« НазадПродовжити »
He had many times marked unmoved the same How calmly he said it! sign; but to-day he had whispered to his heart “ But are you not pressing it too hurriedly? a prayer for help, where he had never before. Must the operation be performed to-day?" sought it.
“She herself wishes it- and "- how dry His New Year's calls were not yet over. He his throat was !-"I fear it has gone too long was still at dinner, when a tiny scented note now.” was handed to him.
“But the light? It is after four." “ Will Dr. Huber call upon Miss Reynolds ! " True, true. How early tomorrow, then ?" at his earliest convenience?"
| “Say nine o'clock." And so they parted The doctor pushed his plate away, and started Dr. Smith to dress for a New Year's ball, Dr. to his feet. Kate Reynolds! Even now the Huber to again visit his old lady-love. name, seen for the first time in years, sent a No longer young, with much of her beauty strange thrill of pain through his heart.
faded, looking now-deprived of all the glare The rain still fell heavily, but he found the and gloss of her magnificent toilet-wan and stately home of the heiress filled with a gay pale, she waited for him. throng of visitors. Mrs. Reynolds, in full dress, “ Alone !" she said, as he entered, with yet a came into the hall to meet him.
sigh of relief. “I can't think what possesses Kate, doctor. “Yes, alone. Dr. Smith will call with me She will not adınit that she is sick, but has re- ' to-morrow morning, at nine o'clock. I came to fused to see any callers to-day, and about an prepare you for our visit.” bour ago insisted upon sending for you. She “Thank you! I knew you would be kind wishes to see you alone!"
i to me, when I sent for you. See how I trusted One hour later the doctor left the house, the love I once slighted, Albert ”-and the With bowed head and pallid face he walked once haughty face was bowed. “Is there home, wrote and despatched a note, and then danger ?” locked the door of his study.
į “I will not deceive you," he said, gravely; Have you ever seen an iron nature convulsed “ there is great danger.” by the extreme of mental agony; a stern, hard “Then,” and she reached out her hand to heart turned from unbelief by one crushing bim,“ say you forgive me." blow; a lifetime of cynical hardness uprooted “I forgive you," he said, softly, taking the and thrown out by one whirlwind of passionate little band in his own. pain? If not, you cannot read the agony of the “Let me tell you now,” she said humbly, nex: hour.
:"that I have long bitterly repented the past. White as death, with heavily-drawn breath, I was cold and cruel, worshipping wealth and quivering limbs, and clasped hands, the doc. position. In the long hours of pain this”-and tor lay on the floor fighting the fiercest of all she touched her bosom-“has caused, I have his life's struggles. At last the form was found a new heart, a new trust. I felt there still; the peaceful light of long, long years was danger, and I prayed to be fit to die. Many ago came to the bent face, and, kneeling like a sins were mine to repent, but none cried louder child at his mother's knee, the ductor prayed, in iny heart than my broken faith to you, O, “Lord, I believe! Help thou my unbelief! Albert ! you can never know what it cost me to Oh, in the coming hour of trial, God help me! think of you wrecked, as you threatened to be, God help me!” The passionate cry grew quiet, for two weary years. Thank God! your own and at last the prayer came in whispered words, noble nature saved you. I may die to-morrow, not the agony of the heart cry.
II know; and as a dying woman, Albert, hear When Dr. Smith tapped at the door, there me, I love you! have always loved you !" was no trace in the calm face of Dr. Huber of “ You may yet live," he whispered ; "if the past hour's struggle. Very grave, almost so"sad, the black eyes were now, but the note which “Still," she answered, “I love you!" had summoned the consulting physician had Long after midnight the doctor said to him. prepared bim for that.
i self, as he sat alone by bis study fire, “New "I was sent for this morning by Miss Rey- , Year's Day! With God's blessing, I will live nolds, in street,” said Dr. Huber, quietly, a new life from this day." as he placed a chair for his friend, “and have It was a terrible morning that followed. sent for you to go there with me immediately, to None but himself knew what the operation cost perform an operation."
him; but the hand that guided the knife was “An operation! Kate Reynolds ! This is firm, the nerve steady, the eye true ; and if the very sudden. An accident?”
heart bled, noue saw the wound. • Cancer !"
