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Shiloh, or, Without and within

page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page (TitlePage) SHLOH; or, WITHOUT AND WITHN. BY "Good and Evil, set Against the other's being, strive', the Will, Drawn hither, thither, trembles, till it finds Its centre, and is still." NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY, 713 BROADWAY. HARTFORD: CHURCH PRESS CO. 1870. page: 0[View Page 0]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 0 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by E. P. DUTTON- CO. In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. M. H. MALLORY A CO., PRINTERS AND ELECTROTYERS, PREFACE. "SHLOH" is not a creation, but a growth. Begun with no other design than to furnish a few sketchy, ram- bling articles to a weekly paper, it grew--partly in virtue: of its own vitality, partly in obedience to the wishes of the friends which it made-into a connected story, with some shadowings forth of a plot and a purpose. Had such an end been contemplated from the beginning, a different, ,certainly a more direct, road, would have been taken to reach it. The reader, therefore, will not look for a novel nor a romance in the present work; but simply a story of com- mon life, as life commonly runs, without intricate plot, strict unity, or close sequence. Its object is twofold,-to make real and vivid to the apprehension the continual struggle between Good and Evil, in the human heart, and to give some quiet pictures of New England farm and parish life. To these last, some persons have insisted upon assigning an actual locality and living models. Recogniz- ing certain of the natural features of a hamlet familiar to the author's youth, and a few outlines of actual event, they have yet failed to see that both have been left so far page: iv-v (Table of Contents) [View Page iv-v (Table of Contents) ]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page iv-v (Table of Contents) iv PREFACE. behind, by the constant change of a half-nomadic life, as to have slidden into that fair border-land between memory and imagination, where the Real and the Ideal become in- distinguishably blended. Each lends to each, in a suffi- cient degree to give life-likeness to the one, and unreality to the other. It were a hopeless task, therefore (for the author, not less than for others), to attempt to decide in what proportion Fact and Fiction should divide the sketches between them. Let "Shiloh" be read, then,- especially in the quarter alluded to,-as a work of pure fiction, in the letter, however truthful in the spirit. Any other course would be a grievous wrong to the fanciful part of' the narrative, by forcing it into harsh contact with present realities; while it would inevitably lead to mistakes more or less unjust to a community which the author holds always in kind remembrance. An acknowledgment remains to be made. Having imagined an artist's studio, it became necessary to hang its walls with suitable pictures. These were found in a certain New York studio, and quietly appropriated. The owner will be surprised to see them transferred to these pages; others will observe how much they have lost in-the transference. Those who know him best, will be first to testify that no liberties have been taken with the artist's personality, but that the appropriations have been confined Wholly to his pictures; and these are hereby returned to him, with thanks. HUDSON, Oct., 1870. CON TENTS. PAGE. I. PITCHNG TENT, . . . . . . , II. A NEW ENGLAND TEA-TABLE, . . . . .17 "I. TH WARRENS, . . . . . . . . 25 IV. THE VIGIL, . . . . . . . . . 30 V. SETTING THE EARTHLY HOUSE IN ORDER, . . 42, VI. THE REACTION, . . . . . . . .55 VII. EXPLORATIONS; RURAL, MORAL, AND PAROCHAL,. 63 VIII. THE SEWING SOCIETY, . . . . . ." IX. IN OFFICE, . . . . . . . . . 89 X. THE MiORNING SERVICE, . . . . . . 104 XI. THE SERMON, 117. 117 XII. WOUNDS AND BALMS, . . . . ... 124 XIII. TiHE DOVE BEFORE THE ALTAR, . . . . 131 XIV. DUST TO DUST, . . . . . .142 XV. HERE AND THERE, . . . . 148 XVI. RurTH WINNOT, . 161 XV 1I. A HSTORY, . . . . .r .. 170 XV111. THE MUSIC LESSON, . . . . 182 XIX. ALICE PRESCOTT TI A NEW LIGHT,. . . . 200 XX. THE GWYNNE PLACE, . . .2" XXI. SETTING TO RIGHTS WITrOUT AND WITHN, . j . 219 XXII. DISCORDS,. . . . . . . . . 227 X Xl t. LEO, . .. 240 XXIV. LIFE'S QUIET FLOW, ...... . . . . . 247 XXV. AMONG THE BRYERS AND THORNES, . .. . 263. page: vi (Table of Contents) -7[View Page vi (Table of Contents) -7]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page vi (Table of Contents) -7 V1 CONTENTS. A(E. XX VI. SUNSET PICTURES, . . . . . .. 279 XX IIl. IN THE BOWER, . . . . . . . 286 XX V111. DREGS, . . . . . . . . . . 297 XXIX. AN AFTERNOON AT THE SEWING SOCIETY, . . 308 XXX. GATHERING IN, . . . . . . .18 XXXI. THE STOLEN SKETCH,. . . . . 334 :X XX 1. -AN ARTIST'S STUDIO, . . .. .. . 347 XXXiIl. THE UNOPENED LETTER, . . . . . .359 XXXIV. DAISY, . . . . . . . . . .370 XXXV. A VISIT TO THE CITY, . . . . . . 381 XXXVI. THE TRUTH AT LAST, . . . . . . 387 XXX VI. THE SUMMER'S WORK, . . . . . 392 XXIXVIlll. IN ST. JUDE'S, . 401 XXXIX. A REFLOW OF TROUBLE, . . . .412 XL. THROUGH SHADOW TO LIGHT, . . . . 426 'XLI. THE EMPTY CHAIR, . . . . . . . 434 XLII. THE TREACHEROUS FLOWERS, . . . 444 XTTT. THE FINDING OF THE CLUE, . . . . .451 XLIV. A NOTE OF WARNING, .. 461 XLV. THE SPIRIT OF HEAVINESS . . . . . 463 XLVI. THE CRY IN THE NIGHT, . .. 471 XLVII. STRIKING TENT, . . . . . . . . 480 (d f SHtILOtH. I. PITCHNG TENT. HAVE turned a leaf in my life's book, dear Francesca. The last paragraph-broken short off in its joyous, triumphant flow, and blurred and blotted with tears-is covered from sight. Let it rest in peace. Here begins a fresh page. We were leaning over the gate, Bona, Mala, and I. Do you need to be introduced to these persons of the drama? Bona is my alter ego, my better self, my Mentor, my counsellor, my consoler,-or, to speak more to the purpose, the grace of God working within- me. So Mala is my worst self, my evil genius, by turns my tempter, flatterer, tormentor, betrayer,-that part of me which Holy Writ declares to be deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. And the entity here represented by the pronoun "!" is the arbiter between the two, influenced by both, alternately swayed by each;yet to whose decision either must submit with what grace she is able. In brief, "!" represents the Will-Power of the concern. They who know me best, never behold either of these characters per se, but a mixture of the three, seen darkly through a veil of reserve which is common to all, and fur- ther colored by their own prejudices and prepossessions.- # . . . page: 8-9[View Page 8-9]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 8-9 8 SHLOH. Nevertheless, these personages do exist; leading a distinct and highly belligerent existence in one fleshy tabernacle, and making themselves manifest through one set of human organs. Occasionally, one sinks into a state of passivity, and leaves the other queen regnant; but their normal con- dition is struggle, conflict, hand-to-handcl fight, and no quar- ter. I lead an unquiet life between them, made endurable chiefly by the reflection that things might be worse. If Bona were to depart, and leave Mala triumphant, there would be dreary deterioration, and sliding down slippery places, for me here, and a fearful record to face hereafter; while that Mala will ever go forth, shading the dust from her feet, and leave Bona and me to keep quiet house to- gether, is not to be hoped for until'" this mortal shall have put on immortality." I make no apology for thus taking you into the heart of things. You and I believe that no .chronicle of human life is complete, which deals not with the inner strife as well as with the outer circumstance. Neither Bona nor 3Iala was rampant as I leaned on the gate, and looked out over this sunset-reddenecld Shiloh; the sweet signification of whose name had so touched my jaded heart as I ran over the boarding agent's list. I had such sore need of a "Place of Rest!" "Is it hill country or plain?"I asked the man. - Hill country, ma'am. You climb straight up, from Shiloh Bridge, for three miles and a half. When I went there, I had a mind to settle, for fear I'd never get any nearer heaven.'? "Is it quiet?" "Quiet as a graveyard. You'd think 'twas Sunday all the time." So it was settled. Aunt Belle was most graciously ac- quiescent, after a polite remonstraice or two;-doubtless, she was charmed that I should thus voluntarily remove my- self from her orbit, for awhile. Flora pouted and gibed. SHLOHr. ' 9 Uncle John growled good-nattredly from the mist of busi- ness cares and projects that always enveloped him ;- "Nonsense, child! go to Saratoga with your aunt and cousin, and enjoy yourself." "But, uncle, I am as tired of enjoying myself as ever was a convict of the treadmill. I want quiet and rest." Surprised, Uncle John came out of the mist; and, for the first time in six weeks, brought the eyes of his mind to bear on me. "I should think you did!" he muttered, after a brief inspection. "What on earth have you done with your roses? Why, Belle, the child is as pale and thin as a ghost-! What is the matter with her?" '4 Nothing, uncle," I hastened to say, "but too much of Madame La Mode, and too many calls and balls and recep- tions. Only let me go to Shiloh for the summer, and I will bring you back my roses, in the fall." "Be off with you, tlen! and mind you keep your promise." Nineteen twentieths of my journey were performed swiftly by rail, the remaining fraction slowly in the farm- er's wagon. If I saw anything on the way, I forget what it was; -my mind was still wandering, in a dazed and aim- less manner, among the ruins of the Past. The first object that made any impression on my con- sciousness, was the cheery, kindly, sensible face of Mrs. Divine, framed in the dark doorway of the venerable old farm-house, to whose gate the lapse of an hour had brought me. She led me to a large, airy chamber, fragrant with cleanliness, and of a most comfortable aspect, and left me to myself. Which opportunity I improved by taking my- self to task for my moodiness and apathy. '( That dream is over," I said, giying myself a moral shake; " no amount of brooding will- bing it back. Now you have to do with realities." And then Bona, Mala, and I, strolled out to the gate, and looked about us. page: 10-11[View Page 10-11]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 10-11 tJU SHLOH. Evidently, Shiloh was neither town nor village, as it presented to view no public-house, nor store, nor contigu- ity of roofs; but merely an ancient neighborhood of well- to-do farm-houses; each standing apart within its own principality of orchards, gardens, cornfields, meadows, barns, stacks, and whatever gives the broadest idea of rural plenty; and all with'a certain freshness and peacefulness about them, as not being touched by the dust, nor the tur'- moil, of the highway. Right before me rose a huge ram- part of a hill; steep, but smooth and grass-grown to the top; where its vivid green met the rosy horizon-line of the sky. On its left crest, a farm-house, painted red, dazzled me with the splendor of its sun-gilded windows; and below it was a long slope covered with mosaic work of corn and potato fields and orchards; falling off. suddenly to a deep dell or ravine, I concluded,-for I saw the bossy tops of large trees just beyond the corn, and, apparently, on a level with it. On the right crest, a small white church lifted a square yard of belfry and a modest triangle of spire into the rose-ripples of the sky; and a bowed and decrepit school-house crept humbly close to the hill's foot, other shade being inscrutably withheld from it and its sun-burned occupants. "A cosy and a peaceful spot," said Bona. "Brimful of the goodness of God, and nowise spoiled by man. There can be no excuse for sinning here." MAT A. And every excuse for rusting and rotting; not a soul worth speaking to; none of that inspiring contact with refined and cultured minds, which is the great advan- tage of city life. I (sarcastically). Such as a morning spent with Madame La Mode, settling about the width of our flounces! MALA (taking no notice of the interruption). To be sure, these woods and rocks are well enough in their way, and you had better content yourself with their society. SbHlLUHl. " BONA (is, dismay). I hope you have brought no phari- saical-that is to say, aristocratic-notions hither. Why, every leaf, laying its cheek softly to its neighbor leaf; every dew-drop, caring not whether it falls on rosebud or potato stalk, so it refreshes something ; will be a sharp rebuke to you. I. Be easy, Bona; I never had less of the not-as-other- men spirit. MALA (soothingly). But you are weary, and sore, and sorrowful, and have no heart for society. And society in Shiloh, surely, has no claim upon you. It did without you before you came, and need not miss you when you go. Lead as idle and isolated a life as you please, free from all bonds and burdens, and so gather strength for the future's needs, BONA. An idle, isolated life never gave strength to any human soul. Bonds and, burdens are ordained of God; and strength is found in bearing, not in- shirking, them.' 'It is a good and safe rule to sojourn in every place as if you meant to spend your life there, never omitting an opportunity of do- ing a kindness, or speaking a true word, or making a friend; seeds thus sown by the wayside often bring forth an abun- dant harvest. You might so spend your summer among this people, that they and their descendants should be bet- ter and happier, through time and eternity, for your works and your example. M I (uneasily). Let me alone, both of you. I do not mean to make a fool of myself, Mala, by putting on airs in this out-of-the-way place. Neither, Bona, did I come here with any Quixotic idea of reforming or elevating a community which has gotten on thus far without me; and will, doubt- less, till the end of time. I came here for rest, and I must have it. Such persons as I meet I intend to treat civilly-- kindly, if you will have it so,-but I will not be drawn into any relations which must force me into action now, and may be inconvenient -entanglements hereafter. I de- page: 12-13[View Page 12-13]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 12-13 12 SHLOII. sign to make friends chiefly with woods, and meadows, and brooks; to study good Mrs. Divine, who -is as original a character as can be found outside of Diickens's stories; and to lead a leisurely, thoughtful, restful life under this moss- grown old roof-- I turned to get a clearer idea of the gray, quaint, weather- beaten dwelling, and forgot to finish my sentence. Its side was turned toward the street, showing the long slope of the back roof, coated all over from high ridge-pole to low eaves with a soft, verdant mossiness, and mottled with the greenish-gray growth of scaly lichens,-all fed, doubt- less, by mouldy accretions from the breath of bygone gen- erations. The ridge-pole was somewhat depressed in the middle, and one corner-post bulged out noticeably;,. as if these portions of its framework had grown a little weary of their age-long task, and did not set themselves thereto with all the vigor of youth. At wide-open door, in the lean-to, gave the passing wayfarer a pleasant look right into the heart of its domestic life, viz., the low-studded, time,-darkened kitchen-with its bare floor, scrubbed white; its old-fashioned dresser, displaying orderly rows of pol- ished pewter plates, and dark blue cups and saucers; its grim old clock, in a tall case of carved oak, whose lould, slow tick seemed to mark the tread of inexorable Fate; and its enormous fireplace, in the corners of which one could sit on a chilly night, between a dusky jamb and a pile of blazing logs, and watch the slow march of the stars across the mouth of the huge, irregular, stone chimney. He could see, too, the brisk, blithe mistress, passing to and froi between pantry and oven, with scant skirts and flying cap- borders; or pausing in the doorway, and lifting her specta- cles, the better to see if he were likely to prefer any claim upon her acquaintance or her charity. The whole place was thickly and lovingly, shaded. A grand old maple, of whose birth Time had lost the record, flung a broad shadow over the gate and the lean-to door; SHLOH. . 13 a group of gnarled, knotty, vagabond cherry-trees made a quivering network of sunlight and shade at one corner; and a century-old pear tree, whose fruit was famed in all the country round, darkened the front roof and the second story windows,-up to whose worm-eaten sills thick clumps of lilacs lifted their pointed leaves and odorous blossoms. Looking at the old house thus narrowly, it was difficult to regard it as an inanimate object. It seemed to have a life and history of its own; more placid, meditative, and enduring than any human existence; but sympathetic and kindly still; rich' with long experience of sunshine, shadow, and storm,-birth, marriage and death,-where- with it had rejoiced and sorrowed, and whose memories made fragrant its atmosphere and sweet and mellow its ripe old heart. The comlbined physiognomies of a whole acre of city houses could not give one so much of a home feeling; nor so subtly infect one with a sense of some mysterious, sympathetic friendliness and companionship in mere stone and timber. My description would be incomplete without due notice of a sunny square of garden, upon which the house front- ed,--a sort of cultivated wilderness, inhabited by scattered tufts of marigolds, peonies, sweet-williams, and other old- fashioned favorites,-a small clique of sage, thyme, and summer-savory,-a riotous rabble of raspberry and goose- berry bushes,-a few scared strawherry plants, hiding, in the grass,--a knot of quince trees, drawn apart in a cor- ner,-some sturdy ranks of homely vegetables,-and guarded all round by a row of currant bushes, that had miraculous- ly preserved some notion of order and discipline. And it would be an unpardonable omission, on the side of the pic- turesque, were I to forget two wells,-one, at the front, and another, at the rear, of the house,-each with its weather-beaten curb, its lichened crotch, its long, stone- weighted sweep, and its pole, from which depended one of that family of oaken, iron-bound, moss-grown buckets, im- mortalized in song. page: 14-15[View Page 14-15]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 14-15 " SHLOI. My further inspection was cut short by one of those curious intuitions of the presence of another human soul, which prove that we are not wholly dependent upon our senses for knowledge. Facing about, I saw a black-eyed, bold-faced urchin, on the other side of the gate, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, regarding me attentive- ly from beneath the shadow of a torn straw hat. As he evinced no intention of opening the conversation, I ac- costed him with,-- "Well, my boy, what can I do for you?" "I ain't your boy," was the matter-of-fact rejoinder. "And I want Aunt Hannah." "I do not think she lives here," I replied, after men- tally running over the inmates of the house, to see whom this appellation might fit, and deciding that it belonged to none of them. "Don't live here!" exclaimed the small imp, with his nose in the air, and a rising- inflection of unutterable con- tempt; "why there she is now!" pointing straight over my shoulder. Looking around, I saw my hostess in the doorway, peering out at us from under her raised spectacles. "Mrs. Divine, here-is a boy who says he wants 'Aunt Hannah'; and he avers, furthermore, that, you are the per- son meant," I said, opening the gate for the urchin to enter. '4 Oh! you are not used to that yet," said Mrs. Divine, good-humoredly. "Everybody about here calls me Aunt Hannah,--all the big boys, all the little girls, all the mar- ried women, old maids, idiots, and farm-hands; and, likely enough, the cows and hens, too, if I understood their sort o' language. It's a way we have, and means nothing but friendliness; at least, we find it out quick enough, if any disrespect is meant. I remember a young city chap, brim- ful of airs and conceit (no offence, I hope), once came up to my father, and said, in a pompous kind of a way, I SIILOH. 15 don't see how you manage to exist in such an out-of-the- way hole as this, Uncle Ben.' And my father-who was a fine, tall, portly man-drew himself up proudly, and an- swered, 'I didn't know before that I was uncle to every fool in the country!' Well, Jack, what do you want?" turning to the boy. "Ma wants to know if you'll come and sit up with Mag- gie to-night? she's awful poorly." Mrs. Divine took off her spectacles and wiped them thoughtfully. "Well, no, Jack, I'm afraid I can't. I have been baking and cleaning up to-day, and there are twenty- four separate aches in my old back, one for every j'int. Can't you get Mis' Carter?" ("No, marm, she's been a-washing." "Well, then, there's Mis' Brown." "Her baby's sick, and old maid Mercy's got the mumps, and Mis' Peck's got company, and Aunt Sally Ann's gone to Roxbury," returned Jack, rattling off his catalogue of excuses with infinite relish, and refreshing himself there- after with a prolonged stare at me. "Oh! then, I suppose I must go," said Mrs. Divine. "Tell your mother I'll come, if she don't hear of anybody else." BONA (in ny ear). You might go as well as not. You have done nothing to-day but ride up from the city. And it is a shame to let that old lady watch all night after her hard day's work. MALA (in the other ear). Don't be such a goose as to take that trouble for people -you never saw, and catch a fever for your pains. Let the old lady do it, they are her neighbors, not yours. BONA. "\Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbor to him that fell among thieves? And he said, He that showed mercy on him. Then said Jesus unto him, go thou and do likewise." MALA (persisting). More likely than not, you will get no thanks, except to be called " stuck-up city folks." page: 16-17[View Page 16-17]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 16-17 a16 SIIILOH. BONxA. "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these mny brethren, ye have done it unto Me." I laid my hand on the boy's shoulder, as he was turning away. "No, Jack, tell your mother that I, Winnie Frost, Mrs. Divine's summer-boarder, will come and watch with Maggie to-night, if she will let me. Will she ask for refer- ences?"I added, turning to Mrs. Divine, with a sudden perception of a latent ludicrousness in the scene. , "Of course not; we country folks don't look at the hand that is held out kindly to us, to see whether it's red or blue blood that runs in its veins. But, Miss Frost, aren't you too tired to go?" "Tired! the air of these hills has made me forget the meaning of the word! But I have a distinct notion of what intoxication implies. I feel as if I had been drinking wine." The kind old woman looked pleased with my enthu- siasm. The place where she was born and. reared, where she had. loved and wedded, and given birth to children and buried them, was dear to her. "Ah, yes," she answered, "the air here is as pure as air can be, there's neither city'to foul it, nor ocean to salt it, within many miles.' And you see, my dear, we are situated on the southern slope of the hill,-Chestnut Hill, we call it,-midway between the winds that whistle over its top, and the fogs that rise from the valley. All our neighbors are not so well off. There's the Warrens--where you're agoing to watch to-night,- they live right on the edge of a swamp, and there's where the fever comes from, I guess. Sam--the eldest-was taken last week, and now, Maggie's got it. I shouldn't wonder if it run through the family. But tea is ready, Miss Frost; come in." -II. A NEW ENGLAND TEA-TBLEo TRAVELED friend once said to me, "To enjoy the day's meals -in perfection, one should breakfast in England, dine in Paris, and sup in New England." Mrs. Divine's tea-table-where my last letter left me-abun- dantly verified a part of the assertion. It stood in one end of the long, shadowy kitchen, in front of the lean-to door, commanding a view of orchard and hillside; and was, in itself, as pretty a bit of color as an artist, curious of such matters, might hope to find in a long day's journey. There were biscuits of the whiteness and lightness of new fallen snow, and but- ter glowing with the bright yellow of early cowslips- transparent jellies and preserves, of rich, deep tints of scarlet and purple-clear, amber-hued honey, still, undis- turbed in its close waxen cells-pink slices of tongue- crimson shavings of dried beef-creamy, crumbly cheese-- emerald pickles-golden custards-a pair of pies-a bewil- dering variety of cakes-and a glass of roses in the midst- the last being a contribution from Mrs. Divine's pretty granddaughter Alice. Over this bright picture, Bona and Mala had a characteristic " brush." "How wonderfully has God contrived even the common- est details of life for enjoyment, if one stops to think of it,' said the former. "For example, in this matter of eating." MALA (in dierently). I don't see it. Of course, He must X provide some method of sustaining the life He has created. , . (- page: 18-19[View Page 18-19]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 18-19 18 SHLOH. BoNA. But He might have done it so differently! For instance, we might have had a hole in the top of our heads, or between our shoulders, with a lid to it, wherein a servant, hurrying by, should drop a piece of raw meat, and a few earth-incrusted potatoes, just as he would fling coals on a fire. Whereas, in a family meal, the eye is fed with beauty, the body with strength, the affections with loved companionship, the mind with cheerful interchange of thought, and the soul with content and thankfulness to God! MALA. Umph! I think your supposed arrangement would have suited me as well! It would have saved a vast deal of time and work. BONA. And of refinement and sympathy, and labors of love, and social culture, and delightful memories. No prodigal son, feeding on husks in a far country, would have thought longingly of the abundance and delights of his father's table; and there would have been one tender, touching parable the less, to lead men's wandering, hungry souls back to the Universal Father! ' As I seated myself at the table, I bent my head for a moment, according to my wont, which the keen eye of Mrs. -Divine did not fail to observe.' "If you'll say that aloud, Miss Frost, I'll be much obliged to you," she said quickly. "As there's only women folks here, perhaps you won't mind doing it." The grace being said, I inquired, "But why should I mind if there were men here, Mrs. Divine? That is, of course, if none of them would assume the duty." The good old lady looked at me sharply over her specta- cles: "I have lived sixty years in this changing world," said she, " and seen the coming-up of a good many new- fangled things, but I never ieard a lady say grace aloud before. Not but that it seems right and proper enough among women-but I cannot conceive what would make her do it before a tableful of men," SHLOH. - 19 "The grace of God, I hope," said I, meditatively. "Or it might be that mushroom courage which springs up to the help of most people in an emergency; yet is neither Divine inspiration nor strength of will. At least, I am by no means certain that it was not that, in mv case." Mrs. Divine, looked a mute inquiry. "It never happened to me to officiate as chaplain for a' ' tableful of men' more than once," I answered, "though I have done it, several times, in the presence of a masculine, or two; who, by reason of his youth or irreligion, could not be expected to say grace himself. That once was in Mich- igan. Travelling in a sparsely 'settled portion of the State, it befell me to stop for a night at the house of a devout Methodist sister; who, having satisfied herself that I was not altogether a 'dweller in the tents of Kedar,'-to use her own expression,-entertained me with a lengthy account of her religious experience, and beset me with questions of doctrine and duty. Among other things she bewailed herself that the family meals were eaten unblessed, as she was a widow, and none of her sons ' converted.' 'For, of course, I could not ask a blessing myself,' she concluded. ' Why not? ' said I, ' I do not see the impropriety.' 'But I have five, grown up sons and two farm hands; they would laugh at me!' 'I think not,' said I; ' certainly not, when they were once accustomed to it.? 'Would you do it, in my place?' 'Without a doubt.' And I thought no more of the matter until, at the table, with the five stal- wart sons on the one hand, and the farm hands and female 'help' on the other, I was called upon by my hostess to 'ask a blessing.' I confess I was slightly disconcerted, for an instant; but I said the grace composedly enough, nev- ertheless,-and the five unconverted sons did not laugh." "( And that reminds me," said Mrs. Divine, " of an inci- dent-a pretty little incident-in one of Sir Walter Scott's novels,--I think it's in 'Redgauntlet.' It's your turn to look surprised now; but, really, it's the only book where I page: 20-21[View Page 20-21]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 20-21 20 . SHLOH. ever read of a lady's saying grace before men,-and I've read a good many books in my day." There was no doubt she had. Her talk was full of chance allusions, and odd scraps of information, that showed a confirmed, though desultory, habit of reading. Yet the desultoriness was probably less a matter of choice than a necessity of the case, for the family library contains little beside a heap of old almanacs and newspapers, yellow as ancient parchment,--a set of Hannah More's works, that might have crossed the Atlantic with the first divine that settled in America,-a "Scott's Commentary," well thumbed,-a "Josephus,"-a "Pilgrim's Progress," minus one cover and some leaves,-a "History of the United States,"--and the "Statutes of Connecticut." So that Mrs. Divine must have satisfied, or appeased, her intel- lectual hunger with such miscellaneous books as chance 'has flung within her reach. She presided at her tea-tabie in the most cheery, hearty, and informal way; often beginning a sentence in her chair, and finishing it, in a raised voice, from the pantry, whither she had strayed in search of a knife or spoon, or an addi- tional viand wherewith to allure my slow appetite. Oppo- site to her sat an upright, angular, severe figure, which I took to belong to the respectable sisterhood of old, maids, until it was introduced to me as Mrs. Prescott, a widowed daughter of the house; my own vis-cc-vis being the only ,child'of the same, Alice Prescott,-a shy, blue-eyed maiden, who never once ventured to look me' in the face, and only answered me, when I spoke to her, in nervous monosylla- bles. The "men folks," I was informed, would sup later; and would have laughed to scorn an invitation to satisfy their labor-whetted appetites with the cates and dainties whereon we had feasted. "No, indeed," saidl Mrs. Divine. "The cold boiled pork and beef and potatoes, left from din- ner, with plenty of bread and butter and apple pie, is what they want."' SHmILOH. 21' Tea over, I was kindly advised to prepare for the night's vigil, by getting an hour's rest. So I underwent a kind of figurative burial in a huge heap of downy feathers, let my head sink into a soft:unsubstantiality of pillow; and, while listening to a rambling talk between Bona and Mala, slid into a confused and stifled sleep; perturbed with dreams 'of a time and a person that it is the business of my waking hours to forget. A little before nine, I rose, donned a loose, thick wrap- per, best adapted of anything in my wardrobe to the chill watches of a night near the end of May, up here among the hilltops (yet not without- misgivings lest its bright hue and flowered border should seem incongruous with the place where my watch was to be kept), and went down to the kitchen. It was a cheery picture upon'which I entered. i The weather was still cool enough for an evening fire on, the hearth, and its dancing blaze reddened the dingy walls and the dark oaken ceiling, played at hide-and-seek with the shadows in the corners, laughed at its own reflection. in the pewter plates of the dresser, and lit up with a ruddy glow, the sun-browned, strong-featured faces around it. Mrs. Divine sat at one corner of the hearthstone, mend- ing certain coarse garments by the light of a tallow candle; ' .--the candlestick being upheld by a quaint, primitive piece, of furniture which she called a ".candle-stand;" consisting i of an upright post, on three legs, with a cross-bar at top, capable of being raised or lowered at pleasure; to one end of which cross-bar the candlestick was hung, and to the other the snuffers. Opposite to her sat a white haired, dreamy-visaged personage, known universally as "Uncle True,"-who merits a more extended description, and shall get it in some future epistle. In a shadowed corner, Mrs. Prescott sat and knitted with the grim energy that charac- terizes all her movements; and by the table, two young . men were amusing-themselves with a game of checkers. But all these were subordinate to the central figure of the page: 22-23[View Page 22-23]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 22-23 22 , SHLOH. picture,--Farmer Divine himself; in a wide arm-chair; shirt-sleeved and loose-vested; with the full light of the fire shed upon his large, portly frame, and good-humored, intelligent face; and talking cheerily in a loud, hearty voice, that had not a trace of insincerity nor of reticence in it. Obviously, the farmer kept open house, open heart, open mind; whoever would, might enter and partake freely of such entertainment as was to be found. Nothing would be concealed, nothing made to show falsely, nothing tricked out in unaccustomed finery. Sundays and week- days the fare would be the same,-never delicate, nor luscious, nor high-seasoned; but always substantial and wholesome; and offered with a simple heartiness that would be better than any studied refinements of courtesy. He rose, and greeted me 'cordially, taking my hand in his broad, brown palm-where it looked as pale and unsub- stantial as if it had been cut out of French paper--and smiling down upon it from his noble altitude of six feet, with a half amused, half pitying expression. It's high time you came to Shiloh, Miss Frost," said he. "A little longer stay in that smoky Sodom, where you come from " (pointing over his shoulder with his thumb), "would have made you something like the old woman that dried up and blew away. But do you s'pose you can put up with our plain country ways?" "Better than you can put up with my lazy city habits, I suspect. For example, I never rose at five o'clock in my life. I hope Mrs. Divine will not think it too much trouble to give me my bread and milk a little later, for the present." "Bread and milk!" exclaimed Mrs. Divine, " you can have that at any hour in the day you like, by just stepping into the pantry and helping yourself. But your breakfast will be ready when you're ready for it; and not a minute before. I can clap down a bit of chicken to the fire when- ever it's wanted." BHLOH. IL 3 i "Thank you ; I will try not to tax your indulgence long. li Mr. Divine, is it fartto the Warrens?" "Oh, no, only a step-the first house beyond the church -you can't miss it. But as you're a stranger in these parts, mayhap you wouldn't like to go alone; Alice shall go with you." "But Alice will have to return alone." "Well, where's the harm?" "Why, is it the custom here for ladies to go about by themselves, in the evening? Are there no thieves or des- peradoes about?" "None that trouble anything but the henhouse. Why, X you might walk off for two mile, or more, without meeting anything worse than Bill Somers's old white horse, that Xg! Mis' Burns took for a ghost the other night, and was fright- lHi ened clear out of her wits." And the old farmer chuckled i inwardly. "Thena I will not trouble Miss Alice, thank you. I shall " really enjoy finding my way by myself. There will be a pleasant spice of adventure,about it. But, Mrs. Divine, I should like more minute travelling directions, in a way. Ill What sort of people are the Warrens?" :j ("Poor folks enough, I guess. But people think they've j seen better days. They're new comers here-that is, they've only lived here going on three year." "I do not mean that. I merely want to know if there are any domestic or individual pitfalls to be avoided." "Oh! Well, Mrs. Warren's one of the prettiest "(pretty being here used in its New England signification of pleas- ant, agreeable) " little women in the world-you can't miss your way with her. But her husband's a pitfall, sure 'enough: only I don't see how you're to keep clear of him. He likes to talk, when the fit's on; and he's got a special gift of talking to little purpose, or to evil purpose. He's an infidel, Miss Frost-and that's saying enough: that's bad about a neighbor, for once." The farmer followed me to the door, with the instinct of page: 24-25[View Page 24-25]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 24-25 24 SHLOII. politeness. On the threshold, he turned as if struck with a sudden thought. "Wait a moment, Miss Frost. I guess,after all, I can furnish you an escort jest to your mind-one that won't be in your way, nor bother you with talk." And he gave a low whistle. An enormous dog, hitherto coiled up in some dark cor- ner, rose and came majestically forth. A noble animal, of pure Newfoundland breed, coal black, and with a face of rare intelligence. There!" said Mr. Divine, with pardonable pride," that's the finest dog you ever saw, ma'am, if I do say it. I don't believe there's his match, for sense and faithfulness, in the whole world. He understands what you say to him jest as well as you do yourself. See if he don't. Leo, sir! this lady is Miss Frost." The farmer laid his finger on my shoulder and repeated the name twice, slowly and distinct- ly. The dog looked at me attentively. ( Now," continued Mr. Divine, " he knows who, you are. He's hung up your name in his memory. If I pick up your handkerchief, or your glove, or anything that belongs to you, I've only to say, ' Leo, carry this to Miss Frost,') and he'll bring it to you, anywhere within three mile. Shake hands with Miss Frost, sir!" The dog came to me, and, with ineffable dignity, uplifted a great, black paw. "And now he knows you're to be put on his list of -: friends," pursued Mr. Divine. "We never tell him to shake hands with any one we don't want him to treat like one of the family. But you're in a hurry to be off. Leo, show Miss Frost the way to the Warrens-do you hear. sir?-to the Warrens!"-with an appropriate gesture. The dog looked from his master to me, and went forward to the gate, in token that he heard and obeyed. "When you get there," said Mr. Divine, "just tell hinm to come home, or he'll wait outside for you till morning Good night." IIL ' THE WARRENS. i t (iw aY spirits rose as I closed the gate behind AS ALI BI me, and looked down the lonely, moonlit Bt 9 I road. The prospect of a silent evening B rig X walk, by an unknown path to an unknown B EMS it goal,-in such strange companionship, too!- was not without its exciting charm. The dog B ^j^ ^ kept a few paces in advance; grave, dignified, and sombre, as an usher at a funeral. Once, I spoke to him. He stopped a moment, put his nose into my hand, and then went on again. ^ - At first, the road was flooded with moonlight, and my shadow glided silently beside me, sharply defined, but never at rest, and leaving no trace of its passage behind. It oc- curred to me that the time might come when most earthly shadows should be seen to have been as much a necessity of life's conditions, and as transitory. Beyond the church, the road slunk under the gloom of a dense piece of woods; and when I emerged from that, the house which I sought 1 was close at hand. It was a small, low, unpainted struc- ture, with only the merest shred of a yard between it and the road; and the door was wide open, giving a full view I of the kitchen, or living room;-for one glance sufficed to Eshow that it must serve every domestic purpose, save that of a bedroom. Leo paused at the gate, waited for me to enter, and then, obedient to a word and a gesture, turned homeward. Jack was seated in the doorway, busy with some mys- [ . - page: 26-27[View Page 26-27]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 26-27 26 . . SHLOI. terious complication of sticks and strings, which might, and might not, have been a kite. He announced my coming, in his own laconic fashion. "Ma, here's your watcher." A meek-faceld woman immediately came forward, and received me with a gentle ease of manner that would not have been out of keeping with far more sumptuous sur- roundings. Plainly, her soul's education had begun in some place nearer to the world's great centres than Shiloh; and God was only finishing it here, amid such tribulations as would help her to the most abundant entrance into the Kingdom of Hleaven. Thank you very much for coming, Miss Frost," said she, in that low monotone of voice which speaks so un- mistakably of pain outworn, and hope and disappointment both left behind,--" and yet I am afraid that I ought not to have let you come, either; it is too much to ask of a "If I am a stranger now," I replied, "I hope I shall not seem one long. I know it was taking a liberty to proffer my services in such an off-hand way, but I could come much better than Mrs. Divine. And I am tolerably well-skilled in nursing; my father was an invalid for many months." Miss Frost is a student of human nature," interposed a deep, gruff voice, behind me, "and she would not miss the -chance of finding a new variety in this poor, miserable. fever-stricken hut.'" The tone of his voice gave me a creeping of the flesh such as one might experience, who, in feeling round a darl vault, should suddenly put his hand upon a. chill, slippery sliding reptile. Turning quickly, I met the derisive, cyni cal smile of the " infidel," of whom Mrs. Divine had spokel with such noticeable abhorrence. His body was massive his shoulders broad and powerful, his head large an( covered with shaggy, iron-gray hair, his eyes deep-set an. SHLOH. . .27 piercing. But this Titanic trunk was planted on a pair of legs that would better have suited the boyish stature of his son Jack, so that he was not so tall as myself. It is impos- sible, dear Francesca, to give you any adequate idea of the harsh repulsiveness of this strange man,--not because of his deformity, but on account of the sneering rudeness of his gaze, and the lawless, almost impertinent, freedom of his expression; as if he cared not who saw the evil' in his soul, nor what sentiment of disgust-it inspired. Not, that his face seemed vulgar. There was even a look of quickness and acuteness of intellect about it; but there was no corresponding fineness of nature. There was also a latent morbidness in his expression; as if his deformity, or something else, had put him at cross-purposes with life. His rude accost made me color, in spite of myself;- there was just truth enough, in it to give it a sting. Cer- tainly this man had a wonderful power of discerning what- ever grain of selfishness might be hidden at the bottom of a good deed, and of putting his cynical finger on it. "A good student loves the subjects of his study," I an- swered, after a moment's pause of embarrassment. "And if I had not a real love of humanity-and of Christ--in my heart, I should not be here to-night." MR. WARREN. Oh! you're one of that sort, are you? -You don't look like it;-I should say there was more fire than frost about you (with just enough emphasis on the woords to make me aware of the pun). Well, madam, I will undertake to convince you,--if you will listen,-that Christ was only a man like myself, or-if you don't like the pattern-dooking clown at his shrunkelz legs with a terrible irony) then, like William Herman in there, watch- ing with my son Sam. I. And if you could, sir, what help in life, or comfort in death, should I derive from that conviction? He stared at me, for a moment, with an utterly blank look. He had expected denial, or argument, not a prac- page: 28-29[View Page 28-29]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 28-29 28 , SHLOH. tical question of valuation. Then, suddenly quitting the subject, and changing his tone to one of more courtesy, he said,-- "Well, Miss Frost, I am obliged to you for coming here to-night, whatever was your object, or your motive. It is more than we expected from a city-bred lady--or deserved," he added, with an affectation of humility that was haugh- tier than any outspoken pride. "But please to step this way a moment." He opened a door into a pantry near by, and motioned me to enter. Then, holding the door in his hand, and half closing it behind him, he said, in a low voice, "I bring you here, that Maggie may not hear us. I wish to ask you to refrain from any preaching, or exhorting, during your watch with her. I don't want her to be frightened into the next world by being told to 'prepare for death';-that's the cant phrase, isn't it?"-with a sneer. MALA. Tell the old bear that you'll do as you think right, and if he does not like it,- you can go home again. BoNA. No, no,-if you want Mr. Warren to go a step in your way, you must first go a step in his. Get a hold on him by kindness, it is your only chance of doing him any good. I (speaking partly from the influence of one, and partly of the other). Mr. Warren, you have a right to dictate, in this house. And if you choose to send your child into the next world, without the needful preparation, it is your re- sponsibility, not mine. MR. WARREN (with flas/hing eyes). But Maggie isn't going into the next world! She won't die, I tell you,--she shan't die! But she is weak and nervous, and you would scare her to death, if you hinted that there was even a, chance of her dying; and that would be your responsi- bility. You won't do it, will you? (with a mixture of en- treaty and fierceness, impossible to describe.) I (cogdly). Sir, I will try to remember your wishes. * ' - I SHLOH. 29 I. The old sinister look settled back on his face. "Well, that's settled," said he, throwing wide open the door, " and I shall be near enough to see how the promise is kept. Not that I doubt your word," with a half bow. Mrs. Warren had& listened to this conversation with a pained and anxious look; now she seized the opportunity to say,- "Will you come into Maggie's room, now, Miss Frost 9" -pointing to an open door, where I had already caught a glimpse of a bed, and a young, fever-flushed face. "I shall be glad to do. so. And you had better give me your directions for the night, and go to bed at once,-you look thoroughly tired out. As I am here to watch, the sooner I am made of use, the better." I followed her into the little room--so small that there was barely a passage-way between the walls and the bed. Here lay Maggie, a fine-looking girl of fifteen or sixteen; whose hectic cheek, and large, restless black eyes, lit up with the unnatural brightness of fever, gave her a strange, wild beauty. She looked at me curiously and intently, let- ting her eyes rest with evident pleasure on the bright tints of my wrapper; but she said nothing, not even in answer to my greeting. The few necessary directions were given the whereabouts of pills, drops, and refreshment tray pointed out,-and then the mother bade us good night? and withdrew. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 30-31 THE VIGIL. :' HAVE received your letter, Francesca mia, -but do not ask me yet, to enter upon the de- tails of the separation of Paul and myself. Thank you for your offer of friendly service, but the break is past mending; neither explanation nor me- v diation could' avail aught. The parting is final- let that suffice for the present. Not until grief has become subdued and softened by time, can we stand by the grave where hope and faith lie buried, and talk calmly of our loss. Before then, sobs or silence t must speak for us. I scorn to give way to the sobs; you must try to understand the silence. "Forgetting the things which are behind " -or doing ' my best to that end,-I continue the narrative of my strange vigil with Maggie Warren. Seated by her bed- side, fan in hand, I heard the slow footsteps of the weary mother ascend the creaking staircase, move about overhead, for a brief space, and then cease; conjecturing, meanwhile, what curious links of circumstance had bound that gentle, refined woman to that morose, sneering, repulsive hulk of a man. I wasted no wonder on the union itself,-the story of Titania and Bottom has been so often acted on the stage of life, since Shakespeare's time, as to have grown commonplace. But I began to wonder, ere long, what Mr. Warren was about, in the kitchen, and when he would StIIILR. . '31 withdraw, and leave me to myself and the sick maid- en? X The query was soon answered. I heard him rise, open a door, drag something forth, with a soft, rushing sound, and then he presented himself before me. "Are you ready, now, for the argument about the di- vinity of Christ, Miss -Frost?" "No, sir, I am content to let it rest where we left it just now." "I see you have no taste for argument. Women sel- dom have," with a sneer. I was foolish enough to be stung by the imputation. "I am not averse to argument," I retorted, " when there is anything to be gained by it. But I know you can do me no harm, and I suspect I can do you no good." "You might, at least, try,"--arching his eyebrows. I kept silent. The man repelled me so, that I would not enter upon a discussion with. him. "Miss Frost," he persisted, " you are afraid that your faith will be shaken." "Not at all, sir. I am already tolerably well ac- quainted with the infidel writings from which you must needs draw your arguments, since in infidelity--as in the earth-there is nothing new under the sun." "Which means, I suppose," said he, looking at me keenly, " that you are a little better provided with counter arguments than most young women. I am glad of it; I like a ' foeman worthy of my steel."'" Here Maggie turned her head with an uneasy and peevish movement. The symptom of weariness caught the father's eye, and his love for his child proved more potent, even, than his love of discussion. "I see that my talk worries Maggie," he said, hastily, " and we will leave the subject till another time. Miss Frost, I hope you will excuse- it, if I quarter in the kitchen, to-night. Our sleeping accommodations are scant enough, at best; but now with Sam taking the page: 32-33[View Page 32-33]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 32-33 -32 'SHLOH. whole'of one bed, and, Maggie in another, there is nothing left for me-but a buffalo skin, and the kitchen floor. You need not mind me any more than an old log,-I'm a sound sleeper." And to my surprise, and almost horror, he wrapped a coarse, shaggy buffalo skin around him, stretched himself upon the floor, in a position to command the small interior of the sick-room, and was soon, to all appearance, sound asleep. This was what he meant when he said he " should be near enough to see how my promise was kept!"I re- called the words with exceeding indignation, and Mala made them the text upon which she discoursed furiously for the next five minutes. At first, his presence was an annoyance and a restraint to me. I moved carefully, and almost held my breath when it was necessary to pass him,-so exceedingly reluct- ant was I to bring upon myself the keen, merciless scru- tiny of his deep-set eyes. Finding, however, that his sleep was heavy and unbroken, I came gradually to feel more at my ease, and moved about with greater freedom. In one of my visits to the fireplace, where certain broths and de- coctions were kept hot for the sick ones, I encountered my fellow watcher-the William Herman before mentioned- a tall, light-haired, light-eyed man, of a whimsical and hu- morous cast of countenance; and with a noiseless, almost womanish, way of handling cups and saucepans, that testi- fied strongly to his fitness for his office. He nodded to me familiarly, with an evident understanding of the " situation," asked after my patient, told me that his own was " coming along bravely; " and went on tiptoe back to his post. The slow moments crept on for an hour. The sick girl turned her head restlessly on her pillow, the clock ticked noisily, the firelight gleamed and flickered on the walls, the tallow candle burned dim, and a great, black accumu- lation of cinder hung to its wick. By and by, I found myself observing the scene in the most abstract manner, saHLO. 