Lily: A Novel

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Chapter I

The droning voice of the lawyer's clerk slowly continued,

" — of which I die possessed to my honored friend, Hugh Clarendon, Esq., in trust for my beloved daughter, Elizabeth Vere, sole offspring of my late lamented wife, Mary Elizabeth Vere. Such a sum as the said Hugh Clarendon may consider proper shall be yearly set aside for the maintenance, education, and support of my said daughter, who, with the permission of her guardian, Hugh Clarendon, thus appointed, shall reside with his family so long as she desires it. The balance of my yearly income sliall continue to be invested, after the payment of such legacies as I shall presently name, until my beloved daughter be of age or marry, at which time she shall come into immediate and entire possession of my whole estate, without restriction.

" In case of her death before either of these events come to pass, I hereby devise my whole estate to the said Hugh Clarendon and his heirs forever."

Then followed numerous legacies to friends and public charities, for Andrew Vere was a man of large heart and immense fortune, with no relations except his only child, and possessing a character so just that he considered it necessary to return, in a measure, to the city

14 LILY.

of his adoption, a portion of that wealth which he had acquired as a successful merchant in Charleston, South Carolina.

" Right," he said, in a feeble tone, as the clerk finished liis task. " Thank you, Mr. Corbett ; you have explained fully my wishes. You accept this charge, dear sir ?" turning to the gentleman at his bedside.

" My dear friend," answered Jlr. Clarendon, to whom IVIr. Vere spoke, " you are too generous. I do not allude merely to your legacies to us, which are princely, but the confidence you repose in me is exceedingly gratifying. God grant that I may be enabled to act a worthy part by your little girl, and my wife's tenderness and interest in Elizabeth will, I trust, lead her in time to look upon us as her family."

" She will be happy with you," said Mr. Vere ; " and she is so young, that before many weeks are over, my darling will have forgotten that I ever lived. Lift her up. Clarendon ; let me see her in your arms ; I would like to give her my last blessing there."

Mr. Clarendon leaned over the bed, and, drawing down a shawl which was closely wrapped about what had seemed a large bundle, he softly laid upon his shoulder the fair head of a lovely little girl of five or six years. She was not yet awake, and her rosy mouth aU puckered up, her disheveled curls, and flushed cheeks, which showed traces of tears, looked as if she had probably cried herself to sleep.

The dying fether passed his weak hands caressingly over her smooth, childish brow.

" I may well call her Lily," he said, smiling ; " is she not white as any lily that ever grew ? Oh, cherish her. Clarendon! deal gently with her. Perhaps you doubt the wisdom of making her so young inde-

LILY. L')

pendent, or of putting no clieck upon her choice in marriage ; but I have every confidence in Lily ; she has great judgment. Don't laugh at that word, applied to a baby. She deserves it."

Mr. Clarendon silently pressed his friend's unoccupied hand, and there was a pause of several moments.

The lawyer, Mr. Corbett, and his clerk had noiselessly withdrawn to the adjoining room. The solitary candle, burning amid the phials and gallipots on the table near, cast a wavering, flickering light, now illuminating the wasted features of Andrew Vere, then flashing upon the strong, hearty, honest face of Hugh Clarendon, and sometimes gilding with double gold Lily's light ringlets.

" She looks like her mother," continued Mr. Vere. " Poor Mary ! as earnestly as I recommend Lily to your care, did she charge me to watch over her twoweeks-old infant. Mrs. Purvis wished to take the child from me. She will be very angry now that her granddaughter should pass into your hands ; but they never liked me, those haughty Purvises, and there is no love lost between us. I can forgive them for despising me as a low-bom Scotchman, but I can not forget their persecution of Mary. But these are not proper words for the lips of one who must turn his thoughts to heavenly things."

A fit of cougliing seized Mr. Vere, and the sound aroused Lily.

She opened her large blue eyes, slid down from Mr. Clarendon's arms, and, without bustle or noise, went to the table and prepared some medicine for her father. It was, curious to see the tiny hands and grave little face so absorbed and quiet.

