# Orange Grove (Wall)/Chapter 19

"I love to go Out in the pleasant sun, and let my eye Rest on the human faces that pass by, Each with its gay and busy interest; And then I muse upon their lot, and read Many a lesson in their changeful cast; And so grow kind of heart, as if the sight Of human beings were humanity."
It was a pleasant morning in the early spring, such as makes one feel an irresistible longing to be out in the open air and enjoy the warming genial influences which seem to open our hearts to nature's kindly teachings as much as to penetrate and dissolve the icy shroud of winter.
Amelia Crawford, who had been busily engaged all the week in assisting at preparations for a grand fete that was to come bff that evening, being at leisure, resolved to avail herself of the privileges of the day and take a walk, which she always enjoyed for the opportunity it afforded her to come in contact with the busy crowd that thronged the streets, in whom she took a lively interest, though apparently so inaccessible to human susceptibility. She stepped into a store where she was acquainted, in one of the principal thoroughfares of the city, and stood for some time at the window watching the passers by, an interesting amusement, and one which furnishes many ​an interesting theme for reflection to an attentive observer.
The merry child, rudely jostled aside in the midst of his harmless play by the bustling man of business, little dreams of the ruder thrusts that await his moral as well as his physical man in this work-day world of ours, when something sterner and more practical than a few childish tears must come to his relief. Age, leaning on its staff, looking down the narrow path which, ere long will close entirely to its footsteps, is fortunate indeed, if occasionally, one of the busy throng vouchsafes a kindly smile in recognition of its kindred nature.
There in the middle of the muddy street stands a girl, fourteen perhaps, fighting her way against a troop of boys who wantonly upset her basket containing a few nondescript articles, one of which she quickly seizes and, hurries out of sight, while they hoot after her with the cry of "thief," whether with just cause or not no one asks or cares to know. Amelia watches her with a half resolution to intercede in her behalf, or plead with her to tell the truth in the matter; but while debating within herself and halting at the door, she loses sight of the girl, and stands there regretting her own want of decision in not seizing that opportunity for effecting some good, thus perhaps, missing the slender thread on which hangs the reputation of many an individual whose name might never have been remembered, but for some trivial occurrence which first opened the way for other deeds which have won the gratitude and admiration of the human race.
​In a few moments she was roused from her reverie by a smile of recognition from Ernest Livingston, and directly behind him followed Grace Blanche, who gave her no friendly greeting, although she worked for her only the day before. Her mind was too much occupied with the figure before her, in the line of which she kept such an even balance that, turning his head on either side, he would miss a glimpse of her. Imagination had been too busy at work during those several months for conscience or reason to act calmly or wisely, and if sho had not intended to harbor any unkind feeling towards him, it would have been impossible for her to deny truthfully the existence of a little revengeful spirit that day.
It is said that woman is less forgiving than man, doubtless owing to her greater power of endurance, and to her more secluded life. Contact with the world leads to a study of human nature, which diffuses a more catholic spirit as we learn to comprehend it in its many phases, and overlook what seems at the moment inexplicable, confident that a knowledge of all the circumstances would materially change the aspect of affairs. Then Grace Blanche had met with no affliction since she was old enough to realize it, a school more powerful than any other to soften the feelings and educate them into a magnanimity that cannot afford to notice trifles. But this was not a trifle. Disappointed as she had been in the confidence placed in another, the effect of which made her a little inclined to think the whole world false, it was no light thing that this friend in whom she ​trusted should treat her with coldness at the very moment she most needed sympathy. It was a most unfortunate thing for her that Mr. Livingston should have been called away at that time, since, had they met as usual afterwards, this little incident might have been forgotten.
On his return, her reserve excited no less surprise and regret on his part. His affections were intensely strong as his unwavering attachment to Rosalind proved, and the thought of this friendship being broken, pained him deeply. Again and again he tried to approach her with his wonted familiarity and was as often repulsed.
