Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXII No. 4, April 1848

"True, Hetty, very pretty; he certainly has a genius for the art." A long silence. "What a pity he is poor."

"What's a pity, Miss Ursula?" cries Hetty, half asleep.

"O, nothing, nothing – go to sleep, Hetty."

But Ursula still sits in the moonlight, and thinks of the handsome young artist. Her generous little heart has already smoothed his path to eminence. Yes, she resolves if, upon acquaintance, he proves as worthy as he appears – and does she doubt it – not she – that neither money nor patronage shall be wanting to his success. Generous little cap-maker! And when at length she sought her couch, young Love, under the harmless guise of honest Benevolence, perched himself at her pillow.

PART IV

And now, every morning sees Leland taking his way to the farm-house; and the villagers, good people, have made up their minds that there must be some very pretty scenes in that neighborhood.

And so there are, very fine scenes; for, reclining under the shady trees, the young artist may be seen, with crayons in hand, the little cap-maker in his eye, as, seated on a little bench, she busily plies her needle, and sings for his entertainment, meanwhile, some rustic ballad. Sometimes, forgetting herself, she executes a brilliant roulade; and when Leland starts, astonished, and expresses his delight, she blushes deeply, and says she once went to the theatre.

And the old dame wonders what on earth they can find to talk about day after day, "a sittin' under trees," and tells Hetty to mind her work, and not take up any such silly ways. And the old man thinks a hale, hearty fellow like that, had better lend a hand to the plough, and not sit there spoiling so much white paper; and Hetty roguishly watches her young mistress, and smiles slily, and thinks there will be a wedding before long.

Ah! happy, satisfied Leland!

For he has won the heart of the charming little cap-maker. He, the poor, unpretending artist, he has won her away from the rich Esquire, who came rolling down in his carriage to woo her; and from the pale young doctor, who knelt tremblingly before her; and from the honest farmer, who swore he loved her better than his cattle. He, without fortune, without friends, has won her. She loves him, and through poverty and hardship will share his fate. And then, when bearing her off a happy bride, he thought how she would blush and tremble with surprise and sweet timidity when he should reveal his rank, and place her in that sphere she was born to grace – what rapturous visions danced through his brain!

And no less rapturous were the thoughts of Ursula. She was now beloved, truly loved for herself alone – she, a poor, friendless girl. No money had shed its enticements around her – there was nothing to gain but an innocent heart, and a portionless hand; and yet the gifted, but poor artist, who might, by the rank of genius, have aspired to the favor of any high-born lady; he has chosen her to share his fate and fortunes. How her heart throbs, when she thinks of the wealth her hand will confer upon him – of the pride with which she shall see him adorning that station for which he is so eminently qualified.

Ah! after all, what happiness to be an heiress!

Three months flew by, and brings us to the night before the wedding. The lovers are alone, and, for lovers, extremely taciturn – for their thoughts are doubtless far into the bright future, o'er which no cloud is floating. The countenance of Ursula beams with happiness, yet her manner is somewhat abstracted – she is evidently agitated. At length Leland speaks,

"Dearest Ursula, it seems to me that no wealth could contribute to our happiness; we have youth, health, strength, and loving hearts to bear us on our life-journey, as hand-in-hand we meet its pains and pleasures. Ah! I can already fancy our pleasant fire-side. No one's caps will find so ready a sale as yours, dear Ursula; and my pencil, too, will be inspired to greater effort by your praise." And Leland turned aside to conceal the smile which played round his mouth at the deception he was practicing. "But what is the matter, Ursula – what agitates you thus; you surely do not repent your promise, beloved one!"

"O, no, no, dear Frank! but I have something to tell you, which, perhaps, may forfeit me your love."

"Good heavens, Ursula! what mean you! tears, too – speak, speak, what is it! is not your heart mine, or have you loved another more truly!"

"No! O, no! and yet, Frank, I am not what I seem – I have deceived you. You think me but a poor, friendless girl, dependent upon my needle for my maintenance, when, in fact, O, Frank, how shall I say it, I am —

"Speak, dearest!"

"I am an heiress."

Frank sprang to his feet in amazement.

"You – you – dear, artless girl that you are – you an heiress! It can't be – it is impossible! and – what a pity!" he adds, aside, as one half his airy castle fell to the ground.

"Now, sit down, Frank, and when you have heard my story, and my motives for doing as I have done, you will, I trust, pardon the duplicity I have been guilty of toward you."

