“I'VE finished my book, and now what CAN I do till this tiresome1 rain is over?” exclaimed Carrie, as she lay back on the couch with a yawn of weariness.
“Take another and a better book; the house is full of them, and this is a rare chance for a feast on the best,” answered Alice, looking over the pile of volumes in her lap, as she sat on the floor before one of the tall book-cases that lined the room.
“Not being a book-worm like you, I can't read forever, and you needn't sniff2 at 'Wanda,' for it's perfectly3 thrilling!” cried Carrie, regretfully turning the crumpled4 leaves of the Seaside Library copy of that interminable and impossible tale.
“We should read to improve our minds, and that rubbish is only a waste of time,” began Alice, in a warning tone, as she looked up from “Romola,” over which she had been poring with the delight one feels in meeting an old friend.
“I don't WISH to improve my mind, thank you: I read for amusement in vacation time, and don't want to see any moral works till next autumn. I get enough of them in school. This isn't 'rubbish'! It's full of fine descriptions of scenery—”
“Which you skip by the page, I've seen you do it,” said Eva, the third young girl in the library, as she shut up the stout5 book on her knee and began to knit as if this sudden outburst of chat disturbed her enjoyment6 of “The Dove in the Eagle's Nest.”
“I do at first, being carried away by my interest in the people, but I almost always go back and read them afterward,” protested Carrie. “You know YOU like to hear about nice clothes, Eva, and Wanda's were simply gorgeous; white velvet7 and a rope of pearls is one costume; gray velvet and a silver girdle another; and Idalia was all a 'shower of perfumed laces,' and scarlet8 and gold satin mask dresses, or primrose9 silk with violets, so lovely! I do revel10 in 'em!”
Both girls laughed as Carrie reeled off this list of elegances12, with the relish13 of a French modiste.
“Well, I'm poor and can't have as many pretty things as I want, so it IS delightful14 to read about women who wear white quilted satin dressing-gowns and olive velvet trains with Mechlin lace sweepers to them. Diamonds as large as nuts, and rivers of opals and sapphires15, and rubies16 and pearls, are great fun to read of, if you never even get a look at real ones. I don't believe the love part does me a bit of harm, for we never see such languid swells17 in America, nor such lovely, naughty ladies; and Ouida scolds them all, so of course she doesn't approve of them, and that's moral, I'm sure.”
But Alice shook her head again, as Carrie paused out of breath, and said in her serious way: “That's the harm of it all. False and foolish things are made interesting, and we read for that, not for any lesson there may be hidden under the velvet and jewels and fine words of your splendid men and women. Now, THIS book is a wonderful picture of Florence in old times, and the famous people who really lived are painted in it, and it has a true and clean moral that we can all see, and one feels wiser and better for reading it. I do wish you'd leave those trashy things and try something really good.”
“I hate George Eliot,—so awfully18 wise and preachy and dismal19! I really couldn't wade20 through 'Daniel Deronda,' though 'The Mill on the Floss' wasn't bad,” answered Carrie, with another yawn, as she recalled the Jew Mordecai's long speeches, and Daniel's meditations21.
“I know you'd like this,” said Eva, patting her book with an air of calm content; for she was a modest, common-sense little body, full of innocent fancies and the mildest sort of romance. “I love dear Miss Yonge, with her nice, large families, and their trials, and their pious22 ways, and pleasant homes full of brothers and sisters, and good fathers and mothers. I'm never tired of them, and have read 'Daisy Chain' nine times at least.”
“I used to like them, and still think them good for young girls, with our own 'Queechy' and 'Wide, Wide World,' and books of that kind. Now I'm eighteen I prefer stronger novels, and books by great men and women, because these are always talked about by cultivated people, and when I go into society next winter I wish to be able to listen intelligently, and know what to admire.”
“That's all very well for you, Alice; you were always poking23 over books, and I dare say you will write them some day, or be a blue-stocking. But I've got another year to study and fuss over my education, and I'm going to enjoy myself all I can, and leave the wise books till I come out.”
