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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Ravens and the Angels</p> +<p> With Other Stories and Parables</p> +<p>Author: Elizabeth Rundle Charles</p> +<p>Release Date: February 21, 2011 [eBook #35346]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAVENS AND THE ANGELS***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Peter Vachuska, Chuck Greif, Josephine Paolucci,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 439px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="439" height="640" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h1><span class="sm">THE</span><br /> + +RAVENS AND THE ANGELS:<br /> + +<span class="sm">WITH</span><br /> + +Other Stories and Parables.</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>MRS. RUNDLE CHARLES</h2> + +<h4><i>Author of</i></h4> + +<h4><i>"THE SCHÖNBERG-COTTA FAMILY," &c. &c.</i></h4> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/titlepg.jpg" width="150" height="90" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="center"> +London:<br /> +<br /> +T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.<br /> +<br /> +EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.<br /> +<br /> +1894<br /> +<br /> +<i>All Rights Reserved</i>.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Contents.</h2> + +<p> +THE RAVENS AND THE ANGELS, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_7'>7</a></span><br /> +<br /> +ECCE HOMO, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_33'>33</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE COTTAGE BY THE CATHEDRAL, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_59'>59</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE UNKNOWN ARCHITECT OF THE MINSTER, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_69'>69</a></span><br /> +<br /> +ONLY THE CRYPT, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_74'>74</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE SEPULCHRE AND THE SHRINE, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_80'>80</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE CATHEDRAL CHIMES, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_91'>91</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE RUINED TEMPLE, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_98'>98</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE CLOCK-BELL AND THE ALARM-BELL, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_106'>106</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE BLACK SHIP, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_109'>109</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE ISLAND AND THE MAIN LAND, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_125'>125</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE JEWEL OF THE ORDER OF THE KING'S OWN, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_137'>137</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE ACORN, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_148'>148</a></span><br /> +<br /> +PASSAGES FROM THE LIFE OF A FERN, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_153'>153</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THORNS AND SPINES, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_158'>158</a></span><br /> +<br /> +PARABLES IN HOUSEHOLD THINGS, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_161'>161</a></span><br /> +<br /> +"THINGS USING US," <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_166'>166</a></span><br /> +<br /> +SUNSHINE, DAYLIGHT, AND THE ROCK, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_170'>170</a></span><br /> +<br /> +WANDERERS AND PILGRIMS, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_172'>172</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE ARK AND THE FORTRESS, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_175'>175</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE THREE DREAMS, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_178'>178</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THOU AND I, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_183'>183</a></span><br /> +<br /> +WHAT MAKES THINGS MUSICAL, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_187'>187</a></span><br /> +<br /> +THE SONG WITHOUT WORDS, <span class="tocnum"><a href='#Page_192'>192</a></span><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Ravens and the Angels.</i></h2> + +<h3>A STORY OF THE MIDDLE AGES.</h3> + + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letteri.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="I" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_3"> +In those old days, in that old city, they called the Cathedral—and they +thought it—the house of God. The Cathedral was the Father's house for +all, and therefore it was loved and honoured, and enriched with lavish +treasures of wealth and work, beyond any other father's house.</p></div> + +<p>The Cathedral was the Father's house, and therefore close to its gates +might nestle the poor dwellings of the poor,—too poor to find a shelter +anywhere besides; because the central life and joy of the house of God +was the suffering, self-sacrificing Son of Man; and dearer to Him, now +and for ever, as when He was on earth, was the feeblest and most fallen +human creature He had redeemed than the most glorious heavenly +constellation of the universe He had made.</p> + +<p>And so it happened that when Berthold, the stone-carver, died, Magdalis, +his young wife, and her two children, then scarcely more than babes, +Gottlieb and little Lenichen, were suffered to make their home in the +little wooden shed which had once sheltered a hermit, and which nestled +into the recess close to the great western gate of the Minster.</p> + +<p>Thus, while, inside, from the lofty aisles pealed forth, night<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> and day, +the anthems of the choir, close outside, night and day, rose also, even +more surely, to God, the sighs of a sorrowful woman and the cries of +little children whom all her toil could hardly supply with bread. +Because, He hears the feeblest wail of want, though it comes not from a +dove or even from a harmless sparrow, but a young raven. And He does +<i>not</i> heed the sweetest anthem of the fullest choir, if it is a mere +pomp of sound. Because, while the best love of His meanest creatures is +precious to Him, the second-best of His loftiest creatures is +intolerable to Him. He heeds the shining of the drops of dew and the +rustling of the blades of grass. But from creatures who can love He +cannot accept the mere outside offering of creatures which can only make +a pleasant sound.</p> + +<p>All this, or such as this, the young mother Magdalis taught her babes as +they could bear it.</p> + +<p>For they needed such lessons.</p> + +<p>The troubles of the world pressed on them very early, in the shape +little children can understand—little hands and feet nipped with frost, +hunger and darkness and cold.</p> + +<p>Not that the citizens of that city were hypocrites, singing the praises +of God, whilst they let His dear Lazaruses vainly crave at their gates +for their crumbs. But Magdalis was very tender and timid, and a little +proud; proud not for herself, but for her husband and his babes. And she +was also feeble in health. She was an orphan herself, and she had +married, against the will of her kindred in a far-off city, the young +stone-carver, whose genius they did not appreciate, whose labour and +skill had made life so rich and bright to his family while he lived, and +whose early death had left them all so desolate.</p> + +<p>For his dear sake, she would not complain. For herself it had been +easier to die, and for his sake she would not bring the shame of beggary +on his babes. Better for them to enter into this life maimed of +strength, she thought, by meagre food, than tainted with the taint of +beggary.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rather, she thought, would their father himself have seen them go hungry +to bed than deserve that the fingers of other children should be pointed +scornfully at them as "the little beggars by the church door," the door +of the church in which she gloried to think there were stones of his +carving.</p> + +<p>So she toiled on, carving for sale little devotional symbols—crosses, +and reliquaries, and lilies, and lambs—with the skill she had learnt +from him, and teaching the little ones, as best she could, to love and +work and suffer. Only teaching them, perhaps, not quite enough to +<i>hope</i>. For the lamp of hope burnt low in her own heart, and therefore +her patience, not being enough the patience of hope, lacked something of +sweetness. It never broke downward into murmurs, but it too seldom +soared upward into praise.</p> + +<p>So it happened that one frosty night, about Christmas-tide, little +Gottlieb lay awake, very hungry, on the ledge of the wall, covered with +straw, which served him for a bed.</p> + +<p>It had once been the hermit's bed. And very narrow Gottlieb thought it +must have been for the hermit, for more than once he had been in peril +of falling over the side, in his restless tossings. He supposed the +hermit was too good to be restless, or perhaps too good for the dear +angels to think it good for him to be hungry, as they evidently did +think it good for Gottlieb and Lenichen, or they would be not good +angels at all, to let them hunger so often, not even as kind as the +ravens which took the bread to Elijah when they were told. For the dear +Heavenly Father had certainly told the angels always to take care of +little children.</p> + +<p>The more Gottlieb lay awake and tossed and thought, the further off the +angels seemed.</p> + +<p>For, all the time, under the pillow lay one precious crust of bread, the +last in the house until his mother should buy the loaf to-morrow.</p> + +<p>He had saved it from his supper in an impulse of generous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> pity for his +little sister, who so often awoke, crying with hunger, and woke his poor +mother, and would not let her go to sleep again.</p> + +<p>He had thought how sweet it would be, when Lenichen awoke the next +morning, to appear suddenly, as the angels do, at the side of the bed +where she lay beside her mother, and say,—</p> + +<p>"Dear Lenichen! see, God has sent you this bit of bread as a Christmas +gift."</p> + +<p>For the next day was Christmas Eve.</p> + +<p>This little plan made Gottlieb so happy that at first it felt as good to +him as eating the bread.</p> + +<p>But the happy thought, unhappily, did not long content the hungry animal +part of him, which craved, in spite of him, to be filled; and, as the +night went on, he was sorely tempted to eat the precious crust—his very +own crust—himself.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it was ambitious of me, after all," he said to himself, "to +want to seem like a blessed angel, a messenger of God, to Lenichen. +Perhaps, too, it would not be true. Because, after all, it would not be +exactly God who sent the crust, but only me."</p> + +<p>And with the suggestion, the little hands which had often involuntarily +felt for the crust, brought it to the hungry little mouth.</p> + +<p>But at that moment it opportunely happened that his mother made a little +moan in her sleep, which half awakened Lenichen, who murmured, sleepily, +"Little mother, mother, bread!"</p> + +<p>Whereupon, Gottlieb blushed at his own ungenerous intention, and +resolutely pushed back the crust under the pillow. And then he thought +it must certainly have been the devil who had tempted him to eat, and he +tried to pray.</p> + +<p>He prayed the "Our Father" quite through, kneeling up softly in bed, and +lingering fondly, but not very hopefully, on the "Give us our daily +bread."</p> + +<p>And then again he fell into rather melancholy reflections<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> how very +often he had prayed that same prayer and had been hungry, and into +distracting speculations how the daily bread could come, until at last +he ventured to add this bit of his own to his prayers,—</p> + +<p>"Dear, holy Lord Jesus, you were once a little child, and know what it +feels like. If Lenichen and I are not good enough for you to send us +bread by the blessed angels, do send us some by the poor ravens. We +would not mind at all, if they came from you, and were <i>your</i> ravens, +and brought us real bread. And if it is wrong to ask, please not to be +displeased, because I am such a little child, and I don't know better, +and I want to go to sleep!"</p> + +<p>Then Gottlieb lay down again, and turned his face to the wall, where he +knew the picture of the Infant Jesus was, and forgot his troubles and +fell asleep.</p> + +<p>The next morning he was awaked, as so often, by Lenichen's little bleat; +and he rose triumphantly, and took his crust to her bedside.</p> + +<p>Lenichen greeted him with a wistful little smile, and put up her face +for a kiss; but her reception of the crust was somewhat disappointing.</p> + +<p>She wailed a little because it was "hard and dry;" and when Gottlieb +moistened it with a few drops of water, she took it too much, he felt, +as a mere common meal, a thing of course, and her natural right.</p> + +<p>He had expected that, in some way, the hungry hours it had cost him +would have been kneaded into it, and would have made it a kind of +heavenly manna for her.</p> + +<p>To him it had meant hunger, and heroism, and sleepless hours of +endurance. It seemed strange that to Lenichen it should seem nothing +more than a hard, dry, common crust.</p> + +<p>But to the mother it was much more.</p> + +<p>She understood all; and, because she understood so much, she said +little.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>She only smiled, and said he looked more than ever like his father; and +as he sat musing rather sadly while she was dressing, and Lenichen had +fallen asleep again, she pointed to the little peaceful sleeping face, +the flaxen hair curling over the dimpled arm, and she said,—</p> + +<p>"That is thy thanks—just that the little one is happy. The dear +Heavenly Father cares more, I think, for such thanks than for any other; +just to see the flowers grow, just to hear the birds sing to their +nestlings, just to see His creatures good and happy, because of His +gifts. Those are about the best thanks for Him, and for us."</p> + +<p>But Gottlieb looked up inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"Yet He likes us to say 'Thank you,' too? Did you not say all the Church +services, all the beautiful cathedral itself, is just the people's +'Thank you' to God? Are we not going to church just to say 'Thank you,' +to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling," she said. "But the 'Thank you' we <i>mean</i> to say is worth +little unless it is just the blossom and fragrance of the love and +content always in the heart. God cares infinitely for our loving Him, +and loves us to thank Him if we do. He does not care at all for the +thanks without the love, or without the content."</p> + +<p>And as she spoke these words, Mother Magdalis was preaching a little +sermon to herself also, which made her eyes moisten and shine.</p> + +<p>So she took courage, and contrived to persuade the children and herself +that the bread-and-water breakfast that Christmas-Eve morning had +something quite festive about it.</p> + +<p>And when they had finished with a grace which Gottlieb sang, and +Lenichen lisped after him, she told him to take the little sister on his +knee and sing through his songs and hymns, while she arrayed herself in +the few remnants of holiday dress left her.</p> + +<p>And as she cleaned and arranged the tiny room, her heart was lighter +than it had been for a long time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I ought to be happy," she said to herself, "with music enough in my +little nest to fill a church."</p> + +<p>When Gottlieb had finished his songs, and was beginning them over again, +there was a knock at the door, and the face of old Hans the dwarf +appeared at the door, as he half opened it.</p> + +<p>"A good Christmas to thee and thy babes, Mother Magdalis! Thy son is +born indeed with a golden spoon in his mouth," croaked old Hans in his +hoarse, guttural voice.</p> + +<p>The words grated on Magdalis. Crooked Hans's jokes were apt to be as +crooked as his temper and his poor limbs, and to give much +dissatisfaction, hitting on just the sore points no one wanted to be +touched.</p> + +<p>She felt tempted to answer sharply, but the sweet Christmas music had +got into her heart, and she only said, with tears starting to her +eyes,—</p> + +<p>"If he was, neighbour, all the gold was lost and buried long ago."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it!" rejoined Hans. "Didn't I hear the gold ring this very +instant? The lad has gold in his mouth, I say! Give him to me, and you +shall see it before night."</p> + +<p>She looked up reproachfully, the tears fairly falling at what she +thought such a cruel mockery from Hans, who knew her poverty, and had +never had from her or hers the rough words he was too much used to from +every one.</p> + +<p>"The golden days are over for me," was all she said.</p> + +<p>"Nay! They have yet to begin," he replied. "Your Berthold left more +debtors than you know, Frau Magdalis. And old Hans is one of them. And +Hans never forgets a debt, black or white. Let the lad come with me, I +say. I know the choir-master at the Cathedral. And I know he wants a +fine high treble just such as thy Gottlieb's, and will give anything for +it. For if he does not find one, the Cistercians at the new convent will +draw away all the people, and we shall have no money for the new organ. +They have a young Italian, who sings like an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> angel, there; and the +young archduchess is an Italian, and is wild about music, and lavishes +her gifts wherever she finds it good."</p> + +<p>Magdalis looked perplexed and troubled.</p> + +<p>"To sell the child's voice seems like selling part of himself, +neighbour," she said at length; "and to sell God's praises seems like +selling one's own soul."</p> + +<p>"Well, well! Those are thy proud burgher notions," said Hans, a little +nettled. "If the Heavenly Father pleases to give thee and the little +ones a few crumbs for singing His matins and evensong, it is no more +than He does for the robins, or, for that matter, for the very ravens, +such as me, that croak to Him with the best voice they have."</p> + +<p>At these words, Gottlieb, who had been listening very attentively, +gently set little Lenichen down, and, drawing close to Hans, put his +little hand confidingly in his.</p> + +<p>"I will go with neighbour Hans, mother!" he said, decisively. "The dear +Lord Himself has sent him."</p> + +<p>"Thou speakest like a prophet," said the mother, smiling tenderly at his +oracular manner, "a prophet and a king in one. Hast thou had a vision? +Is thy will indeed the law of the land?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother," he said, colouring, "the dear Lord Jesus has made it +quite plain. I asked Him, if we were not good enough for Him to send us +an angel, to send us one of His ravens, and He has sent us Hans!"</p> + +<p>Hans laughed, but not the grim, hoarse laugh which was habitual to him, +and which people compared to the croaking of a raven; it was a hearty, +open laugh, like a child's, and he said,—</p> + +<p>"Let God's raven lead thee, then, my lad, and the mother shall see if we +don't bring back the bread and meat."</p> + +<p>"I did not ask for meat," said Gottlieb, gravely, "only for bread."</p> + +<p>"The good God is wont to give more than we either desire or deserve," +croaked Hans, "when He sets about giving at all."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>There was no time to be lost.</p> + +<p>The services of the day would soon begin, and Hans had set his heart on +Gottlieb's singing that very day in the Cathedral.</p> + +<p>The choir-master's eyes sparkled as he listened to the boy; but he was +an austere man, and would not utter a word to make the child think +himself of value.</p> + +<p>"Not bad raw material," he said, "but very raw. I suppose thou hast +never before sung a note to any one who understood music?"</p> + +<p>"Only for the mother and the little sister," the child replied in a low, +humble tone, beginning to fear the raven would bring no bread after all, +"and sometimes in the Litanies and the processions."</p> + +<p>"Sing no more for babes and nurses, and still less among the beggars in +the street-processions," pronounced the master, severely. "It strains +and vulgarizes the tone. And, with training, I don't know but that, +after all, we might make something of thee—in time, in time."</p> + +<p>Gottlieb's anxiety mastered his timidity, and he ventured to say,—</p> + +<p>"Gracious lord! if it is a long time, how can we all wait? I thought it +would be to-day! The mother wants the bread to-day."</p> + +<p>Something in the child's earnest face touched the master, and he said, +more gently,—</p> + +<p>"I did not say you might not <i>begin</i> to-day. You must begin this hour, +this moment. Too much time has been lost already."</p> + +<p>And at once he set about the first lesson, scolding and growling about +the child setting his teeth like a dog, and mincing his words like a +fine lady, till poor Gottlieb's hopes more than once sank very low.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>But, at the end of a quarter of an hour's practice, the artist in the +choir-master entirely overcame the diplomatist.</p> + +<p>He behaved like a madman. He took the child in his arms and hugged him, +like a friendly bear; he set him on the table and made him sing one +phrase again and again, walking round and round him, and rubbing his +hands and laughing with delight; and, finally, he seized him and bore +him in triumph to the kitchen, and said to his housekeeper,—</p> + +<p>"Ursula, bring out the finest goose and the best preserves and puddings +you have. We must feast the whole choir, and, may be, the Dean and +Chapter. The archduke and the young archduchess will be here at Easter. +But we shall be ready for them. Those beggarly Cistercians haven't a +chance. The lad has the voice of an angel, and the ear—the ear—well, +an ear as good as my own."</p> + +<p>"The child may well have the voice of an angel," scolded old Ursula, "he +is like to be among the angels soon enough!"</p> + +<p>For the hope, and the fear, and the joy had quite overcome the child, +enfeebled as he was by meagre fare; his lips were quite pale, and his +cheeks.</p> + +<p>Moreover, the last order of the choir-master had not been quite +re-assuring to him. The fat goose and the puddings were good, indeed; +but he would have preferred his mother and Lenichen being feasted in his +honour, rather than the choir and the chapter.</p> + +<p>And besides, though little more than seven years old, he was too much of +a boy quite to enjoy his position on the master's shoulder. He felt it +too babyish to be altogether honourable to the protector of Lenichen and +incipient bread-winner of the family. And, therefore, he was relieved +when he found himself once more safely on the ground.</p> + +<p>But when Ursula set before him a huge plate of bread and meat, his manly +composure all but gave way. It was more of an approach to a feast than +any meal he had ever participated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> in, and he was nearly choked with +repressed tears of gratitude.</p> + +<p>It was so evident <i>now</i> that Hans was altogether an orthodox and +accredited raven!</p> + +<p>At first, as the child sat mute and wondering before the repast, with a +beautiful look of joy and prayer in his blue eyes, Ursula thought he was +saying his grace, and respected his devotion. But as the moments passed +on, and still he did not attempt to eat, she became impatient.</p> + +<p>"There is a time for everything," she murmured, at length. "That will do +for thy grace! Now quick to the food! Thou canst finish the grace, if +thou wilt, in music, in the church by-and-by."</p> + +<p>But then the child took courage, and said,—</p> + +<p>"The ravens—that is, the good God—surely do not mean all this for me. +Dear, gracious lady, let me run with the plate to the mother and +Lenichen; and I will be back again in two minutes, and sing all day, if +the master likes."</p> + +<p>Ursula was much moved at the child's filial love, and also at his +politeness.</p> + +<p>"The little one has discrimination," she said to herself. "One can see +he is of a good stock. He recognizes that I am no peasant, but the +daughter of a good burgher house."</p> + +<p>And, in spite of the remonstrances of her master, she insisted on giving +the lad his way.</p> + +<p>"I will accompany him, myself," said she.</p> + +<p>And, without further delay or parley, she walked off, under the very +eyes of the master, with the boy, and also with a considerable portion +of his own dinner, in addition to the plate she had already set before +Gottlieb.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A very joyful and miraculous intervention it seemed to Mother Magdalis +when Gottlieb re-entered the hermit's cell, under the stately convoy of +the choir-master's housekeeper, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> with food enough to feed the frugal +little household for a week.</p> + +<p>The two women greeted each other ceremoniously and courteously, as +became two German housewives of good burgher stock.</p> + +<p>"The little lad has manners worthy of a burgomaster," said Ursula. "We +shall see him with the gold chain and the fur robes yet, and his mother +a proud woman."</p> + +<p>With which somewhat worldly benediction, she left the little family to +themselves, conjuring Gottlieb to return in less than an hour, for the +master was not always as manageable as this morning.</p> + +<p>And when they were alone, Gottlieb was not ashamed to hide his tears on +his mother's heart.</p> + +<p>"See, darling mother!" he said, "the dear Saviour did send the raven! +Perhaps, one day, He will make us good enough for Him to send the +angels."</p> + +<p>Then the simple family all knelt down and thanked God from their hearts, +and Gottlieb added one especial bit of his own of praise and prayer for +his kind Hans, of whom, on account of his grim face and rough voice, he +had stood in some dread.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, dear Lord Jesus," he said, "that I did not know how good he +was!"</p> + +<p>And when they had eaten their hasty Christmas feast, and the mother was +smoothing his hair and making the best of his poor garments, Gottlieb +said, looking up gravely in her face,—</p> + +<p>"Who knows, mother, if Hans is only a raven now, that the good God may +not make him, his very self, the angel?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps God <i>is</i> making Hans into the angel even now," replied the +mother.</p> + +<p>And she remembered for a long time the angelic look of love and devotion +in the child's eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + +<p>For she knew very well the Cathedral choir was no angelic host.</p> + +<p>She knew she was not welcoming her boy that morning to a haven, but +launching him on a voyage of many perils. But she knew, also, that it is +only by such perils, and through such voyages, that men, that saints, +are made.</p> + + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>The next day Gottlieb began his training among the other choristers.</p> + +<p>It was not easy.</p> + +<p>The choir-master showed his appreciation of his rare treasure by +straining every nerve to make it as perfect as possible; and therefore +he found more fault with Gottlieb than with any one else.</p> + +<p>The other boys might, he could not but observe, sing carelessly enough, +if the general harmony were but good; but every note of his seemed as if +it were a solo which the master's ear never missed, and not the +slightest mistake was allowed to pass.</p> + +<p>The other choristers understood very well what this meant, and some of +them were not a little jealous of the new favourite, as they called him. +But to little Gottlieb it seemed hard and strange. He was always +straining to do his very best, and yet he never seemed to satisfy. The +better he did, the better the master wanted him to do, until he grew +almost hopeless.</p> + +<p>He would not, for the world, complain to his mother; but on the third +evening she observed that he looked very sad and weary, and seemed +scarcely to have spirits to play with Lenichen.</p> + +<p>She knew it is of little use to ask little children what ails them, +because so often their trouble is that they do not know. Some little +delicate string within is jarred, and they know nothing of it, and think +the whole world is out of tune. So she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> quietly put Lenichen to bed, and +after the boy had said his prayers as usual at her knee, she laid her +hand on his head, and caressingly stroked his fair curls, and then she +lifted up his face to hers and kissed the little troubled brow and +quivering lips.</p> + +<p>"Dear little golden mouth!" she said, fondly, "that earns bread, and +sleep, for the little sister and for me! I heard the sweet notes to-day, +and I thanked God. And I felt as if the dear father was hearing them +too, even through the songs in heaven."</p> + +<p>The child's heart was opened, the quivering lips broke into a sob, and +the face was hidden on her knee.</p> + +<p>"It will not be for long, mother!" he said. "The master has found fault +with me more than ever to-day. He made me sing passage after passage +over and over, until some of the boys were quite angry, and said, +afterwards, they wished I and my voice were with the old hermit who +houses us. Yet he never seemed pleased. He did not even say it was any +better."</p> + +<p>"But he never gave thee up, darling!" she said.</p> + +<p>"No; he only told me to come early, alone, to-morrow, and he would give +me a lesson by myself, and perhaps I should learn better."</p> + +<p>A twinkle of joy danced in her eyes, dimmed with so many tears.</p> + +<p>"Silly child!" she said fondly, "as silly as thy poor mother herself! +The master only takes trouble, and chastens and rebukes, because he +thinks it is worth while; because thou art trying, and learning, and art +doing a little better day by day. He knows what thy best can be, and +will never be content with anything but thy very best."</p> + +<p>"Is it that, mother? Is it indeed that?" said the boy, looking up with a +sudden dawning of hope.</p> + +<p>And a sweet dawn of promise met him in his mother's eyes as she +answered,—</p> + +<p>"It is even that, my own, for thee and for me!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>With a glad heart, Gottlieb dressed the next morning before Lenichen was +awake, and was off to the choir-master for his lesson alone.</p> + +<p>The new hope had inspired him, and he sang that morning to the content +even of the master, as he knew, not by his praise, but by his summoning +Ursula from the kitchen to listen, unable to resist his desire for the +sympathy of a larger audience.</p> + +<p>Ursula was not exactly musical, nor was she demonstrative, but she +showed her satisfaction by appropriating her share of the success.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> knew what was wanting!" she said significantly. "The birds and the +blessed angels may sing on crumbs or on the waters of Paradise; but +goose and pudding are a great help to the Alleluias here below."</p> + +<p>"The archduchess will be enraptured, and the Cistercians will be +furious!" said the choir-master, equally pleased at both prospects.</p> + +<p>But this Gottlieb did not hear, for he had availed himself of the first +free moment to run home and tell his mother how things had improved.</p> + +<p>After that, Gottlieb had no more trouble about the master. The old man's +severity became comprehensible and dear to him, and a loving liberty and +confidence came into his bearing toward him, which went to the heart of +the childless old man, so that dearer than the praise of the +archduchess, or even the discomfiture of the Cistercians, became to him +the success and welfare of the child.</p> + +<p>But then, unknown to himself, the poor boy entered on a new chapter of +temptations.</p> + +<p>The other boys, observing the choir-master's love for him, grew jealous, +and called him sometimes "the master's little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> angel," and sometimes +"the little beggar of the hermitage," or "Dwarf Hans's darling."</p> + +<p>He was too brave and manly a little fellow to tell his mother all these +little annoyances. He would not for the world have spoiled her joy in +her little "Chrysostom," her golden-mouthed laddie. But once they +followed him to her door, and she heard them herself. The rude words +smote her to the heart, but she only said,—</p> + +<p>"Thou art not ashamed of the hermit's house, nor of being old Hans's +darling?"</p> + +<p>"I hope, never!" said the child with a little hesitation. "God sent him +to us, and I love him. But it <i>would</i> be nice if dear Hans sometimes +washed his face!"</p> + +<p>Magdalis smiled, and hit on a plan for bringing this about. With some +difficulty she persuaded the old man to take his dinner every Sunday and +holiday with them, and she always set an ewer of water—and a towel, +relic of her old burgher life—by him, before the meal.</p> + +<p>"We were a kind of Pharisees in our home," she said, "and except we +washed our hands, never ate bread."</p> + +<p>Hans growled a little, but he took the hint, for her sake and the boy's, +and gradually found the practice so pleasant on its own account, that +the washing of his hands and face became a daily process.</p> + +<p>On his patron saint's day (St. John, February 8), Mother Magdalis went a +step further, and presented him with a clean suit of clothes, very +humble but neat and sound, of her own making out of old hoards. Not for +holidays only, she said, but that he might change his clothes every day, +after work, as her Berthold used.</p> + +<p>"Dainty burgher ways," Hans called them, but he submitted, and Gottlieb +was greatly comforted, and thought his old friend a long way advanced in +his transformation into an angel.</p> + +<p>So, between the sweetness of the boy's temper and of the dear mother's +love which folded him close, the bitter was turned into sweet within +him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Ursula, who heard the mocking of the boys with indignation, was not +so wise in her consolations.</p> + +<p>"Wicked, envious little devils!" said she. "Never thou heed them, my +lamb! They would be glad enough, any of them, to be the master's angel, +or Dwarf Hans's darling, for that matter, if they could. It is nothing +but mean envy and spite, my little prince, my little wonder; never thou +heed them!"</p> + +<p>And then the enemy crept unperceived into the child's heart.</p> + +<p>Was he indeed a little prince and a wonder, on his platform of gifts and +goodness? And were all those naughty boys far below him, in another +sphere, hating him as the little devils in the mystery-plays seemed to +hate and torment the saints?</p> + +<p>Had the "raven" been sent to him, after all, as to the prophet of old, +not only because he was hungry and pitied by God, but because he was +good and a favourite of God?</p> + +<p>It seemed clear he was something quite out of the common. He seemed the +favourite of every one, except those few envious, wicked boys.</p> + +<p>The great ladies of the city entreated for him to come and sing at their +feasts. And all their guests stopped in the midst of their eager talk to +listen to him, and they gave him sweetmeats and praised him to the +skies; and they offered him wine from their silver flagons, and when he +refused it, as his mother had desired him, they praised him more than +ever; and once the host himself, the burgomaster, emptied the silver +flagon of the wine he had refused, and told him to take it home to his +mother and tell her she had a child whose dutifulness was worth more +than all the silver in the city.</p> + +<p>But when he told his mother this, instead of looking delighted, as he +expected, she looked grave, and almost severe, and said,—</p> + +<p>"You only did your duty, my boy. It would have been a sin and a shame to +have done otherwise. And, of course, you would not for the world."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Certainly I would not, mother," he said.</p> + +<p>But he felt a little chilled. Did his mother think it was always so easy +for boys to do their duty? and that every one did it?</p> + +<p>Other people seemed to think it a very uncommon and noble thing to do +one's duty. And what, indeed, could the blessed saints do more?</p> + +<p>So the slow poison of praise crept into the boy's heart. And while he +thought his life was being filled with light, unknown to him the shadows +were deepening,—the one shadow which eclipses the sun, the terrible +shadow of self.</p> + +<p>For he could not but be conscious how, even in the cathedral, a kind of +hush and silence fell around when he began to sing.</p> + +<p>And instead of the blessed presence of God filling the holy place, and +his singing in it, as of old, like a happy little bird in the sunshine, +his own sweet voice seemed to fill the place, rising and falling like a +tide up and down the aisles, leaping to the vaulted roof like a fountain +of joy, and dropping into the hearts of the multitude like dew from +heaven.</p> + +<p>And as he went out, in his little white robe, with the choir, he felt +the eyes of the people on him, and he heard a murmur of praise, and now +and then words such as "That is little Gottlieb, the son of the widow +Magdalis. She may well be proud of him. He has the voice and the face of +an angel."</p> + +<p>And then, in contrast, outside in the street, from the other boys, "See +how puffed up the little prince is! He cannot look at any one lower than +the bishop or the burgomaster!"</p> + +<p>So, between the chorus of praise and the other chorus of mockery, it was +no wonder that poor Gottlieb felt like a being far removed from the +common herd. And, necessarily, any one of the flock of Christ who feels +that, cannot be happy, because if we are far away from the common flock, +we cannot be near the Good Shepherd, who always keeps close to the +feeblest, and seeks those that go astray.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<p>It was not long before the watchful eye of the mother observed a little +change creeping over the boy—a little more impatience with Lenichen, a +little more variableness of temper; sometimes he would dance exultingly +home as if he were scarcely treading the common earth, sometimes he +would return with a depression which made the simple work and pleasures +of the home seem dull and wearisome.</p> + +<p>So it went on until the joyful Easter-tide was drawing near. On Palm +Sunday there was to be a procession of the children.</p> + +<p>As the mother was smoothing out the golden locks which fell like +sunbeams on the white vestments, she said, "It is a bright day for thee +and me, my son. I shall feel as if we were all in the dear old Jerusalem +itself, and my darling had gathered his palms on Olivet itself, and the +very eyes of the blessed Lord Himself were on thee, and His ears +listening to thee crying out thy Hosannas, and His dear voice speaking +of thee and through thee, 'Suffer the little children to come unto me.'"</p> + +<p>But Gottlieb looked grave and rather troubled.</p> + +<p>"So few seem thinking just of <i>His</i> listening," he said doubtfully. +"There are the choir-master and the Dean and Chapter, and the other +choristers, and the Cistercians, and the mothers of the other +choristers, who wish them to sing best."</p> + +<p>She took his hand. "So there were in that old Jerusalem," she said. "The +Pharisees, who wanted to stop the children's singing; and even the dear +disciples, who often thought they might be troublesome to the Master. +But the little ones sang for Him; and He knew, and was pleased. And that +is all we have to think of now."</p> + +<p>He kissed her, and went away with a lightened brow.</p> + +<p>Many of the neighbours came in that afternoon to congratulate Magdalis +on her boy—his face, his voice, his gentle ways.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And then he sings with such feeling," said one. "One sees it is in his +heart."</p> + +<p>But in the evening Gottlieb came home very sad and desponding. For some +time he said nothing, and then, with a brave effort to restrain his +tears, he murmured,—</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother! I am afraid it will soon be over. I heard one of the +priests say he thought they had a new chorister at the Cistercians whose +voice is as good as mine. So that the archduchess may not like our choir +best, after all."</p> + +<p>The mother said nothing for a moment, and then she said,—</p> + +<p>"<i>Whose</i> praise and love will the boy at the Cistercian convent sing, +Gottlieb, if he has such a lovely voice?"</p> + +<p>"God's!—the dear Heavenly Father and the Saviour!" he said reverently.</p> + +<p>"And you, my own? Will another little voice on earth prevent His hearing +you? Do the thousands of thousands always singing to Him above prevent +His hearing you? And what would the world do if the only voice worth +listening to were thine? It cannot be heard beyond one church, or one +street. And the good Lord has ten thousand churches, and cities full of +people who want to hear."</p> + +<p>"But thou, mother! Thou and Lenichen, and the bread!"</p> + +<p>"It was the raven that brought the bread," she said smiling; "and thou +art not even a raven,—only a little child to pick up the bread the +raven brought."</p> + +<p>He sat silent a few minutes, and then the terrible cloud of self and +pride dropped off from his heart like a death-shroud, and he threw +himself into her arms.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother, I see it all!" he said. "I am free again. I have only to +sing to the blessed Lord of all, quite sure He listens, to Him alone, +and to all else as just a little one of the all He loves."</p> + +<p>And after the evening meal, and a game with Lenichen, the boy crept out +to the Cathedral to say his prayers in one of the little chapels, and to +thank God.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p>He knelt in the Lady chapel before the image of the Infant Christ on the +mother's knees.</p> + +<p>And as he knelt there, it came into his heart that all the next week was +Passion week, "the still week," and would be silent; and the tears +filled his eyes as he remembered how little he had enjoyed singing that +day.</p> + +<p>"How glad the little children of Jerusalem must have been," he thought, +"that they sang to Jesus when they could. I suppose they never could +again; for the next Friday He was dead. Oh, suppose He never let me sing +to Him again!"</p> + +<p>And tears and repressed sobs came fast at the thought, and he murmured +aloud, thinking no one was near,—</p> + +<p>"Dear Saviour, only let me sing once more here in church to you, and I +will think of no one but you; not of the boys who laugh at me, nor the +people who praise me, nor the Cistercians, nor the archduchess, nor even +the dear choir-master, but only of you, of you, and perhaps of mother +and Lenichen. I could not help that, and you would not mind it. You and +they love me so much more than any one, and I love you really so much +more than all besides. Only believe it, and try me once more."</p> + +<p>As he finished, in his earnestness the child spoke quite loud, and from +a dark corner in the shadow of a pillar suddenly arose a very old man in +a black monk's robe, with snow-white hair, and drew close to him, and +laid his hand on his shoulder, and said,—</p> + +<p>"Fear not, my son. I have a message for thee."</p> + +<p>At first, Gottlieb was much frightened; and then, when he heard the +kind, tremulous old voice, and saw the lovely, tender smile on the +wrinkled, pallid old face, he thought God must really have sent him an +angel at last, though certainly not because he was good.</p> + +<p>"Look around on these lofty arches, and clustered columns, and the long +aisles, and the shrines of saints, and the carved wreaths of flowers and +fruits, and the glorious altar! Are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> these wonderful to thee? Couldst +thou have thought of them, or built them?"</p> + +<p>"I could as easily have made the stars, or the forests!" said the child.</p> + +<p>"Then look at me," the old man said, with a gentle smile on his +venerable face, "a poor worn-out old man, whom no one knows. This +beautiful house was in my heart before a stone of it was reared. God put +it in my heart. I planned it all. I remember this place a heap of poor +cottages as small as thine; and now it is a glorious house of God. And I +was what they called the master-builder. Yet no man knows me, or says, +'Look at him!' They look at the Cathedral, God's house; and that makes +me glad in my inmost soul. I prayed that I might be nothing, and all the +glory be His; and He has granted my prayer. And I am as little and as +free in this house which I built as in His own forests, or under His own +stars; for it is His only, as they are His. And I am nothing but His own +little child, as thou art. And He has my hand and thine in His, and will +not let us go."</p> + +<p>The child looked up, nearly certain now that it must be an angel. To +have lived longer than the Cathedral seemed like living when the morning +stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.</p> + +<p>"Then God will let me sing here next Easter!" he said, looking +confidingly in the old man's face.</p> + +<p>"Thou shalt sing, and I shall see, and I shall hear thee, but thou wilt +not hear or see me!" said the old man, taking both the dimpled hands in +one of his. "And the blessed Lord will listen, as to the little children +in Jerusalem of old. And we shall be His dear, happy children for +evermore."</p> + +<p>Gottlieb went home and told his mother. And they both agreed, that if +not an angel, the old man was as good as an angel, and was certainly a +messenger of God.</p> + +<p>To have been the master-builder of the Cathedral of which it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> was +Magdalis's glory and pride that her husband had carved a few of the +stones!</p> + +<p>The master-builder of the Cathedral, yet finding his joy and glory in +being a little child of God!</p> + + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<p>The "silent week" that followed was a solemn time to the mother and the +boy.</p> + +<p>Every day, whatever time could be spared from the practice with the +choir, and from helping in the little house and with his mother's +wood-carving, or from playing with Lenichen in the fields, Gottlieb +spent in the silent Cathedral, draped as it was in funereal black for +the Sacred Life given up to God for man.</p> + +<p>"How glad," he thought again and again, "the little children of +Jerusalem must have been that they sang when they could to the blessed +Jesus! They little knew how soon the kind hands that blessed them would +be stretched on the cross, and the kind voice that would not let their +singing be stopped would be moaning 'I thirst.'"</p> + +<p>But he felt that he, Gottlieb, ought to have known; and if ever he was +allowed to sing his Hosannas in the choir again, it would feel like the +face of the blessed Lord himself smiling on him, and His voice saying, +"Suffer this little one to come unto Me. I have forgiven him."</p> + +<p>He hoped also to see the master-builder again; but nevermore did the +slight, aged form appear in the sunshine of the stained windows, or in +the shadows of the arches he had planned.</p> + +<p>And so the still Passion week wore on.</p> + +<p>Until once more the joy-bells pealed out on the blessed Easter morning.</p> + +<p>The city was full of festivals. The rich were in their richest holiday +raiment, and few of the poor were so poor as not to have some sign of +festivity in their humble dress and on their frugal tables.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mother Magdalis was surprised by finding at her bedside a new dress such +as befitted a good burgher's daughter, sent secretly the night before +from Ursula by Hans and Gottlieb, with a pair of enchanting new crimson +shoes for little Lenichen, which all but over-balanced the little maiden +altogether with the new sense of possessing something which must be a +wonder and a delight to all beholders.</p> + +<p>The archduke and the beautiful Italian archduchess had arrived the night +before, and were to go in stately procession to the Cathedral. And +Gottlieb was to sing in the choir, and afterwards, on the Monday, to +sing an Easter greeting for the archduchess at the banquet in the great +town-hall.</p> + +<p>The mother's heart trembled with some anxiety for the child.</p> + +<p>But the boy's was only trembling with the great longing to be allowed to +sing once more his Hosannas to the blessed Saviour, among the children.</p> + +<p>It was given him.</p> + +<p>At first the eager voice trembled for joy, in the verse he had to sing +alone, and the choir-master's brows were knitted with anxiety. But it +cleared and steadied in a moment, and soared with a fulness and freedom +none had ever heard in it before, filling the arches of the Cathedral +and the hearts of all.</p> + +<p>And the beautiful archduchess bent over to see the child, and her soft, +dark eyes were fixed on his face, as he sang, until they filled with +tears; and, afterwards, she asked who the mother of that little angel +was.</p> + +<p>But the child's eyes were fixed on nothing earthly, and his heart was +listening for another voice—the Voice all who listen for it shall +surely hear.</p> + +<p>And it said in the heart of the child, that day, "Suffer the little one +to come unto Me. Go in peace. Thy sins are forgiven."</p> + +<p>A happy, sacred evening they spent that Easter in the hermit's cell, the +mother and the two children, the boy singing his best for the little +nest, as before for the King of kings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>Still, a little anxiety lingered in the mother's heart about the pomp of +the next day.</p> + +<p>But she need not have feared.</p> + +<p>When the archduchess had asked for the mother of the little chorister +with the heavenly voice, the choir-master had told her what touched her +much about the widowed Magdalis and her two children; and old Ursula and +the master between them contrived that Mother Magdalis should be at the +banquet, hidden behind the tapestry.</p> + +<p>And when Gottlieb, robed in white, with blue feathery wings, to +represent a little angel, came close to the great lady, and sang her the +Easter greeting, she bent down and folded him in her arms, and kissed +him.</p> + +<p>And then once more she asked for his mother, and, to Gottlieb's surprise +and her own, the mother was led forward, and knelt before the +archduchess.</p> + +<p>Then the beautiful lady beamed on the mother and the child, and, taking +a chain and jewel from her neck, she clasped it round the boy's neck, +and said, in musical German with a foreign accent,—</p> + +<p>"Remember, this is not so much a gift, as a token and sign that I will +not forget thee and thy mother, and that I look to see thee and hear +thee again, and to be thy friend."</p> + +<p>And as she smiled on him, the whole banqueting-hall—indeed, the whole +world—seemed illuminated to the child.</p> + +<p>And he said to his mother as they went home,—</p> + +<p>"Mother, surely God has sent us an angel at last. But, even for the +angels, we will never forget His dear ravens. Won't old Hans be glad?"</p> + +<p>And the mother was glad; for she knew that God who giveth grace to the +lowly had indeed blessed the lad, because all his gifts and honours were +transformed, as always in the lowly heart, not into pride, but into +love.</p> + +<p>But when the boy ran eagerly to find old Hans, to show him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> the jewel +and tell him of the princely promises, Hans was nowhere to be found; not +in the hermit's house, where he was to have met them and shared their +little festive meal, nor at his own stall, nor in the hut in which he +slept.</p> + +<p>Gottlieb's heart began to sink.</p> + +<p>Never had his dear old friend failed to share in any joy of theirs +before.</p> + +<p>At length, as he was lingering about the old man's little hut, +wondering, a sad, silent company came bearing slowly and tenderly a +heavy burden, which at last they laid on Hans's poor straw pallet.</p> + +<p>It was poor Hans himself, bruised and crushed and wounded in his +struggles to press through the crowd to see his darling, his poor +crooked limbs broken and unable to move any more.</p> + +<p>But the face was untouched; and when they had laid him on the couch, and +the languid eyes opened and rested on the beloved face of the child +bending over him bathed in tears, a light came over the poor rugged +features, and shone in the dark, hollow eyes, such as nothing on earth +can give—a wonderful light of great, unutterable love, as they gazed +into the eyes of the child, and then, looking upward, seemed to open on +a vision none else could see.</p> + +<p>"Jesus! Saviour! I can do no more. Take care of him, Thou thyself, +Jesus, Lord!"</p> + +<p>He said no more—no prayer for himself, only for the child.</p> + +<p>Then the eyes grew dim, the head sank back, and with one sigh he +breathed his soul away to God.</p> + +<p>And such an awe came over the boy that he ceased to weep.</p> + +<p>He could only follow the happy soul up to God, and say voicelessly in +his heart,—</p> + +<p>"Dear Lord Jesus! I understand at last! The raven was the angel. And +Thou hast let me see him for one moment as he is, as he is now with +Thee, as he will be evermore!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>Ecce homo</i></h2> + +<h3>A STORY OF THE YEAR OF OUR LORD ONE THOUSAND.</h3> + + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p>"<i>Apparebit repentina dies magna Domini.</i>"<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Again and again the words +of the old Latin hymn echoed through the aisles of the Minster.</p> + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letteri.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="I" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_3">It was the dusk of a short winter's day in the year of our Lord One +Thousand.</p></div> + +<p>The shadowed spaces were filled with a vast crowd; all the city had +gathered together to hear the stranger monk. He had come into the city +yesterday, and was to leave to-morrow.</p> + +<p>It was reported that he came from an island beyond the seas, of an +ancient race, rich in saints when the Teutons were still wild heathen +tribes; from the borders of the sea without a shore.</p> + +<p>All was mystery about him. He flitted through the land like a wandering +voice, a voice crying in the wilderness. No man knew certainly whence he +came or whither he went. He came not so much to teach or to preach, as +to utter a great "cry," and be gone.</p> + +<p>It was the old cry, that the generations of men are as the crops of +grass, mown down surely by the mower; and the glory of man as the flower +of the grass, scattered before the mowing-time by any passing wind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the old cry would scarcely have gathered the people together and +riveted them in breathless, awe-struck attention as this voice gathered +and fixed them.</p> + +<p>To the old cry was added a new cry, "an exceeding great and bitter cry."</p> + +<p>"The mowers are at hand, the harvest is come. It may not be to-day or +to-morrow. But <i>this year</i> it will be.</p> + +<p>"It is the Saturday night of the ages.</p> + +<p>"The world is doomed.</p> + +<p>"The thousand years have run their course at last. The long-suffering of +God has an end.</p> + +<p>"You may sow your fields this spring.</p> + +<p>"You may possibly reap the seed you sow this autumn.</p> + +<p>"But you will never see another spring.</p> + +<p>"You will never reap another harvest.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Apparebit repentina.</i>' Suddenly and so soon!</p> + +<p>"You may keep one more Easter.</p> + +<p>"But before the next the graves will have been opened. The resurrection +to endless woe or joy will have come.</p> + +<p>"You may even possibly keep one more Christmas. But it will be the last. +It must be all but the last day of the world, for before its octave has +dawned '<i>apparebit repentina</i>.'</p> + +<p>"He will have come. Not as a babe smiling on His mother's knee, not as +the lowly Saviour to the manger, to live, and teach, and heal, and +suffer, and die.</p> + +<p>"As the Judge, to punish, to reward, to avenge.</p> + +<p>"And before Him all the world will be gathered, all the ages, and all +the nations.