The Angel Over The Right Shoulder By Elizabeth Wooster Stuart Phelps

[Illustration:] The Angel over the Right Shoulder [Illustration:] The Angel over the Right Shoulder or the BEGINNING OF A NEW YEAR. BY THE AUTHOR OF “SUNNY SIDE.” 1852. The Angel over the Right Shoulder * * * * * “There! a woman’s work is never done,” said Mrs. James; “I thought, for once, I was through; but just look at that lamp, now! it will not burn, and I must go and spend half an hour over it.” “Don’t you wish you had never been married?” said Mr. James, with a good-natured laugh. “Yes”–rose to her lips, but was checked by a glance at the group upon the floor, where her husband was stretched out, and two little urchins with sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks, were climbing and tumbling over him, as if they found in this play the very essence of fun. She did say, “I should like the good, without the evil, if I could have it.” “You have no evils to endure,” replied her husband. “That is just all you gentlemen know about it. What would you think, if you could not get an uninterrupted half hour to yourself, from morning till night? I believe you would give up trying to do anything.” “There is no need of that; all you want, is system. If you arranged your work systematically, you would find that you could command your time.” “Well,” was the reply, “all I wish is, that you could just follow me around for one day, and see what I have to do. If you could reduce it all to system, I think you would show yourself a genius.” When the lamp was trimmed, the conversation was resumed. Mr. James had employed the “half hour,” in meditating on this subject. “Wife,” said he, as she came in, “I have a plan to propose to you, and I wish you to promise me beforehand, that you will accede to it. It is to be an experiment, I acknowledge, but I wish it to have a fair trial. Now to please me, will you promise?” Mrs. James hesitated. She felt almost sure that his plan would be quite impracticable, for what does a man know of a woman’s work? yet she promised. “Now I wish you,” said he, “to set apart two hours of every day for your own private use. Make a point of going to your room and locking yourself in; and also make up your mind to let the work which is not done, go undone, if it must. Spend this time on just those things which will be most profitable to yourself. I shall bind you to your promise for one month–then, if it has proved a total failure, we will devise something else.” “When shall I begin?” “To-morrow.” The morrow came. Mrs. James had chosen the two hours before dinner as being, on the whole, the most convenient and the least liable to interruption. They dined at one o’clock. She wished to finish her morning work, get dressed for the day, and enter her room at eleven. Hearty as were her efforts to accomplish this, the hour of eleven found her with her work but half done; yet, true to her promise, she left all, retired to her room and locked the door. With some interest and hope, she immediately marked out a course of reading and study, for these two precious hours; then, arranging her table, her books, pen and paper, she commenced a schedule of her work with much enthusiasm. Scarcely had she dipped her pen in ink, when she heard the tramping of little feet along the hall, and then a pounding at her door. “Mamma! mamma! I cannot find my mittens, and Hannah is going to slide without me.” “Go to Amy, my dear; mamma is busy.” “So Amy busy too; she say she can’t leave baby.” The child began to cry, still standing close to the fastened door. Mrs. James knew the easiest, and indeed the only way of settling the trouble, was to go herself and hunt up the missing mittens. Then a parley must be held with Frank, to induce him to wait for his sister, and the child’s tears must be dried, and little hearts must be all set right before the children went out to play; and so favorable an opportunity must not be suffered to slip, without impressing on young minds the importance of having a “place for everything and everything in its place;” this took time; and when Mrs. James returned to her study, her watch told her that half her portion had gone. Quietly resuming her work, she was endeavoring to mend her broken train of thought, when heavier steps were heard in the hall, and the fastened door was once more besieged. Now, Mr. James must be admitted. “Mary,” said he, “cannot you come and sew a string on for me? I do believe there is not a bosom in my drawer in order, and I am in a great hurry. I ought to have been down town an hour ago.” The schedule was thrown aside, the workbasket taken, and Mrs. James followed him. She soon sewed on the tape, but then a button needed fastening–and at last a rip in his glove, was to be mended. As Mrs. James stitched away on the glove, a smile lurked in the corners of