CHAPTER XLI.
OF the events which followed this scene, we are happy to give ourreaders more minute and graphic details than we ourselves couldfurnish, by transcribing for their edification an autograph letterof Miss Prissy’s, still preserved in a black oaken cabinet of ourgreat-grandmother’s, and with which we take no further liberties thanthe correction of a somewhat peculiar orthography.
It is written to that sister ‘Martha’ in Boston, of whom she made suchfrequent mention, and who, it appears, it was her custom to keep postedup in all the gossip of her immediate sphere.
‘MY DEAR SISTER,
‘You wonder, I s’pose, why I haven’t written you; but the fact is, I’ve been run just off my feet and worked till the flesh aches so, it seems as if it would drop off my bones with this wedding of Mary Scudder’s. And, after all, you’ll be astonished to hear that she ha’n’t married the Doctor, but that Jim Marvyn that I told you about, who had such a wonderful escape from shipwreck. You see, he came home a week before the wedding was to be, and Mary, she was so conscientious, she thought ’twa’n’t right to break off with the Doctor, and so she was for going right on with it; and Mrs. Scudder, she was for going on more yet; and the poor young man, he couldn’t get a word in edgeways; and there wouldn’t anybody tell the Doctor a word about it, and there ’twas drifting along, and both on ’em feeling dreadfully; and so I thought to myself I’ll just take my life in my hand like Queen Esther, and go in and tell the Doctor all about it. And so I did. I’m scared to death always when I think of it. But that dear, blessed man! he took it like a saint. He just gave her up as serene and calm as a psalm-book, and called James in and told him to take her. Jim was fairly over-crowed—it really made him feel small, and he says he’ll agree that there is more in the Doctor’s religion than most men’s, which shows how important it is for professing Christians to bear testimony in their works—as I was telling Cerinthy Ann Twitchel, and she said there wa’n’t anything made her want to be a Christian so much, if that was what religion would do for people. Well, you see, when this came out, it wanted just three days of the wedding, which was to be Thursday; and that wedding-dress I told you about, that had lilies of the valley on a white ground, was pretty much made, except puffing the gauze round the neck, which I do with white satin piping cord, and it looks beautiful too. And so Mrs. Scudder and I, we were thinking ’twould do just as well, when in came Jim Marvyn bringing the sweetest thing you ever saw, that he had got in China, and I think I never did see anything lovelier. It was a white silk, as thick as a board, and so stiff that it would stand alone, and overshot with little fine dots of silver, so that it shone when you moved it just like frost-work. And when I saw it I just clapped my hands and jumped up from the floor; and says I, “If I have to sit up all night that dress shall be made, and made well too.” For, you know, I thought I could get Miss Ollodine Hocum to run the breadth and do such parts, so that I could devote myself to the fine work; and that French woman I told you about, she said she’d help, and she’s a master-hand for touching things up. There seems to be work provided for all kinds of people, and French people seem to have a gift in all sorts of dressy things, and ’tisn’t a bad gift either. Well, as I was saying, we agreed that this was to be cut open with a train, and a petticoat of just the palest, sweetest, loveliest, blue that ever you saw, and gauze puffings down the edgings each side, fastened in, every once in a while, with lilies of the valley; and ’twas cut square in the neck, with puffing and flowers to match; and then, tight sleeves with full ruffles of that old Mechlin lace that you remember Mrs. Katy Scudder showed you once in that great camphor-wood trunk. Well, you see, come to get all things together that were to be done, we concluded to put off the wedding till Tuesday; and Madame de Frontignac she would dress the best room for it herself, and she spent nobody knows what time in going round and getting evergreens, and making wreaths, and putting up green boughs over the pictures, so that the room looked just like the Episcopal Church at Christmas. In fact, Mrs. Scudder said if it had been Christmas she wouldn’t have felt it right, because it would be like encouraging prelacy; but as it was, she didn’t think anybody would think it any harm. Well, Tuesday night I and Madame de Frontignac we dressed Mary ourselves, and I tell you the dress fitted as if ’twas grown on her; and Madame de Frontignac she dressed her hair, and she had on a wreath of lilies of the valley, and a gauze veil that came a’most down to her feet and came all around her like a cloud, and you could see her white shining dress through it every time she moved. And she looked just as white as a snowberry; but there were two little pink spots that came coming and going in her cheeks, that kind o’ lightened up when she smiled, and then faded down again. And the French lady put a string of real pearls round her neck, with a cross of pearls, which went down and lay hid in her bosom. She was mighty calm-like while she was being dressed; but just as I was putting in the last pin, she started, for she heard the rumbling of a coach down stairs, for Jim Marvyn had got a real elegant carriage to carry her over to his father’s in, and so she knew he was come; and pretty soon Mrs. Marvyn came in the room, and when she saw Mary, her brown eyes kind o’ danced, and she lifted up both hands to see how beautiful she looked; and Jim Marvyn he was standing at the door, and they told him it wasn’t proper that he should see till the time come.
