But, after all, there is no teaching anything to wise men of goodMr. Lindsey's stamp. They know everything- oh, to be sure!- everythingthat has been, and everything that is, and everything that, by anyfuture possibility, can be. And, should some phenomenon of nature orprovidence transcend their system, they will not recognize it, even ifit come to pass under their very noses.
"Wife," said Mr. Lindsey, after a fit of silence, "see what aquantity of snow the children have brought in on their feet! It hasmade quite a puddle here before the stove. Pray tell Dora to bringsome towels and sop it up!"THE END
.
1836
TWICE-TOLD TALES
THE WEDDING KNELL
by Nathaniel Hawthorne
THERE IS A CERTAIN CHURCH in the city of New York which I havealways regarded with peculiar interest, on account of a marriage theresolemnized, under very singular circumstances, in my grandmother'sgirlhood. That venerable lady chanced to be a spectator of thescene, and ever after made it her favorite narrative. Whether theedifice now standing on the same site be the identical one to whichshe referred, I am not antiquarian enough to know; nor would it beworth while to correct myself, perhaps, of an agreeable error, byreading the date of its erection on the tablet over the door. It isa stately church, surrounded by an inclosure of the loveliest green,within which appear urns, pillars, obelisks, and other forms ofmonumental marble, the tributes of private affection, or more splendidmemorials of historic dust. With such a place, though the tumult ofthe city rolls beneath its tower, one would be willing to connect somelegendary interest.
The marriage might be considered as the result of an earlyengagement, though there had been two intermediate weddings on thelady's part, and forty years of celibacy on that of the gentleman.
At sixty-five, Mr. Ellenwood was a shy, but not quite a secludedman; selfish, like all men who brood over their own hearts, yetmanifesting on rare occasions a vein of generous sentiment; ascholar throughout life, though always an indolent one, because hisstudies had no definite object, either of public advantage or personalambition; a gentleman, high bred and fastidiously delicate, yetsometimes requiring a considerable relaxation, in his behalf, of thecommon rules of society.
In truth, there were so many anomalies in his character, and thoughshrinking with diseased sensibility from public notice, it had beenhis fatality so often to become the topic of the day, by some wildeccentricity of conduct, that people searched his lineage for anhereditary taint of insanity. But there was no need of this. Hiscaprices had their origin in a mind that lacked the support of anengrossing purpose, and in feelings that preyed upon themselves forwant of other food. If he were mad, it was the consequence, and notthe cause, of an aimless and abortive life.
The widow was as complete a contrast to her third bridegroom, ineverything but age, as can well be conceived. Compelled torelinquish her first engagement, she had been united to a man of twiceher own years, to whom she became an exemplary wife, and by whosedeath she was left in possession of a splendid fortune. A southerngentleman, considerably younger than herself, succeeded to her hand,and carried her to Charleston, where, after many uncomfortableyears, she found herself again a widow. It would have been singular,if any uncommon delicacy of feeling had survived through such a lifeas Mrs. Dabney's; it could not but be crushed and killed by herearly disappointment, the cold duty of her first marriage, thedislocation of the heart's principles, consequent on a second unionand the unkindness of her southern husband, which had inevitablydriven her to connect the idea of his death with that of hercomfort. To be brief, she was that wisest, but unloveliest, variety ofwoman, a philosopher, bearing troubles of the heart with equanimity,dispensing with all that should have been her happiness, and makingthe best of what remained. Sage in most matters, the widow was perhapsthe more amiable for the one frailty that made her ridiculous. Beingchildless, she could not remain beautiful by proxy, in the person of adaughter; she therefore refused to grow old and ugly, on anyconsideration; she struggled with Time, and held fast her roses inspite of him, till the venerable thief appeared to have relinquishedthe spoil, as not worth the trouble of acquiring it.
The approaching marriage of this woman of the world with such anunworldly man as Mr. Ellenwood was announced soon after Mrs.
Dabney's return to her native city. Superficial observers, anddeeper ones, seemed to concur in supposing that the lady must haveborne no inactive part in arranging the affair; there wereconsiderations of expediency which she would be far more likely toappreciate than Mr. Ellenwood; and there was just the specious phantomof sentiment and romance in this late union of two early loverswhich sometimes makes a fool of a woman who has lost her true feelingsamong the accidents of life. All the wonder was, how the gentleman,with his lack of worldly wisdom and agonizing consciousness ofridicule, could have been induced to take a measure at once so prudentand so laughable. But while people talked the wedding-day arrived. Theceremony was to be solemnized according to the Episcopalian forms, andin open church, with a degree of publicity that attracted manyspectators, who occupied the front seats of the galleries, and thepews near the altar and along the broad aisle. It had been arranged,or possibly it was the custom of the day, that the parties shouldproceed separately to church. By some accident the bridegroom was alittle less punctual than the widow and her bridal attendants; withwhose arrival, after this tedious, but necessary preface, the actionof our tale may be said to commence.