33 with a keen appreciation of its artistic effects of light, and shade, and color. I perceived what an effective picture it would make in the hands of a skilful artist,- the dingy, low, bare rooms, lit up with the fitful glow of the fire,- the youthful, fever-intensified beauty of the sick maiden on her coarse pillow,-the prostrate figure of the father--a mixture of the grotesque and the demoniac--in its uncouth shaggy wrappings, with its strongly marked features seen half in red glow, half in deep shadow. I even regarded myself in a purely objective way, as a mere accessory of the picture,-well pleased to see what a spot of warm, bright color that deprecated wrapper would make amid the prevailing sombreness, and how effectively the soft richness of its material, and the general refinement of my dress and figure would contrast with the rudeness and squalor of my surroundings. But while I looked around, Maggie gazed at me with a curious intentness that I could only account for by the sup- position that strange faces were rare to her. She took her medicines from my hand, at the stated moments, without demur, but replied to the questions I addressed to her only by gestures. Finally, after a long, unwinking scrutiny of 4 my face, she suddenly flung herself on one side and said pettishy, 1"I want mother." "My dear child," I answered, gently, " your mother has great need of rest, let us not disturb her. I can do for you all that she could, I think,-at least, let me try. What is it you want?" "Nothing, only I'm so tired,"-with a wailing intona- tion, pitiful to hear. ' I had already exhausted my invention in ringing the changes upon a thin bolster and two small pillows, to afford her some little change of position. There was nothing more to be done with that material. So I lifted her light form, pillows and all, and sitting down on the bed, laid her on my lap, with her head resting on nBy bosom. She 2e ' page: 34-35[View Page 34-35]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 34-35 34 SHLOII. yielded passively to the arrangement, and gave a low sigh of satisfaction as she felt the relief of the entire change of posture, while a pleased and restful expression brightened her face. Then she raised her eyes, with a still curious, but a softer, look, to mine. "You ain't afraid of me," she said, in a half assertive, half interrogative tone. The question made me smile. "Why, no, my dear, I cannot say that I am," I answered. "I do not know how formidable a personage you may be, when you hre well; but now, certainly, I am the stronger of the two, and if we should happen to differ, which is not likely, I think I could carry my point." "Oh, I don't mean that," she returned, after a little be- wildered stare, as if she were puzzled to understand the drift of what I was saying. "I mean that you ain't afraid of catching the fever. All the folks who have been here before have been carefill not to touch me, or come near me, when they could help it. I s'pose they thought I didn't know it, but I did, and it made me hate them!" (with a gleam of her father's fierce, vindictive spirit.) "They !r wouldn't have held me like this for a million of money." l' I am not sure," I said, bitterly, answering to my own thoughts, rather than, to her, " but that to take the fever, and die quickly and quietly, would be the best thing which could happen to me." Maggie opened her eyes with extreme surprise. "Why, ain't you afraid to die?" she asked, simply. "No, I think not," I began, but Bona sternly inter- posed. "If you are not, you ought to be," said she. "No one has the iright not to be afraid of dying who is not content to do and suffer all God's will, in living. Weariness of life ;i is poor ground for fearlessness of death. 'Perfect love,' only, ' casteth out fear,' and he who longs for death, for any reason stronger than his love of Christ, and his desire to i SH!ILOH. , -35 be lifted into 'heavenly places in Him,' has great reason for shame and confusion of face, if he is not afraid of dying." I hesitated, abashed and confounded. But Maggie still looked and waited for my answer. So, in a far different spirit, I finished the sentence-"I think not; at least I should ask our Saviour to give me the victory over death." She repeated the words after me, as if she were saying a lesson. "The-victory-over-death,- I don't under- stand." "I mean, Maggie, that inasmuch as the soul is capable of a richer and more enduring life than the body, they who have a good hope, through Christ, of escaping the death of the souLl need not fear the death of the body." "But I camn afraid of death," she said, excitedly. You will not be surprised, Francesca, that the answer to this came in another voice than mine, if you have formed any correct conception of the impressionable and suspicious character of the father, and- of his tireless watchfulness over this favorite child, who seemed to have concentrated upon herself all the tenderness of his natnre. I had seen his eyes open soon after she began to talk, and my last sentence had been uttered in the full consciousness that he was listening. Now he called out, in a voice wherein the effort to render it hearty and cheery was very percep- tible,-- "Nonsense, child, you arc not going to die-there's plenty of strong life in you yet. You'll live to be a gray- haired womaln, and bury your old father long before you go. Why, I call see you are getting better already. You feel better, don't you?"-the last words being spoken at the bedside, with her hand in his. "I guess so, father; I feel easier. Miss Frost holds me so nicely. She isn't a bit afraid of touching me. And her dress is so soft and pretty!" said Maggie, nestling her cheek against my wrapper, with a childlike enjoyment of page: 36-37[View Page 36-37]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 36-37 36 SHLOH. its brightness and softness, and a look that was half affec- tionate in her dark, inquisitive eyes. Mr. Warren looked at me with real gratitude. "Thank you," said- he, "I will never forget your goodness to my child." MALA (instantly alert, and uwhispering in my ear). See what a pleasant, winning way you have, when you choose! Already this girl, who, an hour ago, only looked at you suspiciously and curiously, as at some wild animal, begins to show you confidence and affection. Already that cross- grained father speaks to you gratefully. What tact you have! How good you are! It is something to be proud of! I (in an agony). Get thee behind me, Satan! Can I not do one little thing for Christ, but you must needs spoil it with your miserable self-righteousness! With you for- ever at hand, it is useless for me to try to do right. MALA (insinuatingly). So it is. Give up trying, then. ILONA. If St. Paul had occasion to say, "To will is pres- ent with me, but how to perform that which is good, I find not;" you, certainly, have no cause for discouragement. For " the Spirit helpeth our infirmities." And God, seeing -I? 'your good will, will pardon the shortcomings of your per- formance. "Maggie is really better," persisted Mr. Warren;- "don't you think she is better, Miss Frost?" I looked down at the thin face, noted that it was less flushed than it had been, marked the short, faint breathing, and could not say that I discerned any sign of betterment. Mr. Warren saw my hesitation, and made an irritated ges- ture. "You see she has less fever," he urged. I did see it; but I also saw that she seemed weaker. "Will you hand me that glass of brandy and water,?" I asked, by way of creating a diversion, and with a sudden perception that a spoonful of the stimulant would not be amiss. Then the father went back to his buffalo-skin, and soon after, Maggie fell asleep in my arms. -SHLO H. 3 37 Another hour crawled on, lame and leaden-footed, in- deed,-for my position became absolutely painful, after a time; but my charge slept quietly, and I would not disturb her by moving. Thus Mr. Herman found me, long past midnight, with benumbed muscles and a contorted face. "This won't do," he said, decidedly. "You can't stand that many minutes longer, and she may as well be waked up now as ever. I'll lift her, while you crawl out." He put his strong arms under her with a woman's-gen- tleness. Her dark eyes opened with a bewildered look, that did not become intelligent until the change was ef- fected. Then she murmured, "Isn't it morning yet?" "Not yet," I answered. And she slept again. To restore the circulation to my torpid limbs, I began pacing slowly through the rooms; sometimes brushing the sleeper on the floor with the skirt of my dress, as I passed him, but- without visible effect. Plainly, his senses were fast locked against everything not immediately affecting the state of his daughter,-to her voice only was he ever awake and responsive. Seeing what treasure of love- his uncouth frame held, I began to feel a little more kindly to- ward him. Up and down I paced slowly, stopping at every turn to observe Maggie narrowly; and noticing with real sorrow- so quickly is' human sympathy transfigured into the like- ness of affection!-that her pulse grew ever fainter, and her cheek more wan. I increased the prescribed quan- tity of stimulus,-by way of disputing every inch of ground with the Dread Encroacher,-answering, mean- while, her oft-repeated question, "Isn't it most morning!" with a soothing, "Not quite yet, dear; it will be morn- ing soon." At last, in the chill hour preceding the dawn, there came upon her face that indefinable look, which shows that the "earthly house of this tabernacle " is being dissolved, and the imprisoned spirit is beating against, the weakened page: 38-39[View Page 38-39]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 38-39 38 SHLO. . bars. I went to the door of the other sick-room, and mo- tioned to Mr. Herman to join me. He detected the change ' at once. "It's coming, sure," he said with deep gravity. "I'll call her mother." Maggie caught the tone of his whisper, though not the words, and opened terror-stricken eyes upon us. "Arn I going to die?" she gasped. I am no mystic nor spiritualist, yet I do sometimes question if the soul is not endowed with some finer sense than the body, which comes to its aid in life's critical mo- ments. That sleeping father was on his feet almost as soon as the words were out of her mouthl! ' "Of course not," he began, " you'll be all right in a few days, and--"But, as he neared the bed, and saw his i daughter's ashy face distinctly, he faltered, paused, and i dropped into a chair as if he had received a sudden, severe blow. Maggie fixed her eyes on him, and repeated her ques- tion. "No, child," he replied, making a Herculean effort for composure. "Don't be afraid; you know your father wouldn't deceive you." It was terrible to hear the misguided man answer his dying daughter with a lie. It was done in love, I knew, but it was no less awful to hear. Lulled to a momentary security by his encouraging words, Maggie closed her eyes. But some inward trouble, or monitor, would not let her rest. Ere long, she opened them again, and appealed to me. " m I going to die?" she saicl, earnestly. It was impossible to face the awakened soul in those eyes, and answer it with a falsehood; it was almost as s hard to meet the father's stern, agonized face, and tell the whole truth. Vainly, it seemed to me, I groped about for words that should help and satisfy the one, without hurt- ing the other. Finally, I said- ' Only God, Maggie, knows whether you will die or live. You are in His hands, dear. But they are such wise, and strong, and loving hands! You may trust- your- self to them without a, fear. If you do trust them, you are just as safe in your deathbed, as ever you were in your cradle." Her lip quivered. Then she said, faintly, halting over the unfamiliar words, "I wish I knew how to ask Him to give me the-victory-over- death!" I looked at her father.- He had' turned his face away. Evidently, he left the matter in my hands. "Don't you know how to pray?"I asked. '"Not much. Mother taught me, I Now I lay me."' Only that! A lightning intuition showed me that the sceptical father had forbidden, or laughed at, all religious instruction; and that the meek, gentle mother had not dared to withstand his authority. "That will do very well, dear," I replied. "To God's children, death is only a chamber darkened for a quiet sleep. Ask Him to keep your soul, for Christ's sake." She closed her eyes, and I think she uttered the childish prayer, but I do not know. For I bowed my own head on her pillow, heart-heavy with poignant pain and pity, and prayed silently for that poor, helpless, untaught soul, drift- ing affrightedly out into an unknown future, and groping about for some hand unto which to cling,--prayed with greater intensity and fervor than ever I prayed for myself, I think, though I need prayer enough, Heaven knows! And the prayer was not lost! If it availed nothing for her, it, at least, calmed and strengthened me. Without it, the long strain of that death-scene would have been more than I could bear. When I looked up, Mrs. Warren stood near, perfectly calm, patient, and resigned, as seemed he- unvarying habit. "I expected this," she said, quietly, taking my place at the bedside, and smoothing Maggie's long, dark hair, with in- page: 40-41[View Page 40-41]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 40-41 40 SHLOH. effable tenderness. The girl opened her eyes, and once more repeated her wailing question "Isn't it morning?" ("Almost," answered the mother. "I'm so tired!" she moaned again. The father and mother lifted her, but she looked dis- satisfied, and half impatient, with their efforts to relieve her. "Nobody holds me like she did," she said, indicating me with her eyes. ' I came forward. "Would you like me to hold you again?"I asked. Her eyes brightened. I assumed the old position, and received her in my arms. - "It feels so nice!" she said faintly. Her mother sat down beside her, with her fingers on her pulse. The father walked the room, or hung over the bed's foot, with a face of mute misery. I cannot tell how long I sat there, watching the slow, almost imperceptible lapse of the stream of life into the ocean of eternity;-it could not have been more than Fan hour, but it seemed ages, ere the low voice of Mrs. Warren broke the silence. "Our Maggie is gone," she said; adding, almost -im- mediately, "Miss Frost, your hard task is over. Thank you." . She lifted the fair, still form from my arms, and I stag- gered to the window. A bright strip of gold bordered the eastern horizon; the morning, for which that dead girl had so longed, was breaking. Was there good reason for hope that her eyes had opened upon a morning of more endur- ing glory,-a morning of endless light and knowledge and love, in Christ? I grew sick amid the whirling uncertainties of the in- vestigation. "Take this, Miss Frost, you are faint,"-said a quiet voice.' I drank the water, and then looked at the giver in SHLOH. 41 amazement. Mrs. Warren was pale, sad, but quite col- lected, and gentle as ever. If there were tears in her heart, they did not moisten her eyes. A poignant pity smote me. What storms, I thought, must that woman have come through, to have attained to calm such as this! And what a history of long self-abnegation, and patient doing of " the duty which lies nearest," was discernible in the fact that, after duly closing the eyes and laying straight the limbs of her dead daughter, her first care had been for a stranger,-overwhelmed by the woful scene wherein she stood so tranquil! I leaned my head against the window- frame, and my thoughts went wandering ofilost and be- wildered amid the mysteries-not of death, not of revela- tion, but of life--of this strange earthly being of ours. Oh, Life, Life! let us drink reverently of the rich, strongsweet, bitter cup! So shall we learn, Thou Cross-Lifted and Thorn-Crowned, to thank Thee for the kingly gift! 9 page: 42-43[View Page 42-43]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 42-43 ONCE more Mrs. Warren's mild voice recalled me to the present's realities. Looking at her, I seemed to recognize a visible incarna- tion of Duty, treading her narrow path steadily, serenely, unassumingly; neither turning to the right nor left, neither looking behind nor be- fore; but keeping her eyes always bent on the ground, to make her footing sure. At least, this was Mrs. Warren's outer seeming;-if the hidden soul walked in white robes of consecration upon the serene heights ri faith, or was bound by chains of suffering to some chill rock of despair, I could not tell. From these deeper things of her life, my eyes were necessarily holden. "I have sent," said she, "for some one to lay Maggie out. She will be here soon. I know you are tired, and would like to go home." I was tired; yet I felt a strong reluctance to leave that beautiful piece of clay, which had so lately given up its vital part in my arms, while any tender or helpful service remained to be performed for it. Those artless words of the dying girl, "Nobody holds me like she did," had touched some very deep-down chord in my heart. It was so long since I had felt myself really of more use than another to any human being! "Is there, then, nothing more for me to do?"I asked. "Nothing, until Aunt Vin comes,-perhaps I should say, Miss Lavinia Rust, to you,-though the first title is the only one in use among us." . "She is not a relative, then?" "No; she is an elderly, and somewhat eccentric, maiden lady; who has somehow slidden into the office of laying out the dead for this whole neighborhood. Perhaps some secret heart-sore first led her to give herself to the-work of nursing, watching, and similar acts of self-devotion; and so, by degrees, she learned how to do the other sad duty, and does it constantly,-chiefly, it appears, because there is no one who can do it any better. She is not even: a poor woman; she has a small farm of her own, which she manages with much method and shrewdness." "But she will want some help," I said, after a moment. "Not much. And if she does, Is doubt if you are able to give it. I will help her myself." And no doubt she would have done it, as she did every- thing else, submissively and serenely. Neverthless, it pained me to think of it, and I said, earnestly,- "No, no, let me stay and do it, please. I am stronger than you think. It was not so much the fatigue of holding Maggie that overcame me just now, as sorrowful recollec- tions of another deathbed, which left me alone in the world, --my father's. But it would give me real pleasure to ren- der this last service to Maggie, if you will permit me, andl if you do not still think me too much of a stranger." Just for one moment the mother's voice shook. "You will never be a stranger to me, after this,' she faltered. I'hen, turning instantly from the masterful grief to the waiting, composing duty, she went on. "It is very kind of you to stay, for Sam wants me, I know; and the break- fast is to be got ready; and there are so many things to be done, that I cannot see my way clear to refuse your assis- tance, if you really wish to give it." "I really do," I answered, heartily. She gave my hand a single, strong pressure, which, from her, was more touch- page: 44-45[View Page 44-45]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 44-45 " SHLOH ing and significant than any words, and quickly went her way. I looked at the corpse. Some one-was it the mother? had laid two large copper coins on the eyes, a custom that always seems to me to be a horrible burlesque upon human- ity,-so many eyes are holden, all their lives, from the sight of the things which most concern them, by earth's paltry coin. I took them off with a shudder, and seating myself by the bedside, held down the eyelids with a light pressure of my fingers. So sitting, the peacefulness of the corpse seemed to be communicated to me also; and for the time, earthly anxieties and vicissitudes shrank to microscopic proportions,-mere motes in the sunbeams that shine down from God's countenance into the hearts of those who seek to find out His meaning in life, and to let it work all His loving will upon them. Alas! that those motes should' ever be magnified, through our unbelief and insubmission, into dense clouds between us and His face; darkening our hearts, and bewildering our minds, with shadows of doubt and fear'! Ere long Miss Rust arrived, and after a brief pause in the kitchen, entered the chamber of death. She merits a de- tailed description; no queerer character, I think, will ap- pear in this chronicle. She was nearly, or quite, six feet tall; large-framed, bony, and angular. Her dress was of dark, printed calico; made after some quaint fashion of heic own, with reference mainly to economy of material and freedom of motion. On her head was a calico sun-bonnet, of like pattern with her dress, beneath which appeared the plaited border of a muslin cap. Her large, coarse features were strongly expressive of well-founded self-reliance and sturdy sense; but there was also a grim sternness about them, for which I was unprepared, after the bit of history that Mrs. Warren had given me, and of which, I learned the secret only after a more extended observation. Miss Rust was the victim of some curious nervous or paralytic affee- SHLOH. 45 tion, that manifested itself in a slow, spasmodic jerk or shake of the head, repeated at regular intervals. Evidently she strove against this infirmity, which was yet of a nature not to be overcome; and the look of decision and self- control consequent upon that endeavor, gave. to the mo- tion the actual force and character of a voluntary move- ment, though it was really so irresponsible and meaningless; and impressed the beholder with the idea that she was en- tering a stern and solemn protest against the depravity of the times, or his individual vices and follies.- But Miss Rust's external singularities shrank into noth- ingness, when once she opened her mouth. Her tongue was of the Mrs. Partington order; apparently well hung in the middle, with free play at both ends; and aiming continually at high-sounding, unfamiliar words; but sel- dom making a wholly triumphant hit, or a totally incompre- hensible failure. Apparently, she never either accurately remembered, nor altogether forgot, any word once seen or heard; to her, similarity of sound was identical with- simi- larity of meaning, and prefixes and suffixes were supposed to be obligingly interchangeable. The first remark which she addressed to me well-nigh demolished, at one blow, the superstructure of composure which I had reared on the last half-hour's meditations. "How d'ye do, Miss Frost? It's a good while since we've had any extinguished strangers in Shiloh, though there isn't any place where they're better depreciated. Do you mean to stay here long?-' I bit my lip. The inclination to laugh was all the more irresistible that it was perplexingly entangled with recol- lections of recent solemnities, and a keen perception of the unfitness of the time and scene for any mirthful demonstra- tion. "Mrs. Divine has promised to give me shelter for the summer," I answered, as soon as I could trust my voice. '"Yes, so I've heerd.- And you couldn't find any-better page: 46-47[View Page 46-47]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 46-47 " SHLOH. place to take up your adobe in,-'Aunt Hannah is a woman of imminent virtoos, she's made out of the salt and fat of the land. I understand you come from the great necropo- lis of York?"-shaking her head in a manner to convey volumes of disapprobation of that. sombre locality. "Yes-that is to say, I amn from New York." "I wonder if you ever came acrost my cousin Hiram there--Hiram Rust, his name is. He keeps an expensatory on Derision street." "No, I never had that honor."' "I'm sorry for it; I should like firstrate to hear how Hiram gits along. He's a young man of uncommon debil- ities, and very examplary, too,-leastways he used to be when he lived to home. I hope he keeps right end upper- most-speaking figuringly, you know-down in that ' sink . of moral dilution,'-which is Deacon Haineses elias for York." "It is to be hoped he does." "Your name's Frost, is it? I wonder if your family came aboriginally from Rixbury?" "Indeed, ma'am, I do not know." "Well, I used to know a Frost there, and I really be- lieve I see a likeness to him in your liniments. Poor man! how he used to suffer with the brown-creeters! But he's diseased now; he diseased six years ago." "I beg your pardon, but zohat did you say he suffered with?" "The brown-creeters-in his throat. I remember hold- ing his head once, for Dr. Smith to burn them out with acrostics." Here abused gravity gave way, and rushing to the win- dow, I leaned far out, and tried to mask my laughter with a cough. "Goodness gracious!" pursued Miss Rust, "H hope you haven't any infection of the lungs,--newmony, or what not. But if you have, I've got a proscription that . . I SIIILOH. 47 Dr. Bird calls a 'perfect pacific' for it;-I'll send it to you. There's nothing like taking a cough by the firelock. I've saved lots of people from digestion of the lungs with that proscription." I felt what horrible indecorum it was, but I continued to shake with silent laughter until the tears came. My gravity would scarcely have been routed so completely, but for the suddennesspand unexpectedness of the attack upon it. Not until the paroxysm had worn itself out, could I venture to face Miss Lavinia's vocabulary. Then I turned, and said, "Now, I am ready to help you, whenever you please." ' Laws! you don't look as if you could' help a butterfly brush his wings. But looks is deceitful; I've seen a good many women that looked as if a good gusto of wind would blow them out of consistence, who could stand more than I could. I 'spose it's the. sperit that does it. Speritous strength goes a good way sometimes." ' Miss Rust then addressed herself to her task with stch vigor and skill, that my share of the labor was next to nothing. :Meanwhile, the swift stream of her talk ran in and out among the lights and shadows of Shiloh's, social. life, bearing an odd company of dismembered and mis- matched derivatives on its meandering flow. It suffered no interruption until--seeing her about to uncover the fair, statuesque form of the dead-girl more than seemed to be needful-I seized her arm with a sudden ejaculation; when she dropped her napkin, and looked around startled and scared. "What is it?" she faltered. "Have you seen a sperit?" "No ma'am. Pardon me, but is that disrobing really ' necessary?"Do you think she would like it?" The good woman looked intensely disgusted, and her head jerked violently. "I don't mean to dis-rub her," said. she, shortly, "I shall wash her as -carefully as if she w as a baby. And I never heard of enterring a corpse with- page: 48-49[View Page 48-49]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 48-49 48 SHLOH. out washing it. I think the body ought to be putrified from earthly irruption, after it's dead, just to show that we believe Our Saviour will do as much for the soul." I drew back, satisfied. to find that there was a latent beauty and fitness in her proceeding,-mortified, too, that I had been blind to the spiritual analogy which was so plain to this uncouth, illiterate, absurd, old maid. When all was done, and thefair "earthly house" draped in white,--to typify those robes of righteousness which, I trusted, Christ would fold around the liberated soul,--I went out to a small strip of carelessly-cultivated ground, called a garden, where I had seen, from the win- dow, a few flowers struggling in the embrace of number- less lusty weeds. Near by I discovered Mr. Warren, seated on a fallen fence, with that drooping head, and nerveless frame, so expressive of bitter, hopeless sorrow;- so, after gathering all the white blossoms I could find, I went up to him. "May God who has sent this sorrow upon you, sir, send unto you ' also, the Holy Ghost, the comforter!'" "What's the use of talking to me in that way? you know I don't believe it," he answered, without stirring. "I am sorry for it, sir. Those who do, never feel such bitterness of grief as you-are now indulging." "How do you know?"--lifting his head. Seeing that he was inclined to talk, I sat down near him, and began tying my flowers together, as I answered; -"I do know, sir. When my father died, he was all that I had; he had been my mother, and sister, and brother for years. Yet I was helped to see that God did right- eously in taking him unto Himself, and to endure my loss with patience." MB. WARREN (angrily). He did not do right in taking my Maggie! I. It seems to me that even human wisdom might teach you that you are possibly wrong there. Has life SHLOH. 49 been so invariably pleasant to you, that you must needs feel it to be a wrong to Maggie that she is spared the bur- den and heat of its full day? Have you never seen girls who have lived only to drag on a blighted, bruised exist- ence, or who have gone grievously astray, or have become neglected, ill-used, cowed, and heart-broken wives?" He dropped his face in his hands. Perhaps the crushed and hopeless expression of his own wife's meek face rose before him. But he struggled with the feeling, whatever it was, and overcame it. ( What you say may be true," said he, " but life is very sweet to them all, nevertheless. No matter how bruised and broken the heart, it continually sends forth new shoots. No matter how dark the sky, there is still light enough for us to behold Nature and Art, and to enjoy them. Am I not a striking example of this fact? Blasted and marred from my cradle,--a laughing stock to some, an eyesore to others, a clog and a mortification to myself,--I still cling tenaciously to life; tasting lingeringly its sweet, and ignoring its bitter, as best I may. Ah! why was it made so bitter, when it was forced upon me without my seeking it! Why was it made so sweet, since it will be taken from me, sooner or later, without asking my consent!" I. The sweet and the bitter have their uses, I think. The bitter helps us to understand what a life of endless sin, and woe would be, and leads us to avoid it. The sweet makes us the more eager to lay hold upon that," far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory " that shall be re- vealed. MR. W. dooking at me searchingly). Tell me honestly, Miss Frost, do you,never have any doubts of the truth of the things that you talk about so glibly? I. Yes, sir, now and then. MR. W. (triumphantly). Ah! I thought so. Well, what do you do with them? 3 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 50-51 50 SHLOH. I. Sometimes, I just quietly lay them aside. And on the morrow, when I look for them, lo! they are gone! Mt . W. But thatis a pure act of the will. I. Well, what was a man's will given him for, if it was not to help him to resist evil, and hold fast that which is good? A MR. W. But is not a man's reason that part of him which constitutes his superiority over the brutes? I. No more than his conscience, I think. MR. W. Well, I hardly think his conscience would justify him in using his will in opposition to his reason. I. Not so fast, sir. You assume that reason and reason- ing are synonyma. If you had heard as many polemics as I have, you would hardly espouse that view of them. And I hold it to be a far more reasonable act for a 'man to plant himself firmly on that faith which, in his best and soberest moods, both his reason and his conscience have approved, saying: "Here I stand, though the earth reel, and the heavens fall," than it is weakly to suffer himself to be knocked about by every wind of doctrine, and every wave of doubt, or to be led by the nose by every wile of the devil. MR. W. But how do you know that the doubt is not the true thing? I. Because doubt is not the normal condition of the i mind, nor the spirit in which life's economy must be car- ried on. If you doubt your food, you starve; if you doubt nature, you reap no harvests; if you doubt love, you live and die alone. Moreover, to doubt an error is not to gain a truth. For, when, the truth is possessed, error is known for itself, and doubt is gone. This is the weak point in scepticism: it proves nothing, it only denies. There is no rest in it. MR. W. (frankly). You are right there. When once a man begins to doubt, there is no telling where he will stop. He doubts his friends, his neighbors, himself; he SHLOH. 51 doubts motives, means, aims; he doubts his own senses; he gets to' doubt his own being. The ground slides continually under his feet, like quicksands. But is it always possible to will doubt away? I. Perhaps not, sir, any more than it is possible to will sorrow away. It is right that some doubts should be solved. Others must be borne for a time, as sorrows must be borne. In such cases, there is the; same remedy for doubt that there is for sorrow-prayer. And though the prayer may not at once solve the one, or remove the other, -since God, seeing n6t as man sees, but into the depths of life, may discern that it is needful to discipline and to in- struct even by these stern teachers,--yet the fervent, hum- ble prayer will sustain the heart under the sorrow, and enable the reason to endure the doubt p Alit. W. (turning away with a disappointed air). I hoped your remedy would be more real and efficacious. I. More real! What would you have? Is not prayer the one Divine and spiritual 'instinct which distinguishes man above the brutes? If ever you owned an intelligent dog or horse, there have been times when you found it diffi- cult to deny him the possession of both reason and con- science; but you never, for one moment, suspected him of praying. You knew that the idea of communion-with God, the Infinite, never entered his head. But all human beings pray;--no race so low, so savage, so brutish, but it makes to itself idols whereunto to pray! Does this uni- versal instinct of the race teach nothing? Did you ever know bird, or bee, or fish, or hound, or deer, to be gifted with an utterly useless, unmeaning, superfluous instinct? And is man-the highest, the most perfect, creature of them all-the only abortive one? Given an inherent, universal impulse to pray; and the' necessity and the efficacy of prayer follow as inevitable corollaries. For exercise is es- sential to the maintenance of life. 'As the disused limb, the muscles never brought into play, become rigid, useless, page: 52-53[View Page 52-53]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 52-53 52 SHLOH. diseased; so the soul that never lifts itself in prayer--the highest expression and manifestation of its life--becomes equally torpid $paralyzed, unsound. There was no immediate answer. Mr. Warren's eyes were fixed on the blue crown of a distant hill, with a dreary, hopeless expression, unlike anything I had ever seen in his face. Finally, he said, in a broken, disconnect- ed, listless way,- "I almost wish I could think as you do. The most superstitious belief would be more comfortable than this ever-shifting doubt. But the habits of youth and middle age become fetters to the mind and limbs of later years. I don't know as I could shake them off,-if I cared to; and I don't care for anything-much-now that Maggie--" The sentence was left unfinished. For grief such as Mr. Warren's, it is hard to find words of comfort. One can point to the soothing power of time, to be sure; but time,:without God, is more likely to harden than to heal. I worked on in silence, therefore, until my floral emblems were finished; then I held them up for in- spection. "I have made these for Maggie, sir. I wish to put this little cross on her bosom, and the wreath in her hand, show- ing thereby that they who patiently bear the cross shall win the crown. The cross is a tiny thing, you see, not larger than is often worn for ornament, while the wreath is mas- sive,-by which I would suggest also that rich, triumphant saying of St. Paul's, 'I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us!' These four or five single' flowers I shall scatter over her feet, to show how few and scattered must have been the joys of earth, even if she had lived to taste them. Have I your permission to place them thus?" MR. WARREN (huskily). Do what you like with her, SEHLOH. 53 now,--I know you mean well. And don't think I am too rough- and crabbed and sneering, to feel your kindness to Maggie. I disposed the flowers around the corpse, according to my design ;--their symbolism, you will not fail to see, being intended. for the living rather than the dead;-for I knew not if Maggie had ever borne any cross, or aspired to any crown. For her, I had ceased to have either hope or fear; --having left her with a prayer, in God's tender mercy, I felt no disposition to take her thence, even in idea,-that being the only safe place in the universe for her benighted, undeveloped soul. Mrs. Warren came in, for a moment, and looked at my work with a face wherein the gravity grew ever sweeter till it bordered on joy. "Aunt Vin" bestowed on it some qualified admiration. "It's very statistically done," she remarked, jerking her head at it grimly, " and shows you might be a painter, if you ambitioned it. But isn't it a leetle mite Romanesque? I hope you don't belong to the Pusseyites or the Jeshuites, or any of those people with queer pigments in their brains, who set more store by the shell of things than they do by the kernel." Mr. Warren came, too, after a time, bringing me a deep- tinted, half-blown damask rose. "Could you find a place for this?" said he. "Maggie liked bright colors. And I should like to have something from her father somewhere about her." "Certainly; -she shall hold it in her hand with the wreath. You know, Mr. Warren, that red is the color of Love; so this rose may fitly image, not only your own ten- der affection for your darling, but also that mighty love of Christ, as shown in His precious bloodshedding for us; without which, we should all struggle vainly under the crosses of earth, look for no heavenly crown, and be for- ever buried in the darkness of spiritual death." Mr. Warren turned away, looking half -displeased. I page: 54-55[View Page 54-55]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 54-55 54 SHLOH. was well aware that this last meaning was alien to his thought, but I was glad that he could not look at his rose, henceforth, without being reminded of it. For, though I expected no swift miracle of conversion to be wrought in him, no one could tell what planting, or what watering, it might please God to bless with. slow--perhaps almost im- perceptible-yet steady increase. * VI. THE REACTION. WENT home through the ripened glory of the morning; noticing-with those sharpened and concentrated senses that city-refugees some- times bring to lovely rural pictures-the vivid, lustrous green of the turf, the bright hues and delicate odors of the flowers, the sharp, clear out- line of verdure and rock, the soft, pure depth of the sky, the infinite beauty and diversity of form and. color that enriched my way. For the first time in many days, my heart was singing within me. I felt well pleased with my night's work: out of that shadow of death, there seemed to have been born unto me new -hope and meaning in life. I even fancied that Bona walked hand in hand with me all the way, and that Mala had departed for. a considerable time. Mrs. Divine met me at the door, and inquired, in her ringing, cheery voice, "Well, how is Maggie Warren this morning?" . "She is dead," I answered, briefly. Her face grew grave and sympathetic at, once. But Mrs. Prescott, busy in the kitchen, caught the words, and delivered herself of a quick, caustic commentary,-- "It's a mercy to her and the neighborhood! That' miserable Warren will have opie child the less to bring up in infidelity." * page: 56-57[View Page 56-57]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 56-57 56 SHLQHE. MALA (ironically, through my lips). Thank you, madam. Shall I convey your consolatory message to the afflicted family? MPs. PRESCOTT (with heightened color). Just as you please. I ain't afraid to stand to it that the less family that man has, to train up in the way they shouldn't go, the better. I (in a cold, hard tone). If that rule operated universally, is is perhaps easier for us to discern the houses which Death would visit, than those which he would - spare. Thousands bring up their children in practical infidelity, having less excuse than Mr. Warren has. He teaches what he believes. They believe one thing, and teach-by implication-an- other. BoNA (softly, to me). Are you "speaking the truth in love?" I took no notice of her inquiry, but went up to my room, with a mortal fear chilling my heart. Nor was it groundless: I found waiting there, ready for my shoulders, the same old burden which the little excitement of last night, and the hope of doing a good deed, had enabled me transiently to throw off. Wearily I took it up, and a great discouragement came over me. And Mala, of course, took. delight in pushing me over the brink of the moral precipice upon which I trembled. "You expected a great deal from this ' doing something for Christ,' as you so nicely phrased it,--have you found - it?" she asked. I admitted to her and myself, that I had not. MALA. You even fancied, this morning, that a life of this sort of work twould bring you, first healing, then hap- piness ;-do you think so still? I confessed that such a fancy, if I had ever had it, had vanished utterly, leaving not so much as the shine of its Wings in the distance. MAL A. And all that very good and proper talk, where- - ' SHLOH. 57 with you so abundantly favored Mr.- Warren,-is it the faithful expression of your feeling now? Moodily I acknowledged that if Mr. Warren were then before me, the chances were that he might utter what blasphemy or infidelity he chose, without much danger of interruption. MALA (triumphantly). Perhaps you will take my advice next time, and- - "Miss Frost, your breakfast is ready." I looked up. Mrs. Divine was standing in the door,-a striking impersonation, I thought, of steady, homely, health- ful Common Sense. "Thank you," said I; "but I am afraid I don't want any, Mrs. Divine." She looked at me narrowly, then asked, abruptly, "What did Mrs. Warren give you for lunch last night?" "Indeed, I do not know. I never looked at it." "Umph! I thought so. I suppose the world doesn't look very bright to you this morning?" "No, ma'am, I believe it does not." "And a good reason why!, You've been up all night, hard at work; you've been through with the trying scenes of a deathbed; and you've eaten nothing to keep your strength up. I was reading in one of your books last night, that 'mind is superior to matter;' but the writer forgot to add that mind and matter have a good deal in common. At least, as long as mind is tied to matter, it can't do much business without consulting its partner. And when a per- son's tired and hungry, or faint, his views of life ain't apt to be bright-or correct. -Come down stairs, right away, and eat a good breakfast; and then go to bed, and get a good sleep; and if things don't look brighter after that, we'll see what's to be done next. One thing you may put down for certain, child-that there's no trouble so deep that there isn't some remedy strong enough to reach it." I submitted to her guidance like a child. And after the 3* page: 58-59[View Page 58-59]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 58-59 58 SHLOH. sleep had been duly sought, found, and let "go again, "things" certainly did look brighter. I wondered at my late miserable subjugation to Mala, and called Bona to my 'side. "Tell me, if you can," I said, humbly, " why it was that I fell so completely and helplessly into Mala's hands, i just now, when I was so fullypersuaded that I had escaped from her, for a time, and was hopefully entering upon a new and'better era of my life." "The cause was complex," returned Bona. "'In your temporary exaltation of mind, you fancied yourself so secure that you forgot to watch and pray, lest you enter into temptation. Mrs. Prescott's harsh, though not alto- gether unjust remark, jarred rudely upon your awakened sensibilities. You were physically exhausted, and as Mrs. Divine told you, body and mind act and react upon each other. Finally, if you want the whole truth, you are still thinking of, and striving for, present, rather than eternal peace, earthly distraction more than heavenly consolation." "Oh, Bona!"I murmured, reproachfully "It is true," she answered, steadily. "I will not say anything arbout the curiosity, or the sad unrest which helped to induce you to go to the Warrens,--perhaps hu- man motives can never be quite pure. Your chief mistake was that you thought to earn present peace by doing Christ's work, much as a man means to earn his daily bread . by carting sand or laying bricks. Whereas, he who would do our Lord faithful service, must set himself -thereto as a sculptor does to Art; thinking of daily bread, pleasure, fame, only as things which may come to him through his work, but are never to be confounded with its object. Art is dearer to him than they all; and his work in her service is less a labor than a love; less a means to an end, than a self-forgetting worship!" "Was not my work at the Warrens well done, then?" I faltered. SHLOH. 59 Very well, .in the main. But that was because -the Spirit of God worked with you. To Him, therefore, be all the praise!" Her words confounded me. I felt keenly their force and directness. Yet, as I considered them carefully, pac- ing absently to and fro, I discerned in them quite as much cause for hope as discouragement. For he who knows the exact nature of his disease, has only to set about seeking the remedy. And in this case, there was no mistaking it. "O Christ!"I murmured, " enter Thou into my secret thoughts, and lead them, as only Thou canst, up their Mount of Transfiguration!" Whep I recovered consciousness of time and place, I found that I had been standing,--nobody knows how long,- staring vacantly into my fireplace; which is filled, accord- ing to the quaint old fashion of the place, with the feathery green of asparagus. Have I never described my room? I beg its pardon!-it deserved better things of me. It is a large, square, low-studded chamber, with a huge beam running athwart the ceiling,--calculated to inspire implicit confidence in the building's strength. It has, white-washed walls on three sides, and on the other, a dark wainscot of oak, in the midst of which is the queer high mantel, and the fireplace. Its furniture is a study in chronology. A high-post bedstead gratifies no vesthetic need, but, with its snowy linen, homespun blankets, and quilted and stuffed counterpane (a miracle of patience and ingenuity), answers every demand of weariness, and deserves respect, therefore, for fulfilling the chief end of its being,-which is more than we humans do, as a rule! There is a stiff company of antique, straight-backed, ma- hogany chairs, black with age, and shabbily genteel with upholstery of threadbare hair-cloth, and rows of tarnished brass nails,-picturesque objects to look at, and with acer-s tain dignity of immemorial descent about them; but a plebian Boston rocker, brand-new, furnishes more artistic '-, I. .. page: 60-61[View Page 60-61]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 60-61 60 SHLOH. curves for use. There is a quaint, dingy, wizened, stilted table, that irresistibly reminds me of a mummy. There is a very light-colored, modern dressing-table that, not less un- avoidably, suggests a mushroom. Over the latter, an ancient looking-glass is suspended from the -wall, at an acute angle; having, for its upper panel, a curious composition in color, in the Chinese School of Art, whose intent I have failed to discover. There is a cumbrous structure, mounted on slen- der, carved legs, which my hostess calls a " chest of draw- ers;" whereof the design must have been handed down from the days when " there were giants in the earth,"-the top drawer being quite out of my reach, even though I sup- plement my height with a chair. There is no carpet; but the unpainted floor is white with manifold scrubbings; and after some acquaintance with it, I am growing sceptical whether carpets are, in summer time, the luxuries we are wont to think. Mrs. Prescott-the grim embodiment of uncompromising neatness-avers that they are only hiding places for dirt, at any time. "The dust," says she, " sinks into 'em, and slinks under 'em, to be raised and settled over again, at every sweeping, till both the carpet and floor are nothing but nastiness. No carpet shall ever again be nailed down, in any house bf mine;--I won't have anything that can't be shaken and aired, and the floor cleaned under it, every day, no matter what the fashion is." By way of outlook, my room has two small windows, in time-browned, worm-eaten frames. The panes of glass are so small and so imperfect,-setting the objects seen through them at sixes and sevens,--that it is plain they must have experienced the restraint, directly or by heredi- tary transmission, of the old, oppressive tax on glass, which made that commodity a subject of strict economy. All the windows of this ancient structure, by the way, ex- cept on the front, have a curious irregularity of position, seen from the outside; being subject to no external rule, SHLOH. 61 but only obedient to the hidden law of interior fitness and convenience--an arrangement which has manifest advanta- ges. How many rooms, in modern dwellings, would be unspeakably more enjoyable, if a certain window could be shoved a yard to the right or left; but the inexorable ne- cessity of putting it on a line with some other window, ex- ternally, was neither to be set' aside nor overcome, in the builder's conventionally moulded mind, and so there is no spot in all their length and breadth pleasantly adapted to piano, sofa, or bedstead. This old manse is hampered by no such arbitrary rule; consequently, the windows are pre-, cisely where they should be, for the highest internal beauty and comfort; and its exterior has, withal, an expansive, unconventional, hearty, and habitable expression, which is a better thing than regularity of form. When will our domestic architects learn that beauty is far less likely to be found in uniformity than in its opposite,-symmetry and balance, which are more essential, being easily attainable without it! And why must the lives we live, as, well as the houses we build, be chiefly directed to the attain- ment of certain external effects; to gain which, much inte- rior beauty, fitness, and rightness, must be sacrificed or compromised? But my windows are giving us a deeper view into things social and spiritual than we had counted upon,-let us go back to their material outlook. One is thickly shaded by the centenarian pear-tree, aforementioned, and looks to the south,-taking in its way the riotous garden, the farther crest of Chestnut Hill, the white church, the grey school-house, a farm-house, painted red, and a dark border line of forest. The other com- mands a wide view over a varied tract of country; the nearest feature being a vividly green meadow, dotted with great, gnarled, leafy apple-trees; through which a brook goes singing and shining, and playing "peep-oh!" with me from among tall grasses, pointed leaves of calamus and iris, and all the lawless and vagrant growths that huddle page: 62-63[View Page 62-63]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 62-63 62 SHLOH. together on its borders. This view would be one of still life, indeed, only that afar over the meadows there is all opening, where a brown bend of road is seen; upon which;, at irregular intervals, a primitive wagon, attached to a sleepy horse, guided by a sleepier driver; or a slow-moving cart and oxen; or a stout countryman with a stick, driving a pig or a flock of sheep before him; appear suddenly from behind a screen of verdure, glide slowly across the inter- vening space, and vanish behind a similar screen, like fig- ures in a dream. And these ever-recurring glimpses of hu- man life-too remote to be intrusive, yet near enough to remind me of the innumerable and secret ties, by which at every moment of our lives, we are bound to a common humanity-save the scene from that sad loneliness of ex- pression, which is the inevitable peculiarity of views made up of natural objects only. Yet it seems mournfully enough typical, too, of the evanescence of human life, compared with the works of Nature,-hills and dales, rocks and streams,-things which change so slowly that they seem to us unalterable and everlasting;- while man's appearance among them is scarcely more enduring or mem- orable than those gliding, panoramic 4figures in the dis- tance! VII. -EXPLORATIONS-RURAL, MORAL AND PAROCHAL. 