Shadows from a Clouded Brow
A LITTLE thing clouded the brow of Mrs. Abercrombie--a very little
thing. But if she had known how wide the shadows were often
diffused, and how darkly they fell, at times, on some hearts, she
would have striven more earnestly, we may believe, to keep the sky
of her spirit undimmed.
It will not be uninstructive to note the incidents, in a single day,
of Mrs. Abercrombie's life--to mark the early cloud upon her brow,
and then to glance at the darkly falling shadows.
Mr. Abercrombie was a man of sensitive feelings, and though he had
striven for many years to overcome his sensitiveness, he had been no
more able to change this hereditary weakness than the leopard his
spots or the Ethiopian his skin. At home, the lightest jar of
discord disturbed him painfully, and the low vibration ceased not,
often, for many hours. The clouded brow of his wife ever threw his
heart into shadow; and the dusky vail was never removed, until
sunlight radiated again from her countenance. It was all in vain
that he tried to be indifferent to these changeful moods--to keep
his spirits above their influence: in the very effort at
disenthralment he was more firmly bound.
From some cause, unknown to her husband, there was a cloud on the
brow of Mrs. Abercrombie one morning, as she took her place at the
breakfast-table. Mr. Abercrombie was reading, with his usual
interest, the newspaper, and the children were sporting in the
nursery, when the bell summoned them to the dining-room. All
gathered, with pleasant thoughts of good cheer, around the table,
and Mr. Abercrombie, after helping the little ones, was about
mentioning to his wife some pleasant piece of news which he had just
been reading, when, on lifting his eyes to her countenance, he saw
that it was clouded. The words died on his lips; a shadow darkened
over his feelings, and the meal passed in almost total silence--at
least so far as he was concerned. Once or twice he ventured a remark
to Mrs. Abercrombie; but the half-fretful tone in which she replied,
only disturbed him the more.
Soon the pleasant aspect of the children's countenances changed, and
they became captious and irritable. Both parents were fretted at
this reaction upon their own states of mind, and manifested, at some
slight misconduct on the part of one or two of the children, a
degree of ill-nature that instantly transferred itself to those
against whom it was directed, and became apparent in their
intercourse one with another.
Before summoned from the nursery, these children were playing
together in the utmost harmony and good feeling; on returning
thereto, the activity of another and far less amiable spirit was
manifest; and instead of merry shouts and joyous laughter, angry
words and complaining cries sounded through the apartment.
As Mr. Abercrombie left the house, Mrs. Abercrombie entered the
nursery, attracted by the notes of discord. Had there been sunshine
on her countenance, and firm but gentle remonstrance on her tongue,
a quick change would have become apparent. But, ere this, the
shadows she had thrown around her had darkened the atmosphere of her
dwelling, and were now reflected back upon her heart, enshrouding it
in deeper gloom. The want of harmony among her children increased
her mental disturbance, obscured her perceptions, and added to her
state of irritability. She could not speak calmly to them, nor
wisely endeavour to restore the harmony which had been lost. Her
words, therefore, while, by their authoritative force, they subdued
the storm, left the sky black with clouds that poured down another
and fiercer tempest the moment her presence was removed.
But this state of things could not be permitted. The mother
reappeared, and, after some hurried inquiries into the cause of
disturbance among her children, took for granted the statement of
those who were most forward in excusing themselves and accusing
others, and unwisely resorted to punishment--unwisely, in the first
place, because she decided hastily and from first appearances; and
in the second place, because she was in no state of mind to
administer punishment. The consequence was, that she punished those
least to blame, and thereby did a great wrong. Of this she was made
fully aware after it was too late. Then, indignant at the, false
accusation by which she had been led into the commission of an
unjust act, she visited her wrath with undue severity, and in
unseemly passion, upon the heads of the real offenders.
By this time the children were in a state of intimidation. It was
plain that their mother was fairly aroused, and each deemed it best
to be as quiet and inoffensive as possible. The reappearance of
harmony being thus restored, Mrs. Abercrombie, whose head and heart
were now both throbbing with pain, retired in a most unhappy state
of mind to her chamber, where she threw herself into a large chair,
feeling unutterably wretched.