Mr. Vere swallowed what she gave him, and then,

16 - LILY.

the paroxysm over, laid back upon his pillow exhausted and death-like.

Lily replaced the glass and snuffed the candle with the composure of a matron, and then, smoothing the bedclothes, took her stand at her father's side.

"You are a real little nurse, Elizabeth," said Mr. Clarendon, kindly.

"Dr. Barton said I might stay with papa aU the time if I would be good, -and not cry or make a noise," answered the child, with a sweet voice, full of tears.

"When I die, Lily, you wiU remember that I bid you love Mr. and Mrs. Clarendon, and look upon Willie, George, and Alicia as your brothers and sisters:" this was slowly and with difficulty pronounced by her father.

"Yes, papa." The large tears rolled down the child's fece, and she shook with an inward tremor, but no sound escaped her: one small palm was closely, locked in her fether's, and she tried to find her handkerchief with the other. Deeply she dived into her little pocket: it was not there ; so, lifting quietly the hem of her short white dress, she wiped away the scalding drops, and stood patiently and sadly, ever watchful and perfectly stilL

So the hours wore away. Dr. Barton came, looked at his patient, patted Lily's head, advised her being sent to bed, but could only persuade her to resume the shawl and the place by her father ; and at daylight the spirit of Andrew Vere passed from this earth.

LILY. 17

CHAPTER II. "Who shall be queen?"

" Sara Purvis."

"Oh no! we must draw lots."

"Let the boys choose — ^let them vote for queen."

" No, indeed. This is a fair field, and we shall have no supremacy of men — ^in round jackets at that. We shall all vote," said Grace Meredith.

" Lily ought to be Queen of May. In her own house, too ! And see how tall and stately Lily looks ! Just like a queen, as she walks down the steps."

' ' Very well ; Lily shall be queen, for all that I care, " said Sara Purvis, curling her lip.

"Thank you, Sara," said Lily, advancing. "And precisely because it is in my own house I would rather not be queen, Nora."

" Nonsense," exclaimed George Clarendon. " Sara, you are always making a fiiss. Here is my cap, and there is a sheet of paper and a pencil : each of you young ladies and young gentlemen, without distinction of petticoats or— or — etcs., write the name of any young lady you choose on a scrap of this paper, throw it in the cap, and when you have all voted, we will count the result, and, of course, majority takes it. ' Tlie elected queen may have a king chosen by herself if she likes, and if she has any sense she will confer that honor on me."

"A King of May ! what an absurdity!" cried Grace Meredith. "No, George, you shall be chief execution-

18 LILY.

er to the queen, and cut off the heads of rebellious and revengeful subjects. Sara," she continued, maliciously, in a half whisper, " has so small a throat it will not be a troublesome case, any more than that other poor lady's of ancient days who wanted to be queen and was not popular enough."

George Clarendon, who enjoyed such thrusts at Lily's supercilious cousin, laughed out.

" Very welL I resign the office. 'Uneasy lies the head,' and so on. Now let us to business. Young ladies, if I might be permitted to suggest one caution : don't each of you write your own name. It may create confusion, and will certainly be found out. Miss Sara, can you write legibly?"

"George!" exclaimed Lily, laying her hand upon his arm, while her sweet blue eyes at once implored and commanded him to be quiet.

"Oh yes, Lily — oh yes, certainly. Miss Purvis, here is my pencil ; you must begin."

Sara Purvis haughtily took the pencil and scribbled a name. She was too angry by this time to attempt to retort, and surely it was a wise part, unconsciously assumed, for she could not cope with her teasers. A prettier dunce did not adorn all Christendom.

The balloting went slowly on, for some wrote, and then changed their minds, and wrote again. The haltgrown boys, with all the fickleness of full-grown men, were even more capricious than the young girls, and countless ends of paper strewed the green turf before their decisions were fairly inscribed.

Meanwhile Lily, after depositing her vote, left the group to give some order in the house, soon returned, and, pausing on the threshold of the door, gazed around and about her.

