The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 11, No. 68, June, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
Science
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 11, No. 68, June, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
Of course I never suspected that we could do anything of the kind, but I
thought an innocent hypocrisy to that effect might beguile the time yet
before us. Kate acquiesced; and we walked along a wooded path where
every stone and shrub was rich in associations with that first summer in
Foxden when our acquaintance began. And soon our petty anxiety was
merged in deeper feelings that flowed upon us, as the great event in our
mortal existence was seen in the retrospect from the same pleasant
places where it once loomed grandly before us. The sweet, fantastic
anticipations that pronounced the "All Hail, Hereafter," to the great
romance of life again started from familiar objects to breathe a freer
atmosphere. The coming fact, which all natural things once called upon
us to accept as the final resting-place of the soul, had passed by us,
and we could look onward still. We saw that marriage was not the
satisfaction of life, but a noble means whereby our selfish infirmities
might be purified by divine light. Well for us that this Masque and
Triumph of Nature should not always be seen as from the twentieth year!
It is too cheap a way to idealize and ennoble self in the noontide sun
of one marriage-day. Yet let the gauze and tinsel be removed when they
may; for all earnest souls there are realities behind them that shall
make the heavens and earth seem accidents. It once seems as if marriage
would discolor the world with roseate tint; but it does better: it
enlightens it. Thus, in imagination, did we sally backward and forward
as the twilight thickened about us. In delicious sympathy of silence we
watched quivering shadows in the water, and marked how the patient elms
gathered in their strength to endure the storms of winter.
"It is not a lottery," I said, at last, unconsciously thinking aloud.
"No," responded Kate; "it was so christened of old, because our shrewd
New-Englanders had not made possible a better simile. It is like one of
the great Gift Enterprises of these latter years, where everybody is
sure of his money's worth in book or trinket, and is surprised by a
present into the bargain. The majority, to be sure, get but their bit of
soap or their penny-whistle, while a fortunate few are provided with
gold watches and diamond breast-pins."
I thought this a good comparison; but I did not say so, for I was in the
mood to rise for my analogy or allegory, instead of swooping to pick it
out of Mr. Perham's advertisements.
"Nay, nay, my dear," I rejoined, at length; "let us, who have won
genuine jewelry, exalt our gains by some nobler image. A stagnant puddle
of water may reflect the blessed sun even better than this river that
eddies by our feet, yet it is not there that one likes to look for it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account