“But, Carrie, there won't be any time to read them; you'll be so busy with parties, and beaux, and travelling, and such things. I WOULD take Alice's advice and read up a little now; it's so nice to know useful things, and be able to find help and comfort in good books when trouble comes, as Ellen Montgomery and Fleda did, and Ethel, and the other girls in Miss Yonge's stories,” said Eva, earnestly, remembering how much the efforts of those natural little heroines had helped her in her own struggles tor self-control and the cheerful bearing of the burdens which come to all.
“I don't want to be a priggish Ellen, or a moral Fleda, and I do detest24 bothering about self-improvement all the time. I know I ought, but I'd rather wait another year or two, and enjoy my vanities in peace just a LITTLE longer.” And Carrie tucked Wanda under the sofa pillow, as if a trifle ashamed of her society, with Eva's innocent eyes upon her own, and Alice sadly regarding her over the rampart of wise books, which kept growing higher as the eager girl found more and more treasures in this richly stored library.
A little silence followed, broken only by the patter of the rain without, the crackle of the wood fire within, and the scratch of a busy pen from a curtained recess25 at the end of the long room. In the sudden hush26 the girls heard it and remembered that they were not alone.
“She must have heard every word we said!” and Carrie sat up with a dismayed face as she spoke27 in a whisper.
Eva laughed, but Alice shrugged29 her shoulders, and said tranquilly30, “I don't mind. She wouldn't expect much wisdom from school-girls.”
This was cold comfort to Carrie, who was painfully conscious of having been a particularly silly school-girl just then. So she gave a groan31 and lay down again, wishing she had not expressed her views quite so freely, and had kept Wanda for the privacy of her own room.
The three girls were the guests of a delightful old lady, who had known their mothers and was fond of renewing her acquaintance with them through their daughters. She loved young people, and each summer invited parties of them to enjoy the delights of her beautiful country house, where she lived alone now, being the childless widow of a somewhat celebrated33 man. She made it very pleasant for her guests, leaving them free to employ a part of the day as they liked, providing the best of company at dinner, gay revels34 in the evening, and a large house full of curious and interesting things to examine at their leisure.
The rain had spoiled a pleasant plan, and business letters had made it necessary for Mrs. Warburton to leave the three to their own devices after lunch. They had read quietly for several hours, and their hostess was just finishing her last letter when fragments of the conversation reached her ear. She listened with amusement, unconscious that they had forgotten her presence, finding the different views very characteristic, and easily explained by the difference of the homes out of which the three friends came.
Alice was the only daughter of a scholarly man and a brilliant woman; therefore her love of books and desire to cultivate her mind was very natural, but the danger in her case would be in the neglect of other things equally important, too varied35 reading, and a superficial knowledge of many authors rather than a true appreciation36 of a few of the best and greatest. Eva was one of many children in a happy home, with a busy father, a pious mother, and many domestic cares, as well as joys, already falling to the dutiful girl's lot. Her instincts were sweet and unspoiled, and she only needed to be shown where to find new and better helpers for the real trials of life, when the childish heroines she loved could no longer serve her in the years to come.
Carrie was one of the ambitious yet commonplace girls who wish to shine, without knowing the difference between the glitter of a candle which attracts moths37, and the serene38 light of a star, or the cheery glow of a fire round which all love to gather. Her mother's aims were not high, and the two pretty daughters knew that she desired good matches for them, educated them for that end, and expected them to do their parts when the time came. The elder sister was now at a watering-place with her mother, and Carrie hoped that a letter would soon come telling her that Mary was settled. During her stay with Mrs. Warburton she had learned a good deal, and was unconsciously contrasting the life here with the frivolous39 one at home, made up of public show and private sacrifice of comfort, dignity, and peace. Here were people who dressed simply, enjoyed conversation, kept up their accomplishments40 even when old, and were so busy, lovable, and charming, that poor Carrie often felt vulgar, ignorant, and mortified41 among them, in spite of their fine breeding and kindliness42. The society Mrs. Warburton drew about her was the best, and old and young, rich and poor, wise and simple, all seemed genuine,—-glad to give or receive, enjoy and rest, and then go out to their work refreshed by the influences of the place and the sweet old lady who made it what it was. The girls would soon begin life for themselves, and it was well that they had this little glimpse of really good society before they left the shelter of home to choose friends, pleasures, and pursuits for themselves, as all young women do when once launched.