</p> + +<p>"But not in one band; in two bands. Divided for ever into two flocks. +Not Teuton and Latin, not rich and poor, not noble and slave, not clergy +and laity, not learned and ignorant; but wicked and good, just and +unjust, merciful and unmerciful, those who love God and men, and those +who love only themselves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And the division exists now.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Apparebit repentina</i>,' His fan in His hand; the winnowing fan. What +does the fan do? It only stirs the air; it stirs the wind of God. It +does not make the wheat wheat, or the chaff chaff. It only divides them; +the wheat into the garner, the chaff <i>away</i>.</p> + +<p>"Away <i>whither</i>?</p> + +<p>"It does not make wheat wheat, or tares tares.</p> + +<p>"The wheat to the barn; the tares whither? In bundles to be burned.</p> + +<p>"This year, this year, in His heavens, or in His fires.</p> + +<p>"And what will be burned in His fires? Your gold? your houses? your +harvests? Nay, earthly fires can do that.</p> + +<p>"You, you yourselves: in His fires.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Apparebit repentina</i>.'</p> + +<p>"Suddenly, and this year.</p> + +<p>"At early dawn, at dead of night, in the hush of the summer morn, in +twilight such as this? We know not. The day and the hour knoweth no man.</p> + +<p>"But this year; suddenly, as the lightning which comes before the +thunder.</p> + +<p>"As the thief on the slumbering household, as the tramp of the foe on +the slumbering army.</p> + +<p>"If ye will, if ye can, sleep on still!</p> + +<p>"But listen! already is there no rumble of the far-off storm? no faint +far-off murmur of His footsteps?</p> + +<p>"When the thunder-peal comes, it will be too late to warn. The +<i>lightning will have come first</i>, shrivelling the earth like a heap of +dry grass, and heaven like a roll of old parchments, leaving you alone +with your Judge; all the world there, and each one as much alone with +Him as if no one else were there, seen through, searched through, +scorched through with one gleam of the eyes that are as a flame of fire.</p> + +<p>"Before you the Judge, behind you the flames. The Judge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> so terrible +that the wicked will rush backward from Him into the fire rather than +meet those eyes again, those eyes which are as a flame of fire searching +and burning through and through.</p> + +<p>"And what do they search? <i>You</i>, for sin. What will they burn? You, +<i>with</i> your sin, if you will not give up the sin."</p> + +<p>And then he laid bare sin after sin—avarice, evil-speaking, wrongs +wrought, wrongs unforgiven, injustice, envy, unmercifulness, pride, +selfishness in all its disguises—until heart after heart felt itself +seen through and laid bare.</p> + +<p>Then turning and pointing to the great Crucifix above them he said,—</p> + +<p>"Not one of you, not one of us but has helped to weave that crown, to +drive in those nails, to pierce that heart.</p> + +<p>"Repent, for He is at hand.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Apparebit repentina.</i>' Suddenly and so soon."</p> + +<p>And then suddenly the penetrating voice ceased, and there was a great +hush, broken now and then by a sob, as, high above them, catching the +last rays of the wintry sun, the sacred bowed Head, and the outstretched +hands, rose lifted up on high.</p> + +<p>And when the hush began to break up again into separate movement, and +the voice which had bound the multitude into unity had ceased for some +minutes, and one and another turned their eyes again towards the pulpit, +it was empty.</p> + +<p>And none in that city ever saw the face of the preacher or heard his +voice again.</p> + +<p>Like a voice crying in the wilderness, he vanished again into the +wilderness, and was heard no more.</p> + +<p>But from the voices of the choir, begun it was scarcely known how, broke +forth in a long wail the hymn—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Apparebit repentina dies magna Domini."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>When the last notes of the solemn chant had died away, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> once more +left a silence in the vast church, the multitude still kept together. A +common instinct of unity seemed to have come on them, as on a besieged +city, or on a ship in a storm.</p> + +<p>Not to one, here and there, uncertainly, as death came; but to all! +Suddenly, and this year, the one great event was to come, which was to +unite them all and to divide them all for ever!</p> + +<p>Not that this message and this terror were altogether new to them. Long +it had been floating in the air that the distracted world was not to +last beyond the thousand years.</p> + +<p>The probability had long loomed vaguely before them; and now this +stranger came and proclaimed, with assured conviction, the certainty.</p> + +<p>They waited and waited on, as if listening for the first peal of the +Last Trump; but no sound broke the stillness. The dusk silently died +into the dark, the last rays faded from the Crucifix to which the monk +had pointed, and then slowly the congregation began to creep away to +their homes.</p> + +<p>Out of the silent church under the solemn silent vault of stars; each +household again beneath its own roof, yet all still under that great +roof of heaven from which at any moment might burst the final fires.</p> + +<p>The city roofs, great and little for the time had become the shadows, +and the upper light shone terribly through.</p> + +<p>There was little talking on the way home through the streets, none of +that eager bubbling up of pent-up thoughts which marks the dispersing of +a great listening throng. The mighty common expectation which united +all, sent each back into his own life with great searchings of heart.</p> + +<p>For the day at hand was to be a Judgment Day. The day of the great +gathering was also to be the day of the great dividing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>Two fellow-students, Hermann and Gottfried, went back to the Abbey +School together.</p> + +<p>And when they reached their cells, Hermann flung his books into a corner +and cried, "Vanity of vanities; all is vanity; vain instruments of vain +learning, farewell! Of what use is it to climb a few steps higher than +our fellow-men, if all are to be levelled again at the bar of God so +soon?"</p> + +<p>But Gottfried knelt at the little window of his cell, and looked up at +the stars and said, "O Thou Holy and Beautiful, it has been a joy to +brush off a few grains of the dust which hid Thy works. What will it be +to see Thee as Thou art?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Old Gammer Trüdchen, whose stall was close to the Minster door, crept +silently into her chamber that night; for her stall of beads and cakes +was a wasp's nest of malicious gossip where all dark surmises and evil +reports naturally gathered, sure of something to feed on and something +to sting. And she felt somewhat pricked in conscience; for the preacher +had spoken of "the measure wherewith we mete being measured to us +again," and of evil-speaking <i>in itself</i>, whether false or true, being +sure to be severely judged in that day. She did not quite see the +justice of it: if people were to be punished for their evil deeds, why +was she to be punished for foreseeing and antedating the verdict? +Nevertheless, if that was, as the monk said, the rule of the Supreme +Court, it might be as well to take care. And, moreover, one might +sometimes make mistakes. She must admit to herself that possibly she had +been a little too hasty and hard about that poor orphan-girl whose +character had afterwards been cleared, but not soon enough to satisfy +her lover, who had believed the evil report, and gone and died in the +wars, and left her to die of a broken heart at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> home. She had only +repeated what others hinted, but no one was infallible, not even the +whole town, which might, perhaps, be one reason why the giving sentence +beforehand was objected to. And it certainly might be as well to be +careful, if one's words, even one's whispers, were to be brought up +against one in public on that day, and before another year.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Master Gregory, the exchanger, went home to his chests of treasure; and +on his way he passed the widowed daughter of his old master the +goldsmith, looking pinched and poor as usual, with a racking cough, +leading her two frail, half-starved children. They were neatly clothed, +as always, in their patched garments; and she greeted him with her +wonted gentle friendliness, expecting nothing from him.</p> + +<p>But his heart smote him.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I did make rather a hard bargain when her husband died," he +said; "and her father certainly had been good to me. It is true she +should not have married as she did, and I have left her more than she +lost in my will. But if this monk is right, wills and testaments will +not henceforth count for much in the reckoning of that Day. I might as +well, perhaps, do something for her at once."</p> + +<p>And that night, as he counted over his gold and parchments (for in those +days misers had more visual delight in their possessions than they have +now), the parchments seemed to shrivel in the light of the fire which +was to consume the very heavens as a scroll, and instead of the pleasant +ring of gold, the dry rustle of dead leaves was in his ears.</p> + +<p>But the poor widowed mother he had passed went home lightened in heart, +with her children. And when she had given them their scanty supper, and +folded them to sleep, she knelt beside them, and her thankful tears fell +on the thin little hands over which she wept.</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" she murmured, "at last I may long to go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> to my beloved; for +we shall go <i>together</i>, we three, his babes and I; and he will see his +prayers answered, and will know I did my best for them, and did not +hasten away to him too soon, for all the longing to go."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And even the prattling voice of little Hilda, the child of Blind Bruno, +the basketmaker, was hushed as she led her father through the streets, +instead of the faithful dog Keeper, who was growing old. She only clung +to her father's hand closer than usual.</p> + +<p>Bruno also was very silent.</p> + +<p>Margarethe, the mother, met them, as always, on the threshold; for Bruno +liked no other hands but those which had tended him so faithfully for +twenty years to welcome him, and unloose his cloak, and settle him at +the table or by the hearth. He could not see how thin the hands had +grown, and how worn the face was. The feeble fingers seemed to gather +strength always to do anything for him; and if sometimes he thought they +failed a little, the soft clear voice had always its old tones to cheer +him, and he had always words of tender greeting for her.</p> + +<p>But to-night he scarcely seemed to heed even his wife. He leant his head +on his clasped hands for a long time, and said nothing until old Keeper +came, as was his wont, and rubbed his shaggy head against the master's +knees, and little Hilda's hands, for a welcome.</p> + +<p>At this, Hilda's composure gave way altogether, and she burst into tears +and sobbed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Keeper, you don't know, and we can't tell you!"</p> + +<p>Then Bruno roused himself, and the great cry of the preacher burst from +his lips.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Apparebit repentina</i>,'" he said; "suddenly it will come, and this +year."</p> + +<p>And slowly and solemnly he repeated what they had heard.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>A strange joy came over the mother's face as he spoke.</p> + +<p>She was lifting up her heart to God and saying,—</p> + +<p>"I thank Thee. At last I can long with all my heart to come to Thee. For +we shall not be parted. And I shall not be leaving those Thou gavest me +to keep."</p> + +<p>Bruno went on.</p> + +<p>"The Judge!" he murmured, "the Avenger, to avenge all wrongs at last!"</p> + +<p>And there was a flash of fierce joy on his face, such as might have +gleamed in the eyes of his heathen forefathers, dying in the slaughter +of their foes.</p> + +<p>But as she saw it, the quiet delight faded from the mother's face, and +she said tenderly,—</p> + +<p>"Our little wrongs, beloved, what will they seem when we see the +nail-prints on His hands and feet?"</p> + +<p>"They will not seem little to Him!" replied Bruno sternly.</p> + +<p>It was an old controversy between them, and the only one. She had long +ceased to carry on her side of it in any way but in silent prayer.</p> + +<p>For the wrong was great, and the doing of it as fresh in her memory as +ever;—the day when her husband's kinsman, Baron Ivo, had entered their +castle and treacherously massacred all who would not acknowledge him to +be the rightful lord; had bound Baron Bruno to a pillar, and had him +blinded, and then had turned them out with their helpless babe into the +frost and snow of the winter night, to wander whither they would, or +die.</p> + +<p>Many weary months they had roamed up and down through the land, seeking +redress, until the babe had died. But the enemy was strong, and it was +an age when right could only be held by might. And though many pitied, +none ventured to take up the blinded Baron's cause. And so at last they +crept back to the old city, and found a dwelling beside a brook in the +forest, not far from the city gate, yet in a secret place,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> where no one +need see them. And Bruno made baskets from the osiers, and she sold +them.</p> + +<p>And the poor sightless eyes were healed, but not the heart.</p> + +<p>Again and again she had begun to hope the bitter yearning for vengeance +would be softened. Sometimes when his voice faltered as they said the +Lord's Prayer; sometimes when his hand quivered in hers as they knelt +together by the great cross before the hermit's cave; and especially +when, their little Hilda was born, the child of their poverty, the +sunbeam of their dark days.</p> + +<p>But always, when she had dared to speak of forgiveness, the old wound +seemed to bleed afresh. And now she felt the old fever was burning in +his heart as fiercely as ever.</p> + +<p>Once more that night she pleaded voicelessly with the compassionate +Lord.</p> + +<p>"Thou knowest, O merciful One," she said in the depths of her heart, "it +is not his blindness he cannot forgive; it is our poverty and the +child's. It is not his wrong he would have avenged; it is ours. If there +is hatred in his heart, love is beneath the hate, Thou knowest. Forgive, +oh, forgive him! even if he cannot quite forgive."</p> + +<p>And then, in her tearful prayers, she pleaded the day when Baron Ivo +himself had come to their hut, pursued by some of the many who had been +turned into beggars, or robbers, by his high-handed tyranny; when, not +seeing Bruno, Bruno had recognized him by his voice, and, nevertheless, +had spared him, and suffered her to hide him from his pursuers, and +suffered the child Hilda to quench his thirst with fresh water from the +spring.</p> + +<p>"He could have, avenged himself then," she pleaded. "And, instead, he +saved. Is not that forgiving? Will not that cup of cold water be +remembered by Thee?"</p> + +<p>Yet her heart was tossed by anxiety and doubt. Could it be forgiving to +wish evil? And could the unforgiving be forgiven?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>That night Bruno also lay awake, and he answered her thoughts, and said +reproachfully to her,—</p> + +<p>"Wilt thou, even thou, be hard on me? Forgiveness is Divine; but +vengeance also is Divine. The Judge is just, or we could not trust Him. +If it were a slave, if it were a dog that had been so wronged, must I +not rejoice the wrong-doer should be punished?"</p> + +<p>"Thou art wiser than I, my beloved," she said. "I have no wisdom but His +face and His words. '<i>Father, forgive them</i>,' He said; and with Him +forgiveness meant Paradise to the forgiven. Else where were we?"</p> + +<p>And they said no more.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And that night, in the castle of Baron Ivo, the hall was lighted and the +tables were spread for a great feast. The lights flashed from the castle +steep, from many windows, over the forest and the city.</p> + +<p>And a feast in Baron Ivo's castle meant a revel; cowed slaves hurrying +about at the master's bidding; guests, many of them scarcely less cowed, +making forced mirth at his pleasure.</p> + +<p>To ears that could hear there was always heaviness in the laughter at +Ivo's feasts. The moans from the dungeons below rose across it all.</p> + +<p>But on this night the mirth jarred like a cracked bell; and ere they +rose, the seneschal ventured timidly to ask the Baron if he might accept +the ransom offered by the young wife of the latest captive. "Otherwise," +he said, "death might be beforehand. And if—if, indeed, the Great Day +was so near, and the reckoning was to come so soon!"</p> + +<p>Baron Ivo rose with a curse, and strode off to his chamber in the tower +which looked over the forest, with the dungeons at its base.</p> + +<p>But no sleep came to him that night. He seemed to hear a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> long +procession of heavy steps slowly tramping up the turret-stair from the +dungeons to his chamber. Too often, indeed, had the wails of tortured +captives come up that way.</p> + +<p>But as he lay tossing on his bed, all the rest seemed to grow faint and +far-off in comparison with one face which had haunted him often +before;—a kinsman's face, with sightless eyes, which riveted his own on +them, and with groping, imploring hands, which he had once ruthlessly +bound. He would have given the world for one glance of those eyes, and +one forgiving clasp of those blindly groping hands.</p> + +<p>"So long ago!" he moaned; "so long ago! And never further off! And now +perhaps I shall soon see him close, too late to atone. There to face the +horror which has stung me to crime after crime! For, having committed +this, I had to do the rest, to ward off vengeance, to secure what had +been so hardly won. That first was crime; the rest were self-defence, +the fruit of mortal fear—of fear, and yet also of love, all so terribly +entangled, love to the child my wife left to my care when she died. +<i>She</i> knew nothing of that terrible past, and loved and trusted me. But +the child for whom I would shed my blood, for whom belike I have given +my soul, does she know? Does she love or trust me? Pure and soft as a +white dove, yet those tender eyes search and scorch me through and +through. Is there no repentance, no reparation possible? And that Day +they say coming so soon! Reparation! how can such a wrong be repaired? +Probably they are all long since under the ground, he and the young wife +who stood so unflinchingly by him, and the babe. For if it were possible +to restore him the castle, what of the sight, and the ruined life? It is +not possible; no, it is not possible! That blind beggar in the +forest-hut could <i>not</i> have been Bruno! And if he were to instal that +beggar's family in the castle, what reparation were that?"</p> + +<p>He had risen, and was looking down on the forest, and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> little gleaming +light caught his eye, and strangely smote his heart. It seemed to come +from where that beggar's hut was. Even yet, after all, <i>might</i> it be +possible to atone?</p> + +<p>But on the other side, in the next turret of the castle, a light shone +from the window of his young daughter, his only child.</p> + +<p>"Give <i>her</i> inheritance up to them? Never!" he moaned. And once more the +strong will rose and barred the door of repentance which might have been +a door of hope.</p> + +<p>But in that turret-chamber of Baron Ivo's daughter, and in the little +hut in the forest, the lamp of prayer never went out.</p> + +<p>In the turret the child Beatrix knelt at her window and said,—</p> + +<p>"O gentle Jesus! I cannot but be glad, altogether glad at Thy coming. If +I ought to be afraid also, forgive me. But my mother, before she died, +told me Thou wert so gracious and so kind! And Thy face and Thy voice +always seem to me most like hers; and the faces and voices around me +here are harsh and rough, so that I cannot help longing and longing to +see and hear Thine. Thine and my mother's; but even most Thy own, +because of that wonderful love of Thy dying for us. If it were not for +my father! Every one seems in such terror of him; and there was the +piercing wail that day in the dungeon which he could not explain! To me +he is always tender, and yet I find it so hard to return his fondness as +I would. Something in his eyes seems by turns to scorch and to freeze +me. But if he is not ready for Thee, wait, O patient Saviour! wait, and +make him ready! and let that look there can be in his eyes for me, be +there for others and for Thee! Belike I ought to fear Thy coming, Holy +and Mighty One, for myself, but I cannot. And yet I cannot say the 'Veni +cito,' Come quickly, lest it should be too soon for <i>him</i>. If he has +done wrong to any man, teach, oh, teach him to make it up before Thou +shalt come!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<p>And in the little hut the mother Margarethe still pleaded,—</p> + +<p>"Holy forgiving Lord Christ! it is not the wrong to himself, it is the +wrong to me and the children he finds it so hard to forgive. And even +Thou, dost Thou forgive cruel unrepented wrong to Thy beloved? Thou who +didst say of Thy sufferers of old, 'Why persecutest thou <i>Me</i>?' And +Thou, when Thou forgivest, makest Thy foes Thy friends. Thou forgivest +because thou lovest, and because Thou knowest the most pitiable misery +is not being wronged, but doing wrong, and because Thy forgiveness melts +the hearts of the forgiven. By the touch of Thy love move my husband to +forgive, and let his forgiveness like Thine save the forgiven. I am a +sinful woman, and yet I cannot dread Thy coming. Saviour of sinners, +only for <i>him</i>! Wait, oh, wait till he is ready; make him ready, and +then come, oh, come!"</p> + +<p>Meantime little Hilda could not sleep all that night, and at last she +could bear her lonely thoughts no longer, and crept out of her little +bed to her mother's side; and finding her awake, she whispered,—</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother, what shall we do to-morrow? Will it ever be worth while to +do anything any more but go to church and pray?"</p> + +<p>"We may be sure the good God will not forget to feed His sparrows +to-morrow, darling," the mother replied; "and He certainly would not +have us forget our hens and chickens. And if the King Himself were to +come to-morrow, what would He wish thee to be doing but just the little +task He sets thee every day: lighting the fire, and getting thy father's +breakfast, and helping mother, day by day, on to the last, the Great +Day."</p> + +<p>"But, oh! mother," the little one resumed with a tremulous voice, "what +will it be like, that Great Day? I saw the Kaiser come into the city +with the horsemen and the trumpets, and the crowd I thought would have +crushed father and me, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> broken down the bridge on which we stood. +Will it be like that? Only, the horsemen great angels in the clouds, and +the trumpets thunders, and the whole earth trembling and shaking as the +bridge trembled beneath that rushing crowd, and everything falling to +pieces? Will it be like the great fire when half the street was burned +down—only, instead of half the street, all the world? fire, and nowhere +to flee to? What will that dreadful Day be like?"</p> + +<p>"My darling, I know not. No one knows. But the great question for us all +is not, what will the <i>Day</i> be like? but what is the Judge like?"</p> + +<p>"And, oh! mother, how are we to know that?"</p> + +<p>"Think of the dear Babe in the manger," she said; "think of the patient +Sufferer on the cross; think of the gracious One in the picture taking +the little child in His arms; think of the story of His watching the +poor widow giving her half farthings, and being pleased with her."</p> + +<p>"Will the Judge be the same as that, mother?"</p> + +<p>"The very same. Not what <i>it</i> will be like, not what the Day will be +like—what He is like matters to us, and what pleases Him."</p> + + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>On the next morning Baron Ivo woke from a heavy sleep, and shook his +night thoughts of his wronged kinsman angrily from him.</p> + +<p>The stir of life was in the castle; his labourers going out to his +fields, his woodmen to his forests, his men-at-arms jesting as they +brightened their weapons, whilst one in a full bass voice carolled out +half unconsciously a phrase of the very hymn which had appalled them all +the night before, "<i>Apparebit repentina</i>;" but it sounded dream-like, as +the voice of an owl by day. Baron Ivo stood once more on the solid +ground of possession. If the Great Day were to come this very year, it +was only a little sooner than they had feared; and to-day was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> <i>here</i>, +and had to be <i>lived</i>. Let the morrow take care of the things of itself! +One thing, indeed, he did. To give up the castle and atone to his +kinsman was indeed a wild fancy; but he would accept the ransom of that +latest captive and set him free. And, although the ransom was in itself +a robbery, it might have been larger; and so he congratulated himself on +having done a good deed.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And in the forest-hut blind Bruno awoke the next morning, and as he went +towards the city with his baskets, an armed band dashed past him with +the clatter of arms and spurs: and he heard his kinsman's voice in harsh +tones of command, and the old bitterness was deep in his heart, as he +said to himself, "'<i>Apparebit repentina.</i>' All wrongs shall be avenged +at last. Better to suffer and be avenged, than to be in Paradise and see +that villain smile there too, his sins forgotten and unpunished."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The next morning, when the miser awoke and found all in the familiar +room as usual—the great iron chests solid as ever, his housekeeper +Griselda's voice as sharp as ever when she called him—he wondered a +little at his own panic the night before.</p> + +<p>"My master's daughter made a foolish marriage, poor thing!" he said to +himself, "and I am not bound to repair other people's mistakes; and if I +had yielded her a little more from what her father left, she would +probably only have wasted it. It is after all safer in my keeping than +in hers. And if the monk was right, and she does not come in for the +reversion I have secured in my will, that is not my fault; we are not to +know the times and the seasons. However, there is certainly a good deal +about feeding the hungry. I will tell Griselda to boil down those mutton +bones that were left yesterday into broth for the poor woman; she had a +cough."</p> + +<p>But when he came down to breakfast, Griselda laughed scornfully at the +suggestion, and said she had given the bones<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> to the dog; and Griselda +being the one being in the world who represented public opinion to him, +and of whom he was afraid, because her scornful honesty was essential to +him, the master's widowed daughter went without the broth. But Gaffer +Gregory trusted the intention would go to his credit. He, indeed, went +himself to market, intending to get a larger joint, so as to have some +to spare; but mutton was dear that week, so he waited till the next +market day. It was not likely the End would come before that.</p> + +<p>Habit was stronger than terror. The market day close at hand still +preponderated over any day even a year off.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Gammer Trüdchen had hardly been seated an hour at her stall, the next +morning, when one of her cronies came with a whisper that the +Burgomaster's young wife had been seen, quite late one night that week, +in one of the lowest lanes of the city, shrouded close in her hood, and +evidently not at all wishing to be recognized.</p> + +<p>Trüdchen had a twinge about evil-speaking, and the monk's warning; but +after all, as she said to her crony, if somebody did not look after the +morals of the place, what would become of them? The Burgomaster's young +wife was fair as a lily, and had the reputation of a saint, although +"she had always had her doubts, for those were just the dangerous +people, who must be watched, and must not be suffered to impose on +others. And besides, it might be well to teach men like the Burgomaster +to choose their brides in their own town, and not go roaming to strange +cities to bring home young women of whose family no one knew anything."</p> + +<p>And so an evil rumour was hatched no one knew how, and a buzz of +malignant murmurs began to gather around the sweet unconscious young +stranger; and when, a month afterwards, the same old crony who had +brought the whisper, came to tell Gammer Trüdchen that the Burgomaster's +wife had been visiting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> a poor sick fellow-townswoman of her own that +evening, and did not wish her husband to know because of his fear of +infection for her, the one evil whisper had hatched a swarm which no +contradiction of Gammer Trüdchen's could silence.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And the next morning the student who had thrown away his books gathered +them together again, and was intent on his work; for next week there was +to be a great competition for prizes, and the prizes and praises were +precious, and nearer than the Judgment. Where the heart is, the treasure +will be also.</p> + +<p>But the student Gottfried, who had rejoiced in science as a revealing of +God, had arisen first, and was below in the infirmary helping the lay +brothers to nurse the sick. For there had been a pestilence in the city, +and the beds were full, and he thought, "<i>After</i> that Day, O Master, +there will be time to learn of Thy works; but there is little time left +to minister to Thee and Thy sick. The time of service is short; I will +<i>wait</i> to <i>know</i>!"</p> + +<p>And even as he served, he learned many things. Love deepened the +capacity for knowledge. The hours in the intervals of work were more +fruitful than the whole day had been before.</p> + + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<p>So the months passed on, and old habits regained their force. The miser +collected the treasure he loved; Gammer Trüdchen's stall still gathered +to it the evil reports she welcomed; the student won the honours he +toiled for, and toiled for more; the baron delayed his reparation; blind +Bruno nursed the bitter sense of his wrongs.</p> + +<p>Terror could not break the chains of habit. The dread of a Day could not +change the heart.</p> + +<p>But all the time mother Margarethe's prayers went up from the hut in the +forest, and the maiden Beatrix's from the turret in the castle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>And little Hilda sought in her heart on all sides for the answer to the +question, not what will the Day be like? but what is the Judge like, and +what pleases Him now?</p> + +<p>So it went on until the Holy Week; and then on Good Friday old +Christopher the hermit came from his solitude in the pine forest to +preach to the people.</p> + +<p>It seemed to little Hilda he had come on purpose to answer the question +of her heart.</p> + +<p>To him, in his solitude among the rocks and the pines, all days were +alike filled with the majesty and the joy of the presence of God, and +with the great pity for the sins and needs of men.</p> + +<p>People came to him from cities and villages all around for counsel and +comfort; for to him all human troubles and wants were sacred.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the poor mothers left their little children with him while +they went to toil in the fields, and he taught the little ones the +alphabet, and the story of Bethlehem.</p> + +<p>Sometimes veteran warriors sought him, and worn-out statesmen, and +perplexed students, and broken-hearted women, or successful men of the +world who had won its prizes and found them dust. And he taught these +also <i>their</i> alphabet, the Our Father, and the Cross.</p> + +<p>And now he came to speak in the great Minster, as much alone with each +hearer as when each sought him in the forest-cell; as much alone with +God as when they all left him in the silence of the forest.</p> + +<p>His words were simple and quiet.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ecce Homo</i>," he began. "Behold the Man!"</p> + +<p>Then after a pause he continued, "<i>Apparebit repentina</i>," and the words +rang on the hearts of many like a knell of broken resolves made when +they had heard them last.</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> will appear suddenly? And <i>Who</i>?</p> + +<p>"Is it the Day you are dreading, or the Judge?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is it the sentence, or Him who will award it?</p> + +<p>"Is it the Day, men and women of the world, which is to turn all your +glory into dust? Is it the Day, beloved, which is to turn all your +sorrow into joy?</p> + +<p>"Of the Day I can tell you little.</p> + +<p>"Of the Man I know a little, and will tell you what I know."</p> + +<p>Then for a few minutes he took up another strain, and pictured the +rending rocks, the trembling earth, the terror-stricken multitude, the +shaking of all that seems most solid, the vanishing of all that seems +most permanent.</p> + +<p>His words recalled the terrors of the wandering monk, and when he paused +for a minute the hush of awe-stricken expectation lay once more on all +the throng.</p> + +<p>But, as they gazed, hushed in terror, the tones which had been echoing +through the aisles like the wail of wild winds, like the hollow +vibrations of thunder among the hills or of the waves in a sea-cave, +changed to tender human appeal.</p> + +<p>He spoke of the Babe on the mother's knee; of the Child listening and +learning in the Temple; of the hands that touched the leper; of the lips +that spoke peace to the penitent sinner; of the pity, the justice, and +the patience. And then, turning to the Crucifix, he said, "Beloved, if +we wish, we may know Him better than we know those who dwell by our own +hearths.</p> + +<p>"If all the records of that holy life, of its gracious words and mighty +deeds, could be blotted out and lost, I think we might know Him as we +know no heart on earth only from His words as He hung <i>there</i>. His +words, and His silence. Seven last words in three hours of silence.</p> + +<p>"Listen! the voice is low, the voice which is to rend the tombs. And +yet, though you may fail to hear the gathering of the storm that is +coming, no heart that listens shall fail to catch the murmurs of those +dying lips.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"For the murderers not yet repenting, '<i>Father, forgive them</i>.' To the +Blessed Mother, '<i>Behold thy son</i>.' To the beloved disciple, '<i>Behold +thy mother</i>,'—binding His faithful ones to each other.</p> + +<p>"To the poor tortured penitent thief, '<i>To-day thou shalt be with me in +paradise</i>.'</p> + +<p>"Son of Mary, He cares tenderly for her in the languor of death, and in +the agonies of redemption.</p> + +<p>"Son of God, He gives paradise from the cross.</p> + +<p>"To you who love, to you who repent, thus He speaks, '<i>Paradise</i>,' +'<i>Behold thy mother, and thy son</i>.' But to you who have <i>not</i> loved, who +have <i>not</i> repented, still '<i>Father, forgive</i>.'</p> + +<p>"Look, listen! it is this voice which will award our sentence. Can we +doubt what pleases Him? Beloved, He is love; always; then, and now, and +at that Day.</p> + +<p>"Nothing pleases Him but holy love; nothing is like Him but love; +nothing separates from Him but the death of love. What He will be +hereafter, He is now.</p> + +<p>"Is there no wrong you can forgive now before it is too late?</p> + +<p>"No wrong you can repair now?</p> + +<p>"No need you can supply now? No sorrow you can soften?</p> + +<p>"It is not yet too late.</p> + +<p>"I speak no more. Listen to Him.</p> + +<p>"I say to you now, not, look forward to the Day, but <i>Ecce Homo—Behold +the Man!</i>"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And that night blind Bruno knelt beside his wife Margarethe in the +forest-hut, and said, "Beloved, let us say the Lord's Prayer together. I +can say it from my heart at last," and gentle tears flowed from his +sightless eyes as he murmured, "Forgive, as we forgive."</p> + +<p>And in the little turret-chamber of the castle the Baron came and stood +beside his daughter's bed, his hands clasped in agony.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Child," he said, "I come to make thee homeless and a beggar, and to +make thee hate me."</p> + +<p>And he confessed the whole dark story to her, and told her how he meant +to restore the lost inheritance and divest themselves of all.</p> + +<p>Then she rose and fell on his breast, and said, "Father, you make me +richer than ever I could have been, and you make me love you as I never +could before. We will go through the world together, thou and I, until +we find the injured kinsman, and restore him all."</p> + +<p>And the next morning, before any in the castle were awake, the Baron +went with his daughter down the turret-stairs, and through a postern +gate, down the steep, and through the forest to the hermit's hut.</p> + +<p>And the Baron knelt and wept like a child at the hermit's feet.</p> + +<p>His was a long shrift. Crimes about which there could be no +self-deception, a life of high-handed wrong. The first wrong which won +him his kinsman's heritage had placed him almost inevitably among the +beasts of prey, and made his dwelling a den of rapine. Yet, happily for +him, he had preserved unsoiled the belief in a just and avenging God. +Sullenly, hopelessly, he had pursued his track of violence; but he had +never been able to falsify to himself this vision of the Just One, or to +hope to appease Him by any payment or fine, save the one he thought it +hopeless to attempt, the reversal of his wrong-doings and leading a just +life.</p> + +<p>And now on the Face he had believed irrevocably set against him, for the +first time he had seen the yearning of forgiving pity, not only for the +wronged, but for <i>him</i>, the criminal.</p> + +<p>A ray of hope, a beam of holy Almighty love dawned on the long polar +night of his soul, and the ice began to melt. And in the light of that +hope he dared to stand face to face with his sins.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the long array rising before him from his own lips, reflected in the +compassionate sternness of the hermit's eyes, seemed to crush him to the +dust; and when he came out from that terrible hour, he seemed to his +young daughter to have shrunk into a feeble old man.</p> + +<p>She drew close to him and laid her hand in his; but as they moved away, +it seemed to her as if it were no longer he who sustained her, but she +who sustained him.</p> + +<p>"The holy man has given thee counsel, father," she said tenderly.</p> + +<p>"He bids me call all our people together, at once," he said, "and +confess to them my sin, and bid them proclaim my intention of +restitution. That," he said, "is at once the truest penance, and the +surest way to find the means of restitution."</p> + +<p>"I will be beside thee, father," she said. "All thy burdens are mine."</p> + +<p>"Nay," he said, with a sob in his voice, "it is <i>thee</i> I cannot bear to +degrade."</p> + +<p>"Nay," she said, "we <i>are</i> one in the depths together, now, and that +will be the first bitter step on our joyful upward way."</p> + +<p>But as they returned, it chanced that they lost the path and found +themselves before the threshold of blind Bruno's hut.</p> + +<p>And for the first time since his sorrow, the wronged man's heart was so +light with the joy of forgiving that he was singing as he wove his +baskets, chanting half-unconsciously the hymn "<i>Apparebit repentina</i>."</p> + +<p>And the tones of the voice seemed familiar to Baron Ivo, and he paused +and looked, and saw the upturned sightless face with the new peace on +it, and recognized his wronged kinsman.</p> + +<p>He strode up to him and knelt at his side, and said in a low voice +half-stifled with shame and grief, "Bruno, you are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> avenged at last; I +can never forgive myself. Can <i>you</i> forgive?" And after a brief pause +from the quivering lips came the pardon,—</p> + +<p>"<i>I forgave you last night</i>, thank God."</p> + +<p>They said no more.</p> + +<p>But on the morrow Baron Ivo gathered the whole of his retainers +together, and as many of the townsmen as could come, and leading his +kinsman, with his wife and child, to the chair of state in the great +hall of the castle, he knelt before him and made confession of his +wrong. And then, by his command (his last as their lord), his retainers +took from him arms, and helmet, and sword, and coat of mail, and left +him in rough woollen garments such as his serfs wore, girded with a +rope; humbled and degraded, as he well knew, before no sympathetic +eyes—for, large as the assembly was, there were few in it who had not +against him some memory of rapine and wrong, and through the hall there +was a murmur of execrations.</p> + +<p>But the true Baron rose and said, "Let no man reproach him. ONE has +atoned for him, and for me, and for all. Let no man reproach him, or +pity me. For since I have seen that forgiving Face, I am content to be +blind to all beside. <i>Ecce Homo.</i> Forgive, as He forgave."</p> + +<p>And the hermit lifted the cross on high, and took one hand of the +penitent, while his daughter held the other in both hers, and together +they went forth through the hushed crowd, out of the castle-gates, into +the forest-hut to dwell there alone.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And the miser went home from the hermit's sermon once more a stricken +man—stricken before by terror to the conscience, but now smitten by +love to the heart.</p> + +<p>Once more he turned to his coffers. And the gold, which terror for a +night had turned into dead leaves, seemed transmuted into coin of the +Kingdom; for, once more, the thought of the goldsmith's widowed daughter +and her children came to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> his heart. And this time he made no excuses, +and no delays, but hurrying out alone with eager haste, he searched out +the three destitute ones in their poor chamber in the roof, and took +them home to his house, and fed and clothed them, and made himself their +servant. And so the spell of death passed from his treasures, and they +became living grain.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And even to Gammer Trüdchen, the power of forgiving love, the might of +the thorn-crowned Face, slowly penetrated. She could not banish from her +heart the tenderness of that gracious countenance. The words, "For envy +they delivered Him, for <i>envy</i>," stung her to the heart, and dimly and +slowly she grew to feel herself among those who had accused Him. And His +face seemed to haunt her, with a look in it that recalled the pale +saddened countenance of the Burgomaster's young wife: for lately she +could not help seeing that the lady's fair bright face had grown grave +and white; the shadow of calumny lay heavy on the young life alone in +the strange city.</p> + +<p>So it went on, until one day Gammer Trüdchen was seized with sudden +illness, and nothing would content her, as she lay tossing on her bed, +but to see again that saddened face whose memory so haunted her.</p> + +<p>Willingly the lady came, and the old woman told her all, and the lady +would not leave her until she had nursed her into health again.</p> + +<p>And from that time the stall by the Minster door ceased to be a nest of +stinging rumours, and instead, the children came to her, and the +suffering, and a quiet glow fell at eventide on her heart.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And so the new year dawned familiarly on all. But the Great Day dawned +not yet on the world; only on one, under Gaffer Gregory's roof, the +morning of new life had suddenly arisen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>The long struggle with want and toil had worn out the delicate frame of +the goldsmith's widowed daughter, and on the new year's morning the worn +and patient face lay motionless on the pillow with an unutterable peace +stamped on it from the soul which had learned the full meaning of the +words, "Behold the Man."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Still, on earth, remained the shadow of the irreparable wrongs; not on +those who had suffered, but on those who had wrought them.</p> + +<p>Bruno's sightless eyes had indeed opened on a vision of peace beside +which all earthly light is dark. But from Ivo, who came and did faithful +service to him in his castle, the vision of his crime could never depart +on this side the grave.</p> + +<p>To the Burgomaster's wife the calumny proved but as a purifying fire, +making her fair with a more heavenly beauty than before. But to Gammer +Trüdchen the harvest of the evil words she had sown was ever returning.</p> + +<p>And in the miser's house and heart the blank of the worn-out life he +might have saved lay heavy; while the blessed spirit thus set free was +resting with Him she had so faithfully loved in the Paradise of God.</p> + +<p>On the wrong-doers fell indeed healing dews of forgiveness.</p> + +<p>But the brows of the sufferers were glorious with the likeness of the +thorn-crowned Lord, and with His own crown of forgiving love.</p> + +<p>But to all these forgiven and forgiving, the cry, "<i>Apparebit +repentina</i>," the Day shall appear, had become glad tidings of great joy, +because to the heart of each had come, as the command of love and the +inspiration of life, "<i>Ecce Homo</i>," Behold the Man!</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> "Suddenly to all appearing the great Day of God shall +come."</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Cottage by the Cathedral.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letterc.jpg" width="125" height="127" alt="C" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_4">Close under the walls of the Cathedral, nestling against one of its +buttresses, leant the Cottage in which the little crippled Marie lived.</p></div> + +<p>Time and weather had stained and shaped the rude timbers of which it was +built, and tender mosses had woven their fine tapestries over its roof, +so that it seemed as little out of harmony with the stately building +which looked down on it and sheltered it, as the mosses and lichens on +its own stones.</p> + +<p>For all the grandeur of the Cathedral being the grandeur of a house of +God, only made it, like the everlasting hills themselves, "the hills of +God," so much the more the shelter and refuge of the smallest of His +creatures.</p> + +<p>Moreover, the Cathedral, for the very reason that it was a house of God, +being also a home and refuge for men, having also been designed, arch by +arch, by loving human thought, and raised, stone by stone, by lowly +human hands, had necessarily a twofold kindred: allying it, on the one +side, with the great temple of the Creator's own building, vaulted with +its infinite depths of starry worlds; and on the other side, with the +lowliest dwelling in which human creatures toil and suffer. Indeed, its +kindred with the cottage was closer than with the stars, because He who +was adored in it became, for our sakes, Himself the greatest Sufferer; +who, while He had made the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> stars, was made Man, and Himself lived in a +very lowly cottage once for thirty years.</p> + +<p>All this little Marie felt, as she lay hour by hour alone on her pallet; +felt, not thought, for the roots of true thoughts in after-life lie deep +in the feelings of the child's heart, which the child cannot utter even +to itself, and which some lips indeed are never opened in this life to +utter to any one: a silence not of much moment, since this is the world +for learning rather than for uttering, and many of our most eloquent +utterances here would seem but as babes' lispings there; while many lips +which have but lisping or stammering speech here, will be opened in very +glorious singing there.</p> + +<p>For are not reverence and love the highest religious lessons of +childhood; and indeed of all this life, which is but a childhood? a +reverent uplooking sense of Love and Power unbounded, above, yet very +near us, such as happy children learn from a holy mother's looks and +tones; and little motherless Marie received, in some measure, from the +Cathedral, interpreting to her, with its music and its beauty, the Our +Father and the Apostles' Creed which she had learned from her dying +mother's lips, when too little to understand anything but the sounds.</p> + +<p>Marie was very much alone. Her father was a water-carrier, and was +bearing water all day to the thirsty people in the hot streets of the +city, or taking it to their homes. He had to leave quite early to draw +the water fresh from the spring in the cool of the morning. And one of +Marie's two great wishes was that one day she might go with him to the +fountain, and drink the water fresh from the spring. Every morning he +used to place all the things he thought his little girl would need +within her reach; a little white wheaten loaf, a cup of milk, a jug of +water, and, when he had had a prosperous day, some fresh fruit.</p> + +<p>Marie thought her father's calling a very high and beautiful one, +although she knew it was not considered glorious in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> city, nor one +that would make his name known and honoured. But that she thought little +of; for her father had often told her no one in the city knew the name +of the Architect of the Cathedral; and if his name had faded away from +the memories of men who counted his work the chief glory of their city, +it was plain, Marie thought, that the records of the city must be very +imperfect and very little worth caring about, and that, probably, there +were better records kept somewhere else on quite a different plan.</p> + +<p>Water-carrying, besides not being a glorious calling in that city, was +not a lucrative one; so that, in order to eke out the daily bread, Marie +had learned to plait straw for fruit baskets. Agatha, the old woman who +sold fruit by the Cathedral porch, bought them of her; and in return +did, not without many grumblings, all the little household work Marie +would have done with such deft fingers and such a glad heart, had she +been able.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, moreover, especially on a rainy day, Mark, Agatha's little +orphan grandson, would spend his play-hours with Marie, and she would +mend his poor ragged clothes as well as she could, and make him +wonderful little toy-baskets of straw lined with orange-peel, and balls +of rags; and in return he would sing her little songs, and the +multiplication-table, and sometimes hymns about Paradise, and the Living +Fountains, and the Temple and the Singers there.</p> + +<p>This was Marie's visible world; her father and the Cottage, Agatha and +her fruit-stall, and little Mark, and the Cathedral.</p> + +<p>To interpret it, she had the Our Father and the Apostles' Creed. Or +rather, she had them to interpret each other; His invisible things being +understood by the things that are seen, and our visible things by the +things that are not seen.</p> + +<p>As to how this interpretation went on, I could say more another time. My +story now is simply of the Cottage and the Cathedral.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>From the window by which Marie's bed lay, she could see Agatha's +fruit-stall, and the Cathedral. By propping herself up she could command +the fruit-stall, and see a great deal of the world, though not in its +highest circles. By leaning back as far as she could in one corner, she +could see to the top of the Cathedral tower, with its wonderful crown of +fretted stone; common stone sculptured by man's heart and hands into a +beauty greater than that of any diadem of gems.</p> + +<p>Marie liked to think how each stone in that beautiful crown, which +glowed above her in the sunsets and sunrises, and at night was itself +crowned with stars, had been once a common gray stone like the fallen +ones which lay on the ground outside, useless and shapeless.</p> + +<p>Of these stones Marie did not like to think. She hoped none of them had +ever been in that glorious crown. She did not think it anything but a +glory for any stone to be made the lowest stone in the uttermost +buttress of the Cathedral. Indeed, the greatest glory, perhaps, for any +stone was to be a hidden stone; altogether hidden, deep beneath the +earth, from human eyes. For such were the very foundation and corner +stones themselves, on which, as on the Unknown Architect, the whole +visible glory rested. But to be a fallen stone, chipped, and marred, and +useless, and crumbling into dust, when it might have been a +resting-place for sunbeams, and for birds to sing welcomes to the +sunbeams from, was a thought which made Marie very sad, and gave a +tremulous depth to her tones when she prayed, "<i>Lead us not into +temptation</i>," or tenderly coaxed little Mark not to render railings for +his grandmother's railings, or to use the rough words which he learned +in the streets.</p> + +<p>The painted windows of the Cathedral were rather a distress and +perplexity to Marie. Sometimes, it was true, the upper panes glittered a +little in the noontide sunbeams; but, for the most part, they looked +dark and confused. If they had not been painted, she sometimes wistfully +thought, she might have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> caught glimpses of the glories inside. But +then, of course, they were painted for the people inside, not for those +without.</p> + +<p>If she could only once creep Inside to see and to listen!</p> + +<p>That was the great longing of her life.</p> + +<p>If only once she could feel the great roof bending over her, and the +walls embracing her; if, instead of straining to catch some clear melody +which she might sing over in her heart, out of the dim labyrinth of +those sweet and solemn sounds which reached her where she lay; if she +could only once be among them, hearing the music, knowing the words, +making melody in her heart among the worshippers! Marie thought she +could live happy for the rest of her life on the remembrance; on the +remembrance and the great Hope it would light up.</p> + +<p>She did not speak of this longing. She lived, poor little one, with so +keen a sense that her life was necessarily a burden on every one around +her, partly awakened by Agatha's very unconcealed complainings, and much +more by her father's weary looks when he came home at night with his +water-jars and his few hard-earned pence and sat down to his scanty +meal, that she could never bear by look or word to express a wish for +anything that was not absolutely needed or freely offered.</p> + +<p>All the more, because she knew so well that the father's love (which was +mother's and father's love to her, and so interpreted to her the Our +Father) would hold any burden light and any sacrifice possible to gain +the motherless child a pleasure or an alleviation of suffering.</p> + +<p>So the longing lay deep hidden in her heart, but never came from her +lips, until, one autumn when she seemed to grow brighter than usual, and +a flush came on her pale face sometimes towards evening, one morning her +father, looking fondly at her, said,—</p> + +<p>"Child! by Christmas, who knows but we might have thee singing the +Christmas hymns inside the Cathedral!"</p> + +<p>Then her whole face was lit up as he had never seen it shine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> before, +with the streaming out of the long-hidden hope; and drawing his face +down to her, she stroked it as she had been wont when a very little +child, and kissed him, and said,—</p> + +<p>"Oh, father, do you think God will give me the joy of going Inside?"</p> + +<p>"Why not, darling?" he answered cheerily; "nothing is too good for Him +to give; and what was the Cathedral built for, but for such as thee to +sing His praises inside?"</p> + +<p>Yet, even as he spoke, there was something in the light of the wistful +eyes, and in the touch of the feeble feverish hands, that made his +accents falter.