IX.

BESIDE THE LAKE.

The sun of August from a clear blue sky Shone on Lake Saranac. The South-wind stirred Mildly the woods encircling, that threw down A purple shadow on the liquid smoothness Glassing the eastern border, while the west Lay bared to light.

Wild, virgin nature all! Except that here and there a partial clearing, Made by the sportsman's axe for summer tents, Dented the massive verdure, and revealed A little slope of bank, dotted with stumps And brown with slender aromatic leaves Shed from the pine, the hemlock, and the fir In layers that gave a soft and slippery carpet.

Near one of these small openings where the breeze Crept resinous and cool from evergreens Behind them, while the sun blazed bright before,— Where with the pine-trees' vapory depth of hue The whiteness of a spacious tent contrasted, Beside which, on a staff, the nation's flag Flung out its crimson with protecting pride,— Reclined a wife and husband, looking down Less on the glorious lake than on the glory That, through a gauzy veil, played round the head Of a reposing infant, golden-tressed, Asleep upon a deer-skin at their feet, While a huge dog kept watchful guard beyond: For there lay little Mary Merivale.

Boats on the lake showed that this group detached Were part of a well-chosen company. Here children ran and frolicked on the beach; There an old man, rowed by two guides, stood up With rod and line and reel, while swiftly flew The reel, announcing that a vigorous trout Just then had seized the hook. Came the loud cry,— "Look, Charles! Look, Linda! See me land him now! Don't touch him with your scoop, men! I can fetch him,"— In tones not unfamiliar to our ears. And there, six boats swept by, from which the voices Of merry children and their elder friends— Mothers and fathers, teachers, faded aunts, Dyspeptic uncles, wonderfully cured All by this tonic, Adirondack air— Came musical and loud: a strange collection, Winnowed by Rachel (now the important queen Of all this sanitary revelry) From her acquaintance in the public schools; Whence her quick sympathies had carried her Straight to the overworked, the poor, the ailing, Among the families of her associates, When Linda planned this happy enterprise Of a grand camping-out for one whole month. The blind aunt and the grandmother, of course, High and important persons, Rachel's aids, Graced the occasion; for the ancient dame Had lived in such a region in her youth, And in all sylvan craft was proudly wise: Declaring that this taste of life would add Some ten years to her eighty-five, at least.

On went the boats, all large and safely manned, In competition not too venturesome. Then, from a rocky outlook on the hill, There came a gush of music from a band, Employed to cheer with timely melody This strange encampment in the wilderness. Hark! Every voice is hushed as down the lake The breathing clarions accordant send The tune of "Love Not" to each eager ear! The very infant, in its slumber, smiled As if a dream of some old paradise Had been awakened by the ravishment.

"Look at the child!" cried Linda; "mark that smile! All heaven reflected in a dew-drop! See!" "And all the world grasped in that little fist,— At least as we esteem the world!" cried Charles. "And yet," said Linda, "'tis a glorious world: See how those families enjoy themselves!" "And who created all this happiness?" The husband said,—"who, after God, but Linda? Who spends her money, not in rearing piles Of cold and costly marble for her pride,— Not in great banquets for the rich and gay Who need them not, and laugh at those who give,— Where, at one feast, enough is spent to make All these poor people radiant for a month,— But in exhilarations coming from Communicated joy and health and life,— The happiness that's found in making happy."

"All selfishness!" cried Linda; "selfishness! I seek my happiness, and others theirs; Only my tastes are different; more plebeian, Haply, they'd say; but, husband mine, reflect! You, too, I fear, are lacking in refinement: Would this have been, had you not acquiesced In all these vulgar freaks, and found content, Like me, in giving pleasure to the needy? And tell me—passing to another point— Where would have been the monarch of this joy, That little child,—that antepast of bliss Such as the angels taste,—had I recoiled From daring as I did, even when I knew He I most wished to win would think me bold?"

"Ah! little wife," cried Charles, "I've half a mind To tell you what I've never told you yet. Yes, I will tell you all, although it may End the complacent thought that Linda did it— Did it by simply daring to propose! Know, then, a constant track of you I kept, Even while I seemed to shun you. I could kneel Before your recollection in my heart, When you regarded me as shy and cold. And, while by poverty held reticent, I saw, supreme among my hopes, but Linda! Before we left the sea-side I had learnt, Through gossip of my worthy landlady, Where you would go, returning to New York. I found your house; I passed it more than once When, like a beacon, shone your study-lamp. The very night before you called upon me To ask, would I take Rachel as my pupil, (How kind in you to patronize my school!) I sought an anodyne for my despair In watching for your shadow on the curtain.

"Discovery of that unexpected debt, Owed by my father, killed the last faint hope Which I had cherished; and our interview— Your daring offer of this little hand— But made me emulous to equal you In self-renouncing generosity; And so, I frankly told you what I told: That love and marriage were not in my lot.