The sudden silence and then the whispers suggested to the listener that she had perhaps heard something not meant for her ears; so she presently emerged with her letters, and said, as she came smiling toward the group about the fire,—
“How are you getting through this long, dull afternoon, my dears? Quiet as mice till just now. What woke you up? A battle of the books? Alice looks as if she had laid in plenty of ammunition43, and you were preparing to besiege44 her.”
The girls laughed, and all rose, for Madam Warburton was a stately old lady, and people involuntarily treated her with great respect, even in this mannerless age.
“We were only talking about books,” began Carrie, deeply grateful that Wanda was safely out of sight.
“And we couldn't agree,” added Eva, running to ring the bell for the man to take the letters, for she was used to these little offices at home, and loved to wait on Madam.
“Thanks, my love. Now let us talk a little, if you are tired of reading, and if you like to let me share the discussion. Comparing tastes in literature is always a pleasure, and I used to enjoy talking over books with my girl friends more than anything else.”
As she spoke, Mrs. Warburton sat down in the chair which Alice rolled up, drew Eva to the cushion at her feet, and nodded to the others as they settled again, with interested faces, one at the table where the pile of chosen volumes now lay, the other erect45 upon the couch where she had been practising the poses “full of languid grace,” so much affected46 by her favorite heroines.
“Carrie was laughing at me for liking47 wise books and wanting to improve my mind. Is it foolish and a waste of time?” asked Alice, eager to convince her friend and secure so powerful an ally.
“No, my dear, it is a very sensible desire, and I wish more girls had it. Only don't be greedy, and read too much; cramming48 and smattering is as bad as promiscuous49 novel-reading, or no reading at all. Choose carefully, read intelligently, and digest thoroughly50 each book, and then you make it your own,” answered Mrs. Warburton, quite in her element now, for she loved to give advice, as most old ladies do.
“But how can we know WHAT to read if we mayn't follow our tastes?” said Carrie, trying to be interested and “intelligent” in spite of her fear that a “school-marmy” lecture was in store for her.
“Ask advice, and so cultivate a true and refined taste. I always judge people's characters a good deal by the books they like, as well as by the company they keep; so one should be careful, for this is a pretty good test. Another is, be sure that whatever will not bear reading aloud is not fit to read to one's self. Many young girls ignorantly or curiously51 take up books quite worthless, and really harmful, because under the fine writing and brilliant color lurks52 immorality53 or the false sentiment which gives wrong ideas of life and things which should be sacred. They think, perhaps, that no one knows this taste of theirs; but they are mistaken, for it shows itself in many ways, and betrays them. Attitudes, looks, careless words, and a morbid54 or foolishly romantic view of certain things, show plainly that the maidenly56 instincts are blunted, and harm done that perhaps can never be repaired.”
Mrs. Warburton kept her eyes fixed57 upon the tall andirons as if gravely reproving them, which was a great relief to Carrie, whose cheeks glowed as she stirred uneasily and took up a screen as if to guard them from the fire. But conscience pricked58 her sharply, and memory, like a traitor59, recalled many a passage or scene in her favorite books which she could not have read aloud even to that old lady, though she enjoyed them in private. Nothing very bad, but false and foolish, poor food for a lively fancy and young mind to feed on, as the weariness or excitement which always followed plainly proved, since one should feel refreshed, not cloyed60, with an intellectual feast.
Alice, with both elbows on the table, listened with wide-awake eyes, and Eva watched the raindrops trickle61 clown the pane62 with an intent expression, as if asking herself if she had ever done this naughty thing.
“Then there is another fault,” continued Mrs. Warburton, well knowing that her first shot had hit its mark, and anxious to be just. “Some book-loving lassies have a mania63 for trying to read everything, and dip into works far beyond their powers, or try too many different kinds of self-improvement at once. So they get a muddle64 of useless things into their heads, instead of well-assorted ideas and real knowledge. They must learn to wait and select; for each age has its proper class of books, and what is Greek to us at eighteen may be just what we need at thirty. One can get mental dyspepsia on meat and wine as well as on ice-cream and frosted cake, you know.”