</p> + +<p>Christmas Eve came. All night the snows fell. In the morning the sun +shone, but the air was keen and cold, and little Marie knew there was no +going Inside for her that day. But she thanked God for making the +outside so beautiful, just as if the angels of the winds had been all +night decorating every ledge and angle and quaint familiar bit of +carving, and all the fretwork of the stone crown, with alabaster and +crystal, or some heavenly blending of glories impossible in earthly +material.</p> + +<p>As her father left her for the service, he looked fondly back, and +said,—</p> + +<p>"At Easter, darling; inside at Easter!"</p> + +<p>But there was no ring of hope in his tones, cheerful as he tried to make +the words; and when he had left her, and the soft dim music floated in +broken cadences to her on her solitary little bed, for once the child +felt not merely alone but lonely, and a few hot, rare tears fell through +her thin fingers as she pressed them on her face.</p> + +<p>But she was not alone. And as she lay quietly weeping, sacred words came +into her heart, borne on the sacred music, like the scent of violets on +the winds in spring.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Thy will be done on earth.</i>"<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></div></div> + +<p>She said it, she wept it, she wept it to her Father in heaven. And +softly, as from the other side of the choir, came back, as from above, +the glorious antiphon—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>As it is in heaven.</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The sob of submission came back, as it so often does, in a song of +praise, from the land where the Amens are transfigured into the +Hallelujahs.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>As it is in heaven.</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"It will be all Easter there," she thought. "I shall be Inside there at +last!"</p> + +<p>When her father came back, and looked anxiously at his darling as he +entered the door, her smile met him like a song of victory and welcome.</p> + +<p>"At Easter, darling! Inside the Cathedral at Easter!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father," she said; "one Easter I shall be Inside."</p> + +<p>But the hidden fount of joy, from which the smile came, he did not know. +She would not tell him, because to him, at first, she knew it must be a +bitter well of tears.</p> + +<p>Slowly she faded away.</p> + +<p>The Cathedral, her great stone Poem, her Paradise, rose before her, and +spoke to her, day and night.</p> + +<p>But with new readings.</p> + +<p>For she had learned that this whole visible world, with its earth and +its heavens, its cities and its cathedrals, this whole transitory life, +is but as the little timber Cottage nestling against the everlasting +walls of the Temple whose builder and maker is God.</p> + +<p>Day by day old Agatha grumbled over her household work, yet day by day +more tenderness began to mingle with her complainings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>Day by day little Mark came, attracted irresistibly, he knew not how, by +the gentle voice, although the feeble fingers could mend or make for him +no more. And unconsciously he unlearned the rough lessons of the +streets, and learned a loving reverence from the dying child.</p> + +<p>And day by day the father laid the little white loaf, and the milk, and +the water-jug by his darling's bed, only showing his anxiety by never +missing any day now to bring some little gift of fruit to add to it, +were his labour prosperous or not, taking it from his own scanty meal. +And little Marie dared not remonstrate or refuse; she knew the memory of +those little sacrifices would be so precious.</p> + +<p>Beyond this tacit understanding, the two did not confess to each other +by word or look that both knew what was at hand.</p> + +<p>Only one morning, as he was leaving home, she said to him in a faint +voice, but with a bright smile, "Father, I think God has given you +beautiful work to do—to carry water to those who thirst. Is it not just +what His only Son, our Lord, is doing always for us? He does not stand +at the fountain; He brings the water home, does He not? home to every +one of us, to our very hearts."</p> + +<p>Then she added,—</p> + +<p>"Father, you will come back early. I think our Lord is coming to take me +to the Fountains of Waters. We shall drink together one morning, father, +fresh from the spring. I think I am going Inside at last."</p> + +<p>He did not leave her again.</p> + +<p>Days of suffering came.</p> + +<p>But before Easter she had exchanged the little Cottage for the +Cathedral. The child had entered in, and was joining in the songs of the +Temple, which is the Father's house, wherein are many mansions.</p> + +<p>And Agatha said,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"We have had a saint with us, a saint of God,—and I did not know it!"</p> + +<p>But she grew gentler and kinder. The Cottage where the gentle child had +lived and died had grown as sacred as the Cathedral, and a hush of +reverence was on it which seemed to make harsh words impossible where +she had suffered and entered into rest.</p> + +<p>Little Mark said, "My friend is gone." But when he said the Our Father +she had taught him, he understood a little what a heaven it must be +where all the voices were as gentle as Marie's, and all the hearts as +true and kind.</p> + +<p>The father said nothing, except to God.</p> + +<p>"Our Father which art in heaven," he said, "mine and hers, Thou gavest +me a saint of Thine to be an angel in my home. I thank Thee I knew it +while she was here with me; not first now that she is Inside, at home +with Thee."</p> + +<p>But a glory came down on his lowly work from her memory, her words, and +the sense he had of her immortal life, until he too should be called to +the Living Fountains, to hear once more the dear familiar voice, then +long at home in the Hallelujahs, but sure never to forget the tones of +welcome it had on earth for him.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Sic hat ihren Sprung gethan. Ach wollt' Gott dass ich den Sprung gethan +hätte. Ich wollt' mich nicht sehr herwieder sehnen."—<span class="smcap">Martin Luther</span> +<i>(Watchwords for the Warfare of Life</i>, p. 304).</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say not they sank to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As a wave when its force is spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a weary child on its mother's breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So it seemed; but not thus they went.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not thus it seemed to those<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who watch by our side alway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the calm of the last repose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See the dawn of the endless day.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As a stream the frosts enchain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the touch of Spring set free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vocal and strong bounds forth again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Springs forth to meet the sea;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As a bird of some sunny land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Caged in the darkness long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freed by the touch of a friendly hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Springs into light and song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are the feeble, and bound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In fetters of night and frost;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Winged, but chained to the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In fevered slumbers tost.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dying, the dead are we;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The living, the living are they;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ever living, from death set free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To praise thee, Lord, this day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say not they sank to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As a wounded bird on the sod;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a waking child to its mother's breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They sprang to life and to God!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Unknown Architect of the Minster.</i></h2> + +<h3>A LEGEND, NOT OF COLOGNE.</h3> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letteri.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="I" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_3">In the days when Gothic architecture was still a vital force in the +world, ever spontaneously renewing itself in varied forms, nourishing +itself with all the life around it, enriching itself with all the +changes of the times and seasons, and giving them forth in new and +ever-varying forms of growth and beauty, as living things do, the +Architect of the Minster lived.</p></div> + +<p>Day by day, and night by night, the beautiful thought grew in his heart +and brain. For, as with the Kingdom of God itself, so more or less with +all the works of the Kingdom, is it not "as if a man should cast seed +into the ground; and should sleep, and rise night and day, and the seed +should spring and grow up, he knoweth not how"?</p> + +<p>All the beauty of all he saw and heard in the City and in the fields +grew into it, the wonder and the joyousness of his childhood, the +aspirations of his youth, the power of his manhood,—all the joys and +sorrows of his life, its sacred memories, and its more sacred hopes.</p> + +<p>When, he went through the streets of the City near at hand, the happy +faces of little children, the patient toil of working-men and women, the +furrows on the faces of the aged who could toil no more, all were sacred +to him, and inspiring; for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> all said: "You are building a home for us, a +home for each, where children's voices shall soar in praise, and the +toil-worn find rest in the sacred shadow, and the aged a foretaste of +the rest to which they are drawing near. A home for all, which, like the +Great Home that abideth, shall unite, not separate."</p> + +<p>When he wandered over the undulating reaches of solitary moorland near +the city, or through the shades of forest and copse, or listened to the +little rills trickling from their gravelly sources through the sedges of +the marshy hollows, not a golden arrow of sunshine that shot through the +trees, nor a curve of sedge or grass in the quiet places, but sowed some +germ of beauty in his brain.</p> + +<p>The sweep of the great River round meadow and tower, the rush of the +current which linked it with the heart of the land, and the ebb and flow +of the tides which bound it to the heart of the changing sea; the day, +with its revelations of earth, and its awakening of eyes to see and +work; the night, with its revelations of heaven, and its awakening of +souls to see and pray; the steadfast arch of starry sky, which was no +roof, but an unveiling of the Infinite; the changing gleams of cloud and +sunshine, clothing the earth with her robe of light and tears; the +intervening brief glows of dawn and sunset, when earth and sky held +festival with blaze of colour and burst of choral song;—all these sank +deep into his spirit, to live again in the pillars of his forest aisles, +and the arch of the aspiring roof, which, like the starry roof of heaven +itself, was not to shut the adoring heart in and down, but to lift it up +and up for ever.</p> + +<p>So the Minster grew—grew as human works do grow, by patient mechanical +toil of brain and hand elaborating the original inspiration, by accurate +measurement, by rigid faithfulness to law, by lowly learning from God's +work, by patient study of man's needs. Curve by curve, line by line, +stone on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> stone, till the vision of the poet's heart grew into a vision +of beauty for the refreshment of the hearts of all men.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>But the Architect did not live, on earth, to see his thought grow into +sight.</p> + +<p>On a pallet, in a cell of the monastery, he lay, smitten with fever.</p> + +<p>And while the thought of his brain was growing into solid stone on the +sunny earth outside his cell, the solid earth itself was passing away, +like a dream, from him.</p> + +<p>It was Easter Eve. In the deepest dusk before the dawn, in the silence +of his cell, a stirring and shadowing of something unholy seemed to +darken and disturb the air.</p> + +<p>Unloving voices answered each other in hoarse whispers, like a hot, dry +wind through the crisp and shrivelled sedges of a dried-up watercourse.</p> + +<p>"Ha!" laughed the voices; "he thinks he has been working for +immortality. But we know better. A century hence, not a creature will +remember his name, any more than they remember or care who planted the +first tree in the forests around the city.</p> + +<p>"He dreams of the gratitude of men; and centuries after he has mouldered +into dust, the generations of the dust-born will be gazing up with +stupid wonder at the thing he built, and pouring out their prayers and +praises to the stone roof which rises above his dust and theirs, +fancying their words pierce through, instead of falling back like the +echoes. But we know better.</p> + +<p>"Among all the names glorified there, no mention will be made of his. He +fancies his name is written in stone, and in men's hearts. It is written +in dust, and in men's breath. 'Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, +all is Vanity.'"</p> + +<p>A faint ray of gray light crept in through the window of the cell, and +the mocking voices died away among the chill morning winds.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the Architect lay on his bed in a rapture of gratitude and content.</p> + +<p>"Father," he said in his heart, "can this be true? Shall this thing for +which I have thought and toiled indeed grow up into a holy place, +wherein men shall adore Thee for centuries after I am gone—even Thee? +Shall this offering of mine be indeed so accepted on Thine altar? First +me, and then it?—Wilt Thou indeed accept both altogether thus? Wilt +Thou indeed let me be altogether hidden in this thing I have thought, in +it and in Thee?"</p> + +<p>Then from all the churches of the city rang forth the Easter bells.</p> + +<p>And through the victorious peal of the Resurrection music, through the +slow dawning of the newly-risen light, through the chirping and +carolling of the waking birds, there came to the patient sufferer +voices, and white visions of glory—white so as no fuller on earth can +white them.</p> + +<p>And the voices spoke thus into his heart:—</p> + +<p>"Thine offering is altogether accepted. Thou and it. Thy work shall live +on earth, faithfully fulfilled according to the thought of thine heart. +Thy name shall be written in Heaven, in the Temple not made with hands.</p> + +<p>"Thy work shall live where thou no longer art, to help men for ages, to +be bread to the eater and seed to the sower of the generations to come. +Thy name shall live where thou shalt be; among the great multitude which +no man can number, yet each one of which is graven on One divine and +human Heart.</p> + +<p>"For ages to come, whilst thou art blessed and at rest, men and women, +still toiling and struggling on this earth, and children, shall praise +God in this beautiful place of thy building, with such praise as +toiling, sinning, repenting, human creatures can give.</p> + +<p>"The voice of the great River shall be heard no more beside<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> it, for the +ebb and flow of the great tide of human life which shall surge round it +on every side.</p> + +<p>"Day after day the sunbeams, ever new, shall come and go across its +pillars, like a harp touched by an invisible hand, or be caught in its +delicate traceries and entrapped down into the shadows.</p> + +<p>"Easter after Easter, the Resurrection hymns of victory, ever new, shall +echo from its vaulted roofs.</p> + +<p>"Generation after generation shall worship there, and pass away, and +rest beneath its shade.</p> + +<p>"But thy name shall not be written there.</p> + +<p>"Not there, among the dying and the sinning. Above; among the living and +the holy. In the Book of Life. On the heart of the Holiest. For ever and +for ever. Art thou content?"</p> + +<p>Softly the light and music died away into heaven.</p> + +<p>And the sufferer sighed.</p> + +<p>"Content! Are the archangels content before the throne? Father, +Redeemer, hast Thou indeed accepted my work thus? My offering and +me—even me?"</p> + +<p>And softly the humble and blessed spirit died away into the eternal +light, into the hands of God, and was satisfied.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>Only the Crypt.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letterw.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="W" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_1">We are entering the Beautiful Temple of God, said the children, a +brother and a sister, as they passed reverently under the arched doorway +for the first time.</p></div> + +<p>But the roof was low, and the light faint. A feeling of chill and +depression crept over them.</p> + +<p>The weight of the vaulted stone roof seemed to crush the spirit. Through +the small, narrow windows, with their diamond panes, the sunbeams crept +in thin silver threads, and soon seemed to grow dim in the damps that +came up from below, or to lose their way among the massive pillars of +the low arched aisles.</p> + +<p>"Can this be the Cathedral?" whispered the brother to the sister; "the +glorious House of God our fathers told us of, and we have dreamt of?"</p> + +<p>"They said it was the Cathedral," said the sister; "therefore it must +have glories. We may not doubt the Builder, or Him to whom it is built. +Let us rather doubt ourselves. Our eyes will grow used to the light, and +then we shall learn its beauty. Our mother used to say the eyes of +little children had to get used to the light before they could +understand this world."</p> + +<p>"Used to the <i>darkness</i>!" murmured the boy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>At that moment a patient sunbeam made its way in through one of the +larger windows and lit up patches of the pillars, falling at last in a +golden glory on a brazen cross with an inscription round it, inlaid in +the slab at the base of one of the pillars.</p> + +<p>The children knelt down to read the letters. They were a tender record +of the sorrow of parents for the loss of a child.</p> + +<p>And as they examined further they found that every stone beneath their +feet bore some similar memorial words.</p> + +<p>"Can we be right?" said the boy with a shudder. "I thought we were +coming to a house of worship. We seem to have come into a house of +graves."</p> + +<p>They sat down sad and perplexed on the base of one of the pillars.</p> + +<p>As they sat there silent, hand in hand, the sound of soft music, happy, +and of an overpowering sweetness, came to them they could not tell +whence, faint, and yet not, it seemed, far off, more as if there were +some barrier between them and it. It seemed around, above, everywhere; +yet the ear could fix on no point to trace it to that they might follow +it.</p> + +<p>Soon it ceased. But then the strains were taken up by voices nearer at +hand. This second music had not the delicious perfectness of the first. +Individual voices could be distinctly heard, not blended into a perfect +whole; and some of these were harsh, some were shrill, some tremulous +and broken as if with tears, some too low with fear, some too high as if +from eagerness to be heard; yet the tones were those of reverent +worship, and something of the joy of the first music broke through them +often, like the sunbeams through the dim, chill air.</p> + +<p>"We will go near and try to join," said the children. As they went +towards the sound they saw some lamps which had hitherto been hidden +from them by the pillars. These lit up the forms of a kneeling company +of worshippers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>The children came near, and knelt in adoration beside them. In the +worship their hearts took wing and rose into the light, and for a time +they forgot the chill and the gloom.</p> + +<p>Yet, even as they knelt, they saw that the little company was not +abiding. There was a continual movement and change in it. The voices +changed. The sweetest and best trained were continually breaking off, in +obedience to some summons the children could not hear; and others who, +like themselves, had all their music to learn, were coming in their +place.</p> + +<p>An awe and trembling came again over the children; and the brother +whispered,—</p> + +<p>"Can we be right? Can this be the Cathedral? No one seems to stay! +Whither can they go?"</p> + +<p>And the sister answered in a soft whisper,—</p> + +<p>"We will wait to see. Can they be going to the <i>other music</i>?"</p> + +<p>Scarcely had the words died from her lips when a maiden who had been +kneeling close beside them, from whose liquid voice and clear reverent +utterance the children had been learning the words of the song, and from +whose pale radiant face they had been drinking in its joyful meaning, +suddenly ceased her singing, and looking up for a moment with an earnest +listening gaze, she seemed to hear some welcome irresistible call, for +she said,—</p> + +<p>"For me? Can it be indeed for <i>me</i>?" And softly touching the children's +forehead with a touch that seemed to them a blessing, she murmured, "You +will be called too, by-and-by." Then noiselessly she rose and glided +away through the shadow of the arches towards the east, and up a flight +of steps the children had not observed before.</p> + +<p>They followed her with eager, anxious gaze, and for a moment, ere she +glided out of sight, there was the streaming of a flood of golden +sunshine down the gloom, from an open door, and once more the sound of +that perfect music they had heard at first.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>At that moment there was a pause in the service, and a silver-haired old +man came to the children and bid them welcome.</p> + +<p>"You look sad and bewildered, my children," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, father! tell us what it means," they whispered. "Can we be in the +right place? We thought we were coming to a place of light and of +heavenly singing, full of rejoicing worshippers who delighted to stay +there. But this seems a place of gloom and of graves. Here the +worshippers are a little broken band, and even these do not stay. All is +changing and imperfect. What does it mean?"</p> + +<p>The old man smiled. "Where do you think you are?" he said.</p> + +<p>"In the Cathedral," they answered. "Are we not in the Cathedral?"</p> + +<p>"You are, and you are not!" he said. "This is part of the Cathedral. But +it is only the Crypt. The Church cemetery and the Cathedral school. The +choir children are trained here. But the true Cathedral is above; and, +of necessity, when the choristers are trained, they are called up to +join the services there."</p> + +<p>When the children heard this they understood it all.</p> + +<p>Thankfully they went to learn their part in the Psalm with the choir +children.</p> + +<p>And knowing the Crypt to be only a crypt, its gloom was wonderfully +brightened to them. Its stray sunbeams grew clear and golden, now that +they were understood to be only earnests of the golden day above. Its +broken hymns grew tenfold sweeter, now that they were felt to be but the +learning of the anthems to be sung above.</p> + +<p>Precious was every hard lesson of the singing, precious every thin +silver thread of the light, for they were the foretaste or the +preparation of the moment when the door of the true Temple should open, +and the shadows flee away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>BURIED WITH CHRIST.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Moans of sharpest agony,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faintly moaning ceaselessly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Earth is all one grave to me!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Greenest fields but churchyard turf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunniest seas but deadly surf;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Purest skies one vaulted tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death in all homes most at home.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Moans of sharpest agony!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back from far they came to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoed from the crystal sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a chant of victory;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the sea's translucent verge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back in triumph pealed the dirge:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Earth is all one grave to thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What besides could earth now be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since He died upon the tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since He died on earth for thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since beneath it He lay, dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cold and still each tortured limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buried are His own with Him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet the dirge is all a hymn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wouldst thou take the crypt's chill damps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And its few sepulchral lamps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For His temple spaces high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For His depths of starry sky?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wouldest thou? Not so would they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who one moment breathe His day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who for one brief moment's space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have the vision of His face.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth has light for earth's great strife,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where He liveth, there is Life.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Earth is all one grave to thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet lift up thine eyes and see!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the stone is rolled away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And He standeth there to-day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Patiently by thee will stay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till thy heart 'Rabboni' say!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +<span class="i0">(He will not forget the clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine, nor theirs, by night or day.)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That 'Rabboni!' faint through fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sobbed in agony of tears,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That alone thy heart can clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those far-off Amens to hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That alone can tune thy heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In those songs to take her part.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Then thy cry of agony:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Earth is all one grave to me,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoing shall come back to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a chant of victory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoed from the crystal sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the living victors free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ransomed everlastingly."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Partly suggested by a passage in Longfellow's "Hyperion."</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Sepulchre and the Shrine.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Why seek ye the living among the dead?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/lettert.jpg" width="125" height="126" alt="T" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_2">The great torrent of the First Crusade had been sweeping for weeks +through the valley of the Danube. Along that "highway of nations" tribe +after tribe had poured westward, leaving its deposit in castle and +village, on dominant height and in sheltered hollow. And now the rush of +men swept back eastward: no slowly advancing tide of emigration, but a +wild torrent of enthusiasm, which would leave behind it nothing but +graves and the bones of unburied thousands. And yet in that death were +seeds of life.</p></div> + +<p>Week after week the Lady of the Tannenburg had seen from the terrace of +her castle the bands of peasants pass on their way,—men and women and +little children, with the red-cross on the shoulder,—to the Tomb of +Christ, to rescue the Holy Sepulchre from the infidel. Multitudes almost +entirely composed of the poor: no plumed helmets or richly caparisoned +war-horses. The red-cross, of common stuff, was fastened on the poor +garments of the peasants. The only chariots were the rough cart drawn by +oxen taken from the plough, carrying the mothers and the little ones, +who were too feeble to walk.</p> + +<p>Of geography they knew little more than the children, who cried out as +each town came in sight, "Is that Jerusalem?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> The patient oxen would +suffice to carry them and theirs, they thought, to the Master's Grave!</p> + +<p>The rich had loans to effect, lands to sell, affairs to arrange, +stewards and agents to appoint, before they could commence the perilous +journey with a fitting escort. Moreover, to them the Holy Land contained +something more than the Sepulchre of Christ. It contained rich Moslem +cities to be plundered, fertile lands to be possessed, fair provinces to +be reigned over. To the poor it contained only the Master's Grave. And +He who leadeth the blind by a way that they know not, led the people +then as now.</p> + +<p>The rich, for the most part, came back impoverished. The poor, for the +most part, never came back at all: but from their graves sprang the +first-fruits of freedom for Europe. The religious enthusiasm for which +they died had begun the emancipation of their class. From chattels, +attached to the soil like its crops and its stones, they had become men. +The Master's Grave was theirs to die for, as much as it was their +lords'; the Master's will was theirs to live for, as much as for the +noblest.</p> + +<p>Day by day the Lady of the Tannenburg had watched the pilgrim-bands +passing slowly in irregular groups through the broad valley beneath her. +Night by night she had seen the camp-fires gleaming through the +pine-woods, and heard the "<i>Dieu le veut</i>" echo from crag to crag. Often +she had sent her only child, young Rudolf, with a band of retainers, +bearing bread and meat from her stores, fruit from her orchards, and +wine from her vineyards, to be distributed among the pilgrims. And night +by night, as the hosts passed by, they knew the Lady's castle by the one +steadfast light from one arched window, which never failed to shed its +faint glow over the castle wall.</p> + +<p>It was well known among them that scarcely a year before, her husband, +Sir Rudolf of the Tannenburg, had died. It was said that he had been on +the eve of joining the Crusade; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> many a vow was made to the young +Rudolf that his father's name should be faithfully remembered at the +Holy Sepulchre. The boy knew that the tears which came into his mother's +eyes when he told her of those vows were tears that heal. But at last +one evening, as he rose from his prayer at her knee, he looked up into +her face, while a sudden light broke over his, and said,—</p> + +<p>"Mother, are not all the people going to the same Holy Grave?"</p> + +<p>"The same? Surely, my son," she said, bowing her head reverently. "The +Grave of Christ, our Lord."</p> + +<p>"We have our own holy grave, mother!" he replied—"thou and I. But have +we no share in this Grave of Christ?"</p> + +<p>"Surely; their Lord is ours," she said; "and His Holy Sepulchre is ours, +in common with all Christendom."</p> + +<p>"Then, mother! mother!" he exclaimed, gazing full into her eyes, "let us +also go to the Grave, to weep there, with all His Christendom. Let us do +what my father meant to do. Who will remember his name as we would +there?"</p> + +<p>For a few moments she made no reply. The casement stood open, although +it was winter, and through the stillness of the frosty air echoed once +more the solemn, "<i>Dieu le veut</i>."</p> + +<p>"Out of the mouth of the babes who are Thine, out of the mouth of Thy +poor, O Christ, Thou speakest. I listen—I obey. God wills it.—My boy," +she said quietly, pressing him to her heart, "God has surely spoken by +thee. My heart speaks by thee. We will go."</p> + +<p>She sat beside the child till he slept, till the long lashes shaded the +flushed cheek, and the half-open lips and the small clenched hand seemed +to tell of some boyish dream of conflict with the infidel.</p> + +<p>Kneeling beside her sleeping child, she made her first vow in the +presence of all that made life living to her.</p> + +<p>And then she went down to keep solitary vigil in the castle-chapel;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> to +kindle those sepulchral lamps which were seen far across the valley, +which she never suffered any hands but her own to trim or feed.</p> + +<p>Her own room was bare and austere as any monastic cell. All her precious +things were lavished on the mortuary chapel, which was her +treasure-chamber, the resting-place she longed to share, the threshold +of the Father's house. On the steps of that memorial altar, which was a +tomb, and there only in the world, she felt at home.</p> + +<p>The light of the flickering lamps, contending with the steadfast, silent +moonbeams, wrought strange magical contrasts of glow and gloom on silver +shrine, and polished marble pavement, and jewelled paten, and chalice, +and gold-embroidered drapery; and beyond, on the rich Gothic sculpture, +here and there relieving the shadows of the arched aisle.</p> + +<p>And kneeling there once more, she renewed the vow, in the presence of +what made life death to her, and death as the threshold of life.</p> + +<p>"<i>Dieu le veut</i>," she said, pressing her forehead on the cold marble. "O +Christ, I take the cross on me, for me and for him. Accept it for both, +and shelter us both with Thine."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was early spring.</p> + +<p>Forth through the green Danube valley they went,—the mother and her +son, Snorro the old castellan, and Gunhilda the nurse, with other +faithful old servants of the house.</p> + +<p>At night they slept under a tent, or in any lowly hut they could find.</p> + +<p>In the morning they awoke with no stately walls between them and Nature.</p> + +<p>To the boy, the journey amongst the forests and by the streams was one +perpetual holiday.</p> + +<p>And on the mother also soft dews of healing began to fall, from sunsets +and sunrises, and the opening of leaves, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> songs of birds, and +the life of all the humble happy creatures.</p> + +<p>But most of all from this, that she had stepped down from the cold +height of her solitary sorrow, and went forth as one bearing the common +burden of humanity.</p> + +<p>"We are going to the Holy Grave that belongs to us all!" she said to +herself. "We go with Thy poor, Thou who wast poor Thyself! We go to Thy +sepulchre, mortal, mourning human creatures, for Thou also wast mortal +once. Thou also <i>hast died and hast been buried</i>!"</p> + +<p>Thus, in stooping lowly, nearer her fellow-men, she grew nearer Him who +stooped lowest of all.</p> + +<p>"The whole earth is a sepulchre," she said; "for it was Thine! Not our +beloved only; Thou also hast lain in the grave! When we and our beloved +lie down in ours, it will be but where Thou hast lain before."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, all the time the earth was bearing her lowly witness to the +resurrection in opening buds and nestling birds, and all the renewal of +the spring. Yet the Lady thought only, "My love is dead. My Lord has +died."</p> + +<p>But one twilight, as they walked together in the sombre shadows of a +pine-forest, the boy said to her,—</p> + +<p>"Mother, I heard strange talk last night by the camp-fires. Old Snorro +was talking to Gunhilda, and he said he could not make out all this +wandering to the Sepulchre in the Morning Land. His mother, he said, +used to tell him how, when they lived far away by the Northern Seas, the +young men and maidens mourned for the death of Balder the Good and +Beautiful, the sun-god, until one day a stranger priest came, with the +Cross, from the south, and told them to mourn no longer for the slain +god, for he brought them tidings of One good, and strong, and beautiful, +the Light of all the worlds, who had wrestled with death and had <i>not</i> +been overcome, but had broken through the grave and risen in immortal +life to give life to men.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> If indeed He lived, Snorro said, why did all +the people run away from the places He set them in, to His grave, where +He was not, instead of praying to Him, and trying to please Him in the +heaven where He is? And Gunhilda said Snorro must not talk of things he +did not understand; that it was a good and holy work to wrest the Holy +Grave from the infidel; the priest said so, and the Pope said so; and +how should he know who had only been a Christian at all for two +generations? Old Snorro did not seem satisfied. He said he only wanted +to understand. And she said he ought not to want to understand; that was +like Eve, and like the devil, and was the beginning of all wickedness. +And so they were whispering on when I fell asleep.</p> + +<p>"Mother, what did old Snorro mean?"</p> + +<p>She took his hand, and they walked on some little time in silence.</p> + +<p>"Was old Snorro quite wrong, mother?" the boy said at length.</p> + +<p>"Not quite, my son," she said. "I think not altogether wrong. Our Lord +is surely living. Nevertheless, it is surely right that we should +reverence the Holy Grave, and seek to wrest it from the unbeliever."</p> + +<p>But that night she had a strange dream. She thought the ancient spirits, +with legends of whom her Northern land was full, were all awake, +careering through the forest like winds, flickering like the flames of +the dying camp-fires, flitting to and fro like shadows; water-spirits +from the forest-pools, dwarfs from the mountains, gnomes from under the +hills. And some were laughing, some were sighing; but all kept saying to +each other,—</p> + +<p>"It is the old funeral procession we remember so long ago; it is the +old, old wail. The children of men are mourning once more their Good and +their Beautiful slain, and buried, and lost. Once more they find their +best and dearest in a grave. For a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> little while we thought the +death-wail was interrupted, swallowed up in the New Song of Life and +Victory. But it has come back. Balder the Beautiful, the Light of +heaven, is slain. This new Light of Life, this new Hope of the children +of men, is also slain. It is the old funeral train, and the old +death-wail. We—the earth-born, spirits of the waters and the forests +and the hills—live on, and send our echoes on from age to age. +They—the heaven-born—die, and mourn, and pay vain worship to their +dead. Once more the religion of the children of men is a pilgrimage to a +grave."</p> + +<p>All that day the wondering doubt of old Snorro the Norseman, and the +moans and whispers of that strange dream, sent wild, bewildering echoes +through the Lady's heart.</p> + +<p>And that evening it chanced that the encampment lay amidst the ruins of +some deserted dwellings on the outskirts of a walled city.</p> + +<p>The Lady could not sleep; and as she lay awake in the silence, broken +only now and then by the howling of wolves from the forest, and the +baying of watch-dogs from the city, every now and then a low faint +moaning fell on her ear, as if from a little distance.</p> + +<p>At first she thought it was but some of those strange moanings which the +winds make at night among the woods. She listened more intently, until +she became sure that faint articulate sounds mingled with the moans, +which she knew could only come from a human voice.</p> + +<p>Softly she arose, and glided to where the sound seemed to be.</p> + +<p>And there, in the angle of one of the charred and shattered walls, she +found a young maiden stretched helplessly on a heap of dry leaves.</p> + +<p>At the gentle tones of the Lady's voice, the maiden's eyes languidly +opened.</p> + +<p>After a time she consented to take a little food and wine from the +Lady's hands: and then slowly she told how she was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> of the hated and +hunted Hebrew race, and had lived with her people in this the Jewish +Quarter, outside the city walls, until, two nights ago, a wild band of +Crusaders had fallen on them at midnight, had set fire to their +dwellings, and killed all who could not flee, calling them Infidels and +Enemies of Christ; while she herself, long laid on a sick-bed, unable to +move, had been strangely overlooked, and left there to die alone.</p> + +<p>Many days the Lady sat beside her, and tenderly soothed and served her, +refusing to abandon this destitute sufferer, even to pursue the way of +the Holy Cross.</p> + +<p>"For," she said, "I would not have Him say to me in that day, 'I was +sick and a stranger, and ye visited Me not.'"</p> + +<p>Thus the company of Crusaders went on their way; and the Lady and her +son, with their retainers, were left by themselves among the ruined +dwellings between the city and the forest.</p> + +<p>At first the sick girl seemed to revive with the tender care lavished on +her; and her heart opened freely to the motherly heart that had thus +taken her to itself.</p> + +<p>"It is very strange," she would say; "what does it all mean? He whom you +worship was one of our people. A good man of your people told me once He +loved our race; and forgave even those who were most cruel to Him; and +wept over our sorrows, which He foresaw; and forbade any to think He did +not love us. Such a lovely portrait the good man drew of your Christ, I +thought if I had lived on earth when He did, I must have been a +Christian. But His Christians hate our race, and never forgive, and hunt +us to death."</p> + +<p>"Not all," the Lady said tenderly. "It is He who bade me minister to +you."</p> + +<p>"If you are like Him, and all Christians were like you," the maiden +said, "I might be a Christian even now. But all is so strange!" she went +on. "Our people say your Christ is dead, and was buried long ago. But +your Book says He rose again, and lives evermore. Yet all His Christians +seem to think He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> has left nothing so precious behind, belonging to Him, +as His grave. But if indeed He lay in it only those three days, what was +it more than a sick-bed, from which one rises to new health and +strength? It is strange. If He lives, has He left you nothing more +precious than a grave?"</p> + +<p>"Surely He lives!" the Lady said; "and I think He has left us much more +precious and dearer to Him than His grave. Poor child," she said, her +whole face radiant with the thought, "I think <i>you</i> are dearer, dearer +to Him than His Holy Sepulchre. For you may be His living shrine. He +said once in a parable, '<i>In that ye do it to one of the least of these, +ye do it unto Me</i>.'"</p> + +<p>A heavenly light shone from the dark Oriental eyes of the dying girl.</p> + +<p>"Did He say so?" she said. "Then your Christ was indeed different from +those who call themselves by His name."</p> + +<p>And soon afterwards she resumed,—</p> + +<p>"Lady, it may be that I shall see Him soon—see your Christ. It may be I +shall find He is our Christ. It may be I shall find He was born my +Saviour also, and that He will receive even me among His brethren. It +may be He will be pleased with what you have done for me."</p> + +<p>And soon afterwards the large wistful eyes grew languid, and were closed +in death.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The morning broke over the pine-tops, and over the towers of the city, +and on the Lady watching beside her sleeping boy, and on the Jewish +maiden sleeping the sleep of death.</p> + +<p>And with the morning broke peals of bells from every tower in the city, +and every lonely chapel scattered through the far-off glades of the +forest.</p> + +<p>Easter Bells.</p> + +<p>The Passion Week had come and passed, unheeded, whilst the Lady sat and +watched through her agony with the dying girl.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>And now the Easter burst on her with a glad surprise, as if it had been +the first; as if the tidings of Resurrection had now first burst on her +from heaven.</p> + +<p><i>The Lord has risen indeed.</i></p> + +<p>It was true. His Sepulchre was empty. But heaven and earth were full of +Him, and of His glory.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Mother," said her boy, when they rose from their morning prayer +together, "what do all these joy-bells mean? Is it a king's marriage, or +a great victory? Can it be that they have rescued the Holy Sepulchre +from the infidel at last?"</p> + +<p>"They are indeed ringing for a Great Victory," she replied; "the +greatest ever won. It is Easter Day, my son. This day our Lord left His +grave for ever, and rose victorious over death, and opened the gate of +everlasting life to all believers."</p> + +<p>And still the bells pealed joyfully on, from the villages on the plains +and hill-sides, from the rocky castled heights, from the depths of the +forest—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Io! revixit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sicuti dixit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pius illæsus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Funere Jesus!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Then, looking on the motionless form stretched in the shroud beside her, +the echo of her own words came back to her,—</p> + +<p>"The Lord is risen indeed, and liveth for evermore. Dearer than His +empty grave to Him is every sufferer such as this. His Sepulchre is +empty; suffering men and women are His shrine, where we may meet +Himself."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And retracing her steps to her castle, beside it she built a hospice for +the sick and the forsaken, from which she suffered none, Greek or Latin, +Jew or Gentile, to be repelled—the only claim she admitted being need +of succour.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>And in thus ministering to His poor, she found indeed, in the depths of +her own heart, that He was risen, living for evermore, and present every +hour.</p> + +<p>Through His Sepulchre, the grave of her beloved and her own had become +to her but as an encampment for the night beside the Great Captain's, on +the Battle-field.</p> + +<p>In His life she learned that they also lived; and in living unto Him, +once more she found she was living with them.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Cathedral Chimes.</i></h2> + +<h3>A LEGEND.</h3> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letteri.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="I" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_3">In a city whose history dates from the ages of silvery bells and stately +buildings, there stood, and stands now for aught I know, a cathedral, +rich in all the endless fancies of Gothic art. Inside, it was solemn +with shade, and gorgeous with light which came in through the elaborate +tracery of the stained windows, many-coloured, and broken as the +sunbeams through a tropical forest. Outside, fretted pinnacles and +carved bell-towers sprang upward, grand yet fairy-like, as if stone +towers rose as easily and naturally towards heaven as oaks and pines. +But the chief glory of this cathedral was its bells. They were the pride +of the city, and the great attraction to strangers. Their history formed +an important part of the civic chronicles.</p></div> + +<p>A lady of a royal house had given them as a thank-offering for her +lord's safe return from the Crusades. All her silver-plate and +ornaments, with spoils of Saracens from the recovered Holy Land, had +been poured into the mould when they were made, so that from their birth +all tender and sacred memories had been fused into their very essence, +and their first tones echoed far-off times and lands. A bishop who +afterwards suffered martyrdom in the hands of African Moslems had +blessed them. Their first peal had sounded in honour of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> great +victory. They had summoned the people through ages of conflict to defend +their liberties. They had blended their life with the life of every +home,—in family joys and family sorrows, at wedding, christening, and +funeral. They had made Sundays and holidays glad with their joyous +voices. And last, but not least, by aid of an elaborate mechanism of +hammers, ropes, and pulleys, they had for centuries celebrated the +departure of every hour with a chorale, and every half-hour with a +strain like the versicle of a chant, and every quarter of an hour with a +little sprinkle of sweet sound.</p> + +<p>Imagine, then, the dismay of the citizens, when, one Monday morning, +eight o'clock came, and no sound issued from the cathedral; half-past +eight, silence; nine, not a note of warning! Their wonder was increased +when the usual peal rung out, clear and full as ever, for the morning +service, and by mid-day the whole city was in a commotion. It was plain +something must be wrong with the machinery of the chimes.</p> + +<p>Immediately the most skilful mechanics of the town, clock-makers, and +bell-founders, with the men of science, and the whole corporation, in a +state-procession, mounted the clock-tower. "We will soon set it right," +they said to the agitated crowd as they entered the belfry-door. The +ropes of the machinery were tested,—all were sound; not a flaw in the +hammers; not a clog in the wheels; not a crack in the silvery metal. +Microscopes were employed, conjectures were hazarded, experiments of all +kinds were tried, but not a ray of light was thrown on the perplexity. +The clever hands, and the wise heads, and the will of the authorities +were all baffled; and the procession reappeared to the assembled +multitudes with very crestfallen looks.</p> + +<p>That afternoon little work was done in the workshops, few lessons were +learned in the schools, all the routine of household habits was +interrupted; and when it grew dark the Great Square was filled with +people who were afraid to separate and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> go to bed without the sanction +of the cathedral chimes. Many foreboded some terrible disaster to the +city, and some thought the end of the world was come!</p> + +<p>But when it was dark a sound very weird and strange, yet with a music +like the old familiar tones, came from the church-tower, as it rose dim +and grand against the starry sky. It was a voice, not human, yet with a +strange likeness to a human voice, silvery as a stream, thrilling as a +battle-trumpet, familiar to each listener as his own,—like the blended +voices of a spirit and a bell.</p> + +<p>"We have borne it too long," said the bell-voice. "We were set here on +high for other purposes than men have put us to. Is not this a +cathedral, a sanctuary, and a shrine, sacred with the dust of martyrs, +and dedicated to the service of Heaven? Were not we christened like +immortals? Were not we consecrated like priests? The touch of holy hands +is on us, and shall we be debased to secular uses? Set apart like sacred +ministers in a sacred dwelling, shall we be required to mingle in the +common circumstances of your daily life? Raised on high to be near the +heavens we serve, shall our saintly voices serve to tell you when to eat +and sleep? We have borne it too long. We will still serve Heaven, and +summon you on Sundays and Holydays. We will call you to the solemn +services of the Church. We will, if necessary, sound a triumphant peal +on days of national thanksgiving, in remembrance of the Victory which +first awoke us into music. We will even condescend to ring at your +weddings—because marriage is a sacrament—and at your baptisms. We will +toll solemnly when your spirits pass from earth, and when your bodies +are laid in the churchyard we have seen slowly raised with the dust of +your dying generations. But henceforth expect us not to do work which +your commonest house-clocks can do as well. Let your eight-day +clocks—your gilded time-pieces—call you to work and eat, and rest. We +are sacred things, set solemnly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> apart from all secular uses. Our +business is with Eternity, and the Church, and Heaven. Call on us no +more to commune with the things of the world, and earth, and time. We +are your cathedral bells, but we will be your household clock-chimes no +longer."</p> + +<p>Then the voice died away on the night air. For a few minutes there was +silence, but soon it was broken by sobs and lamentations, and all the +people lifted up their voice as one man, and wept.</p> + +<p>The house-father said, "Shall we never more hear your voices calling us +to morning and evening prayer? Whenever you told us it was the hour, the +mother came from her work, and the children from their play, and +together we knelt a united family, and committed each other to God."</p> + +<p>And the mother said, "Your voices are blended with every happy household +time. Sweet bells! will you mingle with our family joys no more? In the +morning you wakened us to begin another busy day, and the sun's beams +and your voices came together to call us to serve God in our lowly +calling; and both, we thought, came to us from Heaven; and both, we +thought, were meek and lowly, and ready to minister to us in our daily +lives, because both were sent from Him who came among us once, not to be +ministered unto, but to minister; and both, we thought, had caught +something of the light of the eyes which wept at Bethany, and of the +tones of the voice which spoke at Cana and at Nain. At mid-day you told +me it was time to send the dinner to my husband and my elder sons. At +six your voice was welcome to us all, because we knew the father's step +would soon be on the threshold. At eight you reminded me it was time to +lay the little ones to rest, and many a time have you brought happy and +holy thoughts to me in those psalms you sang to me whilst I hushed my +babes to sleep; and all my every-day life seemed to be more linked with +sacred things, and to become, as it were, a part of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> service of God, +because it moved to the music of your voices. And again at night your +tones were welcome, as in the morning, when they told us the day's work +was over, and, wearied, we lay down to peaceful rest; for through the +night we knew your sacred voices would sound to Heaven above our +sleeping city, like the voices of the angels, who rest not day nor +night, saying, Holy, holy, holy. Sweet bells! will you never chime for +us again?"</p> + +<p>And the children said, in their clear, sweet, ringing voices, "Dear +chimes! do not cease to play to us. You wake us to the happy day, you +set us free from school, and send us home laughing and dancing for joy; +you call our fathers home to us, at night you sing us to sleep, and your +voices are blended with our mothers' in our happy dreams. Sweet chimes! +you sang so many years to our fathers and mothers; and our grandfathers +remember you when they were little children like us. Dear chimes! sing +to us still."