LILY. 19

Calm, beautiful, and luxuriant was the scene. The sun was just sinking. It was the last day of April, and the growth, the vegetation, the wide-spreading lands in their Southern loveliness smiled back at their fair mistress, as she, with a deep-drawn inspiration, thanked God for having bestowed upon her so much power for doing good and making others happy.

Chicora Wood was the name of this plantation. Chicora being the melodious Indian word for mocking-bird, and for these American nightingales every tree seemed as a colony. The house was spacious, built in a rambling, old-fashioned, disconnected manner — very comfortable, but very queer. There were curious little closets of all odd shapes, and a window projected here, and a piazza was added there, without much reference to any fixed plan. But the effect was not ugly, for glorious old oaks surrounded it, and the moss waved its gray banner over the gable ends, a fresh verdure covered the lawn, and beautiful baskets of osier, filled with roses and flowers of every sort, like huge fairy offerings, were scattered about wherever a vacant spot among the oaks gave sunshine enough to warrant their cultivation. Two fragrant beds of violets and mignonnette flanked either side of the broad ' stone steps, and a woodbine, with its brilliant red blossoms, climbed up the pillars of the piazza. Orange-trees, with their deep amber fruit, and here and there a lingering white flower spoke of poetry and bridal tokens ; and far in the distance was seen the forest, now all green, and cool, and sombre. Turning her eyes in the opposite direction, Lily could perceive the gently flowing Peedee (not twenty yards fi-om the house), her own rice-banks, the negroes coming in firom their daily task ; through a vista cut in the forest, the

20 LILY.

white gleaming cottages in which they Kved ; beyond, the bam, the mill, the poultry-yard, kitchen-garden, and other offices. From afer off came a murmnr of life and work (but not of misery nor grinding care) ; in the empty rooms behind her, not a sound ; on the lawn, beneath the largest and most venerable of the oaks, one known as the Traitor's Tree (from the tradition that on its branches during the Revolution a Loyalist spy had been hanged), laughed, jested, and frolicked her youthful guests, about fourteen in number.

Lily herself had just kept her fifteenth birth-day. She was well-grown for her years, and threatened to be a tall woman. She was not strictly handsome. Her mouth was large, her nose short, but her complexion was the most exquisite you can conceive ; no pastil, which gives such softness, such brilliancy to its pictured beauties, would be exaggerating my heroine's skin. Her color was variable — tender, but always rich ; and the mouth, as I before said, though large, was of the most beautiftd carnation, and closed over teeth small, white, and even, like little seeds. The eyes were her decided feature ; so deep, so blue, so clear, opening with that honest fearlessness so rarely seen, and differing essentially from a stare. You could never fency Lily a coquette, *' making eyes," as it is called. They were simply to her mind useftd articles, kindly given her by that Grod to whom she was 80 grateful, for the purpose of seeing. If their lustrous mirror reflected faithftdly the thoughts which filled her heart, it was by a process wholly unknown to herself; she merely looked through them. Her hair was no longer worn in childish style upon her white shoulders as when I first presented her to you in the

LILY. 21

last chapter. A rich roll of it was round about her head, and long, glossy, actually sparkling ringlets smoothly but carelessly framed her &ce. These glittering " prisoned sunbeams" were the only womanish sign of lily's advancing years. Her dress was white, and simple in the extreme, gathered in at the throat and waist (which were slight, and girlish, and graceftd) with statuesque plainness ; her bare, still slender, but wellshaped arms displayed no bracelets, nor was there a ring or other sentimental signal upon her fingers.

Such was Lily : do you like her ? Every one called her Lily ; she preferred it ; and wliat Lily liked was pretty sure to come to pass. Her father had now been dead nine years, and Mr. Clarendon had spared no pains to make his friend's loss as lightly felt by the daughter as Nature would allow. Lily's childhood had been very happy. Mrs. Clarendon was an excellent, worthy Southern matron. She was by no means an ornament to society, but she was a liberal, hard-working housekeeper. Her very soul was devoted to her husband ; her children came next, then her house and household duties, finally her religion. She was a strict Churchman, relieved the poor, visited the sick — ^when she had the time — ^and tried not to believe the gossip that her old cronies whispered after morning service, or during a very occasional tea-drinking. Though she had been quite a belle, and Mr. Clarendon had carried her off from many competitors, no one would have believed it, she was so plain and fusty now. The pretty, delicate features were embrowned by exposure to the sun ; the hands were hardened by washing up cups and dusting shelves ; and the once rounded figure had quite disappeared, refusing, I suppose, to stay where it was so put upon by ill-made gowns. The children had