'ITTING by my western window, after I had written you my last letter, a fever of exploration seized me. --That point in the northwestern landscape, where the ground 4 dipped into a dell or a ravine, caught my gaze and my imagination. What sort of a place was it likely to be? Cool and shady, doubt- less, for I could see great balls and cones of foliage, held aloft by sunken tree-trunks. Beautified with the ripple and gleam of water, surely,- for the brook plainly knew the way thither, and took it, in its own delightful, meandering fashion. I put on my hat and followed it. Leo, whom I encountered on the way, accepted an invitation to follow me, without the ceremony of putting on the hat! Having reached the meadow's limit, my tinkling guide darted under a fence, which I was forced to climb. Then, dropping on a soft bank of moss, I found myself in one of the loveliest, dreamiest, shadow-haunted nooks conceivable. The brook flowed suddenly, with a low and liquid note, into a-deep, dark, clear basin, bordered, on one side, by a moss-enamelled rock, and on the other by a steep, ferny bank, embossed with black tree-roots,-all overarched by thickly interlacing boughjs of tall trees, through which the sunshine trickled scantily, in shining, golden drops. What a place for a troop of naiads to bathe! I half ex- pected to see the lovely iEgle herself ,rise from the basin's page: 64-65[View Page 64-65]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 64-65 " SHLOH. clear depths, like Venus- of old from the sea. Instead thereof, Leo plunged in, and paddled about with a face of serene enjoyment. From this point, the brook's banks continually gained in altitude, taking the form of la rough, rocky, wooded cliff, on one side, and on the other, of a steep, but smooth and green, hillside, shaded here and there by huge, wide- spreading trees, among which I noticed an enormous tulip- tree, a very Anak of its race. Between these curiously diverse banks, the brook ran, crept, sparkled and sung-- tumbled, too, once and again,-but altogether as if it en- joyed it; for a shout of laughter accompanied its fall, and then it went on, giggling and gurgling to itself, with occa- sional spurts of irrepressible merriment, as if the joke were much too good to be quickly let go and forgotten. I crossed it many times in my progress down the -glen, at- tracted by a gay breast-knot of flowers on the hill's green robe, a tiny fern-forest on the brook's border, a mossy, leaf- strewn ledge, all the more fascinating because well nigh in- accessible, or a wild vine flinging an ideal grace over the gaunt, gray outline of some rugged rock, yet without im- pairing any really valuable quality,-as a sunny and loving spirit may do over the hardest, homeliest duties of com- mon life. By and by, the hill began to slope off gradually, the cliff terminated in a sharp promontory of rock, and a sinuous rail-fence marked the extreme limit of the glen. Under this fence the brook shrank into the dismal shadow of a dense forest,-its song hushed, its gambols all over,- and flowed silently through a dead level of damp, black mould, scantily coated with a pale and fungous vegetation, and strewn with dead leaves and dry twigs, seeming, at first, half-sulky, and altogether scared, by the sudden and complete change of its manner of life. Bona, Mala and I leaned on the fence, and looked after it. "See! it is a type of your life," exclaimed Mala, less bitterly than her wont. "Just so, that went singing HlLUJl. ( j through flowers and sunshine, unsuspicious of change; just so, without volition or responsibility of its own, it was suddenly thrust out into an atmosphere of impenetrable gloom, and set to flow through earth dank with tears, fruitful only in diseased and depressing imaginations, and strewn with the dry, rustling debris of dead hopes. Ay! look at the poor little stream and weep,-you have cause! In its dumb, shadowed, monotonous flow, all your future life is mirrored." BoNA (tenderly). Nay, where there is shadow, there is also shelter; the roof that shuts out the sun may shut out the storm as well. 'And notice how calm, and broad, and sweet-browed the brook becomes, after a while; with here and there a speck of blue sky reflected in its depths, like a thought of peace. There are a few low, sweet flowers, on its banks, too; needing its refreshment, and growing brighter and more fragrant for it.. And beyond the wood, no doubt, it flows out into the sunshine again. I. If I were sure of that, Bona, the thought of that future sunshine would help me so powerfully through the shadow of this Present! BoNA. Have you forgotten the " glory that shall be re- vealed?" MATA. But it looks so far off when it is only the heav- enly sunshine! BONA. 0nly? After brief weariness, only long rest! After swiftly vanishing years of strife, only ever-flowing peace! After short pressure of sorrow, only eternal weight of joy! -After hard faces of enemies and changeful ones of friends, only the tender, winning, satisfying face of Christ! After the rough usage of the world, only the Everlasting arms! After a life-time of desire, only an eternity of love! Can any-dare any, sinful mortal ask for more? For a moment I looked at Mala; then she somehow disappeared. There is this peculiarity about these strange companions of mine, that whenever I regard Mala steadily, page: 66-67[View Page 66-67]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 66-67 SHLOH. trying to see her as she is, she always dwindles, grows vague, and vanishes; whereas, the longer and more search- ingly I look at Bona, the brighter and better defined she becomes. The first is most powerful when I do not recog- nize her for herself,--when she pushes me from behind, or allures me from before, hidden under a mask of self-respect, custom, expediency, necessity, and I know not what beside, for she has more shapes than Proteus. Bona's efficiency, on the contrary, is greatest when I seek hI jout, entreat her help, and consciously put my hand in her. If I grow care- less and off my guard, -Mala is nearly certain to be at my elbow, ordering my goings; but there is little drifting, or going blindfold, under Bona's guidance, tshe compels me to use my reason and my will. I now turned to her, and exclaimed, "Oh! Bona, if I could always look at Nature through your eyes?" "( Your own will serve you as well," she answered, gen- tly, " if you have the right spirit in your heart. Nature is like a stream; it has different aspects for different beholders. One sees in it little beside the reflection of his own face. Another, looking closer, discerns the form of its waves, and the grasses, flowers, and other minute objects that float on its surface. Still another discovers fish playing in its depths, and pebbles and roots at the bottom. A fourth is ravished with its graceful curves, its sparkle and play of light, its soft concords of color. A fifth floats into dream- land on its liquid music. A sixth, feeling somewhat of its sentiment as well as of its beauty, finds out subtle analogies to human life. But the divinely inspired heart of a seventh, while it loses none of these effects, swells with rapturous thought of the peace that 'shall flow as a river:' or, like St. John in Patmos, looking on the Nile, beholds in a vision the River of Life, 'clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and the Lamb.' In nature, to-day, you have found a bit of mythology, some analogies, many artistic effects, and a type of your own life. Suppose, now, you seek for the Goodness of God in it." SHILOI. 67 I looked, and lo! the Transfigured Landscape! Every leaf, every flower, every gray rock, every waving line, every bright hue-the bro6k's song-the forest's shadow-were all alive and aglow with that Goodness. By it the sun- beams shone, the breezes played, the birds twittered, the sky hung soft-eyed over the smiling earth. David saw it when he exclaimed " Oh! how great is Thy goodness which Thou hast laid up for them that fear Thee i " -not made visi- ble to every careless gaze, intent on outward things alone, but laid up; stored richly for the joy and consolation of the searching eye and the prayerful heart. I stood, trembling and tearful, overwhelmed with the sudden, dazzling revela- tion. "Just so," said Bona, softly,-"just so, though in a deeper and fuller degree, will the awakened soul, one day, stand overjoyed and awe-struck before its sudden dis- covery of God's wonderful goodness in the circumstances of its earthly life. Where it saw only shadow, it shall discern shelter; where it felt only rigour and hindrance, it shall discover the Rock of Defence; and sorrow, casting off her mask and her mufflings, shall stand forth as the fulness and the graciousness of Redeeming Love!" A deep sigh here broke upon my ear. Leo, faithful to his notions of duty, would not leave me; but it was plain he thought I took a tiresome time for meditation. He had dropped despondently on the grass, near by; and was look- ing at me with uplifted head and wistful eyes. " Thou art right! " said I, gravely apostrophizing him. "No need, either in thought or act, to go farther and fare worse! It is the bane of moralists and philosophers that they never know where to stop. We are wiser, Leo,-we will go home!" No question but that he understood! At the first words, he pricked up his ears, and looked at me earnestly, inclining his head to one side. At the last, he sprang up, wagging his tail, gave a bark of joyous acquiescence, and bounded forward. page: 68-69[View Page 68-69]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 68-69 68 SHLOI. He guided me home by a shorter route. It led through a shady, turfy lane, traversed by deep cart ruts, and a sun- ny bit of road, bordered by that queer tangle of creeping, climbing, prickly, vagabond vegetation, which always ac- cumulates by roadside stone-walls, in the country; sowing its own seed, and reaping its own harvest,-with some little help, in the latter task, from stray cattle and loitering school-children. I soon came upon the Divines' wood-pile, -a domestic institution which, in Shiloh, has the habit of establishing itself by the roadside, in convenient proximity to the house gate, by way of saving the enclosed land, and allowing the wood-chopper to keep au courant de public affairs. There I found Mrs. Divine's silver-haired bachelor brother, who is so universally addressd and spoken of as "Uncle True," that it seems like unnecessary particularity to mention that he'has a claim, by baptism and birthright, to be called Truman Hart. He was sitting in an ancient- looking arm-chair, chopping wood; with a barrier of logs before him, and a plentiful sprinkling of chips all around. A huge mass of rock jutted up near him, in the top of which was a deep depression, or cavity, half full of water. I looked at it curiously, and inquired if it was an :artificial or natural basin? ' "-I guess it's nateral," replied Uncle True, laying down his axe, and wiping his brow. "It's been there ever since I was born; an' I've heerd tell that the first Hart settled on this place on account on't;-he saw a falry pictur,-or suthin' or other,-at the bottom, when he first looked into't, that took his fancy. Sartain, it couldn't 'ave ben his own face, for the Hart breed never was a harns6me un! An' people du say, when that holler gits dry (which it never does except in seasons of uncommon drouth), that the Harts can look out for bad luck. An' though I don't b'lieve much in them sort o' sayins, there does seem to be a leetle mite o' truth in that un. Leastways, I've often no- ticed that things are apt to come cross-grained when that holler's dry. To be sure, they do other times, too; so I ain't quite clear whether there's anything in't, or not. It's pooty much like an ox-yoke, I guess; what'll fit into one bow 'll fit abeout as well into 'tother." Amused by the quaint speech and homely simile, I sat down on the rock, the more comfortably to pursue the con- versation. "The place seems to be amply supplied with water, without the help of the hollow," I remarked, prompted by the sight of the aforementioned well sweeps, rising into view, one on either side of the house, and looking much like an enormous pair of fishing-poles. "May I ask how it happens that you have two wells, in such near proximity?" "( Ask all the questions you like," returned Uncle True, benignly; " they're the short road to larnin', and save makin' mistakes. As for the wells, the one behind the house was dug first, and the water turned out to be so hard and brackish that they concluded they'd try 'tother side. An' that's the best water in Shiloh-cool as if it had jest come out of an iceberg, an' soft an' sweet as if it had been stirred up with a rosebud jest afore it started." "That seems strange," observed I, " inasmuch as there is only the length of the house between them." "Sweet an' bitter waters are nigher together than that, sometimes," said Uncle True, sententiously. "I've known 'em both to come out o' the same spot." It was plain that his mind had wandered from wells in fact to wells in metaphor. "Besides," he continued, after a pause, " though, as you say, there's nothin' but the old house 'twixt 'em, yet that may stand for this world an' all its consarns. An' jest as the old house ain't much compared with this whole hillside an' valley, as fur as you can see, so life isn't much, nuther, when you look at the eternity afore it an' the eternity arter it. But there's jest that, an 'nothin' else, 'twixt the bit- ter waters of earth that we all begin to drink as soon as page: 70-71[View Page 70-71]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 70-71 a O SHLOH. born, an' the river o' life in heaven. Wall, then, there's another way o' takin' it. The brackish well, you see, is on the kitchen side o' the house, where all the work an' worry goes on; an' 'I suspect that people who dig all their wells amongst the toils an' cares, an' hurry an' skurry, o' this world, thinkin' o' nothin' but how to make money or save it, needn't wonder if they don't git much out on 'em but bitterness. Whereas, them who dig towards the garden- that is, as I take it, towards Christ an' His Church (' A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse,' says Solomon's song),-them who dig thar, will find livin' waters, sweet to the tongue, an' satisfyin' to the soul. You see, Miss Frost, them wells are among my preachers. But, bless me! we mustn't be preachin', nor listenin' to preachin', all the while!" And Uncle True caught up his axe and laid about him energetically, to make up for lost time. I watched the slow, stiff swing of the axe, indicating somewhat of rusti- ness and infirmity in the joints and muscles that wielded it; then, my attention became fastened on the chair wherein the old man sat. "Your chair has a most suggestive look," I said, at length; " it seems unctuous with lon g absorption of life's fa- miliar knowledge and homely interests. Has it a history?" "It's history and mine's pooty much the same," replied he, laying his hand on its arm with a certain fondness. "Me and my old chair's kept company for nigh onto fifty year, and I guess nothin' but Death will part us. now. In- deed, I've some thoughts of askin' to be buried sittin' in it;-I've read somewhere that old Ben Johnson (he's a poet that used to be read, when I was young, more'n he is now) was buried standin' straight up in-in-wall, you know where I mean,--in that fine church-in England where they bury their great folks." "Yes; in Westminster Abbey," said I. "But it is painful to think of a man on his feet so long; and, though sitting may be an easier posture, I advise you not to make the request. The thought of your sitting upright till the end of time, could scarcely be otherwise than wearisome to your friends. Moreover, it seems fitting that a man should lie down in his grave as he does in his bed, resigning him- self into God's hands, and trusting to Him to take care of his awakening." "So it does," said Uncle True, heartily; ,' I declare, I never thought o' that! Wall, anyhow, me an' my old chair 'll jog on together as fur as the grave. To be sure, it's a good deal rusty an' creaky dike myself), an' its ben mended two or three times (which I hain't, as I know on), but I guess it'll last my time. I hope so; I shouldn't like to try a new un,-this has been legs an' seat, an' carriage an' travel, an' tavern for me, so long!" "Why! do you never go without it?"I asked, in sur- prise. * "No more'n a snail goes without his shell. You see, marm, when I was a young feller, about sixteen year old, I was flung out of a wagon, an' lamed for life. Wall, first I tried crutches; but I couldn't sit on 'em when I got tired, an' that was pooty often. Then, I took to shovin' this old chair about ('twas a new un, then!), an' that suited 'xactly. I could go as fur as I liked, an' sit down jest where an' when I liked. Besides, it's got a drawer here, under the seat, you see, where I keep the things I want to use commonly." And Uncle True opened it, and displayed its contents. "Here's hammer an' nails, an' gim- let and screws;--them's for tinkerin' round the place: wherever I see a board off, or a hinge loose, or anything out o' kilter, I fix it. Here's an awl an' waxed ends, so that I can mend old harness, an' boots an' shoes. Here's a needle an' thread; its easier to sew on my buttons or mend a tear, sometimes, than 'tis to travel clear into the house, to get it done. 'Here's a trowel to dig up weeds with ;-by the way, I make out to do most o' the garden work. page: 72-73[View Page 72-73]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 72-73 72 SHLOH. Here's some old linen, an' salve, for doin' up cuts and bruises; I git-a chance to use them, on myself or some- body else, abeout every week. An' here's the last news- paper, to read in the shade when I get tired o' choppin'. An' now,"-shutting up the drawer,-"I'm agoin' to cut up that log, over yonder, an' you can see how I manage." So saying, Uncle True stuck his axe through some leather straps at the side of his chair, lifted himself slowly, by a firm grasp of its arms, and turned about, shifting hands, as he did so, from one side to the other. Then he lifted it by the arms, set it forward a step, dragged one foot after the other slowly up to it, set it forward again, and so proceeded until he reached the point indicated; when he twisted himself into it, resumed his axe, and set to work. I looked on with interest; and something like pity must have shown itself in my face, also, for the old man, after looking at me keenly, once or twice, said quietly, "It's a dull sort of a life to lead, may be you think; but it isn't quite a useless one, you see. And, I've grown so wonted to it, that I guess I shouldn't care to have it any different, now, if I could." I recalled Mr.- Warren's emphatic assertion, "Life is sweet to them all," and felt its truth. Yet, what a dissim- ilarity in the two men! Uncle True's placid, sensible face, was full of the glow of a kindly and contented spirit, shin- ing through the dusk and rigor of its circumstances like sunbeams struggling through a dusty, discolored window- pane. The little light in Mr. Warren's face resembled rather the chill reflection of sunbeams from ice; which freezes all the harder to-day because it thawed a little yes- day. Entering the front gate, I discovered Mrs. Prescott, sit- ting in a low, lilac-shaded doorway, opening directly into the parlor, or, as Mrs. Divine oddly enough calls it, the "out-room." It is a large, low-studded room, covered SHfIOH. 73 with a carpet of -domestlc manufacture, and filled with an odd mixture :of antique and modern furniture; the stiff and angular: arrangement of which, shutting out. every ge- nial and hospitable grace, as well as the exquisite neatness in which it is kept, being, evidently, a work after Mrs. Prescott's own heart. Surmising that this stronghold of the family dignity had been opened in my honor, and con- scious, withal, that I owed the lady some civility, in atone- ment for my rude speech of the morning, I went to her at once. "Mrs. Prescott, is there any rector to the little church on the hill yonder?" She looked up with the first gleam of real interest that I had seen oj her chronically dissatisfied face. "No, there ain't any now," answered she, "but I hope there willbe before long. There's a minister coming to preach here next Sunday, and if he gets encouragement enough he'll-stay." "7hen the parish has not given him a call!-" said I, with a little natural surprise at this way of doing :things. "A call! Land's sakes, no,-I wish, they had! But there ain't life enough in them for that. He'll get no call, unless it's from the Ladies' Sewing Society; or, I might as well say, right out, from me and Esther Volger, for we have to drive 'em up to do all that- is done. We went to the Bishop, and got him to promise:us that he would send this man here; and we obligated ourselves to see that he got enough to support him, somehow. Of course, when the men find out that a minister's really coming, they'll get together and auctioneer off the pews; and then the ladies, by dint of sewing societies, and tea-parties, and fairs, must make up the rest.'" "Has the parish always been so feeble, or so torpid?" I inquired. "Oh! dear, no; once it was strong enough.- You see, it was a split-off, from the old church (thatis up street, five: 4 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 74-75 74 SHLOH. miles away); and it took some of the best and most influ- ential men of that parish,-father among the rest. But most of them died years ago, and their sons didn't fill their places (seems to me none of thllem do, now-a-days!) ; or their property was divided and sold, and the new owners didn't care for the church. Then father met with heavy losses, and had to sell out his old, fine place upon the Hill (this is mother's property) ;-and so the parish began to run down, and it's kept going down hill ever since, till there isn't a man left in it worth his salt. To be sure father 'll do all he can, but her' got to be old, you see, and has pretty much done with active life, in the world and in the Church. And if it wasn't for the women, the parish would be dead as a door-nail, in no 4ime! Which it never would be, I thought, as long as Mrs. Prescott remained to galvanize it into any spasmcdic, inter- mittent life, with her energy and acidity. And I found, thereafter, that she was truly the mainspring of theparish, without which it must have gone to irremediable ruin. Not that she was a popular or discreet leader, for her eharp philippies and stinging comments, while they penetrated some obtuse consciences, and stirred their owners up to sluggish good works, mortally offended others, and drove them into greater apathy or dogged opposition. Neverthe- less, she fought on, exhibiting genuine courage, persever- ance, and self-sacrifice, and achieving something for Christ and His Church, which is put down to her credit, doubtless, against the day when the books are opened. "And the clergyman that is coming next Sunday, who is he?" inquired I. "Oh! he's a Mr. Taylor,-just ordained, I believe, though he's not a young man; he has a wife and family. lHe seems like a downright, earnest, zealous, wide-awake sort of a man, aId I hope he'll shake up this valley of dry bones a little. By the way, Miss Frost, won't you join our Sew- ing Society? We need all the help we can get." SHLOH. 75 MALA. Sewing Society! Nursery of gossip, and hot- bed of malice and all uncharitableness! In the name of Common Sense, tell her you must respectfully decline. BONA. You need not gossip, nor bear malice, nor deal uncharitably. Take care that your own motives are right, and do not judge your neighbors. If no good work is to be commenced, or carried on, until the workers and the system are cleansed from all evil, where, on this earth, are you to find a place to begin? MAALA. To be sure, it might afford you amusement to go. It must be a rare place to study character. BoNA. Nay, if you are going for that object mainly, you had better decline. I (peevishy). Was ever poor mortal bothered with such a pair of contradictory advisers! You change your places so quickly that I do not know one from the other, nor which to follow. (Tlhen, aloud, to Mrs. Prescott). I cannot promise to join, until I am more certain that I can do good by becoming a member. But I will go once, if you wish, ,andsee what it is like. "Well, it meets to-morrow," she answered. "It don't generally meet on Saturday, but it will this week, on ac- count of Mr. Taylor's coming. We must get together, and find out what sort of a support we can promise him. And I shall certainly call you, to go along." That evening, Leo once more accompanied me to the dwelling. of' the Warrens, and waited patiently at the gate while I made a brief visit within. The white, waxen maid- en still slept her untroubled sleep, in the room where Death had given her the kiss of peace; the father sat apart, silent, morose, wrapped in grief and in gloom; the mother received me with sad, gentle composure. She told me that the funeral was fixed for the coming Sunday, at the usual hour of after- noon service;-an appointment that seemed strange to me, though I heard it without comment,-seeing, from her { page: 76-77[View Page 76-77]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 76-77 'C76j S:HLOH. manner, that it must be in accordance with the Shiloh practice. Then, through moonlight and shadow--shadows our- selves!--Leo and'I went silently home. And the morning and the evening were the second day! : .' I VIII. THE SEWING SOCIETY, ABI^^BOUT one o'clock on the following day, Mrs. Prescott sent a shrill call up the stair- 'n iO r case to 'know if I was " ready to go to So- ciety?"I had not expected so early a sum- mons, but I made quick work with my toilet, !and soon joined her and Alice at the'gate. The walk was a pleasant one; over a wind- ing, hilly, alternately shady and sunny road, bordered by a pleasant succession of fields and mead- ows and woodland, with here and there a comfortable farm-house, standing sufficiently aloof to preserve its own individual life intact, yet affording its neighbors glimpses of a blue column of smoke, by day, and a red 'window- gleam by night, as an assurance of available help and com- panionship, at need. Mrs. Prescott enlivened the way with somne account of the people I was about to meet. "There's my second cousin, Esther Volger--Essie, most folks call her, but I don't believe in turning jthe good old Bible names into wishy-washy nicknames--I'd rather have cream than skim-milk, any day. Well, Esther is as person of some consequence in Shiloh; she is the only daughter of the richest man in the place, and she has been away to a city boarding-school for two or three years, and learned to play the piano, and got varnished up generally;-though it hasn't spoilt her a bit-I'll say that for her. On the con- trary, she's got some good, besides the varnishing; for she page: 78-79[View Page 78-79]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 78-79 '78 , SHLOH. went to a Church school, and learned more about Church ways, and got more interested in Church work, than she would ever have done if she had stayed at home; for her father don't care any more about any Church than lie does about the man in the moon. But he gives Esther pretty. liberally of pocket-money, and as she's young and spry, and hasn't much -to do,-except to mitten young fellotvs who hang round her because she's an heiress,-- manage to get more money and more work out of her than anybody else. Then, there's Mrs. Seber (it's at her house that the Society meets to-day); she's a woman who had a good deal rather there wouldn't be any minister here . in Shiloh, because she thinks it's smarter to go up town to church. Still, she has- n't got the face to turn her back on us, when we do have service; but she means to be top of the heap, to pay her for her condescension. She always expects to be made presi- dent of Society, though she hasn't any idea of doing a pres- ident's work. But there's one comfort about that,--when she's president, I can have my way pretty much; all she wants is the honor; she is glad enough to get rid of the labor. But Mrs. Burcham is a bird of a different feather. Whether she's in office, or out, she makes it her business to fight what anybody else proposes. If a measure is tried to- day, she'll fight it tooth and nail; if you try the very oppo- site to-morrow, she is just as ready to fight that. I always know where to find her,-on the contrary side! Then, there's Mrs. Shemnar; she happened to be made without any mind of her own, so she helps herself to the one that is handiest, whenever there's a vote to be taken. If I could be at her elbow all the time, she would do just as I said; if Mrs. Burcham happens to be nearest, she'll follow her lead just as quick. But I believe I'm more troubled, just now, about Mrs. Danforth than anybody else." And Mrs. Prescott stopped to take breath. "C Who is Mrs. Danforth?!"I asked. "Mrs. Danforth is a New Yorker, like yourself. She SHiLOH. i I has taken a house down on Hope Plain, for the summer, on account of two pale, peaking, spindling children she's got, that the doctor told her must be brought away from the city, or they would die. I called on her the other day-be- fore she had got fairly settled,--I was so anxious to see if the Church was like to get any good out of her. And- well, she's a curious one, Miss Frost. Not much after your , sort, though I used to think all city folks must be pretty much alike." "What solt' is hers, then?" "That's just what I can't say; she puzzles me more than common. When I called, she came sweeping into the room, with a silk dress and a long train, and the grandest kind of an air,--so I expected to be snuffed out like a candle in no time; but, instead of that, she sat right down and talked to me in the easiest and chattiest kind of a way, and told me all about her children, and her family,-away back to the Mayflower times,-and what she had done, and what she had meant to do, and what grand people she knew, and I don't know what all,-my head fairly swam before I got away from her. As she talked, she made gestures in the most wonderful way--I never saw anything like it in my life!-and then her hands were loaded with diamond rings; she had two or three on a finger,-and how they did twinkle and glitter! But yet, somehow, her diamonds seemed to be a part of her,--I couldn't think of her without them, now,-and I should * think she would have to sleep in them, for fear she would- n't know herself when she wakes up. Well, she treated me handsomely enough, plain as I am; but I concluded, after I had watched her awhile, that she thought she was made of a very superior sort of clay, indeed; and when shew vas finished, there wasn't any left; and so the little differences in other people's earth weren't worth her minding. But I thought, Miss Frost, that in spite of her diamonds, and her grand air, and her good blood, she wasn't quite a lady." page: 80-81[View Page 80-81]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 80-81 80 ,SHLOH. "Indeed," said I, " what was lacking?" "Well, in the first place, she didn't look tidy,--to be sure, she was in the midst of setting to rights. Then, she did boast; though she covered it up as nicely as ever you saw it done. And once she said, 'By George.'" I had had some little idea of making common cause with my unknown city sister, and defending her against Mrs. Prescott's charge; but the "By George" shut my mouth. I think a lady cannot be too careful in her expres- sions; too steady in her resistance to that mighty army of slang words and phrases which is invading our literature, our parlors, lyceums, courts,-even our pulpits. Mrs. Prescott continued. "Anyhow, she's a Church- woman, and used to Church work: she said she had been President of 'The Friend in Need,' and Vice-President of 'The Wayside Sower,' and First Directress of something else; to hear her tell the story, you'd say there wasn't any- thing she hadn't been, and done. But one thing I saw plain enough,-she isn't going to work after anybody's or- dering but her own. She'll work like a horse, I should say, if youll give her the lead; but she hasn't much gift for following on. I suspect the best thing we can do, con- sidering all things, is to makelher president of our Society right off. But then there'll be trouble with Mrs. Seber. I laid awake all night thinking about it." And Mrs. Prescott went on thinking about it, to such an absorbing extent that she said no more till we reached Mrs. Seber's gate,-not the front one, which seemed not to have been opened since the house was built,-but a side gate, which, being fettered by a chain, with a heavy weight of old iron attached, did not admit us with very gratify- ing alacrity. It is the Shiloh habit to enter your neighbor's dwell, ing by its heart,-namely, the kitchen,-a practice which must have originated in the kindest consideration for visit- ors;-since to be first introduced into such stiff, sour, se- iaJLOL . O l vere looking parlors as are the rule here, would inevitably freeze the friendliest heart and depress the most vivacious temperament. Whereas, the kitchen, in its afternoon pre- sentment, is usually an airy, tidy, and genial apartment; "full of homely, but cheerful, tokens of domestic thrift and comfort; and rich as a human heart, in long experience of life's familiar cares, labors, and interests. Through -Mrs. Seber's kitchen, therefore, Mrs. Prescott led the way to a small bedroom at its farther end; where a puffy feather-bed was strewn with an assemblage of bonnets and wrappings that would have served for an illustration of defunct fash- ions. Among; them a jaunty hat, with a scarlet feather (a very tulip among sage plants) caught my companion's eye, and pointing to it, she said, briefly, "Esther Volger." Thence, she conducted me to the "keeping room," already tolerably well filled with sober matrons and comely maid- ens; all sitting stiffly upright, with that uncomfortable air of being arrayed in company attire and manners, which is apt to make the first half-hour of a rural gathering a thing to be dreaded. From an open door into the parlor beyond, came a sound of laughter and cheery voices, that indicated the presence of a more enlivening spirit. Mrs. Prescott made a brief pause on the threshold, nodded toward me, and said, "Miss Frost, ladies." A stout, rosy-faced dame arose and bestirred herself to find me a chair, by which I identified her as the mistress of the mansion. Having put me in it, she hesitated, as if conscious that something further ought to be done, or said, in my behalf, but"tnot: quite certain what; and was, doubt- less, much relieved when the sudden appearance of a young lady in the door, close to which she had placed me, saved her from the necessity. The new-comer paused, with a little start, in her swift career, at sight of a stranger in her path; then she held out her hand in the frankest, simplest way-- "Miss Frost, I presume,-I am glad to meet you. How do you do? I am Essie Volger." 4* page: 82-83[View Page 82-83]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 82-83 82 SHILOH. I did not need the explanation. The rich farmer's daughter, who had been polished, but not spoiled, by ed- ucational advantages, was easy recognizable. Miss Essie's manner had not lost any fresh, natural charm by being sub- jected to boarding-school revision; -but it had gained some- thing, doubtless, in ease and courtesy. There was an air of style about her dress, too, as became the heiress, yet nothing showy or vulgar. Without being beautiful, her face was extremely pleasing; the eyes were dark blue, and met mine frankly, the nose piquant, the complexion a clear shade of tan, the cheeks blooming. A frank, bright, brisk, fun-loving New England maiden was Miss Essie, with but little imagination, but much good sense and good humor; whose sphere was, even now, more in the Actual than the Ideal; and who would, in due course of time, tone down into the most domestic, practical, and devoted of wives. I took the hand with real pleasure. "Thank you, Miss Volger. Introductions are such stupid things. I am glad you did not wait for one." ' "So they are!" she answered. "They tell you nothing that you want to know. I do not care a rush whether my vis-a-vis at a dinner party is called Brown or Green, so what is the use of telling me? If we were introduced something in this wise,-' Mr. Brown, who has been trav- elling in China for a year, and is about to open a tea-store in Blankville; and Miss 'Volger, just from boarding-school, with a ridiculous smattering of ologies, and a solid accum- ulation of long repressed fun,'--we should know where we stand. But if we have to pick up these items by chance, why not leave us to slide into acquaintance in the same way, when we like; and not bring us face to face to dis- charge stiff commonplaces at each other, when nothing else is possible? Names furnish no ground of meeting, ex- cept for people who have genealogical tastes. But I thought I heard Cousin Priscilla's voice inhere; did she not come with you?" SHjLOH. qo I looked around; Mrs. Prescott had disappeared. '; She went into the bedroom with Mrs. Seber," said a lady near us. s' Oh!" exclaimed Miss Essie, with a queer, dry intona- tion. And she went after them. In my vicinity, there was a dead silence. In other parts of the room, conversation went on in most subdued- tones. Obviously, these good people were very much afraid of me. By way of offset, I was getting to be afraid of them. The spectacle of a roomful of strange, ,stiff people, awfully afraid of doing something wrong, and consequently doing nothing but send surreptitious glances around them, is always discomposing to me. In sheer des- peration, I turned to my next neighbor and said,-"What a very lovely view are have from this window!" "Yes, marm." I tried again. "That is a pretty little lake down there; has it a name?" "Marm!' "Perhaps, she means the pond," faintly suggested the next in the row. "Oh! I don't know, marm," said the first. I went on, scarcely knowing what I was saying, but de- termined to say something. "It is so pretty in itself, it deserves a pretty name. See how the sunshine glints across it! I wonder if Longfellow could tell us the Indian for ' Sparkling Water."' Profound and awful silence for some moments. Then a stout, cheerful looking dame over the way came to the res- cue. "We call it Rustic's Pond, around here--that's the man's name who owns it. . He lives right down to the foot of the hill, two hundred rod or so, in that white house with a piazzy in front, and green blinds, and a red barn, with a vane, with a -horse on top,--you must have took notice of it, if you've ever ben that way. His wife's a kind of cou- sin o' mine-Marietty Hine, her name was afore she was page: 84-85[View Page 84-85]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 84-85 84 SHLOH . married, mine was Lucindy Hine:-we'-comne from the Hines, of Winteford, which was a wonderful spreadin' fam- ily ;-my grandfather had nineteen children, all by one wife, and most on 'em lived to marry and have children of their own,-not quite so many as he had, but Peter (that's the oldest un) had eleven right smart children, as ever 'you see, and one, fool, who wasn't born so (I shouldn't want you to believe that), but was made so by the scarlet fever, as often makes children fools, or lame, or somethin' aruther; it made one of my sisters deaf, and I've heard tell--" There seems to be no good reason why this stream of recollections, continually fed by fresh tributaries, should not have flowed on till now, if it had met with no interrup- tion. Indeed, I had a fantastic, oppressive vision of the spell-bound auditory sitting there till doomsday, and the archangel's trump breaking in upon some ludicrously petty detail with tragic, untimely, irreconcilable awfulness; upon whose terrible and grotesque grouping, my imagination would linger, to the poignant distress of my conscience. It was a relief, therefore, to see the gaunt-form of Miss La- vinia Rust at the door, and to be hailed by her with the cordiality due to old acquaintanceship,-albeit, a little tem- pered by that grim shake of the head. "Why, bless me! if here .ain't Miss Frost! I didn't participate seeing you here --though it's strange I didn't, too, you have such a dereliction for good works.' Have you seen any of the Warrens to-day?" "Yes, Miss Rust, I went down this morning and re- newed the flowers around Maggie. Mrs. Warren was her usual calm self. Sam is much better." "I'm desperate glad to hear it.' But, Miss Frost, did you ever see a woman with such exposure as Mrs. Warren has got? I expected yesterday morning, to see 'her break down all at once, and have a historical turn, but she kept around like a marble statute. Such women ain't as num- berous as grass-seed, I can tell you. Why, only yesterday SHLOH. 85 afternoon they sent for me into one of the neighbors,-her little boy had cut his foot,-and before I could stop the confusion of blood she'd gone into a dead faint, and I didn't know which to take hold of first. I never was in such a digamma before." "Aunt Vin," here interposed the loquacious dame oppo- site, "have you found out why Tom Sharp and his wife have separated?" "Yes'm," responded Miss Rust, promptly, "'on account of compatibility:of temper." "( 01h! I didn't know but 'twas something worse," re- turned the other, in perfect good faith. "You'd think that was bad enough, I guess," said Aunt Vin,." if you had any idea what- sort of man Sharp is! He comes of a distempered family. His brother was tried for murder once, and only let off, Lawyer Pound says, because there was nothing to discriminate him, but sub- stantial evidence. But there's plenty of people who think he ought to have been hung, to this day." Mrs. Prescott now entered. Mrs. Seber and Essie Vol- ger followed her, the former looking annoyed, the latter with a quizzical expression and dancing eyes. Essie came directly to my corner, found a chair, and compelled the whole row of wall- flowers to move and make room for her, next to me. Then she whispered, confidentially,-"Such a time as we've had with .lrs. Seber! I doubt if Mrs. Dan- forth herself has less taste for playing second fiddle. But she has consented to do it once, though you see her mouth has a twist in it; as if, after making up her mind to dine off turkey and truffles, she had been forced to take up with boiled pork and cabbage." I looked at the lady in question, and could not suppress a smile at the appositeness of the simile. Miss Essie con- tinued,'-"I suppose you like keeping accounts,-I am glad somebody has that useful penchant. ..I would rather hoe corn and potatoes." page: 86-87[View Page 86-87]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 86-87 SHLOH. I looked at her in infinite amazement at the apparent irrelevancy of the remark; seeing which, she appeared nearly as much surprised as myself. "I took it for granted," she said, apologetically, "that you were in all Cousin Priscilla's secrets. Well, no matter, she will open her budget pretty soon, and then you will un- derstand. We are only waiting for-umph!-' Speak of an angel and you see his wings !'--there she is now-Mrs. Danforth." Looking up, I beheld a new-comer in the doorway,-a striking figure of a woman, just at the height of her richest maturity, and fashioned upon a most spacious and luxuriant plan of physical development. The haughty air, the gra- cious manner, the sweeping silken robe (no longer untidy), the diamonds, the gestures-all the details of Mrs. Pres- cott's recent sketch were there; and I mentally compli- mented that lady's skill in portraiture, while she received and introduced the original. In two minutes, Mrs. Dan- forth had glided easily into conversation with those nearest her; in four, she was relating some incident of her life with a varied modulation, an illustrative play of feature, and a rich and happy exuberance of gesticulation, that would have made her fortune on the stage; in six, everybody was listening to her, half in wonder, half in admiration. As her hands moved, her diamonds flashed and scintillated; and, after a moment or two, as Mrs. Prescott had said, it,became impossible to conceive of her without them; so readily did they amalgamate themselves with one's idea of her charac- ter; so subtile was their correspondence with some luxuri- ant inward growth of pride and pomp; so perfectly did they assimilate their richness to the brilliancy and showi- ness of her person and manner. There was a charm, almost amounting to fascination, about her conversation; and yet something strongly repellant, at least to me, in her person- ality. Watching her closely, I was nearly as much puzzled where to place her as Mrs. Prescott had been. That lady's simile of the " superior clay" helped me a little, at last. I decided that Nature had moulded Mrs. Danforth of the coarsest earth rather than the most delicate; but circum- stances had placed her in a high position, and given her a large experience of men and manners, and so the rude material had been painted, and gilded, and varnished, and made to show, as nearly as possible, like Sevres porcelain. But nothing could altogether conceal it. Notwithstanding her fluent, often witty, speech, her polished manners, her elegant dress, her haughty carriage, there was some in- scrutable hint about her of a latent coarseness of nature, upon which a vast deal of refinement had been lavished, without being able to eradicate it. On the whole, she impressed me much as a washer- woman, masquerading as a queen, might have done, only in a far less marked and offensive degree. I have often seen German and Spanish women of identical characteristics, rarely an American. Yet I am told that no foreign element tinctures the ebb and flow in her veins. It must be one of those curious cases of intermittent hereditary transmission, which now and then startle families with what appears to be the introduction of a new type, but is only the restora- tion of an ancient one. Probably the blood of some old time German actress, or Spanish. cantatrice, after running underground, as it were, for two or three centuries, flashes up to light again in this showy, fluent, haughty New Yorker, of our day. Her treatment of others was an ingenious compound of easy familiarity and condescension, the latter being rather a subtle, elusive flavor than a manifest ingredient. Nor did this manner alter in the least for any difference of per- sons. Obviously, Mrs. Danforth was too much engrossed with her own huge egotism, to trouble herself to discrimi- nate between the egotisms of others. Aunt Vin eyed her curiously and silently for a considera- ble time, then, willing to be agreeable, she addressed her,- page: 88-89[View Page 88-89]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 88-89 88 SHLOH. "Was there much predisposition in the city when you left, ma'am'?" "To what, madam?" inquired Mrs. Danforth, after an unavailing attempt to catch the slippery purport of the question. "Why, I mean small-pox, and typus fever, and dipthery, and diaeresis, and cholery infanticide, and all those refec- tious and benignant deceases that carry off you city-folks to Haids before your time."5 Mrs. Danforth's eyes opened a trifle wider, and she gave Miss Lavinia a keen look, as if to discover what manner of person this might be; then she answered, courteously enough,-- "I left before the sickly season commenced. The doc- tor advised me to give my children the benefit of a long summer in the country; they have always been delicate." "Do tell!" exclaimed Aunt in, with great interest, "I must come and see them, poor little dearl! I shouldn't wonder if 'twas worms that ailed them; and if there's any- thing that I'm ' O fate' on (as the French say), it's chil- dren's complaints, ma'am. I'm particularly innoxious to worms. First, I give them a mild purgatory to eradicate the bowels; and then a good, strong conic that old Dr. Nichols told me of. If you'll follow my advice, ma'am, I'll promise to make Tritons of your children, in a fortnight." Mrs. Danforth listened to thig alarming proposition with a command of countenance that did her infinite credit. "Thank you," she said, with only the faintest suspicion of irony in her tone, "I shall be quite satisfied with some- thing less than that. If you can make strong, hearty chil- dren of them, you will place me under unspeakable obliga- tion to yod. And I shall be very glad to have your ad- vice." Mrs. Prescott now cleared her throat-with an emphatic "' Ahem!" that meant business. IX. IN OFFICE. %% ^^^PADIE ADIES," said Mrs. Prescott, "you all know what has brought us together. There is a chance of our having a minister once ! more; we want to do what we can to make WiS^ it a certainty. The men say that Shiloh , can't support a clergyman. I say it can, if it does its best. We have met to-day to find out what our Sewing Society is willing to do toward supporting one." MRS. BURCHAM. It's my opinion, that if we did less, the men would do more. They are not going to follow petticoat lead; I wouldn't if I was they. We ought to wait for them to go ahead, and then take hold and help them with all our might. MRS. PRESCOTT (sharply). That's nonsense, Mrs. Bur- cham, and you know it. We should wait till doomsday. I did wait three years before I got our last minister, Mr. Dragner, to. come here; and I've waited six months since he left, and begged and prayed every man in the place to take hold of the matter, before I did anything about it. They didn't any of them "( like to take the responsibility!" But if I had a husband, he should take it. Suppose you get Major Burcham to! ESSIE VOLGERB (aside to me). Cousin Priscilla has made a fine mess of it now-I wish she would keep her tongue in better order! Mrs. Burcham will not get over that shot in six months; it hit hard. You see, Miss Frost, Major page: 90-91[View Page 90-91]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 90-91 90 SHLOH. Burcham is the dog in the manger, in our parish; he won't do anything himself, and his example and influence keep back others. AUNT VIN (adding her testimony in another aside). Yes, Miss Frost, and then he's a proud, porpoise sort' of a man, who likes to have people believe he's the very centre and circumvention of all things; and when' Mr. Taylor comes here, he'll make him a high-blown speech, chock-full of polysyllabub words, and take the credit of everything we'vp done. Mrs. Burcham being speechless with confusion and rage, Mrs. Prescott proceeded: "Our first business is to organize the Society. It has always been our custom to take the names and fees for memberships first, as only members are allowed to vote. Nothing less than twelve and a half cents constitutes a member, but you can pay just as much more as you please. Esther, will you take down the names?" Mrs. Danforth took five dollars from her purse, with a mixture-of carelessness and ostentation. Other dohations appeared to consist of very small sums; if the widow's mite had any lineal descendant among them, it must have been the half-dollar of poor, little Mrs. Banser, with four chil- dren and a drunken husband depending on .her needle for bread,-who blushed as- if she thought she had taken a liberty, or been convicted of extravagance, when she found that far richer people gave no more. For someunacknowl- edged reason,-or it might have been merely the effect of an idle mood,--I was averse to become a member of the Society.. But it was a pleasure to contribute what I could to the fund; and Essie paid no attention to my whispered injunction not to put my name on her list, except to make a comical grimace, and show it to me, written out in very exaggerated characters. MRs. PRESCOTT. It is our custom to appoint a Secretary SIILOH. 