her mouth, which her husband observed. “What are you laughing at?” asked he. “To think how famously your plan works.” “I declare!” said he, “is this your study hour? I am sorry, but what can a man do? He cannot go down town without a shirt bosom!” “Certainly not,” said his wife, quietly. When her liege lord was fairly equipped and off, Mrs. James returned to her room. A half an hour yet remained to her, and of this she determined to make the most. But scarcely had she resumed her pen, when there was another disturbance in the entry. Amy had returned from walking out with the baby, and she entered the nursery with him, that she might get him to sleep. Now it happened that the only room in the house which Mrs. James could have to herself with a fire, was the one adjoining the nursery. She had become so accustomed to the ordinary noise of the children, that it did not disturb her; but the very extraordinary noise which master Charley sometimes felt called upon to make, when he was fairly on his back in the cradle, did disturb the unity of her thoughts. The words which she was reading rose and fell with the screams and lulls of the child, and she felt obliged to close her book, until the storm was over. When quiet was restored in the cradle, the children came in from sliding, crying with cold fingers–and just as she was going to them, the dinner-bell rang. “How did your new plan work this morning?” inquired Mr. James. “Famously,” was the reply, “I read about seventy pages of German, and as many more in French.” “I am sure I did not hinder you long.” “No–yours was only one of a dozen interruptions.” “O, well! you must not get discouraged. Nothing succeeds well the first time. Persist in your arrangement, and by and by the family will learn that if they want anything of you, they must wait until after dinner.” “But what can a man do?” replied his wife; “he cannot go down town without a shirt-bosom.” “I was in a bad case,” replied Mr. James, “it may not happen again. I am anxious to have you try the month out faithfully, and then we will see what has come of it.” The second day of trial was a stormy one. As the morning was dark, Bridget over-slept, and consequently breakfast was too late by an hour. This lost hour Mrs. James could not recover. When the clock struck eleven, she seemed but to have commenced her morning’s work, so much remained to be done. With mind disturbed and spirits depressed, she left her household matters “in the suds,” as they were, and punctually retired to her study. She soon found, however, that she could not fix her attention upon any intellectual pursuit. Neglected duties haunted her, like ghosts around the guilty conscience. Perceiving that she was doing nothing with her books, and not wishing to lose the morning wholly, she commenced writing a letter. Bridget interrupted her before she had proceeded far on the first page. “What, ma’am, shall we have for dinner? No marketing ha’n’t come.” “Have some steaks, then.” “We ha’n’t got none, ma’am.” “I will send out for some, directly.” Now there was no one to send but Amy, and Mrs. James knew it. With a sigh, she put down her letter and went into the nursery. “Amy, Mr. James has forgotten our marketing. I should like to have you run over to the provision store, and order some beef-steaks. I will stay with the baby.” Amy was not much pleased to be sent out on this errand. She remarked, that “she must change her dress first.” “Be as quick as possible,” said Mrs. James, “for I am particularly engaged at this hour.” Amy neither obeyed, nor disobeyed, but managed to take her own time, without any very deliberate intention to do so. Mrs. James, hoping to get along with a sentence or two, took her German book into the nursery. But this arrangement was not to master Charley’s mind. A fig did he care for German, but “the kitties,” he must have, whether or no–and kitties he would find in that particular book–so he turned its leaves over in great haste. Half of the time on the second day of trial had gone, when Amy returned and Mrs. James with a sigh, left her nursery. Before one o’clock, she was twice called into the kitchen to superintend some important dinner arrangement, and thus it turned out that she did not finish one page of her letter. On the third morning the sun shone, and Mrs. James rose early, made every provision which she deemed necessary for dinner, and for the comfort of her family; and then, elated by her success, in good spirits, and with good courage, she entered her study precisely at eleven o’clock, and locked her door. Her books were opened, and the challenge given to a hard German lesson. Scarcely had she made the first onset, when the door-bell was heard to ring, and soon Bridget coming nearer and nearer–then tapping at the door. “Somebodies wants to see you in the parlor, ma’am.” “Tell