Louise Edson was graceful, brilliant, beautiful. O, what a wealth of thought and intellect was hers; what a broad, generous nature; what lightning-like perceptions, quick, far-seeing judgment, sparkling humor and sarcastic wit! She floated in a sea of exuberant life and beauty, which was fed continually from the exhaustless fountains of her own thought-wealthy soul. Her calm, clear eyes mirrored the bright fancies that flitted through her brain. The chestnut hair, brushed away from the youthful brow, revealed the tiny blue veins on the white expanding temples; while the high, straight nose and curved nostrils, with the sweet little mouth and tapering chin that smiled below, made up a face whose regular features were its least claim to beauty. It was the soul within which shone over these features and lighted them at times with supernatural loveliness. And was this brilliant being understood and appreciated by the man who had won her for his bride? Faugh!—we blush at our own stupidity in asking the question. Are such lofty souls ever appreciated by even one of the swarming masses that people the earth with their corporeal bodies? Let those answer who can.
But Louise, soaring as was her nature, was yet cursed with that weakness which too often possesses souls like hers, swaying e'en a more tyrant sceptre than in meaner breasts, as though in envious hate of those sky-aspiring pinions, and a demon wish to make them lick the dust. She was an orphan, with no relative save a maiden aunt, with whom she dwelt. She felt alone in the wide world, and she wanted—O, pity her, reader, if you can!—she wanted somebody to lean on, somebody to look up to. Could she not lean on her own strong intellect, and look up to the stars?—or could she not breathe forth her rich-laden soul in lofty song and romance, and lean upon the pillars of a world-wide fame? No, O, no! With all her strength of soul and intellect, she had weak woman's heart. She must love and be loved; and when the wealthy Mr. Leroy Edson knelt, an enamored knight, at the shrine of her youth and beauty, she gave him her hand. He thought he had done a most generous deed in thus raising a poor, lone orphan girl from comparative obscurity to a position among the highest circles of society. Her superior education and gem-freighted soul were all the fortune she brought him; a fortune greater than the treasures of Ind., but of whose princely value he had not the power to form the most distant estimate. To behold her tall, graceful figure flitting through his elegant mansion, performing some light household duty, receiving her guests or chatting and singing gayly through the long evenings, was, to him, life's whole of happiness. And was Louise altogether content with the man of her choice? No, or she had not gathered Wimbledon about her to make merry the midnight hour. People do not give fêtes to display their happiness. They give them too often to relieve a tedious monotony, to silence a gnawing discontent, and forget for the moment in hilarious excitement some uneasy foreboding of evil to come, or disquieting conviction that all, even now, is not as it should be.
Louise had not been many weeks Mrs. Edson, before she discovered the man she had taken for "better or worse" till death should separate them, was no helpmeet for her. They had not a thought or sympathy in common. He hired servants to execute her commands; bought her fine clothes, and fine books too, when he found these latter most delighted her; but he never wished to hear her read from them, and invariably yawned if she spoke of literary subjects. He was good-natured and fond of display, with a fair estimate of his own importance and standing in society. He regarded himself as one of the pillars of Wimbledon's wealth and prosperity;—remove him, and the whole structure would tremble and perhaps go down with a crash to rise no more. It took but a brief time for Louise to read her husband's soul through and through; and with her sharp, critical nature, that could not understand and would not overlook faults and follies to which her bosom was a stranger, she decided she had married a fool. What was to be done? The act was voluntary on her part. True, a longer acquaintance between the parties might have led to a different result, but it was too late to think of that now. And this was the end of all her heart-longings for some one to love and reverence, to lean on and look up to! O, how intense was her agony! All her fine feelings wasted, her soul's wealth poured idly forth, and her rich life in its blooming years given to one who could not understand one of her lofty dreams or soaring aspirations. A falcon with sun-daring eyes tied to a grovelling buzzard! Was't not a hard fate, reader? Pity her, all ye who can,—pity her a great deal; mourn over her cruel wreck of happiness; and if in future years the warm, impassioned nature, goaded by its own unuttered pangs, driven wild by its rayless, hopeless desolation, is guilty of some irregularities, some acts which virtue and propriety can hardly sanction, O, remember her early sufferings, and be merciful!
Mr. Edson's party passed off pleasantly. All seemed delighted with their entertainment. The lord of the mansion was in great good-humor, and his beautiful wife the star of the evening. In a simple robe of dark blue cashmere, which fastened low over her white, sloping shoulders, and fitted closely her slender waist, while the ample folds swept the rich tapestry carpets, she moved among her guests like the embodiment of a graceful thought. Her luxuriant brown hair was gathered in bands at the back of her head; a massive chain and cross of gold ornamented her swan-like neck, and bands of the same material clasped her round, white arms. Small wonder that Mr. Edson should feel proud of his wife. The whole evening she was the centre of a delighted group. All flocked around to hear her brilliant conversation and gaze on her animated, expressive features. Col. Malcome and the gentle Edith engaged a large share of her attention and regard. The young girl was insensibly attracted by the affectionate interest evinced in her manner, and the sweet voice and beaming smile with which she addressed her. Col. Malcome expressed his admiration of the exquisite taste displayed in the furnishing of her parlors.
"I cannot tell you, Mrs. Edson," said he, "what I most admire in your elegant drawing-rooms. They are one harmonious whole; but if you were removed, I think I would very soon discover what was wanting to render them complete."
"Now," said Louise, "let me tell you at the commencement of our acquaintance, which I hope for my humble sake may continue to be cultivated, that I detest flattery of all things;" and she turned a smiling glance on him, as these piquant words fell from her pretty, red lips, rendered more than usually charming by the slight sarcastic curl she gave them.
"So do I," returned he; "but truth is not flattery."
"In the language of the poet," said she, laughing, "I will not seek to cope with you in compliment. Do you know I feel a lively interest in your beautiful daughter?"
"I am gratified to know it," said he, glancing on the bright creature at his side with an expressive glance. "Edith is a timid little thing; she would improve under your accomplished tuition. Not that I have the presumption to ask for her your care and instructions beyond what she might receive by a neighborly interchange of visits."
"O, say she may spend a portion of every week with me, when spring opens and the earth is divested of its garb of snow!" said Louise, in a tone of affectionate eagerness. "You cannot tell how her innocent gayety would lighten many of my weary hours."