THE MISTRESS OF THE MANSE

BY

J. G. HOLLAND

NEW YORK

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO

1874

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO.,

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

JOHN V. TROW & SON,

PRINTERS AND BOOKBINDERS,

205-213 East 12th St.,

NEW YORK.

CONTENTS.

PRELUDE LOVE'S EXPERIMENTS LOVE'S PHILOSOPHIES LOVE'S CONSUMMATIONS

LOVE'S EXPERIMENTS.

I.

A fluttering bevy left the gate

With hurried steps, and sped away;

And then a coach with drooping freight,

Wrapped in its film of dusty gray,

Stopped; and the pastor and his mate

Stepped forth, and passed the waiting door,

And closed it on the gazing street.

"Oh Philip!"She could say no more.

"Oh Mildred! You're at home, my sweet,—

The old life closed: the new before!"

"Dinah, the mistress!"And the maid,

Grown motherly with household care

And loving service, and arrayed

In homely neatness, took the pair

Of small gloved hands held out, and paid

Her low obeisance; then—"this way!"

And when she brought her forth at last,

To him who grudged the long delay,

He found the soil of travel cast,

And Mildred fresh and fair as May.

II

"This is our little Manse,"he said.

"Now look with both your curious eyes

Around, above and overhead,

And seeing all things, realize

That they are ours, and we are wed!

"Walk through these freshly garnished rooms—

The se halls of oak and tinted pearl—

And mark the cups of clover-blooms,

Cut fresh, to greet the stranger-girl,

By those whose kindliness illumes

The house beyond the grace of flowers!

They greet you, mantled by my name,

And rain their tenderness in showers,—

Responding to the double claim

Of love no longer mine, but ours.

"This is our parlor, plain and sweet:

Your hands shall make it half divine.

That wide, old-fashioned window-seat

Beneath your touch shall grow a shrine;

And every nooklet and retreat,

And every barren ledge and shelf,

Shall wear a charm beyond the boon

Of treasure-bearing drift, or delf,

Or dreams that flutter from the moon;

For it shall blossom with yourself.

"This is my study: here, alone,

Prayerful to Him whom I adore,

And gathering speech to make him known,

Your far, quick footsteps on the floor,

Your breezy robe, your cheerful tone,

As through our pretty home you speed

The busy ministries of life,

Will stir me swifter than my creed,

And be more musical, dear wife,

Than sweep of harp, or pipe of reed.

"Here is our fairy banquet hall!

See how it opens to the East,

And looks through elms! The board is small,

But what it bears shall be a feast

At morn, and noon, and evenfall.

"The re will you sit in girlish grace,

And catch, the sunrise in your hair;

And looking at you, from my place,

I shall behold more sweet and fair

The morning in your smiling face.

"And guests shall come, and guests shall go,

And break with us our daily bread;

And sometime—sometime—do you know?

I hope that—dearest, lift your head;

And let me speak it, soft and low!

"The grass is sweeter than the ground:

Can love be better than its flowers?

Oh sometime—sometime—in the round

Of coming years, this board of ours

I hope may blossom and abound

With shining curls, and laughing eyes,

And pleasant jests and merry words,

And questions full of life's surprise,

And light and music, when the birds

Have left us to our gloomy skies.

"Now mount with me the old oak stair!

This is your chamber—pink and blue!

They asked the color of your hair,

And draped and fitted all for you,

My fine brunette, with tasteful care.

"The linen is as white as snow;

The flowers are set on every sconce;

And e'en the cushioned pin-heads show

Your formal"welcome,"for the nonce,

To the sweet home their hands bestow.

"Declining to the river's marge,

See, from this window, how the turf

Runs with a thousand flowers in charge

To meet the silver feet of surf

That fly from every passing barge!

"Along that reach of liquid light

Flies Commerce with her countless keels;

The re the chained Titan in his might

Turns slowly round the groaning wheels

That drag her burdens, day and night.

"And now the red sun flings his kiss

Across its waves from finger-tips

That pause, and grudgingly dismiss

The one he loves to closer lips,

And Moonlight's quiet hour of bliss.

"And here comes Dinah with the steam

Of evening cups and evening food,

And coal-red berries quenched with cream,

And ministry of homely good

That proves, my dear, we do not dream."