</p> + +<p>And from the sick-chamber which looked into the cathedral square, where +the windows were darkened all day, and sand was strewn before the door, +that the din of the passing wheels might jar less roughly on the aching +head within, came a low and plaintive voice:—"Sweet bells! your +commonest tones are sacred to me. You are my church music,—the only +church music I can ever hear. When I hear you chime the hour on Sundays +and on the festivals, I feel myself among the multitude within your +sacred walls; and your voice seems to bear their songs of praise to me, +and I am no more alone, but one of the worshippers. But at night it is I +prize you most. All through the hours of darkness, so often sleepless to +me, your voice is the voice of a friend, familiar as my mother's, yet +solemn as the chants of the choir. It helps me to measure off the hours +of pain, and say, 'Thank God, an hour less of night, and an hour nearer +morning.' And how often, when my suffering is great, you have come with +the old psalm-tune, and every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> tone has brought its word to me, and +spoken to me as if direct from God, and filled my heart with trust and +peace! Your least sprinkles of sweet sound are precious to me. I fancy +they are like the waters of time falling musically from stone to stone +on their way to the great sea. I feel they are as the echoes of the +footsteps of Him who is drawing nearer and nearer to me; and they draw +my heart nearer to Him. Sweet bells! your commonest tones are sacred; +for what is the World but that which becomes the Church when it learns +how God has loved it, and turns from self to Him? and what is Earth but +the floor of Heaven, which heavenly feet once trod? and what is Time but +the little fragment of Eternity in which we live on earth? Sweet bells! +make not my sleepless night lonely and silent, but sing to me, sing to +us all, as of old. Make all our life sacred by linking every fragment of +our life to God."</p> + +<p>But still no responsive sound came from the cathedral tower, and the +people waited on in the silence and the darkness. At last a young +priest, an Augustinian friar, ventured a bold suggestion:—"Are not the +devils proud, and the angels lowly? Did the angel think it beneath him +to say to Elijah, 'Arise, and eat'? Did Gabriel hesitate to descend from +the presence of God to bear to an aged priest the tidings of the birth +of a child? Did that other angel deem it secular to say to Peter the +apostle, 'Gird thyself, and bind on thy sandals, and cast thy garment +about thee,' before he led him over the stony streets through the cold +night air? And should our cathedral bells scorn to bid us 'rise and +eat,' or to chime at our births, or to summon us to 'gird and clothe' +ourselves for every day's work? Brethren, proud thoughts, and scorn of +daily service, and voices which call our every-day life common and +unclean, are not from Heaven. The bells are possessed by a proud and +evil spirit. Let us exorcise them."</p> + +<p>The suggestion at first startled the people as daring, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> irreverent +to the church bells, but in their despair they at length agreed to try +it. A solemn procession of priests and holy men and women mounted the +cathedral tower, and, in ancient formulas, with prayer and incense, and +the music of holy hymns, they exorcised the fiend.</p> + +<p>Then at once a tide of pent-up music flowed from the liberated bells! +They conscientiously rang out all at once every hour and half-hour they +had omitted, and then meekly and steadily resumed their wonted chimes, +and continued them ever afterwards, like voices of happy and lowly +angels calling men to wake and pray, to "rise and eat," to pray and +rest; cheering the workman to his daily labour, and welcoming him from +it; chanting to the mother as she lulled her babe; and in the +sick-chamber soothing the lonely hours with melodious sound, and waking +in the lonely heart sweet echoes of the psalms of praise.</p> + +<p>Here the Legend ended. I heard, however, afterwards that the young +priest, the Augustinian friar, lived to spread Glad Tidings through the +city, but that he was at last burned in the cathedral square for +preaching to men what he had said about the church bells. Yet in the +flames, it was said, he looked up to the cathedral tower, and sang the +words of a psalm of praise the old bells were chiming, till his voice +was silenced in death. And ever since the chimes have taken up his +message, and chant to those who will listen, hour by hour.</p> + +<p>"Whether, therefore, ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the +glory of God."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Ruined Temple.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/lettert.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="T" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_2">The Temple was in ruins, and the Priestess sat, a captive in chains, +among its broken and scattered fragments. It had been a temple of the +most ancient form, open to the sky, beautiful beyond any temple upon +earth, beautiful and sacred; and some remnants of its beauty hung about +it still—fragments of exquisite carvings and broken shafts of graceful +columns. But everything was shattered and out of place: the window +tracery shivered in a thousand fragments and strewn on the ground, +columns prostrate, sacred vessels lying rusted among the weeds, the pure +spring which had gushed from beneath the altar choked up and dry, and +instruments of sacred music mute and broken on the ground.</p></div> + +<p>On the walls in some places were the traces of violence, but it was +remarkable that they seemed to have been assaulted only from within. +Indeed, the temple had been a fortress, so impregnably situated and +built that except from within not one stone could ever have been +displaced.</p> + +<p>This was, in fact, the saddest part of its history. The temple had been +desecrated before it had been ruined, and in its ruin it was a temple +still, but, alas! no longer sacred to Him in whose honour it had been +reared. Many senseless or loathsome idol-images were carved on the +walls, strangely contrasting, in their shapelessness or deformity, with +the symmetry of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> every fragment of the original structure. On the broken +altar in the centre stood an image of the Priestess herself. This was +the earliest idol which had entered there, and with the entrance of this +the ruin had begun. The Enemy who had, with subtle flatteries, +introduced this idol had ever since had access to the temple, and step +by step the Priestess had sunk beneath his power. He had led her into +wild orgies, in which she herself had defaced the delicate tracery and +torn down the walls; and when she awoke from the frenzy and wept, as +sometimes she would, he silenced her tears with blows or with mocking +threats of the vengeance of Him to whom the temple had been consecrated. +Sometimes, however, she woke to a moment's full consciousness of the +desolation around her, and then she would wail and lament until he +seemed to fear some unseen Friend would hear; and at such seasons he +grew more gentle, and renewed the old persuasions and flatteries by +which he had misled her at first. He would even encourage her at times, +when all other methods failed, to try and collect the scattered stones, +and repair the breaches in the shattered walls, and restring the broken +harp; for he knew well her puny efforts must fail, and that no hands but +those of the Builder could ever restore the ruin she had wrought. So, +after a few faint endeavours, she, as he expected, would give up in +despair, and sit cowering hopelessly on the ground, afraid of him, +afraid of Him whose priestess she was, afraid of her own voice.</p> + +<p>In such bitter hours he would again grow bold, and mock her with the +memory of the past, until the spirit of indignant resistance seemed +roused within her, when, once more softening his tone, he would point +her with flattering words to her own image on the broken altar. He would +show her the beauty still lingering in its marred and weather-worn +features, and help her to decorate it with gay colours and tinsel +ornaments, placing in her hands the golden censer, with the sweet +incense which had been made in happier days for far other uses; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> she +would wave the fragrant compound before the idol image of herself. But +with the pure spices which made it sweet, the Enemy had mixed a narcotic +poison, and as she languidly swung the censer to and fro, her brain +would become intoxicated with the voluptuous sweetness, until in a dream +of vain delight, she would fall asleep, and forget all her miseries; and +ever, as she slept, he would rivet faster the chain which, unperceived +by her, was being bound around her, every year making her range of +action narrower and her movements less free.</p> + +<p>Wild beasts, also, made their lair in the desolate temple-chambers, +prowling in and out where formerly meek and heavenly beings had +ministered, and making the shattered walls echo with their loud howls +and sullen roarings, where once had sounded strains of pure and joyous +music.</p> + +<p>Thus day by day the ruin spread, and the desolation and desecration +became more complete.</p> + +<p>But it happened one spring that two little singing-birds came back from +the sunny clime where they had wintered, and began building their nest +above the ancient altar. There was something in the spring-time which +often brought tears to the eyes of the fallen Priestess, she scarcely +knew why. The world seemed then like one happy temple full of thankful +songs; and as, day by day, the sun repaired the ruins of winter, and the +choral services of the woods took a fuller tone, on her heart there fell +the mournful sense of the ruins around her, which no spring-tide could +restore. Yet something of a softer feeling, a melancholy which breathed +of hope, stole over her, as she watched those two happy birds building +their nest, and warbling as they worked.</p> + +<p>At last the nest was finished, the happy mother-bird sat on her eggs, +and the pair had much leisure for confidential conversation.</p> + +<p>"How desolate this place is," said the mother-bird.</p> + +<p>"And it was once so beautiful," replied her mate.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why is it not rebuilt?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"None can rebuild but the Hand that built," was the mysterious reply.</p> + +<p>"But would not the Architect come if asked? He is so good. Was it not He +who taught us to build our nest; and I am sure nothing can be better +done than that."</p> + +<p>"That is the difficulty," was the reply. "The Priestess does not know He +is so good, and is afraid to utter His name. If she only called Him, He +would come."</p> + +<p>"Is He near enough?"</p> + +<p>"He is always near."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure?" said the mother-bird. "What can we do to help her?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know," replied the mate, "except it is to sing His praise. +Perhaps she may listen, and understand one day how good He is."</p> + +<p>So all the spring the little happy creatures chirped and sang, until the +nestlings were fledged, and the whole family flew away.</p> + +<p>But their songs had penetrated deep into the Priestess' heart. And one +night, when the Enemy was absent, and the wild beasts prowling far away, +she threw herself on the earth before her desecrated altar, and lamented +and wept. But for the first time her lamentations, instead of solitary, +hopeless wailings, echoing back from the ruined walls, became a broken +cry for help.</p> + +<p>"Thou, if Thou art indeed so good—if Thou art indeed near, come and +help me," she sobbed; "repair my ruins, and save me."</p> + +<p>And for the first time, as she wept and implored, she felt the weight of +her fetters binding hand and foot; and, clasping her chained hands, she +cried more earnestly, "Come and set me free!"</p> + +<p>And before the day dawned a voice came softly through the silence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"I will come."</p> + +<p>But with the morning light how bitter was the sight which burst on her +aching eyes! All, indeed, had been as desolate long before; but she had +never seen it as she saw it now:—Noisome beasts, which prowled +fearlessly around her; skulls and ghastly skeletons of their murdered +prey strewn about; on the ground the broken, rusted harp; on her hands +the heavy chain; and, worse than all, the door she had opened to the +Enemy ever open, and inviting his approach!</p> + +<p>Too surely he came. He mocked her hope until it appeared baseless as a +dream; and nothing seemed real but the ruin to which he scornfully +directed her gaze, and the chain which now, for the first time without +concealment, he held up triumphantly, dragging her by it to every corner +of the polluted and ruined temple, to show her how complete and hopeless +the ruin was. Then drawing the links tighter than before, so that they +galled and wounded her wrists, he led her to the image of herself, which +he had adorned, and painted, and so often flattered. He dragged off the +tinsel ornaments, and effaced the delusive colouring, and left her, at +last, face to face with the defaced and broken idol, saying,—</p> + +<p>"This is the worship you yourself have chosen. Pursue it still. There is +no other for you."</p> + +<p>She could not bear to gaze on it; and as he went she fell prostrate on +the altar steps, and hid her face on the stones. Yet still, though with +but a feeble hope, she sobbed out—</p> + +<p>"If Thou art good—if Thou canst help me, come—oh, come, and set me +free!"</p> + +<p>Weariness at last brought sleep; and in her dreams she saw a lovely +vision of the temple as it once had been. White columns gleamed, sweet +and solemn music sounded, and she herself ministered in white robes at +the altar, before a Radiant Form, on which she could scarcely for a +moment gaze.</p> + +<p>The awaking from this dream to the desolation around her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> was more +terrible than all she had felt before. It must have bereft her of +reason, but for the echo of three cheering words which seemed to have +awakened her—"<i>I will come.</i>"</p> + +<p>The next day, with the light of that radiant vision on her heart, she +dragged her fettered limbs to the altar, and strove with her feeble and +trembling hands to tear that marred image from the shrine. But in vain. +It was too firmly embedded there; and she could only turn her face from +it, and weep, and cry for help. And before the next morning's dawn help +came. In the night a heavenly visitant descended; and with human words, +in a language she had not spoken for years, but every word of which +melted her heart like the accents of her mother-tongue, He touched her +chains, and they fell off; He spoke, and the wild beasts fled, howling; +He touched her broken harp, and it was restrung and tuned; He touched +the dry and choked-up channel of the sacred spring, and it welled forth +pure and fresh from beneath the altar; He touched the idol on the +shrine, and it fell, and in its stead shone that wondrous Radiance which +she had seen in her dream; then He poured on her head the fragrant oil +of consecration, and clothed her in a white vestal priestly garment, and +placed the restrung harp in her hand, and rose again to heaven.</p> + +<p>At first her joy knew no measure. She gazed on the sacred shrine, and in +the glory above it at times she perceived the lineaments of the form of +Him who had done all this for her. She touched her harp, and the sweet +strings responded as if they knew her hand; she sang holy songs in that +old, long-forgotten, yet familiar tongue, so heavenly and happy that the +wild beasts would not venture near, and the morning birds were silent to +listen. She bathed in the newly-opened fountain and drank of it; and as +she drank, her strength and her youth came back.</p> + +<p>For a time her joy was without cloud or measure; but as the daylight +returned, the desolation of the ruined temple struck<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> sadly on her +heart. It was, indeed, a sacred place once more, and she its consecrated +Priestess; but was this ruin never to be repaired?</p> + +<p>She began to cleanse the sacred vessels and to sweep the earth of all +the refuse and dry bones which had been gathered there; and then, with +her renewed strength, she set herself to collect the broken fragments of +the columns, and tried to piece together the shattered tracery and the +delicate carvings of flower and foliage. But it was in vain. She could +indeed bring the shattered fragments together, and see what they had +been, but she could not join them, or replace one prostrate shaft or +capital; and as she sat down mournfully before her shrine, tears dimmed +her eyes, so that she could scarcely see the Radiance there, and, +falling on her harp-strings, would have rusted them and marred their +sweetness; whilst in the silence a voice, too long and bitterly +familiar, was heard at the door. Turning round, she perceived the form +of the Enemy there, whilst behind him glared fierce and hungry eyes; and +in her terror the harp almost fell from her hands.</p> + +<p>But she threw herself on her knees before the altar, pressed the harp +convulsively to her heart, and cried, "Will these ruins never be +repaired, these doors never closed against my enemy and Thine?" The +pressure of her trembling fingers drew forth some plaintive strains, +like the wind on Æolian strings; but low and plaintive as they were, the +Enemy disappeared, and the wild beasts fled howling from them. Then she +began to perceive the power of her harp, and drew from it a song of joy +and triumph; and as she still gazed on the radiant shrine a veil seemed +to be withdrawn from it; and she perceived that it was a window, so that +the light streamed through it, not from it. Wondering she gazed, until, +penetrating further and further through the light, she saw in the depths +of heaven a Temple like her own, only perfect, glorious beyond +comparison,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> and full—full of worshippers robed and singing like +herself, and full of that wondrous radiance which streamed from the +heavenly form she had seen. She laid her harp upon the shrine, and to +her surprise the strings began to quiver of their own accord! An +electric current united them to the harps in the heavenly temple, and +they vibrated in exquisite harmonies the echo of the harmonies above.</p> + +<p>And with the heavenly strains came a voice divine and human, mighty as +the sound of many waters, yet soft and near as a whisper in her ear:—</p> + +<p>"Here all ruins are repaired: the Enemy cannot enter here, but here thou +shalt dwell for ever."</p> + +<p>And softly floated down these other words:—</p> + +<p>"For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were +dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, +eternal in the heavens."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Clock-Bell and the Alarm-Bell.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letterw.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="W" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_1">We have lived a long time here together," said the ponderous Alarm-bell +to the little brisk bell in the clock-tower of the Orphan-house, "and a +useful life yours has been! I have watched carefully, and never once +during these hundred years that we have stood side by side have you +failed to tell the hours and half-hours by day and night. I have plenty +of leisure for thought; but it would be beyond my powers to calculate +how often your voice has been heard in the service of man. I observe, +too, how much attention is paid you by all, and with how much +well-deserved respect you are regarded. Nothing is done in house or +field without your sanction. At your early call this little busy hive +begins to stir in the morning. At your mid-day invitation the boys +gather from the fields where they have been working, and the girls from +the laundries and work-rooms, to the noonday meal. At your evening +summons the doors are closed at night, and not a sound is heard +afterwards in house or field until your steady voice wakens our little +world again. Yours is, indeed, a useful, honoured life; but as for me, +who can tell what I was made for? Since I was placed here first, a +hundred years ago, lifted up with enormous trouble and labour, and +safely roofed in my belfry, not a creature has heard my voice, or been +the better for my existence. I might as well have been lying still a +lump of unsmelted ore in the depths of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> the mines. I feel so stiff and +rusty, that I sometimes question if they could move me if they tried. +For you, daily, hourly usefulness! for me, a hundred years of silence! +And who can say how many more? I do not complain; but our destinies are +very different. It must be wonderfully happy to be so useful, and to be +looked on by every one with such attention and regard. Of course, I +could not expect to be as serviceable as you—I, with my cumbrous, +ponderous mass of heavy metal, and you, hung so lightly, so graceful in +your shape, so brisk in all your movements, so cheery and pleasant in +your voice. But I should like to be of some use once in my life, even if +it were only to know for what purpose I was made, and set on high."</p></div> + +<p>"Wait!" said the Clock-bell; "there must be some work for you. It would +have taken a hundred such as I am to make one like you. Think of the +trouble there must have been in getting a mould large enough for +you,—of the labour it was to raise you so high. You must be set there +for some end, although we do not yet know what. Wait!" said the +Clock-bell cheerily, and struck nine.</p> + +<p>Then there was a sound from within the house, as of many childish voices +singing an evening hymn. A few minutes after, all was still, and ten +o'clock echoed over the silent fields to the sleeping city near at hand.</p> + +<p>But that night there was an unusual stir in the Orphan-house. Feet were +heard rushing hither and thither; and from every window poured forth the +cry, "Fire! fire!—the Orphan-house is on fire!" And, through the +darkness, lurid smoke began to rise from an outhouse attached to the +main building. Then came another cry:—"The Alarm-bell!—ring the +Alarm-bell!" And feet were heard on the steps of the belfry-tower; and +hands began pulling vigorously at the ropes, and in a moment, for the +first time, the deep tones of the long-silent bell pealed heavily on the +midnight air. They awoke the city. In a short time fire-engines were on +the way. Streams of water<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> played on the flames, and quenched them; and +the children and the Orphan-house were saved.</p> + +<p>The next morning all was silent again, as if nothing had happened; the +outhouse lay in ashes, but the Orphan-house was uninjured. At eight the +Clock-bell called the children to their morning prayer; whilst the +Alarm-bell had relapsed into silence, perhaps for another century.</p> + +<p>But the Clock-bell said, "You have done in an hour the service of a +century. Had it not been for you, I should never have struck another +hour."</p> + +<p>And the grateful children often looked up as they passed beneath, and +said, "Had it not been for our good Alarm-bell we might all have +perished!"</p> + +<p>So the Alarm-bell learned what it was made for, and was content to wait +another hundred years, or more, before its voice was heard again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Black Ship.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/lettert.jpg" width="125" height="126" alt="T" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_2">They lived at the foot of the Pine Mountains, in the island of the +King's Garden, the mother, with her little son and daughter. The boy's +name was Hope, and the little girl's, May. The children loved each other +dearly, and were never separated. They never had any quarrels, because +Hope was the leader in all their expeditions and plays; and May firmly +believed that everything which Hope planned and did, was better planned +and better done than it would have been by any one else in the world—by +which May meant the island. Hope, on his side, had always a tender +consideration for little May in his schemes, such as kings should have +for their subjects. May would never have dreamed of originating any +scheme herself, or of questioning any which Hope planned. If you had +taken away May from Hope, you would have taken away his kingdom, his +army, his right hand; if you had taken away Hope from May, you would +have robbed her of her leader, her king, her head, her sun. Bereaved of +May, I think Hope would have been driven from his desolate home into the +wide world; bereaved of Hope, I am sure May would never have left her +home, but sat silent there until she pined away. But together, life was +one holiday to them; work was a keener kind of play, and every day was +too narrow for the happy occupations of which each hour was brimful. +Their cottage was at the foot of the mountains, on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> the sea-shore. +Indeed, every house and cottage in the island stood on the sea-shore, +because the island was so long and narrow, that, from the top of the +mountain-range which divided it, you could see the sea on both sides. If +in any place the coast widened, little creeks ran in among the hills, +and made the sea accessible from all points. The island consisted +entirely of this one mountain-range; the higher peaks sometimes tipped +with snow, with a strip of coast at their feet, sometimes narrowing to a +little shingly beach, sometimes expanding to a fertile plain, where +beautiful cities with fairy bell-towers and marble palaces gleamed like +ivory carvings amidst the palms and thick green leaves.</p></div> + +<p>But Hope and May knew nothing of the island beyond the little bay they +lived in, and no one they had ever seen or heard of had scaled the +mountain-range and looked on the other side; no one, either in the +scattered fishermen's huts around them, or in the white town which +perched like a sea-bird on the crags on the opposite side of the bay. +Indeed, it was only from their mother's words that the children knew +that their country was an island; and ever since they had heard this, +the great subject of Hope's dreams, and the great object of his schemes, +had been to scale the mountains and look on the other side. But this was +quite a secret between Hope and May; the happy secret which formed the +endless interest of their long talks and rambles, but which they could +not speak of to their mother, because she was so tenderly timid about +them, and because it was to be the great surprise which one day was to +enchant her, when Hope was a man. He was to scale the mountains, +penetrate to the wondrous land on the other side, and bring thence +untold treasures and tales of marvels to May and his mother.</p> + +<p>The children thought Hope would very soon be old enough to go; and they +had a little cave in the rocks close to the sea where they treasured up +dried fruits, and bits of iron to make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> tools of with which to chop away +the tangled branches in the forests, and cut steps in the glaciers which +Hope was to traverse. The lower hills the children knew well; and the +ravine which wound up far among the hills they had nearly fixed on as +the commencement of the journey.</p> + +<p>So the days passed on with the children, rich in purposes and bright +with happy work. For they were helpful to their mother. From their +mountain expeditions they brought her fire-wood, and forest-honey, and +eggs of wild-fowl, and various sweet wild-berries, and wholesome roots. +They always noticed that their mother encouraged these mountain +expeditions, and seemed much happier when they took that direction than +when they kept by the sea.</p> + +<p>Once Hope had said to her—</p> + +<p>"Mother, how beautiful our country is! and I think it is so happy always +to be in sight of the sea. How dull those lands must be you tell us of, +which are so large that many people have to live out of hearing of the +waves! I could not bear to live there; it must seem so narrow and close +to be shut in on the land, with nothing beyond. But here we can never +get out of sight of the sea. May and I always find, wherever we roam +among the hills, we never lose the sea. When we wander far back from the +shore, the beautiful blue waters seem to follow us as if they loved us; +and in the inmost recesses of the mountains we always see beneath us +some glimpse of bright water in the creeks which run up among the hills, +or the rivers which come down to meet them. The sea seems to love every +corner of our country, mother, and penetrate everywhere."</p> + +<p>A cold shudder passed over the mother's frame, and tears gathered in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"The sea is indeed everywhere, my children," she murmured; and then, +with a burst of irresistible emotion, she clasped them to her heart, and +added bitterly, "Happy the country which that sea cannot approach!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + +<p>May and Hope wondered greatly at her words; but there was something in +her manner which awed them into silence. For some time after that, they +often speculated together as to what her words could mean, and a vague +terror seemed to murmur in the ripple of the waves. But gradually the +impression wore off in the happy forgetfulness of childhood, and their +old schemes were resumed with the same zest as before.</p> + +<p>One evening, however, as they were busied with their treasures in the +cave, the tide surprised them; and when they set out to return home they +found the rocky point which separated them from their cottage surrounded +with deep water. The sides of the cliff in the little cove where their +cave lay were sheer precipices of smooth rock, too steep to climb, so +that the children had to wait some hours before they could creep round +the point. Eagerly they watched the declining sun and the retreating +tide, until when the waves became only ankle-deep they bounded through +them, and in a few minutes were at the cottage door. It was not yet +dark, and the children were dancing into the cottage full of spirits at +their adventure, when they were startled at the appearance of their +mother. She was leaning, stony and motionless, with fixed eyes and +clasped hands, against the door-post, and for a moment the sight of her +darlings did not seem to rouse her. Then springing up with a cry of joy, +she strained them to her heart, covered them with kisses, laughed a wild +laugh, broken with convulsive sobs, and at last fell fainting on the +floor.</p> + +<p>The children knelt beside her, and gradually she revived, and fell into +a sleep. But every now and then she started as if with some terrible +dream, and murmured in her sleep, "The ship—the Black Ship: not now, +not yet: take me, not them; or take us all—take us all!"</p> + +<p>The terrified children could not sleep; and all the next day they clung +close to their mother, and scarcely spoke a word.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> In the evening, +however, she rallied, and tried to speak cheerfully, and account for her +alarm.</p> + +<p>"You were late, darlings, and I knew you were by the sea—the terrible +sea."</p> + +<p>But the children could not be comforted. They felt the weight of some +vague apprehension; they could not be tempted to leave their mother; +they crept noiselessly about, watching her movements, until at last one +night they whispered together, and resolved to take courage and ask +their mother what made her dread the sea; and then they consulted long +as to the best way of introducing the forbidden subject.</p> + +<p>The next evening, as they sat together by the fireside, Hope began, and +forgetting all the speeches they had prepared, fixed his large eyes on +his mother's and said abruptly, "Mother, what is there terrible in the +sea?"</p> + +<p>She paused a moment, her face grew deadly pale, and her lips trembled.</p> + +<p>"Children, why should you wish to know? You will learn too soon, without +my telling you."</p> + +<p>"O mother, tell us," said May. "We can bear anything from you. Do not +let any one else tell us."</p> + +<p>A sudden thought seemed to flash across her, and she said, "Children, +you are right."</p> + +<p>Then folding one arm around Hope as he stood by her, and taking May on +her knee, she said, "It is not the sea I dread; it is the Black Ship. +That is the terrible secret; and it is, indeed, better you should learn +it from my lips than learn it by losing me, and no one be left to tell +you how. My children," she continued, making a great effort to speak +calmly, "this is the one sorrow of our country. From time to time a +Black Ship, without sails or oars, glides silently to our shores, and +anchors there. A dark, Veiled Figure lands from it, and seizes any one +of our people whom it chooses, without violence, without a sound, but +with irresistible power, and quietly leads<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> the victim away to the Ship, +which immediately glides away again from our coasts as swiftly and +noiselessly as it came; but no one ever sees those who are thus borne +away any more."</p> + +<p>"Whence does the Ship come, mother?" asked Hope, after a long silence, +"and whither does it go?"</p> + +<p>"No one knows, my child. That is the terrible thing about it. There is +no sound nor voice. The agonized cries of those who are thus bereaved +avail not to bring one word of reply from those lips, or to raise one +fold of that dark veil. If we only knew, we could bear it."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen it, mother?" asked Hope, determined bravely to +plunge to the bottom of the terrible mystery, while May could only cling +round her mother's neck and cry.</p> + +<p>"I have seen it twice," she replied, speaking low and rapidly. "We did +not always live here. Your father was rich, and a man of rank, and, +loving us most dearly, he resolved to do all in his power to keep the +terrible Form away. For this end he built that castle you have often +seen above the white tower. It is far above the sea; the rocks are +perpendicular; it is built of solid stone; the doors were of oak, +studded with iron; the windows barred with iron. No one was ever to be +permitted to cross the moat without being strictly scrutinized. The +gates were always to be closed. When it was finished he made a feast; +and after it, when the guests had left, and every bolt was drawn, we +stood at the window of the room where you slept, and looked down +triumphantly on the sea. A little sister of yours was sleeping in my +arms. Suddenly, close beneath us, in the bay at our feet, we saw moored +the Black Ship! Our eyes seemed fascinated to it, and we could not +speak. We saw the Veiled Figure descend the side, and slowly scale the +precipice beneath us, as if it had been a road made for it to tread. It +walked over the water of the castle moat, which did not seem to wet its +feet. There was no plunge or splash in the waves, no sound of footsteps +on the rock; yet,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> in a moment, it stood on the balcony outside our +window, and we could not stir. It passed through the iron bars. It laid +its hand on my sleeping babe. Your father's strong arm was around us +both, but before we could utter a cry, our darling had glided like a +shadow from our embrace. The bright face of our baby was hidden from us +under the folds of that impenetrable veil. We watched the terrible Form +noiselessly descend the steep, re-enter the Ship, and not until the +Black Ship was already gliding swiftly out of sight could we overcome +the terrible fascination. Then my cries of agony awoke the +household,—boats were manned in pursuit; but in vain, in vain—we felt +it was in vain. We never saw the babe again." She spoke with the languor +of a sorrow which had been overwhelmed by greater sorrows still.</p> + +<p>"But our father?" asked Hope.</p> + +<p>"He left the castle the next day," she answered. "We never returned to +it. He said the strong walls only mocked our helplessness; and since +then the castle has been empty. Birds build their nests in our chambers, +wild beasts make their lair in our gardens, the iron bars rust on the +open doors; and if the Veiled Figure enter again, it will find no prey."</p> + +<p>"But where did you go?"</p> + +<p>"We came here. Your father said he would dare the foe, and, since no +fortification could keep it out, meet it on its own ground. So he built +this cottage close to the sea, and here we have lived ever since. I was +content to remain here because I thought we might avoid seeing any one, +and keep the terrible secret from you.</p> + +<p>"And here," she continued with the calmness of despair, "one morning we +saw the Black Ship moored, and your father went to meet it. I wept and +clung to him, to keep him back, but he said, 'It shall speak to me.'</p> + +<p>"The Dark Form came up, a black shadow across the sunny<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> beach. Your +father encountered it boldly, and said, 'Where is my child?'</p> + +<p>"There was no sound in reply. For a moment there seemed to be a +struggle. I rushed towards them, but the terrible touch was on your +father's hand. There seemed no violence, no chain was on his arm—only +that paralyzing touch. He went from me silent and helpless as the babe.</p> + +<p>"'Whither, whither?' I cried; 'only tell me where!'</p> + +<p>"He looked back once, but he spoke to me no more. I rushed madly into +the sea, but the Ship was gone in a minute; and your voices, your baby +voices, called me back, and I came."</p> + +<p>"Is there no help, mother?" said Hope at last. "Has no one ever tried? +If I were but a man! Oh, surely some help could be found?"</p> + +<p>"So thousands have thought, tried, and asked in vain. Fleets have +scoured the seas, but none ever came on the Black Ship's track."</p> + +<p>Hope was silenced, and the little family sat up together that night. +They did not dare to separate, even to their beds; yet before long the +children were asleep.</p> + +<p>Sleep revived the brother and sister; and by the evening Hope's ardent +heart had found another point to rest on.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "if we could only find out whence the Black Ship +comes, we might be comforted. Perhaps it comes from a happy place. Can +no one even guess?"</p> + +<p>"There are some who profess to know something of it," she replied; "but +your father never believed them."</p> + +<p>"Who are they?" asked Hope.</p> + +<p>"The amulet-makers. There is a band of men in the White Town who profess +to know something of the country from which the Black Ship comes, and +who sends it. But they talk very mysteriously, in learned words; and I +do not understand them. Your father said it was all a deception; because +some of them profess to make amulets or charms which keep the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> Veiled +Form away; and your little sister had one round her neck when she was +taken from us. You have each one, but I cannot trust it; and I never +could find out that the amulet-makers had anything but guesses as to +where the Ship came from; and your father said we could guess as well as +they. There is one thing," she added with a faint smile, "which gives me +more comfort than anything they ever said. When our baby was taken away +from my arms—when she felt that terrible touch—she did not seem to be +at all afraid. She looked up in my face, and then at the Veiled Form, +and stretched out her baby arms from me to it and smiled. At first, I +hated to think of that. It seemed as if some cruel charm was on her to +win even her heart from me; but often in the night, in my dreams, that +smile has come back to me, like a promise; and I have awaked, +comforted—I hardly know why."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they are in a happy place, mother," said little May.</p> + +<p>And Hope said, "Mother, I am going to question the amulet-makers in the +White Town." And his mother suffered him to go.</p> + +<p>In two days, Hope came back. But his step was spiritless and slow, and +his face very sad.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "I think my father was right. I am afraid no one +knows anything about the country from which the Black Ship comes. At +first the amulet-makers promised to tell me a great deal. Some of them +told me they believed it was a great king, an enemy of our race, who +sent the Ship; but that if we kept certain rules, and put on a certain +dress they would sell us, or give them certain treasures to throw into +the sea when the Ship appeared, they would watch for us, and make the +powers beyond the sea favourable to us. But when I came to the +question—how they knew this to be true, or if they had ever had any +message from beyond the sea, or seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> any one who came thence, they grew +silent, and sometimes angry, and told me I was a presumptuous child. +There was one old man, however, who was kind to me; and he came and +spoke to me alone, and said, 'My child, be happy to-day!—to be good is +to be happy. What is beyond to-day, or beyond the sea, no one knows, or +ever can know. Go back to your mother, and live as before.' So I came," +concluded Hope. "But it can never, never be with us again as before we +knew."</p> + +<p>From that time the boy seemed to cease to be a child, or to take +interest in any childish schemes. He was gentle and tender as his father +would have been to his mother and to May, and seemed to take it on +himself to watch over and protect them. He never left them out of sight; +until, one day, as they came, in their ramble in search of shell-fish, +on their old cave, and looked once more at their little stores, so +joyously hoarded there, May suddenly exclaimed, "What if they should +know on the other side of the mountains!"</p> + +<p>The thought flashed on Hope like a breath of new life; and from that day +his old schemes were resumed, but with an intensity and a purpose which +could not be quenched. He would scale the mountains, to see if any +tidings from beyond the sea had reached the land across the mountains!</p> + +<p>His mother's consent was gained; and in a few days, spent in eager +preparations, Hope was to start.</p> + +<p>But before those days were ended, one evening a white-haired old man +knocked at the cottage door. He was nearly exhausted with travel, his +clothes were torn, and his feet bleeding.</p> + +<p>They led him to the fire, bathed his feet, and set food before him. But +before he would touch anything, the old man said,—</p> + +<p>"I have tidings for you—glad tidings."</p> + +<p>"Do you come from across the mountains?" exclaimed Hope, starting to his +feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + +<p>The old man bowed in assent.</p> + +<p>"I come from across the mountains, and I bring you glad tidings from +beyond the sea."</p> + +<p>"Glad tidings!" they all exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Glad tidings, if you will obey them," he replied;—"if not, the saddest +you ever heard. It is not an enemy who sends the Black Ship, but a +Friend."</p> + +<p>Not a question, scarcely a breath interrupted him and he continued, in +brief, broken sentences,—</p> + +<p>"It is our King. Our island belongs to Him. He gave it to us. But, long +ago, our people rebelled against Him. They were seduced by a wicked +prince, His deadly enemy, and, alas! ours. They sent the King a +defiance; they defaced His statues, which were a type of all beauty; +they broke His laws, which are the unfolding of all goodness. He sent +ambassadors to reclaim them; He, who could have crushed the revolt, and +destroyed our nation with one of His armies in a day, descended from His +dignity, and stooped to entreat our deluded people to return to their +allegiance. But they treated His condescension as weakness. They defied +His ambassadors, and maltreated them, and drove them from the island. He +had warned them against the usurper, and told them the consequences of +revolting; and too surely they have been fulfilled. The Black Ship is +the penalty inflicted by our offended Monarch; but those who return to +His allegiance need not dread it."</p> + +<p>"Some, then, have submitted to the King?" asked Hope.</p> + +<p>"Every ambassador He sent has persuaded some to recognize the King."</p> + +<p>"Why not all?" asked Hope. "If the King is good, and is our King, and +will receive us, why not all return?"</p> + +<p>"The usurper seduces them still," replied the old man. "Many hate the +King's good laws; many take pride in what they call their independence; +most will not listen, or will not believe. They mock the King's +messengers, and declare that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> they are impostors, that their messages +are a delusion; and some even persist in declaring that there is no +King, and no country beyond the sea."</p> + +<p>"But the Black Ship is not a delusion!" said Hope; "it must come from +some land. What proof have these ambassadors given? Have they ever been +in the land beyond the sea?"</p> + +<p>"They gave many proofs; but I bring you better news than this. A few +years since, the King's Son came Himself. Many of us have seen and +spoken with Him. He stayed many days. He spoke words of such power, and +in tones of such tenderness, as none who heard can ever forget. We could +trace in His features the lineaments of the statues we had defaced. Some +of the worst rebels among us were melted to repentance, and fell at His +feet, and besought His pardon. I was one. He gave us not only His +pardon, but His friendship. But His enemies prevailed. Especially the +amulet-makers organized a conspiracy against Him; they feared for their +trade, and secretly prepared to drive Him from the island. He had come +alone, for He came not to compel, but to win. And He came for another +purpose, which, until He was gone, we could not comprehend. The +conspirators triumphed. One day they came in force and seized Him. Alas! +a base panic seized us who loved Him, and we fled. They bound Him with +thongs, they treated Him with the most barbarous cruelty and the basest +indignity, and drove Him to the sea. We thought a fleet and an army +would have appeared to avenge His insulted majesty and proclaim Him King +with power, or bear Him in pomp away; but to our surprise and dismay +nothing came for Him but the Black Ship, and the Dark Form bore Him from +us, as if He had been a rebel like one of us. He had told us something +of the probability of this before it happened, but we could not +comprehend what He meant. Never were days of such sorrow as those which +passed over us after His being taken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> from us. His enemies were in full +triumph; they mocked our Prince's claims, they insulted us, they +threatened us; but all they could say or do was nothing in comparison +with the anguish in our hearts. For what could we think? He whom we had +loved and trusted was gone, borne off in triumph by the very foe He came +to deliver us from. We hid ourselves in caves and lonely places by the +sea, and recalled to one another His precious words, and gazed out over +the sea with a vague yearning, which was scarcely hope, and yet kept us +lingering on the shore.</p> + +<p>"On the third morning, in the gray light of early dawn, one of us saw +Him on the shore; one who had owed Him everything, and loved Him most +devotedly. She called us to come. One by one we gathered round Him. Some +of us could scarcely believe our senses for joy. But it was Himself; the +solid certainty of that unutterable joy grew stronger. And then He told +us wonders: how He suffered all this for us; had borne this indignity +and captivity in obedience to His Father's will, to set us free; had +gone in the Black Ship itself to the heart of the Enemy's country, and +alone trodden those terrible regions of lawless wickedness to which he +seeks to drag his deluded victims, and alone vanquished him there. He +stayed with us some days, and talked with us familiarly, as of old; but +how glorious His commonest words were, how overpowering His forgiving +looks, how inspiring His firm and tender tones, I can never tell. He +could not remain with us then. He said we must be His messengers, and +win back His rebels to allegiance; we must learn to be brave, to speak +and suffer for Him, and to act as men; and He promised to come again one +day with fleets and armies, and all the pomp of His Father's kingdom. +But, meantime, He said the Black Ship should never more be a terror to +any of us who loved Him; for He Himself would come in it each time. He +would be veiled, so that none could see Him but the one He came for: but +surely as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> Black Ship came, instead of the Dark Form, He would come +Himself for every one of us, and bear us home to His Father's house to +abide with Him, and with Him hereafter to return."</p> + +<p>There was a breathless silence, broken only by the mother's sobs.</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands, and murmured,—</p> + +<p>"Then it was He! It was surely He Himself who came and took my babe. No +wonder my darling smiled, and was willing to go."</p> + +<p>The mother and the children that very evening received from the stranger +the medal which was worn by all those who returned to their allegiance. +It was a Black Ship, surrounded with rays of glory, and behind it the +towers of a city.</p> + +<p>Never were a happier company than the four who gathered round the +cottage table that evening. They were too happy, and had too much to +ask, to sleep; and far into the night the questions and answers +continued, every reply of the old man's only revealing some fresh +endearing excellence in the King and the King's Son, until they longed +for the Black Ship to come and fetch them home.</p> + +<p>"If only," said little May, "it would fetch us all at once!"</p> + +<p>"That the King will do when He comes with His armies in the day of His +triumph. Till then, my child, this is the one only sorrow connected with +the Black Ship, for those who love the King. We go one by one, and +blessed as it is for the one who goes, it must be sad sometimes for +those who are left."</p> + +<p>"Why do not those who go to Him ask Him to come quickly?" asked Hope.</p> + +<p>"They do," replied the old man. "'Come quickly' is the entreaty of all +who love Him here and beyond the sea; but His time is best. And, +meantime, have we forgotten the multitudes who are still deceived by the +usurper, to whom the Black Ship is still a horrible end of all things, +and the Veiled Form the King of Terrors?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>Hope rose and stood before the old man.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "it is for this we must live. Think of the desolate +hearts in the homes around us. Think of the thousands who know not our +blessed secret in the White Town."</p> + +<p>The old man rose and laid his hand on Hope's head.</p> + +<p>"My King!" he said, "when wilt Thou come for me? Is not my work done? +Will not this youthful voice speak for Thee here as my quivering tones +no longer can? Wilt Thou not come? I have many dear ones with Thee; but +when Thou wilt is best."</p> + +<p>Then he persuaded them all to lie down to rest, and he himself composed +himself quietly to sleep.</p> + +<p>But in the night a wondrous light filled the room; a wondrous light and +fragrance. The mother woke, and the children, and they saw the old man +standing, gazing towards the door, which was open. There stood a Veiled +Form, dark to the mother's eyes as the dreaded form she knew too well; +yet its presence filled the room with the light as of a rosy dawn, and +the fragrance as of spring flowers. The old man's hair was silvery, and +his form tottering as ever; but in his face there was the beauty of +youth, and in his eyes the rapture of joy.</p> + +<p>"Farewell, my friends," he said; "your day of joy will come like this of +mine.—Thou art come for me at last; Thou Thyself! I see Thy face, I +hear Thy voice: I come; it is Thou."</p> + +<p>A hand was laid tenderly on his hand, and they walked away together into +the night. But as the mother and children looked after him from the +door, they saw the Black Ship; only at its prow was a star; and as it +passed away, the mother, and Hope, and May thought it left a track of +light upon the sea.</p> + +<p>The three had henceforth enough to live and suffer for. To the lonely +fishermen's huts went May and her mother, into the White Town went Hope; +and everywhere they bore their tidings of joy. They had much to suffer, +and many mocked; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> against them also the amulet-makers combined, and +would not listen. But some did listen, and believe, and love; and to +such, as to the mother, and Hope, and May, the Black Ship, instead of a +phantom of terror, became a messenger of surpassing joy.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Island and the Main Land.</i></h2> + +<h3>A SEQUEL TO "THE BLACK SHIP."</h3> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/lettero.jpg" width="125" height="120" alt="O" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_4">On the night when the old man, the messenger of glad tidings, was borne +away, the mother and her children, turning sadly back, from watching him +depart, to the blank his going left in the cottage, found that he had +left with them a scroll. With trembling expectation they unrolled it, +and read. It contained further revelations concerning the King's ship +(they would call it the Black Ship no more), and the land to which it +bore those for whom it was sent.</p></div> + +<p>The Island was not a detached land set in the midst of a lonely sea. It +was a fragment of a great Continent, broken off from the Main Land by +some convulsion, long ago. And from this Continent it was divided, not +by broad spaces of the heaving ocean, but by a mere strait, in some +places narrowed to a chasm of seething waters, in others spreading into +a calm lagoon, but everywhere, in itself, quite insignificant.</p> + +<p>The Island lay in a land-locked Bay of the great Continent, encompassed +on all sides by its Highlands. The little hills, which its inhabitants +called mountains, were girt around by the magnificent mountain-ranges of +the Main Land. Its colonial settlements, which the dwellers in them +called cities, were commanded from the other side by the glorious cities +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> the kingdom. Its islanders, who called themselves "the world," were +compassed about by the victorious ones now at home in the great true +world across the waters.</p> + +<p>Not only had the King's Son come and reconciled the islanders to the +King; not only did He Himself come and receive each one who trusted Him +to Himself, making the Black Ship, for all such, no more a phantom of +terror, but the messenger of infinite joy; He had not withdrawn Himself +to a distance. The mountains where He dwelt rose close above the Island +where He had tarried and suffered and overcome, compassing it about on +every side. From their heights every nook of the Island was visible to +Him, every work of His faithful ones was watched. They were only +concealed by a thin but opaque veil of mist, which brooded unceasingly +over the strait. This mist was the great mystery of the Island, +absolutely impenetrable to all its inhabitants, but from the other side +altogether transparent. There were indeed moments when, to the eyes of +those who watched some best-beloved borne away from them, this mist +became translucent (though not transparent) even in the Island. But once +beyond it, once on the other side; once within it, even, on the +crossing, it was seen to be absolutely nothing.</p> + +<p>Many a creek in the Island itself was wider and more difficult to cross +than the strait which divided it from the Main Land. Only, no one could +cross that strait at his own will, at his own time, or in his own way.</p> + +<p>Not that the crossing was equally calm for all. Some passed over softly +across the sunlit lagoon; some in the rush of the surf boiling through +the narrow chasm. But, for all, the crossing was but a moment. And for +those who, in that moment, on this side, for the first time met the eyes +that had been watching them so long across the sea, who can utter what +the revelations of that moment were!</p> + +<p>The hills of the Fatherland stood round about the Island.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> The towers of +the golden city were watch-towers; at the gates those who had entered in +were waiting in joyful expectation,—at the pearly gates, open day and +night, from which the songs of welcome had never time to die away, so +constantly were the new citizens entering there.