 | CHAPTER VI.
THE BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM. Edward Manning, or, The bride and the maiden |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
THE BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM.
We now go back with our readers to a period prior to the opening
of our story, and present to them new scenes and new characters,
but which equally with those already introduced, act their part
in the progress and final denouement of the tale.
About two months previous to the time when Satchell is introduced
was standing by the window of one of the most elegant mansions
overlooking the common. By his side was a lovely woman,
scarcely in her twentieth summer. Their countenances expressed
calm happiness and deep, unbroken affection. They were a young
husband and his youthful bride. Their honeymoon, so far as that
state was measured by days, was that day ended; for they had
been married just four weeks. They were looking together and in
silence at the golden September skies, as the evening sun dyed
them with the most gorgeous hues, which a soft haze floating in
the atmosphere mellowed with exquisite effect.
“It was such an evening as this when we first met, Gertrude,”
said the husband, turning his gaze upon her with the fullness of
love.
“The same thought was in my own heart,” she answered,
smiling.
“Do you think with your heart, dear wife?”
“When I think of you, Edward,” she answered, looking up and
answering his eyes with glances as deep and fond if not so ardent
as his own.
“How important to my happiness was that moment,” he continued.
“It has cast its sweet influence over all my life. It will
govern me with its power through eternity; for through eternity I
shall love you.”
“Yes, I feel that love like life, when once created can never die.
We must always love.”
“Always, and more and more if possible as time and eternity
roll on,” he said earnestly.
“You talk as if you were quite by yourselves, my wedded
lovers,” said a voice kind and singularly agreeable in its tone, from
the centre of the room.
The young husband turned slightly, sufficient to catch the eye
of his father, a well-made, intellectual looking gentleman, who had
entered a few minutes before unobserved by them, though he took
no pains to conceal his presence, and was now reading a book by
the table.
“Ah, father, you have been young once,” said the bridegroom.
“Yes, and I know how to sympathize in your happiness. I love
to hear you talk to Gertrude thus, and tell her how much you love
her. It will make her happy. Tell her so every day, my son, if
you live to be a hundred, and every day she will be made happier
for it. Wives love to be told that they are loved. It makes them
good wives.”
“An excellent lesson, dear father Judge,” said the bride, laughing
till her beauty seemed so sparkling that the father-in-law and husband
looked upon her in silent admiration. She blushed at this,
but her loveliness was enhanced though in a new aspect.
“We will talk lower, sir,” observed Edward Manning, turning
his eyes once more upon the landscape before them. “Do you
know, dear Gertrude, by what a mere accident I happened to be at
and tour it through the Canadas, and was on my way there through
Northampton, when the stage stopped merely to dine. After dinner
I strolled through the streets, the landlord saying I should have
half an hour, as something had to be done to the coach before
starting. When I went back, I found that the stage had gone, but
leaving my baggage. There I was detained for another day. But
as I had my own time I did not complain, and I resolved to embrace
the opportunity to ascend Mount Holyoke; for on the books
at the inn I had seen the names of a party from New York, which
had gone to the mountain. Somehow your name, Gertrude Livingston,
on the book struck me at first seeing it. I felt inspired
with curiosity to see the fair owner, for I instinctively felt she must
be fair.”
“How disappointed you were when you saw me! I recollect
you started with quite a shock when your friend, Doctor Wells-borough,
who was with us, introduced you as we encountered upon
the very apex among the clouds.”
“You know better, wife. I was struck at your beauty, or rather
I was smitten on the spot. From that moment I was yours, and
now you are mine. I do not believe that it was an accident by
which I came to know you. I am positive it was the ordering of a
kind Providence. So much of my life's happiness could not have
had its origin merely in the inadequate incident that I was three
minutes too late for a stage.”
“You are no believer in accidents of any kind, Edward.”