III.

He heard the long-drawn organ-peal

Within his chapel call to prayer;

And, answering with ready zeal,

He breathed o'er Mildred's weary chair

The se words, and sealed them with a seal:

"Only an hour: but comfort take;—

This home and I are wholly yours;

And many bosoms fondly ache

To tell you, that while life endures,

You shall be cherished for my sake.

"So throw your heart's door open wide,

And take in mine as well as me;

Let no poor creature be denied

The grace of tender courtesy

And kindness from the pastor's bride."

IV.

The moon came up the summer sky:

"Oh happy moon!"the lady said;

"Men love thee for thyself, but I

Am loved because my life is wed

To one whose message, pure and high,

Has spread the world's evangel far,

And thrown such radiance through the dark

That men behold him as a star,

And in his gracious coming mark

How beautiful his footsteps are.

"Oh Moon! dost thou take all thy light

From the great sun so lately gone?

Are there not shapes upon thy white,

That mould and make his sheen thy own,

And charms that soften to the sight

The ardor of his blinding blaze?

Who loves thee that thou art the sun's?

Who does not give thee sweetest praise

Among the troop of shining ones

That sweep along the heavenly ways?

"Yet still within the holy place

The altar sanctifies the gift!

Poor, precious gift, that begs for grace!

Oh towering altar! that doth lift

The gift so high, that, in its face,

It bears no beauty to the thought

Of those who round the altar stand!

Poor, precious gift, that goes for naught

From willing heart and ready hand,

And wins no favor unbesought!

"The stars are whiter for the blue;

The sky is deeper for the stars;

They give and take in commerce true,

And lend their beauty to the cars

Of downy dusk, that all night through,

Roll o'er the void on silver wheels;

Yet neither starry sky nor cloud

Is loved the less that it reveals

A beauty all its own, endowed

By all the wealth its beauty steals.

"Am I a dew-drop in a rose,

With no significance apart?

Must I but sparkle in repose

Close to its folded, fragrant, heart,

Its peerless beauty to disclose?

"Would I not toil to win his bread,

And give him all I have to give?

Would I not die in his sweet stead,

And die in joy? But I must live;

And, living, I must still be fed

On love that comes in love's own right.

They must not pet, or pamper me—

Those who rejoice beneath his light—

Or pity him, that I can be

So precious in his princely sight."

With swifter wings, through heart and brain,

The little hour unheeded flew;

And when, behind the blazoned stain

Of saintly vestures, red and blue,

The lights on rose and window-pane

Within the chapel slowly died,

And figures muffled by the moon

We nt shuffling home on either side—

One seeking her—she said: How soon!

And then the pastor kissed his bride.

V.

The bright night brightened into dawn;

The shadows down the mountain passed;

And tree and shrub and sloping lawn,

With bending, beaded beauty glassed

In myriad suns the sun that shone!

The robin fed her nested young;

The swallows bickered'neath the eaves;

The hang-bird in her hammock swung,

And, tilting high among the leaves,

Her red mate sang alone, or flung

The dew-drops on her lifted head;

While on the grasses, white and far,

The tents of fairy hosts were spread

That, scared before the morning star,

Had left their reeking camp, and fled.

The pigeon preened his opal breast;

And o'er the meads the bobolink,

With vexed perplexity confessed

His tinkling gutturals in a kink,

Or giggled round his secret nest.

With dizzy wings and dainty craft,

In green and gold, the humming-bird

Dashed here and there, and touched and quaffed

The honey-dew, then flashed and whirred,

And vanished like the feathered shaft

That glitters from a random bow.

The flies were buzzing in the sun,

The bees were busy in the snow

Of lilies, and the spider spun,

And waited for his prey below.

With sail aloft and sail adown,

And motion neither slow nor swift,

With dark-brown hull and shadow brown,

Half-way between two skies adrift,

The barque went dreaming toward the town.

'Twas Sunday in the silent street,

And Sunday in the silent sky.

The peace of God came down to meet

The throng that laid their labor by,

And rested, weary hands and feet.