</p> + +<p>All through the night the mother and sister listened with rapt attention +as the brother read. Very much of the scroll contained simple every-day +directions as to what was the King's will for the daily living of His +subjects. But these, at that time, the three glanced hastily over, as +interruptions to the great revelation of the things unseen.</p> + +<p>The lifting of the veil had given them such a longing to see it lifted +further! The Hand that had raised it had so evidently moved from within, +and from above; the veil was so evidently rent from top to bottom; the +glimpses were so manifestly glimpses of continuous depths of light, of a +full world of wonders, all fully open to the eyes of Him that had given +those glimpses, that who could say what else might be made known? Why +not more? Why not all?</p> + +<p>And as they read and listened, marvellous gleams came. Every now and +then the curtain of mist seemed to rise. Fold behind fold the mountain +landscape of the Better Country deepened beyond them; depth above depth +they saw into its heavens of light. In a rapture of awe they seemed to +stand on the threshold of the opening door of a Temple, as if at last +all were about to become clear. But almost in the same instant the mist +was there again, and the glorious vision vanished.</p> + +<p>Marvellous, it seemed, to learn so much, compared with the blank before, +and yet so little compared with what might have been revealed. So that +first night of revelations passed, and the morning dawned. The three +laid down the scroll and went out to the beach before the cottage.</p> + +<p>How wonderfully everything had changed to them since the previous +night!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>As they had read and listened in eager expectation through the night, +every now and then a disappointment had crept over them that so much +should be left untold; but now as they stepped out over the familiar +threshold on the familiar beach, for the first time they understood how +much had been revealed, and how marvellously everything was transfigured +to them. The world had grown so infinitely larger; the island so +infinitely less!</p> + +<p>The island, which had been their world, seemed to have shrunk and +shrivelled to a mere rocky peak, where some shipwrecked company had +found a transient refuge, and where they were merely awaiting the vessel +which was to take them thence.</p> + +<p>As the dawn flushed over what they had been used to call mountains, the +vision of the glorious mountain-ranges beyond and above them seemed to +dwarf them into sand-banks. When the dawn grew into practical day, and +the busy hum of labour and traffic came from the White Town across the +creek, and eager voices began to resound along the shore, the three +looked at one another with smiles that said, "Why make they this ado?" +And when, with much pomp and circumstance, the attendants of one of the +Town authorities escorted him with trumpets and banners past the +Cottage, and all the dwellers in the neighbouring cottages made +obeisance as they passed, and eagerly gazed after the pageant,—to the +three whose eyes were opened it seemed like some game of little children +playing at being kings and princes.</p> + +<p>At first, on the discovery of the true proportion between the Island and +the Main Land, everything was swallowed up in the sense of that +proportion; or rather, of that tremendous disproportion. The Island +dwindled to a mere speck. It was as if they had fallen asleep on what +they believed to be terra firma, and wakened up on a raft with nothing +but a few planks between them and the fathomless depths on every side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>For one thing, both from the old man's words and from the scroll, was +absolutely clear.</p> + +<p>Everywhere, everywhere, above that brooding mist, on high, commanding +all they did, were towering at that moment the Everlasting Hills.</p> + +<p>Somewhere, somewhere, behind that impenetrable veil (impenetrable only +to eyes on this side of it), were flashing the towers of the Golden +City, were standing open the pearly gates, were echoing in the tones of +dear familiar voices, the welcomes which never die away along those +happy shores, as the echoes of the partings never die from these. +Somewhere, not afar off, the eyes of the Deliverer and the King were +watching them.</p> + +<p>And no one in that region knew of it but those three, standing together +alone by the cottage threshold.</p> + +<p>Every one, indeed, knew of the Black Ship. That was but too obvious to +all. But who entertains longer than can be helped the thought of an +inevitable misery?</p> + +<p>Once transmute this fact of sorrow into a revelation of joy, and surely +every one would delight to keep it in view.</p> + +<p>In the first fervent joy of the discovery of that great Continent of +life lying close around them unseen, nothing seemed worth doing but +either to tell every one of it, or themselves to watch if perchance some +glimpses of it might be vouchsafed to their own eager gaze.</p> + +<p>Hope chose the first part of the work. The mother and the maiden the +second.</p> + +<p>With a pilgrim's wallet hastily filled with such provision as was ready, +and with his staff in his hand, Hope went joyously forth, while the +mother and sister followed him with their eyes until he waved a farewell +to them from the edge of a cliff and they turned back to the cottage.</p> + +<p>Months passed by ere they met again. Meantime the mother and sister kept +ceaseless watch by the shore. Every night they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> lingered, longing that +the veil of daylight, whose withdrawing revealed to them the stars, and +all the hidden world of night, might enable them to pierce that other +veil which hid a world always there, and so much nearer, and so much +more their own.</p> + +<p>Every morning they rose with the earliest dawn, hoping that the morning +winds might rend some little rift in the curtain of mist, and give if +but one glimpse of the everlasting hills which were so surely rising at +that very hour crowned with sunlight above. When a tempest swept across +the sea they rejoiced; for in the scroll there were strange hints of a +day when all at once, in the twinkling of an eye, the whole intervening +volume of mist should be broken up and swept aside, and through the +glorious break should come, not one dark, mysterious, solitary ship, for +one solitary emigrant, but the whole array of the King's armies, and at +their head the Prince, the Deliverer, and with Him all the beloved who +had gone before to Him.</p> + +<p>And who could say which thunders and lightnings might be the heralds of +that liberating storm?</p> + +<p>Nor did the mother and daughter remain always alone. The fire of that +joy was one that could not burn in any heart without shining, and many a +mourner gathered around the cottage threshold to listen to their tidings +and to share their vigils. Together they looked towards the Fatherland. +And as they gazed, their longings broke into song.</p> + +<p>"Come," they sang, in low chants. "Come, O King! why tarriest Thou? Thou +hast suffered and overcome! Thou hast won us back, and Thou wilt take us +Home. Since we have heard of Thee, what can we do but long for Thee? +Since we have learned of our home, what do we here any longer? Since we +know where our beloved are gone, how can we bear this exile any more? +Exiles on this broken fragment of thy Land, which is ours,—why dost +Thou keep us here? All beautiful sights and sounds, henceforth, to us +are but faint echoes of our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> home-music; and but fill us with +home-sickness. The mountains of our home stand round about us, and we +know it. How can we rest longer on these shores of exile? Exile is for +those whose hearts are estranged from Thee. Our hearts are won back to +Thee, Deliverer and King. When wilt Thou come for us and take us Home?"</p> + +<p>Thus, gradually the songs which had begun as songs of triumph fell into +a minor, and became songs of exile. The restlessness of unsatisfied +longing crept over the joy of discovery. Many abandoned the common round +of life. Tents arose on the hill-sides, whose inmates, forsaking the +Island treasures which had become to them such baubles, and the pursuit +of those Island ambitions which had become to them so childish, lived +only to gaze towards that mountain-range of their home which was +encircling them unseen, and to watch for the breaking of the mist.</p> + +<p>These the mother and sister might have joined, but for their waiting for +the brother's return.</p> + +<p>At last, in the twilight of a winter's evening, he came back, weary and +worn.</p> + +<p>The three sat together once more around the cottage hearth. A chill of +unconfessed disappointment brooded over them all, like the mist itself +which brooded around their Island; and they sat silent.</p> + +<p>Weary and worn the mother and sister had expected to see him, footsore +with travel, with cheeks hollow with scanty food, and perchance a form +wasted by hard usage; for should the servant be greater than his lord? +But in his eyes there was a look of unrest and despondency that scarcely +fitted a messenger of glad tidings.</p> + +<p>"My son," said the mother at length, laying her hand on the hand with +which he had covered his brow, "we could not hope that <i>all</i> would +welcome the great news. All did not listen even to Him!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is not that," he answered, "that disquiets me. I want to be sure we +are doing what He meant. Hundreds have listened. In some cities whole +streets are unpeopled by the news I brought; workmen have left the +workshops, judges the judgment-seat, merchants their bales, women their +homes.</p> + +<p>"'Why toil any more,' they say, 'for the low ambitions of this mere peak +of rock? Why heap up its cockle-shells of wealth? Around us is the +Continent, the Main Land of our true life; before us is our Home. For +the moment we are poised here, like birds of passage on a sea-girt rock; +what is there to do but to take a moment's rest, or a moment's +refreshment, and plume our wings for flight?'</p> + +<p>"Thus, where my message was believed, cities have been unpeopled, homes +have been broken up, every-day pursuits have grown aimless and insipid, +and have been abandoned, until some, not of the scoffers, but of the +soberer sort, have said,—</p> + +<p>"If your tidings are true, let them be true. The hour will come which +discovers them to all. We will go on our quiet way, and find them true +when our hour comes. And, we trow, the King, if he come, will be as well +pleased to find us at our work as you at your watching."</p> + +<p>"Mother," concluded the son, "I feel as if we had made some mistake; as +if there must be more to learn. And I have come home to search and see."</p> + +<p>Then once more, as on that first night of the old man's departure, Hope +unrolled the scroll he had left behind, and the three sat into the night +and drank in the enlightening words.</p> + +<p>And now they learned the second half of the tidings. The passages over +which, in the first joy of the discovery of the New World, they had +passed hastily as mere trite and familiar truths, now shone out on them +as the very directions they needed.</p> + +<p>They learned how for thirty years the King's Son had lived<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> quietly in +the Island, doing its ordinary work, before for those three years He +went about proclaiming why He came.</p> + +<p>Of those precious years which He had sojourned among them, tenfold more +time had been spent in doing what every man must do, than in doing what +He seemed to have come especially to do.</p> + +<p>In the word He had left to guide His own, tenfold more space was given +to directions how to do His will in this land of exile than to revealing +the glories of the abiding Home.</p> + +<p>From the Everlasting Hills, and the Golden City, and the many mansions, +the veil was lifted but for rare glimpses. On every step of the daily +path shone for those who sought it a full daylight, in which no one need +go astray.</p> + +<p>Thus once more as they read, the Island, which had dwindled to a peak of +sea-washed rock, expanded into a beauty and significance greater than +ever.</p> + +<p>For the Island was not merely a fragment broken off from the Continent.</p> + +<p>It was an integral part of the Kingdom. The laws of the Royal City were +its laws. The lowliest right work of its inhabitants was the King's +work.</p> + +<p>And when morning dawned, and they went out once more on the shore +together, the very beach under their feet seemed to have grown a sacred +place; the very drawing of water from the old familiar spring a royal +service.</p> + +<p>They had learned, not only the <i>proportion</i> between the Island and the +Main Land, which made the Island dwindle to a fragment of rock, but the +<i>connection</i>, which made it wide and grand, as the entrance to a +boundless world. Only in itself, disconnected from the Kingdom to which +it belonged, was it narrow and poor. Only its ambitions limited to +itself, only its treasures, so used as to be left behind in it, were +really worthless. Its paths, so broken and bounded in themselves, were +infinite, as each the beginning of the radius of an infinite circle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +Its hills, so low when compared with the mountain-ranges of the Main +Land, were infused with a new inward glory like the light enshrined in +gems, when looked at as but the lower slopes of those Everlasting Hills.</p> + +<p>The lowliest loving works, done faithfully on His Island, were as much +done under the King's eye as the loftiest in His palace chambers; and +they might be done as much to His praise.</p> + +<p>The service of the King on the Island and on the Main Land was indeed +all one, though done in very different degrees of perfection, and on +very different levels.</p> + +<p>Not only in gazing towards their lofty Dwelling Place, but in following +their lowly footsteps, were they drawing nearer those who had gone +before.</p> + +<p>The best waiting was obeying; the best Island lessons were not so much +learning the wonders of that higher world, as learning the obedience +which makes it the glorious, harmonious world it is.</p> + +<p>And many a time, thenceforth, as the mother and her children went about +their daily tasks, rendering such services as they could to all around, +gleams of wonderful light which they had watched for in vain, and +strains of inimitable music which all their listening had not caught, +surprised them along their every-day paths. Every day, and all day long, +the presence of the mountains of the Main Land brooded over them.</p> + +<p>And one day, also by their every-day paths, the Messenger Ship will +surprise them with its summons to the Land of welcome. The step into it +will be but one of their every-day steps on the King's errands. But what +the step out of it will be, who can utter?</p> + +<p>For the Everlasting Hills do indeed stand round about the Island; and +the gates of the Golden City are open towards it night and day, and the +mist which veils the Glorious Land is altogether transparent on the +other side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>RISEN WITH CHRIST.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not alone the victors free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Standing by the crystal sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sing the song of victory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Risen are Thine own with Thee,"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We may chant it; even we.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One our life with those above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One our service, one our love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not at death that life begins,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though a fuller strength it wins;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freed from all that cramps its might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freed from all that bounds its flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freed from all that dims its light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We upon these lower slopes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim with fears and fitful hopes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They upon the eternal heights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glorious in undying lights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Radiant in the cloudless Sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet their life and ours is one.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'en on us their Sun hath shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for us their Day begun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the lowly paths we tread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are the same where they were led;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Very sacred grown and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Printed by immortal feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trodden once, long years before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By His feet whom they adore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And each service kind and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which to any here we do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Linked in one immortal chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes their service live again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draws us to the service nigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which they render now on high:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the highest heavens above<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing higher know than love.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hidden are our best with Thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hidden too our life must be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since e'en Thou, our Life and Light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hidden art from mortal sight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet for us has Life begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'en on us their day hath shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still with theirs our life is one.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Jewel of the Order of the King's Own.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/lettero.jpg" width="125" height="120" alt="O" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_4">Once, on the sea-shore, in a land a long way off, I met an old man +dressed as a galley-slave, and toiling at convicts' work, with a heavy +chain around one of his arms; but his face and bearing were stamped with +the truest nobility. I felt sure he must be a victim of some political +cabal, and not a criminal; for not a trace of crime or remorse debased +that calm brow, and those clear, honest eyes. This might not have struck +me as remarkable, since such unmerited sufferings were but too common in +that country. What arrested my attention was the expression of unfeigned +and lofty joy which irradiated his aged countenance.</p></div> + +<p>In the interval of noonday rest allowed him, as well as the other +convicts, I sat down beside him and entered into conversation with him. +I found he was an old soldier; and at length I was encouraged by his +frankness to inquire the cause of the strange contrast between his +expression and his circumstances.</p> + +<p>The veteran lifted his cap, and said mysteriously, "The King shall enjoy +His own again. The spring will come, and with it the violets."</p> + +<p>The thought struck me that some harmless and happy insanity had risen, +like a soft mist, to veil from him his miserable lot; and following his +train of thought, I said, "You wait for a king, and hope cheers you. Yet +you must have waited long; and hope deferred maketh the heart sick."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The uncertainty of hope," he replied, "often makes the heart sick with +fear of disappointment; but my hope is sure, and every day of delay +certainly brings me nearer to it. Every night, as I look out from my +convict's cell over the sea, before I lie down to sleep, I think that +before to-morrow the white sails of His fleet may stud the blue +waters—for He will not return alone; and when morning dawns gray across +the bare horizon, I am not cast down, because I know the morning we wait +for will surely come at last."</p> + +<p>"But," I said reverently, and half hesitating to disturb his happy +dream, "when that morning dawns will you still be here?"</p> + +<p>"Here or <i>there</i>," he answered solemnly. "Either with the few who look +for Him here, or with the countless multitudes who will accompany Him +thence."</p> + +<p>Knowing how such legends of the return of exiled princes linger in the +hearts of a nation, and wondering whether the old man spoke from the +delusion of his own peculiar madness or of a tradition current among his +people, I said, "Your words are strange to me. Tell me the history."</p> + +<p>"After the great battle," the old soldier replied, a smile bright as a +child's, yet tender as tears, lighting up his whole countenance,—"after +the last great battle the King, the true King, our own King, has never +been seen publicly in our country. They wounded Him, and left Him for +dead on the field—they had wounded His heart to the core. Traitors were +amongst them; it was not only an open enemy that did Him this dishonour. +But they were mistaken; He is not dead. We who loved Him know. We bore +Him secretly from the field. He lingered a few days amongst us after His +wounds had healed, in disguise; but although His royal state was hidden +for a time, we who knew His voice could tell Him blindfold from a +million; and since He left us, His faithful adherents, who before His +departure could be counted by tens, have increased to thousands."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>"An unusual fortune," I remarked, "for a cause whose last effort seems +generally to have been considered a defeat, and whose leader has +apparently abandoned it."</p> + +<p>"There are many reasons," said the old man, "why it should be so; and +among the chief of these is this one. When our Prince left us, He gave +to each of His adherents a precious gift as a token of His love, and a +sign by which we may know each other."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he drew aside his poor garment, and on his breast there +sparkled a gem more brilliant than any star or decoration I had ever +seen!</p> + +<p>"This is the star of the King's Own Order," he said; and as I looked at +it a wonderful transformation seemed to have taken place in the old +man's dress. His poor convict's garb seemed metamorphosed into the +richest robes, such as princes wore in that southern land, of the +costliest materials, and all of a glistening white, at once royal and +bridal, whilst his chain glittered like a jewelled bracelet. The veteran +smiled at my surprise, and unclasping his jewel, bound it on his brow. +Instantly the same magical change passed over his face. Noble as it was +before, his countenance now shone as if it had been the face of an +angel. Every trace of care and age was effaced; the eyes shone under the +calm, unfurrowed brow with the sparkle of early youth, and nothing was +left to indicate age but a depth in the glance and a history in the +expression, which youth cannot have.</p> + +<p>"But," I said, "surely your enemies must seek to rob you of such a +treasure?"</p> + +<p>"Try," he replied, "if you can take it from me."</p> + +<p>I endeavoured gently to detach the jewel from his brow, but my fingers +had scarcely touched it when it sprang up like glittering drops from a +fountain, and was gone, yet leaving the glory on the old man's face.</p> + +<p>He smiled, and observed quietly, "Our jewel no man taketh from us."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then again unclasping the fillet which had bound it round his brow, the +magic gem reappeared in his hand.</p> + +<p>It was mid-day, and the usual fare of the convicts was brought to +him—scanty and coarse fare, with bad water. He humbly and thankfully +partook of the poor food, but poured out the contents of the cup on the +ground.</p> + +<p>"The water of this land is bad," he said. "The people render it +palatable by mixing it with a fiery stimulant, which, alas! only +increases their thirst, so that they ever thirst again. But we do not +need this."</p> + +<p>Then gently laying his finger on the gem, it expanded, like a lily-bell +in the sun, into a crystal vase, and in it bubbled up a miniature +fountain of pure, sparkling water.</p> + +<p>"In us a well of water springing up," he murmured, as if to himself, as +he drank and was refreshed; and touching the vase again, it folded up, +like a convolvulus going to sleep when the sun sets.</p> + +<p>I wondered he had not had the courtesy to offer me a draught. He read my +thoughts, and said, "This water is untransferable. Each of us must have +his own jewel."</p> + +<p>"Then," I replied, "if your Prince left those jewels to you at His +departure, and has not returned since, how can His followers have +increased, if this token is essential to them, and, indeed, as you +intimated, an inducement to many to enlist under His banner?"</p> + +<p>"It is free to all, and yet a secret," he replied. "Whenever any one +desires to enlist in our Prince's service, he must repair alone, before +daybreak, to a lonely beach on our shores, and wait there for what the +King will send. There, when the sun rises—not always the first morning, +or the second, or the third, but always at last—his first rays gleam on +a new jewel, exactly like the others, sparkling among the shells and +pebbles. The young soldier takes it up, presses it to his lips, murmurs +the name written on it, binds it on his heart, and it is his own, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +he is the King's for ever. None ever saw it come, though some fancy they +have seen a streak of light on the sea when it first appears, as of the +track of an illumination out on the waters."</p> + +<p>"What name is engraved on it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"The King's name," he replied, bowing his head reverently.</p> + +<p>"May I see it?" I said.</p> + +<p>"You could not," he replied gravely. "None of us can read that name, +except on our own jewels."</p> + +<p>I was silent for a moment. He continued,—</p> + +<p>"But I have a greater wonder yet to tell you of our jewel—the greatest +wonder of all; and this you must take at my word. The light and glory of +this gem is entirely reflected from a jewel of the same kind, but +infinitely more glorious, which sparkles on the King's own heart. When I +raise this gem to my eyes, and look through it," he added, in a tone +which thrilled with the deepest emotion, raising it at the same time +like a telescope to his eyes, "this country vanishes from me altogether, +and I see wonders."</p> + +<p>"What do you see?" I asked, half trembling.</p> + +<p>"I see the King in His beauty," he replied. "I see the land which is +very far off. I see a city which has no need of the sun. I see a palace +where His servants serve Him. I see a throne which is as jasper, and, +above it, a rainbow like an emerald; and, above all I see, I see Him, +with the jewel on His heart: but His jewel is no mere gem, no +reflection—it is a star, it is light itself; and in its glory the city, +the palace, and the throne, and the happy faces of His servants round +Him, glow and shine."</p> + +<p>And as he spoke, I looked at the old man's jewel, and his countenance +itself grew so glorious, that I could not gaze any longer, but cast down +my dazzled eyes, and was silent. At length, after a pause of some +moments, my eagerness to hear more constrained me to resume the +conversation; and when I looked up, the jewel was again hidden in the +old man's breast,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> his appearance had taken its soberer beauty, and the +presence of that marvellous treasure was only betrayed by the strange +calm and peace which had first attracted me in the veteran's face.</p> + +<p>"But," I asked, "if such a possession indeed is yours, the wonder now +seems to me to be, how the King's enemies can have a follower left. Have +your opponents any similar guerdon to offer?"</p> + +<p>"Similar things," he replied, "they at one time often tried to make, but +the same they could never have; and even to imitate the outside beauty +of it they found so difficult, that the soberest men of the party have, +for the most part, given it up in despair, and say it is all a cheat."</p> + +<p>"But why, at least, does not each one try for himself," I asked, "and +see if it is true or not?"</p> + +<p>"There are many reasons," he replied sorrowfully, "which keep the land +from returning nationally to its allegiance. The usurper is still in +power, and gives away the offices of state as he pleases; bonds and +imprisonment often await us, as you see is the case with me; and many +prefer the possession of lands and houses, or even less, to the +reversion of a city, and the service of a Prince they have never seen."</p> + +<p>"I understand," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Besides," he added, "there are strict rules binding our order. The +people of the usurper do each what is right in his own eyes; but we are +subject to our Prince's laws, which, though most blessed to those who +keep them, seem to those who are outside, and live lawlessly, severe and +strict. We are subject to our Prince, and to one another for His sake; +and only those who have proved the joy of that subjection and service +know how much happier it is than the tyranny of their lawlessness and +self-will."</p> + +<p>"What are those counterfeit jewels you alluded to?" I asked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They are of various construction," he replied. "Some try to imitate one +quality of our jewel, and some another. Some of the court jewellers of +the usurper make a paste or tinsel jewel, which, when the sun shines, +has a lustre a little like that of ours. The young courtiers often wear +this; but when the sun is clouded or sets, it ceases to shine: so that +even its outward resemblance is very imperfect, and it does not even +pretend to imitate the secret of the fountain or the magic glass. And, +moreover, it can be stolen or broken. Often, even in the courtly revels, +it is broken—often it is stolen or dropped; and even if it is retained, +in a few years the lustre fades away, and can never be restored. Then," +he continued, "some make a bold effort to imitate our jewel in its form +of the crystal vase, but the crystal itself is dim; and for the living +fountain they have never been able to substitute anything but a fiery +liquid, needing constantly to be replenished, and, in reality, only +increasing the thirst it professes to still, until it becomes a burning, +consuming inward fever. But as they have never tasted of our water, the +wretched deluded ones persist in saying theirs is the true."</p> + +<p>"And the telescope?" I inquired—"the magic glass?"</p> + +<p>"The telescope," he replied, with a smile, which had no mockery, but +much sadness in it—"the magic-glass they have never even attempted to +imitate; and, therefore, as none can ever look through it but its +possessor, they say it is a lie and a cheat; and our persisting in +declaring what it really is, is the source of many of our sufferings. +For this we are thrown into madhouses and prisons, and led to the +scaffold and the stake."</p> + +<p>After a brief pause, he resumed—</p> + +<p>"The wise men and statesmen of the usurper's party now, however, for the +most part, take an entirely different method. They discourage all these +counterfeits, which they say are paying a most undeserved compliment to +us. They say our jewels are mere sham and tinsel; that the light they +shed exists only in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> the fancy of the spectators; that the living water +is nothing but a mirage; and that the visions we see through the +telescope are simply a lie. They affect to despise us too much to punish +us; and if they persecute us at all, it is simply by contemptuously +shutting us up in asylums as enthusiasts—harmless, unless we mislead +others. It is only a few of the most inveterate, such as myself, who may +succeed in bringing over too many to the side of our King, that they +occasionally make examples of to sober the rest. But it is all entirely +useless," he added, very joyfully; "the King's followers increase, His +cause is gaining ground, and," he added, with a subdued voice, "the King +Himself is coming."</p> + +<p>"Is it really true," I asked, after a time, "that nothing, or no man, +can rob you of this treasure?"</p> + +<p>"Our treasure no man taketh from us," he replied. "This He gave us, this +He left with us: not as the world giveth, gave He unto us."</p> + +<p>"But can nothing you yourselves do, or omit to do, spoil or dim your +jewel?" I resumed.</p> + +<p>His brow saddened.</p> + +<p>"Alas! there and there only have our enemies any real strength against +us," he replied. "Sorrows only add to its lustre; in the loss of +everything else it only shines the brighter; hunger and thirst but prove +the unfailing nature of the fountain in the crystal vase; destitution +and darkness, dungeons and tortures, only make the bright visions of our +telescope more glorious: but we, we ourselves may indeed dim its lustre, +or, if we will, yield it up altogether."</p> + +<p>"All this is natural and comprehensible," I said. "The dungeon must make +the jewel brighter; the drought, the unfailing spring more precious; the +narrowing of all prospects here, enhance the visions of that magic +glass; the cruelties of the usurper, endear the sight of the Prince you +serve."</p> + +<p>"This the wisest of our enemies have found out," the old man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> replied. +"They find that nothing they can do harms us, but only what they can +make us do ourselves; and to this they direct their efforts."</p> + +<p>"In what way?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"In many ways," he answered sadly. "The jewel, which nothing external +can dim, is sensitive to the least change in us. Any infringement of our +King's laws, or, especially, any unfaithfulness to our King, dims its +lustre at once; any drinking of those forbidden cups of intoxication +dries up the crystal fountain; any yielding to the usurper's service +blots out from our magic glass its glorious visions, and the sight of +our King in His beauty."</p> + +<p>"Are there any other dangers?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Countless dangers," he replied. "Especially three devices have been +found too successful against us. Our jewel only keeps bright with use, +and in three ways our enemies endeavour to deter us from using it. The +timid they threaten, and induce to hide it from fear: and the cowardly +concealing of our treasure inflicts on us two evils; it prevents our +winning by it fresh followers to our Prince; and in concealment the +jewel itself invariably grows dim. The young and careless they engage in +the ambitious pursuits or the gay amusements of the court, until they +forget to use the precious gem; and in ceasing to use it they +necessarily cease to shine with its light, and grow like any of the +usurper's train. And again, there are some poor, and distrusting, and +fearful ones, whom our enemies persuade that it is a daring presumption +for such as they to pretend they have had especial communication with +the King, and even at times torment them into thinking the King's own +jewel tinsel; so that, in looking and looking to see if it is a true +jewel, they forget to clasp it on their hearts, or drink the living +water, or look through the magic glass."</p> + +<p>"That is a strange delusion," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said; "but it is easily cured, if once we can persuade<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> them +to look <i>through</i> the jewel instead of looking at it; for then they see +the King with the jewel on His breast, and the smile in His eyes, and +their doubts melt away in floods of happy tears. This I know," he added, +"for I was once one of these. I had neglected to use my jewel; and then +an enemy, in the guise of a friend, persuaded me to question its +genuineness; but I ventured to look through it once again, and since +then I do not look at my jewel, but gaze through it to the King's heart; +and from that day my jewel has not grown dim."</p> + +<p>"But you spoke of some who lost it altogether," I said.</p> + +<p>"They are those," he said, solemnly, "who have deliberately yielded it +up to enter the service of the usurper; or those who, in base timidity, +have cast it away in denying our King."</p> + +<p>"And for such can it ever be recovered?" I said.</p> + +<p>"For one such, as disloyal as any, it was," he answered. "He went out +and wept bitterly; the King forgave him, and in time the treasure was +restored to him, and he became one of our most glorious veterans."</p> + +<p>"How is the jewel to be recovered if lost?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"By going to the place where first it was found," he replied. "There, on +the lonely beach, before daybreak, it must be sought, morning after +morning, until the sun's first rays reveal it once more glittering among +the shingle as at first. But the waiting is often longer than it was at +first."</p> + +<p>"Will you wear your jewel," I asked, "when the King comes, or when you +go to join Him beyond the sea?"</p> + +<p>"There," he replied, with an expression of rapturous joy, "we shall see +the jewel on the King's heart. There we shall have no need of the hidden +fountain, for the river of living waters flows there, bright as crystal; +and no need of the magic glass, for the King is near; but the jewel will +shine in that happy place on brow and breast for ever and ever."</p> + +<p>And as I left the sea-shore and the old man, these words<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> floated +through my heart, as if they were echoes of his history, or his story an +echo of them:—</p> + +<p>"Be not ye, as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance.</p> + +<p>"Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you: not as the world +giveth, give I unto you."</p> + +<p>"Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, Rejoice."</p> + +<p>"Your joy no man taketh from you."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Acorn.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letterw.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="W" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_1">When will my training begin?" said the acorn to itself, as it unfolded +its delicately-carved cup and saucer on the branch of an old oak on the +edge of a forest. "I understand I am to be an oak one day, like my +father. All the acorns say that is what we are to be, but there +certainly seems little chance of it at present. I have been sitting here +for no one knows how many days, and I feel no change, except that I look +less pretty than I did when I was young and green, and begin to feel +rather dry, and shrivelled, and old. At this rate, I do not see much +chance of my becoming an oak, or anything else but an old, dry acorn. +When will my training begin?"</p></div> + +<p>As it meditated thus, a strong breeze sighed mournfully through the +autumn woods, and shook down many brown leaves from the old oak, and +with them the acorn.</p> + +<p>"This will hinder my progress again," thought the acorn; "for it is +evident such a downfall as this can have nothing to do with my +education. When will my training begin?"</p> + +<p>A day or two afterwards a drove of hogs was turned into the forest, and +they began grunting and grubbing among the dead leaves for acorns. Many +of its brethren did our acorn see ruthlessly hurried into those +voracious snouts. It kept very quiet under the dead leaves to avoid a +similar fate, but it thought—"This is a sad delay. It is too plain that +being trampled on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> and tossed about in this way can teach no one +anything. When will my training begin?"</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the swine rummaged among the dead leaves, and trod them under +foot, and tossed the decaying mould hither and thither with their snouts +and feet, until one of them by accident rolled our acorn down a little +hill, where it lay buried under some stray leaves many yards from the +edge of the forest, in the outskirts of a park. There it lay unobserved +all the rest of the winter. Even this was a pleasant change after having +been tossed about and trodden under foot so long; but in its fall its +shrivelled brown skin had cracked, and the acorn thought—"This is a sad +disaster. How ever am I to grow into an oak when I am so crushed and +cracked that scarcely any one would recognize me for an acorn? When will +my training begin?"</p> + +<p>All the winter the rain pattered on it, and sank it deeper and deeper +under the dead leaves and under the earth-clods, until all its acorn +beauty was marred and crushed out of it, and it fell asleep in the dark, +under the cold, damp earth; and the snows came and folded it in under +their white eider-down pillows. At last, the warm touch, that comes to +all sleeping nature in the spring, came softly on it, and it awoke.</p> + +<p>"What a pity," it said, "I should have lost so much time by falling +asleep! I can scarcely make out what I am like, or where I am. What a +sad waste of time! It is clear no one can go on with his education in +sleep. When will my training begin?"</p> + +<p>With these thoughts, it stretched out two little green things on each +side of it, which felt like wings; and tried to peep out of its hole, +and, to its delight, it succeeded, and, with a few more efforts, even +contrived to keep its head steadily above ground, and look around it.</p> + +<p>"There is my father, the old oak," it said. "He looks quite green again. +But I am a long way off from him, and how very small and close to the +ground! When shall I begin to be like him?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>But meantime it was very happy. It felt so full of life, although so +small; and the sun shone so graciously on it, and all the showers and +dews seemed so full of kindly desires to help and nourish it; and more +and more little green leaves expanded from its sides, and more and more +little busy roots shot down into the earth; and the leaves breathed and +drank in the sunshine, and the roots were great chemists and cooks, and +concocted a perpetual feast for it out of the earth and stones. But it +thought sometimes, "This is all exceedingly pleasant, and I am very +happy; but, of course, this is not education; it is only enjoying +myself. When will my training begin?"</p> + +<p>The next spring the early frosts had much more power over it, in its +detached, exposed situation, than over the saplings in the shelter of +the forest, and it saw the trees in the wood growing green, and tempting +the song-birds beneath their leafy tents, whilst the sap still flowed +feebly upward through its tiny cells, and its twigs and leaf-buds were +still brown and hard.</p> + +<p>"This must be a great hindrance to me," it thought—"this, no doubt, +will retard my education considerably. What a pity I stand here so +detached and unprotected! When will my training begin?"</p> + +<p>But in the late spring came some days of bitter east wind and black +frost, and it saw the more forward leaves in the wood turn pale and +shrivel before they unfolded, and then fall off, nipped and lifeless, to +join the old dead leaves of the past autumn, whilst its own little buds +lay safe within their hard and glossy casings, protected by one enemy +against a worse. And when the east wind and the black frosts were gone, +the little sapling shot up freely. In that summer, and the next, and the +next, it made great progress; but in the fourth autumn a great +disappointment awaited it. The owner of the park in which it grew came +by, and stood beside it, and said to his forester,—</p> + +<p>"That sapling is worth preserving, it is so vigorous and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> healthy; and, +standing in this detached position, it will break the line of the wood, +and look well from my house. We will watch it, and set a fence around it +to guard it from the cattle. But it has thrown out a false leader. Take +your knife and cut this straggling shoot away, and next year, I have no +doubt, it will grow well."</p> + +<p>Then the forester applied his knife carefully to the false leader, and +cut it off. But the sapling, not having understood the master's words, +nor observed with what care and design the knife was applied, felt +wounded to the core.</p> + +<p>"My best and strongest shoot," it sighed to itself. "It was a cruel cut. +It will take me a long time to repair that loss. I am afraid it has lost +me at least a year. When will my training begin?"</p> + +<p>But the next year the master's words were fulfilled.</p> + +<p>Thus years passed on. And slowly, twig by twig, and shoot by shoot, the +sapling grew. Sunbeams expanded its leaves; rains nourished its roots; +frosts, checking its early buds, hardened its wood; winds swaying it +hither and thither, as if they were determined to level it, only rooted +it more firmly. And year by year the top grew a little higher, and the +wood a little firmer, and the trunk a little thicker, and the roots a +little deeper; but so slowly, that summer by summer it said,—</p> + +<p>"This is very pleasant; but it is only breathing, and being happy. It +certainly cannot be the discipline which forms the great oaks. When will +my training begin?"</p> + +<p>And autumn by autumn, as the sap flowed downward, and the buds ceased to +expand, and the branches grew leafless and dry, it thought,—</p> + +<p>"This is a sad loss of time. Now I am falling into torpor again, and +shall make not an inch of progress for six long months. When will my +training begin?"</p> + +<p>And winter by winter, as the winds bent it to and fro, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> made its +branches creak, and threatened its very existence, and the heavy snows +sometimes broke its boughs,—</p> + +<p>"These are sore trials. I may be thankful if I barely struggle through +them! In days like these existence is an effort, and endurance the +utmost one can attain. When will my training begin?"</p> + +<p>And in the spring, when the frosts nipped its finest buds,—</p> + +<p>"These little nips and checks are very annoying; but one must bear them +patiently. They are certainly hindrances; and it is disheartening, when +one does one's best, to be continually thrown back by these trifling +checks. When will my training begin?"</p> + +<p>But, one summer day, a little girl and an old man came and seated +themselves under its shade. By this time it had seen some generations of +men, and had learned something of human language.</p> + +<p>The old man said—"I remember, when I was a very little boy, my +grandfather telling me how, when he was young, he had marked this tree, +then a mere sapling, and pruned it of a false shoot, which would have +spoiled its beauty, and had it fenced and preserved. And now my little +grand-daughter and I sit under its shade! The fence has long since +decayed; but it is not needed. The cattle come and lie under its shadow, +as we do. It is a noble oak-tree now, and gives shelter instead of +needing it."</p> + +<p>Then the oak rustled above them; and the old man and the child thought +it was a summer breeze stirring the branches. But in reality it was the +oak laughing to itself, as it thought,—</p> + +<p>"Then I am really a tree! and, whilst I was wondering when my training +would begin, it has been finished, and I am an oak after all!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>Passages from the Life of a Fern.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letterm.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="M" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_4">My life has been one of such extraordinary vicissitudes as might have +made many almost doubt their own identity. But it is only to-day that I +have learned its real purpose. To-day, for the first time, I am content. +A light has dawned on me which makes all the dark passages of my former +life clear and luminous, and unites the whole into one harmonious +picture. I will narrate a few of my adventures to you while I am full of +this happy discovery.</p></div> + +<p>The first thing I can remember is being in a world over-flowing with +life in every form. It was a tropical forest. Gigantic palms rose above +me so high that I could not see their feathery crowns. From one erect +stem to another hung tangled festoons of parasites and climbing plants, +broad, rich, green leaves, which fell into stately crowns with their own +weight, enormous gorgeous flowers, delicate wreaths of intertwined +many-coloured blossoms and many-shaped foliage; so that when I looked up +I could scarcely see one point of the deep blue sky, except when a +strong wind made rifts in my fretted roof. Scarcely one ray of light +fell on me pure, but broken, and green, and tremulous, softly shaded, or +tinted like a rainbow through the flowers. The animals which lived in +our forest depths I cannot distinctly recall. I have not seen any like +them for so many thousand years. But all were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> gigantic, and many would +seem misshapen monsters to us now. Yet then it was quite natural, and an +every-day thing, to hear the great tree-eaters tramping each like an +army through the forest shades, cropping the tops of the highest trees, +and devouring branches as our animals crop the herbage. Trees crackled +under them like brambles. We dreaded much, we smaller creatures, to see +these approach, for they trampled down a generation of us under the +tread of their ponderous feet. There were lizards whose scales glittered +like the waves of the sea in the sunshine, each scale a massive +prismatic metallic plate. And from the lower reaches of the forest, +where the hot mist steamed up from the marshy hollows, monstrous +creatures, half fish, half forest-climbers, occasionally strayed among +us.</p> + +<p>I cannot recall if there was music in the forest; yet I think I hear +across these countless years the dim echoes of strange voices, which +have been silenced for ages on the earth, a confusion of wild calls and +cries in the mornings and evenings,—weird bell-notes tolling through +the sultry noonday silences, and a confused whir, and buzzing, and +croaking, and whizzing, and rustling of countless smaller animals which +have perished and left no trace of their existence behind.</p> + +<p>But the creatures which impressed the restless character on my being, +which only to-day the sun has smiled away, were some near relations of +my own. For, although I was but a little fern, many of my race were +among the lords of the forest. Their roots spread into magnificent +curved pedestals; their stems rose, decorated, and erect as the palms, +to the height of the tallest trees; and their fronds expanded into +ribbed and fretted roofs, beneath which hundreds like me could find +shade and shelter, yet every frond as delicately fringed and edged as +any of ours.</p> + +<p>I thought—"These are my elder sisters. One day I shall grow like them." +Thus my own daily life seemed empty and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> shadowy to me, because of the +strong yearning that possessed me to be great like them. It did not make +me discontented or desponding, but filled me with a wild and feverish +expectation which made the present appear nothing to me. I stretched out +my little fronds, and caught every sunbeam and rain-drop I could; and +when a shower came, and the life-giving waters circulated through my +veins, I throbbed with vague desire, and thought, "Now I am to be +something."</p> + +<p>But with all my efforts I never could grow to be anything but a little +fern! So the summer passed, and then I felt myself growing shrivelled +and old. My limbs contracted, my fronds curled up and turned dry and +brown, and in a few weeks I was scarcely visible. But the spring revived +me and my yearnings, and I grew certainly very handsome and tall for one +of my branch of our family; but still only a little fern!</p> + +<p>The forest decayed, I know not how. The marsh extended, and instead of +the world of varied exuberant life, we lay a long time a mass of +steaming, mouldering decay. And then, through millenniums more, we +stiffened and hardened, and grew black and shapeless, and were buried in +the dark, no one can say how long, for to us, throughout those +changeless ages, there were no days and no seasons to measure time.</p> + +<p>At last a light came to us, not the sun, but a little trembling light, +in the hand of a living creature, such as we had never seen. I know now +it was a man. Then followed a time of stir and noise and knocking about, +such as I shall never forget. We were hewn with pick-axes, and tossed +into buckets, and at last lifted into the real old sunlight we had not +seen for countless ages. The sun was the same as ever, as young and +bright, it seemed, as he had been thousands of years before; but we did +not bask long in his beams.</p> + +<p>A period followed of darkness and cold and silence, in which all the +world seemed to have forgotten my existence, although I had been dragged +out of my native bed, and stored in this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> den with so much pains. But +they remembered us at last. One evening, after passing through a great +deal of commotion, I found myself in an open place, with many of my +brethren. A light like that we had first seen after our ages of darkness +in the heart of the earth was applied to us, and then the strangest +transformation passed over me. Just as the water had streamed through my +green veins in the forest of old, a new element began to course through +all my black and stony heart. That light ran through and through me, +until I became, not a receiver, but actually a giver of light. Instead +of my green fronds, delicate pencils of red and golden flame streamed +from me, until I became one glowing substance; and, in my own light, I +actually saw living faces looking thankfully at me, and human hands +stretched out to feel my warmth, just as of old I had spread my fronds +in the rays of the sun. But I was too full of my old vague longings to +enjoy or observe any of those things much; for I thought, with glowing +confidence, "Now, I am to be something great at last!"</p> + +<p>It was the last glimmer of that vague ambition in me. My light faded, I +grew cold, and, which was worse, I fell to pieces, became mere dust, and +was wafted about by the slightest breath, so that I had the greatest +difficulty in preserving my own identity. I was even ignominiously swept +away by the very hands which had spread so gratefully in my light only a +few hours before, and tossed contemptuously out into a rubbish-heap +behind the house. But there, happily for me, I was once more in the +sunshine; and the sun and all heavenly creatures think scorn of no one. +They smiled on me, a poor heap of ashes, as if I had been a tree-fern; +and the gentle dews descended on me, as if I had been a flower; and the +birds and winds scattered seeds amongst us, until I began to feel once +more something like the stirrings of life within me. I had blended my +being with a little seed, and in the spring green tufts of life burst +out from my shrivelled heart. I grew, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> spread, and drank in rain and +sunshine, until at length I waved and expanded in the summer breeze—a +little fern!</p> + +<p>Then a bright, transforming thought flashed through me. In the tropical +forest, in the black coal-beds, on the glowing hearth, I had not been an +imperfect likeness and a vague promise of something else, but myself, in +my little degree, pleasant and serviceable; exactly the best thing it +was possible for me to be, filling up my tiny measure of service in the +world, so that the world would have been the poorer for that tiny +measure of pleasure and good without me. How happy I might have been +always if I had known this before! How happy I am to know it now!</p> + +<p>I begin life again, but I have learned my lesson. I <i>am</i> something; not +something great, but something I was meant to be—a little green happy +fern. At this moment I tremble with joy in the soft breezes, I thrill +with life, I drink the rain-drops; and the next moment and to-morrow +will bring each its store of work and joy for me; and I shall be the +highest thing I could wish to be—the thing I was made to be. And now I +am here near the tall trees, and among the many-coloured flowers, a +little happy, lowly fern.