"Ten days elapsed, and then from utter gloom I sprang to cheerful light. My father's partner, The man named Judd, who robbed us all one day, Had a compunctious interval, and sent A hundred thousand dollars back to us— Why do you smile?"

"Go on. 'Tis worth a smile."

"That very day I cleared myself from debt; That very day I sued for Linda's hand; That very day she gave it willingly; And the next month beheld us two made one. And so it would have been, if you, my dear, Had made no sign, and waited patiently. But ah! what luck was mine! After two days, The news arrived that Linda was an heiress. An heiress! Think of it; and I had said, Never, no, never would I wed an heiress! But 'twas too late for scruples; I was married,— Caught in the trap I always meant to shun!"

Then Linda, mischief in her smile, exclaimed: "O simple Charles! The innocent dear man! Who doubts but woman ought to hold her tongue, And wait till he, the preordained, appear? That hundred thousand dollars, you are sure, Was from your father's partner—was from Judd?"

"Of course it was,—from Judd, and no one else! Who could have sent the money, if not Judd? No doubt it came from Judd! My father said, 'Twas conscience-money, and restored by Judd, Who had become a deacon in the Church. Why did you ask me whether I was sure The hundred thousand dollars came from Judd? What are you smiling at, provoking Linda?" "O, you're so quick, so clever, all you men! And women are so dull and credulous, So easily duped, when left to go alone! What you would prove is, that my daring step, In being first to make a declaration, Was needless, since priority in love Was yours, and your intention would have brought The same result about without my seeking. Know then, the money was not yours until I'd got the news of my recovered fortune; From me the money came, and only me; And all that story of a Judd, turned deacon, Grown penitent and making restitution, Was a mere myth, invented by your father, Lest you might hesitate to take the money. Now if I had not sought you as I did, And if I had not put you to the test, And if I had not learnt your secret grief, We might have lived till we were gray and bent Before a step of yours had brought us nearer." "Outflanked! I own it, and I give it up!" Cried Charles, all flushing with astonishment: "But how I'll rate that ancient fisherman, My graceless father, for deceiving me! See him stand there, as if with conscience void, Throwing the line for innocent, fat trout! With that grave face, saying the money came From Judd,—from Deacon Judd! I'll deacon him!"

"What! you regret it, do you, Master Charles? The crooked ways that brought you where you are You would make straight, and have the past undone? To think that by a woman you've been wooed, To think that by a woman you've been won, Is thought too humbling and too scandalous; Is an indignity too hard to bear! Oh! well, sir, well; do as you please; the child Goes with its mother, though; remember that." And here the infant threw its eyelids back, Revealing orbs, blue as the shadows cast On Saranac's blue by overhanging woods. Said Lothian, snatching up the smiling wonder, And handing it, with kisses, to the mother: "Take all your woman's rights; even this, the best: Are we not each the richer by the sharing Of such a gift? I'll not regret your daring."



NOTES.

PAGE 11.

"Oh! lacking love and best experience."

An extreme Materialism here comes to the support of a grim theology. In his "Physiology and Pathology of the Mind," Dr. Maudsley says: "To talk about the purity and innocence of a child's mind is a part of that poetical idealism and willing hypocrisy by which man ignores realities and delights to walk in a vain show." Such sweeping generalizations do not inspire confidence in the writer's prudence. Christ was nearer the truth when he said, concerning little children,—"Of such is the kingdom of heaven."

PAGE 64.

"Few honorable outlooks for support, Excepting marriage."

Referring to the fact that in Massachusetts, during the ten years from 1859 to 1869, the increase of crime among women has been much greater than among men, Miss Catherine Beecher remarks: "But turning from these (the criminal class) to the daughters of the most wealthy class, those who have generous and devoted aspirations also feel that for them, too, there is no opening, no promotion, no career, except that of marriage,—and for this they are trained to feel that it is disgraceful to seek. They have nothing to do but wait to be sought. Trained to believe marriage their highest boon, they are disgraced for seeking it, and must affect indifference.

"Meantime to do anything to earn their own independence is what father and brothers would deem a disgrace to themselves and their family. For women of high position to work for their livelihood, in most cases custom decrees as disgraceful. And then, if cast down by poverty, they have been trained to nothing that would earn a support, or, if by chance they have some resource, all avenues for its employment are thronged with needy applicants."

This is but a very mild statement of the social fictions under which woman is now suffering in mind, body, and estate; but it is valuable as coming from a witness who hopes that some less radical remedy than female suffrage will be found for existing evils. If the remedy lies with woman herself, as all admit, how can we expect her to act efficiently until she is a modifying force in legislation?

PAGE 65.

"Unions, no priest, no church can sanctify."