In the meantime Mr. Carleton improved his opportunity to regain the esteem he feared had been lowered through Mr. Livingston's influence. Keeping himself well informed of the movements of the latter, his absence was known to him sooner than to most of his friends, but it was sometime before he succeeded in ingratiating himself into her favor sufficiently to be oil intimate terms as a friend. Miss Blanche never lost faith in Mr. Livingston's integrity which made her hesitate long, before surrendering herself again to the fascinating influence of Mr. Carleton. There was an irresistible desire to cling to something, and in desperation she yielded.
Never could a person show more tenderness and devotion than he, being capable of the most exalted emotions, though transient. There were gleams of a better nature rising within him, acted upon by the transcendent qualities of this pure and noble woman, which doubtless lessened her confidence in Mr. Liv​ingston's impression of his character, and made her feel a little disposed to reproach him for it.
In the autumn previous, Mr. Carleton was taken sick, and for many weeks his life was despaired of. Though not his constant attendant, Miss Blanche was often by his bedside, and the attachment before existing was greatly strengthened. As he grew weaker, the higher elements of his nature were developed while the passions lay dormant, and even his foes yielded to the conviction that a change must have taken place which would transform him into a different character if his life should be spared. Then able to talk, his fascinating gift of conversation shone forth with greater brilliancy than ever. As the disease began to abate, the physician recommended a winter residence at the South as the only means of fully restoring his impaired health, which brought to his side many of his former friends, eager to efface any disagreeable record they might have left of waning friendship. Among this number Ernest Livingston did not appear, there being no occasion for it. He had never borne any malice toward the man, neither had he ever honored him with his friendship. This was sufficient to convince Grace Blanche that he had not changed his opinions concerning him.
Mr. Carleton left for the South as soon as he was able, keeping up a correspondence with her through the winter, yet nothing had ever been said of marriage. Doubts still existed in her mind of the propriety of her course, the responsibility of which she cast upon him who had it in his power to have prevented it if he had not forsaken her in the hour of ​trial. This reflection preyed upon her more than usual the day of the great party, which gave rise to her excited feelings towards him then. She was playing on the piano when Ernest and Rosalind arrived that evening, the latter having been detained by company which made them late. Mr. Livingston was exceedingly fond of music, in which accomplishment Miss Blanche excelled, and she was performing the same difficult but exquisite part that won his admiration the first time he ever saw her. Could it be that she harbored an unkind feeling toward any human being, and especially toward him who had given her no cause of offence, thought Mr. Livingston, as the sound floated upward, making him feel that he could forgive the greatest personal injury ever committed by a human being. Probably not many among that brilliant throng would have shrunk from the same acknowledgment, listening as they were with the most intense enthusiasm to this melodious inspiration, scarcely knowing which were most fascinating, the thrilling notes of the music or the beauty and gracefulness of the player, enhanced now by the fervor of soul thrown into the performance.
He resolved to make another attempt, and speak to her as if nothing had happened when she rose from the piano, not doubting that amid the crowd of people and the exalting influences of the moment she would, like himself, banish all former distrust, and treat him at least courteously. But he miscalculated that time.
She experience the opposite sensation. She knew when he entered, knew where he was standing ​and felt that he was listening to her admiringly, which fact contributed not a little to throw more spirit and fervor of soul into her performance. Its intimate association with their first meeting, brought to mind all the disagreeable incidents or the broken links of a once warm and generous friendship, which roused a greater alienation of feeling than before. She swept proudly by him, not so much as deigning to give him a look of condescension, displaying with such conscious intention as to arrest the attention of all eyes, which followed her as she rose. Rosalind looked wonderingly from her to Ernest, and from him to her. She saw an expression in his eyes which she never saw before, nor ever after. Hitherto, he had felt grieved, but not vexed. When his indignation was excited it was not easily quelled, until the cause was removed, if any existed, which he was determined to know in this instance, having been embarrassed by her enough, let it be what it might, and therefore resolved to seek the first opportunity to demand an explanation. He did not have to wait long. Evidently unhappy, the admiration she had excited was uncongenial to her feelings, and she stepped aside into a conservatory whither he followed her.
"Good evening Miss Blanche," said he, as he extended his hand, "I believe you did not recognize me as you passed by me."
