Orange Grove (Wall)/Chapter 12
"This world is full of beauty, like other worlds above;
And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love."
Thanksgiving came round again, being the second anniversary of Mr. Claremont's death. Rosalind had been more cheery of late, and since the walk in the woods where we left her, she had treated Mr. Livingston with more courtesy, but still was very far from being on familiar terms with him. This day, which was spent in a very quiet manner, he was their guest. A sudden change in the weather took place the night before, and a violent northeast snow-storm set in, which continued till late in the afternoon, when the wind suddenly changed again, and the evening was very clear and cold. Rosalind was suffering from a severe cold which combined with the storm to make her feel more gloomy than usual.
In the evening, as the family were pleasantly chatting around the festive board after having done full justice to its contents, they were startled by a rapid knock at the side door. "Will somebody please come and help us, for mother is dying and father is crazy, and the fire's gone out, and what will become of poor little sissy and me?" came in hurried tones from a ragged, but intelligent looking boy of eight or ten years, whose eager importunity was not to be resisted by a woman of Mrs. Claremont's benevolent impulses, and she ordered her carriage to accompany him home escorted by Walter, greatly to the joy of the little intruder, being sure now, he said, that mother would live, when he saw the little articles of comfort Kate deposited in the carriage.
Rosalind followed them to the door, and watched them down the avenue as they glided over the unbroken crust beneath the merry twinkling of the stars which shine with such brilliancy on a clear, frosty night. She closed the door with a shiver and returned to the parlor. Resting her elbow on the mantel and her head upon her hand she looked thoughtfully into the grate for some minutes, and then broke the silence by saying, "There is very little in life worth living for."
Earnest looked at her with wonder as he replied, "That is a singular remark for you to make, surrounded as you are by all that wealth or affection can bestow."
"I was not referring to myself particularly, I was thinking of that little boy who will soon be left, perhaps, without a friend in the world, and be obliged to get his living as a street beggar."
"You would still be his friend would you not? Your mother's visit there to-night may be the source of joy that will atone for hours of bitter suffering. The elastic nature of childhood cannot long be repressed."
"That is true, but when grown to manhood the majority of people have to suffer far more than they enjoy, and this world must lose its attractions."
"Perhaps they would not tell you so if you were to ask the question. There is a joy for those who weep as well as for those who smile. Do you not think aiSaictions are exalting in their character?"
"Yes, but that does not make us covet or even endure them willingly."
"Did you never, when a child, have to submit to what seemed to you a great trial and privation at the time, but which in the end was of incalculable benefit to you, either for your own improvement, or for the tender proof it gave you of your parents' untiring love?"
Rosalind cared not to pursue the theme farther, and she seated herself in a chair with her face turned from him without answering.
He saw that he had touched the wrong key, and he too was silent, meanwhile studying her attentively until her mother's return.
Walter brought in a golden haired girl of three years whom he placed in Rosalind's lap, saying she must adopt her as her name-sake, her name being Rosie, and having blue eyes resembling her own. The only attendant her mother had when Mrs. Claremont arrived there, she was standing by the bedside affectionately stroking her face, as if that were all that was needed to restore her to consciousness. The father, it seemed, had come home in a fit of delirium tremens, and his wife, being in delicate health, had fallen into a swoon. After taking the proper measures to remove him to the almshouse, where he died soon after, Mrs. Claremont took home the little girl for a few days, until her mother should recover her usual health.
"Would you like to come and live with the lady?" said Walter to her as she surveyed them all with eager curiosity, seated in Rosalind's lap.
"No, dess not, mama 'll want her 'ittle dirl," lisped the little one.
"What would you do if you should lose your mother? Who would feed and take care of you," asked Ernest as she bent forward to grasp his watch key.
"Mama says he who takes care of the 'avens when they ky, will feed me too."
"What do you have to play with at home, dolls and toys?"
"I'se dot a 'ittle pussy."
"What do you give her to eat?"
"We don't have anything to dive her to eat, she catches her own meat."
Saying this she jumped down to look at the pictures and other curiosities that met her eyes, appearing as much at home as if reared in a palace. She gained their affections so much that it was with great reluctance they parted with her, and Mrs. Claremont would gladly have kept her, if for no other reason than to awaken the interest of Rosalind in some object, who manifested much of her old enthusiasm in replenishing her scant wardrobe and listening to her childish prattle.
