The May Flower, and Miscellaneous WritingsStowe, Harriet Beecher
General
The May Flower, and Miscellaneous Writings
Stowe, Harriet Beecher
United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
To those who mistake occasional pensiveness for melancholy, it might
seem strange to say that my Aunt Mary was always happy. Yet she was so.
Her spirits never rose to buoyancy, and never sunk to despondency. I
know that it is an article in the sentimental confession of faith that
such a character cannot be interesting. For this impression there is
some ground. The placidity of a medium commonplace mind is
uninteresting, but the placidity of a strong and well-governed one
borders on the sublime. Mutability of emotion characterizes inferior
orders of being; but He who combines all interest, all excitement, all
perfection, is "the same yesterday, to-day, and forever." And if there
be any thing sublime in the idea of an almighty mind, in perfect peace
itself, and, therefore, at leisure to bestow all its energies on the
wants of others, there is at least a reflection of the same sublimity in
the character of that human being who has so quieted and governed the
world within, that nothing is left to absorb sympathy or distract
attention from those around.
Such a woman was my Aunt Mary. Her placidity was not so much the result
of temperament as of choice. She had every susceptibility of suffering
incident to the noblest and most delicate construction of mind; but they
had been so directed, that, instead of concentrating thought on self,
they had prepared her to understand and feel for others.
She was, beyond all things else, a sympathetic person, and her
character, like the green in a landscape, was less remarkable for what
it was in itself than for its perfect and beautiful harmony with all the
coloring and shading around it.
Other women have had talents, others have been good; but no woman that
ever I knew possessed goodness and talent in union with such an
intuitive perception of feelings, and such a faculty of instantaneous
adaptation to them. The most troublesome thing in this world is to be
condemned to the society of a person who can never understand any thing
you say unless you say the whole of it, making your commas and periods
as you go along; and the most desirable thing in the world is to live
with a person who saves you all the trouble of talking, by knowing just
what you mean before you begin to speak.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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