Day after day saw the patient slowly gaining Not a quiver of the white lips told how the strength, and before another New Year dawned word stopped the throbbing of the doctor's the doctor had taken his old love into his new heart. “ Cancer! I never suspected it."
With a tender memory of eacb call on the “She has kept it from her own mother, but / New Year's Day of our story, he cared for every to-day the agony becaine unendurable. She patient; and when, years later, a new star broke knew the danger, and sent for me. I have a forth upon the musical world, Guilia Cellini claim of old friendship."
owed a deep debt of gratitude to the doctor who
had tended her father's dying hours, and soothed, “A church is raised, and a village train
That boon to their prayers was long deuied,
Thine was the triumph to bid them think
By the simple means of a Drop of Ink.
"Forth to the battle the Soldier goes,
" The man devoting his youth and health
"For me, how frail are my feeble powers !
I can win the ear for a few brief hours;
See those snow-flakes how they tlutter
Flutter through the quiet air,
Slowly sailing everywhere.
Drear each spot on which they fall,
Whiten 'neath their spotless pall.
Moaning ʼmid the branches bare ;
*Neath the suow-flakes falling there,
Through the cold and quiet air.
By some blessing from above,
Tokens of our father's love.
Rough the paths our fect must tread,
Lightly he its labours sped.
Darkling shades around may spread;
Rest on every toil-bent head;
Every path our feet inust tread.
That night the Poet in slumber lay-
"I have gazed on mourners, subdued by grief,
Mid the trying wreck of mortal love,
LEARN THE SANCTITY OF DUTY.--It is to be feared that thousands, even of intelligent persons, and persons who are supposed to be religious beings, have no conception of the greatness of the idea of duty, of moral accountableness, of the meaning of the word "ought." But it is certain that nothing is done well until it is done from the sense of a controlling principle of in. herent and essential rightness. Duty is the child of Love, and therefore there is power in all its teachinge and commande.
RAMBLES AND REVIEWS OF A MODERN MORALIST.
No. 1.-VANISHIED THINGS.
“ 'The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itsell,
Few people can look back into the past with- / ing once again ; it tells us that the last moment out a sigh. Even the most fortunate among is past and gone that we are alone! We may us, for whom the bitter cup has seldom been meet those friends again on earth in a few mixed, treasure up recollections of lost friends months or years, but we may have to wait till and sad partings from pleasant places, of things both have reached the echoless shore, where which were, but never can be again, which have the winds sleep, and whence “no traveller remerged into the vanished things of earth. If turns," and the uncertainty is overwhelming. we reflect a moment, we shall find that very few Of a truth, there are not in our language two pleasures wbich we have enjoyed have equalled more difficult words to utter than these, " Farethe delight of anticipation, or the sad chaste joy well,” and “Gone!" The one is the sad signal of retrospection. How bright were the pictures of separation-the sign which tells us that the of anticipated pleasure which imagination drew last moment has arrived and will soon be past; in those rosy tints which only imagination can we would lengthen it out as long as possible, we produce! how rich was the enjoyment of living would gladly dwell on its syllables; but in vain ; from day to day, not in that "hope deferred, the fatal word is said, and we have to realize the which maketh the heart sick," but in eager ex- second hard reality-"Gone !” Yes, the ties pectation, feeling that every hour brought us are broken; the silver cord of companionship is nearer the wished-for object! In such cases as loosened; there is a void, a blank; the loved this there can be no doubt that “distance lends ones, "the old familiar faces,” the long-seen enchantment to the view ;" for when the real spots, are gone. enjoyment came at last, though possibly very Let it not be supposed that I write this in a delightful, yet how far inferior was it to the an. I spirit of morbid discontent; on the contrary, I ticipated joys and bright visions of our ex- find pleasure in living in the past and the fupectant fancy! And then, when the wished-forture, as well as in working in the present; I do pleasure has passed away into the place of va- not agree, therefore, with Longfellow's words nished things, is there not real comfort in looking back upon it, though we may do so through
“Let the dead Past bury its dead !” a mist of tears ?
