Woman As She Should Be Part 1

Woman As She Should Be.

by Mary E. Herbert.

CHAPTER I.

The Sabbath day was drawing to a close, as Agnes Wiltshire sat at her chamber window, absorbed in deep and painful thought. The last rays of the sun lighted up the garden overlooked by the cas.e.m.e.nt,--if garden it could be called,--a spot that had once been most beautiful, when young and fair hands plucked the noxious weed, and took delight in nursing into fairest life, flowers, whose loveliness might well have vied with any; but, long since, those hands had mouldered into dust, and the spot lay neglected; yet, in spite of neglect, beautiful still. There was no enclosure to mark it from the fields beyond, that stretched, far as the eye could discern, till lost in a rich growth of woods, but a few ornamental trees and graceful shrubs, with here and there a plot, now gay, with autumn flowers, alone kept alive, in the heart of the beholder, a remembrance of its purpose. A quiet scene of rural beauty it was, and so thought the maiden, as, rousing from her reverie, she gazed on garden, fields, and distant woods, but more lovingly and lingeringly dwelt her glance on a lake that lay embosomed between the meadow and the grove, partly skirted by trees that grew even to its edge, and partly by the rich gra.s.s, whose vivid color betrayed the influence of those placid waters, that now reflected every glowing tint, and every delicate hue of the peerless sunset sky.

Quiet at all times, the stillness of the scene was now unbroken, save by the twittering of some belated swallow, the chirp of the cricket, or the evening hymn of the forest songsters, ere they sank to grateful rest.

All was peace without, but troubled and anxious was the heart of the solitary occupant of that apartment, who, though for a moment aroused from deep, and, as it appeared from the expression of her countenance, painful thought, by the beauty of the landscape, again summoned her wandering thoughts, and returned to the theme which had so deeply engrossed her.

A slight tap at the door once more aroused her, and in answer to her invitation, "Walk in," a lady entered the room, and affectionately addressed the young girl.

"Forgive my intrusion, my dear Miss Wiltshire, but I feared, from your remaining so long in your room, that you were not well, and have come to ascertain whether I am correct or not."

"I am much obliged for your kindness, but I am quite well, in body, at least," was the reply, while the lips quivered, and the eyes were suffused with tears.

There was silence for a few moments between them, for Mrs. Gordon was too delicate to allude to emotions, which her companion evidently strove to conceal, and with the nature of which she was totally unacquainted.

At length, however, she broke the quiet that had reigned for some moments in the apartment, by an observation on the service they had both that day attended.

"Accustomed, as you are, to city churches and city congregations, it could scarcely be expected that our unpretending house of prayer, with its humble worshippers, could have found much favor in your eyes, Miss Wiltshire?"

"And yet, strange to say," exclaimed Agnes, lifting her fine dark eyes to Mrs. Gordon's sweet, though pensive face, "that unpretending church, those earnest worshippers, and, above all, that simple, faithful discourse, affected me far more deeply than any heard from the lips of the most eloquent divine, in a gorgeous edifice crowded with the =elite= of the city, and where the solemn notes of the full-toned organ ought, perhaps, to have filled the soul with sacred and heavenly thoughts.

Those words, so thrillingly p.r.o.nounced, shall I ever forget them? 'To whom much is given, of him shall much be required.' They seem still to ring in my ears, for I, alas, am among those who have received much, yet rendered back nothing."

The speaker paused, overcome with emotion, but the countenance of the listener grew radiant with delight,--not that delight which arises from the realization of some worldly hope, but, rather, a heavenly joy, which lent to the pale and pensive face a beauty not of this world; it beamed in the sunken, yet soft blue eye, and flushed the hollow cheek; it was the joy of a saint, nay, it was the joy of an angel, at the return of the stray sheep to its Father's fold. But it soon found expression in words.

"I cannot tell you how happy you make me, in speaking thus, dear Agnes,"

said she, affectionately clasping her hand. "Since you first came here, I have been thinking so much about you, and praying, too, that you, so rich in all that makes woman lovely and beloved, might possess that grace, which will but add l.u.s.tre to every other endowment, qualifying you for extensive usefulness here, and glorious happiness hereafter."

