Newspapers / North Carolina Argus (Wadesboro, … / April 9, 1863, edition 1 / Page 1
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' : " - . -.--v v' . :;;:.. v . .. .. . - . .) - . 1-. '.....'.,..'"-,''',. " " . . 4 ' . , v " t . . . r r) - v ....... ,.. -. .-, ...'.. ,.'.: ' r.-'. v . , . : ,v -' . ' ''..-.. . ' .,..",,....:.'.'. ; . ,v - . "V, ' - ,"- J 'i -' "'J,,' "'""1.; " v ' " . ' '' ' - ''' -' '; "v V " ' '"r"'( ' ' ' ' '-''''.' "' ii 1 , " 1 ' " " , ' 11 . i" 1 "" -ii--'-' i . ..... i y J ft.' lie , o- nr or id or- of rn Ml v lfEffiSERlE70yrrN0.;i3.) ' WADESBOROUGH, N; C, THURSDAY; APRIL'; 9; 1863. tVnOLB HO. .225. -rr- :.iiu)W5iory;: v . CONCUJDZJ). m ; He wai a,man of jbirty ; calnif elf-re!i-itnt, earnest; n different : type of manhood . from any I had erer known. He seemed like one who could stand up alone and battle . against. all the world. He needed no cir cling Arms of wife or clildren. Alone be labored In hi Master's cause. He had not my father's ardent temperament and his creative imagination, and yet his sermons were full of burning, fervid eloquence, l and he was the finest critic I had ever lcnown. ; , , . ? : , By this time I had gpwn to understand . something of my own nature, I had been , brought up in ' the same house where my father died, for such' was his- wish. . Mrs. Newell, the lady who had charts of our home and ourselves, loved my sister paa sionately ; but she had no kind feeling of attachment for the unsightly little crip- pie, and she took very little pains to assist or understand me. . My love of knowledge -was intense from my earliest recollection ; "and for" several years my ' father's study, containing his well-chosen library, bad been tacitly abandoned to me. .read many books works of imagination, poems, and - novels. The theme was too often love; and poring over these enchanted pages, I grew rebellion over my own sad destiny. I read of fair ladies and gallant knights, and anon of peaceful, happy homes ; and all . this glorious world of poetry, and passion, and sentiment was shut out from ' nie I was a cripple ! I read it in the very glances the children raised to my face as I passed along the street inmy littld invalid s chair. They looked up kindly, but in their . eyes was only pity, never admiration or love. i And yet, even in those early days, I felt "that my own nean was capaoie oi intense devotion. I could love, I knew it, with all I read his be:lting sin. Until thatjiour i had poi known that I was ambitious. I had indeedsomethingnow for which to live. All my father s soul rose within me. Lonely, unloved, my Jife might be; but the world should know that Lucy Emrey, the little cnppie, nannaweu in ti. I found Duncan Clavcring a hard master. He expected incessant toil. He taxed every nerve and sinew to its utmost tension. And yet he was not unkind ; I grewto like his quiet, resolute, governing manner. His7 silence and terseness were not displeasing to me ; and the only sentence of praise he ever uttered "4 This is yorthy otyou, my pupil, -grow in time to be more to me than all other applause. I no longer missed love, or sighed for it. Heart and soul were full. At twenty I found myself already a well known and popular writer. It was at this time that Charles Stanley came to our neigh borhood he was an author; his ostensible object wa to find, for a few months, a qufet home wherein to read, wherein to Write ; his real one, as I afterward found, to become acquainted with the Lucy Emery of his fa vorite periodicalsrHesoon called upon me. He was brought into my own especial room, the study which had been my father's. " I am happy to see you,'T I said, quietly ; but you will excuse mo from rising, as I am lame." - He looked at me with an expression of blended amazement and compassion. M I wished to see Miss LucjEmery," he said, hesitatingly. ; ' 1 am Lucy Emery," was my calm reply. Forgive me," said he "I beg ten thous and pardons but I had been told that Miss Emrey was very young, scarcely twenty." I glanced at a mirror opposite his mis take was not strange I looked at least thirty. Good as Duncan Claverings's discipline had been for my mind, it had made me sallower and thinner than ever; I had grown very - old. There may have been a little bitterness . f i I . - I' . I 1 1 the passion oi wnicu noveusis naa areamea, i . ., ., ,.T . , , ,. 1 , t I in my smile as I said, Iam, indeed, no older r nAAffa aiiritr lint nn afia wrttim ivpr . J . . ' no one could ever, love the dwarfed, crip pled temple which enshrined this pas sionate beatintr heart. I looked -in the ( . r lzlass. and saw there a dark, shallow com plexion, -riJ3-looklng eyes, straight black hair, and a thin, nervous-looking figure ; but not one pleasing lineament. A contrast was over beside roe my little .sister Helen, one was bright, joyous, and beautiful as our mother had ever been, and the beauty-loving element in my nature "was gladdened every time I looked on her ; j loved her, too. l cherished with more than a mother s tenderness, this gladsome creature five years younger than myself. I trclieve I almost worshipped her ; I would have died for her at any time ; but this ' wrj not much, for life baa never been dear or precious to me, and I longed to lay the burden down. Helen loved me too, in her own cheerful, light-hearted fashion, and de pended on me to do her tasks and perform her duties. But at fifteen there came to me the dawn- nimr of a great change. Duncan Claver ing taught me that J, unloved, unsought as 1 