St. John arrived first. I had entreated him to keep quite clear of

the house till everything was arranged: and, indeed, the bare idea

of the commotion, at once sordid and trivial, going on within its

walls sufficed to scare him to estrangement. He found me in the

kitchen, watching the progress of certain cakes for tea, then

baking. Approaching the hearth, he asked, "If I was at last

satisfied with housemaid's work?" I answered by inviting him to

accompany me on a general inspection of the result of my labours.

With some difficulty, I got him to make the tour of the house. He

just looked in at the doors I opened; and when he had wandered

upstairs and downstairs, he said I must have gone through a great

deal of fatigue and trouble to have effected such considerable

changes in so short a time: but not a syllable did he utter

indicating pleasure in the improved aspect of his abode.

This silence damped me. I thought perhaps the alterations had

disturbed some old associations he valued. I inquired whether this

was the case: no doubt in a somewhat crest-fallen tone.

"Not at all; he had, on the contrary, remarked that I had

scrupulously respected every association: he feared, indeed, I must

have bestowed more thought on the matter than it was worth. How

many minutes, for instance, had I devoted to studying the

arrangement of this very room?--By-the-bye, could I tell him where

such a book was?"

I showed him the volume on the shelf: he took it down, and

withdrawing to his accustomed window recess, he began to read it.

Now, I did not like this, reader. St. John was a good man; but I

began to feel he had spoken truth of himself when he said he was

hard and cold. The humanities and amenities of life had no

attraction for him--its peaceful enjoyments no charm. Literally, he

lived only to aspire--after what was good and great, certainly; but

still he would never rest, nor approve of others resting round him.

As I looked at his lofty forehead, still and pale as a white stone--

at his fine lineaments fixed in study--I comprehended all at once

that he would hardly make a good husband: that it would be a trying

thing to be his wife. I understood, as by inspiration, the nature

of his love for Miss Oliver; I agreed with him that it was but a

love of the senses. I comprehended how he should despise himself

for the feverish influence it exercised over him; how he should wish

to stifle and destroy it; how he should mistrust its ever conducting

permanently to his happiness or hers. I saw he was of the material

from which nature hews her heroes--Christian and Pagan--her

lawgivers, her statesmen, her conquerors: a steadfast bulwark for

great interests to rest upon; but, at the fireside, too often a cold

cumbrous column, gloomy and out of place.




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