Living and loving

Front matter

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Preface

Some books of value have but one intention, this of mine has many ; and all of them deeply fraught with sisterly consideration for the children of men. If only a few of the pilgrims of earth may read and realize more fully that the highest style of greatness should be found in the every day walks of life, and without the hope of earthly recompense, I shall be rewarded for my labor of love. Home is certainly a holy sanctuary for the soul, and the very highest school in which true greatness can ever graduate. Surely it is well to remind ourselves of this, in an age so feverish and so forgetful as ours.

It is my wish for the reader to know that these picturings of life are all ideal. All my names, and homes, and people, are ideal. I have really seen the prototype of Mrs. Mark Arlington’s face. It was called beautiful ; and bad been twice married to very sensible gentlemen.

I send this book to gentle hearts and homes with a prayer, that it may be to them as is the genial dew to flowers — refreshing and helping in its influence. It has given me pleasure to idealize rural homes in the land of Kentucky — that land so peculiarly independent and hospitable, and so adorned with chaplets of fair renown. While these word paintings are all the creations of my own imagination, they are certainly true to the possibilities of life, in

PREFACE.

that beauteous land of homes, and fields, and trees, and worshipping assemblies. Realistie ideality is not fiction, but painting. My characters represent classes and kinds. It accords with the earnestness of my Ideals to testify here that I have really known two excellent and devoted mothers who were driven from the homes of their darling sons because of the dispositions of the wives of those sons. One of them was the only living child of his mother, yet he asked her to leave his home and stay away, tho’ she was a widow, and old, and very good.

Living and Loving.

Letter I

Dear Annettie — Thank you for your good letter of sisterly love and solicitude. We feel greatly pleased that your heart and pen are so faithful to an absent brother. A happy young wife, surrounded by new friends and interests, is apt to be wholly engrossed thereby ; and the friends she left behind are too often neglected, even when they are tenderly loved and remembered. But you have always been a good sister, and now, your letters of affection greatly console us for your absence. It soothes us, too, to know that you are a gem, radiant and rare, fitted only to adorn and bless wherever you may go. I tell our dear mother that when we gave you to Albert O’Neal, we gave no common gift, for we gave him a royal living casket of womanly perfections. But, O Annettie ! it is a solemn thing to give a sister away at the altar,

“To another path and guide,

To a bosom yet untried.”

However much we may believe in human goodness and human happiness, however much we may trust in God and His faithfulness, it is still a solemn and trying reality to see my sister given away in marriage. A wedding is counted among festive things, but it is more like a funeral to those who are left at home when the bride is gone — gone to return to us no more as all our own — gone to be never again as she has been in the home of her nativity. Her place, O how vacant ! Her tones, O how silent ! Her aspect and

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her ready hand, her heart and its quick sympathies, ali gone — entirely gone from those who have loved her so long and well — gone ! gone ! with an abiding absence from the home where she learned all that she knows about living and loving on earth — all that she hopes to enjoy in time and in eternity. I know, dear sister, that it is good and beautiful to love as you love, and to lay your gentle hand trustingly in another, stronger hand, and thus go on through all this earthly life up to the home of God. I feel and see that Infinite Wisdom and goodness provides this holy estate for human beings on earth. It is divine in its origin, and blessed in its influence ; it began in Eden, when man and woman were sinless, and when the earth and sky wore a heavenly repose. The Saviour of the world honored a marriage in Galilee with his presence and his power, and often spoke of the sanctity of marriage. I know it is a hallowed and lovely bondage. Certainly there is much reason for us to hope for your happiness and prosperity. I am willing to let you go, Annettie, yet we must say again, it is a solemn and trying thing to give you away — entirely away.

“ My gentle sister, ever thou,

Who by my side shall take thy place,

And calm the fever of my brow,

And plume my spirit for the race ?”

Not many persons fully estimate the value of a sister’s influence. I, for one, must believe there is nothing that can supply its place. It is like the sunshine and the dew to help a brother grow into perfect manhood. It refines and elevates his tastes, and tones, aud manners ; and when she is sensible and good, as my sister, she can teach him divine wisdom, and all that makes a man ready to live and ready to die. I pity a man who has no sister to train his nature and his life. I cannot tell with human words how

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much you have done for me, my priceless Annettie. But a time will come when this mortal shall put on immortality, and we shall live in a world of light, with all our powers made perfect. Then, and there, my own faithful sister, with a golden harp to help me, I hope you will hear me sing an hymn of thanksgiving before the throne of God, for the gift of such a treasure. While we both remain on earth, I hope you will never forget my nature, Annettie, and that high standard of brotherly love, which is a part of my being. There is seldom a day or night in which I am too weary to pray for my father’s children. When I cease to be a good brother, let me not be anything but a contrite sinner.

