Read Ebook: Graham's Magazine Vol. XX No. 6 June 1842 by Various Graham George R Editor

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 278 lines and 28874 words, and 6 pages

"Not understanding your premises I cannot clearly comprehend your deductions," said Mrs. Dale playfully.

"Why, Providence always bestows something to compensate for great deficiencies, and as Mr. Beauchamp cannot boast either mental or physical gifts, I take it for granted that he must have money."

"Really, Mr. Forrester, I did not think you were so ill-natured. I am sure Mr. Beauchamp has the prettiest hands and feet in the world, and his ardent admiration of the ladies proves him to possess a good heart."

"To your last argument I can offer no opposition, Madam," was the gallant reply; "but as to his hands and feet, I can only say that it is not the first time that ladies have been driven to extremities in their search for his good qualities."

"Well, I suppose," responded Mrs. Dale, laughing heartily, "that I must allow your wit to atone for your severity, but how long is it since you turned satirist?"

"Ever since I made the discovery which all the experience of others cannot teach us--that 'all is not gold which glitters.' I have almost come to the conclusion that nature, like an over-careful house-wife, hides her true gold and silver in least suspected places."

"In that case Dame Nature might be in the predicament of a queer old lady I once knew who hid her rich plate under the rafters in the garret, and when she wanted it upon occasion of a dinner-party, was obliged to borrow of a neighbor because she had forgotten where she had deposited her treasure."

"I believe if we want to find a really virtuous and true-hearted woman we must look elsewhere than among the beautiful," said Forrester bitterly.

"Fie! fie! if I had the slightest claim to beauty I should banish you from my presence for that ungallant speech."

"You ought rather to consider it a compliment, for there is not another woman here to whom I would have uttered it, or who would have understood me, perhaps, if I had."

"Ah! now you flatter my intellect at the expense of my person, and no woman ever relished such a compliment. But to return to your assertion; how can you venture to despise the allurements of beauty after feasting daily on such a banquet of loveliness as Miss Oriel offers to our eyes. I look at her, woman as I am, with delight, for I never saw so fresh, so pure, so marble-like a complexion."

"Your comparison is more correct than you imagine, Madam; her beauty is indeed like that of the marble statue, carved by a right cunning and skilful hand, but wanting the Promethean touch of soul."

"While Ellen Grey is the delicate alabaster vase, beautifully and finely wrought, and with all its exquisite loveliness brought out in rich relief by the lamp which lights it from within; is it not thus you would have continued the comparison?" said Mrs. Dale mischievously.

"Your illustration is a beautiful one, and perfectly true," was the reply; "Ellen Grey is full of gentle and womanly feeling."

"Perhaps you are prejudiced against Miss Oriel, Mr. Forrester; can it be possible that there is no soul shining in those soft dark eyes?"

"There is mental power enough, if that were all, but there is no soul--no heart; the lofty impulses of pure intellect, the tender affections of feminine nature never yet lighted up those eyes or suffused that marble brow with the blush of genuine feeling."

"Well, as you have known the lady longer than I have, it would be idle to dispute your assertions; indeed, I must confess, when I watch her sweet, unruffled look and manner, I am irresistibly reminded of the old Norse legend of the Snow-Woman--so dazzlingly beautiful, so fatally cold."

"Yet I have seen her under circumstances which would have given you a very different impression of her. Imagine that beautiful woman attired in the simplest manner, all fashionable airs laid aside, and apparently the very creature of romantic feeling; imagine such perfection of loveliness, with eyes of softness and voice all tenderness, apparently yielding up her whole soul to the sweet impressions of nature, amid the loveliest scenery that even our beautiful land can produce; imagine the effect of such beauty seen beneath the soft light of the summer moon, or gazed upon in the silent sanctuary of the forest glades, or mingling its fascinating influence with the lovely sights and sounds which charm the senses in the sunset dell, when the voice of the singing rivulet makes music on its way."

"Upon my word, Mr. Forrester, you are almost a poet; you must be in love."

"Perhaps I am, but Miss Oriel is not the object."

"How could you resist the fascinations you so enthusiastically describe?"

"Why, to tell the truth, I narrowly escaped the fate of the silly moth; I came very near singeing my wings in the blaze of her beauty, but I soon discovered that she possessed none but personal attractions. To be sure we had quite a sentimental flirtation, and I remember many very fine sentiments which she uttered, but I early found how thin and poor was the soil in which they had taken root. You know the most luxuriant growth of wild flowers is always to be found in a morass--or perhaps a more graphic illustration of my meaning might be found in the fact that the pestilential Maremma, whose atmosphere is so fatal to life, displays the richest and most gorgeous array of Flora's favorites. Laura Oriel might be loved for a week or two, but any man with common sense would soon see through her false character. For my own part, I confess that I amused myself with her very pleasantly during the early part of the summer. Indeed, I believe she fancied I was really caught in her snares, and no doubt considers that 'Cecil Forrester's ,000 will do very well to fall back upon in case nothing better offer.'"

"Hark!" exclaimed Mrs. Dale, as a slight sound, like a half-suppressed exclamation, struck upon their ears, "I really believe some one has been listening to our conversation."