must ever be, I had something for.which to live. For a week he had been my teacher, .iandiiowJ h.a.5J?L!lS!X!' Ei?P,0S't,oJ?i How the thorns came on the rosiwas its subjeet. It was a fantastic legend of a lovely flower dwelling among those who cared not for it ; it put forth thorns one by one as defenses against hands that would grasp it rudely. Into this legend I had wo ven the wild plaint of my own heart. It Avas a passionate cry which I thought no -one could recognize' or understand. Dun can Claverlng read it in silence and slowly; then he said, "Lucy you . have suffered nuch." 1 "TTes, sir, I replied. ; ; lJi J V-"rh this, composition, my child, there is morbid feeling, a sort of defiant hopelessness. But I have made another discovery," he continued. M There is something for ' you U in life betteV 'and brighter than any of your dreams.. ' Lucy, not in vain have you been than that, sir; but I have suffered much. I have been lame for many years, and I know Jittle about thel)eautyor,brightness of life." I could see he was touched that argued well for Ins disposition. I exerted myself lo relieve his embarrassment ; soon the con versation flowed into an easy channel, and he left me at length with the impression that I had passed with him one of the most agree able hours of my life. , For the next few months he passed a. portion of every day in my society. Some times ho read to me, while I sat in my low chair at th3 open study window, inhaling the perfume and fragrance from without: He was very gifted, and his tastes and pur suits were so much like my own that I gave myscu up to me ueiignc oi nis society, witn out asking myself, whither7all this would tend ? Helen, too, was always with us. She was now a blooming graceful creature of fifteen. She had never met any man that seemed to her Charles Stanley's equal. Un like Duncan ulavenng, he was very hand some. His manners possessed that polish which is only imparted by extensive inter course with good society, and his conversa tion united the fascinations qf playfulness, "poetryand subtle analysis. It was not long before i raaae thediscm'cryJhat liejenloycd him. My only little sister tha one being I had been accustomed to call my own-had cast out my love from the chief place in her hear and yielded it up in tremulous joy to the haftdsome stranger. This knowledge came to mo fraught with deepest anguish. It was revealed to me one morning dy a chance expression on her face as he, read aloud a legend from Rogers's poems. Suddenly. thoUsrh the summer sunshine was neer brighter, the day seemed to grow black and dark. I could not bear their pres ence ; I sen t them both from me.. 1 . " Qil'go ato"gt' both of you," 1 sard jl will have my own-way, sometimes.""'' ... ' I laughed as I spoke, but I felt ready td cry. I crept across the room, shut the door and locked it ;I would have no interruption. I came back and sat in my writing chair by the table; and all this time 'not a tear fell. Until that hour I never even fancied I loved Charles Stanley. -Now I could see that a feelings had. been growing up in my heart which was not perhaps exactly love-a feel ingthat he belonged to me and no other; -To do him justice he had never striven to win Helen's regard." Qf course, with his nature, he could not remain insensible to her beauty, but he had never seemed to take much interest in her society; his thoughts and attentions had al been for myself. But Helen, my little sister, loved him, and, knowing this, I would not have mar ried him had his heart broken for love of me. But did he love me, a poor, unlove ly cripple ? With his nature this was not possible.. Thank Heaven, I saw the truth plainly ; my. genius he might, admire, but he did not love me, he never could..? I re member at the time I wondered why this knowledge did not bring me a deeper thrill of pain. It was not this which gave birth to the wild throbs of-agony which rocked my slight frame. - ' 1 belive that the thought that Helen s love was mine no longer grieved me still more than the feeling that I had' no power to re tain the chief place in Charles Stanley's heart. Worst of all was the old, desolate sense, that I was, and must ever bel alone in the worid ; set apart, isolated from human love, by my misfortune. Helen would go awav, far away from me ; the love "which could never be for me, would brighten her blue eyes, and deepen the blushes On her cheek. All the rest of the ivorld might find kindred hearts, and husband's and children's love, but I must be poor, crippled Lucy Em- ery, all my uiei vii, in mat nour, iame seemed how worthless l.ror. one heart to love nie, I would have given all the glory of the universe. Wildly. I threw my arms upward, and groaned, and sobbed in my despair. And then an angel came down Irom heaven, and stilled the troubled wafers of mv soul, and brought the bright waves of healing to my very lips, j prayed. - l he peace oi tne Inhriite seemed to overshadow me. lhe cloud and thodarkness passed over. That evening I went to the vicar's house. I had a question for Duncan Clavering's solution in a new study I had undertaken. I rose up to go, at length, for Charles Stan ley had come for me, and was waiting at the door. Duncan looked at me gravelyand kindly. ..' ; ... .., ....... . .. - " You know I predicted good. things for your life, Lucy, my child," he said, in his calm, low tones, , and . they have come. Fame is dawning for you ; already I see its dawning in the east; and now this young Stanley loves you you