The ceremony was over, and they were home again; seated at breakfast with their guests. But only a few guests were present, and they for the most part close friends: the Huntleys; Lady Augusta Yorke, and Gerald; Mr. Galloway; and the Rev. Mr. Pye, who married them. It has since become the fashion to have a superfluity of bridesmaids: I am not sure that a young lady would consider herself legally married unless she enjoyed the privilege. Constance, though not altogether a slave to fashion, followed it, not in a very extensive degree. Annabel Channing, Ellen Huntley, and Caroline and Fanny Yorke, had been the demoiselles d’honneur. Charley’s auburn curls had grown again, and Charley himself was in better condition than when he arrived from his impromptu3 excursion. For grandeur4, no one could approach Miss Huntley; her brocade silk stood on end, stiff, prim5, and stately as herself. Judy, in her way, was stately too; a curiously-fine lace cap on her head, which had not been allowed to see the light since Charley’s christening, with a large white satin bow in front, almost as large as the cap itself. And that was no despicable size.
The only one who did not behave with a due regard to what might be expected of him, was Hamish—grievous as it is to have to record it. It had been duly impressed upon Hamish that he was to conduct Miss Huntley in to breakfast, etiquette6 and society consigning7 that lady to his share. Mr. Hamish, however, chose to misconstrue instructions in the most deplorable manner. He left Miss Huntley, a prey8 to whomsoever might pick her up, and took in Miss Ellen. It might have passed, possibly, but for Annabel, who appeared as free and unconcerned that important morning as at other times.
“Hamish, that’s wrong! It is Miss Huntley you are to take in; not Ellen.”
Hamish had grown suddenly deaf. He walked on with Ellen, leaving confusion to right itself. Arthur stepped up in the dilemma9, and the tips of Miss Huntley’s white-gloved fingers were laid upon his arm. It would take her some time to forgive Hamish, favourite though he was. Later on, Hamish took the opportunity of reading Miss Annabel a private lecture on the expediency10 of minding her own business.
Hamish was in his new post now, at the bank: thoroughly11 well-established. He had not yet taken up his abode12 in the house. It was too large, he laughingly said, for a single man.
The breakfast came to an end, as other breakfasts do; and next, Constance came down in her travelling dress. Now that the moment of parting was come, Constance in her agitation13 longed for it to be over. She hurriedly wished them adieu, and lifted her tearful face last to her father.
Mr. Channing laid his hands upon her. “May God bless my dear child, and be her guide and refuge for ever! William Yorke, it is a treasure of great price that I have given you this day. May she be as good a wife as she has been a daughter!”
Mr. Yorke, murmuring a few heartfelt words, put Constance into the carriage, and they drove away.
“It will be your turn next,” whispered Hamish to Ellen Huntley, who stood watching the departure from one of the windows.
What Ellen would have said—whether she would have given any other answer than that accorded by her blushing cheeks, cannot be told. The whisper had not been quite so low as Hamish thought it, and it was overheard by Mr. Huntley.
“There may be two words to that bargain, Mr. Hamish.”
“Twenty, if you like, sir,” responded Hamish, promptly14, “so that they be affirmative ones.”
“Ellen,” whispered Mr. Huntley, “would you have him, with all his gracelessness?”
Ellen seemed ready to fall, and her eyes filled. “Do not joke now, papa,” was all she said.
Hamish caught her hand, and took upon himself the task of soothing15 her. And Mr. Huntley relapsed into a smile, and did not hinder him.
But some one else was bursting into tears: as the sounds testified. It proved to be Lady Augusta Yorke. A few tears might well be excused to Mrs. Channing, on the occasion of parting with her ever-loving, ever-dutiful child, but what could Lady Augusta have to cry about?
Lady Augusta was excessively impulsive16: as you have long ago learned. The happiness of the Channing family, in their social relations to each other; the loving gentleness of Mr. and Mrs. Channing with their children; the thorough respect, affection, duty, rendered to them by the children in return—had struck her more than ever on this morning. She was contrasting the young Channings with her own boys and girls, and the contrast made her feel very depressed17. Thus she was just in a condition to go off, when the parting came with Constance, and the burst took place as she watched the carriage from the door. Had any one asked Lady Augusta why she cried, she would have been puzzled to state.
“Tell me!” she suddenly uttered, turning and seizing Mrs. Channing’s hands—“what makes the difference between your children and mine? My children were not born bad, any more than yours were; and yet, look at the trouble they give me! In what does it lie?”
“I think,” said Mrs. Channing, quietly, and with some hesitation—for it was not pleasant to say anything which might tacitly reflect on the Lady Augusta—“that the difference in most children lies in the bringing up. Children turn out well or ill, as they are trained; and in accordance with this rule they will become our blessing18 or our grief.”
“Ah, yes, that must be it,” acquiesced19 Lady Augusta. “And yet—I don’t know,” she rejoined, doubtingly. “Do you believe that so very much lies in the training?”
“It does, indeed, Lady Augusta. God’s laws everywhere proclaim it. Take a rough diamond from a mine—what is it, unless you polish it, and cut it, and set it? Do you see its value, its beauty, in its original state? Look at the trees of our fields, the flowers and fruits of the earth—what are they, unless they are pruned20 and cared for? It is by cultivation21 alone that they can be brought, to perfection. And, if God so made the productions of the earth, that it is only by our constant attention and labour that they can be brought to perfection, would He, think you, have us give less care to that far more important product, our children’s minds? They may be trained to perfectness, or they may be allowed to run to waste from neglect.”