"When we first came out here," said Forrester coolly, "I saw a lady take her seat within the recess of yonder window; she dropped the drapery of the curtain behind her, so as not to be observed from within, and she has been sitting in the deep shadow flung by this heavy column. She has heard every word we said; at least she has heard all I said, because I purposely deferred my most severe remarks until we passed within ear-shot."

"For Heaven's sake, what do you mean? you seem agitated; who was the lady?" asked Mrs. Dale.

"Do you not imagine? It was Miss Oriel."

"Oh, Mr. Forrester, how could you do so? and to make me a party in such cruelty too;" exclaimed the lady, much vexed.

"Now that there are really no listeners, dear Madam, I will tell you the whole story, and you shall decide whether I am so very wrong; at all events I have had my revenge."

And Cecil Forrester related to his warm-hearted friend the story of his love and its sudden extinction, not omitting a single word of the dialogue which he had overheard between the mother and daughter.

When they re-entered the saloon Miss Oriel had disappeared, but if Cecil could have known the tumult of her feelings he would, perhaps, have regretted his own vindictiveness. All the little feeling which she possessed, all that she had of heart, was bestowed on Cecil Forrester. She did not know how much she had valued him until she compared him with the object of her present pursuit; and, interested, selfish and ambitious as she was, she half determined to turn from the allurements of wealth if she could win back Cecil to his allegiance. To be thus outwitted, made the plaything of his idle hours, foiled at her own weapons, was a bitter mortification, and this, coupled as it was with a sense of unrequited tenderness, aroused her almost to madness. The cold, proud beauty shed tears of vexation and regret. She almost hated Cecil, and yet she was conscious that the most bitter drop, in the cup which had thus been returned to her own lips, was the assurance that he had never loved her. His quotation of her own remark about his fortune convinced her that he had overheard her plans, and she was now stimulated by pride to urge their speedy fulfilment.

THE LAST SCENE.

"Have you heard the news, Mr. Forrester?" exclaimed Mrs. Dale, as, two days after the confidential disclosure of the piazza, he entered the saloon; "Ah, I see by your look of innocent surprise, you are still in blissful ignorance."

"What has happened?" asked Cecil carelessly, "any thing which serves to break the monotony of a seaside existence must be a blessing."

"I do not know whether you will think it so," said the lady laughing, "Miss Oriel has eloped with Mr. Beauchamp."

"I am glad of it--from my very soul I rejoice at it," exclaimed Cecil Forrester, while a dark, vindictive smile gave a most disagreeable expression to his usually fine face.

"Why, how strangely you look at me," replied Mrs. Dale, "what is the matter?"

"Nothing--nothing--when did it all happen?"

"Did you not see her go out with him to ride last evening? Well, it seems Mr. Beauchamp's servant had been privately despatched to the city with their baggage, and instead of returning the lovers rode directly to the next town and were married."

"Why did they give themselves so much trouble? If Beauchamp had asked the old woman she would have dropped a curtsy and thanked him for the offer."

"There is the mystery of the whole affair; Mrs. Oriel pretends to be very indignant, but it is easy to see she is secretly pleased. Miss Oriel has written a letter to Miss Grey in which she entreats her to 'break the tidings tenderly to poor Mamma;' excuses herself on the plea of irresistible affection; talks of Mr. Beauchamp's ardor and her fear of maternal opposition, and finishes by requesting Ellen to 'allow his favorite Mrs. Dale to acquaint Mr. Forrester with her regret at having been the cause of disappointment and sorrow to him.'"

"What the devil does she mean by that?"

"Why to make Ellen jealous of me and distrustful of you, and thus disappoint both your love and revenge," said Mrs. Dale.

"She shall not attain her ends," exclaimed Forrester impetuously, "I will tell Ellen the whole story. I am glad she is actually married to Beauchamp, and I know the reason he did not want to ask her mother; he was afraid of inconvenient inquiries."

"What do you know about him?"

"Only this morning I met here a person who knows him well. His history is soon told. He was originally bred a tailor, but, having a soul above buttons, he cut the shop, and has since been hanging on the skirts of society in a manner very different from that intended by his honest old father. His bank stock and sugar plantation may exist in the regions of the moon, where all things which unaccountably disappear from earth are said to be collected, his negroes are still on the coast of Guinea, and he really lives by his wits. A run of luck at the gaming-table or a lucky bet on the race-course enables him every now and then to pay old debts, and live for a time like a gentleman until his funds are exhausted, when he again betakes himself to his vocation."

"Can this be possible?"

"There is no doubt of it; he is a mere adventurer, and as Miss Oriel is something very similar, they are 'matched as well as paired.'"

Cecil Forrester afforded another proof of the truth of the poet's line,

"Full many a heart is caught in the rebound."

The following winter saw him the happy husband of Ellen Grey; while all trace of Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp was lost to their view. About two years later, when business had compelled Mr. Forrester to visit one of our southern cities, he strolled into the theatre to get rid of an idle evening, and as he gazed with listless curiosity on the gorgeous spectacle of Indian life which occupied the stage, he was suddenly struck with a familiar tone in the voice and a familiar expression in the countenance of the stately queen of the Zenana. He looked again, the resemblance seemed to grow upon him; he went round to the stage box, and in that near proximity to the actress all doubt vanished. He looked upon the still resplendent beauty of Laura Oriel.

SIGHTS FROM MY WINDOW--ALICE.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet