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St. Anselm on the soul; this is he desire to notice one who is as distinwhom the French clergy could oppose guished as he is modest. with honor to Jouffroy, and whom the For a long time I have said to mymost sympathetic of Protestants could self, If we ever bave to elect an ecclesiascombat only while revering him and tic to the French Academy, how well recognizing him as a brother in heart I know who will be my choice! And and intelligence. L'Abbé Gerbet unites what is more, I am quite sure that to these elevated virtues, which I have philosophy in the person of M. Cousin, merely been able to glance at, a gen- religion by the organ of M. de Montle gaiety, a natural and cultivated talembert, and poetry by the lips of charm, which reminds one even in M. de Lamartine, would not oppose holiday games of the playfulness of me. a Rapin, a Bougeant, a Bonhours. Monday, Day after the Feast of Assumption, There has been much dispute lately as At to the studies and the degree of literary [Since the above article was written, merit authorized by the clergy; many the Abbé Gerbet has had conferred on officious and clamorous persons have him the episcopal dignity. He died been brought forward, and it is my about one year ago.—ED. C. W.]
Set it down gently at the altar rail,
The faithful, aged dust, with honors meet;
Bowed meekly at her Saviour's blessed feet.
Nor moth nor rust nor craft of man could harm;
Beamed with her wished for heaven's celestial calm.
Though sorrow oft had touched that tender heart;
And resignation saved the wound from smart.
Until the last, their fond, accustomed hold;
The placid brow, the gentle hand, grew cold.
Into October on its shriveled yine
Upon those long, long days of deep sunshine.
The faithful, aged dust, with honors meet;
Before the eternal God's high judgment-seat?
From The Literary Workman.
BY OLIVER CRANE.
IN THREE PARTS.
The servant opened the gates; the
carriage was driven through ; the LADY GREYSTOCK drove on briskly. high road was gained, and all romanThey were out of the shadow of the tic mystery was over; the dream that trees and again on the broad, white had held those silent ones was gone; gleaming gravelled road that led to and like one suddenly awoke, Lady the west lodge, and the turnpike Greystock said : “ Eleanor! how road to Blagden. Not a word was wonderful ; you knew that man ! spoken. On went the ponies, who Eleanor ! he knew you; asked about knew the dark shadows of the elms you ; had been seeking you. Why that stood at intervals, in groups, was he there in the Beremouth two or three together, by the side woodsappearing at this hour, among of the road, and threw their giant the ferns and grass, like a wild outlines across it, making the moon- creature risen from its lair? Elealight seem brighter and brighter as nor! why don't you speak to me? it silvered the surface of the broad Why, when he spoke of you by carriage drive, and made the crushed your name, did you not answer for granite sparkle-on went the ponies, yourself? Why did you send him shaking their heads with mettlesome to Jenifer? Oh! Eleanor ; I feel impatience when the pulling of the there is something terrible and strange reins offended them, not frightened in all this. I cannot keep it to myat the whirling of the great droning self. I must tell my father. It night insects, which flew out from can't be right. It cannot be for any the oak-trees on the left, nor shying good that we met a man lurking away from the shadows-on they about, and not owned by you, though went through the sweet, still, soft, he is here to find you. Speak, scented night air, and the broad, Eleanor! Now that I am in the peaceful light of the silent moon— great high road I feel as if I had on they went! Not one word mingled gone through a terror, or escaped with the sound of their ringing some strange danger, or met a mys. hoofs, not a breath was heard to tery face to face.” answer to the sighing of the leaves; Lady Greystock spoke fast and the “good night " that had been in a low voice, and Eleanor, bending spoken between the stranger and a little towand her heard every themselves still seemed to live in word. the hearing of those to whom he “ You have met a mystery face had spoken, and to keep them in a to face," she said in a whisper, which, meditative and painful silence.
however, was sufficiently audible At last the lodge was reached. “I did know that man. And I am
not denying that he sought me, and and “ Not yet, not yet," was all she that he had a right to seek me. said as she locked away both the But many things have changed since assertion and the proof. those old days, when, if I had obeyed But her husband was at Berchim, I should have done better than I did. mouth now. Yes ; and on what erI know what he wants; and Jenifer rand? She knew that too. can give it to him. Here we are Mrs. Brewer had called that mornat Blagden ; think no more of it, ing to see Lady Greystock. Mrs. Lady Greystock.”