"But you know not, my kind friend, what mental struggles I have pa.s.sed through this afternoon, nor how conflicting feelings are yet agitating my soul. I hear the voice of duty, but it calls me to tread a rugged path. Could I always remain with you, secluded from the gay world, far removed from its temptations and allurements, then, indeed, would I gladly make my choice, and say, 'This people shall be my people, and their G.o.d my G.o.d;' but in a few days I must depart, and, again, in the haunts of the busy city, and surrounded by the gayeties of fashionable life, I fear I shall feel no more those sweet and sacred influences, which have been as the breath of heaven to my soul."

"'My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest!' Is not that a sufficiently encouraging promise, dear Agnes? Had you nought but your own strength to rely on, you might well fear; but forget not Him who has declared, 'If any lack wisdom, let him ask of G.o.d, who giveth to all liberally, and upbraideth not, and it shall be given.'"

CHAPTER II.

Agnes Wiltshire was an orphan. Her father had died during her infancy, her mother during her childhood; but a happy home had been thrown open to her, by a kind uncle and aunt, who gladly adopted her as their own, and lavished on her every tenderness. Mr. and Mrs. Denham were generous and warm-hearted people; their dwelling was elegant and commodious; the society in which they mingled, as far as wealth and fashion is concerned, unexceptionable. What more was wanting? Alas, they were thoroughly worldly; their standard was the fashionable world; their maxims were derived from the same source; and while regularly attending the stated ordinances of the church, and esteeming themselves very devout,--for were not their lives strictly moral?--they, in reality, knew as little of heart religion, as the dwellers in a heathen land.

Such was the character of the people among whom Agnes Wiltshire had attained the age of eighteen; and, surrounded by such influences, what wonder, that she, too, partook of the same spirit, and was content to sail down the sunny stream of life, without one thought of its responsibilities, without one glance at the future that awaited her.

Long might she have continued thus, still pursuing the phantom of pleasure, seeking ever for happiness, but never seeking aright, had she not been suddenly startled, in the midst of worldly pursuits, by the unexpected death of a gay and favorite companion, who, surrounded by all of earthly happiness, was torn from her embrace. In the agony of delirium, Agnes had beheld her, gliding, unconsciously, down the dark valley and the shadow of death, and she trembled, when she felt how totally unprepared she was to meet the King of Terrors, and yet how soon she might be called to do so. In the midst of the gay dance, at the festive board, where mirth ruled the hour, and honeyed flatteries were poured into her ear, she was still haunted by that pallid, agonized countenance, and by the voice, whose heart-rending accents she still seemed to hear, as distinctly as when it cried, in imploring tones, "Save me, oh save me, from the deep, dark waters. They surround me on every side; have pity on me, for I sink, I sink, I sink."

So deep an effect had the loss of her young companion, and the remembrance of her last hours, produced on Agnes, that she fell into a dejection, from which nothing could rouse her, and her physical powers soon gave unmistakable evidences of their sympathy with the mind, by alarming prostration of strength. The physician, on being applied to, recommended the usual restorative, change of air and scene; and a pleasant summer's retreat was selected as Agnes's residence, for a few weeks. Mrs. Denham would fain have accompanied her niece, but a violent attack of the gout, to which Mr. Denham was subject, rendered it impossible for her to leave him, and with many tender charges and injunctions, Agnes was consigned to the care of a friend, travelling in that direction.

Great was the change to Agnes, yet not the less beneficial on that account. The absence of the glitter and show of fashionable life, the quiet that reigned around, the beauty of the scenery, the kindness and simplicity of the scattered inhabitants,--all delighted her; and the group of admirers, who were wont to surround her, would scarcely have recognized, in the warm-hearted, enthusiastic girl, who, in simple attire, might daily be seen rambling through the fields, or, with a book in hand, seated beneath a favorite oak, the accomplished and fashionable Miss Wiltshire.