This was only one of many instances of a similar character that came under Mrs. Claremont's observation during that winter. There was a great deal of suffering among the poorer classes, arising from a scarcity of employment and the high prices of provisions, but more than all from the increasing vice of intemperance.
Even women sometimes partook freely of the intoxicating draught which their husbands were much more lavish to provide than food, and which often served as a stimulus to take its place. These were exceptional cases, however, as there were comparatively few women so lost to all sense of duty as mothers to debase themselves thus.
Pinched by cold and hunger, and tortured by abuse, it was marvelous that they had the ambition to try to appear respectable, and the perseverance to labor so untiringly to guard their children against the ill effects of the vices their fathers taught them.
Thus Rosalind thought who often accompanied her mother to these abodes of wretchedness and poverty, but whose mind was not in a state to be profited thereby, and Mrs. Claremont ceased at length to take her with her, fearing to increase her morbid tendency to dwell on the dark side.
Among those associated with Mrs. Claremont in this work, was a young lady whose overflowing zeal in all those tender charities that constitute such a charm in budding womanhood cast a beneficent halo around her presence in every circle, and commanded the respect of the most thoughtless by her unaffected interest in the lowly and unfortunate. As beautiful in person as she was lovely in character, she might have been envied as a rival but for the entire absence of self consciousness and the unobtrusive manners and sprightly conversation which won all hearts. The self reliance that imparted such graceful mien and dignified bearing bore no trace of self-conceit, and the ease with which she mingled with all classes left no room for the disaffection of any.
Walter would have been exceedingly gratified to see a friendship springing up between her and Rosalind, thinking it might prove beneficial to the latter besides getting her interested in something that would employ her mind profitably. With great regret he observed her apathy, and the inutility of every effort to arouse her from it. As the time was drawing near when he was to leave home for college, she was a source of great anxiety. Never having been separated he feared she would become still more exclusive when deprived of his influence and society. Though little disposed to talk upon the subject he could see that the thought of the separation already depressed her spirits.
Another member of the Benevolent Association, without which no city can be perfect, was Mrs. Frizzlewit. She formed a sort of connecting link between high and low, rich and poor, an indispensable element in the successful prosecution of an enterprise of this character. She and Grace Blanche were opposites in every thing, yet both filled their respective places, and, by being united, universal harmony prevailed, for no one would have the presumption to hazard the alienation of the queenly Miss Blanche. Youth and beauty, it is useless to deny, wield a sovereignty far more potent than their subjects dream, and when with these are combined true nobility and greatness of soul, the possessor reigns absolute.
Avery brisk, blithe, dapper little body was this Mrs. Frizzlewit, just the woman for her place. If she ever did make a mistake, it was in getting married, evidently not being fitted for that. Household cares pressed heavily upon her, and it was sometimes whispered that her home was not happy, but it was only a rumor.
If sometimes fretful it was because she had mistaken her mission, and instead of going from house to house, and from shop to shop to enlist sympathy and help for some unfortunate family, a task for which nature had fitted her, she was obliged to attend to menial duties at home, uncongenial to her tastes and inclination. Not that she did not love her family, but was animated by a ruling passion for helping others. Had she been able to hire servants this difficulty would have been obviated in a great degree. Her husband was poor and the whole care of the children devolved upon her. However, she always managed to take a prominent part in any benevolent object that sprung up, when others were pressed for time, and filled such a useful nook that no one could think of sparing her. Never baffled by repulse, most any disagreeable task others shunned found a ready instrument in her.
Many were the heartfelt thanks arising from miserable hovels for cheering smiles and kindly words, aside from the more substantial assistance given by those two sisters of mercy, Mrs. Claremont and her young friend, aided by many others among their social circles.
Young men caught their enthusiastic spirit, and gave liberally of their means, vieing with each other who should win the most approving smile of the lovely Miss Blanche. Although she cared not for their obsequious favors farther than for the good they enabled her to accomplish, it was an Elysian field she trod, in which she saw only the bright side of life gilded with youth's romantic dreams; for the sufferings it gave her so much joy to alleviate had never formed a part of her cup, and how could they throw a shadow across her path?