‘But he begged so hard that he might just have one peep, that I let him come in, and he looked at her as if she was something he wouldn’t dare to touch, and he said to me softly, says he, “I’m ’most afraid she has got wings somewhere that will fly away from me, or that I shall wake up and find it is a dream.”
‘Well, Cerinthy Ann Twitchel was the bridesmaid, and she came next with that young man she is engaged to. It is all out now that she is engaged, and she don’t deny it.
‘And Cerinthy, she looked handsomer than I ever saw her, in a white brocade with rosebuds on it, which I guess she got in reference to the future, for they say she is going to be married next month.
‘Well, we all filled up the room pretty well, till Mrs. Scudder came in to tell us that the company were all together, and then they took hold of arms, and they had a little time practising how they must stand; and Cerinthy Ann’s beau would always get her on the wrong side, ’cause he’s rather bashful, and don’t know very well what he’s about; and Cerinthy Ann declared she was afraid that she should laugh out in prayer-time, ’cause she always did laugh when she knew she mus’n’t.
‘But, finally, Mrs. Scudder told us we must go in, and looked so reprovingly at Cerinthy that she had to hold her mouth with her pocket-handkerchief.
‘Well, the old Doctor was standing there in the very silk gown that the ladies gave him to be married in himself, poor, dear man! and he smiled kind o’ peaceful on ’em when they came in and walked up to a kind o’ bower of evergreens and flowers that Madame de Frontignac had fixed for them to stand in. Mary grew rather white as if she was going to faint; but Jim Marvyn stood up just as firm and looked as proud and handsome as a prince, and he kind o’ looked down at her, ’cause you know he is a great deal taller, kind o’ wondering as if he wanted to know if it was really so. Well, when they got all placed, they let the doors stand open, and Cato and Candace came and stood in the door. And Candace had on her great splendid Mogadore turban, and a crimson and yellow shawl that she seemed to take comfort in wearing, although it was pretty hot.
‘Well, so when they were all fixed, the Doctor he began his prayer; and as most all of us knew what a great sacrifice he had made, I don’t believe there was a dry eye in the room; and when he had done there was a great time—people blowing their noses a
nd wiping their eyes as if it had been a funeral.
‘Then Cerinthy Ann she pulled off Mary’s glove pretty quick; but that poor beau of hers, he made such work of James’s that he had to pull it off himself after all, and Cerinthy Ann she like to have laughed out loud.
‘And so, when the Doctor told them to join hands, Jim took hold of Mary’s hand as if he didn’t mean to let go very soon; and so they were married, and I was the first one that kissed the bride after Mrs. Scudder. I got that promise out of Mary when I was making the dress. And Jim Marvyn he insisted upon kissing me, ’cause, says he, Miss Prissy, you are as young and handsome as any of them. And I told him he was a saucy fellow, and I’d box his ears if I could reach them.
‘That French lady looked lovely, dressed in pale pink silk, with long pink wreaths of flowers in her hair; and she came up and kissed Mary, and said something to her in French.