And before she had finished her recital Frank's plans were formed; so, falling at her feet, he poured out his acknowledgments for her condescension in honoring with her hand one so far beneath her, and had the satisfaction – cunning dog – of having a pair of white arms thrown around his neck, and a sweet kiss, from sweeter lips, pressed upon his brow, as the generous girl assured him that were her fortune ten thousand times doubled, she should consider all as dross compared with his love.

"Well, I am fairly caught," quoth Frank, in the privacy of his apartment, "for I swore I never would marry an heiress. That was a rash oath – let it pass. But what a pity dear Ursula has money. I wish to my soul her father had not left her a cent – why could not he have endowed a hospital. She is a dear, noble girl, willing to bestow it all upon one whom she believes struggling with poverty; never mind, I shall get the laugh on her yet."

At an early hour the following morning the venerable village pastor pronounced the nuptial benediction; and with the hearty good wishes of the old farmer and the dame, and followed by the loving eyes of Hetty, the new married pair bade farewell to the spot consecrated to so many happy hours.

A ride of a few miles brought them to the steamboat; and just as the rays of the setting sun gilded the spires and roofs of the city, the boat touched the wharf.

And now Frank's heart beat almost audibly, as he thought how rapidly the moment was approaching when, throwing off all disguise, he should lead his lovely bride to his own princely dwelling.

And Ursula, too, had never looked so beautiful – had never felt so proud and happy; proud to present her husband to her good uncle and aunt, who were waiting to welcome them; happy that her beloved Frank would no longer have to plod on life's dull round in poverty and loneliness.

It certainly was happiness to be an heiress.

"Ursula," said Frank, as the carriage rolled rapidly over the pavements, "will you do me a favor?"

"Most certainly, dear Frank – what is it?"

"My sister, poor girl," replied Leland, in some embarrassment, "resides on the route to your residence; will you alight there just for one moment, that I may have the happiness of bringing together the two dearest objects of my heart?"

"Order the carriage to stop when you please, Frank – I, too, am impatient to embrace your sister," replied the blushing Ursula.

The carriage soon turned into a fashionable street, even at that early hour brilliant with gas lights. Elegant equipages rolled past; already lights streamed, and music sounded from many splendid dwellings. Soon the carriage drew up before one even more splendid – the steps were let down – the door thrown wide by a servant in livery, and, with mingled pride and tenderness irradiating his fine countenance, and meeting with a smile her perplexed and wondering glance, Frank led his fair bride into a spacious and beautiful apartment, taste and elegance pervading all its arrangements. A young girl sprang from the sofa, and came tripping to meet them.

"My sister Helen, dearest Ursula. Helen, embrace your sister, and welcome her to the home she is henceforth to grace."

Then leading the agitated girl to a seat, he threw himself on his knees before her, saying,

"Pardon, pardon, my dearest wife! I, too, had my secret. No poor artist sought your love – I, too, am the heir of wealth; I, too, sought to be loved for myself alone. Say that you forgive me, dear one."

Ursula could not speak, but wept her joy and happiness on his bosom.

Helen laughs merrily, yet slily wipes a tear from her eye, then kissing them both, she says,

"What think you now of the great book of human nature you went forth to study, you discontented ones? You favorites of fortune! ingrates that you have been – you foolish pair of lovers! Listen dear brother. As the rich Frank Leland you possessed the same attributes of goodness as did Frank Leland the poor artist; and you, dear sister, were no less lovely and amiable as the heiress of wealth, than as Ursula the little cap-maker. See you not, then, that true merit, whether it gilds the brow of the rich man or radiates around the poor man's path, will find its way to every pure and virtuous mind. Henceforth, you dear ones, look at human nature with more friendly eyes, and forget in the excellencies of the many, the errors of the few."

NO, NOT FORGOTTEN.

BY EARLE S. GOODRICH

For Nature gives a common lot,
To live, to love, to be forgot.

    Cone.

No, not forgotten; there are memories clinging
Round every breast that beats to hope and fear
In this drear world, until the death's knell, ringing,
Chimes with heart-moanings o'er the solemn bier;
Then come love's pilgrims to the sad shrine, bringing
The choicest offering of the heart – a tear.

No, not forgotten; else bowed down with anguish
Were the brave hearts that mingle in the strife.
Patriot and Christian in their toil would languish —