And what was the origin of all this discord and misery? Why came
that cloud, in the beginning, to the brow of Mrs. Abercrombie--that
cloud, whose shadow had already exercised so baleful an influence?
The cause was slight, very slight. But do not, fair reader, blame
Mrs. Abercrombie too severely, nor say this cause was censurably
inadequate. The touch of a feather will hurt an inflamed part. Ah!
does not your own experience in life affirm this. Think of the last
time the cloud was on your brow, and ask yourself as to the adequacy
of the cause.
"But what was the cause?" you inquire. Well, don't smile: a pair of
gaiters had been sent home for Mrs. Abercrombie, late on the evening
previous, and one of her first acts in the morning was to try them
on. They did not fit! Now, Mrs. Abercrombie intended to go out on
that very morning, and she wished to wear these gaiters. "Enough to
fret her, I should say!" exclaims one fair reader. "A slight cause,
indeed!" says another, tossing her curls; "men are great
philosophers!"
We crave pardon, gentle ladies all, if, in our estimate of causes,
we have spoken too lightly of this. But we have, at least, stated
the case fairly. Mrs. Abercrombie's brow was clouded because the new
gaiters did not fit her handsome foot--a member, by the way, of
which she was more than a little vain.
For an hour Mrs. Abercrombie remained alone in her chamber, feeling
very sad; for, in that time, reflection had come, and she was by no
means satisfied with the part she had been playing, nor altogether
unconscious of the fact that from her clouded brow had fallen the
shadows now darkening over her household. As soon as she had gained
sufficient control of herself to act toward her children more wisely
and affectionately, the mother took her place in the nursery, and
with a tenderness of manner that acted like a charm, attracted her
little ones to her side, and inspired them with a new and better
spirit. To them sunshine was restored again; and the few rays that
penetrated to the mother's heart, lighted its dim chambers, and
touched it with a generous warmth.
But the shadows from Mrs. Abercrombie's clouded brow fell not alone
upon her household. The spirit that pervades the home-circle is
often carried forth by those who go out into the world. It was so in
this case. Mr. Abercrombie's feelings were overcast with shadows
when he entered the store. There was a pressure, in consequence,
upon his bosom, and a state of irritability which he essayed, though
feebly and ineffectually, to overcome.
"Where is Edward?" he inquired, soon after his arrival.
Edward was a lad, the son of a poor widow, who had recently been
employed in Mr. Abercrombie's store.
"He hasn't come yet," was answered.
"Not come yet?" said Mr. Abercrombie, in a fretful tone.
"No, sir."
"This is the third time he has been late within the past week, is it
not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well: it shall be the last time."
At this moment the boy came in. Mr. Abercrombie looked at him
sternly for a moment, and then said--
"You won't suit me, sir. I took you on trial, and am satisfied. You
can go home."
The poor lad's face crimsoned instantly, and he tried to say
something about his mother's being sick, but Mr. Abercrombie waved
his hand impatiently, and told him that he didn't wish to hear any
excuse.
Scarcely had the boy left the presence of Mr. Abercrombie, ere this
hasty action was repented of. But the merchant's pride of
consistency was strong: he was not the man to acknowledge an error.
His word had passed, and could not be recalled. Deeper were the
shadows that now fell upon his heart--more fretted the state of mind
that supervened.
Ah! the shadows would have been deeper still, could he have seen
that unhappy boy a little while afterward, as, with his face buried
in the pillow that supported the head of his sick mother, he sobbed
until his whole frame quivered. Had Mr. Abercrombie only asked the
reason why his appearance at the store was so late on this morning,
he would have learned that the delay had been solely occasioned by
needful attendance on his sick and almost helpless mother; and on a
little further ininquiry, humanity would have dictated approval rather
than censure and punishment. But, touching all this painful consequence
of his ill-nature, the merchant knew nothing. How rarely do we
become cognizant of the evil wrought upon others by our hasty and
ill-judged actions!
The shadow was still on Mr. Abercrombie's feelings, when, half an
hour afterward, a man came to him and said--
"It will be impossible for me to lift the whole of that note
to-day."
"You'll have to do it," was the quiet answer. Mr. Abercrombie
frowned darkly as he thus replied.