“Oh dear!” sighed Lady Augusta. “But it is a dreadful trouble, always to be worrying over children.”
“It is a trouble that, in a very short time after entering upon it, grows into a pleasure,” said Mrs. Channing. “I am sure that there is not a mother, really training her children to good, who will not bear me out in the assertion. It is a pleasure that they would not be without. Take it from them, and the most delightful22 occupation of their lives is gone. And think of the reward! Were there no higher end to be looked for, it would be found in the loving obedience23 of the children. You talk of the trouble, Lady Augusta: those who would escape trouble with their children should be careful how they train them.”
“I think I’ll begin at once with mine,” exclaimed Lady Augusta, brightening up.
A smile crossed Mrs. Channing’s lips, as she slightly shook her head. None knew better than she, that training, to bear its proper fruit, must be begun with a child’s earliest years.
Meanwhile, the proctor was holding a conference with Mr. Channing. “Presents seem to be the order of the day,” he was remarking, in allusion24 to sundry25 pretty offerings which had been made to Constance. “I think I may as well contribute my mite—”
“Why, you have done it! You gave her a bracelet26, you know,” cried Miss Annabel. For which abrupt27 interruption she was forthwith consigned28 to a distance; and ran away, to be teased by Tom and Gerald.
“I have something in my pocket which I wish to give to Arthur; which I have been intending for some time to give him,” resumed Mr. Galloway, taking from his pocket what seemed to be a roll of parchment. “Will you accept them, Arthur?”
“What, sir?”
“Your articles.”
“Oh! Mr. Galloway—”
“No thanks, my boy. I am in your debt far deeper than I like to be! A trifling29 thing such as this”—touching the parchment—“cannot wipe out the suspicion I cast upon you, the disgrace which followed it. Perhaps at some future time, I may be better able to atone30 for it. I hope we shall be together many years, Arthur. I have no son to succeed to my business, and it may be—But I will leave that until the future comes.”
It was a valuable present gracefully31 offered, and Mr. Channing and Arthur so acknowledged it, passing over the more important hint in silence.
“Children,” said Mr. Channing, as, the festivities of the day at an end, and the guests departed, they were gathered together round their fireside, bereft32 of Constance “what a forcible lesson of God’s mercy ought these last few months to teach us! Six months ago, there came to us news that our suit was lost; other troubles followed upon it, and things looked dark and gloomy. But I, for one, never lost my trust in God; it was not for a moment shaken; and if you are the children I and your mother have striven to bring up, you did not lose yours. Tom,” turning suddenly upon him, “I fear you were the only impatient one.”
Tom looked contrite33. “I fear I was, papa.”
“What good did the indulgence of your hasty spirit do you?”
“No good, but harm,” frankly34 confessed Tom. “I hope it has helped me to some notion of patience, though, for the future, papa.”
“Ay,” said Mr. Channing. “Hope on, strive on, work on, and trust on! I believe that you made those your watchwords; as did I. And now, in an almost unprecedentedly35 short time, we are brought out of our troubles. While others, equally deserving, have to struggle on for years before the cloud is lifted, it has pleased God to bring us wonderfully quickly out of ours; to heap mercies and blessings36, and a hopeful future upon us. I may truly say, ‘He has brought us to great honour, and comforted us on every side.’”
“I HAVE BEEN YOUNG, AND NOW AM OLD; AND YET SAW I NEVER THE RIGHTEOUS FORSAKEN37, NOR HIS SEED BEGGING THEIR BREAD.”
The End
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bribe
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n.贿赂;v.向…行贿,买通 | |
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rev
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v.发动机旋转,加快速度 | |
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impromptu
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adj.即席的,即兴的;adv.即兴的(地),无准备的(地) | |
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grandeur
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n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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prim
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adj.拘泥形式的,一本正经的;n.循规蹈矩,整洁;adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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etiquette
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n.礼仪,礼节;规矩 | |
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consigning
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v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的现在分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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prey
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n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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dilemma
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n.困境,进退两难的局面 | |
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expediency
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n.适宜;方便;合算;利己 | |
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11
thoroughly
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adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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abode
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n.住处,住所 | |
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agitation
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n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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promptly
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adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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soothing
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adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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impulsive
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adj.冲动的,刺激的;有推动力的 | |
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depressed
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adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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18
blessing
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n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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19
acquiesced
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v.默认,默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
pruned
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v.修剪(树木等)( prune的过去式和过去分词 );精简某事物,除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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21
cultivation
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n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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22
delightful
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adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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23
obedience
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n.服从,顺从 | |
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allusion
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n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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sundry
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adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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bracelet
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n.手镯,臂镯 | |
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abrupt
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adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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28
consigned
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v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的过去式和过去分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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29
trifling
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adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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30
atone
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v.赎罪,补偿 | |
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31
gracefully
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ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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32
bereft
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adj.被剥夺的 | |
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33
contrite
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adj.悔悟了的,后悔的,痛悔的 | |
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34
frankly
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adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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unprecedentedly
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adv.空前地 | |
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36
blessings
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n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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Forsaken
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adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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