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AN INDEPENDENT FAMILY JOURNAL OF LITBRATURE, NEWS, Se. : ——
PORTLAND, SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 1851.
VOLUME XV.
(From Chambers’ Papers for the People-]
TARRIETTE:
OR, THE RASH REPLY.
# CONCLUSION.]
~The whole seene had passed so rapidly, that it
seemed like some strange illusion; but no sooner
was he gone tien the spell seemed broken, and the
resentment vanished which had supported Harri-
ette throughout. ‘ She threw herself once more on
the ground, and burst into’ tears. Yes, they were
parted forever! She wept’ as if her heart would
break; and now that it was all over, doubts of the
justice of her own motives, of the propriety of her
conduct, would intrude. She remembered his
parting glance, and she felt. that he had loved her.
Thoughts of her father’s anger, her mother’s sor-
row, the disappointment of all her family, the
storm which awaited her at home, all contributed
to distract her. The excitement had . completely
passed away, and as she cast a glance on the life
which lay before her, and thought what life might
have been with Arthur Clavering, her spirit felt
dreary indeed. . She durst not return home, but sat
cold, weary and , weeping; while the gray autumn
twilight grew -deeper and deeper, the blast wailed
louder and more piteously, blowing against her on
of these things. All that had passed within the
last hour or two seemed some strange: delusion—
impossible dream.’ And yet it was true—actually
true. Oh, it was a bitter disappointment !
We are not to suppose, however, that Clavering’s
distress was perceptible to the family at. the
Grange. He possessed an even unusual share of
self-control, and no one would have guessed that
evening, from his self possessed manner and his ea-
sy conversation, the heart burning within. , But the
effort was great ; and when he was once more alone
he sat down, and,hiding his face on his folded arms,
remained long wrestling with his grief. When he
raised his head, one might have seen that his eye-
lashes were heavy with a few briny drops, the first
tears he had shed since childhood. He dashed them
hastily away, saying half aloud, and witha sort of
melancholy, determination: ‘‘ The worst is over
now.” 2
CHAPTER ¥. :
‘Nothing could exceed the consternation of the
whole family at Ferniclee when Mr. Clavering left
the country without appearing to claim Harriette
as his bride—without even taking leave of any of
them. Not one of them, however, except Susan,
was aware of the real state of the case. She had
learned it from. Mr. Hartley; but her own dread
of the consequences of a disclosure, together with
Karriette’s entreaties,combined to secure her silence.
every side the fallen 1 blems,'she sadly
thought, of her perished hopes, her _cheerless desti-
ny. i “ \
Tiere she was found at last by’ Susan, who had
wandered out in search for her; but she .could not
communicate her sorrows to Susan ; for, kind as
her sister was,she knew that of such sorrows as hers
she would have no appreriation; that it was only
her compassion, not her sympathy, she could hope
for,and it was for sympathy poor Harriette yearned.
But we must now return to Clavering. , |
“As has been already mentioned,Clavering’s hopes
had considerably outrun his fears. Forthe last few
weeks he and Harriette had‘bcen almost constantly
together, and it seemed to him that in her frank
manners—in her ready sympatlty—in the way in
which she had received certain words and glances,
meant to tell a tenderer tale than a mere’ passing
desire to be agreeable,’ he had read feelings and
wishes responsive to those he himself entertained.