‘And, after a while, old Candace came up, and Mary kissed her; and then Candace put her arms round Jim’s neck and gave him a real hearty smack, so that everybody laughed.
‘And then the cake and the wine was passed round, and everybody had good times till we heard the nine-o’clock bell ring. And then the coach came up to the door, and Mrs. Scudder she wrapped Mary up, kissing her and crying over her; while Mrs. Marvyn stood stretching her arms out of the coach after her.
‘And then Cato and Candace went after in the waggon behind, and so they all went off together, and that was the end of the wedding. And ever since then we ha’n’t any of us done much but rest, for we were pretty much tired out. So no more at present from your affectionate sister
‘PRISSY.
‘P.S. (to Miss Prissy’s letter).—I forgot to tell you that Jim Marvyn has come home quite rich. He fell in with a man in China who was at the head of one of their great merchant-houses, whom he nursed through a long fever, and took care of his business, and so when he got well nothing would do but he must have him for a partner, and now he is going to live in this country and attend to the business of the house here. They say he is going to build a house as grand as the Vernons’; and we hope he has experienced religion, and he means to join our church, which is a providence, for he is twice as rich and generous as that old Simon Brown that snapped me up so about my wages. I never believed in him for all his talk. I was down to Miss Scudder’s when the Doctor examined Jim about his evidences. At first the Doctor seemed a little anxious ’cause he didn’t talk in the regular way, for you know Jim always did have his own way of talking, and never could say things in other people’s words; and sometimes he makes folks laugh when he himself don’t know what they laugh at, because he hits the nail on the head in some strange way they ar’n’t expecting. If I was to have died I couldn’t help laughing at some things he said, and yet I don’t think I ever felt more solemnized. He sat up there in a sort o’ grand, straightforward, noble way, and told us all the way the Lord had been leading of him, and all the exercises of his mind; and all about the dreadful shipwreck, and how he was saved, and the loving-kindness of the Lord, till the Doctor’s spectacles got all blinded with tears, and he couldn’t see the notes he made to examine him by; and we all cried, Miss Scudder, and Mary, and I; and as to Miss Marvyn, she just sat with her hands clasped, looking into her son’s eyes, like a picture of the Virgin Mary; and when Jim got through there wa’n’t nothing to be heard for some minutes, and the Doctor he wiped his eyes and wiped his glasses, and he looked over his papers, but he couldn’t bring out a word, and at last, says he, “Let us pray,” for that was all there was to be said, for I think sometimes things so kind o’ fills folks up that there a’n’t nothin’ to be done but pray, which the Lord be praised we are privileged to do always. Between you and I, Martha, I never could understand all the distinctions our dear, blessed Doctor sets up; and when he publishes his system, if I work my fingers to the bone, I mean to buy one and study it out, because he is such a blessed man; though after all’s said I have to come back to my old place, and trust in the loving-kindness of the Lord, who takes care of the sparrow on the house-top and all small, lone creatures like me; though I can’t say I’m lone either, because nobody need say that so long as there’s folks to be done for; so if I _don’t_ understand the Doctor’s theology, or don’t get eyes to read it on account of the fine stitching on his shirt ruffles I’ve been trying to do, still I hope I may be accepted on account of the Lord’s great goodness; for if we can’t trust that, it’s all over with us all.’
CHAPTER XLII.
LAST WORDS.
WE know it is fashionable to drop the curtain over a new-married pairas they recede from the altar, but we cannot but hope our readers mayhave by this time enough of interest in our little history to wish fora few words on the lot of the personages whose acquaintance they havethereby made.
The conjectures of Miss Prissy in regard to the house which was to bebuilt for the new-married pair were as speedily as possible realized.On a beautiful elevation, a little out of the town of Newport, rose afair and stately mansion, whose windows overlooked the harbour, andwhose wide cool rooms were adorned by the constant presence of thesweet face and form which has been the guiding-star of our story.The fair poetic maiden, the seeress, the saint, has passed into thatappointed shrine for woman, more holy than cloister, more saintly andpure than church or altar—_a Christian home_. Priestess, wife, andmother, there she ministers daily in holy works of household peace, andby faith and prayer and love redeems from grossness and earthliness thecommon toils and wants of life.
