learned to act more without feeling and against feeling; but it will be a hard lesson for me to get perfectly, I have always allowed myself to be so much governed by impulse. "And so you are more of a recluse than ever. I don't think it is pretty to be hermit so by the way-side. Better hie away to some cave of the mountain, where S. says she shall find me when she comes back. But my cell can hardly be called by the way-side now, in comparison with yours. There is an occasional intrusion upon its solitude. "Then you are going home to spend the winter;-how dare you trust yourself? I find teaching less and less to my taste, the longer I rest from it; and nothing short of plain and irresistible conviction of duty could induce me to enlist again. I am glad to feel myself excused for the year to come. 66 6 Saturday Evening' and 'Enthusiasm ' are come to be my favorite books. 'Abercrombie' I read some. I read 'Galt's Life of Byron' not long since, and it made me feel sad enough. Surely he was 'poor, unhappy Byron.' "Write more about yourself, and write about the school. "Tell little H., if she could come in now, she would see the side-board and mantel-piece all blooming out with her own. flowers. Dear child! I hope she is herself to be one of those beautiful flowers that shall bloom forever in the Paradise above. And I hope all those dear scholars are looking to and living for heaven, through a good hope in Christ. -- · very soon,· "Remember my solitude, and write soon, "HENRIETTA. "P. S. You are mistaken; there is no clay in the composition of absent friends." Notwithstanding the melancholy undertone breathing through these letters, she could at times write in a playful strain, as is evident from the following to her sister E.: "It is hardly three weeks since your letter was received, and I have sat down to answer it, a wonder surely! - "And now, what shall I tell you of the various things that have happened for the last six, seven, or eight weeks? We are doing much as usual at home. There has perhaps been some failure as to the spirit and energy with which things are done, the natural consequence, you know, of our growing old. We are occasionally put in motion by a rap at the frontdoor, then left to subside again, or think for a while of such a wonder as a visitor at the old parsonage. •If you were to look about us a little, you might suppose that all things had not remained as they were. From this window where I am sitting, you would notice that a good part of Margaret's comely pear-tree is lying prostrate, — the work of a last week's tempest. Were you to look a little north of west from this, you would exclaim, ' A new house going up!' Yes! It is a domicile for G. and C.; and were you to go with me to the big yellow house at the corner, you might be surprised to see the household of Dr. S., Uncle John having gone to abide on the hill. * * เ * * "We would proceed to the C. house, to make a farewell call upon M. before she starts for Illinois. At the M. house we should soon discover the Illinois fever, and fear lest it should take J. and his off to the valley before it had formed a crisis. In passing the store, if the door should be open, we should see A. sitting alone, and looking disconsolate as a widower, although at the same time his delight is up stairs. "It really makes me feel sober to think how Dorset has changed. But its beautiful hills and mountains remain the same, and the sun is now shining on them as brightly as it ever shone. * * * ** * "And what if the brilliant hopes of youth are blasted! Why should we weep over them, while there is still set before us the glorious hope of a blessed immortality? 'Perish every fond ambition, All I've sought, or hoped, or known; Yet how rich is my condition! God and heaven are still my own.' "We may not repine without sinning against Him and our own souls. Let us rather commit our way unto the Lord,' and with cheerful confidence rest upon the assurance that He will direct our steps. "And has winter gone? Is it spring again? O, what is a winter? What is a summer? And what is life? That we may be doing the work of life is the earnest prayer of your sister, HENRIETTA." It will be seen that the state of mind which made vigorous and sustained effort necessary for Henrietta, also made her more and more disinclined to it. Nor, according to the laws of mind, could it well be otherwise. In this mood, the beautiful mountains which surrounded her home were no longer an inspiration to her. The deep solitude of her quiet valley became oppressive. Had she written more, though only as an outlet to her pent-up feelings, it would have saved her. in a degree, from this intense brooding. But this he' peculiar reluctance to express herself on paper almost entirely prevented. Her innermost heart she opened to but few. Indeed, her habits of reserve - habits which continued in some degree through life - precluded from her intimate acquaintance even most of those with whom she frequently met. To her few correspondents her letters came at long intervals, though, as is evident, from no want of affection. Her friend M. had closed a letter by saying, "Now, will you be a good girl, and write somewhere in the course of four months, as you always do; or will you think of my distance from home, and do better? If you desire it, I may perhaps spend my spring vacation with you." To this she replied: "Dorset, Jan. 22d, 1835. DEAR M. It is somewhere in the course of four months,' but it is further along than it should be, and further than I coull have thought it would be. You know about me. The first impulse was to write now; then I would only wait for a single day to pass, and have only been waiting for a little ever since. But this minute an appeal has come which is absoJuly irresistible. It has moved me, in spite of all my inertia, to collect the scattered apparatus, and put my pen in motion. What a check upon one's thoughts and feelings are all these preliminaries! And then to take the precise position, - make a pen and try it. Your letter was most joyfully received. A certain promise it contained was better than all the rest. It made me more glad than anything I could have expected to happen. That if you desire it' was only inserted for better sound's sake. It could not have been a serious question in your mind. Since, however, it has some appearance of being so, I will answer accordingly. I do desire you to come and spend that vacation with me, and will call you a good girl for allowing me to expect it so long beforehand. Yes, M., do come. I can't tell how the calm of this quiet vale will strike you; I am sure it will be very different from anything you have experienced in a long time. "I am passing my life away in a succession of days and hours. I sometimes find myself saying, ' And is this life such a trifle, that it may be so wasted?' "The events of to-day interest me so little that they are forgotten by to-morrow. My mind is employed about itself; my feelings, too, when I have any, are almost all about myself. I am growing more and more of a strange being, every day that I live. The discipline which I thought would make me more like others is operating in just the wrong way. I have lost all hope of retrieving my character with the good people here. They set me down for a mystery, long ago; so that anything I do like others is only the stranger still. Don't smile at this long lament. There is more truth in it than you may sup pose. But I believe your visit will do me great good. It will be exhilarating to see your face again; and then the long story I am to hear, and those good pieces, they are too many things to mention at once. Their anticipation often comes over me so as to make my heart throb most joyfully. You will come, M., because you said you would; and you would not break a promise and not mend it again, I mean. ****** *** "The desire to make reparation is a strong feeling, and what wonder if in such a struggle it should overcome every other? But, then, what a sacrifice! It is perhaps a greater one than woman should ever make; yet who can say she might not be the happier for having made it? You see how philosophically I have considered the case, and how fairly I have come to the conclusion that you did not act unwisely either way. My philosophy has been more puzzled upon some of your movements. They were indeed very mystical as they first came to me, scrap by scrap. Your letter makes all plain. I know how you felt as you went over that way to Dr. P.'s, and after the advice was given the feelings were not all glad ones; and while preparations were making, shadows would steal over those bright anticipations; and even after that precious haven was gained, a shade of regret mingled itself with the happier feelings. So far I can follow you; my sympathies cannot well go further. It is a long time since I have been out into the broad world, and its scenes were never very familiar to me. And then, when Mr. B. came with his question, I should not have answered as well. So you are again immersed in cares, and finding every day that they are only life's comforts. "Your invitation is not forgotten. I thank Mrs. B. for her part of it. I would not spend so many long, sober evenings here alone, if your room was where I could find my way to it. "I wish I had not waited so long; then I might dare to say, write soon. You know the rule is, 'As you would' be, not as you have been done by. "When is your vacation? Tell me just the day and the hour, so that I may be looking out to see you come over the hill. Good-by till then. HENRIETTA." |