Brewer had come herself to tell No answer was given to Eleanor's Claudia that Mary would arrive, and words ; they met Dr. Blagden on the that Horace would bring her. She steps at the door. “You are later would not trust any one but herself than usual-all right?" “ All quite to give that information. She never right," said Eleanor. “The beauty let go the idea of Horace having of the night tempted us to come behaved in some wrong way to horne through Beremouth," said Lady Claudia. She knew Claudia's disposiGreystock. “ How lovely it would tion, her bravery, her determination ; look on such a sweet, peaceful night," and her guesses were very near the said Mrs. Blagden, who now joined truth. “Mother Mary " had those them; and then Eleanor took the womanly instincts which jump at carriage wraps in her arms up stairs, conclusions; and the truths guessed and Lady Greystock went into the at through the feelings are truths, drawing-room, and soon after the and remain truths for ever, though whole household-all but Eleanor reason has never proved them or were in bed.
investigation explained them. Not Eleanor. She opened a box Then, too, there was her sister's where she kept her letters, and many letter, which Mrs. Brewer had sent small objects of value to her, and to Father Daniels. There the passcarefully shutting out the moonlight, ing fancy for Claudia had been spoken and trimming her lamp into brillian- of. In that letter the love of money cy, she took out letter after letter had peeped out, and supplied the from Henry Evelyn calling her his motive; but Mrs. Brewer know very beloved one, and his wife; then well that Claudia's disposition was the letter from Corny Nugent, say- not of a sort to have any acquainting that Henry Evelyn and Horace ance with passing fancies. If sho Erskine were one ; and the one had loved Horace, she had loved thing that Corny Nugent had sent with her whole heart; and if she to her as evidence-it seemed to be had been deceived in him, her whole proof sufficient. It was a part of a heart had suffered, and her whole letter from Horace to his uncle, Mr. life been overcast. “Mother Mary” Erskine, which had been flung into had felt to some purpose ; and now, a waste-paper basket, and which, only herself should say to Lady having the writer's signature, Corny Greystock that he was coming among had kept, and sent to Eleanor. Not, them again. as he said, that he knew the man's She had arrived at Blagden and handwriting, but that she did ; and she had told Claudia everything ; that, therefore, to her it would have what Horace wished as to Mary, value as proving or disproving his and what her sister and Mr. Erskine own convictions.
desired; and she had not hidden Eleanor had never brought this her own unwillingness to lose her evidence to the proof. She had laid child, or her own wish that Mary by Corny's letter, and the inclosure. might have married, when she did She had put it all aside with the marry, some one more to her mothweight of a great dread on her mind, er's mind, and nearer to her mother's house. And it was in remembrance done its work. The writing of the of this conversation that Lady Grey- present was firmer, harder, done with stock, when she took Jenifer into the a worse pen, written at greater speed. carriage, had said: “If you ever pray But that was all the change. She for my father, and all he loves, pray was convinced; and she put away her now ?"
sorrow-laden store, locked them safe Something of all this had been told from sight, said her night prayers, and by Lady Greystock to Eleanor. And went to bed. Not a sigh, nor a tear. in the time that the aunt and niece No vain regrets, no heart-easing had been together that day, Eleanor groans. The time for such consolahad said to Jenifer, “ He is down at tions had long been passed with Eleanthe park wanting to marry Miss Lor- or. Within the last nine years her imer.”
- life had as much changed as if she Jenifer's darling-Jenifer's darling's had died and risen again into another darling; how she loved “Mother Ma- world of intermediate trial. A very ry," and Lansdowne Lorimer's child, great change had been wrought in only her own great and good heart her by Lady Greystock's friendship. knew. What could she do but go to Eleanor had become educated. The God, and his priest? What human clever, poetical girl, who had won foresight could have prevented this ? Horace Erskine's attention by her natWhat human wisdom could set things ural superiority to everything around right? And after all, they did not her-even when those surroundings surely know that Eleanor's husband had been of a comparatively high state and Claudia's lover were met in one of cultivation, had hardened into the man, and that man winning the heart industrious and laborious woman. of lovely, innocent Mary Lorimer, When it pleased Lady Greystock and pressing marriage on her. But to hear her sing, in her own sweet, for her prayer, Jenifer used to say, untaught way, the songs of her own she should have gone out of her mind. country, she had sung them; and then, Oh, the comfort that grew out of the when Lady Greystock had offered to thought that GOD KNEW! and that cultivate the talent, she had worked her life and all that was in it were hard at improvement. She had been given to him. Such a shifting of re- brought up by French nuns, at a consponsibility-such a supporting sense vent school, and had spoken their lanof his never allowing anything to be guage from childhood ; when Lady in that life that was not, in some way, Greystock got French books, it was for his glory-such practical strength, Eleanor's delight to read aloud; and such heart-sustaining power, grew out she had made Mrs. Blagden's two of Jenifer's prayer that even Eleanor's little girls almost as familiar with numbed heart rested on it, and she French as she was herself. Those had learnt to be content to live, from things had given rise to the idea that hour to hour, a life of submission and Mrs. Evelyn, as she was always called, waiting.
