Republican Herald

Miscellany.
From the Ladies' Wreath.
MY COUSIN KATE.
BY C. F. WALLACE.

Immediately interwoven with the fibres of the human heart are the chords which bind each individual to his race, and mighty is the influence that woman exerts upon the destinies of individuals and nations. Her smiles and her tears have been, from the earliest period to the present hour, all potent to soften the asperities of man's rougher nature, awakening him to the performance of the loftiest deeds, inciting within him the noblest virtues, and unloosing his soul from the thraldom of sensuality and sin.

The love of the pure and the beautiful originally implanted in every human breast, like the seed sown on good ground, when nurtured in the sunshine of her smile, and trained under the fostering influence of the purer perceptions, brought in a thousand fold of the richest blessings, and her influence has caused to well up from the darkest chambers of the heart, to water the desert spots of life, those streams of tranquility and happiness which have gladdened the most desolate places, and caused them to bloom and to breathe of the flowers and the fragrance of Paradise.

At the cross and at the sepulchre, in joy or in sorrow, in sickness or in health, in the gorgeous halls of luxury or the humble dwelling places of the sons of toil, she is ever the same kind friend, ever the inciter to our best deeds and the inspirer of our holiest thoughts; and when degraded and despised, even then, her failings lean to virtue's side. But never does the loveliness of the female character exhibit itself in a more pleasing light than in her kindness and forbearance to the being of her choice, whom the temptations of life and the allurements of unhallowed passions have caused to forget the early promises of true and steadfast love.

The tale which I have to relate, is a case in point, and if it should serve to awaken in the mind of one of my fair readers a desire to look into her own heart and study the means to win back the estranged affections of the lost confidence of him who has sworn to love, honor and protect, the purpose of my true narrative is answered.

My cousin Kate was a beautiful girl. I need not go into a particular description after the manner of the romance writers of the present day, and tell you the precise shade of her complexion, the color of her hair and eyes, the shade of her nose and chin, or the exact length of her fingers; suffice it to say she was a beautiful girl; and if any one of my readers should be dissatisfied with this rather indefinite description, let them just look at the most loving and loveable of all their acquaintances, and imagine her to be my cousin Kate, as she appeared to me some eight years ago, when we were all assembled down at Uncle Harry's to witness the performance of the ceremony "that binds two willing hearts."

Some two weeks previous to the evening aforesaid, it had been duly announced (for our tale is of New England,) by a notice posted upon the door of the church, duly signed by the town clerk, that George Walters and my cousin Kate, intended marriage, which circumstance had afforded the good people of H. about the sole topic for conversation and scandal ever since. She was universally beloved, and George was a general favorite with the good people of the village, but he had some failings, not the least of which was an over-fondness for gay society, and a strong predilection for the pleasures of the wine cup, which, upon one or two occasions, he had been known to indulge in, even to excess, and as there may be always found, even in the smallest communities, some uncommonly knowing ones, they could not, of course, predict otherwise than that the ceremony about to be performed, would prove anything but a source of happiness to the parties concerned.

The wedding party was large and brilliant, the dance went gaily on, the joyful laugh went round, the congratulations of friends were most ardently bestowed, and never, to all appearance, had a happier wedding party been convened in that little village.

But, as in the sweetest cup of joy dregs will sometimes be found, so in the happiest moments of our lives, when as it were, we seem to have a glimpse of that prospect of earthly bliss for which we are all striving, a cloud will obscure the horizon of our hopes, and shut the bright vision from our eyes. And so did the shadow of that dark cloud rise before the bright prospects of Kate, even upon that very eve when, before God and the world, she gave to him whom she ardently loved, a heart as pure as ever beat within a human breast.

All her hopes and all her affections were staked upon her lover. She had dreamed of nought but happiness, and thought not that he who loved so truly could ever forget the bounds of temperance. No wonder, then, as she perceived him give way to the solicitations of friends to drink his health and that of his young bride, until his fine face flushed with an unnatural glow; no wonder that the rising sigh was with difficulty repressed, and that a tear glistened for a moment in her clear blue eye. Alas, that for such trifles so pure a soul should be thus rudely stricken! O that in the heart of man dwelt but a tithe of that spirit of devotion and self-sacrifice that are components of love in woman; then we should not have such scenes to record.

A tear, as we have said, glistened in her eye, but all unnoticed she dashed it away, and her beautiful face betrayed not the painful emotions of the mind. She was a brave girl, my cousin Kate, and was endowed by nature with strong good sense. Grieved she was, and shocked truly, but she strove to suppress her feelings, and so well succeeded that none supposed she had marked the change in her husband's manner.

Bitter were the thoughts of the young bride when the following day left her to her own reflections. "It might never again occur," thought she, "I will not chide, but O, should it ever again occur, should George become—" she shuddered at the thought, "should he become a drunkard, O, it cannot be, I will win him back—Happy am I," thought she, "that his destiny is mine, that I shall have the blessed prerogative of bearing with him the ills of life, and soothing its trials and sorrows."