91 next, that she may be in readiness to take notes of our pro- ceedings. Will anybody give a nomination? MBRS. SEBER. It is a well-known fact that-a-people who have always-a-resided in one place, and-a-done business in--a-one way, are apt to get into-a--set ways of doing-a-things. On that account, it is a good thing to-a-work in new material, when it comes to-a-hand. No doubt our Society would be the better for some-a- new material, and therefore-- a-Ia- nominate Miss Frost. I had watched the painful progress of this speech with- out the faintest suspicion that it was limping in any direc- tion that, could concern me; its termination, therefore, as- tonished me nearly as much as if a mild-looking churn had suddenly exploded a seven-inch shell in my face. Before I could speak, Miss Essie had called out, in clear, brisk tones, "I second that nomination." MRS. PBESCOTT. I don't think it is necessary to vote by ballot; we will try it without. All who- are in favor of0- . , But, by this time, I had recovered from my surprise enough to interfere. A spice of indignation that a trap should be sprung upon me thus, enabled me to do so in a tone not to be ignored. "Mrs. Prescott," I began, " excuse me for interrupting you, but--" Mss ESSIE (in an alarmed whisper). For heaven's sake, Miss Frost!-for the sake of all that is good-natured and obliging!- A-UNT VINr (in -equally dismayed tones, from the other side). Now don't decline, pray don't! Leastways, wait and insult Mis' Prescott about it! , I (taking no notice of either). While I thank the ladies very sincerely for the honor they have done me, and which I duly appreciate-- EssIE (in consternation). If you deeline now, they will get in somebody who will ruin everything! page: 92-93[View Page 92-93]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 92-93 92 SHLOH. AUNT VIN (insinCtatingly). A young lady who has such a dereliction for good works! I (proceeding steadily). I must beg to decline the nom- ination, most respectfully, yet decidedly.' There are many ladies present, who, being thoroughly acquainted with the work to be done in Shiloh, and the best way of doing it, can fill these offices better than any stranger. It gives me pleasure to nominate in my place-Miss Yolger. And I turned to that young lady with a most demure look. She bit her lip. "You might have done worse, it must be confessed," whispered she; "I was afraid you would leave them without any nomination, and I saw that Mrs. Burcham had one at her tongue's -end, ready for the instant you stopped talking; yours has disconcerted her a little. But I don't want to be Secretary, it is not in my line; besides, I am booked for something else. There, she has got a shaft ready." MRS. ButiCHAM. Miss Frost's action in this matter does credit both to her modesty and her good judgment. As she says, some one who knows the place and people- MRS. PRESCOTT (interrupting her). It doesn't need any knowledge of the place or people, to keep accounts. Miss Frost is perfectly competent to fill the office to our full satisfaction; and the less she knows about the place and people, the more likely she will be to take some satisfaction in it herself. I do hope she will reconsider the matter dooking unutterable entreaties at me). She might help us so much,-I know she's had some experience in such work. And she won't be half so likely to take an interest in our work, if she doesn't identify herself with it, and keep the run of it. Miss Frost, wont you allow the vote to be taken? 'AUNT VIN. Do dissent, now, do! MRS. BURCHAM (quickly). Essie Volger's name is before the meeting. I suddenly became aware of a rising dislike for Mrs. Burcham, and a desire to see her outwitted. Not that I suspected her of any hostility to nme, personally; I saw plainly enough that her oppositions was levelled at. Mrs. Prescott, whose candidate she believed me to be. But one does not care to subserve another person's vengeance in a quarrel which does not concern him, and the attempt to make him do so is nearly certain to convert him from an idle spectator into an interested partisan. Moreover, it' is next to impossible to watch any contest long with purely neutral feelings;--whatever be the natural or artificial re- moteness between ourselves and the combatants, there are innumerable unsuspected and hidden channels by which the ebb and flow of a common humanity will pervade our hearts and minds, and draw us inevitably into the excitements and sympathies of the occasion. In the interest of the struggle, the listless mood which had possessed me since morning wore off; and I became dimly aware that some personal duty might be involved in it; but no time was given me to decide what. Mss ESSIE. I shall consider it a pleasure, Mrs. Bur- cham, to withdraw in favor of Miss Frost, if she will allow me. (Then, in a whisper to me). Do say -you'll take it MRis. BuRCHAM (doggedly). I call for the vote. Miss Essie has the nomination. MALA. Are you going to let that spiteful woman have her way? I hesitated. - Not that I regarded the Secretaryship with any more favor, having had some previous experience of the utter thanklessness of the office; but I did feel as if it would give me pleasure to demolish Mrs. Burcham. Essie saw the hesitation, and took courage. "I re-nominate Miss Frost," she .said. "I am sure she feels it to be her duty to yield to our solicitations. Mrs. Seber seconds the nomination. Cousin Priscilla, please put the vote." Mrs. Burcham made one last effort. "My dear Essie,' page: 94-95[View Page 94-95]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 94-95 " SHLOH. she said, blandly, "I cannot allow you to withdraw in that way, as if we made you serve for 'Jack at a pinch.' There is no reason why we shouldn't have two, or more, candi- dates, and vote by ballot. Are there any more nomina- tions?" A weak voice from a corner responded, "Miss Bryer." "Certainly," returned Mrs. Burcham, -with immense cordiality. "Ladies, your candidates are Miss Volger, Miss Frost, and Miss Bryer." Essie made a face, but said nothing. She and Mrs. Bur- cham distributed slips of paper and pencils, and it was plain enough that sly winks and hints were dispensed in about an equal ratio. Mrs. Prescott announced the result, with a note of triumph in her voice, "Miss Frost, twenty-one votes; Esther Volger, seven votes; Miss Bryer, one vote. Miss Frost is elected." BONA (in a still, small, but most distinct voice). So you are Secretary. Not for the sake of the Church, not fromi a humble desire to be of use where the Providence of God has placed you, not even from a willingness to oblige, mainly, --but from the paltry ambition to override and mortify a woman that you never saw before to-day, and to whom you happen to have taken a dislike! Abashed and confounded by this plain statement of the case, I was only half-conscious of what was done next, until I found myself at a small table, with some sheets of foolscap paper, yellowed by time, a rusty steel pen, and a bottle of pale, scared-looking ink, before me. Then, I drew a little comfort from the pleased and satisfied faces of Mrs. Pres- cott and Essie; and straightway fell to berating myself for doing so. "For" said I to myself, "wrong-doing is not the less wrong-doing because it pleases somebody else." BoNAx more kindly). Now you are confounding the act with the motive. There is no harm in your being Secre- tary, if you work in the right spirit, henceforth; there is yet time to overcome evil with good. You have only to SHLOH. 95 take care that the whole, of your incumbency is not accord- ing to its beginning. Mrs. PRESCOTT. We will now proceed to elect a Presi- dent, when I shall be glad to resign the chair. Any nom- inations? Miss EssIE. I nominate Mrs. Danforth. MRS. SHEMNAR. I second thq nomination. MRS. BURCHAM. I nominate Mrs. Seber. FAINT VOICE FROM THE CORNER. Miss Bryer. I shot a glance at Mrs. Danforth, to see how she took her nomination, and discerned that she must have been prepared for it;-doubtless, there was a conference, some- where, before her introduction to our assembly. Then I fell to wondering what could be her motives for accepting it, and let my conjectures stray into some crooked, and not over-clean paths, in search of them;-which might have taught me something, by inference, of the places whence my own motives are too often derived. But it is a mourn- ful wisdom, at best, that questions motives; and oftener misleads than guides aright. After balloting, Mrs. Danforth was declared elected by an overwhelming majority; whereupon she took the chair with an easy,-nonchalant grace, implying that she had not so much assumed the office, as attracted it to herself, by some inevitable operation of natural affinities. 'Up to this moment, she had watched the course of events with a stud- ied carelessness and indifference; now her manner changed; she became alive and ani bated to her very finger-tips ; and the rest of the organization went forward with a celerity, a decorum, and an attention to parliamentary rules, that showed her to be thoroughly conversant with the details of her office. Mrs. Seber quickly became Vice-President, and Essie was chosen Treasurer, without a dissenting voice. But over the First Directress, there was a sharp contest. Mrs. Prescott had designed this office for herself, and so constituted its duties as to make it serve, upon necessity, page: 96-97[View Page 96-97]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 96-97 96- ! SHLOH l a's a check on the President. She was duly -nominated by Mrs. Seber; but Mrs. Burcham also contrived to get a nomination, and there was the usual weak call from the corner (now nearly extinct) for "Miss Bryer." Essie, how- ever, did her cousin good service in the electioneering way, keeping a sharp look out for Mrs. Shemnar and' other weak-backed minds; and so Mrs. Prescott won by two votes; Mrs. Burcham and Miss Bryer being declared Sec- ond and Thid Directresses. "The milleriium is come!" exclaimed Essie, in her laughing aside to me,-"The lion, the tiger, and the sheep are to work together! But what a quantity of flattery and finesse I shall have to expend upon that poor sheep, to make her cooperate with the lion, and not with the tiger, and so keep a majority of our directresses on the right side! However, we-have got our ticket elected, pretty much as we settled it beforehand. Mrs. Burcham is the only interpolation, and she is null and void, with two to outvote her." A constitution was next produced, and accepted, with a few alterations; and a book containing former records of the Society was handed over to -me,-of which Mrs. Pres- cott remarked, parenthetically, that "nobody had ever been able to make head or tail of them, and she did hope my accounts would be kept more orderly; for there were, always disagreeable people around, to insinuate that there must be something wrong about what they didn't under- stand." . A bag of patchwork was next produced and distributed; and Mrs. Danforth took a pair of ivory needles and a ball of worsted from her pocket, and commenced knitting with wonderful velocity,--her diamonds flashing with the quick motion, and her mobile face furnishing a kind of pictorial illustration of her sparkling,- graceful talk. "Be it known -to all and sundry," she remarked, "that I always knit in Society; it is the thing I can do the best, and like the best to do. I have a passion for worsteds. Bright colors enchant me. A well stocked worsted store holds me enchained longer than a picture-gallery. I dream of new colors and patterns; and I go distracted because-I cannot reproduce them, when I wake. However, IA can make any number and variety of pretty things for fairs and tea-parties; and you will see, one of these days, that I am not an altogether unprofitable laborer in your field. Meanwhile, Mrs. Prescott, what is it about that minister who is coming to preach for us to-morrow?" Mrs. Prescott reiterated the statement she had made to me, with some additional particulars. MRS. BURCHAiA. I hope you did not tell him he could come here, before we've heard him, and decided if we like him! MEs. PRESCOTT (with asperity). That is just what I did tell him. What's the use of putting on airs about it? The question with Shiloh is not who we'll have, but who we can get. Mr. Taylor, ma'am, begun life as a book- keeper, or an agent, or something of that sort; but his whole heart is in the Lord's work, and he has been so suc- cessful as a lay-reader, and so forth, in city, that he be- lieves it is his duty to devote himself to it entirely. So he hlas fitted himself for the ministry, and is going to begin it among us. The real truth of the matter is, that, to do us good, he gives up a certainty for an uncertainty, a comfort- able livelihood for a miserable pittance given .grudgingly, and the right to be his own master for the privilege of being everybody's servant. And you talk of waiting to see how we like him! MRS. DANFORTH (speaking so quickly as to prevent Mrs. 'Burcham from answering). You make him out quite a hero, -Mrs. Prescott. I am already profoundly interested in him; and no doubt we shall all like him. But is he com- ing here without a call, or is our Society to vote him one? MRS. PDESCOTT. Oh! the Bishop sends him. 'Shiloh is A/ page: 98-99[View Page 98-99]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 98-99 Myj frSHLOH. considered Missionary ground. Our business is, only to see that he is kept from starvation. Miss Frost, how much do those memberships foot up? "Twenty-seven dollars." MRS. SEBER. That will pay his house-rent, if he can find one. By the way, where is he to live? AIRS. PR ESCOTT. In my house. Mrs. SEBER dooking at her in great amazement). In your house! Then what is to become of William Dunn? MRS PRESCOTT (shortly). That is his lookout, MRS. SHE MNAR. Poor man! I don't believe he can find another house in the place. MRs. PRESCOTT (with increased asperity). He can go out of it, then. He's never done it any good, that I know of. A man who doesn't care a straw for the Church, and spends Sunday in counting his sheep, and patching up his fences! I tell you, people who deal with me, will find out that everything and everybody has got to stand aside for the Church. I know it isn't other people's way of doing business, but it's my way; and I don't calculate to change it, for nobody. Least of all, for a man like William Dunn. He nmakes his bed to suit him, I guess, and he can lie in it. There was a silence of some moments; Mrs. Prescott's set mouth, and irate look, not encouraging further prosecu- tion of the subject in hand. Mrs. Danforth had the tact to recur to the previous question. "What has Mr. Taylor to depend upon besides these twenty-seven dollars?" in- quired she. "I can tell you, almost to a fraction," answered Essie. "Our Society will raise about one hundred and twenty dol- lars; it always has, somehow, and it certainly can this year, beginning under such unusually favorable auspices. The seats will sell for a hundred and fifty dollars, or there- abouts; and the Christian Knowledge Society gives us a hundred more. Take into account that he will get his rent Djnspun . w v for little,-or nothing,-and that Shiloh is a cheap place to live in, where he can wear out his old clothes,-if he has any,-and nobody hurt;-and you have the sum total of Mr. Taylor's resources." "Three hundred and ninety-seven dollars, and a- family to support!" exclaimed Mrs. Danforth, with a clear, some- what loud laugh,-not in the least like the laugh of fash- ionable women, in general,-" why, he had better advertise for a situation as coachman, at once!" Mrs. Prescott's set features softened a little. "So he had, ma'am, if it's money he thinks of. But he's doing the Lord's work, and I hope He will give him bread to eat that we know not of." IRS. DANFORTH (with a comical lifting of her eye- brows). It is devoutly to be hoped He will! But it is our business to see that he has bread to eat-and butter, too- that we do know of! I think I can promise you that the Society will raise more than a hundred and fifty dollars this year. And if those seats don't sell for a larger sum than you mention, I'll sit on the doorstep-or buy them all! Six hundred dollars is the very least that Mr. Taylor ought to have, and that is less than a single pew sells for, in the church I attend, in New York. MRS. PRESCOTT. But you see, the church has been un- occupied so long that it is in a dreadful state;-we've got to raise some money for repairs, too. And you don't know what sort of people you have to deal with, Mrs. Danforth; farmers don't have a great deal of money, and a cent looks bigger to them than a dollar does to you. "Ah, well, we shall see," answered Mrs. Danforth, cheerily. The afternoon wore on swiftly enough. The blocks of patchwork were gathered as fast as finished, and Essie brought me a pile of them, with a very amused face. "If you want to see," said she, " how people carry their individuality even into so mechanical a processg as sewing, page: 100-101[View Page 100-101]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 100-101 100 SHLOH. just examine these specimens of needlework, and try to find two alike. To utilize your study to the Society, you can, at the same time, trim the blocks down to one- size." I found smooth work and puckered work, wide seams and narrow seams, straight seams and crooked seams, neat seams and soiled seams; long stitches, short stitches, deli- cate stitches, heavy stitches, stitches set with the precision of a machine, and stitches in a state of riot; but I did not find the " two alike." With the sewing, a good deal of talk went on, of a corresponding diversity of tone and character. It was not the kind of talk I have heard in Aunt Belle's drawing- room, when the "Dorcas Bag " met there; much of it had to do with farm and dairy matters, and was couched in termS that would sound like an unknown tongue to that elegant assemblage;-but it was kindly, sensible, and prac- tical, for the most part; without any of that frothy noth- ingness on its flow, which has made me so soul-sick in the city organization. In the matter of gossip, the two stood upon a more equal footing than I had expected; if there was more of it in the rural association, it was also of a pet- tier character, and less scathing. The victim would, doubt- less, have felt pricked all over, if he could have heard it; but he would not feel the quick, sharp thrust, penetrating to the vitals, with which his city friends would transfix,- and leave him. In the country, gossip is a pastime; in the city, it is a warfare. Moreover, there was a certain informality, very pleasant to see, in' the intercourse of the Shilohites,- after the first stiffness, and the little asperities evoked by the election, had worn off. Their manner to each other was characterized by a lack of ceremony and a directness of speech, which were yet without any approach to rudeness. I carried away an impression of a friendly, sincere, and genuine, though somewhat narrow, life; not without its place and value in the economy of existence; and capable of being SHLOH. 101. refined, by right feeling and a generous spirit, into a sim- ple beauty that would have its own exceeding charm. At five o'clock, supper was announced. A by-law, re- straining hospitable instincts-or housewifely ambition--in the matter of eatables, having been passed, over much de- termined opposition, it was limited to tea, biscuits, butter, cheese, preserves, and one sort of cake,-the last item being felt to be one of almost unendurable rigor. The house- wife's skill did what it could, however, to cover itself with glory, in the matter of quality; and succeeded so well, that any fault4finder would have deserved a diploma from the Society for the ,Promotion and Encouragement of Grum- bling;-if there be one. There was no "standing upon order," in the serving. Each lady helped herself to what she liked (and as many others as her good-nature prompted) and ate it in any spot that suited her mood. There were little knots of tea-drink- ers, therefore, scattered all through the rooms, and some in the porch and door-yard. Essie and I took ours on the front doorstep; the lilacs meeting overhead, and framing with verdure the pretty view of hill-side and lakelet; and Aunt Vin sitting in the doorway, listening benignantly to . our chat, till a thought of "cows" and " milking-time') hurried her homeward. As she took her departure,- she favored us with her opinion of the afternoon's proceed- ings. "The Society's begun suspiciously, Essie Volger, and that's good, as far as it goes. But smart as you and Pris- cilla Prescott think yourselves, I shouldn't wonder if you'd caught a cream-of-tartar in that Mis' Danforth. She'll do well enough as long as your mind and hers runs parallax, but when hers wants to go north and yours east, I reckon you'll see a promotion." And shaking her head grimly over whatever gloomy prospectwas mysteriously shadowed forth in this mild prediction, Aunt Vin went after her sun- bonne t. page: 102-103[View Page 102-103]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 102-103 102 SHLOH In the midst of the pleasant bustle of leave-taking, Mrs. Danforth sought me out. "I believe we are compatriots," said she, holding out her small, jeweled hand, with her usual mixture of hauteur, languor, and cordiality,--"I am glad there is somebody to whom I can say 'How queer! over these Shiloh people. Do they not amuse you mightily?" "A little, sometimes; but they command my esteem, too." "Oh! yes, of course," (with the slightest perceptible dryness of intonation.) "I have no doubt they are very estimable people,-all of them;--particularly that queer old maid whose vocabulary seems to suffer from what she would probably call a 'suffusion worse dumb-founded.' I believe I am the first comer in Shiloh, by a day or two, so I shall have to call upon you. IMay I come any time?" "Certainly. I do not think reception days are in vogue here. And I have not the least wish to introduce them; I am only too glad to dispense with the fashionable code and the minor proprieties, for a time. I have some thought of sending the fripperies after the code. I went to Clay Cor- ner, and bought me a calico dress, this morning;-do not marvel if I return your call in it." '"Allow me- to suggest that you make it after the Vocab- ulary's pattern, with a sunbonnet to match," said Ehe, with an irresistibly comic face. "I hope you do not need to be told that I shall be glad to see you,in that or anything else. Good morning, or good evening--or whatever it is,-really, if there be one thing more marvellous than another about these people, it is the hours they keep." And Mrs. Dan- forth smiled and bowed herself out. We reached home while the sun was yet an hour high. Mrs. Divine was standing in the doorway. ' I have the honor," said I, making her a low courtesy, "of introducing to you the Secretary of the Ladies' Sewing Society of St. Jude's Parish, Shiloh." SHLOH. 103 "Indeed!" she answered, giving me a keen look, "so Priscilla got you in, after all! I told her she wouldn't. I thought she wasn't going the right way to work; I had a notion that 'All open and above-board ' was your motto. But I'm real glad all the same;--you'll make a good one. How did it all happen?" I .thought of Mala's short, persuasive speech, and was silent. But Mrs. Prescott opportunely launched into a spirited account of the afternoon's events, and the silence passed unnoticed. r page: 104-105[View Page 104-105]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 104-105 X. THE MORNIENG SERVICE. HAT a day it was! One of those fresh, exu- berant days of dawning summer,--never quite so perfect as on Sunday,--when thought involuntarily goes back to the story of crea- tion, and God's pleasure in His finished work. When all things visible seem so fresh, so. f pure, and so glad,that we are fain to believe our Earth has entered upon a new andibetter cycle of her existence ;-one wherein all the old wrongs are to be righted, all the old wounds and defilements healed and cleansed;-and so we take courage and thank God. And no matter if Monday, coming with its hard hands full of work and its stern brow full of care, dispels the illusion! ---we shall not be the worse for our cherished faith in the world's improvability, nor our momentary persuasion that the " good time coming " was come. Both the one and the other will make us patient to wait, and earnest to labor, for its advancement. I spent the hour before service with a volume of George Herbert's quaint poesy in my hand,-wherein such Divine fire often breaks up through such a homely crust of expres- sion;--and was helped, possibly, to a deeper comprehension than usual by nature's leafy commentary, lying open out- side my window. By and by, I descried small groups of country-folk, on foot and in wagons, slowly wending their way churchward, across the far-off bend of road before- mentioned; Uncle True and his chair, too, setting forth on their snail-paced pilgrimage, came into view just beyond the garden-fence;--so, putting the finishing touches to a designedly plain and simple toilet, I went down to the "out room," where Mrs. Prescott and Alice, with their bonnets on, were assisting Mrs. Divine to don hers. The faces of the elder ladies clouded so noticeably, at sight of me, that I was moved to ask, in some perplexity, "What is the matter?" "Nothing," said Mrs. Prescott, shortly, closing her lips firmly over the cause of her disapproval; which, neverthe- less, seemed to escape from them, unwittingly, the next moment. "I thought you would have dressed up more." And Mrs. Divine added, "You wore a finer gown than that to Society, yesterday." "I am sorry," said I, "if you think my attire is not worthy of the occasion; but I supposed that the congrega- tion would be dressed very plainly, fol the most part, and I did not want to look like a popinjay among respectable fowls." "Umph! there's no danger of your outshining Mrs. Danforth, I guess," said Mrs. Prescott, relaxing her severe features a little. "But, I can tell you, we country folks like to have city people wear their fine feathers when they come among us; if they don't, we suspect they think we ain't worth wasting them on." "But, Mrs. Prescott, I don't think God's house is the place to wear 'fine feathers.'" Here Mrs. Divine took up the subject in her usual crisp, decided tones. "I suppose, Miss Frost, if you were going to see Queen Victoria, now, or the Emperor of Russia, you'd wear your best clothes, wouldn't you?" "Yes, ma'am, but,--' "Never mind the ' but ' just now; I want to ask you, first, if you think you ought to show more respect to one of them earthly rulers, than you do the King of Kings,'- whose house we talie the Church to be?" 5* page: 106-107[View Page 106-107]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 106-107 106 SSHLOH. "Certainly not; but then Christ set us such an example of plainness and simplicity in all His earthly life, that it seems fitting for His followers to imitate it; particularly when they meet together, to offer up prayers and praises in His name." C"Now, I think," persisted Mrs.- Divine, "that Christ lived and labored in the humblest walk of life, to show men' that fine things are nothing in themselves, since He could do without them; so that nobody need to feel proud be- cause he has got them, nor mean because he hasn't. I am certain that the Lord likes me just as well in my old- fashioned gown here, that I've worn this ten years, as He does Alice in her pretty blue muslin, if my heart is as much set to obey Him; but I shouldn't feel so sure of it,.if I had a brand-new silk hanging up in my closet, that I thought was too good for Him, but not a bit too nice for Mis' Thing- embob's parties. I guess Solomon wore his royal robes, and 'handsome ones, too, when he went up to praise the Lord in the temple he had built." "But, Mrs. Divine, I wish you could see some of the dresses I wear too parties, at home! I am sure you would agree with me that they are not suitable to wear at church." "It's very likely I should. But did you ever ask your- self whether it was just right to have dresses too fine, or too showy, to wear in God's house? The bettermost for Him, I say; but that don't prove that costly finery and finicky gew-gaws are the things for a Christian to wear anywhere." "But there are always people who will wear such things," returned I; "must they, therefore, wear them at church?" "Well, no, I suppose not," answered Mrs. Divine, after a little hesitation; "perhaps it's one step toward better things for them to make up their minds they can't flout them in the Lord's face. But that don't make it right for SHLOH, 107 His followers to have clothes too fine to wear in His courts; I'm decided on that." "Still," I urged, "custom will always make a certain style of dress obligatory for parties." "Don't you be too sure of that. The Christian world is stronger than the fashionable world; if it did but know it, and wasn't afraid to stand to its principles. If Christian people always went to parties in simple, modest apparel (I don't care how pretty and becoming it is, if it keeps inside the bounds of simplicity and modesty), you'd soon see a change in custom. The fashionable world wouldn't like to see itself marked out so plainly as an enemy to God and decency. It is because Christian women are so much 'con- formed to the world,' that women of the world are rushing headlong into such reckless extravagance and such shame- less display. As long as they know that wherever they, lead, good women will follow, there's nothing to put any check on them." Mr. Divine now joined us, with a quizzical smile on his shrewd, sensible face. "I've heard you preaching for a good quarter-hour, mother," said he; " don't you think it's about time to go over and let Mr. Taylor take his turn at it?" Half-way to the church, we found Uncle True resting in the shade of a great, gnarled apple-tree that stretched its sturdy boughs, covered with a late bloom, over the stone wall, and half-way across the road;-his face beaming with mild contentment and good-humor as he returned the greetings of passers by; all of whom addressed him with a certain deferential cordiality, partly due to his infirmity, and partly to the simple, genuine character of the man. I stopped to- speak with him, -Iam acquiring a relish for the old man's cheerful, mellow philosophies, with here and there a vein of something like poetry in them. I am get- ting to call him "Uncle True," too;-the influence of con- stant example is so strong, and the hearty, homely life of Shiloh so insidiously destructive of formalities. page: 108-109[View Page 108-109]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 108-109 108 SHLOH. "How-lovely it is!"I exclaimed, glancing around at the fresh, shining landscape. "But I miss one thing,-the bells. I caught myself singing a snatch of Robinson Cru- soe's song this morning,- -The sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard ;- yet how silvery sweet and clear the tones would flow out over these meadows and linger among these hills! St. Jude's ought to have a bell." "I don't know about that," said Uncle True, reflectively; "I b'lieve I like the Sunday stillness and the birds' singin' the best. And I ain't so lazy, nor so forgetful, that I want a bell to tell me when it's time to go to church, no more'n I do to let me know when to go to work Monday mornin' But hark! do you hear that!" A faint, sweet bell-echo pervade'd the air; not louder nor more distinct in one quarter than another; seeming to have fallen from the sky, rather than to have arisen from the earth, so difficult was it to associate its soft, ethereal melody with any lower origin. "That's the up-town bell," continued Uncle True; "seems to me it sounds a good deal pootier than if 'twas nearer. You can allers hear it like that when the air is clear, and the wind right--if you listen for it. There's a good many fine things you've allers got to listen for, if you hear 'em at all;-there's a bee hummin' in that clover-head yonder; you can't hear it when you're talkin'; but if you jest keep still a minute " (Uncle True made a little pause) "you can hear it as plain as a -church-bell, and I think it's jest as pooty a noise,--leastways, it tells me more." "Indeed!" said I, leaning my elbow on the stone-wall, covered with greenish-gray lichens, "I should like to know what it tells you." "Wall, in the fust place, it shows me that honey's to be got out o' all the flowers, even the leetlest and home- SIIILOH. 109 liest. The bee gets it in the onlikliest places, you see; he don't turn up his nose at a mullein stalk no more'n he does at a garden pink, and I shouldn't wonder if the Lord had put jest as much honey in one as t'other. But if he was a bee with an aristocratic turn o' mind, and wouldn't look for honey anywheres but in garden pinks and damask roses, it's my opinion that he'd go hum' to his hive empty- handed, the biggest part o' the time. And I guess the Lord has put abeout as much honey in one man's road as another's; if he only knew how to look for it, and didn't despise mullein stalks. Then, the bee shows me that it's a man's business to hive up honey,-not jest to go round amusin' himself with the flowers, and takin' only what tastes good and what he can eat at the time; but to store it up against the winter of old age and trouble,-I mean the honey of wisdom, marm, that begins in the fear of God. And, besides all that, the bee shows me that a man should go to his honest day's work with a joyful sperit, singin' and makin' melody in his heart: and not be a goin' round with a sour face and a grumblin' tongue and a cross- grained temper, jest as if he thought the Lord that made him didn't know what was good for him. But it's time for me to jog along, marm,-for this old chair and I haven't been late to church, since we took to goin' thar to- gether,-and we shouldn't like to begin now;-though to be sure, people that's got legs, and horses, to git 'em thar, don't seem to mind bein' late much." "Thank you," said I, as he twisted himself out of his chair, "I suspect you have taught me as good a lesson as any I shall get at church." Uncle True stopped in the act of dragging his foot after the step he had caused his chair to make, and looked at me gravely. "No, marm, you don't quite mean that, I guess. For, though the Lord's works do preach pooty good sermons to them that's got ears to' hear, you'll hear His Word in the church, and that's what helps us to under- page: 110-111[View Page 110-111]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 110-111 "O SHLOH. stand the works. People that don't know the Word, are apt to make mistakes in readin'.the works-more's the pity." There was a buzzing human swarm about the church steps,-hale, weather-browned farmers, exchanging re- marks about the weather and the crops,-bashful youths, awkward and uncomfortable in the unwonted restraints of Sunday garments,-and boys, who gave me , vague im- pression of being all eyes, mouths, and pantaloons pockets; all of whom stared at me in a way to indicate that a strange face was a novelty in their experience.. The small vestibule was filled with a varying company of matrons and maidens; each comer lingering there, a few moments, to exchange greetings and set to rights garments and tresses disordered by the breeze. Mrs. Prescott awaited me among them. The interior of the church, by reason of the preposter- ous size and number of its uncurtained, unblinded win- dows, gave me an odd impression of a spiritual hothouse, where moral cuttings and seedlings were to be carefully nurtured under glass; while the light thus freely admitted, and everywhere reflected from white walls and woodwork, dazzled and blinded me' to a painful degree. All addition- al details,-when I could look for them,-were comprised in a small gallery, perched'aloft at the rear -end of the building, over the vestibule; a box of a pulpit against the opposite wall; a small communion-table in front of it; and thirty or forty narrow, high-backed pews, strongly sugges- tive of penitential observances. Mr. Taylor soon entered the chancel. I saw a tall, thin, bent form, a pale face,-not of a decidedly intellectual type, but with some clear, fine lines in it,--deep-set blue eyes, full of a quick sensibility, and small, nervous looking hands.' I discerned that he brought to his work genuine enthusiasm, thorough conscientiousness, inconsiderate impulse, ready sympathies, morbid sensitiveness, activity verging on rest- SHLOH. 11 lessness, little tact, and such culture as circumstances had permitted. A man whose enthusiasm would often outrun his judgment; who would never, except by a miracle, escape any wayside thorn,--but would get his wound from each, and give his drop of blood in return;-yet whose true cour- age, earnestness, and self-devotion, could not fail to win re- cognition and respect, and to gather in sheaves to the Lord of the harvest. It was plain that some nervousness beset him, at first. The congregation was not of the class to which he had been best accustomed in his lay-missionary work among the city's lower life-strata. These sturdy, hard-featured, and close- fisted New England farmers looked much too independent and critical; they had far more the appearance of judges sitting on his merits, than of disciples waiting to be taught. His voice shook slightly, therefore, as he began the service; but nothing more composing can be conceived of, I think, than its opening,-the few solemn sentences from Holy Writ, the Exhortation, touching the speaker's own heart as nearly as any other, the Confession, when, losing the faces and eyes of the congregation, he feels his voice and heart buoyed up by the swelling undertone of their voices and prayers. His tones soon steadied themselves,.though he still read with a rapidity of utterance that it took me some little time to set down as habitual. MALA. How dreadfully thin he is! He must have put himself on a course of semi-starvation, to be ready for what- ever pinchings and sacrifices are involved in Shiloh's hard- raised four hundred dollars! BoNA. There is a worse semi-starvation than that of the body, even that of the soul. They who deny themselves the spiritual nutriment of the Church's praises and prayers, while they indulge in sarcastic reflections on minister or congregation, will be likely to experience its effects, in the inevitable attenuation of their religious life and growth; I (recalling my mind to the service, with an efort). "As page: 112-113[View Page 112-113]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 112-113 "2 SIIILOH. it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end." MR. TAYOR. Here beginneth the sixteenth chapter of,- - MALA (suddenly). Bless me! there is Mrs. Danforth, diamonds and all! Evidently, she thinks it is proper to wear one's bettermost (as Mrs. Divine phrases it) at church, What a showy silk! what exquisite lace! what'a sunset- cloud of a bonnet! I (nmeditatively). I wonder whether Mrs. Divine or I was right about the Sunday garb! It is one of those ques- tions where there is so much to be said on both sides, that one gets puzzled. First, there is the human phase of it-Mrs. Prescott's notion that these people would consider my studied plain. ness of attire a slight to them. If the Queen of England came to visit me in the extremest plainness of apparel pos- sible to her, I wonder whether it would strike me as a dis- courtesy, or a kind attempt to spare my feelings! But why should her splendor hurt my feelings! Does it not argue some meanness of spirit in me, to be either dazzled or mor- tified by her rich array?--' is not the body more than the raiment?' I know she is a queen, and has queenly attire; would it not be paying me a more delicate compliment to visit me in the same dress in which she would visit a prince? Is there any rudeness quite so rude as to make it evident to your fellow-mortal that you are trying to let yourself down to What you are pleased to consider his lower level? and does a man ever secretly attach so much importance to social advaftage, as when he is making an ostentatious attempt to prove that he forgets it? Then, there is the heavenly phase. Will God feel His courts to be duly honored by less careful and costly toilets than are made for the courts of fashion? Would it not be only a surface humility that flaunts in satins and jewels all the week, and goes to church in drab serge on Sundays? SmILOI. 113 Or did Mrs. Divine hit the nail on the head when she de- clared that a Christian had no right to finer clothes than could be fitly worn in God's house? Would the best motive ever justify the showy splendor? I will suppose Mrs. Danforth putting on her diamonds, and her point lace, without a thought of human observation, but with a sincere desire to honor God's house with the best that she has;-but then how could she sit under ap- peals for money to build churches and schools, and fit out missionaries, with the price of a church hanging in her ears, a Sunday School library- around her neck, and a Mission- ary's salary on each finger! Would she not suspect that there were better ways of honoring God with her wealth than by lavishing it on her personal adornment? MR. TAYOR. Here endeth the First Lesson. BONA. And you have not heard a word of it. MALA. Never mind; you were trying to settle a question of right. BONA (very gravely). But God's house, and His time of worship, are not the place and time for settling questions. Devotion and attention are essential to a right use of those privileges. I. But, dear Bona, when such a subject gets into my head, it is so hard to get it out, even in church! BONA. There is always the resource of prayer. But do listen! I did listen to, and join in, the Te Dezum,-that grand, wonderful Hymn, whose certain origin is lost in the shad- ows of primitive time; and which seems to have so little of human work in its majestic, comprehensive, ordered- march of joyful praise, pure doctrine, and fervent prayer, that I am fain to believe it came straight from the Holy Spirit, through the hands of some devout, meek man, who, feeling how little he had to do with it, dared not stamp it with his name! , ' . . The Canticles were read, not sung. During the Jubi- page: 114-115[View Page 114-115]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 114-115 "4 SHLOH. late, Mala's irreverence broke forth again,-"Do: see that bonnet.! If it is not the identical one that Hain's wife wore into the ark, what museum of dead and buried fashions was it fished out of?" My amused eyes lingered involuntarily among the quaint details of the ancient structure,-an awe-inspiring pokle, with a kind of full blown cabbage-rose on one side, and a mammoth bow on top. Notwithstanding the wear- er's face was invisible, the angular outlines of her tall form, and several spasmodic jerks of the bonnet-which gave me an odd impression that-that piece of head-gear, by reason of extreme old age, had itself taken to shaking with paralysis ---enabled me to recognize Aunt Yin. kMala went on. "I wonder if she says her prayers as she talks! In that case, she must put up some curious pe- titions to the Throne of Grace! i I very nearly laughed at the bare supposition. BONA (severely). Have you any consciousness whatever that you are saying the Creed? I (very humbly). "I believe in the forgiveness of sins." Never were those words so sweet to me! Coming in the midst of my repeated failures to keep my thoughts from wandering, they seemed to have been made for the express need of the moment; as do so many utterances of the Liturgy to humbled, burdened souls everywhere; which, nevertheless, have given freely of their help and witness to thousands before ; and, instead of losing anything, have constantly grown richer thereby. And a comfortable ar- ticle of belief is " the forgiveness of sins!" Without it, how the soul would tremble in view of the "resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting!" ME. TAYOR. "The Lord be with you." I gave the necessary response with hearty emphasis. "If Mr. Taylor's mind is as prone to wander as mine," I said to myself, "how cheering it must be to him to hear the whole congregation distinctly and devoutly ejaculate, I And with SHLOH. " thy spirit!' "The people who would be blessed with the most solemn, earnest, and effective ministrations from desk and pulpit must not fail to give their clergyman the sup- port of their fervent, effectual prayers in his behalf;- ( That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain." During the prayers Mala's fertile mind suggested an- other distraction. "I wonder," said she, 'if Major Bur- cham is here, and if he answers Aunt Vin's very flattering description." I darted a quick glance toward the corner where Mrs. Burcham sat, and beheld the "porpoise-looking man" in question,-Aunt Vin meant pompous, doubtless, but some of her misses are capital hits, and I thought "porpoise" the better word. Fancy a round, corpulent, oleaginous figure; with its head held very high and its hair brushed straight up; looking as if it had just jumped out of a sun- ny sea of self-complacency, all dripping, and would imme- diately plunge back again,-and there you have Major Bur- cham. MR. TAYOR. G0 God, the Father of Heaven, have mercy upon us, miserable sinners." I echoed the petition with a fervency of beseeching which might not have been too dearly bought, even with that moment of inattention. We are so prone to forget, in our guarded, upright moments, what miserable sinners we are! When the Psalm in metre was announced, so strange and unexpected a sound came from the perched-up gallery, that I was plunged into the darkest depths of bewilder- ment;- and it was not till near the close of the second verse that I was able to identify it (inevitably smiling, as I did so) as proceeding from an accordeon. "Well, why not?"I asked myself, the next moment, " since many a rusty-sinewed fid- dle, and growling bass-viol, has led off in the song of praise; and the melodeon--favorite instrument of feeble ,churches --is only an accordeon on a large scale." page: 116-117[View Page 116-117]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 116-117 :1:16 S8HLOM. This novel and incapable accompaniment was played with a delicacy of touch and truth of feeling, that aston. ished me; and went far to justify its use. With it rose a clear, fresh voice; singing as a bird sings; without artistic culture, but with an airy sweetness, that had its own pecu. liar charm. It was not powerful,-an excessively harsh alto and a direfully shrill tenor did their best to cover it up; but the pure quality of its tones could not be hidden any more than the small, sweet strains of a bird can be drowned by all the cackle and clamor of a barnyard. I looked up for the singer. Mrs. Prescott saw the look and interpreted it. "That's, Ruth Winnot," whispered she, with a degree of pride; " hasn't she got a nice voice?" * * , X \t XI. THE SERMON. '\ETWEEN the close of the Ante-Communion r&l A service and the singing of the Hymn, I had a brief opportunity to give myself a moral shaking up, and to set myself deliberately to listen to the sermon. Of course, I did not ex- pect an intellectual treat,-I knew that Mr. q Taylor made no pretensions to oratory or erudi- tion; but I have found, after some years of pa- tient listening to all sorts of sermons, that I never yet gave my whole, prayerful attention to any, even the poorest and plainest, without getting/ from it something that I should have regretted to lose. It might be some subtle touch of human kinship, awakening new sympathies in my heart; or a bit of homely wisdom, quick with an endless progeny of application; or an isolated clause of a sentence, stirring with- in me a train of heavenward thought that made me feel, for some blissful moments, as if I had talked face to face with God; or perhaps, a hitherto unheeded text 'of Scripture fall- ing on my ear with sudden opulence and profundity of spiritual meaning. So I have come to think that God never fails to bless the seed of the Gospel-however unskilfully sown--with a rich germination of spiritual help, to all who listen to His ministers reverently and teachably, as to "deputies of Christ for the reducing of man to the obedi- ence of God." Mr: Taylor's sermon was pointed and vivified by a page: 118-119[View Page 118-119]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 118-119 "8 SHLOH. warm earnestness, of manner, and a directness of purpose, that made it very effective, in its way. It was no fine speculation of the brain, but a drop of life-blood from the heart. It was enriched with wisdom gathered from the mistakes, conflicts and defeats of his own life, and carefully hived for the benefit of his fellows; of whose longings after holiness and struggles toward right, as well as of their dis- couraging failures and lapses into evil, he knew something through fellowship, not less than observation; in virtue of which knowledge he was irresistibly moved to help and to teach them. His sentences were commonplace enough in themselves, but they seemed to have imbibed a rich warmth and fragrance from having been so thoroughly steeped in the enthusiasm and the tenderness of his heart. I had a curious intuition, as I listened, why God had called him into His service just as he was, with his culture and his want of culture, his zeal and his unpracticalness, his strength and his weakness. A man with less infirmity to contend with in himself, would not have comprehended so clearly the necessities of others; and one of less sanguine and hopeful temperament would never have labored for their reforma- tion with such entire confidence in his ultimate success. If it was necessary for our Lord to take upon Him human flesh, with the pains, weaknesses, and temptations belong- ing thereto, for the work of atonement; ,it is not strange that those whom He calls to the work of teaching in His name, should be men of like passions and infirmities with ourselves. Not that I would, for a moment, be supposed to under- value, or discourage the employment of, whatever good gifts of mind or manner God vouchsafes to man, in His special service. If, in the Christian life, the wisdom of the serpent be fitly conjoined with the harmlessness of the dove; why; in Christian teaching, need one hesitate to employ the finest art of rhetoric, the loveliest grace of fancy, the subtlest har- monies of elocution, in aid of the depth, the simplicity, and SHLOH. 119 the endless adaptation of the Gospel? Not that the Word shall return unto Him void without these helps, since the power of the Spirit of God is in it; but the power of the spirit of love in man should surely keep him from the in- -dolence, or the impertinence, of offering unto the Lord of that which has cost him nothing-nothing of that careful labor and exquisite finish which shows that the heart of the worker was in his work! / Just once during the sermon, my attention wandered. Major Burcham was fast asleep in his pew, with his mouth hospitably wide open; into which innocent-minded flies strayed occasionally, and were instantly caught by the quick, involuntary closing of his powerful jaws; to his-- and, no doubt, their-extreme disgust. The spectacle was not exactly edifying, as a smothered laugh from the gallery attested. When the service was over, a little knot of people gathered near the chancel to shake hands with Mr. Taylor, foremost of whom was Major Burcham. His deep, im- portant tones, swelling above the hum and bustle of the departing congregation, reached me where I stood, and made me acquainted with his peculiarities of speech; name- ly, a frequent substitution of some laggard word in place of the half-spoken one that came more quickly to hand, and an emphatic, sonorous repetition of commonplace phrases, as if to make up by sound for lack of substance. "I am de--charmed to see you, sir," I heard him say- ing,-" and I hope we shall have the benefit of your la- ministrations for some time. You are aware, I suppose, that Shiloh is rather a poor place to come to, rather a poor place;-I really couldn't ad-recommend you to take up with the parish, if you've anything better in view; but if you're not afraid to try, we will do our best, sir; we will do our best." I waited for no more, but went out with a foolish impa- tience in my heart. In the vestibule, I came face to face . page: 120-121[View Page 120-121]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 120-121 120 SHLOa. with Mrs. Danforth. She put out her hand in her usual careless, condescending way; "Good morning, Miss Frost, -how do you like him?" "Who--Mr. Taylor'? I do not know him yet, Mrs. Danforth." "I was not aware you were such a purist! I mean, how do you like him as a clergyman?" "I like all clergymen-in the abstract." "Well, what do you think of Mr. Taylor as a specimen of the concrete?" "I have not thought much about him; I was thinking of his sermon." "Nous arrivons," said she, arching her brows; " what did you think of that?" "I thought my life would; be the better for an abund- ant interfusion of its spirit," She made a gesture of vexation, partly comic, partly real. "I never knew a case of perseverance so ill-rewarded," said she. "However, I will be as frank as you are non- committal, and--" "I beg pardon for interrupting you, but I cannot let that slander pass unnoticed. I thought the best compli- ment to be paid to any sermon, was to bring its teaching home to one's own heart and life." "Bless us! how pleasant!" exclaimed she, shrugging her shoulders. "We glorify ourselves, and fire sly shots at our irreverent neighbors, simultaneously. But they do not hit me-this time. I was about to say that I liked Mr. Taylor a great deal better than I expected." "If I knew the -character of your expectation, I could better appreciate the compliment." "Adieu!" she exclaimed, with humorous abruptness, "I shall take refuge in flight. Good morning, Miss Rust," (addressing Aunt Vin, who approached at that moment), ' I advise you to keep out of Miss Frost's way; she is in a SHLOH. 