All my readers must know this feeling well ; We may look back along the course we have they must know the void which is left between travelled, and learn from it some lesson to them and the past, even if that past be but of guide us on our farther way. Let me ask you, yesterday. Who has not experienced this feel then, my reader, to ramble with me for awbile, ing of isolation and loss when they have parted not forward, among the scenes and sounds with some dear one, perhaps only for a short which are, but back to the phantoms of past time? When the last words are spoken, and people and places and thoughts, over which the the train glides swiftly out of the station, how curtain of oblivion has not yet descended. There mournful is the look of that last carriage as it are not many among us, I fancy, who have not vanishes round a curve in the line! The rest a secret storehouse of vanished things, laid up of the train passes away with little notice, but somewhere or other in their memory. Even the back of that last carriage seems sternly the hard, unsentimental man of business, who mocking our impotence to stay the course of pretends to think everything romance and nonthe tyrant which is bearing off the loved ones sense which does not in some way tend to the from our eyes. This may be thought fanciful, production of money, even he has some green but I am writing what I have felt many times. oasis in his barren desert of dry bones, and reIt is the same when the steam-boat has left the collects some vanished things over which he pier ; the trough in the eddying waters, which can afford to sigh when he can find time to the keel has ploughed for a moment in its think. There is that spot somewhere away in course, seems to swallow up the hope of meet- | the country, where he played and worked and
fought through his schoolboy years. Think That at her flowery work doth sing, you that that man who looks so hard and close
And the waters murmuring, and worldly, never goes back along the plea
With such a concert as they keep sant paths of memory to that old school-house, Entice the dewy feathered sleep.
bere. the white-haired master bore nis pupils, | To the true lovers of nature, even if stupidity with such gentle resignation, and sigbed over the beautiful thoughts of those of “Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, old time which they could not discover ? Think Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unfold," you that many a busy worldling who now pretends to laugh at anything except "business"
me as the banks of a stream must ever be a welcome and “getting on in life" does not occasionally
spot to wander in. To the moralist too, and open the penetralia of his heart, and look into
one who often prefers “to be alone, rather than the past with sad or cheerful eyes, according as
in bad company,” or even any company at all, he has used the days that are gone? I believe
the river's side is a fit place to indulge in quiet fully that there is more sentiment in this world thoughts and pleasant day-dreams. Many than most people imagine; the fault is, that
the pleasant visions of river-side wanderings men now-a-days are ashamed of their senti
which come back to me now-visions of drowsy ments, and are afraid of being thought to have
summer days, when the glint of the sunlight hearts that beat for anything beyond the gifts
fell on the stream through a canopy of overof great King Mammon.
hanging trees; when the waters lay unruffled But let me pass on to some of my own va
by a passing breath of air, and the droning buzz nished things. I am far from country scenes
of the restless insects and the occasional splash and sounds now; the noisy road, the smoky
of some awakening fish were the only sounds atmosphere, the November fog are my compa
around me. Those were times when I purnions; yet I can live back into the summer
sued “contemplative man's recreation,” after weather, I can hear the skylark instead of the
the model given in the delightful pages of quaint carriages ; and November's muddy streets are
| old Izaak Walton. In the dreamy hot noonblooming forth into golden corn-fields and
fields and tide the fish slept, doubtless, as all nature waving flowers. I am away among the sweet
seemed to do, and during those hours I would smelling hop-gardens of pleasant Kent, where lie under the shadow of the willows, and watch the wandering Arab tribes have found a brief the river gliding along so silently and rapidly, abiding-place among the green clusters of the with its bright waters gay with the purple hops. "These honnickers have come from afar. | flowers of the water-violet, and with the white in every direction, from the wretched purlieus |
and yellow lilies sleeping calmly on its surface ; of eastern London, from the Irish haunts of the green milfoil grew below in the bright depths, evil St. Giles's, and once courtly Kensington,
and made the river-bed a blooming garden from the wretched hives of crime and misery
where the roach sported among the green feawhich fringe the mud of unlovely Thames: and I thery branches. As the evening comes on, from many a place besides, these wandering when the white moth is abroad on the waters, families have met together among the sweet, i
let me cast my line in yon pool, where the chub breezy hop-gardens.
