the
next week passed on. My coffee was as thick
as mud—my turkeys done to a crust, and 1
well knew the devil was about to be let loose,
but for why, I couldn’t guess. In the mean
while, my wife’s sister, who had been a sort
; of ship’s-cousin quartered upon me. ever since
( my marriage, looked all the while as demure
i as a Connecticut deacon under the parish pul
| pit, and gave no sign to show me what all
this was about.
“ ‘On the next Saturday afternoon, as I
was sitting with my wife and children, I heard
a knock at the door, and called out “ Come
in”—and in came my old friend, Capt. Thom
as Bowline, and his wife, in all the splendors
of anew rig. He had returned the week be
fore me from Calcutta, and we were the on
ly sea-faring men of the place, and though
our wives were neighbors, it so happened,
that we had not been home, at the same time,
for years.
“ ‘I was delighted to see them both, and
my wife. I thought, was wonderfully cool,
though exceedingly polite. I soon forgot all
about her manner, in the pleasure of talking
over our several fortunes since we last met;
and as we had not met before, he havingbeen
absent from the village since my coming home,
we had many things to talk over. They
made a long call, and when they went away,
my wife went up to her room, and I saw no
more of her, for when tea was ready, she sent
word down that she had a headache, and had
gone to bed,
“ ‘ The next morning matters wore no more
pleasant aspect than they had done, and when
the first church bell began to ring, my wife
burst out into a flood of tears, and set ofl for
her chamber. I followed her, and there she
lay, on the bed, in a regular fit of hysterics.
When she came to herself, I asked —“Why,
what on earth! what is all this about'?”—
She rose, and putting her hands on my shoul
ders, looked me full in the face, and said—
“ Captain Weathersfield, if you don’t know,
you ought to know” and I wilted down under
her look, like a boy caught in the act of play
ing truant.
“ ‘There’s very few men, who, after along
voyage, could have stood such an appeal as
this. I felt some rascal had been telling sto
ries out of school ; but for the life of me,
couldn’t conceive who it could be. And then
my wife went off again, into another fit, worse
than the first. 1 took off her shoes, and her
feet were as cold as ice. As I rubbed them,
I conjured up all the recollections of my voy
age, and they were not half as pleasant as I
could have wished them. But finding it im
possible to restore my wife, I ran down stairs,
leaving the doors all open behind me, to the
kitchen, to make some mulled wine, and there
was my wife’s sister, with her demure face,
which helped to irritate me no little. I call
ed for wine, and spices, and a porringer, and
while it was heating she began, by saying—
“ She wished to Heaven her sister knew how
to treat a husband as he deserved to be treat
ed—that if she was a wife, she should know
how to prize a man who did everything a man
could do to please her.” I was in no humor
to hear my wife abused, and so I burst out up
on her in a rage, and told her “ I believed she
was a snake in the grass, and that 1 had rath
er have her sister, than ten thousand such
hypocrites as she was; that if there was any
mischief made between me and my wife, I
knew who to thank for it all.” She lifted
up her hands, and said : “ She believed all
men were fools, and of all fools I was the
greatest.” This brought on a spirited alter
cation, in which I spoke my mind pretty plain
lv. So soon as I had heated the wine, I de
canted it into a tumbler. My wife’s sister
had r( commended hot vinegar, but I told her
“I would leave the vinegar cruet all to her
self ; i knew a better thing than that for my
wife.”
“ ‘On my way up stairs, I thought I heard
my wife’s footsteps about the chamber, but
oil entering, I fuunil liei lying on the bed, cry
ing in a very sensible way, so I found no dif
ficulty in persuading her to drink the mulled
wine, and then I set to work rubbing her feet
again. She now began to sob, and to say,
“ She didn’t deserve to have such a husband
—I -was too good for her —nobody would love
her—nobody ought to love her.” I felt en
couraged to leave rubbing her feet, and take
to rubbing her hands, and to kiss her, begg
ing her to tell me “ What was the matter.”
And then she fell to crying again, and sob
bing, she said —‘ She couldn’t tell me, for I
should hate her, and she deserved to be ha
ted,” and all that sort of thing. The more
she decried herself, the more penitent I be
came, and was on the point of making a clean
breast, and asking her forgiveness ; but luck
ily, I did no such thing, for after sobbing,
the secret came out—“ Captain Bowline had
brought home to his wife a Cashmere shawl,
and I had only brought her a silk dress.”—
“Is that all!” I exclaimed, and I kissed her
as heartily as ever a woman was kissed be
fore. And now ’twas my turn to complain,
to tell her “ how unkind she had been to keep
me in such suspense all the while,” and then
came her turn to put her arms round my neck,
and to kiss me, and beg to be forgiven. All
which, 1 assure you, was a very agreeable
winding up of this scene.
“ ‘ I was not long in discovering the whole
secret of my wife’s grievances. She thought
1 didn’t love her as much as Captain Tom lov
ed his wife, because I brought China silks
from Canton , instead of an India shawl; but
I explained to her that Cashmere shawls came
from one part of the world, and silks from a
nother; but these women believe shawls are
made everywhere beyond the seas.