121 mood compounded of the Sphinx and the Cynic, and you'll come off second best-as I go." But Aunt Vin stopped her. "I hope, Mis' Danforth, that you're a coming to the obsequious this afternoon; I am sure the family would take it as a tribune of respect." Mrs. Danforth looked utterly bewildered. "Maggie Warren is to be buried this afternoon," I ex- plained. "A young girl of this neighborhood, who died on Thursday morning last. The funeral services are to be held in this church, at half-past one. Miss Rust invites you-to attend." "Oh, indeed! No, I thank you; it is not the city cus- tom to attend funerals of people you don't know. By the way, what is the hour of afternoon service? ' "One o'clock," replied I. "And it is the country cus- tom, Mrs. Danforth, to hold funerals in the place of the af- ternoon service! when they can conveniently be ;arranged to take place on Sunday." "Ah, I see,-a labor-saving institution, and thoroughly --New Anglican! But you do not mean to say that after- noon service is always at one o'clock!" "Assuredly." Mrs. Danforth heldl up her hands with a laughable air of consternation. "Two sermons, with only an hour be- tween! my moral digestion is not equal to that! I should get the heads of the afternoon discourse tacked on to the tail of the morning preachment, and the morning applica- tion unlawfully joined to the afternoon- text; and endless bewilderment and error would be the inevitable result. Put me down for a half-day Christian-in Shiloh,-Miss Rust." "I haven't got anything to do with putting anybody down. I expect the Lord attends to that business Himself," returned Aunt Vin, rather shortly; internally displeased at the implied ridicule of customs endeared to her by long fa- miliarity. "And if you repine that an hour and a half out page: 122-123[View Page 122-123]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 122-123 122 SHLOH. of His holy day is enough to give Him, it isn't my loca- tion to calculate whether it's a seventh or a seventeenth of your time." 'lMy peccadilloes are getting hard measure between you," replied Mrs. Danforth, with imperturbable good hu- mor; "Miss Rust has even more of the Cynic than the Sphinx about her. Good-bye." And her diamonds flashed out into the sunshine. "It's easy to see what she's 'confounded of,'" said Aunt Vin, looking after her, with two or three jerks of extreme disapproval,-"I guess 'twouldn't take a Styx to put her together, nor a Clinic to pull her to pieces! Are you go- ing to the house before the people begin to dissemble, Miss Frost?" "Yes; I promised Mrs. Warren that I would bring fresh flowers for Maggie; but I must go over to Mrs. Di- vine's and get them. Tell her, please, that I will be there in good time." I passed Uncle True at the foot of the hill. He looked up at me with a beaming face. "That's what I call a good sermon," said he,--" a sermon with the breath of life in it. I've heard 'em that sounded just as a case of bugs and but- terflies, with pins stuck through 'em, looks;--a bit here and a bit there, scraped together out o' books and papers, with- out no connection, nor no heart and soul in 'em anywheres. You feel pooty sure the preacher didn't write 'em with a tear in his eye, nor a prayer in his heart." Mrs. Prescott brought Mr. Taylor home to lunch with her, and engaged him in a brisk conversation at table. It is rare to'see a man so thoroughly in earnest, and showing it in every word and movement. His whole soul was in his work, and all his talk tended thitherward; no matter what other topic might be introduced, he gave it but a glance, andimmediately recurred to the one absorbing idea,-fre- quently overlooking the necessity, or expediency, of using some tact in the transition. His experience and success, as SHLOH. 123 a lay-missionary, had been just enough to rouse his enthusi- asm and engage his affections in the Church's work: and now that he had been duly furnished with the requisite intel- lectual weapons, and received the grace of ordination, he felt himself stronger than all the powers of evil, human and spiritual, combined. He believed, as many a tyro in the ministry has done before him,-and as many more may do, I trust, in years to come, since a man had better never have been born than to have been born without a- gen- erous hope and confidence in the world's amendment, and in his power to help it forward;-he believed, I say, that he brought to his profession some more vital force, some deeper spiritual insight, some Diviner fire, than his pre- decessors; by which the world, old and reprobate though it be, must of necessity be intenerated and overcome, and its long partnership in iniquity with the Spirit .of Evil be dissolved. I gazed at him with a sorrowful pity. It needed no seer to discern that that bitterest form of disappointment-which steals upon the heart- in the fair disguise of a long and fondly cherished purpose, at last accomplished-was surely-coming to him, sooner or later, and would wring his soul with sharpest anguish and dis- couragement. Not so easily was the old Adam to be overcome by the new Melancthon! I thought it a noteworthy expression of his character that, before luncheon was over, he was engaged in a warm discussion with Mrs. Divine, touching some matters of cere- monial, things about which she holds very old-fashioned and decided opinions; upon some one of which, coming ac- cidentally to the surface of the conversation, Mr. Taylor- pounced with zealous disapproval, and which she defended with her usual adroitness and homely sense. In the height of the discussion, I left them for the house of mourning. page: 124-125[View Page 124-125]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 124-125 XII. WOUNDS AND BALMS. I HEN I reached the little gray house of the Warrens, to which the presence of Death seemed to have imparted a certain dignity ]!\ as well as sombreness, I found Aunt Vin in the doorway, watching for the undertaker, in a state of extreme dissatisfaction. "If there's anything that aspirates me," she said, severely, "it's to have people so desultory about getting ready for funeral and wedding cerements. PI' always punctuous, and I don't see why other people can't be." M* rs. Warren was standing by her dead daughter, hold- ing Jack by the hand. That hardy and slippery urchin had somehow been captured and thrust into a new suit of clothes, and had not yet recovered from his astonishment and discomfiture. He glanced at his mother out of the corner of one eye, and sniffled; gave me a kind of leer with the other, and grinned; looked down at his clothes, and wriggled, as if he would fain cast them as a serpent does his skin; and, finally, contemplated the door in a way that made it evident he was calculating the chances of escape. His mother's face of quiet sorrow went to my heart. "I am just beginning to realize that I must give her up," said she to me, piteously. "So far, she has\ been like an angel in the house, filling it with peace and restfulness; but when she is gone, what is to take the vacant place?" SHLOH. 125 There are questions which only He who spake as never man spake, can answer. Certain of His words came to my lips, in such wise that they seemed to utter themselves without help of my volition. "'I will not leave you com- fortless, I will come unto you.-' And I will pray the Father, and He will send you another Comforter, that He may abide with you forever."' "I know it," she answered, in a low, self-communing tone. "I know the Everlasting Arms are always ready to catch us when our earthly props fall away, if we will but let them. Yet the human supports are very sweet, too! But thank you, Miss Frost; I will try to remember those words when-when it comes to the final parting." She watched me silently, while I combed out and ar- ranged her daughter's long, shining hair,-that wonderful human growth!-so beautiful in its tint and texture, so in- destructible in its nature,-keeping lustrous and lifelike long after the head that it adorned has crumbled into dust,-and often outliving both the affection that treas- ured, and the memory that enriched, it I "How is your son Samuel?" I asked, at length, de- sirous of diverting her thoughts into some brighter channel. "He is a great deal better, thank you. He would make us bring him in to bid his sister good-bye, this morning. It was pitiful to see his wan face hanging over hers." The mother's lip quivered. "And Mr. Warren?"I hastened to inquire. "He is nearly sick with grief. Maggie was his idol, you know. I am quite distressed about him. He comes in and looks at her awhile, and then goes out and wanders around the place, or sits in the garden, perfectly silent and motionless, for hours. He is there not Cannot you go and speak to him, Miss Frost? It is time he was roused. He has not yet dressed himself for the funeral ;--indeed, I do not even know that he means to go." page: 126-127[View Page 126-127]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 126-127 126 SRILOH. I made a gesture of dismay. The idea of intruding 1: upon the grief of a man that I knew and understood so lit- tle, was exceedingly distasteful to me.' "I wish you would go," she urged. "I think he likes you. It is certain that he has listened to you more patiently than ever he did to anybody else, and that he has not been able to get some of your words out of his head. Do go!" Thus entreated, I went, though not without extreme re- luctance. "What shall I say to him?" I murmured to myself, as I caught sight of his motionless figure at the farther end of the garden. BONA. "Take no thought how or what you shall speak, for it shall be given you in that same hour what you shall speak." He was sitting on a fallen tree, with his back toward me. It is wonderful how much misery can be expressed by mere attitude;-his head was bowed, all the lines of his figure drooped, his very garments had a weary, dejected, grief-worn aspect. He must have heard my footsteps, but he neither moved nor turned his head, not even when I stopped within an arm's length of him. A genuine em- barrassntent overcame me. I was about to steal noiselessly away, when I felt-by chance, I was about to say, but I have expunged that word from my vocabulary-my little prayer-book in my pocket. The touch was like an inspira- tion. Opening it at random, my eyes fell upon the thirty- eighth Psalm, and I began to read, in a voice that shook like- an aspen leaf,- "'Put me not to rebuke, O Lord, in Thine anger, neither chasten me in Thy heavy displeasure. For Thine arrows stick fast in me, and Thy hand presseth me sore.' " I saw that the words struck him powerfully,-not so much by any start(]' gesture, as by the greater immobility, the fixed attention, of his form. I went on, therefore, with increasing confidence, "' For my wickednesses are gone over my head, and are like a sore burden, too heavy for me SHLOH. 127 to bear.' ' I am brought -into so great trouble and misery, that I go mourning all the day long.' 'I am 1feeble and sore smitten. I have roared for the very disquietness of my heart.'" A groan burst from him, like an echo of the words, and so deep and powerful that I started in alarm. Recov- ering myself instantly, I proceeded, "' cMy lovers and neighbors did stand looking upon my trouble, and my kinsmen stood afar off.' " He murmured some unintelligible words. "'As for me I was like a deaf man, and heard not; and as one that is dumb, who doth not open his mouth.'" He, nodded his head, as if in assent. "' For I will confess my wickedness and be sorry for my sin.'" A kind of hopeless shiver ran over him, and a deep sigh escaped his lips. Still turning the leaves at random, I alighted upon the twenty-second Psalm, and read on without any apparent pause. When I came to the sen- tences,-"Our fathers hoped :in Thee-They called up- on Thee, and were holpen. But as for me, I am a-iworm and no man, a very scorn of men, and the outcast of the people,"-he dropped his head heavily into his hands, and a long, struggling moa -of incontrollable agony testified that the Word of God is, in truth, " sharper than any two- edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of joints and marrow." The sound smote me with poignant pain and pity; not wittingly or willingly had I pressed so heavily upon his hidden sore. I began to look, trembling, for balm wherewith to dress the wound, and the thirty-sec- ond Psalm came opportunely to hand. The better to make him feel that his place was still secure in the sympathetic chain of human brotherhood, I laid my hand lightly on his shoulder as I read--knowing that thy is often a subtler sympathy in touch than'in any word spoken afar off; and having lost, for the momept, that consciousness of moral re- page: 128-129[View Page 128-129]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 128-129 1205 SHLOH. -pulsion which had hitherto made it so difficult for me to approach him. When the Psalm was finished, I waited silently for the paroxysm to cease; then I said, quietly, "It is nearly time for the people to gather, sir, and Mrs. Warren says you are not dressed yet. Of course, you will not let Maggie go from you, without accompanying her as far on the way as you can." And without seeking to extract any reply, or to look in his face, I went back to the house. A moment after, I heard him enter, and go up stairs. In a short time the undertaker arrived, and brought into the death-chamber that long, narrow box, which, whether it be rich or plain, shows more clearly than anything else in the world, perhaps, how limited are the world's posses- sions, how bounded the world's hopes. If this life were all, and to end thus and there-who would care to live it? So I thought, and so I said to Mr. Warren, who, I found, was standing by me, looking into the coffin with a face of utter loathing. "You really believe in another life, then?" he asked, but in a listless, aimless way, as if the answer could in no- wise concern him. "Believe! I think I can say with Job, I KNOW that my Redeemer liveth, and that though my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God." He shook his head,-more, it appeared, in hopelessness than contradiction. "Look abroad in Nature; everything dies. "Yes, sir-to live again." "Um-do you believe that the beasts live after death?" "There is no conclusive evidence against it, that I know of. The fact fromjfich I chiefly draw an inference to the contrary, furnishes as strong a presumption in favor of man's immortality." He began to look interested. "What is it?" JHLUHlL. AknU "Well, so far as we can judge, the beasts have no hope nor expectation of another existence. And it seems to me that God would be likely to impart a hope that He designed to fulfil, inasmuch as He never implants one that He means to disappoint." "I don't know about that," he answered, in a vague, in- ward tone. ".I once hoped to be-happy." "You can be yet, sir, if you will seek for happiness in that only, narrow path which leads to it. They who choose to walk in the broad way of self-indulgence, and the pride of human reason, are fools, deceiving their own selves." "And rich," he continued, in the same dreamy voice. "Yes, sir, with the riches that do not perish in the using." "And handsome and brilliant." "They shall be mine, saith the Lord, in that day when I make up my jewels." He turned upon me with a sudden and-to me-inex- plicable sharpness. "I wish you would find an answer somewhere besides in the Bible." "I would, sir, if I could find an apter one elsewhere," I answered, quietly. He looked at me a moment, then his eyes fell. All things now being ready, the undertaker stepped to Maggie's side, and, signaling to Aunt Vin to help him, was about to lift her into the coffin; when Mr. Warren started forward, crying out, in a loud voice, and with flashing eyes, "What are you doing there! In Heaven's name, let my dead child alone!" The man shrank back, and stared hard at him, in amaze- ment and perplexity. "I don't want any strange hands about her," continued the father, after a moment, trying to control his irritation; but still with a shade of bitter resentment in his tone. "If you'll just step out into the kitchen there, we will do it ourselves,-thank you." 6* page: 130-131[View Page 130-131]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 130-131 130 SHLOH. The man obeyed, and Mr. Warren carefully closed the door after him, muttering between his teeth, "How dare he touch her!" Certainly, his character is a study of such a nature as was never before presented to my eyes. What a curious combination of delicacy and coarseness, of re- finement and crudity! We transferred the still, white maiden. to her narrow couch-we four--with very gentle hands; it falling to my share to lay the lovely head, with its face of unearthly peacefulness, on its last, low pillow. A tear fell beside it. I bethought me that Maggie Warren was the first and only being, in many long days, toi call out in me that species of affection which is so quickly begotten of helplessness and help, and to respond to it with a certain degree of apprecia- tion and preference; and I regretted to lose even that small sunbeam out of my life. To be helpful is not to be happy, I know; but it is one of the elements of happiness that I least like to miss. Lastly, I put a fresh cross and wreath in their places, and fastened to the coffin-lid a dove made entirely of lilies of the valley; which last offering elicited from Jack a bit of unqualified commendation. "Golly! ain't that fine!" "Perhaps Miss Frost will tell you-what it means," said his mother, quietly. "It is the emblem of the Holy Ghost, whose sweetest name is ' Comforter,'"'I answered, instantly perceiving her intent. "If it reminds us also of that first dove noted in the world's history, which found no rest nor shelter till it returned to the ark from whence it set forth; and helps us, by means of these exterior types, to understand that the human soul finds never perfect peace, nor safe home, until it resorts to that God who created it; my dove will have done its perfect work, Jack." Jack stared, uncomprehending; Mr. Warren turned hastily away. THE DOVE BEFORE THE ALTAR. aHE funeral guests were now assembling fast. A goodly company of grave-looking ma- t^ trons, quaintly respectable in well-pre- served old fashioned garments, was already seated in the kitchen; filling it with a whisper- ing buzz, as of a swarm of flies. Knots of ^^ ^ .-bright-faced girls were standing in the corners, and around the front door-yard; so thoroughly imbued with the glow and freshness of this first day of June by their long walk over breezy hills and through leaf- arched lanes, that all their efforts to subside from gayety into gloom, only resulted in a compromise of subdued cheer- fulness. Not until they entered the little room where Mag- gie lay, and looked at her white face, did their pretty play of smile and dimple quite cease, and a quick moisture suffuse and soften their sparkling eyes. There were stout, steady- - going farmers, too, gathered about the step and gate (the house being too small to hold half the assemblage) and talking intermittently in low, grave tones; and a row of young men leaning on the fence; and a sprinkling of boys, full of curiosity and restlessness, hanging about their eld- ers with upturned faces and wide-open ears. And all up and down the road, on either side, was a string of country- wagons, of every antique and clumsy pattern; and horses, page: 132-133[View Page 132-133]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 132-133 132 - SHLOH. of every age, size, color, and quality;-from restless, half broken colts, constantly stamping and backing, and elicit- ing an occasional low, sharp "Whoa!" from .their vigilant masters, to patient, broken-down mares, standing motion- less in the sun, with drooping heads; and only proving themselves to be alive by a lazy whisk of the tail, now and then, or a sudden contraction of a muscle and twitching of the skin, to displace some tormenting fly. One of 'these last had a colt of very tender age, frisking about her, and often provoking an angry snort and snap from some neigh- boring animal,-evidently of the opinion of certain of the human race, that babies should never be taken from home. Mr. Taylor now appeared, accompanied by Mrs. Pres- cott and the Divines. I saw his face light up, as he caught sight of my dove; and, a morment after, he sought me out. "What made you hit upon that design, of all others?" inquired he. I do not know ; I thought it was appropriate enough, -is it not?"I answered, wondering. "I should think so! you have not the least idea how singularly appropriate it is." And he passed on. A few prayers were offered : then the procession formed, and moved slowly toward the church. Very seldom had Maggie entered its doors in her lifetime, I knew,--not so much on account of adverse influence at home as because its services had been so few and irregular, of late. Not only over Jerusalem, be sure, did the Saviour weep; but, in His penetrating, prophetic vision, over every place where the House of the Lord is allowed to stand empty from month to month, and year to year; while those who dwell under its shadow grow daily and hourly more absorbed in earthly toil and earthly aims, more and more forgetful that life was given for any other purpose than to buy and sell and get gain. Over all such fallow fields in His vineyard, our Lord's mournful words echo' even yet,--"If thou hadst known, even thou, at least &n this thy day, the things which belong to thy peace!" When I entered the vestibule of the church, Alice Pres- cott (evidently on the watch) intercepted me, and led me into the shadow of the gallery staircase. "Oh! Miss Frost," she exclaimed, eagerly, " can't you sing?" "Sing I "I repeated, between surprise and disgust, " no -I don't know--that is, why do you ask?", "Ruth Winnot is so-so hoarse," stammered she, blush- ing,-her small array of self-possession, called out by the exigency of the moment, being utterly routed by my un- gracious manner,-" she can hardly make a sound. And I thought-or mother did--that you would-at least, that perhaps you might-sing for us just this once." "But Miss Winnot sang this morning," I said, in a cross- questioning tone. "Yes, her cold was, only just beginning then, and she managed to get through, somehow. But she thinks that singing only irritated her throat; and after she stopped, she seemed to choke right up. When she tried, a few min- utes ago, she couldn't get out a note. And then I thought of you." "But do you not sing?" "I can help a little, I can't lead." "Make your alto take the air, then." "Who-?" asked Alice, looking bewildered. "Oh! you mean the second! She went right home, as soon as it was proposed. Nothing puts her out so much as to be asked to sing treble." No doubt I looked fully as much " put out," to judge by Alice's downcast face. Its pained and discomfited ex- pression softened my tone a little, when next I spoke, though there was no relenting in my mood. "I sing 'second,' too, Alice,-when I sing at all.' "Do you?" she rejoined, in a wondering, doubtful way, "I thought you could sing anything you liked." page: 134-135[View Page 134-135]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 134-135 134 SHLOH. Her nrive confidence in my powers brought a reluctant, but irrepressible smile to my lips. "Thank you, but you greatly overrate my musical ability; I am not such a happy and convenient combination of lMalibran, Alboni, Mario, and Lablache. The real state of the case is that I have always cared more for the theoretical than the practical part of music, for myself; and that latterly, for reasons which it is not worth while to enter upon, I have acquired an aversion to the sound of my own voice. You have not heard me sing since I came to Shiloh, I think." "Yes, ma'am, once-in the garden. 'First, you imitated a wren that was singing ill the pear-tree; and then you went on with something that sounded like a great many birds' songs, put together. I never heard anything like it, in my life! To be sure, you looked all the time as if you were thinking of something else." I was dumbfounded. Without this incontrovertible testimony, I could not have believed that I had sung a note since April. Doubtless, I had treated Alice and the wren to a purely mechanical and involuntary repetition of some old exercises in trills or chromatics,-recalled to my memory by something in the song of the latter. And no wonder the simple little country-maiden was astonished! Probably she never did hear anything like the scientific training of a modern singer; nor is she in the least aware what a blissful ignorance is hers! "I am very sorry," she sighed, after a pause, turning reluctantly away. "It's so miserable not to have any singing!" BONA (with severity). Well, what are you waiting for? you know you can sing well enough for the occasion, if you like. , I (petulantly). But I do not like! You know I hate to sing, and why. I wish I had never learned how! MATA. And to such an audience! How very appreci- ative they will be of Signor Canto's "style," which he SHLOH. 135 drilled into you so thoroughly! An accordeon accompani- ment, too! I shrugged my shoulders. BoNA. The question is not one of preference or appre- ciation. It is simply whether the burial service this after- noon shall be conducted with the greatest attainable degree of perfection and solemnity, by your help; or whether it shall be shorn somewhat of both, through your unwilling- ness to do your duty. MALA. It is not your duty. You are not one of the Shiloh choir. BONA. It is your duty to do anything you are asked to do, to sustain the service,-when there is nothing to hinder, and no one who can, or will, do it any better. I. But I am all out of practice. BONA. That is your fault. And one fault is not to be offered as an excuse for another. I. And it is so awkward and uncomfortable to sing with people one is not accustomed to sing with! BONA. Your own comfort is the last thing to be con- sidered, under the circumstances. And your audience will not be a critical one. I. And I sing alto! BONA. Your voice has all the compass, and more, that will be required for the music you will have to sing. IMy last defences being thus carried, I began to mount the stairs slowly and reluctantly. Alice, watching my in- decision from a few steps above, accepted the movement as a favorable augury. i' Oh! are you going to sing, after all?" she asked, with a brightening face. "Perhaps," I answered, shortly; not to enhance the value of the favor by that cheerful readiness of compliance which would make it most acceptable. Her face fell again, and she led the way in silence to where Ruth Winnot sat, with her head resting wearily on the seat before her. One glance at her flushed and suffer- * * . / page: 136-137[View Page 136-137]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 136-137 136 SHLOiH. ing face convinced me that her excuse was no trumped-up one; she was in the fell grasp of an influenza. Yet even, under such unfavorable circumstances, I was struck with her uncommon beauty. Soft, wavy hair, of that rare, rich i tint of auburn which artists love so well, framed a face of pure oval outline; with straight, delicate features, and clear, brown eyes, that had a strain of pathos in them for which not even the influenza accounted fully. "The bass "--to borrow Alice's title, was turning over his music-book, with an anxious face. He was a little, meek-looking man, with a legible enough record of misfor- tune and patience written across his brow; and wofully near sighted. He glanced toward me nervously, gave ut- terance to an embarrassed l' Ahem!" and buried his face in his music-book. I sat down, and looked around me. The gallery was so small, and so near to the ceiling-so ill-ventilated, withal --that it was like a furnace. I noted, mechanically, half-a- dozen high-backed pews; the unrailed opening of the stair- casei looking: like a trap; a ladder leading to the little tower above; and a whole colony of wasps clinging to the window-sashes, with two or three scouts flying in the open space, which I could not help dodging, now and then, though no one else seemed to mind them. The bass sent another nervous glance in my direction, and a preliminary, "Ahem!" "What would you like to sing?" inquired he, in a tone which seemed to imply that he feared it was taking a liberty to ask the question. , E "It does not matter in the least," I answered, making some little effort to bring my mood up to the level of ordi- nary civility; but conscious that there was a disagreeable, injured inflection in my voice. It was plain that it was felt acutely in his consciousness, too,--for he colored to the roots of his hair, and hid his face in his music-book again. Ashamed of venting my ill-humor upon anything so SHLOI. . 137 mild and inoffensive, I hastened to remove the unpleasant impression. "That is," I continued, "I should prefer to have you choose; I am such a tyro in choir-singing. This -is my first attempt, and I have not the least idea how I shall acquit myself. You are the best judge, therefore, what the tune should be." He looked a little reassured. After some moments' search, he held the book toward me -and pointed to the open page. " Would you mind singing that? I guess it's as suitable as anything we've got, and it's an old tune that everybody knows." It was so old as to be quite new to me. I hastily sig- nified my acceptance of it, however, and the matter was settled. In good time, too, for Mr.'Taylor's voice began to vibrate solemnly through the building, "I am the Res- urrection and the Life." I drew near the gallery-rail, and looked down. Slowly and with difficulty the pall-bearers made their way up the narrow aisle; and Maggie was placed in front of the chan- cel, with her white face looking up to the white ceiling, and the strong light of the many windows setting clearly forth every line, every feature, every fold and flower. A broad band of sunshine lay directly across her bosom, kind- ling cross and crown into a vivid, half-diaphanous bright- ness; and the breeze came freely in, full of pleasant sum- mer sounds,--the twittering of birds, the cheery chirp of insects, the faint tinkling of a cow-bell in a far-off meadow, -and lifted the sleeping girl's hair with light fingers, and ruffled the fragrant plumage of the dove on the coffin, un- til both seemed to be stirring with some new-found, myste- rious life. I should scarcely have- marveled to see the one arise, and the other fly out of the window, such life-likeness did the breeze and sunshine impart to them. The few mourners followed, and filed into the front pews. Mr. Warren looked around him, with a face that was almost fierce in its grief and bewilderment.;- He had page: 138-139[View Page 138-139]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 138-139 1O0 SiHLULOH. not crossed the threshold of a church for years on years, I was told; and there were many eyes gazing at him with more curiosity than sympathy. I think his quick intuitions felt, and resented it momentarily, even then; for he stopped at the pew-door, and looked as if he were about to turn and march out; then his gla-nce fell on Maggie's form, his chin dropped on his breast, and he sank into his seat, with the air of a man who had lost all consciousness of outward things in the miserable abstraction of mental anguish. Then followed the beautiful, brief, comprehensive bur- ial service of the Church; so excellent in what it says, so especially admirable in what it leaves unsaid. There is nothing like it-anywhere; all other ceremonials of burial seem either heavy or puerile, beside its severe, yet most fit and satisfying, simplicity. I understood Mr. Taylor's remarks about my dove, when he announced his text. "But the dove found no rest for the sole of her foot, and she returned unto hiim in the ark; for the waters were on the face of the whole earth. Then he put forth his hand, and took her and pulled her into the ark." Spiritual unrest-its nature, cause, and cure,-this was Mr. Taylor's subject. It was developed with a degree of poetic feeling that I had not expected: God's loving haste to meet and welcome the first return of the wandering soul to Him, as typified in the putting forth of the hand, and the pulling of the dove into the ark, was not overlooked: neither was the yet deeper analogy of the hand to the death-angel, and of the ark to the heavenly state, with its gentle consolations for the time of bereavement, neglected; and the delivery was warmed by a still richer glow of that fervor and earnest- ness which had so impressed me in Mr. Taylor's manner in the morning. He was more at home now, he felt himself more thoroughly en rapport with his hearers,-sure of the responsive kinship of all souls that sorrowed or sym- pathized around him. After the first few sentences, Mr. -riAuiJU . J-eVLO Warren lifted his head, and listened with an attention that never wavered throughout. I was so interested myself, that the announcement of the two-hundred-and-fifth hymn came upon me with startling unexpectedness. I might say, with almost perfect truth, that I did not know there was such a hymn in the prayer-book; for I had never before read it with any attention, nor known. of its exquisite fitness for an occasion like the present. I just glanced over the words, and a thrill went through and through me. By the time Ruth Winnot had finished her small prelude, I was nearly unconscious of accordeon, ac- companiment, helpers, or hearers,-of everything; save the wonderful power and adaptation of the words I was to sing, and the mighty swell of a musical inspiration such as I never felt before, and do not expect to feel again. I be- gan in a full, clear, recitative style, that filled the little church like a sea, and quenched every stir and rustle be- low. -At the third line, Alice's small voice dropped out entirely, and her head went down on the book-ledge before her, trembling with emotion. The bass being both smooth and sympathetic, kept along well; the tenor,-uncertain what I might, or 'might not, do next,-sang in subdued, and consequently, more musical tones; and Ruth played like one doubly inspired-from without and within. When I came to the words, "So blooms the human face divine, When youth its pride of beauty shows," Mr. Warren faced square about, totally unmindful of cus- tom or comment, and fixed his piercing eyes on my face. His intent gaze only deepened and quickened the electrical current that had already made me aware of the entire sympa- thy of all my auditors, and I sang on with added power and fervor. The mournful sentiment of the next verse wailed itself forth in slow, soft, sombre tones, that Alice heard with an accompaniment of long-drawn, smothered sobs;- page: 140-141[View Page 140-141]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 140-141 "O SHLOH. "The fading glory disappears, The short-lived beauties die away." The next verse began to swell with the joy of heavenly hope and faith; but I reserved the full power of my voice to roll out the last like a stately anthem of praise,- "Let sickness blast and death devour, If heaven shall recompense our pains Perish the grass and fade the flower, If firm. the Word of God remains!" Mr. Warren kept his position for some seconds, after the last tone died away; then dropped heavily into his seat. For him, I suspect, the service was over. Certainly, he gave little heed to the prayers which followed; neither, if the truth must be told, did I. .The confusion and the fatigue of reaction came upon me powerfully; I leaned my head against a pillar, and knew nothing save that I had been in a state of superhuman exaltation, and that it had left me very humanly weary. When the benediction was pronounced, Ruth Winnot turned a wet and working face towarl me. "Miss Frost, I shall never sing again," she said, mournfully. "Indeed, why not?-"I responded, only half-roused to intelligence. "I can never sing like that, and nothing less could satisfy me now,"--with a half-sob. "Miss Winnot,"* I returned, earnestly, '"your voice, naturally, is worth a dozen of mine ;--there are possibilities lurking within it, to which mine could never, by afy possi- bility, attain. The effect that I have produced on you th- day is partly owing to the cultivation my voice has received, and partly borrowed from the emotional excitement of the occasion. Your fingers felt it as much as my voice. If you could put the same soul into an organ as you did into that accordeon just now, the musical world would fall down and worship you." \ , - ^ S3HLOH. 141 She shook her head sa'dly, unconvinced. Bona whis- pered softly into my ear, and I made a sudden resolution. An opportunity was now given to friends and neighbors to take a last look at features shortly to vanish, for all time, from the eyes and the places that had known them; of which, it seemed to me, everybody .took advantage, except Ruth Winnot,-who remained in her seat, silent, and, ap- parently, suffering. The mourners went last. Mrs. Warren gave her child one long, lingering, ineffably tender look; and turned away, never once losing her self-control. It was plain to see, however, that her face was so calm only because her grief had sunk so deep down into her heart; as the bosom of a lake is smooth and silent over the mournfullest secret of its depths. But the father, utterly regardless of obser- vation and the lapse of time, hung over the lovely face as if he would never consent to part with it. Twice the un- dertaker laid his hand on his arm, and sought to draw him away, and twice he shook it off, with a sound like a sub- dued growl. Suddenly he stood upright, glared around him like a wild thing, and marched quickly down the aisle. Mrs. Warren hastened after, and took his arm; I suspect she was afraid he would go straight home in a fit of sorrow- ful abstraction. page: 142-143[View Page 142-143]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 142-143 XIV. DUST TO DUST. [,OO'W T W I THSTANDING the mournfulness of the occasion, that afternoon ride has a kind of glory in my memory, mainly attributable, imagine, to the genial influences of the balmy June weather; the really fine days of which month are the most perfect that the year vouchsafes us. A little too warm in the sun, perhaps, yet only enough so to assure us that that luminary was in a lavish and beneficent mood;- neither intent on restricting his life-giving warmth to a bare sufficiency for one's needs; nor engaged in a malicious experiment how much of it human flesh and blood could endure without broiling. And in the shade, the atmos- phere was full of a primal freshness, as if it had just been created,-which it was enough of delight merely to breathe and taste. The graveyard was about two miles away. The road thither wound through a pleasant variety of New England scenery, wherein the tamest objects had a semi-wild look, as if but half-subordinated to civilization, and ready, at any moment, to lapse back into savagery, which was not with- out its charm. Every- farm had its ledges, thickets, swamps, and outlying wastes, covered with rambling, untutored vegetation; alternating with green meadows and fertile fields, and mingling a spice of rudeness with the gentler SHLOH. 143 traits of the scene. Tiny lakelets smiled and scintillated in the valleys; here and there a late-blooming apple-tree scattered the fragrant snow of its petals over a green hill- side. Overhead, arched a sky without a cloud; depth be- yond depth of illimitable, dazzling blue. 'And the quietude was perfect, though a quietude so voiceful! Sweetened only--not disturbed-by twitterings of birds and dreamy hum of insects, soft whisperings of leaves and babblings of wayside brooks. Through all this light and glow, this warm color and various melody, this fresh, joyous, abundant life, the funeral procession, with its hearse and coffin and mourners, crept like a black, devouring shadow. A sorrowful enough sight, at best, with its hard realities of human waste and woe; but how immitigably bitter to all such as are insensible to the comfort breathed through the inspired declaration,- "That which thou sowest is not quickened, except it die!" For one miserable moment, I tried to identify my mind with Mr. Warren's, and look at the landscape through his eyes. It was -as if I had viewed it through a smoke- blackened glass. Without the hope of a Perfect Day yet to dawn, through whose splendor no funeral train shall march, all the glory of the opening June seemed but a hollow mockery of joy, beside that trailing shadow of death and gloom. The burial ground occupied the rounded summit and slope of a hill, by the roadside. It was a stony, barren spot enough, notwithstanding that a few daisies and thistles did their small best to make it beautiful;-obviously, the founders thereof had not thought it worth while to waste any soil capable of a present yield of grain-sheaves, upon the prospect of the future harvest of immortality. There was a sufficiently abundant crop of grave-stones, however; which stony outgrowth was to be found in every stage of freshness and decay,-from the disagreeably new, sharp- cut, white, modern monument, to dark, time-graven, moss- page: 144-145[View Page 144-145]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 144-145 "4 SHLOH. grown head-stones, fast crumbling away and mingling their dust with that which they had so ineffectually sought to memorialize. These seemed to have their allotted period for flourishing and decay, not less than the weeds and flow- ers,-albeit, of somewhat longer duration. We all gathered around the narrow niche in the damp ground, and watched the coffin lowered 'to its place, and listened to the solemn words of the Committal, and heard the dread rattle of the three-fold fall of earth on its lid- "earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,"-and gave thanks for the good examples of the faithful departed, and prayed to be raised from the death of sin unto the life of righteousness. When Mr. Taylor's voice ceased, there were a few moments of deep, uncovered silence; then, two men seized their spades, and began to fill up the grave. With the fall of the first shovelful, came the dull thud of a large stone on the coffin, cruelly wounding the white dove, and inflicting a yet deeper hurt upon Mr. Warrren's sensitive heart. He gave an irritated start, knitting his brows; then, as a second hollow sound smote his ear, he rushed forward, and caught the man's arm. "Good Heavens! he cried, bitterly, "is-there no earth, in all Shiloh, to throw on my dead child, but trhat!" There was an embarrassed silence. Mr. Taylor, with his features working convulsively, stooped and began, in a blind, unreasoning, mechanical way, to pick out the stones from that side of the pile nearest him. One or two of the bystanders felt constrained to follow his exam- ple, though with manifest reluctance and a latent fear of making themselves ridiculous; but the great body of prac-- tical-minded farmers shook their heads over such inconven- ient acuteness of feeling, and waste of time and labor; and Major Burcham officiously laid his hand on Mr. Warren's shoulder, and tried to draw him aside, with some common- place, reiterated assurance that the " soul was gone, and the body only an empty casket, sir, only an empty casket!" I SHLOI:H. 145 --and was, shaken off with an angry rudeness that consid- erably ruffled his dignity. At this juncture, William Her- man stepped forth and showed himself the same cool- headed, quick-witted, and kind-hearted character, here, that I had found him to be in the sick-room. "Miss Essie," said he, quietly, "your barn is nearest; --is there any straw in it?" "Oh! plenty,--thank you; "-catching his idea at once, and feeling a quick and grateful relief, that was shared by everybody within hearing. "Bring as much as you want, please." The straw was soon brought,-two or three offering to help,-and the coffin covered to a sufficient depth to soften and deaden any fall and sound of stone or earth. The grave was then rapidly filled, and rounded over; most of the people waiting until the work was finished;-a custom which, though it has a sufficiently stoical look to unac- customed eyes, seems to have its root in the heart's ten- derest and softest feelings. We do not readily leave our most treasured things to be disposed of by strange and careless hands; When all was done, the concourse broke up slowly, and dispersed itself over the graveyard, taking advantage of the opportunity to review places consecrated by the ashes of forefathers and compatriots, now intermixing indistin- -guishably, and some of them, doubtless, reappearing above the earth in the shape of grass and flowers, to show how much of old material is inevitably blended with the fresh- est novelty, of life, nature, or art. Mrs. Divine and Mrs. Prescott stood gravely by a group of half-a-dozen, or more, head-stones, where sons, brothers, and husband had fallen together; and I strayedoff by myself to the oldest portion of the ground, into which the most ancient life of Shiloh had subsided, and began trying to restore some of the in- scriptions, by scraping away the mosses and lichens from the half-obliterated letters,-taking a quaint and sad pleas- 7 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 146-147 ure in bringing back to a temporary legibility and possibil- ity of recognition, some name which had long ago faded out of the village memory, and so cheating Oblivion a lit- tle longer of its prey. Very commonplace names they were, belonging to that long roll which the world willingly lets die; not one of them being able to impart to its mon- ument any historic interest or poetic immortality, to repay me for my trouble. Yet I worked on, well pleased to see them take shape and meaning under my fingers; and thankful to every one of their owners for having added something to the quaint impressiveness and the thought- fecundity of the place, by depositing his ashes there, and causing the vaguest shadow of his shade to flit across my imagination. In some cases the dates alone could be restored, the forlorn little human identities being quite lost; which gave me a curious impression that not people, but Years, had laid themselves down under the sod; as glad to be done with sunshine and snow, calm and tempest, as their ' human bedfellows with toil and pleasure, battle and bi- vouac. It was pitiful to notice, I thought, following out the idea, how few of them had signalized themselves by any beautiful or noble deeds-any great wrong righted, or wide redemption achieved-that might tend to exalt their memory above others; in fact, the greater part of those which individualized themselves in my recollection, did it in virtue of the mischief they had wrought. The most of them, however, were as uninteresting as their mortal com- panions,--and perhaps, after all, were the more to be really reverenced, on that account. The sterling useful- 1 ness of doing quiet duties in quiet ways, unobtrusively and uncomplainingly, is one which, though the world may make little account of it, God will surely bless and t r abundantly reward. Of such humble, unattractive lives, is the Book of Life chiefly made up, I imagine. A numerous group of head-stones, all bearing one fam- tJlLOH. 147 ily name, set me upon another train of thought. It was good to see in what close and quiet proximity they lay there; whatever difference of age, or position, or opinion, whatever personal antipathies, or jealousies, ormisapprehen- sions, had kept them apart in their lives. I doubted not that I had chanced upon the type of a spiritual reality The souls of the dead, probably, mingle in the great com- pany of the Departed, without a thought of the dislikes and repulsions that made some of them so disagreeable to each other on earth. A common glory or a common gloom unites them in a close fraternity of hope or despair, joy or misery. Finally, I ascended the topmost swell of the hill, and sat down on a fallen stone to consider the view,-made up of a pretty curve of road, mottled with tree-shadows; two or three meadows, with grass so green that it seemed to have a lustre in it; a bit of forest; and an open, blue eye of Rustic's Pond, mirroring the nearest objects with a fidelity that might make one doubt which was the sub. stance, which the reflection ;-that trite material of which Nature, everywhere and endlessly, makes fresh, sparkling pictures, each with its own peculiar and exceeding charm. Here, Mrs. Divine came to look for me. Who can tell when the day begins to wane? There seemed not one sunbeam the less, no fainter tints, no deeper shadows,-yet, as we turned homeward, we felt a nameless something in the air, and saw and heard it in every hue and tone, telling us that the day was fading-its face al- ready turned toward the oncoming Night. And who can tell when his life begins to go down the hill? Few ever realize that they have passed its topmost point, until they are already far down the slope; in sight of the Valley of Shadow at its foot! page: 148-149[View Page 148-149]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 148-149 xv. HERE AND THERE. F you were less ready to play the part of a viaduct, Francesca, I do not know but I should take to writing to my father's spirit. I remem- ber being profoundly affected, when I was a school girl, by the information that among the posthumous papers of a certain shy, reticent as- sistant teacher, whom nobody ever seemed to un- derstand or fraternize with, had been found a large package of letters written to an early friend, over whose grave the grass had grown green for years. This friend had been her only confidant during her life; and after her death, the lonely survivor had gone on, writing to her just as if she had been alive;--every week adding a closely written epistle, duly signed, sealed and addressed, to the growing pile; through whose whole sombre texture ran a touching story of long, wasting disappointment and heart-ache, like a crimson thread. Without this resource, doubtless her poor, proud, sensitive heart would have bro- ken somewhat earlier than it did! The recollection moves me, even now. There is an exquisite pathos in the lonely girl's fidelity to the one friendship of her life; in the confi- dence which death could not break, nor the slow lapse of sorrowful years wear away. I can almost see the disem- bodied spirit bending tenderly over each letter as it was deposited in its place, and reading its contents with a face of still brightness; pitiful for the momentary affliction of SHLOH. 