Home Lights and Shadows Part 16

There was a sad, but grateful expression in the pale face of Mrs.

Wilton, as she looked into the eye of her old friend, but ventured no reply.

"You will come, will you not, Cara?" urged Mrs. Gray.

"My presence in your happy family would be like the shadow of an evil wing," said she bitterly.

"Our happy family, say-rather, would chase away the gloomy shadows that darken your heart. Come then, and we will give you a cheerful welcome."

"I feel much inclined, and yet I hesitate, for I ought not to throw a gloom over your household," and the tears filled her eyes, and glistened through the lids which were closed suddenly over them.

"Come, and welcome!" Mrs. Gray urged, taking her hand and gently pressing it.

That evening Mrs. Wilton spent in the pleasant family of her old friend.

Three weeks afterwards, Mrs. Gray asked of her husband, if anything had been heard of Mr. Wilton.

"Nothing," he replied. "He has escaped all pursuit thus far, and the officers, completely at fault, have returned."

"I cannot say that I am sorry, at least for the sake of his wife.

She seems more cheerful since she came here. I feel sometimes as if I should like to offer her a home, for she has none, that might truly be so called."

"Act up to your kind desire, Jane, if you think it right to do so,"

said her husband. "Perhaps in no other home open to her could so much be done for her comfort."

The home was accordingly offered, and tearfully accepted.

"Jane," said the sad hearted woman, "I cannot tell you how much I have suffered in the last twenty years. How much from heart-sickening disappointments, and lacerated affections. High hopes and brilliant expectations that made my weak brain giddy to think of, have all ended thus. How weak and foolish--how mad we were! But my husband was not all to blame. I was as insane in my views of life as he. We lived only for ourselves--thought and cared only for ourselves--and here is the result. How wisely and well did you choose, Jane. Where my eye saw nothing to admire, yours more skilled, perceived the virgin ore of truth. I was dazzled by show, while you looked below the surface, and saw true character, and its effect in action. How signally has each of us been rewarded!" and the heart-stricken creature bowed her head and wept.

And now, kind reader, if there be one who has followed us thus far, are you disappointed in not meeting some startling denoument, or some effective point in this narrative. I hope not. Natural results have followed, in just order, the adoption of true and false principles of action--and thus will they ever follow. Learn, then, a lesson from the history of the two young men and the maidens of their choice. Let every young man remember, that all permanent success in life depends upon the adoption of such principles of action as are founded in honesty and truth; and let every young woman take it to heart, that all her married life will be affected by the principles which her husband sets down as rules of action.

Let her give no consideration to his brilliant prospect, or his brilliant mind, if sound moral principles do not govern him.

"But what became of Charles Wilton and his wife?" I hear a bright-eyed maiden asking, as she turns half impatient from my homily.

Wilton has escaped justice thus far, and his wife, growing more and more cheerful every day, is still the inmate of Judge Gray's family, and I trust will remain so until the end of her journeying here. And what is more, she is learning the secret, that there is more happiness in caring for others, than in being all absorbed in selfish consideration. Still, she is a sad wreck upon the stream of life--a warning beacon for your eyes, young lady.

VISITING AS NEIGHBORS.

"I see that the house next door has been taken," remarked Mr. Leland to his wife, as they sat alone one pleasant summer evening.

"Yes. The family moved in to-day," returned Mrs. Leland.

"Do you know their name?"

"It is Halloran."

"Halloran, Halloran," said Mr. Leland, musingly. "I wonder if it's the same family that lived in Parker Street."

"Yes, the same; and I wish they had stayed there."

"Their moving in next door need not trouble us, Jane. They are not on our list of acquaintances."

"But I shall have to call upon Mrs. Haloran; and Emma upon her grown-up daughter Mary."

"I do not see how that is to follow as a consequence of their removal into our neighborhood."

"Politeness requires us to visit them as neighbors."

"Are they really our neighbors?" asked Mr. Leland, significantly.

"Certainly they are. How strange that you should ask the question!"

"What const.i.tutes them such? Not mere proximity, certainly. Because a person happens to live in a house near by, can that make him or her really a neighbor, and ent.i.tled to the attention and consideration due a neighbor?"

This remark caused Mrs. Leland to look thoughtful. "It ought not,"

she said, after sitting silent a little while, "but still, it does."

"I do not think so. A neighbor--that is, one to whom kind offices is due--ought to come with higher claims than the mere fact of living in a certain house located near by the dwelling in which we reside.

If mere location is to make any one a neighbor, we have no protection against the annoyance and intrusions of persons we do not like; nay, against evil-minded persons, who would delight more in doing us injury than good. These Hallorans for instance. They move in good society; but they are not persons to our mind. I should not like to see you on terms of intimacy with Mrs. Halloran, or Jane with her daughter. In fact, the latter I should feel, did it exist, to be a calamity."

"Still they _are_ our neighbors," Mrs. Leland said. "I do not see how we can avoid calling upon them."

"Perhaps," remarked the husband, "you have not thought seriously enough on the subject.

"Who is my neighbor? is a question of importance, and ought to be answered in every mind. Something more than living in the same street, or block of houses, is evidently implied in the word neighbor. It clearly involves a reciprocity of good feelings. Mere proximity in s.p.a.ce cannot effect this. It requires another kind of nearness--the nearness of similar affections; and these must, necessarily, be unselfish; for in selfishness there is no reciprocity. Under this view, could you consider yourself the neighbor of such a person as Mrs. Halloran?"

"No matter what the character, we should be kind to all. Every one should be our neighbor, so far as this is concerned. Do you not think so?"

"I do not, Jane."

"Should we not be kind to every one?"

"Yes, kind; but not in the acceptation of the word as you have used it. There is a false, as well as a true kindness. And it often happens that true kindness appears to be any thing but what it really is. In order to be kind to another, we are not always required to exhibit flattering attentions. These often injure where distance and reserve would do good. Besides, they too frequently give power to such as are evil-disposed--a power that is exercised injuriously to others."

"But the simple fact of my calling upon Mrs. Halloran cannot, possibly, give her the power of injuring me or any one else."

"I think differently. The fact that you have called upon her will be a reason for some others to do the same; for, you know, there are persons who never act from a distinct sense of right, but merely follow in the wake of others. Thus the influence of a selfish, censorious, evil-minded woman will be extended. So far as you are concerned, the danger may be greater than you imagine. Is Mary Halloran, in your estimation, a fit companion for our daughter?

Could she become intimate with her, and not suffer a moral deterioration?"

"I think not."

"Are you sure that a call upon Mrs. Halloran will not lead to this result?"

"No, I am not _sure_. Still, I do not apprehend any danger."