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LrMJL
Cahs.
CECILE ELLIOT.
B t MISS SUSAX A. STUART.
CUAP. I.
( frtjp good are better made by ill.
odours crush’d nre better still.”
|lMv dearest child, if you knew
,; iC tforld as well as I do, you
j have expected this. You
; , ; tl e arn to value such people for
;v\ialare worth, nothing, liter
3))ynothiS: ’
“Hut mamma, she of all persons
• n j| ie world ! You were always so
(o her, and I have ever treated
plen as a sister. And to stare at
,„ e as if she had never seen me be
hre: surely my mourning cannot
ifjo disguising, that in one short
veor I should not be recognised.”
“Yes,” said her mother, “there
4great difference in you certainly,
rCecile Elliot, the teacher, is in
:t(l very unlike Cccile Elliot, the
-4ted daughter of a rich father,
-jse mother was idiot enough in
[,[ palmy days to fete every one
who was visitable. My daughter
voumust not mind these slights any
more than I do. Adversity has its
blessings, if it has its woes. We
knew not until our misfortune, what
estimable and sincere friends we
bad in the Spencers; and now
would rou be willing to change the
tnenr/ship of Mary and Claude for
that of Ellen Howard ? ”
“.Vo, mamma, surely not,” and
iertace was suffused with ablush,
hull think it very difficult to bear
gratitude. Besides, I was asham
-1 that Claude Spencer should see
at l was so treated. It has been a
:iserab\e evening, mamma; and
iough I was delighted with the
nging, yet lam sorry I went. I
ill stay at home in future, or only
; where I run no risk of being treat
ed so.”
‘‘Did Claude notice Ellen How
id’s manner ? ”
‘He could not avoid doing so.
S; esat immediately in front, and I
me very near touching heron the
moulder, and speaking to her as I
m the habit of doing ; hut,
■wk heaven, I did not ! She
to Claude once in one of the
pauses and said, ‘ Is she not heaven
ly. Spencer ? ’ but he hardly no
ticed her.”
Her brother was with her, was
lie not? ”
‘ les, and with a most fashionable
air of whiskers, and the silliest
l7lir kon his face mamma, I ever
witnessed. He did not speak to
3 mthe concert room either, but
’ we waited in the vestibule
° r the crowd to get out, he turned
ards me and said. 4 Miss Elliot,
e ‘ H°\v’d’ye do V and was about
a le r some of his nonsensical
P e oche, 3 , when Ellen interrupted
n with, “ come brother, we can
• • out now now. Good evening
Spencer.” Mamma, was not
:!at cut direct ?”
es > but as I said before, count
nothin<t. There are many such
en Howard ; but for all that,
° Urw °rld has many, many noble
spirits who delight in
<ll o u pthe oppressed and reliev
in every way. We must
’ r J re f ee i t^at amply com
for others of the inferior
s °f God’s creatures, of which
0 Ellen is a specimen. But
Je > dear, our school duties, to-
V,
lfr ow will not allow us to dissi
te j and you already look pale and
i f V.
•Irs. Elliott, who spoke thus to
daughter, was the widow of a
:i captain who had been one of
p wealthiest men in the little sea
fi u b city of and who fouad
- educed from affluence to
until) tu Utirnfurr, &rienre unit ~lrt, t|jf di (Dhu 3t!flsunnf ntih (PFticrnl 3ultllii)tiiff
poverty by his death. She truly
said she feted every one, for never
was there a woman who loved to
see happy faces around her better
than Mrs. Elliot, and in the days of
her prosperity she laterally kept
open house for all, who were willing
enough, in those days, to style them
selves friends. But mark the dif
ference—death came, and misfor
tune followed on his footsteps ; and
the hearts of those, whom in her
own kindness and warmth she had
endeavored to cheer, instead of
clinging to the sorrowing woman in
the warmth of gratitude and sym
pathy for her loss, grew cold to
wards her. The affectionate clasp,
and the cordial greeting were now
exchanged for a chilling how of the
head ; and some there were who
had been the fondest friendsof her
happy days, who did not even
vouchsafe her this, but avoided her
as if the plague spot were visible,
and even a look might bring con
tagion.
But if this was the general rule
there were some honorable excep
tions. The family of the Speneer’s
lor one, stood boldly and freely out
to assist the lone widow and the in
teresting orphan ; and chiefly
through their exertions, for they
were rich and influential, a school
was made up for Mrs. Elliot, in
which she was assisted by the gen
tle and pretty Cecile, who was then
nineteen.
Their comfortable and luxurious
ly furnished residence was obliged
to he sold, to meet claims due ; and
only a few articles of furniture, en
deared by association, could he re
tained to carry to their humble
dwelling. Their great loss in the
death of Capt. Elliot made them
insensible at first to their minor mis
fortunes —loss of fortune and of
caste—hut when time began to heal,
as he ever does, this great wound,
then the base ingratitude of their
pseudo friends forced itself upon
them, and gave rise to many re
grets for such conduct, from the
guileless Cecile.”
