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Show 222 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN: OR, faculties. Soon after the completion of his college course, his whole nature was kindled into one intense nml passionate effervescence of romantic passion. His hour camc,-thc hour that comes only once; his star rose in tho horizon,- that star that rises so often in vain, to be remembered only ns a thing of dreams; and it rose for him in vain. To drop tho figure,- he saw and won the love of a high-minded and beautiful womun, in one of the northern states, and they were affianced. l-Ie returned south to make arrangements for their marriage, when, most unexpectedly, his letters were returned to him by mail, with a short note from her g u:udiu.n, stating to him that ere this reached him the la<ly would be tho wife of another. Stung to madness, he vainly hoped, as many another has done, to fling the wltole thing from his heart by one desperate effort. 1'oo proud to supplicate or seek explanation, he threw himself at once into a whirl of fashionable society, and in a fortnight from the time of the fatal letter was the accepted lover of the reigning belle of the season; and as soon as arrangements could be made, ho became the husband of a fine figure, a pair of bright dark eyes, and a hundred thousand dollars; and, of course, everybody thought him a happy fellow. The married couple were enjoying their honeymoon, and entertaining a brilliant eirelo of friends in their splendid villa, near Lake Pontchartrain, when, one tlay, a letter wa.~ brought to him in that well-remembered writing. It was handed to him while he was in full tido of gay and successful conversation, in a whole room-full of company. IIo turned <leadly pale when ho saw the writing, but still preserved his composure, and finished the playful warfare of badinage which he was at the moment carrying on with a lady opposite ; and, B. short time after, was missed from the circle. In his room, LIFE Al\tOXG THE LOWLY. 223 o.lonc, he opened and read the letter, now worse than idle and useless to be read. It was from her, giving a long account of a persecution to which she had been exposed by her guardian's £unily, to lead her to unite herself with their son : and she related how, for a long time, his letters had ceased to arrive; how she had wrHtcn t ime and again, till she became weary and doubtful ; how her l10alth had failed under her anxieties, and how, at last, she had discovered the whole fraud which had been practised on them both. The letter ended with expressions of hope and thankfulness, and professions of undying affection, which were more bitter than death to the unhappy young man. llo wrote to her immediately: " I have received yours,- but too late. I believed all I heard. I was desperate. I am married, and aU is over. Only forget,- it is all that remains for either of us." And thus ended the whole ,·omanee and ideal of life tor Augustine St. Claro. But the real rcmained,-the real, like the fiat, bm·c, oozy tide-mud, when the blue sparkling wave, with all its company of gliding boats and white-winged ships, its music of oars and chiming waters, has gone down, and there it lies, flat, slimy, bare, - exceeding} y real. Of course, in a novel, people's hearts break, and they die, and that is the end of it i and in a story this is very convenient. But in real life wo do not die when all that makes life bright dies to us. There is a most busy and important round of eating, drinking, dressing, walking, visiting, buying, selling, talking, reading, and all that makes up what is commonly called living, yet to be gone through; and this yet l'Cmaincd to Augustine. llad his wife been a whole woman, she might yet have dono something- as woman can-to mend the broken threads of life, and weave again into a tissue of brightness. But Marie St. Clare could not even see that |