The lady with whom she resided was a clergyman's widow, who, deprived by an untimely death of her natural protector and provider, sought to augment her scanty means, by opening her house during the summer months to casual visitors. She had been beautiful once, and she was young still; but the glow and the freshness of life's youth had vanished, not so much before time as sorrow, for peculiarly distressing circ.u.mstances had attended the loss of her dearest friend, and now, disease had almost, unsuspected, commenced its insidious ravages on a naturally delicate const.i.tution.

A mutual friendship was speedily formed between these two, so strangely thrown together by circ.u.mstances. Agnes was charmed with Mrs. Goodwin's sweet, pensive face, and gentle manners, while her character, so beautifully exemplifying the power of religion to give support and happiness, under all circ.u.mstances, won her deepest regard. On the other hand, the genuine warmth, the unsophisticated manners, still uncorrupted by daily flatteries and blandishments, the lofty and gifted mind, all delighted Mrs. Goodwin, who had never before formed an acquaintance with a female possessing so many attractions, and she gazed at her with wonder and admiration, not unmixed with a sentiment of tenderness and pity, as she thought of life's slippery paths, and of the injurious influences of worldly pursuits and worldly gayeties.

But to the city Agnes must again return, for the roses have come back to her cheeks, her previous dejection has vanished under the kind and salutary ministrations of her friend, and she has no reasonable excuse for remaining longer; besides, her friends have become impatient at her stay,--the light and life of their dwelling,--how can they consent to her tarrying longer; so the long and interesting conversations on high and holy themes, which she had scarcely ever before heard alluded to but in church, must be relinquished, and the quiet scenes of Nature exchanged for the bustle and show of city life.

CHAPTER III.

A twelvemonth has elapsed, since the events recorded in our first chapter. In the drawing-room of a s.p.a.cious mansion, in the suburbs of the city where Agnes Wiltshire resided, is seated a young man, apparently perusing a volume which he holds in his hand, but, in reality, listening to a gay group of young girls, who are chattering merrily with his sister at the other end of the apartment. Scarcely heedful of his presence, for he is partly concealed by the thick folds of a rich damask curtain,--or, perhaps, careless of the impression produced, they rattled gaily on, for not one of them but in her heart had p.r.o.nounced him a woman-hater; for were he not such, could he have been insensible to the sweetest and most fascinating smiles of beauty?

But the last sound of their retreating footsteps, the echo of their merry laugh, has died away, and Arthur Bernard emerges from his retreat, in the enclosure of the window.

"I declare, Arthur, it is positively too bad," exclaimed Ella, his sister, a gay and pretty young girl; "you are certainly the most agreeable company in the world. Not a syllable to say beyond 'yes,' or 'no,' 'good morning,' or 'good evening.' I am really ashamed of you. You are a woman-hater, I really believe. I am sure the girls all set you down as such."

"I am much obliged for their good opinion, and shall endeavor to deserve it," was the smiling reply. "But, can you imagine what I have been thinking about, while you and your merry companions have been talking all sorts of nonsense?"

"No, indeed. I should like to hear your wise meditations, most grave and potent seigneur. Doubtless, they will prove very edifying, as the theme, of course, was woman's foibles."

"I have been thinking rather of what woman might be, than of what she is. What an exalted part she might perform in the regeneration of the world, did she but fulfil her mission. An archangel might almost envy her opportunities of blessing and benefiting others; and yet, with so many spheres of usefulness open to her, with influence so potent for good or evil, the majority of your s.e.x do nothing, or, worse than nothing, injure others by their example. I am not a woman-hater, Ella; but I must deplore that so many are unmindful utterly of their high calling, and careless of everything but how to spend the present hour the most agreeably, instead of being found actively sustaining, as far as in their power, every good word and work; and ever with a smile and a word of encouragement to the weary toilers in the path of duty. That there are such women, I have not the least doubt; but I have never met with one yet. When I do so, and remain insensible to =her= charms, you may then call me a woman-hater,"--and a smile concluded the sentence.

A merry, mocking laugh from his, sister rang through the room.

"I thought as much. We, poor women, are not good enough for your most serene highness; nothing short of one endowed with angelic qualities will suit you. I must really try if, in my long list of acquaintances, I cannot find one to come up to your standard; though I am afraid it would be rather a difficult task. And now, in reply to that grave lecture of yours, (what a pity the girls were not here to be edified,) for my part, I always imagined that woman's mission was to be as charming as possible, and I am quite content with being that,"--and Ella looked up into her brother's face, with an irresistible smile.