will have happj- i ness. I am tired of you," I said, with a forlorn attempt at playfulness. "That poem always excites me; and 1 am not strong. . bo out, both of vou. and nlav like good children ! don't let" me sed you back for an: hour." Was it my fancy or did a shadow-cross his face as lie spoke a look of intense phys ical pain 1 1 made no reply. I .went to the door, and; bad e vont, a respectful good-night; but I looked back afterward, and saw him still standing where riJettiiimAYatQ.bing ward, with my crutch in my hand leaning on Charles Stanley'sarmi and his face wore an expression ! had never seen on it before. That' "night, pn .my way home, Charles Stanley asked my hand ir marriage Charles Stanley, poet amf dreamer ! A mo ment I was silent. A little of the morning's pain -came back to me I, who, needing sympathy and tenderness so painfully, must vet put away the cup of love with my own hand. But I put trie feeling resolutely down, and answered, " No Charles, I must not be your wife, I am hot what your uature craves, xou need appreciation, not rivalry, in a woman. You need one like Helen. You shall have her; I will give her to you, and you shall be a brother to me. .fame-r vou will dp cbod.' re destined-to bVaniaulhotyou will-wia NorChanesrit-iS not-I ;-it-4a-Heleh Youhaida very prtttyHLheor loving. cacE: other. Love, was to be very exalted mind, net matter. "You read my writings they pleased you you thought V VUU UI3tUVCJt-U III IUCIU. a UIIIUICU cpuii. . You resolved to make my acquaintance. ; , You came "here with the fullest" intention of loving and marrying me. When you saw that I was lame, you were disappointed I could see thatbut your beautiful the- j ory, your thought must be true.Yoacon- . tinued to visit me.. Our tastes' harmonised. I hadseen little of the world, therefore I was original. You liked to hear me talk, you became pleased with my society, and . now you think you want to marry me. But you nave not one emotion of passionate love for me in your heart, such as a man has for the elect woman who is to be his wife. You would do me grevious wrong to .wed me. lLook into your own" heart, Charles, Stanley, and answer me "as you would an- ' swer Heaven have I not spoken truly ? You need, with all the soul-longings of yournature,a: beautiful-' woman.--.- You need beauty, I say ; you must have it in your wife. You have all the poet's way wardness; yod need a8unny cheeriul wo man. " I am old and sad, and withered' be fore my time., i Yod need peace ; my life, quiet as it is, must be always restless I' . should not suit you. Answer me truly, . Charles Stanley, am I not right ?" .".Thanks I" he faltered, " thanks, Lucy, vou have shown me mv own neart.,, But his eyes did not turn to me; they ' were fixed on Helen,vhowasboundingdown the path to' meet us, for we were almost at v home. Oh 1 how beautiful she looked, her dress of flowing white muslin, bound round -her slender waist with an azure girdle, her garden. hat upon her arm, her eves bright. and her cheeks flushed with exercise, ner olden curlf floating on the gentle evening 5 reeze. No wonderCharlesStanly watched her but she was mine no longer. 1 remembered with a slight pain: that he had accepted my words so readily, that he had not even sought to ascertain if I loved -him. I thought 1' never could have loved him with all the fullness of my nature. Ah ! perhaps if I had I could not have given' him up so easily. ' ....... One more pang came to me it was a selfish one. 1 sat down by my study win dow, and looked forth into the garden ; they were there together and I could not help " thinking what a hand&ome couple they , were. He was helping to tie un a rose bush, aud I heard him say that its blossoms were no brighter or blither than herself. And this was -the man who had asked me to be his wife only yesterday the only lover I ever had. I had given him up to Helen; they were both forgetting me. "Is this you, Lucy Emery t" I said, with a twinge of contempt for my self-pity, and then I took my pen, and resolutely turning my back upon sorrow, commenced to write a new book.- In six weeks Duncan Claver- ing married them. - j I wa3 now twenty five years old, and I looked ten years older than that.' Five years had passed since my sister's marriage, and for the.last twelve months she had been in hef old home again ; Charles Stanley's widow.:- Her poet-liusband was dead, and she, always sensitive, but transitory in her emotions, ihoughlsb speedily regained her cheerfulness They : had been very happy ; she had exactly sat isfied the needs of his "nature ' with her . ' brightness and her beauty.' V s I iiever had another lover, and Duncan Clavering had been my only friend. I had by this time won the fame he had prophe sied, and far more 'than myself, he" gloried "( in iti Physically, I had not grown much stronger; There were hours when I would have given worlds for human love ; to have rested my throbbing brovv for one instant on some true heart which was mine own. , But knowing this was not for me, resolutely put the thought, away. Of late Duncan Clavering had often come to see us; far oftener thaa before Helen's '"But itis not Helen I want : It is you," ihe'fame had beeTT his firstxhbughof W Listen and y ou will believe roe. You are: com rwomar vouldi5)tfdr : hours!and listen o her voice as sda sanglo
North Carolina Argus (Wadesboro, N.C.)
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April 9, 1863, edition 1
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