‘There was about Ilarrictte altogether a freshness—
& spontaneousness—a sort of transparency—through
which every fecling and emotion became visible,aud
which gave the idea that though hers was not a com-
mon character, it was one which might easily be
understood,. Arthur Clavering believed that he had
read it thoroughly. Mariette would never have un-
folded herself as she had done—would never have
qsslevet such marked and conscious cordiality,af-
tér the unequivocal testimonies he had given her of
his attachment had she not returned it. , The truth-
fulness and intelligence of ber character ‘alike for-
bade the supposition. Then,’ too, Clavering was
conscious that his own claims were not inconsidera-
ble.,. Ife felt that he was superior to all the other
men by whom she was surrounded, and he knew
that she would appreciate this superiority. : Claver-
ing was not conccited in the sense of being puffed up
with a vast and disproportioned idea of his own mer-
it and consequence ; but his common sense, his prac-
tical clear sightedness, and his experience, made
him perfectly aware of the advantages he possessed
over the mass ; while the self-possession «and ener-
gy of his character enabled him to act upon this
kpowledge. All his calculations were bafiled there-
fore, ‘as well as his feelings ‘cruelly wounded, by
Harriette’s rejection. , He had rushed madly home
to the Grange, hardly able to realize the misfortune
which had befallen him. . Shut up in his own room
he strove to be calm—to collect his thonghts; and,
summoning to his aid all his pride, all his sclf-com-
mand, he endeavored to conquer the pain and the
Mortification which almost seemed as if they would
drive him to distraction, ‘ Wh en he recollected the
warmth, the respect, the confiding tenderness with
which he had addressed her, and the cold, haughty,
unfeeling manner in which he had been repulsed,
he felt angry and bitter; but when he remembered
her as he he had most frequently seen her—her live-
y sofiness, her artless cordiality, her ready suscep-
tibility—his anger was lost in the remembrance.
The conviction was strong upon him of the reality
Meanwhile Mr. Bertram was well nigh beside him-
self. - His will was thwarted, his vanity wounded,
his dignity offended. Ile chafed with rage, and kept
the whole establishmént in hot water for a fortnight.
In his indignation he threatened to prosecute Mr.
Clavering for breach of promise, and it was only by
dint of the most skilful humoring and management
together with gentle representation from Susan—
who, now that her own marriage was so, near, had
become the most important and influential member
of the family—touching the detrimental effect so
public an exposure might have on the chances of
Harriette’s future establishment, that he was pre-
vented from carrying this threat into execution —
Fortunate it was that Susan’s wedding was to take
place in December, for the arrangements and gos-,
sip attendant upon that event, together with the ad-
ditional importance it reflected upon himself and
his family, had the happy effect of enabling Mr.Ber-
tram to overcome his disappointment, and recover
his ordinary state of mind—certainly never the most
complacent at any time. The business and the bus-
tle now going forward had also a salutary effect up-
on poor Harriette, the constant occupation helping
to engage her thoughts, while the prospect of losing
her favorite sister in a measure diverted her feclings
from the one subject which had at first. engrossed
them almost to madness, ‘The perpetual whirl: of
the present’ prevented her from being able to
dwell long on the past. ° i Bo
But at last it was all over. . Mr. Hartley and Su-
san were married ; the wedding guests were gone ;
the congratulatory visits were paid; Ferniclee was
restored to its usual quiet monotony. It was the
dead of winter ; the days were at their briefest, the
the weather at ‘its gloomiest. .It was cold, bat
not cold'enough for snow. -'From the sullen
lowering sky the rain descended in torrents, while
the damp, chill blast swept over hill and moor, and
throngh the naked woods,whose leaves now mould-
ered away on the dark soil beneath. The chcerless
gloom, the unbroken stillness and sadness, the ab-
sence of all company, occupation, or necessity for
exertion, either mental or bodily, had the nataral
effect on poor Harriette. Morning, noon and night
—the long, long night—she thought only of Arthur
Clavering. . It was in vain that she strove to banish
his image. ler mind was alternately: filled with
yain regrets and bitter self-reproaches, while a dull
despondency or a restless misery by turns took pos-
session of ber. Ter. gay spirits were gone; her
temper, formerly so sweet, had become almost irrit
able; she could not eat, she could not sleep; her
youth and her beanty seemed vanishing away.—
Week by week she became worse ; her health seem-
ed-ready to break down altogether ; a low fever
preyed upon her life. : At last she became s0 very
ill that she was unable to quit her bed. : .