“No, I am not. An accident might overturn a world as well as
a coach, if God did not control accidents. An accident might have
destroyed all the circumstances of prophecy. An accident might
have cut off the years of, if I may with holy reverence thus speak,
the infant Saviour, unless accidents are under the control of an almighty
law. There is properly no such thing as an accident.
What are called such are permitted links in the chain of human
events, and all have their errands and ends. There goes by a carriage
containing a happy family, father and mother and children.
Yonder boy throws the stone he holds in his hand through the air,
and it strikes one of the horses in the eye. The animals dart away
affrighted, the carriage is overturned, the parents are killed; the
children live, and are found to be without means of support; they
are cast upon the world, become vicious and criminal through the
want of parental control and guidance, and by and by they end
their lives upon the gallows or in a prison. Will any one say that
all these events were the result of an accident, Gertrude? If so,
then all terrestrial events are nothing more nor less than accidents.
No! God is over all. Not a sparrow falls to the ground without
his notice.”
“I think with you, dearest Edward. I cannot believe that all
my present happiness in your love is owing to an accident. I would
not believe it, else I should believe, too, that—but I will not utter
what was upon my lips.”
“That what, Gertrude? Let me know your thought.”
“That accident, too, might destroy our love.”
“Never, dearest Gertrude—never.”
“I know it never will. You spoke of our first meeting on Mount
Holyoke a year ago, and the beauty of the sunset, such an one as
this. Do you remember how different was our wedding-day—all
clouds and thunder, and the most fearful lightning.”
“You look pale at the recollection, Gertrude. I should think
you were superstitious, if I did not know you so well.”
“No, I am not. But one can't help impressions. They will
force themselves down upon the soul and darken it. Do you know
that I more than once on our way to church to be married, had it
upon my lips to entreat you to turn back and put off the ceremony
to another and more propitious day.”
“Did you then take the gloom and storm of the day so seriously
to heart?” he said, with surprise and sympathy.
“Yes, but I have not thought of it since until just now, when
you compared the beauty of this evening with that of our first
meeting. Then I recalled irresistibly the tempestuous day of our
nuptials.”
“Be assured it is no evil omen. Sunshine and happiness follow
storms,” said Judge Manning, approaching the window smiling.—
“Why what a superstitious beauty you are, Gertry,” he added,
tapping her shoulder.
“I am not so at all, my dear Judge. I was merely comparing
one day with another day,” she said, laughing without a shade of
solicitude. “Come, dear father,” she said, drawing towards the
window recess a large velvet-cushioned parlor easy-chair, “come
and sit down here by us and be sociable. We are not such young
lovers that we must talk all the time between ourselves.”
“I will sit by you with pleasure,” answered the Judge, with a
fine cheerful expression of paternal pride and affection, as he looked
upon one and then upon the other, as they sat upon the fauteuils of
the window, one on either side of him. And well might he gaze
upon the noble pair with pride and fondness. His son, his only
child, not only possessed a fine person and a face expressive of intellect
and elevated character, but his mind was stored with profound
scholastic knowledge and with elegant literature, and his
heart was pure and undefiled by contact with the vices that throng
the paths of young men. He had graduated at Cambridge with
the highest honors, and left the walls of the university with a
reputation for excellency of moral character that eclipsed that
which he had won for ascendency of intellect. He left college
without an enemy, and the centre of friendship for a hundred noble
hearts.
His father, who was a Judge of high eminence, had destined him
for the bar, to which he saw from his talents and virtues that he
would be a brilliant ornament. But the law was not the profession
that held out to Edward Manning any attractions. His feelings
and tastes early prepossessed him in favor of the church; and
leaving college, his predilection.
The choice which he thus betrayed did not displease the Judge,
although it disappointed him. Ho used no arguments to dissnade
him, well aware that young men are generally the best judges for
themselves in the selection of a profession. He knew that he would
be an ornament to the sacred calling he had embraced, distinguished
and useful.