"Don't say that, Mr. Abercrombie. I only want help to the amount of
two hundred dollars."
"I do say it. You must raise the money somewhere else. I don't like
this way of doing business. When a man gives his note, he should
make it a point of honour to pay it."
"Oh, very well," said the man. "I'm sorry if I've troubled you. I'll
get the money from a friend. Good morning."
And he turned off abruptly, and left the store. Mr. Abercrombie felt
rebuked. He had a large balance in the bank, and could have
accommodated him without the smallest inconvenience. In another
state of mind he would have done so cheerfully.
"O dear!" sighed the unhappy merchant, speaking mentally; "what has
come over me? I'm losing all control of myself. This will never,
never do. I must set a guard upon my lips."
And he did so. Conscious of his state of irritability, he subdued
his tones of voice, and restrained utterance when tempted to angry
or inconsiderate speech. Not again during the day was he guilty of
such inexcusable conduct as in the instances mentioned; yet the
shadow remained upon his feelings, strive as he would to throw off
the gloomy impression.
It was late in the day when Mr. Abercrombie turned his steps
homeward. How little was he satisfied with himself! And now, when he
remembered, with painful distinctness, the clouded brow of his wife,
how little promise was there of home-sunlight, to dispel the gloom
of his own feelings!
As the hand of the merchant rested upon his own door, he almost
dreaded to enter. He shrank from meeting that clouded visage. The
shadows were dark when he left in the morning, and experience told
him that he need scarcely hope to find them dispelled. Happily,
though still in the sky, the clouds were broken, and gleams of
sunshine came breaking through. Ah! if they had only possessed
sufficient power to disperse the shadows that all day long had been
gathering around the heart of Mr. Abercrombie! But that was
impossible. Self-respect had been forfeited; and a consciousness of
having, in his impatient haste, acted unjustly, haunted his
thoughts. And so, the shadows that were not to be dispersed by the
feeble sun-rays from the countenance of his wife, gradually diffused
themselves, until the light that struggled with them grew pale.
"Did you know," said Mrs. Abercrombie, breaking in upon the
oppressive silence that succeeded, after all had retired for the
night but herself and husband, "that the mother of Edward Wilson is
very poor and in a decline?"
"I was not aware of it," was the brief response.
"It is so. Mrs. Archer was here this afternoon, and was telling me
about them. Mrs. Wilson, who, until within a few weeks past, has
been able to earn something, is now so weak that she cannot leave
her bed, and is solely dependent on the earnings of her son. How
much do you pay him?"
"Only three dollars a week," answered Mr. Abercrombie, shading his
face with his hand.
"Only three dollars! How can they live on that? Mrs. Archer says
that Edward is one of the best of lads--that he nurses his mother,
and cares for her with unfailing tenderness; indeed, he is her only
attendant. They are too poor to pay for the services of a domestic.
Could you not afford to increase his wages?"
"I might, perhaps," said Mr. Abercrombie, abstractedly, still
shading his face.
"I wish you could," was the earnest reply. "It will be a real
charity."
Mr. Abercrombie made no response; and his wife pursued the subject
no further. But the former lay awake for hours after retiring to
bed, pondering the events of the day which had just closed.
The sun had gone down amid clouds and shadows; but the morrow dawned
brightly. The brow of Mrs. Abercrombie was undimmed as she met her
family at the breakfast-table on the next morning, and every
countenance reflected its cheerful light. Even Mr. Abercrombie, who
had something on his conscience that troubled him, gave back his
portion of the general good feeling. Lighter far was his step as he
went forth and took his way to his store. His first act on his
arriving there, was, to ease his conscience of the pressure thereon,
by sending for Edward Wilson, and restoring him to his place under
new and better auspices.
And thus the shadows passed; yet, not wholly were they expelled. The
remembrance of pain abides long after the smarting wound has healed,
and the heart which has once been enveloped in shadows, never loses
entirely its sense of gloomy oppression. How guarded all should be
lest clouds gather upon the brow, for we know not on whose hearts
may fall their shadows.
-THE END-
T S Arthur's short story: Shadows from a Clouded Brow
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