is watching for his prey. See! he has leapt at Again, the green meadows are all around me. | my too seductive bait, and I hold him fast. I am rambling among the wild flowers in the
| whilst his splashing sends whole shoals of his hedges and sunny banks beloved of bright
| brethren flying like lightning down the stream. Winged insects. The delicate white blos- | Higher up, where the murmur of the waters soms of the wild convolvulus are climbing lux- | tells of some tiny cascade, I may chance upon a uriantly over every hedge, and the lilac-flowered trout, whose capture, should he prove of weight, scabious is blooming on yonder sloping bank will send me home rejoicing to mine inn. where the sunlight eleeps so dreamily. A bright 1 Yet, again I am in the meadows, and am and pleasant flower is ihat wild scabious-very watching the rooks retiring toward their lofty different to her mournful sister, that sombre homes for the night, mindful of the golden sunflower which St. Pierre tells us of in the sad and
| set in the west. What a thoroughly country beautiful story of “Paul and Virginia.” On sound, so unlike anything we have amongst the the uplands vonder the ruddy cornis waving | haunts of men, is that cawing of rooks! Surely its golden billows diversified by the gaudy crim
candy crim. all that noise must mean something ; indeed we son poppies (fit emblem of Vanity), and by
I know that the rooks hold parliaments in wbich many another gay flower. The reapers have
there is much cawing, and where we will hope already begun their work, and the golden corn- | that something is sometimes done, in which fields will soon be, in fact are now, whilst I write case the rooks' senate will be very unlike certain these lines, bare stubble-deserts where the par
similar bodies among the superior race of anitridge hides, and the field-mouse has her sub-mals known as men. But there is "no house toterranean abode. But anon I am away by a
night” among the elm trees; the last caws have lone stream's side, and may say with Milton sunk in silence; the bat is abroad, and “There, in close covert by some brook
“From yon ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl doth to the moon complain;"
so I must ramble no more at present.
But see! the rain is beating on my window, ! with parti-coloured lamps; vanished the night. the wintry fog is about me, and I can hear, o ingales too, which haunted the cool shades of most terrible of sounds, an organ! Yet have I the Gardens ; few indeed are the Philomels of heen abroad in the corn-fields and flowery mea- Lambeth and Chelsea now! Pleasant places dows, by the river and by the hedge-row, but must those gardens have been, in spite of they are only the spectres of vanished things. masked ladies who beset good Sir Roger de
Let us look into another vista of the past. Coverley, and of ruming gallants who were too What a crowd of vanished things belonged to ready with the rapier and dagger. The walks, those days when people sang
too, of Fox Hall, or New Spring Garden, as it
was then called, are rendered classic by the “God save great George our King !". presence of the graceful Addison, the graphic
Fielding, the gentle Goldsmith, the polished What memories of powdered hair that needed Horace Walpole, and the talented Madame the eternal supervision of the coiffeur, of knee d'Arblay. Here all the wits and gay pleasurebreeches and gold buckles, of Petersham coats seekers roamed; and here, of course, came busy and Tilbury carriages! Where is the Count Master Pepys, who never missed his diversion, d'Orsay of our time, he who set the fashion to come what might of his duties to the Board of the beau monde, which fashion they must needs | Admiralty. Hear what he tells of his doings in follow, or perish in the attempt? Who sets his diary of June 20, 1665: “ By water to Fox the fashion now, I wonder ? Is it Blondin or | Hall, and thence walked an hour alone, observLord Dundreary? Or is it “ Lady Audley's ing the several humours of the citizens that Secret,” or