It was a winter afternoon. Harrictte lay in her
own little bed. The shutters were shut, but the rain
splashed upon the window-panes, and the wind
top, while the large heavy drops fell hissing and
bubbling on the small fire in the grate. There was
no light in the room save that afforded by the red
glow between the bars, which only served to throw
a faint reddish lustre beyond the great shadow of
the chimney-piece, and then faded again into total
darkness. Harriette had been sleeping, but uneasi-
ly—her restless slumber disturbed by worrying
dreams and images of pain. Suddenly she awoke
with a start and ashiver. It was a second or two
ere she could separate her waking from her sleeping
impressions. Then she looked round on the dark
ness ; then she listened to the wild turmoil of. the
outer world. . A. sense of profound sadness took
possession of her; and believing herself alone, out
of the falness of a heart surcharged with sorrow she
began to weep aloud, 1
“Tell me the cause of your distress, my darling,”
said a gentle voice ; and Iarriette, in that moment
of weakness, could reply only by another burst of|
tears as she flung her arms round her mother.—
“My dearest,” said Mrs. Bertram, “if he could leave
you as he did, he was not worthy of you.”
“Leave me! Oh, mother, he did not leave me !”
and then Harriette poured into her mother’s ear the
story of the grief which filled her heart.
That interview made the mother and daughter
better known to each other than they had ever been;
and, ag they mingled their tears together, Harriette
resolved to devote her life, if it was indecd spared,
to that dear parent, and breathed a prayer to her
Father in heaven that she might be given the power
to perform her task, and that she might find her re-
ward in her mother’s added happiness. -
Ifarriette recovered. A new. impulse had. been
given to her feelings, a new motive to her life-—
The mother and daughter were now constant com-
panions ; and while the latter learned from the for-
mer the lesson of resignation, she in her turn open-
ed to ner mother a new source of interest in those
mental occupations which had once been the charm
of her own life, and now became its solace. _ Thus
passed away months, years, in a sort of gentle se-
renity, which if not positively happiness, had cer-
tainly in it nothing of misery. Not that Ilarrictte
had forgotton Arthur Clavering. She had never
seen another to be compared with him; but she had
learned to look back on the brief period of their in-
tercourse as but a romantic episode in the sober tale
of life. ba
Five years have’ elapsed since that eventfal au-
tumn morning on which IarrictteBertram had part-
ed with Arthur Clavering. , Harriette is changed
since we saw her last, She looks more than five
years older, yct she is beautiful still. She is thinner
and paler; a more pensive grace sits on her smooth
brow—a more chastened spirit looks out from her
clear, dark eyes. She is changed, too, in character.
The sensitive, impulsive girl has become developed
into the tender, thoughtful woman. | If her early
vivacity has in a measure forsaken her, she is as
terest; while her playful fancy sheds a grace around
every subject it touches. With as much both of.
mind and heart as ever,her feelings and her thoughts
are better regulated, while at the same time’ they
are deepened. and enlarged. While her mother
bends meekly beneath her trials, Harriette seems to
have risen above hers, What is resignation in the
one is fortitude in the other.’ Harriette has discoy-
ered that’ ’ : bee
: ) To bear is toconquer our fate. =
About this time Mrs. Bertram’s health began to
fail.’ She had no complaint; but an increasing de-
bility, and a general decay of the bodily powers, af-
forded ample room for anxiety. -She had been con-
fined to her room the greater part of the winter and
spring; but, as the sammer drew on, she seemed to
rally,and her medical attendant was of opinion that
a change to the milder air of the south ‘of England
might restore her to health, or at least enable her to
get through the succeeding winter. ‘It was deter-
mined, therefore, that, in company with Harriette,
she should pay a visit to Susan at Sandiland’s Hall,
on the Hampshire coast. Mr. Bertram, who. had
throughout his wife's illness shown a good deal of
concern, after a fussy, troublesome fashion, agreed
to the measure at once. t Laeae
“No place so proper for your mother to GO to,
Ilarriette, as to her married daughter's. I suggest-
blew Joud and tempestuous, roaring in the chimney
much alive as in former days to every object of in-|'
NUMBER 19.°
ed it some time ago, and now the doctor and all of
you have come round to my opinion. Iam well
aware that my opinions never meet with properde~
ference. Dr. is an insolent upstart; and if
it had not been that your poor mother seemed to
have some unaccountable whim in his favor,I should
have dismissed him long ago. . By the by, the mar-
chioness sent to inquire for your mother to-day—
very polite of her,very unlike the neglect of that up-
setting woman, Lady King; but the Kings are no-
bodies. . The idea of her faneying herself superior
to the Bertrams of Ferniclee!. I shall let her see
that I will not submit to such insolence.”
