The Mask of the Red Death - Graham's Magazine, May 1842 — reading text

is ‘* Let us see first what you can do. What is your ness that often counterbalances them. We, who are t first duty in the morning after you have dressed of harder natures, have too little sympathy, perhaps f yourself ?”” too little thought for her peculiar trials.” Gently i ‘To wash and dress my children.” then, as a father to an only son, the old man related i *‘Do you always do it? Because if you rise early to Clifton all that had passed between Lucy and him- you have time before breakfast. Your children are self. More than once he saw his eyes moisten and — happy and comfortable, only in your regular manage- strong emotion manifest itself in his manly counte- ment of every thing connected with them.” nance. A something of remorseful sorrow filled his “T cannot always do it,’’ said Lucy, blushing— heart, and its shadow lay on his face. ‘Uncle “sometimes I get up as low-spirited and weary as Joshua” read aright the expression, and his honest after the fatigues of theday. I have no heart to go heart beat with joy at the prospects he thought it to work ; Clifton is cold, and hurries off to business. opened before them. Always wise-judging he said After breakfast I go through the house and to the nothing further, but left him to his own reflections. kitchen, so that it is often noon before I can manage And Clifton did indeed reflect long and anxiously: to dress them.” he saw indeed how much his own conduct had dis- ‘‘Now instead of all this, if you were to rise couraged his wife, while it had been a source of early, dress your little ones before breakfast, arrange positive unhappiness to her. He went at length to your work, and go regularly from one work to the seek her ;—she was alone in the parlor reading, or other; mever putting off one to finish another, you rather a book was before her, from which her eyes would get through everything, and have time to often wandered, until her head sank on the arm of walk—that each day may have its necessary portion the sofa, and a heavy sigh came sadly on the ear of of exercise in the open air. That would dissipate Clifton. ‘Lucy, dear Lucy, grieve no more! We weariness, raise your spirits, and invigorate your have both been wrong, but I have erred the most— frame. Lucy, will you not make the trial for Clif- having years on my side and experience. Shall we ton’s sake? Make his home a well-ordered one, and not forgive each other, my sweet wife?’ and he he will be glad to come into it.” lifted her tenderly in his arms, and kissed the tears And Lucy promised to think of it. But her uncle as they fell on her cheek. was surprised at her apparent apathy, and not long ‘‘ Thave caused you much suffering, Lucy, I greatly in divining the true reason. Her heart is not in it, he fear ;—your faults occasioned me only inconvenience. thought, and if her husband don’t rouse it, never Dry up your tears, and let me hear that you forgive will be. Lucy felt she was an object of indifference, me, Lucy.” if not dislike to Clifton; there was no end to be ac- “T have nothing to forgive,” exclaimed Lucy. complished by self-exertion ;and as there was no- ‘Oh, I have been wrong, very wrong !—but if you  264 GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. had only encouraged me to reform, and sustained enemy will be back again before I am fully rid of and aided me in my efforts todo so by your affection, him.” so many of our married days would not have passed “It is rightto watch ourselves, I know, Lucy; are in sorrow and suffering.” you satified that I have done so, and have, in some “*T feel they would not,’ said Clifton, moved measure, corrected myself?” said Clifton. almost to tears. ‘‘ Now, Lucy, the self-exertion shall ‘“‘T have never seen a frown on your face since be mutual. I will never rest until I correct the you promised me to be patient. You have been, and violence of temper, that has caused you so much will continue to be, I am sure,’’ said Lucy, fondly, pain. You have but one fault, procrastination—will as she raised his hand to her lips which had rested you strive also to overcome it?” on herarm. They were happy both, and whatever ‘TJ will,” said Lucy; ‘but you must be very pa- trouble was in store for them in their future life, tient with me, and rather encourage me to new ex- they had strong mutual affection to sustain them ertions. I have depended too long on your looks under it. not to be influenced by them still—my love, Clifton, ** God bless them both,” murmured “Uncle stronger than your own, fed on the memory of our Joshua,” as he drew his hand hard across his eyes early happiness, until my heart grew sick that it after witnessing this little scene. ‘“‘ I have done good would never return. Oh! if you could love me as here, but in many a case I might be termed a med- you did then, could respect me as once you did, I dling old fool, and not without reason, perhaps. ’Tis fee] I could make any exertion to deserve it.” a pity though, that folks, who will get their necks *¢ And will you not be more worthy of esteem and into this matrimonial yoke, would not try to make love than ever you were, dear Lucy, if you succeed smooth the uneven places, instead of stumbling all in reforming yourself! I believe you capable of the the way, breaking their hearts by way of amusement, effort; and if success attends it, the blessing will as they go.” fail on us both, Lucy, and on our own dear children. “What is that you say, ‘Uncle Joshua?” said Of one thing be assured, that my love will know no Lucy, turning quickly round, and walking towards further change or diminution. You shall not have him, accompanied by her husband. aertoanmetieaibingslnibneinesee erieseveseniesnppaiinnerteensietiemsinpure cause to complain of me again, Lucy. Now smile ‘*T have a bad habit of talking aloud,” said he, a || a Ss on me, dearest, as you once did in a time we will smiling. never forget—and tell me you will be happy for my “But I thought you were abusing matrimony, oO sake.” uncle—you surely were not?” Lucy smiled, and gave the assurance—her heart “Cannot say exactly what I was thinking aloud. I beat lightly in her bosom—the color spread over her am an old bachelor, Lucy, and have few objects of face—her eyes sparkled with the new, glad feelings affection in the world: you have been to me as a of hope and happiness, and as Clifton clasped her child, always a good child, Lucy, too—and now I ipie incee OES OR ePe rasan pesm in his arms, he thought her more beautiful than in think you will make a good wife, and find the happi- that early time when he had first won her love. ness you so well deserve. Am I right, love?’ In that very hour Lucy began her work of reform; **T hope you are, uncle. If it had not been for it seemed as though new life had been infused into your kindness though, I might never have been happy her hitherto drooping frame. She warbled many a again,” and tears dimmed Lucy’s eyes at the recol- petra terete nce sweet note of her youth, long since forgotten, for lection. her spirits seemed running over from very excess of ** We shall not forget your kindness,”’ said Clifton happiness. ‘Uncle Joshua” was consulted in all as he extended his hand, which ‘‘Uncle Joshua” her arrangements, and of great use he was:—he grasped warmly. ‘I wish every married pair in planned for her, encouraged her, made all easy by trouble could find a good genius like yourself to in- his method and management. She had gone to work terfere in their favor.” with a strong wish to do her duty, and with a hus- *'Ten to one he would be kicked out of doors!” band’s love shining steadily on her path, a husband’s said the old man, laughing. ‘This matrimony is a affection for all success, and sympathy with every queer. thing—those who have their necks in the noose failure, there was little fear of her not succeeding.