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margin-right: 5%;} -.x-ebookmaker .poetry .attrib {text-align: right; margin-right: 0;} -.x-ebookmaker .poetry .tb {text-align: left; padding-left: 2em;} - -.transnote { - border: .3em double gray; - font-family: sans-serif, serif; - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 5%; - margin-top: 8em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - padding: 1em; -} -.x-ebookmaker .transnote { - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; - margin-left: 2%; - margin-right: 2%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - padding: .5em; -} - -.sigright { - margin-right: 2em; - text-align: right;} - -.gesperrt { - letter-spacing: 0.2em; - margin-right: -0.2em; -} -.wspace {word-spacing: .3em;} - -span.locked {white-space:nowrap;} -.pagenum br {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.narrowtp { - max-width: 35em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - text-align: center;} - - /* ]]> */ </style> -</head> - -<body> -<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69503 ***</div> - -<div class="chapter transnote"> -<p class="center larger p1">Transcriber’s Note</p> - -<p>Larger versions of most illustrations may be seen by right-clicking them -and selecting an option to view them separately, or by double-tapping and/or -stretching them.</p> -</div> - -<div> -<div class="chapter"> -<h1 class="wspace"><span class="smcap">Looking toward Sunset.</span><br> -<span class="xxsmall">FROM</span><br> -<span class="small">SOURCES OLD, NEW, ORIGINAL,<br> -AND SELECTED.</span></h1> - -<div id="il_1" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 5em;"><img src="images/i_001.png" width="313" height="208" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter narrowtp"> -<p class="p1 center xlarge wspace">LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET.</p> - -<p class="p2 center larger wspace"><i>From Sources Old and New, Original -and Selected.</i></p> - -<p class="p2 center wspace"><span class="smcap">By</span> L. MARIA CHILD.</p> - -<p class="p2 b0">“When the Sun is setting, cool fall its gleams upon the earth, and -the shadows lengthen; but they all point toward the Morning.”</p> -<p class="sigright p0"><span class="smcap">Jean Paul Richter.</span></p> - -<p class="p1 center">“I am fully convinced that the Soul is indestructible, and that its<br> -activity will continue through eternity. It is like the Sun,<br> -which, to our eyes, seems to set in night; but it has<br> -in reality only gone to diffuse its light<br> -elsewhere.”—<span class="smcap">Goethe.</span></p> - -<div id="il_2" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 6em;"><img src="images/i_003.png" width="375" height="375" alt="decoration"></div> - -<p class="p2 center">BOSTON:<br> -HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY.<br> -The Riverside Press, Cambridge.<br> -1881. -</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="p4 center vspace"> -<span class="smaller">Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by<br> - -<span class="wspace">L. MARIA CHILD,</span><br> - -in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.</span> -</p> - -<p class="p4 center wspace"><span class="gesperrt">TWELFTH</span> EDITION.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div id="il_3" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 5em;"><img src="images/i_005.png" width="316" height="140" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<p class="p2 center vspace wspace smaller"> -TO<br> - -MY DEAR AND HONORED FRIENDS<br> - -<span class="larger"><span class="smcap">Miss</span> LUCY OSGOOD</span><br> -AND<br> -<span class="larger"><span class="smcap">Miss</span> HENRIETTA SARGENT,</span><br> - -<i>This Volume</i><br> - -IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,<br> - -<span class="smaller">IN TOKEN OF GRATITUDE FOR THEIR EXAMPLE,<br> -WHICH CONFERS BEAUTY AND DIGNITY ON DECLINING YEARS,<br> -BY ACTIVE USEFULNESS AND KINDLY SYMPATHY<br> -WITH THE HUMAN RACE.</span> -</p> - -<div id="il_4" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 4em;"><img src="images/i_005b.png" width="252" height="189" alt="decoration"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div id="il_5" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_007.png" width="1454" height="354" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PREFACE">PREFACE.</h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_007idci.png" width="284" height="305" alt="I"> -<p><span class="ucase">I occasionally</span> meet people who -say to me, “I had many a pleasant -hour, in my childhood, reading your -Juvenile Miscellany; and now I am enjoying -it over again, with my own little folks.”</p> - -<p>Such remarks remind me that I have been a -long time in the world; but if a few acknowledge -me as the household friend of two generations, -it is a pleasant assurance that I have not -lived altogether in vain.</p> - -<p>When I was myself near the fairy-land of -childhood, I used my pen for the pleasure of -children; and now that I am travelling down -the hill I was then ascending, I would fain give -some words of consolation and cheer to my -companions on the way. If the rays of my -morning have helped to germinate seeds that -ripened into flowers and fruit, I am grateful to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">vi</span> -Him, from whom all light and warmth proceeds. -And now I reverently ask His blessing on this -attempt to imitate, in my humble way, the setting -rays of that great luminary, which throws -cheerful gleams into so many lonely old homes, -which kindles golden fires on trees whose foliage -is falling, and lights up the silvered heads on -which it rests with a glory that reminds one of -immortal crowns.</p> - -<p class="sigright"> -L. MARIA CHILD. -</p> - -<div id="il_6" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 15em;"><img src="images/i_008.png" width="901" height="560" alt="decoration"></div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">vii</span></p> - -<div id="il_7" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_009.png" width="1377" height="347" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS.</h2> -</div> - -<table id="toc"> -<tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="tdr small"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Friends</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>L. M. Child</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_1">1</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Good Old Grandmother</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_37">37</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Consolations of Age</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Zschokke</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_39">39</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Old Man Dreams</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>O. W. Holmes</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_44">44</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Russian Lady</span></td> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_46">46</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Old Man’s Song</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_51">51</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Twenty-seventh of March</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>W. C. Bryant</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_52">52</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Christmas Story for Grandfather</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Charles Dickens</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_53">53</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">John Anderson, my Jo</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Robert Burns</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_60">60</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Old Folks at Home</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>L. M. Child</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_61">61</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Everlasting Youth</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Edmund H. Sears</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_62">62</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Life</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Mrs. Barbauld</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_68">68</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Mysterious Pilgrimage</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>L. M. Child</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_69">69</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Happiest Time</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Eliza Cook</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_81">81</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ode of Anacreon</span></td> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_84">84</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Cicero’s Essay on Old Age</span></td> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_85">85</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Fountain</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>W. Wordsworth</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_98">98</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Poet’s Blessing</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Uhland</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_101">101</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Bernard Palissy</span></td> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_102">102</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Old Age Coming</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Elizabeth Hamilton</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_123">123</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Unmarried Women</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>L. M. Child</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_127">127</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">viii</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Old Maid’s Prayer</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Mrs. Tighe</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_144">144</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Grandfather’s Reverie</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Theodore Parker</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_146">146</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The House in the Meadow</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Louise C. Moulton</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_149">149</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Story of St. Mark’s Eve</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Thomas Hood</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_152">152</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">What the Old Woman Said</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_161">161</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Spring Journey</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Heber</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_163">163</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Moral Hints</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>L. M. Child</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_164">164</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Boys</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>O. W. Holmes</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_184">184</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ode of Anacreon</span></td> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_185">185</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mysteriousness of Life</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Mountford</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_186">186</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Grandmother’s Apology</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Alfred Tennyson</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_189">189</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Ancient Man</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>J. P. Richter</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_193">193</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Milton’s Hymn of Patience</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Elizabeth L. Howell</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_210">210</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Letter from an Old Woman</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>L. M. Child</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_212">212</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Bright Days in Winter</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>John G. Whittier</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_223">223</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Canary Bird</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>John Sterling</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_224">224</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Old Bachelors</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>L. M. Child</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_225">225</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Taking it Easy</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>G. H. Clark</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_238">238</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Old Aunty</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_241">241</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Richard and Kate</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Robert Bloomfield</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_250">250</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ludovico Cornaro</span></td> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_256">256</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Robin and Jeannie</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Dora Greenwell</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_271">271</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Good Old Age</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Mountford</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_273">273</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">My Psalm</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>John G. Whittier</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_276">276</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">John Henry von Dannecker</span></td> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_279">279</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Kitten and Falling Leaves</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>W. Wordsworth</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_290">290</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Dr. Doddridge’s Dream</span></td> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_292">292</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Old Psalm-Tune</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Harriet B. Stowe</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_297">297</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Lost Books of Livy</span></td> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_300">300</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">To One who wished me Sixteen Years Old</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Alice Cary</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_322">322</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">ix</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Growing Old</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Dinah Muloch</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_324">324</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Equinoctial</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Mrs. A.D.T. Whitney</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_334">334</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Epitaph on the Unmated</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>E. S.</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_335">335</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Beautiful Thought</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Convers Francis</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_336">336</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">At Anchor</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_339">339</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">November</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>H. W. Beecher</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_341">341</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Meditations on a Birthday Eve</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>John Pierpont</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_343">343</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Grandmother of Slaves</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>H. J.</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_346">346</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Auld Lang Syne</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Robert Burns</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_362">362</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Old Folks at Home</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>L. M. Child</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_363">363</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Old Uncle Tommy</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>M. S.</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_364">364</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sitting in the Sun</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_377">377</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Aunt Kindly</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Theodore Parker</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_379">379</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Crossing Over</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Uhland</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_383">383</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Love Affair at Cranford</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Mrs. Gaskell</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_385">385</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">To My Wife</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_408">408</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Evergreen of our Feelings</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>J. P. Richter</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_410">410</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Our Secret Drawer</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Anonymous</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_414">414</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Golden Wedding</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>F. A. Bremer</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_416">416</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Worn Wedding Ring</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>W. C. Bennett</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_424">424</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Hints about Health</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>L. M. Child</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_427">427</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Invalid’s Prayer</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Wesley</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_440">440</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Old Pastor and his Son</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>J. P. Richter</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_441">441</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Rest at Evening</span></td> - <td class="tdl"><i>Adelaide A. Procter</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_454">454</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<div id="il_8" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 6em;"><img src="images/i_011.png" width="380" height="274" alt="decoration"></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_1"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">1</span></p> -<div id="il_9" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 24em;"><img src="images/i_013.jpg" width="1504" height="1092" alt="Two little girls with an older woman"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_FRIENDS">THE FRIENDS.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> L. M. CHILD.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent10">“By some especial care</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Her temper had been framed, as if to make</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A being, who, by adding love to peace,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Might live on earth a life of happiness.”</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><i>Wordsworth.</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_013idci.png" width="285" height="309" alt="I"> -<p><span class="ucase">In</span> the interior of Maine two girls grew -to womanhood in houses so near that -they could nod and smile to each other -while they were making the beds in -the morning, and chat through the open fence -that separated their gardens when they went to -pick currants for the tea-table. Both were daughters -of farmers; but Harriet Brown’s father had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">2</span> -money in the bank, while Jane White’s father -was struggling hard to pay off a mortgage. Jane -was not a beauty, but her fresh, healthy countenance -was pleasant to look upon. Her large blue -eyes had a very innocent expression, and there was -always in them the suggestion of a smile, as if they -sung the first note of a merry song for the lips to -follow. Harriet was the belle of the county; with -rosy cheeks, a well-shaped mouth, and black eyes, -that were very bright, without being luminous from -within. A close observer of physiognomy could -easily determine which of the girls had most of -heart and soul. But they were both favorites in -the village, and the young men thought it was -a pretty sight to see them together. In fact, they -were rarely seen apart. Their leisure moments, -on bright winter days, were spent in snow-balling -each other across the garden-fence; and they kept -up the sport hilariously long after their hands were -numb and red with cold. In the long evenings, -they made wagers which would soonest finish a -pair of socks; and merry were the little crowings -over the vanquished party. In spring, they hunted -anemones and violets together. In autumn, -they filled their aprons with brilliant-colored leaves -to decorate the mantel-piece; stopping ever and -anon to twine the prettiest specimens in each -other’s hair. They both sat in the singing-seats -at meeting. Harriet’s shrill voice was always -heard above Jane’s, but it was defective in modulation,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span> -while music flowed through the warbling -voice of her companion. They often bought -dresses alike, with the agreement that, when the -sleeves were worn, the two skirts should be used -to make a new dress for the one who first needed -it; and shrewd observers remarked that Harriet -usually had the benefit of such bargains. Jane -waited assiduously upon her mother, while Harriet’s -mother waited upon her. One seemed to -have come into the world to be ministered unto, -and the other to minister. Harriet was prim in -company, and some called her rather proud; but -Jane was deemed imprudent, because whatever -she said or did bubbled out of her heart. Their -friendship was not founded on any harmonious -accord of character; few friendships are. They -were born next door to each other, and no other -girls of their own age happened to be near neighbors. -The youthful heart runs over so perpetually, -that it needs another into which to pour its -ever-flowing stream. Impelled by this necessity, -they often shared each other’s sleeping apartments, -and talked late into the night. They could not have -told, the next day, what they had talked about. -Their conversation was a continuous movement -of hilarious nothings, with a running accompaniment -of laughter. It was like the froth of whip-syllabub, -of which the rustic took a spoonful into -his mouth, and finding it gone without leaving -a taste behind, he searched the carpet for it. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span> -girls, however, never looked after the silly bubbles -of their bubbling syllables. Harriet thought Jane -excessively funny, and such an appreciative audience -was stimulus sufficient to keep her friend’s -tongue in motion.</p> - -<p>“O Hatty, the moon’s up, and it’s as light as -a cork!” exclaimed Jane, springing out of bed in -the summer’s night, and looking out of the window.</p> - -<p>“What a droll creature you are!” replied Hatty; -and they laughed more heartily than they -would have done over one of Dr. Holmes’s wittiest -sayings.</p> - -<p>When merriment subsided into a more serious -mood, each gave her opinion whether Harry Blake, -the young lawyer, or Frank May, the young store-keeper, -had the handsomest eyes. Jane said, -there was a report that the young lawyer was -engaged to somebody before he came to their village; -but Harriet said she didn’t believe it, because -he pressed her hand when they came home -from the County Ball, and he whispered something, -too; but she didn’t know whether it would -be fair to tell of it. Then came the entreaty, “Do -tell”; and she told. And with various similar -confidings, they at last fell asleep.</p> - -<p>Thus life flowed on, like a sunny, babbling brook, -with these girls of sixteen summers. Fond as they -were of recreation, they were capable, in the New -England sense of the term, and accomplished a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span> -great deal of work. It was generally agreed that -Harriet made the best butter and Jane the best -bread that the village produced. Thrifty fathers said -to their sons, that whoever obtained one of those -girls for a wife would be a lucky fellow. Harriet -refused several offers, and the rejected beaux -revenged themselves by saying, she was fishing -for the lawyer, in hopes of being the wife of -a judge, or a member of Congress. There was -less gossip about Jane’s love affairs. Nobody was -surprised when the banns were published between -her and Frank May. She had always maintained -that his eyes were handsomer than the lawyer’s. -It was easy enough for anybody to read her heart. -Soon after Jane’s marriage with the young store-keeper -Harriet went to visit an uncle in New York. -There she attracted the attention of a prosperous -merchant, nearly as old as her father, and came -home to busy herself with preparations for a wedding. -Jane expressed surprise, in view of certain -confidences with regard to the young lawyer; but -Harriet replied: “Mr. Gray is a very good sort -of man, and really seems to be very much in love -with me. And you know, Jenny, it must be a -long time before Harry Blake can earn enough -to support a wife handsomely.”</p> - -<p>A few weeks afterward, they had their parting -interview. They kissed and shed tears, and exchanged -lockets with braids of hair. Jane’s voice -was choked, as she said: “O Hatty, it seems so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span> -hard that we should be separated! I thought to -be sure we should always be neighbors.”</p> - -<p>And Harriet wiped her eyes, and tried to answer -cheerfully: “You must come and see me, -dear Jenny. It isn’t such a great way to New -York, after all.”</p> - -<p>The next day Jane attended the wedding in her -own simple bridal dress of white muslin; and the -last she saw of Harriet was the waving of her -white handkerchief from a genteel carriage, drawn -by two shining black horses. It was the first link -that had been broken in the chain of her quiet -life; and the separation of these first links startles -the youthful mind with a sort of painful surprise, -such as an infant feels waking from sleep to be -frightened by a strange face bending over its cradle. -She said to her husband: “I didn’t feel at -all as I always imagined I should feel at Hatty’s -wedding. It was so unexpected to have her go -off with that stranger! But I suppose she is the -best judge of what is for her own happiness.”</p> - -<p>The void left by this separation was soon filled -by new pleasures and duties. A little boy and -girl came. Then her husband was seized with -a disease of the spine, which totally unfitted him -for business. Jane had acquired considerable skill -in mantua-making, which now proved a valuable -assistance in the support of her family. The neighboring -farmers said, “Young Mrs. May has a hard -row to hoe.” But her life was a mingled cup,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span> -which she had no wish to exchange for any other. -Care and fatigue were sweetened by the tenderness -and patience of her household mate, and brightened -by the gambols of children, who clung to her -with confiding love. When people expressed sympathy -with her hard lot, she answered, cheerfully: -“I am happier than I was when I was a girl. It -is a happiness that I feel deeper down in my -heart.” This feeling was expressed in her face -also. The innocent blue eyes became motherly -and thoughtful in their tenderness, but still a -smile lay sleeping there. Her husband said she -was handsomer than when he first loved her; and -so all thought who appreciated beauty of expression -above fairness of skin.</p> - -<p>During the first year of her residence in New -York, Harriet wrote every few weeks; but the -intervals between her letters lengthened, and the -apology was the necessity of giving dinner-parties, -making calls, and attending to mantua-makers. -To Jane, who was constantly working to nurse -and support her dear ones, they seemed like letters -in a foreign language, of which we can study out -the meaning, but in which it is impossible for us to -think. She felt herself more really separated from -the friend of her girlhood than she could have been -by visible mountains. They were not only living -in different worlds, but the ways of each world did -not interest the other. The correspondence finally -ceased altogether, and years passed without any -communication.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span></p> - -<p>The circle of Jane’s duties enlarged. Her husband’s -parents became feeble in health; they needed -the presence of children, and could also assist -their invalid son by receiving him into their house. -So Frank May and his wife removed to their -home, in a country village of Massachusetts. Her -parents, unwilling to relinquish the light of her -presence, removed with them. There was, of -course, great increase of care, to which was added -the necessity for vigilant economy; but the energy -of the young matron grew with the demands upon -it. Her husband’s mother was a little unreasonable -at times, but it was obvious that she considered -her son very fortunate in his wife; and Jane -thankfully accepted her somewhat reluctant affection. -If a neighbor alluded to her numerous -cares, she replied cheerfully: “Yes, it is true that -I have a good deal on my shoulders; but somehow -it never seems very heavy. The fact is,” she -added, smiling, “there’s great satisfaction in feeling -one’s self of so much importance. There are -my husband, my two children, my two fathers, -and my two mothers, all telling me that they -couldn’t get along without me; and I think -that’s blessing enough for one poor woman. Nobody -can tell, until they try it, what a satisfaction -there is in making old folks comfortable. They -cling so to those that take good care of them, that, -I declare, I find it does me about as much good as -it did to tend upon my babies.” Blessed woman!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span> -she carried sunshine within her, and so external -circumstances could not darken her life.</p> - -<p>The external pressure increased as years passed -on. Her husband, her parents, her son, departed -from her, one after another. Still she smiled -through her tears, and said: “God has been very -merciful to me. It was <em>such</em> a comfort to be able -to tend upon them to the last, and to have them -die blessing me!” The daughter married and -removed to Illinois. The heart of the bereaved -mother yearned to follow her; but her husband’s -parents were very infirm, and she had become -necessary to their comfort. When she gave the -farewell kiss to her child, she said: “There is no -one to take good care of the old folks if I leave -them. I will stay and close their eyes, and then, -if it be God’s will, I will come to you.”</p> - -<p>Two years afterward, the old father died, but -his wife survived him several years. When the -estates of both fathers were settled, there remained -for the two widowed women a small house, an -acre of land, and a thousand dollars in the bank. -There they lived alone. The rooms that had -been so full of voices were silent now. Only, as -Jane moved about, “on household cares intent,” -she was often heard singing the tune her dear -Frank used to sing under the apple-tree by her -window, in their old courting <span class="locked">days:—</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“The moon was shining silver bright.</p> - <p class="verse indent2">No cloud the eye could view;</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span> - <p class="verse indent0">Her lover’s step, in silent night,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Well pleased, the damsel knew.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Sometimes the blue eyes moistened as she sang, -but, ere the tears fell, tender memories would -modulate themselves into the tune of “Auld lang -syne.” And sometimes the old mother, who sat -knitting in the sunshine, would say: “Sing that -again, Jenny. How my old man used to love to -hear you sing it! Don’t you remember he used -to say you sung like a thrush?” Jenny would -smile, and say, “Yes, mother,” and sing it over -again. Then, tenderly adapting herself to the old -woman’s memories, she would strike into “John -Anderson, my Jo,” to which her aged companion -would listen with an expression of serene satisfaction. -It was indeed a pleasure to listen; for -Jenny’s sweet voice remained unbroken by years; -its tones were as silvery as her hair. Time, the -old crow, had traversed her face and left his footprints -there; and the ploughshare of successive -sorrows had cut deep lines into the once smooth -surface; but the beauty of the soul illumined her -faded countenance, as moonlight softens and glorifies -ruins. When she carefully arranged the pillows -of the easy-chair, the aged mother, ere she -settled down for her afternoon’s nap, would often -look up gratefully, and say, “Your eyes are just -as good as a baby’s.” It was a pleasant sound to -the dutiful daughter’s ears, and made her forget -the querulous complaints in which her infirm companion -sometimes indulged.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span></p> - -<p>The time came when this duty was finished -also; and Mrs. Frank May found herself all alone -in the house, whither she had carried her sunshine -thirty years before. She wrote to her daughter -that, as soon as she could sell or let her little -homestead, she would start for Illinois. She -busied herself to hasten the necessary arrangements; -for her lonely heart was longing for her -only child, whose face she had not seen for seven -years. One afternoon, as she sat by the window -adding up accounts, her plans for the journey to -meet her daughter gradually melted into loving -reminiscences of her childhood, till she seemed to -see again the little smiling face that had looked -to her the most beautiful in all the world, and to -hear again the little pattering feet that once made -sweetest music in her ears. As she sat thus in -reverie at the open window, the setting sun brightened -the broad meadows, crowned the distant -hill-tops with glory, and threw a ribbon of gold -across the wall of her humble little room. The -breath of lilacs floated in, and with it came memories -of how her little children used to come in with -their arms full of spring-blossoms, filling every -mug and pitcher they could find. The current -of her thoughts was interrupted by the sound of a -wagon. It stopped before her house. A stranger -with two little children! Who could it be? She -opened the door. The stranger, taking off his hat -and bowing respectfully, said, “Are you Mrs. -Frank May?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span></p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“Well, then,” rejoined he, “if you please, I’ll -walk in, for I’ve got some news to tell you. But -first I’ll bring in the children, for the little things -have been riding all day, and are pretty tired.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, sir, bring them in and let them -rest, and I will give them a cup of milk,” replied -the kindly matron.</p> - -<p>A little boy and girl were lifted from the wagon -and led in. Mrs. May made an exclamation of -joyful surprise. The very vision she had had in -her mind a few minutes previous stood before her -bodily! She took the little girl in her arms and -covered her face with kisses. “Why, bless your -little soul!” she exclaimed; “how much you look -like my daughter Jenny!”</p> - -<p>“My name <em>ith</em> Jenny,” lisped the little one.</p> - -<p>“Why, you see, ma’am—” stammered the -stranger; he paused, in an embarrassed way, and -smoothed the nap of his hat with his sleeve. -“You see, ma’am—” he resumed; then, breaking -down again, he suddenly seized the boy by the -hand, led him up to her, and said, “There, -Robin! that’s your good old granny, you’ve -heard so much about.”</p> - -<p>With a look of astonishment, Mrs. May said to -him: “And where is my daughter, sir? Surely -these little children wouldn’t come so far without -their mother.”</p> - -<p>The man again began to say, “You see,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span> -ma’am—” but his heart came up and choked -his voice with a great sob. The old mother -understood its meaning. She encircled the two -children with her arms, and drew them closely to -her side. After a brief silence, she asked, in a -subdued voice, “When did she die?”</p> - -<p>Her calmness reassured the stranger, and with -a steady voice he replied: “You see, ma’am, your -daughter and her husband have been neighbors of -mine ever since they went to Illinois. There’s -been an epidemic fever raging among us, and they -both died of it. The last words your daughter said -were, ‘Carry the children to my good mother.’ -I’ve been wanting to come and see my old father, -who lives about three miles from here, so I -brought them along with me. It’s sorrowful -news for you, ma’am, and I meant to have sort -of prepared you for it; but somehow I lost my -presence of mind, and forgot what I was going to -say. But I’m glad to see you so sustained under -it, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“I thank God that <em>these</em> are left,” she replied; -and she kissed the little faces that were upturned -to hers with an expression that seemed to say they -thought they should like their grandmother.</p> - -<p>“I’m so glad you’re helped to take it so,” rejoined -the stranger. “Your daughter always told -me you was a woman that went straight ahead -and did your duty, trusting the Lord to bring -you through.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span></p> - -<p>“I am forgetting my duty now,” she replied. -“You must be hungry and tired. If you’ll drive -to Neighbor Harrington’s barn, he will take good -care of your horse, and I will prepare your supper.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you kindly, ma’am; but I must jog on -to my old father’s, to take supper with him.”</p> - -<p>Some boxes containing the clothing of the children -and their mother were brought in; and, having -deposited them, the stranger departed amid -thanks and benedictions.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harrington had seen the wagon stop at -Mrs. May’s door, and go off without the children. -Being of an inquiring mind, she straightway put -on her cape-bonnet, and went to see about it. She -found her worthy neighbor pinning towels round -the children’s necks, preparatory to their supper -of brown bread and molasses, which they were in -a great hurry to eat.</p> - -<p>“Why who on earth have you got here!” exclaimed -Neighbor Harrington.</p> - -<p>“They are my daughter’s children,” replied -Mrs. May. “Bless their little souls! if I’d have -known they were coming, I’d have had some -turnovers ready for them.”</p> - -<p>“I guess you’ll find they’ll <em>make</em> turnovers -enough,” replied Mrs. Harrington smiling. “That -boy looks to me like a born rogue. But where’s -your daughter? I didn’t see any woman in the -wagon.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span></p> - -<p>“The Lord has taken her to himself,” replied -Mrs. May, in quivering tones.</p> - -<p>“You <em>don’t</em> say so!” exclaimed Neighbor Harrington, -raising both hands. “Bless me! if I’d -known that, I wouldn’t have come right in upon -you so sudden.”</p> - -<p>They sat down and began to talk over the particulars -which the stranger had related. Meanwhile, -the children, in hungry haste, were daubing -their chins and fingers with molasses. The little -four-year-old Jenny was the first to pause. Drawing -a long breath, expressive of great satisfaction, -she lisped out, “O Bubby! <em>larthiz</em> top on bread! -what <em>can</em> be gooder?”</p> - -<p>Robin, who was two years her senior, and felt as -if he were as much as ten, gave a great shout of -laughter, and called out, “O Granny! you don’t -know how funny Sissy talks.”</p> - -<p>Grandmother went with a wet towel to wipe -their hands and faces, and when she heard what -the little Tot had said, she could not help smiling, -notwithstanding the heaviness of her heart. As -for Neighbor Harrington, she laughed outright.</p> - -<p>“You see they are just as well satisfied as they -would have been with a dozen turnovers,” said -she. “But this is a sad blow for you, Neighbor -May; coming, too, just at the time when you -were taking so much comfort in the thoughts of -going to see your daughter; and it will be a pretty -heavy load for a woman of your years to bring up -these orphans.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span></p> - -<p>“O, it’s wonderful how the dispensations of -Providence are softened for us poor weak mortals,” -replied Mrs. May. “Only think what a mercy it -is that I have these treasures left? Why, she -looks so much like her dear mother, that I seem to -have my own little Jenny right over again; and I -can’t seem to realize that it isn’t so. You see, -Neighbor Harrington, <em>that</em> softens the blow wonderfully. -As for bringing up the children, I have -faith that the Lord will strengthen those who trust -in him.”</p> - -<p>“That’s just like you,” rejoined Neighbor Harrington. -“You always talk in that way. You -always seem to think that what happens is the -best that <em>could</em> happen. You’re pretty much like -this little one here. If you don’t get tarts and -turnovers, you smack your lips and say, ‘Lasses -top on bread! what <em>can</em> be gooder?’”</p> - -<p>The neighbors bade each other a smiling good-night. -When Mrs. Harrington returned home, -she told her husband the mournful news, and -added, “Mrs. May don’t seem to feel it so much -as I should think she would.” Yet the good -grandmother dropped many tears on the pillow -where those little orphans slept; and kneeling by -their bedside, she prayed long and fervently for -support and guidance in rearing the precious souls -thus committed to her charge.</p> - -<p>She had long been unused to children; and they -did, as Neighbor Harrington had predicted, make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span> -plenty of turnovers in the house. Robin had -remarkable gifts in that line. Endless were his -variations of mischief. Sometimes the stillness of -the premises was suddenly disturbed by a tremendous -fluttering and cackling, caused by his efforts -to catch the cockerel. The next thing, there was -the cat squalling and hissing, because he was -pulling her backward by the tail. Then he was -seized with a desire to explore the pig’s sleeping -apartment, and by that process let him out into -the garden, and had the capital fun of chasing him -over flowers and vegetables. Once when the pig -upset little Sissy in his rounds, he had to lie down -and roll in the mud himself, with loud explosions -of laughter. Quiet little Jenny liked to make -gardens by sticking flowers in the sand, but it -particularly pleased him to send them all flying -into the air, at the point of his boot. When the -leaves were gay with autumn tints, she would -bring her apron full and sit at grandmother’s feet -weaving garlands for the mantel-piece; and it was -Master Robin’s delight to pull them to pieces, -and toss them hither and yon. It was wonderful -how patiently the good grandmother put up with -his roguish pranks. “O Robin, dear, don’t behave -so,” she would say. “Be a good boy. -Come! I want to see how fast you grow. Take -off your boots, and Jenny will take off hers, and -stand even, and then we’ll see which is the -tallest.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span></p> - -<p>“O, I’m <em>ever</em> so much taller. I’m almost a -man,” responded Robin, kicking off his boots.</p> - -<p>Honest little Jenny stood squarely and demurely -while grandmother compared their heights. But -roguish Robin raised himself as much as possible. -To hide his mirth, he darted out of doors as soon -as it was over, calling Jenny after him. Then he -gave her a poke, that toppled her half over, and -said, with a chuckle, “Sissy, I cheated grandmother. -I stood tiptoe. But don’t you <em>tell</em>!”</p> - -<p>But wild as Robin was, he dearly loved his -grandmother, and she loved him better than anything -else, excepting little Jenny. When Neighbor -Harrington said, “I should think that boy -would wear your life out,” she answered, with a -smile: “I don’t know what I should do without -the dear little creatures. I always liked to -be called by my Christian name, because it sounds -more hearty. There’s nobody to call me Jenny -now. The little ones call me granny, and the -neighbors call me old Mrs. Frank May. But I -have a <em>little</em> Jenny, and every time I hear her -name called, it makes me feel as if I was young -again. But what I like best is to hear her tuning -up her little songs. The little darling sings like -a robin.”</p> - -<p>“Then she sings like <em>me</em>,” exclaimed her ubiquitous -brother, who had climbed up to the open -window, holding on by the sill. “I can whistle -most any tune; <em>can’t</em> I?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span></p> - -<p>“Yes, dear, you whistle like a quail,” replied -his grandmother.</p> - -<p>Satisfied with this share of praise, down he -dropped, and the next minute they saw him -rushing down the road, in full chase after a passing -dog. Mrs. May laughed, as she said: “It -seems as if he was in twenty places at once. -But he’s a good boy. There’s nothing the matter -with him, only he’s so full of fun that it -<em>will</em> run over all the time. He’ll grow steadier, -by and by. He brought in a basket of chips to-day -without upsetting them; and he never made -out to do that before. He’s as bright as a steel -button; and if I am only enabled to guide him -right, he will make such a man as my dear husband -would have been proud to own for a grandson. -I used to think it was impossible to love -anything better than I loved my little ones; but -I declare I think a grandmother takes more -comfort in her grandchildren than she did in -her own children.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you do beat all,” replied Mrs. Harrington. -“You’ve had about as much affliction -as any woman I know; but you never seem to -<em>think</em> you’ve had any trouble. I told my husband -I reckoned you <em>would</em> admit it was a tough -job to bring up that boy, at your age; but it -seems you don’t.”</p> - -<p>“Why the fact is,” rejoined Mrs. May, “the -troubles of this life come so mixed up with blessings,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span> -that we are willing to endure one for the -sake of having the other; and then our afflictions -do us so much good, that I reckon <em>they</em> -are blessings, too.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose they are,” replied Mrs. Harrington, -“though they don’t always seem so. But -I came in to tell you that we are going to -Mount Nobscot for huckleberries to-morrow; and -if you and the children would like to go, there’s -room enough in our big wagon.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you heartily,” replied Mrs. May. “It -will be a charming frolic for the little folks. -But pray don’t tell them anything about it to-night; -if you do, Robin won’t sleep a wink, or -let anybody else sleep.”</p> - -<p>The sun rose clear, and the landscape, recently -washed by copious showers, looked clean -and fresh. The children were in ecstasies at -the idea of going to the hill behind which they -had so often seen the sun go down. But so -confused were their ideas of space, that, while -Jenny inquired whether Nobscot was as far off as -Illinois, Robin asked, every five minutes, whether -they had got there. When they were lifted -from the wagon, they eagerly ran forward, and -Robin’s voice was soon heard shouting, “O -Granny! here’s lots o’ berries!” They went -to picking green, red, and black ones with all -zeal, while grandmother proceeded to fill her -basket. When Mrs. Harrington came, she said,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span> -“O, don’t stop to pick here. We shall find -them twice as thick farther up the hill.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll make sure of these,” replied Mrs. May. -“I’m of the old woman’s mind, who said she -always took her comfort in this world as she -went along, for fear it wouldn’t be here when -she came back.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a funny old soul,” rejoined Neighbor -Harrington. “How young you look to-day!”</p> - -<p>In fact, the morning air, the pleasant drive, -the joyous little ones, and the novelty of going -from home, so renovated the old lady, that her -spirits rose to the temperature of youth, her color -heightened, and her step was more elastic than -usual.</p> - -<p>When they had filled their baskets, they sat -under the trees, and opened the boxes of luncheon. -The children did their full share toward -making them empty. When Robin could eat no -more, he followed Joe Harrington into a neighboring -field to examine some cows that were -grazing. The women took out their knitting, -and little Jenny sat at their feet, making hills -of moss, while she sang about</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">A kitty with soft white fur,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Whose only talk was a pleasant purr.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">The grandmother hummed the same tune, but -in tones too low to drown the voice of her darling. -Looking round on the broad panorama of -hills, meadows, and cornfields, dotted with farm-houses,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span> -her soul was filled with the spirit of -summer, and she began to sing, in tones wonderfully -clear and strong for her years,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“Among the trees, when humming-bees</p> - <p class="verse indent0">At buds and flowers were hanging,”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">when Robin scrambled up the hill, calling out, -“Sing something funny, Granny! Sing that song -about <em>me</em>!” He made a motion to scatter Jenny’s -mosses with his foot; but his grandmother -said, “If you want me to sing to you, you must -keep quiet.” He stretched himself full length -before her, and throwing his feet up, gazed in -her face while she sang:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent4">“Robin was a rovin’ boy,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Rantin’ rovin’, rantin’ rovin’;</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Robin was a rovin’ boy,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Rantin’ rovin’ Robin.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“He’ll have misfortunes great and sma’</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But ay a heart aboon them a’;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">He’ll be a credit till us a’;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We’ll a’ be proud o’ Robin.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“That means <em>me</em>!” he said, with an exultant -air; and, turning a somerset, he rolled down the -hill, from the bottom of which they heard him -whistling the tune.</p> - -<p>Altogether, they had a very pleasant day among -the trees and bushes. It brought back very vividly -to Mrs. May’s mind similar ramblings with -Hatty Brown in the fields of Maine. As they -walked slowly toward their wagon, she was looking -dreamily down the long vista of her life, at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span> -entrance of which she seemed to see a vision of her -handsome friend Hatty pelting her with flowers -in girlish glee. The children ran on, while older -members of the party lingered to arrange the baskets. -Presently Jenny came running back, and -said, “Granny, there’s a carriage down there; -and a lady asked me my name, and said I was a -pretty little girl.”</p> - -<p>“Pretty <em>is</em> that pretty <em>does</em>,” replied the grandmother. -“That means it is pretty to be good.” -Then, turning to Mrs. Harrington, she asked, -“Whose carriage is that?”</p> - -<p>She answered, “It passed us last Sunday, when -we were going to meeting, and husband said it -belonged to Mr. Jones, that New York gentleman -who bought the Simmes estate, you know. I guess -that old lady is Mrs. Gray, his wife’s mother.”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. <em>who</em>?” exclaimed her companion, in a -very excited tone.</p> - -<p>“They say her name is Gray,” replied Mrs. -Harrington; “but what <em>is</em> the matter with you? -You’re all of a tremble.”</p> - -<p>Without answering, Mrs. May hurried forward -with a degree of agility that surprised them all. -She paused in front of an old lady very handsomely -dressed in silver-gray silk. She looked at -the thin, sharp features, the dull black eyes, and -the wrinkled forehead. It was <em>so</em> unlike the -charming vision she had seen throwing flowers -in the far-off vista of memory! She asked herself,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span> -“<em>Can</em> it be she?” Then, with a suppressed, half-embarrassed -eagerness, she asked, “Are you the -Mrs. Gray who used to be Hatty Brown?”</p> - -<p>“That was formerly my name,” replied the -lady, with dignified politeness.</p> - -<p>She threw her arms round her neck, nothing -doubting, and exclaimed: “O Hatty! dear Hatty! -How glad I am to see you! I’ve been thinking -of you a deal to-day.”</p> - -<p>The old lady received the embrace passively, -and, readjusting her tumbled cape, replied, “I -think I’ve seen your face somewhere, ma’am, but -I don’t remember where.”</p> - -<p>“What! don’t you know <em>me</em>? Your old friend, -Jenny White, who married Frank May?”</p> - -<p>“O yes, I remember. But you’ve changed a -good deal since I used to know you. Has your -health been good since I saw you, Mrs. May?”</p> - -<p>This response chilled her friend’s heart like an -east wind upon spring flowers. In a confused way, -she stammered out, “I’ve been very well, thank -you; and I hope you have enjoyed the same blessing. -But I must go and see to the children now. -I thought to be sure you’d know me. Good by.”</p> - -<p>“Good by, ma’am,” responded the old lady in -gray.</p> - -<p>The carriage was gone when Mrs. Harrington -and her party entered the big wagon to return -home. Mrs. May, having made a brief explanation -of her proceedings, became unusually silent.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span> -It was a lovely afternoon, but she did not comment -on the beauty of the landscape, as she had done -in the morning. She was kind and pleasant, but -her gayety had vanished. The thought revolved -through her mind: “Could it be my shabby gown? -Hatty always thought a deal of dress.” But the -suspicion seemed to her mean, and she strove to -drive it away.</p> - -<p>“Meeting that old acquaintance seems to make -you down-hearted,” remarked Mrs. Harrington; -“and that’s something new for <em>you</em>.”</p> - -<p>“I <em>was</em> disappointed that she didn’t know me,” -replied Mrs. May; “but when I reflect, it seems -very natural. I doubt whether I should have -known <em>her</em>, if you hadn’t told me her name. -I’m glad it didn’t happen in the morning; for -it might have clouded my day a little. I’ve -had a beautiful time.”</p> - -<p>“Whatever comes, you are always thankful it -wasn’t something worse,” rejoined Mrs. Harrington. -“Little Jenny is going to be just like you. -<em>She</em>’ll never be pining after other people’s pies -and cakes. Whatever she has, she’ll call it ‘Lasses -top on bread! What <em>can</em> be gooder?’ Won’t you, -Sissy?”</p> - -<p>“Bless the dear little soul! she’s fast asleep!” -said her grandmother. She placed the pretty little -head in her lap, and tenderly stroked back the -silky curls. The slight cloud soon floated away -from her serene soul, and she began to sing.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span> -“Away with melancholy,” and “Life let us cherish.” -As the wagon rolled toward home, people -who happened to be at their doors or windows -said: “That is old Mrs. Frank May. What a -clear, sweet voice she has for a woman of her -years!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. May looked in her glass that night longer -than she had done for years. “I <em>am</em> changed,” -said she to herself. “No wonder Hatty didn’t -know me!” She took from the till of her trunk -a locket containing a braid of glossy black hair. -She gazed at it awhile, and then took off her spectacles, -to wipe from them the moisture of her -tears. “And <em>this</em> is my first meeting with Hatty -since we exchanged lockets!” murmured she. -“If we had foreseen it then, could we have believed -it?”</p> - -<p>The question whether or not it was a duty to -call on Mrs. Gray disturbed her mind considerably. -Mrs. Harrington settled it for her off-hand. -“She did not ask you to come,” said she; “and -if she’s a mind to set herself up, let her take the -comfort of it. Folks say she’s a dreadful stiff, -prim old body; rigid Orthodox; sure that everybody -who don’t think just as she does will go to -the bad place.”</p> - -<p>These words were not uttered with evil intention, -but their effect was to increase the sense of -separation. On the other hand, influences were -not wanting to prejudice Mrs. Gray against her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span> -former friend, whose sudden appearance and enthusiastic -proceedings had disconcerted her precise -habits. When the Sewing-Society met at her son-in-law’s -house, she happened to be seated next to -an austere woman, of whom she inquired, “What -sort of person is Mrs. Frank May?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know her,” was the reply. “She -goes to the Unitarian meeting, and I have no -acquaintance with people of that society. I should -judge she was rather light-minded. When I’ve -passed by her house, I’ve often heard her singing -songs; and I should think psalms and hymns -would be more suitable to her time of life. I -rode by there once on Sunday, when I was coming -home from a funeral, and she was singing -something that sounded too lively for a psalm-tune. -Miss Crosby told me she heard her say -that heathens were just as likely to be saved as -Christians.”</p> - -<p>“O, I am sorry to hear that,” replied Mrs. -Gray. “She and I were brought up under the -Rev. Mr. Peat’s preaching, and he was sound -Orthodox.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know she was an acquaintance of -yours,” rejoined the austere lady, “or I wouldn’t -have called her light-minded. I never heard anything -against her, only what she said about the -heathen.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. May, having revolved the subject in her -straightforward mind, came to the conclusion that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span> -Neighbor Harrington’s advice was not in conformity -with the spirit of kindness. “Since Mrs. -Gray is a stranger in town, it is my place to call -first,” said she. “I will perform my duty, and -then she can do as she pleases about returning the -visit.” So she arrayed herself in the best she -had, placed the children in the care of Mrs. Harrington, -and went forth on her mission of politeness. -The large mirror, the chairs covered with -green damask, and the paper touched here and -there with gold, that shimmered in the rays of the -setting sun, formed a striking contrast to her own -humble home. Perhaps this unaccustomed feeling -imparted a degree of constraint to her manner -when her old friend entered the room, in ample -folds of shining gray silk, and a rich lace cap with -pearl-colored ribbons. Mrs. Gray remarked to -her that she bore her age remarkably well; to -which Mrs. May replied that folks told her so, and -she supposed it was because she generally had -pretty good health. It did not occur to her to -return the compliment, for it would not have been -true. Jenny was now better-looking than Hatty. -Much of this difference might be attributed to her -more perfect health, but still more it was owing -to the fact that, all their lives long, one had lived -to be ministered unto, and the other to minister. -The interview was necessarily a formal one. -Mrs. Gray inquired about old acquaintances in -Maine, but her visitor had been so long absent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span> -from that part of the country that she had little -or nothing to tell, and all she had struggled -through meanwhile would have been difficult for -the New York lady to realize. The remark about -her light-mindedness was constantly present in -Mrs. Gray’s mind, and at parting she thus expressed -the anxiety it occasioned: “You say you -have a great deal to do, Mrs. May, and indeed -you must have, with all the care of those little -children; but I hope you find time to think about -the salvation of your soul.”</p> - -<p>Her visitor replied, with characteristic simplicity: -“I don’t know whether I do, in the sense I -suppose you mean. I have thought a great deal -about what is right and what is wrong, and I have -prayed for light to see what was my duty, and for -strength to perform it. But the fact is, I have -had so much to do for others, that I haven’t had -much time to think about myself, in <em>any</em> way.” -Then, with some passing remark about the vines -at the door, the old ladies bade each other good-by.</p> - -<p>When Mrs. Harrington was informed of the -conversation, she said, in her blunt way: “It was -a great piece of impertinence in her. She’d better -take care of her own soul than trouble herself -about yours.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so,” replied Mrs. May. “I believe -she meant it kindly. She don’t seem to me -to be stern or proud. But we’ve been doing and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span> -thinking such very different things, for a great -many years, that she don’t know what to say to -<em>me</em>, and I am just as much puzzled how to get at -<em>her</em>. I reckon all these things will come right in -another world.”</p> - -<p>During the summer she often saw Mr. Jones’s -carriage pass her house, and many a time, when -the weather was fine, she placed fresh flowers -on the mantel-piece, in a pretty vase which Hatty -had given her for a bridal present, thinking to -herself that Mrs. Gray would be likely to ride -out, and might give her a call. When autumn -came, she filled the vase with grasses and bright -berries, which she gathered in her ramblings with -the children. Once, the carriage passed her as -she was walking home, with a little one in either -hand, and Mrs. Gray looked out and bowed. At -last a man came with a barrel of apples and a -message. The purport of it was, that she had -gone with her daughter’s family to New York for -the winter; that she intended to have called on -Mrs. May, but had been poorly and made no -visits.</p> - -<p>Winter passed rapidly. The children attended -school constantly; it was grandmother’s business -to help them about their lessons, to knit them -warm socks and mittens, to mend their clothes, -and fill their little dinner-kettle with provisions. -The minister, the deacon, and the neighbors in -general felt interested to help the worthy woman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span> -along in the task she had undertaken. Many -times a week she repeated, “How my path is -strewn with blessings!”</p> - -<p>With the lilacs the New York family came -back to their summer residence. The tidings -soon spread abroad that Mrs. Gray was failing -fast, and was seldom strong enough to ride out. -Mrs. May recalled to mind certain goodies, of -which Hatty used to be particularly fond in their -old girlish times. The next day she started from -home with a basket nicely covered with a white -damask napkin, on the top of which lay a large -bunch of Lilies of the Valley, imbedded in one of -their broad green leaves. She found Mrs. Gray -bolstered up in her easy-chair, looking quite thin -and pale. “I know you have everything you -want, and better than I can bring,” said she; -“but I remembered you used to like these goodies -when we were girls, and I wanted to bring you -<em>something</em>, so I brought these.” She laid the -flowers in the thin hand, and uncovered her -basket.</p> - -<p>The invalid looked up in her face with a smile, -and said, “Thank you, Jenny; this is very kind -of you.”</p> - -<p>“God bless you for calling me Jenny!” exclaimed -her warm-hearted old friend, with a gush -of tears. “There is nobody left to call me Jenny -now. The children call me Granny, and the -neighbors call me old Mrs. Frank May. O, it -sounds like old times, Hatty.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span></p> - -<p>The ice gave way under the touch of that one -sunbeam. Mrs. Gray and Mrs. May vanished from -their conversation, and only Hatty and Jenny remained. -For several months they met every day, -and warmed their old hearts with youthful memories. -Once only, a little of the former restraint -returned for a few minutes. Mrs. Gray betrayed -what was in her mind, by saying: “I suppose, -Jenny, you know I haven’t any property. My -husband failed before he died, and I am dependent -on my daughter.”</p> - -<p>“I never inquired about your property, and I -don’t care anything about it,” replied Mrs. May, -rather bruskly, and with a slight flush on her -cheeks; but, immediately subsiding into a gentler -tone, she added, “I’m very glad, Hatty, that you -have a daughter who is able to make you so comfortable.”</p> - -<p>Thenceforth the invalid accepted her disinterested -services without question or doubt. True -to her old habits of being ministered unto, she -made large demands on her friend’s time and -strength, apparently unconscious how much inconvenience -it must occasion to an old person charged -with the whole care of two orphan children. Mrs. -May carefully concealed any impediments in the -way, and, by help of Mrs. Harrington, was always -ready to attend upon her old friend. She was -often called upon to sing “Auld Lang Syne”; and -sometimes, when the invalid felt stronger than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span> -common, she would join in with her feeble, cracked -voice. Jenny sat looking at Hatty’s withered -face, and dim black eyes, and she often felt a -choking in her throat, while they sang together:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“We twa hae ran about the braes,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And pu’d the gowans fine.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>More frequently they sang the psalm-tunes they -used to sing when both sat in the singing-seats -with Frank May and Harry Blake. They seldom -parted without Jenny’s reading a chapter of the -New Testament in a soft, serious tone. One day -Mrs. Gray said: “I have a confession to make, -Jenny. I was a little prejudiced against you, and -thought I shouldn’t care to renew our acquaintance. -Somebody told me you was light-minded, -and that you told Miss Crosby the heathen were -just as likely to be saved as Christians. But you -seem to put your trust in God, Jenny; and it is -a great comfort to me to hear you read and sing.”</p> - -<p>“I have a confession to make, too,” replied Mrs. -May. “They told me you was a very stern and -bigoted Orthodox; and you know, when we were -girls, Hatty, I never took much to folks that were -too strict to brew a Saturday, for fear the beer -would work a Sunday.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, we were giddy young things in those -days,” replied her friend, with much solemnity in -her manner.</p> - -<p>“Well, Hatty dear, I’m a sort of an old girl -now,” replied Mrs. May. “I am disposed to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span> -be merciful toward the short-comings of my fellow-creatures, -and I cannot believe our Heavenly -Father will be less so. I remember Miss Crosby -talked to me about the heathen one day, and -I thought she talked hard. I don’t recollect -what I said to her; but after I arrived at years -of reflection I came to some conclusions different -from the views we were brought up in. -You know my dear Frank was an invalid many -years. He was always in the house, and we -read to each other, and talked over what we -read. In that way, I got the best part of the -education I have after I was married. Among -other things he read to me some translations from -what the Hindoos believe in as their Bible; and -some of the writings of Rammohun Roy; and -we both came to the conclusion that some who -were called heathens might be nearer to God -than many professing Christians. You know, -Hatty, that Jesus walked and talked with his -disciples, and their hearts were stirred, but they -didn’t know him. Now it seems to me that the -spirit of Jesus may walk and talk with good -pious Hindoos and Mahometans, and may stir -their hearts, though they don’t know him.”</p> - -<p>“You may be right,” rejoined the invalid. -“God’s ways are above our ways. It’s a pity -friends should be set against one another on account -of what they believe, or don’t believe. -Pray for <em>me</em>, Jenny, and I will pray for <em>you</em>.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span></p> - -<p>It was the latter part of October, when Mrs. -May carried a garland of bright autumn leaves -to pin up opposite her friend’s bed. “It is beautiful,” -said the invalid; “but the colors are not -so brilliant as those you and I used to gather in -Maine. O, how the woods glowed there, at -this season! I wish I could see them again.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. May smiled, and answered, “Perhaps -you <em>will</em>, dear.”</p> - -<p>Her friend looked in her face, with an earnest, -questioning glance; but she only said, “Sing our -old favorite tune in bygone days, Jenny.” She -seated herself by the bedside and sang:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“The Lord my shepherd is,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I shall be well supplied;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Since he is mine, and I am his,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">What can I want beside?”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Perceiving that the invalid grew drowsy, she continued -to hum in a low, lulling tone. When she -was fast asleep, she rose up, and, after gazing -tenderly upon her, crept softly out of the room. -She never looked in those old dim eyes again. -The next morning they told her the spirit had -departed from its frail tenement.</p> - -<p>Some clothing and a few keepsakes were transmitted -to Mrs. May soon after, in compliance -with the expressed wish of her departed friend. -Among them was the locket containing a braid -of her own youthful hair. It was the very color -of little Jenny’s, only the glossy brown was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span> -shade darker. She placed the two lockets side -by side, and wiped the moisture from her spectacles -as she gazed upon them. Then she wrapped -them together, and wrote on them, with a trembling -hand, “The hair of Grandmother and her -old friend Hatty; for my darling little Jenny.”</p> - -<p>When Neighbor Harrington came in to examine -the articles that had been sent, the old -lady said to her: “There is nobody left now to -call me Jenny. But here is my precious <em>little</em> -Jenny. <em>She</em>’ll never forsake her old granny; -<em>will</em> she, darling?” The child snuggled fondly -to her side, and stood on tiptoe to kiss the wrinkled -face, which was to her the dearest face in -the whole world.</p> - -<p>She never did desert her good old friend. She -declined marrying during Mrs. May’s lifetime, and -waited upon her tenderly to the last. Robin, -who proved a bright scholar, went to the West -to teach school, with the view of earning money -to buy a farm, where grandmother should be -the queen. He wrote her many loving letters, -and sent portions of his earnings to her and -Sissy; but she departed this life before his earthly -paradise was made ready for her. The last tune -she sang was St. Martin’s; and the last words -she spoke were: “How many blessings I have -received! Thank the Lord for all his mercies!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_37"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span></p> - -<div id="il_10" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_049.png" width="1431" height="329" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_GOOD_OLD_GRANDMOTHER">THE GOOD OLD GRANDMOTHER,<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">WHO DIED AGED EIGHTY.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">O <span class="in05">softly</span></span> wave the silver hair</p> - <p class="verse indent2">From off that aged brow!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That crown of glory, worn so long,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A fitting crown is now.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Fold reverently the weary hands,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That toiled so long and well,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And, while your tears of sorrow fall,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Let sweet thanksgivings swell.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">That life-work, stretching o’er long years,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A varied web has been;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With silver strands by sorrow wrought,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And sunny gleams between.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">These silver hairs stole softly on,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Like flakes of falling snow,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That wrap the green earth lovingly,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">When autumn breezes blow.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Each silver hair, each wrinkle there,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Records some good deed done;</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span> - <p class="verse indent0">Some flower she cast along the way,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Some spark from love’s bright sun.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">How bright she always made her home!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">It seemed as if the floor</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Was always flecked with spots of sun,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And barred with brightness o’er.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The very falling of her step</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Made music as she went;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A loving song was on her lip,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The song of full content.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And now, in later years, her word</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Has been a blessed thing</p> - <p class="verse indent0">In many a home, where glad she saw</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Her children’s children spring.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Her widowed life has happy been,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">With brightness born of heaven;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">So pearl and gold in drapery fold</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The sunset couch at even.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">O gently fold the weary hands</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That toiled so long and well;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The spirit rose to angel bands,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">When off earth’s mantle fell.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">She’s safe within her Father’s house,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Where many mansions be;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">O pray that thus such rest may come,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Dear heart, to thee and me!</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Anonymous.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_39"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span></p> -<div id="il_11" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_051.png" width="1374" height="304" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_CONSOLATIONS_OF_AGE">THE CONSOLATIONS OF AGE.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF ZSCHOKKE’S -AUTOBIOGRAPHY.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l1" src="images/i_051idcf.png" width="287" height="307" alt="F"> -<p><span class="ucase">From</span> all I have narrated concerning -my good and evil days, some may infer -that I have been on the whole a favorite -of fortune; that I may very well -be philosophic, and maintain a rosy good-humor, -since, with the exception of a few self-torments of -the fancy, I have seldom or never experienced -a misfortune. But indeed I <em>have</em> met with what -men usually style great misfortunes, or evils, though -I never so named them. Like every mortal, I -have had my share of what is called human misery. -The weight of a sudden load has sometimes, for a -moment, staggered me and pressed me down, as -is the case with others. But, with renewed buoyancy -of spirit, I have soon risen again, and borne -the burden allotted to me, without discontent. -Nay, more than this, though some may shake -their heads incredulously, it is a fact that worldly -suffering has often not been disagreeable to me.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span> -It has weaned me from placing my trust in transitory -things. It has shown me the degree of -strength and self-reliance I could retain, even at -that period of life when the passions reign. I am -fully convinced that there is no evil in the world -but sin. Nothing but consciousness of guilt spins a -dark thread, which reaches through the web of all -our days, even unto the grave. God is not the -author of calamity, but only man, by his weakness, -his over-estimate of pompous vanities, and the -selfish nurture of his appetites. He weeps like a -child because he cannot have his own way, and -even at seventy years of age is not yet a man. -He bewails himself, because God does not mind -him. Yet every outward misfortune is in truth -as worthy a gift of God as outward success.</p> - -<p>In common with others, I have met with ingratitude -from many; but it did not disquiet me; -because what I had done for them was not done -for thanks. Friends have deceived me, but it did -not make me angry with them; for I saw that I -had only deceived myself with regard to them. -I have endured misapprehension and persecution -with composure, being aware of the unavoidable -diversity of opinions, and of the passions thereby -excited. I have borne the crosses of poverty without -a murmur; for experience had taught me that -outward poverty often brings inward wealth. I -have lost a moderate property, which I had acquired -by toil, but such losses did not imbitter me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span> -for a single day; they only taught me to work -and spare. I have been the happy father of happy -children. Twelve sons and one daughter I have -counted; and I have had to sit, with a bleeding -heart, at the death-bed of four of those sons. As -they drew their last breath, I felt that divine -sorrow which transforms the inner man. My -spirit rested on the Father of the universe, and -it was well with me. My dead ones were not -parted from me. Those who remained behind -drew the more closely to one another, while eagerly -looking toward those who had gone before -them to other mansions of the Great Father. It -was our custom to think of the deceased as still -living in the midst of us. We were wont to talk -about their little adventures, their amusing sallies, -and the noble traits of their characters. Everything -noteworthy concerning <em>them</em>, as well as -what related to the <em>living</em> members of the family, -was recorded by the children in a chronicle they -kept in the form of a newspaper, and was thus -preserved from oblivion. Death is something festal, -great, like all the manifestations of God here -below. The death of my children hallowed me; -it lifted me more and more out of the shows of -earth, into the divine. It purified my thoughts -and feelings. I wept, as a child of the dust <em>must</em> -do; but in spirit I was calm and cheerful, because -I knew to whom I and mine belonged.</p> - -<p>At the beginning of old age, I could indeed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span> -call myself a happy man. On my seventieth -birthday, I felt as if I were standing on a mountain -height, at whose foot the ocean of eternity -was audibly rushing; while behind me, life, with -its deserts and flower-gardens, its sunny days and -its stormy days, spread out green, wild, and beautiful. -Formerly, when I read or heard of the -joylessness of age, I was filled with sadness; but -I now wondered that it presented so much that -was agreeable. The more the world diminished -and grew dark, the less I felt the loss of it; for -the dawn of the next world grew ever clearer -and clearer.</p> - -<p>Thus rejoicing in God, and with him, I advance -into the winter of life, beyond which no -spring awaits me on this planet. The twilight -of my existence on earth is shining round me; -but the world floats therein in a rosy light, more -beautiful than the dawn of life. Others may -look back with homesickness to the lost paradise -of childhood. That paradise was never mine. -I wandered about, an orphan, unloved, and forsaken -of all but God. I thank him for this -allotment; for it taught me to build my paradise -within. The solemn evening is at hand, and it -is welcome. I repent not that I have lived. -Others, in their autumn, can survey and count -up their collected harvests. This I cannot. I -have scattered seed, but whither the wind has -carried it I know not. The good-will alone was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span> -mine. God’s hand decided concerning the success -of my labor. Many an unproductive seed -I have sown; but I do not, on that account, -complain either of myself or of Heaven. Fortune -has lavished on me no golden treasures; but -contented with what my industry has acquired,</p> - -<p class="center"> -and my economy has preserved, I enjoy that<br> -noble independence at which I have<br> -always aimed; and out of the little<br> -I possess I have been sometimes<br> -able to afford assistance<br> -to others who were<br> -less fortunate. -</p> - -<div id="il_12" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_055.png" width="70" height="258" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">An</span> healthy old fellow, that is not a fool, is the -happiest creature living. It is at that time of life -only men enjoy their faculties with pleasure and -satisfaction. It is then we have nothing to <em>manage</em>, -as the phrase is; we speak the downright truth; -and whether the rest of the world will <em>give</em> us the -privilege, or not, we have so little to ask of them, -that we can <em>take</em> it.—<span class="smcap">Steele.</span></p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_44"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span></p> - -<div id="il_13" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_056.png" width="1402" height="337" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_OLD_MAN_DREAMS">THE OLD MAN DREAMS.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">O <span class="in05">for</span></span> one hour of youthful joy!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Give me back my twentieth spring!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’d rather laugh a bright-haired boy,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Than reign a gray-beard king!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Off with the wrinkled spoils of age!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Away with learning’s crown!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Tear out life’s wisdom-written page,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And dash its trophies down!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">One moment let my life-blood stream</p> - <p class="verse indent2">From boyhood’s fount of fame!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Give me one giddy, reeling dream</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Of life all love and flame!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">My listening angel heard the prayer,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And, calmly smiling, said,</p> - <p class="verse indentq">“If I but touch thy silvered hair,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Thy hasty wish hath sped.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“But is there nothing in thy track</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To bid thee fondly stay,</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span> - <p class="verse indent0">While the swift seasons hurry back</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To find the wished-for day?”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Ah, truest soul of womankind!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Without <em>thee</em>, what were life?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">One bliss I cannot leave behind:</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I’ll take—my—precious—wife!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The angel took a sapphire pen</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And wrote in rainbow dew,</p> - <p class="verse indentq">“The man would be a boy again,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And be a husband too!”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“And is there nothing yet unsaid,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Before the change appears?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Remember, all their gifts have fled</p> - <p class="verse indent2">With those dissolving years!”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Why, yes; for memory would recall</p> - <p class="verse indent2">My fond paternal joys;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I could not bear to leave them all:</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I’ll take—my—girl—and—boys!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The smiling angel dropped his pen,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">“Why, this will never do;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The man would be a boy again,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And be a father too!”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And so I laughed,—my laughter woke</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The household with its noise,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And wrote my dream, when morning broke,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To please the gray-haired boys.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_46"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span></p> -<div id="il_14" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_058.png" width="1414" height="327" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_RUSSIAN_LADY">A RUSSIAN LADY<br> - -<span class="subhead">OF THE OLD SCHOOL.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor smaller">A</a></span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="fnanchor">A</a> From Life in the Interior of Russia.</p> - -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_058idcg.png" width="310" height="310" alt="G"> -<p><span class="ucase">Give</span> me your hand, dear reader, and -accompany me on a visit to one of my -neighbors. The day is fine, the blue -sky of the month of May is a beautiful -object; the smooth young leaves of the white -hazel-trees are as brilliant as if they had been -newly washed. The large, smooth fields are covered -with that fine young grass which the sheep -love so much to crop; on the right and left, on -the long slopes of the hills, the rye-grass is waving, -and over its smooth swell glide the shadows -of the little flying clouds. In the distance, the -woods are resplendent with the brilliant light; the -ponds glitter, and the villages are bathed in yellow -rays. Innumerable larks fly about, singing and -beating their wings in unison; making their appearance -first in one spot, then in another, they -rise lightly from the fields, and again are as quickly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span> -lost in them. The rooks station themselves on -the highway, looking up fixedly at the sun; they -move aside to let you pass, or foolishly fly forward -ten paces on the edge of the road. On the slopes -beyond a ravine a laborer is at his plough, and a -piebald foal, with its miserable little tail, dishevelled -mane, and long, frail legs, runs after its -mother, and we may just hear its plaintive neigh. -We enter a birch wood, and a fresh and strong -odor fills the air; we reach the gate of an enclosure; -the coachman descends, and, while the -horses snort, and the right wheeler plays with -his tail, and rubs his jaw against the pole, he -opens the creaking gate, and, reseating himself, -we roll on.</p> - -<p>A village now presents itself, and, after passing -five or six farm-yards, we turn to the right, and -descending rapidly, are soon driving along an embankment. -Beyond a pond of moderate extent, -and behind apple-trees and clustering lilacs, an old -wooden house is now visible, painted red, and possessing -two chimneys. We drive along a paling -on the left, and pass through a large open carriage -entrance, saluted by the husky barkings of three -old worn-out dogs. My groom gallantly salutes -an old housekeeper, who is peeping out of the -pantry through a foot and a half window. We -draw up before the door near the veranda of a -gloomy little house. It is the abode of Tatiana -Borissovna. But there she is herself, saluting us<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span> -from the window. “Good morning, good morning, -Madame.”</p> - -<p>Tatiana Borissovna is a woman of about fifty; -she has large bluish-gray eyes, slightly prominent, -a nose inclined to flatness, cherry cheeks, and a -double chin. Her face beams with sweetness and -goodness. She once had a husband, but so long -ago that no one has any recollection of it. She -scarcely ever leaves her little property, keeps up -but a slight connection with her neighbors, seldom -invites them to her house, and likes none but -young people. Her father was a poor gentleman, -and she consequently received a very imperfect -education; in other words, she does not speak -French, and has never seen even Moscow, not -to speak of St. Petersburg. But, spite of these -little defects, she manages all her affairs in her -country life so simply and wisely; she has so large -a way of thinking, of feeling, and comprehending -things; she is so little accessible to the thousand -weaknesses which are generally found in our good -provincial ladies,—poor things,—that, in truth, -one cannot help admiring her. Only consider -that she lives all the year round within the precincts -of her own village and estate, quite isolated, -and that she remains a stranger to all the tittle-tattle -of the locality; does not rail, slander, take -offence, or choke and fret with curiosity; that -envy, jealousy, aversion, and restlessness of body -and mind, are all unknown to her; only consider<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span> -this, and grant that she is a marvel. Every day -after eleven o’clock she is dressed in a gown of -iron-gray taffeta, and a white cap with long pure -ribbons; she likes to eat, and make others do the -same; but she eats moderately, and lets others follow -her example. Preserves, fruits, pickled meats, -are all intrusted to the housekeeper. With what, -then, does she occupy herself, and how does she -fill up her day? She reads, perhaps, you will -say. No, she does not read; and, to speak the -truth, people must think of others than Tatiana -Borissovna when they print a book. In winter, -if she is alone, our Tatiana Borissovna sits near a -window, and quietly knits a stocking; in summer -she goes and comes in her garden, where she -plants and waters flowers, picks the caterpillars -from her shrubs, puts props under her bushes, and -sprinkles sand over the garden paths; then she -can amuse herself for hours with the feathered race -in her court-yard, with her kittens and pigeons, -all of which she feeds herself. She occupies herself -very little with housekeeping. If, unexpectedly, -any good young neighbor chances to look in, -she is then as happy as possible; she establishes -herself upon her divan, regales her visitor with -tea, hears all he has to say, sometimes gives him -little friendly pats on the cheek, laughs heartily at -his sallies, and speaks little herself. Are you -annoyed, or the victim of some misfortune? She -consoles you with the most sympathizing words,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span> -and opens up various means of relief, all full of -good sense. How many there are, who, after -confiding to her their family secrets and their -private griefs, have found themselves so relieved -by unburdening their minds, that they have bathed -her hands with their tears. In general, she sits -right before her guest, her head leaning lightly -on her left hand, looking in his face with so much -kindly interest, smiling with such friendly good-nature, -that one can scarcely keep himself from -saying, “Ah! what an excellent woman you are, -Tatiana Borissovna. Come, I will conceal from</p> - -<p class="center"> -you nothing that weighs upon my heart.” In her<br> -delightful, nice little rooms, one is so pleased<br> -with himself and everybody, that he is<br> -unwilling to leave them; in this<br> -little heaven, the weather<br> -is always at “set<br> -fair.” -</p> - -<div id="il_15" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_062.png" width="59" height="100" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> happiness of life may be greatly increased -by small courtesies in which there is no parade, -whose voice is too still to tease, and which manifest -themselves by tender and affectionate looks, and -little kind acts of attention, giving others the preference -in every little enjoyment at the table, in -the field, walking, sitting, or standing.—<span class="smcap">Sterne.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span></span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_51"> -<div id="il_16" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_063.png" width="1398" height="327" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_OLD_MANS_SONG">THE OLD MAN’S SONG.<br> - -<span class="subhead">TO HIS WIFE.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Oh</span>, don’t be sorrowful, darling!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Now don’t be sorrowful, pray!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For, taking the year together, my dear,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">There isn’t more night than day.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">’Tis rainy weather, my darling;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Time’s waves they heavily run;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But, taking the year together, my dear,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">There isn’t more cloud than sun.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">We are old folks now, my darling;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Our heads they are growing gray;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But, taking the year all round, my dear,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">You will always find the May.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">We’ve <em>had</em> our May, my darling,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And our roses, long ago;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the time of the year is coming, my dear,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">For the long dark nights and the snow.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">But God is God, my darling,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Of night, as well as of day;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And we feel and know that we can go</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Wherever He leads the way.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Ay, God of the night, my darling;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Of the night of death so grim.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The gate that from life leads out, good wife,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Is the gate that leads to Him.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Anonymous.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_52"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_TWENTY-SEVENTH_OF_MARCH">THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF MARCH.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">THE BIRTHDAY OF ——.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Now</span> be the hours that yet remain to thee</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Stormy or sunny, sympathy and love,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That inextinguishably dwell within</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Thy heart, shall give a beauty and a light</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To the most desolate moments, like the glow</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Of a bright fireside in the wildest day;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And kindly words and offices of good</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Shall wait upon thy steps, as thou goest on,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Where God shall lead thee, till thou reach the gates</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Of a more genial season, and thy path</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Be lost to human eye among the bowers</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And living fountains of a brighter land.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Wm. C. Bryant.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_53"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span></p> -<div id="il_17" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_065.png" width="1472" height="378" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_CHRISTMAS_STORY_FOR">A CHRISTMAS STORY FOR -GRANDFATHER.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> CHARLES DICKENS.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l3" src="images/i_065idco.png" width="327" height="336" alt="O"> -<p><span class="ucase">Once</span> upon a time, a good many years -ago, there was a traveller, and he set -out upon a journey. It was a magic -journey, and was to seem very long -when he began it, and very short when he got -half-way through.</p> - -<p>He travelled along a rather dark path for some -little time, without meeting anything, until at last -he came to a beautiful child. So he said to the -child, “What do you here?” And the child said, -“I am always at play. Come and play with me!”</p> - -<p>So, he played with that child the whole day -long, and they were very merry. The sky was -so blue, the sun was so bright, the water was so -sparkling, the leaves were so green, the flowers -were so lovely, and they heard such singing-birds, -and saw so many butterflies, that everything was -beautiful. This was in fine weather. When it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span> -rained, they loved to watch the falling drops and -to smell the fresh scents. When it blew, it was -delightful to listen to the wind, and fancy what it -said, as it came rushing from its home—where -was that, they wondered!—whistling and howling, -and driving the clouds before it, bending the -trees, rumbling in the chimneys, shaking the house, -and making the sea roar in fury. But when it -snowed, that was the best of all; for they liked -nothing so well as to look up at the white flakes -falling fast and thick, like down from the breasts -of millions of white birds; and to see how smooth -and deep the drift was, and to listen to the hush -upon the paths and roads.</p> - -<p>They had plenty of the finest toys in the world, -and the most astonishing picture-books, all about -scimitars and slippers and turbans, and dwarfs and -giants, and genii and fairies, and blue-beards and -bean-stalks, and riches, and caverns and forests, -and Valentines and Orsons: and all new and all -true.</p> - -<p>But one day, of a sudden, the traveller lost the -child. He called to him over and over again, but -got no answer. So, he went upon his road, and -went on for a little while without meeting anything, -until at last he came to a handsome boy. -So, he said to the boy, “What do you here?” -And the boy said, “I am always learning. Come -and learn with me.”</p> - -<p>So he learned with that boy about Jupiter and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span> -Juno, and the Greeks and the Romans, and I -don’t know what, and learned more than I could -tell,—or he either; for he soon forgot a great -deal of it. But they were not always learning; -they had the merriest games that ever were played. -They rowed upon the river in summer, and skated -on the ice in winter; they were active afoot, and -active on horseback; at cricket, and all games at -ball; at prisoners’ base, hare and hounds, follow -my leader, and more sports than I can think of; -nobody could beat them. They had holidays, too, -and Twelfth cakes, and parties where they danced -all night till midnight, and real theatres, where -they saw palaces of real gold and silver rise out -of the real earth, and saw all the wonders of the -world at once. As to friends, they had such dear -friends, and so many of them, that I want the time -to reckon them up. They were all young, like the -handsome boy, and were never to be strange to -one another all their lives through.</p> - -<p>Still, one day, in the midst of all these pleasures, -the traveller lost the boy, as he had lost the child, -and, after calling on him in vain, went on upon -his journey. So he went on for a little while -without seeing anything, until at last he came to -a young man. So, he said to the young man, -“What do you here?” And the young man -said, “I am always in love. Come and love with -me.”</p> - -<p>So, he went away with that young man, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span> -presently they came to one of the prettiest girls -that ever was seen,—just like Fanny in the corner -there,—and she had eyes like Fanny, and hair -like Fanny, and dimples like Fanny’s, and she -laughed and colored just as Fanny does while I -am talking about her. So, the young man fell in -love directly,—just as Somebody I won’t mention, -the first time he came here, did with Fanny. -Well! He was teased sometimes,—just as Somebody -used to be by Fanny; and they quarrelled -sometimes,—just as Somebody and Fanny used -to quarrel; and they made it up, and sat in the -dark, and wrote letters every day, and never -were happy asunder, and were always looking -out for one another, and pretending not to, and -were engaged at Christmas time, and sat close to -one another by the fire, and were going to be -married very soon,—all exactly like Somebody I -won’t mention and Fanny!</p> - -<p>But the traveller lost them one day, as he had -lost the rest of his friends, and, after calling to -them to come back, which they never did, went -on upon his journey. So, he went on for a little -while without seeing anything, until at last he -came to a middle-aged gentleman. So, he said to -the gentleman, “What are you doing here?” -And his answer was, “I am always busy. Come -and be busy with me!”</p> - -<p>So, then he began to be very busy with that -gentleman, and they went on through the wood<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span> -together. The whole journey was through a -wood, only it had been open and green at first, -like a wood in spring; and now began to be thick -and dark, like a wood in summer; some of the -little trees that had come out earliest were even -turning brown. The gentleman was not alone, -but had a lady of about the same age with him, -who was his wife: and they had children, who -were with them too. So, they all went on together -through the wood, cutting down the trees, -and making a path through the branches and the -fallen leaves, and carrying burdens, and working -hard.</p> - -<p>Sometimes they came to a long green avenue -that opened into deeper woods. Then they would -hear a very little distant voice crying, “Father, -father, I am another child! Stop for me!” -And presently they would see a very little figure, -growing larger as it came along, running to join -them. When it came up, they all crowded -round it, and kissed and welcomed it; and then -they all went on together.</p> - -<p>Sometimes they came to several avenues at -once; and then they all stood still, and one of the -children said, “Father, I am going to sea”; and -another said, “Father, I am going to India”; and -another, “Father, I am going to seek my fortune -where I can”; and another, “Father, I am going -to heaven!” So, with many tears at parting, -they went, solitary, down those avenues, each<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span> -child upon its way; and the child who went to -heaven, rose into the golden air and vanished.</p> - -<p>Whenever these partings happened, the traveller -looked at the gentleman, and saw him glance up -at the sky above the trees, where the day was -beginning to decline, and the sunset to come on. -He saw, too, that his hair was turning gray. But -they never could rest long, for they had their journey -to perform, and it was necessary for them to -be always busy.</p> - -<p>At last, there had been so many partings that -there were no children left, and only the traveller, -the gentleman, and the lady went upon their way -in company. And now the wood was yellow; -and now brown; and the leaves, even of the -forest-trees, began to fall.</p> - -<p>So they came to an avenue that was darker -than the rest, and were pressing forward on their -journey without looking down it, when the lady -stopped.</p> - -<p>“My husband,” said the lady, “I am called.”</p> - -<p>They listened, and they heard a voice a long -way down the avenue say, “Mother, mother!”</p> - -<p>It was the voice of the first child who had said, -“I am going to heaven!” and the father said, -“I pray not yet. The sunset is very near. I -pray not yet.”</p> - -<p>But the voice cried, “Mother, mother!” without -minding him, though his hair was now quite -white, and tears were on his face.</p> - -<p>Then, the mother, who was already drawn into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span> -the shade of the dark avenue, and moving away -with her arms still around his neck, kissed him and -said, “My dearest, I am summoned, and I go!” -And she was gone. And the traveller and he -were left alone together.</p> - -<p>And they went on and on together, until they -came to very near the end of the wood; so near, -that they could see the sunset shining red before -them through the trees.</p> - -<p>Yet, once more, while he broke his way among -the branches, the traveller lost his friend. He -called and called, but there was no reply, and -when he passed out of the wood and saw the -peaceful sun going down upon a wide purple prospect, -he came to an old man sitting upon a fallen -tree. So, he said to the old man, “What do -you here?” And the old man said, with a calm -smile, “I am always remembering. Come and -remember with me.”</p> - -<p>So, the traveller sat down by the side of the old -man, face to face with the serene sunset; and all -his friends came softly back and stood around him. -The beautiful child, the handsome boy, the young -man in love, the father, mother, and children: -every one of them was there, and he had lost -nothing. So, he loved them all, and was kind and -forbearing with them all, and was always pleased -to watch them all, and they all honored and loved -him. And I think the traveller must be yourself, -dear grandfather, because it is what you do to us, -and what we do to you.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_60"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span></p> - -<div id="il_18" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_072.png" width="1421" height="326" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="JOHN_ANDERSON_MY_JO">JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> ROBERT BURNS.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">John Anderson</span>, my jo, John,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">When we were first acquent,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Your locks were like the raven,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Your bonnie brow was brent<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">B</a>;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But now your head’s turned bald, John,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Your locks are like the snow;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But blessings on your frosty pow,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">John Anderson, my jo.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">John Anderson, my jo, John,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">We clamb the hill thegither;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And mony a canty<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">C</a> day, John,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">We’ve had wi’ ane anither:</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Now we maun totter down, John,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">But hand in hand we’ll go,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And sleep thegither at the foot,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">John Anderson, my jo.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="fnanchor">B</a> Smooth.</p> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="fnanchor">C</a> Merry.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>When thoughtful people sing these admirable verses, they are -apt to long to hear of something <em>beyond</em> the foot of the hill. -This want has been extremely well supplied by Mr. Charles -Gould, of New York, in the following <span class="locked">verse:—</span></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">John Anderson, my jo, John,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">When we have slept thegither</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The sleep that a’ maun sleep, John,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">We’ll wake wi’ ane anither:</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And in that better warld, John,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Nae sorrow shall we know;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Nor fear we e’er shall part again,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">John Anderson, my jo.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_61"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OLD_FOLKS_AT_HOME">OLD FOLKS AT HOME.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">More</span> pleasant seem their own surroundings,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Though quaint and old,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Than newer homes, with their aboundings</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Of marble, silk, and gold.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For ’tis the heart inspires home-feelings,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">In hut or hall,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Where memory, with its fond revealings,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Sheds a tender light o’er all.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">They love the wonted call to meeting,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">By their old bell;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">They love the old familiar greeting</p> - <p class="verse indent4">From friends who know them well.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Their homesick hearts are always yearning,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">When they’re away;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And ever is their memory turning</p> - <p class="verse indent4">To scenes where they used to stay.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib">L. M. C.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_62"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span></p> -<div id="il_19" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_074.png" width="1378" height="348" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="EVERLASTING_YOUTH">EVERLASTING YOUTH.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By Rev.</span> EDMUND H. SEARS.<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor smaller">D</a></span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="fnanchor">D</a> From Foregleams of Immortality.</p> - -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l3" src="images/i_074idco.png" width="326" height="335" alt="O"> -<p><span class="ucase">Old</span> age, in some of its aspects, is a -most interesting and solemn mystery, -though to the outward eye it is merely -the gradual waning and extinction -of existence. All the faculties fold themselves up -to a long, last sleep. First, the senses begin to -close, and lock in the soul from the outward world. -The hearing is generally the first to fail, shutting -off the mind from the tones of affection and of -melody. The sight fails next; and the pictures -of beauty, on the canvas spread round us morning -and evening, become blurred. The doors and -windows are shut toward the street. The invasion -keeps on steadily toward the seat of life. The -images of the memory lose their outline, run -together, and at last melt away into darkness. -Now and then, by a special effort, rents are made -in the clouds, and we see a vista opening through<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span> -the green glades of other years. But the edges -of the cloud soon close again. It settles down -more densely than ever, and all the past is blotted -out. Then the reason fails, and the truths it had -elaborated flicker and are extinguished. Only the -affections remain. Happy for us, if these also -have not become soured or chilled. It is our belief, -however, that these <em>may</em> be preserved in their -primitive freshness and glow; and that in the old -age where the work of regeneration is consummating, -the affections are always preserved bright -and sweet, like roses of Eden, occupying a charmed -spot in the midst of snows. In old age, men generally -seem to have grown either better or worse. -The reason is, that the internal life is then more -revealed, and its spontaneous workings are more -fully manifested. The intellectual powers are no -longer vigilant to control the expression of the internal -feelings, and so the heart is generally laid -open. What we call the moroseness and peevishness -of age is none other than the real disposition, -no longer hedged in, and kept in decency, by the -intellect, but coming forth without disguise. So -again, that beautiful simplicity and infantile meekness, -sometimes apparent in old age, beaming -forth, like the dawn of the coming heaven, through -all the relics of natural decay, are the spontaneous -effusions of sanctified affections. There is, therefore, -a good and a bad sense, in which we speak -of the second childhood. Childhood is the state<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span> -of spontaneity. In the first childhood, before the -intellect is formed, the heart answers truly to all -impressions from without; as the Æolian harp -answers to every touch of the breeze. In the -second childhood, after the intellect is broken -down, the same phenomenon comes round again; -and in it you read the history of all the intervening -years. What those years have done for the -regeneration of the soul will appear, now that its -inmost state is translucent, no longer concealed by -the expediencies learned of intellectual prudence. -When the second childhood is true and genial, -the work of regeneration approaches its consummation; -and the light of heaven is reflected from -silver hairs, as if one stood nearer to Paradise, and -caught reflections of the resurrection glories.</p> - -<p>But alas! is this <em>all</em> that is left of us, amid -the memorials of natural decay? Senses, memory, -reason, all blotted out, in succession, and instinctive -affection left <em>alone</em> to its spontaneous workings, -like a solitary flower breathing its fragrance upon -snows? And how do we know but <em>this</em>, too, will -close up its leaves, and fall before the touch of the -invader? Then the last remnant of the man is no -more. Or, if otherwise, must so many souls enter -upon their immortality denuded of everything but -the heart’s inmost and ruling love?</p> - -<p>How specious and deceptive are natural appearances! -What <em>seemed</em> to the outward eye the waning -of existence, and the loss of faculties, is only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span> -locking them up successively, in order to keep -them more secure. Old age, rather than death, -answers strictly to the analogies of <em>sleep</em>. It is the -gradual folding in and closing up of all the voluntary -powers, after they have become worn and -tired, that they may wake again refreshed and -renovated for the higher work that awaits them. -The psychological evidence is pretty full and decisive, -that old age is sleep, but not decay. The -reason lives, though its eye is temporarily closed; -and some future day it will give a more perfect -and pliant form to the affections. Memory remains, -though its functions are suspended for a -while. All its chambers may be exhumed hereafter, -and their frescoes, like those of the buried -temples at Meroë, will be found preserved in unfading -colors. The <em>whole</em> record of our life is laid -up <em>within</em> us; and only the overlayings of the -physical man prevent the record from being always -visible. The years leave their <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">débris</i> successively -upon the spiritual nature, till it seems buried and -lost beneath the layers. On the old man’s memory -every period seems to have obliterated a former -one; but the life which he has lived can no more -be lost to him, or destroyed, than the rock-strata -can be destroyed by being buried under layers of -sand. In those hours when the bondage of the -senses is less firm, and the life within has freer -motion; or, in those hours of self-revelation, which -are sometimes experienced under a clearer and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span> -more pervading light from above,—the past withdraws -its veil; and we see, rank beyond rank, as -along the rows of an expanding amphitheatre, the -images of successive years, called out as by some -wand of enchantment. There are abundant facts, -which go to prove that the decline and forgetfulness -of years are nothing more than the hardening -of the mere <em>envelopment</em> of the man, shutting in the -inmost life, which merely waits the hour to break -away from its bondage.</p> - -<p>De Quincey says: “I am assured that there is -no such thing as <em>forgetting</em> possible to the mind. -A thousand circumstances may and will interpose -a veil between our present consciousness and the -secret inscriptions of the mind; but alike, whether -veiled or unveiled, the inscription remains forever; -just as the stars <em>seem</em> to withdraw from the common -light of day; whereas, we all know that it is -the light which is drawn over them, as a veil, and -that they are waiting to be revealed, when the -obscuring daylight shall have withdrawn.”</p> - -<p>The resurrection is the exact inverse of natural -decay; and the former is preparing ere the latter -has ended. The affections, being the inmost life, -are the nucleus of the whole man. They are the -creative and organific centre, whence are formed -the reason and the memory, and thence their embodiment -in the more outward form of members -and organs. The whole interior mechanism is -complete in the chrysalis, ere the wings, spotted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span> -with light, are fluttering in the zephyrs of morning. -St. Paul, who, in this connection, is speaking -specially of the resurrection of the just, presents -three distinct points of contrast between -the natural body and the spiritual. One is weak, -the other is strong. One is corruptible, the other -is incorruptible. One is without honor, the other -is glorious. By saying that one is natural, and -the other spiritual, he certainly implies that one is -better adapted than the other to do the functions -of spirit, and more perfectly to organize and manifest -its powers. How clearly conceivable then is -it that when man becomes free of the coverings of -mere natural decay, he comes into complete possession -of all that he is, and all that he has ever -lived; that leaf after leaf in our whole book of life -is opened backward, and all its words and letters -come out in more vivid colors!</p> - -<p>In the other life, therefore, appears the wonderful -paradox that the oldest people are the -youngest. To grow in age is to come into</p> - -<p class="center"> -everlasting youth. To become old in years is to<br> -put on the freshness of perpetual prime.<br> -We drop from us the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">débris</i> of<br> -the past, we breathe the ether<br> -of immortality, and our<br> -cheeks mantle with<br> -eternal bloom. -</p> - -<div id="il_20" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_079.png" width="70" height="100" alt="decoration"></div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_68"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span></p> - -<div id="il_21" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_080.png" width="1455" height="356" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LIFE">LIFE.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>The following lines were by Mrs. Anna Letitia Barbauld, an -English writer of great merit, extensively known as the author -of excellent Hymns, and Early Lessons for Children. She was -born in 1743, and lived to be nearly eighty-two years old. She -employed the latter part of her life in editing a series of the best -English novels and essays, accompanied with biographical sketches -of the authors; and compositions in prose and verse continued -to be her favorite occupation to the last.</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap al"><span class="firstword">Life!</span> I know not what thou art,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But know that thou and I must part;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And when, or how, or where we met,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I own to me’s a secret yet.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Life! we have been long together,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Through pleasant and through cloudy weather.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">’Tis hard to part when friends are dear;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Perhaps ’twill cost a sigh, a tear.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Then steal away; give little warning;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Choose thine own time;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Say not Good Night; but in some brighter clime</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Bid me Good Morning!</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_69"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span></p> -<div id="il_22" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_081.png" width="1426" height="333" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_MYSTERIOUS_PILGRIMAGE">THE MYSTERIOUS PILGRIMAGE.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> L. MARIA CHILD.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_081idct.png" width="314" height="342" alt="T"> -<p><span class="ucase">There</span> was a traveller who set out -upon a new road, not knowing whither -it would lead him, nor whence he -came, for he had been conveyed thither -blindfold, and the bandage had been removed in -his sleep. When he woke up he found himself -among all sorts of pretty novelties, and he ran -about hither and thither, eagerly asking, “What -is this?” “What is that?” His activity was -untiring. He tried to catch everything he saw, -and hold it fast in his hand. But humming-birds -whirred in his ears, and as soon as he tried to -grasp them they soared up out of his reach, and -left him gazing at their burnished throats glistening -in the sunshine. Daintily painted butterflies -poised themselves on such lowly flowers, that he -thought he had but to stoop and take them; but -they also floated away as soon as he approached. -He walked through stately groves, where the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span> -sunshine was waltzing with leaf-shadows, and he -tried to pick up the airy little dancers. “They -won’t let me catch ’em!” he exclaimed, petulantly. -But on he hurried in pursuit of a squirrel, which -ran nimbly away from him up into a tree, and -there he sat on the high boughs, flourishing his -pretty tail in the air. And so the traveller went -along the wondrous road, always trying for something -he couldn’t catch, not knowing that the -pleasure was in the pursuit.</p> - -<p>As he went on, the path widened and grew -more attractive. Birds of radiant colors flitted -about, and filled the air with charming variations -of melody. Trees threw down showers of blossoms -as he passed, and beneath his feet was a carpet -of emerald-colored velvet, embroidered with a -profusion of golden stars. Better than all, troops -of handsome young men and lovely maidens joined -him, all put blindfolded into the road, and travelling -they knew not whither. And now they all set -out upon a race after something higher up than -squirrels or butterflies could go. “Look there! -Look there! See what is before us!” they exclaimed. -And lo! they all saw, away beyond, on -hills of fleecy cloud, the most beautiful castles! -The walls were of pearl, and rainbow pennons -waved from the gold-pointed turrets. “We will -take possession of those beautiful castles! That -is where we are going to live!” they shouted to -each other; and on they ran in pursuit of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span> -rainbows. But they often paused in the chase, to -frolic together. They laughed, and sang merry -songs, and pelted each other with flowers, and -danced within a ring of roses. It was a beautiful -sight to see their silky ringlets tossed about by the -breeze, and shining in the sunlight. But the game -they liked best was looking into each other’s eyes. -They said they could see a blind boy there, with -a bow and arrow; and always they were playing -bo-peep with that blind boy, who wasn’t so blind -as he seemed; for whenever he aimed his arrow -at one of them, he was almost sure to hit. But -they said the arrow was wreathed with flowers, -and carried honey on its point; and there was -nothing they liked quite so well as being shot at -by the blind boy.</p> - -<p>Sometimes their sport was interrupted by some -stern-looking traveller, who said to them, in solemn -tones, “Why do you make such fools of yourselves? -Do you know whither this road leads?” -Then they looked at each other bewildered, and -said they did not. “I have been on this road -much longer than you have,” he replied; “and -I think it is my duty to turn back sometimes -and warn those who are coming after me. I tell -you this road, where you go dancing so carelessly, -abounds with pitfalls, generally concealed -by flowers; and it ends in an awful, deep, dark -hole. You are all running, like crazy fools, after -rainbow castles in the air. You will never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span> -come up with them. They will vanish and leave -nothing but a great black cloud. But what you -have most to fear is a cruel giant, who is sure to -meet you somewhere on the road. Nobody ever -knows where; for he is invisible. Whatever he -touches with his dart turns first to marble and -then to ashes. You ought to be thinking of <em>him</em> -and his dreadful arrow, instead of the foolish -archer that you call the blind boy. Instead of -chattering about roses and rainbows, you ought -to be thinking of the awful black pit at the end -of the road.”</p> - -<p>His words chilled the young men and maidens, -like wind from a cavern. They looked at each -other thoughtfully, and said, “Why does he try -to spoil our sport with stories of pitfalls and invisible -giants? We don’t know where the pitfalls -are; and if we go poking on the ground for them, -how can we see the sunshine and the birds?” -Some of the more merry began to laugh at the -solemn traveller, and soon they were all dancing -again, or hurrying after the rainbow castles. They -threw roses at each other by the way; and often -the little blind archer was in the heart of the -roses, and played them mischievous tricks. They -laughed merrily, and said to each other, “This is -a beautiful road. It is a pity old Howlit don’t -know how to enjoy it.”</p> - -<p>But as our traveller passed on his way, he -found that the words of the lugubrious prophet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span> -were sometimes verified. Now and then some -of his companions danced into pitfalls covered with -flowers. He himself slipped several times, but -recovered his balance, and said it would teach him -to walk more carefully. Others were bruised and -faint in consequence of falls, and made no effort -to rise up. In the kindness of his heart, he would -not leave them thus; but always he tried to cheer -them, saying, “Up, and try again, my brother! -You won’t make the same mistake again.” Cheerful -and courageous as he was, however, he saw the -rainbow castles gradually fading from his vision; -but they did not leave a great black cloud, as the -solemn traveller had foretold; they melted into -mild and steady sunlight. The young men and -maidens, who had frolicked with him, went off in -pairs, some into one bypath, some into another. -Hand in hand with our traveller went a gentle -companion, named Mary, in whose eyes he had -long been playing at bo-peep with the blind boy. -When they talked of this, they said they could -still see him in each other’s eye-mirrors, but now -he had put his arrows into the quiver, and was -stringing pearls. Mary brought little children -to her companion, and they were more charming -than all the playthings of their former time. They -gazed fondly into the eyes of the little strangers, -and said, “We see angels in these azure depths, -and they are lovelier than the blind boy ever -was.” They played no more with roses now, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span> -gathered ripe fruits, glowing like red and purple -jewels, and planted grain which grew golden in -the sunshine. Companions with whom they had -parted by the way occasionally came into their -path again, as they journeyed on. Their moods -were various, according to their experiences. -Some still talked joyfully of the ever-varying beauty -of the road. Others sighed deeply, and said -they had found nothing to console them for -withered roses, and rainbows vanished. Sometimes, -when inquiries were made about former -acquaintances, the answer was that the invisible -giant had touched them, and they had changed to -marble. Then a shadow seemed to darken the -pleasant road, and they spoke to each other in low -tones. Some of those who sighed over withered -roses, told of frightful things done by this invisible -giant, and of horrid places whither they had heard -he conveyed his victims. To children who were -chasing butterflies, and to young men and maidens -who were twining rose-wreaths, they said, “You -ought not to be wasting your time with such frivolous -pastimes; you ought to be thinking of the -awful invisible one, who is near us when we least -think of it.” They spoke in lugubrious tones, as -the solemn traveller had aforetime spoken to them. -But our traveller, who was cheerful of heart, said: -“It is not kind to throw a shadow across their -sunshine. Let them enjoy themselves.” And his -Mary asked whether <span class="smcap">He</span> who made the beautiful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span> -road had wasted time when <span class="smcap">He</span> <em>made</em> the roses -and the butterflies? And <em>why</em> had <span class="smcap">He</span> made -them, if they were not to be enjoyed?</p> - -<p>But clouds sometimes came over this sunshine -of their souls. One of the little cherub boys -whom Mary had brought to her companion received -the invisible touch, and became as marble. -Then a shadow fell across their path, and went -with them as they walked. They pressed each -other’s hands in silence, but the thought was ever -in their hearts, “Whom will he touch next?” -The little cherub was not <em>in</em> the marble form; he -was still with them, though they knew it not. -Gradually their pain was softened, and they found -comfort in remembering his winning ways. Mary -said to her companion: “As we have travelled -along this mysterious road, the scenery has been -continually changing, even as we have changed. -But one form of beauty has melted into another, -so gently, so imperceptibly, that we have been -unconscious of the change, until it had passed. -Where all is so full of blessing, dearest, it cannot -be that this invisible touch is an exception.” The -traveller sighed, and merely answered, “It is a -great mystery”; but her words fell on his heart -like summer dew on thirsty flowers. They -thought of the cherub boy, who had disappeared -from their vision, and the tears dropped slowly; -but as they fell, a ray of light from heaven kissed -them and illumined them with rainbows. They<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span> -clasped each other’s hands more closely, and travelled -on. Sometimes they smiled at each other, -as they looked on their remaining little ones, -running hither and thither chasing the bright -butterflies. And Mary, who was filled with gentle -wisdom, said, “The butterfly was once a crawling -worm; but when it became stiff and cold, there -emerged from it this wingéd creature, clothed with -beauty.” He pressed her hand tenderly; for -again her soothing words fell upon his heart like -dew on thirsty flowers.</p> - -<p>Thus lovingly they passed on together, and -many a blessing followed them; for whenever a -traveller came along who was burdened and weary, -they cheered him with hopeful words and helped -to carry his load; and ever as they did so a softer -light shone upon the landscape and bathed all -things with a luminous glory. And still the scene -was changing, ever changing. The glowing fruit -had disappeared, and the golden grain was gathered. -But now the forest-trees were all aglow, -and looked like great pyramids of gorgeous flowers. -The fallen foliage of the pines formed a soft -carpet under their feet, ornamented with the shaded -brown of cones and acorns, and sprinkled -with gold-tinted leaves from the trees. As they -looked on the mellowed beauty of the scenery, -Mary said: “The Being who fashioned us, and -created this marvellous road for us to travel -in, must be wondrously wise and loving. How<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span> -gradually and gently all things grow, and pass -through magical changes. When we had had -enough of chasing butterflies, the roses came to -bind us together in fragrant wreaths. When the -roses withered, the grain-fields waved beautifully in -the wind, and purple and yellow grapes hung from -the vines, like great clusters of jewels. And now, -when fruit and grain are gathered, the forests are -gorgeous in the sunlight, like immense beds of -tulips. A friendly ‘Good morning’ to something -new, mingles ever with the ‘Good night, beloved,’ -to something that is passing away. Surely, dearest, -this road, so full of magical transformations, -<em>must</em> lead us to something more beautiful than -itself.” The traveller uncovered his head, raised -his eyes reverently toward heaven, and said: “It -is a great mystery. O Father, give us faith!”</p> - -<p>Before the glowing tints departed from the trees, -Mary’s cheek grew pale, and the light of her eyes -began to fade. Then the traveller shuddered and -shivered; for a great shadow came between him -and the sunshine; he felt the approach of the invisible. -More and more closely he pressed the -beloved companion, to warm her with his heart. -But her mild eyes closed, and the graceful form -became as marble. No more could he look into -those serene depths, where he had first seen the -blind boy shooting his arrows, afterward stringing -pearls, and then as an angel twining amaranthine -crowns. In the anguish of his desolation, he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span> -groaned aloud, and exclaimed: “O thou Dread -Destroyer! take me, too! I cannot live alone! -I cannot!” A gentle voice whispered, “Thou -art not alone, dearest. I am still with thee!” but -in the tumult of his grief he heard it not. The -children Mary had given him twined their soft -arms about his neck, and said: “Do not leave us -alone! We cannot find our way, without thee to -guide us.” For their sakes, he stifled his groans, -and knelt down and prayed, “O Father, give me -strength and faith!”</p> - -<p>Patiently he travelled on, leading the children. -By degrees they joined themselves to companions, -and went off in pairs into new paths, as he and his -Mary had done. The scenery around him grew -more dreary. The black branches of the trees -stood in gloomy relief against a cold gray sky. -The beautiful fields of grain ripening in the sunshine -had changed to dry stubble fluttering mournfully -in the wind. But Nature, loath to part with -Beauty, still wore a few red berries, as a necklace -among her rags, and trimmed her scanty garments -with evergreen. But the wonderful transformations -had not ceased. The fluttering brown rags -suddenly changed to the softest ermine robe, flashing -with diamonds, and surmounted by a resplendent -silver crown. The magical change reminded -our traveller that his lost companion had said, -“Surely a road so full of beautiful changes must -lead to something more beautiful than itself.” -Again he knelt in reverence, and said, “All<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span> -things around me are miraculous. O Father, -give me faith!”</p> - -<p>The road descended into a deep valley, ever -more narrow and dark. The nights grew longer. -The ground was rugged and frozen, and the rough -places hurt the pilgrim’s stiff and weary feet. But -when he was joined by pilgrims more exhausted -than himself, he spoke to them in words of good -cheer, and tried to help them over the rough -places. The sunshine was no longer warm and -golden, but its silvery light was still beautiful, and -through the leafless boughs of the trees the moon -and the stars looked down serenely on him. The -children whom he had guided sometimes came and -sang sweetly to him; and sometimes, when he was -listening in the stillness, he seemed to hear mysterious -echoes within himself, as if from a musical -chime of bells on the other side of a river.</p> - -<p>The shudderings and shiverings he had felt in -presence of the cold shadow became more frequent; -and he said to himself, “The Dread Destroyer is -approaching more and more near.” With trembling -hands he uncovered his snow-white head, -and looking upward, he said, “It is a fearful -mystery. O Father, give me faith!” Praying -thus, he sank on the cold ground, and sleepiness -came over him. He felt something gently raising -him, and slowly opening his eyes, he said, “Who -art thou?” The stranger answered, “I am that -Dread Destroyer, whose shadow always made thee -shudder.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span></p> - -<p>“Thou!” exclaimed the tired pilgrim, in tones -of joyful surprise; “why <em>thou</em> art an angel!” -“Yes, I am an angel,” he replied; “and none -but I can lead thee to thy loved ones. Thy -Heavenly Father has sent me to take thee home.” -Gratefully the weary one sank into the arms of -the giant he had so much dreaded. “All things -are ordered in love,” he said. “Thy touch is -friendly, and thy voice like music.”</p> - -<p>They passed a narrow bridge over a dark river. -On the other side was a flowery arch, bearing the -motto, “The Gate of Life.” Within it stood -Mary and her cherub-boy, shining in transfigured -light. The child stretched out his hands for an -embrace, and Mary’s welcoming smile was more -beautiful than it had ever been in the happy old -time of roses and rainbows. “This is only one -more of the magical transformations, my beloved,” -she said. “It is as I told thee. The beautiful, -mysterious road leads to something far more beautiful -than itself. Come and see!” With tender -joy he kissed her and the angel child. There was -a sound of harps and voices above him, singing, -“The shadow has departed!” And a cheerful response -came from well-remembered voices he had -left behind him on the road: “We are coming! -We are coming!” Through all the chambers -of his soul went ringing the triumphant chorus, -“The shadow has departed!” with the cheerful -response, “We are coming! We are coming!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_81"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span></p> - -<div id="il_23" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_093.png" width="1440" height="390" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_HAPPIEST_TIME">THE HAPPIEST TIME.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> ELIZA COOK.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap al"><span class="firstword">An</span> old man sat in his chimney-seat,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">As the morning sunbeam crept to his feet;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And he watched the Spring light as it came</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With wider ray on his window frame.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">He looked right on to the Eastern sky,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But his breath grew long in a trembling sigh,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And those who heard it wondered much</p> - <p class="verse indent0">What Spirit hand made him feel its touch.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">For the old man was not one of the fair</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And sensitive plants in earth’s parterre;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">His heart was among the senseless things,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That rarely are fanned by the honey-bee’s wings;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">It bore no film of delicate pride,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">No dew of emotion gathered inside;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">O, that old man’s heart was of hardy kind,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That seemeth to heed not the sun or the wind.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">He had lived in the world as millions live,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Ever more ready to take than give;</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span> - <p class="verse indent0">He had worked and wedded, and murmured and blamed,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And just paid to the fraction what honesty claimed;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">He had driven his bargains and counted his gold,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Till upwards of threescore years were told;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And his keen blue eye held nothing to show</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That feeling had ever been busy below.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The old man sighed again, and hid</p> - <p class="verse indent0">His keen blue eye beneath its lid;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And his wrinkled forehead, bending down,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Was knitting itself in a painful frown.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“I’ve been looking back,” the old man said,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“On every spot where my path has laid,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Over every year my brain can trace,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To find the happiest time and place.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“And where and when,” cried one by his side,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“Have you found the brightest wave in your tide?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Come tell me freely, and let me learn,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">How the spark was struck that yet can burn.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Was it when you stood in stalwart strength,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With the blood of youth, and felt that at length</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Your stout right arm could win its bread?”</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The old man quietly shook his head.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Then it must have been when love had come,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With a faithful bride to glad your home;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or when the first-born cooed and smiled,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And your bosom cradled its own sweet child;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or was it when that first-born joy,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Grew up to your hope,—a brave, strong boy,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And promised to fill the world in your stead?”</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The old man quietly shook his head.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Say, was it then when fortune brought</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The round sum you had frugally sought?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Was the year the happiest that beheld</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The vision of poverty all dispelled?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or was it when you still had more,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And found you could boast a goodly store</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With labor finished and plenty spread?”</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The old man quietly shook his head.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Ah, no! ah, no! it was longer ago,”</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The old man muttered,—sadly and low!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“It was when I took my lonely way</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To the lonely woods in the month of May.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When the Spring light fell as it falleth now,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With the bloom on the sod and the leaf on the bough;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When I tossed up my cap at the nest in the tree;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">O, that was the happiest time for me.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“When I used to leap and laugh and shout,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Though I never knew what my joy was about;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And something seemed to warm my breast,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">As I sat on a mossy bank to rest.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That was the time; when I used to roll</p> - <p class="verse indent0">On the blue-bells that covered the upland knoll,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And I never could tell why the thought should be,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But I fancied the flowers talked to me.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Well I remember climbing to reach</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A squirrel brood rocked on the top of a beech;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Well I remember the lilies so sweet,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That I toiled with back to the city street;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Yes, <em>that</em> was the time,—the happiest time,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When I went to the woods in their May-day prime.”</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span> - <p class="verse indent0">And the old man breathed with a longer sigh,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the lid fell closer over his eye.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">O, who would have thought this hard old man</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Had room in his heart for such rainbow span?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Who would have deemed that wild copse flowers</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Were tenderly haunting his latest hours?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But what did the old man’s spirit tell,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">In confessing it loved the woods so well?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">What do we learn from the old man’s sigh,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But that <em>Nature and Poetry cannot die</em>?</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_84"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ODE_OF_ANACREON">ODE OF ANACREON.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">The</span> women tell me, every day,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That all my bloom has passed away.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“Behold!” the lively lasses cry,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“Behold this mirror with a sigh!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Old wintry Time has shed his snows,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And bald and bare your forehead shows.”</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I will not either think or care</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Whether old Time has thinned my hair;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But this I know and this I feel,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">As years advancing on me steal,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And ever bring the end more near,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The joys of life become more dear;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And had I but one hour to live,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That hour to cheerfulness I’d give.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_85"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span></p> -<div id="il_24" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_097.png" width="1376" height="306" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CICEROS_ESSAY_ON_OLD_AGE">CICERO’S ESSAY ON OLD AGE.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>The following extracts are from a discourse “De Senectute,” -by Cicero, the world-renowned Roman orator, who was born one -hundred and six years before Christ. He is one among many -pleasant proofs that God never leaves himself without a witness in -the hearts of men, in any age or country. Cicero says: “I have -represented these reflections as delivered by the venerable Cato; -but in delivering <em>his</em> sentiments, I desire to be understood as fully -declaring <em>my own</em>.”</p> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_097idct.png" width="314" height="341" alt="T"> -<p><span class="ucase">Those</span> who have no internal resources -of happiness will find themselves uneasy -in every stage of human life; but -to him who is accustomed to derive -happiness from within himself, no state will appear -as a real evil into which he is conducted by the -common and regular course of Nature; and this -is peculiarly the case with respect to old age. I -follow Nature, as the surest guide, and resign -myself with implicit obedience to her sacred ordinances. -After having wisely distributed peculiar -and proper enjoyments to all the preceding periods -of life, it cannot be supposed that she would neglect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span> -the last, and leave it destitute of suitable -advantages. After a certain point of maturity -is attained, marks of decay must necessarily appear; -but to this unavoidable condition of his -present being every wise and good man will submit -with contented and cheerful acquiescence.</p> - -<p>Nothing can be more void of foundation than -the assertion that old age necessarily disqualifies -a man for taking part in the great affairs of -the world. If an old man cannot perform in business -a part which requires the bodily strength and -energy of more vigorous years, he can act in a -nobler and more important character. Momentous -affairs of state are not conducted by corporeal -strength and activity; they require cool deliberation, -prudent counsel, and authoritative influence; -qualifications which are strengthened and improved -by increase of years. Few among mankind arrive -at old age; and this suggests a reason why the -affairs of the world are not better conducted; for -age brings experience, discretion, and judgment, -without which no well-formed government could -have been established, or can be maintained. Appius -Claudius was not only old but blind, when he -remonstrated in the Senate, with so much force -and spirit, against concluding a peace with Pyrrhus. -The celebrated General Quintus Maximus -led our troops to battle in his old age, with as -much spirit as if he had been in the prime and -vigor of life. It was by his advice and eloquence,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span> -when he was extremely old, that the Cincian law -concerning donatives was enacted. And it was -not merely in the conspicuous paths of the world -that this excellent man was truly great. He appeared -still greater in the private and domestic -scenes of life. There was a dignity in his deportment, -tempered with singular politeness and affability; -and time wrought no alteration in his -amiable qualities. How pleasing and instructive -was his conversation! How profound his knowledge -of antiquity and the laws! His memory was -so retentive, that there was no event of any note, -connected with our public affairs, with which he -was not well acquainted. I eagerly embraced -every opportunity to enjoy his society, feeling that -after his death I should never again meet with so -wise and improving a companion.</p> - -<p>But it is not necessary to be a hero or a statesman, -in order to lead an easy and agreeable old -age. That season of life may prove equally serene -and pleasant to him who has passed his days in the -retired paths of learning. It is urged that old age -impairs the memory. It may have that effect on -those in whom memory was originally infirm, or -who have not preserved its native vigor by exercising -it properly. But the faculties of the mind -will preserve their power in old age, unless they -are suffered to become languid for want of due -cultivation. Caius Gallus employed himself to the -very last moments of his long life in measuring the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span> -distances of the heavenly orbs, and determining -the dimensions of this our earth. How often has -the sun risen on his astronomical calculations! -How frequently has night overtaken him in the -same elevated studies! With what delight did -he amuse himself in predicting to us, long before -they happened, the several lunar and solar eclipses! -Other ingenious applications of the mind there -are, though of a lighter nature, which may greatly -contribute to enliven and amuse the decline of life. -Thus Nœvius, in composing his poem on the Carthaginian -war, and Plautus in writing his two last -comedies, filled up the leisure of their latter days -with wonderful complacency and satisfaction. I -can affirm the same of our dramatic poet Livius, -whom I remember to have seen in his old age; -and let me not forget Marcus Cethegus, justly -styled the soul of eloquence, whom I likewise saw -in his old age exercising even his oratorical talents -with uncommon force and vivacity. All these old -men I saw pursuing their respective studies with -the utmost ardor and alacrity. Solon, in one of -his poems, written when he was advanced in -years, glories that he learned something every -day he lived. Plato occupied himself with philosophical -studies, till they were interrupted by -death at eighty-one years of age. Isocrates composed -his famous discourse when he was ninety-four -years old, and he lived five years afterward. -Sophocles continued to write tragedies when he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span> -was extremely old. Gray hair proved no obstacle -to the philosophic pursuits of Pythagoras, Zeno, -Cleanthes, or the venerable Diogenes. These -eminent persons persevered in their studies with -undiminished earnestness to the last moment of -their extended lives. Leontinus Gorgias, who -lived to be one hundred and seven years old, pursued -his studies with unremitting assiduity to the -last. When asked if he did not wish to rid himself -of the burden of such prolonged years, he -replied, “I find no reason to complain of old age.”</p> - -<p>The statement that age impairs our strength is -not without foundation. But, after all, imbecility -of body is more frequently caused by youthful -irregularities than by the natural and unavoidable -consequences of long life. By temperance and -exercise, a man may secure to his old age no -inconsiderable degree of his former spirit and -activity. The venerable Lucius Metellus preserved -such a florid old age to his last moments, -as to have no reason to lament the depredations of -time. If it must be acknowledged that time inevitably -undermines physical strength, it is equally -true that great bodily vigor is not required in the -decline of life. A moderate degree of force is -sufficient for all rational purposes. I no more -regret the absence of youthful vigor, than when -young I lamented because I was not endowed with -the strength of a bull or an elephant. Old age -has, at least, sufficient strength remaining to train<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span> -the rising generation, and instruct them in the -duties to which they may hereafter be called; and -certainly there cannot be a more important or a -more honorable occupation. There is satisfaction -in communicating every kind of useful knowledge; -and it must render a man happy to employ the -faculties of his mind to so noble and beneficial a -purpose, how much soever time may have impaired -his bodily powers. Men of good sense, in the -evening of life, are generally fond of associating -with the younger part of the world, and, when -they discover amiable qualities in them, they find -it an alleviation of their infirmities to gain their -affection and esteem; and well-inclined young -men think themselves equally happy to be guided -into the paths of knowledge and virtue by the instructions -of experienced elders. I love to see the -fire of youth somewhat tempered by the sobriety -of age, and it is also pleasant to see the gravity of -age enlivened by the vivacity of youth. Whoever -combines these two qualities in his character will -never exhibit traces of senility in his mind, though -his body may bear the marks of years.</p> - -<p>As for the natural and necessary inconveniences -attendant upon length of years, we ought to counteract -their progress by constant and resolute -opposition. The infirmities of age should be resisted -like the approaches of disease. To this end -we should use regular and moderate exercise, and -merely eat and drink as much as is necessary to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span> -repair our strength, without oppressing the organs -of digestion. And the intellectual faculties, as -well as the physical, should be carefully assisted. -Mind and body thrive equally by suitable exercise -of their powers; with this difference, however, -that bodily exertion ends in fatigue, whereas the -mind is never wearied by its activity.</p> - -<p>Another charge against old age is that it deprives -us of sensual gratifications. Happy effect, -indeed, to be delivered from those snares which -allure youth into some of the worst vices! “Reason,” -said Archytas, “is the noblest gift which -God or Nature has bestowed on men. Now -nothing is so great an enemy to that divine endowment -as the pleasures of sense; for neither -temperance, nor any of the more exalted virtues, -can find a place in that breast which is under the -dominion of voluptuous passions. Imagine to -yourself a man in the actual enjoyment of the -highest gratifications mere animal nature is capable -of receiving; there can be no doubt that during -his continuance in that state it would be utterly -impossible for him to exert any one power of his -rational faculties.” The inference I draw from -this is, that if the principles of reason and virtue -have not proved sufficient to inspire us with -proper contempt for mere sensual pleasures, we -have cause to feel grateful to old age for at least -weaning us from appetites it would ill become us -to gratify; for voluptuous passions are utter enemies<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span> -to all the nobler faculties of the soul; they -hold no communion with the manly virtues; and -they cast a mist before the eye of reason. The -little relish which old age leaves us for enjoyments -merely sensual, instead of being a disparagement -to that period of life, considerably enhances -its value. If age renders us incapable of taking -an equal share in the flowing cups and luxurious -dishes of wealthy tables, it thereby secures us -from painful indigestion, restless nights, and disordered -reason.</p> - -<p>But though his years will guard an old man -from excess, they by no means exclude him from -enjoying convivial gratifications in a moderate -degree. I always took singular satisfaction in the -anniversaries of those little societies called Confraternities. -But the gratification I received from -their entertainments arose much less from the -pleasures of the palate than from the opportunities -they afforded for enjoying the company and -conversation of friends. I derive so much pleasure -from hours devoted to cheerful discourse, that -I love to prolong my meals, not only when the -company is composed of men of my own years, -few of whom indeed are now remaining, but also -when it chiefly consists of young persons. And I -acknowledge my obligations to old age for having -increased my passion for the pleasures of conversation, -while it has abated it for those which -depend solely on the palate; though I do not find<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span> -myself disqualified for that species of gratification, -also.</p> - -<p>The advantages of age are inestimable, if we -consider it as delivering us from the tyranny of -lust and ambition, from angry and contentious -passions, from inordinate and irrational desires; in -a word, as teaching us to retire within ourselves, -and look for happiness in our own souls. If to -these moral benefits, which naturally result from -length of days, be added the sweet food of the -mind, gathered in the fields of science, I know of -no season of life that is passed more agreeably than -the learned leisure of a virtuous old age. Can -the luxuries of the table, or the amusements of -the theatre, supply their votaries with enjoyments -worthy to be compared with the calm delights of -intellectual employments? And, in minds rightly -formed and properly cultivated, these exalted delights -never fail to improve and gather strength -with years.</p> - -<p>From the pleasures which attend a studious old -age, let us turn to those derived from rural occupations, -of which I am a warm admirer. Pleasures -of this class are perfectly consistent with every -degree of advanced years, as they approach more -nearly than any others to those of a purely philosophical -kind. They are derived from observing -the nature and properties of our earth, which yields -ready obedience to the cultivator’s industry, and -returns, with interest, whatever he places in her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span> -charge. But the profit arising from this fertility is -by no means the most desirable circumstance of the -farmer’s labors. I am principally delighted with -observing the powers of Nature, and tracing her -processes in vegetable productions. How wonderful -it is that each species is endowed with power to -continue itself; and that minute seeds should develop -so amazingly into large trunks and branches! -The orchard, the vegetable garden, and the parterre -diversify the pleasures of farming; not to -mention the feeding of cattle and the rearing of -bees. Among my friends and neighbors in the -country are several men far advanced in life, who -employ themselves with so much activity and industry -in agricultural business, that nothing important -is carried on without their supervision. And -these rural veterans do not confine their energies -to those sorts of crops which are sown and reaped -in one year. They occupy themselves in branches -of husbandry from which they know they cannot -live to derive any advantage. If asked why they -thus expend their labor, they might well reply, -“We do it in obedience to the immortal gods. By -their bountiful providence we received these fields -from our ancestors, and it is their will that we -should transmit them to posterity with improvements.” -In my opinion there is no happier occupation -than agriculture; not only on account of its -great utility to mankind, but also as the source -of peculiar pleasures. I might expatiate on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span> -beauties of verdant groves and meadows, on the -charming landscape of olive-trees and vineyards; -but to say all in one word, there cannot be a -more pleasing, or a more profitable scene than that -of a well-cultivated farm. And where else can -a man in the last stages of life more easily find -warm sunshine, or a good fire in winter, or the -pleasure of cooling shades and refreshing streams -in summer?</p> - -<p>It is often argued that old age must necessarily -be a state of much anxiety and disquietude, on -account of the near approach of death. That the -hour of dissolution cannot be far distant from an -aged man is undoubtedly true. But every event -that is agreeable to the course of nature ought to -be regarded as a real good; and surely nothing -can be more natural than for the old to die. It is -true that youth also is exposed to dissolution; but -it is a dissolution obviously contrary to Nature’s -intentions, and in opposition to her strongest -efforts. Fruit, before it is ripe, cannot be separated -from the stalk without some degree of force; -but when it is perfectly mature, it drops of itself: -so the disunion of the soul and body is effected in -the young by violence, but in the old it takes place -by mere fulness and completion of years. This -ripeness for death I perceive in myself with much -satisfaction; and I look forward to my dissolution -as to a secure haven, where I shall at length find -a happy repose from the fatigues of a long voyage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span></p> - -<p>With regard to the consequences of our final -dissolution, I will venture to say that the nearer -death approaches the more clearly do I seem to -discern its real nature. When I consider the -faculties with which the human mind is endowed, -its amazing celerity, its wonderful power in recollecting -past events, and its sagacity in discerning -the future, together with its numberless discoveries -in arts and sciences, I feel a conscious conviction -that this active, comprehensive principle cannot -possibly be of a mortal nature. And as this -unceasing activity of the soul derives its energy -from its own intrinsic and essential powers, without -receiving it from any foreign or external impulse, -it necessarily follows that its activity must -continue forever. I am induced to embrace this -opinion, not only as agreeable to the best deductions -of reason, but also in deference to the -authority of the noblest and most distinguished -philosophers.</p> - -<p>I am well convinced that my dear departed -friends are so far from having ceased to live, that -the state they now enjoy can alone with propriety -be called life. I feel myself transported with impatience -to rejoin those whose characters I have -greatly respected and whose persons I have loved. -Nor is this earnest desire confined alone to those -excellent persons with whom I have been connected. -I ardently wish also to visit those celebrated -worthies of whom I have heard or read much. To<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span> -this glorious assembly I am speedily advancing; -and I would not be turned back on my journey, -even on the assured condition that my youth -should be again restored. The sincere truth is, -if some divinity would confer on me a new grant -of life, I would reject the offer without the least -hesitation. I have wellnigh finished the race, -and have no disposition to return to the starting-point. -I do not mean to imitate those philosophers -who represent the condition of human -nature as a subject of just lamentation. The -satisfactions of this life are many; but there -comes a time when we have had a sufficient -measure of its enjoyments, and may well depart -contented with our share of the feast. I am far -from regretting that this life was bestowed on -me; and I have the satisfaction of thinking that</p> - -<p class="center"> -I have employed it in such a manner as not to have<br> -lived in vain. In short, I consider this world as<br> -a place which Nature never intended for my<br> -permanent abode; and I look on my<br> -departure from it, not as being<br> -driven from my habitation,<br> -but simply as<br> -leaving an<br> -inn. -</p> - -<div id="il_25" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_109.png" width="70" height="100" alt="decoration"></div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_98"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span></p> - -<div id="il_26" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_110.png" width="1422" height="328" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_FOUNTAIN">THE FOUNTAIN.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">We</span> talked with open heart, and tongue</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Affectionate and true,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A pair of friends, though I was young,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And Matthew seventy-two.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">A village schoolmaster was he,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">With hair of glittering gray;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">As blithe a man as you could see</p> - <p class="verse indent2">On a spring holiday.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And on that morning, through the grass</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And by the steaming rills,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We travelled merrily, to pass</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A day among the hills.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">We lay beneath a spreading oak,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Beside a mossy seat;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And from the turf a fountain broke,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And gurgled at our feet.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Now, Matthew,” said I, “let us match</p> - <p class="verse indent2">This water’s pleasant tune</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With some old Border-Song, or Catch,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That suits a summer’s noon.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Or of the church-clock and the chimes</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Sing here beneath the shade,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That half-mad thing of witty rhymes</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Which you last April made.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">In silence Matthew lay, and eyed</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The spring beneath the tree;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And thus the dear old man replied,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The gray-haired man of glee:</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Down to the vale this water steers;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">How merrily it goes!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">’Twill murmur on a thousand years,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And flow as now it flows.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“And here, on this delightful day,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I cannot choose but think</p> - <p class="verse indent0">How oft, a vigorous man, I lay</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Beside this fountain’s brink.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“My eyes are dim with childish tears,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">My heart is idly stirred,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For the same sound is in my ears</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Which in those days I heard.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Thus fares it still in our decay;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And yet the wiser mind</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Mourns less for what age takes away,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Than what it leaves behind.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“The blackbird in the summer trees,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The lark upon the hill,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Let loose their carols when they please,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Are quiet when they will.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“With Nature never do <em>they</em> wage</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A foolish strife; they see</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A happy youth, and their old age</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Is beautiful and free.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“But <em>we</em> are pressed by heavy laws;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And often, glad no more,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We wear a face of joy, because</p> - <p class="verse indent2">We have been glad of yore.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“If there is one who need bemoan</p> - <p class="verse indent2">His kindred laid in earth,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The household hearts that were his own,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">It is the man of mirth.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“My days, my friend, are almost gone;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">My life has been approved,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And many love me; but by none</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Am I <em>enough</em> beloved.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Now both himself and me he wrongs,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The man who thus complains!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I live and sing my idle songs</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Upon these happy plains;</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“And, Matthew, for thy children dead,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I’ll be a son to thee!”</p> - <p class="verse indent0">At this, he grasped my hand, and said,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">“Alas! that cannot be!”</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">We rose up from the fountain-side;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And down the smooth descent</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Of the green sheep-track did we glide,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And through the wood we went.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And ere we came to Leonard’s Rock,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">He sang those witty rhymes</p> - <p class="verse indent0">About the crazy old church-clock,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And the bewildered chimes.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_101"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_POETS_BLESSING">A POET’S BLESSING.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">As</span> I wandered the fields along,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Listening to the lark’s sweet song,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I saw an old man working there,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A laborer with hoary hair.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Blessings upon this field!” I said;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“Fruitful by faithful labor made.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And blessings on thy wrinkled hand,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Thus scattering seed along the land!”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">He answered me, with earnest face,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“A poet’s blessing’s out of place;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Likely enough that Heaven, in scorn,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Will send us flowers instead of corn.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Nay, friend,” said I, “my tuneful powers</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Wake not to life too many flowers;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Only enough to grace the land,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And fill thy little grandson’s hand.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_102"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span></p> -<div id="il_27" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_114.png" width="1419" height="331" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="BERNARD_PALISSYE">BERNARD PALISSY<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor smaller">E</a></h2> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="fnanchor">E</a> These facts are gleaned from Morley’s Life of Palissy the -Potter.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“Call him not old, whose visionary brain</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Holds o’er the past its undivided reign.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For him in vain the envious seasons roll,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Who bears eternal summer in his <em>soul</em>.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">If yet the minstrel’s song, the poet’s lay,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Spring with her birds, or children with their play,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or maiden’s smile, or heavenly dream of Art,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Stir the few life-drops creeping round his heart,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Turn to the record where his years are told,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Count his gray hairs,—<em>they</em> cannot make him old!”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_114idcb.png" width="290" height="327" alt="B"> -<p><span class="ucase">Bernard Palissy</span> was born in one -of the southwestern districts of France, -in 1509; more than three hundred and -fifty years ago, and more than a century -before our forefathers landed on Plymouth -Rock. The art of making colored glass, and of -painting on glass, had been for centuries in great -requisition, for the windows of castles and cathedrals. -It was considered an occupation so honorable, -that poor nobles sometimes resorted to it without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span> -losing caste; though the prejudices concerning -rank were at that time very strong. The manufacture -was generally carried on in the depths of -forests, partly for the convenience of gathering fuel -for the furnaces, and partly to avoid the danger -of fire in towns. Around these manufactories the -workmen erected their cabins, and night and day -the red flames of the furnaces lighted up trees and -shrubbery with a lurid glow. It is supposed that -Bernard was born and reared in one of these hamlets, -secluded from the world. The immense forests -furnished a vast amount of chestnuts, which -constituted the principal food of the peasantry. -Constant labor in the open air, combined with this -extreme simplicity of diet, formed healthy, vigorous -men, free-hearted, simple, and brave. Whether -Bernard’s father, who is supposed to have been a -modeller of glass, was a decayed gentleman, or -simply a peasant, is not known. Bernard, by some -means, learned to read and write, which was not -an ordinary accomplishment at that period. He -also had a great talent for drawing, which he -improved, either by practice or instruction. In -other respects his education was simply that of the -peasantry around him. In his own account of -his early days he says, “I had no other books than -heaven and earth, which are open to all.” These -volumes, however, he studied with lively interest -and the closest observation. He took notice of -the growth of plants and the habits of animals.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span> -He soon began to paint on paper the likenesses of -birds, lizards, and trees. As his skill increased, he -made portraits of his mother and the neighbors, -and landscapes containing the houses they lived -in. The preparation of colors for glass early -awakened an interest in chemical combinations; -but there were then no books on the subject, and -he could only increase his stock of knowledge by -repeated experiments. His skill in drawing enabled -him to produce a variety of new patterns -for glass-work, and this, combined with his knowledge -of colors, rendered his services much more -important than those of a common workman. But -the once profitable business was now in its decline. -People began to find out that the exclusion of -sunshine was unwholesome, and that the obstruction -of light rendered their dwellings gloomy. -Moreover, windows in those days, being opened -on hinges, were much more exposed to be shattered -by storms. To repair stained or painted glass -was an expensive process; and in order to avoid -the frequent necessity of it, people fastened their -windows into the wall, so that they could not be -opened. This excluded air, as well as light and -sun-warmth; and gradually colored windows fell -into disuse.</p> - -<p>Bernard’s father was poor, and the profits of his -business were too scanty to yield a comfortable -support for his family. Therefore, the young -man, when he was eighteen years old, strapped<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span> -a scantily filled wallet upon his shoulders, and -marched forth into the world to seek his fortune. -Francis I. and Charles V. were then devastating -half Europe by their wars, and the highways -were filled with military adventurers and crippled -soldiers. From these the young traveller -obtained his first glimpses of the violence and intrigues -going on in the world beyond his native -forests.</p> - -<p>He was also overtaken by a travelling cloth-merchant, -who told him of many new things. In -order to dignify his own calling, he enumerated -many great men who had been employed in trade. -Among others, he mentioned a renowned Athenian, -called “the divine Plato,” by reason of the -excellence of his wisdom, who had sold olive-oil in -Egypt, to defray the expenses of travelling there. -“I never heard of Plato,” said Bernard. “O, -you are a wild bird from the forest,” replied -the trader; “you can only pipe as you have been -taught by nature. But I advise you to make -acquaintance with books. Our King Francis is -now doing so much to encourage the arts and -sciences, that every artisan can become wise, if -he makes good use of his leisure. Our shops may -now be our schools.” “Then I should wish the -whole world to be my shop,” rejoined Bernard. -“I feel that earth and air are full of mysteries and -wonders; full of the sublime wisdom of God.”</p> - -<p>So he wandered on, reading, as he had done<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span> -from childhood, in “the book of earth and heaven, -which is open to all.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“For Nature, the old nurse, took</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The child upon her knee,</p> - <p class="verse indent1">Saying, ‘Here is a story-book</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Thy Father has written for thee.’</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentdq">“‘Come, wander with me,’ she said,</p> - <p class="verse indent1">‘Into regions yet untrod;</p> - <p class="verse indent1">And read what is still unread</p> - <p class="verse indent2">In the manuscripts of God.’</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“And he wandered away and away,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">With Nature, the dear old nurse,</p> - <p class="verse indent1">Who sang to him night and day</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The rhymes of the universe.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">If lizards were basking in the sunshine, he stopped -to admire their gliding motions, and prismatic -changes of color. If he found a half-covered snail -among the wet mosses, he lingered till he ascertained -that it was gradually making a new shell -from its own saliva. If a stone was curious in -form or shape, he picked it up and put it in -his wallet; and oftentimes he would crack them, -to discover their interior structure. Every new -flower and seed attracted his attention, and excited -wonder at the marvellous varieties of Nature. -These things are hinted at all through his writings. -He says: “In walking under the fruit-trees, I -received a great contentment and many joyous -pleasures; for I saw the squirrels gathering the -fruits, and leaping from branch to branch, with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span> -many pretty looks and gestures. I saw nuts gathered -by the rooks, who rejoiced in taking their -repast, dining on the said nuts. Under the apple-trees, -I found hedgehogs, that rolled themselves -into a round form, and, thrusting out their sharp -quills, they rolled over the apples, which stuck on -the points, and so they went burdened. These -things have made me such a lover of the fields, -that it seems to me there are no treasures in the -world so precious as the little branches of trees and -plants. I hold them in more esteem than mines -of gold and silver.” This loving communion with -Nature was not mere idle dreaming. Always he -was drawing inferences from what he saw, and -curiously inquiring into the causes of things.</p> - -<p>He supported himself by painting glass, and -sketching portraits. He says, in his modest way, -“They thought me a better painter than I was.” -If he arrived in a town where a cathedral or an -abbey was being built, he sometimes tarried long to -make a variety of rich patterns for the windows. -In other places, he would find only a few repairs -required in the windows of castles or churches, and -so would quickly pass on. To arrange mosaic patterns -of different-colored glass required constant -use of rule and compass, and this suggested the -study of geometry, which he pursued with characteristic -eagerness. The knowledge thus acquired -made him a skilful surveyor, and he was much -employed in mapping out boundaries, and making<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span> -plans for houses and gardens, a business which he -found more profitable than glass-work or portraits. -These various occupations brought him occasionally -into contact with men who were learned in -the arts and sciences, according to the standard of -learning at that time, and his active mind never -failed to glean something from such interviews. A -French translation of the Scriptures had been published -in 1498. He seems to have had a copy -with him during his travels, and to have studied -it with reverential attention. Thus constantly -observing and acquiring, the young man traversed -France, from Spain to the Netherlands, and -roamed through a portion of Germany. Ten years -were spent in this way, during which he obtained -the best portion of that education which he afterward -turned to good account.</p> - -<p>He is supposed to have been about twenty-nine -years old, when he married, and settled in the town -of Saintes, in the western part of France. He -supported his family by glass-work, portraits, and -surveying. A few years after his marriage, some -one showed him an enamelled cup, brought from -Italy. It seemed a slight incident; but it woke -the artistic spirit slumbering in his soul, and was -destined to effect a complete revolution in his life. -He says: “It was an earthen cup, turned and -enamelled with so much beauty, that from that -time I entered into controversy with my own -thoughts. I began to think that if I should discover<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span> -how to make enamels, I could make earthen -vessels very prettily; because God had gifted me -with some knowledge of drawing. So, regardless -of the fact that I had no knowledge of clays, I -began to seek for the enamel, as a man gropes in -the dark.”</p> - -<p>In order to begin to comprehend the difficulties -he had to encounter, we must know that only the -rudest kind of common pottery had then been -made in France, and even with the manufacture -of that he was entirely unacquainted. If he had -been unmarried, he might have travelled among -the potters of Europe, as he had among the glass-makers, -and have obtained useful hints from them; -but his family increased fast, and needed his protection -and support. Tea was not introduced into -Europe till a hundred years later; and there were -no specimens of porcelain from China, except here -and there a costly article imported by the rich. -He was obliged to test the qualities of various -kinds of clays; what chemical agents would produce -enamel; what other agents would produce -colors; and the action of heat on all of them. He -bought quantities of earthen jars, broke them into -fragments, applied to each piece some particular -chemical substance, and tried them all in a furnace. -He says: “I pounded all the substances I could -suppose likely to make anything. Having blundered -several times, at great expense, and through -much labor, I was every day pounding and grinding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span> -new materials, and constructing new furnaces, -which cost much money and consumed my wood -and my time.” While these expenses were going -on, his former occupations were necessarily suspended; -thus “the candle was burning out at -both ends.” His wife began to complain. Still -he went on, trying new compounds, as he says, -“always with great cost, loss of time, confusion -and sorrow.” The privations of his family and -the anxiety of his wife gave him so much pain, -that he relinquished his experiments for a while. -He says: “Seeing I could not in this way come -at my intention, I occupied myself in my art of -painting and glass-working, and comported myself -as if I were not zealous to dive any more into the -secret of enamels.” The king ordered extensive -surveys, and he found that employment so profitable, -that his family were soon at ease again. But -that Italian cup was always in his mind. He says: -“When I found myself with a little money, I resumed -my affection for pursuing in the track of the -enamels.” For two years he kept up a series of -experiments, under all manner of difficulties, and -always without success. His wife scolded, and -even his own courage began to fail. At last he -applied more than three hundred kinds of mixtures -to more than three hundred fragments, and put -them all in the furnace; resolved that if this experiment -proved a failure, he would try no more. -He tells us: “<em>One</em> of the pieces came out white<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span> -and polished, in a way that caused me such joy, as -made me think I was become a new creature.” -He was then thirty-seven years old.</p> - -<p>He was merely at the beginning of what he -aimed to accomplish. He had discovered how to -make the enamel, but he still knew nothing of -pottery, or of the effect which various degrees of -heat would produce on colors. A new furnace -was necessary, and he proceeded to build it, with -prodigious labor. Being too poor to hire help, he -brought bricks on his own back from a distant -kiln; he made his own mortar, and drew the water -with which it was tempered. He fashioned -vessels of clay, to which his enamel could be applied. -For more than a month he kept up an -incessant fire night and day, and was continually -grinding materials in a hand-mill, which it usually -required two men to turn. He believed himself -to be very near complete success, and everything -depended upon not letting the heat of the furnaces -go down. In the desperation of his poverty and -the excitement of his sanguine hopes, he burned -the garden-fence, and even some of the tables, -doors, and floors of his house. His wife became -frantic, and gave him no peace. She was to be -pitied, poor woman! Not being acquainted with -chemical experiments, she did not know, as <em>he</em> did, -that he was really on the point of making a great -and lucrative discovery. She had heard it so long -that she didn’t believe it. They had a large family<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span> -of children, and while their father was trying -expensive experiments, several of them were dying -of a disease prevalent at that time. It was a -gloomy and trying period for all of them. He -says: “I suffered an anguish that I cannot speak. -I was quite exhausted and dried up by the heat of -the furnace. It was more than a month since my -shirt had been dry upon me. I was the object of -mockery. Even those from whom solace was due -ran crying through the town that I was burning -my floors. In this way I came to be regarded as -a madman. I was in debt in several places. I -had two children at nurse, and was unable to pay -the nurses. Men jested at me as I passed through -the streets, and said it was right for me to die of -hunger, since I had left following my trade. Some -hope still remained to sustain me, for my last -experiments had turned out tolerably well, and -I thought I knew enough to get my living; but I -found I was far enough from that yet.”</p> - -<p>The want of means to build sheds to cover his -clay vessels was another great difficulty. After -working all day, and late into the night, sometimes -a heavy rain would spoil all his work, just as he -had it ready to bake. He describes himself, on -such occasions, as utterly weak and exhausted, so -that walking home he “reeled like a man drunk -with wine.” He says: “Filled with a great sorrow, -inasmuch as having labored long I saw my -labor wasted, I would retire soiled and drenched,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span> -to find in my chamber a second persecution worse -than the first; which now causes me to marvel -that I was not consumed by suffering.”</p> - -<p>In the midst of all this tribulation, the struggling -artist had one source of consolation. Jean -Cauvin, better known to us as John Calvin, had -been preaching Protestant doctrines in France, and -had given rise to the sect called Huguenots. The -extravagance and licentiousness of society at that -period, and the abuses practised by a powerful and -wealthy priesthood, naturally inclined this pure -and simple-minded man to the doctrines of the -Reformers. He became acquainted with an artisan -of the same turn of mind, whom he describes as -“simple, unlearned, and marvellously poor.” His -delight was to hear Palissy read the Scriptures. -Gradually his listeners increased to ten, and they -formed a little society, which took turns in exhortation -and prayer. One of them is supposed to -have been an innkeeper, who, from religious sympathy, -allowed poor Palissy to take meals at his -house on credit.</p> - -<p>He still continued his experiments, and met -with successive disappointments of one kind or -another. At last, he thought he had learned -how to adjust everything just right; and confident -of success, he one day put into the oven a -batch of vessels, beautifully formed and painted. -But a new misfortune awaited him. The materials -of his furnace contained flints. These expanded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span> -and burst with the great heat, and struck -into the vessels while they were soft, injuring the -enamel, and covering the surface with irregular -sharp points. This blow almost prostrated him; -for he had expected this beautiful batch would -bring a considerable sum of money for the support -of his family, and put to silence those that jeered -at him. But he was a man of wonderful endurance. -He says: “Having remained some time -upon the bed, I reflected that if a man should fall -into a pit, it would be his duty to try to get out -again.” So the brave soul roused himself, and set -to work diligently to earn money, by his old trades -of painting and surveying.</p> - -<p>Having supplied the necessities of his family, he -again returned to his pottery; fully believing that -his losses and hazards were over, and that he could -now make articles that would bring good prices. -But new disappointments awaited him. The green -with which he painted his lizards burnt before the -brown of the serpents melted; a strong current of -air in the furnace blew ashes all over his beautiful -vessels and spoiled the enamel. He says: “Before -I could render my different enamels fusible -at the same degree of heat, I thought I should be -at the door of my sepulchre. I was so wasted in -my person that there was no form nor prominence -in the muscles of my arms or legs; also the said -legs were throughout of one size; so that when I -walked, garters and stockings were at once down<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span> -upon my heels. I often roamed about the fields, -considering my miseries and weariness, and above -all things, that in my own house I could have no -peace, nor do anything that was considered good. -I was despised and mocked by all. Nevertheless, -I had a hope, which caused me to work so like a -man, that I often did my best to laugh and amuse -people who came to see me, though within me all -was very sad.”</p> - -<p>At the end of ten years from the commencement -of his experiments, he succeeded in making -a kind of ware, of mixed enamels, resembling jasper. -It was not what he had been aiming to -accomplish, but it was considered pretty, and sold -well enough to support his family comfortably. -While he was making continual improvements in -his pottery, the Huguenots were increasing to a -degree that provoked persecution. A schoolmaster -in a neighboring town, who “preached on -Sundays, and was much beloved by the people,” -was brought to Saintes and publicly burnt. But -Palissy and his little band were not intimidated. -They continued to meet for exhortation and -prayer. At first it was done mostly at midnight; -but the pure and pious lives of these men and -women formed such a contrast to the licentiousness -and blasphemy prevailing round them, that -they gradually gained respect; insomuch that they -influenced the magistrates of the town to pass -laws restraining gambling and dissipation. So<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span> -great a change was produced, that, when Palissy -was fifty-one years old, he says: “On Sundays -you might see tradesmen rambling through the -fields, groves, and other places, in bands, singing -psalms, canticles, and spiritual songs, or reading -and instructing each other. You might see young -women seated in gardens and other places, who -in like way delighted themselves with singing all -holy things. The very children were so well instructed -that they had no longer a puerility of -manner, but a look of manly fortitude. These -things had so well prospered that people had -changed their old manners, even to their very -countenances.”</p> - -<p>After six years more of successive improvements, -making sixteen years in the whole, this -persevering man at last accomplished the object -for which he had toiled and suffered so much. -He produced a very beautiful kind of china, which -became celebrated under the name of Palissy -Ware. These articles were elaborately adorned -with vines, flowers, butterflies, lizards, serpents, -and other animals. He had always been such a -loving observer of nature that we cannot wonder -at being told “he copied these, in form and color, -with the minute exactness of a naturalist, so that -the species of each could be determined accurately.” -These beautiful articles sold at high -prices. Orders flowed in from kings and nobles. -The Constable Montmorenci, a nobleman of immense<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span> -wealth, employed Palissy to decorate his -magnificent Chateau d’Ecouen, about twelve miles -from Paris. There he made richly painted windows, -covered with Scripture scenes, some of his -own designing, others copied from Raphael and -Albert Durer. Vases and statuettes of his beautiful -china were deposited in various places; and -the floors of chapel and galleries were inlaid with -china tiles of his painting. Among the groves he -formed a very curious grotto of china. He modelled -rugged rocks, “sloping, tortuous, and lumpy,” -which he painted with imitations of such herbs -and mosses as grow in moist places. Brilliant lizards -appeared to glide over its surface, “in many -pleasant gestures and agreeable contortions.” In -the trenches of water were some living frogs and -fishes, and other china ones, which so closely -resembled them as not to be easily distinguished. -At the foot of the rocks, branches of coral, of his -manufacture, appeared to grow in the water. A -poet of that period, praising this work, says: -“The real lizard on the moss has not more lustre -than the lizards in that house made famous by -your new work. The plants look not sweeter in -the fields, and green meadows are not more preciously -enamelled, than those which grow under -your hand.” The Constable Montmorenci built a -convenient shop for him, where he worked with -two of his sons. A large china dog at the door -was so natural, that the dogs often barked at it -and challenged it to fight.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span></p> - -<p>Meanwhile, a terrible storm was gathering over -the heads of the Huguenots. Civil war broke out -between the Catholics and Protestants. Old men -were burnt for quoting Scripture, and young girls -stabbed for singing psalms. But worldly prosperity -and the flattery of the great could not tempt -Palissy to renounce or conceal his faith. He pursued -his artistic labors, though he says, “For two -months I was greatly terrified, hearing nothing -every day but reports of horrible murders.” He -would have fallen among the first victims, had it -not been for written protections from powerful -nobles, who wanted ornamental work done which -no other man could do. The horrible massacre -of St. Bartholomew occurred when he was sixty-three -years old, but he escaped by aid of his -powerful patrons. The officers appointed to hunt -out Huguenots longed to arrest him, but did not -dare to do it in the daytime. At last they came -tramping about his house at midnight, and carried -him off to a prison in Bordeaux. The judges -would gladly have put him to death, but their -proceedings were stopped by orders from the -Queen Mother, Catherine de Medicis. Montmorenci, -Montpensier, and other influential Catholic -nobles, who had works uncompleted, and who -doubtless felt kindly toward the old artist, interceded -with her, and she protected him; not because -he was a good man, but because the art he -practised was unique and valuable. The enamelled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span> -Italian cup, which had troubled so many -years of his life, proved the cause of its being -saved.</p> - -<p>The last ten years of Palissy’s mortal existence -were spent in Paris. He had an establishment in -the grounds of the Tuileries, where he manufactured -vases, cups, plates, and curious garden-basins -and baskets, ornamented with figures in relief. -His high reputation drew toward him many men -of taste and learning, who, knowing his interest in -all the productions of Nature, presented him with -many curious specimens of shells, minerals, fossils, -&c. He formed these into a Museum, where -scholars met to discuss the laws and operations of -Nature. This is said to have been the first society -established in Paris for the pure advancement of -science. When he was sixty-six years old, he began -a course of public lectures, which he continued -to deliver annually for ten years. These were the -first lectures on Natural History ever delivered in -Paris. The best men of the Capital went there to -discuss with him, and to hear him state, in his simple, -earnest fashion, the variety of curious things -he had observed in travels by mountain and seashore, -through field and forest, and in his experiments -on glass and china. Some pedants were -disposed to undervalue his teachings, because he -had never learned Greek or Latin. Undisturbed -by this, he cordially invited them to come and disprove -his statements if they could, saying: “I want<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span> -to ascertain whether the Latins know more upon -these subjects than I do. I am indeed a simple -artisan, poorly enough trained in letters; but the -things themselves have not less value than if they -were uttered by a man more eloquent. I had -rather speak truth in my rustic tongue, than lie in -rhetoric.”</p> - -<p>He published several books on Agriculture, -Volcanoes, the Formation of Rocks, the Laws of -Water, &c. His last book was written when he -was seventy-one years old. Scientific knowledge -was then in its infancy, but adequate judges consider -his ideas far in advance of his time. A modern -French scholar calls him, “So great a naturalist -as only Nature could produce.” There is a -refreshing simplicity about his style of writing, and -his communications with the world were obviously -not the result of vanity, but of general benevolence -and religious reverence. He felt that all he -had was from God, and that it was a duty to impart -it freely. He says: “I had employed much -time in the study of earths, stones, waters, and -metals; and old age pressed me to multiply the -talents God had given me. For that reason, I -thought it would be good to bring to the light -those excellent secrets, in order to bequeath them -to posterity.”</p> - -<p>He continued vigorous in mind and body, and -was remarked for acuteness and ready wit. He -abstained from theological discussions in his teachings,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span> -but made no secret of the fact that his opinions -remained unchanged. Amid the frivolity, -dissipation, and horrid scenes of violence that were -going on in Paris, he quietly busied himself making -artistic designs, and imparting his knowledge -of natural history; recreating himself frequently -with the old pleasure of rambling in field and -forest, taking loving observation of all God’s little -creatures.</p> - -<p>He was seventy-six years old, when the king, -Henry III., issued a decree forbidding Protestants -to exercise their worship, on pain of death, -and banishing all who had previously practised it. -Angry bigots clamored for the death of the brave -old potter. The powerful patrons of his art -again prevented his execution; but the tide was -so strong against the Reformers, that he was sent -to the Bastile. Two Huguenot girls were in prison -with him, and they mutually sustained each other -with prayer and psalms. The king, in his fashionable -frills and curls, occasionally visited the prisons, -and he naturally felt a great desire that the distinguished -old Bernard Palissy should make a -recantation of his faith. One day he said to him: -“My good man, you have been forty-five years in -the service of the queen, my mother, or in mine; -and in the midst of all the executions and massacres, -we have allowed you to live in your religion. -But now I am so hardly pressed by the Guise party, -and by my people, that I am compelled, in spite of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span> -myself, to order the execution of these two poor -young women, and of yourself also, unless you -recant.” “Sire,” replied the old man, “that is -not spoken like a king. You have often said you -pitied <em>me</em>; but now I pity <em>you</em>; because you have -said, ‘I am <em>compelled</em>.’ These girls and I, who -have our part in the kingdom of Heaven, will teach -you to talk more royally. Neither the Guises, nor -all your people, nor yourself, can compel the old -potter to bow down to your images of clay. I -can die.”</p> - -<p>The two girls were burnt a few months afterward. -Palissy remained in prison four years, and -there he died at eighty years of age. The secrets -of the Bastile were well kept, and we have no -record of those years. We only know that, like -John Bunyan, he wrote a good deal in prison. -The thick, dark walls must have been dismal to one who</p> - -<p class="center"> -so loved the free air, and who valued<br> -trees and shrubs “beyond silver<br> -and gold.” But the martyr was<br> -not alone. He had with him<br> -the God whom he trusted,<br> -and the memories of<br> -an honest, useful,<br> -and religious<br> -life. -</p> - -<div id="il_28" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_134.png" width="70" height="100" alt="decoration"></div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_123"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span></p> - -<div id="il_29" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_135.png" width="1459" height="354" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OLD_AGE_COMING">OLD AGE COMING.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>By Elizabeth Hamilton, a Scotch writer, author of “The -Cottagers of Glenburnie,” and several other sensible and interesting -works. She died, unmarried, about fifty years ago, nearly -sixty years old. These lines were written in such very broad -Scotch, that I have taken the liberty to render them in English, -making no changes, except a few slight variations, which the -necessities of rhyme required.</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Is</span> that Old Age, who’s knocking at the gate?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I trow it is. He sha’n’t be asked to wait.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">You’re kindly welcome, friend! Nay, do not fear</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To show yourself! You’ll cause no trouble here.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I know there’re some who tremble at your name,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">As though you brought with you reproach or shame;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And who of thousand lies would bear the sin,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Rather than own you for their kith and kin.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But far from shirking you as a disgrace,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Thankful I am to live to see your face.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Nor will I e’er disown you, or take pride</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To think how long I might your visit hide.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’ll do my best to make you well respected,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And fear not for your sake to be neglected.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span> - <p class="verse indent0">Now you have come, and, through all kinds of weather</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We’re doomed from this time forth to jog together,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’d fain make compact with you, firm and strong,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">On terms of give and take, to hold out long.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">If you’ll be civil, I will liberal be;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Witness the list of what I’ll give to thee.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">First then, I here make o’er, for good and aye,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">All youthful fancies, whether bright or gay.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Beauties and graces, too, might be resigned,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But much I fear they would be hard to find;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For ’gainst your daddy Time they could not stand,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Nor bear the grip of his relentless hand.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But there’s my skin, which you may further crinkle,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And write your name, at length, on ev’ry wrinkle.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">On my brown locks your powder you may throw,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And bleach them to your fancy, white as snow.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But look not, Age, so wistful at my mouth,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">As if you longed to pull out ev’ry tooth!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Let them, I do beseech you, keep their places!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Though, if you like, you’re free to paint their faces.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">My limbs I yield you; and if you see meet</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To clap your icy shackles on my feet,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’ll not refuse; but if you drive out gout,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Will bless you for’t, and offer thanks devout.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">So much I give to you with free good-will;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But, O, I fear that more you look for still.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I know, by your stern look and meaning leers,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">You want to clap your fingers on my ears.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Right willing, too, you are, as I surmise,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To cast your misty powder in my eyes.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But, O, in mercy spare my little twinklers!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And I will always wear your crystal blinkers.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span> - <p class="verse indent0">Then ’bout my ears I’d fain a bargain strike,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And give my hand upon it, if you like.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Well then—would you consent their use to <em>share</em>?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">’Twould serve us both, and be a bargain rare.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’d have it thus,—When babbling fools intrude,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Gabbling their noisy nonsense for no good;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or when ill-nature, well brushed up with wit,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With sneer sarcastic, takes its aim to hit;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or when detraction, meanest sort of pride,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Spies out small faults, and seeks great worth to hide;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Then make me deaf as ever deaf can be!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">At all <em>such</em> times, my ears I lend to thee.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But when, in social hours, you see combined</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Genius and wisdom, fruits of heart and mind,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Good sense, good nature, wit in playful mood,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And candor, e’en from ill extracting good;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">O, then, old friend, I <em>must</em> have back my hearing!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To want it then would be an ill past bearing.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’d rather sit alone, in wakeful dreaming,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Than catch the sound of words without their meaning.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">You will not promise? O, you’re very glum!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Right hard to manage, you’re so cold and dumb!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">No matter.—Whole and sound I’ll keep my <em>heart</em>.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Not from one crumb on’t will I ever part.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Its kindly warmth shall ne’er be chilled by all</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The coldest breath that from your lips can fall.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">You needn’t vex yourself, old churl, nor fret!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">My kindly feelings you shall never get.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And though to take my hearing you rejoice,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">In spite of you, I’ll still hear friendship’s voice.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And though you take the rest, it shall not grieve me;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For gleams of cheerful spirits you <em>must</em> leave me.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span> - <p class="verse indent0">But let me whisper in your ear, Old Age,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’m bound to travel with you but one stage.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Be’t long or short, you cannot keep me back;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And when we reach the <em>end</em> on’t, you must pack!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Be’t soon or late, we part forever there!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Other companionship I then shall share.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">This blessed change to me you’re bound to bring.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">You need not think I shall be loath to spring</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From your poor feeble side, you churl uncouth!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Into the arms of Everlasting Youth.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">All that your thieving hands have stolen away</p> - <p class="verse indent0">He will, with interest, to me repay.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Fresh gifts and graces freely he’ll bestow,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">More than the heart has wished, or mind can know.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">You need not wonder then, nor swell with pride.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That I so kindly welcomed you as guide</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To one who’s far your better. Now all’s told.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Let us set out upon our journey cold.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With no vain boasts, no vain regrets tormented.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We’ll quietly jog on our way, contented.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“<span class="smcap">On</span> he moves to meet his latter end,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Angels around befriending virtue’s friend;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">While resignation gently slopes the way;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And, all his prospects brightening to the last,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">His heaven commences ere the world is past.”</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Goldsmith</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_127"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span></p> -<div id="il_30" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_139.png" width="1428" height="397" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="UNMARRIED_WOMEN">UNMARRIED WOMEN.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> L. MARIA CHILD.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_139idcs.png" width="283" height="313" alt="S"> -<p><span class="ucase">Society</span> moves slowly toward civilization, -but when we compare epochs half -a century, or even a quarter of a century -apart, we perceive many signs that -progress <em>is</em> made. Among these pleasant indications -is the fact that the phrase “old maid” has -gone wellnigh out of fashion; that jests on the -subject are no longer considered witty, and are -never uttered by gentlemen. In my youth, I not -unfrequently heard women of thirty addressed -something in this style: “What, not married yet? -If you don’t take care, you will outstand your -market.” Such words could never be otherwise -than disagreeable, nay, positively offensive, to any -woman of sensibility and natural refinement; and -that not merely on account of wounded vanity, or -disappointed affection, or youthful visions receding -in the distance, but because the idea of being in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span> -the <em>market</em>, of being a <em>commodity</em>, rather than an -individual, is odious to every human being.</p> - -<p>I believe a large proportion of unmarried women -are so simply because they have too much conscience -and delicacy of feeling to form marriages -of interest or convenience, without the concurrence -of their affections and their taste. A woman -who is determined to be married, and who -“plays her cards well,” as the phrase is, usually -succeeds. But how much more estimable and -honorable is she who regards a life-union as too -important and sacred to be entered into from motives -of vanity or selfishness.</p> - -<p>To rear families is the ordination of Nature, -and where it is done conscientiously it is doubtless -the best education that men or women can receive. -But I doubt the truth of the common remark that -the discharge of these duties makes married people -less selfish than unmarried ones. The selfishness -of single women doubtless shows itself in -more petty forms; such as being disturbed by -crumbs on the carpet, and a litter of toys about -the house. But fathers and mothers are often selfish -on a large scale, for the sake of advancing the -worldly prosperity or social condition of their children. -Not only is spiritual growth frequently -sacrificed in pursuit of these objects, but principles -are trampled on, which involve the welfare -of the whole human race. Within the sphere of -my own observation, I must confess that there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span> -is a larger proportion of unmarried than of married -women whose sympathies are active and -extensive.</p> - -<p>I have before my mind two learned sisters, -familiar with Greek, Latin, and French, and who, -late in life, acquired a knowledge of German also. -They spent more than sixty years together, quietly -digging out gold, silver, or iron from the rich -mines of ancient and modern literature, and freely -imparting their treasures wherever they were -called for. No married couple could have been -more careful of each other in illness, or more -accommodating toward each other’s peculiarities; -yet they were decided individuals; and their talk -never wanted</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent22">“An animated No,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To brush its surface, and to make it flow.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Cultivated people enjoyed their conversation, -which was both wise and racy; a steady light of -good sense and large information, with an occasional -flashing rocket of not ill-natured satire. -Yet their intellectual acquisitions produced no contempt -for the customary occupations of women. -All their friends received tasteful keepsakes of -their knitting, netting, or crocheting, and all the -poor of the town had garments of their handiwork. -Neither their sympathies nor their views -were narrowed by celibacy. Early education had -taught them to reverence everything that was -established; but with this reverence they mingled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span> -a lively interest in all the great progressive questions -of the day. Their ears were open to the -recital of everybody’s troubles and everybody’s -joys. On New Year’s day, children thronged -round them for books and toys, and every poor -person’s face lighted up as they approached; for -they were sure of kindly inquiries and sympathizing -words from them, and their cloaks usually -opened to distribute comfortable slippers, or warm -stockings of their own manufacture. When this -sisterly bond, rendered so beautiful by usefulness -and culture, was dissolved by death, the survivor -said of her who had departed: “During all her -illness she leaned upon me as a child upon its -mother; and O, how blessed is now the consciousness -that I never disappointed her!” This -great bereavement was borne with calmness, for -loneliness was cheered by hope of reunion. On the -anniversary of her loss the survivor wrote to me: -“I find a growing sense of familiarity with the -unseen world. It is as if the door were invitingly -left ajar, and the distance were hourly diminishing. -I never think of <em>her</em> as alone. The unusual number -of departed friends for whom we had recently -mourned seem now but an increase to her happiness.”</p> - -<p>I had two other unmarried friends, as devoted -to each other, and as tender of each other’s peculiarities -as any wedded couple I ever knew. -Without being learned, they had a love of general<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span> -reading, which, with active charities, made their -days pass profitably and pleasantly. They had -the orderly, systematic habits common to single -ladies, but their sympathies and their views were -larger and more liberal than those of their married -sisters. Their fingers were busy for the poor, -whom they were always ready to aid and comfort, -irrespective of nation or color. Their family -affections were remarkably strong, yet they had -the moral courage to espouse the unpopular cause -of the slave, in quiet opposition to the prejudices -of beloved relatives. Death sundered this tie -when both were advanced in years. The departed -one, though not distinguished for beauty -during her mortal life, had, after her decease, a -wonderful loveliness, like that of an angelic child. -It was the outward impress of her interior life.</p> - -<p>Few marriages are more beautiful or more happy -than these sisterly unions; and the same may -be said of a brother and sister, whose lives are -bound together. All lovers of English literature -know how charmingly united in mind and heart -were Charles Lamb and his gifted sister; and our -own poet, Whittier, so dear to the people’s heart, -has a home made lovely by the same fraternal -relation of mutual love and dependence.</p> - -<p>A dear friend of mine, whom it was some good -man’s loss not to have for a life-mate, adopted the -orphan sons of her brother, and reared them with -more than parental wisdom and tenderness, caring<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span> -for all their physical wants, guiding them in precept -and example by the most elevated moral -standard, bestowing on them the highest intellectual -culture, and studying all branches with them, -that she might in all things be their companion.</p> - -<p>Nor is it merely in such connections, which -somewhat resemble wedded life, that single women -make themselves useful and respected. Many -remember the store kept for so long a time in Boston -by Miss Ann Bent.</p> - -<p>Her parents being poor, she early began to support -herself by teaching. A relative subsequently -furnished her with goods to sell on commission; -and in this new employment she manifested such -good judgment, integrity, and general business capacity, -that merchants were willing to trust her to -any extent. She acquired a handsome property, -which she used liberally to assist a large family of -sisters and nieces, some of whom she established -in business similar to her own. No mother or -grandmother was ever more useful or beloved. -One of her nieces said: “I know the beauty and -purity of my aunt’s character, for I lived with her -forty years, and I never knew her to say or do -anything which might not have been said or done -before the whole world.”</p> - -<p>I am ignorant of the particulars of Miss Bent’s -private history; but doubtless a woman of her -comely looks, agreeable manners, and excellent -character, might have found opportunities to marry,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span> -if that had been a paramount object with her. -She lived to be more than eighty-eight years old, -universally respected and beloved; and the numerous -relatives, toward whom she had performed a -mother’s part, cheered her old age with grateful -affection.</p> - -<p>There have also been many instances of single -women who have enlivened and illustrated their -lives by devotion to the beautiful arts. Of these -none are perhaps more celebrated than the Italian -Sofonisba Angusciola and her two accomplished -sisters. These three “virtuous gentlewomen,” as -Vasari calls them, spent their lives together in -most charming union. All of them had uncommon -talent for painting, but Sofonisba was the -most gifted. One of her most beautiful pictures -represents her two sisters playing at chess, attended -by the faithful old duenna, who accompanied -them everywhere. This admirable artist lived to -be old and blind; and the celebrated Vandyke -said of her, in her later years: “I have learned -more from one blind old woman in Italy, than -from all the masters of the art.”</p> - -<p>Many single women have also employed their -lives usefully and agreeably as authors. There is -the charming Miss Mitford, whose writings cheer -the soul like a meadow of cowslips in the springtime. -There is Frederica Bremer, whose writings -have blessed so many souls. There is Joanna -Baillie, Maria Edgeworth, Elizabeth Hamilton,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span> -and our own honored Catherine M. Sedgwick, -whose books have made the world wiser and better -than they found it.</p> - -<p>I am glad to be sustained in my opinions on this -subject by a friend whose own character invests -single life with peculiar dignity. In a letter to -me, she says: “I object to having single women -called a <em>class</em>. They are <em>individuals</em>, differing in -the qualities of their characters, like other human -beings. Their isolation, as a general thing, is the -result of unavoidable circumstances. The Author -of Nature doubtless intended that men and women -should live together. But, in the present state -of the world’s progress, society has, in many respects, -become artificial in proportion to its civilization; -and consequently the number of single -women must constantly increase. If humanity -were in a state of natural, healthy development, -this would not be so; for young people would then -be willing to begin married life with simplicity and -frugality, and real happiness would increase in -proportion to the diminution of artificial wants. -This prospect, however, lies in the future, and -many generations of single women must come and -go before it will be realized.</p> - -<p>“But the achievement of <em>character</em> is the highest -end that can be proposed to any human being, and -there is nothing in single life to prevent a woman -from attaining this great object; on the contrary, -it is in many respects peculiarly favorable to it.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span> -The measure of strength in character is the power -to conquer circumstances when they refuse to cooperate -with us. The temptations peculiarly incident -to single life are petty selfishness, despondency -under the suspicion of neglect, and <em>ennui</em> from the -want of interesting occupation. If an ordinary, -feeble-minded woman is exposed to these temptations, -she will be very likely to yield to them. -But she would not be greatly different in character, -if protected by a husband and flanked with -children; her feebleness would remain the same, -and would only manifest itself under new forms.</p> - -<p>“Marriage, under favorable circumstances, is -unquestionably a promoter of human happiness. -But mistakes are so frequently made by entering -thoughtlessly into this indissoluble connection, and -so much wretchedness ensues from want of sufficient -mental discipline to make the best of what -cannot be remedied, that most people can discover -among their acquaintance as large a proportion -of happy single women as they can of happy wives. -Moreover, the happiness of unmarried women is -as independent of mere gifts of fortune, as that -of other individuals. Indeed, all solid happiness -must spring from inward sources. Some of the -most truly contented and respectable women I -have ever known have been domestics, who grew -old in one family, and were carefully looked after, -in their declining days, by the children of those -whom they faithfully served in youth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span></p> - -<p>“Most single women might have married, had -they seized upon the first opportunity that offered; -but some unrevealed attachment, too high an ideal, -or an innate fastidiousness, have left them solitary; -therefore, it is fair to assume that many of them -have more sensibility and true tenderness than -some of their married sisters. Those who remain -single in consequence of too much worldly ambition, -or from the gratification of coquettish vanity, -naturally swell the ranks of those peevish, discontented -ones, who bring discredit on single life in -the abstract. But when a delicate gentlewoman -deliberately prefers passing through life alone, to -linking her fate with that of a man toward whom -she feels no attraction, why should she ever repent -of so high an exercise of her reason? This class -of women are often the brightest ornaments of -society. Men find in them calm, thoughtful -friends, and safe confidants, on whose sympathy -they can rely without danger. In the nursery, -their labors, being voluntary, are less exhausting -than a parent’s. When the weary, fretted mother -turns a deaf ear to the twenty-times-repeated question, -the baffled urchins retreat to the indulgent -aunt, or dear old familiar friend, sure of obtaining -a patient hearing and a kind response. Almost -everybody can remember some samples of such -<em>Penates</em>, whose hearts seem to be too large to be -confined to any one set of children.</p> - -<p>“Some of my fairest patterns of feminine excellence<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span> -have been of the single sisterhood. Of -those unfortunate ones who are beacons, rather -than models, I cannot recall an individual whose -character I think would have been materially improved -by marriage. The faults which make a -single woman disagreeable would probably exist to -the same degree if she were a wife; and the virtues -which adorn her in a state of celibacy would -make her equally beloved and honored if she were -married. The human soul is placed here for development -and progress; and it is capable of converting -all circumstances into means of growth -and advancement.</p> - -<p>“Among my early recollections is that of a lady -of stately presence, who died while I was still -young, but not till she had done much to remove -from my mind the idea that the name of ‘old -maid’ was a term of reproach. She was the -daughter of Judge Russell, and aunt to the late -Reverend and beloved Dr. Lowell. She had been -one of a numerous family of brothers and sisters, -but in my childhood was sole possessor of the old -family mansion, where she received her friends -and practised those virtues which gained for her -the respect of the whole community. Sixty years -ago, it was customary to speak of single women -with far less deference than it now is; and I remember -being puzzled by the extremely respectful -manner in which she was always mentioned. If -there were difficulties in the parish, or if any doubtful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span> -matters were under discussion, the usual question -was ‘What is Miss Russell’s opinion?’ I -used to think to myself, ‘She is an old maid, after -all, yet people always speak of her as if she were -some great person.’</p> - -<p>“Miss Burleigh was another person of whom I -used to hear much through the medium of mutual -friends. She resided with a married sister in Salem, -and was the ‘dear Aunt Susan,’ not only of -the large circle of her own nephews and nieces, -but of all their friends and favorites. Having -ample means, she surrounded herself with choice -books and pictures, and such objects of Art or -Nature as would entertain and instruct young -minds. Her stores of knowledge were prodigious, -and she had such a happy way of imparting it, -that lively boys were glad to leave their play, to -spend an hour with Aunt Susan. She read to her -young friends at stated times, and made herself -perfectly familiar with them; and as they grew -older she became their chosen confidant. She was, -in fact, such a centre of light and warmth, that no -one could approach her sphere without being conscious -of its vivifying influence.</p> - -<p>“‘Aunt Sarah Stetson,’ another single lady, was -a dear and honored friend of my own. She was -of masculine size and stature, gaunt and ungainly -in the extreme. But before she had uttered three -sentences, her hearers said to themselves, ‘Here is -a wise woman!’ She was the oldest of thirteen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span> -children, early deprived of their father, and she -bore the brunt of life from youth upward. She -received only such education as was afforded by -the public school of an obscure town seventy years -ago. To add to their scanty means of subsistence, -she learned the tailor’s trade. In process of time, -the other children swarmed off from the parental -hive, the little farm was sold, and she lived alone -with her mother. She built a small cottage out of -her own earnings, and had the sacred pleasure of -taking her aged parent to her own home, and ministering -with her own hands to all her wants. For -sixteen years, she never spent a night from home, -but assiduously devoted herself to the discharge of -this filial duty, and to the pursuance of her trade. -Yet in the midst of this busy life, she managed to -become respectably familiar with English literature, -especially with history. Whatever she read, she -derived from it healthful aliment for the growth of -her mental powers. She was full of wise maxims -and rules of life; not doled out with see-saw prosiness, -but with strong common sense, rich and racy, -and frequently flavored with the keenest satire. -She had a flashing wit, and wonderful power of -detecting shams of all sorts. Her religious opinions -were orthodox, and she was an embodiment -of the Puritan character. She was kindly in her -feelings, and alive to every demonstration of affection, -but she had a granite firmness of principle, -which rendered her awful toward deceivers and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span> -transgressors. All the intellectual people of the -town sought her company with avidity. The Unitarian -minister and his family, a wealthy man, who -happened to be also the chief scholar in the place, -and the young people generally, took pleasure in -resorting to Aunt Sarah’s humble home, to minister -to her simple wants, and gather up her words of -wisdom. Her spirit was bright and cheerful to the -last. One of her sisters, who had been laboring -sixteen years as a missionary among the southwestern -Indians, came to New England to visit -the scattered members of her family. After seeing -them in their respective homes, she declared: -‘Sarah is the most light-hearted of them all; and -it is only by <em>her</em> fireside that I have been able to -forget past hardships in merry peals of laughter.’</p> - -<p>“During my last interview with Aunt Sarah, -when she was past seventy years of age, she said, -‘I have lived very agreeably single; but if I become -infirm, I suppose I shall feel the want of life’s -nearest ties.’ In her case, however, the need was -of short duration, and an affectionate niece supplied -the place of a daughter.</p> - -<p>“Undoubtedly, the arms of children and grandchildren -form the most natural and beautiful cradle -for old age. But loneliness is often the widow’s -portion, as well as that of the single woman; and -parents are often left solitary by the death or emigration -of their children.</p> - -<p>“I am tempted to speak also of a living friend,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span> -now past her sixtieth year. She is different from -the others, but this difference only confirms my -theory that the mind can subdue all things to itself. -This lady is strictly feminine in all her habits and -pursuits, and regards the needle as the chief implement -of woman’s usefulness. If the Dorcas -labors performed by her one pair of hands could -be collected into a mass, out of the wear and waste -of half a century, they would form an amazing -pile. In former years, when her health allowed -her to circulate among numerous family connections, -her visits were always welcomed as a jubilee; -for every dilapidated wardrobe was sure to be -renovated by Aunt Mary’s nimble fingers. She -had also a magic power of drawing the little ones -to herself. Next to their fathers and mothers, she -was the best beloved. The influence which her -loving heart gained over them in childhood increased -with advancing years. She is now the best -and dearest friend of twenty or thirty nephews and -nieces, some of whom have families of their own.</p> - -<p>“A large amount of what is termed mother-wit, a -readiness at repartee, and quickness in seizing unexpected -associations of words or ideas, rendered -her generally popular in company; but the deep -cravings of her heart could never be satisfied with -what is termed success in society. The intimate -love of a few valued friends was what she always -coveted, and never failed to win. For several years -she has been compelled by ill health to live entirely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span> -at home. There she now is, fulfilling the most -important mission of her whole beneficent life, -training to virtue and usefulness five motherless -children of her brother. Feeble and emaciated, -she lives in her chamber surrounded by these -orphans, who now constitute her chief hold on life. -She shares all their pleasures, is the depositary of -their little griefs, and unites in herself the relations -of aunt, mother, and grandmother. She has faith -to believe that her frail thread of existence will be -prolonged for the sake of these little ones. The -world still comes to her, in her seclusion, through -a swarm of humble friends and dependants, who -find themselves comforted and ennobled by the -benignant patience with which she listens to their -various experiences, and gives them kindly, sympathizing -counsel, more valuable to them than -mere pecuniary aid. Her spirit of self-abnegation -is carried almost to asceticism; but she reserves -her severity wholly for herself; toward others she -is prodigal of indulgence. This goodly temple of -a human soul was reared in these fair proportions -upon a foundation of struggles, disappointments, -and bereavements. A friend described her serene -exterior as a ‘placid, ocean-deep manner’; under -it lies a silent history of trouble and trial, converted -into spiritual blessings.</p> - -<p>“The conclusion of the matter in my mind is, -that a woman may make a respectable appearance -as a wife, with a character far less noble than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span> -is necessary to enable her to lead a single life -with usefulness and dignity. She is sheltered -and concealed behind her husband; but the -unmarried woman must rely upon herself; and -she lives in a glass house, open to the gaze of -every passer-by. To the feeble-minded, marriage -is almost a necessity, and if wisely formed it -doubtless renders the life of any woman more -happy. But happiness is not the sole end and aim -of this life. We are sent here to build up a</p> - -<p class="center"> -character; and sensible women may easily<br> -reconcile themselves to a single life,<br> -since even its disadvantages may<br> -be converted into means of<br> -development of all the<br> -faculties with which<br> -God has endowed<br> -them.” -</p> - -<div id="il_31" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_155.png" width="71" height="102" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">You</span> are “getting into years.” Yes, but the -years are getting into you; the ripe, mellow years. -One by one, the crudities of your youth are falling -off from you; the vanity, the egotism, the bewilderment, -the uncertainty. Every wrong road into -which you have wandered has brought you, by the -knowledge of that mistake, nearer to the truth. -Nearer and nearer you are approaching yourself.—<span class="smcap">Gail -Hamilton.</span></p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_144"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span></p> - -<div id="il_32" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_156.png" width="1405" height="327" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_OLD_MAIDS_PRAYER_TO">THE OLD MAID’S PRAYER TO -DIANA.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>By Mrs. Tighe, an Irish author, who wrote more than fifty -years ago, when single women had not attained to the honorable -position which they now occupy.</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Since</span> thou and the stars, my dear goddess, decree</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That, old maid as I am, an old maid I must be,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">O, hear the petition I offer to thee!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For to bear it must be my endeavor:</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From the grief of my friendships all drooping around,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Till not one whom I loved in my youth can be found;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From the legacy-hunters, that near us abound,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Diana, thy servant deliver!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">From the scorn of the young, and the flaunts of the gay,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From all the trite ridicule rattled away</p> - <p class="verse indent0">By the pert ones, who know nothing wiser to say,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or a spirit to laugh at them, give her!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From repining at fancied neglected desert;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or, vain of a civil speech, bridling alert;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From finical niceness, or slatternly dirt;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Diana, thy servant deliver!</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">From over solicitous guarding of pelf;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From humor unchecked, that most obstinate elf;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From every unsocial attention to self,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or ridiculous whim whatsoever;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From the vaporish freaks, or methodical airs,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Apt to sprout in a brain that’s exempted from cares;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From impertinent meddling in others’ affairs;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Diana, thy servant deliver!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">From the erring attachments of desolate souls;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From the love of spadille, and of matadore voles;<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">F</a></p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or of lap-dogs, and parrots, and monkeys, and owls,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Be they ne’er so uncommon and clever;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But chief from the love, with all loveliness flown,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Which makes the dim eye condescend to look down</p> - <p class="verse indent0">On some ape of a fop, or some owl of a clown;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Diana, thy servant deliver!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">From spleen at beholding the young more caressed;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From pettish asperity, tartly expressed;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From scandal, detraction, and every such pest;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From all, thy true servant deliver!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Nor let satisfaction depart from her cot;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Let her sing, if at ease, and be patient if not;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Be pleased when regarded, content when forgot,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Till the Fates her slight thread shall dissever.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span></p> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="fnanchor">F</a> Terms used in Ombre, a game at cards.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_146"> -<div id="il_33" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_158.png" width="1413" height="336" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="GRANDFATHERS_REVERIE">GRANDFATHER’S REVERIE.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> THEODORE PARKER.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l3" src="images/i_158idcg.png" width="309" height="308" alt="G"> -<p><span class="ucase">Grandfather</span> is old. His back is -bent. In the street he sees crowds of -men looking dreadfully young, and -walking fearfully swift. He wonders -where all the <em>old</em> folks are. Once, when a boy, he -could not find people young enough for him, and -sidled up to any young stranger he met on Sundays, -wondering why God made the world so old. -Now he goes to Commencement to see his grandson -take his degree, and is astonished at the youth -of the audience. “This is new,” he says; “it -did not use to be so fifty years ago.” At meeting, -the minister seems surprisingly young, and the audience -young. He looks round, and is astonished -that there are so few venerable heads. The audience -seem not decorous. They come in late, and -hurry off early, clapping the doors after them with -irreverent bang. But grandfather is decorous, -well mannered, early in his seat; if jostled, he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span> -jostles not again, elbowed, he returns it not; -crowded, he thinks no evil. He is gentlemanly to -the rude, obliging to the insolent and vulgar; for -grandfather is a gentleman; not puffed up with -mere money, but edified with well-grown manliness. -Time has dignified his good manners.</p> - -<p>It is night. The family are all abed. Grandfather -sits by his old-fashioned fire. He draws -his old-fashioned chair nearer to the hearth. On -the stand which his mother gave him are the candlesticks, -also of old time. The candles are three -quarters burnt down; the fire on the hearth also -is low. He has been thoughtful all day, talking -half to himself, chanting a bit of verse, humming -a snatch of an old tune. He kissed his pet granddaughter -more tenderly than common, before she -went to bed. He takes out of his bosom a little -locket; nobody ever sees it. Therein are two -little twists of hair. As Grandfather looks at them, -the outer twist of hair becomes a whole head of -ambrosial curls. He remembers stolen interviews, -meetings by moonlight. He remembers how sweet -the evening star looked, and how he laid his hand -on another’s shoulder, and said, “<em>You</em> are my -evening star.”</p> - -<p>The church-clock strikes the midnight hour. -He looks in his locket again. The other twist is -the hair of his first-born son. At this same hour -of midnight, once, many years ago, he knelt and -prayed, when the long agony was over,—“My<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span> -God, I thank thee that, though I am a father, I -am still a husband, too! What am I, that unto -me a life should be given and another spared!” -Now he has children, and children’s children, the -joy of his old age. But for many a year his wife -has looked to him from beyond the evening star. -She is still the evening star herself, yet more beautiful; -a star that never sets; not mortal wife now, -but angel.</p> - -<p class="center"> -The last stick on his andirons snaps asunder, and<br> -falls outward. Two faintly smoking brands<br> -stand there. Grandfather lays them<br> -together, and they flame up; the<br> -two smokes are united in one<br> -flame. “Even so let it<br> -be in heaven,” says<br> -Grandfather. -</p> - -<div id="il_34" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_160.png" width="59" height="102" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Useless</span>, do you say you are? You are of <em>great</em> -use. You really are. How are you useful? By -being a man that is old. Your old age is a public -good. It is indeed. No child ever listens to your -talk without having a good done it that no schooling -could do. When you are walking, no one ever -opens a gate for you to pass through, and no one -ever honors you with any kind of help, without -being himself the better for what he does; for -fellow-feeling with you ripens his soul for him.—<span class="smcap">Mountford.</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_149"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span></p> -<div id="il_35" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_161.png" width="1379" height="351" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_HOUSE_IN_THE_MEADOW">THE HOUSE IN THE MEADOW.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">It</span> stands in a sunny meadow,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The house so mossy and brown,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With its cumbrous old stone chimneys,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And the gray roof sloping down.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The trees fold their green arms round it,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The trees a century old;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the winds go chanting through them,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And the sunbeams drop their gold.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The cowslips spring in the marshes,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The roses bloom on the hill,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And beside the brook in the pasture</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The herds go feeding at will.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Within, in the wide old kitchen,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The old folk sit in the sun,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That creeps through the sheltering woodbine,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Till the day is almost done.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Their children have gone and left them;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">They sit in the sun alone!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the old wife’s ears are failing</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As she harks to the well-known tone</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">That won her heart in her girlhood,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That has soothed her in many a care,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And praises her now for the brightness</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Her old face used to wear.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">She thinks again of her bridal,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">How, dressed in her robe of white,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">She stood by her gay young lover</p> - <p class="verse indent2">In the morning’s rosy light.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">O, the morning is rosy as ever,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">But the rose from her cheek is fled;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the sunshine still is golden,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">But it falls on a silvered head.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And the girlhood dreams, once vanished,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Come back in her winter time,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Till her feeble pulses tremble</p> - <p class="verse indent2">With the thrill of spring-time’s prime.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And looking forth from the window,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">She thinks how the trees have grown</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Since, clad in her bridal whiteness,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">She crossed the old door-stone.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Though dimmed her eyes’ bright azure,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And dimmed her hair’s young gold,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The love in her girlhood plighted</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Has never grown dim or old.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">They sat in peace in the sunshine</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Till the day was almost done,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And then, at its close, an angel</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Stole over the threshold stone.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">He folded their hands together,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">He touched their eyelids with balm,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And their last breath floated outward,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Like the close of a solemn psalm!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Like a bridal pair they traversed</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The unseen, mystical road</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That leads to the Beautiful City,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Whose “builder and maker is God.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Perhaps in that miracle country</p> - <p class="verse indent2">They will give her lost youth back,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the flowers of the vanished spring-time</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Will bloom in the spirit’s track.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">One draught from the living waters</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Shall call back his manhood’s prime;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And eternal years shall measure</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The love that outlasted time.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">But the shapes that they left behind them,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The wrinkles and silver hair,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Made holy to us by the kisses</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The angel had printed there,—</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">We will hide away ’neath the willows,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">When the day is low in the west,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Where the sunbeams cannot find them,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Nor the winds disturb their rest.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And we’ll suffer no telltale tombstone,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">With its age and date, to rise</p> - <p class="verse indent0">O’er the two who are old no longer,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">In the Father’s house in the skies.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_152"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span></p> -<div id="il_36" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_164.png" width="1427" height="338" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_STORY_OF_ST_MARKS_EVE">A STORY OF ST. MARK’S EVE.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> THOMAS HOOD.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>St. Mark’s Day is a festival which has been observed on the -25th of April, in Catholic countries, from time immemorial. -The superstition alluded to in the following story was formerly -very generally believed, and vigils in the church-porch at midnight -were common.</p> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_164idci.png" width="285" height="309" alt="I"> -<p><span class="ucase">“I hope</span> it’ll choke thee!” said Master -Giles, the yeoman; and, as he said it, -he banged his big red fist on the old -oak table. “I do say I hope it’ll choke -thee!”</p> - -<p>The dame made no reply. She was choking -with passion and a fowl’s liver, which was the -cause of the dispute. Much has been said and -sung concerning the advantage of congenial tastes -amongst married people; but the quarrels of this -Kentish couple arose from too great coincidence -in their tastes. They were both fond of the little -delicacy in question, but the dame had managed to -secure the morsel to herself. This was sufficient -to cause a storm of high words, which, properly -understood, signifies very low language. Their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span> -meal times seldom passed over without some contention -of this sort. As sure as the knives and -forks clashed, so did they; being in fact equally -greedy and disagreedy; and when they did pick a -quarrel, they picked it to the bone.</p> - -<p>It was reported that, on some occasions, they -had not even contented themselves with hard -speeches, but had come to scuffling; he taking to -boxing and she to pinching, though in a far less -amicable manner than is practised by the taker of -snuff. On the present difference, however, they -were satisfied with “wishing each other dead with -all their hearts”; and there seemed little doubt of -the sincerity of the aspiration, on looking at their -malignant faces; for they made a horrible picture -in this frame of mind.</p> - -<p>Now it happened that this quarrel took place on -the morning of St. Mark; a saint who was supposed -on that festival to favor his votaries with a -peep into the book of fate. For it was the popular -belief in those days, that, if a person should -keep watch at midnight beside the church, the apparitions -of all those of the parish who were to be -taken by death before the next anniversary would -be seen entering the porch. The yeoman, like his -neighbors, believed most devoutly in this superstition; -and in the very moment that he breathed -the unseemly aspiration aforesaid, it occurred to -him that the eve was at hand, when, by observing -the rite of St. Mark, he might know to a certainty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span> -whether this unchristian wish was to be one of -those that bear fruit. Accordingly, a little before -midnight, he stole quietly out of the house, and -set forth on his way to the church.</p> - -<p>In the mean time, the dame called to mind the -same ceremonial; and, having the like motive for -curiosity with her husband, she also put on her -cloak and calash, and set out, though by a different -path, on the same errand.</p> - -<p>The night of the Saint was as dark and chill as -the mysteries he was supposed to reveal; the moon -throwing but a short occasional glance, as sluggish -masses of cloud were driven slowly from her face. -Thus it fell out that our two adventurers were -quite unconscious of being in company, till a sudden -glimpse of moonlight showed them to each -other, only a few yards apart. Both, through a -natural panic, became pale as ghosts; and both -made eagerly toward the church porch. Much -as they had wished for this vision, they could not -help quaking and stopping on the spot, as if turned -to stones; and in this position the dark again threw -a sudden curtain over them, and they disappeared -from each other.</p> - -<p>The two came to one conclusion; each conceiving -that St. Mark had marked the other to himself. -With this comfortable knowledge, the widow and -widower elect hied home again by the roads they -came; and as their custom was to sit apart after a -quarrel, they repaired to separate chambers, each -ignorant of the other’s excursion.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span></p> - -<p>By and by, being called to supper, instead of -sulking as aforetime, they came down together, -each being secretly in the best humor, though -mutually suspected of the worst. Amongst other -things on the table, there was a calf’s sweetbread, -being one of those very dainties that had often set -them together by the ears. The dame looked and -longed, but she refrained from its appropriation, -thinking within herself that she could give up -sweetbreads <em>for one year</em>; and the farmer made a -similar reflection. After pushing the dish to and -fro several times, by a common impulse they divided -the treat; and then, having supped, they -retired amicably to rest, whereas until then they -had seldom gone to bed without falling out. The -truth was, each looked upon the other as being -already in the churchyard.</p> - -<p>On the morrow, which happened to be the -dame’s birthday, the farmer was the first to wake; -and <em>knowing what he knew</em>, and having, besides, -but just roused himself out of a dream strictly -confirmatory of the late vigil, he did not scruple -to salute his wife, and wish her many happy returns -of the day. The wife, <em>who knew as much as he</em>, -very readily wished him the same; having, in -truth, but just rubbed out of her eyes the pattern -of a widow’s bonnet that had been submitted to -her in her sleep. She took care, however, at dinner -to give the fowl’s liver to the doomed man; -considering that when he was dead and gone she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span> -could have them, if she pleased, seven days in the -week; and the farmer, on his part, took care to -help her to many tidbits. Their feeling toward -each other was that of an impatient host with regard -to an unwelcome guest, showing scarcely a -bare civility while in expectation of his stay, but -overloading him with hospitality when made certain -of his departure.</p> - -<p>In this manner they went on for some six months, -without any addition of love between them, and as -much selfishness as ever, yet living in a subservience -to the comforts and inclinations of each other, -sometimes not to be found even amongst couples -of sincerer affections. There were as many causes -for quarrel as ever, but every day it became less -worth while to quarrel; so letting bygones be bygones, -they were indifferent to the present, and -thought only of the future, considering each other -(to adopt a common phrase) “as <em>good</em> as dead.”</p> - -<p>Ten months wore away, and the farmer’s birthday -arrived in its turn. The dame, who had passed -an uncomfortable night, having dreamed, in truth, -that she did not much like herself in mourning, -saluted him as soon as the day dawned, and, with a -sigh, wished him many years to come. The farmer -repaid her in kind, the sigh included; his own -visions having been of the painful sort; for he -dreamed of having a headache from wearing a -black hat-band, and the malady still clung to him -when awake. The whole morning was spent in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span> -silent meditation and melancholy, on both sides; -and when dinner came, although the most favorite -dishes were upon the table, they could not eat. The -farmer, resting his elbows upon the board, with his -face between his hands, gazed wistfully on his wife. -The dame, leaning back in her high arm-chair, -regarded the yeoman quite as ruefully. Their -minds, travelling in the same direction, and at an -equal rate, arrived together at the same reflection; -but the farmer was the first to give it utterance:</p> - -<p>“Thee’d be <em>missed</em>, dame, if thee were to die!”</p> - -<p>The dame started. Although she had nothing -but death at that moment before her eyes, she was -far from dreaming of her own exit. Recovering, -however, from the shock, her thoughts flowed into -their old channel, and she rejoined in the same -spirit:</p> - -<p>“I wish, master, thee may live so long as I!”</p> - -<p>The farmer, in his own mind, wished to live -rather longer; for, at the utmost, he considered that -his wife’s bill of mortality had but two months -to run; the calculation made him sorrowful; during -the last few months she had consulted his -appetite, bent to his humor, and conformed her -own inclinations to his, in a manner that could -never be supplied.</p> - -<p>His wife, from being at first useful to him, had -become agreeable, and at last dear; and as he -contemplated her approaching fate, he could not -help thinking out audibly, “that he should be a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span> -lonesome man when she was gone.” The dame, -this time, heard the survivorship foreboded without -starting; but she marvelled much at what she -thought the infatuation of a doomed man. So -perfect was her faith in the infallibility of St. -Mark, that she had even seen the symptoms of -mortal disease, as palpable as plague-spots, on the -devoted yeoman. Giving his body up, therefore, -for lost, a strong sense of duty persuaded her that -it was imperative on her, as a Christian, to warn -the unsuspecting farmer of his dissolution. Accordingly, -with a solemnity adapted to the subject, -a tenderness of recent growth, and a <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">memento mori</i> -face, she broached the matter in the following -question:</p> - -<p>“Master, how bee’st thee?”</p> - -<p>“As hearty as a buck, dame; and I wish thee -the like.”</p> - -<p>A dead silence ensued; the farmer was as unprepared -as ever. There is a great fancy for -breaking the truth by dropping it gently; an experiment -which has never answered, any more -than with iron-stone china. The dame felt this; -and, thinking it better to throw the news at her -husband at once, she told him, in as many words, -that he was a dead man.</p> - -<p>It was now the yeoman’s turn to be staggered. -By a parallel course of reasoning, he had just -wrought himself up to a similar disclosure, and -the dame’s death-warrant was just ready upon his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span> -tongue, when he met with his own despatch, -signed, sealed, and delivered. Conscience instantly -pointed out the oracle from which she -had derived the omen.</p> - -<p>“Thee hast watched, dame, at the church -porch, then?”</p> - -<p>“Ay, master.”</p> - -<p>“And thee didst see me spirituously?”</p> - -<p>“In the brown wrap, with the boot hose. Thee -were coming to the church, by Fairthorn Gap; in -the while I were coming by the Holly Hedge.”</p> - -<p>For a minute the farmer paused; but the next -he burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter; peal -after peal, each higher than the last. The poor -woman had but one explanation for this phenomenon. -She thought it a delirium; a lightening before -death; and was beginning to wring her hands, -and lament, when she was checked by the merry -yeoman:</p> - -<p>“Dame, thee bee’st a fool. It was I myself -thee seed at the church porch. I seed thee, too; -with a notice to quit upon thy face; but, thanks to -God, thee bee’st a living; and that is more than I -cared to say of thee this day ten-month!”</p> - -<p>The dame made no answer. Her heart was too -full to speak; but, throwing her arms round her -husband, she showed that she shared in his sentiment. -And from that hour, by practising a careful -abstinence from offence, or a temperate sufferance -of its appearance, they became the most<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span> -united couple in the county. But it must be -said, that their comfort was not complete till they -had seen each other, in safety, over the perilous -anniversary of St. Mark’s Eve.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>The moral this story conveys is one which -might prove a useful monitor to us all, if we -could keep it in daily remembrance. Few, indeed, -are so coarse in their manifestations of ill-temper -as this Kentish couple are described; but we all -indulge, more or less, in unreasonable fretfulness, -and petty acts of selfishness, in the relations of -husband and wife, parents and children, brothers -and sisters,—in fact, in all the relations of life. -It would help us greatly to be kind, forbearing, -and self-sacrificing toward neighbors, friends, and -relatives, if it were always present to our minds -that death may speedily close our intercourse with -them in this world.—L. M. C.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_161"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span></p> - -<div id="il_37" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_173.png" width="1426" height="323" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="WHAT_THE_OLD_WOMAN_SAID">WHAT THE OLD WOMAN SAID.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">One</span> summer eve, I chanced to pass, where, by the cottage gate,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">An aged woman in the town sat crooning to her mate.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The frost of age was on her brow, its dimness in her eye,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And her bent figure to and fro rocked all unconsciously.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The frost of age was on her brow, yet garrulous her tongue,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">As she compared the “<em>doings now</em>,” with those when <em>she</em> was young.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“When <em>I</em> was young, young gals were meek, and looked round kind of shy;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And when they were compelled to speak, they did so modestly.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">They stayed at home, and did the work; made Indian bread and wheaten;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And only went to singing-school, and <em>sometimes</em> to night meetin’.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And <em>children</em> were obedient <em>then</em>; they had no saucy airs;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And minded what their mothers said, and learned their hymns and prayers.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span> - <p class="verse indent0">But <em>now-a-days</em> they know enough, before they know their letters;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And young ones that can hardly walk will contradict their betters.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Young women <em>now</em> go kiting round, and looking out for beaux;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And scarcely one in ten is found, who makes or mends her clothes!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">But then, I tell my daughter,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Folks don’t do as they’d ought’-ter.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">When <em>I</em> was young, if a man had failed, he shut up house and hall,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And never ventured out till night, if he ventured out at all;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And his wife sold all her china plates; and his sons came home from college;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And his gals left school, and learned to wash and bake, and such like knowledge;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">They gave up cake and pumpkin-pies, and had the plainest eatin’;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And never asked folks home to tea, and scarcely went to meetin’.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The man that was a Bankrupt called, was kind’er shunned by men,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And hardly dared to show his head amongst his town folks <em>then</em>.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But <em>now-a-days</em>, when a merchant fails, they say he makes a penny;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The wife don’t have a gown the less, and his daughters just as many;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">His sons they smoke their choice cigars, and drink their costly wine;</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span> - <p class="verse indent0">And <em>she</em> goes to the opera, and <em>he</em> has folks to dine!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">He walks the streets, he drives his gig; men show him all civilities;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And what in <em>my</em> day we called <em>debts</em>, are now his <em>lie</em>-abilities!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">They call the man unfortunate who ruins half the city,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">In my day ’twas his <em>creditors</em> to whom we gave our pity.</p> - <p class="verse indent2">But then, I tell my daughter,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Folks don’t do as they’d ough’-ter.”</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">From the Olive Branch.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_163"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SPRING_JOURNEY">THE SPRING JOURNEY.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">O, green</span> was the corn as I rode on my way,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And bright were the dews on the blossoms of May,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And dark was the sycamore’s shade to behold,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the oak’s tender leaf was of emerald and gold.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The thrush from his holly, the lark from his cloud,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Their chorus of rapture sung jovial and loud;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From the soft vernal sky to the soft grassy ground,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">There was beauty above me, beneath, and around.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The mild southern breeze brought a shower from the hill,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And yet, though it left me all dripping and chill,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I felt a new pleasure, as onward I sped,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To gaze where the rainbow gleamed broad overhead.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">O such be <em>life’s</em> journey! and such be our skill</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To lose in its blessings the sense of its ill;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Through sunshine and shower may our progress be even,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And our tears add a charm to the prospect of heaven.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Bishop Heber</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_164"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span></p> -<div id="il_38" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_176.png" width="1465" height="374" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="MORAL_HINTS">MORAL HINTS.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> L. MARIA CHILD.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l1" src="images/i_176idcp.png" width="289" height="311" alt="P"> -<p><span class="ucase">Probably</span> there are no two things -that tend so much to make human beings -unhappy in themselves and unpleasant -to others, as habits of fretfulness -and despondency; two faults peculiarly apt -to grow upon people after they have passed their -youth. Both these ought to be resisted with constant -vigilance, as we would resist a disease. This -we should do for our own sakes, and as a duty we -owe to others. Life is made utterly disagreeable -when we are daily obliged to listen to a complaining -house-mate. How annoying and disheartening -are such remarks as these: “I was not invited to -the party last night. I suppose I am getting to be -of no consequence to anybody now.” “Yes, that -is a beautiful present you have had sent you. -Nobody sends <em>me</em> presents.” “I am a useless encumbrance -now. I can see that people want me -out of their way.” Yet such observations are not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span> -unfrequently heard from persons surrounded by -external comforts, and who are consequently envied -by others of similar disposition in less favorable -circumstances.</p> - -<p>No virtue has been so much recommended to -the old as cheerfulness. Colton says: “Cheerfulness -ought to be the viaticum of their life to the -old. Age without cheerfulness is a Lapland winter -without a sun.”</p> - -<p>Montaigne says: “The most manifest sign of -wisdom is continued cheerfulness.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Johnson says: “The habit of looking on -the best side of every event is worth more than a -thousand pounds a year.”</p> - -<p>Tucker says: “The point of aim for our vigilance -to hold in view is to dwell upon the brightest -parts in every prospect; to call off the thoughts -when running upon disagreeable objects, and strive -to be pleased with the present circumstances surrounding -us.”</p> - -<p>Southey says, in one of his letters: “I have -told you of the Spaniard, who always put on his -spectacles when about to eat cherries, that they -might look bigger and more tempting. In like -manner, I make the most of my enjoyments; and -though I do not cast my eyes away from my -troubles, I pack them in as little compass as I can -for myself, and never let them annoy others.”</p> - -<p>Perhaps you will say: “All this is very fine talk -for people who are naturally cheerful. But I am<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span> -low-spirited by temperament; and how is that to -be helped?” In the first place, it would be well -to ascertain whether what you call being naturally -low-spirited does not arise from the infringement -of some physical law; something wrong in what -you eat or drink, or something unhealthy in other -personal habits. But if you inherit a tendency to -look on the dark side of things, resolutely call in -the aid of your reason to counteract it. Leigh -Hunt says: “If you are melancholy for the first -time, you will find, upon a little inquiry, that -others have been melancholy many times, and yet -are cheerful now. If you have been melancholy -many times, recollect that you have got over all -those times; and try if you cannot find means of -getting over them better.”</p> - -<p>If reason will not afford sufficient help, call in -the aid of conscience. In this world of sorrow and -disappointment, every human being has trouble -enough of his own. It is unkind to add the weight -of your despondency to the burdens of another, -who, if you knew all his secrets, you might find -had a heavier load than yours to carry. You find -yourself refreshed by the presence of cheerful -people. Why not make earnest efforts to confer -that pleasure on others? You will find half the -battle is gained, if you never allow yourself to <em>say</em> -anything gloomy. If you habitually try to pack -your troubles away out of other people’s sight, you -will be in a fair way to forget them yourself; first,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span> -because evils become exaggerated to the imagination -by repetition; and, secondly, because an effort -made for the happiness of others lifts us above -ourselves.</p> - -<p>Those who are conscious of a tendency to dejection -should also increase as much as possible the -circle of simple and healthy enjoyments. They -should cultivate music and flowers, take walks to -look at beautiful sunsets, read entertaining books, -and avail themselves of any agreeable social intercourse -within their reach. They should also -endeavor to surround themselves with pleasant -external objects.</p> - -<p>Our states of feeling, and even our characters, -are influenced by the things we habitually look -upon or listen to. A sweet singer in a household, -or a musical instrument played with feeling, do -more than afford us mere sensuous pleasure; they -help us morally, by their tendency to harmonize -discordant moods. Pictures of pleasant scenes, or -innocent objects, are, for similar reasons, desirable -in the rooms we inhabit. Even the paper on the -walls may help somewhat to drive away “blue -devils,” if ornamented with graceful patterns, that -light up cheerfully. The paper on the parlor of -Linnæus represented beautiful flowering plants -from the East and West Indies; and on the walls -of his bedroom were delineated a great variety of -butterflies, dragon-flies, and other brilliant insects. -Doubtless it contributed not a little to the happiness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span> -of the great naturalist thus to live in the -midst of his pictured thoughts. To cultivate flowers, -to arrange them in pretty vases, to observe -their beauties of form and color, has a healthy -effect, both on mind and body. Some temperaments -are more susceptible than others to these -fine influences, but they are not entirely without -effect on any human soul; and forms of beauty -can now be obtained with so little expenditure -of money, that few need to be entirely destitute of -them.</p> - -<p>Perhaps you will say, “If I feel low-spirited, -even if I do not speak of it, I cannot help showing -it.” The best way to avoid the intrusion of sad -feelings is to immerse yourself in some occupation. -Adam Clarke said: “I have lived to know that -the secret of happiness is never to allow your -energies to stagnate.” If you are so unfortunate -as to have nothing to do at home, then, the moment -you begin to feel a tendency to depression, -start forth for the homes of others. Tidy up the -room of some helpless person, who has nobody to -wait upon her; carry flowers to some invalid, or -read to some lonely old body. If you are a man, -saw and split wood for some poor widow, or lone -woman, in the neighborhood. If you are a woman, -knit stockings for poor children, or mend caps for -those whose eyesight is failing; and when you -have done them, don’t send them home, but take -them yourself. Merely to have every hour of life<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span> -fully occupied is a great blessing; but the full -benefit of constant employment cannot be experienced -unless we are occupied in a way that promotes -the good of others, while it exercises our -own bodies and employs our own minds. Plato -went so far as to call exercise a cure for a wounded -conscience; and, provided usefulness is combined -with it, there is certainly a good deal of truth in -the assertion; inasmuch as constant helpful activity -leaves the mind no leisure to brood over useless -regrets, and by thus covering the wound from the -corrosion of thought, helps it to become a scar.</p> - -<p>Against that listless indifference, which the -French call <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">ennui</i>, industry is even a better preservative -than it is against vain regrets. Therefore, -it seems to me unwise for people in the -decline of life to quit entirely their customary -occupations and pursuits. The happiest specimens -of old age are those men and women who have -been busy to the last; and there can be no doubt -that the decay of our powers, both bodily and -mental, is much hindered by their constant exercise, -provided it be not excessive.</p> - -<p>It is recorded of Michael Angelo, that “after he -was sixty years old, though not very robust, he -would cut away as many scales from a block of -very hard marble, in a quarter of an hour, as three -young sculptors would have effected in three or -four hours. Such was the impetuosity and fire -with which he pursued his labors, that with a single<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span> -stroke he brought down fragments three or four -fingers thick, and so close upon his mark, that had -he passed it, even in the slightest degree, there -would have been danger of ruining the whole.” -From the time he was seventy-one years old till he -was seventy-five, he was employed in painting the -Pauline Chapel. It was done in fresco, which is -exceedingly laborious, and he confessed that it -fatigued him greatly. He was seventy-three years -old when he was appointed architect of the wonderful -church of St. Peter’s, at Rome; upon which -he expended the vast powers of his mind during -seventeen years. He persisted in refusing compensation, -and labored solely for the honor of his -country and his church. In his eighty-seventh -year, some envious detractors raised a report that -he had fallen into dotage; but he triumphantly -refuted the charge, by producing a very beautiful -model of St. Peter’s, planned by his own mind, -and in a great measure executed by his own hand. -He was eighty-three, when his faithful old servant -Urbino, who had lived with him twenty-six years, -sickened and died. Michael Angelo, notwithstanding -his great age, and the arduous labors of -superintending the mighty structure of St. Peter’s, -and planning new fortifications for Rome, undertook -the charge of nursing him. He even watched -over him through the night; sleeping by his side, -without undressing. This remarkable man lived -ninety years, lacking a fortnight. He wrote many<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span> -beautiful sonnets during his last years, and continued -to make drawings, plans, and models, to the -day of his death, though infirmities increased upon -him, and his memory failed.</p> - -<p>Handel lived to be seventy-five years old, and -though afflicted with blindness in his last years, he -continued to produce oratorios and anthems. He -superintended music in the orchestra only a week -before he died. Haydn was sixty-five years old, -when he composed his oratorio of The Creation, -the music of which is as bright as the morning -sunshine. When he was seventy-seven years old, -he went to a great concert to hear it performed. -It affected him deeply to have his old inspirations -thus recalled to mind. When they came to the -passage, “It was light!” he was so overpowered -by the harmonies, that he burst into tears, and, -pointing upwards, exclaimed: “Not from <em>me</em>! Not -from <em>me</em>! but <em>thence</em> did all this come!”</p> - -<p>Linnæus was past sixty-two years old when he -built a museum at his country-seat, where he classified -and arranged a great number of plants, -zoöphytes, shells, insects, and minerals. Besides -this, he superintended the Royal Gardens, zealously -pursued his scientific researches, corresponded -by letter with many learned men, taught -pupils, and lectured constantly in the Academic -Gardens. His pupils travelled to all parts of the -world, and sent him new plants and minerals to -examine and classify. In the midst of this constant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span> -occupation, he wrote: “I tell the truth -when I say that I am happier than the King of -Persia. My pupils send me treasures from the -East and the West; treasures more precious to -me than Babylonish garments or Chinese vases. -Here in the Academic Gardens is my Elysium. -Here I learn and teach; here I admire, and point -out to others, the wisdom of the Great Artificer, -manifested in the structure of His wondrous -works.” It is said that even when he was quite -ill, the arrival of an unknown plant would infuse -new life into him. He continued to labor with -unremitting diligence till he was sixty-seven years -old, when a fit of apoplexy attacked him in the -midst of a public lecture, and so far impaired his -memory that he became unable to teach.</p> - -<p>The celebrated Alexander von Humboldt lived -ninety years, and continued to pursue his scientific -researches and to publish learned books up to the -very year of his departure from this world.</p> - -<p>The Rev. John Wesley continued to preach and -write till his body was fairly worn out. Southey, -his biographer, says: “When you met him in the -street of a crowded city, he attracted notice, not -only by his band and cassock, and his long hair, -white and bright as silver, but by his pace and -manner, both indicating that all his minutes were -numbered, and that not one was to be lost.” -Wesley himself wrote: “Though I am always in -haste, I am never in a hurry; because I never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span> -undertake more work than I can go through with -perfect calmness of spirit.” Upon completing his -eighty-second year, he wrote: “It is now eleven -years since I have felt any such thing as weariness. -Many times I speak till my voice fails me, and I -can speak no longer. Frequently I walk till my -strength fails, and I can walk no farther. Yet -even then I feel no sensation of weariness, but am -perfectly easy from head to foot. I dare not impute -this to natural causes. It is the will of God.” -A year later, he wrote: “I am a wonder to -myself. Such is the goodness of God, that I am -never tired, either with writing, preaching, or -travelling.”</p> - -<p>Isaac T. Hopper, who lived to be past eighty, -was actively employed in helping fugitive slaves, -and travelling about to exercise a kindly and beneficent -influence in prisons, until a very short -time before his death. When he was compelled to -take to his bed, he said to me: “I am ready and -willing to go, only there is so much that I want -to do.”</p> - -<p>Some will say it is not in their power to do such -things as these men did. That may be. But there -is something that everybody can do. Those whose -early habits render it difficult, or impossible, to -learn a new science, or a new language, in the -afternoon of life, can at least oil the hinges of memory -by learning hymns, chapters, ballads, and stories, -wherewith to console and amuse themselves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span> -and others. A stock of nursery rhymes to amuse -little children is far from being a foolish or worthless -acquisition, since it enables one to impart -delight to the little souls,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“With their wonder so intense,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And their small experience.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Women undoubtedly have the advantage of men, -in those in-door occupations best suited to the infirm; -for there is no end to the shoes that may be -knit for the babies of relatives, the tidies that may -be crocheted for the parlors of friends, and the -socks that may be knit for the poor. But men also -can find employment for tedious hours, when the -period of youthful activity has passed. In summer, -gardening is a never-failing resource both to -men and women; and genial qualities of character -are developed by imparting to others the flowers, -fruit, and vegetables we have had the pleasure of -raising. The Rev. Dr. Prince of Salem was always -busy, in his old age, making telescopes, -kaleidoscopes, and a variety of toys for scientific -illustrations, with which he instructed and entertained -the young people who visited him. My old -father amused himself, and benefited others, by -making bird-houses for children, and clothes-horses -and towel-stands for all the girls of his acquaintance -who were going to housekeeping. I knew -an old blind man, who passed his winter evenings -pleasantly weaving mats from corn-husks, while<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span> -another old man read to him. A lathe is a valuable -resource for elderly people; and this employment -for mind and hands may also exercise -the moral qualities, as it admits of affording pleasure -to family and friends by innumerable neatly-turned -little articles. The value of occupation is -threefold to elderly people, if usefulness is combined -with exercise; for in that way the machinery of -body, mind, and heart may all be kept from -rusting.</p> - -<p>A sister of the celebrated John Wilkes, a wise -and kindly old lady, who resided in Boston a very -long time ago, was accustomed to say, “The true -secret of happiness is always to have a little less -time than one wants, and a little more money than -one needs.” There is much wisdom in the saying, -but I think it might be improved by adding, that -the money should be of one’s own earning.</p> - -<p>After life has passed its maturity, great care -should be taken not to become indifferent to the -affairs of the world. It is salutary, both for mind -and heart, to take an interest in some of the great -questions of the age; whether it be slavery or war, -or intemperance, or the elevation of women, or -righting the wrongs of the Indians, or the progress -of education, or the regulation of prisons, or improvements -in architecture, or investigation into -the natural sciences, from which proceed results so -important to the daily comfort and occupations of -mankind. It is for each one to choose his object of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span> -especial interest; but it should be remembered that -no person has a right to be entirely indifferent concerning -questions involving great moral principles. -Care should be taken that the daily social influence -which every man and woman exerts, more or less, -should be employed in the right direction. A conscientious -man feels himself in some degree responsible -for the evil he does not seek to prevent. In -the Rev. John Wesley’s journal for self-examination -this suggestive question occurs: “Have I -embraced every probable opportunity of doing -good, and of preventing, removing, or lessening -evil?” Such habits of mind tend greatly to the -improvement of our own characters, while at the -same time they may help to improve the character -and condition of others. Nothing is more healthy -for the soul than to go out of ourselves, and stay -out of ourselves. We thus avoid brooding over -our own bodily pains, our mental deficiencies, or -past moral shortcomings; we forget to notice -whether others neglect us, or not; whether they -duly appreciate us, or not; whether their advantages -are superior to ours, or not. He who leads -a true, active, and useful life has no time for -such corrosive thoughts. All self-consciousness -indicates disease. We never think about our -stomachs till we have dyspepsia. The moral diseases -which induce self-consciousness are worse -than the physical, both in their origin and their -results. To indulge in repinings over our own<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span> -deficiencies, compared with others, while it indicates -the baneful presence of envy, prevents our -making the best use of such endowments as we -have. If we are conscious of our merits, bodily or -mental, it takes away half their value. There is -selfishness even in anxiety whether we shall go to -heaven or not, or whether our souls are immortal -or not. A continual <em>preparation</em> for eternal progress -is the wisest and the happiest way to live <em>here</em>. -If we daily strive to make ourselves fit companions -for angels, we shall be in constant readiness for a -better world, while we make sure of enjoying some -degree of heaven upon this earth; and, what is still -better, of helping to make it a paradise for others.</p> - -<p>Perhaps there is no error of human nature productive -of so much unhappiness as the indulgence -of temper. Often everything in a household is -made to go wrong through the entire day, because -one member of the family rises in a fretful mood. -An outburst of anger brings a cloud of gloom over -the domestic atmosphere, which is not easily dissipated. -Strenuous efforts should be made to guard -against this, especially by the old; who, as they -lose external attractions, should strive all the more -earnestly to attain that internal beauty which is of -infinitely more value. And here, again, the question -may be asked, “What am I to do, if I have -naturally a hasty or fretful temper, and if those -around me act in a manner to provoke it?” In -the first place, strong self-constraint may be made<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span> -to become a habit; and this, though very difficult -in many cases, is possible to all. People of the -most ungoverned tempers will often become suddenly -calm and courteous when a stranger enters; -and they can control their habitual outbreaks, when -they are before people whose good opinion they are -particularly desirous to obtain or preserve. Constraint -may be made more easy by leaving the -presence of those with whom you are tempted to -jangle. Go out into the open air; feed animals; -gather flowers or fruit for the very person you -were tempted to annoy. By thus opening a door -for devils to walk out of your soul, angels will be -sure to walk in. If circumstances prevent your -doing anything of this kind, you can retire to your -own chamber for a while, and there wrestle for victory -over your evil mood. If necessary avocations -render this impossible, time can at least be snatched -for a brief and earnest prayer for help in overcoming -your besetting sin; and prayer is a golden -gate, through which angels are wont to enter.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“And the lady prayed in heaviness,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That looked not for relief;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But slowly did her succor come,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And a patience to her grief.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“O, there is never sorrow of heart</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That shall lack a timely end,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">If but to God we turn and ask</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Of Him to be our friend.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">There is a reason for governing our tempers which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span> -is still more important than our own happiness, or -even the happiness of others. I allude to its influence -on the characters of those around us; an -influence which may mar their whole destiny here, -and perhaps hinder their progress hereafter. None -of us are sufficiently careful to keep pure and -wholesome the spiritual atmosphere which surrounds -every human being, and which must be -more or less inhaled by the spiritual lungs of all -those with whom he enters into the various relations -of life. Jean Paul said: “Newton, who -uncovered his head whenever the name of God -was pronounced, thus became, without words, a -teacher of religion to children.” Many a girl has -formed an injudicious marriage, in consequence of -hearing sneering remarks, or vulgar jokes, about -“old maids.” Poisonous prejudices against nations, -races, sects, and classes are often instilled -by thoughtless incidental expressions. There is -education for evil in the very words “Nigger,” -“Paddy,” “old Jew,” “old maid,” &c. It is recorded -of the Rabbi Sera, that when he was asked -how he had attained to such a serene and lovable -old age, he replied: “I have never rejoiced at any -evil which happened to my neighbor; and I never -called any man by a nickname given to him in -derision or sport.”</p> - -<p>False ideas with regard to the importance of -wealth and rank are very generally, though often -unconsciously inculcated by modes of speech, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span> -habits of action. To treat <em>mere</em> wealth with -more respect than honest poverty; to speak more -deferentially of a man whose <em>only</em> claim is a distinguished -ancestry, than you do of the faithful -laborer who ditches your meadows, is a slow but -sure process of education, which sermons and catechisms -will never be able entirely to undo. It is -important to realize fully that all merely conventional -distinctions are false and illusory; that only -worth and usefulness can really ennoble man or -woman. If we look at the subject from a rational -point of view, the artificial classifications of society -appear even in a ludicrous light. It would be -considered a shocking violation of etiquette for -the baronet’s lady to call upon the queen. The -wife of the wealthy banker, or merchant, cannot -be admitted to the baronet’s social circle. The -intelligent mechanic and prosperous farmer is excluded -from the merchant’s parlor. The farmer -and mechanic would think they let themselves -down by inviting a worthy day-laborer to their -parties. And the day-laborer, though he were an -ignoramus and a drunkard, would feel authorized -to treat with contempt any intelligent and excellent -man whose complexion happened to be black -or brown. I once knew a grocer’s wife, who, with -infinite condescension of manner, said to the wife -of her neighbor the cobbler, “Why don’t you -come in to see me sometimes? You needn’t -keep away because my house is carpeted all over.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span> -Hannah More tells us that the Duchess of Gloucester, -wishing to circulate some tracts and verses, -requested one of her ladies in waiting to stop a -woman who was wheeling a barrow of oranges -past the window, and ask her if she would take -some ballads to sell. “No indeed!” replied the -orange-woman, with an air of offended dignity. -“I don’t do anything so mean as that. I don’t -even sell apples.” The Duchess was much amused -by her ideas of rank; but they were in fact no -more absurd than her own. It is the same mean, -selfish spirit which manifests itself through all -these gradations. External rank belongs to the -“phantom dynasties”; and if we wish our children -to enjoy sound moral health, we should be -careful not to teach any deference for it, either in -our words or our habits. Mrs. Gaskell, in her -sketch of a very conservative and prejudiced English -gentlewoman, “one of the olden time,” gives -a lovely touch to the picture, indicating that true -natural refinement was not stifled by the prejudices -of rank. Lady Ludlow had, with patronizing -kindness, invited several of her social inferiors to -tea. Among them was the wife of a rich baker, -who, being unaccustomed to the etiquette of such -company, spread a silk handkerchief in her lap, -when she took a piece of cake; whereupon some -of the curate’s wives began to titter, in order to -show that they knew polite manners better than -she did. Lady Ludlow, perceiving this, immediately<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span> -spread her own handkerchief in her lap; -and when the baker’s wife went to the fireplace -to shake out her crumbs, my lady did the same. -This silent rebuke was sufficient to prevent any -further rudeness to the unsophisticated wife of the -baker. No elaborate rules are necessary to teach -us true natural politeness. We need only remember -two short texts of Scripture: “Do unto others -as ye would that they should do unto you.” -“God is your Father, and all ye are brethren.”</p> - -<p>Elderly people are apt to think that their years -exempt them from paying so much attention to -good manners as the young are required to do. -On the contrary, they ought to be more careful in -their deportment and conversation, because their -influence is greater. Impure words or stories -repeated by parents or grandparents may make -indelible stains on the minds of their descendants, -and perhaps give a sensual direction to their characters -through life. No story, however funny, -should ever be told, if it will leave in the memory -unclean associations, either physically or morally.</p> - -<p>A love of gossiping about other people’s affairs -is apt to grow upon those who have retired from -the active pursuits of life; and this is one among -many reasons why it is best to keep constantly -occupied. A great deal of trouble is made in -neighborhoods, from no malicious motives, but -from the mere excitement of telling news, and the -temporary importance derived therefrom. Most<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span> -village gossip, when sifted down, amounts to the -little school-girl’s definition. Being asked what it -was to bear false witness against thy neighbor, she -replied: “It’s when nobody don’t do nothing, and -somebody goes and tells of it.” One of the best -and most genial of the Boston merchants, when -he heard people discussing themes of scandal, was -accustomed to interrupt them, by saying: “Don’t -talk any more about it! Perhaps they didn’t do -it; and may be they couldn’t help it.” For myself, -I deem it the greatest unkindness to be told -of anything said against me. I may prevent its -exciting resentment in my mind; but the consciousness -of not being liked unavoidably disturbs -my relations with the person implicated. There -is no better safeguard against the injurious habit -of gossiping, than the being interested in <em>principles</em> -and <em>occupations</em>; if you have these to employ -your mind, you will have no inclination to talk -about matters merely personal.</p> - -<p>When we reflect that life is so full of neglected -little opportunities to improve ourselves and others, -we shall feel that there is no need of aspiring after -great occasions to do good.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“The <em>trivial</em> round, the <em>common</em> task,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Would furnish all we need to ask;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Room to deny ourselves,—a road</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To bring us daily nearer God.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_184"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span></p> -<div id="il_39" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_196.png" width="1376" height="304" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_BOYS">THE BOYS.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smaller">WRITTEN FOR A MEETING OF COLLEGE CLASSMATES.</span><br><br> - -<span class="smcap">By</span> OLIVER W. HOLMES.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Has</span> there any <em>old</em> fellow got mixed with the boys?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">If there has, take him out, without making a noise!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Hang the Almanac’s cheat, and the Catalogue’s spite!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Old Time is a liar! We’re twenty to-night.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">We’re twenty! We’re twenty! Who says we are more?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">He’s tipsy, young jackanapes! Show him the door!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“Gray temples at twenty?” Yes! <em>white</em>, if we please;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Where the snow-flakes fall thickest, there’s nothing can freeze.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Look close,—you will see not a sign of a flake;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We want some new garlands for those we have shed,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And these are white roses in place of the red.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">We’ve a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Of talking (in public) as if we were old;—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That boy we call “Doctor,” and this we call “Judge”;—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">It’s a neat little fiction,—of course, it’s all fudge.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">That fellow’s “the Speaker,”—the one on the right;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“Mr. Mayor,” my young one, how are you to-night?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That’s our “Member of Congress,” we say when we chaff;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">There’s the “Reverend” What’s his name? Don’t make me laugh!</p> - </div> - <div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Yes, we’re boys,—always playing with tongue or with pen,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Shall we always be youthful, and laughing and gay,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Till the last dear companion drops smiling away?</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Then here’s to our boyhood, its gold and its gray!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The stars of its Winter, the dews of its May!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And when we have done with our life-lasting toys,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Dear Father, take care of thy children, the Boys!</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_185"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ODE_OF_ANACREON2">ODE OF ANACREON.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">I love</span> a mellow, cheerful sage,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Whose feelings are unchilled by age;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I love a youth who dances well</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To music of the sounding shell;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But when a man of years, like me,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Joins with the dancers playfully,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Though age in silvery hair appears,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">His heart is young, despite of years.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_186"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span></p> -<div id="il_40" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_198.png" width="1457" height="356" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="MYSTERIOUSNESS_OF_LIFE">MYSTERIOUSNESS OF LIFE.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">FROM MOUNTFORD’S EUTHANASY.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_198idca.png" width="277" height="302" alt="A"> -<p><span class="ucase">About</span> the world to come, it ought not -to be as though we did not know <em>surely</em>, -because we do not know <em>much</em>. From -the nearest star, our earth, if it is seen, -looks hardly anything at all. It shines, or rather -it twinkles, and that is all. To them afar off, this -earth is only a shining point. But to us who live -in it, it is wide and various. It is sea and land; it -is Europe, Asia, Africa, and America; it is the -lair of the lion, and the pasture of the ox, and the -pathway of the worm, and the support of the robin; -it is what has day and night in it; it is what customs -and languages obtain in; it is many countries; -it is the habitation of a thousand million -men; and it is our home. All this the world is -to <em>us</em>; though, looked at from one of the stars, it is -only a something that twinkles in the distance. It -is seen only as a few intermittent rays of light; -though, to us who live in it, it is hill and valley,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span> -and land and water, and many thousands of miles -wide. So that if the future world is a star of -guidance for us, it is enough; because it is not for -us to <em>know</em>, but to <em>believe</em>, that it will prove our -dear home.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>We live mortal lives for immortal good. And -really this world is so mysterious, that there is not -one of its commonest ways but is perhaps sublimer -to walk on than we at all think. At night, when -we walk about and see at all, it is by the light of -<em>other</em> worlds; though we do not often think of this. -It is the same in life. There is many a matter -concerning us that is little thought of, but which is -ours, as it were, from out of the infinite. Yes, -our lives are to be felt as being very great, even in -their nothingness. Even our mortal lives are as -wonderful as immortality. Is the next life a mystery? -So it is. But then how mysterious even -<em>now</em> life is. Food is not all that a man lives by. -There is some way by which food has to turn to -strength in him; and that way is something else -than his own will. I am hungry, I sit down to a -meal, and I enjoy it. And the next day, from -what I ate and drank for my pleasure, there is -blood in my veins, and moisture on my skin, and -new flesh making in all my limbs. And this is -not my doing or willing; for I do not even know -how my nails grow from under the skin of my -fingers. I can well believe in my being to live<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span> -hereafter. <em>How</em>, indeed, I am to live, I do not -know; but, then, neither do I know how I do live -<em>now</em>. When I am asleep, my lungs keep breathing, -my heart keeps beating, my stomach keeps digesting, -and my whole body keeps making anew. -And in the morning, when I look in the glass, -it is as though I see myself a new creature; and -really, for the wonder of it, it is all the same as -though another body had grown about me in my</p> - -<p class="center"> -sleep. This living from day to day is astonishing,<br> -when it is thought of; and we are let we are<br> -let feel the miracle of it, so, perhaps,<br> -that our being to live again may<br> -not be too wonderful for<br> -our belief. -</p> - -<div id="il_41" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_200.png" width="72" height="103" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Though</span> there be storm and turbulence on this -earth, one would rise but little way, through the -blackened air, before he would come to a region -of calm and peace, where the stars shine unobstructed, -and where there is no storm. And a -little above our cloud, a little higher than our -darkness, a little beyond our storm, is God’s upper -region of tranquil peace and calm. And when -we have had the discipline of winter here, it will -be possible for us to have eternal summer there.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Henry Ward Beecher.</span> -</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_189"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span></p> - -<div id="il_42" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_201.png" width="1404" height="331" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak larger2" id="EXTRACTS_FROM"><span class="small">EXTRACTS FROM</span> - -<span class="subhead larger">THE GRANDMOTHER’S APOLOGY.</span> - -<span class="suhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> ALFRED TENNYSON.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap al"><span class="firstword">And</span> Willy, my eldest born, is gone you say, little Ann?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Ruddy and white and strong on his legs, he looks like a man.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“Here’s a leg for a babe of a week!” says doctor; and he would be bound</p> - <p class="verse indent0">There was not his like that year in twenty parishes round.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Strong of his hands, and strong on his legs, but still of his tongue!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I ought to have gone before him; I wonder he went so young.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I cannot cry for him, Annie; I have not long to stay;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Perhaps I shall see him the sooner, for he lived far away.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Why do you look at me, Annie? you think I am hard and cold;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But all my children have gone before me, I am so old:</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span> - <p class="verse indent0">I cannot weep for Willy, nor can I weep for the rest;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with the best.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The first child that ever I bore was dead before he was born:</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Shadow and shine is life, little Annie, flower and thorn.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I had not wept, little Annie, not since I had been a wife;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But I wept like a child, that day; for the babe had fought for his life.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">His dear little face was troubled, as if with anger or pain;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I looked at the still little body,—his trouble had all been in vain.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For Willy I cannot weep; I shall see him another morn;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But I wept like a child for the child that was dead before he was born.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">But he cheered me, my good man, for he seldom said me nay:</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Kind, like a man, was he; like a man, too, would have his way;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Never jealous,—not he: we had many a happy year:</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And he died, and I could not weep,—my own time seemed so near.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">But I wished it had been God’s will that I, too, then could have died:</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I began to be tired a little, and fain had slept at his side;</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span> - <p class="verse indent0">And that was ten years back, or more, if I don’t forget:</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But as for the children, Annie, they are all about me yet.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Pattering over the boards, my Annie, who left me at two;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Patter she goes, my own little Annie,—an Annie like you.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Pattering over the boards, she comes and goes at her will,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">While Harry is in the five-acre and Charlie ploughing the hill.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And Harry and Charlie, I hear them, too,—they sing to their team;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Often they come to the door in a pleasant kind of dream.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">They come and sit by my chair, they hover about my bed:</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I am not always certain if they be alive or dead.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And yet I know for a truth, there’s none of them left alive;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For Harry went at sixty, your father at sixty-five;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And Willy, my eldest born, at nigh threescore and ten;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I knew them all as babies, and now they are elderly men.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">For mine is a time of peace; it is not often I grieve;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I am oftener sitting at home in my father’s farm at eve:</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span> - <p class="verse indent0">And the neighbors come and laugh and gossip, and so do I;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I find myself often laughing at things that have long gone by.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">To be sure the preacher says our sins should make us sad;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But mine is a time of peace, and there is grace to be had;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And God, not man, is the Judge of us all when life shall cease;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And in this Book, little Annie, the message is one of peace.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And age is a time of peace, so it be free from pain;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And happy has been my life, but I would not live it again.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I seem to be tired a little, that’s all, and long for rest;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with the best.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">So Willy has gone,—my beauty, my eldest born, my flower;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But how can I weep for Willy? he has but gone for an hour,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Gone for a minute, my son, from this room into the next;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I too shall go in a minute. What time have I to be vext?</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_193"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span></p> -<div id="il_43" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_205.png" width="1419" height="324" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_ANCIENT_MAN">THE ANCIENT MAN.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="p1 center smaller">TRANSLATED BY L. O. FROM THE GERMAN OF JEAN PAUL RICHTER’S -MEMOIR OF FIBEL, AUTHOR OF THE BIENENRODA SPELLING-BOOK.</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent8">“He is insensibly subdued</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To settled quiet. He is one by whom</p> - <p class="verse indent0">All effort seems forgotten; one to whom</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Long patience hath such mild composure given,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That patience now doth seem a thing of which</p> - <p class="verse indent0">He hath no need. He is by Nature led</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To peace so perfect, that the young behold</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With envy what the old man hardly feels.”</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Wordsworth.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_205idct.png" width="316" height="344" alt="T"> -<p><span class="ucase">The</span> stream of Fibel’s history having -vanished under ground, like a second -river Rhone, I was obliged to explore -where story or stream again burst -forth, and for this purpose I questioned every one. -I was told that no one could better inform me than -an exceedingly aged man, more than a hundred -and twenty-five years old, who lived a few miles -from the village of Bienenroda, and who, having -been young at the same time with Fibel, must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span> -know all about him. The prospect of shaking -hands with the very oldest man living on the face -of the earth enraptured me. I said to myself that -a most novel and peculiar sensation must be excited -by having a whole past century before you, bodily -present, compact and alive, in the century now -passing; by holding, hand to hand, a man of the -age of the antediluvians, over whose head so many -entire generations of young mornings and old evenings -have fled, and before whom one stands, in fact, -as neither young nor old; to listen to a human -spirit, outlandish, behind the time, almost mysteriously -awful; sole survivor of the thousand gray, -cold sleepers, coevals of his own remote, hoary -age; standing as sentinel before the ancient dead, -looking coldly and strangely on life’s silly novelties; -finding in the present no cooling for his inborn -spirit-thirst, no more enchanting yesterdays -or to-morrows, but only the day-before-yesterday -of youth, and the day-after-to-morrow of death. -It may consequently be imagined that so very old -a man would speak only of his <em>farthest</em> past, of -his early day-dawn, which, of course, in the long -evening of his protracted day, must now be blending -with his midnight. On the other hand, that -one like myself would not feel particularly younger -before such a millionnaire of hours, as the Bienenroda -Patriarch must be; and that his presence -must make one feel more conscious of death than -of immortality. A very aged man is a more powerful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span> -memento than a grave; for the older a grave -is, the farther we look back to the succession of -young persons who have mouldered in it; sometimes -a maiden is concealed in an ancient grave; -but an ancient dwindled body hides only an imprisoned -spirit.</p> - -<p>An opportunity for visiting the Patriarch was -presented by a return coach-and-six, belonging to -a count, on which I was admitted to a seat with -the coachman. Just before arriving at Bienenroda, -he pointed with his whip toward an orchard, -tuneful with song, and said, “There sits the old -man with his little animals around him.” I sprang -from the noble equipage and went toward him. I -ventured to expect that the Count’s six horses -would give me, before the old man, the appearance -of a person of rank, apart from the simplicity -of my dress, whereby princes and heroes are -wont to distinguish themselves from their tinselled -lackeys. I was, therefore, a little surprised that -the old man kept on playing with his pet hare, -not even checking the barking of his poodle, as if -counts were his daily bread, until, at last, he lifted -his oil-cloth hat from his head. A buttoned overcoat, -which gave room to see his vest, a long pair -of knit over-alls, which were, in fact, enormous -stockings, and a neckerchief, which hung down -to his bosom, made his dress look modern enough. -His time-worn frame was far more peculiar. The -inner part of the eye, which is black in childhood,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span> -was quite white; his tallness, more than his years, -seemed to bow him over into an arch; the out-turned -point of his chin gave to his speech the -appearance of mumbling; yet the expression of -his countenance was lively, his eyes bright, his -jaws full of white teeth, and his head covered with -light hair.</p> - -<p>I began by saying: “I came here solely on your -account to see a man for whom there can assuredly -be little new under the sun, though he himself is -something very new under it. You are now strictly -in your five and twenties; a man in your best -years; since after a century a <em>new</em> reckoning commences. -For myself, I confess that after once -clambering over the century terminus, or church-wall -of a hundred years, I should neither know -how old I was, nor whether I was myself. I -should begin fresh and free, just as the world’s -history has often done, counting again from the -year one, in the middle of a thousand years. Yet -why can not a man live to be as old as is many a -giant tree of India still standing? It is well to -question very old people concerning the methods -by which they have prolonged their lives. How -do you account for it, dear old sir?”</p> - -<p>I was beginning to be vexed at the good man’s -silence, when he softly replied: “Some suppose it -is because I have always been cheerful; because I -have adopted the maxim, ‘Never sad, ever glad’; -but I ascribe it wholly to our dear Lord God; since<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span> -the animals, which here surround us, though never -sad, but happy for the most part, by no means so -frequently exceed the usual boundary of their life, -as does man. He exhibits an image of the eternal -God, even in the length of his duration.”</p> - -<p>Such words concerning God, uttered by a tongue -one hundred and twenty-five years old, had great -weight and consolation; and I at once felt their -beautiful attraction. On mentioning animals, the -old man turned again to his own; and, as though -indifferent to him who had come in a coach-and-six, -he began again to play with his menagerie, the -hare, the spaniel, the silky poodle, the starling, and -a couple of turtle-doves on his bosom; a pleasant -bee-colony in the orchard also gave heed to him; -with one whistle he sent the bees away, and with -another summoned them into the ring of creatures, -which surrounded him like a court-circle.</p> - -<p>At last, he said: “No one need be surprised -that a very old man, who has forgotten everything, -and whom no one but the dear God knows or cares -for, should give himself wholly to the dear animals. -To whom can such an old man be of much -use? I wander about in the villages, as in cities, -wholly strange. If I see children, they come before -me like my own remote childhood. If I meet -old men, they seem like my past hoary years. I -do not quite know where I now belong. I hang -between heaven and earth. Yet God ever looks -upon me bright and lovingly, with his two eyes,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span> -the sun and the moon. Moreover, animals lead -into no sin, but rather to devotion. When my -turtle-doves brood over their young and feed them, -it seems to me just as if I saw God himself doing -a great deal; for they derive their love and instinct -toward their young, as a gift from him.”</p> - -<p>The old man became silent, and looked pensively -before him, as was his wont. A ringing of -christening bells sounded from Bienenroda among -the trees in the garden. He wept a little. I -know not how I could have been so simple, after -the beautiful words he had uttered, as to have mistaken -his tears for a sign of weakness in his eyes. -“I do not hear well, on account of my great age,” -said he; “and it seems to me as if the baptismal -bell from the distant sanctuary sounded up here -very faintly. The old years of my childhood, -more than a hundred years ago, ascend from the -ancient depths of time, and gaze on me in wonder, -while I and they know not whether we ought to -weep or laugh.” Then, addressing his silky -poodle, he called out, “Ho! ho! come here old -fellow!”</p> - -<p>The allusion to his childhood brought me to the -purpose of my visit. “Excellent sir,” said I, “I -am preparing the biography of the deceased Master -Gotthelf Fibel, author of the famous Spelling-Book; -and all I now need to complete it is the -account of his death.” The old man smiled, and -made a low bow. I continued, “No one is more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span> -likely to know the particulars of his decease than -yourself; and you are the only person who can -enrich me with the rare traits of his childhood; -because every incident inscribed on a child’s brain -grows deeper with years, like names cut into a -gourd, while later inscriptions disappear. Tell -me, I pray you, all that you know concerning the -departed man; for I am to publish his Life at the -Michaelmas Fair.”</p> - -<p>He murmured, “Excellent genius; scholar; -man of letters; author most famous; these and -other fine titles I learned by heart and applied to -myself, while I was that vain, blinded Fibel, who -wrote and published the ordinary Spelling-Book in -question.”</p> - -<p>So then, this old man was the blessed Fibel -himself! A hundred and twenty-five notes of -admiration, ay, eighteen hundred and eleven -notes in a row, would but feebly express my astonishment.</p> - -<p>[Here follows a long conversation concerning -Fibel, after which the narrative continues as follows:—]</p> - -<p>The old man went into his little garden-house, -and I followed him. He whistled, and instantly -his black squirrel came down from a tree, whither -it had gone more for pleasure than for food. -Nightingales, thrushes, starlings, and other birds, -flew back into the open window from the tops of -the trees. A bulfinch, whose color had been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span> -changed by age from red to black, strutted about -the room, uttering droll sounds, which it could not -make distinct. The hare pattered about in the -twilight, sometimes on his hind feet, sometimes on -all fours. Every dog in the house bounded forward -in glad, loving, human glee. But the most -joyful of all was the poodle; for he knew he was -to have a box with compartments fastened to his -neck, containing a list of the articles wanted for -supper, which it was his business to bring from the -inn in Bienenroda. He was Fibel’s victualler, or -provision-wagon. Children, who ran back and -forth, were the only other ones who ministered to -his wants.</p> - -<p>In allusion to his pets, he said: “We ought to -assist the circumscribed faculties of animals, by -educating them, as far as we can, since we stand -toward them, in a certain degree, as their Lord -God; and we ought to train them to good morals, -too; for very possibly they may continue to live -after death. God and the animals are always -good; but not so with man.”</p> - -<p>Aged men impart spiritual things, as they give -material things, with a shaking hand, which drops -half. In the effort to gather up his recollections, -he permitted me to quicken his memory with my -own; and thus I obtained a connected account of -some particulars in his experience. He said he -might have been about a hundred years old, when -he cut a new set of teeth, the pain of which disturbed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span> -him with wild dreams. One night he -seemed to be holding in his hands a large sieve, -and it was his task to pull the meshes apart, one -by one. The close net-work, and the fastening to -the wooden rim, gave him indescribable trouble. -But as his dream went on, he seemed to hold in -his hand the great bright sun, which flamed up -into his face. He woke with a new-born feeling, -and slumbered again, as if on waving tulips. He -dreamed again that he was a hundred years old, -and that he died as an innocent yearling child, -without any of the sin or woe of earth; that he -found his parents on high, who brought before him -a long procession of his children, who had remained -invisible to him while he was in this world, -because they were transparent, like the angels. -He rose from his bed with new teeth and new -ideas. The old Fibel was consumed, and a true -Phœnix stood in his place, sunning its colored -wings. He had risen glorified out of no other -grave than his own body. The world retreated; -heaven came down.</p> - -<p>When he had related these things, he at once -bade me good night. Without waiting for the -return of his ministering poodle, and with hands -folded for prayer, he showed me the road. I withdrew, -but I rambled a long time round the orchard, -which had sprung entirely from seed of his own -planting. Indeed he seldom ate a cherry without -smuggling the stone and burying it in the ground<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span> -for a resurrection. This habit often annoyed the -neighboring peasants, who did not want high -things growing on their boundaries. “But,” said -he, “I cannot destroy a fruit-stone. If the peasants -pull up the tree it produces, it will still have -lived a little while, and die as a child dies.”</p> - -<p>While loitering in the orchard, I heard an evening -hymn played and sung. I returned near -Fibel’s window, and saw him slowly turning a -hand-organ, and accompanying the tune by softly -singing an evening hymn. This organ, aided by -his fragment of a voice, sufficed, in its monotonous -uniformity, for his domestic devotion. I went -away repeating the song.</p> - -<p>Beautiful was the orchard when I returned the -next morning. And the hoar-frost of age seemed -thawed and fluid, and to glisten only as morning -dew on Fibel’s after-blossom. The affection of -his animals toward him rendered the morning still -more beautiful, in an orchard every tree of which -had for its mother the stone of some fruit that he -had enjoyed. His animals were an inheritance -from his parents; though, of course they were the -great, great, great grandchildren of those which -had belonged to them. The trees were full of -brooding birds, and by a slight whistle he could -lure down to his shoulders this tame posterity of -his father’s singing-school. It was refreshing to -the heart to see how quickly the tender flutterers -surrounded him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span></p> - -<p>With the infantine satisfaction of a gray-headed -child, he was accustomed to hang up on sticks, or -in the trees, wherever the rays of the sun could -best shine upon them, little balls of colored glass; -and he took indescribable delight in this accordion -of silver, gold, and jewel hues. These parti-colored -sun-balls, varying the green with many -flaming tints, were like crystal tulip-beds. Some -of the red ones seemed like ripe apples among the -branches. But what charmed the old man most -were reflections of the landscape from these little -world-spheres. They resembled the moving prospects -shadowed forth in a diminishing mirror. -“Ah,” said he, “when I contemplate the colors -produced by the sunshine, which God gives to this -dark world, it seems to me as if I had departed, -and were already with God. And yet, since He -is <em>in</em> us, we are always with God.”</p> - -<p>I asked him how it happened that, at his age, he -spoke German almost purer than that used even -by our best writers. Counting his birth from the -end of his century [the new birth described in his -dream], he replied: “I was somewhere about two -years old, when I happened to hear a holy, spiritual -minister, who spoke German with such an -angel tongue, that he would not have needed a -better in heaven. I heard him every Sabbath -during several years.” He could not tell me the -preacher’s name, but he vividly described his manner -in the pulpit. He told how he spoke with no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span> -superfluity of words, airs, or gestures; how he -uttered, in mild tones, things the most beautiful -and forcible; how, like the Apostle John, with his -resting-place close to heaven, this man spoke to -the world, laying his hands calmly on the pulpit-desk, -as an arm-case; how his every tone was a -heart, and his every look a blessing; how the -energy of this disciple of Christ was embedded in -love, as the firm diamond is encased in ductile -gold; how the pulpit was to him a Mount Tabor, -whereon he transfigured both himself and his -hearers; and how, of all clergymen, he best performed -that which is the most difficult,—the -<em>praying</em> worthily.</p> - -<p>My feelings grew constantly warmer toward this -time-worn man, while I did not require a full -return of affection from him any more than I -should from a little child. But I remembered that -I ought not to disturb the evening of his days with -things of the world, and that I ought to depart. -I would have him preserve undisturbed that sublime -position of old age, where man lives, as it -were, at the pole; where no star rises or sets; -where the whole firmament is motionless and clear, -while the Pole-Star of another world shines fixedly -overhead. I therefore said to him, that I would -return in the evening, and take my leave. To my -surprise, he replied, that perhaps he should himself -take leave of the whole world at evening, and that -he wished not to be disturbed when dying. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span> -said that he should that evening read to the end -of the Revelation of St. John, and perhaps it -might be the end with <em>him</em> also. I ought to have -mentioned previously that he read continually, and -read nothing but the Bible, regularly through from -the beginning to the end; and he had a fixed impression -that he should depart on concluding the -twentieth and twenty-first verses of the twenty-second -chapter of the Revelation of John: “He -which testifieth of these things saith, Surely I come -quickly: Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus. -The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you -all. Amen.” In consequence of this belief, he -was in the habit of reading the last books of the -Bible faster.</p> - -<p>Little as I believed in so sudden a withering of -his protracted after-blossom, I obeyed his latest-formed -wish. Whenever a right wish is expressed -by any man, we should do well to remember that -it may be his <em>last</em>. I took my leave, requesting -him to intrust me with his testamentary commissions -for the village. He said they had been taken -charge of long ago, and the children knew them. -He cut a twig from a Christmas-tree, coeval with -his childhood, and presented me with it as a keepsake.</p> - -<p>In the beautiful summer evening, I could not refrain -from stealthily approaching the house, through -the orchard, to ascertain whether the good old man -had ended his Bible and his life together. On the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span> -way, I found the torn envelope of a letter sealed -with a black seal, and over me the white storks -were speeding their way to a warmer country. I -was not much encouraged when I heard all the -birds singing in his orchard; for their ancestors -had done the same when his father died. A towering -cloud, full of the latest twilight, spread itself -before my short-sighted vision, like a far-off, blooming, -foreign landscape; and I could not comprehend -how it was that I had never before noticed -this strange-looking, reddish land; so much the -more easily did it occur to me that this might be -his Orient, whither God was leading the weary -one. I had become so confused, as actually to -mistake red bean-blossoms for a bit of fallen sunset. -Presently, I heard a man singing to the accompaniment -of an organ. It was the aged man singing -his evening hymn:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“Lord of my life, another day</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Once more hath sped away.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">The birds in the room, and those on the distant -branches also, chimed in with his song. The bees, -too, joined in with their humming, as in the warm -summer evening they dived into the cups of the -linden-blossoms. My joy kindled into a flame. -He was alive! But I would not disturb his holy -evening. I would let him remain with Him who -had surrounded him with gifts and with years, and -not call upon him to think of any man here below. -I listened to the last verse of his hymn, that I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span> -might be still more certain of the actual continuance -of his life, and then tardily I slipped away. -To my joy, I still found, in the eternal youth of -Nature, beautiful references to his lengthened age; -from the everlasting rippling of the brook in the -meadow, to a late swarm of bees, which had settled -themselves on a linden-tree, probably in the forenoon, -before two o’clock, as if, by taking their -lodging with him, he was to be their bee-father, -and continue to live. Every star twinkled to me -a hope.</p> - -<p>I went to the orchard very early in the morning, -wishing to look upon the aged man in sleep; -death’s ancient prelude, the warm dream of cold -death. But he was reading, and had read, in his -large-printed Bible, far beyond the Deluge, as I -could see by the engravings. I held it to be a duty -not to interrupt his solitude long. I told him I -was going away, and gave him a little farewell -billet, instead of farewell words. I was much -moved, though silent. It was not the kind of -emotion with which we take leave of a friend, or a -youth, or an old man; it was like parting from a -remote stranger-being, who scarcely glances at us -from the high, cold clouds which hold him between -the earth and the sun. There is a stillness of soul -which resembles the stillness of bodies on a frozen -sea, or on high mountains; every loud tone is an -interruption too prosaically harsh, as in the softest -adagio. Even those words, “for the last time,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span> -the old man had long since left behind him. Yet -he hastily presented to me my favorite flower, a -blue Spanish vetch, in an earthen pot. This butterfly-flower -is the sweeter, inasmuch as it so easily -exhales its perfume and dies. He said he had not -yet sung the usual morning-hymn, which followed -the survival of his death-evening; and he begged -me not to take it amiss that he did not accompany -me, or even once look after me, especially as he -could not see very well. He then added, almost -with emotion, “O friend, may you live virtuously! -We shall meet again, where my departed -relatives will be present, and also that great -preacher, whose name I have forgotten. We -meet again.”</p> - -<p>He turned immediately, quite tranquilly, to his -organ. I parted from him, as from a life. He -played on his organ beneath the trees, and his face -was turned toward me; but to his dim eyes I -knew that I should soon become as a motionless -cloud. So I remained until he began his morning -hymn, from old Neander:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“The Lord still leaves me living,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I hasten Him to praise;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">My joyful spirit giving,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">He hears my early lays.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">While he was singing, the birds flew round him; -the dogs accustomed to the music, were silent; -and it even wafted the swarm of bees into their -hive. Bowed down as he was by age, his figure<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span> -was so tall, that from the distance where I stood -he looked sufficiently erect. I remained until the -old man had sung the twelfth and last verse of his -morning hymn:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“Ready my course to finish,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And come, O God, to Thee;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A conscience pure I cherish,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Till death shall summon me.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nothing</span> of God’s making can a man love -rightly, without being the surer of God’s loving -himself; neither the moon, nor the stars, nor a -rock, nor a tree, nor a flower, nor a bird. Not -the least grateful of my thanksgivings have been -hymns that have come to my lips while I have been -listening to the birds of an evening. Only let us -love what God loves, and then His love of ourselves -will feel certain, and the sight of his face -we shall be sure of; and immortality, and heaven, -and the freedom of the universe, will be as easy for -us to believe in, as a father’s giving good gifts to -his children.—<span class="smcap">Mountford.</span></p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_210"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span></p> - -<div id="il_44" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_222.png" width="1429" height="324" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="MILTONS_HYMN_OF_PATIENCE">MILTON’S HYMN OF PATIENCE.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> ELIZABETH LLOYD HOWELL.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap i"><span class="firstword">I am</span> old and blind!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Men point at me as smitten by God’s frown;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Afflicted, and deserted of my kind,</p> - <p class="verse indent8">Yet I am not cast down.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent8">I am weak, yet strong;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I murmur not, that I no longer see;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong,</p> - <p class="verse indent8">Father supreme! to thee.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent8">O merciful One!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When men are farthest, then thou art most near;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun,</p> - <p class="verse indent8">Thy chariot I hear.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent8">Thy glorious face</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Is leaning towards me, and its holy light</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place;</p> - <p class="verse indent8">And there is no more night.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent8">On my bended knees,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I recognize thy purpose, clearly shown;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see</p> - <p class="verse indent8">Thyself, thyself alone.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent8">I have naught to fear;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">This darkness is the shadow of thy wing;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Beneath it I am almost sacred; here</p> - <p class="verse indent8">Can come no evil thing.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent8">O, I seem to stand</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Trembling, where foot of mortal ne’er hath been;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Wrapped in the radiance from the sinless land.</p> - <p class="verse indent8">Which eye hath never seen.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent8">Visions come and go;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From angel lips I seem to hear the flow</p> - <p class="verse indent8">Of soft and holy song.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent8">It is nothing now,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When airs from paradise refresh my brow,—</p> - <p class="verse indent8">That earth in darkness lies.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent8">In a purer clime,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">My being fills with rapture! waves of thought</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Roll in upon my spirit! strains sublime</p> - <p class="verse indent8">Break over me unsought.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent8">Give me now my lyre!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I feel the stirrings of a gift divine;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Within my bosom glows unearthly fire,</p> - <p class="verse indent8">Lit by no skill of mine.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_212"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span></p> -<div id="il_45" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_224.png" width="1424" height="393" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_FROM_AN_OLD_WOMAN">LETTER FROM AN OLD WOMAN, -ON HER BIRTHDAY.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> L. MARIA CHILD.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l3" src="images/i_224idcy.png" width="296" height="313" alt="Y"> -<p><span class="ucase">You</span> ask me, dear friend, whether it does -not make me sad to grow old. I tell -you frankly it did make me sad for a -while; but that time has long since -past. The <em>name</em> of being old I never dreaded. I -am not aware that there ever was a time when -I should have made the slightest objection to having -my age proclaimed by the town-crier, if people -had had any curiosity to know it. But I suppose -every human being sympathizes with the sentiment -expressed by Wordsworth:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“Life’s Autumn past, I stand on Winter’s verge,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And daily lose what I desire to keep.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The first white streaks in my hair, and the -spectre of a small black spider floating before my -eyes, foreboding diminished clearness of vision, -certainly did induce melancholy reflections. At<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span> -that period, it made me nervous to think about the -approaches of old age; and when young people -thoughtlessly reminded me of it, they cast a shadow -over the remainder of the day. It was mournful -as the monotonous rasping of crickets, which tells -that “the year is wearing from its prime.” I -dreaded age in the same way that I always dread -the coming of winter; because I want to keep the -light, the warmth, the flowers, and the growth of -summer. But, after all, when winter comes, I -soon get used to him, and am obliged to acknowledge -that he is a handsome old fellow, and by no -means destitute of pleasant qualities. And just -so it has proved with old age. Now that it has -come upon me, I find it full of friendly compensations -for all that it takes away.</p> - -<p>The period of sadness and nervous dread on -this subject, which I suppose to be a very general -experience, is of longer or shorter duration, according -to habits previously formed. From observation, -I judge that those whose happiness -has mainly depended on balls, parties, fashionable -intercourse, and attentions flattering to vanity, -usually experience a prolonged and querulous sadness, -as years advance upon them; because, in the -nature of things, such enjoyments pass out of -the reach of the old, when it is too late to form a -taste for less transient pleasures. The temporary -depression to which I have alluded soon passed -from my spirit, and I attribute it largely to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span> -fact that I have always been pleased with very -simple and accessible things. I always shudder a -little at the approach of winter; yet, when it -comes, the trees, dressed in feathery snow, or prismatic -icicles, give me far more enjoyment, than I -could find in a ball-room full of duchesses, decorated -with marabout-feathers, opals, and diamonds. -No costly bridal-veil sold in Broadway would interest -me so much as the fairy lace-work which -frost leaves upon the windows, in an unceasing -variety of patterns. The air, filled with minute -snow-stars, falling softly, ever falling, to beautify -the earth, is to me a far lovelier sight, than would -have been Prince Esterhazy, who dropped seed-pearls -from his embroidered coat, as he moved in -the measured mazes of the dance.</p> - -<p>Speaking of the beautiful phenomenon of snow, -reminds me how often the question has been asked -what snow <em>is</em>, and what <em>makes</em> it. I have never -seen a satisfactory answer; but I happen to know -what snow is, because I once saw the process of -its formation. I was at the house of a Quaker, -whose neat wife washed in an unfinished back-room -all winter, that the kitchen might be kept in -good order. I passed through the wash-room on -the 16th of December, 1835, a day still remembered -by many for its remarkable intensity of cold. -Clouds of steam, rising from the tubs and boiling -kettle, ascended to the ceiling, and fell from thence -in the form of a miniature snow-storm. Here<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span> -was an answer to the question, What <em>is</em> snow? -This plainly proved it to be frozen <em>vapor</em>, as ice is -frozen <em>water</em>. The particles of water, expanded -by heat, and floating in the air, were arrested in -their separated state, and congealed in particles. -It does not snow when the weather is intensely -cold; for the lower part of the atmosphere must -have some degree of warmth, if vapor is floating -in it. When this vapor ascends, and meets a -colder stratum of air, it is congealed, and falls -downward in the form of snow.</p> - -<p>“The snow! The snow! The beautiful snow!” -How handsome do meadows and fields look in -their pure, sparkling robe! I do not deny that -the winter of the year and the winter of life both -have intervals of dreariness. The <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">miserere</i> howled -by stormy winds is not pleasing to the ear, nor are -the cold gray river and the dark brown hills refreshing -to the eye. But the reading of Whittier’s -Psalm drowns the howling of the winds, as “the -clear tones of a bell are heard above the carts and -drays of a city.” Even simple voices of mutual -affection, by the fireside, have such musical and -pervasive power, that the outside storm often -passes by unheard. The absence of colors in the -landscape is rather dismal, especially in the latter -part of the winter. Shall I tell you what I do -when I feel a longing for bright hues? I suspend -glass prisms in the windows, and they make the -light blossom into rainbows all over the room.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span> -Childish! you will say. I grant it. But is childishness -the greatest folly? I told you I was -satisfied with very simple pleasures; and whether -it be wise or not, I consider it great good fortune. -It is more fortunate certainly to have home-made -rainbows <em>within</em>, especially when one is old; but -even outward home-made rainbows are not to be -despised, when flowers have hidden themselves, -and the sun cannot manifest his prismatic glories, -for want of mediums appropriate for their transmission.</p> - -<p>But Nature does not leave us long to pine for -variety. Before the snow-lustre quite passes away, -March comes, sombre in dress, but with a cheerful -voice of promise:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“The beechen buds begin to swell,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And woods the blue-bird’s warble know.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Here and there a Lady’s Delight peeps forth, smiling -at me “right peert,” as Westerners say; and -the first sight of the bright little thing gladdens my -heart, like the crowing of a babe. The phenomena -of spring have never yet failed to replenish the -fountains of my inward life:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“Spring still makes spring in the <em>mind</em>,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">When sixty years are told;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Love wakes anew this throbbing heart,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And we are never old.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">As the season of Nature’s renovation advances, it -multiplies within me spiritual photographs, never -to be destroyed. Last year I saw a striped squirrel<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span> -hopping along with a green apple in his paws, -hugged up to his pretty little white breast. My -mind daguerrotyped him instantaneously. It is -there now; and I expect to find a more vivid copy -when my soul opens its portfolio of pictures in the -other world.</p> - -<p>The wonders which summer brings are more -and more suggestive of thought as I grow older. -What mysterious vitality, what provident care, -what lavishness of ornament, does Nature manifest, -even in her most common productions! Look -at a dry bean-pod, and observe what a delicate little -strip of silver tissue is tenderly placed above -and below the seed! Examine the clusters of -Sweet-Williams, and you will find an endless variety -of minute embroidery-patterns, prettily dotted -into the petals with diverse shades of colors. The -shining black seed they produce look all alike; -but scatter them in the ground, and there will -spring forth new combinations of form and color, -exceeding the multiform changes of a kaleidoscope. -I never can be sufficiently thankful that I early -formed the habit of working in the garden with -loving good-will. It has contributed more than -anything else to promote healthiness of mind and -body.</p> - -<p>Before one has time to observe a thousandth -part of the miracles of summer, winter appears -again, in ermine and diamonds, lavishly scattering -his pearls. My birthday comes at this season,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span> -and so I accept his jewels as a princely largess -peculiarly bestowed upon myself. The day is kept -as a festival. That is such a high-sounding expression, -that it may perhaps suggest to you reception-parties, -complimentary verses, and quantities -of presents. Very far from it. Not more than -half a dozen people in the world know when the -day occurs, and they do not all remember it. As -I arrive at the new milestone on my pilgrimage, I -generally find that a few friends have placed garlands -upon it. My last anniversary was distinguished -by a beautiful novelty. An offering came -from people who never knew me personally, but -who were gracious enough to say they took an -interest in me on account of my writings. That -was a kindness that carried me over into my new -year on fairy wings! I always know that the -flowers in such garlands are genuine; for those -who deal in artificial roses are not in the habit of -presenting them to secluded old people, without -wealth or power. I have heard of a Parisian lady, -who preferred Nattier’s manufactured roses to those -produced by Nature, because they were, as she -said, “more like what a rose <em>ought</em> to be.” But I -never prefer artificial things to natural, even if -they <em>are</em> more like what they <em>ought</em> to be. So I -rejoice over the genuineness of the offerings which -I find on the milestone, and often give preference -to the simplest of them all. I thankfully add them -to my decorations for the annual festival, which is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span> -kept in the private apartments of my own soul, -where six angel-guests present themselves unbidden,—Use -and Beauty, Love and Memory, Humility -and Gratitude. The first suggests to me to -consecrate the advent of a new year in my life -by some acts of kindness toward the sad, the oppressed, -or the needy. Another tells me to collect -all the books, engravings, vases, &c., bestowed by -friendly hands on the preceding birthdays of my -life. Their beauties of thought, of form, and of -color, excite my imagination, and fill me with contemplations -of the scenes they represent, or the -genius that produced them. Other angels bring -back the looks and tones of the givers, and pleasant -incidents, and happy meetings, in bygone years. -Sometimes, Memory looks into my eyes too sadly, -and I answer the look with tears. But I say to -her, Nay, my friend, do not fix upon me that -melancholy gaze! Give me some of thy flowers! -Then, with a tender, moonlight smile, she brings -me a handful of fragrant roses, pale, but beautiful. -The other angels bid me remember who bestowed -the innumerable blessings of Nature and Art, of -friendship, and capacity for culture, and how unworthy -I am of all His goodness. They move my -heart to earnest prayer that former faults may be -forgiven, and that I may be enabled to live more -worthily during the year on which I am entering. -But I do not try to recall the faults of the past, -lest such meditations should tend to make me weak<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span> -for the future. I have learned that self-consciousness -is not a healthy state of mind, on whatever -theme it employs itself. Therefore, I pray the -all-loving Father to enable me to forget <em>myself</em>; -not to occupy my thoughts with my own merits, -or my own defects, my successes, or my disappointments; -but to devote my energies to the -benefit of others, as a humble instrument of his -goodness, in whatever way He may see fit to point -out.</p> - -<p>On this particular birthday, I have been thinking -more than ever of the many compensations -which age brings for its undeniable losses. I count -it something to know, that, though the flowers -offered me are <em>few</em>, they are undoubtedly <em>genuine</em>. -I never conformed much to the world’s ways, but, -now that I am an old woman, I feel more free to -ignore its conventional forms, and neglect its fleeting -fashions. That also is a privilege. Another -compensation of years is, that, having outlived expectations, -I am free from disappointments. I -deem it a great blessing, also, that the desire for -knowledge grows more active, as the time for -acquiring it diminishes, and as, I realize more fully -how much there is to be learned. It is true that -in this pursuit one is always coming up against -walls of limitation. All sorts of flying and creeping -things excite questions in my mind to which I -obtain no answers. I want to know what every -bird and insect is doing, and what it is done for;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span> -but I do not understand their language, and no interpreter -between us is to be found. They go on, -busily managing their own little affairs, far more -skilfully than we humans could teach them, with -all our boasted superiority of intellect. I peep and -pry into their operations with more and more interest, -the older I grow; but they keep their own -secrets so well, that I discover very little. What -I do find out, however, confirms my belief, that -“the hand which made them is divine”; and that -is better than any acquisitions of science. Looking -upon the world as a mere spectacle of beauty, I -find its attractions increasing. I notice more than -I ever did the gorgeous phantasmagoria of sunsets, -the magical changes of clouds, the endless varieties -of form and color in the flowers of garden and field, -and the shell-flowers of the sea. Something of -tenderness mingles with the admiration excited by -all this fair array of earth, like the lingering, farewell -gaze we bestow on scenes from which we are -soon to part.</p> - -<p>But the most valuable compensations of age are -those of a spiritual character. I have committed -so many faults myself, that I have become more -tolerant of the faults of others than I was when I -was young. My own strength has so often failed -me when I trusted to it, that I have learned to -look more humbly for aid from on high. I have -formerly been too apt to murmur that I was not -endowed with gifts and opportunities, which it appeared<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span> -to me would have been highly advantageous. -But I now see the wisdom and goodness of our -Heavenly Father, even more in what He has denied, -than in what He has bestowed. The rugged -paths through which I have passed, the sharp regrets -I have experienced, seem smoother and softer -in the distance behind me. Even my wrong-doings -and short-comings have often been mercifully transmuted -into blessings. They have helped me to -descend into the Valley of Humility, through which -it is necessary to pass on our way to the Beautiful -City. My restless aspirations are quieted. They -are now all concentrated in this one prayer:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“Help me, this and every day,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To live more nearly as I pray.