“ ’Tis said that trifles light as air

May rend fraternal bonds of love ;

But Ah ! it cannot, cannot be,

That mine should e’er so fragile prove.

My sister, could this heart be bared,

Its inmost secrets known to thee,

And learn how dear thou art to me.

Ah ! then, should sorrow cloud thy brow,

Or disappointment rend thy breast,

To me, O fly for sympathy ;

A brother’s love might soothe to rest.”

I am sorry about waiting so long to write to you ; but you know how impossible it is for a physician to command his time. In the stormiest night he must go in haste at the call of suffering humanity. It is my intention to write to you when ever it is in my power, and to relate to you those interesting realities of human life, which sometimes come peculiarly under the eye of a physician. I still believe there is no other person delegated with such power and privileges as a Christian physician — power to minister to the body and to the soul, when suffering and

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death are busy with their mournful mission to the homes of earth. This power gives him access to human hearts and minds, when they are the most rational and the most needy. You, Annettie, helped me to choose the profession that I love so well, and it seems to me a pleasing sort of duty to share with you a part of its thrilling realities. You used to call my narrations histories. When they are written, you will think them still more worthy of a title so dignified. They will be histories, and when you read them you will say with Byron, that “ truth is stranger than fiction.” Sometimes, dear sister, it is more beautiful, and often it is much more mournful than fiction.

Ouly see what a long letter I have written without telling you one word of news, tho’ there is something new to tell — something that will interest you greatly. Can you believe that I have lately taken time to pay a visit to your friend in the country — your prime favorite — your nonpareil, Miss Cornelia Vidii? Yes, it is really so. But I will wait and tell you all about it in my next letter. The clock is striking twelve, so good -night to all the world, and to you, Annettie.

Affectionately your brother, Walter Verily.

Letter II

Dear Annettie — I promised to tell you about my visit to Miss Cornelia Vidii. Shall I begin by confessing that I went fifty miles just to hear her talk ? Some people have traveled much farther to listen to her conversation, and I no longer wonder at them, for, “ to hear her speak,” really “is far above singing,” tho’ singing be ever so sweet. You have often said, one must see her at home in order to

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appreciate her, and that is true, Annettie. I have known her for years, and have met her often at intervals, have paid her polite attention when she visited our city, have always admired and liked her ; yet, she impresses me with new degrees of excellence aud loveliness, when seen in her parental home. Home seems to be peculiarly her element, where she shines with her best radiance, because she is happiest there. This would not be so striking and so lovely if her home were a home of wealth aud splendor, or even a home of ease. Her home is but a rustic home, as you say, and evidently is made charming by taste and skill and industry, rather than by a convenient purse. It is wonderful that a person should become so cultivated and elegant in a home so plain, aud so remote from the advantages of the world. The originality of her character is much more clear to me now. Her father and mother, whom she so reveres and loves, are of a high order, with all their plainness, and have trained their children with uncommon fidelity and skill. I never before have seen such a home with such a family band. The air seems purer, calmer, clearer there, than in any other place. I could see and feel that peace, and affection, and sincerity, and goodness, were native there, and all-pervading. Miss Cornelia was surprised to see me, but seemed really glad. She came into the parlor without waiting to dress, like a city belle, and very lovely did she look in her clean calico dress, with an etherial muslin of some sort fastened about the throat with a simple pearl pin. I arrived at Vinoliain the morning, and spent the entire day in that romantic home. How refreshing it was, you can conjecture. Of course we wished for you, dear sister. We walked and talked, and gathered flowers, and sang a few old songs. I sang, “ Flow on, Thou Shining River.” She sang in her impressive manner,

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“ All that’s bright must fade,

The brightest still the fleetest ;

All that’s sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.

Stars that shine and fall,

The flowers that droop in springing,

These, alas ! are types of all

To which our hearts are clinging.”