Alice smiled, and pushed away four of the eight books she had selected, as if afraid she had been greedy, and now felt that it was best to wait a little.
Eva looked up with some anxiety in her frank eyes as she said, “Now it is my turn. Must I give up my dear homely66 books, and take to Ruskin, Kant, or Plato?”
Mrs. Warburton laughed, as she stroked the pretty brown head at her knee.
“Not yet, my love, perhaps never, for those are not the masters you need, I fancy. Since you like stories about every-day people, try some of the fine biographies of real men and women about whom you should know something. You will find their lives full of stirring, helpful, and lovely experiences, and in reading of these you will get courage and hope and faith to bear your own trials as they come. True stories suit you, and are the best, for there we get real tragedy and comedy, and the lessons all must learn.”
“Thank you! I will begin at once if you will kindly67 give me a list of such as would be good for me,” cried Eva, with the sweet docility68 of one eager to be all that is lovable and wise in woman.
“Give us a list, and we will try to improve in the best way. You know what we need, and love to help foolish girls, or you wouldn't be so kind and patient with us,” said Alice, going to sit beside Carrie, hoping for much discussion of this, to her, very interesting subject.
“I will, with pleasure; but I read few modern novels, so I may not be a good judge there. Most of them seem very poor stuff, and I cannot waste time even to skim them as some people do. I still like the old-fashioned ones I read as a girl, though you would laugh at them. Did any of you ever read 'Thaddeus of Warsaw'?”
“I have, and thought it very funny; so were 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia.' I wanted to try Smollett and Fielding, after reading some fine essays about them, but Papa told me I must wait,” said Alice.
“Ah, my dears, in my day, Thaddeus was our hero, and we thought the scene where he and Miss Beaufort are in the Park a most thrilling one. Two fops ask Thaddeus where he got his boots, and he replies, with withering69 dignity, 'Where I got my sword, gentlemen.' I treasured the picture of that episode for a long time. Thaddeus wears a hat as full of black plumes70 as a hearse, Hessian boots with tassels71, and leans over Mary, who languishes72 on the seat in a short-waisted gown, limp scarf, poke28 bonnet73, and large bag,—the height of elegance11 then, but very funny now. Then William Wallace in 'Scottish Chiefs.' Bless me! we cried over him as much as you do over your 'Heir of Clifton,' or whatever the boy's name is. You wouldn't get through it, I fancy; and as for poor, dear, prosy Richardson, his letter-writing heroines would bore you to death. Just imagine a lover saying to a friend, 'I begged my angel to stay and sip74 one dish of tea. She sipped75 one dish and flew.'”
“Now, I'm sure that's sillier than anything the Duchess ever wrote with her five-o'clock teas and flirtations over plum-cake on lawns,” cried Carrie, as they all laughed at the immortal76 Lovelace.
“I never read Richardson, but he couldn't be duller than Henry James, with his everlasting77 stories, full of people who talk a great deal and amount to nothing. I like the older novels best, and enjoy some of Scott's and Miss Edgeworth's better than Howells's, or any of the modern realistic writers, with their elevators, and paint-pots, and every-day people,” said Alice, who wasted little time on light literature.
“I'm glad to hear you say so, for I have an old-fashioned fancy that I'd rather read about people as they were, for that is history, or as they might and should be, for that helps us in our own efforts; not as they are, for that we know, and are all sufficiently78 commonplace ourselves, to be the better for a nobler and wider view of life and men than any we are apt to get, so busy are we earning daily bread, or running after fortune, honor or some other bubble. But I mustn't lecture, or I shall bore you, and forget that I am your hostess, whose duty it is to amuse.”
As Mrs. Warburton paused, Carrie, anxious to change the subject, said, with her eyes on a curious jewel which the old lady wore, “I also like true stories, and you promised to tell us about that lovely pin some day. This is just the time for it,—please do.”
