"Yes, lift thy eyes, sweet Psyche, what is she
That those soft fringes timidly should fall
Before her, and thy spiritual brow
Be dark, as if her presence were a cloud—
A loftier gift is thine than she can give,
That queen of beauty,
She may give all that is within her own
Bright cestus—and one silent look of thine,
Like stronger magic, will out-charm it all.
Ay, for the soul is better than its frame,
The spirit than the temple—
Marvel not
That love leans sadly on his bending wing,
He hath found out the loveliness of mind
And he is spoilt for beauty."[1]
A month since the engagement of Trevor and Mary had passed. Before the expiration of this period, the latter, with her lover's full consent, had written to her sisters in Scotland and in Italy, to confide to them her happy prospects, and from the former she had already received in return the most affectionate and fervent congratulations, another drop added to the already well filled cup of Mary's happiness; for before this, there had been times when she could not but feel regretfully the want of that real participating sympathy in her joy, which like as in our sorrow, those bound to us by the ties of close family relationship, can alone fully and adequately impart.
The mind, diverted and absorbed by new interests and attractions, may for a time wander contentedly through other pastures—may find gratification and satisfaction in the new and flattering friendship of other hearts; but when that sorrow comes of which the heart alone can know the bitterness, or that "joy with which the stranger intermeddleth not,"—then, like the child, who beguiled by the flowers of the fields to stray far from the parent home, yet when sudden fear assails his breast, or some bright found treasure fills his little heart with rapture, flies back at once to pour forth his grief or his ecstacy upon his mother's bosom—so then he that was lost is found; the recreant heart or the diverted affections, seldom fail to reassert their power to testify and prove, that those ties which nature's early associations and kindred interests have sanctified and connected, alone in such seasons can suffice to comfort or to satisfy the mind.
Mary often yearned for that true, lively and affectionate sympathy in her present joy which it had been her privilege so tenderly, and cheerfully to impart to each successive sister, when placed under similar circumstances to her own; and she began to think the necessary lack of all this on her own account to be certainly one of the worst consequences which can accrue from being left the last unmarried.
But every thought and feeling of this kind was soon dispelled and changed into those of most unalloyed pleasure and delight.
The long-wished-for and expected news at length arrived. Arthur Seaham wrote to inform his sister that the next American packet which was to reach England, would number him amongst its passengers, and accepting the kind invitation of Mrs. de Burgh, conveyed to him by Mary, he should immediately upon his disembarkation proceed to Silverton.
A truce now to every sigh, lest sympathy should fail, that no dear familiar face was near, in which to see her joy reflected—no dear familiar voice to repeat the glad echoes of her heart.
In Arthur, her own beloved brother, how fully she should meet all this! They two had been sworn friends and special companions from their earliest childhood to their later youth. Whatever turn their fortunes took, they were to have shared them together; one home was to have received them. Where had flown those visions now? But would he not rejoice in the bright prospects of his favourite sister?
How he would love Eugene, if only for her sake! what friends he and Eugene would become—what constant companions should they all be still! Besides, until her brother's return to England, no important arrangement could be set on foot with regard to the projected marriage; therefore her brother's speedy return was on that point alone a subject of congratulation to the parties interested in that event, and to Trevor of course more particularly so.
Now too, Mary would be able to write by the next mail to her sisters in India, and give them that information it had been deemed at such a distance, more satisfactory to defer, until the brother's arrival had placed matters on a more definite and circumstantial footing, and any day from the week succeeding the receipt of that welcome letter, young Seaham might make his appearance.