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>Thorns and Spines.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letteri.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="I" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_3">In a garden there once grew a beautiful, blossoming thorn. When the +spring came, for a fortnight it was always clothed with a robe of white +blossoms. They seemed at once relics of winter and promises of summer. +It was as if Winter, in departing from the earth, had left behind a +fragment of his snowy vestments; and Spring, touching them with her +magic wand, had transformed them from snow-wreaths into wreaths of snowy +blossoms. They were beautiful even in fading; and for many days after +the whiteness had gone, they glowed into a delicate pink, and strewed +the earth with silky petals when they fell. On this thorn, one spring, a +little brown leaf-bud formed, at the foot of a green twig, the cradle of +the green twigs of the next spring. But it happened that, as this brown +leaf-bud watched the beauty of the flowers, it grew discontented with +its destiny.</p></div> + +<p>"Why am not I a flower-bud?" it murmured, inside its little brown +casing. "That would be worth living for!—to fill the air with delicate +fragrance, to be sung to by the birds, to be gathered by human hands as +a treasure; or even to live unnoticed by any one, but only to be a +flower!—a beautiful, fragrant creature, with a coat of many colours, +and a crown of golden stamens, and with promise in its heart;—that +would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> worth living for! But to be a leaf-bud,—a brown, dark, hard +leaf-bud!—it would be better to die at once."</p> + +<p>And a discontented shiver ran through its veins; and all that summer it +never cared to drink in sun or rain, but sat and shivered, and +shrivelled on its stem, while all around it meek and happy buds were +growing strong and full of life, nourished by the same rain and +sunshine. And in the spring, when the white shower of snowy flowers came +again on the thorn-tree, and the other leaf-buds had expanded into green +twigs, waving and whispering in the breeze, with each a new bud at its +feet, the envious and discontented bud had shrivelled and narrowed +itself into a thorn, which pierced the hand of the child, as it reached +up to gather the spray of fair white blossom.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In a field near this garden there grew a green shrub which at the top +expanded into luxuriant branches, giving shade at mid-day to man and +beast. But from the lower branches, instead of broad green leaves, grew +long sharp spines. One summer day, these spines said to each other, in +their short and broken speech, for they could not wave and rustle in the +wind like the leaves,—</p> + +<p>"We are not worthy to live on the same tree with the beautiful forest +leaves which wave in the fresh air above us. We can make no refreshing +sound as they do; we give no shade as they do to any creature; and we +only prick any one that tries to touch us. But it is very pleasant to us +to be allowed to grow from the same trunk as they; and it is very kind +of the sweet leaves to sing to us as if we belonged to them, and not to +be ashamed of us. We are certainly most happily situated; so far beyond +what we have any right to expect!"</p> + +<p>But all the leaves rustled in a joyous chorus, and said, "You are our +elder sisters, meek and useful spines! If it had not been for you, we +should never have come into life at all, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> man and beast would have +had no shade from us. The hungry cattle would have eaten us before we +unfolded, and our parent-tree would never have grown to what it is, had +it not been for you, our faithful and patient guardians. If you had +rebelled against the gracious hand that moulds us all, and which +prevented your expanding into leaves, we should all have perished +together long ago. We owe our life to you!" murmured the leaves.</p> + +<p>And the rough spines quivered through all their faithful hearts at the +words of the leaves.</p> + +<p>Then the master passed by, and he said: "Well done, my faithful spines! +you have done your work, and guarded my treasures well. But for you my +trees would have had no leaves, and my fields no shade."</p> + +<p>And the spines wondered, and rejoiced greatly; for they had never +thought that, in meekly and contentedly bearing their rough lot, and +being what they were meant to be, they were serving the master, and +doing such good work for others.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Thorns are abortive leaf-buds. Spines are the lower leaves +of plants metamorphosed into bristles, to guard the young tree from the +attacks of cattle. This little parable was suggested by a passage in +"Modern Painters."</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><i>Parables in Household Things.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/lettert.jpg" width="125" height="126" alt="T" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_2">The sick girl lay in her shaded room, in the street of a great city, and +thought, "If I could only leave this prison of mine, and look at the +beautiful world, I know I should grow happier and holier with every +breath I drew. The thorny buds on the brown branches in spring would +give me promise of resurrection; every butterfly would tell me of life +through death; every flower would lift my heart to Him who cares for our +little pleasures; every bubbling spring would murmur to me of the living +water; every corn-field and garden would repeat the sacred parables. But +here I can see nothing of God's making but the sky, and that is too high +and far. I want some steps to take my feeble thoughts gently up to +heaven. But around me are only manufactured things, which speak to me +only of earth, and time, and man."</p></div> + +<p>She leant back listlessly on her couch. Twilight came over the room, the +glowing coals stirred quietly as they burned away, and then it seemed as +if an angel's hand touched her ears and opened them, for the dark and +silent room became full of soft and soothing harmonies. All the mute and +inanimate things about her found voices and spoke comfort to her heart.</p> + +<p>Together they said,—"It is true we are only manufactured things; but do +not despise us for that! We came originally, as much as you yourself, or +the flowers, and the trees, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> sunbeams, from one Divine Hand. It +is only that we have been trained and moulded by human hands to be what +we are. And just so are you; God creates you, but life moulds you. Your +trial and your training come like ours, mostly through human hands, +although you are destined for higher places and more blessed services. +Listen to us, for we have messages for you, each one of us."</p> + +<p>Then the stones from the wall said,—"We come from the mountains far +away, from the sides of the craggy hills. Fire and water worked on us +for ages, but only made us crags. Human hands have made us into a +dwelling where the children of your immortal race are born, and suffer, +and rejoice, and find rest and shelter, and learn the lessons set them +by our Maker and yours. But we have passed through much to fit us for +this. Gunpowder has rent our very heart; pick-axes have cleaved and +broken us, it seemed to us often without design or meaning, as we lay +misshapen stones in the quarry; but gradually we were cut into blocks, +and some of us were chiselled with finer instruments to a sharper edge. +But we are complete now, and are in our places, and are of service. You +are in the quarry still, and not complete, and therefore to you, as once +to us, much is inexplicable. But you are destined for a higher building, +and one day you will be placed in it by hands not human; a living stone +in a heavenly temple."</p> + +<p>Then the glass water-beaker said,—"I was hard flint and waste sand on +the desolate sea-shore once; but human hands gathered me, and fused me +in furnaces heated seven times, and took me out to let me cool, and cast +me in again, and shaped and cut me, till at last I carry your water from +the spring, and am pressed with many a thankful glance to your parched +lips. I am complete. But you, when you have passed through your fires, +will be a vessel of living water in a better hand, and bear many a +draught of refreshment to weary and thirsty hearts."</p> + +<p>"I also have been in many furnaces," said the china flower-vase.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> "The +colours you so often admire in me have been burnt in slowly, stage by +stage, every fresh colour requiring a fresh fusing in the furnace. But +you, when your trial is over, shall carry flowers of Paradise and leaves +from the tree of life for the healing of the nations."</p> + +<p>"And I," said the clock, "am scarcely an individual being. I am a little +world in myself—a wondrous combination of mechanism. Each of my wheels +and springs, with my unwearied pendulum, has its own history of fires, +and blows, and ruthless instruments. None of us could form the slightest +idea, as we lay dismembered in our various workshops, what we were +designed for. Only in combination with every other part, has any part of +us any meaning. You are not a little world like me, but a fragment of a +great world. When all that belong to you are gathered together, you will +understand it all as we do now. And your voice will mark with joyous +music the flight of blessed ages, which only lead to others more and +more blessed throughout eternity."</p> + +<p>"And I," said the bronze pastil-burner, "came from ages of darkness in +the depths of the earth. Human hands brought me to the light, moulded +and sculptured me, and set me here to burn sweet perfumes, and diffuse +fragrance around me. But you will be an incense-bearer in a Temple +by-and-by, and from you shall stream a fragrance of love and praise +acceptable to God."</p> + +<p>"The quarries were my birth-place also," said the alabaster night-lamp; +"but you shall be a light-bearer, when your training is complete, of a +light which is life, and which has no need of night, like my dim flame, +to make it visible."</p> + +<p>"I," sang the guitar, with the wooden frame and metallic strings, "am a +twofold being. I lived and waved in the forest once; and then the +woodman's axe was laid on me, and I fell—I fell, and the life departed +from me; and from a living, life-bearing tree, I became mere inanimate +timber. More blows,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> more tearing with saws, more sharp cutting with +knife and chisel, and I became melodious again, simply from being united +with these metallic strings, which never had life, but lay silent in +mines, till the hand of man woke them into music. And thus together we +respond to your gentle touch, and soothe for you many a lonely hour. +Life from death, music through fires of trial: this is also your +destiny. Hereafter every nerve of your tried and perfected being shall +respond to the slightest touch of the Hand you love, filling heaven with +happy music."</p> + +<p>"As for me," said the pages of the hymn-book, "my discipline has, +perhaps, been the severest of all. Once rustling in the flax-field, +rejoicing in the dews and sunshine, I was torn, racked, twisted, and +woven by many iron hands into linen. Then, for a time, treated +carefully, decorated and treasured, and washed and perfumed, I was +afterwards thrown scornfully away. Yet, even in that low estate, I found +comfort. Even as a rag I bound up the wounds of suffering soldiers in a +military hospital. But I was to sink lower yet. I was thrown into a +mill, and pounded, crushed, and torn, till I was a mere shapeless pulp. +Yet from those depths my true life began. Process after process +succeeded, till here, at last, I am to speak to you undying words of +hope and love. And you also, one day, shall shine forth a living +epistle, proclaiming to angels and to men for ever and for ever such +words as speak to you from my pages now!"</p> + +<p>The sick girl smiled, and was comforted. "Yet," she said, "the fires are +fierce, the blows are heavy, the trial is long. The end is, indeed, well +worth them all; but sometimes the end seems distant."</p> + +<p>"Yes," responded the hymn-book; "my history resembles yours in one happy +feature more than that of any of us besides. For even in your days of +training you are of service. You may clothe cold limbs, and bind up many +wounds even now, as I did when I was a poor linen-rag. And, more than +that, even now, in your time of trial, the ministries you are destined +for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> at last may be begun. Even now you may be a living epistle, a book +wherein many may read lessons of hope and patience, and sing praises, as +they look on you, as you do when you look on me."</p> + +<p>"Yes," responded the stones; "even now you are a living stone. The +temple you are to form is building even now."</p> + +<p>And the pastil-burner:—"Even now your prayers and praises may rise like +sweet incense."</p> + +<p>And the water-glass:—"Many a draught of living water may you carry, +even now, in the dry and thirsty land, to hearts that need it."</p> + +<p>And the night-lamp:—"Even now in the night, thou, child of the day, +sheddest light around thee—a little light, it may be, in a narrow +circle, yet though, thou mayest not know it, cheering and guiding not a +few, even now."</p> + +<p>And the guitar:—"Many a strain of thankful song has come from the +depths of your heart, even now, in these your days of trial, to blend +with my harmonies, and to soar to regions which my poor metallic music +can never reach!"</p> + +<p>And all the mute things sang together—"We are complete, and rejoice to +serve you, vessels meet for your using. One day you also shall be +perfected, a vessel meet for the Master's use. And then He will take you +into His house, unto the temple which is a home, and your home for ever. +Like us, when you are perfected, you shall serve; but, unlike us, even +whilst you are being perfected, you may serve!"</p> + +<p>Then the sufferer turned over the leaves of another Book, and saw how +the Master had written His parables, not in streams and corn-fields, and +birds and flowers, and fruitful earth, and starry sky alone, but in +common household things, and common human ties. And henceforth, not +nature only, but every-day cares, and duties, and relationships, and all +things around her, became for her illuminated with the lessons of His +love.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> +<h2>"<i>Things Using Us.</i>"</h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letteri.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="I" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_3">It was my first visit from a home full of children, and not too full of +Things, to a house where there were no children, and where the Things +were in the greatest abundance and the completest preservation. Gardens +and hot-houses without a broken stem; flowers evidently never gathered +except by strictly authorized hands. Rooms studded fearlessly with +ornaments from all ends of the earth and all kingdoms of nature; stuffed +birds in domed glass sepulchres, wonderful to me, and unlife-like as the +Tomb cities of Egypt; delicate fragile porcelain, and exquisite +statuettes, evidently needing no protection from little investigating +fingers; carpets needing no protection from little stirring feet. +Gradually there settled down on me an awe-stricken sense of being +perpetually watched with anxious solicitude, and of having to walk +mentally, morally, and corporeally quite upright in the middle of all +clear spaces, so as not to interfere with any of the sacred Things +wherewith I was surrounded; until, finally, came the retiring to rest on +an ancient damask-curtained bed, in a stately, solemn chamber, with a +heavy consciousness of being like an insignificant, and, at the same +time, rather dangerous fly in a world constructed with no reference to +flies,—a crushing conviction of <i>having</i> nothing, and consequently +<i>being</i> nothing in a universe of Things,—a mingled feeling of +responsibility and insignificance culminating in a depressed +apprehension of accountability to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> the lords and possessors of this +universe of possessions, who thus graciously suffered an extraneous atom +endowed with a perilous power of motion to enter it.</p></div> + +<p>All this came to a climax when the housekeeper, who had herself, in some +dim traditional past, watched over the slumbers of children now +developed into the guardians of similar shrines, "tucked me up" and left +me alone with the Things.</p> + +<p>Ah, the mockery of that "tucking up" in the vast spaces of a bed which +reckoned its chronology by centuries! She might as well have talked of +"tucking up" a mouse under the dome of St. Paul's.</p> + +<p>Visions of a cozy crib at home, flanked by sundry other cribs and +cradles, and soothed by a dim murmur of nurses' voices through the +half-open door, came tenderly over me, with a wonder how it looked that +evening to the two loving faces which bent over it every night. But the +very thought of those faces broke the icy spell which had been freezing +me, and seemed to fold me up to sleep.</p> + +<p>Then, all at once, from all corners of the antique room, came the +strangest chucklings and gurglings of half-suppressed laughter; and the +fire in the vast old chimney began to make the most uncouth caperings +and flickerings, as if it were dancing to some wild elfish music.</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the little Dresden china Cupids around the +toilet-glass (and that they should laugh might not seem so strange); but +the solemn old bed itself chuckled a fat "Ho! ho! ho!" until its heavy +draperies shook again; the very tongs held its sides for laughing; and +the little modern poker, which did all the work, screamed a plebeian +"He! he! he!" in response.</p> + +<p>"We shall never recover it!" they all laughed in chorus. "This child is +making the old mistake! She thinks <i>we</i> belong to the <i>people</i> of the +house! She thinks it is <i>they</i> who use <i>us</i>, instead of their belonging +to us, and our using them!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>"As if we had not sheltered generation after generation of them," +creaked the bed.</p> + +<p>"As if we had not seen face after face change and grow wrinkled," smiled +the Cupids, "while we keep our bloom and smoothness undiminished."</p> + +<p>"As if only last week," said the steel tongs, "a young woman had not +been dismissed for leaving a spot of rust on <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>So they went on, until really I could stand it no longer. It seemed to +me so very unbecoming and treasonable in these possessions to speak in +so sarcastic and disrespectful a way of their possessors, that at +length, with a great effort, I sat up in bed and remonstrated.</p> + +<p>"I cannot let you talk so," I said, in a voice trembling at once with +indignation and awe. "You are forgetting yourselves altogether. You are +nothing but Things, any of you. And we are Persons. It says so in the +Grammar. We are Persons, the least of us, even a little child like me! +What would become of any of you, I should like to know, if some of us +did not take care of you?"</p> + +<p>"Things and Persons indeed!" they all said, in a very unpleasant and +satirical tone. "We know nothing of such philosophical distinctions. But +who ever said you or your kind were <i>Things</i>? We paid you no such +honour. Who ever said we could get on unless you took care of us? You +are not Things indeed! You are <i>servants</i> of Things. We possess you, use +you, and outlast you. Who stays in the house—the owner, or the +servants? If you were the owners, you would stay. But it is we who stay. +We outstay you, generation after generation. Doubtless, therefore, this +is our world, and you are merely our slaves—sojourning here for our +service, and at our pleasure."</p> + +<p>It was useless arguing any further with such obstinate, impenetrable +Things. But when, on my return home, I told my mother what they had +said, to my surprise she said they were not altogether wrong.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>"For," said she, "if we do not use and distribute our possessions, we do +not merely sink to their level, but below it. If we are not truly the +masters of our Things, we become their slaves."</p> + +<p>This set me thinking of my own tiny hoard of treasures, and it occurred +to me how disagreeable it would be if at that moment they were talking +in any such sarcastic and disrespectful way of me!</p> + +<p>How was I to show myself truly the possessor and mistress of those +cherished Things of my own?</p> + +<p>At last I propounded the question to my mother.</p> + +<p>"I know no way," she said, "but to get Love to be lord and possessor of +you and of them. For while Selfishness sinks us below the very Things we +are supposed to possess, making us fade, and rust, and perish like them, +Love lifts these very perishing things themselves into our higher world, +transfiguring them into ladders on which angels go up and down, and into +keys of the kingdom of heaven."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>Sunshine, Daylight, and the Rock.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letters.jpg" width="125" height="122" alt="S" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_2">Sunshine and Daylight had one day a serious difference of opinion about +a rocky waste, over which their course led them.</p></div> + +<p>"I am not severe," said Daylight, fixing her clear, generalizing gray +eyes on the Rock. "If I cannot, like some people, see nothing but what I +<i>wish</i> to see, no one ever accused me of blackening any one's character. +I have known that old Rock more years than I care to mention; not a +jagged edge nor a whimsical cranny but I am intimately acquainted with; +and I do not hesitate to say, that a more barren, unmitigated rock I +seldom meet with. I do not slander it. I only say, it is nothing more or +less than a rock."</p> + +<p>Sunshine said nothing, but peeped round the shoulder of her cousin's +gray cloak, until the smile of her soft eye met the eye of a little blue +violet, which, by dint of hard living, had contrived to obtain a secure +footing in a crevice of the old rock; and a flutter of joy passed +through the blossoms and leaves of the violet, and communicated itself +to a tuft of dry short grass, which had ensconced itself behind. The red +and gray cups of some tiny moss and lichens, which had crept into +corners here and there, next drank in her kind glances, and fancied +themselves wine-cups at a feast. Here and there specks of colour and +points of life revealed themselves, and, as they looked, expanded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>By this time Sunshine had folded Daylight to sleep on her warm breast. +Many weeks had passed, when, one quiet afternoon, Daylight again came +that way, and glancing critically around, she murmured to Sunshine, +"Where is the old gray Rock you were so sanguine about?"</p> + +<p>Sunshine was silent; her motto being, "Not in word, neither in tongue, +but in deed and in truth;" and at length Daylight's quiet eyes awoke to +the fact, that the grassy knoll where flowers—tiny rock-plants indeed, +but still flowers—and mosses lay dozing, unawakened by her sober tread, +was none other than the Rock she had known of old. And she said meekly, +"Truly I find that one way to create beauty is to perceive it."</p> + +<p>Then an angel, who was hovering near, on his way back from some message +of mercy (for the angels never linger till their messages are given), +sang softly, "Love veileth a multitude of sins." And the old Rock +answered in a chorus, through its moss-threads, and lichen-cups, and +leaves, and blossoms, "And under the warm veil spring a multitude of +flowers."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>Wanderers and Pilgrims.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/lettera.jpg" width="124" height="130" alt="A" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_2">A large tract of country lay spread before me; upland and lowland, hill +and plain. The whole land seemed stirring with perpetual movement, all +in one direction;—from the bright hills at its commencement, to the +dark mountains at the end. Earth and sky seemed moving, as when an +enormous flight of migratory birds is passing by; but earth and sky were +really stationary. This movement was one constant tide of human life, +ceaselessly streaming across the land.</p></div> + +<p>It began on a range of wooded hills, with their sunny southern slopes, +forests and flowery banks, and grassy and golden fields. Down these +slopes joyous bands ran fast. As I looked closer, I saw the movement was +not incessant in the case of each individual; only the ceaseless passing +of the great tide of life made it seem so. Merry groups paused on the +hill-sides, and made fairy gardens, and twined leafy tents where they +would sit a little while and sing and dance. But only a little while! No +hand seemed driving them on; it appeared only an inward irresistible +instinct. Yet soon the bright groups were scattered, and moved down +again over the hills, often never joining more.</p> + +<p>"Why do you hasten away from these sunny slopes?" I said. "There seems +nothing so pleasant in all the land besides."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," the travellers replied, with a slight sigh; but it ended +in a snatch of song as they danced gaily on. "Perhaps not, but we are a +race of Wanderers! We cannot stay; and perhaps better things await us in +the plain."</p> + +<p>"Whither are you going?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"We know not," was the answer; "only onwards, onwards!"</p> + +<p>In the plain were buildings of more solid construction, houses and +cities. And here I observed many of the travellers would have gladly +lingered, but it could not be. Homesteads, and corn-fields, and +vineyards, all had to be left; and still the tide of life streamed on +and on.</p> + +<p>"Why?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"It is the doom of our race," they said, sorrowfully; "we are a people +of Wanderers."</p> + +<p>"Whither?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"We do not know," was the reply; "only onwards and onwards, to the dark +mountains!"</p> + +<p>Slower and slower grew the footsteps of the Wanderers, more and more +regretful the glances they cast behind. Slower, yet with fewer pauses. +The strange restless impulse drove them steadily on, until, wearied and +tottering, they began the ascent of the dark mountains.</p> + +<p>"What is on the other side?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"The sea," they said, "the Great Sea."</p> + +<p>"How will you cross it? And what is beyond?"</p> + +<p>"We know not," they said, with bitter tears. "But we are a doomed race +of Wanderers—onwards, onwards; we may not stay!"</p> + +<p>Then first I perceived that, among these multitudes of aimless +Wanderers, there was one band who kept close together, and moved with a +freedom and a purpose, as if they journeyed on not from a blind, +irresistible impulse, but from choice. Their looks were seldom turned +regretfully behind them, or only on the dark mountains. They looked to +something higher.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<p>I asked them—"Why are you thus hastening on?"</p> + +<p>"We are Pilgrims," they replied; "we would not linger here."</p> + +<p>"Whither are you going?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Home!" they answered joyfully—"to a Holy City which is our Home."</p> + +<p>"But how do you know the way?" I asked; for no barriers seemed to limit +their path, so that any of the Wanderers might join it at any point.</p> + +<p>"We know it by two marks," they answered;—"by the footsteps of One who +trod it once, and left indelible footprints wherever He stepped; and we +know it also by the goal to which it tends!"</p> + +<p>Then looking up, I saw resting on the mountains where this path ended, a +bridge like a rainbow, and beyond it, in the sky, a range of towers and +walls, pearl and opal, ruby and golden, such as in a summer evening is +sometimes faintly pictured on the clouds, when the setting sun shines +through them. And the little band chanted as they went, "The doom of our +race is reversed for us. We are not Wanderers; we are Pilgrims. We would +not linger here; this is not our rest. Onwards, upwards, to the +City!—to the Home!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Ark and the Fortress.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/lettero.jpg" width="125" height="120" alt="O" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_4">One day, I had been thinking about the terrors of the Great Flood, when +it seemed to me that I saw back through the long ages to that distant +day, as you look with a night-glass through the night to an illuminated +planet. I saw an old man, venerable with the centuries by which we count +the lives of nations, not of men, yet vigorous with the vitality of one +who had still centuries to live. He stood on an inland plain, far from +any sea; yet above him rose the sides of a large ship. It had been +finished that day. Once more the old man warned the laughing crowds +around of the waters which would surely come and float the vessel high +above the submerged world. He had told them the same truth for a hundred +and twenty years. There had been no indefiniteness about his prophecy. +As, since then, men have been warned by the uncertainty of a doom which +may come at any moment; then, they were warned by the certainty of a +period definitely fixed. Every fall of the leaf had brought it precisely +a year nearer. And now the last evening of the last year had come, and +once more the patient preacher of righteousness stood and warned them to +forsake the sin which must bring the doom.</p></div> + +<p>But in vain. There was no persecution; perhaps some mockery, as they +pointed to the cloudless sky, and the fields and forests growing daily +greener in the spring-tide sunshine;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> but for the most part simply +unbelief and indifference. "They ate, they drank, they married, they +were given in marriage." And so the last warning was finished, and the +last evening closed.</p> + +<p>But one little group seemed to me to detach itself from the rest with a +bolder confidence. They pointed to a fortress on the highest summit of +the mountain-range above them, and said: "If what you say is true, +surely we shall be safer there than in a floating ark like yours. In the +rushing of the great water-floods you speak of, and the beating of the +storms, our mountain fortress will serve us better, at least, than your +wooden walls. We shall look down from our height on your waters, and, +perchance, see the wreck of your vessel drifted to our feet!"</p> + +<p>The patriarch and his family were shut in the ark. Before the next +morning, the day of doom had set in. Not a break in the pitiless roof of +clouds. Steadily the torrents poured from the opened flood-gates of +heaven, whilst the waters from beneath broke their barriers, and the +reservoirs under the hills burst forth in sudden rivers.</p> + +<p>The flood had begun. The valleys became lakes, the plains seas; but the +builders of the mountain fortress had fled to it, and looked +triumphantly down on the waves.</p> + +<p>Higher and higher they rose. The lower hills were covered. The mountain +range was isolated. But the dwellers in the fortress thought, "We are +well provisioned. This cannot last for ever!"</p> + +<p>The waters rose. Peak after peak became an island. And at last, the +highest peak, on which the fortress stood, looked out alone upon the +waste of waters, and the floating ark buoyed up securely on them.</p> + +<p>They looked still down on the waters, but with trembling hearts. The +wild waves dashed furiously against this one remaining obstacle. The +firmest human masonry cannot stand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> like the everlasting rocks. The +strong foundations gave way, and with a crash, and a wail of anguish, +the fortress fell, and nothing rose above the waters but the floating +ark. For nothing that is founded on earth can escape the doom of earth. +But</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Planted Paradise was not so firm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As was, and is, Thy floating ark; whose stay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And anchor Thou art only."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Three Dreams.</i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letteri.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="I" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_3">I had once three dreams in close succession, which I will relate to you.</p></div> + +<p>In the first, I saw a magnificent palace, a little world of gardens and +buildings, a city in itself. All was enclosed within a high wall, so +that from outside you could see nothing of it except the fairy white +minarets pencilled delicately against the blue sky, some lofty +battlemented watch-towers, and several graceful campaniles, with the +tops of a few of the highest trees. But a delicious blending of the +fragrance of a thousand flowers came thence in summer evenings; and +every night, bell-tower, watch-tower, spire, and dome, and minaret were +illuminated with innumerable starry lamps, as if every day within the +palace were a festival.</p> + +<p>Around the palace were the lanes and alleys of the city—scenes of +poverty and squalor—which contrasted strangely with it; and wretched, +half-starved-looking creatures, with tattered garments and faces worn +with deep marks of want and woe, lingered round the gates. Outside the +gates!—and this was one strange incongruity of my dream, for on the +gates were emblazoned in golden letters, which were illuminated into +transparencies at night, the words—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"KNOCK, AND IT SHALL BE OPENED UNTO YOU."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The gates were solid, and enormously massive, like blocks of black +marble. No violence could have forced them. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> was no crevice at +which any one could get a glimpse of what was within. But the golden +knocker, underneath those golden words, was so low as to be within reach +of the youngest children. Indeed, I noticed that none tried it so often +as little children; and whenever any one knocked with the very feeblest +sound, in time, and often immediately, the stately portals opened from +within, turning on their massive hinges with a sound like the music of +many choirs, and the applicant was quietly drawn inside. Then I saw that +the inside of the gates was of translucent pearl. A stream of light and +fragrance for a moment came through, and induced others afterwards to +knock. But immediately the gates were closed, and stood a wall of +impenetrable marble as before.</p> + +<p>I awoke, and whilst meditating on my dream fell asleep again.</p> + +<p>In my second dream, I saw the same palace as in my first, but the +massive doors were gone, and in their place stood the form of One whom, +although I had never seen Him, I had heard so often described, and so +faithfully, by those who had seen Him, that I knew Him at once. The same +wretched beings were cowering round; but the massive barriers were gone, +and in their place He stood, and said, in tones that every one could +hear—"<i>I am the Door</i>. By Me if any man enter he shall be saved."</p> + +<p>One wretched and woe-worn woman gave a trembling glance at His face, and +then listening again to those tones, not welcoming merely, but pleading +and persuasively tender, she ventured close to Him, and fell on her +knees to kiss the hem of His garment. But He stooped, and stretched out +His hand, and took her hand, and led her in. Then I understood what His +words had meant;—that by saying, "I am the door," He must have meant +that there was no barrier, no impenetrable gate, but that in the +doorway, where the door had been, He stood, and, instead of the lifeless +knocker, stretched out His living hands to aid and welcome all who +came.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>And I awoke from my second dream.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Before long I fell asleep again, and then again I saw the same palace, +with the massive portals flung open wide, but that gracious princely +form stood in them no more. Among the most wretched of that crowd He +went—among the maimed, the halt, and the blind. They thronged around +Him, yet many of them scarcely seemed to heed, they were so intent on +their own sordid pursuits. Some were crowding with sharp, eager faces +round a rag merchant, bargaining with the most absorbing passion for his +wretched wares, and then separating to quarrel and fight over their +purchases, or bartering their rags again as eagerly for a draught of the +intoxicating drinks which had made so many of them the lost creatures +they were. Not a rag or a burning drop was to be had except for money, +and often for a price which to them was life itself. And He came to them +from the palace, and offered them the palace freely; yet few listened! +But with that strange absence of the sense of incongruity and the +emotion of surprise characteristic of dreams, I did not wonder. +Patiently He went in and out among them, pleading with one and another, +often encountering rough words and blows; yet still His words were—"I +come to seek and save that which was lost." And some even of the most +wretched listened, and returned with Him, and were welcomed inside.</p> + +<p>As if "Knock, and it shall be opened!" were not free enough, the gates +were thrown open wide, and He stood there, the outstretched hand, +instead of the door; the living friend, instead of the written words of +welcome. And as if that were not enough, instead of saying, "Come to +Me!" He came Himself—He "came to seek and to save that which was +lost."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>THE FOLD AND THE PALACE.</h3> + + +<h4>THE FOLD.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is a Fold, once dearly bought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But opened now to all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reaching from regions high as thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Low as our race can fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far up among the sunny hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where breaks the earliest day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down where the deepest shadow chills<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wanderer's downward way;—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There some have seen a Shepherd stand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who guards it day and night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mightier than all His gentle hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His eyes the source of light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I know the feeblest that have e'er<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Entered those precincts blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Find everlasting safety there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Freedom and life and rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But I have wandered far astray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blinded, and wearied sore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How can I find the plainest way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or reach the nearest door?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The silence with a Voice is fraught!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When did I hear that tone?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awful as thunder, soft as thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Familiar as my own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>I am the Door</i>," those words begin—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I press towards that Voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, ere I know it, am within,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all within rejoice.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h4>THE PALACE.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is a Palace vast and bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Athwart the night's cold gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stream its soft music and warm light—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A Palace, yet a Home.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The guests who are invited there<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are called therein to dwell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Laden with sin, oppressed with care,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The calling suits me well.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say none ever knocked in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet I have often tried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scarce have strength to try again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will one then be denied?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again that Voice my spirit thrills,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So strange, yet so well known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Divine as when it rent the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet human as my own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The golden portals softly melt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like clouds around the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where they stood, and where I knelt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behold that matchless One!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He pleads for me, He pleads with me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He hears ere I can call;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jesus! my first step is to Thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Thy first gift is <i>all</i>!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>Thou and I<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></i></h2> + + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/letteri.jpg" width="125" height="123" alt="I" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_3">In a room in a stately mansion, a little babe lay in its mother's arms. +All kinds of beautiful things were around, and many people passed in and +out. Pictures by the first masters were on the walls; the rarest exotics +filled the air with choice perfumes. The chair in which the mother sat +was gilded and tapestried; the carpet her feet rested on was soft as +mossy turf, and delicate as embroidery. Jewels sparkled on her dress. +The windows opened on a magnificent landscape of park and lake, woodland +and distant hills. But the little babe saw nothing but its mother's +smile—understood nothing but that it was on its mother's knee. Its only +consciousness was, "Thou and I!" and love.</p></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The railway train was entering a long tunnel. The babe was still on its +mother's knee. The darkness grew deeper. The heavy train thundered +through the hollow earth. Another met it, and rushed past with a +deafening din. An older child in the carriage screamed with terror. Many +of the passengers felt uneasy, and were impatient to see the light +again. But the babe cared nothing for the noise or the darkness. It +looked in the dim lamp-light into its mother's face, and saw her smile,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +and smiled again. It knew nothing of the world but "Thou and I!" and +love.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The ship was tossing fearfully on the stormy sea. Every timber strained, +every wave seemed as if it must engulf the vessel. The weak and timid +cried out in an agony of fear. The brave and loving moved about with +white, compressed lips, and contracted brows, striving now and then to +say some brief re-assuring words to those for whose safety they feared. +But the babe lay tranquil and happy in its mother's arms. Her breast was +to it a shelter against the world. It knew nothing of danger or fear. +Its world was, "Thou and I!" and love.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Years passed away, and the babe grew into a child, and the child into a +man. His life was one of many vicissitudes, of passionate hopes, and +bitter sorrows, and wild ambition. He worshipped the world in many +forms, and wandered further and further from the Father's house, until +the world which first had beguiled him with its choicest things came to +feed him on its husks; and a long way off he thought of the Father and +the home, and rose to return. His steps were doubtful and slow, but the +heart which met him had no hesitation and no upbraidings. Then the +wanderer understood the love with which he had been watched and pitied +all those desolate years, the love with which he was welcomed now. The +earth, and sky, and human life grew sacred and beautiful to him as they +had never been, because through them all a living Presence was around +him, a living heart met him; and, as of old on his mother's knee, once +more, as he looked up to God his Father, his world became only "Thou and +I!" and love.</p> + +<p>His life moved rapidly on to its dark goal. He had to leave the sunshine +of earth, its pleasant fields and cherished homes, and all familiar +things, for ever. The light grew dimmer, and the darkness deepened. But +he had no fear. In the darkness,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> and the bewildering rush of new +experience, he was again as the babe on the mother's knee. To him there +was no darkness, no confusion. He looked into his Father's face, and +smiled. Life and death and earth, all he left, and all he went to, were +as nothing to him then. He had nothing but that one living, loving +Presence; but it was enough. Again it was "Thou and I!" and love.</p> + +<p>And death found that childlike and angelic smile upon his lips, and left +it there.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A day will come of storm, and fire, and tempest, and convulsion, when +earth and heaven shall mingle and be rolled up as a scroll and pass +away. But in that day what will such have to fear? Amidst all the +convulsed worlds the redeemed will rest tranquil as the infant in the +storm on its mother's breast. For amidst it all their eyes will rest on +the Face which was bowed in death to save them, and will know no fear. +It will be, "Thou and I, and Thou art love!" for ever.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Autumn was on the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Summer came to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Summer in the soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And set the life-springs free.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Darkness was on my life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A heavy weight of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the Sun arose within,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And filled my heart with light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ice lay upon my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ice-fetters still and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the living spring gushed forth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And filled my soul with song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That Summer shall not fade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Sun it setteth never;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Fountain in my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Springs full and fresh for ever.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Since I have learned Thy love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Summer, Lord, Thou art;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Summer to me, and Day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And life springs in my heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Since I have learned <span class="smcap">thou art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">thou livest</span>, and art Love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Art Love, and lovest me—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fearless I look above!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy blood can cleanse from sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy love casts out my fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaven is no longer far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since Thou, its Sun, art near.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Suggested by a passage in Sartorius' "Lehre von der +heiligen Liebe," contrasting the world, "Ich und Nicht Ich," with the +Christian's world, "Ich und Du."</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>What Makes Things Musical?</i></h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">What makes things musical?</span></p> + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/lettert.jpg" width="125" height="126" alt="T" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_2">The Sun!" said the Forest. "In the night I am still and voiceless. A +weight of silence lies upon my heart. If you pass through me, the sound +of your own footstep echoes fearfully, like the foot-fall of a ghost. If +you speak to break the spell, the silence closes in on your words, like +the ocean on a pebble you throw into it. The wind sighs far off among +the branches, as if he were hushing his breath to listen. If a little +bird chirps uneasily in its nest, it is silenced before you can find out +whence the sound came. But the dawn breaks. Before a gray streak can be +seen, my trees feel it, and quiver through every old trunk and tiny twig +with joy; my birds feel it, and stir dreamily in their nests, as if they +were just murmuring to each other, 'How comfortable we are!' Then the +wind awakes, and tunes my trees for the concert, striking his hand +across one and another, until all their varied harmonies are astir; +whilst the soft, liquid rustlings of my oaks and beeches make the rich +treble to the deep, plaintive tones of my pines. Then my early birds +awake one by one, and answer each other in sweet responses, until the +SUN rises, and the whole joyous chorus bursts into song to the organ and +flute accompaniments of my evergreens and summer leaves; and in the +pauses countless happy insects chirp, and buzz, and whirl with contented +murmuring among my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> ferns and flower-bells. The <span class="smcap">sun</span> makes me musical," +said the Forest.</p></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">What makes things musical?</span></p> + +<p>"Storms!" said the Sea. "In calm weather I lie still and sleep, or, now +and then, say a few quiet words to the beaches I ripple on, or the boats +which glide through my waters. But in the tempest you learn what my +voice is, when all my slumbering powers awake, and I thunder through the +caverns, and rush with all my battle-music on the rocks; whilst, between +the grand artillery of my breakers, the wind peals its wild +trumpet-peals, and the waters rush back to my breast from the cliffs +they have scaled, in torrents and cascades, like the voices of a +thousand rivers. My music is battle-music. <span class="smcap">Storms</span> make me musical," said +the Sea.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">What makes things musical?</span></p> + +<p>"Action!" said the Stream. "I lay still in my mountain-cradle for a long +while. It is very silent up there. Occasionally the shadow of an eagle +swept across me with a wild cry; but generally, from morning till night, +I knew no change save the shadows of my rocky cradle, which went round +steadily with the sun; and the shadows of the clouds, which glided +across me, without my ever knowing whence or whither. But the rocks and +clouds are very silent. The singing-birds did not venture so high; and +the insects had nothing to tempt them near me, because no honeyed +flower-bells bent over me there—nothing but little mosses and gray +lichens, and these, though very lovely, are quiet creatures, and make no +stir. I used to find it monotonous sometimes, and longed to have power +to wake the hills; and I should have found it more so, had I not felt I +was growing, and should flow forth to bless the fields by-and-by. Every +drop that fell into my rocky basin I welcomed; and then the spring rains +came, and all my rocks sent me down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> little rills on every side, and the +snows melted into my cup; and, at last, I rose beyond the rim of my +dwelling, and was free. Then I danced down over the hills, and sang as I +went, till all the lonely places were glad with my voice; and I tinkled +over the stones like bells, and crept among my cresses like fairy +flutes, and dashed over the rocks and plunged into the pools with all my +endless harmonies. <span class="smcap">Action</span> makes me musical," said the Stream.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">What makes things musical?</span></p> + +<p>"Suffering!" said the Harp-strings. "We were dull lumps of silver and +copper ore in the mines; and no silence on the living, sunny earth is +like the blank of voiceless ages in those dead and sunless depths. But, +since then, we have passed through many fires. The hidden earth-fires +underneath the mountains first moulded us, millenniums since, to ore; +and then, in these last years, human hands have finished the training +which makes us what we are. We have been smelted in furnaces heated +seven times, till all our dross was gone; and then we have been drawn +out on the rack, and hammered and fused, and, at last, stretched on +these wooden frames, and drawn tighter and tighter, until we wonder at +ourselves, and at the gentle hand which strikes such rich and wondrous +chords and melodies from us—from us, who were once silent lumps of ore +in the silent mines. Fires and blows have done it for us. <span class="smcap">Suffering</span> has +made us musical," said the Harp-strings.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">What makes things musical?</span></p> + +<p>"Union!" said the Rocks. "What could be less musical than we, as we rose +in bare crags from the hill-tops, or lay strewn about in huge isolated +boulders in the valleys? The trees which sprang from our crevices had +each its voice; the forests which clothed our sides had all these voices +blended in richest harmonies when the wind touched them; the streams +which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> gushed from our stony hearts sang joyous carols to us all day and +all night long; the grasses and wild-flowers which clasped their tiny +fingers round us had each some sweet murmur of delight as the breezes +played with them; but we, who ever thought there was music in us? Yet +now a human hand has gathered us from moor and mountain and lonely fell, +and side by side we lie and give out music to the hand that strikes us. +Thus we, who had lain for centuries unconscious that there was a note of +music in our hearts, answer one another in melodious tones, and combine +in rich chords, just because we have been brought together. <span class="smcap">Union</span> makes +us musical," said the Rocks.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">What makes things musical?</span></p> + +<p>"Life!" said the Oak-beam in the good ship. "I know it by its loss. Once +I quivered in the forest at the touch of every breeze. Every living leaf +of mine had melody, and all together made a stream of many-voiced music; +whilst around me were countless living trees like myself, who woke at +every dawn to a chorus in the morning breeze. But since the axe was laid +at our roots, all the music has gone from our branches. We are useful +still, they say, in the gallant ship, and our country mentions us with +honour even in death; but the music has gone from us with life for ever, +and we can only groan and creak in the storms. <span class="smcap">Life</span> made us musical," +said the Oak-beam.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">What makes creatures musical?