So Jenny sat down and looked on with admiring eyes, as the finishing touch was given to a dress which, to her, appeared the very perfection of beauty and splendour.
“It must be a pleasure,” thought the girl, “even to touch that lovely soft green velvet; and what must it be to wear it! I could not fancy any one’s ever feeling unhappy in such a dress!”
It was a very foolish thought certainly; but I have known people older than Jenny Green who have made reflections just as foolish. Those who suffer from the pressure of poverty are apt to forget that there are other and worse evils in the world; and that just as heavy a heart may, and often does, beat under a robe of velvet as beneath a thread-bare cloak.
The dress was finished, folded, wrapped up in linen, and confided to the girl, with many an injunction to carry it carefully, and not to loiter on the way; injunctions which Jenny conscientiously obeyed, being duly impressed with the importance of her errand, and the amount of confidence reposed in her. The size of her parcel occasioned her some inconvenience: she had no longer a hand free to hold on her bonnet, which, blown back on her shoulders, only hung by its faded ribands, while the gale made sad untidy work with her hair. Jenny’s shoes were very old, and the road steep and stony—she became both foot-sore and tired; but her worst trouble was the uneasy, discontented thoughts, which seemed to flow into her bosom from the parcel which she carried.
THE MESSAGE.
“How nice and warm and comfortable it feels! I don’t believe that the lady who will wear it ever knows what it is to be hungry or cold. She is never tired, for she has a fine coach to ride in—oh! how grand it must be to ride in a coach! And then to dress like a queen, and feast on good things every day! How very, very happy she must be! I wish that I were a lady, that I do! I’d have a velvet dress of a different colour for every day in the week; and dear Tommy should have a white pony to ride on; and mother, oh! darling mother! should have everything nice that I could think of—she should never have time to wish for anything: how happy we should all be together! But there’s no use thinking about it,” added Jenny sadly, as on the crest of the hill a sudden gust of wind almost carried her off her feet; “I shall never be rich, nor a lady; I shall have to work and to want all my life through.”
The road now led down into the valley, where the way was comparatively sheltered. Jenny felt this to be a pleasant change, though the view was not so grand or extensive as it appeared from the higher ground. She was not, however, enough of a philosopher to remark, even had she known enough of the world to perceive, that in life, as in nature, some of the sharpest blasts are felt by those who stand on the top of the hill.
Jenny arrived at length at the grand outer gate, and passed with a timid step through the park, where the tall trees yet stretched leafless branches, though the tiny wild-flowers at their feet were already opening their blossoms to the spring. There was a beautiful garden in front of the house; and along its smooth gravel walks, wrapped up in velvet and furs, sauntered the lady who was mistress of the place.
She stopped to speak to the little messenger. Her manner was gracious and gentle; but Jenny could not help noticing how mournful was its tone; and when she ventured to raise her eyes to the face of the lady, she saw on it an expression of melancholy and care, which raised a feeling of pity as well as of surprise. Is it upon the brow of the poor alone that we see the deep lines of sorrow? is it the cheek of the poor alone that is furrowed by tears? Are the merriest faces those that look from carriage windows? can wealth shut out sorrow, sickness, bereavement, disunion, or death?