_ SOME incidents interrupted the conversation at this point, and when
it flowed on again, it was in a slightly varied channel, and
gradually changed from the abstract into matters of more personal
interest.
"What a mystery is life!" exclaimed Mrs. Markland, the words
following an observation that fell from the lips of Mr. Willet.
"Is it a mystery to you?" was asked, with something of surprise in
the questioner's tone.
"There are times," replied Mrs. Markland, "when I can see a harmony,
an order, a beauty in every thing; but my vision does not always
remain clear. Ah! if we could ever be content to do our duty in the
present, and leave results to Him who cares for us with an infinite
love!"
"A love," added Mrs. Willet, "that acts by infinite wisdom. Can we
not trust these fully? Infinite love and infinite wisdom?"
"Yes!--yes!--reason makes unhesitating response. But when dark days
come, how the poor heart sinks! Our faith is strong when the sky is
bright. We can trust the love and wisdom of our Maker when broad
gleams of sunshine lie all along our pathway."
"True; and therefore the dark days come to us as much in mercy as
the bright ones, for they show us that our confidence in Heaven is
not a living faith. 'There grows much bread in the winter night,' is
a proverb full of a beautiful significance. Wheat, or bread, is, in
the outer world of nature, what good is in the, inner world of
spirit. And as well in the winter night of trial and adversity is
bread grown, as in the winter of external nature. The bright wine of
truth we crush from purple clusters in genial autumn; but bread
grows even while the vine slumbers."
"I know," said Mrs. Markland, "that, in the language of another,
'sweet are the uses of adversity.' I know it to be true, that good
gains strength and roots itself deeply in the winter of affliction
and adversity, that it may grow up stronger, and produce a better
harvest in the end. As an abstract truth, how clear this is! But, at
the first chilling blast, how the spirit sinks; and when the sky
grows dull and leaden, how the heart shivers!"
"It is because we rest in mere natural and external things as the
highest good."
"Yes--how often do we hear that remarked! It is the preacher's theme
on each recurring Sabbath," said Mrs. Markland, in an abstracted
way. "How often have words of similar import passed my own lips,
when I spoke as a mentor, and vainly thought my own heart was not
wedded to the world and the good things it offers for our
enjoyment!"
"If we are so wedded," said Mrs. Willet, in her earnest, gentle way,
"is not that a loving Providence which helps us to a knowledge of
the truth, even though the lesson prove a hard one to learn--nay,
even if it be acquired under the rod of a stern master?"
"Oh, yes, yes!" said Mrs. Markland, unhesitatingly.
"It is undoubtedly true," said Mrs. Willet, "that all things of
natural life are arranged, under Providence, with a special view to
the formation and development within us of spiritual life, or the
orderly and true lives of our spirits. We are not born into this
world merely to eat, drink, and enjoy sensual and corporeal
pleasures alone. This is clear to any mind on the slightest
reflection. The pleasures of a refined taste, as that of music and
art, are of a higher and more enduring character than these; and of
science and knowledge, still more enduring. Yet not for these, as
the highest development of our lives, were we born. Taste, science,
knowledge, even intelligence, to which science and knowledge open
the door, leave us still short of our high destiny. The Temple of
Wisdom is yet to be penetrated."
"Science, knowledge, intelligence, wisdom!" said Mrs. Markland,
speaking slowly and thoughtfully. "What a beautiful and orderly
series! First we must learn the dead formulas."
"Yes, the lifeless scientifics, if they may so be called, must first
be grounded in the memory. Arrangement and discrimination follow.
One fact or truth is compared with another, and the mind thus comes
to know, or has knowledge. Mere facts in the mind are lifeless
without thought. Thought broods over dead science in the external
memory, and knowledge is born."
"How clear! How beautiful!" ejaculated Mrs. Markland.
"But knowledge is little more than a collection of materials, well
arranged; intelligence builds the house."
"And wisdom is the inhabitant," said Mrs. Markland, whose quick
perceptions were running in advance.
"Yes--all that preceded was for the sake of the inhabitant. Science
is first; then knowledge, then intelligence--but all is for the sake
of wisdom."
"Wisdom--wisdom." Mrs. Markland mused again.
"What is wisdom?"