</span></p> + +<p>"Joy!" laughed the Children, and their happy laughter pealed through the +sweet fresh air as they bounded over the fields, as if it had caught the +most musical tones of everything musical in nature—the ripple of waves, +the tinkling of brooks, the morning songs of birds. "<span class="smcap">Joy</span> makes creatures +musical," said the Children.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">What makes things musical?</span></p> + +<p>"Love!" said the little Thrush, as he warbled to his mate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> on the spring +morning; and the Mother, as she sang soft lullabies to her babe. And all +the Creatures said—</p> + +<p>"Amen! <span class="smcap">Love</span> makes us musical. In Storms and Sunshine, Suffering and Joy, +Action, Union, Life, <span class="smcap">Love</span> is the music at the heart of all. <span class="smcap">Love</span> makes +us musical," said all the Creatures.</p> + +<p>And from the multitude before the throne, who, through fires of +Tribulation and Storms of conflict, had learned the new song, and from +depths of Darkness and the silence of Isolation had been brought +together in the Light of Life to sing it, floated down a soft "Amen, for +<span class="smcap">God</span> is <span class="smcap">Love</span>."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>The Song without Words.</i></h2> + +<h3>LEAVES FROM A VERY OLD BOOK.</h3> + + +<h3><i>PART I.—THE SONG WITHOUT WORDS.</i></h3> + + +<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> + +<div class="drop"> +<img src="images/lettert.jpg" width="125" height="126" alt="T" class="cap" /> +<p class="cap_2">The waves were plashing against the foot of the rocks, but the cave in +which the little Child lived was far above their reach; and he lay still +on his little bed of dry leaves and moss, in his soft warm clothing, and +kept his eyes closed. One little hand lay on his bosom, and the other +was stretched out and folded close over a tiny shell; and he lay +quietly, with the last soft kisses of Slumber still sealing his eyelids, +and talked in his heart to the waves.</p></div> + +<p>"You are awake," he murmured. "You are always awake: night and day you +sing, and dance, and roll over one another in play. You do not know what +it is to sleep and to dream, nor what the joy of waking is. You sing by +my bed all night, and in the morning I go and thank you. But it is not +you who call me to rise from my bed." And as he spoke, a sunbeam darted +across the tops of the waves, and gently crept from ledge to ledge of +the old gray rocks until it pressed through the leaves which drooped +over the mouth of the cave,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> and touched the Child's eyelids. Then he +sprang joyfully up, for he knew the sun was awake and was smiling on +him, and had sent him this sweet morning kiss to call him.</p> + +<p>Meantime, the little cave had burst into an illumination: long crystals +like icicles glistened on the roof, and the fine sand on the floor +sparkled with a thousand gems; and the Child's heart was glad, for he +knew all this was to welcome him and the sun. It was all the rocks and +stones could do, and the Child looked gratefully round on the clean +bright sand and the rock spars.</p> + +<p>But his eyes rested with a different feeling on the little delicate +lichens which held up their tiny cups towards him in the shade, and the +soft mosses which crept in as far as they could feel the sunshine, and +the leaves of the trees which grew outside. For these had each a life of +its own; and each tiny threadlet of moss, and each little gray lichen +cup, and every one of the green leaves of the trees, trembled and +fluttered with a separate joy as the sunbeams smiled on them, the dews +kissed them, or the eyes of the Child rested on them.</p> + +<p>So he left the cave, to take his morning meal on the mossy bank outside, +among the trees and wild-flowers.</p> + +<p>The cave was at an angle of the cliffs. On one side a little shingly +path sloped from it to the beach where the waves broke; whilst on the +other, the path lay through shrubs and grassy slopes into a valley. The +trees grew thicker and thicker as the path led farther up the valley; +but the Child had never wandered far on that side: he loved the open +beach and the sunny waves, and every day brought so many pleasures, that +the sun was sinking on the other side of the sea before his day's work +was done. Often on his little bed he planned a ramble up the valley, and +in his dreams wandered along beneath the thick shade; but the morning +always led his steps again to the shore.</p> + +<p>On this morning he sat on his bank. The little stream which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> trickled by +the cave, and then leaped over the edge of the cliff into the sea, +filled the pure white cockle shell, which was his breakfast cup; the +nuts and fruits which made his little feast were spread on limpet and +pearly mussel shells; and as he sat and enjoyed his simple meal, his +heart thanked the trees which fed him, and the joyous little stream +which gave him drink, and the sea creatures whose empty dwellings made +him such dainty plates and cups, and the sun which ripened and smiled on +them all. The harebells trembled on their fragile stems around him, and +the violets and many other sweet flowers peeped up at him from their +soft nests of leaves; and he said to the flowers, "You and I are like +each other; every one has some gift and joy for us, and we have nothing +to give them back but our love and our smiles; yet they are content, for +we all give each other all we can."</p> + +<p>Then the harebells trembled faster than ever, for joy to hear the Child +speak, and the violets gazed into his happy eyes. They could none of +them speak,—that the Child knew; but they were still, and listened, and +he could interpret their looks: so they understood each other, and were +all the best friends.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> + +<p>But the Child was eager to reach his friends and playfellows on the +sea-shore. Much as he loved the trees, and flowers, and delicate mosses, +and well as he understood their meek, kind, listening looks, he would +soon have grown weary of their mute, quiet ways: he longed for other +voices besides his own, and the rich varieties of higher life.</p> + +<p>"Do you never wish to wander, and never long for change?" he said to +them one day. "I wish I could take you with me to see some of the +wonderful things there are in the world. It must be monotonous always to +look on the same patch of sky<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> and the same stems and leaves! You must +not be grieved if I go."</p> + +<p>But as he spoke a breeze shook the branches of the tree above him, and +gently parting them, let in a whole train of sunbeams on the mossy bank. +And the young fern leaves, and the tender green mosses, and the violets, +and all the flowers with the dew-drops on them, sparkled in the +sunshine, and waved to and fro in the breeze, and seemed to grow even as +he looked at them. Then the Child comprehended that every creature had +its own measure of gladness full, and tripped joyfully away. His little +white feet made music on the shingly path as he danced down the hill. +But when he reached the gleaming strip of sunny sand at the foot of the +rocks, he stepped more slowly and carefully, for all around him were his +playfellows, and he often found some of them in want of his help.</p> + +<p>This morning the shore was strewn with many well known to him, and some +strange to him; for in the night the winds and waves had played rough +gambols together, and had greatly disturbed many of the peaceable little +dwellers in the deep.</p> + +<p>The first thing he met was a Sea-anemone, stranded high on the beach, +folding all its pretty flower-leaves into itself, and making itself look +as ugly as it could. But the Child knew it well; and he gently laid his +hand on it to carry it into a safer place. The little red and green and +orange ball resented his interference, rolled itself a little on one +side, and tried to bury itself in the sand. The Child spoke to it in its +own language, and asked how it came there. The anemone replied by a +little grunt. The family were not remarkable for clear articulation, and +the Child could never get much out of them; but he met with no further +resistance as he placed his hand beneath it and gently carried it to a +favourite pool of his among the rocks. There he laid it down near the +edge, where the water was shallow, and in a few minutes it shot out all +its pretty feelers and rooted itself on the rock and expanded into a +floral crown—very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> petal striped with rose and fawn, every petal like a +little busy finger, tossing to and fro in search of food and in the +enjoyment of life. Thus the anemone thanked the Child, and from all its +sensitive points and its rayed lips came to him a soft chorus of sweet +vibrations of pleasure.</p> + +<p>He could not listen long, but tripped back over the rocks to the beach, +treading softly over the leaves of the large brown sea-weeds, whilst +their air-bladders crackled cheerily under his feet; and on his way in +crossing a channel of sand, drifted up among the low rocks, he came +across a little crab, whose shy spasmodic movements so amused him that +he sat down on a large stone and laughed till the rocks rang again.</p> + +<p>All the creatures always looked very grave and puzzled when the Child +laughed, and the small crab did not seem at all to like it, keeping his +large projecting eyes fixed on him, and trying to hide himself, as he +went, under the brown leaves, but still glaring from his retreat with an +expression of wounded dignity.</p> + +<p>At length the Child recovered his speech and said, "Are you in +difficulties? Can I help you?"</p> + +<p>The crab crept out of his hiding-place on being thus courteously +addressed, and planting his two fore legs round a pebble, looked up at +the Child, and opened his lips so wide that all his body seemed a mouth. +Then clearing his voice gravely, he said, "There is no living in the sea +in these times: the winds and waves are so inconsiderate and violent, I +don't know what will be the end of it. Yesterday morning I had found a +most convenient apartment, well plastered and furnished, so as to suit +me to perfection. I had spent hours in hunting for such an eligible +lodging, and congratulated myself on being at length settled for life: +when in an instant a large wave broke over me and dashed my house to +pieces on the shore. I hardly escaped with my life, and my nerves are so +shaken that I can scarcely think calmly—a most harassing position for a +crab of my standing."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But," said the Child, "what do you mean by <i>finding</i> your house?—most +of my friends here build their own."</p> + +<p>"That is not my profession," said the crab rather conceitedly; "none of +our family were brought up to anything of the kind. Of course it is +necessary that some people should be masons and carpenters, but we have +all our work done for us."</p> + +<p>"What do you do then?" asked the Child.</p> + +<p>The crab looked a little embarrassed, but he was too well bred for this +to last, so he replied rather evasively, "We eat, and drink, and observe +the world; we travel, and occasionally fight, and criticise what other +people do. I assure you it is no idle life: so few people understand +their own business."</p> + +<p>The Child did not altogether like the tone of the crab's conversation, +and he replied rather warmly,—</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean. All my friends, the cockles, the whelks, +and the limpets, do their work a great deal better than I could; and I +love to watch them."</p> + +<p>"Very likely," said the crab, in a cool tone, for he was accustomed to +good society; "the whelk family do indeed put their work out of hand in +a masterly way; in fact we generally employ them."</p> + +<p>"What do they do for you?" asked the Child.</p> + +<p>"They build very commodious little residences, quite suitable for people +who travel as much as we do, and then leave them to us."</p> + +<p>"You live in empty whelk shells, then!" said the Child.</p> + +<p>"We migrate from one such residence to another," replied the crab. "When +we outgrow one, we abandon it and hunt for another; and occasionally, +when we find a convenient one still tenanted, and cannot make the +creature within understand our wants, especially if he begins to talk +any nonsense about the rights of property and the claims of labour, we +turn him out."</p> + +<p>"That is stealing," said the Child indignantly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Excuse me," said the crab, "we call it conquest. We are soldiers on our +own account—free companions. But I must be on my travels again. +To-morrow, if you will call, we shall no doubt be able to renew our +acquaintance under more agreeable circumstances."</p> + +<p>And the Soldier-crab withdrew his long legs from the pebble, and marched +away with a braggadocio air among the sea-weeds.</p> + +<p>"I do not call you a soldier," said the Child; "you fight for no one but +yourself. I call you a housebreaker and a thief;" and he rose with a +flushed face slowly, and went on his way, lost in thought until he +reached the little beach at the foot of the rocks. The sea had retreated +whilst he had been away, and the Child soon forgot his conversation with +the crab in watching the waves, dipping his feet in one, and then +running away from the next.</p> + +<p>So he played until he was tired, and then looking round he saw a lump of +jelly stranded just beyond the reach of the tide.</p> + +<p>It was clear as crystal, except a little purple colouring in rings at +the edge. When the Child touched it with his foot it made a slight +plaintive moan, and murmured, "I am alive; be gentle to me."</p> + +<p>"How could I know that?" said the Child; "I would not hurt you for the +world; I thought you were only a bit of something."</p> + +<p>"If you had only seen me last evening," sighed the Medusa. "We were +sailing, a fleet of us, far out in the deep sea; we thought it was to be +calm, and we came up from the dark depths, to bask in the sunshine. And +now I am separated from all my companions, and left to die here."</p> + +<p>"How did you come here?" said the Child kindly; "may you not return by +the same way?"</p> + +<p>"How can I tell how I came here?" sighed the Medusa; "there was +darkness, and thunder, and confusion,—waves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> hurling one another about, +until sea and sky were all mixed, and the surface was as dark as the +caves below. And I was like a bubble on the breakers, until one dashed +me in beyond the reach of the others, and I am left here to die."</p> + +<p>"You shall not die," said the Child. And gently taking up the shapeless +mass in both his little hands, he carried it to the edge of a rock, +which rose perpendicularly out of a deep creek, and there he threw it +into the sea.</p> + +<p>The Medusa stretched her crystal body joyously,—the receding waves bore +her out to sea before she could thank the Child; but he rejoiced in her +happiness, and turned back with a light heart to rest in his own little +dwelling. For the sun was approaching the west, and crimson rays began +to tint the upper surfaces of the waves, while their shadows became blue +and dark. And as he climbed the little path, and rested on his little +bed that night, he thought, "How glorious it must be far out in the deep +sea!"</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> + +<p>The next morning, when the Child came down on the beach, the sea lay +calm and bright, as if the world were opening her blue eyes, and gazing +full into the heavens and drinking in their smiles.</p> + +<p>The Child found little to set right; all the creatures were so busy at +their various employments that none but the waves had time to play with +him; and even they crept lazily in, as if they were half asleep, and +hardly took the trouble to chase him when he ran from them. So the +sunshine and the quiet stole also into the merry heart of the Child, and +he seated himself beside the transparent rock-pool to watch and listen.</p> + +<p>The first thing that attracted his attention was his friend the +Sea-anemone, expanding its flowery disk like a sun-flower in the crystal +water, with three companions rooted to the rock<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> beside it. They all +seemed to feel the presence of the Child, and spread themselves like +flowers in the sunshine as he smiled on them. And clinging to a rock +beside them a tiny star expanded itself with long petals like a daisy, +silently stirring its delicate rays to and fro.</p> + +<p>"Why are you never still?" said the Child.</p> + +<p>"Because every movement is pleasure," it replied, "and every breath I +draw is a feast. My little fingers are always making little whirlpools +and drawing food into my lips."</p> + +<p>"Are you always eating and drinking?" said the Child.</p> + +<p>"Very often," said the sea-daisy, or anemone, not in the least abashed; +"it is so pleasant." And all the anemones echoed her words.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes we rest," she added.</p> + +<p>"You sleep," said the Child; "then do you dream?"</p> + +<p>"I do not exactly know what you mean," said the snaky-locked anemone, +"but it is all very pleasant."</p> + +<p>The Child was silent and watched them, and as he listened he caught the +sound of a low sweet song, which issued from their lips; but not only +from theirs—it was vibrating all around him, the whole air and the +crystal water seemed full of soft music. And the Child sat still and +listened.</p> + +<p>As he listened and looked, wonder after wonder opened before him, as if +veil after veil were removed from his eyes. He was not often so long +still.</p> + +<p>Just below where he sat a little solid sand-bridge spanned the pool. It +was full of small holes; and as he looked he perceived that each hole +was the entrance to a tube, and the whole bridge was built of these +tubes, carefully fitted into one another and glued together.</p> + +<p>"Who built this?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Instantly a hundred little heads came peeping out of the entrances of +the tubes. Each little head was encircled with a delicate ruffle, made +not of lace but of exquisite white feathers;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> and from each little head, +as it waved its two little feelers to and fro, came the answer—</p> + +<p>"We built the bridge, and we live in it."</p> + +<p>Then the Child saw that the pretty sand-bridge was also a city, and was +hollowed all through into chambers—each with its beautiful happy little +tenant; and he could have watched them all day, the delicate fringed +heads peeping out on the clear water-world, each from its own little +dwelling built by itself, whilst underneath the arch young shrimps and +tiny fishes flashed to and fro.</p> + +<p>"Do you build anything besides bridges?" he asked at length.</p> + +<p>"Look around you," answered the hundred little busy heads in chorus. And +as he looked he saw that the sides of the pool were in many places +covered with similar sand-chambers. Here ran out a pier far into the +crystal water, dividing it into tiny bays and creeks; there rose a toy +citadel, and near it a miniature cliff with peaks; and everywhere, from +tiny cliffs, and citadels, and piers, and moles, and bridges, peeped out +hundreds of the same delicate little ruffled heads, like courtiers of +the olden time.</p> + +<p>The Child clapped his hands for pleasure, and longed to see the +soldier-crab and make him ashamed of himself.</p> + +<p>"But what do you do when the tide is low, and your little cities are +left dry?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"We each fill up the doorway of our chamber with a drop of water, and +retire into the darkness until the next tide," replied the little +courtiers.</p> + +<p>"I like you so much," said the Child; "tell me more."</p> + +<p>"We have many relations who dress much more magnificently than we do. +Some of them have ruffs of rose-colour and crimson, and we are quite +dwarfs beside them."</p> + +<p>"Do they build cities like you?"</p> + +<p>"They do not live in cities," was the reply. "They make their houses +more like the cockles and whelks, and live apart:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> some fix their shelly +houses flat on the rocks, some raise them high in the water so as to +look around them, some build on oyster-shells far down in the deep sea; +and these are the most beautiful of our race."</p> + +<p>"I should like to see the deep sea," said the Child; "how beautiful it +must be there! How can you go there?"</p> + +<p>"We do not know," replied the heads; "we are dwellers in cities, and we +are quite content where we are."</p> + +<p>Then all the little heads vibrated joyously about, and the Child was +silent and heard the sweet music again floating around him in chorus +from the hundred little feathered heads.</p> + +<p>As he sat still, a hairy little creature came sidling towards him over +the rocks. Its head and legs and back were covered with hair; it looked +like a miniature trunk of an old tree overgrown with moss, and the Child +could not help laughing to see it waddling towards him. It was not until +it came quite close that he saw it was a crab, and that what had seemed +hairs were sea-weeds and plant-animals growing on its shell.</p> + +<p>"What can you carry all that on your back for?" asked the Child, as soon +as he could speak for laughing.</p> + +<p>"I do not care in the least for it," said the crab good-naturedly. "I +suppose they all enjoy it; and it makes very little difference to me as +long as they do not come before my eyes."</p> + +<p>And the hairy crab jerked itself merrily on, with the tiny forest on its +back. The merry laughter of the Child rang again among the rocks, and it +was some minutes before he began to look and listen again. Then he +gently drew back a quantity of brown sea-weeds, which were shading his +side of the pool, that he might see further into it.</p> + +<p>Underneath the heavy brown leaves grew a tiny forest of crimson +corallines, fringing the pool all around, and throwing out their +delicate branches on all sides. These were motionless in the still +water—a fairy forest, motionless and beautiful, as if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> it had been +enchanted into stone. But beneath them and among them darted and flashed +countless tiny living creatures, enjoying every breath of their +lives;—little shell-fish opened and shut their shells to breathe and +eat; at the bottom, through the transparent water, many beautiful +anemones expanded their crowns of flowers; sea-snails thrust their horns +out of their pretty shells, and browsed on the green sea-herbage; +star-fish spread their pointed rays, beaded with orange, and clung with +their hundred little cushioned fingers to the rocks; whilst all around, +from the sides, peeped the tiny heads of the dwellers in the sand +cities. The little crystal pool was a world of happy living beings of +many races, each race having its own work and enjoyments; and from them +all floated around the Child the sweet soft song, like a sweet hymn. But +there were no words.</p> + +<p>"What are you always singing?" asked the Child.</p> + +<p>"We do not know the words," they answered. "We wait for you to sing them +to us, and then the song will be complete."</p> + +<p>"Where can I learn them?" said the Child.</p> + +<p>"We do not know," they answered; and the sweet music floated on, rising +and falling like a joyous, solemn hymn.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if they know the words far out in the deep sea," thought the +Child.</p> + +<p>And he went silently home to his cave.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> + +<p>That night the Child dreamed that he was floating in the star-light, far +out on the deep sea, and strange creatures came up from the sea-caves, +and looked, and looked at him, and sang of their homes among the pearls +and corals, whilst he lay floating in a dream, until the moon arose and +the moonbeams embraced him, and carried him softly back by a pathway of +light to his own little bed in the cave. When he awoke, the moon was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +looking on him from her place far up in the depths of heaven, yet +touching his cheek with her silver sceptre, and the Child longed +exceedingly that his dream might come true.</p> + +<p>He soon fell asleep again; but in the morning he was full of schemes how +he might sail out into the deep sea.</p> + +<p>He knew it was of no use speaking of it to the quiet flowers; so he went +down as quickly as he could to the beach to consult his friends there.</p> + +<p>They could none of them help him. The crabs took no interest at all in +the subject, and the limpets and mussels evidently thought it a very +wild idea. The whelks entered a little more into it; and he could not +help hoping he might fall in with another medusa. But at length, after +many fruitless inquiries, the Child seated himself, rather despondingly, +on his old station by the rock-pool.</p> + +<p>There his eyes lighted on a stone covered with a number of delicate +little cups, like alabaster vases, each fastened to the rock by its +stem. He was beginning to move one when a small whelk shell near made a +slight rattling on the rocks, and two little horns, with two black eyes +at their roots, peeped out to see what was the matter.</p> + +<p>"Take care," said the whelk, "you are disturbing my nursery."</p> + +<p>Then the Child saw that each of the white vases was a little egg-cup +carefully fastened to the rock, and he begged the whelk's pardon.</p> + +<p>"Do you go out to sea?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Some of my relations do," replied the whelk; "and I myself have +occasionally floated among the great waves; but it is rather dangerous."</p> + +<p>"I would not mind the danger," said the Child, "if you would teach me +how."</p> + +<p>The whelk had no idea how to teach any one, so the subject dropped.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + +<p>In a few minutes, as the Child was gazing idly over the rocks, he +observed on the top of one of them a number of little shells opening and +shutting under the shallow water, whilst through the openings little +feathery heads kept darting in and out.</p> + +<p>"Are you limpets?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No connection," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I thought you were limpet shells broken and mended," said the +Child. "Are you related to the builders of the sand-bridges?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," answered the feathery heads. "We are Balanuses. In our +youth we were great voyagers, and floated about on the waves. But now we +have grown wiser. We have thrown off our legs and eyes, and built +ourselves these little chambers with folding-doors, and are settled down +respectably for life."</p> + +<p>The Child could scarcely help laughing at the idea of any one finding it +a comfort to throw away his legs and eyes; but he thought it would not +be respectful towards elderly gentlemen, who had seen so much of the +world, so he said, as gravely as he could, "Was it not pleasant dancing +about among the great waves?"</p> + +<p>"Very well for young people," was the answer, "or for those who cannot +provide for themselves otherwise; but to have a drawing-room with +folding-doors, and stay at home when it is dry, or feel about when it is +wet, just as one likes, is quite a different thing."</p> + +<p>And the little heads swayed about so happily, making tiny whirlpools to +suck in their food, that the Child had no doubt they were as happy as +they could be, and wisely resolved to be the same.</p> + +<p>So the thin cloud of discontent was blown away, though not the desire to +see the far-off wonders; and as he sat and watched in happy silence, the +soft music of the living creatures again<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> broke on his ear. And as he +looked and listened, new wonders burst on him, new doors of beauty kept +springing open in the fairy palace of the rock-pool. Hairy stems of the +large brown sea-weeds blossomed, as he looked, into a thousand little +living stars, vibrating their sensitive rays to and fro in the crystal +water. The scales which spotted them proved to be a honeycomb of +countless cells, every one of which had its little living busy tenant; +and a tiny withered-looking stalk, with knobs at the end of the +branches, suddenly shot out from each little knob numbers of busy little +fingers, feeling in all directions for food,—whilst through all flowed +the sweet solemn song, so that the Child lingered in happy wonder until +the little creeks grew invisible in the shade and the water plashed with +a cold sound. The little rock-borers kindled their bluish-white lamps, +in the depths of their tiny caves, to light him home; and when he +reached the mossy bank, the glow-worms were awaiting him with their rows +of coloured lamps, illuminating the mossy bank as for a festival; and +the rock-pools shone like steel mirrors, with a cold gray light, among +the dark rocks. Then he returned to his cave.</p> + +<p>But still the longing grew within him to learn the words of the Song, +and he thought, "I wonder if they could teach it me far out on the deep +sea?"</p> + +<p>His friends and playfellows on the shore saw his thoughtful looks, for +they all looked to him and loved him as their joy and crown, their +darling and their little King; and they often consulted together how +they could give him his wish.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER V.</h4> + +<p>One calm bright morning, when the Child had been busy rendering services +to many of his sea friends, who had lost their way or had been roughly +treated by the waves, he came to rest himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> by the rock-pool. There a +great surprise and delight awaited him. A large volute, nearly related +to some of his friends the whelks, had entangled his shell among some +long fronds of floating sea-weed: with him were swimming two creatures, +very beautiful, but strangers to the Child, and the whole formed a +little fairy raft, ready to take him out to the deep sea!</p> + +<p>He understood it at once; his face flushed crimson with pleasure and +gratitude, and for a moment his voice was choked so that he could not +speak, for he thought, "Now I shall learn the words of the Song."</p> + +<p>Then he clapped his hands and laughed aloud for joy, and thanked all the +creatures, and seated himself on the sea-weed, buoyed up by its +air-bladders, with one hand clasped round the volute, and the other laid +on the strange spiral shell.</p> + +<p>Thousands of the sand-borers of the sabella family thrust out their +feathered heads to see him start, the hairy crab and many of his +brothers glared after him with their eager eyes, and even the +rock-borers—the hard-working pholases—crept out to the mouth of their +dens to watch him.</p> + +<p>"I shall soon come back to you," said the Child; "and then we will sing +the Song together."</p> + +<p>So the shell-fish plied their oars, and the other transparent creature +spread its sail, and they and the Child floated away together.</p> + +<p>The Child wished to know something of his new companions before he lost +sight of all his old friends, so he politely asked them who they were.</p> + +<p>One of them had a crystal body spotted with dark blue, from which many +little fingers shot down into the water and played about like oars, +whilst above rose a lovely little transparent sail, catching the breeze.</p> + +<p>"Are you a medusa?" asked the Child.</p> + +<p>"That is my family name," said the little boatman; "my own name is +Velella."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And you?" said the Child, turning to the other stranger, whose head +came far out of his sculptured spiral shell, whilst a hundred delicate +feelers played around it in the waves, "I never saw any one like you +before."</p> + +<p>"I am a nautilus," said the beautiful stranger. "Our family is one of +the oldest in the world. We are nearly the last of our race. The days of +our glory are well-nigh over, and we sail about here and there, a feeble +and dwarfish race, where our ancestors reigned supreme and unrivalled."</p> + +<p>The Child wondered at these words, and could scarcely make out their +meaning; he had not dreamt about any world but the one he lived in, or +any days before those which rose and set on him; all around him seemed +so infinite and inexhaustible. And now the stranger, beautiful creature! +spoke to him from the entrance of a dim and wonderful world, of which he +knew nothing. So the Child sat silent, with endless wonder in his +earnest blue eyes, and looked for the first time on the vision of the +Past.</p> + +<p>Then the Nautilus went on:—</p> + +<p>"There was, they say, a time, before the mountains were uncovered, or +one of the trees you know had blossomed, when there was nothing more +beautiful or wiser than we in the world; and we dived into the sea +caves, and floated about in the boundless waste of waters beneath the +sun, and the moon, and the stars. Some of our race, who lived and +reigned then, have perished for ever, and their burial-places form the +foundation of your earth. If you wander inland among the hills, it is +said, you find everywhere the tombs of our ancestors carved in +imperishable stone."</p> + +<p>"Are you unhappy," asked the Child, "since your family are so fallen?"</p> + +<p>"I have lost nothing," said the nautilus. "We have all of us our cup of +life filled to the brim with happiness."</p> + +<p>"Who fills it?" said the Child with a look of awe.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We do not know," said the nautilus; "but it is always full."</p> + +<p>The Child pressed his hand on his eyebrows,—it seemed too great and +difficult for him to understand; and then the thought crossed him that +the nautilus might have learned the words of the Song from his ancestors +who lived so very long ago, and he sat still and listened.</p> + +<p>So they floated out of sight of land into the deep sea, and, mingled +with the quiet plash of the waves, came from around and beneath the old +sweet solemn Song. But it was always without words.</p> + +<p>It was delightful to float about thus over the deep sea,—to be rocked +up and down on the great waves. There were no breakers, no foam—only +the constant heaving and rocking of the blue waves, with their emerald +lights and purple shadows. And the Child shut his eyes and listened, +with one hand round a horn of the volute shell, and the other laid on +the Nautilus, whilst the Velella unfurled her sail before them in the +sunshine; and he thought his dream had come true.</p> + +<p>When he looked around again, numbers of strange and beautiful creatures +were floating around him, just below the surface of the water. Among +them was a large crystal umbrella fringed with delicate fringes, with a +quatre-foil of crimson in the centre, and numbers of small feelers +flashing to and fro in the clear sea underneath.</p> + +<p>"Do you not know me?" it said. "I am the medusa you saved when wrecked +on your shore; and these are some of my relations gathered to welcome +you amongst us." And as she spoke, the little fleet formed in order +around him to do him honour; and they sang, "Stay with us, and be our +little King!"</p> + +<p>Some spread their fairy transparent canopies, and shook all their +delicate fringes for joy; some flashed about little streamers—golden, +and rose, and opal-green—like flags on a festival;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> some spread sunny +sails, like the Velella; some tiny crystal globes darted in and out +among the rest, near the surface; and farther down in the clear water, +as far as the child's eyes could penetrate, the same living crystal +globes, and canopies, and balloons, flashed to and fro.</p> + +<p>One little creature, however, delighted the Child beyond all the rest. +It was a tiny crystal globe, not larger than a hazel-nut, divided by +eight exquisite ribs. Each rib was formed of countless crystal plates +like the plates of a paddle-wheel, and each tiny plate was incessantly +vibrating up and down, carrying the restless little creature hither and +thither as it pleased, and making it flash with their ceaseless movement +like a balloon of sunbeams; while from underneath shot two delicate +threads fringed with many branching fibres, which were for ever curving +and waving about.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" asked the Child. "Why are you never still?"</p> + +<p>"I am the Beroe," said the little balloon; "and those threads are my +fishing lines."</p> + +<p>Thus the day wore away: the sweet hymn floated through the silence until +the Child was nearly wearied out with pleasure; and the Nautilus, and +the Velella, and the Volute turned their course homeward.</p> + +<p>The gold, and emerald, and rose had faded from the sea before the little +party reached the shore; but then in the darkness began the greatest +sight of the day.</p> + +<p>It was a festival on the sea; and everywhere, as far as the Child's +sight could reach, the waters were one illumination. Every one of the +little crystal fleet of medusæ who had shone by day in the sunlight now +lighted its own tiny sun. All around the Child floated canopies, and +balloons, and globes, and boats of living fire, lamps of all forms and +colours flashing, gleaming, shining steadily with a soft radiance, +lighting the sea fathoms down; opal, and ruby, and emerald, and amber,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +falling around the fairy raft in foam-flakes of fire as they glided +silently through the waves. And everywhere through the silence and the +night the happy living creatures sang as they shone that old sweet +solemn Song. So they reached the little creek by the rock-pool, and the +Child's old friends were many of them awake to welcome him home; but he +was wearied out with enjoyment, and tripped as fast as he could up to +his little bed in the cave. There he lay down and fell asleep with his +heart full of love and gratitude to all the creatures; but he had not +yet learned the words of the Song.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER VI.</h4> + +<p>Sunbeam after sunbeam peeped into the cave the next morning, but could +not wake the Child, until at length they poured in in a flood, and the +little sleeper's eyes unclosed to see every nook and corner of his +dwelling lighted up, and every projecting ledge, and point, and +stalactite flashing back the rays. Then he rubbed his eyes, and rose, +and went out to take his breakfast on the mossy bank, feeling still half +in a dream. The birds had finished their morning songs; the flowers had +drunk in their breakfast of dew-drops, and were standing upright in the +full daylight; everything seemed so busy and wide awake that the Child +would have had to take his breakfast alone had it not been for a sober +bee, which kept buzzing in and out of the blossoms, and a blue butterfly +which fluttered silently around them, now and then poising on the open +disk of a flower which scarcely bent beneath its weight.</p> + +<p>The Child sat watching them in silence, until, through the silvery +tinkling of the stream and the rustling of the wind, he caught for the +first time near his cave the sound of soft familiar music floating +around. It was the sweet solemn Song to which he had listened in the +rock-pools and far out on the deep sea.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> Then he thought, "I wonder if +they know the words far away in the depths of the wood."</p> + +<p>He turned from the sea, and followed the stream with his eyes until the +sparkling waters were lost in the shade of the trees and the long grass. +Along the green glade which bordered the brook the sunshine lay in broad +patches, so that the wood looked less dim and dark, and more inviting +than he had ever seen it before: and he said to the butterfly, "Where do +you live?"</p> + +<p>The blue fairy creature drew its tube out of the nectar-cup of the +flower it was sipping from, and fluttering its brilliant wings, said, +"My home is everywhere where the flowers grow and the sun shines; and at +night I fold my wings together and go to roost on some flower-cup which +has feasted me in the day. I do not think whence I come or whither I go: +I knew enough once of what it was to stay at home, in those dark days +when I crept along the cold earth and was entombed in my hard +mummy-case; now I am free of air and sky—a citizen of the heavens, and +every breath is a joy, and every sunbeam a home."</p> + +<p>"Then you cannot guide me into the wood," said the Child; and the +butterfly fluttered and soared away till it lost itself in a sunbeam.</p> + +<p>"But I can," said the busy sober bee, seated on a flower, which rocked +to and fro beneath the weight of his little solid body; "I shall soon be +going home to our village, and you can follow me."</p> + +<p>The Child waited patiently until his new friend had filled his little +basket with bread, made of the yellow flower-dust, and then joyfully +obeyed the busy little workman's signal, and followed him into the wood.</p> + +<p>As they went, the bee chatted in a grave and pleasant way about his +relations and acquaintances,—about his cousin the carpenter who carved +her nest in wood, and lined it with rose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> leaves; and his cousin the +mason, who built her little dwelling with many chambers, of grains of +sand cemented together and plastered over. He had also many wonderful +stories about that part of their race who lived in cities and villages, +each city with its queen and royal family, its busy labourers, +confectioners, bakers, builders, nurses of the royal children, and +body-guard of the queen. And they were constantly meeting friends and +acquaintances, with whom the bee would stop and buzz a little politics, +or discuss the last news from court.</p> + +<p>The Child was greatly delighted with all he heard of this busy happy +people; and when at length the bee stopped at his native village, he +gladly accepted the invitation of the hospitable little negro +inhabitants, who thronged around him, to share their mid-day meal. For +here also he was no stranger,—every creature welcomed him, and was +eager to render loving homage to their little king.</p> + +<p>Thus the hours passed swiftly on. Squirrels darted up the trees, and +there sat waving their long bushy tails, cracking nuts between their +paws, and peeping at the Child with their quick twinkling eyes. +Field-mice crept out of their holes in the mossy banks, and gazed on him +with their grave whiskered faces; tiny ants bustled to and fro, too busy +to attend to anything but housing their winter stores; butterflies in +their rich brocades, and insects with lustrous wings, fluttered joyously +around him; whilst all the flowers laid their crowns at his feet in +their silent love. But more than all, the Child delighted in the birds. +They perched around him, hidden among the leafy branches, and poured +forth their happy songs; they hopped about on the grass close to him, +turning their pretty heads from side to side, and looking up at him with +their bright eyes full of trust.</p> + +<p>At length, as he was rambling among the thick trees, feeling his way +through the long grass, his hand unexpectedly rested on something soft +and downy, from which issued a low plaintive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> chirp. Instantly he drew +back, and held aside the grass to see what it could be. There, couching +among the thick stems, he descried a little bird sitting patiently on +her nest, spreading her wings over her brood. She looked up timidly in +his face, but did not stir.</p> + +<p>"Were you not afraid I might hurt you?" said the Child. "Why do you sit +still?"</p> + +<p>"If I flew away, who would take care of my little ones?" said the +mother.</p> + +<p>Then the Child's heart comprehended something of what is meant by a +mother's love, and he stooped down and tenderly stroked the soft head +and breast of the mother-bird; but the tears gathered in his eyes as he +looked at her, and a strange feeling of loneliness and want crept over +him.</p> + +<p>It was too late for him to return to his little cave that evening, so he +gathered some dry leaves, and laid himself down by the side of the +mother-bird and her brood.</p> + +<p>As he lay there, the birds were finishing their evening song, and all +around arose a flood of soft melody, filling the air, and wandering in +and out among the trees, and ferns, and flowers. Sometimes it seemed to +the Child as if the beautiful music were forming itself into a Name; but +he listened and listened until he fell asleep, and still the Song was +without words.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER VII.</h4> + +<p>Before the night passed away the Child awoke, and started up on his +feet, to convince himself he was not still dreaming. Whenever he awoke +in his own little cave, the waves were heaving and breaking against the +rocks far below; he felt there was something awake beside himself, and +he was not alone; and so, after listening a few minutes to the ceaseless +song, he fell peacefully asleep again. But here in the wood all was so +still.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> The bees were fast asleep hanging to their combs; not a +field-mouse nor a squirrel was stirring near him; even the winds seemed +to have fallen asleep among the branches, and the birds rested in their +warm nests. Only now and then a little bird gave a slight dreamy stir +and chirp, as if it were talking in its sleep; or a large moth would +whiz past him, and be out of hearing in a moment. The Child could not +bear to feel so silent and alone amidst the multitude of living +creatures, and yet he shrank from the sound of his own voice; so he +crept noiselessly on to where the moonbeams broke through an opening in +the trees. When he reached the clear space, he found the trees there +began to be scattered thinly about, whilst the little stream flowed +silently through the open glade among the silvery ferns. It was pleasant +to stand again under the open sky; and as he stood still, he caught the +sound of waters falling in the distance. It reminded him of his own home +by the sea, only the rush was constant,—not rising and falling like the +organ-swell of the waves. The Child followed the sound, till he reached +a waterfall gleaming like a white robe in the moonlight. He watched it a +long time with wondering delight, to see the silvery waters ever the +same, yet ever new; always leaping after each other with such a startled +joy over the edge of the rocks, and always sinking with such content +into the deep dark pool beneath, again to set out on a new journey among +the sand and pebbles.</p> + +<p>The Child knew the way they would have to go among the thick trees into +the wood, and he thought of the surprise and delight it would be to them +to lose themselves among their companions in the boundless sea, and be +changed into waves, the homes of countless happy living creatures.</p> + +<p>So the Child's heart followed the little stream until his feet followed +his heart, and he climbed in the moonlight up the rocks by the side of +the waterfall. Many tough old ferns and young saplings held out their +hands to help him up, and so he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> reached the top and stood on the open +plain above. There, as far as he could see, the little stream gleamed +and sparkled in the moonbeams, until it was lost in the shadow of the +great hills beyond. Above those hills rose mountains with snowy brows +open to the moon; and when the Child looked on the other side, his eye +was lost in the thick shadows of the wood, where so many living +creatures were quietly sleeping.</p> + +<p>The song of the earth was hushed; but as the Child looked up into the +heavens, the same song seemed to flow down to him from above. And as he +listened, the moon went down behind the mountains, and the silvery veil +of moonbeams grew so dim that star after star began to peep through it +on the Child. These grew brighter and brighter as they and the Child +looked into each other's eyes; and more and more came forth, till the +heavens were full of millions of happy stars. Every moment the firmament +seemed to become deeper and fuller, and the Child's heart grew fuller of +joy. For from every star came a separate tone of music, and once more +the music seemed almost to form itself into a Name. But the Child could +not catch what it was; and he clasped his hands, and, looking up, said +to the stars, "You are so far off, I cannot hear what you are singing, +but I am sure you know the words of the Song. Bend down to me, happy +stars, and tell me the words, that I may sing with you."</p> + +<p>The stars answered the Child by a richer and deeper peal of music. But +still there were no words, till they hid themselves again in the gray of +morning.</p> + +<p>Then the child seated himself among the ferns; his fair head sank on his +bosom, and he fell asleep.</p> + +<p>But in his sleep he was still looking up into the heavens; and there, +where the stars had been, he saw white robes floating like moonlit +clouds, and human faces like his own looking down on him with tender +love, and he heard them sing with human voices the old sweet solemn +Song; but it had new tones in it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> sweeter than any he had ever heard +before, and there were words: but the words were in a language the Child +did not know, and in his dream he wept bitterly to hear such sweet +songs, so full of love and joy, and not to know what they meant.</p> + +<p>But from above the singers came a Voice sweeter and more tender than any +of theirs, yet mighty as the sound of many waters, and it said to him, +"Weep not: thou also shalt learn the Song."</p> + +<p>Then he remembered the mother bird on her nest, and it seemed to him as +if something like a mother's love were brooding over him in the heavens. +So the Child awoke with a new joy in his heart. He was sure that Voice +must have spoken the truth, and with a light and buoyant heart he +retraced his steps through the wood beside the stream till he reached +his own little cave and the sea-shore. There all his old friends were in +a flutter of delight to see him back again. The flowers looked so glad +that they almost spoke; the cockles dived into the sand and up again as +if they were playing at hide-and-seek; the sand-borers fluttered their +feathered heads, and the anemones spread all their living petals; the +crabs performed all sorts of ridiculous gambols; the little shrimps +darted in and out among the crimson copses of coralline and the tufts of +glittering green sea-weed; tiny silver fish shot under the sand arches, +their black silver-rimmed eyes watching the Child. Corynes stretched out +their little fingers, plant animals rang their delicate bells of +glass-thread, and even the sleepy brown and crimson sponges were more +active than usual in making their tiny whirlpools.</p> + +<p>And the Child said to all of them, "I do not know the Song yet, but I +shall know it by-and-by, and then we will sing it together."</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER VIII.</h4> + +<p>After this the Child would often stand gazing out over the sea or into +the heavens. He felt as if he were always on the point<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> of finding +something, yet all his seeking was full of hope and without disquiet; +for after that dream he never doubted that one day he should learn the +words of the Song.</p> + +<p>One morning, as he was looking out over the sea, watching the dimpling +and sparkling of the laughing waves, and dreaming about his dream, he +descried something dark rising and falling on the waters. As he watched +it, it came nearer, and he perceived that it was a little round wooden +box; and to his great delight he saw that the advancing tide would soon +lay it at his feet. He could not wait until it reached the dry beach, +but plashed through the waves, caught it in his arms, and carried it in +triumph to the shingly ridge above the sands. There he seated himself to +examine his treasure: he could not help in some way connecting it with +his dream; he thought the sweet Singers must have sent it him from the +sky. The little box had something of the shape of the shells of his +friends of the sabella family, and it sounded hollow, but it was closed +at both ends with a flat piece of wood. At first he could find no way of +opening it; so he began to admire the beautiful flowers and fruits and +leaves which were carved in wreaths and garlands round the tube. The +fruits and flowers were strange to the Child, and he wondered if they +were like those which grew in the home of the sweet Singers.</p> + +<p>At length as he turned the tube over and over a little muffled voice +came to him from inside and said, "Put me into the sea again until +to-morrow morning, and I will open the box for you."</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" asked the Child.</p> + +<p>"I am a teredo," replied the little muffled voice. "I have been very +busy for some days boring through the hinge of this strange box, and in +a few hours I shall quite have finished my work, if you will throw me +into the sea, so that I may have something to drink; for I can assure +you people who work as hard as I do get very thirsty."</p> + +<p>So the Child took the box to his rock-pool, and laid it on a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> ledge +beneath the water, where he thought it would be safe from being washed +away by the next tide. He could not bear to lose sight of his new +treasure; he did not know what might be inside.</p> + +<p>Whilst he was waiting he found the teredo a very amusing companion.</p> + +<p>"What do you look like?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"My own house is not so large as one of your finger-nails," replied the +teredo; "but I have a long winding passage leading from it to the sea +outside, and through this, however deep I am buried, I keep myself +provided with air and water by means of a long trunk which I possess."</p> + +<p>"Do you often bury yourself very deep?" asked the Child.</p> + +<p>"We are seldom engaged on such a trifling affair as this," replied the +teredo; "we eat through ships and piers, and piles made of the hard +trunks of oaks."</p> + +<p>The Child had no idea of what ships and piers were, and the little busy +creature was quite ready to tell him all she knew; so all day he sat +listening to her stories, which to him were wonderful fairy tales. And +when the darkness came, he tripped joyously up to his cave to sleep away +as fast as he could the night which was to bring the morning when the +strange box would fly open.</p> + +<p>But on his little bed he kept wondering what was inside. Was it a +beautiful little living being which was to be his companion? was it a +tiny ship like the great ones the teredo had been talking about, only +made to sail in the air, and to carry him up to where the sweet Singers +lived? So he fell asleep full of happy visions.</p> + +<p>The next morning he could scarcely eat his breakfast or say a word to +the flowers, he was so eager to reach the place where his treasure lay, +and see if it were safe. But the sea was still covering the beach, and +it was some time before the waves were curbed in, and ceased to dash +into the rock-pool.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> + +<p>At length the tide drew back, and the Child clambered over the wet rocks +to the pool.</p> + +<p>There, safe on the ledge where he had placed it, lay the little carved +tube. He took it carefully out of the water: the little teredo had done +her work well, and in an instant the cover flew open. His heart +fluttered fast as he watched to see what would happen next.</p> + +<p>But no living creature sprang out; only a roll of parchments, marked all +over with strange twisted black lines, fell on the rocks. The Child +thrust in his little hand and felt all through the tube, but there was +nothing more within, and he was so disappointed he had scarcely heart to +thank the teredo.</p> + +<p>Tears of vexation would fall fast over his face, and at length he hid +his face in his hands and sobbed aloud. His hopes had soared so high! +Soon his sobs subsided into quiet weeping. All the creatures tried to +comfort him; he felt grateful to them, but still they could not dry his +tears.