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Having arrived at this state of peacefulness and -submission, I find the last few years the happiest -of my life.</p> - -<p>To you, my dear friend, who are so much -younger, I would say, Travel cheerfully toward -the sunset! It will pass gently into a twilight,</p> - -<p class="center"> -which has its own peculiar beauties, though<br> -differing from the morning; and you<br> -will find that the night also<br> -is cheered by friendly<br> -glances of the<br> -stars. -</p> - -<div id="il_46" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_234.png" width="69" height="251" alt="decoration"></div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_223"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span></p> - -<div id="il_47" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_235.png" width="1463" height="373" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="BRIGHT_DAYS_IN_WINTER">BRIGHT DAYS IN WINTER.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> J. G. WHITTIER.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Bland</span> as the morning’s breath of June,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The southwest breezes play,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And through its haze, the winter noon</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Seems warm as summer’s day.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The snow-plumed Angel of the North</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Has dropped his icy spear;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Again the mossy earth looks forth,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Again the streams gush clear.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The fox his hillside den forsakes;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The muskrat leaves his nook;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The blue-bird, in the meadow-brakes,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Is singing with the brook.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“Bear up, O Mother Nature!” cry</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Bird, breeze, and streamlet free;</p> - <p class="verse indentq">“Our winter voices prophesy</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Of summer days to thee.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">So in these winters of the <em>soul</em>,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">By wintry blasts and drear</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span> - <p class="verse indent0">O’erswept from Memory’s frozen pole,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Will summer days appear.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Reviving hope and faith, they show</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The soul its living powers,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And how, beneath the winter’s snow,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Lie germs of summer flowers.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The Night is mother of the Day;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The Winter of the Spring;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And ever upon old decay</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The greenest mosses cling.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Behind the cloud the starlight lurks;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Through showers the sunbeams fall;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For God, who loveth all his works,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Has left his Hope with all.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_224"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_CANARY_BIRD">THE CANARY BIRD.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap l2"><span class="firstword">Yellow</span>, small Canary bird,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Sweetly singing all day long,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Still in winter you are heard,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Carolling a summer song.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Thus when days are drear and dim,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And the <em>heart</em> is caged, as you,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">May it still, with hopeful hymn,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Sing of joy and find it true.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">John Sterling</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_225"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span></p> -<div id="il_48" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_237.png" width="1373" height="310" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OLD_BACHELORS">OLD BACHELORS.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> L. MARIA CHILD.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_237idct.png" width="318" height="345" alt="T"> -<p><span class="ucase">The</span> use of the term old bachelor might -be objected to, with as much reason -as that of old maid, were it not for -the fact that it has been regarded less -contemptuously. Until within the last half-century, -books have been written almost entirely by -men. Looking at the subject from <em>their</em> point of -view, they have generally represented that, if a -woman remained single, it was because she could -not avoid it; and that her unfortunate condition -was the consequence of her being repulsive in -person or manners. The dramas and general -literature of all countries abound with jokes on -this subject. Women are described as jumping -with ridiculous haste at the first chance to marry, -and as being greatly annoyed if no chance presents -itself. To speak of women as in the market, and -of men as purchasers, has so long been a general -habit, that it is done unconsciously; and the habit<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span> -doubtless embodies a truth, though few people -reflect why it is so. Nearly all the trades, professions, -and offices are engrossed by men; hence -marriage is almost the only honorable means of -support for women, and almost the only avenue -open to those who are ambitious of position in -society. This state of things gives an unhealthy -stimulus to match-making, and does much to degrade -the true dignity and purity of marriage. -But I allude to it here merely as explanatory why -old maid is considered a more reproachful term -than old bachelor; one being supposed to be incurred -voluntarily, and the other by compulsion.</p> - -<p>There is a germ of vanity, more or less expanded -in human nature, under all circumstances. Slaves -are often very vain of bringing an unusually high -price in the market; because it implies that they -are handsome, vigorous, or intelligent. It is the -same feeling, manifested under a different aspect, -that makes many women vain of the number -of offers they have received, and mortified if they -have had none. Men, on the contrary, being -masters of the field, are troubled with no sense of -shame, if they continue in an isolated position -through life, though they may experience regret. -The kind of jokes to which <em>they</em> are subjected -generally imply that they have been less magnanimous -than they should have been, in not taking -to themselves somebody to protect and support. -Such a “railing accusation” is rather gratifying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span> -to the pride of human nature. Instead of hanging -their heads, they sometimes smile, and say, -with an air of gracious condescension: “Perhaps -I <em>may</em> some day. I have not decided yet. I -want to examine the market further.” Now it is -ten chances to one, that the individual thus speaking -<em>has</em> been examining the market, as he calls it, -for a long time; that he has been to the Fair, and -tried to appropriate various pretty articles, but has -been told that they were reserved for a previous -purchaser. He may have been disappointed on -such occasions; and if they occurred when youth -was passing away, he may have been prompted to -look in the mirror, to pull out gray hairs, and ascertain -whether crows have been walking over his -face. But if he perceives traces of their feet, he -says to himself, “Pshaw! What consequence is -it, so long as I have a full purse and a handsome -house to offer? I shall have better luck next -time. There are as good fish in the sea as ever -were caught. One only needs to have bait on the -hook.” And so when a married acquaintance -reminds him that he ought to take a wife, he -answers, complacently, “Perhaps I <em>shall</em>. I want -to examine the market.” He is the one to confer -support; he need not wait to be asked. There -is a dignified independence in such a position. -Hence the term old bachelor is not so opprobrious -as old maid, and no apology is necessary for -using it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span></p> - -<p>It is true, the single brotherhood are not without -their annoyances. A meddlesome woman will -sometimes remark to a bachelor friend, in a significant -sort of way, that the back of his coat has -a one-eyed look, by reason of the deficiency of a -button; and she will add, in a compassionate tone, -“But what else can be expected, when a man has -no wife to look after him?” Another, still more -mischievous, who happens to know of his attending -the Fair, and trying to buy various articles -otherwise appropriated, will sometimes offer impertinent -consolation; saying, “Don’t be discouraged. -Try again. Perhaps you’ll have better -luck next time. You know the proverb says, -There never was so silly a Jack but there’s <em>as</em> -silly a Gill.” Then again, the French phrase for -old bachelor, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Vieux Garçon</i>, translates itself into -right impudent English. Why on earth should a -man be called the Old Boy, merely because he has -not seen fit to marry? when it is either because -he don’t like the market, or wants to look further, -in order to make sure of getting his money’s -worth in the article.</p> - -<p>I have spoken facetiously, but it may well be -excused. Women have for so many generations -been the subject of pitiless jokes, rung through all -manner of changes, and not always in the best -taste, that it is pardonable to throw back a few -jests, provided it be done in sport, rather than in -malice. The simple fact is, however, that what I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span> -have said of unmarried women is also true of unmarried -men; their being single is often the result -of superior delicacy and refinement of feeling. -Those who are determined to marry, will usually -accomplish their object, sooner or later, while -those who shrink from making wedlock a mere -convenience, unsanctified by affection, will prefer -isolation, though they sometimes find it sad. I -am now thinking of one, who, for many reasons -would probably be accepted by ninety-nine women -out of a hundred. I once said to him, “How is -it, that a man of your domestic tastes and affectionate -disposition has never married?” He -hesitated a moment, then drew from under his -vest the miniature of a very lovely woman, and -placed it in my hand. I looked up with an -inquiring glance, to which he replied: “Yes, -perhaps it might have been; perhaps it <em>ought</em> to -have been. But I had duties to perform toward -my widowed mother, which made me doubt -whether it were justifiable to declare my feelings -to the young lady. Meanwhile, another offered -himself. She married him, and is, I believe, -happy. I have never seen another woman who -awakened in me the same feelings, and so I have -remained unmarried.”</p> - -<p>I knew twin brothers, who became attached to -the same lady. One was silent, for his brother’s -sake; but he never married; and through life he -loved and assisted his brother’s children, as if they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span> -had been his own. There are many such facts to -prove that self-sacrifice and constancy are far from -being exclusively feminine virtues.</p> - -<p>But my impression is, that there is a larger proportion -of unmarried women than of unmarried -men, who lead unselfish, useful lives. I, at least, -have happened to know of more “Aunt Kindlys,” -than Uncle Kindlys. Women, by the nature of -their in-door habits and occupations, can nestle -themselves into the inmost of other people’s families, -much more readily than men. The household -inmate, who cuts paper-dolls to amuse fretful -children, or soothes them with lullabies when they -are tired,—who sews on buttons for the father, -when he is in a hurry, or makes goodies for the invalid -mother,—becomes part and parcel of the -household; whereas a bachelor is apt to be a sort -of appendage; beloved and agreeable, perhaps, but -still something on the outside. He is like moss on -the tree, very pretty and ornamental, especially -when lighted up by sunshine; but no inherent -part of the tree, essential to its growth. Sometimes, -indeed, one meets with a genial old bachelor, -who cannot enter the house of a married friend, or -relative, without having the children climb into his -lap, pull out his watch, and search his pocket for -sugar-plums. But generally, it must be confessed -that a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Vieux Garçon</i> acts like an Old Boy when -he attempts to make himself useful in the house. -His efforts to quiet crying babies are laughable,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span> -and invariably result in making the babies cry -more emphatically. A dignified, scholastic bachelor, -who had been spending the night with a married -friend, was leaving his house after breakfast, -when a lovely little girl of four or five summers -peeped from the shrubbery, and called out, “Good -morning!” “Good morning, child!” replied he, -with the greatest solemnity of manner, and passed -on. A single <em>woman</em> would have said, “Good -morning, dear!” or “Good morning, little one!” -But the bachelor was as dignified as if he had -been making an apostrophe to the stars. Yet he -had a great, kind heart, and was a bachelor because -that heart was too refined to easily forget a -first impression.</p> - -<p>Bachelors do not become an outside appendage, -if they are fortunate enough to have an unmarried -sister, with whom they can form one household. -There is such a couple in my neighborhood, as -cozy and comfortable as any wedded pair, and -quite as unlikely to separate, as if the law bound -them together. The sister is a notable body, who -does well whatever her hands find to do; and the -brother adopts wise precautions against tedious -hours. He was a teacher in his youth, but is a -miller now. An old mill is always a picturesque -object, standing as it must in the midst of running -water, whose drops sparkle and gleam in sunlight -and moonlight. And our bachelor’s mill is hidden -in a wood, where birds love to build their nests, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">232</span> -innumerable insects are busy among ferns and -mosses. The miller is busy, too, with a lathe to -fill up the moments unoccupied by the work of the -mill. He has made a powerful telescope for himself, -and returns to his home in the evening to -watch the changing phases of the planets, or to -entertain his neighbors with a vision of Saturn sailing -through boundless fields of ether in his beautiful -luminous ring. He can also discourse sweet music -to his sister, by means of a parlor seraphine.</p> - -<p>I know another bachelor, who finds time to be a -benefactor to his neighborhood, though his life is -full of labors and cares. In addition to the perpetual -work of a farm, he devotes himself with filial -tenderness to a widowed mother and invalid aunts, -and yet he is always ready wherever help or sympathy -is needed. If a poor widow needs wood cut, -he promptly supplies the want, and few men with -a carriage and four are so ready to furnish a horse -for any kindly service. The children all know his -sleigh, and call after him for a ride. None of his -animals have the forlorn, melancholy look which -indicates a hard master. The expression of his -countenance would never suggest to any one the -condition of an old bachelor; on the contrary, you -would suppose he had long been accustomed to -look into the eyes of little ones clambering upon -his knees for a kiss. This is because he adopts all -little humans into his heart.</p> - -<p>I presume it will generally be admitted that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span> -bachelors are more apt to be epicures, than are unmarried -women. In the first place, they have fewer -details of employment to occupy their thoughts perpetually; -and secondly, they generally have greater -pecuniary means for self-indulgence. The gourmand, -who makes himself unhappy, and disturbs -everybody around him, if his venison is cooked the -fortieth part of a minute too long, is less agreeable, -and not less ridiculous than the old fop, who wears -false whiskers, and cripples his feet with tight -boots.</p> - -<p>There is a remedy for this, and for all other selfishness -and vanity; it is to go out of ourselves, -and be busy with helping others. Petty annoyances -slip away and are forgotten when the mind -is thus occupied. The wealthy merchant would -find it an agreeable variation to the routine of -business to interest himself in the welfare and improvement -of the sailors he employs. The prosperous -farmer would find mind and heart enlarged -by helping to bring into general use new and improved -varieties of fruits and vegetables; not for -mere money-making, but for the common good. -And all would be happier for taking an active -interest in the welfare of their country, and the -progress of the world.</p> - -<p>Nothing can be more charming than Dickens’s -description of the Cheeryble Brothers, “whose -goodness was so constantly a diffusing of itself over -everywhere.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span></p> - -<p>“‘Brother Ned,’ said Mr. Cheeryble, tapping -with his knuckles, and stooping to listen, ‘are -you busy, my dear brother? or can you spare time -for a word or two with me?’</p> - -<p>“‘Brother Charles, my dear fellow,’ replied a -voice from within, ‘don’t ask me such a question, -but come in directly.’ Its tones were so exactly -like that which had just spoken, that Nicholas -started, and almost thought it was the same.</p> - -<p>“They went in without further parley. What -was the amazement of Nicholas, when his conductor -advanced and exchanged a warm greeting -with another old gentleman, the very type -and model of himself; the same face, the same -figure, the same coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, the -same breeches and gaiters; nay, there was the -very same white hat hanging against the wall. Nobody -could have doubted their being twin brothers. -As they shook each other by the hand, the face of -each lighted up with beaming looks of affection, -which would have been most delightful to behold -in infants, and which in men so old was inexpressibly -touching.</p> - -<p>“‘Brother Ned,’ said Charles, ‘here is a young -friend that we must assist. We must make proper -inquiries into his statements, and if they are confirmed, -as they will be, we must assist him.’</p> - -<p>“‘It is enough, my dear brother, that you say -we should. When you say that, no further inquiries -are needed. He <em>shall</em> be assisted.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span></p> - -<p>“‘I’ve a plan, my dear brother, I’ve a plan,’ -said Charles. ‘Tim Linkinwater is getting old; -and Tim has been a faithful servant, brother Ned; -and I don’t think pensioning Tim’s mother and -sister, and buying a little tomb for the family when -his poor brother died, was a sufficient recompense -for his faithful services.’</p> - -<p>“‘No, no,’ replied the other, ‘not half enough; -not half.’</p> - -<p>“‘If we could lighten Tim’s duties,’ said the -old gentleman, ‘and prevail upon him to go into -the country now and then, and sleep in the fresh -air two or three times a week, Tim Linkinwater -would grow young again in time; and he’s three -good years our senior now. Old Tim Linkinwater -young again! Eh, brother Ned, eh? Why, -I recollect old Tim Linkinwater quite a little boy; -don’t you? Ha, ha, ha! Poor Tim! Poor Tim!’ -and the fine old fellows laughed pleasantly together; -each with a tear of regard for old Tim Linkinwater -standing in his eye.</p> - -<p>“‘But you must hear this young gentleman’s -story,’ said Charles; ‘you’ll be very much affected, -brother Ned, remembering the time when -<em>we</em> were two friendless lads, and earned our first -shilling in this great city.’</p> - -<p>“The twins pressed each other’s hands in silence, -and, in his own homely manner, Charles related -the particulars he had just heard from Nicholas. -It is no disparagement to the young man to say<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span> -that, at every fresh expression of their kindness and -sympathy, he could only wave his hand and sob -like a child.</p> - -<p>“‘But we are keeping our young friend too -long, my dear brother,’ said Charles. ‘His poor -mother and sister will be anxious for his return. -So good by for the present. Good by. No, not -a word now. Good by.’ And the brothers hurried -him out, shaking hands with him all the way, -and affecting, very unsuccessfully (for they were -poor hands at deception), to be wholly unconscious -of the feelings that mastered him.</p> - -<p>“The next day, he was appointed to the vacant -stool in the counting-house of Cheeryble Brothers, -with a salary of one hundred and twenty pounds -a year. ‘And I think, my dear brother,’ said -Charles, ‘that if we were to let them that little -cottage at Bow, something under the usual rent—Eh, -brother Ned?’</p> - -<p>“‘For nothing at all,’ said his brother, ‘We -are rich, and should be ashamed to touch the rent -under such circumstances as these. For nothing -at all, my dear brother.’</p> - -<p>“‘Perhaps it would be better to say something,’ -suggested the other, mildly. ‘We might say fifteen -or twenty pound; and if it was punctually -paid, make it up to them in some other way. It -would help to preserve habits of frugality, you -know, and remove any painful sense of overwhelming -obligation. And I might secretly advance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span> -a small loan toward a little furniture; and -you might secretly advance another small loan, -brother Ned. And if we find them doing well we -can change the loans into gifts; carefully, and by -degrees, without pressing upon them too much. -What do you say now, brother?’</p> - -<p>“Brother Ned gave his hand upon it, and not -only said it should be done, but had it done. And -in one short week, Nicholas took possession of his -stool, and his mother and sister took possession of -the house; and all was hope, bustle, and lightheartedness.”</p> - -<p>There are Cheeryble old bachelors in real life; -genial souls, and genuine benefactors to mankind.</p> - -<p class="center"> -When they are so, I think they deserve more credit<br> -than married men of similar characters; for the<br> -genial virtues are fostered by kindly<br> -domestic influences, as fruit is<br> -matured and sweetened by<br> -the sunshine. -</p> - -<div id="il_49" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_249.png" width="68" height="262" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> dog in the kennel growls at his fleas; the -dog that is busy hunting does not feel them.</p> - -<p class="sigright"><span class="smcap">Chinese Proverb.</span></p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_238"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span></p> - -<div id="il_50" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_250.png" width="1383" height="367" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="TAKING_IT_EASY">TAKING IT EASY.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> GEORGE H. CLARK.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap al"><span class="firstword">Admit</span> that I am slightly bald,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Pray, who’s to blame for that?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And who is wiser for the fact,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Until I lift my hat?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Beneath the brim my barbered locks</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Fall in a careless way,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Wherein my watchful wife can spy</p> - <p class="verse indent2">No lurking threads of gray.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">What though, to read compactest print,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I’m forced to hold my book</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A little farther off than when</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Life’s first degree I took?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A yoke of slightly convex lens</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The needful aid bestows,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And you should see how wise I look</p> - <p class="verse indent2">With it astride my nose.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Don’t talk of the infernal pangs</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That rheumatism brings!</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span> - <p class="verse indent0">I’m getting used to pains and aches,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And all those sort of things.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And when the imp Sciatica</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Makes his malicious call,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I do not need an almanac</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To tell me it is fall.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Besides, it gives one quite an air</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To travel with a cane,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And makes folk think you “well to do,”</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Although you are in pain.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A fashionable hat may crown</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Genteelest coat and vest,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But ah! the sturdy stick redeems</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And sobers all the rest.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">A man deprived of natural sleep</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Becomes a stupid elf,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And only steals from Father Time</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To stultify himself.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">So, if you’d be a jovial soul,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And laugh at life’s decline,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Take my advice,—turn off the gas,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And go to bed at nine!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">An easy-cushioned rocking-chair</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Suits me uncommon well;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And so do liberal shoes,—like these,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">With room for corns to swell;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I cotton to the soft lamb’s-wool</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That lines my gloves of kid,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And love elastic home-made socks,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Indeed, I always did.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">But what disturbs me more than all</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Is, that sarcastic boys</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Prefer to have me somewhere else,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">When they are at their noise;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That while I try to look and act</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As like them as I can,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">They will persist in <em>mister</em>-ing me,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And calling me a man!</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">True</span>—Time will seam and blanch my brow.</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Well, I shall sit with aged men,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And my good glass will tell me how</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A grisly beard becomes me then.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And should no foul dishonor lie</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Upon my head, when I am gray,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Love yet shall watch my fading eye,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And smooth the path of my decay.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Then haste thee, Time,—’tis kindness all</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That speeds thy wingèd feet so fast;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Thy pleasures stay not till they pall,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And all thy pains are quickly past.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Thou fliest and bear’st away our woes,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And, as thy shadowy train depart,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The memory of sorrow grows</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A lighter burden on the heart.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">W. C. Bryant.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_241"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span></p> -<div id="il_51" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_253.png" width="1424" height="336" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OLD_AUNTY">OLD AUNTY.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>The following is a true story. I well remember the worthy -old woman, who sat in Washington Park, behind a table covered -with apples and nuts. I also know the family of the little -Joanna, who used to carry her a cup of hot tea and warm rolls -from one of the big houses in the adjoining Square, and who got -up a petition to the Mayor in her behalf. It is a humble picture; -but a soft, warm light falls on it from poor Old Aunty’s -self-sacrificing devotion to her orphans, and from the mutual love -between her and the children of the neighborhood.</p> - -<p class="right"> -L. M. C. -</p> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_253idca.png" width="277" height="303" alt="A"> -<p><span class="ucase">All</span> the children knew Old Aunty. -Every day, in rain or shine, she sat -there in the Park, with her little store -of candies, cakes, and cigars, spread on -a wooden box. Her cheerful smile and hearty -“God bless you!” were always ready for the -children, whether they bought of her or not. If -they stopped to purchase, she gave right generous -measure, heaping the nuts till they rolled off the top -of the pint, and often throwing in a cake or stick -of candy; so generous was her heart.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span></p> - -<p>Like all unselfish people, Aunty was happy as -the days are long. Had you followed her home -at night, you would have seen her travel down a -poor old street, narrow and musty, and climb the -broken stairs of a poor old house that was full of -other lodgers, some of them noisy, disorderly, and -intemperate. When she opened the creaking door -of her one small room, you would have seen the -boards loose in the floor, little furniture, very little -that looked like rest or comfort, like <em>home</em> for a -tired body that had toiled full seventy years, and -had once known the pleasure of a cheerful fireside -and a full house.</p> - -<p>But presently you would hear the patter of little -feet, and the music of children’s voices, and little -hands at work with the rusty door-latch, till open -it flew. You would have heard two merry little -creatures shouting, “Granny’s come home! Dear -Granny’s come home!” You would have seen -them dancing about her, clapping their hands, and -saying, “O we’re so glad, so glad you’ve come -back!” These are the orphan grandchildren, to -feed and clothe whom Old Aunty is willing to -walk so far, and sit so long in the cold, and earn -penny by penny, as the days go by.</p> - -<p>She kindles no fire, for it is not winter yet, and -the poor can eat their supper cold; but the children’s -love and a well-spent day kindle a warmth -and a light in the good dame’s heart, such as I -fear seldom beams in some of those great stately -houses in the Square.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span></p> - -<p>With such a home, it is not strange that Aunty -liked to sit under the pleasant trees of the Parade -Ground (for so the Park was called), breathe the -fresh air, and watch the orderly people going to -and fro. Many stopped to exchange a word with -her; even the police officers, in their uniforms, -liked a chat with the sociable old lady; and the -children, on their way to school, were never too -hurried for a “Good morning, Aunty!” that -would leave a smile on her wrinkled face, long -after they had bounded out of sight.</p> - -<p>It was nearly as good as if Aunty had a farm -of her own; for it is always country up in the sky, -you know; in the beautiful blue, among the soft -clouds, and along the tops of the trees. Even in -that dismal, musty street, where she lived, she -could see the sunshine, and the wonderful stars at -evening. Then all about the Parade Ground stood -the fine great houses of Washington Square; and -leading from it, that Fifth Avenue, which is said -to be the most splendid street in the world,—whole -miles of palaces.</p> - -<p>“Don’t I enjoy them all, without having the -care of them?” Aunty used to say.</p> - -<p>When we asked if she didn’t grow tired of sitting -there all day, she would answer, “Sure, and -who isn’t tired sometimes, rich or poor?”</p> - -<p>“But is not the ground damp, Aunty?”</p> - -<p>“I expect it is, especially after a rain; but what -then? It only gives me the rheumatism; and that -is <em>all</em> the trouble I have. God be praised!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">244</span></p> - -<p>“But it is so cold now, Aunty; so late in November; -and you are so old; it isn’t safe.”</p> - -<p>“O, but it’s safer than to have my children -starve or turn beggars, I guess. I have my old -umbrella when it rains or snows, and them’s my -harvest-days, you see; for there’s a deal of pity -in the world. And besides, the children in that -house yonder, often bring me out a hot cup of tea -at luncheon-time, or cakes of good warm bread in -the morning. Let me alone for being happy!”</p> - -<p>But earthly happiness hangs on a slight thread. -There came a change in the city government; -Aunty’s good friends among the police were removed; -the new officers proved their zeal by making -every change they could think of. “New -brooms sweep clean,” and they swept off from the -Parade Ground, poor Aunty, and all her stock in -trade.</p> - -<p>But in one of the houses opposite Aunty’s corner -of the Park, lived a family of children who -took especial interest in her; Charlie, Willie, Vincent, -and Joanna, and I can’t tell how many more. -It was they who christened her “Aunty,” till all -the neighbors, old and young, took up the name; -it was they who, on wintry days, had offered her -the hot cup of tea, and the warm bread. They -almost felt as if she were an own relative, or a -grown-up child given them to protect and comfort.</p> - -<p>One morning, Joanna looked up from the breakfast-table, -and exclaimed, “There! Aunty is not -in the Park; they have sent her away!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span></p> - -<p>The children had feared this change. You may -guess how eagerly they ran to the window, and -with what mournful faces they exclaimed again and -again, “It is too bad!” They would eat no more -breakfast; they could think and talk of nothing -but Aunty’s wrongs.</p> - -<p>It was a bleak December day, and there the -poor old woman sat outside the iron railing, no -pleasant trees above her, but dust and dead leaves -blowing wildly about. Charlie said, with tears in -his eyes, “It’s enough to blind poor Old Aunty.”</p> - -<p>“It’s enough to ruin her candy,” said Joanna, -who was a practical little body. She had a look -in her eyes that was better than tears; a look that -seemed to say, “Her candy shall <em>not</em> be ruined. -Aunty shall go back to her rightful place.”</p> - -<p>We did not know about Aunty’s having any -<em>right</em> to her old seat; but we all agreed that it was -far better for her to sit near the path that ran slantwise -through the Park, and was trodden by hundreds -and thousands of feet every day; clerks -going to Sixth Avenue, and merchants to Broadway; -newsmen, porters, school-children, teachers, -preachers, invalids; there was no end to the people. -Many a cake or apple they had taken from Aunty’s -board, and in their haste, or kindness, never waited -for change to the bit of silver they tossed her.</p> - -<p>In New York every one is in such a hurry that -unless you are almost under their feet they cannot -see you. For this reason, on the day of Aunty’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span> -absence, she had the grief of watching many old -friends and customers go past, give a surprised look -at her old seat, and hurry on, never observing her, -though she sat so near.</p> - -<p>A few, who espied Aunty, stopped in their haste -to hear her story and condole with her. The -children found her out, you may be sure, and -gathered about her, telling her how much too bad -it was; and how they should like to set the policemen, -Mayor and all, out there on a bench in the -dust, for one half-hour; but what could children -do? So they passed on. Some of the fashionable -ladies in the Square stopped to tell Aunty how they -pitied her, begged her not to feel unhappy, and -passed on. Only Trouble stood still and frowned -at her; all the rest passed on.</p> - -<p>No, not all; not our little Joanna. She came -home with a thoughtful face, and asked, very energetically, -“What do you mean to do about Aunty? -It is a shame that all these rich, strong, grown-up -people on the Square, cannot stand up for the -rights of one poor old woman.”</p> - -<p>We told her the city was richer than the richest, -stronger than the strongest.</p> - -<p>“O,” persisted Joanna, “if we, or any of them, -wanted a new lamp-post, or a hydrant mended, we -should muster strength fast enough. And now, -what’s to become of Aunty and her poor children? -that is all I ask.”</p> - -<p>We smiled at Joey’s enthusiasm, and thought it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span> -would soon pass away. When she came home -from school that afternoon, with a whole troop of -little girls, we thought it had already passed away. -As they ran down the area-steps, we wondered what -amusement they were planning now. Presently, -Joanna came up-stairs, her eyes looking very -bright, and said, “Please give me the inkstand.”</p> - -<p>We asked, “What now, child?”</p> - -<p>“O, do just give me the inkstand!” said she, -impatiently. “We are not in any mischief; we -are attending to <em>business</em>”; and off she ran.</p> - -<p>Before very long she appeared again with a -paper, her black eyes burning like stars. “There, -mother,—and all of you,—you must sign this -letter, as quick as ever you can. I have made a -statement of Aunty’s case; all the children have -signed their names; and now we are going to -every house in the Square, till we have a good -long list.”</p> - -<p>“And what then?”</p> - -<p>“I shall ask father to take it to the Mayor. He -won’t be so unreasonable as to refuse us; no one -could.”</p> - -<p>Joanna had written out Aunty’s story, in her -own simple, direct way. She told how this nice, -neat, pleasant old person had been turned out of -the Park; how the children all had liked her, and -found it convenient to buy at her table; and how -she never scolded if they dropped papers and nutshells -about, but took her own little pan and brush<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span> -and swept them away; she was so orderly. She -ended her letter with a petition that the Mayor -would be so good to the children, and this excellent -old grandmother, as to let her go back to her -old seat.</p> - -<p>If the Mayor could refuse, we could not; so -our names went down on the paper; and before -the ink was dry, off ran Joanna. The hall-door -slammed, and we saw her with all her friends run -up the steps of the neighboring houses, full of -excitement and hope.</p> - -<p>Nearly all the families that lived in the great -houses of Washington Square were rich; and some -of them proud and selfish, perhaps; for money -sometimes does sad mischief to the hearts of people. -We asked ourselves, “What will they care -for old Aunty?”</p> - -<p>Whatever their tempers might be, however, -when the lady or gentleman came and saw the -bright, eager faces, and the young eyes glistening -with sympathy, and the little hands pointing out -there at the aged woman on the sidewalk,—while -they were in their gilded and cushioned houses,—they -could not refuse a name, and the list swelled -fast.</p> - -<p>At one house lived three Jewesses, who were so -pleased with the children’s scheme, that they not -only gave their own names, but obtained many -more. “They are Jews, ma’am, but they’re -Christians!” said Aunty afterwards; by which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span> -she meant, it is not <em>names</em>, but <em>actions</em>, that prove -us followers of the loving, compassionate Christ.</p> - -<p>So large was the Square, so many houses to -visit, that the ladies’ help was very welcome. -They could state Aunty’s case with propriety; -and what with their words and the children’s -eloquent faces, all went well.</p> - -<p>So the paper was filled with signatures, and Joanna’s -father took it to the Mayor. He smiled, -and signed his name, in big letters, to an order -that Aunty should return at once to her old seat, -and have all the privileges she had ever enjoyed in -the Park; and the next morning there she was, in -her own old corner!</p> - -<p>As soon as she came, the children ran out to -welcome her. As she shook hands with them, and -looked up in their pleased faces, we saw her again -and again wipe the tears from her old eyes.</p> - -<p>Everybody that spoke to Aunty that day, congratulated -her; and when the schools in the neighborhood -were dismissed, the scholars and teachers -went together, in procession, and bought everything -Aunty had to sell; till the poor old woman could -only cover her face and cry, to think that she had -so many friends. If ever you go to the Parade -Ground, in New York, you may talk with old -Aunty, and ask her if this story is not true.</p> - -<p class="right"> -B. -</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_250"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span></p> -<div id="il_52" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_262.png" width="1415" height="319" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="RICHARD_AND_KATE">RICHARD AND KATE.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">A SUFFOLK BALLAD.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>The following verses were written by Robert Bloomfield, an -English shoemaker, more than sixty years ago, when the working-classes -of England had far more limited opportunities for -obtaining education than they now have. Criticism could easily -point out imperfections in the style of this simple story, but the -consolations of age among the poor are presented in such a -touching manner that it is worthy of preservation.</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">“Come</span>, Goody! stop your humdrum wheel!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Sweep up your orts, and get your hat!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Old joys revived once more I feel,</p> - <p class="verse indent1">’Tis Fair-day! Ay, and <em>more</em> than that!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Have you forgot, Kate, prithee say,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">How many seasons here we’ve tarried?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">’Tis forty years, this very day,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Since you and I, old girl, were <em>married</em>.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Look out! The sun shines warm and bright;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The stiles are low, the paths all dry:</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I know you cut your corns last night;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Come! be as free from care as I.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“For I’m resolved once more to see</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That place where we so often met;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Though few have had more cares than we,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">We’ve none just now to make us fret.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Kate scorned to damp the generous flame,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That warmed her aged partner’s breast;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Yet, ere determination came,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">She thus some trifling doubts expressed:—</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Night will come on, when seated snug,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And you’ve perhaps begun some tale;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Can you then leave your dear stone mug?</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Leave all the folks, and all the ale?”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Ay, Kate, I wool; because I know,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Though time <em>has</em> been we both could run,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Such days are gone and over now.</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I only mean to see the fun.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">His mattock he behind the door,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And hedging gloves, again replaced;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And looked across the yellow moor,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And urged his tottering spouse to haste.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The day was up, the air serene,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The firmament without a cloud;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The bees hummed o’er the level green,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Where knots of trembling cowslips bowed.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And Richard thus, with heart elate,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As past things rushed across his mind,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Over his shoulder talked to Kate,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Who, snug tucked up, walked slow behind:</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“When once a giggling mauther<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">G</a> you,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And I a red-faced, chubby boy,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Sly tricks you played me, not a few;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">For mischief was your greatest joy.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Once, passing by this very tree,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A gotch<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">H</a> of milk I’d been to fill;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">You shouldered me; then laughed to see</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Me and my gotch spin down the hill.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“’Tis true,” she said; “but here behold,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And marvel at the course of time!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Though you and I are both grown old,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">This tree is only in its prime.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Well, Goody, don’t stand preaching now!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Folks don’t preach sermons at a Fair.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We’ve reared ten boys and girls, you know;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And I’ll be bound they’ll all be there.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Now friendly nods and smiles had they,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">From many a kind Fair-going face;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And many a pinch Kate gave away,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">While Richard kept his usual pace.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">At length, arrived amid the throng,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Grandchildren, bawling, hemmed them round,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And dragged them by the skirts along,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Where gingerbread bestrewed the ground.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And soon the aged couple spied</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Their lusty sons, and daughters dear;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When Richard thus exulting cried:</p> - <p class="verse indent2">“Didn’t I <em>tell</em> you they’d be here?”</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">253</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The cordial greetings of the soul</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Were visible in every face;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Affection, void of all control,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Governed with a resistless grace.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">’Twas good to see the honest strife,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Who should contribute most to please;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And hear the long-recounted life,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Of infant tricks and happy days.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">But now, as at some nobler places,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Among the leaders ’twas decreed</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Time to begin the Dicky-Races,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">More famed for laughter than for speed.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Richard looked on with wondrous glee,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And praised the lad who chanced to win.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“Kate, wa’n’t I such a one as he?</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As like him, ay, as pin to pin?</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Full fifty years have passed away,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Since I rode this same ground about;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Lord! I was lively as the day!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I won the High-lows, out and out.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“I’m surely growing young again,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I feel myself so kedge and plump!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From head to feet I’ve not one pain.</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Nay, hang me, if I couldn’t jump!”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Thus spake the ale in Richard’s pate;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A very little made him mellow;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But still he loved his faithful Kate,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Who whispered thus: “My good old fellow,</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Remember what you promised me!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And, see, the sun is getting low!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The children want an hour, ye see,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To talk a bit before we go.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Like youthful lover, most complying,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">He turned and chucked her by the chin</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Then all across the green grass hieing;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Right merry faces, all akin.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Their farewell quart beneath a tree,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That drooped its branches from above,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Awaked the pure felicity,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That waits upon parental love.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Kate viewed her blooming daughters round,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And sons who shook her withered hand;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Her features spoke what joy she found.</p> - <p class="verse indent2">But utterance had made a stand.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The children toppled on the green,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And bowled their fairings down the hill</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Richard with pride beheld the scene,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Nor could he, for his life, sit still.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">A father’s unchecked feelings gave</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A tenderness to all he said:</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“My boys, how proud am I to have</p> - <p class="verse indent2">My name thus round the country spread.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Through all my days I’ve labored hard,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And could of pains and crosses tell;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But this is labor’s great reward,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To meet ye thus, and see ye well.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“My good old partner, when at home,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Sometimes with wishes mingles tears;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Goody, says I, let what wool come,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">We’ve nothing for them but our prayers.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“May you be all as old as I,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And see your sons to manhood grow;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And many a time, before you die,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Be just as pleased as I am now.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Then (raising still his mug and voice),</p> - <p class="verse indent2">“An old man’s weakness don’t despise!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I love you well, my girls and boys.</p> - <p class="verse indent2">God bless you all!” So said his eyes;</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">For, as he spoke, a big round drop</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Fell bounding on his ample sleeve;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A witness which he could not stop;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A witness which all hearts believe.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Thou, filial piety, wert there;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And round the ring, benignly bright,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Dwelt in the luscious half-shed tear,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And in the parting words, “Good Night!”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">With thankful hearts and strengthened love</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The poor old pair, supremely blest,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Saw the sun sink behind the grove,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And gained once more their lowly rest.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span></p> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="fnanchor">G</a> A giddy young girl.</p> - -<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="fnanchor">H</a> A pitcher.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_256"> -<div id="il_53" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_268.png" width="1456" height="364" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LUDOVICO_CORNARO">LUDOVICO CORNARO.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">DERIVED FROM THE WRITINGS OF CORNARO.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent12">“I do not woo</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The means of weakness and debility;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Therefore, my age is as a lusty winter,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Frosty, but kindly.”</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><i>Varied from</i> <span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l1" src="images/i_268idcl.png" width="279" height="309" alt="L"> -<p><span class="ucase">Ludovico Cornaro</span>, descended -from a noble family in Venice, was -born in 1462, thirty years before America -was discovered. He removed to -Padua, where he married, and late in life had an -only child, a daughter, who married one of the -Cornaro family.</p> - -<p>As an illustration of the physical laws of our -being, the outlines of his history are worthy of preservation. -He was wealthy, and indulged in the -habits common to young men of his class. He -was fond of sensual indulgences, and especially -drank wine intemperately. The consequence was, -that from twenty-five years of age to forty, he was -afflicted with dyspepsia, gout, and frequent slow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">257</span> -fevers. Medicines failed to do any permanent -good, and physicians told him that nothing could -restore him but simplicity and regularity of living. -This advice was very contrary to his taste, and he -continued to indulge in the luxuries of the table, -paying the penalty of suffering for it afterwards. -At last his health was so nearly ruined, that the -doctors predicted he could not live many months. -At this crisis, being about forty years old, he resolved -to become temperate and abstemious; but it -required so much effort to change his dissipated -habits, that he frequently resorted to prayer for -aid in keeping the virtuous resolution. His perseverance -was more speedily rewarded than might -have been expected; for in less than a year he -was freed from the diseases which had so long tormented -him. In order to preserve the health thus -restored to him, he observed the peculiarities of -his constitution, and carefully conformed to them -in his habits and modes of living. He says: “It -is a favorite maxim with epicures that whatever -pleases the palate must agree with the stomach -and nourish the body; but this I found to be false; -for pork, pastry, salads, rough wines, &c., were -very agreeable to my palate, yet they disagreed -with me.” There seems to have been nothing -peculiar in the kinds of food which constituted his -nourishment; moderation as to quantity, and simplicity -in modes of cooking, were the principal -things he deemed of importance. He speaks of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">258</span> -mutton, fish, poultry, birds, eggs, light soups and -broths, and new wine in moderate quantities, as -among his customary articles of diet. He is particularly -earnest in his praises of bread. He says: -“Bread, above all things, is man’s proper food, and -always relishes well when seasoned by a good appetite; -and this natural sauce is never wanting to -those who eat but little; for when the stomach is -not burdened, there is no need to wait long for an -appetite. I speak from experience; for I find such -sweetness in bread, that I should be afraid of sinning -against temperance in eating it, were it not -for my being convinced of the absolute necessity -for nourishment, and that we cannot make use of -a more natural kind of food.”</p> - -<p>He does not lay down specific rules for others, -but very wisely advises each one to govern himself -according to the laws of his own constitution. He -says every man ought carefully to observe what -kinds of food and drink agree or disagree with -him, and indulge or refrain accordingly; but whatever -he eats or drinks, it should be in quantities so -moderate as to be easily digested. He grows eloquent -in his warnings against the fashionable luxury, -by which he had himself suffered so severely. -He exclaims: “O, unhappy Italy! Do you not see -that intemperance causes more deaths than plague, -or fire, or many battles? These profuse feasts, -now so much in fashion, where the tables are not -large enough to hold the variety of dishes, I tell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span> -you these cause more murders than so many battles. -I beseech you to put a stop to these abuses. -Banish luxury, as you would the plague. I am -certain there is no vice more abominable in the eyes -of the Divine Majesty. It brings on the body a -long and lasting train of disagreeable sensations -and diseases, and at length it destroys the soul also. -I have seen men of fine understanding and amiable -disposition carried off by this plague, in the -flower of their youth, who, if they had lived abstemiously, -might now be among us, to benefit and -adorn society.”</p> - -<p>His dissertations on health may be condensed -into the following concise general rules, which are -worthy of all <span class="locked">acceptance:—</span></p> - -<p>Let every man study his own constitution, and -regulate food, drink, and other habits in conformity -thereto.</p> - -<p>Never indulge in anything which has the effect -to render the body uncomfortable or lethargic, or -the mind restless and irritable.</p> - -<p>Even healthy food should be cooked with -simplicity, and eaten with moderation. Never -eat or drink to repletion, but make it a rule to -rise from the table with inclination for a little -more.</p> - -<p>Be regular in the hours for meals and sleep.</p> - -<p>Be in the open air frequently; riding, walking, -or using other moderate exercise.</p> - -<p>Avoid extremes of heat or cold, excessive fatigue,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">260</span> -and places where the air is unwholesome, for want -of ventilation.</p> - -<p>Restrain anger and fretfulness, and keep all -malignant or sensual passions in constant check. -Banish melancholy, and do everything to promote -cheerfulness. All these things have great influence -over bodily health.</p> - -<p>Interest yourself constantly in employments of -some kind.</p> - -<p>He gives it as his opinion that anger, peevishness, -and despondency are not likely to trouble -those who are temperate and regular in their habits, -and diligent in their occupations. He says: -“I was born with a very choleric disposition, insomuch -that there was no living with me. But I -reflected that a person under the sway of passion -was for the time being no better than a lunatic. -I therefore resolved to make my temper give way -to reason. I have so far succeeded, that anger -never entirely overcomes me, though I do not -guard myself so well as not to be sometimes hurried -away by it. I have, however, learned by experience -that hurtful passions of any kind have but -little power over those who lead a sober and useful -life. Neither despondency nor any other affection -of the mind will harm bodies governed by -temperance and regularity.”</p> - -<p>In answer to the objection that he lived too -sparingly to make the change which is sometimes -necessary in case of sickness, he replies: “Nature<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">261</span> -is so desirous to preserve men in good health, that -she herself teaches them how to ward off illness. -When it is not good for them to eat, appetite -usually diminishes. Whether a man has been abstemious -or not, when he is ill it is necessary to -take only such nourishment as is suited to his disorder, -and even that in smaller quantities than he -was accustomed to in health. But the best answer -to this objection is, that those who live very temperately -are not liable to be sick. By removing -the <em>cause</em> of diseases, they prevent the <em>effects</em>.”</p> - -<p>He also maintains that external injuries are very -easily cured, when the blood has been kept in a -pure state by abstemious living and regular habits. -In proof of it, he tells his own experience when, at -seventy years of age, he was overturned in a coach, -and dragged a considerable distance by the frightened -horses. He was severely bruised, and a leg -and arm were broken; but his recovery was so -rapid and complete, that physicians were astonished.</p> - -<p>Much of his health and cheerfulness he attributes -to constant occupation. He says: “The greatest -source of my happiness is the power to render -some service to my dear country. O, what a glorious -amusement! I delight to show Venice how -her important harbor can be improved, and how -large tracts of lands, marshes and barren sands -can be rendered productive; how her fortifications -can be strengthened; how her air, though excellent,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">262</span> -can be made still purer; and how, beautiful -as she is, the beauty of her buildings can still be -increased. For two months together, during the -heat of summer, I have been with those who were -appointed to drain the public marshes; and though -I was seventy-five years old, yet, such is the efficacy -of an orderly life, that I found myself none -the worse for the fatigue and inconveniences I suffered. -It is also a source of satisfaction to me that, -having lost a considerable portion of my income, I -was enabled to repair it for my grandchildren, by -that most commendable of arts, agriculture. I did -this by infallible methods, worked out by dint of -thought, without any fatigue of body, and very -little of mind. I owned an extensive marshy district, -where the air was so unwholesome that it -was more fit for snakes than men. I drained off -the stagnant waters, and the air became pure. -People resorted thither so fast, that a village soon -grew up, laid out in regular streets, all terminating -in a large square, in the middle of which stands -the church. The village is divided by a wide and -rapid branch of the river Brenta, on both sides of -which is a considerable extent of well-cultivated -fertile fields. I may say with truth, that in this -place I have erected an altar to God, and brought -thither souls to adore him. When I visit these -people, the sight of these things affords me infinite -satisfaction and enjoyment. In my gardens, too, I -always find something to do that amuses me. It<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">263</span> -is also a great satisfaction to me, that I can write -treatises with my own hand, for the service of -others; and that, old as I am, I can study important, -sublime, and difficult subjects, without -fatigue.”</p> - -<p>His writings consisted of short treatises on health, -agriculture, architecture, etc. In an essay, entitled, -“A Guide to Health,” written when he was -eighty-three years old, he says: “My faculties are -all perfect; particularly my palate, which now -relishes better the simple fare I eat than it formerly -did the most luxurious dishes, when I led an -irregular life. Change of beds gives me no uneasiness. -I sleep everywhere soundly and quietly, -and my dreams are always pleasant. I climb hills -from bottom to top, afoot, with the greatest ease -and unconcern. I am cheerful and good-humored, -being free from perturbations and disagreeable -thoughts. Joy and peace have so firmly fixed -their residence in my bosom, that they never -depart from it.”</p> - -<p>In another essay, called “A Compendium of a -Sober Life,” he says: “I now find myself sound -and hearty, at the age of eighty-six. My senses -continue perfect; even my teeth, my voice, my -memory, and my strength. What is more, the -powers of my mind do not diminish, as I advance -in years; because, as I grow older, I lessen the -quantity of my solid food. I greatly enjoy the -beautiful expanse of this visible world, which is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">264</span> -really beautiful to those who know how to view it -with a philosophic eye. O, thrice-holy Sobriety, -thou hast conferred such favors on thine old man, -that he better relishes his dry bread, than he did -the most dainty dishes in the days of his youth! -My spirits, not oppressed by too much food, are -always brisk, especially after eating; so that I am -accustomed then to sing a song, and afterward to -write. I do not find myself the worse for writing -immediately after meals; I am not apt to be -drowsy, and my understanding is always clearer, -the food I take being too small in quantity to send -up any fumes into my brain. O, how advantageous -it is to an old man to eat but little!”</p> - -<p>In a letter to a friend, written when he was -ninety-one, the old man rejoices over his vigor and -friskiness, as a boy does over his exploits on the -ice. He says: “The more I advance in years, -the sounder and heartier I grow, to the amazement -of the world. My memory, spirits, and understanding, -and even my voice and my teeth, remain -unimpaired. I employ eight hours a day in writing -treatises with my own hand; and when I tell you -that I write to be useful to mankind, you may -easily conceive what pleasure I enjoy. I spend -many hours daily in walking and singing. And -O, how melodious my voice has grown! Were -you to hear me chant my prayers to my lyre, after -the example of David, I am certain it would give -you great pleasure, my voice is so musical.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">265</span></p> - -<p>In an essay, entitled, “An Earnest Exhortation,” -he says: “Arrived at my ninety-fifth year, -I still find myself sound and hearty, content and -cheerful. I eat with good appetite, and sleep -soundly. My understanding is clear, and my -memory tenacious. I write seven or eight hours -a day, walk, converse, and occasionally attend -concerts. My voice, which is apt to be the first -thing to fail, grows so strong and sonorous, that I -cannot help chanting my prayers aloud, morning -and evening, instead of murmuring them to myself, -as was formerly my custom. Apprehensions of -death do not disturb my mind, for I have no sensuality -to nourish such thoughts. I have reason to -think that my soul, having so agreeable a dwelling -in my body, as not to meet with anything in it but -peace, love, and harmony, not only between its -humors, but between my reason and my senses, is -exceedingly contented and pleased with her present -situation, and that, of course, it will require many -years to dislodge her. Whence I conclude that I -have still a series of years to live in health and -spirits, and enjoy this beautiful world, which is indeed -beautiful to those who know how to make it -so by virtue and divine regularity of life. If men -would betake themselves to a sober, regular, and -abstemious course of life, they would not grow infirm -in their old age, but would continue strong -and hearty as I am, and might attain to a hundred -years and upwards, as I expect will be my case.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">266</span> -God has ordained that whoever reaches his natural -term should end his days without sickness or pain, -by mere dissolution. This is the natural way of -quitting mortal life to enter upon immortality, as -will be my case.”</p> - -<p>Once only, in the course of his long life, did -Cornaro depart from the strict rules he had laid -down for himself. When he was seventy-eight -years old, his physician and family united in urging -him to take more nutrition; saying, that he -required it to keep up his strength, now that he -was growing so old. He argued that habit had -become with him a second nature, and that it was -unsafe to change; moreover, that as the stomach -grew more feeble, it was reasonable to suppose -that it ought to have less work to do, rather than -more. But as they continued to remonstrate, he -finally consented to add a little to his daily portion -of food and wine. He says: “In eight days, this -had such an effect upon me, that from being -cheerful and brisk, I began to be peevish and -melancholy, so that nothing could please me. I -was so strangely disposed, that I neither knew -what to say to others, nor what to do with myself.” -The result was a terrible fever, which -lasted thirty-five days, and reduced him almost to -a skeleton. He attributes his recovery to the -abstinence he had practised for so many years. -“During all which time,” says he, “I never knew -what sickness was; unless it might be some slight<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">267</span> -indisposition, that continued merely for a day or -two.” He gives it, as the result of his long experience, -that it is well for people, as they become -aged, to diminish the quantity of solid food. He -also advises that such nourishment as they take -should be less at any one time, and taken more frequently.</p> - -<p>Never had longevity such a zealous panegyrist -as this venerable Italian. He says: “Some sensual, -inconsiderate persons affirm that long life is -not a blessing; that the state of a man who has -passed his seventy-fifth year does not deserve to be -called life, but is rather a lingering death. This is -a great mistake. And I, who have experienced -the salutary effects of temperate, regular habits, -am bound to prove that a man may enjoy a terrestrial -paradise after he is eighty years old. My -own existence, so far from being a lingering death, -is a perpetual round of pleasures; and it is my -sincere wish that all men would endeavor to attain -my age, in order that they also may enjoy that -period of life which of all others is the most desirable. -For that reason I will give an account -of my recreations, and of the relish I find in life -at its present advanced stage. I can climb my -horse without any assistance, or advantage of -situation, and now and then I make one of a -hunting party suitable to my age and taste. I -have frequent opportunities to converse with intelligent, -worthy gentlemen, well acquainted with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">268</span> -literature. When I have not such conversation to -enjoy, I betake myself to reading some good book. -When I have read as much as I like, I write, -endeavoring in this, as in everything else, to be of -service to others. This I do in my own commodious -house, in the most beautiful quarter of -this noble and learned city of Padua, and around -it are gardens supplied with running waters, where -I always find something to do that amuses me. -Every spring and autumn I go to a handsome -hunting-lodge, belonging to me, in the Euganean -mountains, which is also adorned with fountains -and gardens. Then I visit my village in the plain, -the soil of which I redeemed from the marshes. -I visit neighboring cities, to meet old friends, and -to converse with architects, painters, sculptors, -musicians, and husbandmen, from all of whom I -learn something that gives me satisfaction. I -visit their new works, and I revisit their old ones. -I see churches, palaces, gardens, fortifications, -and antiquities, leaving nothing unobserved from -which either entertainment or instruction can be -derived. But what delights me most is the scenery -I pass through, in my journeys backwards -and forwards. When I was young, and debauched -by an irregular life, I did not observe the beauties -of nature; so that I never knew, till I grew old, -that the world was beautiful. That no comfort -may be wanting to the fulness of my years, I -enjoy a kind of immortality in a succession of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">269</span> -descendants. When I return home from my journeys, -I am greeted by eleven grandchildren, the -oldest eighteen, the youngest two years old; all -the offspring of one father and mother. They -all have good parts and morals, are blessed with -the best of health, and fond of learning. I play -with the youngest, and make companions of the -older ones. Nature has bestowed on them fine -voices. I delight in hearing them sing and play -on various instruments, and I myself sing with -them, for I have a clearer and louder pipe now -than at any other period of life. Such gayety of -spirits has been imparted by my temperate life, -that at my present age of eighty-three I have been -able to write a very entertaining comedy, abounding -with innocent mirth and pleasant jests. I declare -I would not exchange my gray hairs, or -my mode of living, with any young men, even of -the best constitutions, who seek pleasure through -the indulgence of their appetites. I take an interest -in seeing the draining of marshes and the -improvement of the harbor going on, and it is a -great comfort to me that my treatises on a temperate -life have proved useful to others, as many -have assured me, both by word of mouth, and by -letter. I may further add, that I enjoy two lives -at once. I enjoy this terrestrial life, in consequence -of sobriety and temperance; and, by the grace of -God, I enjoy the celestial life, which he makes -me anticipate by thought,—a thought so lively,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">270</span> -that I affirm the enjoyment to be of the utmost -certainty. To die in the manner that I expect to -die is not really death, but merely a passage of the -soul from this earthly life to an infinitely perfect -existence. The prospect of terminating the high -gratifications I have enjoyed here gives me no -uneasiness; it rather affords me pleasure, as it will -be only to make room for another glorious and -immortal life. How beautiful the life I lead! -How happy my exit!”</p> - -<p>His prophecy proved true. He lived to be one -hundred and four years old, and passed away without -pain, sitting in his elbow-chair. His wife,</p> - -<p class="center"> -who was nearly as old as himself, survived<br> -him but a short time, and died easily.<br> -They were buried in St. Anthony’s<br> -Church, at Padua, in a very<br> -unostentatious manner,<br> -according to their<br> -testamentary<br> -directions. -</p> - -<div id="il_54" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_282.png" width="72" height="265" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Dr. Priestley was young, he preached -that old age was the happiest period of life; and -when he was himself eighty, he wrote, “I have -found it so.”</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_271"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">271</span></p> - -<div id="il_55" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_283.png" width="1451" height="380" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ROBIN_AND_JEANNIE">ROBIN AND JEANNIE.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> DORA GREENWELL.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">“Do</span> you think of the days that are gone, Jeannie,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As you sit by the fire at night?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Do you wish that the morn would bring back the time,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">When your heart and your step were so light?”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“I think of the days that are gone, Robin,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And of all that I joyed in then;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But the brightest that ever arose on me,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I have never wished back again.”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Do you think of the hopes that are gone, Jeannie,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As you sit by the fire at night?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Do you gather them up, as they faded fast,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Like buds with an early blight?”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“I think of the hopes that are gone, Robin,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And I mourn not their stay was fleet,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For they fell as the leaves of the roses fall,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And were even in falling sweet.”</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">272</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“Do you think of the friends that are gone, Jeannie,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As you sit by the fire at night?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Do you wish they were round you again once more,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">By the hearth that they made so bright?”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“I think of the friends that are gone, Robin;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">They are dear to my heart as then;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But the best and the dearest among them all</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I have never wished back again.”</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“<span class="smcap">We</span> have lived and loved together,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Through many changing years;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We have shared each other’s gladness,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">We have wept each other’s tears.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“I have never known a sorrow</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That was long unsoothed by thee;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For thy smile can make a summer,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Where darkness else would be.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“And let us hope the future</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As the past has been, will be;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I will share with thee thy sorrows,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And thou thy smiles with me.”</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Anonymous.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_273"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">273</span></p> -<div id="il_56" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_285.png" width="1423" height="387" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_GOOD_OLD_AGE">A GOOD OLD AGE.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">FROM MOUNTFORD’S EUTHANASY.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_285idca.png" width="277" height="300" alt="A"> -<p><span class="ucase">A good</span> old age is a beautiful sight, and -there is nothing earthly that is as noble,—in -my eyes, at least. And so I have -often thought. A ship is a fine object, -when it comes up into a port, with all its sails set, -and quite safely, from a long voyage. Many a -thousand miles it has come, with the sun for guidance, -and the sea for its path, and the winds for its -speed. What might have been its grave, a thousand -fathoms deep, has yielded it a ready way; -and winds that might have been its wreck have -been its service. It has come from another meridian -than ours; it has come through day and -night; it has come by reefs and banks that have -been avoided, and past rocks that have been -watched for. Not a plank has started, nor one -timber in it proved rotten. And now it comes -like an answer to the prayers of many hearts; a -delight to the owner, a joy to many a sailor’s -family, and a pleasure to all ashore, that see it.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">274</span> -It has been steered over the ocean, and been piloted -through dangers, and now it is safe.</p> - -<p>But still more interesting than this is a good life, -as it approaches its threescore years and ten. It -began in the century before the present; it has -lasted on through storms and sunshine; and it has -been guarded against many a rock, on which shipwreck -of a good conscience might have been made. -On the course it has taken, there has been the -influence of Providence; and it has been guided -by Christ, that day-star from on high. Yes, old -age is even a nobler sight than a ship completing a -long, long voyage.</p> - -<p>On a summer’s evening, the setting sun is grand -to look at. In his morning beams, the birds awoke -and sang, men rose for their work, and the world -grew light. In his mid-day heat, wheat-fields grew -yellower, and fruits were ripened, and a thousand -natural purposes were answered, which we mortals -do not know of. And at his setting, all things -seem to grow harmonious and solemn in his light.</p> - -<p>But what is all this to the sight of a good life, -in those years that go down into the grave? In -the early days of it, old events had their happening; -with the light of it many a house has been -brightened; and under the good influence of it, -souls have grown better, some of whom are now -on high. And then the closing period of such a -life,—how almost awful is the beauty of it! From -his setting, the sun will rise again to-morrow; and -he will shine on men and their work, and on children’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">275</span> -children and their labors. But when once -finished, even a good life has no renewal in this</p> - -<p class="center"> -world. It will begin again; but it will be in<br> -a new earth, and under new heavens.<br> -Yes, nobler than a ship safely<br> -ending a long voyage, and<br> -sublimer than the setting<br> -sun, is the old age of<br> -a just, a kind,<br> -and useful<br> -life. -</p> - -<div id="il_57" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_287.png" width="61" height="101" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">A good</span> old man is the best antiquity; one -whom time hath been thus long a working, and, -like winter fruit, ripened when others are shaken -down. He looks over his former life as a danger -well past, and would not hazard himself to begin -again. The next door of death saps him not, but -he expects it calmly, as his turn in nature. All -men look on him as a common father, and on old -age, for his sake, as a reverent thing. He practises -his experience on youth, without harshness -or reproof, and in his council is good company. -You must pardon him if he likes his own times -better than these, because those things are follies -to him now, that were wisdom then; yet he makes -us of that opinion, too, when we see him, and conjecture -those times by so good a relic.—<span class="smcap">Bishop -Earle.</span></p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_276"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">276</span></p> - -<div id="il_58" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_288.png" width="1426" height="324" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="MY_PSALM">MY PSALM.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> JOHN G. WHITTIER.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 i drop-cap"><span class="firstword">I mourn</span> no more my vanished years:</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Beneath a tender rain,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">An April rain of smiles and tears,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">My heart is young again.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The west winds blow, and, singing low,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I hear the glad streams run;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The windows of my soul I throw</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Wide open to the sun.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">No longer forward nor behind</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I look in hope or fear;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But, grateful, take the good I find,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The best of now and here.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">I plough no more a desert land,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To harvest weed and tare;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The manna dropping from God’s hand</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Rebukes my painful care.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">I break my pilgrim staff, I lay</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Aside the toiling oar;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The angel sought so far away,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I welcome at my door.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">277</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The airs of Spring may never play</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Among the ripening corn,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Nor freshness of the flowers of May</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Blow through the Autumn morn;—</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Yet shall the blue-eyed Gentian look</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Through fringèd lids to Heaven,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the pale Aster in the brook</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Shall see its image given;—</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The woods shall wear their robes of praise,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The south-wind softly sigh;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And sweet, calm days, in golden haze,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Melt down the amber sky.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Not less shall manly deed and word</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Rebuke an age of wrong;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The graven flowers that wreathe the sword</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Make not the blade less strong.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">But smiting hands shall learn to heal,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To build, as to destroy;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Nor less my heart for others feel,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That I the more enjoy.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">All as God wills, who wisely heeds</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To give or to withhold,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And knoweth more of all my needs</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Than all my prayers have told.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Enough that blessings undeserved</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Have marked my erring track,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That, wheresoe’er my feet have swerved,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">His chastening turned me back,—</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">278</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">That more and more a Providence</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Of love is understood,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Making the springs of time and sense</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Sweet with eternal good,—</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">That death seems but a covered way</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Which opens into light,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Wherein no blinded child can stray</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Beyond the Father’s sight,—</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">That care and trial seem at last,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Through Memory’s sunset air,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Like mountain-ranges, overpast,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">In purple distance fair,—</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">That all the jarring notes of life</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Seem blending in a psalm,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And all the angles of its strife</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Slow rounding into calm.