149 her earthsbound friend, but rejoicing in the knowledge of the exceeding glory for which it was so tenderly preparing her. \ Nevertheless, I am glad that I am writing for living eyes and a living, human sympathy. For no others, I am certain, should I feel free to set down so many minute and apparently trivial details, as are necessary to a clear idea of this Shiloh-life and my growing connection with it. The fortnight following the burial of Maggie Warren was fruitful only in commonplace events; some of which, however, require brief mention. Mr. Taylor spent some days in Shiloh, visiting indus- triously among the people, and trying to kindle in them some small spark of interest in response to his own glowing enthusiasm. They all liked him, even the most prejudiced and indifferent among them,-he was so earnest, so genuine, there was such a cheerful alacrity in his manner, such a fresh, breezy buoyancy in his tone. There was no resisting the cheerful contagion of his hopefulness, or the steady, stealing influence of his bright, ardent, energetic talk. He contrived to throw such an air of reasonableness, and even of practicability, over whatever he proposed or planned, and he had so ready a response to every objection, that, so far as words went, he soon had everything his own way. Some of those who had been most adverse to Mrs. Pres- cott's movement, and had stigmatized it as the purest folly, were swept along on, the swift current of his assertion and argument almost to the point of thinking that it might be a good thing, after all; and if, on reflection, they were in- clined to smile at him as visionary, and at themselves for their momentary conversion, they respected him, none the less, for the purity of his motives and the unselfishness of his zeal. Others, belonging to that vast multitude which, in religious enterprises, lets "'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' "-shook their heads with a kind of mournful pity over the obstacles and the disappointments they foresaw in 6. ; . page: 150-151[View Page 150-151]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 150-151 150 SILOII. his path; but they were deeply touched, nevertheless, by his generous confidence in himself and in them,and there was not a grain of contempt infused into the pity. And all this, despite his ways were unlike their ways, his thoughts very different from their thoughts, his standards far re- moved from their standards; despite, too, his city breeding, and his often amusing ignorance of rural customs and agri- cultural lore. In these large, low, firelit farm kitchens; where the grim shade of the tenacious, old-time conserv- atism lurks longest, and opposes the most steady and de- termined resistance to innovation; his visit left an influence like that of a fresh breeze from a mountain top, or a sun- beam struggling through a fog. And as both these airy visitants, in whatever narrow, sombre, or sordid place they chance to stray, immediately create for themselves a certain congruity and fitness in being there; so Mr. Taylor seemed at once to harmonize with his surroundings:--every segment of his character, in virtue of some curious, unsuspected agreement of apparently diverse angles, dovetailed into the Shiloh-life, as if it had been made for it. Having finished his visitation, and taken it for granted that everybody encouraged him,-because nobody could long have the hardihood to maintain an attitude of dis- couragement against his strenuous hope and zeal,-he went his way to arrange for the removal of his family hither; it being understood, however, that he should officiate on the intervening Sundays. A day or two after, I saw, from my window, Essie Volger approaching the house. She reined her shaggy little Canadian pony deftly up to the gate, sprang lightly from the buggy to the ground, fastened the horse to a post, greeted Uncle True cheerily, whistled to Leo, and had well- nigh crossed the threshold before I could get down to meet her. "Ah! Miss Frost, it is such a lovely day!" she began, "too lovely, by far, to waste indoors!" SHLOH. 151 " So my senses have been telling me."' "Pray listen to them! For, though I cannot say, 'My boat is by the shore-' my buggy is at the door, and if you will^ consent to receive this first, formal call of mine in that, you can be enjoying a drive at the same time." She took me to the bank of the Housatonic; at- this point, a clear, rapid, curving stream, forest-shadowed on one side, and quickly losing itself among grassy and wooded hills. Much of the way was by a steep and hilly road, across which the boughs of the trees met and inter- laced; with here and there, picturesque glimpses of the winding, shimmering stream below. At the river's brink, we quitted the buggy and strolled down the wooded bank, listening to the rippling current, and gathering ferns and flowers. Such an excursion is a ready promoter of ac- quaintance ; I came home feeling that years of association, however enjoyable, could add but little to my knowledge of Miss Essie. Not that her character is so shallow, but because it is so clear. Sometimes, the waters of a fountain are so pellucid, allowing the shells and pebbles of its bed to be distinctly seen, that a careless observer is easily de- ceived in regard to its depth. And not every one, seeing her so frank, so open,-so sparkling, too,-would give her credit for the real depth and strength of her pure, womanly nature. It was a little thing that gave me the opportunity of measuring it more accurately. "This dear old river!" she exclaimed, dipping her fingers into it, caressingly. "It is like a friend! I have known and loved it from childhood."' Are you sure that it is the same ' old river?"I asked. "Recollect that, though you may always have seen the same shape of flood, you have never looked twice upon the same waves." page: 152-153[View Page 152-153]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 152-153 152 SHLOH. The thought seemed to strike her. "Never the same waves!"she repeated, musingly; " never the same waves! Where, then, are those I saw so long ago?" "Gone. Swallowed up by the vast, distant ocean. Where are the friends of your early days?" She looked at me earnestly, and her cheek glowed. "They are not gone! I see every one of the old waves in these: if I did not, I should not care for them. And the old friends! it is for their sakes that I love the new ones! Should I care for the new, if I had not loved the old so well? lthey taught me to love Love, as the former waves taught me to love the River!" Mrs. Danforth made me her promised call; and from a large mass of vivacious, often witty, but utterly immemor- able talk, I gleaned a few facts which throw a clearer light on her character, and the reason of her sojourn in a place so apparently uncongenial to her education and tempera- ment as Shiloh. Her husband is gone to Europe, to exam- ine into certain business transactions, which may, and may not, have a disastrous termination; and, during his absence, it was thought desirable for herself, and almost indispensa- ble to the physical well-being of her children, to find some retired and healthful spot, where she could live in a natural, simple way,-so far as it was possible to one of her sophis- ticated habits and tastes,--free from the cares, the excite- ments, and the expensiveness of fashionable life. "And I thought, when I came here," she went on, laughing, " that I should live in Shiloh on the let-alone principle entirely. But bless me! I was never made for a recluse. There are times when I must talk to somebody, if it is only a tin-peddler,-I am absolutely pining for the music of my own voice, and I don't care who knows it! I was in one of those moods when Mrs. Prescott first came to me, to bespeak my assistance for her Sewing Society; and when she held oiut the prospect of a Fair, by and by, I tell you, I could not resist the temptation. For if there is any- \', . . ' thing I really enjoy, next to knitting worsteds (and one fol- lows as naturally after the other as a horse's heels after his head); and if there is anything for which I have a true genius, it is putting through Fairs. I have had something to do with every large movement of the sort in New York, for the last ten years; and like Alexander, I am burning for new worlds to conquer. And I suspected I should have some novel and rich experiences in a place like Shiloh. And when' I went to Mrs. Seber's that day, and saw that queer company, with their old fashioned gowns, and their quaint phraseology,-above all, when I encountered the Vocabulary-I beg her pardon, but that is the only name I can ever think of, in her connection!-I was convinced that I should find plenty of amusement in a taste of Shi- loh life, if not much profit; so I determined to 'go in,' and- have a good time. I suppose you felt the same way." "Well, no, Mrs. Danforth, I confess that I was so foolish, or so mercenary, as to have an- eye to the profit, too." She looked extremely puzzled. "I mean," continued I, rather lightly, for I felt the ab- surdity of making a very serious matter of her careless talk, "that sort of profit which is supposed somehow to accrue from the doing of one's duty, in that state of life where- unto one is called." For a moment she seemed almost confused. Then she said, somewhat more earnestly than her wont, "Do not set me down for such an unmitigated heathen, Miss Frost. I exaggerate my own defects. Not even the prospect of any amount of laughing matter, would have made me accept the Presidency of that Society, if I had not been sure that I could do them good service. Still," she added, dropping back into her usual careless manner, "I do not know as I should have been won over so easily, without the promise of a spice of fun in the good work, and the expectation of an opportunity, ere long, to disport myself in my natural 7*Y IIUV I LII page: 154-155[View Page 154-155]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 154-155 154 SHLOH. element; namely a Fair. So you can credit me with half heathenism, after all." Which I am afraid I did, in spite of Bona's whispered warning, "Judge not, lest ye be judged." ' I was deeply impressed, however, by the fact that Mrs. Danforth, like myself,-.though from a different motive,-- had come to Shiloh resolving to stand aloof from its social life. In neither case, had the resolve been kept. In both instances, it had, plainly, been broken of deliberate choice. I could not find the first trace of that grim finger of Fatal- ity in it, upon which so many persons seek to throw the res- ponsibility'of their doings--when their tendency is evil, or their results disastrous; for it is impossible not to notice that all such are ready enough to assume the credit of whatever good they accomplish. Plainly, too, Shiloh was not to be a " place of rest" to Mrs. Danforth, much more than to myself. Instead of repose, God had given us work. Was that, they, a better thing? The Sewing Society held its regular meetings; and leg- islation being over, for the present, a tolerable degree of * harmony characterized its labors. If, in the opinion of its President, amusement was the chief end of life, she knew how to give, as well as get;--indeed, it was currently re- ported that certain heretofore intermittent and intractablei members, now attended regularly and worked with docility, just for the sake of hearing Mrs. Danforth's talk ;--or, ass one of them said, with an unconscious recognition of the fact that its charm was more in the manner than the mat- ter, and addressed itself quite as much to the eye as the ear, " to see her talk." Death did not reap his full harvest in Mr. Warren's household. The fever shortly appeared in the dwellings of two of his neighbors,-neighbors, too, of that marsh, on whose vicinage Mrs. Divine had charged the origination of the disease. In one instance, it'ran almost uninterruptedly ;hrough an entire family; the father and two children ,. SHLOH. 155 died, and the mother struggled blindly back from the very threshold of the grave into an atmosphere of such desola- tion and loneliness, that' she- knew not how to be thankful for the staying of the Destroyer's hands. Of course, it was difficult to draw the needful supply of watchers from the hard-worked and scattered neighborhood; and my ser- vices were again called in requisition. It soon came to be well understood that, when other assistance was not availa- ble, Winnie Frost could be counted on with certainty; and a native delicacy of feeling, which I should scarcely have looked for in such a quarter, prevented me from being called upon until all more legitimate resources had been tried and failed. ,Beyond these two houses, however, the fever did not pass; and the latest cases were of a mild type, easily controlled, and quickly conquered;-but not until these humble services of mine, freely given wherever asked, had brought me very near to the Shiloh heart, and won for me a degree of affectionate respect and considera- tion which often brought tears to my eyes, and gave me a deeper insight into the hidden harmonies of God's govern- ment of the world. There are sweetnesses only to be dis- tilled from bitternesses! I have also made the acquaintance of most of the hills dales, meadows, woodlands, and other natural objects of interest, to be found on the Divine Farm, or in its near vi- cinity. The various prominences of Chestnut Hill afford many pretty views; through the most striking of which the distant Housatonic goes winding and shining, like a narrow strip of a bluer and more lustrous sky. But I have found no prettier haunt, anywhere, than the brook-lit glen, before described; and there I have spent many an hour, book or portfolio in hand. For it is a dreamy spot, with- out them; and, as yet, I do not dare to dream:! In many of my rambles by day, and in all of my night- walks to and fro from sick beds, Leo is my silent, watchful, trusty attendant; giving me a pleasant sense of compan- page: 156-157[View Page 156-157]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 156-157 156 SHLOH. ionship and protection, without any drawhack of con- straint. Mr. Divine's flattering introduction did him no more than justice; his strength, intelligence, and faithful- ness are really wonderful. He is delighted to carry my shawl, book or basket; he bears with ease many a burden that would be very wearisome to me. He can be sent home-the swiftest of messengers!-with an explanatory slip of paper, to fetch any article forgotten or unexpect- edly required. He knows the nearest neighbors, and most intimate friends of the household, by name, and can be dis- patched to any one of them with a note or a parcel. He can be left anywhere, in charge of anything, and the watch and ward will be patiently, conscientiously kept. Nor is Leo so unobservant of my moods as might be supposed. Often, when my book slips from my fingers, and my eyes stare into vacancy (or some less profitable quarter!) till they are dim with unfelt moisture,-it is Leo * that recalls me to -myself, with his head laid on my knee, in token of sympathy, or his nose thrust into my hand, by way of remonstrance. And his wistful eyes say, as plainly as any tongue could do, "Would it not be better to drop that, now, and go home?" Not long since, Aunt Vin and I divided a certain night- vigil between us. I took the first watch; and when it was over, Leo (whom I had retained for that purpose) escorted me home. To my surprise, I found Mrs. Divine quietly reading by the kitchen fire. "I generally sit up till midnight and after," she ex- plained. "It's about the only time I get for reading, and I can't live without that. And I thought may be you'd be chilly when you come in, and a little fire wouldn't be amiss." Then she looked at Leo. "That dog takes an uncom- mon fancy to you, Miss Frost." I. (thoughtfully patting Leo's head). ' Happy --says an Eastern sage-' happy he that hath a dog for his friend.'- SIITLOH. 157 MRES. DIVINE. Umph! it needn't have taken a sage to say that! I. You did not hear him out. He addsg ' Happier he that hath a dog alone!' M3IS. DIVINE (contemptuously). A sage? Nothing but a cynic! Leo, there, is wiser. He would say--if he could speak-that he'd rather have you for his friend than half- a-dozen dogs! To which argumentum ad canem neither the Eastern sage nor I had anything to say. Pardon this digression-if a digression it be! In coun- try life, animals hold an important place. Dogs, horses, chickens, may fairly be counted members of the social circle. On the second Sunday after the one of which I have given such faithful and voluminous account, Ruth Win- not's birdlike voice again charmed my ear, and recalled to my memory the resolve made, at Bona's instigation, a fort- night before; which, I am ashamed to say, I had suffered to slip from my mind, amid the multiplicity of my interests and occupations. My faithful Mentor did not fail to im- prove the opportunity to administer a reprimand and an admonition. "Remember that -your talents were not given you," she concluded, "to be buried in a napkin, when you cease to care for them, nor to be exercised merely for your pleas- ure or that of your friends; their possession involves a fear- ful responsibility. God expects to receive His own again, with usury." That very evening, I sought out my hostess. "Mrs. Divine, tell me something about Ruth Winnot, please." "Ruth Winnot;!" repeated the old lady, wiping her spectacles, preparatory to taking a wondering view of me,- "there's nothing to tell, that I know of, only that she's Farmer Winnot's daughter, and lives in that red house, up on the hill, there." x page: 158-159[View Page 158-159]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 158-159 158 SHLOH. "But what makes her look so sad?" "Well, I guess it's on account of her feet." "Her feet!"I repeated, in amaze. "Yes. Didn't you know she had crooked feet-club- feet, some folks call 'em. She was born so." "And why were they never straightened?" "Well, her mother couldn't make up her mind to see the child suffer;-some mothers can't-or won't--do that, you know, even when it's for their children's plain good. If God had felt like that, I wonder where mankind would be now! And Ruth has grown up so delicate, that the doc- tors don't advise the straightening, at present. But she's awfully sensitive about her feet, poor thing! She never goes anywhere, hardly, except to church; and she always takes good care to get .there before other folks come, and waits till they are gone, before she leaves." "Ah! yes," said I, "I remember that she remained in the gallery all alone, on the day of Maggie Warren's fu- neral, when Alice and I went down stairs. I wondered at it, then." "She always does so. And her mother told me she couldn't bear to have a word said to her about her feet, even by her; and Alice-who is more intimate with her than anybody else-says that she never heard her so much as hint at them, in the most distant manner. But I don't think there's any sense in letting her go on in that way. I told her mother it would be real good for her to be made to talk about them (a thing you can't talk- about, always seems twice as bad as it is), and that she ought to try and overcome her dislike to going among folks. She's getting into a downright unhealthy, morbid way; and something ought to be done about it, Ithink. Come, there's another chance for you to do good, Miss Frost,-and you seem to be on the lookout for all such." The next morning I despatched the following laconic epistle to Uncle John; having- before my eyes the fear K,.T..^LJ ,.* 'L V V of sundry pilnes! and pshaws! that I had heard him utter over Flora's letters; wherein demands for money, and commissions, were so mixed up with foreign matter that he declared himself unable to get at what was wanted, except by a careful process of sifting and tak- ing notes: "Shiloh, June 15, 186- "Dear Uncle: Please send up my piano, at your con- venience, marked, 'Care of Reuben Divine, Mumford de- pot, &c.'- Also, my music-stand, with contents. The roses have not budded yet, but I have planted the seeds. "Your affectionate niece, - "WINNIE FROST." To which, in due course of time, I received this answer: "New York, Wall St., June 16th, 186- "Dear Niece: Piano sent to-day, as per order, freight pd. Enclosed please find check for fifty dollars ($50), on acct. for two full-blown roses, to be delivered as per agree- ment. Glad you can write al sensible letter. "' Your affectionate uncle, I : JJOHN FROST." I smiled to see that this document had been signed, from force of habit, "John 'Frost & Co. ;" but the writer had bethought himself in time to draw his pen through the words indicating copartnership, and save me from the dis- mal conviction that the nearest relative I had in the world, had sunken his personal, flesh-and-blood identity in the mere abstraction of a firm. .Yet the smile was inextricably entangled with a tear ;-to be sure, it did not need my incle's prompt compliance with my request, nor his check, to assure me that he loved the child of his dead brother, in the depths of his heart.; but he was so undemonstrative a man, outwardly, that it required an effort of the reason and the will, sometimes, to hold fast to that truth. "Deeds, not words," was the motto of his affections. page: 160-161[View Page 160-161]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 160-161 160 SHLOH. The piano-that piano which I never intended to touch again!--was duly installed in the " out-room; " and I inau- gurated its mission (for it has one!) by playing a polka or two for "the boys " --a term which Mr. Divine seems to apply indiscriminately to his grown-up sons and his hired men,--a nocturne for Alice, and two or three sweet old Scotch melodies for the elder members of the household. I dared not yet trust myself to sing,--that was too full of stinging memories! Then, I set out to find Ruth Winnot. ? L *- * I XVI. RUTH WINNOT. ONA (emphatically). You know you cannot expect to get much, without giving some- thing. I winced. Confidence was the one thing I was unprepared to give. MALA (chiming in with my mood). You know the giving will be like pressing on a raw sore; and the getting will not heal it. BONA. NO, only help to heal it. As whole acres of Per- sian roses are required to make a single ounce of pure ottar; so the soul's balm is the slowproduct of a long course of right living and thinking,-every separate act and thought of which contributes its own minute, but precious particle of sweetness to the rich result.--- MALA. But, after all, how hard it is to have to take up with hurt and healing, instead of happiness! BONA. 'How--hard it is -for the roses to be plucked and pressed, and to have their sweetness concentrated and pre- served, instead of perishing utterly from the earth by the natural process of decay! MALA. Nonsense! I am talking of a living, beating, human heart. Of course, the roses are inanimate things, and feel nothing. - - BONA. If they did feel, might they not reasonably pre- fer the short pain of the process that makes them imperish- ably useful and delightful, th A few more hours ofi idle page: 162-163[View Page 162-163]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 162-163 162 SHLOa. bloom in the sunshine, and then to die unredeemably? And like the ottar of roses, the sweetest Christian graces are the product of painful processes; but they are ever- lastingly lovely and fragrant, continuing to sweeten and beautify the earth, by their memory and their influence, long after their owner has entered into the " better country." As for happiness, it seldom comes otherwise than incident- ally; it is as frequently found sitting by the wayside, in the paths through which Sorrow leads us, as elsewhere; and we oftenest entertain it, as Lot did the angels, unawares. This, and much more, did my companions say to me, as I toiled up the steep slope of Chestnut Hill. The twilight was creeping stealthily along the edge of the forest, and gathering under the trees; but the sky was still tender with the glory of sunset, and the earth had a look of veiled splendor. So far as my impressions go, these Shiloh sum- mer-days have neither beginning nor end. I wake at an early hour, to find the sun shining brightly into my room-unhindered by any barricades of brick walls, which must needs be surmounted before he can look at me. I live through some smooth-gliding, unreckoned hours, softly colored by a gentle lapse of quiet incident, and I frequently go to bed while there is yet enough of daylight to show me the way thither. When I get a letter from Flora, full of Saratoga excitement and midnight gayeties, I rub my eyes, and vaguely wonder if I am asleep, or if I died three weeks ago, and was transported to a new planet, and new condi- tions of existence! The red homestead of the Winnots, ringed round with bossy maples, is another of those quaint, ample, sloping- roofed structures; through whose shadowy vista one gets a glimpse of colonial times, or of the thunder-clouded days that preceded the Revolution. It was a gorgeous bit of color, to-night; with the western splendor in its windows; the rose-bushes-heavy with bloom-clinging to its sides; and the smoke from its huge stone chimney aerialized into SHLOH 163 delicate, rose-tinged haze, as it floated upward to the sky. There were flower-beds in the front yard, too; bright with a goodly show of pinks, button-roses, sweet peas, marigolds and other old-fashioned flowers,-the legacy of our English forefathers, and bearing touching witness to the fact that those stern-browed Puritans (whose portraits time and cir- cumstance seem to delight in making grimmer and harder, day by day), had, at least, one soft trait in their characters; inasmuch as they could not tear their heart-roots from their native soil, without bringing along with them some com- panion-growths, to give a familiar, home grace to the new land. And this, too, notwithstanding it was, to them, the land of promise! Over one of these beds Ruth Winnot was stooping, with some sort of garden implement in her hand. The creaking of the gate, as I swung it open, was plainly a startling and unwelcome sound. She thiew one scared-glance at me, and another at the house, as if to certify herself that escape was impossible; then, she rose to her feet, and awaited my ap- proach, while the color came and went in her cheeks, like the flashes of -a northern aurora. For one moment, the sight made me hesitate in the line of conduct I had marked out for myself. MALA. Go on. What can it possibly matter to you whether you succeed or fail? 'BONA. Go on. By God's grace, you shall succeed and not fail. : Without stopping to consider why it is that, on certain occasions, both the good and. the evil in me unite in push- ing me forward, or holding me back,-though I was struck by the fact,-I went to Ruth, and said, taking her hand, "You did not expect to see me here this evening; but I hope you will make me very welcome, nevertheless. The truth is, I fell in love with your brown eyes, two Sundays ago; and I have been wishing to get another look at them, ever since, just to satisfy myself that they really are -as page: 164-165[View Page 164-165]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 164-165 164 SHLOH. lovely as they seemed to me then. Turn to the light, please,-here, this way,-and let me see them again. Ah, yes-there was no illusion about it; they are, in truth, just such as some of the old masters always gave to the Virgin. And your hair is exactly the color that befits the eyes. If I were an artist, I should ask you to sit to me." She looked at me with a changeful blending of surprise, delight and doubt, in her face; precisely what I expected to see. I had understood, from Mrs. Divine's statement, that her painful consciousness of deformity, unwisely in- dulged and fostered, had made her forget, or undervalue, whatever compensating grace or talent had been vouch- safed to her; and I reasoned that she needed just that kind and degree of encouragement which would spring from the knowledge that she was, otherwise, rarely beautiful, and could, in spite of her defect, charm the eye, and at- tract the regard of a stranger. There was no danger of making her vain;-the recollection of her deformity would counteract that tendency; but it was really necessary that she should be taught rightly to estimate the advantages she possessed, and made acquainted with her own power of pleasing; in order to enable her to face her kind with some degree of confidence. There was plenty of common ground left, I thought, somewhat morosely, for her to stand upon with them! For surely, each one of us is an- swerable, in his measure, for the perpetuation of that sin which brought disease and deformity into the world; and wofully superficial is the pride of such as fancy that they have the right to look superciliously down upon these its unfortunate progeny. Till this entire human nature be straightened, each and all of us must be, in some wise, crooked. -And the outward deformity is far less deplorable than the inward. The vital pointito us all is, to learn our- selves, and- to teach others, how to convert these grievous burdens, heavy to bear! these multiplying hindrances, weary to surmount! into crosses, borne cheerfully for -HLOH. 165 Christ's sake, steps by which we daily climb nearer to Him! Ruth's eyes fell, under my intent gaze; while astonish- ment and pleasure seemed actually to have taken her breath away. She tried to find some words of answer; but her voice failed her, and only a few incoherent syllables escaped her lips. "So nobody ever told you that you were beautiful be- fore!"I said, smiling. "Well, I should not, if I thought it would do you any harm." "It has done me good," she faltered,-" you don't know how much good!"And she burst into a sudden passion of tears. When she lifted her head, there was a return of doubt in her face. "Are you only trying to flatter me?" she asked, with a searching look. "I am no flatterer, Ruth," I responded, gravely. "In good truth, I was irresistibly attracted by your face, when I first saw you; and I am really desirous of knowing you better. Indeed, I came here this evening, with the inten- tion-if I found encouragement enough--of asking you if we might not be friends." "I suppose so--if you are in earnest," replied she, evi- dently confounded by the request. "But it is so strange!" she went on, with a kind of slow wonder,- " nobody ever seemed to care for my friendship before-but Alice. And you-a city lady--who know so much--and must have troops of friends-I can't understand it!" "It is not necessary that you should," I responded, quietly. "The best and closest friends understand each other none too well; and there must be a large element -of faith in any friendship worth talking about. It' is as vital a necessity 'as it is in religion. All -you have to do is just to look into my eyes, and make up your mind whether you can trust me, or no." She gave me a shy, yet sufficiently penetrating, glance, and then mutely offered me a kiss by way of answer., page: 166-167[View Page 166-167]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 166-167 166 SHLOH. . " It is a compact, then," said I, accepting-the gage d'am- eiti; " and I promise to be faithful to you, Ruth,--and helpful, so far as in me lies. That is about all I can prom- ise;- for I have perversities of temper and worries of heart which will sometimes make me preoccupied and unrespon- sive. But be sure, when you see my face clouded, that the shadow comes from things with which you have nothing to do, and which you need not trouble your innocent heart about." "I understand that well enough," she replied, with a E wise little shake of the head, and a smile that was bur- dened somewhat with sadness. "I know I am not like- ly to do anything to give you either much pain or pleas- ure; and I don't expect to be taken very far into your confidence. I shall be just like a little pet dog to you; glad to be noticed, patient when I am turned off; and all the time trying vainly to understand what is in your mind." I was compelled to recognize a degree of appositeness in this simile, even while it pained my ear. There was something in Ruth's soft brown eyes, curiously like the dumb, beseeching, pathetic expression of an intelligent- dog's face,-the look of an undeveloped, yearning, strug- gling genius, dimly conscious of things above and beyond it; to which it was meant to aspire, yet without in the least knowing how. It went to hiy heart, when I first saw it; and I now resolved that, God helping me, before Ruth and I had done with each other, that look should have departed from her face. "I will' not offer any counter prediction," I rejoined, "though my oracles of futurity read very differently from that, Ruth. Humility is so good and safe a thing that you may keep it-while you can." I turned to the flower-bed for a change of subject. "So you love flowers? As well as music?" " "Nearly, not quite. Let me give you some." And ' ' o / she quickly made me a bouquet from the plants nearest her. All this time, we had been standing in the yard, and Ruth had not moved more than a step or two from the spot where I first encountered her. Now, she cast a troubled glance at the open door, and a shadow crossed her face. Plainly, she saw the necessity of asking me to enter the house; as plainly, she disliked to move in my presence. But in this matter, I had determined to show no mercy. I drew my shawl closer around my shoulders, and remarked that the evening air was "really quite chilly." "(Will you come in?" she returned, with a heightened color, and a visible effort at cordiality. "Thank you," replied I, turning with her, and putting my arm around her waist. She swalked better than I had expected. There was no limp, only a kind of awkwardness, in her gait; and she wore her dress so long as entirely to conceal her feet. I was inwardly indignant that any mis- taken tenderness should have allowed her to- become so lore over so inconsiderable an infirmity, and to put it like a barrier between herself and her kind. "Ruth," I asked, abruptly, but in the most matter-of- Fact way, "how far can you walk?" She started and tried to shrink away from me, as a nimosa might have done; but I held her fast, and waited or my answer in the most uncoipprehending manner. "I don't know-I never walk much,"-hesitatingly. "So I should judge from your pale face "-(repressing a mile to see how very far from a " pale face " it was, at this noment). "You look altogether too much like a shade- ,rown plant; exercise would be good for you. Were you ver in that glen, down yonder?" "Yes, once or twice. It is a pretty place." "It is a pretty place,-and there is a lovely view from ie hill beyond. I want you to go and look at it with me, ometime." * \ - , page: 168-169[View Page 168-169]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 168-169 168 , SHLOH. She looked distressed. "Cannot you go?"I continued, mercilessly. "Or does it give you pain to walk?" She winced again, and her sweet lip quivered touchingly. But she made an attempt-a very:tremulous and unsuccess- ful one-to adopt my own tone in the matter, since there was no escape for her. "No, it does not give me pain," she answered, in a con- strained voice. "I could walk as far as most people, I think, if I were accustomed to it." "Then I shall make it my business to see that you are accustomed to it," said I, very decidedly. "Sometimes, I want a companion in my walks,-not always. I know what wretchedly bad taste it is, but there are times when I prefer my own society to the best that can be had. The truth being that I am so constituted that I actually need frequent seasons of retirement; for self-communion and self-renewal. Without them, I seem to lose all that is best in my own in- dividuality: breathing constantly the atmosphere of other people's thoughts destroys whatever is fresh, vigorous, or characteristic, in my own. But when I do want a compan- ion, I shall come for you. And I am certain you will not deny me; for I intend always to begin or end by taking you into Mrs. Divine's, and playing you something sweet on my piano." Her eyes brightened. "You have a piano!" she ex- claimed, breathlessly, " and at Mrs. Divine's?" "Precisely. And I expect to have the pleasure of play- ing your accompaniments on it. I was as much charmed with your voice, on the morning of that eventful Sunday, as I was with your eyes, in the afternoon. Eachowas per- fect, in its way." She looked at me dubiously. "I thought I could sing," she answered, with a shade of irrepressible sadness in her voice, "before I heard you; now I know better. And I'm SHLOH. 169 sure you can't take any pleasure in hearing me,-I suppose you have heard all the first singers of the world." I I selected silently a rose-bud or two from the bouquet she had given me, and held the rest of the flowers toward her. She extended her hand for them mechanically, looking into my face with a puzzled and inquiring glance. "I do not see why I need care for those common flowers, while I have the rosebuds," I said, carelessly. "And I ad- vise you, when you next visit your flower-bed, to dig them all up. To be sure, they are-very sweet and pretty, in their way, but they are not quite like roses, you know." For some moments, she seemed to be groping blindly about for my meaning; then a quaint little smile evinced her comprehension. But it soon faded into gravity: ob- viously, she was struggling bravely with herself. At last, she lifted a very shy, but still resolved, glance to mine. "I see it is foolish for me to feel so about it, but I am very much afraid to sing before you, for all that. Still I will try to overcome it, now that I know I ought. I sup- pose I must make up my mind to be a sweet-pea, as I can't be a rose; or, rather, to sing like a wren, since I was not made a nightingale." "My dear Ruth," I answered, speaking after Bona's dic- tation, "I suspect that the difference in value between a sweet pea and a rose, or a wren or a nightingale, does not amount to a farthing, in immortal currency. The question in Heaven is not which of these it is that makes a little per- fumed space, or a tone-embalmed atmosphere, around it; but whether each gives forth freely and cheerfully the best that it has. And there is another comfort. For, though a sweet-pea was never known to grow into a rose, nor a wren into a nightingale, through any amount of effort or of patience,--there is no telling what such a voice as yours may not become, with -the needful training." "Where am I to get it?" she answered, mournfully, 8' page: 170-171[View Page 170-171]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 170-171 THE opportunity for which I had been preparing so assiduously, and which I had expected to-ripen only by slow and unnoticed de- grees, being thus unexpectedly put into my hands, I scarcely knew what to do with it. The pride of the independent farmer's daugh- ter was sure to rebel, I thought, against any appearance of patronage, any intrusive offer of service. While I hesitated, Bona came to my relief. "You know I told you at the outset," said she, "that you cannot expect to gain much without risking some- thing. The rule holds good in confidence, as in every- thing else." Instead of answering Ruth's question, therefore-to which, in truth, she did not seem to expect an answer-I made a blind, desperate plunge into my personal history. I did not stop to settle beforehand how far into its depths I should venture-let circumstances decide that for me !- neither did I count the cost of the undertaking, though a vague apprehension of its probable sum total made me shiver, and gave a hollow, forced tone to my voice. "Since we are to be friends, Ruth," I began, "it is right that you should know a little more of me. My father was a scholar, and somewhat of an antiquarian and a vir- tuoso beside, with his eyes always between the two covers of a book, or on the point of a pen-for he eked out a some- what scanty income by various kinds of literary labor. It was the great disappointment of his life, I think, that his only child should have been a girl; nevertheless, when my mother died, and left me-a year old babe-upon his hands, he immediately became the most patient and ten- der of nurses and teachers., He made himself what poor amends he could, however, for my mistake in sex-for such he evidently considered it-by giving me precisely the ed- ucation that he would have given his son, if he had been so happy as to have had one. He instructed me in the dead languages while I was yet in pinafores, and filled my young brains with all sorts of antiquarian lumber,-which is of scarcely more practical use, in this headlong, irrever- ent nineteenth century, than an ancient battering-ram would be in a modern siege. He took good care, however, to supplement this curious primary course with some very thorough training in the modern languages and in music; which latter study I completed in Italy, where the last years of his life were spent, and where he died. " Pulvis et umbra sumus omnes,filia carissima mea,' he used to say to me, in his quaint, discursive fashion;" and in my case, the dust is fast disintegrating, and the shadow deepening. And inasmuch as the major part of my in- come dies with me, I shall leave you but little, ,beside my name,-which you will get rid of as soon as possible (that is what it is to have a daughter!),--my memory,-which I hope you will cherish a little longer,-and my faith,-being that of the one Catholic and Apostolic Church,-which I trust you will hold fast through life unto death. This last portion of your patrimony I conceive to be of such value, that it consoles me much for the smallness of the remainder. Nevertheless, it is not that sort of property which can be appraised and inventoried, and bought and sold, in the market; neither is it to be counted, humanly speaking, a bread-producing possession. And though it is in nowise page: 172-173[View Page 172-173]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 172-173 1T2 SHLOH. to be doubted that your Uncle John will care for you as if you were his own, after my death,-since he hath been the best of brothers to me, in my life,-yet the vicissitudes of this world are many, and the ups and downs of Ameri. can society patent to all; and there can be no certainty that it may not, sometime, be needful or expedient for you to earn your own bread. Moreover, it is ever the part of t true wisdom to provide for the worst, while expecting the best. Therefore, having first given you a solid foundation of that knowledge which best disciplines the mind and strengthens the memory, while it refines the taste and de- lights the heart; I have thought it well to add thereto a superstructure of the languages of Modern Europe (soft, effeminate offspring of vigorous and sinewy sires), and of g music (which I see you love better to study as a science than to practice as an art, whereof your music-master doth somewhat complain) ; and between them all, I hope to have made you independent of any mischances of fortune--sap- iens dominabitzur astris. If the Woman's Rights move- ment-which, from lack of time, and interest, I have not i given the strict analysis and consideration it demands- ever brings forth better fruit than much darkening of coun- sel with words; I believe you might fill the Professorship of Ancient Languages and Literature, in a female college, with credit to the institution. In any case, I trust you can teach your sex to be something better than dolls at home, and butterflies abroad. But he or she who setteth up to be a teacher of others, carissima mea, must needs be thor- oughly furnished to that end himself. Therefore,-to which point all this discourse tendeth,-take heed that your next translation into the German hath somewhat more of the Teutonic, and somewhat less of the Latin, fla- vor in it; and be not guilty of the heinous sin of further vitiating a scion of one of the best and strongest of the ancient stocks. "And now, go and practice your scales as if your din- OJArlln . \ 1 4, ner depended on their smooth and flowing execution; there is no telling if the suppositiofi may not, some time, in some sense, become a certainty. Which, though it be a mournful enough prospect for an earthly father to contem- plate, anima mea, is not the less likely to be the purest manifestation of your I-Ieavenly Father's tenderness ! " How clearly the attempt to sketch my father for an- other, brought him before my own mental vision! with his tall, bent figure, his fine, keen, intellectual face, his gentle manners, his quaint, rambling, bookish talk;--a man at once wise and simple; learned and reverent; studious and genial. All my old life defiled before me, in a series of sharp, vivid pictures, as I talked. I saw again a large, low, shadowy room, which was the scene of my, earliest recollec- tions; in the midst, a table covered with faded green, whereat my father studied and wrote,-the walls lined with books,-7the dlrawers and cabinets stuffed full of coins, medals, ores, gems, drinking cups, missals, and a variety of obsolete treasures, with an interminable pedigree,-the table, chairs, and floor heaped with manuscripts, draw- inlgs, encyclopedias, and all sorts of learned litter. I saw myself-a somewhat grave and thoughtful child, with the shadow of motherlessness over me-creeping and rummag- ing among this literary lumber almost at my will; never rebuked except for deliberate mischief; and often falling asleep with my head pillowed on some rare old blackletter folio or quarto,-the Chronicles of Cooper and Froissart, Caxton's " Pylgrimage of the Sowle,' Breton's "Pleasant Toyes for an Idle Head,"-or it might be a three-century- old Plautus, profusely adorned with wood-cuts, or a tall, thin Somnitmn Scipionis,-the marvels and monstrosities of whose illustrations and illuminations reappeared in my dreams. I saw myself in my father's arms repeating after him, in the twilight, texts from the Greek Testament and verses of sonorous Latin Hymns, while I was yet too young to learn them from the book;-and I had already bpome page: 174-175[View Page 174-175]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 174-175 SHLOH. as familiar with all terms of endearment, in both languages, as any daughter of Pericles or of Virginius might have been; and in precisely the same way-by hearing them constantly from my father's lips. I saw myself foraging in the book-shelves, a little later on, for such mental food as best suited my youthful appetite; and seldom going much amiss, though occasionally victimized by cunning title pages;-for my astonishment at finding that the Diversions of Purley were anything but diverting, and that the Apes Ur'bance did not treat of bees, could only have been equalled by that of the North of England farmer, who bought Ruskin's disquisition "On the Con- struction of Sheep-folds," with an eye to the necessities of his own flocks, and found that it had nothing to say of any inclosures but such as are for the behoof of Popery and Protestantism! Then, I saw myself sitting reverently at the feet of the mighty masters of Ancient Philosophy and Song, -all difficulties and obscurations being swept aside, and all beauties brought into strong light by my father's ever pre- sent help; while the evening hours ran golden and sweet to the melodies of Milton, Dante, and Schiller, or the har- monies of Mozart and Mendelssohn and Beethoven; their last moments being ever consecrated by a chapter read from the Book of Books and a joint repetition of the Prayer of Prayers. What a safe, peaceful, happy life it was! I never knew how happy until I had left it far behind. The scene then changed. Leaning upon my father's arm, I drank in the sun of Italy, and felt her " marvelous wind." Day after day, I threaded the narrow streets, roamed through the vast art-galleries, knelt in the time enriched churches, gazed, wondering, up into the soaring Dome, stood, tear-blinded by the cross in the Coliseum, went down into the tombs, and climbed the hills, of ROME! Somehow, almost imperceptibly, amid these mingled wrecks and triumphs of the ages, my father and I had changed places. From the supported I had grown to be the supporter; he now leaned upon my arm. Then, the walls became shorter, the visits to studio and gallery less frequent, the lessons and readings irregular:-one day, the voice that had led me, step by step, through all that is best in life or books, faltered and fell over the familiar page. "Draw the curtain, figliuola miat," it murmured, feebly, "and let in more light." I saw myself, in that light, under the foreign sky- among strangers-alone! Between my father and me, God's hand had let fall a thick, impenetrable curtain. On his side, the full light of eternity-on mine, the darkness of desolation and the shadow of death! I did not know that there were tears on my cheeks- tears due to this gliding inner panorama, and not to the words I had spoken-until Ruth lifted her hand timidly, to wipe them away. Then I went on. " While my father talked thus, my heart used to thrill and glow with the pride of independence, and I was men- tally resolved that, whenever it should please God to write me down 'orphaned,' I would qbe indebted to no hand, nor brains, but my own for my daily bread. So I studied, con amore--the love of books having grown and strengthened in me by as natural a life-process as that which gives breadth to the leaf and fulness to the flower. And I prac- tised, with a purpose,-for I was made a musician, not born one, as you are, Ruth,-all my acquirements, in that line, are the result of patient labor and skilful training. But when, on my arrival in America, I saw the pain in my Uncle John's face, as I began to talk of my plans for sup- porting myself-a face more like my father's than anything I had expected to see this side Heaven!-I gave them all up, almost without a word or a struggle: that look and that likeness made a moral coward of me. To be sure, I comforted myself with the belief that they were only held page: 176-177[View Page 176-177]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 176-177 176 SHLOH. in abeyance, for a time; but that was four years ago, Ruthl, and I seem now to be no nearer to their realization, than then. My home is made homelike enough to give me. no good excuse for leaving it; though it must inevitably lack that nlameless property which chiefly constitutes a home, and which was never missing from even the most tempo- rary abode where my father and I sojourned together. However, I have assiduously lkept up the practice of music; partly out of regard for my father's memory, and partly, to please my aunt and cousin-till lately. When I came to Shiloh, I thought I had done with it forever." Ruth opened her mouth to give utterance to an expres- sion of wonder; but none coming to hand sufficiently strong for the, occasion, she shut it again, and only looked at me as if she thought I had taken leave of my senses. "Yes," I went on, slowly, " for all my music had be- come so inwrought with the memory of one who-who is evermore dead to me, though he is yet alive-that it was only a source of pain, an instrument of torture. To es- cape from it, and similar associations, I came to Shiloh." Heaven only knows what an effort these few words cost me. Each one seemed to be dragged up from the depths of my heart, slowly and with difficulty, as dead bodies are drawn from the waves. And Ruth Winnot's eyes looked as if she were assisting at such a dismal operation. There was in them both pity and dread,-the pity and the dread of one who, for the first time, is brought face to face with a calamity, hitherto known only by description. Yet, even amid my pain, I had an intuitive perception that my confi- dence had conquered her; from henceforth I might do with her almost what I would. I saw, too-in a limited, out- line way, yet clearly, so far as my discernment went-that through pain we acquire power for good; power to discern deeply, to influence strongly, to help wisely. Those joy- blossoms, without whose fragrance and bloom my life had SHLOH. 