Susanna Haswell Rowson (17621824). Charlotte Temple: A Tale of Truth. 1905.
SLOW and heavy passed the time while the carriage was conveying Mr. Eldridge home; and yet, when he came in sight of the house, he wished a longer reprieve from the dreadful task of informing Mr. and Mrs. Temple of their daughters elopement.
It is easy to judge the anxiety of these affectionate parents, when they found the return of their father delayed so much beyond the expected time. They were now met in the dining-parlor, and several of the young people who had been invited were already arrived. Each different part of the company was employed in the same manner, looking out at the windows which faced the road. At length the long-expected chaise appeared. Mrs. Temple ran out to receive and welcome her darling: her young companions flocked round the door, each one eager to give her joy on the return of her birthday. The door of the chaise was opened. Charlotte was not there. Where is my child? cried Mrs. Temple, in breathless agitation. Mr. Eldridge could not answer; he took hold of his daughters hand and led her into the house; and sinking on the first chair he came to, burst into tears, and sobbed aloud.
Mr. Temple, who had stood speechless with surprise and fear, now ventured to enquire if indeed his Charlotte was no more. Mr. Eldridge led him into another apartment; and putting the fatal note into his hand, cried: Bear it like a Christian! and turned from him, endeavoring to suppress his own too visible emotions.
It would be vain to attempt describing what Mr. Temple felt whilst he hastily ran over the dreadful lines. When he had finished, the paper dropped from his unnerved hand. Gracious Heaven! said he, could Charlotte act thus? Neither tear nor sigh escaped him; and he sat the image of mute sorrow, till roused from his stupor by the repeated shrieks of Mrs. Temple. He rose hastily, and rushing into the apartment where she was, folded his arms about her, and sayingLet us be patient, my dear Lucy, nature relieved his almost bursting heart by a friendly gush of tears.
Should any one, presuming on his own philosophic temper, look with an eye of contempt on the man who could indulge a womans weakness, let him remember that man was a father, and he will then pity the misery which wrung those drops from a noble, generous heart.
Then she is very ill; else why did she not come? But I will go to her; the chaise is still at the door; let me go instantly to the dear girl. If I was ill, she would fly to attend me, to alleviate my sufferings, and cheer me with her love.
Temple, said she, assuming a look of firmness and composure, tell me the truth, I beseech you! I can not bear this dreadful suspense. What misfortune has befallen my child? Let me know the worst, and I will endeavor to bear it as I ought.
You can not contradict it, said she. I see my fate in those tearful eyes. Oh, Charlotte! Charlotte! how ill have you requited our tenderness! But, Father of Mercies, continued she, sinking on her knees and raising her streaming eyes and clasped hands to Heaven, this once vouchsafe to hear a fond, a distracted mothers prayer. Oh, let thy bounteous Providence watch over and protect the dear, thoughtless girl, save her from the miseries which I fear will be her portion; and, oh! of Thine infinite mercy, make her not a mother, lest she should one day feel what I now suffer!
A mothers anguish, when disappointed in her tenderest hopes, none but a mother can conceive. Yet, my dear young readers, I would have you read this scene with attention, and reflect that you may yourselves one day be mothers.
Oh, my friends, as you value your eternal happiness, wound not, by thoughtless ingratitude, the peace of the mother who bore you: remember the tenderness, the care, the unremitting anxiety with which she has attended to all your wants and wishes from earliest infancy to the present day; behold the mild ray of affectionate applause that beams from her eye on the performance of your duty: listen to her reproofs with silent attention; they proceed from a heart anxious for your future felicity: you must love her; nature, all-powerful nature, has planted the seeds of filial affection in your bosoms.
Then once more read over the sorrows of poor Mrs. Temple; and remember, the mother whom you so dearly love and venerate will feel the same, when you, forgetful of the respect due to your Maker and yourself, forsake the paths of virtue, for those of vice and folly.