She would not sing the next stanza, because, in it the poet prefers to be without joys and blessings, rather than to have them so fleeting. She said it seemed best to her to take the cup of life just as it is mingled by the hand of Infinite Goodness and Wisdom. I would not presume, said she, to wish for a shadowless life on earth. It is a rich mercy to have brightness and sweetness even for a time, and then weep tenderly and gratefully when they are gone. But I will not attempt to tell you what she said, Annettie. You know all about her thoughts, and words, and ways. I will tell you, though, how everything I saw and heard that day seemed to blend into enchantment. How exquisitely the wild vines grow here and there, and no two of them alike. The place may well be named Vinolia. Miss May Vidii was not at home. I regretted her absence ; so did Miss Cornelia.

Before dinner time all the family came into the parlor. The brothers are, as you have said, polished and pleasant, and very manly. The elder Mr. Claudius Vidii is a stately man. I told Miss Cornelia her father reminded me of a Roman Senator. She said that it was true and strange that her father had a Roman aspect and a Roman name, though he was not a R)man. Fleetly the day passed on, and the sunset was as glorious as the day had been. We stood in a garden path to gaze upon the evening splendor and to enjoy it. A few moments after the sun sank down in the west, the full moon rose up in the east, as if to console us for the dying of that beautiful day. While thus, the evening light was both radiant and pensive, Miss Cornelia sang, as if from the deep recesses of her soul, a song of adoration and love to the Creator. It is an old hymn, and you may remember all its words, yet I will transcribe it here, for the sake of your lovely friend and that sweet evening.

From all who dwell below the skies Let the Creator’s praise arise ;

Let the Redeemer’s name be sung Through every land, by every tongue.

Eternal are thy mercies, Lord,

Eternal truth attends thy word ;

Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore Till suns shall rise and set no more.

What a wonderful combination of gentleness and dignity is your friend Miss Cornelia Vidii. At times she is playful as a child, yet the strong traits of her character seem almost sublime. I do not know in any other person so wise a sage, so true a philosopher, so devout and earnest a Christian. I left her presence feeling more certain that goodness and happiness are very attainable in this existence.

Now, Annettie, are you ready to call me a good brother for telling you so much about my visit to your dear Cornelia ? And are you feeling triumphant to think I admire her almost as much as you do ? It used to be an aim and an endeavor with you to teach me that she was almost divine. But you are an enthusiast, dear sister, and I am not. Please remember that, when you read this letter. Find as much fault with it as you please. I know you will be grateful to Your affectionate brother,

Walter Yerily.

P. S. — You know, Annettie, that I have never been as religious as you wish me to be. Let me tell you now that

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I have been more contrite, and more in love with the beauty of holiness, ever since that evening at Vinolia. There is wonderful power in the manner of singing a sacred song, and Christians can really make their faith contagious. All men ought to be Christians, but most especially ought a physician to be wise unto salvation. A man who has carved the human form into atoms, and studied it as a revelation of unsearchable wisdom, and power, and goodness, that man ought certainly to adore and love supremely the Creator and Redeemer of the body and the soul. In the human frame alone there is a perfect demonstration of power and wisdom far beyond the comprehension of man. The greatest human intellect can do nothing more rational than to bow low before a dissected human form, and feel that God is God, and that He has all power in heaven and in earth to work as it may suit His holy will. If it be truly said that

“ An undevout astronomer is mad,”

It is only more true to say an undevout anatomist is mad. Even the starry sky, with its magnificent acclaim of power and glory, is not so eloquent of God as the structure of the “ human form divine.” I have always believed this, Annettie ; have often felt, in the dissecting room, that the Creator of the lifeless form before me could easily rebuild it with His wonderful power. The resurrection of the body does not seem so wonderful to me as the creation of that form ; to me it is a miracle ; and when I think of it it is easy to believe all that God has revealed to us in His Holy Word. Now, why is it, Annettie, that I cannot be spiritually -minded like you and Miss Cornelia? Every time I feel the solemn beat of a dying pulse, I yearn and pine for grace to pray more devoutly and availingly. Every time I visit a sick room, or look upon human suffering, I feel the need of God to help me, and make me a

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consoler of the immortal spirit of my patient, as well as a skillful healer for the body. But now, again adieu. Who ever saw so long a postscript before ? You remember how long our talks used to be when you were here in this dear old home ? Sweet sister, this letter is like those long talks — ended, but not finished. We never did quite finish a talk, did we, Annettie? I have now more than a volume to say, yet adieu, adieu. Write as often as you can to Your faithful brother, Walter Verily.