had seen better days; and no one had But was the waiting to be over now ? ever suspected her relationship to Jen-was something coming? If so, she ifer. Mi. Brewer alone knew of it. must be prepared. And so, diligently, As to Mr. Brewer ever telling any. by the lamp-light, Eleanor produced thing that could be considered, in the her own letters, and opened that torn telling, as a breach of confidence, that sheet to compare the writing. It was was, of course, impossible. different in some things, yet the same. That night-that night so importAs she gazed, and examined, and com- ant in our story, Jenifer, having done pared terminations, and matched the all her duties by her mistress, which capital letters together, she knew it were really not a few, and having was the same handwriting. Time had seen that the girl who did the dirty
work was safe in the darkness of a had been no message about mass, safely put out candle, opened her lat- and no priest was expected. And as tice to look on the night. Her little I got back to our door there was room had a back view. That is, it Mrs. Fell, the milk-woman. She had looked over the flagged kitchen court, brought the milk herself. I asked and the walled-in flower garden, and how that should be. She said they beyond toward the village of Blagden had had a cow like to die in the night, and the majestic woods at the back of and that their man had been up all the house at Beremouth.
night, and that she was sparing him, Jenifer had gone to bed, and had for he had gone to lie down. Then I risen again, oppressed by a feeling said, Why, I could never have heard that something was, as she expressed any of you busy about the cattle in the it, going on-something doing some- night'-you see they rent the meadwhere something up, as folks say, ows. But she said they were not in sir. I can't account for it. I fancied the meadows; the beasts were all in the I heard something—that I was wanted. shed at the farm. •But,' she said, And I thought at first that some one it's odd if you were disturbed, for a was in my room. Then I went into man came to our place just before mistress's room, without my shoes, not twelve o'clock, and asked for you.' to wake her. She was all right, sleep- "For me! I cried—a man at your ing like a tender babe. Then I went place in the middle of the night, ask. to Peggy's room. The girl was asleep. ing for me! She said, Yes; and a I sniffed up and down the passage, decent-spoken body, too. But tired, just to find if anything wrong in the and wet through and through. He way of smoke or fire was about. No; said he had fallen into the Beremouth all was pure and pleasant; and then I deer pond, up in the park. That is, trent down stairs to make sure of the he described the place clear enough, doors being locked. Everything was and we knew it was the deer pond, right, sir" —such was Jenifer's account for it could not be anywhere else !"" to Mr. Brewer ; who, when she paused “And did you ask where the man at this point, asked: “What next did went to?" "No, sir. I lifted my you do? Did you go upstairs again eyes, and I saw him." "And who to bed ?" "I went upstairs," the was he ?” “Oh, Mr. Brewer, it must woman answered, “but not to bed. I all be suffered as he gives it to me to sat at the window, and looked out over suffer; but I am not clear about telling the garden, and over the meadows be- his name.” Fond the old bridge, and on to Bere- Mr. Brewer took out his watch and mouth. And the night was the bright- looked at it. “ It is nearly ten o'clock," est, fairest, loveliest night I ever beheld. he said. “Where's your mistress ?” And so, sir, I said my prayers once “ Settled to her work, sir.” more, and went again to bed; and Mr. Brewer held this long talk with slept in bits and snatches, for still I Jenifer in that right-hand parlor down was always thinking that somebody stairs where he had paid that money to wanted me, till the clock struck six; Mrs. Morier, when the reader first made and then I got up.” “You don't usu. his acquaintance. He had great con. ally get up at six, or before the girl fidence in Jenifer. He knew her gets up, do you?” “No, sir; never, goodness, and her patience, and her I may say. But I got up to ease my trust. He knew something, too, of her mind of its burthens. And when trials, and also of her prayer; but he Peggy had got up, and was down had come there to investigate a very stairs, I started off for the alms-house; serious matter, and he was going I thought Mr. Dawson might be up to steadily through with it. gay mass there, for it was St. Law- “ Listen, Jenifer.” rence's Day." “ Well ?" “ But there 6 Yes, sir.”
VOL. III. 21