“ ‘Now, every woman has her Napoleon
Bonaparte , and my wife’s was Mrs. Tom
Bowline , and the thought of being outshone
by her at church had caused all this commo
tion, now so happily ended in a clearing up
shower. I told my wife her wishes should
be gratified so soon as ever I had it in my
power to do so, and intended that this should
be done as soon as ever 1 could find a shawl
to my mind.
“ ‘By dinner time my wife, was dressed,
and as we sat down to dinner she looked as
happy as a bride, and as for myself, I never
was happier in my life. My wife’s sister
looked on with astonishment, and I was sur
prised to see for the first lime, that my wife
spoke to her with a little tinge of sharpness.
I had reason to believe afterwards, that mv
wife hearing our loud talking, had come m
the head of the stairs and overheard us t
was one of those few instances in which sis/
eners hear good things of themselves • - ln ]
resulted in my wife’s sister finding the house
too hot for her; so she married herself off t
a saddler, and removed to Babylon.
“ ‘ But to go on with my story; the next
day my wife and I set out for Babylon, she
to have her China silks made up, and as for
myself, I really had no other business than
to accompany her, and to buy a shawl, which
should outshine Mrs. Tom Bowline’s. For
tunately, I found my old friend Briggs, of Sa
lem, just in from Calcutta, with a half ’dozen
magnificent shawls, of which lie allowed me
to make my pick, at cost price, and a hill
made out at any price I pleased to have affix
ed. So I modestly told him he might receim
a bill for one at seven hundred and fifty ( j 0 J j.
lars, for which I paid him three hundred.—
This I had safely stowed away in my trunk
as a coat I had been buying. I purchased
besides, a fine satin bonnet with a plume that
drooped down on her shoulder in the most
bewitching style, and she was perfectly de
lighted with her visit. We remained in town
a w r eek, when her silks came home from the
milliners. Her dresses were just as she liked
to have them; a most rare thing, 1 can tell
you, and as to the bonnet, no language could
express her admiration of it. And so we
reached home on Saturday night, perfectly
well pleased with everything in the house
and out of it.
“ ‘The next day was rather a bright fros
ty day, and my wife dressed in her beautiful
bonnet and rich silk dress, certainly looked
charming. She had a pretty fur cape on, and
with a sweet smile said, “Now, dear, let us
go, for the bell is tolling.” You must know
my wife never goes into church too soon, but
just before the minister commences his prayers.
“ ‘Why, my dear, where’s your shawl ?”
“Oh ! I don’t need a shawl to-day.’’ “But,
love, just please me, and wear one ;” she was
for an instant a little displeased, but quelling
the feeling, she ran up stairs, and there lay
my splendid present on her bureau. She
came running down with it on her arm, and
throwing her arms round my neck, burst in
to tears. As I knew these tears did her good.
I let her cry them out, and so soon as they
could be dried away, she put on her shawl,
found it all right, and though I say it, there
never was a finer looking, nor a happier wo
man in the world than my wife at that mo
ment.
“ ‘ We walked up the head of the broad
aisle, in presence of the whole congregation,
to our pew, next to the minister’s, and it
would have done your heart good to have
heard her sweet, clear, ringing voice, making
the responses ; she seemed especially desir
ous that all the congregation should know
what a miserable sinner she was. and how
“ she had done the things she ought not to
have done ; and when the service was over,
she had a kind word for every one, especial
ly was she anxious for the health of Mrs.
Bowline, and all her children, and on the
church steps she lingered to speak to all our
neighbors, high and low, far and near; so it
was pretty well advertised before we got home,
that my wife had a splendid shawl, the pret
tiest bonnet, and the richest silk dress ever
seen in that parish. As for poor Mrs. Tom
Bowline, her dinner was spoilt for one day-
Nor was she the only woman made misera
ble by my wile’s finery. Many an old cloak
and shawl, which in the morning was thought
good enough to last another winter, was now
taken off with a feeling of absolute loathing.
1 he wives of all the parish praised me up to
the husbands, as “such a kind man,” “one
who loved to see his wife look like some
body ;” and the daughters teased their fath
ers for new bonnets and shawls, so that I was
abundantly abused on all hands by the men,
for spending all my money on my wife’s back :
and when the secret leaked out what my wife’s
shawl cost, for I took care to hide ih’iggs’s
bill, where my wife was sure to find it, the
admiration of the women, and the contempt
of the men, rose to the highest pitch. One
thing is certain —never had the parish church
worn such a fashionable air before as it did
that winter. “ Now,” said the Captain, with
a thump on the table which made the glass
es dance, “there’s my method of treating wo
men with the hysterics. And I will give you,
sir,” addressing the priest, “ the exact propor
tions of spice to be put into a pint of wine,
and in your next edition of Conjugial Love.
I beg you will put it in as Captain \Veathers
field’s remedy. Women will sometimes be
cross-grained; it can’t be helped ! but instead
of breaking up all the relations of husband
and wife, mother and child, the most terrible
of all calamities, let everybody try my pr e ”
scription— a pint of mulled wine taken warm
on going to bed , and a Cashmere shawl in the