“With pleasure, for the little romance is quite apropos79 to our present chat. It is a very simple tale, and rather sad, but it had a great influence on my life, and this brooch is very dear to me.”
As Mrs. Warburton sat silent a moment, the girls all looked with interest at the quaint32 pin which clasped the soft folds of muslin over the black silk dress which was as becoming to the still handsome woman as the cap on her white hair and the winter roses in her cheeks. The ornament80 was in the shape of a pansy; its purple leaves were of amethyst81, the yellow of topaz, and in the middle lay a diamond drop of dew. Several letters were delicately cut on its golden stem, and a guard pin showed how much its wearer valued it.
“My sister Lucretia was a good deal older than I, for the three boys came between,” began Mrs. Warburton, still gazing at the fire, as if from its ashes the past rose up bright and warm again. “She was a very lovely and superior girl, and I looked up to her with wonder as well as adoration82. Others did the same, and at eighteen she was engaged to a charming man, who would have made his mark had he lived. She was too young to marry then, and Frank Lyman had a fine opening to practise his profession at the South. So they parted for two years, and it was then that he gave her the brooch, saying to her, as she whispered how lonely she should be without him, 'This PENSEE is a happy, faithful THOUGHT of me. Wear it, dearest girl, and don't pine while we are separated. Read and study, write much to me, and remember, “They never are alone that are accompanied with noble thoughts."'”
“Wasn't that sweet?” cried Eva, pleased with the beginning of the tale.
“So romantic!” added Carrie, recalling the “amber amulet” one of her pet heroes wore for years, and died kissing, after he had killed some fifty Arabs in the desert.
“Did she read and study?” asked Alice, with a soft color in her cheek, and eager eyes, for a budding romance was folded away in the depths of her maidenly heart, and she liked a love story.
“I'll tell you what she did, for it was rather remarkable83 at that day, when girls had little schooling84, and picked up accomplishments as they could. The first winter she read and studied at home, and wrote much to Mr. Lyman. I have their letters now, and very fine ones they are, though they would seem old-fashioned to you young things. Curious love letters,—full of advice, the discussion of books, report of progress, glad praise, modest gratitude85, happy plans and a faithful affection that never wavered, though Lucretia was beautiful and much admired, and the dear fellow a great favorite among the brilliant Southern women.
“The second spring, Lucretia, anxious to waste no time, and ambitious to surprise Lyman, decided86 to go and study with old Dr. Gardener at Portland. He fitted young men for college, was a friend of our father's, and had a daughter who was a very wise and accomplished87 woman. That was a very happy summer, and Lu got on so well that she begged to stay all winter. It was a rare chance, for there were no colleges for girls then, and very few advantages to be had, and the dear creature burned to improve every faculty88, that she might be more worthy89 of her lover. She fitted herself for college with the youths there, and did wonders; for love sharpened her wits, and the thought of that happy meeting spurred her on to untiring exertion90. Lyman was expected in May, and the wedding was to be in June; but, alas91 for the poor girl! the yellow-fever came, and he was one of the first victims. They never met again, and nothing was left her of all that happy time but his letters, his library, and the pansy.”
Mrs. Warburton paused to wipe a few quiet tears from her eyes, while the girls sat in sympathetic silence.
“We thought it would kill her, that sudden change from love, hope, and happiness to sorrow, death, and solitude92. But hearts don't break, my dears, if they know where to go for strength. Lucretia did, and after the first shock was over found comfort in her books, saying, with a brave, bright look, and the sweetest resignation, 'I must go on trying to be more worthy of him, for we shall meet again in God's good time and he shall see that I do not forget.'
“That was better than tears and lamentation93, and the long years that followed were beautiful and busy ones, full of dutiful care for us at home after our mother died, of interest in all the good works of her time, and a steady, quiet effort to improve every faculty of her fine mind, till she was felt to be one of the noblest women in our city. Her influence was wide-spread; all the intelligent people sought her, and when she travelled she was welcome everywhere, for cultivated persons have a free-masonry of their own, and are recognized at once.”
“Did she ever marry?” asked Carrie, feeling that no life could be quite successful without that great event.