Their school however flourished,
and Cecile possessed the buoyant
spirits of youth. Though she cer
tainly missed the attention to her
wishes that was formerly paid, yet
she had become used to that, while
every little pleasing event, became
enhanced by the gloss of novelty.
She began to look to a higher source
for comfort- under affliction, and to
prove that “ God tempers the wind
to shorn lamb ” A mine of pure
happiness too —happiness far great
er than any attendant on her past
wealth, had opened upon her view,
and 1 may safely affirm that Cecile
Elliot, the teacher, in the midst of
her poverty, and the thousand little
trials attendant on her lot, was pos
sessed of purer and greater happi
ness than ever the petted Cecile
knew in her palmy days.
CHAP 11.
“ And learn the luxury of doing good.”
“ Hold your head still lower Miss
Cecile, ’till I whisper my message,”
said little Emily Spencer, as Miss
Elliot bent over the child with her
copy book, “ Sister Mary says you
must come round with me after
school, and spend a long evening,
and Claude told me to tease you till
you said “yes, 11
You must ask mamma ; Don’t
vou know that I am mamma's little
girl ? ”
“Oh yes, I will ask her, but
young ladies can do as they wish.
I will be so glad, when I grow up, I
will never ask anybody, but will go
wherever I please. Why don’t } r ou
Miss Cecile ? ”
Because ’tis naughty to do so,
dear. Sister Mary always asks
I • ? f . 1 f : U t , ►
SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, MARCH 10, 1850.
mamma, and she is a young lady ;
and I ask my mamma when I wish
lo do anything, because she is the
proper person, and moreover I be
long to her.”
“ But Miss Ellen Howard does
not.”
“ How do you know that, Em ?
I am sure she is a well-behaved
young lady.”
“Oh, hut one afternoon I went
there to play with Sara, and I heard
her tell her mother she would rro
where she pleased, and so she need
not say another word; and she
went too.”
“You must not do then as Miss
Howard does, but take your own
sister Mary for an example ; now
go on with your writing Emily, and
I will ask mamma myself to let me
go with you to sec Mary.”
And she went ; for Mrs. Elliot
knew well the pleasure a visit to the
Spencer’s always gave lo Cecile ;
and so she was very willing to al
low her such a relaxation. She
found Mary the same social, affec
tionate being she had always found
her ; and the old people were de
lighted to have the gentle girl be
neath their roof tree. This evening
too, Claude came early from the
counting room ; and to Cecile there
was no hour of the twenty-four so
delightful as this. The dusky light
of twilight was the very time at
which they all seemed drawn more
closely towards each other. Claude
was so dutiful and respectful to his
parents —so loving and attentive to
Mary and herself. And at that
sweet hour too (when the heart al
ways in quiet, feels devotional) the
family knelt in prayer—so true, so
heartfelt, that she always rose from
her knees with her soul nerved by
faith, to endurance, and her heart
expanded by love towards the whole
human family.
The Spencer’s were truly reli
gious, in word and in deed ; utter
ing no lip-prayers—as the hearts of
their hearers felt, and ’twas echoed
hack from their’s in like sincerity,
They followed after the maxims
and endeavored to tread in the
footsteps of their master; raising
up the poor in spirit, helping the
oppressed, and having that charity
which “ sufFereth long and is kind,
which envieth not; which vaunteth
not itself, nor is puffed up, doth not
behave itself unseemly, seeketh not
its own, is not easily provoked,
thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in
iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth ;
beareth all things, believeth all
things, hopeth all things, endureth
all things.”.
And Cecile and her mother had
reason to love and be grateful to
them. Not content with aiding them
by their patronage, they let no op
portunity slip by, in which they
could cheer their hearts by some del
icate attention to their wishes; which
met its full appreciation. Will one
wonder that Cecile always looked
forward to these social evenings
spent in that delightful family circle?
Music, books, and rational conver
sation, lent wings to the hours ; so
that neither Mary nor her guest, had
no lack of subjects, or ideas, to make
them fall hack, as a dernier resort, to
their neighbors’ failings, dress, or
gossip. Then, too, Claude walked
home with her ; and Cecile in her
heart felt that though all the family
were interested ni her and loved her
much; 3*et his in'erest in her was
more tender than all. He came of
ten to their dwelling, and his pres
ence there served to garnish the
lowly parlor and meagre furniture
with the rosy light which love casts
over hare walls and desert sands.