The gentle guiding force that led James Marvyn from the maxims andhabits and ways of this world to the higher conception of an heroic andChrist-like manhood was still ever present with him, gently touchingthe springs of life, brooding peacefully with dove-like wings over hissoul, and he grew up under it noble in purpose and strong in spirit. Hewas one of the most energetic and fearless supporters of the Doctor inhis life-long warfare against an inhumanity which was entrenched in allthe mercantile interest of the day, and which at last fell before theforce of conscience and moral appeal.
Candace, in time, transferred her allegiance to the growing family ofher young master and mistress; and predominated proudly, in gorgeousraiment and butterfly turban, over a rising race of young Marvyns. Allthe cares not needed by them were bestowed on the somewhat garrulousold age of Cato, whose never-failing cough furnished occupation for allher spare hours and thought.
As for our friend the Doctor, we trust our readers will appreciate themagnanimity with which he proved a real and disinterested love, in apoint where so many men experience only the graspings of a selfish one.A mind so severely trained as his had been brings to a great crisis,involving severe self-denial, an amount of reserved moral force quiteinexplicable to those less habituated to self-control. He was like awarrior whose sleep even was in armour, always ready to be roused tothe conflict.
In regard to his feelings for Mary, he made the sacrifice of himself toher happiness so wholly and thoroughly that there was not a moment ofweak hesitation—no going back over the past—no vain regret. Generousand brave souls find a support in such actions, because the veryexertion raises them to a higher and purer plane of existence.
His diary records the event only in these very calm and temperatewords:—‘It was a trial to me—a _very great_ trial; but as she did notdeceive me, I shall never lose my friendship for her.’
The Doctor was always a welcome inmate in the house of Mary and James,as a friend revered and dear. Nor did he want in time a hearthstone ofhis own, where a bright and loving face made him daily welcome; for wefind that he married at last a woman of a fair countenance, and thatsons and daughters grew up around him.
In time, also, his theological system
was published. In that day it wascustomary to dedicate new or important works to the patronage of somedistinguished or powerful individual. The Doctor had no earthly patron.Four or five simple lines are found in the commencement of his work, inwhich, in a spirit reverential and affectionate, he dedicates it toour Lord Jesus Christ, praying Him to accept the good, and to overrulethe errors to His glory.
Quite unexpectedly to himself the work proved a success, not only inpublic acceptance and esteem, but even in a temporal view, bringingto him at last a modest competence, which he accepted with surpriseand gratitude. To the last of a very long life he was the same steadyundiscouraged worker, the same calm witness against popular sins andproclaimer of unpopular truths, ever saying and doing what he saw tobe eternally true and right, without the slightest consultation withworldly expediency or earthly gain, nor did his words cease to work inNew England till the evils he opposed were finally done away.
Colonel Burr leaves the scene of our story to pursue those brilliantand unscrupulous political intrigues so well known to the historianof those times, and whose results were so disastrous to himself. Hisduel with the ill-fated Hamilton, and the awful retribution of publicopinion that followed—the slow downward course of a doomed life, areall on record. Chased from society, pointed at everywhere by the fingerof hatred, so accursed in common esteem that even the publican wholodged him for a night refused to accept his money when he knew hisname, heart-stricken in his domestic relation, his only daughter takenby pirates, and dying in untold horrors,—one seems to see in a doom somuch above that of other men the power of an avenging Nemesis for sinsbeyond those of ordinary humanity.
