"It is a sorry task to pick flaws in your beautiful analogy," said the old gentleman. "You may not be aware that your pine, sturdy as it appears, is less fitted than any other tree, for standing alone; its roots running out laterally from the trunk; and lying near the surface of the earth. Cut down the outer row which have kept off the tempests, and helped to support him, and the first hard wind is apt to lay him low."
"And so there are fates, against which the mightiest of mortal energies are powerless. Leave the pine unprotected, and if it survive one blast, it strikes its roots deeper and deeper into the ground, until it has strength to brave an hundred winters. Adversity, if it does not kill—strengthens."
"Do you favor the philosophy, which teaches that a certain amount of trouble is necessary for the complete development of character?"
"Whether necessary or not—it comes. That is not a matter of hypothesis; but I have seen some, who, I did not think, required discipline; and many more, who wanted softening, instead of hardening."
"Is hardening the legitimate effect of sorrow?" asked he, more gravely. "When the chastening is guided by love, does it not melt and refine? Are strength and hardness synonymous?"
"I question the difference, sir—as the world goes."
"Instead of referring to 'the world,' in an abstract sense—judge we of the influence of trials, by what we know of ourselves. I never tasted real happiness, until I learned to bear grief, by submitting to the will of Providence."
"And one affliction has embittered life for me!" returned Ida, gloomily.
"Poor child!" then recollecting himself, he addressed Carry in a jesting tone. "And you—Miss Carry—what is your vote upon this important question?"
"I have had no trouble, sir," replied she, lightly, "except school-quarrels. You would not class them in the category of tribulations."
There was sadness in her father's look of love, as he answered, "I hope you may long be able to say so, dear!"
Carry brushed away the mist from her lashes. "'A consummation devoutly to be desired,'—as Charley, or Shakspeare would say. Where is he, father?"
"Who? Shakspeare or Charley?"
"The latter, of course. Apart from his probable location being more easily decided upon—he is, to me, the more interesting of the two."
"He is somewhere in the Western part of the State;—travelling, partly for pleasure. John told you, that they have committed the New York branch of the business to Mr. E——, and that Charley will in future reside in Richmond."
"Yes, sir. I was glad to hear it; I understood, however, that this change would not be made before Fall. In the interim, are not we to be favoured with his company?"
"I trust so. It will seem like old times for us all to be together again."
"I hope he will come while you are with us, Ida," said Carry. "I am so anxious you should know him!"
"You have seen him, surely, Miss Ida?" said Dr. Carleton.
"I have not yet had that pleasure, sir."
"He is an original worth studying."
"I can credit that. Elle's panegyrics would have created a desire to see this nonpareil of an 'Uncle Charley,' and Carry has raised my curiosity to the highest pitch, by naming him as the successful rival of Shakspeare."
"Oh!" cried Carry, laughing. "I said more interesting to me. Charley is one of my pets; and I am afraid I have presented you with an erroneously flattered picture of him. You must not look for an 'Admirable Crichton.' He is not one to please the fancy on a slight acquaintance."
"Is he as handsome as his brother?"
"Which brother?" inquired the Doctor; and Carry blushed.
"I have met but one," said Ida. "I consider Mr. John Dana very fine-looking."
"I will repeat Charley's ideas of what he styles, his 'personal pulchritude,'" responded Carry. "He says he thanks Heaven he is not handsome. To endow him with a moderate share of beauty, some one would have been deprived of his, or her good looks. No broken hearts are laid at the door of his conscience." 'Yes'—concluded he, triumphantly—'A man ought to be grateful for ugliness; and I am persuaded that not many have as much cause to rejoice on that score as myself!'"
"He is not homely," said her father, warmly.
"Ah father! other people tell a different story."
"That may be; but where you find one handsomer face than his, you see a thousand destitute of its intelligence and agreeableness."
"Granted. Homely or not, I prefer him to any doll-faced dandy of my acquaintance."
"He is fortunate in his advocates," said Ida. "He has the art of making friends."
"Because he is such a firm friend himself," replied Carry. "Yet some will have it that he is frivolous and unfeeling. The only satirical remark I was ever guilty of, was extorted by an aspersion of this kind. A lady was offended by a playful bagatelle of his; and thinking that I would be a sure medium of communicating her wrath to its object, criticised him unsparingly. She ridiculed his person and manners;—I said nothing. She said he was bankrupt in chivalry and politeness. I smiled; and she blazed out a philippic against his 'disgusting levity and nonsense—he had not a spark of feeling, or grain of sense—intelligent indeed! for her part she had never heard him say a smart or sensible thing yet.'—I put in my oar here—'You will then allow him one talent, at least; the ability to adapt his conversation to the company he is in.' I repented having said it; but it quieted her."
"You did not reproach yourself for taking the part of your friend!"
"No, but I might have done it in a less objectionable manner. It did not alter her feelings to him, and caused her to dislike me."
"How is it, sir, that I hear so much more of this one of your former wards, than of his younger brother?" said Ida to the Doctor.
The question was innocently propounded, and for an instant, she was puzzled by the quizzical demureness, with which he glanced at his daughter.
"This is a serious charge, Carry. Your predilection for one old play-fellow should not make you forgetful of another."
She was looking down, touching the shining tire of the wheel with the tip of her gloved finger. The truth beamed upon Ida; and with it a thousand little circumstances she had been blindly stupid not to understand before. Her intelligent eye said the mystery was explained, but she forbore to say so in words. Dr. Carleton went on in a changed tone.
"Arthur is not a whit behind his brothers in sterling worth, or personal graces. He is associated with me in the practice of medicine, and unites a skill and prudence, rarely found in one so young. He is popular, and deservedly so."
Carry bestowed a grateful smile upon him, and was answered in the same mute language. In such desultory chat, the sunny hours ran out They travelled well; only stopping an hour to dine and rest; yet twilight saw them eight miles from their destination. Each was disposed to silence, as the light grew dimmer; and when the moon smiled at them above the tree-tops, she elicited but a single observation of her beauty. The road was lonely and sheltered; bordered by forests on one side, and thicket-grown banks on the other; the soil sandy and heavy; the tramp of hoofs scarcely heard, and the wheels rolling with a low, crushing sound, that, to Ida, was not unmusical. Silver willows, and twisting 'bamboo' vines, and the long-leaved Typha Latifolia edged the road; and she watched through the openings in the woven screen, for a glimpse of the stream that watered their roots; sometimes deceived by the shimmer of the moon upon the leaves; sometimes, by the white sands, until she doubted whether