This evening in particular, Cecile
was made more fully aware of the
nature of the feelings in her own
and Claude’s heart, when on their
homeward walk, he declared his
love for her, and said that his pa
rants sanctioned his proposal. She
answered him like all timid maidens
who love (and that I will leave to
your imagination,) and so nothing
remained for him to do, but ask the
consent of Mrs. Elliot.
On arriving at home, Cecile was
astonished to see gleaming through
the closed blinds of the parlor, a
blight light; for she knew her moth
er was in the habit of sitting up
stairs, when she spent her evenings
out; and they had but little compa
ny now to render an extra lire in the
sitting parlor nccessa^.
“Certainly mamma,has compaii}".
Do, Claude, peep through the blinds
and see if 3'ou can see who it is?”
“There is a gentleman sitting
near the fire. I see his head very
distinctly,” said Claude, as he did
her bidding. “ Who on earth is he,
Cecile ? Can 3 r ou see ?” as lie as
sisted her to peer through the open
ing.
“ Yes very well, but still Ido not
know him. Come in, Claude, and
we will soon know his name at
least. ”
They accordingly entered ; and
were introduced by Mrs. Elliot, to
Mr. Dunbar. Mrs. Elliot’s face
wore an excited look, which was the
more perceptible to Claude and her
daughter, from comparison to her
usual calm appearance; and Ce
cile’s own bright and happy face
became clouded with melancholy,
for she began to anticipate some
new misfortune. To one who has
once known trouble, there is ahva3's
added that dreadful feeling of pre
sentiment of coming evil. Ah ! that
is indeed the wonyingpart of mis
fortune; that dreading, \ T et expect
ing the trouble to come, which every
woman knows, and which some
feel most accutely. Real trials can
be borne better when they actually
do come, hut tis this constant antici
pation of them, that sinks the heart
and weakens the brain.
“ Cecile,” said Mrs. Elliot, after
a pause in the conversation. “Do
you recollect that narrative I rela
ted to you of your father’s finding a
gentleman on a wreck and his res
cue ?”
“ Pefectly, mamma.”
“He was Mr. Dunbar’s uncle.—
And he has also come from Scotland
as the bearer of news, the most Un
expected to me, that you can well
coticieve. Do not look alarmed,
my dear,” as she saw Cecile’s eyes
questioning her, “It is all good
apd certainly most romantic.”
“ Pray tell, Mamma, Claude We
always treat you as one el us, so
you will excuse my eagerness to
know what it is,” and she looked at
him with a smile and a glance that
would have excused a greater fault
than the satifying of her curiosity.
.“ With your permission, Mr. Dun
bar, I will relate the incident to Mr.
Spencer, relative to your uncle.”
“ Certainly, dear madam, I shall
bo glad to hear the particulars, for
my uncle was so excentric that tho’
we were aware that he had been
delivered from the wreck, yet he
scarcely spoke of it to m3 r sef or to
m3’ mother, who resided with him.
My uncle Graham, Miss Elliot, was
a bachelor, and my mother his wi
dowed sister.”
44 Well! ni3 r husband,” said Mrs.
Elliot, “ when out at sea on his
voyage to Liverpool, narrowty’ es
caped shipwreck from a severe
storm. When it had subsided, and
the sea lay calm and smiling around
‘lira, he descried, in the distance,
a black object, which he rightly jud
ged to be a ship. With all kind
intentions, he went out of his course,
to proffer aid to those who seemed
to have fared worse than himself.—
As he neared it, he found it to he a
total wreck, one end of which was
entirely sunk in the water. No an
swer was returned to his hail, so
geting on hoard his boat lie was
rowed to the vessel, in order to
learn her name port, &c. As
he drifted near one of the cabin win
dows from which the protection had
been torn, he saw a face so ghastly
ami corpse like ; and heard so un
natural a cry as startled even his
bold heart.”
“ Help ! Help ! for God’s sake!”
cried the voice.
“ Capt. Elliot needed not this to
urge him on ; before the words were
well out the mouth of the speaker,
•he had climbed the deck, and was
deseeding into the cabin. He there
found a gentleman tying in one of
the berths, so emaciated and weak
from hunger anil sickness, that he
could give no account of himself,
for either overwhelmed with joy at
his unlooked for release from a lin
gering death, or exhausted by his
efforts to make himself heard, he
had fainted. In that state he was
placed in the boat, for the Captain
ascertained there were neither pa
pers or people on board ; and so he
hurried away for the vessel was ev
idently sinking. The cool air as
they rowed back to his ship, restor
ed the gentleman to consciousness,
but it was several days ere he could
give any succint account of himself.
He then informed the Captain lie
had been sick when the storm com
menced ; and knew nothing of its
progress. His cabin window having
been fastened down, he was not
aware at what time the3 r had desert
ed the ship and himself, whom they
had probably forgotten in their hur
ry of leaving the sinking vessel.—
The Captain told me, Mr. Dunbar,
that your uncle appeared to him as
a very queer man, evidently grate
ful, but shunning all manifestation
of it. When they reached Liver
pool, Captain Elliot finding Mr.