But we who have learned of Christ may humbly hope that these crushingmiseries in this life came not because he was a sinner above others,not in wrath alone, but that the prayers of the sweet saint whogave him to God even before his birth brought to him those friendlyadversities that thus might be slain in his soul the evil demon ofpride, which had been the opposing force to all that was noble withinhim. Nothing is more affecting than the account of the last hoursof this man, whom a woman took in and cherished in his poverty andweakness with that same heroic enthusiasm with which it was his lot toinspire so many women. This humble keeper of lodgings was told that ifshe retained Aaron Burr all her other lodgers would leave—‘Let them doit then,’ she said, ‘but he shall remain.’ In the same uncomplainingand inscrutable silence in which he had borne the reverses and miseriesof his life did this singular being pass through the shades of thedark valley. The New Testament was always under his pillow, and whenalone he was often found reading it attentively, but of the result ofthat communion with higher powers he said nothing. Patient, gentle,and grateful he was, as to all his inner history, entirely silentand impenetrable. He died with the request, which has a touchingsignificance, that he might be buried at the feet of those parentswhose sainted lives had finished so differently from his own.
‘No farther seek his errors to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode.’
Shortly after Mary’s marriage Madame de Frontignac sailed with herhusband to France, where they lived in a very retired way on a largeestate in the south of France. A close correspondence was kept upbetween her and Mary for many years, from which we shall give ourreaders a few extracts. The first is dated shortly after their returnto France.
* * * * *
‘At last, my sweet Marie, you behold us in peace after our wanderings.I wish you could see our lovely nest in the hills, which overlooksthe Mediterranean, whose blue waters remind me of Newport harbour andour old days there. Ah, my sweet saint, blessed was the day I firstlearned to know you! for it was you more than anything else that keptme back from sin and misery. I call you my Sibyl, dearest, because theSibyl was a prophetess of divine things out of the church; and so areyou. The Abbé says that all true, devout persons in all persuasionsbelong to the true Catholic Apostolic Church, and will in the end beenlightened to know it; what do you think of that, _ma belle_? I fancyI see you look at me with your grave, innocent eyes, just as you usedto; but you say nothing.
‘I am far happier, _ma_ Marie, than I ever thought I could be. I tookyour advice, and told my husband all I had felt and suffered. It was avery hard thing to do; but I felt how true it was, as you said, therecould be no real friendship without perfect truth at bottom; so I toldhim all, and he was very good, and noble, and helpful to me; and sincethen he has been so gentle, and patient, and thoughtful, that no mothercould be kinder, and I should be a very bad woman if I did not love himtruly and dearly—I do.
‘I must confess that there is still a weak, bleeding place in my heartthat aches yet, but I try to bear it bravely; and when I am temptedto think myself very miserable, I remember how patiently you usedto go about your housework and spinning in those sad days when youthought your heart was drowned in the sea; and I try to do like you.I have many duties to my servants and tenants, and mean to be a goodchâtelaine; and I find when I nurse the sick and comfort the poor thatmy sorrows seem lighter. For after all, Mary, I have lost nothing thatever was mine—only my foolish heart has grown to something that itshould not, and bleeds at being torn away. Nobody but Christ and Hisdear mother can tell what this sorrow is; but they know, and that isenough.’
The next letter is dated some three years after.
‘You see me now, my Marie, a proud and happy woman. I was truly enviouswhen you wrote me of the birth of your little son; but now the deargood God has sent a sweet little angel to me, to comfort my sorrowsand lie close to my heart; and since he came all pain is gone. Ah, ifyou could see him! he has black eyes and lashes like silk, and suchlittle hands!—even his finger-nails are all perfect, like little gems;and when he puts his little hand on my bosom I tremble with joy. Sincehe came I pray always, and the good God seems very near to me. Now Irealize as I never did before the sublime thought that God revealedhimself in the infant Jesus; and I bow before the manger of Bethlehemwhere the Holy Babe was laid. What comfort, what adorable condescensionfor us mothers in that scene! My husband is so moved he can scarce stayan hour from the cradle! He seems to look at me with a sort of awe,because I know how to care for this precious treasure that he adoreswithout daring to touch. We are going to call him Henri, which is myhusband’s name and that of his ancestors for many generations back. Ivow for him an eternal friendship with the son of my little Marie; andI shall try and train him up to be a brave man and a true Christian.Ah, Marie, this gives me something to live for. My heart is full—awhole new life opens before me!’