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And so the shadows fall apart,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And so the west winds play;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And all the windows of my heart</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I open to the day.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Over</span> the winter glaciers,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I see the summer glow,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And, through the wild piled snow-drift,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The warm rosebuds below.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">R. W. Emerson.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_279"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">279</span></p> -<div id="il_59" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_291.png" width="1420" height="329" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="JOHN_HENRY_VON_DANNECKER">JOHN HENRY VON DANNECKER.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">DERIVED FROM MRS. JAMESON’S SKETCHES, LONGFELLOW’S -HYPERION, AND FROM VARIOUS EUROPEAN LETTERS.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_291idct.png" width="315" height="341" alt="T"> -<p><span class="ucase">This</span> celebrated German sculptor was -born in 1758, at Stuttgard. His father, -who was one of the grooms of the -Duke of Würtemberg, was a stupid, -harsh man. He thought it sufficient for his son to -know how to work in the stable; and how the -gifted boy contrived to pick up the rudiments of -reading and writing, he could not remember in -after life. He had an extraordinary passion for -drawing, and being too poor to buy paper and -pencils, he used to scrawl figures with charcoal on -the slabs of a neighboring stone-cutter. When his -father discovered this, he beat him for his idleness; -but his mother interfered to protect him. After -he arrived at manhood, he was accustomed to speak -of her with the utmost tenderness and reverence; -saying that her promptings were the first softening -and elevating influences he ever knew. His bright -countenance and alert ways sometimes attracted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">280</span> -the notice of the Duke, who saw him running -about the precincts of the palace, ragged and barefoot; -but he was far enough from foreseeing the -wonderful genius that would be developed in this -child of one of his meanest servants.</p> - -<p>When John Henry was about thirteen years old, -the Duke established a military school, into which -poor boys, who manifested sufficient intelligence, -might be admitted. As soon as he heard of this -opportunity, he eagerly announced the intention -of presenting himself as a candidate. His surly -father became very angry at this, and told him he -should stay at home and work. When the lad -persisted in saying he wanted to get a chance to -learn something, he beat him and locked him up. -The persevering boy jumped out of the window, -collected several of his comrades together, and proposed -to them to go to the Duke and ask to be -admitted into his school. The whole court happened -to be assembled at the palace when the little -troop marched up. Being asked by one of the -attendants what they wanted, Dannecker replied, -“Tell his Highness the Duke that we want to be -admitted to the Charles School.” The Duke, who -was amused by this specimen of juvenile earnestness, -went out to inspect the boys. He led aside -one after another, till only Dannecker and two -others remained. He used to say afterward that -he supposed himself rejected, and suffered such an -agony of shame, that he was on the point of running<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">281</span> -away and hiding himself, when he discovered -that those who had been led aside were the rejected -ones. The Duke ordered the successful candidates -to go next morning to the school, and dismissed -them. The father did not dare to resist such high -authority, but he was so enraged with his son, that -he turned him out of the house and forbade him -ever to enter it again. But his good mother -packed up a little bundle of necessaries for him, -accompanied him some distance on the road, and -parted with him with tears and blessings.</p> - -<p>He did not find himself well situated in this -school. The teachers were accustomed to employ -the poorer boys as servants, and he was kept so -constantly at work, that what little he learned was -mostly accomplished by stealth. But he met with -one piece of great good fortune. Schiller, who -afterward became world-renowned as a writer, was -at this school. The two boys recognized kindred -genius in each other, and formed a friendship -which lasted through life. When he was fifteen -years old, his remarkable talent for drawing caused -him to be removed to the School of Art in Stuttgard, -where he received instruction from Grubel, -the sculptor. The next year, he obtained the -highest prize for a statue of Milo, modelled in clay. -The Duke, who had forgotten the bright, ragged -boy that formerly attracted his attention, was astonished -to hear he had carried off the highest honors -of the School of Art. He employed him to carve<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">282</span> -cornices and ornaments for two new palaces he was -building. Ten years were thus spent, during -which he acquired a great deal of mere mechanical -skill and dexterity. But he longed to improve -himself by the sight of noble models; and at last -he obtained leave to travel. The allowance granted -him by his ducal patron was only one hundred and -twenty dollars a year. With this he set off for -Paris, where he studied in the galleries of the -Louvre, often going the whole day without food, -and in a dress too shabby to be considered respectable. -Those who saw him thus perseveringly employed, -passed by without recognizing the divine -soul that dwelt within the forlorn exterior. He -afterward went to Rome, where for some months, -he wandered about among monuments and ruins, -friendless and homesick. But luckily his illustrious -countrymen, Herder and Goethe were there. He -was introduced to them, and their conversation -imbued him with higher ideas of Art than he -had ever before received. The celebrated Italian -sculptor, Canova, also became acquainted with -him, and often visited him in his studio. There -was but a year’s difference in their ages, and their -friendship became intimate. He remained five -years in Rome, and distinguished himself by the -production of several fine statues. He then returned -to his native country, where he married. -At fifty years of age he was considered the greatest -sculptor in Germany. The Grand Duke ennobled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">283</span> -him, as the phrase is; though it seems absurd -enough that wearing a ribbon in his button-hole, -and being allowed to put <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">von</i> before the name his -genius had rendered illustrious, could add any -nobility to a man like Dannecker.</p> - -<p>His two most celebrated works are Ariadne -riding on a panther, and his statue of Christ. -The circumstances under which the latter was -produced are very peculiar. Dannecker was a -devout Lutheran, and he often meditated upon -a statue of the Mediator between God and man -as the highest problem of Art. He sought to -embody it, but felt that something was wanting. -A child, who was accustomed to run about his -studio, came in while he was at his work. “Who -do you think that is?” said the artist, pointing to -his model. The child looked, and replied: “I -don’t know; I guess it is some great king.” Ah, -thought Dannecker, I have made the expression -of power to predominate over love. The search -after a perfect ideal of the Divine and human -combined took complete possession of his mind. -Filled with such thoughts, he fell asleep and -dreamed of a face and form transcending anything -he had conceived. He hastened to model it in -clay, while the vision was still fresh in his mind. -When it was shown to the child, he at once exclaimed, -“That is the Redeemer. Mother reads -to me about him, where he says, ‘Suffer little -children to come unto me.’” This confirmed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">284</span> -Dannecker in the belief that he had been directly -inspired from above. Others regarded it as a -dream produced by the intense activity of his -thoughts concentrated upon one subject; but he -always viewed it as an immediate revelation. He -was fifty-eight years old when this sublime vision -was presented to him in his sleep, and for eight -years he devoted to it all the energies of mind and -heart. He studied the Scriptures intently, and -prayed for Divine assistance. His enthusiasm was -a compound of Religion and Art. Under this -combined influence, he said he felt as if he were -pursued by some irresistible power, which visited -him in his sleep, and often compelled him to rise -in the night and embody the ideas which had been -presented to him. When he was sixty-six years -old, the glorious statue was completed. It is -clothed in a simple robe reaching to the feet. The -hair is parted on the forehead, and falls in ringlets -over the shoulders. The head is purely moral -and intellectual in its outline. One hand is pressed -upon the bosom, the other extended, and the lips -are partially unclosed, as if in the act of speaking. -The expression is said to be a remarkable combination -of majesty and tenderness, exciting involuntary -reverence in all who look upon it.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Jameson visited Dannecker in 1830. The -statue was still standing in his studio. She says: -“He told me that the figure had visited him in a -dream three several times, and that he firmly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">285</span> -believed he had been predestined to the work, and -divinely inspired. I shall not easily forget the -countenance of the good and gifted old man, as he -leaned on the pedestal, with his cap in his hand, -and his long gray hair waving round his face, -looking up at his work with a mixture of reverence -and exultation.”</p> - -<p>This remarkable statue was purchased by the -Emperor Alexander, and is now in Russia. A -year after its completion, he made a colossal statue -of the Evangelist John, for the royal chapel at -Rothenberg. He had for many years been Professor -of the Fine Arts at the Academy in Stuttgard, -and the instructions he was obliged to give -there, combined with the labors of his studio, kept -him very constantly occupied. Mrs. Jameson -again visited him in 1833, when he was seventy -five years old. She says: “A change had come -over him. His trembling hand could no longer -grasp the mallet or guide the chisel. His fine -benevolent countenance wore a childish smile, and -was only now and then crossed by a gleam of -awakened memory or thought. Yet he seemed -perfectly happy. He walked backward and forward -from his statue of Christ to his bust of -Schiller, with an unwearied self-complacency, in -which there was something mournful, yet delightful. -While I was looking at the magnificent head -of Schiller, he took my hand, and trembling with -emotion, said, ‘We were friends from boyhood.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">286</span> -I worked upon it with love and grief; and one -can do no more.’ I took leave of Dannecker with -emotion. I shall never see him again. But he is -one of those who cannot die. Canova, after he -was a melancholy invalid, visited his studio, and -was so much struck by his childlike simplicity, -his pure, unworldly nature, his genuine goodness, -and lively, happy temperament, that he gave him -the surname of <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">Il Beato</i>, The Blessed. And -surely if that epithet can with propriety be bestowed -upon any mortal, it is on him whose long -life has been one of labor and of love; who has -left behind him lasting memorials of his genius; -who has never profaned to any unworthy purpose -the talents which God has given him, but, in the -midst of all the beautiful and exciting influences -of Poetry and Art, has kept, from youth to age, a -soul serene, a conscience and a life pure in the -sight of God and man.”</p> - -<p>Longfellow, in his prose-poem called “Hyperion,” -thus introduces the renowned German artist, -on a calm Sabbath forenoon:—“Flemming stole -out into the deserted street, and went to visit the -veteran sculptor Dannecker. He found him in -his parlor, sitting alone, with his psalm-book and -the reminiscences of his long life. As Flemming -entered, he arose from the sofa and tottered toward -him; a venerable old man, of low stature, -and dressed in a loose white jacket, with a face -like Franklin’s, his white hair flowing over his -shoulders, and a pale blue eye.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">287</span></p> - -<p>“‘So you are from America,’ said he. ‘I have -never been in America. I shall never go there. -I am now too old. I have been in Paris and in -Rome. But that was long ago. I am now seventy-eight -years old.’</p> - -<p>“He took Flemming by the hand, and made him -sit by his side on the sofa. And Flemming felt a -mysterious awe creep over him, on touching the -hand of the good old man, who sat so serenely -amid the gathering shade of years, and listened to -life’s curfew-bell, telling, with eight and seventy -solemn strokes, that the hour had come, when the -fires of all earthly passion must be quenched within, -and man must prepare to lie down and rest till -morning.</p> - -<p>“‘You see,’ he continued, ‘my hands are cold. -They were warmer once. I am now an old man.’</p> - -<p>“‘Yet these are the hands that sculptured the -beautiful Ariadne and the Panther,’ replied Flemming. -‘The soul never grows old.’</p> - -<p>“‘Nor does Nature,’ said the old man, pleased -with this allusion to his great work, and pointing to -the green trees before his window. ‘This pleasure -I have left to me. My sight is still good. I -can even distinguish objects on the side of yonder -mountain. My hearing is also unimpaired. For -all which I thank God.’</p> - -<p>“Directing Flemming’s attention to a fine engraving -which hung on the opposite wall of the room, -he continued: ‘That is an engraving of Canova’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">288</span> -Religion. I love to sit here and look at it, for -hours together. It is beautiful. He made the -statue for his native town, where they had no -church, until he built them one. He placed the -statue in it. He sent me this engraving as a present. -Ah, he was a dear, good man! The name -of his native town I have forgotten. My memory -fails me. I cannot remember names.’</p> - -<p>“Fearful that he had disturbed the old man in -his morning devotions, Flemming did not remain -long; but he took his leave with regret. There -was something impressive in the scene he had -witnessed;—this beautiful old age of the artist; -sitting by the open window, in the bright summer -morning; the labor of life accomplished; the horizon -reached, where heaven and earth meet; thinking -it was angel’s music when he heard the church -bells ring; himself too old to go. As he walked -back to his chamber, he thought within himself -whether he likewise might not accomplish something -which should live after him;—might not -bring something permanent out of this fast-fleeting -life of man, and then sit down, like the artist, in -serene old age, and fold his hands in silence. He -wondered how a man felt when he grew so old, -that he could no longer go to church, but must sit -at home, and read the Bible in large print. His -heart was full of indefinite longings, mingled with -regrets; longings to accomplish something worthy -of life; regret that as yet he had accomplished<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">289</span> -nothing, but had felt and dreamed only. Thus -the warm days in spring bring forth passion-flowers -and forget-me-nots. It is only after mid-summer, -when the days grow shorter and hotter, -that fruit begins to appear. Then the heat of -the day brings forward the harvest; and after the -harvest, the leaves fall, and there is a gray frost.”</p> - -<p>Dannecker lived eighty-five years. His last -drawing, done when he was extremely old, represented</p> - -<p class="center"> -an angel guiding an aged man from<br> -the grave, and pointing to him<br> -the opening heaven. It was<br> -a beautiful occupation to<br> -console the last days<br> -of this truly<br> -Christian<br> -artist’s<br> -life. -</p> - -<div id="il_60" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_301.png" width="83" height="260" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> a good man dies,—one that hath lived -innocently,—then the joys break forth through -the clouds of sickness, and the conscience stands -upright, and confesses the glories of God, and -owns so much integrity that it can hope for pardon -and obtain it too. Then the sorrows of sickness -do but untie the soul from its chain, and let it -go forth, first into liberty and then into glory.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Jeremy Taylor.</span> -</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_290"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">290</span></p> - -<div id="il_61" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_302.png" width="1455" height="358" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_KITTEN_AND_THE_FALLING">THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING -LEAVES.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">That</span> way look, my infant, lo!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">What a pretty baby-show!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">See the kitten on the wall,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Sporting with the leaves that fall!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Withered leaves—one, two, and three—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">From the lofty Elder-tree!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">—See the kitten! how she starts,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">First at one, and then its fellow,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Just as light and just as yellow!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Such a light of gladness breaks,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Pretty kitten, from thy freaks,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Spreads, with such a living grace,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">O’er my little Laura’s face!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Yes, the sight so stirs and charms</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Thee, baby, laughing in my arms,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That almost I could repine</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That your transports are not mine;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That I do not wholly fare</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Even as ye do, thoughtless pair!</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">291</span> - <p class="verse indent0">And I wall have my careless season,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Spite of melancholy reason;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Will walk through life in such a way,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That, when time brings on decay,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Now and then I may possess</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Hours of perfect gladsomeness.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">—Pleased by any random toy;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">By a kitten’s busy joy,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or an infant’s laughing eye,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Sharing in the ecstasy.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I would fare like that, or this;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Find my wisdom in my bliss;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Keep the sprightly soul awake;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And have faculties to take,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Even from things by sorrow wrought,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Matter for a jocund thought;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Spite of care and spite of grief,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To gambol with Life’s falling leaf.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">His</span> sixty summers—what are they in truth?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">By Providence peculiarly blest,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With him the strong hilarity of youth</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Abides, despite gray hairs, a constant guest.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">His sun has veered a point toward the west,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But light as dawn his heart is glowing yet,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That heart the simplest, gentlest, kindliest, best,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Where truth and manly tenderness are met</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With faith and heavenward hope, the suns that never set.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Henry Taylor.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_292"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">292</span></p> -<div id="il_62" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_304.png" width="1375" height="306" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="DR_DODDRIDGES_DREAM">DR. DODDRIDGE’S DREAM.</h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l3" src="images/i_304idcd.png" width="293" height="320" alt="D"> -<p><span class="ucase">Dr. Doddridge</span> was on terms of -very intimate friendship with Dr. Samuel -Clarke, and in religious conversation -they spent many happy hours together. -Among other matters, a very favorite topic was -the intermediate state of the soul, and the probability -that at the instant of dissolution it was not -introduced into the presence of all the heavenly -hosts, and the splendors around the throne of God. -One evening, after a conversation of this nature, -Dr. Doddridge retired to rest with his mind full -of the subject discussed, and, in the ‘visions of -the night,’ his ideas were shaped into the following -beautiful form. He dreamed that he was at -the house of a friend, when he was suddenly -taken dangerously ill. By degrees he seemed to -grow worse, and at last to expire. In an instant -he was sensible that he exchanged the prison-house -and sufferings of mortality for a state of -liberty and happiness. Embodied in a splendid -aerial form, he seemed to float in a region of pure<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">293</span> -light. Beneath him lay the earth; but not a -glittering city or village, the forest or the sea, was -visible. There was naught to be seen below save -the melancholy group of friends, weeping around -his lifeless remains.</p> - -<p>Himself thrilled with delight, he was surprised -at their tears, and attempted to inform them of his -change; but, by some mysterious power, utterance -was denied; and, as he anxiously leaned over -the mourning circle, gazing fondly upon them, and -struggling to speak, he rose silently upon the air; -their forms became more and more distant, and -gradually melted away from his sight. Reposing -upon golden clouds, he found himself swiftly -mounting the skies, with a venerable figure at -his side guiding his mysterious movement, in -whose countenance he remarked the lineaments -of youth and age were blended together with an -intimate harmony and majestic sweetness. They -travelled through a vast region of empty space, -until at length the battlements of a glorious edifice -shone in the distance; and as its form rose brilliant -and distinct among the far-off shadows that flitted -across their path, the guide informed him, that the -palace he beheld was for the present to be his -mansion of rest. Gazing upon its splendor, he -replied, that while on earth he had heard that eye -had not seen, nor had the ear heard, nor could it -enter into the heart of man to conceive, the things -which God had prepared for those who love him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">294</span> -but, notwithstanding the building to which they -were then rapidly approaching was superior to -anything he had ever before seen, yet its grandeur -did not exceed the conceptions he had formed.</p> - -<p>They were already at the door, and the guide, -without reply, introduced him into a spacious -apartment, at the extremity of which stood a table -covered with a snow-white cloth, a golden cup, -and a cluster of grapes, and there he said he must -remain, for he would receive in a short time a -visit from the Lord of the mansion, and that, -during the interval before his arrival, the apartment -would furnish him with sufficient entertainment -and instruction. The guide vanished, and -he was left alone. He began to examine the -decorations of the room, and observed that the -walls were adorned with a number of pictures. -Upon nearer inspection, he found, to his astonishment, -that they formed a complete biography of -his own life. Here he saw, upon the canvas, that -angels, though unseen, had ever been his familiar -attendants; that, sent by God, they had sometimes -preserved him from immediate peril. He beheld -himself first as an infant just expiring, when his -life was prolonged by an angel gently breathing -into his nostrils. Most of the occurrences here -delineated were perfectly familiar to his recollection, -and unfolded many things which he had -never before understood, and which had perplexed -him with many doubts and much uneasiness.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">295</span> -Among others, he was particularly struck with a -picture in which he was represented as falling -from his horse, when death would have been inevitable, -had not an angel received him in his -arms, and broken the force of his descent. These -merciful interpositions of God filled him with joy -and gratitude; and his heart overflowed with love -as he surveyed in them all an exhibition of goodness -and mercy far beyond all that he had -imagined.</p> - -<p>Suddenly his attention was arrested by a rap at -the door. The Lord of the mansion had arrived. -The door opened and he entered. So powerful -and so overwhelming, and withal of such singular -beauty, was his appearance, that he sank down -at his feet, completely overcome by his majestic -presence. His Lord gently raised him from the -ground, and taking his hands led him forward to -the table. He pressed with his fingers the juice -of the grapes into the cup, and after having drank -himself, presented it to him, saying, “This is the -new wine in my Father’s kingdom.” No sooner -had he partaken, than all uneasy sensations vanished. -Perfect love had cast out fear, and he -conversed with his Saviour as an intimate friend. -Like the silver rippling of the summer sea, he -heard fall from his lips the grateful approbation: -“Thy labors are over; thy work is approved; -rich and glorious is thy reward.” Thrilled with -an unspeakable bliss, that glided into the very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">296</span> -depth of his soul, he suddenly saw glories upon -glories bursting upon his view. The Doctor -awoke. Tears of rapture from this joyful interview</p> - -<p class="center"> -were rolling down his cheeks. Long did the<br> -lively impressions of this charming<br> -dream remain upon his mind, and<br> -never could he speak of it<br> -without emotions of joy<br> -and tenderness. -</p> - -<div id="il_63" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_308.png" width="60" height="102" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Death</span> can only take away the sorrowful from -our affections. The flower expands; the colorless -film that enveloped it falls off and perishes. We -may well believe this; and, believing it, let us -cease to be disquieted for their absence, who have -but retired into another chamber. We are like -those who have overslept the hour: when we -rejoin our friends, there is only the more joyance -and congratulation. Would we break a precious -vase because it is as capable of containing the -bitter as the sweet? No: the very things which -touch us the most sensibly are those which we -should be the most reluctant to forget. The noble -mansion is most distinguished by the beautiful -images it retains of beings passed away; and so is -the noble mind.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Walter Savage Landor.</span> -</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_297"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">297</span></p> - -<div id="il_64" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_309.png" width="1402" height="329" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_OLD_PSALM-TUNE">THE OLD PSALM-TUNE.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">You</span> asked, dear friend, the other day,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Why still my charméd ear</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Rejoiceth in uncultured tone</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That old psalm-tune to hear.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">I’ve heard full oft, in foreign lands,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The grand orchestral strain,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Where music’s ancient masters live,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Revealed on earth again:</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Where breathing, solemn instruments,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">In swaying clouds of sound,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Bore up the yearning, trancéd soul,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Like silver wings around;—</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">I’ve heard in old St. Peter’s dome,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">When clouds of incense rise,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Most ravishing the choral swell</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Mount upward to the skies.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And well I feel the magic power,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">When skilled and cultured art</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Its cunning webs of sweetness weaves</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Around the captured heart.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">298</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">But yet, dear friend, though rudely sung,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That old psalm-tune hath still</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A pulse of power beyond them all</p> - <p class="verse indent2">My inmost soul to thrill.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Those tones, that halting sound to you,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Are not the tones I hear;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But voices of the loved and lost</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Then meet my longing ear.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">I hear my angel mother’s voice,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Those were the words she sung;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I hear my brother’s ringing tones,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As once on earth they rung;</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And friends that walk in white above</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Come round me like a cloud,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And far above those earthly notes</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Their singing sounds aloud.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">There may be discord, as you say;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Those voices poorly ring;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But there’s no discord in the strain</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Those upper spirits sing.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">For they who sing are of the blest,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The calm and glorified,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Whose hours are one eternal rest</p> - <p class="verse indent2">On heaven’s sweet floating tide.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Their life is music and accord;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Their souls and hearts keep time</p> - <p class="verse indent0">In one sweet concert with the Lord,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">One concert vast, sublime.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">299</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And through the hymns they sang on earth</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Sometimes a sweetness falls,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">On those they loved and left below,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And softly homeward calls.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Bells from our own dear fatherland,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Borne trembling o’er the sea—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The narrow sea that they have crossed,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The shores where we shall be.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">O sing, sing on! beloved souls;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Sing cares and griefs to rest;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Sing, till entranced we arise</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To join you ’mid the blest.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent4"><span class="smcap">O, thus</span> forever sing to me!</p> - <p class="verse indent6">O, thus forever!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The green bright grass of childhood bring to me</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Flowing like an emerald river,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And the bright blue skies above!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">O, sing them back as fresh as ever,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Into the bosom of my love,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The sunshine and the merriment,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The unsought, evergreen content,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Of that never cold time,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The joy, that, like a clear breeze, went</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Through and through the old time!</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">J. R. Lowell</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_300"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">300</span></p> -<div id="il_65" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_312.png" width="1412" height="348" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_LOST_BOOKS_OF_LIVY">THE LOST BOOKS OF LIVY.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>[It is well known that all the books of the Middle Ages were -written by monks, and preserved in manuscript; printing being -then an unknown art. These patient scribes had plenty of leisure, -and not unfrequently an eye for artistic beauty, especially in -the gorgeous style. Hence many monastic manuscripts were -richly illuminated, as the phrase is, with Initial Letters of silver -or gold, often surrounded with quaint devices, painted in glowing -tints of blue, crimson, and purple. Paper was not then invented, -and parchment was scarce. Monks generally held Greeks and -Romans in contempt, as heathen, and therefore did not scruple to -supply themselves with writing material by erasing the productions -of classic authors. Early in the nineteenth century it was -announced that Signor Maio, an Italian librarian, had discovered -valuable Greek and Latin fragments concealed under monkish -manuscripts, and that, by chemical processes, he could remove -the later writing and bring the ancient to the surface. In this -way, “The Republic,” of Cicero, deemed one of his finest works, -was brought out from under a Commentary of St. Augustine on -the Psalms of David. Such parchments are called <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Palimpsests</i>; -from two Greek words, which signify erased and re-written. The -discovery was very exciting to the scholastic world, and many -learned men entered into it with absorbing interest. Several of -the books of Livy’s lively and picturesque History of Rome are -lost; and it was a cherished hope among scholars that they -might be discovered by this new process. This explanation is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">301</span> -necessary to help some readers to a right understanding of the -following story, which is abridged and slightly varied from an -English book, entitled, “Stories by an Archæologist.”]</p> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l3" src="images/i_313idcm.png" width="330" height="325" alt="M"> -<p><span class="ucase">My</span> dear friend, Dubois d’Erville, whose -talents might have rendered him remarkable -in any walk of literature, -allowed the whole of his faculties to -be absorbed in days, nights, years of research, -upon one special point of literary interest. At -school, he had become imbued with a love for -classic authors, which, with regard to his favorite -Livy, kindled into a passion. He sought eagerly -for accounts of discoveries of lost works in <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">palimpsest</i> -manuscripts. Finally, he relinquished all -other objects of pursuit, and spent many years -traversing Europe and Asia, visiting the public -libraries and old monasteries, in search of ancient -manuscripts. After a long time, when he was forgotten -by family, friends, and acquaintances, he -returned to Paris. Little was known of his wanderings; -but there was a rumor that he formed a -romantic marriage, and that his devoted wife had -travelled with him among the monasteries of Asia -Minor, encountering many hardships and dangers. -No one but himself knew where she died.</p> - -<p>When he returned to Paris, he brought with -him an only child, a girl of nineteen. She had -memorable beauty, and great intelligence; but these -were less noticed than her simple manners, and -tender devotion to her father, whom she almost<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">302</span> -adored. He took a suite of apartments in the -third story of a house, which, before the Revolution, -had been the hotel of a nobleman, and surrounded -by extensive gardens. It was in the old -and solitary Rue Cassette. The gardens had been -let out to cow-keepers; but within the enclosure -of the house remained some noble trees and flowering -shrubs. These apartments had been selected -by his daughter Marcelline, on account of the graceful -branches of the old lime-trees, which reached -close to the windows, and furnished a pleasant -shade in summer, when birds chirped gayly among -the green foliage. Even in winter, a robin would -sometimes sing snatches of song, among the naked -branches, as if in return for the crumbs which his -pretty patroness never failed to place on the window-sill.</p> - -<p>Beyond Marcelline’s chamber was a little sitting-room, -and then came a rather large apartment, -where Dubois pursued his studies, surrounded -with piles of old vellum, and dusty and worm-eaten -manuscripts of all descriptions. The floor -was thus littered in all directions, except in a small -semicircle near one of the windows, where an open -space was preserved for a few chairs and a table.</p> - -<p>They had but one servant, an old woman, who -had been cook in Dubois’s family in the days of his -boyhood, and whom he accidentally met when he -returned to Paris. Old Madeleine formed a pleasant -link between the present and the past. Often,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">303</span> -when she passed through his study, he would -remind her of some prank he had played in early -days, and ask her if she remembered it, with such -a frank, good-natured smile, that the old servant -would smile too; though there was always a tinge -of melancholy in her recollections of his boyish -roguery. Often, when she left the room, she -would shake her head, and mutter to herself, “Ah, -young Monsieur Armand was so good, so kind, so -gentle! Only to think that he should leave all his -family and friends, and pass his life nobody knows -where! Ah! it is very mysterious. And the -bright, curly hair, that I used to pat with such -fondness, to think that I should never see him -again, till all that is left of it is a few silver locks -about his temples!” She tried to gain from Marcelline -some particulars about her mother; but the -young girl had only a vague recollection of a form -that used to press her to her heart, during journeys -through strange countries, and who had long disappeared. -She remembered something of a time when -her father’s tall, upright figure suddenly bent under -the weight of some great sorrow, from which it -never rose erect again. Then, when she grew older, -they lived for years in Italian cities, where there -were great libraries; whence they came to Paris.</p> - -<p>Nothing could be more delightful than the affectionate -congeniality between father and daughter. -Their favorite pursuits, though different, had -a kind of affinity which rendered their quiet existence<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">304</span> -very pleasant. Marcelline had a taste for -painting; and her father’s mania for old manuscripts -furnished her with many opportunities for -examining the exquisite miniatures and ornamental -illuminations, with which monkish manuscripts -were frequently enriched. When new manuscripts -arrived, which they did almost daily, her -first impulse was to examine whether they contained -any illuminations worthy of note; and if -so, to copy them with the utmost care and accuracy. -She had thus formed a very beautiful collection, -in which she felt an interest almost as -enthusiastic as that of her father in his long pursuit -of a treasure, which, like the horizon, seemed -always in sight, but was never reached.</p> - -<p>In the midst of the charming, harmonious routine -of this little household, slight contentions -would sometimes arise; but they were sure to -end, like the quarrels of lovers, in a renewal of -love. Sometimes a manuscript arrived which contained -exquisite illuminations; but Dubois, thinking -it might be a <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">palimpsest</i>, regarded the ornaments -as so many abominations, concealing some -treasure of classic literature. So the mediæval -romance, with its matchless miniatures, and intricate -borderings, glowing with gilding, purple, and -crimson, would soon disappear beneath the sponge, -soap, and acids of the indefatigable seeker after -The Lost Books of Livy. These occasions were -sad trials for Marcelline. She would beg for a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">305</span> -week’s delay, just to copy the most beautiful of -the illuminations. But if Dubois thought he could -perceive traces of erasure under the gorgeous -ornaments, he was as impatient as a miner who -fancies he sees indications of a vein of gold. -When Marcelline saw the sponge trembling in his -hand, so eager to commence the work of obliteration, -she would turn away with a painful sense of -what seemed to her a cruel desecration. She felt -that the sacrifice was due to the cause in which her -father had enlisted all the energies of his life; but -the ruthless destruction of all those quaint and delicately -beautiful works of art caused her a pang -she could not quite conceal. In spite of herself, a -tear would glisten in her eye; and the moment -her father perceived it, his resolution melted. He -would place the manuscript in her hand, and say, -“There, there, my child! a whole week if you -want it; and then bring it to me, if you have -quite done with it.” Then she would reply, “No, -no, dear father. Your object is too important to -be hindered by the whims of a foolish girl.” He -would press it upon her, and she would refuse it; -and as the combat of love went on, the old man’s -eyes would fill with tears. Then Marcelline would -give way, and take the proffered manuscript; and -Dubois, with all the attentive politeness of a young -lover, would arrange her desk, and her pieces of -new vellum, and place the volume in a good light. -Not till he had seen her fairly at work at her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">306</span> -charming task, could he tear himself away; and then -not without pressing her hand, and nodding to her, -as though they were going to part for some long -period. She would nod too; and then they both -nodded together, smiling at their own affectionate -folly, with tears glistening in their eyes. Then -Dubois would go to his study, and among his -heaps of manuscripts, bound and unbound, rolled -or folded, he would soon be immersed in the intricacies -of his old pursuit.</p> - -<p>After a while, the even current of their happy -life became varied by the visits of a third person. -When old Madeleine came to live with them, Dubois -often questioned her concerning the relatives -and friends he had known in his boyhood. Her -answer was, invariably, “Dead.” It seemed as if -all the old he inquired for were dead, and all the -young either dead or scattered. During one of -these conversations, he said, “What has become -of Uncle Debaye, who used to prophesy that I -should be a member of the Academy, and one of -the illustrious men of France? Ah, he was a -pleasant specimen of the old bachelor and the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bon -vivant</i>! Where is he?” “He is dead, too,” -replied Madeleine; “but he did not remain an old -bachelor and a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bon vivant</i>. He married, some two -and twenty years ago, and gave up his old luxurious -habits for the sake of supporting his pretty -young wife. He even left off cigars and snuff, to -supply her with little luxuries. She is dead, too.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">307</span> -But they had a very pretty child, little Hyppolite, -who is a young man now.” “Then it seems that -I have one relative remaining,” said Dubois; “but -I suppose he has gone off to America, or Australia, -or somewhere.” “No, Monsieur,” rejoined -Madeleine, “he is in Paris. He got a situation -out by the Barrière du Trone, where he has two -thousand francs a year, and apartments in the factory -to live in besides. I often meet him on a -Sunday, in the gardens of the Luxembourg, and -many a forty sous has he given me.”</p> - -<p>Dubois was pleased to find that he had one relative -left, and Madeleine was commissioned to tell -him that his father’s brother-in-law, his uncle by -marriage, had returned to Paris, and would be -glad to see him. The young man came soon after, -and father and daughter were both pleased with -their new-found kinsman. He was not very intellectual -or learned; but he was lively, good-natured, -and good-looking. He brought the living, moving -world of the present into those secluded apartments, -so entirely consecrated to the works and -thoughts of ages long past. His free-and-easy -conversation, without a single phrase smacking of -libraries, or art-galleries, or any kind of learning, -seemed a bright sparkling stream of young careless -life. His uncle listened willingly to his gossiping -anecdotes, told with a certain appreciation -of the comic, in a clear, ringing voice, and with -good-natured laughter. Hyppolite became a very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">308</span> -welcome visitor; and, after a while, if he did not -appear on the days when he was regularly expected, -a shadow of disappointment was cast over -the little household in the Rue Cassette.</p> - -<p>Thus things went on for some time. Marcelline -daily added to her collection of exquisite fac-similes, -and her father labored diligently in the cause to -which he had devoted his life. He did not obtain -the result he so ardently desired; but his perseverance -was not without reward. On two occasions -he discovered works of great importance, in -a literary point of view, covered over with a mass -of old law transactions; and the sums he obtained -for them enabled him greatly to increase his stock -of manuscripts. He soon became so well known -to all who dealt in such articles, that every new -importation was offered to him, before it was -shown elsewhere.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Marcelline received increasing pleasure -from the visits of Hyppolite. She began to -suspect that the trivial chat uttered in that fresh -young voice, with occasional peals of ringing -laughter, possessed for her a greater charm than -the noble words of her father, always teeming with -knowledge and interest of various kinds. She -shrunk from admitting this to herself. She would -not believe it, but she had an uneasy suspicion of -it. As for Hyppolite, his walk of two or three -miles, to visit his new-found relatives, became his -greatest pleasure. He found innumerable opportunities<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">309</span> -of making the Rue Cassette the shortest -cut to one or other of the distant quarters of -Paris, where the business of his employers carried -him, though in fact it was often miles out of his -way. To gratify Marcelline’s peculiar taste, he -frequently brought her ornaments cut from the -pages of old illuminated manuscripts. When asked -where he obtained them, he would merely laugh, -and say he would bring some more soon. Dubois -began to remonstrate against the barbarism of mutilating -manuscripts in that way; but Hyppolite -would point to the piles of manuscripts from which -he had washed both ornaments and writing, and -would put on such a comic look, and laugh so -merrily, that his uncle could not help laughing, -too.</p> - -<p>One calm summer evening, Dubois had gone to -the busy part of Paris, and Marcelline sat at the -window, busily employed in copying a noble group -of illuminated letters from a gorgeous manuscript -of the twelfth century, which stood on the desk -before her. The window was open, and the air -gently moved the leaves of crisp vellum, with their -antique writing and their curious enrichments. The -massive silver clasps of the great folio hung back -and glistened in the evening light. As the young -artist looked up at her model, she felt tempted to -make a drawing of the whole superb volume, instead -of the especial group of letters she was copying. -The foliage of the lime-trees moved gently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">310</span> -in the warm evening breeze, and a linnet, hidden -in its recesses, was singing his vesper hymn. Marcelline -felt very happy. The balmy hour, the -congenial employment, and the bright halo of her -twenty young years, threw around her an atmosphere -of soft, pure, gentle pleasure. Thoughts -of more homely things mingled with her poetic -mood. She thought of the choice little supper -Madeleine was preparing for her father, and she -tried to conjecture when he would arrive.</p> - -<p>The current of her ideas was interrupted by the -ringing of the bell on the landing, and Madeleine -announced the arrival of Monsieur Hyppolite. -An uncontrollable thrill lifted her heart with one -great bound. For a moment the illuminated volume, -the sweet summer breeze, the tuneful linnet, -and the little supper for her father, were all forgotten. -By a strong effort she recovered herself, -however, and received Hyppolite as usual; perhaps -a little more coolly, for she was inwardly -shocked to find that his presence had power, even -for a moment, to obliterate the pleasures and -affections she had always deemed so sacred. He -brought two beautifully illuminated letters, that -had evidently formed part of a very fine Italian -manuscript. Being in an unusual style of art, -they attracted her attention, and diverted her -thoughts from the channel they had taken. She -reseated herself at her work; and while he watched -her skilful pencil tracing the intricate interlacings<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">311</span> -of various and many-colored lines and branches, -he sought to entertain her with his usual light -chat. But Marcelline did not respond so gayly -as she was accustomed to do, and he grew unwontedly -silent; so silent, that the song of the -linnet was heard again, and no other sound disturbed -the stillness. At last, Hyppolite, with a -great effort, and as if something choked his usual -clear utterance, said, “Marcelline, you must have -long perceived that I—” she rose hastily, exclaiming, -“O don’t say that word! <em>Don’t</em> say -it! To break the holy spell of filial affection -which has always bound my heart, would be -sacrilege.” But Hyppolite knelt at her feet, and -poured forth the fervid language that comes to -all when the heart is kindled by a first love. -Marcelline turned away her head and wept. The -bitter tears, not without sweetness, relieved the -deep trouble of her heart. She resumed her seat, -and told her cousin decidedly, but kindly, that -he must never speak to her of love while her -dear father lived; that she could never allow any -earthly affection to come between her and him. -The young man, in the midst of his disappointment, -could not but wish that his uncle might live -long; for he truly loved his genial nature, and -regarded his great learning with almost superstitious -veneration. He held out his hand, saying, -“My cousin, it is the hand of friendship.” She -pressed it kindly, and gently admonished him that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">312</span> -his visits must be less frequent. After a brief -struggle he resigned himself to her guidance, and -recovered his equanimity, if not his usual gayety. -All was peaceful and pleasant when Dubois returned, -and Hyppolite was urged to stay and -partake of the choice little supper.</p> - -<p>The household continued to go on in the old -quiet way, varied occasionally by visits from antiquarians -and learned men. On such occasions, -it was charming to hear Dubois descant on his -favorite topics with the enthusiasm and beautiful -flow of language which they always excited. -Marcelline was often appealed to in these discussions; -for her intimate knowledge of the beauties -of illumination enabled her to judge the age of -a manuscript, by delicate peculiarities in its ornaments, -more readily than learned men could do -by the character of the writing or the nature of -the subject. Hyppolite, who was sometimes present -by special invitation, would sit apart, drinking -in every delicate epithet and daintly selected word -uttered by his cousin, as though they were heaven-distilled -drops of nectar.</p> - -<p>One morning, Dubois rushed into his daughter’s -apartment, eagerly exclaiming, “Eureka! Eureka! -I have found it! I have found it! My name will -go down to posterity joined with that of Livy! At -last I have found The Lost Books!” Joyfully, he -drew his daughter into his study, and there, spread -upon the floor, were several sheets of vellum still<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">313</span> -wet from the action of his sponge. The more -recent writing had been removed, and traces of a -nearly erased manuscript, apparently of the tenth -century, was gradually becoming more distinct -under the influence of a preparation he had applied. -The old man drew himself up as he pointed -to it, and looking proudly at his daughter, said, -“The labor of my life has been well expended. -It will be <em>my</em> great privilege to be the first among -moderns to read the whole of the noble history of -Livy; for I believe the <em>whole</em> is there.” He insisted -that Hyppolite should be sent for to hear -the glad tidings. The good-natured youth hastened -to the Rue Cassette, and congratulated his -uncle upon his great discovery. He did not, indeed, -understand the importance of the recovered -annals, for he thought we had a tolerably complete -history of Rome without these famous Lost -Books, but he cordially sympathized with the joy -of his uncle and cousin. It was a day marked -with “a white stone” in the annals of the quiet -little family. In honor of the occasion, a bottle -of the choice wine called Chateaux Margaux, -was placed on the generally frugal little dinner-table, -and the sun traced upon it bright lights and -shadows through the branches of the lime-trees, -as if to aid in the celebration.</p> - -<p>Day by day, more pages of the <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">palimpsest</i> were -prepared, and the ancient text developed itself so -well, that the exulting Dubois resolved to invite<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">314</span> -his most learned friends to a grand evening reunion, -in honor of his discovery. A lithographed -circular was accordingly prepared, and sent round -in due form. It brought together a select party -of the knowing ones in such matters. Dubois was -all smiles and urbanity. In the fluent language, of -which he had extraordinary command, he related -the successive details of his discovery. He deemed -himself the most fortunate of men. His heart was -running over with enthusiasm. His hearers were -charmed with the copious flood of eloquence that -he poured forth without stint, full of the deepest -erudition, yet warmed and embellished by a pervading -gleam of amiable exhilaration, and innocent -exultation over the triumphant result of his -life-long labors. The sheets of the recovered -manuscript were placed in a good light, and eagerly -examined through many pairs of glittering spectacles -and powerful microscopes. It obviously -related to that portion of Roman history lost from -the books of Livy, but many doubts were expressed -whether it were written by that great historian. -Peculiarities of orthography and style were adduced -to prove that the writer must have been -a monk. But Dubois ingeniously converted every -objection into an additional proof that they had -before them the identical Lost Books of Livy.</p> - -<p>The animated discussion was interrupted by the -entrance of Madeleine, who said that two men were -at the door, with old manuscripts to sell. Dubois<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">315</span> -could never resist the temptation to examine musty -vellum, and he ordered them to be shown in. The -manuscripts did not prove to be of any value; -and Madeleine was very glad to close the door -upon the intruders, for she did not like their looks. -A similar impression seemed to have been made -on the company; for several of them remarked -that it was hazardous to introduce men of that -stamp into a room filled with books clasped with -silver, and with many other ancient articles of curious -workmanship, some of them in the precious -metals. But Dubois laughed at the idea that anybody -would think of robbing a poor book-antiquarian -of his musty treasures, though some of them -were clasped with silver.</p> - -<p>The dimensions of the table were enlarged by -piles of huge folios, and Madeleine spread it with -choice viands, in the discussion of which the style -and orthography of Livy were for a while forgotten. -The lively sallies of Hyppolite, his funny -anecdotes, and descriptions of practical jokes, began -to entertain the guests more than their own -conversation. His merry, thrilling laugh became -infectious. First, his pretty cousin joined in with -her silvery treble; then Dubois; then all of them. -No one, listening to this hilarious chorus, would -have supposed the company consisted of the most -profound scholars that ever enlightened the halls -of the Institute or the Academy.</p> - -<p>Dubois went to sleep that happy night dreaming<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">316</span> -of new discoveries among the as yet unrestored -leaves of his precious <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">palimpsest</i>. He was wakened -very early in the morning by a loud knock -at his door, and heard the voice of old Madeleine -crying out, “Monsieur Dubois! Monsieur Dubois! -Get up! Pray get up immediately!” He -hurried on his dressing-gown, and found Madeleine -in the middle of his study, her eyes streaming with -tears. The room where he had heaped up so many -treasures, where he had spent so many hours of -calm happiness, where he had the last evening -enjoyed so much, was empty. The pile of folios, -the rows of richly-bound manuscripts, with the -velvet covers and silver clasps, his precious <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">palimpsest</i>, -and even the bundles of musty vellum, -had all disappeared. The window was open, and -the little curtain torn; plainly indicating how the -robbers had obtained entrance into his sanctuary. -The linnet was singing a morning song in the lime-trees, -and the early sun checkered the empty floor -with bright light and quivering shadows of the foliage. -It seemed as if the sweet sounds and the brilliant -rays were rejoicing over a scene of gladness, -instead of such utter desolation and wretchedness.</p> - -<p>No words can describe the pangs which wrung -the heart of poor Dubois, thus suddenly and -strangely deprived of the treasure which he had -spent all the energies of his life in discovering. -For a moment, his eyes glared with rage, like those -of a tiger deprived of her young. Then he clasped<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">317</span> -his trembling hands, and fell heavily, nearly fainting, -into his chair. Alarmed by the sound of his -fall, Marcelline came running in. It was long before -she and old Madeleine could rouse him from -his lethargy. At last, his stupefied senses were -awakened and concentrated by his daughter’s repeated -assurances that the lost treasure would be -recovered if an immediate pursuit were instituted. -“It is not likely,” said she, “that we shall recover -the richly-illuminated manuscripts, in their valuable -bindings; or the carved ivories; or those codices -written in gold upon grounds of purple; but -the sheets of that old <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">palimpsest</i>, with its half-obliterated -characters, and the old volume containing -the rest of the work, cannot possibly be of use -to anybody but yourself. Those can surely be -recovered.”</p> - -<p>A flood of passionate tears came to her father’s -relief. His usual calmness was restored; and -after drinking a cup of coffee, urged upon him by -the kind old Madeleine, he hurried forth to give -information to the police, and to make all possible -efforts to recover his treasures.</p> - -<p>Some fragments of parchment were found under -the lime-trees, but no further traces were discovered, -till late in the forenoon it was ascertained -that one of the richly-bound manuscripts had been -offered to a dealer for sale. In the afternoon, another -clew was obtained from a waste-paper dealer, -who described a quantity of parchment brought to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">318</span> -him that morning, which he had not, however, purchased. -From the description, it appeared that -the precious <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">palimpsest</i> was among these bundles. -Dubois’s hopes were kindled by this information. -He was recommended to go to the establishments -of various dealers in such articles in remote quarters -of the city, and, accompanied by the police, -he made diligent search. Only one more remained, -and that was close to the Barrière du Trone.</p> - -<p>Arrived at this establishment, Dubois was surprised -to see his nephew mounted aloft at a desk -in the inner warehouse; for he had never inquired -concerning the nature of the factory in which he -was employed. As soon as Hyppolite perceived -his uncle, he hurried forward to welcome him, -and told him he had intended to call at the Rue -Cassette that day, for he had just obtained possession -of two illuminated letters that he wished -to present to Mademoiselle Marcelline. He took -two slips of vellum from his desk; “See,” said -he, “these are very much in the style of that old -Roman History you were exhibiting to the company -last night.”</p> - -<p>“Very much in the style!” exclaimed Dubois, -his eyes glistening with delight. “They are -identical! Where did you get them?”</p> - -<p>“Our foreman sent them down to me,” rejoined -Hyppolite. “We purchase enormous quantities -of old parchment, and frequently a few -painted letters are found in the mass. Our manager,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">319</span> -in compliance with my request, cuts them -out and reserves them for me.”</p> - -<p>“Then the vellum from which they were cut -is here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is, uncle; but why are you so agitated?”</p> - -<p>Dubois briefly related the circumstances of -the robbery; and wiping the cold perspiration -from his brow, he added: “But all is safe now! -I would not walk twenty paces to recover all the -silver-clasped volumes, if I can only hold once -more the musty <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">palimpsest</i> which contains that -priceless treasure,—The Lost Books of Livy!”</p> - -<p>The flush faded from Hyppolite’s ruddy cheek. -“There is not a moment to be lost!” exclaimed -he. “Follow me, dear uncle.”</p> - -<p>Away he ran across court-yards, through long -warehouses filled with merchandise, and up flights -of stairs, two steps at a bound. Dubois, highly -excited, followed with the activity of youth. -They reached a small room adjoining an enormous -mass of lofty chimneys, from which heavy columns -of smoke rolled away before the wind.</p> - -<p>“Where is the lot of old vellum that came -this morning?” gasped Hyppolite, all out of -breath.</p> - -<p>A man who was busy checking off accounts, -asked, “Do you mean the lot from which you -cut those two letters?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” replied Hyppolite. “Where is it? -Where is it? It is very important!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">320</span></p> - -<p>“Let me see,” said the man. “It was lot -number fourteen, purchased at eight o’clock this -morning. We happened to be very short of vellum, -and I gave out that new lot directly.” He -opened a creaking door, and called out, “Pierre! -Pierre! what was the number of the lot you put -in last?”</p> - -<p>“Number fourteen,” replied a deep voice within; -and the door closed again, with dinning rattle -of rope and weight.</p> - -<p>“It is too late,” said the foreman, turning to -Hyppolite. “It went in at eleven o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“Went <em>in</em>? Went in <em>where</em>?” exclaimed -Dubois, turning first to Hyppolite, and then to -the foreman, with a look of haggard anxiety.</p> - -<p>“Into the boiler,” replied Hyppolite, taking his -uncle’s hand. “This is a gelatine manufactory. -We boil down tons of old parchment every year.”</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>It was long before Dubois recovered from the -shock he had received; but he did finally recover. -He began to accumulate fresh bibliographical -treasures around him, and many pleasant evenings -were spent in those old apartments. But his -former enthusiasm never returned. Any new -discovery in the field of his research no longer -excited a rapid flow of ardent words, but was -merely indicated by a faint smile. He was always -kindly and genial, and was only roused to -an occasional word or look of bitterness when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">321</span> -some circumstance happened to remind him of -the treasure he had lost. “To think that what I -had been hunting for all my life should be found -only to be lost in a pot of gelatine!” he would -exclaim, indignantly. Then he would fall into -a silence which no one ventured to disturb. But, -with a slight sigh, and a quiver of his gray locks, -he would soon dismiss the subject from his mind, -and change the conversation.</p> - -<p>If he ever felt regret at having expended all -the energies of his life among the dim shadows -of the past, no one ever heard him express the -feeling. And this was wise; for his habits were -too firmly fixed to be changed. He lived with -his dear old volumes as with friends. The monotony -of his life was soothed by a daughter’s love, -and cheered by the kind attentions of his gay -young nephew. His uncommon talents and learning -left no traces behind them, and his name -passed away as do the pleasant clouds of twilight. -Hyppolite’s constant love was rewarded by the -heart and hand of Marcelline; and the two</p> - -<p class="center"> -who most reverenced the old man’s learning, and most<br> -tenderly cherished the memory of his genial<br> -character, lived to talk of them<br> -often to each other, and to<br> -teach them to their<br> -descendants. -</p> - -<div id="il_66" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_333.png" width="70" height="101" alt="decoration"></div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_322"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">322</span></p> - -<div id="il_67" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_334.png" width="1385" height="359" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="TO_ONE_WHO_WISHED_ME_SIXTEEN">TO ONE WHO WISHED ME SIXTEEN -YEARS OLD.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> ALICE CARY.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Suppose</span> your hand with power supplied,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Say, would you slip it ’neath my hair.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And turn it to the golden side</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Of sixteen years? Suppose you dare,</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And I stood here with smiling mouth,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Red cheeks, and hands all softly white,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Exceeding beautiful with youth,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And that some tiptoe-treading sprite</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Brought dreams as bright as they could be,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To keep the shadows from my brow,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And plucked down hearts to pleasure me,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As you would roses from a bough.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">What could I do then? Idly wear,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">While all my mates went on before,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The bashful looks and golden hair</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Of sixteen years! and nothing more?</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">323</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Nay, done with youth are my desires,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Life has no pain I fear to meet;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Experience, with its dreadful fires,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Melts knowledge to a welding heat.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And all its fires of heart and brain,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Where purpose into power was wrought,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’d bear, and gladly bear again,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Rather than be put back a thought.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">So, sigh no more, my gentle friend,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That I am at the time of day</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When white hair comes, and heart-beats send</p> - <p class="verse indent2">No blushes through the cheeks astray.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">For could you mould my destiny,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As clay, within your loving hand,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’d leave my youth’s sweet company,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And suffer back to where I stand.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE SILVERY HEAD.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Though</span> youth may boast the curls that flow,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">In sunny waves of auburn glow,</p> - <p class="verse indent5">As graceful, on thy hoary head,</p> - <p class="verse indent5">Has time the robe of honor spread,</p> - <p class="verse indent5">And there, O, softly, softly shed</p> - <p class="verse indent10">His wreath of snow.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Felicia Hemans.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_324"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">324</span></p> -<div id="il_68" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 24em;"><img src="images/i_336.png" width="1478" height="379" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="GROWING_OLDI">GROWING OLD.<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor smaller">I</a><br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">ADDRESSED TO UNMARRIED WOMEN.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="fnanchor">I</a> From Miss Muloch’s “Thoughts about Women.”</p> - -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_336idci.png" width="288" height="311" alt="I"> -<p><span class="ucase">It</span> is a trying crisis in life to feel that -you have had your fair half at least -of the ordinary term of years allotted -to mortals; that you have no right to -expect to be any handsomer, or stronger, or happier -than you are now; that you have climbed -to the summit of life, whence the next step must -necessarily be decadence. The air may be as fresh, -the view as grand, still you know that, slower or -faster, you are going down hill. It is not a pleasant -descent at the beginning. It is rather trying -when, from long habit, you unwittingly speak of -yourself as a “girl,” to detect a covert smile on -the face of your interlocutor; or, when led by -some chance excitement to deport yourself in an -ultra-youthful manner, some instinct warns you -that you are making yourself ridiculous; or, catching -in some strange looking-glass the face you are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">325</span> -too familiar with to notice much, ordinarily, you -suddenly become aware that it is not a young -face, and will never be a young face again. With -most people, the passing from maturity to middle -age is so gradual as to be almost imperceptible to -the individual concerned. There is no denying -this fact, and it ought to silence many an ill-natured -remark upon those unlucky ones who insist -upon remaining “young ladies of a certain age.” -It is very difficult for a woman to recognize that -she is growing old; and to all, this recognition -cannot but be fraught with considerable pain. -Even the most sensible woman cannot fairly put -aside her youth, with all it has enjoyed, or lost, -or missed, and regard it as henceforth to be considered -a thing gone by, without a momentary -spasm of the heart.</p> - -<p>To “grow old gracefully” is a good and beautiful -thing; to grow old worthily is a better. -And the first effort to that end is to become reconciled -to the fact of youth’s departure; to have -faith in the wisdom of that which we call change, -but which is in truth progression; to follow openly -and fearlessly, in ourselves and our daily life, the -same law which makes spring pass into summer, -summer into autumn, and autumn into winter, -preserving an especial beauty and fitness in each -of the four.</p> - -<p>If women could only believe it, there is a wonderful -beauty even in growing old. The charm<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">326</span> -of expression, arising from softened temper or -ripened intellect, often atones amply for the loss -of form and coloring; consequently, to those who -could never boast of either of these latter, years -give much more than they take away. A sensitive -person often requires half a lifetime to get -thoroughly used to this corporeal machine; to -attain a wholesome indifference both to its defects -and perfections; and to learn at last what nobody -would acquire from any teacher but experience, -that it is the <em>mind</em> alone which is of any consequence. -With good temper, sincerity, and a moderate -stock of brains, or even with the two former -only, any sort of a body can in time be made -a useful, respectable, and agreeable travelling-dress -for the soul. Many a one who was absolutely -plain in youth, thus grows pleasant and well-looking -in declining years. You will seldom find -anybody, not ugly in mind, who is repulsively -ugly in person after middle life.</p> - -<p>So it is with character. However we may talk -about people being “not a whit altered,” “just -the same as ever”; the fact is, not one of us is, -or can be, for long together, exactly the same. -The body we carry with us is not the identical -body we were born with, or the one we supposed -ours seven years ago; and our spiritual self, which -inhabits it, also goes through perpetual change -and renewal. In moral and mental, as well as -in physical growth, it is impossible to remain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">327</span> -stationary. If we do not advance, we retrograde. -Talk of being “too late to improve,” “too old to -learn”! A human being should be improving -with every day of a lifetime; and will probably -have to go on learning throughout all the ages -of immortality.</p> - -<p>One of the pleasures of growing old is, to know, -to acquire, to find out, to be able to appreciate the -causes of things; this gradually becomes a necessity -and an exquisite delight. We are able to -pass out of our own small daily sphere, and to take -interest in the marvellous government of the universe; -to see the grand workings of cause and -effect; the educing of good out of apparent evil; -the clearing away of the knots in tangled destinies, -general or individual; the wonderful agency of -time, change, and progress in ourselves, in those -surrounding us, and in the world at large. In -small minds, this feeling expends itself in meddling, -gossiping, scandal-mongering; but such are -merely abortive developments of a right noble -quality, which, properly guided, results in benefits -incalculable to the individual and to society. Undoubtedly -the after-half of life is the best working-time. -Beautiful is youth’s enthusiasm, and -grand are its achievements; but the most solid -and permanent good is done by the persistent -strength and wide experience of middle age. Contentment -rarely comes till then; not mere resignation, -a passive acquiescence in what cannot be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">328</span> -removed, but active contentment. This is a blessing -cheaply bought by a personal share in that -daily account of joy and pain, which the longer -one lives the more one sees is pretty equally balanced -in all lives. Young people enjoy “the top -of life” ecstatically, either in prospect or fruition; -but they are very seldom contented. It is not -possible. Not till the cloudy maze is half travelled -through, and we begin to see the object and purpose -of it, can we be really content.</p> - -<p>The doubtful question, to marry or not to marry, -is by this time generally settled. A woman’s relations -with the other sex imperceptibly change -their character, or slowly decline. There are -exceptions; old lovers who have become friends, -or friends whom no new love could make swerve -from the fealty of years; still it usually happens -so. The society of honorable, well-informed gentlemen, -who meet a lady on the easy neutral -ground of mutual esteem, is undoubtedly pleasant, -but the time has passed when any one of them is -<em>the</em> one necessary to her happiness. If she wishes -to retain influence over mankind, she must do it -by means different from those employed in youth. -Even then, be her wit ever so sparkling, her influence -ever so pure and true, she will often find -her listener preferring bright eyes to intellectual -conversation, and the satisfaction of his heart to -the improvement of his mind. And who can -blame him? The only way for a woman to preserve<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">329</span> -the unfeigned respect of men, is to let them -see that she can do without either their attention -or their admiration. The waning coquette, the -ancient beauty, as well as the ordinary woman, -who has had her fair share of both love and liking, -must show by her demeanor that she has learned -this.</p> - -<p>It is reckoned among the compensations of time -that we suffer less as we grow older; that pain, -like joy, becomes dulled by repetition, or by the -callousness that comes with years. In one sense -this is true. If there is no joy like the joy of -youth, the rapture of a first love, the thrill of a -first ambition, God’s great mercy has also granted -that there is no anguish like youth’s pain; so total, -so hopeless, blotting out earth and heaven, falling -down upon the whole being like a stone. This -never comes in after life; because the sufferer, if -he or she have lived to any purpose at all, has -learned that God never meant any human being to -be crushed under any calamity, like a blind worm -under a stone.</p> - -<p>For lesser evils, the fact that our interests gradually -take a wider range, allows more scope for -the healing power of compensation. Also our -loves, hates, sympathies, and prejudices, having -assumed a more rational and softened shape, do -not present so many angles for the rough attrition -of the world. Likewise, with the eye of faith we -have come to view life in its entireness, instead of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">330</span> -puzzling over its disjointed parts, which were never -meant to be made wholly clear to mortal eye. -And that calm twilight, which, by nature’s kindly -law, so soon begins to creep over the past, throws -over all things a softened coloring, which transcends -and forbids regret.</p> - -<p>Another reason why woman has greater capacity -for usefulness in middle life than in any previous -portion of her existence, is her greater independence. -She will have learned to understand herself, -mentally and bodily; to be mistress over herself. -Nor is this a small advantage; for it often takes -years to comprehend, and to act upon when -comprehended, the physical peculiarities of one’s -own constitution. Much valetudinarianism among -women arises from ignorance or neglect of the -commonest sanitary laws; and from indifference -to that grand preservative of a healthy body, <em>a -well-controlled and healthy mind</em>. Both of these -are more attainable in middle age than in youth; -and therefore the sort of happiness they bring, a -solid, useful, available happiness, is more in her -power then than at any earlier period. And -why? Because she has ceased to think principally -of herself and her own pleasures; because happiness -has itself become to her an accidental thing, -which the good God may give or withhold, as He -sees most fit for her, and most adapted to the work -for which he means to use her in her generation. -This conviction of being at once an active and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">331</span> -passive agent is surely consecration enough to -form the peace, nay, the happiness, of any good -woman’s life; enough, be it ever so solitary, to -sustain it until the end. In what manner such a -conviction should be carried out, no one individual -can venture to advise. In this age, woman’s work -is almost unlimited, when the woman herself so -chooses. She alone can be a law unto herself; -deciding and acting according to the circumstances -in which her lot is placed. And have we not -many who do so act? There are women of property, -whose names are a proverb for generous and -wide charities; whose riches, carefully guided, -flow into innumerable channels, freshening the -whole land. There are women of rank and influence, -who use both, or lay aside both, in the -simplest humility, for labors of love, which level -all classes, or rather raise them all, to one common -sphere of womanhood.</p> - -<p>Many others, of whom the world knows nothing, -have taken the wisest course that any unmarried -woman can take; they have made themselves a -home and a position; some, as the Ladies Bountiful -of a country neighborhood; some, as elder sisters, -on whom has fallen the bringing up of whole -families, and to whom has been tacitly accorded -the headship of the same, by the love and respect -of more than one generation thereof. There are -some who, as writers, painters, and professional -women generally, make the most of whatever special<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">332</span> -gift is allotted to them; believing that, whether -it be great or small, it is not theirs, either to lose -or to waste, but that they must one day render up -to the Master his own, with usury.</p> - -<p>I will not deny that the approach of old age -has its sad aspect to a woman who has never married; -and who, when her own generation dies out, -no longer retains, or can expect to retain, any -flesh-and-blood claim upon a single human being. -When all the downward ties, which give to the -decline of life a rightful comfort, and the interest -in the new generation which brightens it with a -perpetual hope, are to her either unknown, or indulged -in chiefly on one side. Of course there -are exceptions, where an aunt has been almost like -a mother, and where a loving and lovable great-aunt -is as important a personage as any grandmother. -But, generally speaking, a single woman -must make up her mind that the close of her days -will be more or less solitary.</p> - -<p>Yet there is a solitude which old age feels to be -as natural and satisfying as that rest which seems -such an irksomeness to youth, but which gradually -grows into the best blessing of our lives; and -there is another solitude, so full of peace and -hope, that it is like Jacob’s sleep in the wilderness, -at the foot of the ladder of angels.</p> - -<p>The extreme loneliness, which afar off appears -sad, may prove to be but as the quiet, dreamy -hour, “between the lights,” when the day’s work<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">333</span> -is done, and we lean back, closing our eyes, to -think it all over before we finally go to rest, or to -look forward, with faith and hope, unto the coming -Morning.</p> - -<p>A life in which the best has been made of all -the materials granted to it, and through which the -hand of the Great Designer can be plainly traced, -whether its web be dark or bright, whether its pattern -be clear or clouded, is not a life to be pitied;</p> - -<p class="center"> -for it is a completed life. It has fulfilled<br> -its appointed course, and returns to<br> -the Giver of all breath, pure as<br> -he gave it. Nor will he<br> -forget it when he<br> -counteth up his<br> -jewels. -</p> - -<div id="il_69" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_345.png" width="71" height="260" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Time</span> wears slippers of list, and his tread is -noiseless. The days come softly dawning, one -after another; they creep in at the windows; -their fresh morning air is grateful to the lips as -they pant for it; their music is sweet to the ears -that listen to it; until, before we know it, a whole -life of days has possession of the citadel, and time -has taken us for its own.”</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_334"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">334</span></p> - -<div id="il_70" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_346.png" width="1428" height="388" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="EQUINOCTIAL">EQUINOCTIAL.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">The</span> Sun of Life has crossed the line;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The summer-shine of lengthened light</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Faded and failed,—till, where I stand,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">’Tis equal Day and equal Night.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">One after one, as dwindling hours,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Youth’s glowing hopes have dropped away,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And soon may barely leave the gleam</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That coldly scores a winter’s day.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">I am not young, I am not old;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The flush of morn, the sunset calm,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Paling, and deepening, each to each,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Meet midway with a solemn charm.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">One side I see the summer fields,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Not yet disrobed of all their green;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">While westerly, along the hills,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Flame the first tints of frosty sheen.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">335</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Ah, middle-point, where cloud and storm</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Make battle-ground of this my life!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Where, even-matched, the Night and Day</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Wage round me their September strife!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">I bow me to the threatening gale:</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I know when that is overpast,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Among the peaceful harvest-days,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">An Indian-summer comes at last.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div id="toclink_335" class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="EPITAPH_ON_THE_UNMATED">EPITAPH ON THE UNMATED.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">No</span> chosen spot of ground she called her own.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">In pilgrim guise o’er earth she wandered on;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Yet always in her path some flowers were strown.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">No dear ones were her own peculiar care,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">So was her bounty free as heaven’s air;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For every claim she had enough to spare.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And, loving more her heart to <em>give</em> than lend,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Though oft deceived in many a trusted friend,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">She hoped, believed, and trusted to the end.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">She had her joys;—’twas joy to her to love,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To labor in the world with God above,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And tender hearts that ever near did move.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">She had her griefs;—but they left peace behind,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And healing came on every stormy wind,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And still with silver every cloud was lined.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And every loss sublimed some low desire,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And every sorrow taught her to aspire,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Till waiting angels bade her “Go up higher.”</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib">E. S.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_336"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">336</span></p> -<div id="il_71" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_348.png" width="1371" height="308" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_BEAUTIFUL_THOUGHTJ">A BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT.<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor smaller">J</a></h2> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="fnanchor">J</a> From the Rev. Dr. Francis’s Memoir of the Hon. John -Davis.