1" seemed destined to be all an emptiness, had, in their fall- ing, left some fecund germs behind, which were already developing into fruit that might be more soul-satisfying than any blossoms. I began to discover that there was no earthly loss which, even on earth, might not be made, by God's grace, to bring forth some richly compensating gain. "I am so sorry! '* faltered Ruth, after a few moments of pregnant silence, wiping the dew from her eyes,--" it must have been so hard for you to sing on that Sunday!" "It was only hard at the outset," I answered. "As in most other duties which we are constrained by the Holy Spirit to undertake, against our own inclinations, the pain and the struggle were over as soon as I had fairly set my- self about the work. That gentle force which, while we resist it, seems like an unfriendly power, tearing us away from things -easy and pleasant, and thrusting us upon things difficult and thorny; becomes, the instant we yield to it, a friendly arm to lean upon, a faithful, helpful guide unto purer enjoyments than any we leave behind. I am thankful that I was made to sing on that Sunday. In good truth, the occasion and the circumstances of that singing were so different from anything that ever came in my way before, that there was really no good excuse for old as- sociations to thrust themselves into the matter. And the event wrought in me an entire change of purpose." She looked at me inquiringly. "It would take too much time and too many words to tell you how it all came about. But Shiloh-or my expe- ,riences therein-had already taught me that no life need be utterly forlorn while it is still capable of being helpful, no more than one which-is still capable of being helped; these two truths, Ruth, have roots that strike down deep into every heart, and penetrate all the foundations of society. It was reserved for that Sunday to show me that I had no right to bury in a napkin, or suffer to rust through disuse, any page: 178-179[View Page 178-179]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 178-179 '17t8 SHLOH. talent which might sometime be available for the service of God and the help of man. With which last conviction, Ruth, you had somewhat to do." "I!" There was a world of astonishment and ques- tioning in the tone. "Do you remember telling me that you should ' never sing again?' Well, immediately there rose before me a vision. I saw a meek, rapt Madonna face, making a kind of glory in some shadowy church-choir; and I heard a pure, clear, soaring voice, leading the song of praise in such wise as to make it seem that the heavens were opened, and the strains of angelic choirs pealing down to earth. Could it have been your face, and your voice, Ruth?" She sat looking at me, with eyes dilated and lips apart, breathless, trembling, eager, doubtful. "I do not know," I went on, "whether I shall ever see my ideal songstress, in the flesh;-but, Ruth, when God sends us such' visions, He means us to take the first step- be it never so short and, seemingly, ineffectual a one-to- ward bringing about their realization; the second step will immediately become clearer. In this instance, the first step was to send for my piano. And the second--well, the question you asked me so long ago, and which I did not then answer-made the second easier -to me." There was the beginning of a look of comprehension in her face. "I have sometimes wondered of late," I proceeded, ( why it was that so much musical culture had been wasted upon me, since I am not to win my bread by its -aid; and inasmuch as I have no innate, spontaneous love for the4 practice of music,-(which is, be it understood, a different thing from loving music itself). But if I am to be instru- mental, in training up one singer to sing worthily unto God, in God's house; the problem is solved. And the end is worth all the long preparation." Was it worth all? Humbly, not captiously, I asked 8 that question in the silence of my own soul. There was no response, only an echo, and still a question--"All?" Then I took both her hands in mine. "Dear Ruth," I said; softly, "shall we help one another? Will you be my pupil in music, and let me be your pupil in whatsoever God means me to learn through you?" She bowed her head on my lap, and her long-drawn, choking sobs, with each one of which some weight, some doubt, some anxiety, seemed to be lifted from her heart, shook the silence. When she raised her head, her face was radiant. Her first words came brokenly, nevertheless. "It seems like a miracle,-it is so sudden-and so beau- tiful! And it makes everything so plain! I used to have such blind longings-such dumb pains-such miserable fits of depression-such wonderings why I was born. I seex now that I was just like a poor, little seed buried too far underground; it wants to swell, to sprout, to grow. But it cannot lift or pierce the heavy mass of earth that holds it down. All its struggles only make it feel more uncom- fortable under the constraint. By and by, some kind pass- er-by, seeing the earth stirred slightly by its vain attempts to put forth what is in it, lifts off some of the crushing weight, and lets in the sun's warmth and the dew's fresh- ness. And it sprouts, and blossoms, and bears fruit, and is happy. That is what you have done for me, Miss Frost!" Before I left her, the hours of lessons, study,'and prac- tice were all settled upon,-to begin on the morrow. When I reached home, I went directly to Mrs. Divine, whom I found in her usual corner of the kitchen hearth with a pile of just mended stockings in her lap, and a book in her hand; She looked up as I entered; and I plunged into busi- ness, at once. "Mrs. Divine, I have just made an arrangement with , . page: 180-181[View Page 180-181]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 180-181 180 SHOH. Ruth Winnot, that waits your approbation ere it can go into effect. I should have consulted you beforehand, if I had supposed it could be brought about so soon. She is to come here twice a week for music lessons, and twice every day for practice on my piano. Have you any ob- jections?" She laid down her book, and took off her spectacles very deliberately, before she answered. Her first words were certainly irrelevant. "Miss Frost, do you think you'd burn if you was put into the fire? or drown, if you was thrown into the water?" "So you take me for a witch?"I responded. "Thank you." "Umph! you had better thank the Lord that Cotton Mather died before you was born!" "But about these lessons, Mrs. Divine?" "Solomon said there was nothing new under the sun,- and may be there ain't; the sun covers a good deal of ground. But to see Ruth Winnot coming here twice a day--or, indeed, showing herself anywhere in broad day- light-will be something new in Shiloh, at least! Step up to the light, here, and let me see your shadow-that is, if you've got any! There are two kinds of witches; some cast no shadow, and some cast two. The double-dealers are the worst, I reckon,"-with a humorous twinkle in her eye. "I am afraid," said I, tacitly, declining to touch the sub- ject of the shadows, " that such constant use will disturb the strict order of your parlor a little,--would it not be better to transfer the piano to my room?" "The out-room was made for use," she returned, senten- tiously. "If it wasn't, what teas it made for?" "But Mrs. Prescott likes to keep it so immaculately neat;-I am afraid she will be put to a great deal of trouble." "Of course, Priscilla will follow you round with a broom and a dust-pan," she rejoined, taking snuff com- posedly; "but that pleases her, and needn't displease you. There's room enough in the world for most people's crotch- ets, if you only think so. But it won't hurt Ruth to give' I her a hint not to leave things lying around and askew; there's nothing lost by tidiness, if it isn't overdone. And I'm real glad you've got that poor girl to think she can come out of her shell, though I can't make out how you've done it." ! "It is not I, Mrs. Divine. She loves music, and that draws her." "As the bucket draws the water! But if there wasn't a pole and hand in league with the bucket, it wouldn't do much toward quenching anybody's thirst, I reckon. You are behind the music, and the Lord is behind you. You are doing His work, Miss Frost; and I hope you'll find the wages sweet-sweet enough to take that look out of your face!" The conversation was taking a direction that I did not care to follow. I was glad, therefore, to hear Alice Pres- cott's step in the door. "Well, Alice," said DM1rs. Divine, "here's news for you! Miss Frost is going to give Ruth Winnot music-lessons, and she's coming here every day after 'em. What do you think of that?" The answer did not come readily; and the first look of surprise soon faded into a hurt and sorrowful expression, which puzzled me. I could not see what Ruth Winnot's music-lessons had to do with it; yet it shadowed my satis- faction for the moment, and haunted me until I slept. page: 182-183[View Page 182-183]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 182-183 XVIII. l TrIE MUSIC LESSON. ^^ ! ^^RAY and sullen was the morning, with occasional spurts of rain. An easterly 1 .d storm was setting toward Shiloh, and all i the tongues in the trees gave forth melancholy (.9^ notes of warning. Nevertheless, RUith Win- not was punctual to the moment. While the tall kitchen clock was still telling the hour of nine, with strokes slow, solemn, and reverber- ant as those of a passing bell,--doing its best to impress its hearers with the fact that the death of an, hour is a matter of serious and weighty import,-Alice Prescott appeared at my door to notify me of her presence below. The an- nouncement was briefly made, and the messenger turned quickly away. But not before I had observed that- her face wore the same grieved and discomfited expression that had struck me on the preceding evening. I laid a hand on either shoulder, and forcibly detained her. "What is the matter, Alice? Have I done anything to hurt you?" i "Oh, no,'" she answered, Jetting her eyes drop. "So far, so good. But there are sins of omission as as well as commission. What have I failed to do that you expected or desired?" "Nothing." But there was a shade of pain, almost amounting to petulance, in the tone. "I see there is something out of joint," I said, after SHLOH. 183 a moment's consideration of her downcastj half-averted face, " but I will not press the subject now. Only, you had better improve the respite in making up your mind to a full and frank confession; for I give you fair warning that I shall be sure to find out what the trouble is, whether you tell me or no." I did find out, sooner than I expected. As I passed the half-open door of Mrs. Divine's room, at the foot of the staircase, the loud ton'es of Mrs. Prescott's voice, sharp to a degree of snappishness, came to my ear with a distinct- ness not to be shut out. "Some folks will go a mile to give a beggar a shilling, who wouldn't throw a cent to one that was starving at the door! and some folks are born to good luck-they and their kin-to the third and fourth generation! But I wasn't. Nobody'd ever think of giving my Alice' music -lessons, if she had come into the world without legs or arms, and deaf and dumb into the bargain!" It was impossible not to smile at the idea of such a stu- dent of harmonics; yet my predominant feeling was not one of amusement. -Mala hastened to improve the oc- casion. "See there!" exclaimed she, mockingly, "that is what you get for not ,minding your own business!" BONA. Who, was it that said: "Wist ye not that I must be about"--not my own, but--"my Father's bus- iness?" MALA. Umph! your business in the musical line is like- ly to be extensive! You will be expected to give music lessons to every Miss in Shiloh, with or without a particle of musical talent. I (shrugging my shoulders). The expectation will be cut off, then. BONA. Whenever it is, clearly, an unreasonable one. MALA. AS it is in this instance. :Mrs. Prescott is jeal- ous, on Alice's account; and jealousy is always unreason- able. page: 184-185[View Page 184-185]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 184-185 184 SIIILOI. I (emphatically). And it is a quality that I partic- ularly detest; and toward which I will show no mercy. BONA. But, in this case, is there not a little occasion for the jealousy? Mrs. Prescott would, naturally, feel hurt that her daughter-living under the same roof with your- self-should be overlooked, while her friend is so notice- ably sought out. I. But Alice has no talent for music. BoNA. Perhaps she has a talent for something else. I (impatiently). Her sole talent is for reading. She in- herits that from her grandmother; though her appetite is by no means so omnivorous as hers. But it is even more absorbing. She shuts herself up in a book as if she were locked inside an oaken chest; she becomes deaf, dumb, blind and immovable, as soon as her eyes fall on the page. I do what I can to gratify her, by giving her the free use of all my books,-all that she will read, that is; for her taste runs chiefly to novels and poetry, and she does not even choose the best of either. BONrA. You might educate her taste, then. I (dolefully). Must I turn teacher to everybody that comes in my way? MALA. Perhaps Mr. Divine's hired man would like to learn Latin! BONA. There is no occasion for the reductio ad absurdumn, supposing that to be it-a point which remains to be estab- lished. Many a Yankee 'hired man' has both the wish and the capacity to learn Latin, and you might be worse em- ployed than in teaching him. Knowledge-I cannot too strongly impress it upon you-always imposes responsi- bility. To know, may be merely to hoard up facts as a miser does money; to impart is the secret of usefulness. Whenever a fill mind meets an empty one, it is a call to teach, not to scoff; when refinement encounters roughness, it is a call to influence, not to shun; when a higher nature comes in contact with a lower one, it is a call to lift up, not SHLOH. 185 to thrust down. Whenever God places you among people less cultured, less accomplished, less refined, or less heaven- enlightened than yourself, be sure that He maketh you to differ, chiefly, that you may be instrumental in lessening that difference. MALA (with a sneer). Which means, being interpreted, that you must not only give lessons in music, vocal and in- strumental, to Ruth Winnot, and lessons in Latin and Greek to' the hired man; but lessons in the elements of criticism and the canons of taste to Alice Prescott, lessons in meekness and urbanity to her mother, in etymology to Aunt Vin, in good nature and liberality to Mrs. Burcham, in simplicity to Mrs. Danforth, etc., etc., ad infintium. I wish you joy of your labors! Weary of the discussion, I ended it by opening the door of the parlor. Ruth had removed her bonnet and shawl, and was standing in the middle of the room, with clasped hands, looking at my piano as if she believed that all things beautiful, harmonious, and delightful, were boxed up therein, and could be brought forth by the strong mag- netism of her fixed gaze. What a different face it was from the one which had met me on the previous evening! That was full of pallor, gloom, depression, hopelessness,. this was flushed, bright, eager, expectant. That might have served as a model for a statue of despair; this for a picture of hope. The change was so striking that I could not help an allusion to it. "Ruth; do you know the meaning of your name?" "No,--do you? Tell me, please!" "It means, ' satisfied.' When I first saw you, I thought it a misnomer, but I think, now, there is a prospect that it may fit you excellently well, sowne day." "I am not so sure of that," she replied, archly. "When I can sing as well as you do, I shall be more than satisfied,-proud. You will have to find me a name that signifies ' conceit,' if you want a perfect fit, Miss Frost!" page: 186-187[View Page 186-187]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 186-187 186 SHLOH. It was good to see her so ready and so gay. Yet I scarcely recognized the Ruth of yesterday in the Ruth of to-day. Her own apt and touching metaphor recurred to me with renewed force. She was, in truth, like a deep- buried seed, which, when the superincumbent weight is op- portunely removed, finds the blessing of its long, sore, un- availing travail within itself, in being able to put forth stalks and leaves in a single night. "I do not fear that," I responded. "The true mu- sician, like the true artist or the true Christian, finds his standard rising ever faster than himself. The increasing distance between the two keeps him humble." She looked very grave for a moment. Then she said, entreatingly, "Won't you play me something?" "Business before pleasure, if you please," responded I, opening the piano and taking possession of the music-stool. "That is to say ;-lessons first and play afterward, is the true order of things. Look over that pile of songs, and see if you can find anything you know. First, I have to get a clear idea of the quality and capacity of your voice." She obeyed like a child. When she had selected "Auld Robin Gray," and laid it open before me on the rack, she interrupted the first chords with the question, "Where is Alice?" "She is somewhere about the house, I suppose." "May I go and find her? She was my first friend, you know,--my only friend before you came,-and I want her to share in everything good that comes to me. Do you mind having her here?" "Certainly not, if you do not mind it. But most peo- ple prefer to have no spectators or auditors to their first singing-lessons. The initiatory exercises are far from melo- dious, Ruth." "Oh, I don't mind Alice; and she needn't, stay if she doesn't like. But I don't want to begin without her, just as if I meant to shut her out of the matter entirely." SHLOII. 187 Alice being found and seated in an eligible position, I played the accompaniment to "Auld Robin Gray," and Ruth sang it,-taking all things into consideration, sur- prisingly well. Of course, she could not fully understand, nor-adequately interpret, all the long patience of sorrow and the subtile consolations of duty which are shadowed forth in its exquisite words and music;--but her voice was so sympathetic, and her musical instinct so fine, that she immediately caught and imitated whatever expression, gave to the accompaniment, and some of her tones were marvellous in their pathos, bringing tears to my eyes. Did God subject her to -the long, life strain of deformity, I wonder, just to put those tones in her voice; as a tuner tightens the strings of his instrument well nigh to break- ing, in order to bring them up to the desired-pitch? Had He made her life, up to this time, little else than a fever of pain, shame, and longing, that she might be attuned to manifold accordance with the hidden sorrows of all lives, and the intricate and the involved harmonies of His mys- terious Providence; and so made capable of showing forth to the world, through the subtile significances of sound, what unutterably rich, grand, and sweet chords are formed from the combinations of sorrow, patience, faith, and love? Testing Ruth's voice by the scales, I found that it ran easily from G below the staff to B above,-a present com- pass that gave promise of excellent things in future. I had a pupil whom it would be a delight to instruct. The real drudgery of music-teaching was spared me; she could already read plain music, with considerable facility, at sight. I gave her a singing-lesson first; then one on the piano. She took both with an ease and readiness that seemed like almost unerring intuition. I quickly saw that she would give all diligence to the practical part of music; but precious little heed to the theoretical, if she could help 2 page: 188-189[View Page 188-189]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 188-189 18 8- SHLOH. it. She would prefer to act upon its principles, without taking the trouble to understand them. Not so with Alice. Her interested and thoughtful face showed plainly that she fully comprehended all my expla- nations and directions: and she was particularly responsive (so far as looks went, for Alice-is no talker) to every spir- itual analogy I brought forth, or to any historical or biog- raphical details that occurred to me in connection with the lesson. When I said,-"All really beautiful and touching musi- cal compositions have more or less modulations into the minor key; which shows the intimate relation between life and art, and illustrates the truth that human lives derive their richest harmonies from disappointment and depriva- tion and pain,"-it was Alice's face that lit up most under- standingly and seemed to follow out the thought. When I explained that in ancient times music was a fa- vorite study of monks and friars, and that one of those de- vout men,-Guido a Benedictine of the tenth century- named the seven tones of the diatonic scale, Tt, Re, eMi, Fa, etc., from the first syllables of each line of an old Latin hymn, the words of which were;- "Ut queant laxis Resonare fibris, Mira gestorum Flamuli tuorum, Solve polluti Labii reatum, Sancte Johannes!"- it was Alice, not Ruth, that asked, "Why 'Ut' was changed to ' Do'?" And when I answered, "I do not know precisely; it is supposed because 'IDo' gives a more open vowel sound, but I should like to think that it wasg selected because it is a part of the first syllable of the Latin word .Domiznus--or Lord-by some equally holy man, who would fain conse- crate the musical spale by beginning and ending it with the thought of God; at any rate, it will not hurt us to have \ ' SHLOH. 189 that association with it,".-Alice's eyes kindled softly, and she fell 'into a long fit of musing. I grew interested in my silent, yet sympathetic, listener. When the piano-lesson was over, I inquired, "Ruth, how old are you?" "Seventeen-almost eighteen," answered she, looking a little surprised. "Are you aware that she who does not commence piano- music until she is eighteen has a deal of hard work before her, if she accomplishes anything worth her while? The joints and muscles have already lost somewhat of their first flexibility, and two hours of practice will not profit her so much as one hour would have done at an earlier age. Which fact, by the way, has a bearing on other things than music. Affections lose their spring and pliancy as well as muscles, Ruth, and habits stiffen not less inevitably than joints,--as many a ninth-hour disciple of Christ has found, to his cost; struggling with the miserable inaptitude of a mind and heart that have not been trained and'fitted for their work by the practice and the tenor of years. But I am wandering from the point. How much time and pa- tience have you to bring to the study of music?" ' Al11 the time that is necessary," she answered. "And as for patience, I shall not need any, I love music so much!" I shook my head gravely. "Excellence in any pursuit is the late, ripe fruit of toil, and toil must needs be weari- some, at times: the willingness of the spirit cannot always prevail over the weakness of the flesh." "You cannot frighten me, if you try," she rejoined, cheerily. "I have some little idea of what is before me, for I learned to read music, and to play the accordeon/ without any teacher, and it cost me some patient study, I assure you." "I do not wish to frighten you, Ruth. I only desire that you should commence the study of music as the Church page: 190-191[View Page 190-191]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 190-191 190 SEILOa. exhorts her children to enter upon the holy estate of mat- rimony, ' discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God.' I do not want to be instrumental in adding -to the innumerable company of musical inexperts,-girls who treat the divine art of melody precisely as they do their worsted-work, taking it up and laying it down according as convenience suits or inclination prompts; with no thought of time to be redeemed nor talent to be accounted for, and utterly regardless of its claims to respect as a means to greater usefulness in the world, and a new and noble branch of service entered upon for God. The legitimate fruit of which desultory and irreverent culture appears in the slov- enly, inaccurate, disjointed playing that one hears every- where,-I have gotten to expect it so invariably, that the wonder is when I hear it not. A young lady, whose cheeks would tingle with shame if she Were forced to exhibit her room in disorder, or her work-basket filled with a life-accu- mulation of unfinished beginnings and dismembered parts of garments, or herself in a dress that was not thoroughly neat, complete, and en regle ; does not- scruple in the least to bring before a roomful of strange people a musical com- position in rags and tatters, jagged beginnings and ends of melodies, and parts of harmonies cruelly rent asunder and unlawfully patched together. She seems wholly uncon- scious that such a performance, for every lover of music, stamps her character with feebleness, inaccuracy, indolence, and a lamentable lack of conscientiousness, just as certainly and indelibly as a riotous room, a tangled, scrappy work- basket, or disordered attire." "Like ?" questioned Ruth, archly. "Like no one whom we have the mutual honor to know, Ruth. I am too newly coihe to Shiloh to be able to point my remarks with personal illustrations. Nor do I care to find an original for my sketch; I am only anxious that it shall in nowise resemble you. There is so much involved in any study, Ruth, beside the mere acquisition of knowl- SHLOH. 191 edge. First, there is the manner. If we are exact and dili- gent in its prosecution, w;e form habits of accuracy and in- - dustry that we shall be likely to carry into every other pur- suit, to our manifold advantage; whereas, if we prosecute it loosely and indolently, the habits thus acquired cling to us and impair our efficiency in everything else. Then, the object--by the way, what is your object in studying music?" Ruth looked down, and hesitated. "I know that is not what I ought to say," she answered, finally, "'but I am afraid it is just my own pleasure and improvement. Mu- sic is my chief delight; and then, I am ambitious-a little." "These may answerjfor secondary motives, if there is a better primary one to kjep them in due subordination." "I suppose you mean the glory of God," she replied, in a low voice. "But, Miss Frost, I really can't see how my music is to help that, except when I sing in church." "I suspect I should ibe no clearer-sighted, Ruth, if my father had not taken such pains to teach me how possible it is to make all our doings, in a certain sense, religious acts:-in much that I say, you are only getting his ripe wisdom at second-hand. He used often to quote to me that matchless verse of George Herbert: 'A servant with this clause,' (the said clause being,' For thy sake,') Makes drudgery divine, Who sweeps a ioom, as for Thy laws, Makes that and the action fine."' Alice drew along breath, and her eyes lit up softly. "' Will you repeat that once more, Miss Frost?" I complied, doing my best to bring out the full beauty and vigor of the lines. She repeated them over again, in a 'dreamy undertone, and then said, "I have it now. Thank you." - page: 192-193[View Page 192-193]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 192-193 192 SHLOH. "You have the words, certainly. But are you in pos- session of their whole wealth of mheaning? We all know, to be sure, what sort of a transfiguration the hardest and coarsest duties undergo when done for the sake of one we love,--often exchanging their squalid, unlovely, repulsive aspect for one that is positively winning and delightful,- but do we comprehend so readily all that is implied in sweeping a room ' as for Thy laws?' I think white wings of angels would hover delightedly over the work! The servant, so sweeping, would bring into active exercise all the Christian virtues; namely:-Obedience,-he is obedi- ent to the law, 'Servants, obey your masters,' and to God, the Lawgiver; Humility,--he is not above his work, he is only solicitous that it shall not prove that his work was above him; Meekness,-he bears with his master's reproofs and his own mistakes, patiently; Faithfulr-ess,-he does his task thoroughly, putting his broom into all the corners and hidden places, ' as seeing one who is invisible' inspect- ing his work; Honesty,-he takes nothing from the room, not so much as a pin' from the floor, that does not belong to him; Diligence,--he is careful not to waste his master's time, nor God's; Contentment,-instead of fretting and repining because he has to work, or-because the work is of a homely sort, he feels the blessing of having work so plain, so immediate, so free from difficulties and entangle- ments, that he cannot well go wrong in it; Trust,-he be- lieves that his Lord knows what work is best for him now, and will give him other and higher work so soon as he is fit for it; Hope,--he remembers joyfully the rest that re- maineth, and the glory that shall be revealed; Lastly-- that crowning grace!-Love,-he is full of . kind thought and delicate consideration for those to whose comfort he is ministering, careful to leave the master's easy-chair just at the angle he likes best, the mistress's work-table free from dust, the invalidls couchwhere the light falls softest,- everything so arranged as to give the greatest satisfaction SHLOH. 193 to the eye, the deepest repose to the mind. He can, if he will, consecrate his work with prayer, and sweeten it with thoughts of our Saviour bending His sacred head over a car- penter's bench, and St. Paul plying his trade of tent- maker. How truly such-sweeping makes both the room and the action 'fine! ' Now take that same potent ' clause into the study of music, and see how inevitably a Christian must be a better musician than a worldling-other things being equal." "Still," suggested Alice, " one might think it right to learn just enough of music to make home pleasant, with- out having any strong musical bias, or expecting ever to become an accomplished musician." "If one does, Alice, one will be likely to prove conclu- sively, in one's own person, how little advantage results from any study of importance, which is not taken up se- riously, and carried on regularly, with a view to the great- est proficiency that is within the student's reach. If there is no strong natural bent, the more need of persistent study and practice; the pleasantness of home will not be much en- hanced by a soulless, slovenly, disjointed performance. The real inoperativeness, or insincerity, of this motive generally appears when marriage and motherhood bring new cares to the player or singer. The sweet accomplishment of har- mony, which was to add so rich a charm to the home-pre- cinct, is dropped and forgotten so soon as the musician really has a home, for whose delight and discomforts she: is, mainly, responsible." Alice looked troubled. "You would not think it right," said she, " for a mother to neglect her children for 'her music?" "Certainly not. But the mothers of whom I am speak- ing lavish time enough upon their own and their children's finery, not-only to keep up their music, but to make conbi- tinual progress in it. Yet which accords best with that: sweet ideal of motherhood which We all hallow- i' ouri 9 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 194-195 194 SHLOH. hearts?-she who spends an hour or two of each day in embroidering, tucking, and trimming her child's garments, making its babyhood unlovely with pride, and its maturity sinful with extravagance; or she who surrounds its young life with an atmosphere of soft, melodious, spiritualizing sounds, training it early to comprehend the laws and the significances of harmony, and bringing it, by easy and imn perceptible degrees, into lovely accordance with all that is good and sweet and ennobling in art or in nature? Which of them will the children reverence most? Which' will they rise up to call ' blessed,' when death paralyzes alike the fingers that ply the embroidery-needle and the fingers that wake the white, singing keys? Which memory will send the sweetest, most pathetic strain down through their future lives? Easy it is' to answer!-the garments that we have .worn fade quickly from our recollection--most emphatically they ' perish in the using ;'--but the melodies that sweetened our childhood, the songs that we sang with our mother in the twilight,-these are among the things which our hearts cherish to their latest throb!" ( Do you think it is wrong, then, to trim our garments and make them pretty?" I could not help smiling. "Do you really think that 'trimming' and 'making 'pretty' are convertible terms, Ruth? Any artist will tell you that much of the trim- ming, which costs us so much time and money, is only a making ugly. But, allowing that its end is beauty, and that it always accomplishes that end, is there no distinc- tion to be made between the high beauty and the low one? , The beauty of lovely melodies is infinitely greater than the beauty of lovely garments; the former, therefore, should be first sought after to beautify our homes. The real trouble' is, that women do not rightly divide their duties. Con- sciously, or not, we each make to ourselves two catalogues of the day's labors; one under the head of 'Things that must be done,' the other of 'Things that may be done.' Then we put the tucks, the flounces, and embroideries, the rich cakes and pastry, and the fashionable calls, under the head of I Must,' and the music, the reading aloud of the best authors, and kindred duties, under the head of ' May.' The body must be pampered; the mind may be fed, or starved, as it happens. Thence come endlesstoil of the most slavish, exhausting, unsatisfying kind, continual de- terioration, and the sharp gnawing of discontent." There was a long pause. "Do you think, then," said Alice, timidly, " that no one ought to learn music, who can- not give some regular time to it daily.?" "That would be too hard a saying. Where there is genuine talent, and the way open, it might do to begin by devoting all the odds and ends of time to the work, and so making a kind: of regularity of irregularity. If this were done patiently and scrupulously, I think God would, ere long, give the regular time needful. If it did not come, I should consider it, in most cases, a clear indication that the music must be given up." "What! when there is real talent!" exclaimed Ruth in amazement. "Do you think God ever gives a talent which he does not mean us to cultivate?" t , "Rarely; I never knew such a case, yet it may exist. Given talent, energy, patience, and faith; and the opportu- nity for growth and the opening for usefulness generally follow. But if there be, anywhere, a heart heavy with the sense of germs of talent undeveloped, denied all time and space for unfolding, kept down by illness, or by a multi- tude of homely, yet genuine and pressing duties; let it take comfort in the certainty that God means it to attain, by this thorny road of constraint and privation, unto high- er and heavenlier things than it might have won :in the :freest exercise of its talents,-even unto the Sweet patience of hope, the repose of unquestioning obedience, the bless- edness of sacrifice. ' They also serve who stand and wait,' says Milton of the celestial host." - page: 196-197[View Page 196-197]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 196-197 196 SEILOH. Alice's face lit up radiantly. Ruth looked half-scared, half-exultant. "Such a life would be a bitter one for me," she said, with a slow shake of the head. "I tasted it be- fore you came, and I did not find out, the sweetness nor the comfort in it. I am so glad you came, Miss Frost!!"-giv-- ing me a qxick, impetuous caress. "That reminds me that we have not yet agreed upon the terms of payment for these lessons." She looked utterly confounded. "I thought "-she be: gan, and then stopped. "You thought I was to give them freely and uncondi- tionally? Not altogether. ' If ye hae nae purse to fine, ye hae flesh to pine,' says the old Scotch proverb. I have a mind to play Shylock with you. I shall exact a flesh-and- blood payment." Ruth opened her eyes at me in speechless amazement. Alice only smiled. I was beginning to remark the latter's quickness of comprehension wherever any spiritual analogy was implied. I had already learned that her faculty of ob- servation was unusually keen and delicate; it even annoyed me a little, at times, to see that every emotion which dis- turbed the surface of my consciousness, appeared to have its answering ripple on hers. Not, evidently, because she sought" to inspect or to analyze my feelings; the power seemed to be most involuntarily exercised, and was even a source of embarrassment. Often, when her eye met mine, she colored and turned away, as if there were such a crime as spiritual theft, and she had been detected in it. In a loved and trusted friend, such facility of comprehension would be invaluable, sparing one much painful travail of speech; but in ,an indifferent person, it camelnear to being an intolerable nuisance. And, up to this time, I had not taken-as the phrase goes-to Alice Prescott. She was afflicted with such an overpowering and inveterate shyness -oftener taking the form of stiffness and unresponsiveness than of open confusion of face-that one's course of ac- RXAXAA quaintanceship necessarily ran slow; and I had easily slid- den into the habit of letting her very much alone. Yet I had found myself watching her, now and then, with an in- explicable curiosity; a vague suspicion that the depths of her life might beworth sounding, if one only had the m eans and the inclination; and a dim wonder if my own disinclina- tion were not the sickly, noxious outgrowth of spiritual in- dolence, rather than a manifestation of that most rare and righteous quality-respect for another's individuality. And when I had gotten thus far, Mala always sneered or railed, and my thoughts wandered from the subjct. After a momentary enjoyment of Ruth's astonished face, I went on. "Flesh and blood are figurative terms, dlear; they stand here for labor and love. The time will come when you, in your turn, will be competent to teach and help some wait ing, wistful soul, quick with musical power, yet knowing not how to develop it:-promise me, that you will do it, for my-no, for Christ's sake. These are my terms, Ruth. Her brown eyes filled slowly with tears. "Oh! Miss Frost, you knew--you surely new that you did not need to ask that!" she exclaimed, hialf-reproachfully. "Of course I should do it; I could not help doing it! Don't I know how it feels to long for a teacher, and culture, and growth, and not to have them!" Then she stood upright, dashing awayhertears. "Oh! I will promise more than that," she went on, passionately, "for you know you have not gone to the root of the mat- ter, Miss Frost! Whenever I meet some poor, proud, dis- couraged, and deformed creature, who would reproach God for making her, if she dared, anclwho shrinks from every human eye as if it had an arrow in it--i will try what can be done to lift her up and help lher. If she has any grace, or beauty, or talent, or good gift of any kind, I will find it out and hold it up before her, to prove to her that God is still good, and to encourage her to work and pray; while page: 198-199[View Page 198-199]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 198-199 198 ' SHLO-f. my own ready help and sympathy and tenderness, shall make her ashamed of ever having distrusted man." And, she added solemnly, after a moment, "I will, so help me God!" I drew the excited, enthusiastic speaker toward me, and kissed her, through my tears. Alice laid her head on the piano and sobbed aloud. Ruth was the first to break the silence, passing quickly from the extreme of exaltation to a half-playful mood; showing the real buoyancy and elasticity of her spirits, in their natural play. "My first scholar is close by," she said, laying her hand on Alice's head-" though she isn't of that sort, you know. As soon as I know enough, H mean to give Alice lessons. Unless," she added, as if the idea had suddenly occurred to her, "you are going to do it your- self." Alice turned crimson. "I could not think of troubling Miss Frost so much," she said, hastily; "it is quite enough for her to have to teach one of us. I am content to wait for you, Ruth-I shall only get her teaching at second- hand. Besides," she continued; looking at me in a doubt- ful, deprecating way, " she would not think it worth while; I am afraid I have no natural talent for music." I-hesitated, touched by her wistful look, yet doubtful if encouragement were the right thing to give her. "Sometimes, the means seem to justify the end," I said, at last. "One may labor so assiduously and so lovingly as to create a talent where it did not exist. But the training should begin early, to do that, in music. If you were nine, instead of nineteen, I should not hesitate. As it is, I con- fess that the expediency seems doubtful; that is, if you have anything better to do. In Ruth's case, the strong native bias will go a great way; besides, it is her voice that I chiefly count upon to repay culture; it is not too late to work upon that, to good advantage. If she learns enough of the piano to be able to accompany herself tolerably well, 199 SHLOH it is all that I look for. In your --- tme see yo hand, Alice.?t She gave it to m e with a bewildered face. "I am not a fortune-teller, though it does loor a little like it," I said, smilig at her amazement. Buttherear musical hands, Ali e-- th has th em. The fingers are long, the joints firm, t xible the movement rapid and forceful. Now yours-reallyit is the o'aest c ircum- sta nce! Where do you suppose I saw the duplicates of your hands, Alice?" "Indeed, I cannot imagine." "In Italy, I met one of our, sweetest poetesses there. She had just such hands as tese-- sml wite, cool oft they seemed to melt in my grasp as if they were'ma mist,--with ils not quite perfect in shape, too, because, as she told me, with a little laugh of vexation at h erself, e had the habit of biting them in her youth, and pe d se sometimes hb d it s when she was in a. brown study! s s t there was no music in them, Aice, t cs fiwihi sc h A as flowed from the point of her pen; , all, the swetest, richest music-far wider in its scope and iluence th an any m usic of tone simply. For poetry is the highest of all the arts."in Alice looked down shyly, yet ith something ghtince. her face. Ruth gave her 'a smile and a meaning glance. Then she said to me, ey ud to bite herI You have hit Alice exatly She used heix e for nails in school--manytim, have scolded her And she makes verses, too." page: 200-201[View Page 200-201]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 200-201 XIX. ALICE PBESCOTT IX A W LIGGHT. iT was as if scales fell frommy eyes Those three words "Alic mkes es," carried a spell in them. All that had seemed stcrage, in- complete, or incongruous, in Alice Prscott, e- camie at once natural and com p rehensible. Ifcr chfara e fell into its place in t hs ony o. il universe. .f O t That ihtuitive comprehension of the though ts and feelings of others, under wlich I had been so restive, I now saw to be the Irihtful dormer of the poet; whose in- sight must needs be of that fine, p enet tiv ihose into which all of earth, and much of heaven, is opaen. Tte youngest poet whose song ever won the ear of manind dl always Sung intelligently of many things hearewit of could have no intimate, personal acquaintance; bt rhicth he omprehens as perfectly by intition nd smpathy a other men by experience. He is not olnlymove, but com- pelled,--often ,zainst his own will, and to the damage of his own comfort,-to live much in Otherives, to feel te warmth of their sunshine and the chill of eir shdow, t be thrqlled with their passions and Shaken by tliir conflicts. Where his own cperience ,flhrt, theil s seves him ifal good stead; and, by the elelp of delicate intuition, re dy sympathy, and instinctive perception of things s sltit ad subtile as to escape other observation, he is eabled to catc SHLO. 201 every note that humanity gives forth under the touch of Life, and to weave it deftly into his: songs. Others of Alice's characteristics, too, hitherto unnoted in this chronicle, came crowding forth to get the benefit of this new light, and reveal themselves in their true colors and proportions. She was subject to fits of- absence of mind, from which not even her mother's shrill voice aroused her, until it had been two or three times exerted, and had gained acuteness by impatience; and there were whole days when she seemed to walk in a dream; doing what- ever she did in the most mechanical, unreasoning fashion; listening to your words with ears fast locked against every sound, and looking you in -the face with eyes that had -no more sight in them than a blind man's. Often I had found - lher sitting in the porch, or on the garden bench, with her gaze fastened on the distant hill-tops; and, at such times, it was plain that I crossed her field of vision without pro- lducing any image on her mind, if I did upon her retinas. I had inwardly stigmatized her, therefore, as listless, indo-, lent-a dreamer and an idler in a world heavy with reali- ties, and teeming with work for hand and brain. I now inferred that these were moments of inward life and sight, full and active in proportion to her outward immobility; the depth of her abstraction being the visible sign of the intensity with which she contemplated the flow of her own ideas, and the avidity wherewith she received and assimi-' lated intellectual nutriment from scenes and events which passed for an actual void withl her neighbors. She was quick and skilfufl in the feminine accomplish- ment of needlework. She had a natural aptitude for the lighter and more fanciful parts of dress-making and mil- linery; and a ready knack at turning to good account old laces, ribbons, and other debris of the wardrobe, that seemed, little short of -miraculous; yet was only the result of a quick eye for latent beauties of foi'm and color, and a happy, , facility in combining them. In short, she had both, taste. page: 202-203[View Page 202-203]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 202-203 202 SHLOH. and imagination, and could not help lavishing them wher- ever there was material for them to work upon. But for the coarser matters of the domestic routine, she appeared to have an innate and ineradicable aversion. She " skirked" them (her grandmother said); but it was plain that she did it involuntarily, rather than of deliberate purpose. When she was forced to it, she took them in' hand aptly enough, but with a certain fastidious arm's-length haste, that the distasteful duty might be quickly done with; or she work- ed- dreamily, with a mind afar off. So I had set her hastily down as a vain and frivolous girl, with her ]lead chiefly running on matters of dress; and cherishing in her heart an unwise contempt and distaste for life's every-day duties and burdens. I now saw that this judgment must needs be greatly modified; though it might still be true, in a mild degree,--for Alice was too young a poetess to have discovered the essential poetry latent in life's most prac- tical affairs, the beauty that grows beside ita commonest walks. Yet she possessed something that ,might soon lead to -the discovery-the art of practical arrangement. She had that mysterious happiness of touch, by which all the hidden capabilities of things are brought forth and made to minis- ter to comfort or to taste ;-a charming attribute in the mistress of a household, enabling her to organize a delight- ful enough home out of apparently barren and incongruous elements. Whatever Alice touched seemed to fall inevita- bly into lines of grace. A room where her hand had been wore a cosy, habitable aspect, curiously in contrast with the starched propriety of Mrs. Prescott's arrangement. The bouquets that she arranged looked as if the flowers had spontaneously grouped themselves together in obedience to their own lovely and mystical affinities. The dishes of fruit that she brought to the table, wreathed with their own -leaves, or with buds and blossoms exquisitely adapted to them in fragrance and color, might have served as studies SHLOH. for an artist. These works suited her; they seemed to be a spontaneous outgrowth, rather than the result of conscious volition. Within their sphere, her fancy was inexhaustible, her invention alin to magic. It was a mystery where she got the trait; it was innate, of course, but not hereditary, --unless derived from some very remote ancestress, whose name has dropped out of the genealogical table that Mrs. Divine keeps in a convenient niche of her memory, ready to be produced and consulted, at the shortest notice. The pleasant illumination thus thrown upon Alice's character fell rosily over her person also, and transfigured that to my outer vision, as it had the former to my mental view. She was not beautiful: beside Ruth's rare and ar- tistic loveliness-the rich glory of her auburn hair, and the shifting light and shadow of her brown eyes,-the pale, cool tints of Alice's face looked like a crayon sketch beside a brilliant painting. Nevertheless, my glance now lingered with pleasure on the graceful contour of her head, the. in- tellect crowning her brow, the mystic depths of her thoughtful, far-gazing eyes, the harmonious lines of her womanly, yet most petite figure,-for Alice is small enough to have fairy blood in her veins. Always a little inclined to genimus-worship, I began to feel a half-reverence for the shy, silent girl, whom I had been accustomed to regard with indifference. I was humbled to the dust by the dis- covery of my long blindness! "The point that is made against you,' said Bona, quietly, "bein' simply that you cannot recognize your own ideal of incipient genius, when it is taken out of the domain of imagination, and walks beside you daily in the humble garb of a plain, shy New England maiden, amid the homely duties of a New England farm-house I! The next moment I was ready t9 laugh at my own cre- dulity, and satirize my late-budding enthusiasm. "Don't be a goose!"I said to myself, severelyt "As if every girl in Christendom does not, during the fertile period of her page: 204-205[View Page 204-205]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 204-205 204 SHLOH. teens, try to make verses; and succeed well enough to sat- isfy her own crude taste, and that of some partial friends! As if you, yourself, ]lad not made a few trembling attempts of the sort, which you treasured carefully, for a year or two, as possible gold, and threw away, at the end of that time, as most certainly lead! "Besides;" added Mala, masquerading in the garb of common sense, "you know your imagination is prone to fly away with you, and to drop you, not into the valley of Diamonds, but that of Disappointment. It is absurd to dream of finding two geniuses in this little out-of-the-way place,-granting that Ruth Winnot is one, which is more than I believe. And, amid all this labor and thought for others, what is to become of the rest that you came to Shi- loh especially to find? You know you need it." BO-NA. Not yet. Rest-that is, inaction-would be far more wearisome to you than any work. The toiling hand lightens the burdened heart; the busy life relieves the brooding mind. The rest " remaineth." Wonderful is the quickness of thought! All this, if not in detail, yet in substance, passed through my mind while I still held Alice's hand, and before Ruth could have had much time to wonder at my delay in reply- ing to the bit of information wherewith she had favored me. In truth, I was too much surprised by it, and too un- certain how much it might be worth, to make any im- mediate, pertinent answer possible; and my words must have seemed to ignore it completely, when they came, though, in reality, they were not uninfluenced by it. If Alice really possessed the poetic faculty, it was another reason why she should not waste her strength on a task un- suited to her. She sat, meanwhile, with downcast eyes, looking both distressed and scared. I suspect she feared an immediate demand for a specimen of her verse-making. Obviously, it was a relief to her when I only asked,- SIIILO H. "A Aice, would it be much of a disappointment to you not to take music-lessons, now or later?" She met my eyes with unusual directness alnde frankness "I think it wouldc-a little; I thought I should like it very "Imuch. But," she added, with a very sweet, docile look, "I ca t rus t your ju gmmen t aboutit, Miss Frost. It shall be yes or no, just as you say." Decidedly no, thelln. I believe that the most you couldcl hope to do, would be to learn enough of the principles and resources of music to enable you to understand an enjoy it more perfectly, when you hear it from others;- no worthless acquisition, to be sure, but you can accoi- plish the same thing, in an easier way. Since Ruth is will- ing, you can make it a rule to be present at her lessons, and listen to the instructions she receives. You withus learn a good deal of the science of music; you will see the objects she is working to attain; you will un derstand the nature and the amount of the difficulties she has to over- come, and the value of the successes she achieves; an whenever her time: of triumph comes, you will rejoice in it as if it were your own. Thus, she will get the help and comfort of an intelligent, adequate sympathy, born of iknowledge; and you will get the benefit of her labor, without the time and fatigue. A theoretical knowledge of music will be an advantage to you, if you are"--(a po- etess, I was about to say, but I reconsidered the matter, and substituted) "if ever you are thrown into musical SOAice gave me one of her quick, penetrating glances: she comprehended, instinctively, that there was something more in my thought than appeared in my words. Ruth look1ed dissatisfied. "You don't know how much I wanted Alice for a fel low-student," she said, dolefully. "Take heart," I rejoined, smiling, )she may fill that position yet. Alice, have you any talentfor lauages? page: 206-207[View Page 206-207]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 206-207 206 SHLOH. "I don't know,"' answered she, "I never tried."' "I was intending to request Ruth to take up the study of Italian, also," observed I, "and to ask you to join her in it. It is, eminently, the language of music;-the day Will come whe I she will find it necessary, or epedient, for her to sing in it,and I wish to save tier from the iconve- ience and the wearisomeness-not to say, the absurdity- of using words without meaning *- her It is, also, well worth learning for its literature. Certain master- ieces of poetry. Who would know Dante and Tasso and Petrarch, face to face, and heart-throl to heart-throb, theefore, must know the thtough the clear, soft medim of the la- into any other mould! there is often profit, as w ell as pleasure, in such compan- ionship. If you ike the tudy, and develop a entfo it, we will try something else, byand t-hby." e for Alice's eyes had grown very blight through this long knowr'i^ :^ 1' TCT7 brigt through tsi fs lo ng speech. She now said, "Thank you. I shall like it so much t " Ruth made a comical little grimace. "You do well," said she, "to couple us together, in this business. I am not a bookworm by nature, as Alice is, and the sight of her quickness and studiousness will shame me into doing my utmost. There is no doubt that she will learn fast enough; Alice can turn her hand to anything." "Finally," said I, "I have ventured to cut out a littlel work--perhapsplay would be the fitter phrase,-for us all. I propose that we shall spend certain hours of each week SHLOH. 