22 L I L Y.

been sent to good schools chosen by the head of the &mily, and Mrs. Clarendon had always been careful about their lunch, and that the doily which enveloped each child's portion should be clean, and should be regularly brought back every day. They were very fond of her, and though, of course, each year separated their pursuits and pleasures more and more from hers, and though they already began to feel and see that her views of life did not march with the progress of time, and that, consequently, her judgment could not be entirely relied upon, still her ear was always open to their wants and wishes, and her heart never was closed against their incursions. But the time was approaching for a more active exercise of her affection. Good waffles, excellent corn-bread, and well-mended clothes were all admirable in their way ; but the moment had arrived for sympathy. Willie, when he returned for his first college vacation, and began to entertain manly views about society, said one day,

" Mamma, what will you do when Alicia is grown up ? You will surely go to balls and pay visits with lier?"

Mrs. Clarendon, who had not found herself in a ball-room since the winter she was married, shuddered at the very thought.

"Why, William, I should not know what to do with myself Mrs. Purvis has long since promised to bring Lily out, and I suppose she won't mind taking Alicia too. One of you boys can always look after your sister, and our own carriage would bring the girls home without ever troubling Lily's aunt."

" But, mamma, you will never know who associates with the girls ; you can never become acquainted with llicir acquaintances ; and I have seen so many bad ef-

LILY. 23

fects from young ladies not having their mothers witli them when they are from home — some one who can speak openly and fearlessly when a girl is going too far," and Willie pulled up his cravat like a dandy who might relate adventures to point his remarks. "Besides," he went on, "in Europe, you know, girls never are seen without their mother, or some especially and careftilly appointed. chaperon."

"My dear boy," cried his mother, quite shocked, "don't speak to mc of. European women, who leave their own homes to go gadding about as if they had neither homes nor husbands. And my girls are too well brought up, I hope, to need watching. You ought not to speak so before them. Ask your father if he would like to see me out all the morning paying visits to people I don't care a straw about, and dressing myself up at night just at the time when I ought to be going to my bed. No, indeed ; a pretty-looking goose I should be, and a nice house I would have, with every servant gone to rack and ruin, while I was coursing round the town with Lily and Alicia. How should I be up in the morning at seven o'clock to see about breakfast, when I got home at one or two ? Nonsense, child ! you give me a fever to hear you talk."

"Could you not have a housekeeper, mamma, to see about breakfast at that hour ? You have always had more servants about the establishment than you knew what to do with, and yet you are always hard at work doing their business."

Mrs. Clarendon laid down the coarse seam on which she was diligently sewing :

*'My dear son, where have you got these ideas? Do I look as if I would neglect my duties for parties and visitings? Do I look as if I would give up my

24 LILY.

time to the worid instead of to my £unily ? You surprise me."

Willie might have answered that, in this case, she did neglect her dnties ; that any woman who &ncies that by leaving her young daughters to enter upon the stage of grown-up life without the watchful goard of a parent's eye and presence, is casting away a privily and disregarding an urgent necessity ; that there can be no comparison between the relative claims of scrubbing, scoliUng, and housekeeping, and the care of one's child ; but Willie merely shrogged his shoulders, gave up the contest, invited Lily (who was then twelve, and AJicia a few months younger) to take a ride with him, and went whistling off to order the horses, while Mrs. Clarendon resumed her sewing, and wondered why boys were so foolish.

]Ur. Clarendon was a capital planter, an experienced man of business, but had neither literary tastes nor more fondness for society than his wife. He liked a game of whist ; he sometimes gave dinners to men, at which Mrs. Clarendon presided (outwardly smiling and inwardly chafing at a bore which, for her husband's sake, she did not shirk), and from which, so soon as the wine began to circulate after the cloth was removed, she hurriedly retired "to the children," and was seen no more. He frequented a summer club, and was a first-rate judge of cattle, horses included.

