The next day Mr. Kirkwood and his daughter held a consultation on the subject; and when, toward evening, Frederic saw his mother searching over a chest of old books, his eyes sparkled, and his heart throbbed with feverish impatience to ascertain if his conjectures were accurate. His joy was complete, when he saw the necessary books and grammars come forth; some in a mutilated state, it is true,—but no matter, so the important parts were but entire. He went about his task like one in earnest; his progress was rapid; and in due time he was admitted at college.
The years of his collegiate life passed rapidly away. The vacations of spring and autumn he spent in the bosom of his family, giving delight to the hearts of all by his improvement; assisting in their labors,—and superintending with deep interest, and assiduous tenderness, the education of his sister. But the long winter vacation was devoted to school-keeping,—the most lucrative employment to which he could, for such limited periods, devote himself. Once he was so highly favored as to get a school in the neighborhood of the Glen; and then his labor was a delight, rather than a task, as he could be with his beloved friends, and direct his sister in her studies. The family at the Glen, it is true, had to practice more than wonted frugality, to help in defraying his unavoidable expenses; but no self-denial was hard, when one so dear was to be benefitted—no sacrifice painful that was made for so important an object. Clara was by no means the least efficient in her endeavors to aid her darling brother. As soon as she completed her thirteenth year, at her earnest and reiterated entreaties, the servant girl was dismissed, and she cheerfully took her labors on herself, that Frederic might have the considerable sum thus saved to the family.
Meanwhile, Clara's own education progressed, notwithstanding her situation seemed so unfavorable for study. But she was a rigid economist of time; and when that is the case with any one, great things may be accomplished. Although her hands were busily employed a large portion of the time, a mind, thirsting for knowledge, surmounted all difficulties. She could not, indeed, touch the keys of a piano, or the strings of a harp; the spinning wheel and other domestic machines demanded too large a portion of her time, to have permitted the acquisition of skill on these instruments, even had she possessed them. But she knew who Dugald Stewart was, and what he thought of the "active and moral powers of man;" with Smellie she was intimately acquainted; and Rollin, Hume, Gillies and Gibbon were her daily companions. The works of Pascal and Massillon she could read in the language in which they were written; and with Virgil she could converse in his native tongue. Above all, she had studied the volume of inspiration, and had learned the way of eternal life.
Never had the family at the Glen been happier than when Frederic returned home, bearing his parchment roll, duly adorned with the riband, and the imposing seal; and, after some preamble, running thus:
Notum esto, quod nos, consentiendibus honorandis admodum ac reverendis collegii antedicti Inspectoribus, anno Christi MDCCC—admisimum Fredericus Kirkwood ejusdem alumnum, ad gradum Baccalaurealem in Artibus; &c. But when he joined the domestic circle, authorized to preach the everlasting gospel, their joy was of a deeper, holier character. Would I could show you a picture of the group, as they encircled the blazing hearth on that happy evening. I will even make the attempt. There sits the venerable grandfather, in his large arm-chair, his white hairs smoothly parted from off his ample forehead, with every feature speaking of passions subdued, and a heart full of gratitude, content and love. Next the mother, with something like the bloom of youth stealing over her matron cheek,—while her eye moves in a tear that rises from that deep fountain of mingled feeling, known only to a pious mother's heart, as she looks on the son of her love, and that son a believer! Between these two sits Frederic, comely in manly strength, his whole countenance expressing heart-felt benevolence to all mankind—and peculiar love, gratitude and veneration for those by whom he is encircled. Last, and the darling of all, is Clara, seated on her brother's knee, with one arm around his neck, while her other hand is sometimes clasped in his,—sometimes straying amid his dark luxuriant hair. She is not exactly beautiful, but she is lovely. Her stature is rather below than above the medium size; and fresh air and healthy exercise have given elasticity to her limbs, and a bloom to her cheek, that rivals the richness of the peach. If her features are not regular, they defy criticism; for her whole face has such a glow of love and happiness, that the delighted beholder cannot seek for defects. Thus they all sat, enjoying the full tide of domestic happiness; and each might have said to the other, with Galatee,
| "Tu me demandais ton bonheur, Et c'etait moi que tu rendais heureuse." |
Even the knowledge that Frederic was soon to leave them, to enter on the duties of his vocation, could scarcely moderate their joy.
He has now entered on his holy calling; and though far removed from those who loved him so tenderly, nurtured him so carefully, governed him so wisely, and made such personal sacrifices to fit him for usefulness, they are happy still. Far from selfishly regretting that at the moment he was fitted for action, and capable of making some return for all their kindness, they are obliged to resign him altogether,—in the benevolence of their hearts they rejoice that they have been used as instruments to prepare him for a life of usefulness in the world; and their most fervent prayer for him is, that he may "turn many to righteousness," and then "shine as a star forever."
Yes, the family at the Glen are happy still. The aged grandfather is "waiting patiently his appointed time till his change come," with a "hope full of immortality." The mother, patient, gentle, subdued, serene, in fulfilling her quiet and unostentatious duties, is carefully laying up treasure, where "neither moth nor rust corrupt nor destroy." And the lovely Clara is the sunshine in the path of both. She hushes the sighs,—wipes the tears,—soothes the pains, and lightens the cares of each. Her voice is music to their ears; her presence brings gladness to their hearts; and they both pronounce her blessed.
But you inquire,—is she who breathes such fragrance around, forever to be immured in this sequestered valley? No—she will move in a wider sphere; yet it is doubtful whether she elsewhere tastes such pure and peaceful happiness as she has tasted here. She may find more luxuriant roses, but then she must encounter the thorns; and what she may gain in untried sources of happiness, will be counterbalanced by unknown cares and sorrows. Yet she will, by and by, run the hazard: for her brother's dearest college friend once begged an invitation to spend a vacation at the Cottage; and when he left it, he left his heart behind him. Clara could do no less than give her's in exchange; and so she has promised, at some future day, to become his wife.