After three years devoted to the study of theology, Edward Manning
took orders; but he for the present declined a parish. He
wished to devote himself more closely to studies before taking an
active part in the ministry. He was rich, and was therefore not
driven, like most young gentlemen, at once into the field. He felt
that he was yet very young, and he was diffident of his own talents
as a speaker. His father also had desired him for the present to
remain with him.
It was during a few weeks traveling recreation in the summer of
the year previous to his introduction to the reader that he met
with Gertrude Livingston, in the manner already stated. This
young lady was every way fitted to become the wife of such a person.
She was accomplished, high-born, and lovely in mind and
person, and possessed a very noble and generous nature. The
union of their hearts was based on an instinctive perception of the
excellencies of each other's character.
At the period of our story they had been but a few weeks married.—a
period of unalloyed and rational happiness. A few days
before the evening on which we see them at the window they had
returned from Saratoga, whither they had gone on their bridal tour
from New York. The day previous he had decided upon accepting
the charge of a parish in the city.
Such were the condition, prospects and circumstances of the
young gentleman whom we have thus introduced to the reader as
a fond and happy husband. There is no wonder that his father
gazed upon his fine, manly and intelligent face with pride; or that
he regarded with affectionate interest the charming features of his
lovely bride.
“Now, my dear father, that we have got you here between us,”
said Gertrude, “I am determined you shall make us a promise.”
“Well, what is it? I am in the humor to promise you any
thing.”
“That you will not say one word more against our going to
housekeeping?”
“I can't promise that. I assure you, you won't have my consent.
What do you want, I pray? Haven't I here a large house
all furnished, and every thing all to your hand? What do you
want more? This is your house, so long as I am in it.”
“True, dear Judge,” answered the lady, with a charming air;
“but then it isn't my house, you know. A bride loves to keep
house of all things. Really I shan't realize I am any body, unless
I have a house to manage.”
“I see how it is, lady fair,” responded the Judge, pleasantly.
“You want to have a house all to yourself, so that you can manage
your husband.”
“What an idea, dear Judge!”
“It is the very idea, I'll be bound, that is in your head.”
“Yes, I dare say it, father,” observed Edward, laughing. “Se
for fear of consequences, I shall vote against housekeeping.”
“You promised you would be neutral, Edward, and leave it to
the Judge and me.”
“So I will. But really I should prefer, Gertrude, remaining
here. You will be installed in my father's house precisely as if it
were your own.”
“But I fear I should reign only a short while; for I know a secret,
Judge.”
“Do you, you beauty, hey?” responded the Judge, slightly
coloring.
“Yes, I do. So I fear I should have to abdicate before many
months.”
“What do you suspect?” demanded the Judge, smiling consciously.
“I don't suspect what I am quite certain of. Confess it,
Judge?”
“Well, I plead guilty, and throw myself on the mercy of the
court.”
“Then you are going to marry the handsome Widow Winterley?”
“Yes, if she doesn't change her mind before spring,” responded
the Judge, looking very pleasantly embarrassed. “It isn't to take
place till spring.”
“Oh, that will give me but six months reign here; so I think we
had best go to housekeeping at once. Perhaps the widow will relent,
and name next month.”
“What! so soon after Ned's marriage?”
“Why not, father?”
“Yes, why not, pray? You speak as if he had been buried instead
of married. We must have it as soon as we get to housekeeping.”
“Well, if you say so.”
“Yes, dear father,” answered both together, “it must be next
month.”
“I will see the lady and tell her what you say. I rather think
she will not object; for to tell you the truth she fears some what
lest you won't like it at all.”
“I shall be very glad of it, sir,” answered his son. “She is an
estimable person, and I have no doubt will render you happy.”
“Thank you, dear boy. I will go and see her this very evening.”
The servant now brought in candles, the curtains were drawn,
and leaving the window they soon after proceeded to the tea-table.
| CHAPTER VI.
THE BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM. Edward Manning, or, The bride and the maiden | |