</p> + +<p>At length they gave up speaking to him, and through the silence came on +his ear the sound of the old sweet solemn Song. Then the Child thought +of his dream, of the Singers in heaven, and of the loving Voice, and he +looked up on the sparkling sea and the sunny blue sky, and smiled +through his tears. He felt ashamed of having been so cast down, and +quietly took up the roll of parchments from the rocks.</p> + +<p>It was traced all over with black figures, delicately and carefully +drawn; but the Child could not see in them anything more than the +delicate traceries he had often observed on the shells and flowers; and +turn it over and gaze on it as he would, he could find nothing in it but +a roll of dead leaves.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless he took it with him to his cave (leaving the cover to the +teredo as an acknowledgment of her kindness), and carefully replaced it +in the wooden tube. At all events the little carved basket was +beautiful, and still he could not help linking it with his dream, and +with the heavenly Singers who knew the words of the Song.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + + +<h3><i>PART II.—THE WORDS OF THE SONG.</i></h3> + + +<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> + +<p>That night there was a great storm on the sea. The Child could not sleep +for the tumult. There were thunders and lightnings, and all the winds +seemed drawn up in battle, so that he could not distinguish the thunder +of the clouds from the roar of the winds or the sullen plunges of the +waves as they dashed into the hollows of the rocks, undermining the +cliffs. Yet all this was not half so terrible to the Child as the sound +of human voices like his own, which came to him wailing through the +storm. He rose and stood at the entrance of his cave with his arms +clinging to the trunk of an old tree, and looked out over the sea. Not a +star was to be seen; and if he tried to speak he could scarcely hear his +own voice. Yet through all the roar of the sea and the thunder and the +wild raging of the winds, ever and anon came those plaintive human cries +straight to the Child's heart. Now and then also he caught the gleam of +a light twinkling far out on the waters, but it was extinguished in an +instant, and the darkness looked darker than before. At length the +wailing voices died away, and the gray morning broke over the foaming +waves, and the storm began to lull.</p> + +<p>When the day came up, all the sky was calm and bright as if nothing had +happened; but the flowers lay exhausted on the mossy bank; the path into +the wood was strewn with many branches torn from the trees; all the +creatures seemed frightened and cowed by the storm; and the Child sat at +his breakfast in silence and alone. He was half afraid to venture to the +beach: the sea had not forgotten its last night's battles, and as far +out as the Child's eyes could reach, angry waves were tossing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> their +plumed crests, whilst on the shore they curved their proud necks, and +foamed as if they would have swallowed the earth, dashing their spray +over the tallest cliffs. And to the Child there was something terrible +in the calm sunshine, which smiled down so peacefully on all this +tumult.</p> + +<p>Yet there was a kind of wild joy to him in watching the mighty waves. He +stood as close to them as he could, and enjoyed the spray they flung in +his face. He felt they were not at play this morning, but he wondered +and rejoiced to see his old playfellows in this their hour of strength +and daring; his spirit seemed to grow as he looked at them, and he began +to feel a new sense of power and a longing to exercise it. So he +clambered on among the rocks, breasting the wind, and fronting the +waves, till he came to a quiet sandy bay at some little distance from +his home. His sea friends, for the most part, kept themselves at home, +the sand-borers in their sand-chambers, the fish in their shells, the +crabs under the thick sea-weeds,—not yet feeling any confidence in the +weather; so that he was more alone than usual.</p> + +<p>And as he stood on the rocks which enclosed the bay, on the other side +he caught sight of something white gleaming among the rocks. As fast as +his little feet could carry him he hastened across the bay to discover +what this could be, skirting the waves which curved towards the shore, +and in his haste often plunging into them.</p> + +<p>But when he reached the point to which he was hastening, surprise and +awe nearly took away his breath, and he stood with parted lips and a +sudden paleness in his cheeks. Lashed to a plank lay a little creature +like himself,—a little maiden with her eyes closed as if she were +asleep, and her lips and face as white as her dress.</p> + +<p>The Child watched her in silence a minute to see if she would speak. He +felt sure the sweet Singers had sent her to him from the heavens, and he +feared to disturb her till she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> awoke. But at length he ventured to +whisper, and then to speak louder and louder, asking her to wake. Still +the white lips did not close, nor the pale eyelids open. Then a cold awe +crept over the Child, and at last he burst into tears. Was it to be +another disappointment, like the silent roll of dead leaves? and should +he never find any who would understand him or speak to him? In his tears +he forgot all his awe, and stooping down he took one little cold hand in +both his warm ones, and said gently, "Speak to me—only one word. Indeed +I would understand you, and I would love you so dearly."</p> + +<p>Then, as still no answer came, he threw both his arms around the little +maiden's neck, and pressed his warm breast to hers, and laid his cheek +to hers, and prayed her only to wake, even if she would not speak; +until, as he folded her thus, so tight and warm, in his little soft +arms, he felt something faintly beating against his heart, and a quiver +passed through the pale lips, and the Child sobbed aloud, "You hear me! +you are waking! you will speak to me!"</p> + +<p>And his tears fell faster than ever for joy.</p> + +<p>Then the pale-veined eyelids slowly opened, and two eyes looked into +his, as blue as the violets. But they were not flowers; they were sweet +human eyes. They looked at him with a strange, bewildered, questioning +look, and at length a faint voice murmured, "Is it a dream?—are we in +heaven?"</p> + +<p>It was the first human voice the Child remembered to have heard, but it +did not surprise him. It seemed familiar, as if he had heard it long +ago, he knew not where; and he said, "No, we are not in heaven, and it +is not a dream; but the sweet Singers in heaven have sent you to me."</p> + +<p>Then the Child unfastened the cords which bound the little maiden to the +plank, and she sat upright and looked around her. The sun poured down +his warmest rays, and soon dried her dress. And when she was able, he +led her gently over the rocks to his cave, and laid her on his own warm +little bed, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> gave her honey and fruits, and sat by her and watched +her till she fell asleep. In her sleep she still clung to his hand, and +if he moved she would stir uneasily and murmur in her sleep; so the +Child made up his mind to sit beside her all night, and not once close +his eyes. It was such a joy to feel that she could not do without him.</p> + +<p>But he was more tired than he knew, with the storm of last night and the +great delight of the day; and before he thought of it, sleep had crept +into his eyes and shut them fast; and the little weary head sank down +beside the maiden, and he dreamt of the sweet Singers carrying her in +their arms through the winds and waves to him.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> + +<p>When the Child opened his eyes he was very much ashamed to find the +little maiden awake before him, and gliding quietly about the cave, +making herself quite at home. Yet he could not help lying still, and +watching what she would do while she thought he was asleep.</p> + +<p>And first he saw her kneel down on the white sand, and clasp her hands, +and look up, and speak softly to some One. He followed her eyes, but he +could see no one; and he wondered to whom she could be speaking. He was +sure it must be One who listened, for the little maiden's eyes filled +with tears; and yet when she rose she looked so happy.</p> + +<p>Then as she was moving silently about, she seemed to see something which +gave her great joy, for she clasped her hands, and looked up again, +while the tears streamed over her cheeks. And, to the Child's surprise, +she took up the little carved wooden tube, and drew out the parchments, +and kissed them, and pressed them to her heart. But the Child's surprise +increased when he saw her seat herself on the ground, and spread the +roll on her knee, and trace her finger along the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> twisted lines, and +smile and sigh, as if the roll of dead leaves were talking to her. And +as she sat, every now and then her eyes were lifted up as when she had +been kneeling, and the Child felt sure there must be One listening to +her. So he rose and went outside the cave, but he could see no one; and +then he came back, and sat down by the little girl, and said, "I cannot +find any one. Whom are you talking to?"</p> + +<p>"Do not you speak to <span class="smcap">God</span>?" said the maiden with a look of wonder and +sorrow.</p> + +<p>The Child gazed earnestly into her face for some moments, and then said +in a soft whisper, "<i>Is that the Name?</i>"</p> + +<p>"What Name?" asked the maiden.</p> + +<p>"The Name they are always trying to speak on the shore, and on the sea, +and in the wood, and among the stars!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; it must be God!" she replied. "There is no other Name; for He is +everywhere, and He made everything!"</p> + +<p>The Child sat silent for some time, with a look of awe in his eyes, and +then he said, "Was it to Him you were speaking whilst I was asleep?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said.</p> + +<p>"What were you saying?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I was thanking Him for bringing me here, and asking Him to take care of +you and me."</p> + +<p>"Then it was <span class="smcap">God</span> who took care of you in the storm?"</p> + +<p>"It is <span class="smcap">God</span> who gives us everything good. He is so very good, and He +loves us so much!"</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear Him speak?" asked the Child, after another silence. +"You seem to know Him so well."</p> + +<p>"No, I never heard Him," replied the maiden; "but when I look at this," +she added, folding the parchment close to her, "He talks to me in my +heart!"</p> + +<p>The Child clasped his hands round his knees as he sat on the ground, and +looking up into her face, he said, "It is very wonderful. I should like +to know more about it. But who told you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> + +<p>The little girl could not answer him: she burst into tears, and could +only sob, "My mother—oh, my mother!"</p> + +<p>The Child was frightened to see her cry so bitterly. He kissed her and +told her not to cry, and then he brought her all his prettiest shells to +look at; but she would not look at them, nor be comforted, but kept +sobbing, "Mother, mother!—shall I never see you any more?—are you lost +in the deep, cold sea?—will you never speak to me again?" So at last he +sat down and began to cry too; for he thought of the storm, and the +wailing voices, and the little faithful mother-bird spreading her wings +over her brood, and he felt something very sad must have happened to the +little girl, and she must have lost what was dearest to her in the +world. At length, as she wept on, he nestled his hands into hers, and +whispered timidly, "Cannot God help you?—speak to Him!"</p> + +<p>Then the little maiden became quieter, and the two little ones knelt +down together, and she murmured, "Our Father who art in heaven."</p> + +<p>Her tears fell fast, and she could not say any more; but when she rose, +her face was beaming, and her eyes smiled gravely through her tears: and +the Child felt there was One who loved them and was near them, wherever +they were.</p> + +<p>But he was afraid to ask her any more questions, so he led her into the +wood. He thought she might not like to go beside the sea. And there, +among the flowers, and the sunbeams, and the birds, the two children +forgot their tears, and rejoiced in the joy of all the happy creatures.</p> + +<p>In the evening, when they were sitting hand in hand at the entrance of +the cave, the little maiden suddenly said,—</p> + +<p>"How long have you been here?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know," said the Child, looking up at her in surprise. "Always, +I suppose!"</p> + +<p>"But I think I know," said the maiden. "You are my little younger +brother who was lost so long ago. I am sure you are!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> she added; "for +whenever I look at you, my mother's eyes seem looking at me through +yours."</p> + +<p>And the children hugged each other close, and laughed and wept together. +And the happy Child was long in falling asleep that night, for he had +found a sister, and he had learned the blessed Name, and he knew there +was One watching over them always, and loving them dearly.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> + +<p>The Child awoke happier than ever, and began to prepare a feast for his +little sister; but when he had finished, and stood in the entrance of +the cave looking toward the sea, a cold shudder crept over him. Now the +waves were sparkling and laughing, and he knew that thousands of happy +creatures were busy amongst them; but he could not forget the storm and +the wailing voices, for he thought of the tender mother whose kind eyes +might have smiled on him, who was lying there. So he turned from the +sea, but he could not turn from the thought. And as they were walking +again by the green path into the wood, at length he ventured to say,—</p> + +<p>"Sister, was our mother with you on that stormy night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, very sorrowfully; "we were all in the ship together."</p> + +<p>"Then," he said, "if God could take care of you, may He not have taken +care of her, and be bringing her to us?"</p> + +<p>The maiden shook her head and murmured,—</p> + +<p>"She is dead, brother; she will never come to us. It is death that keeps +her from us."</p> + +<p>"What is death?" said the child.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," replied the maiden, her tears beginning to flow again; +"she is happy with God; but she will never come to us again."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Child was silent for some minutes. Then he said,—</p> + +<p>"It must be the same that happened to my own dear little bird last +winter."</p> + +<p>"What little bird?"</p> + +<p>"My little bird which used to come and sing to me every day whilst I +took my breakfast, and eat from my hand, until one morning I found it +lying quite still on the mossy bank. I spoke to it, but it would not +open its eyes; and when I took it up, its little breast and wings, which +were always so soft and warm, were quite cold. And it never sang to me +again."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the maiden softly, "that must have been death."</p> + +<p>They walked on some steps without speaking, till the Child said,—</p> + +<p>"Why does God let anything die, when He is so good?"</p> + +<p>"My mother said it was not God who sent death into the world," she +replied, "but sin; and God and sin cannot dwell together."</p> + +<p>"What is sin?" asked the Child.</p> + +<p>"It is when we are fretful or unkind, or when we are loving ourselves +best," she said.</p> + +<p>And then she told him all she knew about the beautiful Garden, and the +two happy people for whom God made it all; and of the Enemy who tempted +them to distrust God's love and disobey Him. And since then, she said, +sin and death had never left the world.</p> + +<p>The Child looked very much perplexed and grieved, and asked if that was +the end of all God had made so good and happy?</p> + +<p>Then the little maiden told him another story of wonderful love and +sorrow: of One, great and good and glorious above all, who left the +happy heavens and came down to bear all the sin; of His poor cradle in +the manger, about which the angels came to sing; of His being so poor +that He had not where to lay His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> head; of His walking about teaching +until He was weary; of the sick people He healed; of the little dead +girl whose cold hand He touched, and she sat up and began to speak; of +His taking little children in His arms, laying His hands on them, and +blessing them; and then of where the cruel people stretched those kind +arms which had been folded so tenderly around their little ones;—until +the Child hid his face on the mossy bank where they were sitting, and +wept as if his heart would break.</p> + +<p>Tears were in the little maiden's eyes also, yet she was frightened to +see him sob so bitterly, and tried to comfort him; but he only wept on +and sobbed out,—</p> + +<p>"O sister! I cannot bear to live, since He is dead!"</p> + +<p>Then the maiden's eyes glistened with joy, and she took his hands, and +said,—</p> + +<p>"He is not dead, brother—He rose from the cold grave where they laid +Him, and now He is alive for evermore in heaven; and He loves little +children just as He used: and one day He will come and take us up to be +with Him."</p> + +<p>"<i>Shall we see Him?</i>" said the Child, his tears stopping in a moment, as +he looked up with a beaming face, "will He speak to us, to <i>you</i> and to +<i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>The little maiden believed surely that He would.</p> + +<p>"And is our mother with Him?" asked the Child.</p> + +<p>"I am sure she is; she loved Him so dearly!" the little girl replied.</p> + +<p>"Then we must never wish her back, sister," he said; "only think how +happy she must be!"</p> + +<p>So all day the happy children wandered about the wood, and spoke of the +blessed stories the little maiden had heard from her mother or read in +the Book, their hearts full of that Name which is above every name. And +when evening came, and they had knelt together in prayer, the little +maiden began to sing a hymn.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> + +<p>She sang of God, and of Him who loved God and loved men, and offered +Himself up to keep the holy law, and save lost and sinful men who had +broken it. She thanked Him for making everything so good and beautiful; +she thanked Him for so loving and redeeming them. The words were very +simple, but the things she sang about were very high and deep; and as +the Child listened to her, he heard again the old, sweet, solemn Song; +sweet and solemn as he had never heard it before. It pealed up from the +waves and the countless multitudes of living creatures who dwelt in +them; it streamed from the wood in a thousand tones of joy; it thrilled +from star to star through the heavens;—and every silvery note of +melody, and every grand burst of harmony, fitted into the words of the +little maiden's song, and echoed the sacred Name she uttered.</p> + +<p>The Child listened for some time in a trance of speechless joy, till (he +scarcely knew how) the love and thankfulness which were in his heart +burst from his lips, and he also sang the Words of the Song.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> + +<p>So the happy days glided on one after another, and bore the busy happy +children with them. They disentangled the weeds which twisted themselves +too tight around the tender young saplings; they trained back the +branches to let the sunbeams through on the flowers which were growing +pale in the shade; they raised the drooping heads of many a delicate +blossom, and twined their fragile stalks around a stronger stem, till +every flower in the wood knew them, and flushed with joy as they passed; +and the branches bent towards them as willows towards the rivers.</p> + +<p>They watched the busy sea-creatures at their work. They saw the +sea-birds poise on the wing, dive under the waves, and then soar up +again, their breasts glittering like opals, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> spray raining in +sparkling drops from their wings; and the Child climbed the rocks to +peep into the nests, whilst his sister watched him from below. Many a +stranded anemone expanded its petals gratefully as they laid it in the +clear rock-pool; and many a shipwrecked medusa spread its crystal +streamers on the waves where they replaced it, thus paying them royal +honours.</p> + +<p>And as they worked and watched, they and the happy creatures sang +together, and the Song was complete.</p> + +<p>The little maiden also taught the Child to read the Book; and often the +day would pass so quickly as they read together on the mossy banks, or +wandered hand in hand beside the waves or among the trees, talking of +all the blessed histories they knew, that morning and evening seemed to +touch.</p> + +<p>But as they read on, and grew themselves, the Book seemed to grow and +unfold before them. They read of a warfare and a race, of crowns to be +placed on the heads of those who won, with words of welcome from a Voice +they knew. They read of many who suffered and toiled, and of the cup of +cold water a child's hand could carry, which should in no wise lose its +reward.</p> + +<p>They read of a World which God loved, and of many lost children whom He +sought to bring home to Him. And as they often talked about it together, +they became sure that the World must be beyond the mountains which rose +above the waterfall. Thither, therefore, they would often go; and thence +they would follow the little stream across the plain, trying to reach +the mountains where it was born. Every time they tried they drew nearer, +until one day the creatures in the wood and on the shore lost sight of +them, and never saw them more.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>But in the land on the other side of the mountains there was found, long +afterwards, a strange legend of two children who came from beyond the +hills, with a wonderful Book, and a sweet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> and solemn Song. They went +from house to house, reading the Book to all who would listen, and +teaching the Song to any who would learn. And it was said that wherever +they went, joy and music sprang up in their footsteps.</p> + +<p>In homes where jarring voices made sad discord, they read the Book and +taught that blessed Song, and voices which joined in it soon lost their +harshness and ceased to jar. By sick-beds they sang it, and the voice of +patience and peace replaced the murmurs of disease; they taught it in +homes of poverty and toil, to little lisping children, to mothers +burdened with many cares, to men toiling by the wayside.</p> + +<p>In some places the Children met with rough usage, like Him whose Name +gave all the power and sweetness to their Song; but nothing could dry up +the flood of love and melody in their hearts; and it was believed that +although their footsteps had passed away from earth, they were still +singing the blessed Song in a happy place beyond the heavens.</p> + +<p>But the Book remained with the people, and the Song lived in their +hearts; and if you go to that country you may hear it now, in palaces +and in lowly homes of toil, by beds of sickness, and by the wayside; in +happy choruses, or sung by lonely voices, which but for it would have +had no music. And trees and flowers, the sea and the stars, streams and +busy living creatures, and even rocks and stones, join in it. For the +Song is no more without Words.</p> + + +<h4>THE END.</h4> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h4>WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF</h4> + +<h3>"Chronicles of the Schönberg-Cotta Family."</h3> + + +<h4>NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Chronicles of the Schönberg-Cotta Family.</b> Crown 8vo, cloth, +red edges. Price 5s.</p></div> + +<p><i>An intensely interesting tale of German family-life in the times of +Luther, including much of the personal history of the great Reformer.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>On Both Sides of the Sea.</b> A Story of the Commonwealth and +the Restoration. Crown 8vo, cloth, red edges. Price 5s.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Christian Life in Song.</b> Crown 8vo, red edges. Price 5s.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Watchwords for the Warfare of Life.</b> From Dr. <span class="smcap">Martin Luther</span>. +Crown 8vo, cloth, red edges. 5s.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Joan the Maid:</b> Deliverer of England and France. A Story of +the Fifteenth Century. Crown 8vo, cloth. Price 4s.</p></div> + +<p><i>A story of the career and death of Joan of Arc, professedly narrated by +those who witnessed some of her achievements, and who believed in her +purity and sincerity.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Winifred Bertram, and the World She Lived in.</b> Post 8vo, +cloth, red edges. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A Tale for young people, the scene chiefly in London. Wealth and +poverty are contrasted, and the happiness shown of living, not for +selfish indulgence, but in the service of Christ, and doing good to +others.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Diary of Mrs. Kitty Trevylyan.</b> A Story of the Times of +Whitefield and the Wesleys. Post 8vo, cloth, red edges. +Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>This Diary forms a charming tale; introducing the lights and shades, +the trials and pleasures, of that most interesting revival period that +occurred in the middle of last century.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Bertram Family.</b> A Sequel to "Winifred Bertram." Post +8vo, cloth, red edges. 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale of English family life and experience in modern times.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Draytons and the Davenants.</b> A Story of the Civil Wars. +Post 8vo, cloth, red edges. 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale of the times of Charles I. and Cromwell: records kept by two +English families—one Royalist, the other Puritan—of public events and +domestic experiences.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Ravens and the Angels.</b> With other Stories and Parables. +Post 8vo, cloth, red edges. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A volume of interesting stories and sketches, many of them in the +allegorical form.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Victory of the Vanquished.</b> Post 8vo, cloth, red edges. +Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>The struggles and trials of the early Christians are graphically +described in this volume.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Wanderings over Bible Lands and Seas.</b> Post 8vo, cloth, red +edges. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A lady's notes of a tour in the Holy Land, returning home by Damascus +and the coast of Asia Minor.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Songs Old and New.</b> By the Author of "Chronicles of the +Schönberg-Cotta Family," etc. <i>Collected Edition.</i> Square +16mo, cloth antique, gilt edges. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>The many readers who have been charmed by the prose writings of this +well-known and much-admired writer, will no doubt be glad to see a +collection of poems from the same pen.</i></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>Young Lady's Library.</h3> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Heiress of Wylmington.</b> By <span class="smcap">Evelyn Everett-Green</span>, Author +of "True to the Last," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt +edges. Price 5s. <i>Cheaper Edition</i>, 4s.</p></div> + +<p>"<i>There are some remarks in its pages with which sensible people of +every creed and every shade of opinion can scarcely fail to +sympathize.... It is pleasantly and prettily told.</i>"—<span class="smcap">Saturday Review.</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Temple's Trial</b>; or, For Life or Death. By <span class="smcap">Evelyn +Everett-Green</span>, Author of "The Heiress of Wylmington," etc. +Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. Price 5s. <i>Cheaper +Edition</i>, 4s.</p></div> + +<p><i>An interesting study of character, going mainly to show the beauty of a +quiet, manly Christian life; on the other hand the terrible moral +degradation to which selfishness unchecked may lead.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Winning the Victory;</b> or, Di Pennington's Reward. A Tale. By +<span class="smcap">Evelyn Everett-Green</span>, Author of "The Heiress of Wylmington," +etc. Post 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A very interesting tale for young people. The charm of a thoroughly +unselfish character is displayed, and in one of an opposite description +the idol Self is at last dethroned.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Rinaultrie.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Milne-Rae</span>, Author of "Morag: A Story of +Highland Life," etc. Crown 8vo, gilt top. Price 5s. <i>Cheaper +Edition</i>, 4s.</p></div> + +<p>"<i>We heartily commend this fresh, healthy, and carefully-written tale, +with its truthful and vivid pictures of Scottish life.</i>"—<span class="smcap">Aberdeen Free +Press.</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>On Angels' Wings</b>; or, The Story of Little Violet of +Edelsheim. By the Hon. Mrs. Greene, Author of "The Grey +House on the Hill," etc. Crown 8vo, gilt edges. Price 5s. +<i>Cheaper Edition</i>, 4s.</p></div> + +<p>"<i>Is interesting from the intensity of human feeling and sympathy it +develops.</i>"—<span class="smcap">Literary World.</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Mine Own People.</b> By <span class="smcap">Louisa M. Gray</span>, Author of "Nelly's +Teachers," etc. Crown 8vo. Price 5s. <i>Cheaper Edition</i>, 4s.</p></div> + +<p><i>It is a work of great human interest, and all the more is it human +because it recognizes the supreme human interest—namely, that of +religion, and the strength, purity, and gladness which religion brings +to them who receive it in its simplicity and power. A wholesome, +suggestive, and wisely-stimulating book for young women.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Nelly's Teachers, and what they Learned.</b> By <span class="smcap">Louisa M. Gray</span>, +Author of "Ada and Gerty," etc. Post 8vo, cl. ex., gilt ed. +3s.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale for the young. Alice and Lina, while themselves children, trying +to teach on Sunday evenings a very young and ignorant child, become +learners also in the best sense of the word.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Ada and Gerty</b>; or, Hand in Hand Heavenward. A Story of +School Life. By <span class="smcap">Louisa M. Gray</span>, Author of "Dunalton," etc. +Post 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. 3s.</p></div> + +<p><i>A touching story of two girls, giving an interesting account of their +education and school experiences.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Children of Abbotsmuir Manse.</b> A Tale for the Young. By +<span class="smcap">Louisa M. Gray</span>, Author of "Nelly's Teachers," etc. Post 8vo, +cloth extra, gilt edges. 3s.</p></div> + +<p>"<i>This is a book we should like to see in the hands of children. It will +help them to be both happy and good.</i>"—<span class="smcap">Daily Review.</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Dunalton.</b> The Story of Jack and his Guardians. By <span class="smcap">Louisa M. +Gray</span>, Author of "Nelly's Teachers," "Ada and Gerty," etc. +Illustrated. Post 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. Price 3s.</p></div> + +<p>"<i>A well-conceived, well-told, and deeply interesting +story.</i>"—<span class="smcap">Presbyterian Messenger.</span></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>Library of Historical Tales.</h3> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Dorothy Arden.</b> A Story of England and France Two Hundred +Years Ago. By <span class="smcap">J. M. Callwell</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. Price +4s.</p></div> + +<p><i>A story of the dragonnades in France in the time of Louis XIV. Also of +the persecutions in England under James II., the Monmouth rebellion, the +Bloody Assize, and the Revolution.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>How they Kept the Faith.</b> A Tale of the Huguenots of +Languedoc. By <span class="smcap">Grace Raymond</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. Price +4s.</p></div> + +<p>"<i>No finer, more touchingly realistic, and truthfully accurate picture +of the Languedoc Huguenots have we met.</i>"—<span class="smcap">Aberdeen Free Press.</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Lost Ring.</b> A Romance of Scottish History in the Days of +King James and Andrew Melville. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 4s.</p></div> + +<p>"<i>The plot of the romance is skilfully constructed, the dialogue is +admirable, and the principal actors in the history are portrayed with +great ability.</i>"—<span class="smcap">U. P. Missionary Record.</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The City and the Castle.</b> A Story of the Reformation in +Switzerland. By <span class="smcap">Annie Lucas</span>, Author of "Leonie," etc. Crown +8vo, cloth extra. Price 4s.</p></div> + +<p><i>Faithfully portrays the state and character of society at the time of +the Reformation (in Switzerland).</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Leonie</b>; or, Light out of Darkness: and <b>Within Iron Walls</b>, a +Tale of the Siege of Paris. Twin-Stories of the +Franco-German War. By <span class="smcap">Annie Lucas</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. +Price 4s.</p></div> + +<p><i>Two tales, the first connected with the second. One, of country life in +France during the war; the other, life within the besieged capital.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Under the Southern Cross.</b> A Tale of the New World. By the +Author of "The Spanish Brothers," etc. Crown 8vo, cl. ex. +4s.</p></div> + +<p><i>A thrilling and fascinating story.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Alison Walsh.</b> A Study of To-Day. By <span class="smcap">Constance Evelyn</span>. Crown +8vo, cloth extra. Price 4s.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>La Rochelle</b>; or, The Refugees. A Story of the Huguenots. By +Mrs. <span class="smcap">E. C. Wilson</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. Price 4s.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Wenzel's Inheritance</b>; or, Faithful unto Death. A Tale of +Bohemia in the Fifteenth Century. By <span class="smcap">Annie Lucas</span>. Crown 8vo, +cloth extra. Price 4s.</p></div> + +<p><i>Presents a vivid picture of the religious and social condition of +Bohemia in the fifteenth century.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Helena's Household.</b> A Tale of Rome in the First Century. +With Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. Price 4s.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Spanish Brothers.</b> A Tale of the Sixteenth Century. By +the Author of "The Dark Year of Dundee." Crown 8vo, cloth +extra. Price 4s.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Czar.</b> A Tale of the Time of the First Napoleon. By the +Author of "The Spanish Brothers," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth +extra. Price 4s.</p></div> + +<p><i>An interesting tale of the great Franco-Russian war in 1812-13; the +characters partly French, partly Russian.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Arthur Erskine's Story.</b> A Tale of the Days of Knox. By the +Author of "The Spanish Brothers," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth +extra. Price 4s.</p></div> + +<p><i>The object of the writer of this tale is to portray the life of the +people in the days of Knox.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Pendower.</b> A Story of Cornwall in the Reign of Henry the +Eighth. By <span class="smcap">M. Filleul</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. Price 4s.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale illustrating in fiction that stirring period of English history +previous to the Reformation.</i></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>Prize Temperance Tales.</h3> + + +<h4>ONE HUNDRED POUND PRIZE TALE.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Frank Oldfield</b>/ or, Lost and Found. By the Rev. <span class="smcap">T. P. +Wilson</span>, M.A. With Five Engravings. Post 8vo, cloth extra. +Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>An interesting prize temperance tale; the scene partly in Lancashire, +partly in Australia.</i></p> + +<h4>ONE HUNDRED POUND PRIZE TALE.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Sought and Saved.</b> By <span class="smcap">M. A. Paull</span>, Author of "Tim's Troubles; +or, Tried and True." With Six Engravings. Post 8vo, cloth +extra. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A prize temperance tale for the young. With illustrative engravings.</i></p> + +<h4>ONE HUNDRED POUND PRIZE TALE.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Through Storm to Sunshine.</b> By <span class="smcap">William J. Lacey</span>, Author of "A +Life's Motto," "The Captain's Plot," etc. With +Illustrations. Post 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>This interesting tale was selected by the Band of Hope Union last year, +from among thirty-seven others, as worthy of the £100 prize. It now +forms a beautiful volume, with six good illustrations.</i></p> + +<h4>FIFTY POUND PRIZE TALE.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Tim's Troubles</b>; or, Tried and True. By <span class="smcap">M. A. Paull</span>. With +Five Engravings. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A prize temperance tale for young persons, the hero an Irish boy, who +owes everything in after life to having joined a Band of Hope in +boyhood.</i></p> + +<h4>FIFTY POUND PRIZE TALE.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Lionel Franklin's Victory.</b> By <span class="smcap">E. Van Sommer</span>. With Six +Engravings. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>An interesting prize temperance tale for the young, with illustrative +engravings.</i></p> + +<h4>SEVENTY POUND PRIZE TALE.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Naresborough Victory.</b> A Story in Five Parts. By the Rev. +<span class="smcap">T. Keyworth</span>, Author of "Dick the Newsboy," "Green and Grey," +etc., etc. With Illustrations. Post 8vo, cloth extra. 2s. +6d.</p></div> + +<p>"<i>In construction the story is good, in style it is excellent, and it is +certain to be a general favourite.</i>"—<span class="smcap">Manchester Examiner.</span></p> + +<p>"<i>Attractive in its incidents and forcible in its lessons.</i>"—<span class="smcap">Liverpool +Albion.</span></p> + +<h4>SPECIAL PRIZE TALE.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Owen's Hobby;</b> or, Strength in Weakness. A Tale. By <span class="smcap">Elmer +Burleigh</span>. Illustrated. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>Replete with touching, often saddening, and frequently amusing +incidents.</i></p> + +<h4>SPECIAL PRIZE TALE.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Every-Day Doings.</b> By <span class="smcap">Hellena Richardson</span>. With Six +Illustrations. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A prize temperance tale, "written for an earnest purpose" and +consisting almost entirely of facts.</i></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>By Uphill Paths</b>; or, Waiting and Winning. A Story of Work to +be Done. By <span class="smcap">E. Van Sommer</span>, Author of "Lionel Franklin's +Victory." Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>True to His Colours</b>; or, The Life that Wears Best. By the +Rev. <span class="smcap">T. P. Wilson</span>, M.A., Vicar of Pavenham, Author of "Frank +Oldfield," etc. With Six Engravings. Post 8vo, cloth extra. +Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>An interesting tale—the scene laid in England—illustrating the +influence over others for good of one consistent Christian man and +temperance advocate.</i></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>Stories of Home and School Life.</h3> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Stepping Heavenward.</b> A Tale of Home Life. By the Author of +"The Flower of the Family," etc. Post 8vo, cloth extra. +Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale of girlhood and early married life, with discipline and trials, +all resulting in good at last. Every girl should read this remarkably +truthful and fascinating book.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Ever Heavenward</b>; or, A Mother's Influence. By the Author of +"Stepping Heavenward," "The Flower of the Family," etc. Post +8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale of home life, with its ordinary joys and sorrows, under the +guidance of its leading spirit,—a wise, loving, pious mother.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Flower of the Family.</b> A Tale of Domestic Life. By the +Author of "Stepping Heavenward," etc. Post 8vo, cloth extra. +Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale of home life,—the central figure being an unselfish, devoted, +pious eldest daughter.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Changed Scenes</b>; or, The Castle and the Cottage. By Lady +<span class="smcap">Hope</span>, Author of "Our Coffee House," "A Maiden's Work," +"Sunny Footsteps," etc. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>An interesting story for girls, of two English orphans and their +guardian, in the course of which valuable moral and religious lessons +are conveyed by some pleasing allegories.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Almost a Hero</b>; or, School Days at Ashcombe. By <span class="smcap">Robert +Richardson</span>, Author of "The Story of the Niger," "Ralph's +Year in Russia," etc. With Seven Engravings. Post 8vo, cloth +extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>A Thorny Way.</b> By <span class="smcap">Mary Bradford Whiting</span>. Post 8vo, cloth +extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A very interesting story, in which the character-sketches show no +little discernment.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>A True Hero</b>; or, The Story of Amos Huntingdon. A Tale of +Moral Courage. By Rev. <span class="smcap">T. P. Wilson</span>, M.A., Vicar of +Pavenham; Author of "Frank Oldfield," "True to His Colours," +etc. Small crown 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale illustrative of moral courage, with examples taken from real +life.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Aunt Judith.</b> The Story of a Loving Life. By <span class="smcap">Grace Beaumont</span>. +Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A simple and touching story of the blessed influence exerted by a +Christ-like life (Aunt Judith's) on all who came in contact with it.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Edith Raymond, and the Story of Huldah Brent's Will.</b> A Tale. +By <span class="smcap">S. S. Robbins</span>. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A curious story of the forging of a will, in his own interest, by an +avaricious lawyer, of the immediate consequences of the deed, and of the +peculiar way in which it was discovered, and the humiliation of the +forger.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Follow the Right.</b> A Tale for Boys. By <span class="smcap">G. E. Wyatt</span>, Author of +"Archie Digby," "Lionel Harcourt," "Harry Bertram," etc. +Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>The hero of this story is an Etonian who is possessed of a moral nature +remarkable for its strength and power; and the book is written with +sprightliness and vigour.</i></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>Self-Effort Series.</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Achievements of Youth.</b> By the Rev. <span class="smcap">Robert Steel</span>, D.D., +Ph.D., Author of "Lives Made Sublime," "Doing Good," etc. +Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Famous Artists.</b> Michael Angelo—Leonardo da +Vinci—Raphael—Titian—Murillo—Rubens—Rembrandt. By <span class="smcap">Sarah +K. Bolton</span>. Post 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>Interesting biographies of Michael Angelo, Da Vinci, Raphael, Titian, +Murillo, Rubens, and Rembrandt, The book also contains critical and +other notices by Vasari, Passavant, Taine, Crowe and Cavalcaselle, etc., +which are both interesting and instructive.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Doing Good</b>; or, The Christian in Walks of Usefulness. +Illustrated by Examples. By the Rev. <span class="smcap">R. Steel</span>, D.D. Post +8vo, cloth extra. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A series of short biographical sketches of Christians remarkable for +various kinds of usefulness, for example and encouragement to others.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>General Grant's Life.</b> (From the Tannery to the White House.) +Story of the Life of Ulysses S. Grant: his Boyhood, Youth, +Manhood, Public and Private Life and Services. By <span class="smcap">William M. +Thayer</span>, Author of "From Log Cabin to White House," etc. With +Portrait, Vignette, etc. Reprinted complete from the +American Edition. 400 pages. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt +side and edges. Price 3s. 6d. <i>Cheaper Edition</i>,2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Earnest Men</b>: Their Life and Work. By the late Rev. <span class="smcap">W. K. +Tweedie</span>, D.D. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>Contains biographical sketches of eminent patriots, heroes for the +truth, philanthropists, and men of science.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Young Huguenots</b>; or, The Soldiers of the Cross. A Story +of the Seventeenth Century. By "<span class="smcap">Fleur de Lys</span>." With Six +Illustrations. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Heroes of the Desert.</b> The Story of the Lives of Moffat and +Livingstone. By the Author of "Mary Powell." New and +Enlarged Edition, with numerous Illustrations and two +Portraits. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>In this handsome new edition the story of Dr. Moffat is completed; a +sketch being given of the principal incidents in the last twenty years +of his life.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Lives Made Sublime by Faith and Works.</b> By the Rev. <span class="smcap">R. Steel</span>, +D.D., Author of "Doing Good," etc. Post 8vo, cloth extra. +Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A volume of short biographical sketches of Christian men, eminent and +useful in various walks of life,—as Hugh Miller, Sir Henry Havelock, +Robert Flockhart, etc.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Noble Women of Our Time.</b> By <span class="smcap">Joseph Johnson</span>, Author of +"Living in Earnest," etc. With Accounts of the Work of +Misses De Broën, Whately, Carpenter, F. R. Havergal, +Macpherson, Sister Dora, etc. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price +3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A handsome volume, containing short biographies of many Christian +women, whose lives have been devoted to missionary and philanthropic +work—Sister Dora, Mrs. Tait, Frances Havergal, etc.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Self-Effort</b>; or, The True Method of Attaining Success in +Life. By <span class="smcap">Joseph Johnson</span>, Author of "Living in Earnest," etc. +Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 3s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>This book of example and encouragement has been written to induce +earnestness in life, the illustrations being drawn from recent books of +biography.</i></p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>Favourite Stories by A. L. O. E.</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Crown of Success</b>; or, Four Heads to Furnish. With Eight +Engravings. Post 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. Price 3s.</p></div> + +<p><i>An allegorical tale for the young. The four cottages of Head taken and +furnished by Dame Desley's four children, with the help of their friend, +Mr. Learning. This book is of unusual interest to children, and very +instructive. Suited for ages from ten to twelve years.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Cyril Ashley.</b> A Tale. Post 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. 3s.</p></div> + +<p><i>An English tale for young persons, illustrative of some of the +practical lessons to be learned from the Scripture story of Jonah the +prophet.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Giant Killer</b>; or, The Battle which All must Fight. Post +8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. 3s.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale for the young, illustrating "the battle which all must fight" +against the Giants Sloth, Selfishness, Untruth, Hate, and Pride.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>House Beautiful</b>; or, The Bible Museum. Post 8vo, cloth +extra, gilt edges. Price 3s.</p></div> + +<p>"<i>A gallery of Scripture portraits.</i>" <i>Short chapters on the most +remarkable scenes and incidents of Scripture history. With pictorial +illustrations.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Silver Casket</b>; or, The World and its Wiles. Illustrated. +Post 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. 3s.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale for the young; partly an allegory; with scenes in the Palace of +Deceits, the Forest of Temptation, etc.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>War and Peace.</b> A Tale of the Retreat from Cabul in 1842. +With Eight Plates. Post 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. Price +3s.</p></div> + +<p><i>This sketch of one of the saddest passages in our history has been +chiefly drawn from "Lady Sale's Journal."</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>A Wreath of Indian Stories.</b> Post 8vo, cloth extra, gilt +edges. Price 3s.</p></div> + +<p><i>Ten tales of native life in India; and ten short stories, illustrative +of the Commandments. These stories describe, in Oriental style, the +every-day scenes and customs of native life.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Battling with the World</b>; or, The Roby Family. Illustrated. +Post 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>This tale forms a sequel to "The Giant-Killer; or, The Battle which All +must Fight," by the same Author.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Flora</b>; or, Self-Deception. Illustrated. Post 8vo, cloth +extra, gilt edges. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>The good seed springing up among stones and thorns, with too little +root to bear "fruit with patience," or to withstand the force of +temptation. A tale for the young.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Haunted Room.</b> A Tale. Post 8vo, cloth extra. 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>An interesting tale, intended to warn against nervous and superstitious +fears and weakness, and show remedy of Christian courage and presence of +mind.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Mine</b>; or, Darkness and Light. Illustrated. Post 8vo, +cloth extra, gilt edges. 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale for the young of a somewhat allegorical character, in which it +is shown that Faith and Religion are sure guides through the most +difficult paths in life. The incidents of the story are absorbing +without being of a sensational character.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Miracles of Heavenly Love in Daily Life.</b> With Eight +Engravings. Post 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>Twelve tales (some of the same characters in them all) illustrative of +many of our Lord's miracles; showing that miracles of God's love, which +should not be overlooked or undervalued, often occur in the common +events of life.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Blacksmith of Boniface Lane.</b> Post 8vo, cloth extra. 2s. +6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale having an historical basis. Its hero is John Badby, the Lollard +blacksmith, who perished at the stake. The incidents and characters are +portrayed with all the freshness and picturesqueness common to A. L. O. +E.'s works.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Beyond the Black Waters.</b> A Tale. Post 8vo, cl. ex. 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A story illustrating the truth that "sorrow tracketh wrong," and that +there can be no peace of conscience till sin has been confessed both to +God and man, and forgiveness obtained. The scene is laid chiefly in +British Burmah.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Harold's Bride.</b> Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>An interesting story, written in the author's characteristic style, and +affording instructive glimpses of the hardships and dangers of +missionary life in the rural districts of India.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Pride and His Prisoners.</b> Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. +6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale for the young, partly allegorical, to show the fatal effects of +pride on character and happiness.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Rambles of a Rat.</b> Illustrated. Post 8vo, cloth extra, gilt +edges. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A rat telling his own story, with many facts of the natural history and +habits of rats.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Robbers' Cave.</b> A Story of Italy. Illustrated. Post 8vo, +cloth extra, gilt edges. 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale for the young. The adventures of an English youth among Italian +brigands. With tinted illustrations.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Triumph over Midian.</b> With Frontispiece and Vignette. +Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale for the young, illustrative of the Scripture history of Gideon.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Fairy Know-a-Bit</b>; or, A Nut-shell of Knowledge. With upwards +of 40 Engravings. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Fairy Frisket</b>; or, Peeps at Insect Life. With upwards of 50 +Engravings. Post 8vo, cl. ex. 2s.</p></div> + +<p><i>Fairy teachers (a sequel to "Fairy Know-a-Bit"), and lessons from +insect life and natural history.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Holiday Chaplet of Stories.</b> With Eight Engravings. Post +8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s.</p></div> + +<p><i>Thirty-eight short stories for the young.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>My Neighbour's Shoes</b>; or, Feeling for Others. Illustrated. +Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 1s.</p></div> + +<p><i>A fairy tale, enforcing the duty and happiness of kindness and sympathy +towards all around us.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Old Friends with New Faces.</b> Illustrated. Post 8vo, cl. ex. +1s.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale for children, in which some old favourite stories—Bluebeard, +the Fisherman and the Genii, etc.—are introduced in an allegorical +form, with incidents that illustrate them.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Parliament in the Playroom</b>; or, Law and Order made Amusing. +With Illustrations. Post 8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Sunday Chaplet of Stories.</b> With Eight Engravings. Post +8vo, cloth extra. Price 2s.</p></div> + +<p><i>The thirty-two stories in this volume are suitable for Sunday reading. +Christian principles are taught in them without heaviness or dulness. It +is a good book for the home circle, or for the Sunday school.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Golden Fleece</b>; or, Who Wins the Prize? <i>New Edition.</i> +Foolscap 8vo, cloth extra. 1s. 6d.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>The Story of a Needle.</b> Illustrated. Foolscap 8vo, cloth +extra. Price 1s. 6d.</p></div> + +<p><i>A tale for the young, interwoven with a description of the manufacture, +uses, and adventures of a needle.</i></p> + + +<h4>T. NELSON AND SONS, LONDON. 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