Conventional in all her ways, she was surprised by this unexpected sally from one as conventional as herself. Mechanically giving him her hand, her eyes dropped, being too confused to reply.
​Never did she look more charming in her queenly beauty, than when that delicate, rose-tinted blush betrayed a momentary lack of the self possession which seldom deserted her in any emergency. It was pleasant to feel the pressure of his hand once more, but what was to be done next? There they stood, liable at any moment to be surprised and embarrassed by others. He had not studied his lesson beforehand, and probably by this time was wishing himself out of the dilemma he had so unceremoniously rushed into. He let go her hand, and she looked up at him with a half smile, in her usual dignified manner. He smiled the smile she had once so much enjoyed. All bitterness melted away in an instant, and it is not known what explanation might have followed, but for the sudden announcement of Mr. Carleton which was as unexpected to her, as to the rest of the company. She turned deadly pale, and the interview was abruptly terminated.
She did not leave the conservatory for some time, remaining unobserved as she supposed, amid the dense mass of flowers and shrubbery, which gave it the character of an artificial garden. There she was struggling with the contending emotions of her soul, having just begun to tread that delicate labyrinth whose intricate windings would disclose a mine to fathom which, the brief space of twenty years had not given her the first sounding plummet. She was surprised to find that she did not even know herself. The very moment she felt the pressure of Mr. Livingston's hand all feeling of ill-will vanished, and ​he was restored to her confidence, while his repulsion to Mr. Carleton was as sensibly communicated to her as if the latter had openly avowed himself in her presence the arrant hypocrite the former assumed him to be. If it is true that a woman's quick instinct empowers her to be an unerring criterion of character, there are so many controlling influences to modify it, unknown to herself, that it seldom acts with full force.
"What hastened you back so soon, Mr. Carleton?" said one of his friends, as they stood near the door of the conservatory, through which his observant eyes detected the object of his search ever since ho entered the parlors.
"A little item of business, in fact a powerful magnet has attracted me here," said he with a significant wink, in a voice too low to be understood by Miss Blanche although the sound of his voice was instantly recognized by her. An involuntary shudder crept over her as she looked round for a chance of escape, and the next moment saw him advancing towards her.
"Why Miss Blanche, what is the matter, you are ill!" exclaimed he as he felt the icy touch of her hand, and observed her deathly pallor, at the same time throwing his arm around her to lead her to the open air. This act sent the blood coursing through her temples and restored her self possession. Remembering where she was, and how long she had been absent from the company, by a strong effort she succeeded in throwing a mask over her feelings so as to attract no attention during the rest of the ​evening, except from Ernest Livingston, by whom she felt she was closely observed. Mr. Carleton did not leave her for an instant, although she tried in vain to assure him that she was not ill, hoping that he would leave her to herself.
"Those flowers," said he, "have delightful odors, but do you know that the fragrance of flowers in a close room is thought by some to be poisonous? That may have been the cause of your slight illness. If you will go with me to the sunny south," said he lowering his tone, and assuming his peculiar musical inflection of voice, "we can enjoy the beauty of flowers such as you never saw here, without suffering from their poisonous exhalations, as no hot-bed culture is needed there. And do you know that there is a wide field of usefulness for every woman who would employ most beneficently that higher order of talents with which God has endowed her, that she should beautify this world with noble works even as he has adorned it with flowers."
The siren voice had penetrated her soul. She looked up at him. What a beautiful light shone in his eyes! Oh, deceitful world!
But, asks the reader, where is Amelia, is she still standing in the door? No, gentle reader, the spring day has closed and she is in her quiet little room again buried in the land of dreams. No broken friendship disturbs her thoughts,—she is not rich enough in this world's enjoyment for that; no lingering regret for the past pleasures never to be recalled,—she knows nothing of such experience.
​That day, at least, has been one of tranquillity, one of calm, placid content, when she was willing to live in the present, and asked for nothing more.
Thank God for such days, for the rest they bring! and yet how soon we weary of them. Work, work for both mind and body, is what we crave, and none can be truly happy without it,—these little intervals are but preludes to a mightier effort.