Somewhat later, another letter announces the birth of a daughter, andlater still, that of another son; but we shall only add one more,written some years after, on hearing of the great reverse of popularfeeling towards Burr, subsequently to his duel with the ill-fatedHamilton.
‘_Ma chère Marie_—Your letter has filled me with grief. My noble Henri,who already begins to talk of himself as my protector (these boys feeltheir manhood so soon, _ma Marie_), saw by my face when I read yourletter that something pained me, and he would not rest till I toldhim something about it. Ah, Marie, how thankful I then felt that Ihad nothing to blush for before my son! how thankful for those dearchildren whose little hands had healed all the morbid places of myheart, so that I could think of all the past without a pang! I toldHenri that the letter brought bad news of an old friend, but that itpained me to speak of it; and you would have thought by the grave andtender way he talked to his mamma that the boy was an experienced manof forty, to say the least.
‘But Marie, how unjust is the world; how unjust both in praise andblame! Poor Burr was the petted child of society: yesterday she dotedon him, flattered him, smiled on his faults, and let him do what hewould without reproof; to-day she flouts, and scorns, and scoffs him,and refuses to see the least good in him. I know that man, Mary, and Iknow that sinful as he may be before Infinite Purity, he is not so muchworse than all the other men of his time. Have I not been in America?I know Jefferson; I knew p
oor Hamilton—peace be with the dead! Neitherof them had lives that could bear the sort of trial to which Burr’s issubjected. When every secret fault, failing, and sin is dragged out andheld up without mercy, what man can stand?
‘But I know what irritates the world is that proud, disdainful calmwhich will neither give sigh nor tear. It was not that he killed poorHamilton, but that he never seemed to care! Ah, there is that evildemon of his life!—that cold, stoical pride, which haunts him like afate. But I know he _does_ feel; I know he is _not_ as hard at heartas he tries to be; I have seen too many real acts of pity to theunfortunate, of tenderness to the weak, of real love to his friends tobelieve that. Great have been his sins against our sex, and God forbidthat the mother of children should speak lightly of them; but is notso susceptible a temperament, and so singular a power to charm as hepossessed, to be taken into account in estimating his temptations?Because he is a sinning man, it does not follow that he is a demon. Ifany should have cause to think bitterly of him, I should. He trifledinexcusably with my deepest feelings; he caused me years of conflictand anguish, such as he little knows. I was almost shipwrecked; yetI will still say to the last that what I loved in him was a betterself—something really noble and good, however concealed and pervertedby pride, ambition, and self-will. Though all the world reject him, Istill have faith in this better nature, and prayers that he may be ledright at last. There is at least one heart that will always intercedewith God for him.’
* * * * *
It is well known that for many years after Burr’s death the odiumthat covered his name was so great that no monument was erected, lestit should become a mark for popular violence. Subsequently, however,in a mysterious manner a plain granite slab marked his grave; bywhom erected has been never known. It was placed in the night bysome friendly, unknown hand. A labourer in the vicinity, who firstdiscovered it, found lying near the spot a small porte-monnaie, whichhad perhaps been used in paying for the workmanship. It contained nopapers that could throw any light on the subject, except the fragmentof the address of a letter, on which was written ‘Henri de Frontignac.’
THE END.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET.
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired. “Ain’t” is printed both with andwithout the apostrophe. It’s also at times printed as “a’n’t”. This wasretained.
Text uses both Olladine and Ollodine for the spelling of Ms. Hocum’sfirst name.
Page 52, “bacherlorhood” changed to “bachelorhood” (a late bachelorhood)
Page 109, the hyphen after “whole” was retained in “Awhole-woman’s-rights’ convention” as it was confirmed to be printedthat way in other editions of the same text.
Page 266, illustration “Eugenie” should be “Virginie”
Page 320, “rock” changed to “Rock” (just at Savin Rock)
Page 339, actual reference for “They looked unto Him, and were likened”is “They looked unto Him, and were lightened” from Psalm 34:5.
Page 340, “mullens” changed to “mulleins” (clump of yellow mulleins)
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