University of Virginia Library

27. CHAPTER XXVII.
WHICH CHANGES THE RELATIONS OF SOME OF OUR CHARACTERS,
RELATES THE CHANGES OF OTHERS, AND CLOSES THE BOOK.

Life with our Crampton friends did not linger:
why should its story be prolonged?

Arthur felt and acted as if the power of another soul
had been added to his own. He was in no mood for
love's dalliance and dissipation. The sense of loneliness
which once oppressed him, as he tried to front the life
to which he had been called, was gone, and, with the
companionship which had been pledged to him, he felt
prepared for any labor and all sacrifice. The past was
a long dream of toil and trial into which his memory
flowed with ineffable tenderness; the future, a bright
reality of love, beneficence, and fruition. He longed to
immerse himself in the life that was already dashing at
his feet, as a strong swimmer, standing upon the ocean's
beach, longs to plunge into the waves, and drown the
restless fever of his powers. The long subordination
of his being past, every faculty of his soul sprang into
positive life and demonstration.

Toward her new life, Fanny proceeded tremblingly.

Her self-confidence relinquished, she turned to him to
whom she had pledged herself, for guidance and encouragement.
It was a strange thing to her, that in her feeling
of dependence there was no sense of humiliation—
no loss of self-respect—that in this feeling she found a
degree of joy, and rest, and strength, to which she had
hitherto been a stranger. She had lost her habitual
self-seeking—lost her imperious will—gladly laid down
her proud self-reliance, and found her womanhood. In
after months and years, she learned, through feeding the
springs of a man's power, enriching the food of his life,
purifying his motives, encouraging his efforts, and filling
his heart with love, what were her true relations to
manhood. She learned that man and woman are one—
that neither man nor woman can lead a manly life
alone—that the noblest manhood must draw its vital
elements from womanhood, and that all the strong and
masculine demonstrations of her own life had been bald
and barren. She learned that man holds in his constitution
the element of power—the basis of all demonstrative
public functions—and that, by the degree in
which woman possesses this element, is she exceptional,
even if she be not abnormal.

She learned, too, that this characteristically masculine
element of power, unsoftened, unregulated, unpurified,
unfructified by the characteristic elements of
womanhood, or the discipline of womanhood, is a blind,
selfish, unfruitful force, dissociated altogether from goodness,
and lacking the essential qualities of humanity.
She learned that the power of Arthur Blague was a
good power through the womanly subordination of his
early life, and that the noblest function of her life was to

sit in the place of that early discipline, and inform and
inspire the demonstrations of his manhood by her own
ministry of womanly love and tenderness. When her
life had become fully blended into unity with his, she
learned that a woman's truest career is lived in love's
serene retirement—lived in feeding the native forces of
her other self—lived in the career of her husband.

But we are getting along faster than our lovers.
Arthur's engagement to Fanny, and the changes which
it involved, were not without very important relations
to their respective families. The question as to what
should become of Arthur's mother, though troubling
her not a little, did not amount to a question with
Arthur. The man was not a less dutiful son than
the boy. He determined that, wherever he might go,
his mother should accompany him; and, as it was hard
for her to think of parting with the house in which she
had lived so many years, Dr. Gilbert generously provided
for its retention in her possession. It would be
a good summer house, he said, for them all to occupy
during the annual vacations.

So, unobtrusively, and with a crushing sense of her
uselessness in the world, Mrs. Blague accustomed herself
to the thought of removing to New York. Her life
was hid in Arthur. All her pride, all her love, and all
her earthly hope were in him.

Dr. Gilbert, though cordially approving Fanny's
match, was quite overcome with the thought of losing
her. The failure of his son to fulfil his early promise,
and the change that had been wrought in his daughter,
had effected a revolution in his feelings. In truth, now
that Arthur had been brought into such peculiar relations

to him, he began to dwell upon his prospects in
the same way that he formerly did upon those of Fred.
It was but a few days before he was ready to talk of his
prospective son-in-law with all the ardor of an old and
an overfond father.