Letter III

Dear Annettie — Thanks to you for your sweet last letter. It is just as spicy and profound as I expected it to be. Tho’ not a prophet, I knew you would say something about my being in love with Miss Cornelia. Do you forget how appreciative I am, and how I love to study human character? You used to say I could see beauty and excellence where no one else had noticed them. I still cultivate the fine perceptive faculty, because it is important to my profession as well as to my standard of true manliness. A person cannot be just without fine perceptions, and justice is a cardinal virtue. You would think me stupid and unkind if I had said less to you than I did about your darling friend. You wish me to love her is one reason why you think so eagerly about it. Certainly I am not in love, tho’ it is true that Miss Cornelia seems to me lovelier than any young lady I know, except my sister Annettie. There is no reason, as yet apparent, why I should not love her if I choose. She is my equal every way, and I am hers. Indeed, there is something peculiar in our equality of “ house and lineage.” Our parents almost resemble each other. Our mothers both are singularly gentle, and

Living and loving.

refined, and good. Our fathers are both plain men, and both remarkable for integrity of character — neither of us are rich — neither of us are very poor ; and there seems to be a singular harmony in our tastes and attainments. I do think about loving, and am so much interested that I am glad Miss Cornelia is not my cousin, but my heart shall not really love any daughter of beauty until I know all about her disposition. You see I am as wise and as willful as ever — cannot — will not surrender my heart unless my reason and conscience approve.

It is no doubt true, Annettie, that “ the beautiful passion,” the love that poets and people talk so much about, is, and should be, involuntary to a degree, but to a degree only. The first spark may wake up spontaneously, but should never grow into a passion until it is fanued by reason, and knowledge, and understanding. If reason has been given to man as a blessing, he ought surely to use that high power in deciding the most important event of his earthly life. I am weary of seeing men and women marry as if they really possessed no powers of mind and no sense of accountability. I have heard a strong man say he loved his wife at first for the ringlet on her brow. More than two or three clever gentlemen have told me when they were going to be married, and then voluntarily confessed, each one of them, that the lady he loved was not the style of woman he admired most, or would have selected for his wife. Each one said he loved, and could not resist that affection, tho’ he could not tell why he loved. They did not care to know why they loved, so weak and so bewildered were they under its influence. Anuettie, I pitied them, and shuddered, and when they left me alone I prayed that the Lord in heaven would save me from such weakness and such wickedness. I do believe that all such love proceeds from satanic influence. To beguile the

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children of men in their affections is surely one of the deep endeavors of the great destroyer. He knows that marriage is a holy thing, and that home is a sanctuary, and he knows how much might and dominion he secures for the kingdom of darkness, when he can bewilder the sons and daughters of earth into loving erroneously. I have watched the destiny of wayward lovers, and the more I know about them the more I abhor such loving, and the more I realize that marriage is the most momentous of all earthly realities. The happiest life has cares, and toils, and sorrows. Some persons grow lovelier amidst these things, while others make everything darker and more difficult to endure. I have lately noticed some of the enchanting fair ones in their married homes, and my soul grew sick to see how their devoted husbands were wading on through the deep waters of life. Mrs. Snarl, Mrs. Guile and Mrs. Censorious, were all once pretty and captivating girls. So was Mrs. A., who groans and whines over every household duty. No matter how weary her husband may be, she is sure to greet him with complainings. Mrs. B. is always intent on going somewhere. No matter how things are left at home, she viust go and see Mrs. somebody. She is always tired of home. Mrs. M. is high tempered, and has scolded until it is written all over her face. I never look at her when it can be avoided. She is the wife of my old playmate, Fredric Miles. He was always a good boy, and I like him yet. But it makes me sad to see how care-worn he looks. Everybody who knows him honors him for his dignity and self-respect. He treats his unlovely wife with as much consideration and kindness as if she deserved it all.