Graham without friends or money,
kindly proffered him aid to reach
Scotland, of which Country he de
clared himself a native. Before
parting he wrote down from Capt.
Elliot’s dictation, at his own request,
his name, mine and yours—Cecile,
—and our place of residence.—
Captain Elliot said that he did so,
to humor him, not expecting to hear
or sec him again. That has been
ten years since* and my husband
truety’ never received tidings Os him.
But to night Mr. Dunbar has arrived
from New York, bringing a copy
of his will, in which he has shown
gratitude to your father rrtost nobly.
Truly Shakespeare’s words may
be reversed in this case— *
“ Thb good that men do is intered
W ith tlieir bones.”
“Claude, 3 T ou will have to con
gratulate with us upon gaining a for
tune, for by Mr. Graham’s will we
are left a legac3’ °f <£10,000.”
For the first time Mrs. Elliot gave
way lo her feelings and wept ; for
she thought of her husband and
his love; and the remembrance of
her days of trial was like a veil lift
ed as the prospect of the future rose
before her. No more thought for
the morrow, such as the poor in purse
alone can feel. No more insolence
of wealth, should she or her beloved
Cecile have to bear. And how ma
ny oppressed and down-trodden
spirits she could raise—how many
orphans and widows comfort and
succor with her newly got wealth.
Claude did indeed congratulate
them from his heart, yet a sad feel
ing was mixed with his sympathy
for their good fortune. lie was.
only a clerk lor his father. Would
Mrs. Klliot be willing to give he r
richly endowed daughter to him ?
I he gloom upon his handsome face,
was read instantly and Interpreted
rightly by the clear sighted glance
ot love, and Cecile became so at
tentive to him that Mr. Dunbar,win)
had been looking with a pleased eye
upon the “ winsome lassie,” saw it
would he useless to pay court in
that quarter, so he politely drew his
chair trear her mother and begun
speaking about business.
“I am keeping you all up,” at
last uttered Claude with a sh>h, “so
I must bid you good night, Cecile.”
“Don’t go yet—wait till Mr. Dun
bar goes. Besides 1 must get a
piece of music I promised to send
Mary.” And she arose to seek for
it, in a pile of loose music near the
piano.
Claude, of course, went to a.>sist
her, and whatever were the whis
pered words uttered there, they
were certainly ol magic power upon
him ; for he returned to bid Mrs.
Elliot and Mr. Dunbar, “good night”
with as happy a face as an accept
ed and hoping lover ever wears.
“If you will allow me, I will in
trude my company on you,Mr.Spen
cer, for I really cannot tell which
way I must go to (incl my lodgings.
Tis the United States,can you direct
me V”
“ With pleasure, as it lies direct
ly in my route.”
Mr. Dunbar accordingly left with
Claude, having received a pressing
invitation to dinner for the next day ;
and Claude was. the bearer of a
message to Marv, beganno: her to
come early in the morning. Claude
and his parents were also included
in the dinner invitation ; they were
the first who had soothed her grief ;
why should they not be the first to
participate in her joy.”
It would be impossible, to paint
the joy of the mother and daughter,
as they thus sat talking happily and
lovingly of the future ; raised as
they had been from poverty to com
parative wealth.
“Mamma,” whispered Cecile as
she knelt with her arms round her
mother, her sweet face lit up with
blushes and smiles, “ dear mamma,
I must tell you some news too. To
night j as we were returning from
Mr. Spencer’s, Claude”—and the
bright face, now glowing with timid
embarrassment,-was here buried on
mother’s shoulder, whilst her voice
trembled, as she continued—“ yes,
mamma, Claude told me he loved
me, and asked me to become bis
wife, may 1?”
“ Do vou love him well enough to
•s O
leave Vour mother for his sake, Ce
cils r
“Oh, but mamma, I Would hot
leave you. We should live so hap
py, so very happy together. Poor
Claude, he was so sad though at the
same time he rejoiced in our good
fortune $ for he feared it would
make a difference, though I told him
it would not.”
“You did miss! Why that was
talking pretty well when one takes
into consideration that this is your
first love affair. Well! 1 am so hap
py that I can deny you nothing; set
I shall tell Claude, he may have
you, and welcome, as l am glad to
get rid of you.”
“Not so fast, mamma,” said the
now laughing and happy girl—“vou
shall not get rid of me quite so fast,
Be sure that m}’ mannnagoes with
me.”
s
The night was well advanced era
the pair retired. The next morn
ing early,Mrs. Elliot was up, buying
and making prepaparation for her
dinner party; for many things had
to be purebred to replenish the
NUMBER i,