</p> - -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_348idcb.png" width="293" height="327" alt="B"> -<p><span class="ucase">Blessing</span> and blessed, this excellent -man passed on to old age; and how -beautiful that old age was, none, who -had the privilege of knowing it, can -ever forget. It was the old age of the Christian -scholar and the beloved man. His evening of life -could not but be bright and serene, full of hope, -and free from sadness. He had a kindly freshness -of spirit, which made the society of the young -pleasant to him; and they, on their part, were -always happy to be with him, enjoying the good-natured -wisdom and the modest richness of his -conversation. His faculties remained clear, active, -and healthy to the last. Advancing years never -for a moment closed the capacity, or abated the -willingness, to receive new ideas. Though a lover -of the past and the established, his opinions never -hardened into prejudices. His intellectual vigor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">337</span> -was not seen to moulder under the quiet which an -old man claims as his right. Of him might be said -what Solon said of himself in advanced years, that -“he learned something every day he lived”; and -to no one could be better applied the remark of -Cicero concerning the venerable Appius: “He -kept his mind bent like a bow, nor was it ever -relaxed by old age.”</p> - -<p>But it was peculiarly his fine moral qualities—his -benevolence, his artlessness, his genial kindness—which -shed a mellow and beautiful light -on his old age. No thought of self ever mingled -its alloy with the virtues that adorned Judge -Davis’s character. His reliance on the truths and -promises of Christian faith seemed more confident -and vital as he drew nearer to the great realities -of the future. For him, life had always a holy -meaning. A Grecian philosopher, at the age of -eighty-five, is said to have expressed painful discontent -at the shortness of life, and complained of -nature’s hard allotment, which snatches man away -just as he is about to reach some perfection of -science. Not so our Christian sage; he found -occasion, not for complaint, but rather for thankfulness, -because, as the end approached, he saw -more distinctly revealed the better light beyond.</p> - -<p>He once expressed, in a manner touchingly -beautiful, his own estimation of old age. On the -occasion of a dinner-party, at which Judge Story -and others eminent in the legal profession were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">338</span> -present, the conversation turned upon the comparative -advantages of the different periods of life. -Some preferred, for enjoyment, youth and manhood; -others ascribed more solid satisfactions to -old age. When the opinion of Judge Davis was -asked, he said, with his usual calm simplicity of -manner: “In the warm season of the year it is -my delight to be in the country; and every pleasant -evening while I am there, I love to sit at -the window and look at some beautiful trees -which grow near my house. The murmuring -of the wind through the branches, the gentle -play of the leaves, and the flickering of light -upon them when the moon is up, fill me with an -indescribable pleasure. As the autumn comes -on, I feel very sad to see these leaves falling one</p> - -<p class="center"> -by one; but when they are all gone, I find that<br> -they were only a screen before my eyes;<br> -for I experience a new and higher<br> -satisfaction as I gaze through<br> -the naked branches at the<br> -glorious stars of heaven<br> -beyond.” -</p> - -<div id="il_72" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_350.png" width="71" height="261" alt="decoration"></div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_339"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">339</span></p> - -<div id="il_73" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_351.png" width="1407" height="330" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="AT_ANCHORK">AT ANCHOR.<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor smaller">K</a></h2> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="fnanchor">K</a> Author unknown.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 al drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Ah</span>, many a year ago, dear wife,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">We floated down this river,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Where the hoar willows on its brink</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Alternate wave and shiver;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">With careless glance we viewed askance</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The kingfisher at quest,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And scarce would heed the reed-wren near,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Who sang beside her nest;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Nor dreamed that e’er our boat would be</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Thus anchored and at rest,</p> - <p class="verse indent11">Dear love,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Thus anchored, and at rest!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">O, many a time the wren has built</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Where those green shadows quiver,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And many a time the hawthorn shed</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Its blossoms on the river,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Since that sweet noon of sultry June,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">When I my love confessed,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">While with the tide our boat did glide</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Adown the stream’s smooth breast,</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">340</span> - <p class="verse indent0">Whereon our little shallop lies</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Now anchored, and at rest,</p> - <p class="verse indent10">Dear love,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Now anchored, and at rest!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The waters still to ocean run,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Their tribute to deliver,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And still the hawthorns bud and bloom</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Above the dusky river.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Still sings the wren,—the water-hen</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Still skims the ripple’s crest;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The sun—as bright as on that night—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Sinks slowly down the west;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But now our tiny craft is moored,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Safe anchored and at rest,</p> - <p class="verse indent10">Dear love,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Safe anchored, and at rest!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">For this sweet calm of after-days</p> - <p class="verse indent2">We thank the bounteous Giver,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Who bids our life flow smoothly on</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As this delicious river.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A world—our own—has round us grown,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Wherein we twain are blest;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Our child’s first words than songs of birds</p> - <p class="verse indent2">More music have expressed;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And all our centred happiness</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Is anchored, and at rest,</p> - <p class="verse indent10">Dear love,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Is anchored, and at rest!</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_341"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">341</span></p> -<div id="il_74" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_353.png" width="1420" height="331" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="NOVEMBER">NOVEMBER.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> REV. HENRY WARD BEECHER.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l4" src="images/i_353idcw.png" width="345" height="326" alt="W"> -<p><span class="ucase">We</span> often hear people say, “O, the -dreary days of November!” The -days of November are never dreary, -though <em>men</em> sometimes are. There -are things in November that make us sad. There -are suggestions in it that lead us to serious -thoughts. At that season of the year, we are apt -to feel that life is passing away. After the days in -summer begin to grow short, I cannot help sighing -often; and, as they still grow shorter and shorter, -I look upon things, not with pain, but with a -melancholy eye. And when autumn comes, and -the leaves of the trees drop down through the air -and find their resting-places, I cannot help thinking, -that life is short, that our work is almost ended. -It makes me sad; but there is a sadness that is -wholesome, and even pleasurable. There are sorrows -that are not painful, but are of the nature of -some acids, and give piquancy and flavor to life.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">342</span> -Such is the sorrow which November brings. That -month, which sees the year disrobed, is not a -dreary month. I like to see the trees go to bed, -as much as I like to see little children go to their -sleep; and I think there is nothing prettier in this -world than to see a mother disrobe her child and -prepare its couch, and sing and talk to it, and -finally lay it to rest. I like to see the birds get -ready for their repose at night. Did you ever sit -at twilight and hear the birds talk of their domestic -matters,—apparently going over with each other -the troubles and joys of the day? There is an -immense deal to be learned from birds, if a person -has an ear to hear. Even so I like to see the year -prepare for its sleep. I like to see the trees with -their clothes taken off. I like to see the lines of a -tree; to see its anatomy. I like to see the preparation -God makes for winter. How everything -is snugged and packed! How all nature gets -ready for the cold season! How the leaves heap -themselves upon the roots to protect them from -the frosts! How all things tender are taken -out of the way, and only things tough are left to -stand the buffetings of winter! And how do -hardy vines and roots bravely sport their bannered -leaves, which the frost cannot kill, holding them -up clear into the coldest days! November is a -dreary month to some, but to me it is only sad; -and it is a sweet sadness that it brings to my -mind.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_343"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">343</span></p> - -<div id="il_75" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_355.png" width="1426" height="326" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="MEDITATIONS_ON_A_BIRTHDAY_EVE">MEDITATIONS ON A BIRTHDAY EVE.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> REV. JOHN PIERPONT.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Day</span>, with its labors, has withdrawn.</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The stars look down from heaven,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And whisper, “Of thy life are gone</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Full seventy years and seven!”</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">While those bright worlds, by angels trod,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Thus whispering round me roll,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Let me commune with thee, my God!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Commune with thee, my soul!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Thou, Father, canst not change thy place,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Nor change thy time to be.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">What are the boundless fields of space,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Or what are years to Thee?</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">But unto me, revolving years</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Bring change, bring feebler breath;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Bring age,—and, though they bring no fears,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Bring slower steps, pain, death.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">344</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">This earthly house thy wisdom plann’d,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And leased me for a term,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The house I live in, <em>seems</em> to stand</p> - <p class="verse indent2">On its foundation firm.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">I hardly see that it is old;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">But younger eyes find proof</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Of its long standing, who behold</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The gray moss on its roof.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Spirit! thou knowest this house, erelong,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To kindred dust must fall.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Hast thou, while in it, grown more strong,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">More ready for the call</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">To meet thy Judge, amid “the cloud</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Of witnesses,” who’ve run</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Their heavenward race, and joined the crowd,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Who wreaths and crowns have won?</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Hast thou, in search of Truth, been true?</p> - <p class="verse indent2">True to thyself and her?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And been, with many or with few,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Her <em>honest</em> worshipper?</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">E’en truths, wherein the Past hath stood,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Wouldst thou inherit blind?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">They’re good; but there’s a <em>better</em> good,—</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The power <em>more</em> truths to find.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And hast thou occupied that power,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And made one talent five?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">If so, then peaceful be this hour!</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Thou’st saved thy soul alive.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">345</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Hast thou e’er given the world a page,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A line that thou wouldst blot,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">As adverse to an upward age?</p> - <p class="verse indent2">God knoweth thou hast not!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Giver of life and all my powers,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To thee my soul I lift!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And in these lone and thoughtful hours,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">I thank thee for the gift.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Day, with its toil and care withdrawn,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Night’s shadows o’er me thrown,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Another of my years is gone,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And here I sit alone.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">No, not alone! for with me sit</p> - <p class="verse indent2">My judges,—God and I;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the large record we have writ,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Is lying open by.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And as I hope, erelong, to swell</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The song of seraphim,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And as that song the truth will tell,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">My judgment is with Him.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Spirit! thy race is nearly run.</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Say, hast thou run it well?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Thy work on earth is almost done;</p> - <p class="verse indent2"><em>How</em> done, no <em>man</em> can tell.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Spirit, toil on! thy house, that stands</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Seventy years old and seven,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Will fall; but one, “not made with hands”</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Awaiteth thee in heaven.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_346"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">346</span></p> -<div id="il_76" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_358.png" width="1411" height="321" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_GRANDMOTHER_OF_SLAVES">THE GRANDMOTHER OF SLAVES.<br> - -<span class="subhead">BY HER GRANDDAUGHTER.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_358idci.png" width="284" height="310" alt="I"> -<p><span class="ucase">I had</span> a great treasure in my maternal -grandmother, who was a remarkable -woman in many respects. She was -the daughter of a planter in South Carolina, -who, at his death, left her and her mother -free, with money to go to St. Augustine, where -they had relatives. It was during the Revolutionary -War, and they were captured on their passage, -carried back, and sold to different purchasers. -Such was the story my grandmother used to tell -me. She was sold to the keeper of a large hotel, -and I have often heard her tell how hard she fared -during childhood. But as she grew older, she -evinced so much intelligence, and was so faithful, -that her master and mistress could not help seeing -it was for their interest to take care of such a -valuable piece of property. She became an indispensable -person in the household, officiating in all -capacities, from cook and wet-nurse to seamstress<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">347</span> -She was much praised for her cooking; and her -nice crackers became so famous in the neighborhood -that many people were desirous of obtaining -them. In consequence of numerous requests of -this kind, she asked permission of her mistress to -bake crackers at night, after all the household -work was done; and she obtained leave to do it, -provided she would clothe herself and the children -from the profits. Upon these terms, after working -hard all day for her mistress, she began her midnight -bakings, assisted by her two oldest children. -The business proved profitable; and each year she -laid by a little, to create a fund for the purchase -of her children. Her master died, and his property -was divided among the heirs. My grandmother -remained in the service of his widow, as -a slave. Her children were divided among her -master’s children; but, as she had five, Benjamin, -the youngest, was sold, in order that the heirs -might have an equal portion of dollars and cents. -There was so little difference in our ages, that he -always seemed to me more like a brother than an -uncle. He was a bright, handsome lad, nearly -white; for he inherited the complexion my grandmother -had derived from Anglo-Saxon ancestors. -His sale was a terrible blow to his mother; but -she was naturally hopeful, and she went to work -with redoubled energy, trusting in time to be able -to purchase her children. One day, her mistress -begged the loan of three hundred dollars from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">348</span> -little fund she had laid up from the proceeds of -her baking. She promised to pay her soon; but -as no promise, or writing, given to a slave is legally -binding, she was obliged to trust solely to her -honor.</p> - -<p>In my master’s house very little attention was -paid to the slaves’ meals. If they could catch a -bit of food while it was going, well and good. -But I gave myself no trouble on that score; for -on my various errands I passed my grandmother’s -house, and she always had something to spare for -me. I was frequently threatened with punishment -if I stopped there; and my grandmother, to avoid -detaining me, often stood at the gate with something -for my breakfast or dinner. I was indebted -to her for all my comforts, spiritual or temporal. -It was <em>her</em> labor that supplied my scanty wardrobe. -I have a vivid recollection of the linsey-woolsey -dress given me every winter by Mrs. -Flint. How I hated it! It was one of the badges -of slavery. While my grandmother was thus -helping to support me from her hard earnings, the -three hundred dollars she lent her mistress was -never repaid. When her mistress died, my master, -who was her son-in-law, was appointed executor. -When grandmother applied to him for payment, -he said the estate was insolvent, and the law prohibited -payment. It did not, however, prohibit -him from retaining the silver candelabra, which -had been purchased with that money. I presume<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">349</span> -they will be handed down in the family, from -generation to generation.</p> - -<p>My grandmother’s mistress had always promised -that, at her death, she should be free; and it was -said that in her will she made good the promise. -But when the estate was settled, Dr. Flint told -the faithful old servant that, under existing circumstances, -it was necessary she should be sold.</p> - -<p>On the appointed day, the customary advertisement -was posted up, proclaiming that there would -be “a public sale of negroes, horses, &c.” Dr. -Flint called to tell my grandmother that he was -unwilling to wound her feelings by putting her up -at auction, and that he would prefer to dispose of -her at private sale. She saw through his hypocrisy, -and understood very well that he was ashamed of -the job. She was a very spirited woman, and if he -was base enough to sell her, after her mistress had -made her free by her will, she was determined -the public should know it. She had, for a long -time, supplied many families with crackers and -preserves; consequently “Aunt Marthy,” as she -was called, was generally known; and all who -knew her respected her intelligence and good -character. It was also well known that her mistress -had intended to leave her free, as a reward -for her long and faithful services. When the day -of sale came, she took her place among the chattels, -and at the first call she sprang upon the auction-block. -She was then fifty years old. Many<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">350</span> -voices called out, “Shame! Shame! Who’s going -to sell <em>you</em>, Aunt Marthy? Don’t stand there! -That’s no place for <em>you</em>!” She made no answer, -but quietly awaited her fate. No one bid for her. -At last, a feeble voice said, “Fifty dollars.” It -came from a maiden lady, seventy years old, the -sister of my grandmother’s deceased mistress. She -had lived forty years under the same roof with my -grandmother; she knew how faithfully she had -served her owners, and how cruelly she had been -defrauded of her rights, and she resolved to protect -her. The auctioneer waited for a higher bid; -but her wishes were respected; no one bid above -her. The old lady could neither read nor write; -and when the bill of sale was made out, she signed -it with a cross. But of what consequence was that, -when she had a big heart overflowing with human -kindness? She gave the faithful old servant her -freedom.</p> - -<p>My grandmother had always been a mother to -her orphan grandchildren, as far as that was possible -in a condition of slavery. Her perseverance -and unwearied industry continued unabated after -her time was her own, and she soon became mistress -of a snug little home, and surrounded herself -with the necessaries of life. She would have been -happy, if her family could have shared them with -her. There remained to her but three children and -two grandchildren; and they were all slaves. Most -earnestly did she strive to make us feel that it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">351</span> -the will of God; that He had seen fit to place us -under such circumstances; and, though it seemed -hard, we ought to pray for contentment. It was -a beautiful faith, coming from a mother who could -not call her children her own. But I, and Benjamin, -her youngest boy, condemned it. It appeared -to us that it was much more according to the will -of God that we should be free, and able to make a -home for ourselves, as she had done. There we -always found balsam for our troubles. She was so -loving, so sympathizing! She always met us with -a smile, and listened with patience to all our sorrows. -She spoke so hopefully, that unconsciously -the clouds gave place to sunshine. There was a -grand big oven there, too, that baked bread and -nice things for the town; and we knew there was -always a choice bit in store for us. But even the -charms of that old oven failed to reconcile us to -our hard lot. Benjamin was now a tall, handsome -lad, strongly and gracefully made, and with a spirit -too bold and daring for a slave.</p> - -<p>One day, his master attempted to flog him for -not obeying his summons quickly enough. Benjamin -resisted, and in the struggle threw his master -down. To raise his hand against a white man was -a great crime according to the laws of the State, -and to avoid a cruel public whipping, Benjamin -hid himself and made his escape. My grandmother -was absent visiting an old friend in the -country, when this happened. When she returned,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">352</span> -and found her youngest child had fled, great was -her sorrow. But, with characteristic piety, she -said, “God’s will be done.” Every morning she -inquired whether any news had been heard from -her boy. Alas, news did come; sad news. The -master received a letter, and was rejoicing over the -capture of his human chattel.</p> - -<p>That day seems to me but as yesterday, so well -do I remember it. I saw him led through the -streets in chains to jail. His face was ghastly -pale, but full of determination. He had sent some -one to his mother’s house, to ask her not to come -to meet him. He said the sight of her distress -would take from him all self-control. Her heart -yearned to see him, and she went; but she -screened herself in the crowd, that it might be -as her child had said.</p> - -<p>We were not allowed to visit him. But we -had known the jailer for years, and he was a kind-hearted -man. At midnight he opened the door -for my grandmother and myself to enter, in disguise. -When we entered the cell, not a sound -broke the stillness. “Benjamin,” whispered my -grandmother. No answer. “Benjamin!” said -she, again, in a faltering tone. There was a jingling -of chains. The moon had just risen, and cast -an uncertain light through the bars. We knelt -down and took Benjamin’s cold hands in ours. -Sobs alone were heard, while she wept upon his -neck. At last Benjamin’s lips were unsealed.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">353</span> -Mother and son talked together. He asked her -pardon for the suffering he had caused her. She -told him she had nothing to forgive; that she -could not blame him for wanting to be free. He -told her that he broke away from his captors, and -was about to throw himself into the river, but -thoughts of her came over him and arrested the -movement. She asked him if he did not also -think of God. He replied, “No, mother, I did -not. When a man is hunted like a wild beast, -he forgets that there <em>is</em> a God.”</p> - -<p>The pious mother shuddered, as she said, -“Don’t talk so, Benjamin. Try to be humble, -and put your trust in God.”</p> - -<p>“I wish I had some of your goodness,” he replied. -“You bear everything patiently, just as -though you thought it was all right. I wish I -could.”</p> - -<p>She told him it had not always been so with -her; that once she was like him; but when sore -troubles came upon her, and she had no arm to -lean upon, she learned to call on God, and he -lightened her burdens. She besought him to do -so likewise.</p> - -<p>The jailer came to tell us we had overstayed our -time, and we were obliged to hurry away. Grandmother -went to the master and tried to intercede -for her son. But he was inexorable. He said -Benjamin should be made an example of. That -he should be kept in jail till he was sold. For<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">354</span> -three months he remained within the walls of the -prison, during which time grandmother secretly -conveyed him changes of clothes, and as often as -possible carried him something warm for supper, -accompanied with some little luxury for her friend -the jailer. He was finally sold to a slave-trader -from New Orleans. When they fastened irons -upon his wrists to drive him off with the coffle, -it was heart-rending to hear the groans of that -poor mother, as she clung to the Benjamin of her -family,—her youngest, her pet. He was pale -and thin now from hardships and long confinement, -but still his good looks were so observable, -that the slave-trader remarked he would give any -price for the handsome lad, if he were a girl. -We, who knew so well what slavery was, were -thankful that he was not.</p> - -<p>Grandmother stifled her grief, and with strong -arms and unwavering faith set to work to purchase -freedom for Benjamin. She knew the slave-trader -would charge three times as much as he -gave for him; but she was not discouraged. She -employed a lawyer to write to New Orleans, and -try to negotiate the business for her. But word -came that Benjamin was missing; he had run away -again.</p> - -<p>Philip, my grandmother’s only remaining son, -inherited his mother’s intelligence. His mistress -sometimes trusted him to go with a cargo to -New York. One of these occasions occurred not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">355</span> -long after Benjamin’s second escape. Through -God’s good providence the brothers met in the -streets of New York. It was a happy meeting, -though Benjamin was very pale and thin; for, on -his way from bondage, he had been taken violently -ill, and brought nigh unto death. Eagerly he -embraced his brother, exclaiming, “O Phil! here -I am at last! I came nigh dying when I was -almost in sight of freedom; and O how I prayed -that I might live just to get one breath of free -air! And here I am. In the old jail I used to -wish I was dead. But life is worth something -now, and it would be hard to die.” He begged -his brother not to go back to the South, but to -stay and work with him till they earned enough -to buy their relatives.</p> - -<p>Philip replied: “It would kill mother if I deserted -her. She has pledged her house, and is -working harder than ever to buy you. Will you -be bought?”</p> - -<p>“Never!” replied Benjamin, in his resolute -tone. “When I have got so far out of their -clutches, do you suppose, Phil, that I would -ever let them be paid one red cent? Do you -think I would consent to have mother turned out -of her hard-earned home in her old age? And -she never to see me after she had bought me? -For you know, Phil, she would never leave the -South while any of her children or grandchildren -remained in slavery. What a good mother! Tell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">356</span> -her to buy <em>you</em>, Phil. You have always been a -comfort to her; and I have always been making -her trouble.”</p> - -<p>Philip furnished his brother with some clothes, -and gave him what money he had. Benjamin -pressed his hand, and said, with moistened eyes, -“I part from all my kindred.” And so it proved. -We never heard from him afterwards.</p> - -<p>When Uncle Philip came home, the first words -he said, on entering the house, were: “O, -mother, Ben is free! I have seen him in New -York.” For a moment, she seemed bewildered. -He laid his hand gently on her shoulder, and repeated -what he had said. She raised her hands -devoutly, and exclaimed, “God be praised! Let -us thank Him.” She dropped on her knees, and -poured forth her heart in prayer. When she -grew calmer, she begged Philip to sit down and -repeat every word her son had said. He told her -all, except that Benjamin had nearly died on the -way, and was looking very pale and thin.</p> - -<p>Still the brave old woman toiled on to accomplish -the rescue of her remaining children. After -a while, she succeeded in buying Philip, for whom -she paid eight hundred dollars, and came home -with the precious document that secured his freedom. -The happy mother and son sat by her -hearth-stone that night, telling how proud they -were of each other, and how they would prove to -the world that they could take care of themselves,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">357</span> -as they had long taken care of others. We all -concluded by saying, “He that is <em>willing</em> to be a -slave, let him be a slave.”</p> - -<p>My grandmother had still one daughter remaining -in slavery. She belonged to the same master -that I did; and a hard time she had of it. She -was a good soul, this old Aunt Nancy. She did -all she could to supply the place of my lost mother -to us orphans. She was the <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">factotum</i> in our -master’s household. She was housekeeper, waiting-maid, -and everything else; nothing went on -well without her, by day or by night. She wore -herself out in their service. Grandmother toiled -on, hoping to purchase release for her. But one -evening word was brought that she had been suddenly -attacked with paralysis, and grandmother -hastened to her bedside. Mother and daughter had -always been devotedly attached to each other; and -now they looked lovingly and earnestly into each -other’s eyes, longing to speak of secrets that weighed -on the hearts of both. She lived but two days, and -on the last day she was speechless. It was sad to -witness the grief of her bereaved mother. She -had always been strong to bear, and religious -faith still supported her; but her dark life had -become still darker, and age and trouble were -leaving deep traces on her withered face. The -poor old back was fitted to its burden. It bent -under it, but did not break.</p> - -<p>Uncle Philip asked permission to bury his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">358</span> -sister at his own expense; and slaveholders are -always ready to grant <em>such</em> favors to slaves and -their relatives. The arrangements were very -plain, but perfectly respectable. It was talked of -by the slaves as a mighty grand funeral. If -Northern travellers had been passing through the -place, perhaps they would have described it as a -beautiful tribute to the humble dead, a touching -proof of the attachment between slaveholders and -their slaves; and very likely the mistress would -have confirmed this impression, with her handkerchief -at her eyes. <em>We</em> could have told them how -the poor old mother had toiled, year after year, to -buy her son Philip’s right to his own earnings; -and how that same Philip had paid the expenses -of the funeral, which they regarded as doing so -much credit to the master.</p> - -<p>There were some redeeming features in our -hard destiny. Very pleasant are my recollections -of the good old lady who paid fifty dollars for the -purpose of making my grandmother free, when -she stood on the auction-block. She loved this -old lady, whom we all called Miss Fanny. She -often took tea at grandmother’s house. On such -occasions, the table was spread with a snow-white -cloth, and the china cups and silver spoons were -taken from the old-fashioned buffet. There were -hot muffins, tea-rusks, and delicious sweetmeats. -My grandmother always had a supply of such articles, -because she furnished the ladies of the town<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">359</span> -with such things for their parties. She kept two -cows for that purpose, and the fresh cream was -Miss Fanny’s delight. She invariably repeated -that it was the very best in town. The old ladies -had cosey times together. They would work and -chat, and sometimes, while talking over old times, -their spectacles would get dim with tears, and -would have to be taken off and wiped. When -Miss Fanny bade us “Good by,” her bag was -always filled with grandmother’s best cakes, and -she was urged to come again soon.</p> - -<p>[Here follows a long account of persecutions -endured by the granddaughter, who tells this -story. She finally made her escape, after encountering -great dangers and hardships. The faithful -old grandmother concealed her for a long time at -great risk to them both, during which time she -tried in vain to buy free papers for her. At last -there came a chance to escape in a vessel Northward -bound. She goes on to say:—]</p> - -<p>All arrangements were made for me to go on -board at dusk. Grandmother came to me with a -small bag of money, which she wanted me to take. -I begged her to keep at least part of it; but she -insisted, while her tears fell fast, that I should take -the whole. “You may be sick among strangers,” -said she; “and they would send you to the -poor-house to die.” Ah, that good grandmother! -Though I had the blessed prospect of freedom -before me, I felt dreadfully sad at leaving forever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">360</span> -that old homestead, that had received and sheltered -me in so many sorrows. Grandmother took me by -the hand, and said, “My child, let us pray.” We -knelt down together, with my arm clasped round -the faithful, loving old friend I was about to leave -forever. On no other occasion has it been my lot -to listen to so fervent a supplication for mercy and -protection. It thrilled through my heart and inspired -me with trust in God. I staggered into the -street, faint in body, though strong of purpose. I -did not look back upon the dear old place, though -I felt that I should never see it again.</p> - -<p>[The granddaughter found friends at the North, -and, being uncommonly quick in her perceptions, -she soon did much to supply the deficiencies of -early education. While leading a worthy, industrious -life in New York, she twice very narrowly -escaped becoming a victim to the infamous Fugitive -Slave Law. A noble-hearted lady purchased -her freedom, and thereby rescued her from further -danger. She thus closes the story of her venerable -ancestor:—]</p> - -<p>My grandmother lived to rejoice in the knowledge -of my freedom; but not long afterward a letter -came to me with a black seal. It was from a -friend at the South, who informed me that she had -gone “where the wicked cease from troubling, and -where the weary are at rest.” Among the gloomy -recollections of my life in bondage come tender -memories of that good grandmother, like a few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">361</span> -fleecy clouds floating over a dark and troubled -sea.</p> - -<p class="right"> -H. J. -</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Note.</span>—The above account is no fiction. The -author, who was thirty years in slavery, wrote it -in an interesting book entitled “Linda.” She is -an esteemed friend of mine; and I introduce this -portion of her story here to illustrate the power -of character over circumstances. She has intense -sympathy for those who are still suffering in the -bondage from which she escaped. She is now -devoting all her energies to the poor refugees in -our camps, comforting the afflicted, nursing the -sick, and teaching the children. On the 1st of -January, 1863, she wrote me a letter, which began -as follows: “I have lived to hear the Proclamation -of Freedom for my suffering people. All my -wrongs are forgiven. I am more than repaid for -all I have endured. Glory to God in the highest!”</p> - -<p class="right"> -L. M. C. -</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>We hear men often enough speak of seeing God -in the stars and the flowers, but they will never be -truly religious, till they learn to behold Him in -<em>each other</em> also, where He is most easily, yet most -rarely discovered.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">J. R. Lowell</span> -</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_362"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">362</span></p> - -<div id="il_77" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_374.png" width="1455" height="354" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="AULD_LANG_SYNE">AULD LANG SYNE.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> ROBERT BURNS.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Should</span> auld acquaintance be forgot,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And never brought to min’?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Should auld acquaintance be forgot,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And days o’ lang syne?</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent10">CHORUS.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">For auld lang syne, my dear,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">For auld lang syne;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">For auld lang syne.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">We twa hae ran about the braes,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And pu’d the gowans<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">L</a> fine;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But we’ve wandered mony a weary foot,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Sin’ auld lang syne.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">We twa hae paidl’t i’ the burn,<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">M</a></p> - <p class="verse indent2">Frae morning sun till dine;</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">363</span> - <p class="verse indent0">But seas between us braid hae roared</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Sin’ auld lang syne.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent10">CHORUS.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">For auld lang syne, my dear,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">For auld lang syne;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">For auld lang syne.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="fnanchor">L</a> Wild daisies.</p> - -<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="fnanchor">M</a> Brook.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_363"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OLD_FOLKS_AT_HOME2">OLD FOLKS AT HOME.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">They</span> love the places where they wandered</p> - <p class="verse indent4">When they were young;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">They love the books they’ve often pondered,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">They love the tunes they’ve sung.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The easy-chair, so soft and dozy,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Is their delight;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The ample slippers, warm and cozy,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">And the dear old bed at night.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent11">CHORUS.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Near their hearth-stones, warm and cheery,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Where, by night or day,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">They’re free to rest when they are weary,</p> - <p class="verse indent4">There the old folks love to stay.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib">L. M. C.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_364"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">364</span></p> -<div id="il_78" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_376.png" width="1384" height="349" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OLD_UNCLE_TOMMY">OLD UNCLE TOMMY<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">FROM THE CHRISTIAN REGISTER.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent4">“Let him, where and when he will, sit down</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Beneath the trees, or by the grassy bank</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Of highway-side, and with the little birds</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Share his chance-gathered meal; and finally,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">As in the eye of Nature he has lived,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">So in the eye of Nature let him die.”</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Wordsworth.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_376idct.png" width="319" height="342" alt="T"> -<p><span class="ucase">The</span> morning after the storm was calm -and beautiful; just one of those days -so dear to every lover of Nature; -for every true worshipper of our all-bountiful -Mother is a poet at heart, though his -lips may often fail to utter the rich experience of -his soul. The air was full of fragrance and the -songs of birds. Here and there a gentle breeze -would shower down the drops of moisture from -the trees, forming a mimic rain; every bush and -shrub, and each separate blade of grass, glittered -in the morning sunlight, as if hung with brightest -jewels. The stillness was in harmony with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">365</span> -day of rest, and only the most peaceful thoughts -were suggested by this glorious calm, returning -after the tempest.</p> - -<p>The late proprietor of the Leigh Manor had presented -a small, though very perfect, chime of bells -to Leighton Church; they had never been successfully -played until now, when the ringers, having -become more skilful, they for the first time pealed -a regular chant; and right merrily did the sound -go forth over the quiet plain.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">To God the mighty Lord,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Your joyful songs repeat;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To Him your praise accord,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As good as He is great.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Ah,” said an old man, leaning on his staff, -and gazing at the bells, “how I wish the Masther -could a’ heard ye! Well, p’r’aps he <em>does</em> hear the -bonny bells a-praising God. God bless thee, dear -Masther, and have thee forever in his holy keeping!” -and raising his hat reverently from his head, -the old man stood with the white hair streaming -back upon his shoulders, leaving unshaded his upturned -countenance, where were visible the traces -of many a conflict and of many a hard-earned victory; -the <em>traces</em> only, for time and living faith had -smoothed the deeper marks. As in Nature this -morning you saw there <em>had been</em> storm and fierce -strife; but now all was at peace. The clear blue -eye of the aged man shone with a brighter light -than youth alone can give. It was the undying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">366</span> -light of immortality; for, old and poor and ignorant -as he was, to worldly eyes, his soul had attained -a noble stature; and as he stood there with -uncovered head, in the June sunshine, there was a -majesty about him which no mere earthly rank -can impart. You saw before you a child of the -Great Father; you <em>felt</em> that he communed in spirit -with his God, as with a dear and loving parent; -that the Most High was very nigh unto him. And -yet this man dwelt amongst the paupers of a country -almshouse, and men called him insane! But -he was “harmless,” they said; so he was allowed -to come and go about the neighborhood, as he -pleased, and no one feared him.</p> - -<p>The little children, as they passed to Sunday -School this morning, stepped more lightly, lest -they should disturb him; for he was a favorite -with the “little people,” as he called them.</p> - -<p>When beyond his hearing, they whispered to -one another, “I don’t believe Uncle Tommy is -crazy, do you? I never want to plague him; he’s -so kind.”</p> - -<p>“He isn’t a mite like laughing Davy,” said -another; “for Davy is real mischievous sometimes, -and Uncle Tommy isn’t a bit; what do -you s’pose folks call him crazy for?”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I don’t know,” whispered a third, -“for he knows <em>ever so much</em>. I guess it’s ’cause -he <em>seems</em> as he does now; and nobody else ever -does, do they? That’s what folks laugh at.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">367</span></p> - -<p>“Well, it’s too bad,” exclaimed a rosy little -girl of nine or ten summers. “I mean to go speak -to him. That’ll wake him up. He’s always so -good to us, I <em>hate</em> to have folks look queer at him, -and make fun of his ways.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Nelly, he don’t care for the laughing.”</p> - -<p>“No matter; I do,” stoutly maintained the -child; and going up to the old man, she softly -pulled his clean, patched sleeve, and said, “Uncle -Tommy, if you please, do look here!”</p> - -<p>He did not seem to hear her for a little while; -then passing his hand across his forehead, as if -rousing himself, he turned, with a pleasant, cheering -manner, to the children, who had gathered -around him: “Ah! little Nelly, is it you? and -all my little people? why you’re out early this -good morning. May the blessing of Our Father -shine through your young hearts, making beautiful -your lives, as the sunshine makes beautiful your -fresh young faces!”</p> - -<p>“Uncle Tommy,” said John Anton, “what -makes you love the sun so like everything?”</p> - -<p>Old Tommy smiled at the boy’s eagerness; but -looking upward, he answered: “I love it as the -first, brightest gift of Our Father. I see in it the -purest emblem of Him whose dwelling <em>is</em> the light.” -After a moment’s silence, he extended his hands -over the children’s heads, saying fervently, “Pour -thy light into their souls, O Father, that, the eyes -of the mind being opened, they may see Thee in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">368</span> -all thy works!” Then taking Nelly by the -hand, he asked, if they were not too soon for -school.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered she; “for we came to hear -the bells chime. It’s so pleasant, Uncle Tommy, -perhaps you will tell us something. Just a little -while, till the teachers come.”</p> - -<p>“O yes, do now, Uncle Tommy, tell us some -of the nice stories you know,” chimed in the -whole group.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be still as a mouse, if you will,” coaxed -a lively child, whose ceaseless motion usually disturbed -all quiet talk.</p> - -<p>Uncle Tommy patted her curly head, and good-naturedly -consented to gratify them, “if they -would try and be good as the flowers in the -meadow yonder.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, we will,” shouted they.</p> - -<p>“Now lean on me, and I’ll help you, Uncle -Tommy,” said Nelly, who usually assumed the -charge of him when she found an opportunity. -So, with one hand resting upon her shoulder, and -the other supported by his staff, the old man, who -looked older now, as his hat shaded his face, moved -feebly forward, surrounded by the happy children. -They walked a few steps beyond the corner of the -church, and soon came to a projection in one of -the buttresses, that was often used by the people -as a seat in summer; hither they carefully led -Uncle Tommy, who could still enjoy his beloved<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">369</span> -sunshine, whilst he rested his weary limbs. It was -a sight worthy of an artist’s pencil; the ancient -stone church, the venerable man, the young children, -the lofty trees, the birds, the shadows, the -sunlight, and the graves.</p> - -<p>“Sha’n’t I take off your hat,” asked John, “so -you can feel warm?” and away went the hat, to -the mutual satisfaction of Uncle Tommy and the -children; for they loved him, and liked to see his -white hair in the bright sunbeams,—“looking exactly -like the ‘Mary’s threads’ on the dewy grass, -so silvery and shiny,” Nelly used to say.</p> - -<p>“What are you going to tell us?” urged the -impatient little Janette, softly.</p> - -<p>He looked all around before speaking; up at the -distant blue sky flooded with light; abroad upon -the fields clothed in richest verdure; at the gently -rustling elms; the oaks, the yews, and hemlocks -in the quiet churchyard; the eager living group -at his feet; all were seen in that one comprehensive -glance. “It is my birthday, little people,” -said he, at length, smilingly nodding to them.</p> - -<p>“Why Uncle Tommy,” cried the astonished -children, in their simplicity, “do you have birthdays, -like us? We thought you was too old!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” said he, shaking his head, “I’m -very old, but I remember my birthdays still. It’s -ninety years, this blessed day, since I came here -a wee bit of a baby; and what a blessed Father -has led me the long weary way!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">370</span></p> - -<p>“Shall you like to die, Uncle Tommy? Do -you want to die?” asked Nelly.</p> - -<p>“I <em>want</em>, dear child, to live just as long as our -Father pleases. I don’t feel impatient to go nor -to stay; ’cause that a’n’t right, Nelly. I want to -do exactly as God wills; but I sha’n’t feel sorry -to go when the time comes; all I <em>wish</em> about it -is, that the sun may shine like <em>now</em> when I go -home, and that I may <em>know</em> it.”</p> - -<p>Another little boy here joined the group. He -was the youngest son of the Rector. He had -only returned home the previous day to pass the -summer vacation, after a six months’ absence. -There was a little shyness at first between the -children, which soon disappeared before the kindly -influence of the old man, in whose eyes all human -beings were recognized as the children of God. -With him there were no rich and no poor.</p> - -<p>“Welcome home again, little Herman!” was -his greeting, accompanied by a smile so genial, -it went straight to the boy’s heart.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Uncle Tommy,” said he, shaking -hands, cordially. “I am right glad to be here, I -can assure you; and very glad to see you in your -old corner, looking so well. But what were you -saying about ‘going home,’ when I interrupted -you by coming up? Pray go on.”</p> - -<p>Before he could answer, Janette said, “It’s -Uncle Tommy’s birthday, this is!”</p> - -<p>“Indeed! and how old is he?” asked Herman, -looking at the old man for a reply.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">371</span></p> - -<p>“Ninety years, thank God,” was the cheerful -answer.</p> - -<p>“O what a long, long time to live!” slowly fell -from Herman’s lips. He was a delicate boy, and -thoughtful beyond his years, as is often the case -with invalid children; and now he rested his -pale, intelligent face upon his hand, with his eyes -fixed on Uncle Tommy, and thought what a long, -long time was ninety years! Then he looked -upon the graves, and wondered whether any of -those whose bodies were lying there knew what -an old, old man was still seeing the sun shine -so long after they were gone. There were little -graves and large ones; Uncle Tommy knew almost -all of them, and still he lived on <em>all alone</em>; -and <em>they</em> had some of them left families. He -wondered on and on; his reverie was short, but -crowded with perplexing thoughts.</p> - -<p>Uncle Tommy put an end to it, by saying, in -answer to Herman’s words, “The time is <em>only</em> -long, when I don’t mind our Father’s will. When -I obey, as the sun, and the wind, and all about us -in Nature does, then I’m as happy as a cretur can -be; and time seems just right. But what I was a -saying about going home was this; I a’n’t in a -hurry to go, ’cause I’m here so long; nor am I -wanting to stay; only just as God pleases. But -when the time <em>does</em> come, I’ll be glad to go home, -after my school time here is over. P’r’aps just as -you feel now, Herman; and I hope when Uncle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">372</span> -Tommy has gone, with the sunshine, out there, -you little people will learn to love the fair works -of God our Father, just as <em>he</em> does now. And -don’t forget when you’re a going to be unkind or -naughty, that you little ones, and <em>all</em> the little -children, and <em>all</em> the grown people, are the fairest, -noblest of God’s works. And if you think of -Uncle Tommy, when you see the sun shine, and -the pretty flowers and birds, and remember how -<em>he</em> loved them, think of him when you are a going -to strike one another, or do any naughty thing, -and remember how often he has told you about -the dear Jesus, who took little children in his arms -and blessed them, and told all the people, great and -small, to love God best, and then to love one -another as they loved themselves. Now if you -try to think of this, I don’t believe you’ll be -naughty very often; and the fewer times you’re -naughty, the happier you’ll be when you look -round on this dear beautiful world.”</p> - -<p>“But, Uncle Tommy,” said Nelly, “we forget -about being good sometimes, when we get cross, -and everybody scolds at us ’cause we are so -naughty; and that makes us act worse, ever so -much; don’t it, Ann?” appealing to a girl about -her own age.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” rejoined Ann, “nobody ever says anything -about being good, in the way you do, -Uncle Tommy; except in Sunday School, and -in Church; and somehow it don’t seem just the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">373</span> -same as when <em>you</em> talk. Oh, Uncle Tommy, I -believe we should always be good children, if you -could only be along with us all the time.”</p> - -<p>“So do I!” “And I!” was heard from the -little circle.</p> - -<p>“Dear me!” cried Nelly, impatiently, “how I -do wish we had a great big world, all our own, -with nobody ugly to plague us; only just for -Uncle Tommy and us to live in. <em>Then</em> we’d -be good as could be. Don’t you wish so, dear -Uncle Tommy?”</p> - -<p>“No, dear children, I wish for no better, or -bigger world to live in, than this. Our Father put -us here, and put it in our own power to be happy; -that means, to be good; and if we don’t make out -to do what He wants us to do here, I don’t believe -we should find it half as easy in a world such as -folks dream about. It’s a wrong notion, to my -thinking, to s’pose we could behave better in some -other place than in the one where our lot’s cast -in life, or at some other time than the present -time going over our heads. Remember this, dear -little people, when you grow up, and don’t wish -for anything it isn’t God’s will you should have. -Try all you can to mind the Lord, who loves you -so well; and if trouble and sorrow come to you, -as they do to every human cretur, and you can be -sure it’s not your own doing, then patiently trust -in our Father, and remember what the dear bells -<span class="locked">say:—</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">374</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentsq">‘For God doth prove</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Our constant friend;</p> - <p class="verse indent1">His boundless love</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Will never end.’</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">You’re little and young, and full of health now, -so you don’t know what I mean, as you will -by and by, when you grow older; but you can -<em>remember</em>, if you can’t quite take it in, that I tell -you, after trying it for a good many years, I <em>know</em> -our happiness depends a deal more on ourselves -than on other people; and it’s only when we’re -lazy, and don’t want to stir ourselves, that we -think other people have an easier time than we -do. B’lieve me, dear children, everybody has -the means of being happy or unhappy in their -<em>hearts</em>; and these they must take wherever they -go; and these make their home and their world.”</p> - -<p>The bell for school began to ring, and the children -sprang to their feet instantly, saying, “Good -by, Uncle Tommy! It’s school-time now!” -“Good by, little ones,” said he. “You go to one -school, and I’ll go to another, among the <em>dumb</em> -children of our Lord!”</p> - -<p>Nelly and Ann lingered after the others a -moment. “Uncle Tommy,” said Ann, “we <em>will</em> -try to do as you want us to, and remember what -you say.”</p> - -<p>He laid his hands upon their heads, and, looking -up to Heaven, said, “May the Spirit of the dear -Lord be with ye, and guide your tender feet in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">375</span> -the narrow way of life! Bless them, Father, with -thy loving presence through their unending life!”</p> - -<p>There was a moment’s pause; then Ann said -earnestly, “I love dearly to have you bless me, -Uncle Tommy”; and with a “Good by,” off -she ran to school.</p> - -<p>Nelly stopped a moment. She had nestled close -to the old man’s side without speaking, and now, -throwing her arms around his neck with a real -overflowing of her young heart, she kissed his -cheek, and then darted off to join her companions -in school. Uncle Tommy was surprised, for Nelly -did not often express her affection by caresses, as -most children do, but by kind deeds.</p> - -<p>The action, slight though it was, touched a -long silent chord in the old man’s memory. The -curtain veiling the past seemed withdrawn, and -again he was a child. There was the path from -the village across the church-yard, just as it was -when first his mother had led him to church, a -tiny thing clinging to her skirts. He was the -youngest of seven, and the pet; O so long ago! -He saw again before him his young brothers and -sisters, full of healthful glee; then other forms -of long-parted ones joined the procession of years; -his sisters’ and brothers’ children; his own cherished -wife and much-loved boys and girls: all -gone, long, long years ago; and he alone, of all -that numerous company, remained. “Thou, Father, -hast ever been on my right hand and on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">376</span> -my left; very safely hast thou led me on through -joy and sorrow unto this shining day; blessed be -thy holy name!”</p> - -<p>So prayed the old man his last earthly thanksgiving. -When the people were dispersing to -their homes after service, one, seeing him sitting -there in the sheltered nook, came to say “Good -morning”; and receiving no answer, he touched -his hand. It was cold. There he sat in the -glorious sunshine, his old brown hat by his side, -wreathed with fresh grass and flowers, as was -his custom; but the freed spirit had gone to the -Father he so lovingly worshipped.</p> - -<p>They made his grave in the sunniest part of -the church-yard, where an opening in the trees -afforded a lovely view of the village and the -meadows, with the gentle flowing river, along -whose peaceful banks the old man had loved to -wander, gathering flowers and leaves and grasses, -and throwing crumbs to the birds, who knew him -too well to fly from him. Here they laid him, -at the last, and, instead of monument or headstone, -the children brought sweet flowering shrubs, -and wild brier from the lanes or fields, to plant -around his quiet grave.</p> - -<p>“Uncle Tommy is not <em>there</em>,” said the children. -“He has gone home. This is only his -poor <em>body</em>, here in the ground!” Thus did the -influence of his bright, ever-young spirit remain -with the “little people” long after Uncle Tommy -had ceased to talk with them.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_377"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">377</span></p> - -<div id="il_79" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_389.png" width="1457" height="373" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="SITTING_IN_THE_SUN">SITTING IN THE SUN.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">When</span> Hope deceives, and friends betray,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And kinsmen shun me with a flout;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When hair grows white, and eyes grow dim,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And life’s slow sand is nigh run out,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’ll ask no boon of any one,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But sing old songs, and sit i’ the sun.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">When memory is my only joy,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And all my thoughts shall backward turn;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When eyes shall cease to glow with love,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And heart with generous fire to burn,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’ll ask no boon of any one,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But sing old songs, and sit i’ the sun.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">When sounds grow low to deafening ears,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And suns shine not as once they did;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When parting is no more a grief,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And I do whatsoe’er they bid,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’ll ask no boon of any one,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But sing old songs, and sit i’ the sun.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">378</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Then underneath a spreading elm,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That guards some little cottage door,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’ll dance a grandchild on my knee,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And count my past days o’er and o’er;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I’ll ask no boon of any one,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But sing old songs and sit i’ the sun.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Anonymous.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">How</span> far from here to heaven?</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Not very far, my friend;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A single hearty step</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Will all thy journey end.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Hold there! where runnest thou?</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Know heaven is in thee!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Seek’st thou for God elsewhere?</p> - <p class="verse indent2">His face thou’lt never see.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Go out, God will go in;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Die thou, and let Him live;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Be not, and He will be;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Wait, and He’ll all things give.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">I don’t believe in death.</p> - <p class="verse indent2">If hour by hour I die,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">’Tis hour by hour to gain</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A better life thereby.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Angelus Silesius</span>, A. D. 1620.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_379"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">379</span></p> -<div id="il_80" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_391.png" width="1432" height="391" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="AUNT_KINDLY">AUNT KINDLY.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> THEODORE PARKER</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l4" src="images/i_391idcm.png" width="331" height="326" alt="M"> -<p><span class="ucase">Miss Kindly</span> is aunt to everybody, -and has been, for so long a time, -that none remember to the contrary. -The little children love her; and she -helped their grandmothers to bridal ornaments -threescore years ago. Nay, this boy’s grandfather -found that the way to college lay through her -pocket. Generations not her own rise up and call -her blessed. To this man’s father her patient toil -gave the first start in life. When that great fortune -was a seed, it was she who carried it in her -hand. That wide river of reputation ran out of -the cup which her bounty filled. Now she is old, -very old. The little children, who cling about -her, with open mouth and great round eyes, wonder -that anybody should ever be so old; or ask -themselves whether Aunt Kindly ever had a -mother to kiss her mouth. To them she is coeval -with the sun, and, like that, an institution of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">380</span> -country. At Christmas, they think she is the -wife of St. Nicholas himself, such an advent is there -of blessings from her hand.</p> - -<p>Her hands are thin, her voice is feeble, her back -is bent, and she walks with a staff, which is the -best limb of the three. She wears a cap of antique -pattern, yet of her own nice make. She has -great round spectacles, and holds her book away -off the other side of the candle when she reads. -For more than sixty years she has been a special -providence to the family. How she used to go -forth, the very charity of God, to heal and soothe -and bless! How industrious are her hands! How -thoughtful and witty that fertile mind! Her heart -has gathered power to love in all the eighty-six -years of her toilsome life. When the birth-angel -came to a related house, she was there to be the -mother’s mother; ay, mother also to the new-born -baby’s soul. And when the wings of death -flapped in the street and shook a neighbor’s door, -she smoothed the pillow for the fainting head; she -soothed and cheered the spirit of the waiting man, -opening the curtains of heaven, that he might look -through and see the welcoming face of the dear -Infinite Mother; nay, she put the wings of her -own strong, experienced piety under him, and -sought to bear him up.</p> - -<p>Now, these things are passed by. No, they are -not passed by; for they are in the memory of the -dear God, and every good deed she has done is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">381</span> -treasured in her own heart. The bulb shuts up -the summer in its breast, which in winter will -come out a fragrant hyacinth. Stratum after -stratum, her good works are laid up, imperishable, -in the geology of her character.</p> - -<p>It is near noon, now; and she is alone. She -has been thoughtful all day, talking inwardly to -herself. The family notice it, but say nothing. -In her chamber, she takes a little casket from her -private drawer; and from thence a book, gilt-edged -and clasped; but the clasp is worn, the -gilding is old, the binding faded by long use. Her -hands tremble as she opens it. First she reads -her own name, on the fly-leaf; only her Christian -name, “Agnes,” and the date. Sixty-eight years -ago, this day, that name was written there, in a -clear, youthful, clerkly hand, with a little tremble -in it, as if the heart beat over quick. It is very -well worn, that dear old Bible. It opens of its -own accord, at the fourteenth chapter of St. John. -There is a little folded paper there; it touches -the first verse and the twenty-seventh. She <em>sees</em> -neither; she reads both out of her <em>soul</em>. “Let -not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, -believe also in me.” “Peace I leave with you. -My peace I give unto you. Not as the world -giveth, give I unto you.” She opens the paper. -There is a little brown dust in it, the remnant of a -flower. She takes the precious relic in her hand, -made cold by emotion. She drops a tear on it, -and the dust is transfigured before her eyes: it is a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">382</span> -red rose of the spring, not quite half blown, dewy -fresh. She is old no longer. She is not Aunt -Kindly now; she is sweet Agnes, as the maiden -of eighteen was, eight and sixty years ago, one day -in May, when all nature was woosome and winning, -and every flower-bell rung in the marriage -of the year. Her lover had just put that red rose -of the spring into her hand, and the good God put -another on her cheek, not quite half-blown, dewy -fresh. The young man’s arm is around her; her -brown curls fall on his shoulder; she feels his -breath on her face, his cheek on hers; their lips -join, and like two morning dew-drops in that rose, -their two loves rush into one.</p> - -<p>But the youth must wander away to a far land. -She bids him take her Bible. They will think of -each other as they look at the North Star. He -saw the North Star hang over the turrets of many -a foreign town. His soul went to God;—there -is as straight a road thither from India as from any -other spot. His Bible came back to her; the -Divine love in it, without the human lover; the -leaf turned down at the blessed words of St. John, -first and twenty-seventh verse of the fourteenth -chapter. She put the rose there to mark the spot; -what marks the thought holds now the symbol of -their youthful love. To-day, her soul is with him; -her maiden soul with his angel-soul; and one day -the two, like two dew-drops, will rush into one -immortal wedlock, and the old age of earth shall -become eternal youth in the kingdom of heaven.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_383"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">383</span></p> - -<div id="il_81" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_395.png" width="1416" height="320" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CROSSING_OVER">CROSSING OVER.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Many</span> a year is in its grave,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Since I crossed this restless wave;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the evening, fair as ever,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Shines on ruin, rock, and river.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Then, in this same boat, beside,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Sat two comrades old and tried;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">One with all a father’s truth,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">One with all the fire of youth.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">One on earth in silence wrought,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And his grave in silence sought;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But the younger, brighter form</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Passed in battle and in storm.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">So, whene’er I turn my eye</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Back upon the days gone by,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Saddening thoughts of friends come o’er me;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Friends who closed their course before me.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">384</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Yet, what binds us, friend to friend,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But that soul with soul can blend?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Soul-like were those hours of yore—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Let us walk in soul once more!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Take! I give it willingly;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For, invisibly to thee,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Spirits twain have crossed with me.</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent4"><span class="smcap">They</span> are all gone into a world of light,</p> - <p class="verse indent6">And I alone sit lingering here!</p> - <p class="verse indent4">Their very memory is fair and bright,</p> - <p class="verse indent6">And my sad thoughts doth clear.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent4"><span class="smcap">Dear</span>, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just!</p> - <p class="verse indent6">Shining nowhere but in the dark!</p> - <p class="verse indent4">What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,</p> - <p class="verse indent6">Could man outlook that mark!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may know,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">At first sight, if the bird be flown;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But what fair field or grove he sings in <em>now</em>,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That is to him unknown.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And yet, as angels, in some brighter dreams,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Call to the soul when man doth sleep,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And into glory peep.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Henry Vaughan.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_385"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">385</span></p> -<div id="il_82" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_397.png" width="1401" height="326" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_LOVE_AFFAIR_AT_CRANFORD">A LOVE AFFAIR AT CRANFORD.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> MRS. GASKELL.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_397idci.png" width="286" height="306" alt="I"> -<p><span class="ucase">I thought</span>, after Miss Jenkyns’s -death, that probably my connection -with Cranford would cease. I was -pleasantly surprised, therefore, by receiving -a letter from Miss Pole proposing that I -should go and stay with her. In a couple of days -after my acceptance came a note from Miss Matey -Jenkyns, in which, in a rather circuitous and very -humble manner, she told me how much pleasure I -should confer if I could spend a week or two with -her, either before or after I had been at Miss -Pole’s; “for,” she said, “since my dear sister’s -death, I am well aware I have no attractions to -offer: it is only to the kindness of my friends that -I can owe their company.”</p> - -<p>Of course I promised to go to dear Miss Matey -as soon as I had ended my visit to Miss Pole. -The day after my arrival at Cranford, I went to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">386</span> -see her, much wondering what the house would -be like without Miss Jenkyns, and rather dreading -the changed aspect of things. Miss Matey began -to cry as soon as she saw me. She was evidently -nervous from having anticipated my call. I comforted -her as well as I could; and I found the best -consolation I could give was the honest praise that -came from my heart as I spoke of the deceased. -Miss Matey slowly shook her head over each virtue, -as it was named and attributed to her sister; -at last she could not restrain the tears which had -long been silently flowing, but hid her face behind -her handkerchief, and sobbed aloud.</p> - -<p>“Dear Miss Matey!” said I, taking her hand; -for indeed I did not know in what way to tell her -how sorry I was for her, left deserted in the world.</p> - -<p>She put down her handkerchief and said: “My -dear, I’d rather you did not call me Matey. -<em>She</em> did not like it. But I did many a thing she -did not like, I’m afraid; and now she’s gone! If -you please, my love, will you call me Matilda?”</p> - -<p>I promised faithfully, and began to practise the -new name with Miss Pole that very day; and, by -degrees, Miss Matilda’s feeling on the subject was -known through Cranford, and the appellation of -Matey was dropped by all, except a very old -woman, who had been nurse in the rector’s family, -and had persevered, through many long years, in -calling the Miss Jenkynses “the girls”: <em>she</em> said -“Matey” to the day of her death.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">387</span></p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin, once or -twice removed, who had offered to Miss Matey -long ago. Now, this cousin lived four or five -miles from Cranford, on his own estate; but his -property was not large enough to entitle him to -rank higher than a yeoman; or, rather, with something -of the “pride which apes humility,” he had -refused to push himself on, as so many of his class -had done, into the rank of the squires. He would -not allow himself to be called Thomas Holbrook, -Esq. He even sent back letters with this address, -telling the postmistress at Cranford that his name -was Mr. Thomas Holbrook, yeoman. He rejected -all domestic innovations. He would have the -house door stand open in summer, and shut in -winter, without knocker or bell to summon a servant. -The closed fist, or the knob of the stick, -did this office for him, if he found the door locked. -He despised every refinement which had not its -root deep down in humanity. If people were not -ill, he saw no necessity for moderating his voice. -He spoke the dialect of the country in perfection, -and constantly used it in conversation; although -Miss Pole (who gave me these particulars) added, -that he read aloud more beautifully, and with more -feeling, than any one she had ever heard, except -the late rector.</p> - -<p>“And how came Miss Matilda not to marry -him?” asked I.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">388</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know. She was willing enough, -I think; but you know Cousin Thomas would not -have been enough of a gentleman for the rector -and Mrs. and Miss Jenkyns.”</p> - -<p>“Well, but <em>they</em> were not to marry him,” said -I, impatiently.</p> - -<p>“No, but they did not like Miss Matey to marry -below her rank. You know she was the rector’s -daughter, and somehow they are related to Sir -Peter Arley; Miss Jenkyns thought a deal of -that.”</p> - -<p>“Poor Miss Matey!” said I.</p> - -<p>“Nay, now, I don’t know anything more than -that he offered and was refused. Miss Matey -might not like him; and Miss Jenkyns might -never have said a word: it is only a guess of -mine.”</p> - -<p>“Has she never seen him since?” I inquired.</p> - -<p>“No, I think not. You see Woodley (Cousin -Thomas’s house) lies half-way between Cranford -and Misselton; and I know he made Misselton his -market-town very soon after he had offered to Miss -Matey; and I don’t think he has been into Cranford -above once or twice since. Once, when I -was walking with Miss Matey in High Street, she -suddenly darted from me and went up Shire Lane. -A few minutes after, I was startled by meeting -Cousin Thomas.”</p> - -<p>“How old is he?” I asked, after a pause of -castle-building.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">389</span></p> - -<p>“He must be about seventy, I think, my dear,” -said Miss Pole, blowing up my castle, as if by gun-powder, -into small fragments.</p> - -<p>Very soon after, I had the opportunity of seeing -Mr. Holbrook; seeing, too, his first encounter -with his former love, after thirty or forty years’ -separation. I was helping to decide whether any -of the new assortment of colored silks, which they -had just received at the shop, would help to match -a gray and black mousseline-de-laine that wanted -a new breadth, when a tall, thin, Don Quixote-looking -old man came into the shop for some -woollen gloves. I had never seen the person before, -and I watched him rather attentively, while -Miss Matey listened to the shopman. The stranger -was rather striking. He wore a blue coat, -with brass buttons, drab breeches, and gaiters, and -drummed with his fingers on the counter, until he -was attended to. When he answered the shop-boy’s -question, “What can I have the pleasure of -showing you to-day, sir?” I saw Miss Matilda -start, and then suddenly sit down; and instantly -I guessed who it was. She had made some inquiry -which had to be carried round to the other -shop.</p> - -<p>“Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarcenet, two-and-twopence -the yard.” Mr. Holbrook caught -the name, and was across the shop in two strides.</p> - -<p>“Matey,—Miss Matilda,—Miss Jenkyns! -Bless my soul! I should not have known you.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">390</span> -How are you? how are you?” He kept shaking -her hand, in a way which proved the warmth of -his friendship; but he repeated so often, as if to -himself, “I should not have known you!” that -any sentimental romance I might be inclined to -build was quite done away with by his manner.</p> - -<p>However, he kept talking to us all the time we -were in the shop; and then waving the shopman, -with the unpurchased gloves, on one side, with -“Another time, sir! another time!” he walked -home with us. I am happy to say Miss Matilda -also left the shop in an equally bewildered state; -not having purchased either green or red silk. -Mr. Holbrook was evidently full with honest, -loud-spoken joy at meeting his old love again. -He touched on the changes that had taken place; -he even spoke of Miss Jenkyns as “Your poor -sister! Well, well! we have all our faults”; -and bade us good by with many a hope that he -should soon see Miss Matey again. She went -straight to her room, and never came back till -our early tea-time, when I thought she looked as -if she had been crying.</p> - -<p>A few days after, a note came from Mr. Holbrook, -asking us,—impartially asking both of us,—in -a formal, old-fashioned style, to spend a day -at his house,—a long, June day,—for it was -June now. He named that he had also invited -his cousin, Miss Pole; so that we might join in a -fly, which could be put up at his house.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">391</span></p> - -<p>I expected Miss Matey to jump at this invitation; -but, no! Miss Pole and I had the greatest -difficulty in persuading her to go. She thought it -was improper; and was even half annoyed when -we utterly ignored the idea of any impropriety in -her going with two other ladies to see her old -lover. Then came a more serious difficulty. She -did not think Deborah would have liked her to go. -This took us half a day’s good hard talking to get -over; but, at the first sentence of relenting, I -seized the opportunity, and wrote and despatched -an acceptance in her name,—fixing day and hour, -that all might be decided and done with.</p> - -<p>The next morning she asked me if I would go -down to the shop with her; and there, after much -hesitation, we chose out three caps to be sent home -and tried on, that the most becoming might be -selected to take with us on Thursday.</p> - -<p>She was in a state of silent agitation all the way -to Woodley. She had evidently never been there -before, and although she little dreamt I knew -anything of her early story, I could perceive she -was in a tremor at the thought of seeing the place -which might have been her home, and round -which it is probable that many of her innocent, -girlish imaginations had clustered. It was a long -drive there, through paved, jolting lanes. Miss -Matilda sat bolt upright, and looked wistfully out -of the windows, as we drew near the end of our -journey. The aspect of the country was quiet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">392</span> -and pastoral. Woodley stood among fields, and -there was an old-fashioned garden, where roses -and currant-bushes touched each other, and where -the feathery asparagus formed a pretty background -to the pinks and gilly-flowers. There -was no drive up to the door. We got out at a -little gate, and walked up a straight, box-edged -path.</p> - -<p>“My cousin might make a drive, I think,” said -Miss Pole, who was afraid of ear-ache, and had -only her cap on.</p> - -<p>“I think it is very pretty,” said Miss Matey, -with a soft plaintiveness in her voice, and almost -in a whisper, for just then Mr. Holbrook appeared -at the door, rubbing his hands in the very -effervescence of hospitality. He looked more like -my idea of Don Quixote than ever, and yet the -likeness was only external. His respectable housekeeper -stood modestly at the door to bid us welcome; -and, while she led the elder ladies up-stairs -to a bed-room, I begged to look about the garden. -My request evidently pleased the old gentleman, -who took me all round the place, and showed me -his six-and-twenty cows, named after the different -letters of the alphabet. As we went along, he -surprised me occasionally by repeating apt and -beautiful quotations from the poets, ranging easily -from Shakespeare and George Herbert, to those -of our own day. He did this as naturally as if -he were thinking aloud; as if their true and beautiful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">393</span> -words were the best expression he could find -for what he was thinking or feeling. To be sure -he called Byron “my lord Byrron,” and pronounced -the name of Goethe strictly in accordance -with the English sound of the letters. -Altogether, I never met with a man, before or -since, who had spent so long a life in a secluded -and not impressive country, with ever-increasing -delight in the daily and yearly change of season -and beauty.</p> - -<p>When he and I went in, we found that dinner -was nearly ready in the kitchen; for so I suppose -the room ought to be called, as there were oak -dressers and cupboards all round, all over by the -side of the fireplace, and only a small Turkey carpet -in the middle of the flag-floor. The room -might have been easily made into a handsome, -dark-oak dining-parlor, by removing the oven, -and a few other appurtenances of a kitchen, which -were evidently never used; the real cooking-place -being at some distance. The room in which we -were expected to sit was a stiffly furnished, ugly -apartment; but that in which we did sit was what -Mr. Holbrook called the counting-house, where he -paid his laborers their weekly wages, at a great -desk near the door. The rest of the pretty sitting-room—looking -into the orchard, and all -covered over with dancing tree-shadows—was -filled with books. They lay on the ground, they -covered the walls, they strewed the table. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">394</span> -was evidently half ashamed and half proud of his -extravagance in this respect. They were of all -kinds; poetry, and wild, weird tales prevailing. -He evidently chose his books in accordance with -his own tastes, not because such and such were -classical, or established favorites.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” he said, “we farmers ought not to -have much time for reading; yet somehow one -can’t help it.”</p> - -<p>“What a pretty room!” said Miss Matey, <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">sotto -voce</i>.</p> - -<p>“What a pleasant place!” said I, aloud, almost -simultaneously.</p> - -<p>“Nay! if you like it,” replied he; “but can -you sit on these great black leather three-cornered -chairs? I like it better than the best parlor; but -I thought ladies would take that for the smarter -place.”</p> - -<p>It was the smarter place; but, like most smart -things, not at all pretty, or pleasant, or home-like; -so, while we were at dinner, the servant-girl -dusted and scrubbed the counting-house chairs, -and we sat there all the rest of the day.</p> - -<p>We had pudding before meat, and I thought -Mr. Holbrook was going to make some apology -for his old-fashioned ways; for he began, “I -don’t know whether you like new-fangled ways.”</p> - -<p>“O, not at all!” said Miss Matey.</p> - -<p>“No more do I,” said he. “My housekeeper -<em>will</em> have things in her new fashion; or else I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_395">395</span> -tell her, that when I was a young man, we used -to keep strictly to my father’s rule, ‘No broth, -no ball; no ball, no beef’; and always began -dinner with broth. Then we had suet puddings, -boiled in the broth with the beef; and then the -meat itself. If we did not sup our broth, we -had no ball, which we liked a deal better; and -the beef came last of all; and only those had it -who had done justice to the broth and the ball. -Now, folks begin with sweet things, and turn their -dinners topsy-turvy.”</p> - -<p>When the ducks and green peas came, we -looked at each other in dismay. We had only -two-pronged, black-handled forks. It is true, the -steel was as bright as silver; but, what were we -to do? Miss Matey picked up her peas, one by -one, on the point of the prongs. Miss Pole sighed -over her delicate young peas, as she left them on -one side of her plate untasted; for they <em>would</em> -drop between her prongs. I looked at my host: -the peas were going wholesale into his capacious -mouth, shovelled up by his large round-ended -knife. I saw, I imitated, I survived! My friends, -in spite of my precedent, could not muster up -courage enough to do an ungenteel thing; and, -if Mr. Holbrook had not been so heartily hungry, -he would probably have seen that the good peas -went away almost untouched.</p> - -<p>After dinner, a clay pipe was brought in, and -a spittoon; and, asking us to retire to another<span class="pagenum" id="Page_396">396</span> -room, where he would soon join us, if we disliked -tobacco-smoke, he presented his pipe to Miss -Matey, and requested her to fill the bowl. This -was a compliment to a lady in his youth; but it -was rather inappropriate to propose it as an honor -to Miss Matey, who had been trained by her sister -to hold smoking of every kind in utter abhorrence. -But if it was a shock to her refinement, -it was also a gratification to her feelings, to be -thus selected; so she daintly stuffed the strong -tobacco into the pipe; and then we withdrew.