"The most absurd notions," says J. A. St. John, "have prevailed on the subject of matrimony. Marriage, it is said, is a divine institution, therefore marriages are made in heaven; but the consequence does not at all follow; the meaning of the former proposition simply being that God originally ordained that men and women should be united in wedlock; but that he determined what particular men and women should be united, every day's experience proves to be false. It is admitted on all hands that marriage is intended to confer happiness on those who wed. Now, if it be found that marriage does not confer happiness on them, it is an undoubted proof that they ought not to have been united, and that the sooner they separate the better; but from accepting this doctrine some persons are deterred by misrepresentations of scripture, others by views of policy, and others again by an entire indifference to human happiness. They regard men and women as mere animals, and, provided they have children, and rear them, nothing more."

"It is incredible," says Milton, "how cold, how dull, and far from all fellow-feeling we are, without the spur of self-concernment!"

PAGE 72.

"Behold the world's ideal of a wife!"

"All women," says John Stuart Mill, "are brought up from their very earliest years in the belief that their ideal character is the very opposite to that of man; not self-will and self-government by self-control, but submission and yielding to the control of others.... What is now called the nature of women is an eminently artificial thing,—the result of forced repression in some directions, unnatural stimulation in others."

The cowardice that is looked upon as disgraceful in a man is regarded by many as rather honorable than otherwise in a woman. False notions, inherited from chivalrous times, and growing out of the state of subjection in which woman has been bred, have generated this inconsistency. The truth is that courage is honorable to both sexes; to a Grace Darling and an Ida Lewis, a Madame Roland and a Florence Nightingale, as well as to a Bayard and a Shaw, a Napoleon and a Farragut.

PAGE 73.

"That moment should the intimate relations Of marriage end, and a release be found!"

In the United States the action of certain State legislatures, in increasing the facilities for divorce, has been a subject of alarm among persons bred under the influences of a more conservative system. It would be difficult to show as yet whether social morality is harmed or helped by the increased freedom. Nothing can be more deceptive and unsatisfactory than the statistics offered on both sides of the question. It is generally admitted, we believe, that in those countries where divorce is most difficult, the number of illegitimate births is largest, and the reputation of married women is most questionable. In the nature of things, much of the prevalent immorality being furtive and clandestine, it is impossible to estimate the extent of the evils growing out of illiberal laws in relation to matrimony. In any legislation on the subject women should have a voice.

PAGE 80.

"Unlike the Church, I look on marriage as A civil contract, not a sacrament."

Kenrick here refers of course to the Catholic Church, whose theory of marriage, namely, that it is a sacrament and indissoluble, when once contracted according to the forms of the Church, still influences the legislation and social prejudices of Protestant communities in respect to their own religious forms of marriage. It was not till the twelfth century, and under the auspices of Pope Innocent III., that divorce was prohibited by the civil as well as the canon law. But it is only a marriage between Catholics that is indissoluble under the Catholic system. In the case of a marriage of Protestants, the tie is not regarded as binding. A dissolution was actually granted in such a case where one of the parties turned Catholic, in 1857, by the bishop of Rio Janeiro, who pronounced an uncanonical marriage null and void. Modern legislation in establishing the validity of civil marriages aimed a severe blow at ecclesiastical privilege.

To Rome and not to the Bible we must go for all the authority we can produce for denying that marriage is simply a civil contract. The form, binding one man to one woman, had its origin outside of the Bible. Up to the time of Charlemagne in the eighth century, polygamy and concubinage were common among Christians and countenanced by the Church. Even Luther seems to have had somewhat lax, though not unscriptural, notions on the subject. When Philip, landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, wanted to take another wife, and threatened to get a dispensation from the Pope for the purpose, Luther convoked a synod, composed of six of his proselytes, who declared that marriage is merely a civil contract; that they could find no passage in the Holy Scriptures ordaining monogamy; and they consequently signed a decree permitting Philip to take a second wife without repudiating his first.

In that reconstruction of laws, threatened by the movement in behalf of female suffrage, it is not probable that the patriarchal institution of polygamy will be regarded otherwise than as debasing to both sexes; but perhaps a greater latitude of divorce will be sought as not inconsistent with public morality. Looking at the question abstractly, and apart from all religious and social prejudice, it certainly seems the height of cruelty and absurdity to compel parties to keep up the relations of man and wife when one of them feels towards the other either a physical repugnance or a moral dislike. The impediments often raised by our courts in the way of divorce are gross relics of barbarism, and will be abolished by a higher legislative morality.

"Whoso," says Milton, "prefers either matrimony or other ordinance before the good of man and the plain exigence of charity, let him profess Papist or Protestant or what he will, he is no better than a pharisee, and understands not the gospel; whom, as a misinterpreter of Christ, I openly protest against." And, in another passage, he rebukes those who would rest "in the mere element of the text," as favoring "the policy of the Devil to make that gracious ordinance (of marriage) become insupportable, that what with men not daring to venture upon wedlock, and what with men wearied out of it, all inordinate license might abound."