them I am engaged, Bridget.” “I told ’em you were to-home, ma’am, and they sent up their names, but I ha’n’t got ’em, jist.” There was no help for it–Mrs. James must go down to receive her callers. She had to smile when she felt little like it–to be sociable when her thoughts were busy with her task. Her friends made a long call–they had nothing else to do with their time, and when they went, others came. In very unsatisfactory chit-chat, her morning slipped away. On the next day, Mr. James invited company to tea, and her morning was devoted to preparing for it; she did not enter her study. On the day following, a sick-head-ache confined her to her bed, and on Saturday the care of the baby devolved upon her, as Amy had extra work to do. Thus passed the first week. True to her promise, Mrs. James patiently persevered for a month, in her efforts to secure for herself this little fragment of her broken time, but with what success, the first week’s history can tell. With its close, closed the month of December. On the last day of the old year, she was so much occupied in her preparations for the morrow’s festival, that the last hour of the day was approaching, before she made her good night’s call in the nursery. She first went to the crib and looked at the baby. There he lay in his innocence and beauty, fast asleep. She softly stroked his golden hair–she kissed gently his rosy cheek–she pressed the little dimpled hand in hers, and then, carefully drawing the coverlet over it, tucked it in, and stealing yet another kiss–she left him to his peaceful dreams and sat down on her daughter’s bed. She also slept sweetly, with her dolly hugged to her bosom. At this her mother smiled, but soon grave thoughts entered her mind, and these deepened into sad ones. She thought of her disappointment and the failure of her plans. To her, not only the past month but the whole past year, seemed to have been one of fruitless effort–all broken and disjointed–even her hours of religious duty had been encroached upon, and disturbed. She had accomplished nothing, that she could see, but to keep her house and family in order, and even this, to her saddened mind, seemed to have been but indifferently done. She was conscious of yearnings for a more earnest life than this. Unsatisfied longings for something which she had not attained, often clouded what, otherwise, would have been a bright day to her; and yet the causes of these feelings seemed to lie in a dim and misty region, which her eye could not penetrate. What then did she need? To see some results from her life’s work? To know that a golden cord bound her life-threads together into unity of purpose–notwithstanding they seemed, so often, single and broken? She was quite sure that she felt no desire to shrink from duty, however humble, but she sighed for some comforting assurance of what was duty. Her employments, conflicting as they did with her tastes, seemed to her frivolous and useless. It seemed to her that there was some better way of living, which she, from deficiency in energy of character, or of principle, had failed to discover. As she leaned over her child, her tears fell fast upon its young brow. Most earnestly did she wish, that she could shield that child from the disappointments and mistakes and self-reproach from which the mother was then suffering; that the little one might take up life where she could give it to her–all mended by her own experience. It would have been a comfort to have felt, that in fighting the battle, she had fought for both; yet she knew that so it could not be–that for ourselves must we all learn what are those things which “make for our peace.” The tears were in her eyes, as she gave the good-night to her sleeping daughter–then with soft steps she entered an adjoining room, and there fairly kissed out the old year on another chubby cheek, which nestled among the pillows. At length she sought her own rest. Soon she found herself in a singular place. She was traversing a vast plain. No trees were visible, save those which skirted the distant horizon, and on their broad tops rested wreaths of golden clouds. Before her was a female, who was journeying towards that region of light. Little children were about her, now in her arms, now running by her side, and as they travelled, she occupied herself in caring for them. She taught them how to place their little feet–she gave them timely warnings of the pit-falls–she gently lifted them over the stumbling-blocks. When they were weary, she soothed them by singing of that brighter land, which she kept ever in view, and towards which she seemed hastening with her little flock. But what was most remarkable was, that, all unknown to her, she was constantly watched by two angels, who reposed on two golden clouds which floated above her. Before each was a golden book, and