“Never. She felt herself a widow, and wore black to the day of her death. Many men asked her hand, but she refused them all, and was the sweetest 'old maid' ever seen,—cheerful and serene to the very last, for she was ill a long time, and found her solace94 and stay still in the beloved books. Even when she could no longer read them, her memory supplied her with the mental food that kept her soul strong while her body failed. It was wonderful to see and hear her repeating fine lines, heroic sayings, and comforting psalms95 through the weary nights when no sleep would come, making friends and helpers of the poets, philosophers, and saints whom she knew and loved so well. It made death beautiful, and taught me how victorious96 an immortal soul can be over the ills that vex97 our mortal flesh.
“She died at dawn on Easter Sunday, after a quiet night, when she had given me her little legacy98 of letters, books, and the one jewel she had always worn, repeating her lover's words to comfort me. I had read the Commendatory Prayer, and as I finished she whispered, with a look of perfect peace, 'Shut the book, dear, I need study no more; I have hoped and believed, now I shall know;' and so went happily away to meet her lover after patient waiting.”
The sigh of the wind was the only sound that broke the silence till the quiet voice went on again, as if it loved to tell the story, for the thought of soon seeing the beloved sister took the sadness from the memory of the past.
“I also found my solace in books, for I was very lonely when she was gone, my father being dead, the brothers married, and home desolate99. I took to study and reading as a congenial employment, feeling no inclination100 to marry, and for many years was quite contented101 among my books. But in trying to follow in dear Lucretia's footsteps, I unconsciously fitted myself for the great honor and happiness of my life, and curiously enough I owed it to a book.”
Mrs. Warburton smiled as she took up a shabby little volume from the table where Alice had laid it, and, quick to divine another romance, Eva said, like a story-loving child, “Do tell about it! The other was so sad.”
“This begins merrily, and has a wedding in it, as young girls think all tales should. Well, when I was about thirty-five, I was invited to join a party of friends on a trip to Canada, that being the favorite jaunt102 in my young days. I'd been studying hard for some years, and needed rest, so I was glad to go. As a good book for an excursion, I took this Wordsworth in my bag. It is full of fine passages, you know, and I loved it, for it was one of the books given to Lucretia by her lover. We had a charming time, and were on our way to Quebec when my little adventure happened. I was in raptures103 over the grand St. Lawrence as we steamed slowly from Montreal that lovely summer day. I could not read, but sat on the upper deck, feasting my eyes and dreaming dreams as even staid maiden55 ladies will when out on a holiday. Suddenly I caught the sound of voices in earnest discussion on the lower deck, and, glancing down, saw several gentlemen leaning against the rail as they talked over certain events of great public interest at that moment. I knew that a party of distinguished104 persons were on board, as my friend's husband, Dr. Tracy, knew some of them, and pointed105 out Mr. Warburton as one of the rising scientific men of the day. I remembered that my sister had met him years ago, and much admired him both for his own gifts and because he had known Lyman. As other people were listening, I felt no delicacy106 about doing the same, for the conversation was an eloquent107 one, and well worth catching108. So interested did I become that I forgot the great rafts floating by, the picturesque109 shores, the splendid river, and leaned nearer and nearer that no word might be lost, till my book slid out of my lap and fell straight down upon the head of one of the gentlemen, giving him a smart blow, and knocking his hat overboard.”
“Oh, what DID you do?” cried the girls, much amused at this unromantic catastrophe110.
Mrs. Warburton clasped her hands dramatically, as her eyes twinkled and a pretty color came into her cheeks at the memory of that exciting moment.
“My dears, I could have dropped with mortification111! What COULD I do but dodge112 and peep as I waited to see the end of this most untoward113 accident? Fortunately I was alone on that side of the deck, so none of the ladies saw my mishap114 and, slipping along the seat to a distant corner, I hid my face behind a convenient newspaper, as I watched the little flurry of fishing up the hat by a man in a boat near by, and the merriment of the gentlemen over this assault of William Wordsworth upon Samuel Warburton. The poor book passed from hand to hand, and many jokes were made upon the 'fair Helen' whose name was written on the paper cover which projected it.