Dear Annettie, do you wonder that such things should make me more and more afraid to love ? It is strange how these admonitions multiply around me. Not many 2

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days ago I heard the wife of a good man tell his own mother to go out of his house and never come into it again. She thrust her out of the door, and threw her trunk, and chair, and basket, after her, and said, “Go somewhere else, old woman ; I am tired of you and all your concerns.” This old lady is a good person, and devotedly fond of her youngest son, the master of that mansion. She has toiled to give him the pretty home in which he dwells, and this is her reward. Now, Annettie, what would life be to me with such a wife as that ? It is not possible for mortal mind to estimate the extent of a woman’s power over her husband, and over his destiny, and over the happiness of all who love him in any relation of life. I have heard many persons say “ it concerns no one else but himself what sort of persona man marries.” But the truth is, it concerns every body that kuows a man. His individuality, his actions, his aspect, are all affected by the nature of his wife, and who ever sees him feels it, whether they are conscious of it or not. And O, Annettie, who can ever tell what it is to those who are near and dear to him ? The mother who watched over him so long, the father who toiled for him so faithfully, the brothers and sisters who love him with a love higher and holier, perhaps, than he can ever know again, who can tell or measure what it is to them, how or whom a man is going to marry ?

I have seen so much of a wife’s influence for evil and for good, so much of its inevitable and far-reaching power, that I feel myself accountable to God and to the human family for the choosing of that person to whom I shall wed myself. Some men can endure disappointment in the disposition of a wife better than others. I could not expect perfection in any human being, yet some of the common faults that are tolerated in Christian homes would destroy my happiness and paralyze my best powers. A woman who could hate any human thing that God has made would be no mate for me. A woman who could be guileful or cruel could never make me happy. If she should filter in tenderness for them that are near and dear to me, I would not prize her love for me. No, Annettie, I could not. All the tongues of men and angels could not convince me that she was capable of real affection, if she could be unkind to my mother, or sister, or brother. Such things are often inflicted on good men by their wives, and I shudder to think of such married woe. Annettie, my sister, pray for me when you read this. Pray that God will give me a wife with a deep, warm heart that is too pure to be selfish, and a mind that is too high and just to be ignoble. It is still my intention to make a home of my own, and win myself a wife. I wish that home to be the habitation of the best and balmiest things. I would have it to be a refuge and a rest to them that I love best in this world, whenever they may need my sheltering kindness. If my wife should be ungentle and ungenial, the beauty of my life would be gone — the blessedness of my heart and home would be a blight and a reproach. All this could happen to me. It has befallen other men as good as I am. I will write you soon some of those little histories that fill me with so much fear and trembling. Perhaps no man knows better than I know that there are very many excellent and noble human beings scattered about in the world everywhere. I think sometimes that no other man of my age ever knew so much about human loveliness as I know. Its influence has been around me all the days of my life. This parental home of ours has evermore been filled with tones, and words, and works, that would have suited the Eden home of man before the fall. Our mother seems to me almost divine. It may be she is

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equal to the angels now — now before the mortal has put on its immortality — now while I can hold her hand in mine and gaze into her pale, calm, spiritual face. You know, Annettie, that I have always been a woman worshiper, and that my faith in human goodness is strangely credulous. With all this attuning of my nature, only think how calamitous it would be for me to devote my heart and life to the wrong person. Watch over me, my sister, and pray to the Infinite Father to guide me in choosing the wife of my heart, the angel of my home. You have told me that you had never seen Miss Cornelia’s disposition ready tested. Remember this, when you are so anxious for me to love her, and win her if I can. But you are weary of my subject. How impossible it is for me to write you a short letter. It is so pleasant to talk to you, Annettie, even in the distance of a thousand miles. I’m afraid we shall never learn to live without you, dear sister, yet we must. Do not forget that I am always

Your brother, Walter Verily.

Letter IV

Dear Annettie — I will begin this letter by telling you we have a new organ prettier and sweeter than the old one. Mother likes it much better. It seemed faultless this evening, when it helped us to sing “Old Hundred” in our evening devotions. I am glad mother takes so much interest in music now. She looks so plaintive and sad sometimes since your departure. It reminds me of the first years after we lost our dear father. She helps me to tend and w r ater your little garden under the bay window. Sometimes even the flowers look sad since you are gone. “If things inanimate ever do grieve,” they surely grieve for you, Annettie. We all believe that my horse pines to see you. If I lay my hand on him and say, Alp, where is Miss An-