Poor Fred! All this affected him deeply. Rest
had done much for him, and he felt his strength slowly
mending, but the removal of his sister was to him like
the loss of a right eye. When he saw that he was to
be left alone, stranded upon a barren home; when he
saw how his father's interest in him was abated—how
that interest had been transferred to others—he was
very sad.

But this did not last. He saw how soon the care
of his father's affairs must come into his hands, or pass
into those of strangers, and the consideration awoke
him to new life. Renouncing forever his studies and all
ambition for distinction, he set himself about business—
taking Fanny's place in doing his father's correspondence,
and mingling in out-of-door life, as he became
strong enough for it.

The gossips of Crampton, though busy with their
inquiries, could find out nothing relating to the approaching
wedding. Fanny herself was puzzled about
it quite as much as they, and was helped to a decision,
at last, by a suggestion from her New York friend,
Mary Sargent.

About this time, Mr. Lampson, the conductor, called
to see Arthur Blague upon business. The superintendent
of the road had been invited to a more desirable
post in another corporation, and the conductor wanted
the vacant place, and considered himself competent to

fill it. He was sure Arthur could get the appointment
for him, and Arthur promised to do his best for that
end. Through Arthur's influence, or by means of his
own excellent reputation, “the popular and gentlemanly
conductor” was, a few days afterward, transformed into
“the obliging and efficient superintendent.”

When Thomas Lampson, Esq., called upon Arthur
to inform him of his good fortune, it occurred to the
latter, that, as his friend's salary had been materially increased,
it was possible that his wants had been enlarged
in a corresponding degree. So he proposed that when
he should remove to New York, the new superintendent
should take his wife over to the vacated house, and set
up housekeeping—using the family furniture, and taking
care of it, with a view to ultimately purchasing the
whole establishment. The proposition pleased Mr.
Lampson exceedingly. To become the master of Arthur
Blague's mansion was a new and very grateful dignity,
and the matter was finally arranged to the satisfaction
of all parties.

On a bright May morning following this arrangement,
there was a huge collection of trunks and boxes
upon the piazza of Dr. Gilbert's house, and another pile
equally large in front of Mrs. Blague's dwelling. There
was also, at the station-house that morning, an unusually
large number of young men and women, unprepared for
a journey. They had come to witness a departure, and
they did not wait long. The trunks and boxes were
brought over upon a truck, and they were soon followed
by the members of both families entire—Arthur and his
mother, Fanny and Fred, and the doctor and Aunt
Catharine. They were all going down to witness Arthur's

ordination, at the invitation of Mr. Frank Sargent
and his family. The group of townspeople closed
around Arthur to bid him farewell, and to offer him a
thousand good wishes. Fanny was adjured not to think
of getting married before she returned, which, for some
reason, brought a bright blush to her face.

The new superintendent of the road took the occasion
to run over his line that morning, and relieve the
party of the care of the luggage they had taken, besides
making himself generally agreeable all the way.
No conductor was allowed to invade the sacredness of
that group by the call for tickets. As they approached
the trunk-road that would separate them from Mr.
Lampson's care, the superintendent invited Arthur to a
private interview. They therefore took a seat together.

“You know,” said Tom Lampson, “that I sent you
a couple of New York passes, a while ago.”

“Yes, and I was very thankful for them.”

“You know, too, that I went to you to get a good
word for me with the directors, when I wanted to be
superintendent.”

“Yes, and I was very much obliged to you for that.”

“The two things weren't a great ways apart, were
they?”

“No—why?”

“Did you think, because I sent you those infernal,
little, contemptible passes, that I wanted to hire you to
work for me?”

“Never! of course not.”

“All right, then,” said Mr. Lampson. “I was
thinking about you last night, and this thing came
across me, and I just kicked the clothes off, and jumped

out of bed, and frightened my wife all but to death.
The fact is, that I didn't know any thing about the superintendent
matter when I sent those passes—not a thing.”

“My dear fellow, I didn't suppose you did,” said
Arthur, with a hearty smile. “So you have had all
your trouble for nothing.”