"Angelic life," said Mrs. Willet. "One who has thought and written
much on heavenly themes, says, 'Intelligence and wisdom make an
angel.'"
Mrs. Markland sighed, but did not answer. Some flitting thought
seemed momentarily to have shadowed her spirit.
"To be truly wise is to be truly good," said Mrs. Willet. "We think
of angels as the wisest and best of beings, do we not?"
"Oh, yes."
"The highest life, then, toward which we can aspire, is angelic
life. Their life is a life of goodness, bodying itself in wisdom."
"How far below angelic life is the natural life that we are leading
here!" said Mrs. Markland.
"And therefore is it that a new life is prescribed,--a life that
begins in learning heavenly truths first, as mere external formulas
of religion. These are to be elevated into knowledge, intelligence,
and afterward wisdom. And it is because we are so unwilling to lead
this heavenly life that our way in the world is often made rough and
thorny, and our sky dark with cloud and tempest."
Mr. Willet now interrupted the conversation by a remark that turned
the thoughts of all from a subject which he felt to be too grave for
the occasion, and soon succeeded in restoring a brighter hue to the
mind of Mrs. Markland. Soon after, the visitors returned home, all
parties feeling happier for the new acquaintance which had been
formed, and holding in their hearts a cheerful promise of many
pleasant interchanges of thought and feeling.
Many things said by Mr. Willet, and by his mother and sisters, made
a strong impression on the mind of Mrs. Markland and her daughter.
They perceived some things in a new and clearer light that had been
to them vailed in obscurity before.
"Flora is a lovely girl," said Fanny, "and so wise beyond her years.
Many times I found myself looking into her face and wondering not to
see the matron there. We are fortunate in such neighbours."
"Very fortunate, I think," replied her mother. "I regard them as
having minds of a superior order."
"Flora is certainly a superior girl. And she seems to me as good as
she is wise. Her thought appears ever lifting itself upward, and
there is a world of new ideas in her mind. I never heard any one
talk just as she does."
"What struck me in every member of the family," said Mrs. Markland,
"was a profound religious trust; a full confidence in that Infinite
Wisdom which cannot err, nor be unkind. Ah! my daughter, to possess
that were worth more than all this world can offer."
A servant who had been despatched for letters, brought, late in the
day, one for Mrs. Markland from her husband, and one for Fanny from
Mr. Lyon. This was the first communication the latter had sent to
Fanny direct by post. The maiden turned pale as she received the
letter, and saw, by the superscription, from whom it came. Almost
crushing it in her hand, she hurried away, and when alone, broke the
seal, and with unsteady hands unfolded it, yet scarcely daring to
let her eyes rest upon the first words:--
"MY EVER DEAR FANNY."--[How her heart leaped as she read these
words!]--"I write to you direct by post, for there remains no longer
any reason why our correspondence should be a concealed one. I have
also written to your father, and shall await his response with the
deepest anxiety. Let his decision in the matter be what it may, I
shall forever bear your image in my heart as a most sacred
possession. Will you not write immediately? Conceal nothing of the
effect produced on your father's mind. Send your letter as addressed
before, and it will be forwarded to my hands. May heaven bless you,
dear Fanny! In haste, suspense, and deep anxiety.
LEE LYON."
Mrs. Markland's letter from her husband was very brief, and rather
vague as to his purposes:
"I will be home, if possible, this week; but may be kept here, by
important business, over Sunday. If so, I will write again. Every
thing is progressing to my fullest satisfaction. Little danger, I
think, of my dying from _ennui_ in the next twelve months. Head and
hands will both be pretty well occupied for that period, if not
longer. There is too much vitality about me for the life of a drone.
I was growing restless and unhappy from sheer idleness and want of
purpose. How does our dear Fanny seem? I feel no little concern
about her. Mr. Lyon makes no direct proposition for her hand, but it
is evidently his purpose to do so. I wish I knew him better, and
that I had, just now, a freer mind to consider the subject. Weigh it
well in your thoughts, Agnes; and by all means observe Fanny very
closely. Dear child! She is far too young for this experience. Ah,
me! The more I think of this matter, the more I feel troubled.
"But good-by, for a little while. I am writing in haste, and cannot
say half that is in my thoughts." _