Ah, sweet the scene which caught the glance

Of eyes that with the morning woke,

And, from their window in the manse,

Looked up through sprays of elm and oak

Into the sky's serene expanse,

And off upon the distant wood,

And down into the garden's close,

And over, where his chapel stood

In ivy, reaching to its rose,

Waiting the Sunday multitude!

VI.

A red rose in her raven hair

Whose curls forbade the plait and braid,

The bride slid down the oaken stair,

And mantled like a bashful maid,

As, seated in the waiting chair,

Behind the fragrant urn, she poured

The nectar of the morn's repast;

But fairer lady, fonder lord,

In happier hall ne'er broke their fast

With sweeter bread, at prouder board.

And then they rose with common will,

And sought the parlor, cool and dim.

"Sing, love!"he said."The birds grow still,

And wait with me to hear your hymn."

She swept a low, preluding trill—

A spray of sound—across the keys

That felt her fingers for the first;

And then, from simplest cadences,

A reverent melody she nursed,

And gave it voice in words like these:

"From full forgetfulness of pain,

From joy to opening joy again,

With bird and flower, and hill and tree,

We lift our eyes and hands, to thee,

To greet thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth

"That thou dost bathe our souls anew

With balm and boon of heavenly dew,

And smilest in our upward eyes

From the far blue of smiling skies,

We bless thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth!

"For human love and love divine,

For love of ours and love of thine,

For heaven on earth and heaven above—

To thee and us twin homes of love—

We thank thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth!

"Oh dove-like wings, so wide unfurled

In brooding calm above the world!

Waft us your holy peace, and raise

The incense of our morning praise

Up to our Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth!"

VII.

Full fleetly sped the morning hours;

Then, wide upon the country round

A tumult of melodious powers

In tumult of melodious sound

Burst forth from all the village towers.

With blow on blow, and tone on tone,

And echoes answering everywhere—

Like bugles from the mountains blown—

Each sought to whelm the burdened air,

And make the silence all its own.

In broad, sonorous, silver swells

The air was billowed like the sea;

And listening ears were listening shells

That caught the Sabbath minstrelsy,

And sang it with the singing bells.

The billows heaved, the billows broke,

The first wild burst went down amain;

The music fell to slower stroke,

And in a rhythmic, bold refrain

The great bells to each other spoke.

Oh bravely bronze gave forth his word,

And sharply silver made reply,

And every tower and turret stirred

With sounding breath and converse high,

Or paused with waiting ear, and heard.

And long they talked, as friend to friend;

Then faltered to their closing toll,

Whose long, monotonous repetend,

From every music-burdened bowl

Poured the last drop, and brought the end!

VIII.

The chapel's chime fell slow and soft,

And throngs slow-marching to its knoll

From village home and distant croft,

With careful feet and reverent soul

Pressed toward the open door, but oft

Turned curious and expectant eyes

Upon the Manse that stood apart.

The re in her quiet, bridal guise

Fair Mildred sat with shrinking heart;

While Philip, bold and over wise,

And knowing naught of woman's ways,

Smiled at her fears, and could not guess

How one so armored in his praise,

And strong in native loveliness,

Could dread to meet his people's gaze.

He could not know her fine alarm

When at his manly side she stood,

And, leaning faintly on his arm—

A dainty slip of womanhood—

Walked forth where every girlish charm

Was scanned with prying gaze and glance,

Among the slowly moving crowd

That, greedy of the precious chance,

Read furtively, but half aloud,

The pages of their new romance.

"A child!"And Mildred caught the word.

"A plaything!"And, another voice:

"Fine feathers, and a Southern bird!"

And still one more;"A parson's choice!"

And trembling Mildred overheard.

The se from the careless or the dull—

Gossips at best; at wisest, dolts;

And though her quickened ear might cull

From out their whispered thunderbolts

A"lovely!"and a"beautiful!"

And though sweet mother-faces smiled,

And bows were given with friendly grace,

And many a pleasant little child

Sought sympathy within her face,

Her aching heart was not beguiled.

She did not see—she only felt—

As up the staring aisle she walked—

The critic glances, coldly dealt,

By those who looked, and bent, and talked;

And, even, when at last she knelt

Alone within the pastor's pew,

And prayed for self-forgetfulness

With deep humility, she knew

She gave her figure and her dress

To careful eyes with closer view.