</p> - -<p>“It is very pleasant dining with a bachelor,” -said Miss Matey, softly, as we settled ourselves -in the counting-house; “I only hope it is not -improper; so many pleasant things are!”</p> - -<p>“What a number of books he has!” said Miss -Pole, looking round the room. “And how dusty -they are!”</p> - -<p>“I think it must be like one of the great Dr. -Johnson’s rooms,” said Miss Matey. “What a -superior man your cousin must be!”</p> - -<p>“Yes!” said Miss Pole; “he’s a great reader; -but I am afraid he has got into very uncouth -habits with living alone.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! uncouth is too hard a word. I should -call him eccentric: very clever people always -are!” replied Miss Matey.</p> - -<p>When Mr. Holbrook returned, he proposed a -walk in the fields; but the two elder ladies were -afraid of damp and dirt, and had only very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_397">397</span> -unbecoming calashes to put on over their caps; -so they declined, and I was again his companion -in a turn which he said he was obliged to take, -to see after his niece. He strode along, either -wholly forgetting my existence, or soothed into -silence by his pipe; and yet it was not silence -exactly. He walked before me, with a stooping -gait, his hands clasped behind him, and as some -tree, or cloud, or glimpse at distant upland pastures, -struck him, he quoted poetry to himself; -saying it out loud, in a grand, sonorous voice, with -just the emphasis that true feeling and appreciation -give. We came upon an old cedar-tree, -which stood at one end of the house;</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentsq">‘More black than ash-buds in the front of March,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">A cedar spread his dark-green layers of shade.’</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">“Capital term, ‘layers!’ Wonderful man!”</p> - -<p>I did not know whether he was speaking to -me or not; but I put in an assenting “Wonderful,” -although I knew nothing about it; just because -I was tired of being forgotten, and of being -consequently silent.</p> - -<p>He turned sharp round. “Ay! you may say -‘wonderful.’ Why, when I saw the review of -his poems in ‘Blackwood,’ I set off within an -hour, and walked seven miles to Misselton (for -the horses were not in the way), and ordered -them. Now, what color are ash-buds in March?”</p> - -<p>Is the man going mad? thought I. He is very -like Don Quixote.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_398">398</span></p> - -<p>“What color are they, I say?” repeated he, -vehemently.</p> - -<p>“I am sure I don’t know sir,” said I, with -the meekness of ignorance.</p> - -<p>“I knew you didn’t. No more did I, an old -fool that I am! till this young man comes and -tells me. Black as ash-buds in March. And -I’ve lived all my life in the country; more -shame for me not to know. Black; they are jet-black, -madam.” And he went off again, swinging -along to the music of some rhyme he had -got hold of.</p> - -<p>When we came home, nothing would serve him -but that he must read us the poems he had been -speaking of; and Miss Pole encouraged him in his -proposal, I thought, because she wished me to hear -his beautiful reading, of which she had boasted; -but she afterwards said it was because she had got -to a difficult part of crochet, and wanted to count -her stitches without having to talk. Whatever he -had proposed would have been right to Miss -Matey, although she did fall sound asleep within -five minutes after he began a long poem, called -“Locksley Hall,” and had a comfortable nap, unobserved, -till he ended, when the cessation of his -voice wakened her up, and she said, feeling that -something was expected, and that Miss Pole was -counting, “What a pretty book!”</p> - -<p>“Pretty, madam? It’s beautiful! Pretty, indeed!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_399">399</span></p> - -<p>“O yes, I meant beautiful!” said she, fluttered -at his disapproval of her word. “It is so like that -beautiful poem of Dr. Johnson’s my sister used to -read!—I forget the name of it; what was it, my -dear?” turning to me.</p> - -<p>“Which do you mean, ma’am? What was it -about?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t remember what it was about, and I’ve -quite forgotten what the name of it was; but it -was written by Dr. Johnson, and was very beautiful, -and very like what Mr. Holbrook has just -been reading.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t remember it,” said he, reflectively; -“but I don’t know Dr. Johnson’s poems well. I -must read them.”</p> - -<p>As we were getting into the fly to return, I -heard Mr. Holbrook say he should call on the -ladies soon, and inquire how they got home; and -this evidently pleased and fluttered Miss Matey at -the time he said it; but after we had lost sight of -the old house among the trees, her sentiments -towards the master of it were gradually absorbed -into a distressing wonder as to whether Martha -had broken her word, and seized on the opportunity -of her mistress’s absence to have a “follower.” -Martha looked good and steady and composed -enough, as she came to help us out; she -was always careful of Miss Matey, and to-night -she made use of this unlucky speech: “Eh, -dear ma’am, to think of your going out in an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_400">400</span> -evening in such a thin shawl! It is no better -than muslin. At your age, ma’am, you should be -careful.”</p> - -<p>“My age!” said Miss Matey, almost speaking -crossly, for her, for she was usually gentle; “my -age! Why, how old do you think I am, that you -talk about my age?”</p> - -<p>“Well, ma’am, I should say you were not far -short of sixty; but folks’ looks is often against -them, and I’m sure I meant no harm.”</p> - -<p>“Martha, I’m not yet fifty-two!” said Miss -Matey, with grave emphasis; for probably the -remembrance of her youth had come very vividly -before her this day, and she was annoyed at finding -that golden time so far away in the past.</p> - -<p>But she never spoke of any former and more -intimate acquaintance with Mr. Holbrook. She -had probably met with so little sympathy in her -early love, that she had shut it up close in her -heart; and it was only by a sort of watching, which -I could hardly avoid since Miss Pole’s confidence, -that I saw how faithful her poor heart had been in -its sorrows and its silence.</p> - -<p>She gave me some good reason for wearing her -best cap every day, and sat near the window, in -spite of her rheumatism, in order to see, without -being seen, down into the street.</p> - -<p>He came. He put his open palms upon his -knees, which were far apart, as he sat with his -head bent down, whistling, after we had replied to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_401">401</span> -his inquiries about our safe return. Suddenly he -jumped up.</p> - -<p>“Well, madam, have you any commands for -Paris? I’m going there in a week or two.”</p> - -<p>“To Paris!” we both exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am. I’ve never been there, and -always had a wish to go; and I think if I don’t -go soon I mayn’t go at all. So as soon as the -hay is got in I shall go, before harvest-time.”</p> - -<p>We were so much astonished that we had no -commissions.</p> - -<p>Just as he was going out of the room, he turned -back, with his favorite exclamation, “Bless my -soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half my errand. -Here are the poems for you, you admired so much -the other evening at my house.” He tugged away -at a parcel in his coat pocket. “Good by, miss!” -said he; “good by, Matey! take care of yourself.” -And he was gone. But he had given her -a book, and he had called her Matey, just as he -used to do thirty years ago.</p> - -<p>“I wish he would not go to Paris,” said Miss -Matilda, anxiously. “I don’t believe frogs will -agree with him. He used to have to be very careful -what he ate, which was curious in so strong-looking -a young man.”</p> - -<p>Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an -injunction to Martha to look after her mistress, -and to let me know if she thought that Miss Matilda -was not so well; in which case I would volunteer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_402">402</span> -a visit to my old friend, without noticing -Martha’s intelligence to her.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, I received a line or two from Martha -every now and then; and about November I -had a note to say her mistress was “very low and -sadly off her food”; and the account made me so -uneasy, that, although Martha did not decidedly -summon me, I packed up my things and went.</p> - -<p>I received a warm welcome, in spite of the little -flurry produced by my impromptu visit, for I had -only been able to give a day’s notice. Miss -Matilda looked miserably ill, and I prepared to -comfort and cosset her.</p> - -<p>I went down to have a private talk with Martha.</p> - -<p>“How long has your mistress been so poorly?” -I asked, as I stood by the kitchen fire.</p> - -<p>“Well, I think it’s better than a fortnight; it -is, I know. It was one Tuesday, after Miss Pole -had been here, that she went into this moping way. -I thought she was tired, and it would go off with -a night’s rest; but no! she has gone on and on -ever since, till I thought it my duty to write to -you, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“You did quite right, Martha. It is a comfort -to think she has so faithful a servant about her. -And I hope you find your place comfortable?”</p> - -<p>“Well, ma’am, missus is very kind, and there’s -plenty to eat and drink, and no more work but -what I can do easily; but—” Martha hesitated.</p> - -<p>“But what, Martha?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_403">403</span></p> - -<p>“Why, it seems so hard of missus not to let me -have any followers. There’s such lots of young -fellows in the town, and many a one has as much -as offered to keep company with me, and I may -never be in such a likely place again, and it’s like -wasting an opportunity. Many a girl as I know -would have ’em unbeknowst to missus; but I’ve -given my word, and I’ll stick to it; or else this is -just the house for missus never to be the wiser if -they did come. It’s such a capable kitchen,—there’s -such good dark corners in it,—I’d be -bound to hide any one. I counted up last Sunday -night,—for I’ll not deny I was crying because I -had to shut the door in Jem Hearn’s face; and -he’s a steady young man, fit for any girl; only I -had given missus my word.” Martha was all but -crying again; and I had little comfort to give her, -for I knew, from old experience, the horror with -which both the Miss Jenkynses looked upon “followers”; -and in Miss Matey’s present nervous -state this dread was not like to be lessened.</p> - -<p>I went to see Miss Pole the next day, and took -her completely by surprise, for she had not been -to see Miss Matilda for two days.</p> - -<p>“And now I must go back with you, my dear,” -said she; “for I promised to let her know how -Thomas Holbrook went on; and I’m sorry to say -his housekeeper has sent me word to-day that he -hasn’t long to live. Poor Thomas! That journey -to Paris was quite too much for him. His<span class="pagenum" id="Page_404">404</span> -housekeeper says he has hardly ever been round -his fields since, but just sits with his hands on his -knees in the counting-house, not reading, or anything, -but only saying, what a wonderful city -Paris was! Paris has much to answer for, if it’s -killed my cousin Thomas, for a better man never -lived.”</p> - -<p>“Does Miss Matilda know of his illness?” asked -I, a new light as to the cause of her indisposition -dawning upon me.</p> - -<p>“Dear! to be sure, yes! Has she not told -you? I let her know a fortnight ago, or more, -when first I heard of it. How odd, she shouldn’t -have told you!”</p> - -<p>Not at all, I thought; but I did not say anything. -I felt almost guilty of having spied too -curiously into that tender heart; and I was not -going to speak of its secrets,—hidden, Miss Matey -believed, from all the world. I ushered Miss Pole -into Miss Matilda’s drawing-room; and then left -them alone. But I was not surprised when Martha -came to my bed-room door, to ask me to go down -to dinner alone, for that missus had one of her bad -headaches. She came into the drawing-room at -tea-time; but it was evidently an effort for her. -As if to make up for some reproachful feeling -against her late sister, Miss Jenkyns, which had -been troubling her all the afternoon, and for which -she now felt penitent, she kept telling me how -good and how clever Deborah was in her youth,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_405">405</span> -how she used to settle what gowns they were to -wear at all the parties; (faint, ghostly ideas of -dim parties far away in the distance, when Miss -Matey and Miss Pole were young!) and how -Deborah and her mother had started the benefit -society for the poor, and taught girls cooking and -plain sewing; and how Deborah had danced with -a lord; and how she used to visit at Sir Peter -Arley’s, and try to remodel the quiet rectory -establishment on the plans of Arley Hall, where -they kept thirty servants; and how she had nursed -Miss Matey through a long, long illness, of which -I had never heard before, but which I now dated, -in my own mind, as following the dismissal of the -suit of Mr. Holbrook. So we talked softly and -quietly of old times, through the long November -evening.</p> - -<p>The next day, Miss Pole brought us word that -Mr. Holbrook was dead. Miss Matey heard the -news in silence. In fact, from the account on the -previous day, it was only what we had to expect. -Miss Pole kept calling upon us for some expressions -of regret, by asking if it was not sad that he -was gone, and <span class="locked">saying,—</span></p> - -<p>“To think of that pleasant day last June, when -he seemed so well! And he might have lived this -dozen years, if he had not gone to that wicked -Paris, where they are always having Revolutions.”</p> - -<p>She paused for some demonstration on our part.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_406">406</span> -I saw Miss Matey could not speak, she was trembling -so nervously, so I said what I really felt; -and after a call of some duration,—all the time of -which I have no doubt Miss Pole thought Miss -Matey received the news very calmly,—our visitor -took her leave. But the effort at self-control Miss -Matey had made to conceal her feelings,—a concealment -she practised even with me; for she has -never alluded to Mr. Holbrook again, although -the book he gave her lies with her Bible on the -little table by her bedside. She did not think I -heard her when she asked the little milliner of -Cranford to make her caps something like the Hon. -Mrs. Jamieson’s; or that I noticed the <span class="locked">reply,—</span></p> - -<p>“But she wears widows’ caps, ma’am?”</p> - -<p>“O, I only meant something in that style; -not widows’, of course, but rather like Mrs. -Jamieson’s.”</p> - -<p>This effort at concealment was the beginning of -the tremulous motion of head and hands, which I -have seen ever since in Miss Matey.</p> - -<p>The evening of the day on which we heard of -Mr. Holbrook’s death, Miss Matilda was very -silent and thoughtful; after prayers, she called -Martha back, and then she stood uncertain what -to say.</p> - -<p>“Martha!” she said at last; “you are young,”—and -then she made so long a pause, that Martha, -to remind her of her half-finished sentence, dropped -a courtesy, and said: “Yes, please, ma’am; two-and-twenty -last third October, please, ma’am.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_407">407</span></p> - -<p>“And perhaps, Martha, you may some time meet -with a young man you like, and who likes you. I -did say you were not to have followers; but if you -meet with such a young man, and tell me, and I -find he is respectable, I have no objection to his -coming to see you once a week. God forbid!” -said she, in a low voice, “that I should grieve -any young hearts.”</p> - -<p>She spoke as if she were providing for some -distant contingency, and was rather startled when -Martha made her ready, eager answer: “Please, -ma’am, there’s Jem Hearn, and he’s a joiner, -making three-and-sixpence a day, and six foot one -in his stocking-feet, please, ma’am; and if you’ll -ask about him to-morrow morning, every one will -give him a character for steadiness; and he’ll be -glad enough to come to-morrow night, I’ll be -bound.”</p> - -<p>Though Miss Matey was startled, she submitted -to Fate and Love.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">God</span> is our Father. Heaven is his high throne, -and this earth is his footstool; and while we sit -around and meditate, or pray, one by one, as we -fall asleep, He lifts us into his bosom, and our -awaking is inside the gates of an everlasting -world.—<span class="smcap">Mountford</span>.</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_408"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_408">408</span></p> - -<div id="il_83" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_420.png" width="1458" height="353" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="TO_MY_WIFE">TO MY WIFE.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF OUR WEDDING.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Now</span>, Time and I, near fifty years,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Have managed kindly to agree;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Pleased with the friendship he appears,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And means that all the world shall see.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">For, with soft touch about my eyes,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The frosty, kindly, jealous friend</p> - <p class="verse indent0">His drawing-pencil deftly plies,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And mars the face he thinks to mend.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Nor am I called <em>alone</em> to wear</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Old Time, “His mark,” in deepening trace;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">That “twain are one,” this limner sere</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Will print in lines on either face.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">’Tis not, perhaps, a gallant thing</p> - <p class="verse indent2">On such a morning to be told,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But Time doth yearly witness bring,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That—Bless you! <em>we</em> are growing old.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_409">409</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Together we have lived and loved,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Together passed through smiles and tears,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And life’s all-varying lessons proved</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Through many constant married years.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And there is joy Time cannot reach,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">A youth o’er which no power he hath,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">If we cling closer, each to each,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And each to God, in hope and faith.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Anonymous.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">In</span> the summer evenings, when the wind blew low,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the skies were radiant with the sunset glow,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Thou and I were happy, long, long years ago!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Love, the young and hopeful, hovered o’er us twain,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Filled us with sad pleasure and delicious pain,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">In the summer evenings, wandering in the lane.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">In the winter evenings, when the wild winds roar,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Blustering in the chimney, piping at the door,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Thou and I are happy, as in days of yore.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Love still hovers o’er us, robed in white attire,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Drawing heavenly music from an earthly lyre,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">In the winter evenings, sitting by the fire.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Anonymous.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_410"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_410">410</span></p> -<div id="il_84" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_422.png" width="1410" height="323" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_EVERGREEN_OF_OUR_FEELINGS">THE EVERGREEN OF OUR FEELINGS.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">EXTRACTS FROM THE GERMAN OF J. P. RICHTER.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_422idci.png" width="285" height="309" alt="I"> -<p><span class="ucase">I oppose</span>, as I would every useless -fear in men, the lamentation that our -feelings grow old with the lapse of -years. It is the narrow heart alone -which does not grow; the wide one becomes -larger. Years shrivel the one, but they expand -the other. Man often mistakes concerning the -glowing depths of his feelings; forgetting that they -may be present in all their energy, though in a -state of repose. In the wear and tear of daily -life, amid the care of providing support, perchance -under misdemeanors, in comparing one -child with another, or in daily absences, thou -mayest not be conscious of the fervent affection -smouldering under the ashes of every-day life, -which would at once blaze forth into a flame, if -thy child were suffering innocently, or condemned -to die. Thy love was already there, prior to the -suffering of thy child and thyself. It is the same<span class="pagenum" id="Page_411">411</span> -in wedlock and friendship. In the familiarity of -daily presence, the heart beats and glows silently; -but in the hours of meeting and parting, the -beautiful radiance of a long-nurtured flame reveals -itself. It is on such occasions that man -always most pleases me. I am then reminded of -the glaciers, which beam forth in rosy-red transparency -only at the rising and setting of the sun, -while throughout the day they look gray and -dark.</p> - -<p>A golden mine of affection, of which the smallest -glimmer is scarcely visible, lies buried in the -breast until some magic word reveals it, and then -man discovers his ancient treasure. To me, it -is a delightful thought that, during the familiarity -of constant proximity, the heart gathers up in -silence the nutriment of love, as the diamond, -even beneath water, imbibes the light it emits. -Time, which deadens hatred, secretly strengthens -love; and in the hour of threatened separation -its growth is manifested at once in radiant -brightness.</p> - -<p>Another reason why man fancies himself chilled -by old age, is that he can then feel interested -only in higher objects than those which once excited -him. The lover of nature, the preacher, -the poet, the actor, or the musician, may, in declining -years, find themselves slightly affected by -what delighted them in youth; but this need -produce no fear that time will mar their sensibility<span class="pagenum" id="Page_412">412</span> -to nature, art, and love. Thou, as well as -I, may indeed weep less frequently than formerly, -at the theatre or at concerts; but give us a truly -excellent piece, and we cannot suppress the emotion -it excites. Youth is like unbleached wax, -which melts under feeble sun-beams, while that -which has been whitened is scarcely warmed by -them. The mature or aged man avoids those -tears which youth invites; because in him they -flow too hot, and dry too slowly.</p> - -<p>Select a man of my age, and of my heart, with -my life-long want of highland scenery, and conduct -him to the valley of the Rhine! Bring him -to that long, attractive, sea-like river, flowing -between vine-clad hills on either side, as between -two regions of enchantment, reflecting only scenes -of pleasure, creating islands for the sake of clasping -them in its arms; let also a reflection of the -setting sun glow upon its waters; and surely -youth would again be mirrored in the old man, -and that still ocean of infinity, which in the true -and highest heaven permits us to look down.</p> - -<p>Memory, wit, fancy, acuteness, cannot grow -young again in old age; but the <em>heart</em> can. In -order to be convinced of this, we need only -remember how the hearts of poets have glowed in -the autumn and winter seasons of life. He who -in old age can do without love, never in his youth -possessed the right sort, over which years have no -power. During winter, it is the withered branches,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_413">413</span> -not the living germs, that become encrusted -with ice. The loving heart will indeed often -bashfully conceal a portion of its warmth behind -children and grandchildren; so that last love is -perhaps as coy as the first. But if an aged eye, -full of soul, is upraised, gleaming with memories -of its spring-time, is there anything in that to excite -ridicule? Even if it were silently moistened, -partly through gladness, and partly through a -feeling of the past, would it not be excusable? -Might not an aged hand presume to press a young -hand, merely to signify thereby, I, too, was once -in Arcadia, and within me Arcadia still remains? -In the better sort of men love is an interior sentiment, -born in the soul; why should it not continue -with the soul to the end? It is a part of -the attraction of tender and elevated love that its -consecrated hours leave in the heart a gentle, continuous, -distinct influence; just as, sometimes, -upon a heavenly spring-evening, fragrance, exhaled -from warm blossoms in the surrounding -country penetrates every street of a city that has -no gardens.</p> - -<p>I would exhort men to spare every true affection, -and not to ridicule the overflowings of a -happy heart with more license than they would -the effusions of a sorrowing one. For the youth -of the soul is everlasting, and eternity is youth.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_414"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_414">414</span></p> - -<div id="il_85" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_426.png" width="1386" height="347" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OUR_SECRET_DRAWER">OUR SECRET DRAWER.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">There</span> is a secret drawer in every heart,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Wherein we lay our treasures, one by one;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Each dear remembrance of the buried past,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Each cherished relic of the time that’s gone.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The old delights of childhood, long ago;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The things we loved because we knew them best;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The first discovered primrose in our path;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The cuckoo’s earliest note; the robin’s nest;</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The merry haymakings around our home;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Our rambles in the summer woods and lanes;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The story told beside the winter fire,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">While the wind moaned across the window panes;</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The golden dreams we dreamt in after years,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Those magic visions of our young romance;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The sunny nooks, the fountains and the flowers,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Gilding the fairy landscape of our trance;</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_415">415</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The link which bound us, later still, to one</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Who fills a corner in our life to-day,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Without whose love we dare not dream how dark</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The rest would seem, if it were gone away;</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The song that thrilled our souls with very joy;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The gentle word that unexpected came;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The gift we prized because the thought was kind;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The thousand, thousand things that have no name;</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">All these, in some far hidden corner lie,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Within the mystery of that secret drawer,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Whose magic springs though stranger hands may touch,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Yet none may gaze upon its guarded store.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Anonymous.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">“<span class="smcap">How</span> seldom, friend, a great, good man inherits</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Honor, or wealth, with all his worth and pains.”</p> - <p class="verse indent0">“For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strain</p> - <p class="verse indent0"><em>What</em> wouldst thou that the great, good man obtain?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Place, title, salary,—a gilded chain?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Or throne on corpses which his sword has slain?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Goodness and greatness are not <em>means</em>, but <em>ends</em>.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Hath he not always treasures, always friends,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The great, good man? Three treasures, love, and light,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And calm thoughts, regular as infant’s breath;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And three true friends, more sure than day and night,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.”</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Coleridge.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_416"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_416">416</span></p> -<div id="il_86" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_428.png" width="1373" height="303" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_GOLDEN_WEDDING">THE GOLDEN WEDDING.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>The German custom of observing a festival called the Silver -Wedding, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of marriage, and a -Golden Wedding on the fiftieth anniversary, have now become -familiar to us by their frequent observance in this country. The -following description of such an anniversary in Sweden is from -the graceful pen of Fredrika Bremer, in her work entitled “The -Neighbors.”</p> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_428idct.png" width="316" height="342" alt="T"> -<p><span class="ucase">There</span> was a patriarch and wife, and -only to see that ancient, venerable -couple made the heart rejoice. Tranquillity -was upon their brows, cheerful -wisdom on their lips, and in their glance one -read love and peace. For above half a century -this ancient couple have inhabited the same house -and the same rooms. There they were married, -and there they are soon to celebrate their golden -nuptials. The rooms are unchanged, the furniture -the same it has been for fifty years; but -everything is clean, comfortable, and friendly, as -in a one-year-old dwelling, though much more -simple than the houses of our time. I know not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_417">417</span> -what spirit of peace and grace it is which breathes -upon me in this house! Ah! in this house fifty -years have passed as a beautiful day. Here a virtuous -couple have lived, loved, and worked together. -Many a pure joy has blossomed here; -and when sorrow came, it was not bitter, for the -fear of God and mutual love illuminated the dark -clouds. Hence has emanated many a noble deed, -and many a beneficent influence. Happy children -grew up. They gathered strength from the example -of their parents, went out into the world, built -for themselves houses, and were good and fortunate. -Often do they return to the parental home, -to bless and to be blessed.</p> - -<p>A long life of integrity, industry, and beneficence -has impressed itself on the father’s expansive -forehead, and on his frank, benevolent deportment. -His figure is yet firm, and his gait steady. -The lofty crown is bald, but the venerable head is -surrounded by silver-white locks, like a garland. -No one in the city sees this head without bowing -in friendly and reverential greeting. The whole -country, as well as the city, loves him as their -benefactor, and venerates him as their patriarch. -He has created his own fortune, and sacrificed -much for the public good; and notwithstanding -much adversity and loss, he has never let his spirit -sink. In mind and conversation he is still cheerful, -full of jest and sprightliness. But for several -years his sight has failed him greatly; and at times<span class="pagenum" id="Page_418">418</span> -the gout troubles his temper. But an angel moves -round the couch to which suffering confines him; -his feet are moved and enwrapped by soft white -hands; the sick-chamber and the countenance of -the old man grow bright before his orphan grandchild, -Serena.</p> - -<p>In the aged countenance and bowed form of the -mother you see an old woman. But show her -something beautiful, speak to her of something -worthy of love, and her mien, her smile, beams -from the eternal youth which dwells immortal in -her sensitive spirit. Then you involuntarily exclaim, -“What beautiful age!” If you sit near -her, and look into her mild, pious eyes, you feel as -if you could open your whole soul, and believe in -every word she speaks, as in the Gospel. She has -lived through much and experienced much; yet -she still says she will live in order to learn. Truly -we must all learn from <em>her</em>. Her tone and manner -betoken true politeness, and much knowledge -of life. She alone has educated her children, and -she still thinks and acts both for children and children’s -children.</p> - -<p>Will you see in one little circumstance a miniature -picture of the whole? Every evening the -old man himself roasts two apples; every evening, -when they are done, he gives one of them to his -“handsome old wife,” as he calls her. Thus for -fifty years have they divided everything with each -other.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_419">419</span></p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>And now the day for their Golden Wedding -has arrived. The whole city and country take an -interest in it. It is as if all the people in the place -were related to the old Dahls. The young people -come from east and west,—Dahls here, Dahls -there, brave men and handsome children. A -swarm of cousins encounter one another at every -step. Brotherships and friendships are concluded.</p> - -<p>If you wish to learn the true value of marriage,—if -you wish to see what this union may be for -two human hearts, and for life,—then observe, -not the wedded ones in their honeymoon, nor by -the cradle of their first child; not at a time when -novelty and hope yet throw a morning glory over -the young and new-born world of home; but survey -them, rather, in the more remote years of -manhood, when they have proved the world and -each other; when they have conquered many an -error, and many a temptation, in order to become -only the more united to each other; when labors -and cares are theirs; when, under the burden of -the day, as well as in hours of repose, they support -one another, and find that they are sufficient -for each other. Or survey them still farther in -life. See them arrived at that period when the -world, with all its changes and agitations, rolls -far away from them; when every object around -becomes more dim to them; when their house is -still; when they are solitary, yet they stand there -hand in hand, and each reads in the other’s eyes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_420">420</span> -only love; when they, with the same memories -and the same hopes, stand on the boundaries of -another life, into which they are prepared to enter, -of all desires retaining only the one that they may -die on the same day. Yes, then behold them! -And, on that account, turn now to the patriarchs, -and to their Golden Wedding.</p> - -<p>There is, indeed, something worth celebrating, -thought I, when I awoke in the morning. The -sun seemed to be of the same opinion, for it shone -brightly on the snow-covered roof of the aged -pair. I wrapped myself in my cloak, and went -forth to carry my congratulations to the old people, -and to see if I could be helpful to Serena. -The aged couple sat in the anteroom, clad in festal -attire, each in their own easy-chair. A large -bouquet of fresh flowers and a hymn-book were -on the table. The sun shone in through snow-white -curtains. It was peaceful and cheerful in -the room. The patriarch appeared, in the sunny -light, as if surrounded by a glory. I offered my -congratulations with emotion, and was embraced -by them, as by a father and mother. “A lovely -day, Madame Werner,” said the old gentleman, -as he looked toward the window. “Yes, beautiful -indeed,” I answered. “It is the feast of love -and truth on the earth.” The two old people -smiled, and clasped each other’s hands.</p> - -<p>There was great commotion in the hall, caused -by the arrival of troops of children and grandchildren,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_421">421</span> -who all, in holiday garb, and with joyous -looks, poured in to bring their wishes of happiness -to the venerable parents. It was charming -to see these groups of lovely children cling round -the old people, like young saplings round aged -stems. It was charming to see the little rosy -mouths turned up to kiss, the little arms stretching -to embrace them, and to hear the clamor of -loving words and exulting voices.</p> - -<p>I found Serena in the kitchen, surrounded by -people, and dealing out viands; for to-day the -Dahls made a great distribution of food and -money to the poor. Serena accompanied the gifts -with friendly looks and words, and won blessings -for her grandparents.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>At eight in the evening, the wedding guests -began to assemble. In the street where they -lived the houses were illuminated in honor of the -patriarchs, and lamps burned at the corners. A -great number of people, with glad countenances, -wandered up and down the street, in the still, -mild winter evening. The house of the Dahls -was thrown into the shade by the brilliancy of -those in the neighborhood; but there was light -within.</p> - -<p>Serena met me at the door of the saloon. She -wore a white garland in her light-brown hair. -How charming she was in her white dress, with -her kindly blue eyes, her pure brow, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_422">422</span> -heavenly smile on her lips! She was so friendly, -so amiable, to everybody! Friends and relatives -arrived; the rooms became filled. They drank -tea, ate ices, and so on; and then there fell at -once a great silence. The two old people seated -themselves in two easy-chairs, which stood near -each other in the middle of the saloon, on a richly -embroidered mat. Their children and their children’s -children gathered in a half-circle round -them. A clergyman of noble presence stepped -forward, and pronounced an oration on the beauty -and holiness of marriage. He concluded with a -reference to the life of the venerable pair, which -was in itself a better sermon on the excellence of -marriage, for the human heart, and for life, than -was his speech, though what he said was true and -touching. There was not a dry eye in the whole -company. All were in a solemn, affectionate -mood.</p> - -<p>Meantime, preparations for the festival were -completed in the second story, to which the guests -ascended. Here <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">tableaux</i> were presented, whose -beauty and grace exceeded everything I had anticipated. -The last one consisted of a well-arranged -group of all the descendants of the Dahls, -during the exhibition of which a chorus was sung. -The whole exhibition gave great and general pleasure. -When the chorus ceased, and the curtain -fell, the doors of the dance-saloon flew open; a -dazzling light streamed thence, and lively music<span class="pagenum" id="Page_423">423</span> -set all the hearts and feet of the young people in -lively motion.</p> - -<p>We sat talking pleasantly together, till supper -was served, on various little tables, in three rooms. -Lagman Hok raised his glass, and begged permission -to drink a toast. All were attentive. Then, -fixing a mild, confident gaze on the patriarchs, he -said, in a low voice: “Flowers and Harps were -woven into the mat on which our honored friends -this evening heard the words of blessing pronounced -over them. They are the symbols of -Happiness and Harmony; and these are the Penates -of this house. That they surround you in -this festive hour, venerable friends, we cannot regard</p> - -<p class="center"> -as an accident. I seemed to hear them<br> -say, ‘During your union you have so<br> -welcomed and cherished us, that<br> -we are at home here, and can<br> -never forsake you. Your<br> -age shall be like your<br> -youth!’” -</p> - -<div id="il_87" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_435.png" width="69" height="260" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> wisest man may be wiser to-day than he -was yesterday, and to-morrow than he is to-day.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Colton.</span> -</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_424"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_424">424</span></p> - -<div id="il_88" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_436.png" width="1416" height="321" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_WORN_WEDDING_RING">THE WORN WEDDING RING.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> W. C. BENNETT.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">Your</span> wedding ring wears thin, dear wife. Ah summers not a few,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Since I put it on your finger first, have passed o’er me and you.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And, love, what changes we have seen! what cares and pleasures too!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Since you became my own dear wife, when this old ring was new.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">O blessings on that happy day, the happiest of my life,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">When, thanks to God, your low, sweet “Yes” made you my loving wife!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Your heart will say the same, I know; that day’s as dear to you,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The day that made me yours, dear wife, when this old ring was new.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">How well do I remember now your young, sweet face that day!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">How fair you were, how dear you were, my tongue could hardly say;</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_425">425</span> - <p class="verse indent0">Nor how I doated on you. Ah, how proud I was of you!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But did I love you more than now, when this old ring was new?</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">No! No! no fairer were you then, than at this hour, to me;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And dear as life to me this day, how could you dearer be?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">As sweet your face might be that day as now it is, ’tis true;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But did I know your <em>heart</em> as well, when this old ring was new?</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">O partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what grief, is there</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For me you would not bravely face? with me you would not share?</p> - <p class="verse indent0">O, what a weary want had every day, if wanting <em>you</em>!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Wanting the love that God made mine when this old ring was new!</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife,—small voices that are here,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Small faces round our fire that make their mother’s yet more dear,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Small, loving hearts, your care each day makes yet more like to you,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">More like the loving heart made mine when this old ring was new.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And, blessed be God, all He has given are with us yet; around</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Our table every little life lent to us still is found;</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_426">426</span> - <p class="verse indent0">Though cares we’ve known, with hopeful hearts the worst we’ve struggled through;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Blessed be His name for all His love since this old ring was new.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">The past is dear; its sweetness still our memories treasure yet;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">The griefs we’ve borne, together borne, we would not now forget.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart unto heart still true,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We’ll share, as we have shared all else, since this old ring was new.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And if God spare us, ’mongst our sons and daughters to grow old,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">We know His goodness will not let your heart or mine grow cold.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Your aged eyes will see in mine all they’ve still shown to you;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And mine in yours all they have seen since this old ring was new.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">And O, when death shall come at last to bid me to my rest,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">May I die looking in those eyes, and resting on that breast!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">O, may my parting gaze be blessed with the dear sight of you!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Of those fond eyes,—fond as they were when this old ring was new.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Chambers’s Journal.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_427"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_427">427</span></p> -<div id="il_89" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_439.png" width="1423" height="331" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="HINTS_ABOUT_HEALTH">HINTS ABOUT HEALTH.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> L. MARIA CHILD.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap l2" src="images/i_439idct.png" width="316" height="342" alt="T"> -<p><span class="ucase">There</span> are general rules of health, -that cannot be too often repeated and -urged, concerning which physicians -of all schools are nearly unanimous. -All who are acquainted with the physical laws -of our being, agree that too much food is eaten. -As far back as the twelfth century, the School -of Salerno, the first Medical School established in -Europe, published Maxims for Health, among -which were the following: “Let these three things -be your physicians; cheerfulness, moderate repose, -and diet.” “Eat little supper, and you will -sleep quietly.” A few years ago, the celebrated -French physician, Dumoulin, in his last illness, -said to friends who were lamenting the loss of -his medical services, “I shall leave behind me -three physicians much greater than I am: water, -exercise, and diet.”</p> - -<p>The Rev. Sydney Smith says: “The longer I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_428">428</span> -live, the more I am convinced that half the unhappiness -in the world proceeds from little stoppages; -from a duct choked up, from food pressing -in the wrong place, from a vexed duodenum, -or an agitated pylorus. The deception, as practised -upon human creatures, is curious and entertaining. -My friend sups late; he eats some strong -soup, then a lobster, then some tart, and he dilutes -these excellent varieties with wine. The -next day I call upon him. He is going to sell -his house in London, and to retire into the country. -He is alarmed for his eldest daughter’s health. -His expenses are hourly increasing, and nothing -but a timely retreat can save him from ruin. All -this is the lobster. Old friendships are sometimes -destroyed by toasted cheese, and hard salted -meat has led to suicide. I have come to the -conclusion that mankind consume twice too much -food. According to my computation, I have eaten -and drunk, between my tenth and seventieth -year, forty-four horse-wagon loads more than was -good for me.”</p> - -<p>The example of Ludovicus Cornaro is a very -striking proof of the advantages of abstinence. -Modern physicians agree with him, that it is particularly -wise for people, as they grow older, to -diminish the quantity of <em>solid</em> food. Little should -be eaten, especially by those who do not exercise -greatly; and that little should be light and nutritious. -It is also important that food and sleep -should be taken at regular intervals.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_429">429</span></p> - -<p>Early rising, and frequent, though not excessive -exercise, are extremely conducive to good -health and good spirits. There is now living in -South Kingston, R. I., an old man, named Ebenezer -Adams, who is past ninety, and has never -called upon a physician, or taken a single prescription, -in his whole life. He has mowed every -season for the last seventy-five years. The past -summer he has raised with his own hands one -hundred and thirty bushels of potatoes, and harvested -them himself; conveying them about three -quarters of a mile, in a wheelbarrow, to his house. -He has raised and harvested forty bushels of -corn himself. He has mowed and put up, without -the help of man or beast, six tons of hay. -He hauled it on hay-poles of his own manufacture, -and put it in the barn himself. He carries -his corn two miles and a half, two bushels at a -time, in a wheelbarrow, to the mill, himself. Rainy -weather, and in winter, he is at work at his trade -as a cooper. His uninterrupted health is doubtless -mainly owing to constant exercise in the open air.</p> - -<p>The Rev. John Wesley, speaking of his remarkable -freedom from fatigue amid the incessant -labors of his old age, says: “I owe it to -the goodness of God. But one natural cause undoubtedly -is my continual exercise, and change -of air. How the latter contributes to health, I -know not; but it undoubtedly does.”</p> - -<p>The Duke of Wellington, who retained his mental<span class="pagenum" id="Page_430">430</span> -and physical faculties, in a remarkable degree, -to an advanced age, lived with so much simplicity, -that a celebrated cook left his service on the plea -that he had no opportunity to display his skill. -He was in the habit of applying vigorous friction -to all his body daily. He slept on his narrow, iron -camp bedstead, and walked briskly, or rode on -horseback, while other gentlemen were sleeping. -He made no use of tobacco in any form. For -many years he refrained from the use of wine, saying -he found no advantage from it, and relinquished -it for the sake of his health.</p> - -<p>The Hon. Josiah Quincy is a memorable example -of vigorous old age. He has always been -an early riser, and very active in his habits, both -intellectual and physical. For many years, he has -practised gymnastics fifteen minutes every morning, -before dressing; throwing his limbs about -with an agility which few young men could surpass. -Believing the healthy state of the skin to -be of great importance, he daily applies friction to -his whole body, by means of horse-hair gloves. -He is temperate in his diet, and rarely tastes of -wine. He is careful not to let his mind rust for -want of use. He is always adding to his stock of -knowledge, and he takes a lively interest in public -affairs. He is now past ninety; yet few have -spoken so wisely and boldly as he has concerning -the national emergencies which have been occurring -during the last ten years. He profits by a hint he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_431">431</span> -received from the venerable John Adams, in answer -to the question how he had managed to preserve -the vigor of his mind to such an advanced age. -“Simply by exercising it,” replied Mr. Adams. -“Old minds are like old horses; you must exercise -them if you wish to keep them in working order.”</p> - -<p>A few years since, the Rev. Daniel Waldo addressed -the graduates at Yale College, on Commencement -Day. In the course of his remarks, -he said: “I am now an old man. I have seen -nearly a century. Do you want to know how to -grow old slowly and happily? Let me tell you. -Always eat slowly; masticate well. Go to your -food, to your rest, to your occupations, smiling. -Keep a good nature and a soft temper everywhere. -Never give way to anger. A violent tempest of -passion tears down the constitution more than a -typhus fever.”</p> - -<p>Leigh Hunt says: “Do not imagine that -mind alone is concerned in your bad spirits. The -body has a great deal to do with these matters. -The mind may undoubtedly affect the body; but -the body also affects the mind. There is a reaction -between them; and by lessening it on either -side you diminish the pain of both. If you are -melancholy, and know not why, be assured it must -arise entirely from some physical weakness, and do -your best to strengthen yourself. The blood of a -melancholy man is thick and slow. The blood of -a lively man is clear and quick. Endeavor, therefore,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_432">432</span> -to put your blood in motion. Exercise is the -best way to do it.”</p> - -<p>The homely old <span class="locked">maxim,—</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indentq">“After breakfast, work a while;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">After dinner, sit and smile;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">After supper, walk a mile,”—</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">contains a good deal of practical wisdom. Manual -labor in the forenoon; cheerful conversation, or -music, after dinner; a light supper, at five or six -o’clock, and a pleasant walk afterward, will preserve -health, and do much to restore it, if undermined. -A walk at any period of the day does the -body twice as much good if connected with some -object that interests the mind or heart. To walk -out languidly into infinite space, merely to aid -digestion, as rich epicures are wont to do, takes -half the virtue out of exercise.</p> - -<p>An aged clergyman, who had never known a -day’s illness, was asked how he accounted for it. -He replied, “Dry feet and early rising have been -my only precautions.” In “Hall’s Journal of -Health” I find the following advice, of which I -know the value by experience: “If you are well, -let yourself alone. This is our favorite motto. -But to you whose feet are inclined to be cold, we -suggest that as soon as you get up in the morning, -put your feet at once in a basin of cold water, so as -to come half-way to the ankles; keep them in half -a minute in winter, or two minutes in summer, -rubbing them both vigorously; wipe dry, and hold<span class="pagenum" id="Page_433">433</span> -to the fire, if convenient, in cold weather, until -every part of the foot feels as dry as your hand, -then put on your socks or stockings. On going to -bed at night, draw off your stockings, and hold the -foot to the fire for ten or fifteen minutes, until perfectly -dry, and get right into bed. This is a most -pleasant operation, and fully repays for the trouble -of it. No one can sleep well or refreshingly with -cold feet. Never step from your bed with the -naked feet on an uncarpeted floor. I have known -it to be the exciting cause of months of illness. -Wear woollen, cotton, or silk stockings, whichever -keep your feet most comfortable; do not let the -experience of another be your guide, for different -persons require different articles; what is good for -a person whose feet are naturally damp, cannot be -good for one whose feet are always dry.”</p> - -<p>In Italy, and all the other grape-growing countries -of Europe, people have the habit of drinking -wine with breakfast. Cornaro followed the general -custom, and he recommends a moderate use -of wine as essential to old people. But at that remote -period there was less knowledge of the physical -laws than there now is. He confesses that -he always found old wine very deleterious to him, -and that for many years he never tasted any but -new wine. Sir Walter Raleigh, who was born -only ninety years later than Cornaro, gives the -following sensible advice: “Except thou desire to -hasten thy end, take this for a general rule: that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_434">434</span> -thou never add any artificial heat to thy body by -wine or spice, until thou find that time hath decayed -thy natural heat; and the sooner thou dost -begin to help Nature, the sooner she will forsake -thee, and leave thee to trust altogether to art.”</p> - -<p>The late Dr. Warren, in his excellent little book -on the “Preservation of Health,” bears the following -testimony: “Habitual temperance in regard to -the quantity of food, regular exercise, and abstinence -from all stimulants except for medicinal purposes, -would greatly diminish or obviate the evils -of age. It is idle to say that men can and do live -sometimes even to great age under the practice of -various excesses, particularly under the use of -stimulants. The natural and sufficient stimulus -of the stomach is healthy food. Any stimulus -more active produces an unnatural excitement, -which will ultimately tell in the great account of -bad habits. The old adage, ‘Wine is the milk -of age,’ is not supported by exact observation of -facts. For more than twenty years I have had -occasion to notice a great number of instances of -the sudden disuse of wine without mischievous -results. On the contrary, the disuse has generally -been followed by an improvement of appetite, freedom -from habitual headache, and a tranquil state -of body and mind. Those who have been educated -to the use of wine do, indeed, find some inconvenience -from the substitution of a free use of -water. If, however, they begin by taking the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_435">435</span> -pure fluid in moderate quantities only, no such -inconvenience occurs. The preceding remarks -may be applied to beer, cider, and other fermented -liquors. After the age of sixty, I myself gave -up the habit of drinking wine; and, so far from -experiencing any inconvenience, I have found my -health better without it than with it.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Warren’s exhortations against the use of -tobacco are very forcible. He says: “The habit -of smoking impairs the natural taste and relish for -food, lessens the appetite, and weakens the powers -of the stomach. Tobacco, being drawn in with -the vital breath, conveys its poisonous influence -into every part of the lungs. The blood, having -imbibed the narcotic principle, circulates it through -the whole system. Eruptions on the skin, weakness -of the stomach, heart, and lungs, dizziness, -headache, confusion of thought, and a low febrile -action must be the consequence. Where there is -any tendency to diseases of the lungs, the debility -of these organs consequent on the smoking of tobacco -must favor the deposit of tuberculous matter, -and thus sow the seeds of consumption.</p> - -<p>“Snuff received into the nostrils enters the -cavities opening from them, and makes a snuff-box -of the olfactory apparatus. The voice is consequently -impaired, sometimes to a remarkable -degree. I knew a gentleman of the legal profession -who, from the use of snuff occasionally, lost -the power of speaking audibly in court. Moreover,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_436">436</span> -portions of this powder are conveyed into -the lungs and stomach, and exert on those organs -their deleterious effects.</p> - -<p>“The worst form in which tobacco is employed -is in chewing. This vegetable is one of the most -powerful of narcotics. A very small portion of it—say -a couple of drachms, and perhaps even -less—received into the stomach might prove fatal. -When it is taken into the mouth in smaller -portions, and there retained some time, an absorption -of part of it into the system takes place, which -has a most debilitating effect. If we wished to -reduce our physical powers in a slow yet certain -way, we could not adopt a more convenient process. -The more limited and local effects are indigestion, -fixed pains about the region of the stomach, -debility of the back, affections of the brain, -producing vertigo, and also affections of the mouth, -generating cancer.”</p> - -<p>Too much cannot be said in favor of frequently -washing the whole person in cold water, or, if not -entirely cold in winter, at least as nearly so as it -can be without producing a chill. It operates both -as a purifier and a tonic. The health in all respects -greatly depends upon keeping the pores of -the skin open. Attacks of rheumatism might often -be warded off by this habit. The washing should -be in a warm room, and followed immediately by a -smart rubbing with a coarse towel.</p> - -<p>When wounds, bruises, or cracks in the skin<span class="pagenum" id="Page_437">437</span> -become inflamed and feverish, there is no application -better than a linen rag, doubled six or eight -times, wet with cold water, and bound on with a -thick, dry, cotton bandage, which completely covers -it. Inveterate sores will be healed by a repetition -of this application. The same is true of -sore throat; but the wet cloth should be carefully -and completely covered with dry woollen, so as to -exclude the air. When removed, it should be -done soon after one rises in the morning; the -throat should then be plentifully sponged with -cold water, and wiped thoroughly dry. There is -danger of taking cold after the application of hot -or warm water; but it is not so with the use of -cold water.</p> - -<p>It is a great preservation to the eyesight to -plunge the face into cold water every morning, -and wink the eyes in it while one counts thirty or -forty. In order to do this, one must draw in the -breath when about to plunge the head into the -water, and hold the breath while it remains there. -It seems difficult to do this at first, but it soon becomes -easy. It is well to repeat the operation six -or eight times every morning. In cold weather, -put in warm water enough to prevent a painful -chill.</p> - -<p>Before retiring to rest, great care should be -taken to remove every particle of food from between -the teeth with a tooth-pick of willow, or -ivory, and cleanse the mouth very thoroughly by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_438">438</span> -the use of the brush, and rinsing. It is more important -at night than in the morning; because -during sleep an active process of fermentation goes -on, which produces decay. It is an excellent plan -to hold a piece of charcoal in the mouth frequently. -It arrests incipient toothache and decay, -and tends to preserve the teeth by its antiseptic -properties. If chewed, it should not be swallowed, -except occasionally, and in small quantities; -and it should never be rubbed on the teeth, as it -injures the enamel.</p> - -<p>Old people are generally reluctant to admit that -the present generation is wiser than the past; but -in one respect all must allow that there is obvious -improvement. Far less medicine is taken than -formerly; and more attention is paid to diet. -Still, people by no means pay sufficient attention -to the good old maxim, “An ounce of prevention -is worth a pound of cure.” Nature gives us -kindly warnings, which we thoughtlessly neglect. -When the head aches and the skin is hot, we often -continue to eat hearty food, merely because we -like the taste of it; and the result of this imprudence -is a fever, which might have been easily -and cheaply prevented by living two or three days -on bread and water, or simple gruels.</p> - -<p>Fruits are among the best as well as the pleasantest -of remedies. Fresh currants agree with -nearly all dyspeptics, and are excellent for people -of feverish tendencies; cranberries also. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_439">439</span> -abundant use of apples is extremely conducive to -health. The free use of grapes is said to cure -liver-complaints, and to be in other respects salutary -for the system. Linnæus tells us that he was -cured of severe rheumatism by eating strawberries, -and that he afterward habitually resorted to -them when he had an attack of that painful disease. -Captain Cook has also recorded, that when -he touched at an island where strawberries were in -great profusion, the crew devoured them eagerly, -and were cured of a scorbutic complaint, which -had afflicted them greatly. Lemonade and oranges -are recommended for rheumatism; vegetable -acids in general being salutary for that disease.</p> - -<p class="center"> -Mother Nature is much kinder to us than<br> -we are to ourselves. She loves to lead<br> -us gently, and the violent reactions<br> -from which we suffer we bring<br> -upon ourselves by violating<br> -the laws she is constantly<br> -striving to teach<br> -us. -</p> - -<div id="il_90" class="figcenter taper" style="max-width: 2em;"><img src="images/i_453.png" width="70" height="259" alt="decoration"></div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">How</span> shall I manage to be healthy?” said a -wealthy invalid to the famous Dr. Abernethy. -“Live on sixpence a day, and earn it,” was his -laconic reply.</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_440"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_440">440</span></p> - -<div id="il_91" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 24em;"><img src="images/i_454.png" width="1481" height="380" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_INVALIDS_PRAYER">THE INVALID’S PRAYER</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">O <span class="in05">thou</span></span>, whose wise, paternal love</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Hath cast my active vigor down,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Thy choice I thankfully approve;</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And, prostrate at Thy gracious throne,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I offer up my life’s remains;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">I choose the state my God ordains.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Cast as a broken vessel by,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Thy will I can no longer do;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">But while a daily death I die,</p> - <p class="verse indent3">power I can in weakness show;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">My patience shall thy glory raise,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">My steadfast trust proclaim thy praise.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Wesley.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Trials</span> make our faith sublime,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Trials give new life to prayer,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Lift us to a holier clime,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Make us strong to do and bear.</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Cowper.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_441"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_441">441</span></p> -<div id="il_92" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;"><img src="images/i_455.png" width="1430" height="393" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_OLD_PASTOR_AND_HIS_SON">THE OLD PASTOR AND HIS SON.<br> - -<span class="subhead smaller">FROM THE GERMAN OF JEAN PAUL RICHTER.</span></h2> -</div> - -<img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_455idci.png" width="285" height="309" alt="I"> -<p><span class="ucase">In</span> the little village of Heim, Gottreich -Hartmann resided with his old father, -who was a curate. The old man had -wellnigh outlived all those whom he -had loved, but he was made happy by his son. -Gottreich discharged for him his duties in the -parish, not so much in aid of his parent’s untiring -vigor, as to satisfy his own energy, and to -give his father the exquisite gratification of being -edified by his child and companion.</p> - -<p>In Gottreich there thrilled a spirit of true -poetry; and his father also had, in his youth, a -poet’s ardor, of like intensity, but it had not been -favored by the times. Son and father seemed -to live in one another; and on the site of filial -and paternal love there arose the structure of a -rare and peculiar friendship. Gottreich not only -cheered his father by the new birth of his own -lost poet-youth, but by the still more beautiful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_442">442</span> -similarity of their faith. The father found again -his old Christian heart sending forth new shoots -in the bosom of Gottreich, and moreover the best -justification of the convictions of his life and of -his love.</p> - -<p>If it be pain for us to love and to contradict -at the same time, to refuse with the head what -the heart grants, it is all the sweeter to us to -find ourselves and our faith transplanted into a -younger being. Life is then as a beautiful night, -in which, as one star goes down, another rises -in its place. Gottreich possessed a paradise, in -which he labored as his father’s gardener. He -was at once the wife, the brother, the friend of -his parent; the all that is to be loved by man. -Every Sunday brought him a new pleasure,—that -of preaching a sermon before his father. If the -eyes of the old man became moistened, or if he -suddenly folded his hands in an attitude of prayer, -that Sunday became the holiest of festivals. Many -a festival has there been in that quiet little parsonage, -the joyfulness of which no one understood -and no one perceived. The love and approbation -of an energetic old man, like Hartmann, -whose spiritual limbs had by no means stiffened -on the chilly ridge of years, could not but exercise -a powerful influence on a young man like -Gottreich, who, more tenderly and delicately -formed both in body and mind, was wont to shoot -forth in loftier and more rapid flame.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_443">443</span></p> - -<p>To these two happy men was added a happy -woman also. Justa, an orphan, sole mistress of -her property, had sold the house which had been -her father’s in the city, and had removed into -the upper part of a good peasant’s cottage, to -live entirely in the country. Justa did nothing -by halves; she often did things more than completely, -as most would think at least, in all that -touched her generosity. She had not long resided -in the village of Heim, and seen the meek -Gottreich, and listened to some of his spring-tide -sermons, ere she discovered that he had won -her heart, filled as it was with the love of virtue. -She nevertheless refused to give him her hand -until the conclusion of the great peace, after -which they were to be married. She was ever -more fond of doing what is difficult than what -is easy. I wish it were here the place to tell -of the May-time life they led, which seemed to -blossom in the low parsonage-house, near the -church-door, under Justa’s hand; how she came -from her own cottage, in the morning, to order -matters in the little dwelling for the day; how -the evenings were passed in the garden, ornamented -with a few pretty flower-beds, and commanding -a view of many a well-watered meadow, -and distant hill, and stars without number; how -these three hearts played into one another, no -one of which, in this most pure and intimate intercourse, -knew or felt anything which was not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_444">444</span> -of the fairest; and how cheerfulness and good intention -marked the passage of their lives. Every -bench was a church seat, all was peaceful and -holy, and the firmament above was an infinite -church-dome.</p> - -<p>In many a village and in many a house is hidden -a true Eden, which has neither been named -nor marked down; for happiness is fond of covering -over and concealing her tenderest flowers. -Gottreich reposed in such tenderness of love and -bliss, of poetry and religion, of spring-time, of the -past and of the future, that, in the depths of his -heart, he feared to speak out his happiness, save in -prayer. In prayer, thought he, man may say all -his happiness and his misery. His father was very -happy also. There came over him a warm old -age; no winter night, but a summer evening -without chill or darkness; albeit the sun of his -life was sunk pretty deep below the mound of -earth under which his wife was lain down to sleep.</p> - -<p>In these sweetest May-hours of youth, when -heaven and earth and his own heart were beating -together in triune harmony, Gottreich gave ardent -words to his ardent thoughts, and kept them -written down, under the title of “Reminiscences -of the best Hours of Life, for the Hour of Death.” -He meant to cheer himself, in his last hours, with -these views of his happy life; and to look back, -through them, from the glow of his evening to the -bright morning of his youth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_445">445</span></p> - -<p>Thus lived these three beings, even rejoicing -more deeply in one another, and in their genial -happiness, when the chariots of war began to roll -over the land.<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">N</a> Gottreich became another man. -The active powers of his nature, which had heretofore -been the quiet audience of his poetical and -oratorical powers, now arose. It seemed as if the -spirit of energy, which hitherto had wasted itself -on empty air, like the flames of a bituminous soil, -were now seeking an object to lay hold of. He -did not venture to propose separating from his -father, but he alternately refreshed and tormented -himself inwardly with the idea of sharing the labors -and combats of his countrymen. He confided his -wishes to Justa only; but she did not give him -encouragement, because she feared the old man’s -solitude would be too great for him to bear. But -at last the old man himself became inspirited for -the war, by Gottreich and his betrothed; and he -said to his son that he had better go; that he -knew he had long desired it, and had only been -silent through love for him. He hoped, with -God’s aid, to be able to discharge his pastoral -duties for a year, and thus he also would be -doing something to serve his country.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="fnanchor">N</a> The war of 1813, against Napoleon, to secure the independence -of Germany.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Gottreich departed, trusting to the autumnal -strength of his father’s life. He enlisted as a common -soldier, and preached also wherever he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_446">446</span> -able. The entrance on a new career awakens -new energies and powers, which rapidly unfold -into life and vigor. Although fortune spared him -the wounds which he would willingly have brought -back with him into the peaceful future of his life, -in memory of the focus of his youth, as it were, -yet it was happiness enough to take part in the -battles, and, like an old republican, to fight together -with a whole nation, for the common cause.</p> - -<p>At length, in the beautiful month of May, the -festivals of victory and peace began in more than -one nation; and Gottreich was unwilling to pass -those days of rejoicing so far from the friends who -were dearest to him. He longed for their company, -that his joy might be doubled; so he took -the road to Heim. Thousands at that time journeyed -over the liberated land, from a happy past -to a happy future. But there were few who saw, -like Gottreich, so pure a firmament over the mountains -of his native valleys, in which not a star was -missing, but every one of them was bright and -twinkling. Justa had, from time to time, sent -him the little annals of the parsonage. She had -written how she longed for his return, and how his -father rejoiced; how well the old man stood the -labors of his office; and how she had still better -secrets in store for him. To these belonged, perhaps, -her promise, which he had not forgotten, to -give him her hand after the great peace.</p> - -<p>With such prospects before him, Gottreich ever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_447">447</span> -enjoyed in thought that holy evening when he -should see the sun go down at Heim,—when he -should arrive unexpectedly, to relieve the old man -from all his cares, and begin to prepare the tranquil -festivities of the village. As he was thinking -of that day’s meeting, when he should clasp those -fond hearts to his own, and as the mountains above -his father’s village were seen more and more clearly -in relief against the blue sky, the Reminiscences -of the best hours of life, which he had written for -the hour of death, echoed and re-echoed in his -soul; and, as he went along, he dwelt particularly -upon one among them, which commemorated the -joy of meeting again here below.</p> - -<p>A shower was coming up behind him, of which -he seemed to be the happy messenger; for the -parched ground, the drooping flowers, and the -ears of corn had long been thirsting for water -from the warm clouds. A parishioner of Heim, -who was laboring in the fields, saluted him as he -passed, and expressed joy that Gottreich and the -rain had both come at last. Soon he caught sight -of the low church-steeple, peeping above the clustered -trees; and he entered upon that tract in the -valley where the parsonage lay, all reddened by -the evening sun. At every window he hoped to -see his betrothed one, thinking perchance she -might be looking out on the sunset before the -storm came on. As he drew nearer, he hoped to -see the lattice open, and Whitsuntide-brooms in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_448">448</span> -the chief apartment; but he saw nothing of all -this.</p> - -<p>At last, he quietly entered the parsonage-house, -and slowly opened the well-known door. The -room was empty, but he heard a noise overhead. -When he entered the chamber, it was filled with a -glow from the west, and Justa was kneeling by the -bed of his father, who was sitting half upright, and -looking, with a stiff, haggard countenance, toward -the setting sun before him. One exclamation, and -a clasp of her lover to her breast, was all his reception. -His father stretched out his withered -hand slowly, and said, with difficulty, “Thou art -come at the right time”; but without adding -whether he spoke of the preachings, or alluded to -their approaching separation. Justa hastily related -how the old man had overworked himself, till body -and spirit had given way together, so that he no -longer took a share in anything, though he longed -to be with the sharers; and how he lay prostrate, -with broken wings, looking upward, like a helpless -child. The old man had grown so hard of hearing, -that she could say all this in his presence.</p> - -<p>Gottreich would fain have infused into that old -and once strong heart the fire of victory which was -reflected in his own bosom; but he heard neither -wish nor question of it. The old man continued -to gaze steadily upon the setting sun, and at last -it was hidden by the storm-clouds. The landscape -grew dark, the winds stood pent, and the earth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_449">449</span> -was oppressed. Suddenly there came a gush of -rain and a crash of thunder. The lightning flashed -around the old man. He looked up, altered and -astonished. “Hist!” he said; “I hear the rain -once more. Speak quickly, children, for I shall -soon depart!” Both his children clung to him, -but he was too weak to embrace them.</p> - -<p>And now warm, refreshing fountains from the -clouds bathed all the sick earth, from the dripping -trees to the blades of grass. The sky glistened -mildly, as with tears of joy, and the thunder went -rumbling away behind the distant mountains. -The sick man pointed upward, and said: “Seest -thou the majesty of God? My son, now, in my -last hour, strengthen my weary soul with something -holy,—something in the spirit of love, and -not of penance; for if our hearts condemn us not, -then have we confidence toward God. Say something -to me rich in love of God and of his -works.”</p> - -<p>The eyes of the son overflowed, to think that -he should read at the death-bed of his father those -Reminiscences which he had prepared for his own. -He said this to him, but the old man answered, -“Hasten, my son!” And, with faltering voice, -Gottreich began to <span class="locked">read:—</span></p> - -<p>“Remember, in thy dark hour, those times -when thou hast prayed to God in ecstasy, and -when thou hast thought on him, the Infinite One; -the greatest thought of finite man.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_450">450</span></p> - -<p>Here the old man clasped his hands, and prayed -low.</p> - -<p>“Hast thou not known and felt the existence of -that Being, whose infinity consists not only in his -power, his wisdom, and his eternity, but also in -his love, and in his justice? Canst thou forget -the time when the blue sky, by day and by night, -opened on thee, as if the mildness of God was -looking down on thee? Hast thou not felt the -love of the Infinite, when he veiled himself in -his image, the loving hearts of men; as the sun, -which reflects its light not on the moon only, but -on the morning and evening star also, and on -every little twinkler, even the farthest from our -earth?</p> - -<p>“Canst thou forget, in the dark hour, that there -have been mighty men among us, and that thou -art following after them? Raise thyself, like the -spirits who stood upon their mountains, having the -storms of life only about them, never above them! -Call back to thee the kingly race of sages and -poets, who have inspirited and enlightened nation -after nation!”</p> - -<p>“Speak to me of our Redeemer,” said the father.</p> - -<p>“Remember Jesus Christ, in the dark hour. -Remember him, who also passed through this life. -Remember that soft moon of the Infinite Sun, -given to enlighten the night of the world. Let -life be hallowed to thee, and death also; for he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_451">451</span> -shared both of them with thee. May his calm -and lofty form look down on thee in the last darkness, -and show thee his Father.”</p> - -<p>A low roll of thunder was heard from clouds -which the storm had left. Gottreich continued to -<span class="locked">read:—</span></p> - -<p>“Remember, in the last hour, how the heart of -man can love. Canst thou forget the love wherewith -one heart repays a thousand hearts, and the -soul during a whole life is nourished and vivified -from another soul? Even as the oak of a hundred -years clings fast to the same spot, with its -roots, and derives new strength, and sends forth -new buds during its hundred springs?”</p> - -<p>“Dost thou mean me?” said the father.</p> - -<p>“I mean my mother also,” replied the son.</p> - -<p>The father, thinking on his wife, murmured very -gently, “To meet again. To meet again.” And -Justa wept while she heard how her lover would -console himself in his last hours with the reminiscence -of the days of <em>her</em> love.</p> - -<p>Gottreich continued to read: “Remember, in -the last hour, that pure being with whom thy life -was beautiful and great; with whom thou hast -wept tears of joy; with whom thou hast prayed -to God, and in whom God appeared unto thee; in -whom thou didst find the first and last heart of -love;—and then close thine eyes in peace!”</p> - -<p>Suddenly, the clouds were cleft into two huge -black mountains; and the sun looked forth from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_452">452</span> -between them, as it were, out of a valley between -buttresses of rock, gazing upon the earth with -its joy-glistening eye.</p> - -<p>“See!” said the dying man. “What a glow!”</p> - -<p>“It is the evening sun, father.”</p> - -<p>“This day we shall see one another again,” -murmured the old man. He was thinking of his -wife, long since dead.</p> - -<p>The son was too deeply moved to speak to -his father of the blessedness of meeting again in -this world, which he had enjoyed by anticipation -during his journey. Who could have courage -to speak of the joys of an earthly meeting to one -whose mind was absorbed in the contemplation -of a meeting in heaven?</p> - -<p>Gottreich, suddenly startled, asked, “Father, -what ails thee?”</p> - -<p>“I do think thereon; and death is beautiful, -and the parting in Christ,” murmured the old -man. He tried to take the hand of Gottreich, -which he had not strength to press. He repeated, -more and more distinctly and emphatically, “O -thou blessed God!” until all the other luminaries -of life were extinguished, and in his soul there -stood but the one sun, God!</p> - -<p>At length he roused himself, and, stretching forth -his arm, said earnestly, “There! there are three -fair rainbows over the evening sun! I must go -after the sun, and pass through them with him.” -He sank backward, and was gone.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_453">453</span></p> - -<p>At that moment the sun went down, and a -broad rainbow glimmered in the east.</p> - -<p>“He is gone,” said Gottreich, in a voice choked -with grief. “But he has gone from us unto his -God, in the midst of great, pious, and unmingled -joy. Then weep no more, Justa.”</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">His</span> youth was innocent; his riper age</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Marked with some act of goodness every day;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And, watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Faded his late declining years away.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Cheerful he gave his being up, and went</p> - <p class="verse indent0">To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">That life was happy. Every day he gave</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Thanks for the fair existence that was his;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For a sick fancy made him not her slave,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">To mock him with her phantom miseries.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">No chronic tortures racked his aged limbs,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">For luxury and sloth had nourished none for him.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Why weep ye, then, for him, who, having won</p> - <p class="verse indent2">The bound of man’s appointed years, at last,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Life’s blessings all enjoyed, life’s labors done,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Serenely to his final rest has passed,—</p> - <p class="verse indent0">While the soft memory of his virtues yet</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Lingers, like twilight hues when the bright sun is set?</p> - </div> - <div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">W. C. Bryant.</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter" id="toclink_454"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_454">454</span></p> -<div id="il_93" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 22em;"><img src="images/i_468.png" width="1405" height="331" alt="decoration"></div> -</div> - -<div> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="REST_AT_EVENING">REST AT EVENING.<br> - -<span class="subhead"><span class="smcap">By</span> ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0 drop-cap"><span class="firstword">When</span> the weariness of life is ended,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And the task of our long day is done,</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the props, on which our hearts depended,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">All have failed, or broken, one by one;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Evening and our sorrow’s shadow blended,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Telling us that peace has now begun.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">How far back will seem the sun’s first dawning,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And those early mists so cold and gray!</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Half forgotten even the toil of morning,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">And the heat and burden of the day.</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Flowers that we were tending, and weeds scorning,</p> - <p class="verse indent2">All alike, withered and cast away.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Vain will seem the impatient heart, that waited</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Toils that gathered but too quickly round;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the childish joy, so soon elated</p> - <p class="verse indent2">At the path we thought none else had found;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the foolish ardor, soon abated</p> - <p class="verse indent2">By the storm which cast us to the ground.</p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_455">455</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">Vain those pauses on the road, each seeming</p> - <p class="verse indent2">As our final home and resting-place;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the leaving them, while tears were streaming</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Of eternal sorrow down our face;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the hands we held, fond folly dreaming</p> - <p class="verse indent2">That no future could their touch efface.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse indent0">All will then be faded: Night will borrow</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Stars of light to crown our perfect rest;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">And the dim vague memory of faint sorrow</p> - <p class="verse indent2">Just remain to show us all was best;</p> - <p class="verse indent0">Then melt into a divine to-morrow:</p> - <p class="verse indent2">O, how poor a day to be so blest!</p> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div id="il_94" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 18em;"><img src="images/i_469.jpg" width="1148" height="1151" alt="Elderly couple lighting a candle"></div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"><div class="transnote"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - -<p>Hyphenation and spelling inconsistencies were not -remedied, as this book contains the works of -many authors.</p> - -<p>Punctuation and quotation marks were used -inconsistently and often poorly printed. Transcribers -attempted to correct the poorly printed ones and -obvious unbalanced quotation marks.</p> - -<p>Some attributions were italicized, while others -were in small-caps. Both styles retained here.</p> - -<p>Text tapered in a “V” shape at the end of a -chapter usually was followed by a decorative -illustration, but on pages <a href="#Page_67">67</a> and <a href="#Page_97">97</a> of the -original book, there was insufficient room for -them. For consistency, Transcriber has added -decorative illustrations on those two pages, -by duplicating an existing one from another page.</p> - -<p><a href="#Page_284">Page 284</a>: “in a dream three several times” was printed that way.</p> -</div></div> - -<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69503 ***</div> -</body> -</html> - - diff --git a/old/69503-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/69503-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 437062d..0000000 --- a/old/69503-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/69503-h/images/i_001.png b/old/69503-h/images/i_001.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 65f260b..0000000 --- a/old/69503-h/images/i_001.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/69503-h/images/i_003.png b/old/69503-h/images/i_003.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9b9e6b2..0000000 --- a/old/69503-h/images/i_003.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/69503-h/images/i_005.png b/old/69503-h/images/i_005.png Binary files 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