the Ghost? Those were gay times were this holyday pulling off cherries, and God and witty times, for all the sins of wicked “old knows what." "And again a little later he Q." and the extravagances of the “ First Gentle- writes: “By water to Fox Hall, and there man” and his friends. There are, perhaps, as bad walked in Spring Garden. A great deal of men and women now, though they do not flutter company, and the weather and garden pleasant, their painted wings in the sun of court favour, and it is very pleasant and cheap going thither, but the bons mots and gay dresses are vanished for a man may go to spend what he will, or things. Who would think now-a-days of taking nothing, all as one. But to hear the nightperfumed baths daily, as did the handsome and ingale and other birds, and here fiddles, and witty Count d'Orsay? Who would think of there a barp, and here a Jew's trump, and here fighting a duel, and, when wounded, of hurrying laughing, and here fine people walking, is on one's recovery in order to kill the more for- mighty diverting. Here fell into the company tunale adversary, as did Count Montrond ? of Harry Killigrew, a rogue newly come out of Where are the Beau Brummels of 1863, who France, but still in disgrace at our Court, and think that “they once tasted a pea"? We have Newport and others, and so to supper in an lordly victims of ennui, and fine ladies who are arbour; but, Lord! their mad talk did make my au desespoir at finding “ nothing new under the heart ache.” sun." But the beaux are gone to the place There was queer talking, doubtless, in those where hairpowder and cocked-hats have gone Vauxhall arbours, or it would not have offended before them.
the not too scrupulous ears of Master Pepys ; And yet there are people in our days quite as I but it is pleasant to think of the gay parties indolent. as these sons of a vanished fashion, coming thither by water, ere yet the steamboats and nothing proves this better than the follow- were thought of, and of Evelina's adventure in ing fact. A gentleman was walking through “the dark walks" there, when she came to bear the streets of Manchester, and noticed a number the nightingales, as Madame d'Arblay tells us. of porters lying under the wall of the Royal Dean Swist, too, came to Vauxhall for the same Exchange, as their custom is, waiting to be purpose, though I should imagine their melody bired. They were all either asleep or in the was but little suited to the tastes and feelings of last stage of indolent helplessness. The gentle- ' the coarse-minded, heartless lover of Stella, to man, amused at this scene, exclaimed, putting whom he writes in May, 1711: “I was this his hand into his pocket, “ Come, here's half-a- evening with Lady Kerry and Mrs. Pratt at crown for the laziest fellow among you!" The Vauxhall, to hear the nightingales, but they are effect was magical ; the torpid porters sprang almost past singing." into life, and advanced their respective claims, Shade of Vauxhall! What remains of thee except one fellow, who remained nodding now? Where are the sylvan beauties which against the sunny wall. “Here, my man,” | delighted the author of "The Citizen of the said the patron of laziness, “ you've certainly ! World," and called forth his praises in the earned the money." Upon which the porter mouth of his Chinese pbilosopher? Where is replied, in drowsy tones, “If it's a good un, the statue of Handel which the cbisel of Rou. you can put it in my pocket !" Not even the ' biliac shaped, or the boxes which the pencil of idlest of modern Club loungers can surpass Hogarth adorned ? I remember some time ago this, I fancy.
a dreary desert of boarding and waste land But let us look into the past again. Where where once the nightingales sang, and even this are the once gay gardens of Vauxhall and Rane has long since passed away. lagh? Vanished things are they; vanished the I was rambling lately in the gardens of Chelcool fountains, and the green arcades, all blazing sea Hospital, where the old pensioners sit