"But may you not be charming and useful both?"

"Well, I don't know about that; I should like to know what you would have us do."

Do! what might you not do, if you were disposed? What an incalculable amount of good, and that in the most un.o.btrusive manner. Society takes its tone from you, and waits to be fashioned by your hand. But, I verily believe, running the risk of speaking very ungallantly, that there is not one in thirty, fifty, or perhaps a hundred of your s.e.x, who have the slightest idea of exerting their talents for the benefit of others. You laugh and talk, and enjoy yourselves, careless of the impression your example may produce, and conform to the usages of society, without one inquiry, as to whether in those usages may not, sometimes, lurk frightful dangers, if not to yourselves, to others who follow admiringly in your steps."

"Frightful dangers! Really, brother, you are growing enigmatical. I should like to have that sentence made a little plainer, for I certainly do not understand you."

"Perhaps an incident that occurred not long ago, which I will relate to you, may explain more clearly my meaning. I can vouch for its correctness, for it came under my own observation. You have frequently heard me speak of Henry Leslie, my room-mate at college, one of the n.o.blest and most gifted of young men, but who unfortunately had contracted a taste for intoxicating liquors. Unfortunately for himself, his agreeable manners and fine qualities rendered him a great favorite with the ladies, and no party seemed complete without him; and thus constantly exposed to the seducing influence of the wine-cup, the habit of imbibing largely grew so strong, that he scarcely had any restraining power left. I remonstrated with him, and, as I trusted, with some success, for he solemnly promised to abstain totally from the intoxicating beverage,--but the very next day we found, on returning home from a walk, an invitation to an evening party lying on our table.

It was from the mother of the young lady to whom report alleged he was deeply attached, and whatever influence I might have possessed in dissuading him from attending any other social gathering, I found I was powerless in this case. But he again renewed his determination to abstain from intoxicating stimulants.

"'I know what you fear, Arthur, but I have made the resolution to "touch not, taste not, handle not," as the teetotallers say, and I am determined not to break it.'

"I made no answer, but prepared to accompany him, with a heavy heart; for I felt certain, in my own mind, of the result, at least to some extent, of that evening's visit. I need not enter into particulars; suffice it to say, that Henry Leslie bravely withstood all solicitations, from our s.e.x, to partake of the destroying beverage, and I was beginning to hope that my fears would prove unfounded, when the daughter of our hostess, the young lady to whom I before alluded, approached him with a gla.s.s of sparkling wine in her hand. She was beautiful,--I cannot but acknowledge that,--and I shall never forget her appearance as she stood there, a fascinating smile lighting up her animated countenance, and, in her sweetest tones, begged him to take a gla.s.s of wine with her. I thought of Satan, disguised as an angel of light, and trembled for the result, as I stood anxiously listening for his answer. It came in the negative, but the hesitating, half-apologetic tone was very different from the firm and decided one, in which he had resisted all other solicitations. But she was not yet satisfied. Womanly vanity must triumph, no matter how dearly the victory may be purchased.

"'You surely will not be so ungallant as to refuse a lady so small a favor,'--and her eyes added, as plainly as words,--'but much less can you refuse me.'

"'You see how society is degenerating, Mr. Bernard,' she said, turning to me, 'there was a time when a lady's request was deemed sacred, now we poor women have little or no influence over your s.e.x.'

"'I devoutly wish you had less, Madam,' was my uncourteous reply; but she scarcely heard me, for Henry, taking the proffered gla.s.s, and in a low tone, murmuring, 'For your sake alone,' quaffed its contents. A flush of gratified vanity pa.s.sed over the lady's countenance, for she had laid a challenge with some of her friends, who had observed his previous abstinence, that she would make him drink a gla.s.s of wine with her, before the evening was over. That night week I sat, a lonely watcher, by the corpse of Henry Leslie. He had died in the horrors of delirium tremens, and his last cry had been for brandy.