“'I knew a Miss Harper once,—a lovely woman, but her name was not Helen, and she is dead,—God bless her!' I heard Mr. Warburton say, as he flapped his straw hat to dry it, and rubbed his head, which fortunately was well covered with thick gray hair at that time.
“I longed to go down and tell him who I was, but I had not the courage to face all those men. It really was MOST embarrassing; so I waited for a more private moment to claim my book, as I knew we should not land till night, so there was no danger of losing it.
“'This is rather unusual stuff for a woman to be reading. Some literary lady doubtless. Better look her up, Warburton. You'll know her by the color of her stockings when she comes down to lunch,' said a jolly old gentlenoan, in a tone that made me 'rouge115 high,' as Evelina says.
“'I shall know her by her intelligent face and conversation, if this book belongs to a lady. It will be an honor and a pleasure to meet a woman who enjoys Wordsworth, for in my opinion he is one of our truest poets,' answered Mr. Warburton, putting the book in his pocket, with a look and a tone that were most respectful and comforting to me just then.
“I hoped he would examine the volume, for Lucretia's and Lyman's names were on the fly leaf, and that would be a delightful introduction for me. So I said nothing and bided116 my time, feeling rather foolish when we all filed in to lunch, and I saw the other party glancing at the ladies at the table. Mr. Warburton's eye paused a moment as it passed from Mrs. Tracy to me, and I fear I blushed like a girl, my dears, for Samuel had very fine eyes, and I remembered the stout gentleman's unseemly joke about the stockings. Mine were white as snow, for I had a neat foot, and was fond of nice hose and well-made shoes. I am so still, as you see.” Here the old lady displayed a small foot in a black silk stocking and delicate slipper117, with the artless pride a woman feels, at any age, in one of her best points. The girls gratified her by a murmur118 of admiration119, and, decorously readjusting the folds of her gown, she went on with the most romantic episode of her quiet life.
“I retired120 to my state-room after lunch to compose myself, and when I emerged, in the cool of the afternoon, my first glance showed me that the hour had come, for there on deck was Mr. Warburton, talking to Mrs. Tracy, with my book in his hand. I hesitated a moment, for in spite of my age I was rather shy, and really it was not an easy thing to apologize to a strange gentle-man for dropping books on his head and spoiling his hat. Men think so much of their hats you know. I was spared embarrassment121, however, for he saw me and came to me at once, saying, in the most cordial manner, as he showed the names on the fly leaf of my Wordsworth, 'I am sure we need no other introduction but the names of these two dear friends of ours. I am very glad to find that Miss Helen Harper is the little girl I saw once or twice at your father's house some years ago, and to meet her so pleasantly again.'
“That made everything easy and delightful, and when I had apologized and been laughingly assured that he considered it rather an honor than otherwise to be assaulted by so great a man, we fell to talking of old times, and soon forgot that we were strangers. He was twenty years older than I, but a handsome man, and a most interesting and excellent one, as we all know. He had lost a young wife long ago, and had lived for science ever since, but it had not made him dry, or cold, or selfish. He was very young at heart for all his wisdom, and enjoyed that holiday like a boy out of school. So did I, and never dreamed that anything would come of it but a pleasant friendship founded on our love for those now dead and gone. Dear me! how strangely things turn out in this world of ours, and how the dropping of that book changed my life! Well, that was our introduction, and that first long conversation was followed by many more equally charming, during the three weeks our parties were much together, as both were taking the same trip, and Dr. Tracy was glad to meet his old friend.
“I need not tell you how delightful such society was to me, nor how surprised I was when, on the last day before we parted, Mr. Warburton, who had answered many questions of mine during these long chats of ours, asked me a very serious one, and I found that I could answer it as he wished. It brought me great honor as well as happiness. I fear I was not worthy of it, but I tried to be, and felt a tender satisfaction in thinking that I owed it to dear Lucretia, in part at least; for my effort to imitate her made me fitter to become a wise man's wife, and thirty years of very sweet companionship was my reward.”
As she spoke, Mrs. Warburton bowed her head before the portrait of a venerable old man which hung above the mantel-piece.