“Well, I was bound not to let you go away thinking
that Tom Lampson was a mean man—giving things
to his friends for the sake of getting work out of them.
All square, is it?”

“Oh! you know it is, Tom,” responded Arthur.

“Ever think of old times, Mr. Blague?” inquired
Mr. Lampson, changing the subject. “Remember about
mowing bushes, up in Ruggles' pasture? Things have
changed some, haven't they?”

“I have thought of these things a great deal lately.
The Lord has been very kind to me, and to you, too,
Tom. Just think how prosperously you are getting
along.”

“I know it,” responded Mr. Lampson, “and it's a
rotten shame that I ain't pious; but I don't get at it,
somehow. I mean to be, though, and I think I shall be.
I vow I'd give a pile if I was only all through with that
thing.”

“Where there's a will there's a way, in religion, as
in other things,” replied Arthur.

“To tell you the truth about it,” said Mr. Lampson,
“I've always been hoping I should get converted under
you. It don't seem as if Daddy Wilton could do any
thing for me. He don't stir me up a particle. I
thought you'd fetched me once, but somehow it didn't
stick.”

Arthur could not help smiling at the strange conception
of Christianity which had possession of the mind
of his friend, but felt that he had no time then to enlighten
him.

“If I don't get along,” said Mr. Lampson, “you'll
see me in New York. I ain't going to drop this thing,
any way. I believe if I'd begun back, when you did, I
might be a preacher now, myself. I tell you, religion
does lots for a feller. It kind o' nourishes him all over,
and all through. I told my wife the other day—says I,
It's just like manure in a bed of roses. It ain't very
pleasant, perhaps, when you first get hold of it, but it
makes a feller grow—it does—it's true.”

Arthur only had time to respond to Mr. Lampson's
opinions touching the fertilizing influence of religion, and
to give him a cordial exhortation to carry his good resolutions
into effect, when the train was stopped, and the
passengers were directed to change cars. Arthur bade
the superintendent an affectionate farewell. The latter
saw the baggage of the company safely shifted, and then
went about, looking under the cars, and up to the sky—
anywhere but in the faces of his departing friends. As
the train was about starting, he ran into the car, shook
hands with them all, laughed all the time, jumped off,
and waved his handkerchief, and then went away wiping
his nose with it, and pretending to have a very ugly
cinder in his eye.

That night the party slept in the spacious Kilgore
mansion, of which Mary Sargent was the mistress. Poor
Mrs. Blague moved like one in a dream. She had
hardly expected to live to reach New York; and to be
entertained in such magnificent style by her old boarder

—the mistress of the Crampton Centre School—under
such peculiar circumstances, seemed so unreal—so
miraculous—that it oppressed her quite superstitiously.
A day or two, however, sufficed to give her command
of her scattered senses, and she soon began to enjoy the
change of scenery and circumstance to which her journey
had introduced her.

Very interesting rumors were in circulation in the
church to whose pastorate Arthur had been called—
rumors which found their way out into the circles in
which the popular authoress of “Rhododendron” had
moved in former years. The audience that assembled
to witness the ordination exercises was remarkably
large. Many were at a loss to imagine why such a
crowd should be collected, even in the great city, on
such an occasion. The seats were not only all filled,
but the aisles were crowded with patiently standing
men and women.

There were, at least, three deeply interested witnesses
of the simple and impressive ceremonials by
which Arthur Blague was set apart to the office of
the Christian ministry, and inaugurated as pastor of the
new church—Mrs. Blague, Mary Sargent, and Fanny
Gilbert. As he stood before them, calm, and firm, and
self-possessed, his eye bright with the full strength of
manhood, a thousand sympathetic hearts beating around
him, and a great career lying before him, tears filled
their eyes, and all their sensibilities were flooded with
excitement, as if they were moved by the inspiration of
eloquence or poetry.