Amelia dreamed of going to a wedding where she was to meet her mother, and after waiting and searching for her until the guests were nearly gone, learned that she had long since left in a carriage, leaving her to follow on foot. The disappointment awoke her when she found that mother she had none, with weddings she had nothing to do, and the disagreeable sensation of toiling on foot roused her to a consciousness of labor to be performed before she would be permitted to go to her mother. So she slept no more that night, and lay restlessly and anxiously devising some scheme that should satisfy the demands of what some call conscience, others the development of our own nature, while the nimble feet of the merry dancers in yonder mansion still kept time with the merrier music. There were those present who could sympathize with Amelia, those for whom the festivities of the hour had no charm, serving merely as safety valves to let off some of the pressure preying upon them in their luxurious homes.
Morning came at length when she must be up and doing, for this was to be a day of weariness and toil, doubly wearisome because the labor of her hand would be in such striking contrast with the current ​of her thoughts. Her service was engaged to a lady who was neither a Grace Blanche, nor a Rosalind Claremont, but a person whose primordial existence reminded one of the latest fashion-plate. Doubtless she had her moments of aspiration after something higher, if any one was fortunate enough to detect them beneath the apparent heartlessness and shallow perception.s that the most superficial aims and worthless education could develop. How she might excel in dress was her paramount study, and this day had been selected for service in that department that she might avail herself of the great fashion emporium of the previous evening. The nervous exhaustion resulting from the excitement of that night, including some real or fancied slight from one whose flattering attentions she was particularly anxious to gain, made her unusually hard to please; and Amelia, indifferent as she generally was, to praise or the lack of it, began to feel impatient at the total want of appreciation of her best endeavors to give satisfaction.
She was not the one to be pitied, however, for more harrowing sensations, more torturing anxieties, greater restlessness and weariness than she ever knew, tinctured the existence of this votary of fashion and pleasure. No sweet slumber came to her pillow as the blessed reward of wholesome toil, or the consciousness of making a single effort to make others happy. But judge her not harshly. Too many butterflies still flit in our pathway, who, like the transient sunbeams, dazzle with their brightness, but leave no radiance behind to cheer the day of sorrow, or lighten the cares of home. And yet how many instances ​occur in which we are surprised at the strength of character and energy of will displayed by this same class when the illusions of youth have lost their charms, and a false education has exhausted its frivolities.
A great injury has been done to woman, for which she is not alone responsible, in cramping her intellect just at the period it is most active, when the excitement of school-life passes away, and she needs something to satisfy the insatiate craving of that most wonderful mechanism, the human mind. The attention of many deep thinkers has been turned to this point, and hence volumes of homilies by both sexes upon the duties and employments of unmarried women. Why should they not be written for unmarried men as well? Because society allows them to mark out a sphere for themselves. A man will always find enough to occupy his mind after completing the established routine of education, without hurrying into a premature marriage as a woman often does, to escape this oppressive blank in her existence. Aspiration is immortal, and every act which tends to silence it dwarfs the divine nature, and embitters the human.
There are crises in life from which few are exempt, when our only safety lies in a great overwhelming impulse, that shall draw us aside from the trouble draining the heart's life-blood, into some active channel where self is forgotten in the measure of responsibilities, which, in our disposal of them, lift us into that eternal future where our influence shall mould the ages, but in which we, as individuals, are but ​atoms in the personal relations of joy and sorrow born of this world, and in this world to have an end.
We may engage in a benevolent operation to relieve present suffering, or by some act of self-sacrifice deserve a martyr's fame, without exciting that all-absorbing interest which calls into play the highest faculties of the soul, overpowering with their comprehensive sublimity petty trials of transient duration, in that exercise of faith and hope which carry us forward to those higher conceptions of the great purpose for which life was created, as impossible to gain in lives of frivolity and ease, as to be ignored in the safe combat with the waves of passion and prejudice flowing out of them. Responsibility,—a reaching forward to grasp momentous issues which extend beyond present interests, and embrace a wider field than our own individual necessities require, is an inevitable condition for the normal development of the spiritual nature of every man and woman.