Several months had passed away, and the unpleasant part of the occurrence of the wedding eve had never been alluded to by husband or wife, and a happier couple could not be found. But George's mind was one that was formed for novelty; it had never been awakened to a knowledge of that high and chivalric sense of honor, which points us to forego our own pleasures for those of others, and which finds its greatest happiness in making others happy; in a word he was eminently selfish, and about this time it was that he became less and less attentive to the society of his young wife. Not that he was less kind than formerly, but craving for variety, the love of change, and the flatteries of a large circle of young men among whom he passed as a downright clever fellow, would often tempt him from his home, to which he returned, causing mortification and sorrow unspeakable. In vain did Kate implore and entreat him to desist from habits so pernicious, and practices so baneful to happiness and rife with every evil. Most solemnly would he promise amendment, and as often forget it, though when that promise was given he doubtless intended to keep it, but the force of habit was already upon him, and its cravings would with difficulty be controlled.

A year had passed on, and a fine, rosy-cheeked infant had been added to the family, and for a time, this had seemed to have the effect to withdraw him from the society of his former associates. But old habits returned, and again did he visit his home in a state of beastly intoxication. Business now became less prosperous and nothing seemed to go well.

All this while, how fared it with the gentle Kate? Alas! those who have felt the ruthless hands of the demon upon their household—those only who have borne the heavy burden which so many of our countrywomen have been obliged to bear—can tell the sorrows of that heart which mourns affections crushed and hopes blighted by the drunkenness of father, husband or son.

Meekly and patiently, for two long years, which otherwise might have passed so happily, had she borne, without a murmur or unkind rebuke, with all the trials that her husband's faults had brought upon her. She begged, prayed, and entreated him to reform—but all of no avail; the habit still seemed to increase, and sorrow and anxiety had already impaired the bloom of her cheek, though a smile of tender greeting played ever upon her lip to welcome his return. As tenderly did she love, even with all his faults, as when, on the bridal eve, she pledged to him her heart. But she foresaw that something more effective must be sought, or he was past recovery.

That very evening, at a later hour than ever before, the young wife sat alone waiting her husband's return. Her thoughts were of the past—of the golden dreams of youth—and the sad realities of her present lot. He came at length; his manner was fierce and almost frantic; he was dreadfully excited, and under the hellish influence of the dreadful poison. Her smiles were met with curses, and for her good offices of attention to his wants she received upon her slight and shrinking form, the weight of the hand which should never have been raised but to protect.

Then all the noble spirit of the woman came to her aid; she was weak no longer; then did she resolve to live thus no more. Night passed, and the day dawned upon the sleepless eyes of Kate. Breakfast was prepared, and late that morning did the husband rise from his couch, with aching limbs, and reflections that were unspeakable. No glad smile of kindly welcome played upon the lovely countenance of the young wife, as she gazed upon him with a look that went to his very soul, and he first broke silence.

"Kate, my dear, you look ill to-day;" a sigh escaped her.

"Why are you so sad? Speak to me as you were wont."

"George," said she, "this is the anniversary of our wedding: two years ago this very day I promised to be to you a true and loving wife. Have I fulfilled my pledge?"

"Yes, dearest, and more a thousand times."

"And, George, you then promised, before God and the world, to love, honor and protect me. How can you love, when your conduct embitters every moment of my life? How can you honor, while you heap such bitter mortification upon me, and how can you protect me, when you throw away the power even to protect yourself. George, have you fulfilled your pledge?"

Her husband was surprised and subdued; never beheld such decision stamped upon her brow. The past rushed upon his mind, and the days gone by, and the golden dreams of happiness he had formed ere the heart of the maiden was won and she had become his wife, and for a moment he was silent.

"Speak, George, have you kept your pledge?"

"No, dearest, no; I have been a curse to myself and to you. Would that I had listened to your councils ere it had come to this."

"But will you listen now?" replied Kate, and her beautiful face was lighted with smiles, though her eyes instantly filled with tears; "Grant me but one request, and the past shall be forgotten, and your Kate, as you used to call me, shall be as devoted and as true as she has ever been."

"Name it; but name it, best of women, and it shall be done."

"I ask of you but one other pledge; sign this," and she extended to him a temperance pledge; "sign this and keep it, and I want no other assurance that every other pledge will be sacredly kept, as there is a God in Heaven."

"Hand me a pen then."

It was done.

"And now, Kate, let us begin the world anew; and in what more fitting manner than by thanking our Heavenly Father for his mercies, and supplicating his aid to strengthen us in every good resolution."

A few months ago I visited the little town of H. Six years have passed away since the temperance pledge was signed, and never was there a happier family group than that around the fireside of George Walters and my cousin Kate. Kate is as happy as a wife can be, and George is ever pleased to look with gratitude for his escape from the drunkard's doom, through the influence of one who was too good to scold, but too high-minded to submit to the tyranny of an appetite that trampled on her rights as a woman.