A portion of the winters was spent in the country ; the entire summers in the city. Mrs. Clarendon might have gone north, or she might have traveled in Europe, for her husband was unfailingly indulgent, but she hated to move; and then the servants, **they get so spoiled when you leave them ! and as for hiring out my servants, my dear fiiend," this model lady

LILY. 25

would say to her confidantes, " thxit is out of the question."

She could not love Lily quite as she did her own children, but she was as devoted to her as any one could expect ; and the little orphan was tenderly attached to

woman in some things, and Lily's matter-of-fact, straightforward manner used to startle her. Lily had such a way of putting aside trifles and narrow prejudices. Her heart was so large, so open, and her charity, even at an early age, was so discriminating. When I say charity, I speak in its broad, Bible sense. I do not speak of the mere giving of alms, but that charity which ** seeketh not her own ; thinketh no evil, hopeth all things, endureth all things, and envieth not."

I do not know if I quote correctly ; many of us, besides, can give the letters of the words, but ignore utterly their spirit.

As an instance of how Lily practiced charity, she was sitting one day in the drawing-room beside Mrs. Clarendon, learning to dam stockings, while the latter lady was receiving the visit of a friend high in the Church. The conversation turned very soon upon a young girl noted for her imprudences, and whose sayings and doings were liberally reported. At the close of each anecdote, both ladies would exclaim,

"But, after all, I don't believe that." Little Lily listened attentively. At length, raising her eyes with meek wonder, while a rising blush betrayed her modest daring,

"Why, then, ma'am, if you don't believe it, do you repeat it? It must do Miss Jones great harm to have these things said of her." .

Mrs. Clarendon, quite taken aback, was infinitely B

26 LILY.

shocked at Lily's reproof, but, being at heairt a good woman, she felt the justice of it, while she blamed her ward for bringing her elders to task.

Mrs. Meredith, the visitor, was not difficult to appease. The heiress, Miss Vere, had a right to speak ; and, though she could not promise, either by word or thought, to forego the dear pleasure of picking a rash girl's reputation into holes, still she was so impressed by Lily's speech that she determined to encourage a farther intimacy between her own daughter Grace and the little stocking-darner.

Thus developing in beauty as well as in excellence, Lily's childhood passed away. She had no airs, no pretensions. If she led, it was by the force of her sweet temper, her unwavering truth, and her indomitable courage to pursue the right. She had very little cleverness, no brilliancy. Industrious and dihgent, she acquired with difficulty, but retained what she learned. Alicia Clarendon got through her lessons in half the time, but nex;t week Lily could repeat hers, while Alicia's task was quite forgotten.

I have left my heroine too long, however, on the wide stone steps of Chicora Hall ; so, after telling you that, by her desire, the family always spent the month of April on this beautiful plantation, which had been her father s favorite, and that on this occasion they had invited a large number of young people to accompany them, I will return to her as she now is.

LILY. 27

CHAPTER in.

"Come on, Lily!" shouted George Claxendon, impatiently. " Don't stand like a statue on the steps there. We have all voted at last, and are now going to see the result."

The contents of the cap were investigated, and Greorge, self-appointed poll-keeper, counted the number of heads present to see if the slips of paper tallied with the company.

" How many of us are there ?" he asked. " Grace Meredith, one; Miss Leonora Tracy, two; Miss Ella and Miss Kate Jennings, four ; Miss Sara Purvis, five (in her own opinion, ten," he muttered aside to his ally Grace) — "five," he continued; "Miss Marguerite Melbourne, six ; Miss Julia Melbourne, seven ; and you, Lily, make eight young ladies in all. For the gentlemen : three in tail-coats^ i. e., Clarence Tracy, William Jennings, and Gustavus Purvis ; and in the round jackets, which Grace Meredith, stUl in petticoats above her ankles, despises, I think we are four : John and Edward Carroll, Charley Purvis, and myself."

"Which make," put in Clarence Tracy, "fifteen."