a pen of gold. One angel, with mild and loving eyes, peered constantly over her right shoulder–another kept as strict watch over her left. Not a deed, not a word, not a look, escaped their notice. When a good deed, word, look, went from her, the angel over the right shoulder with a glad smile, wrote it down in his book; when an evil, however trivial, the angel over the left shoulder recorded it in his book–then with sorrowful eyes followed the pilgrim until he observed penitence for the wrong, upon which he dropped a tear on the record, and blotted it out, and both angels rejoiced. To the looker-on, it seemed that the traveller did nothing which was worthy of such careful record. Sometimes she did but bathe the weary feet of her little children, but the angel over the right shoulder–wrote it down. Sometimes she did but patiently wait to lure back a little truant who had turned his face away from the distant light, but the angel over the right shoulder–wrote it down. Sometimes she did but soothe an angry feeling or raise a drooping eye-lid, or kiss away a little grief; but the angel over the right shoulder–wrote it down. Sometimes, her eye was fixed so intently on that golden horizon, and she became so eager to make progress thither, that the little ones, missing her care, did languish or stray. Then it was that the angel over the left shoulder, lifted his golden pen, and made the entry, and followed her with sorrowful eyes, until he could blot it out. Sometimes she seemed to advance rapidly, but in her haste the little ones had fallen back, and it was the sorrowing angel who recorded her progress. Sometimes so intent was she to gird up her loins and have her lamp trimmed and burning, that the little children wandered away quite into forbidden paths, and it was the angel over the left shoulder who recorded her diligence. Now the observer as she looked, felt that this was a faithful and true record, and was to be kept to that journey’s end. The strong clasps of gold on those golden books, also impressed her with the conviction that, when they were closed, it would only be for a future opening. Her sympathies were warmly enlisted for the gentle traveller, and with a beating heart she quickened her steps that she might overtake her. She wished to tell her of the angels keeping watch above her–to entreat her to be faithful and patient to the end–for her life’s work was all written down–every item of it–and the results would be known when those golden books should be unclasped. She wished to beg of her to think no duty trivial which must be done, for over her right shoulder and over her left were recording angels, who would surely take note of all! Eager to warn the traveller of what she had seen, she touched her. The traveller turned, and she recognized or seemed to recognize herself. Startled and alarmed she awoke in tears. The gray light of morning struggled through the half-open shutter, the door was ajar and merry faces were peeping in. “Wish you a happy new year, mamma,”–“Wish you a Happy new Year”–“a happy noo ear.” She returned the merry greeting most heartily. It seemed to her as if she had entered upon a new existence. She had found her way through the thicket in which she had been entangled, and a light was now about her path. The Angel over the Right Shoulder whom she had seen in her dream, would bind up in his golden book her life’s work, if it were but well done. He required of her no great deeds, but faithfulness and patience to the end of the race which was set before her. Now she could see plainly enough, that though it was right and important for her to cultivate her own mind and heart, it was equally right and equally important, to meet and perform faithfully all those little household cares and duties on which the comfort and virtue of her family depended; for into these things the angels carefully looked–and these duties and cares acquired a dignity from the strokes of that golden, pen–they could not be neglected without danger. Sad thoughts and sadder misgivings–undefined yearnings and ungratified longings seemed to have taken their flight with the Old Year, and it was with fresh resolution and cheerful hope, and a happy heart, she welcomed the Glad New Year. The Angel over the Right Shoulder would go with her, and if she were found faithful, would strengthen and comfort her to its close. END. *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANGEL OVER THE RIGHT SHOULDER *** This file should be named 11033.txt or 11033.zip This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.net/1/1/0/3/11033/ Produced by Internet Archive; University of Florida, Children, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. Updated editions will replace the previous one–the old editions will be renamed. 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