At the close of the exercises of the occasion, while
the audience waited for the accustomed benediction, Arthur

descended from the pulpit, and made his way, unattended,
down the broad aisle to the pew where Fanny
Gilbert sat with her friends. He opened the door,
bowed with a pleasant smile to Fanny, who rose, took
his arm, and advanced with him to the chancel, where
a white-haired old pastor awaited them. There the
career of Miss Gilbert ended, and the career of Mrs.
Arthur Blague began. There, in the presence of Arthur's
people, did she give herself to him and to them.
The old pastor gave them and the congregation his benison,
and a multitude of friends pressed forward to
make the acquaintance of their new pastor and his wife.
Among those who came around the interesting pair,
were several of Fanny's old friends, who welcomed her
back with abundant joy. Mr. Frank Sargent took the
occasion to be very busy. There were several persons
present whom he wanted in the church, and whom he
had thus far failed to “rope in.” These were brought
forward and introduced to the Rev. Mr. Blague and his
wife, and treated with all that consideration which their
uncertain position demanded.

Thus, for the purification of the great city, was
another rill of the healthful country life poured into it.
Thus, in God's loving and far-seeing providence, was
brought to its terminal link that long concatenation of
trial and sorrow, of struggle and disappointment, of
patient waiting and faithful working, of sickness and
death, which has formed the staple of this story. Into
these two lives, prepared for great purposes, had been
poured abundant experiences. For them had others

unconsciously lived. Even the proprietor of Hucklebury
Run, and the man who robbed him both of his
money and his daughter, were made tributary to the
grand result. With frames which only country breeding
can build, with broad and fruitful natures, with
power to labor, and with determined will and purpose,
they gave themselves to the city—a contribution to
those conservative and recuperative forces of city life,
evermore country-born, which make progress possible,
and which alone save that life from fatal degradation
and final extinction.

Thenceforward they became dispensers rather than
receivers. Hitherto, events had ended in them—little
rivulets of experience, running in from wide distances,
had found in them their termination; plans of life had
exhausted their material on reaching them; plots had
unravelled themselves at their feet. Now, prepared for
their destiny and their ministry, the stream of beneficence
went out from them, and grew broader as it
flowed. Crampton life, which had seemed so poor, insignificant,
hard, and barren, blossomed in New York
into consummate beauty, and shook with its burden of
fruit like Lebanon. We shall hear of that fruit in the
“harvest-home” of the angel-reapers.

There was a midsummer gathering but a few years
ago at the old Gilbert mansion. Dr. Gilbert and Mrs.
Blague were not there, for they had passed away. Dr.
Gilbert had lain down to rest by the side of his wife,
and Mrs. Blague had taken her place with her husband,
little Jamie, and the fair-haired children of her youth.

The house has a new master and a new mistress. Fred
Gilbert is a farmer, and Mrs. Fred Gilbert is a sister
of Mrs. Thomas Lampson—in short, a Joslyn—not only
a pretty woman, but every way a worthy one. So Arthur
Blague and his wife, Thomas Lampson and his
wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Fred Gilbert, are bound to each
other by family ties no less than by the closest friendship.

The party talk of old times and old scenes. They
walk over to the burial-ground, and, in silence, gather
about the clumps of roses that hide their friends, and
speak tenderly of the departed. Arthur leans upon the
family monument, and, gazing upon the mound that
rises above the breast of little Jamie, goes back in
memory over his painful history, and weeps like a
woman. At length, he calls to him his three children,
and tells them where their little uncle lies, of whom
they have heard so many times.

As they pass out they note a newly-made grave by
the side of that of Mr. Ruggles. “So the old woman
is gone,” is all the remark that is made. They call
upon the Joslyn family—now one of the most thrifty
and respectable families of the town—thanks to Mrs.
Joslyn. The old man is past work, but the old woman
looks as if she might last twenty years yet.

But the town generally is changed. Neither Arthur
nor Fanny feels at home. They turn toward their newer
friends and fresher associations—to the good five hundred
hearts in which they have their dwelling-place;
and as they turn to bid farewell to Crampton, we wave
them our adieu!