It was a pretty, old-fashioned expression of wifely pride and womanly tenderness in the fine old lady, who forgot her own gifts, and felt only humility122 and gratitude to the man who had found in her a comrade in intellectual pursuits, as well as a helpmeet at home and a gentle prop65 for his declining years.
The girls looked up with eyes full of something softer than mere123 curiosity, and felt in their young hearts how precious and honorable such a memory must be, how true and beautiful such a marriage was, and how sweet wisdom might become when it went hand in hand with love.
Alice spoke first, saying, as she touched the worn cover of the little book with a new sort of respect, “Thank you very much! Perhaps I ought not to have taken this from the corner shelves in your sanctum? I wanted to find the rest of the lines Mr. Thornton quoted last night, and didn't stop to ask leave.”
“You are welcome, my love, for you know how to treat books. Yes, those in that little case are my precious relics124. I keep them all, from my childish hymn-book to my great-grandfather's brass-bound Bible, for by and by when I sit 'Looking towards Sunset,' as dear Lydia Maria Child calls our last days, I shall lose my interest in other books, and take comfort in these. At the end as at the beginning of life we are all children again, and love the songs our mothers sung us, and find the one true Book our best teacher as we draw near to God.”
As the reverent125 voice paused, a ray of sunshine broke through the parting clouds, and shone full on the serene old face turned to meet it, with a smile that welcomed the herald126 of a lovely sunset.
“The rain is over; there will be just time for a run in the garden before dinner, girls. I must go and change my cap, for literary ladies should not neglect to look well after the ways of their household and keep themseves tidy, no matter how old they may be.” And with a nod Mrs. Warburton left them, wondering what the effect of the conversation would be on the minds of her young guests.
Alice went away to the garden, thinking of Lucretia and her lover, as she gathered flowers in the sunshine. Conscientious127 Eva took the Life of Mary Somerville to her room, and read diligently128 for half an hour, that no time might be lost in her new course of study, Carrie sent Wanda and her finery up the chimney in a lively blaze, and, as she watched the book burn, decided to take her blue and gold volume of Tennyson with her on her next trip to Nahant, in case any eligible129 learned or literary man's head should offer itself as a shining mark. Since a good marriage was the end of life, why not follow Mrs. Warburton's example, and make a really excellent one?
When they all met at dinner-time the old lady was pleased to see a nosegay of fresh pansies in the bosoms130 of her three youngest guests, and to hear Alice whisper, with grateful eyes,—
“We wear your flower to show you that we don't mean to forget the lesson you so kindly gave us, and to fortify131 ourselves with 'noble thoughts,' as you and she did.”
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1
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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elegances
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| n.高雅( elegance的名词复数 )；（举止、服饰、风格等的）优雅；精致物品；（思考等的）简洁 | |
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13
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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14
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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sapphires
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| n.蓝宝石，钢玉宝石( sapphire的名词复数 )；蔚蓝色 | |
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rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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17
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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21
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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27
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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28
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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29
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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37
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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38
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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39
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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40
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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41
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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42
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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43
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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44
besiege
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| vt.包围，围攻，拥在...周围 | |
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45
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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46
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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47
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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48
cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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49
promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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50
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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51
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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52
lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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53
immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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54
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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55
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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56
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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57
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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58
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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59
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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60
cloyed
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| v.发腻，倒胃口( cloy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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62
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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63
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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64
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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65
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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66
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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67
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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68
docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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69
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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70
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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71
tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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72
languishes
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| 长期受苦( languish的第三人称单数 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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73
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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74
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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apropos
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| adv.恰好地；adj.恰当的；关于 | |
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80
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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81
amethyst
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| n.紫水晶 | |
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82
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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83
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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84
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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85
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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86
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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88
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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91
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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92
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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96
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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100
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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101
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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102
jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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103
raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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104
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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106
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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107
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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108
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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109
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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111
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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112
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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untoward
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| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
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114
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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115
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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116
bided
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| v.等待，停留( bide的过去式 )；居住；等待；面临 | |
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117
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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118
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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119
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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120
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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122
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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124
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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128
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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129
eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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130
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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