"Just so; and here are fifteen votes. All right. Nobody has cheated, so far."

The little papers were unfolded, and proclaimed "Lily Vere" to have the majority. Sara Purvis looked disgusted.

" Have you counted right, George ?" asked Lily.

28 LILY.

" Yes, my dear : ten votes for you, three for Miss Purvis, and two for 'Miss Marguerite.''

" My dear Lily," whispered Grace, " nobody wanted Sara for queen except Bill Jennings, yourself and herselfl I would not be dependent on her humors for half an hour. We should expire to be obliged to * follow her leader' during the whole of to-morrow."

" I shall only consent to be queen on condition that I choose my own crowner. May I do that ?" inquired Lily.

" Yes, yes ; I suppose you may be permitted that privilege, although it is out of May-day rule."

** Then I choose Sara Purvis," said lily, kindly taking her cousin's hand, whose beautiful features were overclouded by a deep shade of ill-temper.

Sara reluctantly smiled, and thanked Lily with indifferent grace ; but Gustavus, her elder brother, made some warning remark in her ear, and she gradually cooled down.

The gay group now began discussing the spot on which to erect the throne.

Marguerite Melbourne, a sensible, pleasant girl of about Lily's own age, suggested the very oak under which they stood.

*' It has so long been known only in connection with that unfortunate martyrized spy, that, grand as it is, it ought to receive a newer baptism, and be henceforward our * royal oak.'"

The suggestion was adopted without dispute, and the boys began to clear away the dead leaves around the roots, so as to prepare a living carpet of pure green for the ceremony.

" How anxious Alicia will be to know the result of the election," said Elate Jennings.

LILY. 29

"Yes, poor child!" said Julia Melbourne; "she would much have preferred staying with us at home to taking a ride with that solemn ]ilr. Langdon." ' " Why don't Angel ride with her own betrothed ?" asked EUa Jennings ; " eh, Sar^, ?"

"Because," interrupted Grace, "Angelica doesn't choose to be so selfish as to keep all her happiness to herself."

"Because," said Lily, ^' Angel does not know the road to the Pineland settlement, which Alicia has so often traveled, and which Mr. Langdon wished to visit."

"Then why did not Angel go along with them?" persevered Ella Jennings, who was fond of a little malice.

" Because," again pursued Lily, " she can only ride Alicia's pony, being timid on horseback ; consequently, iny uncle" (this was the name she gave Mr. Clarendon) "bade Alicia go with our guest alone."

" And where is Angelica ?" inquired Gustavus.

" Speak of the devil, and an angel appears," exclaimed George.

At this instant a young lady advanced firom the house with a book in her hand, and approached the party. She was a very peculiar-looking person. At the first glance you thought her plain, she was so sallow, and the lower part of her face was heavy and coarse, but a nearer inspection brought to light undeniable beauties. Her eyes were very large and deep set, with thick black lashes, which lay in a massive fiinge upon her cheek, and through their dark curtain they sent forth fitful rays of dazzling brilliancy, or else of still more dangerous softness. Her hair was intensely black, kept with the greatest neatness, and so glossy, that its large bandeaux, which adorned each side of a

30 LILY.

bxoad, moderatelj high forehead, shone like polished jet, aod were as smooth and unwrinkled. Her dress of rose-colozed barege, with wide and flowing flounces, set off a figure of the most voluptuous proportions, and the sallowness of her &ce was undistinguishable in the dead whiteness of a pair of arms exquisitely moulded, and a bust and shoulders of corresponding perfection. Over lier head she had thrown a long ^ssamer scarf of white kmb's-wool, through which gleamed the profuse braids of hair at the back, and which rested like a fleecy cloud around her fece, and was wound gracefully about her person. Altogether she was very striking ; and besides, the nose and mouth, which I mention as heavy, were of the same cast as Lily's, only the expression was so different that the likeness was not perceptible at a casual glance. This was Miss Angelica Purvis, or, rather. Miss Purvis par excellence. She was the eldest daughter of Lily's mother's brother, and, consequently, a first cousin of my heroine.