Mr. J. A. St. John, editor of the Prose Works of Milton, remarks in reference to the marriage law as it now stands in England:—

"Having been invented and established by men, it is calculated to bear with extreme severity on women, who are daily subjected to wrongs and hardships which they would not endure, were the relief of divorce open to them. Those who take a different view descant upon the encouragement which would, they say, be given to immorality were divorce made easy. But the contrary is the truth.

"It is in behalf of morals, and for the sake of imparting a higher tone to the feelings of society, that the present unnatural system should be abolished. Where, what Milton calls, an unconjugal mind exists, there must be unconjugal manners; and to what these lead no one need be told. Where marriage is indissoluble, people presume upon that fact to transgress its laws, which they would not do were it legally practicable to obtain immediate redress.

"However, there is a great indisposition in mankind to innovate in legislation; and they had generally rather be miserable according to rule than free and happy on a novel principle.... Whenever it clearly appears that man and wife can no longer live together in peace and harmony, their separation would be far more beneficial to themselves and favorable to morals, than their compulsory union. Milton's notions of married life are highly flattering to women, whom he evidently contemplates as the equal companions of men."

PAGE 156.

"Give her the suffrage."

In one of his pamphlets in behalf of women's suffrage, Professor F. W. Newman of England, a man of widest culture and noblest sympathies, and always among the ablest and foremost in good works, remarks: "It is useless to reply that women have not political knowledge. Hitherto they have had little motive to acquire it. But how much of such knowledge have those male voters had, whom, for two hundred years past, candidates for the place of M. P. have made drunk in the tippling-houses? The arguments used against female suffrage simply show that there is nothing valid to be said. Women have, prima facie, the same right as men."

PAGE 160.

"Not by evading or profaning Nature."

In his recent "History of European Morals," Mr. Lecky, referring to the fact that the prevalent doctrine is, that the very highest interest of society is not to stimulate but to restrain multiplication, diminishing the number of marriages and of children, presents the following comments:—

"In consequence of this belief, and of the many factitious wants that accompany a luxurious civilization, a very large and increasing proportion of women are left to make their way in life without any male protector, and the difficulties they have to encounter through physical weakness have been most unnaturally and most fearfully aggravated by laws and customs which, resting on the old assumption that every woman should be a wife, habitually deprive them of the pecuniary and educational advantages of men, exclude them absolutely from very many of the employments in which they might earn a subsistence, encumber their course in others by a heartless ridicule or by a steady disapprobation, and consign, in consequence, many thousands to the most extreme and agonizing poverty, and perhaps a still larger number to the paths of vice.

"At the same time a momentous revolution, the effects of which can as yet be but imperfectly descried, has taken place in the chief spheres of female industry that remain. The progress of machinery has destroyed its domestic character. The distaff has fallen from the hand. The needle is being rapidly superseded, and the work which, from the days of Homer to the present century, was accomplished in the centre of the family, has been transferred to the crowded manufactory."

The necessity of those reforms which many noble women are now urging upon public attention is clearly set forth in eloquent facts like these.

PAGE 198.

"Is against nature."

A curious instance of the temerity with which flagrant errors are pressed into the service of criticism is presented in some remarks in the N. Y. Nation. "There is probably," it says, "no incident of woman's condition which is more clearly natural than her passivity in all that relates to marriage. In waiting to be wooed, she not only complies with one of the conventional proprieties, but obeys what appears to be a law of sex, not amongst human beings only, but among all animals."

These remarks have been adopted by many American journalists, and have been accepted perhaps by many readers as settling the whole question with scientific accuracy and force, so far as analogies drawn from the habits of the lower animals can settle it. But if the critic, while buttering his daily bread or putting cream into his daily coffee, had acquainted himself with the habits of the useful animal to which he is indebted, he would never have been guilty of so prodigious a blunder. So far from passively "waiting to be wooed," the cow, when the sexual impulse is awakened, will disturb the whole neighborhood by her bellowings. Should the critic reply that this is because she is kept in an unnatural state of restraint, such reply would add only additional force to the contradiction of the argument which he would offer.

Other examples in abundance, in confutation of his assumption, could no doubt be furnished. But even were that assumption true, we might sometimes be led to rather awkward results if we were to take the habits of the lower animals as authoritative. Certain animals have not infrequently an eccentric habit of destroying their offspring. Some of our Chinese brethren, borrowing a hint perhaps from the brute creation, are said to think it no sin to kill such female children as they have no use for. We hope that no enterprising critic will recommend such a solution as this of the woman problem.

THE END.

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