Mrs. Bertram bore her long journey pretty well,
The travelers were most affectionately received by
Susan and her husband, and every accommodation
prepared for the invalid. _Sandiland’s Hall was a
tolerably large modern mansion, built in imitation
of the Elizabethan style of architecture. The grounds
possessed little natural advantage of situation, ex-
cept that in some places they commanded a view of
the sea,but were nicely Jaid out and beautifully kept
—a striking contrast,in their newness and trimness,
with the slovenly wildness and old-fashioned dall-
ness of Ferniclee. . All within the honse looked the
very quintessence of cheerfulness and comfort—as
comfortable and cheerful as Susan herself. Susan
was now fatter, fairer, and rosier than she had ever —
becn before. An air of extreme satisfaction: with
herself and with everything that belonged to her
was diffused over her whole face and person, and
seemed to be expressed in every word and gesture
She and. Mr. Hartley were the most comfortable
couple in the world, Te was a clever man, tried
experiments, and contributed to scientific journals ;
she spent her time in working: ottoman after otto-
man, and chair after chair, in paying visits, playing
with her children,and superintending the gardener.
‘They had few ideas in common, and spent very lit-
tle of their time together ; still. they had a strong
mutual respect and regard, and an entire mutual
confidence. , Both were perfectly satisfied that they
had drawn a prize in the matrimonial lottery, and’
neither wished for more sympathy than the other
gave. Susan hed since her marriage become very
sage and preper in all her notions. She had very!
decided opinions npon all the common affairs of
life, and had at command an abundance of t-uisms
and trite pieces of wisdom, She had a horror of
flirting young men and women, and was constantly
lecturing upon this subject toa ward of Mr. Iart-
ley's, a very pretty lively girl, who was at present
an inmate of Sandiland’s Hall. Harriette could not
avoid occasionally smiling at these lectufes, for she’
well remembered the time when no one enjoyed a
flirtation more than Susan herself, Bat times were
changed now. Secure in her own position, she:
seemed te possess an entire oblivion of her former
actions and motives, and to’ have no sympathy
with them. And yet Susan was a kind-hearted
woman: nor is such forgetfulness in any situation
a phenomenon of very rare occurrence. st
rs. Bertram’s health seeming to improve with
the change of air and scene, Harriette began to
indulge in the hope that her life might be spared ;
and, her ‘spirits rising in. consequence, she also -
found considerable amusement and enjoyment in’
the scenes, by which she was surrounded. Some’
share of this amusement was contributed by Clara
Norris, the young lady mentioned above. Clara
was a young girl, between eighteen and nineteen,
with ‘the prettiest,’ fairylike figure, the rosiest
checks, the most roguish blue eyes, and the softest,
most luxuriant gold-brown bair, that ever were
seen. She was an heiress and a spoiled’ child,’
wayward, whimsical, and capricious, and yet not’
without a certain fitful goodness of disposition, and:
some glimpses of right and truth. Without heing:
either clever or intellectual, she was much too live-
ly and amusing to be called either stupid or silly.
She ‘was excessively fond of flirting, and, to Su-
san’s horror, made no hesitation of declaring that
she preferred the society of gentlemen to that of”
her own sex. At present she hid noone to flirt
with but a certain. Mr. Charles‘ Crawford, the”
younger son of. a neighbor, a young man about
twenty-five, of a rather gentlemanly and agreeablo
appearance, but with nothing decidedly handsome :
either in face or person. Mr. Charles Crawford
had been educated for the bar, and bad kept the |
necessary terms; but somehow or other he had got.