07 together, in reading aloud. We will take turns at the read- ing, and try to make sure that none of the depth or the sweetness of our author escapes us, by comparing impres- sions as we go along. Do you accede to the proposal?" ' "I accede to anything and everything," replied Ruth, good humoredly. And she added, in a half-arch, half-cares- sing way, "What is the use of objecting? You would be sure to coax or reason me into it, after all. You have ways there is no resisting, Miss Frost." Further talk was precluded by the abrupt entrance of Mrs. Prescott. Care sat upon her brow, as usual; and she made no delay in discharging herself of her mission. There is this excellent quality (among others) in Mrs. Pres- cott; her straightforwardness is unquestionable. One feels confident, upon very short acquaintance, that there are no byways in her character. She never holds forth the gloved hand of policy; she knows nothing of the crooked walks of diplomacy. What she has to do, she does openly; what she has to say, she says plainly. Her faults lie as close to the surface as her virtues, her motives are as patent as her acts. In her own characteristic phrase, she " always likes to speak her mind." "I suppose your lesson is over, I haven't heard the piano going lately," she said, in her rapid, crisp way, implying as much of an apology as she often condescends to make. ' I just came in to tell you that some of us ladies are going down to set Mr. Taylor's things to rights a little, this afternoon. They were put into the house this morning, and there they lie in heaps. And to-morrow is Saturday, and Mrs. Taylor can't get here till noon,--so she won't have much time to get in living order for Sunday. I guess she'll like to have things straightened round some, if it ain' t done just exactly as she'd do it herself. And I'd like to have you go along, if you're willing ;-of course, we. shouldn't expect you to do any hard work, but we would like your advice about arranging things. Mrs. Taylor mightn't like -our page: 208-209[View Page 208-209]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 208-209 208 sHiLol. ways; she's used to city style, I guess. Mr. Taylor is there, to tell us which fiurniture goes ill the parlor, and whichl in the keeping-room, and what they use in their own room. That is about all he is good for, I guess,-though he diG come on to 'make a beginning,' as he says. Itfs my opinion that it would be all beginning, and no end! You ought to have seen him this morning, sitting on a box and looking at the muss. He had unpacked three boxes, and piled the things all in a heap, and was just taking breath before hle beguel on another! It's a merecy I happened in or he'd have had everything out, and stirred up on the floor, in a mess. I told him he had better wait until this afternoon, and have some help. He looked as much- relieved as if I had brought him a house all in apple-pie order, with a dinner smoking on the table. So I brough t him home with me, and he's out in the meadow, talking to father. Will you go with us, Miss Frost?" "Certainly, if there is the smallest possibility of my being of service. I really was not aware, however, that there were two ways of arranging furniture, one for the city, and another for the country; I thought individual taste ruled in that matter, and that the greatest attainable amount of comfort and beauty was the universal aim." "Lymph! that shows you haven't used your eyes. Whenever I go into a city house, which I don't do often,"-with an intonation slightly flavored with con- tempt,-"it always looks to me as if they'd put all their best things right where they'd get used up the quickest, chairs and tables and sofas where you couldn't stir without hitting against their corners; and china, and all sorts of knick-knacks, where you couldn't miss of knocking them off. Now, that isn't our way up here; at least, it isn't my way. What's worth saving, I like to save. Why, I've got the mahogany table, that father gave me when I was first narried and went to housekeeping, packed away up garret now,-just as good as new, though it's been moved twice; here isn't a pin-scratch on it anywheres." SHLOH. 209 I did not in the least doubt it. To any one who had had an opportunity of witnessing Mrs. Prescott's daily battle with dust, dirt, and decay, in their innumerable forms; and her many and marvellous solutions of the ever- returning problem how to make the few things she could bring herself to use, serve as substitutes for the multitude that it would have broken her heart to summon forth from their life-long inaction; it was not difficult to believe in any marvel of preservation that had been achieved under her own strict domestic rule. My faith was strong that, if she could only be spared to cherish it, that beloved mahogany table would survive the crumbling of empires, and resist the- tooth of Time; and, outliving the earth itself, would be no very preposterous candidate for admission into that extremely material heaven, which certain dust-clogged imaginations are so fond of presenting to our view. I left the subject of the table untouched, however, and confined myself to the business in hand. "I hope you intend to be impartial in your invitation, Mrs. Prescott. Cannot these two friends of mine find an opening for their respective talents, somewhere in the after- 1noon's work?" Mrs oPrescott stared in undisguised amazement. "I mean to have Alice go," she said, with a mixture of austerity and amusement; "I'm going to paper the keep- ing room down there, and she's got to help me. As for Ruth, I should, like to have her go, of course; there's not the least danger of our having too much help; many hands make light work. But if you can get her to go, you'll do more than I think you will-that's all I've got to say about it." A And Mrs. Prescott walked off, not to waste time on a subject of, so little importance. Ruth looked at me imploringly. "You don't mean it, Miss Frost! you know I can't go " I hesitated. Immediately, Alice rose and went quietly page: 210-211[View Page 210-211]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 210-211 210 SHLOH. out. I could not but marvel at the fineness of her instincts. Doubtless, she understood, as well as if I had told her so, that her presence was, at that moment, a constraint upon me. Struggle against it as I may, my affections, my sympathy, and my emotions, will always refuse to utter themselves freely in the presence of a third person,-a looker-on,-no matter how congenial to me may be that person's self, nor how thoroughly in sympathy with the spirit of the moment. Then I put my arms round my excited companion. "Ruth, it is the first favor I have asked of you. And I have set my heart upon it." She burst into tears. "Of course, I cannot refuse, if you insist,-when you have done so much for me. But ybu don't knoIw what a trial it will be to me! I can't bear all those eyes!" If it had really been a favor for myself, in any narrow sense, I could not have insisted. But it was for Ruth's own sake that I steeled myself. "You need not look at any eyes but mine, and they intend to keep very tender watch over you. Not because of anything I have done for you,-that is nothing,-but to show me that you love me, Ruth!" And so, finally, she promised. -h orlyyeery se s; N nearly every New Eng land village, I n, there is some one dwelling that enioys a sinister distinction over its nighbors Either, it ha its foundation in some ugly ant ominous circum- stance; o it is stained through an& through s ta c it it i a di with an ever-d e nin g sto of horror; or a im pervade by the faint, miTsty, elusive scent o: ghostly revelries . Now and then, there appears to ha been a guicien t eri m Eor this luxuriant, legendary o itag in some actual fact. Oftner still, its own out of th gray old structure by s pulcess analogous to tht whiec wloitng iantedvr.- nd an eopty house, in a roui ew Esland town, is t he I awful lasgr ond of the i agination, t he readiest material for c the lat ent supers abode in it, anl fill it with solemn whispers capable of ma f61has intepretation,-oirds and bats people it with taga flittin g orms,--its chill, damp, vault-like atmosphere thrillingly suggestive of ghostly occupants,--dry'rot e into its timbers and gnaws away at their hert like page: 212-213[View Page 212-213]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 212-213 21 2 aSHLOH. tooth of an uneasy conscience,--its silence is full of inexplic- able sound,--its darkhess flashes with mysterious light,- its very exterior is believed to have some indefinable pecu- liarity. Strange whispers-originating no one knows where, and swelling no one knows how-are afloat concerning it; and people who do not believe them in their hearts, are ready enough to give them currency with their lips. By and by, children are afraid to pass it after nightfall and their elders glance at it half-curiously, lf-nervous reasoni,g vagu ously half-nervously, reasoning vaguely within themselves that, where there is so much of inference, there ought, for consistency's sake, to be some small residuum of fact, The eerie character of the house is established. It will take years of commonpl ce occupancy to obliterate its claim to a dismal distinction and a long course of the plodding prose of daily life to dis- pel the half-poetic charm that environs it. Mrs. Prescott's house is of this class. Its one undenia- ble peculiarity is, that it has never had either a birth or a death under its roof;-a curious enough fact, in a dwelling that is nearly a century old; but explicable by the shifting character of its occupancy. It has missed, therefore some what of that gentle consecration of love and grief, whimh makes the walls of a genuine home half sacred in their aspect and influence,-and a dim recognition thereof is; doubtless, latent in the feeling with which it is regarded. 'If you ask, generally, of its history, you ill be told that it was built, and first occupied, by a strange, silent family; that came nobody knew whence, lived nobody knew how, and went nobody knew whither. To this will be appended the vaguest tale-with hardly enough of definite outline to be anywise transferable to paper-of three fair daughters, who were visited one by one, with some inscrutable and malignant fate; and waxed unutterably wan and spirit-like nder its touch ;.and slowly faded out of existence (but not in the house, its mysterious immunity from is eath must needs have prevented that); and whose spirits had been VQ SHLOH. 213 seen flitting through the dense shadow of the orchard, on moonlight nights. If you push your inquiries more par- ticularly, however, you will succeed in extracting as much information about this unknown family as could reasonably be expected to survive it; in a community where it had not sojourned long enough to establish, by means of inter-mar- riage, birth, death, and familiar intercourse, any abiding claim upon its sympathies. The real truth seeming to be, that the Gwynnes (for su'c] was their name) had once known better days; had here found a brief foothold upon the slippery bank of Oblivion; and, sliding thence, had made that final plunge beneath its dark waters, beyond which none but attached friends and hound-scented lawyers would care to follow them. After them, came a number of tenancies, of the briefest individual duration; and then, a long period of emptiness and neglect, during which rumors and conjectures thickened around the deserted dwelling, not less rapidly than the- dust gathered on its floors, and the mosses and lichens on its roof. Finally, Mr. Prescott, his health having failed him in a neighboring town, pitched upon it as a convenient residence for the remainder of his own fast lapsing life; and one, moreover, where his wife, in the event of her being left a widow, would be within easy reach of the kindly offices and sympathies of her paternal home. If the shrewd New Englander had any unacknowledged idea of cheating death of his lawful prey, in his own case, by removing to a house that was reported to enjoy an immunity from his dread visitations, the event proved, to the great edification of curious lookers-on, how equally inevitable were the stroke of doom, and the mysterious spell that hedged round his dwelling. Mr. Prescott died, suddenly, at a wayside inn, while on a short journey; and, in curious confirmation of the received theory that death was, in no shape, to enter that charmed precinct, he was never again permitted to cross the threshold of his home. For, on the arrival of page: 214-215[View Page 214-215]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 214-215 ;51 : SHLOH. his remains, it was found that their natural course of decay had been so hastened by the extreme heat of the weatheri as to make it'inexpedient to admit them within the dwel- ling. They rested, therefore, in the broad, cool shadow of the maples in the dooryard; while knots of friends gathered near, and prayers were said, and hymns sung, and all the --iombre routine and paraphernalia of woe went on around them according to their dismal won;' and then, they went forth to seek admittance into that narrow, but hospitable house, which opens its doors to all comers alike, and refuses not its kindly shelter to any amount nor degree of material or moral pollution. In due course of time, the increasing years and cor- responding infirmities of Mrs. Divine, and the troubles that befell Mrs. Prescott in managing her farm, brought about the removal of the latter to the old homestead, and the con- solidation of the two households. It was then duly whis- pered around that either Alice or her mother had been selected for the Destroyer's next stroke, and that it had become inevitably necessary for the unconscious victim to seek out an available spot wherein to die,-the Gwynne Place, as everybody knew, being absolutely ineligible to such an undertaking;-a prediction which, I scarcely need say, still awaits fulfilment. Its terrors are now, however, transferred to William Dunn,-whose future career will be honored with an amount of interest, on this account, that would scarcely have been accorded to it, upon its own nerits. If any casualty happens to himself; or if measles, carlet fever, or any of the ills vhich childhood is heir to, aakes a break in the line of his progeny, during the next w years ;--that will be accounted the occult cause for the xpulsion, of which Mrs. Prescott, in her zeal to provide er clergyman with a suitable abode, is only the blind, responsible agent. All this-or as much of it as could be told without jarl ag upon Mrs. Prescott's sensibilities-we made known to *^y-^^^'s,-' ' SHLOH. '10 Mr. Taylor, while our little party of five traversed the "short cut across lots" between the Divine homestead and the Gwynne Place. Mr. Taylor had stayed to dinneri which accounts for his presence with us; and I had made sure of Ruth by going after her. At first, she had been silent and ill-at-ease; sending shy, surreptitious -glances around her, in the evident expectation and dread " of surprising a look of pity, of contempt, or of dislike, up- on some unguarded face; but, of course, finding none, and constantly growing brighter and more courageous thereby. And Alice, as might be expected, had been quick to under- stand and to second my efforts to mpake her feel that we were glad to have her with us; without treating it as if it were an unusual occurrence, calling for either question or comment. So she had gradually drifted to her natural place among us; and her spirits, having flung aside their dreary, habitual weight, were fast rising to the sunny level of the scene and the time,-into harmony with the shining verdure, the singing brook, the merry chirp of insects, the rich warm glow of the early-afternoon sun. For her sake I made an unwonted effort to be gay. I seized eagerly, therefore, upon every chance for merriment afforded by the peculiarities of the house which Mr. Taylor was so soon to occupy. I ran rapidly over a list of divers charms and counter-charms in repute among different na- tions, from the horse-shoe of the Saxon to the monda of the African; discussed, in a' serio-comic manner, their effi- cacy arid adaptation to the case in hand; and deplored the impossibility of procuring a fetich of gorilla's brain, or the tail of a leopard, to imbue Mr. Taylor's heart with courage proportioned to his probable or possible needs! I rattled on lightly enough, no doubt, considering the many points where the subject touched unavoidably upon serious things; but my one object was to bring out the fitful smiles upon Ruth's face; and .whenever her gleeful, bird- like laugh rang out over the meadow (it is astonishing how page: 216-217[View Page 216-217]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 216-217 216 SIILOH. joyous her laugh is, when her voice seems to be possessed with the very spirit of melancholy!), I congratulated my- self upon so much gained, and cast about for some fresh absurdity to utter. In due time I found my reward. Ruth began to answer, as well as to listen and laugh; and her gayety, when it came, was far more genuine and spontaneous than mine. Mr. Taylor listened to us, for awhile, with a very amused face. Then it grew so burdened with thought that Mrs. Prescott, concluding that he stood in need of en- couragement, came to the rescue. "It's all nonsense," she began, in her quick, decided way. "I can assure you, Mr. Taylor, that the house is as good a house, and as quiet a house, as there is in Shiloh. I lived there four years, and I never heard a sound that I couldn't find a good reason for; nor saw anything more ghostlike in the orchard than a white cow, or calf, or some- thing of that sort. And as for the ' spell' that Miss Frost makes so much of, I don't believe a bit more in that! If you live there long enough, you'll die there, I guess. I only wish you might, you and all your family!" The letter of this wish, in spite of its unmistakable friendliness of spirit, provoked so general a smile, that Mrs. Prescott felt herself called upon to add an explanatory re- mark or two,-which, however, did not greatly mend the matter. "You all know what I mean, well enough. St. Jude's hasn't had a rector for over a year or two, at a time, since 'twas built; and I'd like to have one stay long enough to die here once, that's all." "Thank you," said Mr. Taylor, bowing half-courteously, half-humorously. "I only-hope Shiloh and I may suit each other well enough to make such a length of sojourn desir- able. But I ought to assure you, Mrs. Prescott, that the evil reputation of the premises has no terrors for me. And as for the 'spell,' Miss Frost, I have no desire to break it ;-however, that must be as the Lord wills. But I must confess that my thoughts wandered a. little during o careful 9resume of available counter-charms; and I real l. forget which or how many you recommended for my adop tion. I was thinking how universal is this belief in ghosts, spells, signs, etc. ' Even the worst sceptics in religious mat- ters often partake of it. And I was puzzling myself with the question, whence it springs. In most cases, I imagine it is the result of an unconscious craving after some power behind nature, and superior to her inalterable laws, which may be disposed to take an occasional interest in human affairs. There are times when natulral laws seem so hard, s chill, so unsympathizing,-as all law must, without love behindit,-we are glad to escape from their hands into any others which are capable of voluntary action. In short, I suppose it is the ignorant, unrenewed soul's spontaneous reaching out after God. If men only knew it to be such, how much better it would be for them! "And I have been thinking," replied I, "that these same superstitions have their value as an involuntary con- cession to the spiritual part of man. Men do under- stand-and all the materialistic philosophy that was ever taught, cannot persuade them to the contrary--that there is both within and without them, somewhat,-a power, an essence, or an influence,-which, while it works harmoni- ously enough with and through the laws of matter, is not. obedient to them, but immeasurably above and beyond them. Superstitions do not come of the earthly, sordid part of man; they have little or nothing to do with the faculties that are employed in adding barn to barn, and field to field; they belong, however mistaken or degraded, to his spiritual nature, and are born of his spiritual needs; and therefore I am inclined to concede them some slight claim to respectful consideration." "And I think," said Mrs. Prescott, sharply, "that they are a great deal too foolish to waste so imany words about. 10 r page: 218-219[View Page 218-219]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 218-219 SHLOH. But here we are; and now work, and not talk, is to be the order of the day. At least for those who can't do both at once. And I always find that when my tongue is still, my hands move the fastest." The Gwynne Place had certainly nothing in its exte- rior to warrant its occupying so much space in our talk, or in this letter. It was simply a gray, reverend farm- house; with a long row of maples in front, and a large, dense orchard in the rear. Time and weather had left legi- ble enough traces upon it, and it had the forlorn look of emptiness about it; but otherwise, it was a house as little suggestive of ghostly tenants as could well be conceived of. We found its interior in a perplexing state of topsy- turvity; but Mrs. Prescott set to work, with her usual energy and directness of purpose, and soon cleared a space for action. Then she produced, from some quarter, a kettle of paste, several rolls of wall-paper, scissors, and brush; and set about measuring, cutting, trimming, pasting, and hang- ing, as if she had been born to the business. Ruth, too, threw herself into the work with a cheerful alacrity and heartiness that it was good to see. Having first helped Mr. Taylor to clear the parlor, she found the carpet thereto appropriated, satisfied herself that it required no other fitting than a little turning in on one side, rum- maged about for a hammer and tacks, and went down upon her knees and commenced operations at once. The quick, sharp sound of her hammer echoed through the house; and, it was followed by a cheery little carol from her lips, that seemed to bubble up from the very well- spring of joyfulness. I could not help stopping to watch her a moment, she looked so bright and happy; and she did her work so easily and so well, with a simple, uncon- scious grace that gave it the easy charm of play. "Ghosts would not endure the spectacle for a moment," I was saying to myself, when I was startled by a deep, unexpected voice behind me;- "Well! if I ain't dumbpounded!" XXI. -SETTING TO RIGHTS, WITHOUT AND W'iT iN. a OOKING round, I saw Aunt Vin's calico sun- bonnet jerking spasmodically in the doorway; while the wearer thereof was taking in the whole scene, with an amazed glance. "Is that Ruth Winnot?" she proceeded, after a moment, "or is it a pectoral allusion?" " How do you do?" said I, holding out my hand. "Speak for yourself, Ruth, and tell Miss Rust whether you are a spectral illusion, or not." "My very own self, Aunt Vin!" declared Ruth, merrily, holding her hammer suspended over a nail, while she spoke, and then bringing it down sharply by way of point to her sentence. "If you doubt it, pinch me, and see if I don't cry out like real flesh and blood!" That would be concussive evidence," returned Aunt. Vin, drily. "But, bless me! Miss Frost! what sort of hokers-pokers have you been a-trying on the girl? I shouldn't have known her, if I'd have met her anywhere's out of Shiloh. She used to look' like Patience on emolu- ment, sp'iling with grief;' now she's a good dealmore like a 'butterfly, born in a bowery.' She'll be the sinecure of all eyes, this afternoon, I guess." Ruth's face fell. That was exactly what she dreaded most. I hastened to give a different color to her thoughts. "Do not be turning Ruth's head with your compli- page: 220-221[View Page 220-221]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 220-221 220 SHLOH. ments, Miss Rust! If she is pretty enough to attract everybody's gaze, it is not necessary to tell her of it; I cannot afford to have her spoiled with vanity, yet." Aunt Vin stared hard for a moment; then, her grim features slowly relaxed into a smile, and her head jerked a kind of austere admiration. "You ought to have been a dippermat or a fileofficer! You're deep enough to beat Talleyrant and Michael Velli at their own game!" Then she turned to Ruth. "Well, anyhow, I'm just as glad to see you here, as if I had sore eyes, and you was some sort of patent delirium. And the sight of your industry is real respiring! It reminds me that it's high time I was set about something, myself. I'm always restful and uneasy when I ain't to work at something. Who is the queen-bee pro temporal of this hive, Biss Frost?" I could not answer. Aunt Vin's opening sentences had sent me in haste to the window, to laugh my irrepressible laugh unseen.--- Ruth saw my condition, and came to the rescue. "I can't say who the queen-bee is, Aunt Vin; but you will find Mr.- Taylor and Mrs. Prescott in the other room, if you want directions. Or you can set yourself to work, as I did. One can't go much amiss, in this house; there is work enough for all that come, and more too, I fancy." "Oh, you'll have an enforcement soon," replied Aunt Vin, encouragingly. "Essie Volger's on-a-root now, I guess; I saw her horse at the gate, as I came along. And there's two or three-unmentionables, we'll call 'em,-who're sure to come; just to see that your carpet goes down concisely straight, Ruth; and to take a look at Mr. Taylor's goods and chatters, and make sure that he hasn't got any more carpets and curtains and pots and kettles, and other perso- nal defects, than the law allows," she added, dryly, as her vibratory sun-bonnet disappeared from the doorway. SHLOtt. Ruth and I looked at each other, and gave way to the irresistible contagion of repressed mirth. She was the first to recover herself. to Aunt Vin is a great deal too goo to be laughed at se observedwipin g her eyes my conscience rebukees mhe every time I do it. But she does say such absurd things iwhat is one to do? the laugh, ana h Only to take care that she doe not -elb yI :' t Vins character from the feel hurt by it, respect A nt Ss, her y bottom of my'eart, uth--her active kindness, which otherseady Sympathy, her voluntary assumption of tasks which others shun, are worthy of all honor.--but her vocabulary is fairly a subject for mirth, I think; ifthe lugh is un- mingled with,ny disrespect toward herself. ut Imust not linger here any longer, laughing at that, nor enjoying not linger here brgh atiit it is t im the pretty spectacle of your bi ht activity it i time Ido. followed hergood example, and foundc something to do." Nfollowed her go m me" exclaimed Ruth, in affright. "Sot away from Pe xcaie are co1ining "If you desert me now, when all those people are coming, I'1 never put faith in you again . The dificulty wasby the appearance of r T aylor, with a pile of muslin curtains in his arms. Tayor, with a pile of mudms lt n Frost, said "I am ashamed to bring yoU these, Miss Frost saidP he, surveyg them dubiously, "but such are Mrs. Pres ,ott's rders. To be sure, they are all the parlor curtans cottls orders. To be, -S thte I astash seen to 'ke to have,--but that a s t eo- we have, or are h have established their claims t go on the retire tunately, life is possible without parlor urta'ms. lelieve my mind by saying that you will have nothing to do with 1 'NO) n Mr. Talor, YO Andbur den my consie nce onor Tayloryou have brought me a job after my own heart, and I cannot resignitsoeasily. I hv genius for darning and patch- ^ y: havey -a o fal look ing, as you will allow when your curtains are made to look 'maist as weel as new' for poorman's "I4oA sure destined for a poor 1^1 " ue il ta O page: 222-223[View Page 222-223]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 222-223 229 SHLOH. wife," said a cheery voice at my elbow. "Leave the cur- tains, Mr. Taylor, and I will help Miss-Frost to rejuvenate them; that is, if she will accept of my coadjutorship." "Thank you, I could not wish for a better. How do you do, Miss Volger?" "If I were sure you would give it the right, interpreta- tion, I should say 'None the better for seeing you '-at my house, I mean. In other words, much the worse for not seeing you. Is that poor, little call of mine never to be returned? I shall heap coals of fire on your head by mak- ing you another." "I devoutly wish you would! It would be a refreshing oasis of real kindness in the dreary desert of visiting eti- quette. But I am coming tO pay my debt-no, to see you -very soon. Do you know my friend here,-Miss Winnot?" Ruth looked up shyly fromn her work, and flushed crim- son; but there was something very reassuring in the frank cordiality of Miss Essie's smile, and the easy grace with which she stooped to shake hands. The cheery glow of the smile was quickly reflected on Ruth's face; and the flush went almost as fast as it came. "Yes, I know Miss Winnot-by sight," said Miss Es- sie, "but not nearly so well as I wish- I did. I see her, at church, perched ' up aloft,' like the cherub that takes care of poor Jack; and singing like one, too;-and I had a vague impression that, when she got through, she spread her wings, and flew up into the seventh heaven, or some place equally out of the reach of ordinary mortals. And to find her here-of all things in the world!-nailing down carpets! But it is a gratification to have such satisfactory evidence that she is at home in the sphere of humanity, and does not live above the toils and interests of common life. And I consider it a highly providential circumstance that we meet here to-day, for I want to consult her about a project I have in view." wo S, tIaLOS e and waitea, wit0 a, nuhdopped, her hammlrer7 ,Ei -Ruth &opar hrl]., st come nx Iv yet pleased, expresston for what was to ctie le;r a dently, she -was amazed to fiaa herself drifting thus swiftly nd cuietly into the strong Currenetve self to an ql . ;,ion -wherein She had beieve& h erselft pleasant Pta*r-tT ' shallow of fieform- be distineatly mrked out by the balefu I y aloof Yet ity, nan fi. om which she had held so -esistently aloof. e ano Sone ad f hppero than her place among the w ork- e nal the interestshof the oatsiee world opene& to her, as if bymg, an&a her. tenrure tee meg ao unted a fixed fact! -ticy goes o showoun iversal are the ramifications of I.^^'-"^."^^s human interests;t shcomny and kindly the twining ten- drils of affection. lo one need to be a recuse, except by onfaul If e nx himself o statly veoed and nodeo?" he nd, b erenge of chritieale, it isnearly ignored, in the gene'lt ome incapacitating defet in his I' g:+ e ttle restart of some certain toray, bes; some hi there;;ffabilitY of manner, or cervera .. . 1,0 c h illin mh ..J. ., ha onsympathies, "*:.2,ss of feeling. But ' heavy, inert unrespo,*'ilvene " rst" none of these. Like the aLng with whom Jacob wrestled of d, she was resdy, when once faly overcome, you with ay euired amunt of actionateregad , You do wonders with that accordeon of yourS," Miss me-'s?; seeing that she was lEssie went on, after a moment' pause to getnO other answer than the maiting,listening howk in ut it is a mystery to me how yo U get so much Rutiis eyes; as Much ' sU1 L dut UPh ocoto musicou tofit. If there is s ruc h shut up instrument of the sort, what B life-long imprisonment 1! undergoes! ButI wntedto ask you if it would gare ve ,. you very much to have YOur' a melodeon a ..... d 'leasur( 'elodeon llittle start* Ruth's face bedroe withe I gaye a a4 It wouldl not g' le ' aceordleon! be delighted. I have only used Mj ac tt oocsinae ,bee'itv .alittle--a very little--bet be oaina I because it -wal m) as we had so few vmeC so m etimthere is you a , : 'solnetime$7 You mw page: 224-225[View Page 224-225]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 224-225 224 - SHLOH. and me. But is there really a prospect of our having a melodeon? And who is to play it?" Miss ESSIE. There is just that-a prospect. I know where a second-hand melodeon-in perfect order, and really, as good as new-can be bought for fifty dollars. Mrs. Danforth promises to give ten, I will give as much more, and I mean to try my luck at begging, for the balance. Such an onslaught as I shall make on the double-barricaded pockets of our Shiloh farmers, next week! MALA. There goes your cherished plan into fragments! Miss Essie will get the melodeon, and play it; and you will have neither lot, nor part, nor-worst of all!--credit, in the matter. Mss ESSIE (with evident effort). And I have taken a vow that nobody shall escape me. Every man, woman, and child, that I meet is to be button-holed, and discoursed to upon the blessedness of giving. "Small sums thankfully received; large ones "-with incredulity! Have you either a large, or a small one, to give me, Miss Frost? MALA. It is too much to be asked to assist in your own discomfiture! Since she has taken the work out of your hands, let her get through with it as best she can. I (coldly). I don't know. I will think about it, Miss Volger. Essie looked disappointed and chilled, and bent over her work, interweaving her needle in and out among the threads of a darn, with great precision and persistency. Ruth drove a nail or two, plainly with a divided mind, and then broke out afresh. "I do hope we may get that melodeon! it would add so much to our services! But who will play it, Miss Volger?" "I had thought of asking Miss Frost to do us that favor, while she stays in Shiloh," replied Essie, in a formal, spiritless way; "I have heard that her playing is something 'wonderful." 225 (pricking t her ears) . Ah! you are not to be VJALX (pricking up her eor8), call ffora-to do i gnored entirely, it appears I Perhaps y ou something f or them) a fter all . BsomeA ith extrem e se v erity) . It is your glory, then , --not God's--which is in question I i ( reproachflly). You know I took so mu ch pleasure in the prospect of making Iim an offering of the melodeon p! an that I reserved U ncle John's cheek for that express p urp ose BOtX. A n offering to Him! it looks more like an offer- ut, in many cases, you know you could o it so much better than any one else! Bo ONA. That you can never know. God, s urely, un- derstands 'the adaptations of His instruments to the end tHe has in view; and His strength can be made perfect in their weakness. Can you ever be sure that you have been their Spkne s. ^ "^ ^ end and Hi, are the taken into His counsels, and that yo same? I (gloomily). What, then, am I to do, in this matter? S Bos. Say,rather," Lord,whatwiltThou have me to do?" Contributein your proportion, to the purchase of do ?"Contribnte, i ' know your cheek forny the melodeon; and save the balance of you check forny future needs,to which the parish may not so readily respond. MxALx. It looks so much more generous tO give fifty dollars in a lump, than to dole it out, little by ittle 1 BONA. Looks so to whom?--God? IMala was, plainly, disconcerted. IBoN. Moreover, let Miss Essie play the melodeon , i she can do it tolerably, as no doubt she can. It he rightful place, if she cares for it, not yours. Christiar courtesy and humility alike demand that you, an outsider should not thrust yourself, or allow yourself to be thrust 10 - 1.Syrte od page: 226-227[View Page 226-227]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 226-227 226 SHLOH. into any position which can be filled as well, and more legitimately, by another. There is always enough of quiet, unostentatious, yet most true and laudable, service, to be done for God, which no one will dispute with, you. Save your strength for the point where it is most needed. Strive to be, in the Church, what gravitation is, in nature,-itself unseen, but keeping all things, whether small or great, active or motionless, in their appropriate places and doing their appointed work. I sat, gloomily unresponsive, staring out of the window. BONA (gathering her forces for a final assault). Perhaps the Christian grace, of all others the hardest to attain, is humility. To stand aside, when we have fought the battle well-nigh to the end, and let another bear off the spoils and the honors of victory; to sow prayerfully, and water patiently, and cheerfully resign the increase to an after- comer ;-these are the things which show the stuff we are made of! We can conceive--most reverently be it spoken! --that the Son of God Himself, if He had been required to give up His great work of redemption -to an archangel; after He had meditated over it, and prepared for it, and "desired it with desire," from the silent reaches of eternity; would have felt a momentary unwillingness to resign,-not the praise, not the gratitude, not the glory,-but the tender joy of self-sacrifice, the deep-down, bitter-sweet delight of vicarious suffering, the thrilling ecstasy of success. But He would have conquered it, you know! There was a brief struggle. Then I brought my eyes and my thoughts back to the work in hand. As soon as I could command my voice, I said, as cordially as possible,- "I have been thinking over that matter of the melodeon, Miss Essie; and when you have made your threatened as- sault on those pockets, will you do me the favor to let me know the amount of the deficiency?" "Oh! certainly,-thank you!" she exclaimed, recover- ing her wonted ease and animation of manner, at once. But further conversation was stopped by a fresh arrival. XXII. DISCO1DS. Eo a E crs. w Buchan and uMrs. i oM She nar -thth e one keen, brisk, alert, vig- i orous; the other slow, bland, smiling, and vapid. The former wal ked straight into the i room, her sharp black eyes talking instant note of all that it contained; the latter sank down 1 on a box just outsiclde the door, compained of thi heat, and fanned herself with her suln-bon- net, while her light blue eyes wan ere sloly and half- ab ently from one object to another uth Win crisp as a gnst of inter-wind, th sulty an turbid as the breath of a morning in dog-days;--but neithe maie any remark. Fow which. ;exP ,. o to deal with so orimaAr of indifference, or u nc - -O grateful unusual a fact or whatever it might b e, Iwas so gratefuletg to them that I gIve both an unwontedly cordial greeting. hich emoldened trs, Burcham (though it may be ques rionedl if sle stood in need of sueh encouroagement, ani would not have done the same thing withoutit)tocor ^and bend over m% inspecting my work. It is singular how spontaneous intae t lety of some persons to a ouse antagonism, provoe di cussion, and elicit eleetrieM sparks of ill-humor, where, f rS^ ^^^^^ page: 228-229[View Page 228-229]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 228-229 they present themselves. The acrid quality of their own moral atmosphere diffuses itself insensibly around them, and is returned upon them again and again; as the air of a confined room continually comes back to be se-inhaled and still farther corrupted, by lungs that have already viti- atel its healthful, vitalizing properties. It is probable enough that these unfortunates never quite understand the nature or the cause of their infelicity, nor by what natural and inalterable laws their own uncomfortable moods are con- tinually reflected back upon them, but go through life ascrib- ing the opposition they excite and the ill-temper they evoke to causes entirely outside themselves. Either they believe that the world is, everywhere and always, the unlovely, bitter, hostile, and provoking thing they find it; or they fancy that it cherishes some unaccountable spite and ran- cor toward them, and grow ever sourer and more acrimon- ious thereby. Mrs. Burcham belongs to this cl4ss. She not only has the gift of making herself disagreeable- in a marked, andl peculiar degree; but the added power of detecting and bringing forth, as by the touch of a loadclstone, all the la- tent disagreeableness of others. She and Mrs. Prescott rDrely meet without a shower of sparks, as when steel strikes dflint; Essie Volger often comes in collision with her in a way that evolves more clash than harmony; and more than! once in Sewing Society matters, I have avoided irritat- ing friction onlyby declining to enter into any discus- sions. So- innate, and apparently involuntary, is her propensity 'to oppose, to battle, to condemn, that I have been driven to account for it by the supposition that her ancestors must have sprung, somehow, from that hot-headed race of warriors which cropped up out of the ground wherein Cadmus had sown the dragon's teeth; and that the hered- itary instincts have not been greatly weakened by a long interfusion of years and alien blood. ' Mercy on us!" she exclaimed, lifting the worn and torn portion of the curtain upon which I was at work, "what in the world are you doing with those ragged things?" "Mending them, Mrs. Burcham "red and She turned to the part which had been restored, and examined it minutely. "Wnelld it's at wonderful specimen of mending, there s no gainsaying that,' she said, at length,--but rather as if she grudged the admission. "Still, I must say, I think it's a frightful waste of time." ' I cannot quite agree with you," replied I; "I do not re- gard anything, in reason, as a waste of time, which adds to the comfort or the tasteful appearance of a homeo The sense of sight calls for some gratification, as well as the other senses." ESSIE QqLGEO (taking ,up the subject oith animation). If Miss Frost lhad embroidered a pin-cushion'or a tidy, to give to Mrs. Taylor, you wouldn't have calledlit a Waste of time. Yet it would have cost more work, and not have been doing her half so real a service. nims. BuGcHuA Umph! I've neither tidies nor mus- lin curtains-in 1y parlor. My curtains are of green paper; it didn't cost much to get them, and it won't cost much to replace them when they're worn out. And what is good enough for me, is good enough for my minister's wife, I guess. It is impossible to do justice to the tone in which Mrs. Burcham' said "my minister." It seemed to imply that Ir. Taylor belonged'to her absolutely,-body, S0Ul, family, and possessions. I am in doubt to this day whether Bona or Mala had most to do with my rejoinder; certainly it sprang from no inconsiderable depth of feeling of some sort. "'The rule admits of a much 'wider application than that, Mrsl. Burcham. In a certain abstract sense, what is good enough for the beggar at your door is good enough rood enough .... ...-' page: 230-231[View Page 230-231]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 230-231 230 SHLOH. for you; and what is good enough for you is good enough for the king; and what is agreeable to one portion of man- kind ought to be agreeable to the rest. Therefore, since the Esquimaux delight in raw meat and train-oil, let us order them for dinner to-morrow,?' ESSIE. And a seal-skin suit to eat them in! MRs. BURCHAM (seeing a loophole of escape, and making for it). You forget the difference in climate, Miss Frost! I (quietly closing the aperture in her face). 'You forgot the difference in taste, habit, education, Mrs. Burcham! ESSIE (hurrying to make the fastening secure). Be-, cause Mrs. Taylor has been accustomed all her life to do without cows, sheep, poultry, a dairy flowing with milk and butter,--a cheese-room lined with cheeses,-a cellar stored with apples, cider, vegetables, pork,-presses burst- ing with blankets, quilts, comfortables, linen, and whatever goes to make up the completest idea of farm-house plenty, -you would think it unjust and unreasonable that you should be required to dispossess yourself of all these things. Because Polly Sykes has no curtains at all to her windows,-neither paper, muslin, nor anything else (ex- cept she makes an old newspaper do duty, now and then), --is that a good reason why you should give 'up yours? So, if Mrs. Taylor has been accustomed to think her par- lor incomplete without snowy muslin curtains, tastefully looped back from the windows, and books on the table, and pictures on the wall; and she has been able to get them, or has had friends kind enough to 'give them to her; do not grudge her the pleasure of having them, nor Miss Frost's time in mending them. I (giving a last turn to the lock). Or, if you really think it should be " share and share alike," send her half your cows, hens, butter, cheese, etc., etc., and take half of her curtains in return. ESSIE (flinging a gibe through the keyhole). Mending thrown in! 231 stoLOn. M^s. BuIcnaxr(her black eyes flashing oing sD I don't object to Mr. Taylor's having embroidere mudin curtains if she wants them, and can afforn it; I can't. u "And if she don't min their looking like the last gasp of would-be gentility, before it gives up the ghost! But I omnou do d-bo to ee time wasted. Anc I did think yours own I do hate to o valuable to be flung away a W Mt Frst oght to be too ^ 9a miss Frost'stogu p- .,eees in another o - oa wr-out things, that must go t, t on old won o But 'YOU ought to know best about wash or two, anyoyo that. If it isn't,--all right. ssIat (rsinigFlY). To be sure, it woulc be better to buy new ones,---they might last longer,-anc I think we might accomplish it, if you wonlc be so gooc as to head toe subscription, and take it round. t Hes. Bvxcux (rercealong zoith anger). Thank ]you, Ibss olger,---but I believe I can spend my time better Aliss Volger-but or his" wfei to strv fe than in encouragig my minister, or hswife , to strive after ^th pomps and vanities of the world; thing he's bou to preach ag inst, if he does his duty. Essxc (in a pparen t soliloquy, holding u"P a very dilap- iated 'ccrtacin, and gravely surveying, it) lm--"porps and vanities!"IDecildedly more vanity than pomp, I anshouldsay! Light as a feather, and thin as a spider's -say!w Lih a8 ^ S ron iim Plenty web! Several holes-and a border'arunthem! Plenty of openwork---an next to nothing to hold it together! Vof opentwatio n next id for;protection dispensed , Ventilation ampl? ed tole cadelgtot with! Benevolently designe t let candle-light ouent-e and sunlight :in Well, yesanity enough--in the sense I spare! But as for- Aof nt 5x (bs8eve, fanr om the doorway, having caght -UTvim (severellj, fron the las t seteces i pass) Ese Volger! you must be inside yourself t o be aholding r. Taylor's things up to iayourself to, be arh^lyou! And as, for the ludicule,like that tm ashame of ou! Andgh, as foter theyre curtains, I'm sure they look well enough, ater the'e oeled, if they was a little decapitated , to begin with. m, Aunt Via!" screamer Essie, hysterially,': I never page: 232-233[View Page 232-233]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 232-233 232 8ItILOtr.' thought of ridiculing the curtains. I was merely tring t convince lIhs. Burchum that they do not come under the head of the pores of th , " i" returned Aunt -Vil, S I atically +7" mfhi ^ not,"m w -eems to me they'd go bett er n -ph ong the fortifications of the flesh. Though, to be sure y o put in th ose patches and darns so nicely that they aint even risible fom here. But when I do get nigh enough to extinguish 'er, they go to my heart. They show so plainly how ministers have to save and pinch to get ln a nd keep i a decentes appaio tion befoe, folks'-for . d appari-dctt tion before folks,---forit won't do for ministers 'to go shab- by, they nor their houses,--theyve got to look respectable outside, though they've got nothing inside but the heads of their next concourse and an appetite! And what toils and hardships they have to endure andno thanks to o body! Poor creturs!they have to do the most work for the least rumination of anybody I know of!" , -And Aunt Vin went back to her-wok, shaking her head m"ost lugubriously g her head Mrs. Burcham started to follow her, but stopped in the doorway to say, petulantly, lot1 sick of hearnnf "dI'm sick of hearing people talk about ministers toils a!As if they weren't 'well paid for it " Now this has been a sore point with me, Frncesca, ,vr since Ifound CouSmn 'inT In-^ a ever since! found Cousin Will in that miserable little fos- silized parish of Redburn, i, a commnity:.of well-to-do farmers, going without eggs, il', or butter, for weeks to-o gether, to say nothing of things even more necessary;--in short, patiently solving the problem how little could keep body and soul together; and in ie Ioun *deringthat long-sufrering * "TImminent danger of sun8 dering that long-suffering pair, some frosty morning, by a very slight miscalculation. I suddenly flashed out, there- fore :-- Do yo u reallythin k the y are well paid for it, Mrs. reoU send for a clergyman, at dead of night, to baptize your sick child, do you pay him for it? SHLOHT. . 233 When. you desire him to come five miles into the country to preach a sermon over it, and three miles in another di- rection to see it decently buried,--obliging him to hire a horse and carriage for the transit,-do you pay him for it? When he visits you in your desolation, and teaches you how to assume the garments of praise for the spirit of heaviness, do you pay him for it? When he leads you, step by step, down into the valley of the shadow of death, -never letting go your hand until he has put it into the strong, tender one of Christ,-do you pay him for it? And while, year after year, he watches for your soul, as one who must give account; battling with your indifference, bearing with your asperities, patient with your infirmities, gentle with your prejudices, sorrowing over your lapses into sin, carrying you daily before the throne of grace, and wrestling with God, as Jacob of old, for a- blessiig upon you and yours,- do you pay him for it? Or are all these things 'in the bond ' whereby Shiloh (Shylock were the better name, methinks!) agrees to receive him as her clergyman, and to pay something less than four hundred dollars for his services? Does that mean. service by day, service by night, service in sickness, service in health, service of head and heart, service of prayer and- teaching, service of care, of counsel, of warning, of forbearance, of consolation? Are all his kindly affections and quiet charities,-every timely admonition,-every sympathetic tear,--every pro-' duct of brain and hand,-reckoned as bought and paid for by that four' hundred dollars? Does nothing remain for friendliness, for generosity? For four hundred dollars, is he supposed to 'have become so poor, abject, slavish, that he has nothing left to give to another,-either of the warmth of his heart, the utterance of his lips, or the prayers of his soul? Are none of these his? are they 'all 'i' the bond?V' All sold to Shiloh for four hundred dollars! And an eix- cellent bargain! He is ' well paid!"' MEs. BUTCHxAM dooking somewhat aghast). Of Course I didn't mean all that, Miss Frost!" page: 234-235[View Page 234-235]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 234-235 SHtILOI. L Will you be good enough to tell me what you did mean, then? MRs. BuCHAmIn (stc meriezy). Wily-a-you know-a --that--a--we have a right to expect that our minister shall visit us in sickness, and attend our funerals, and all those things, because we all help to support him, you know. s i I. Help to support him! There it is! Every other laborer is supposed to support himself by his labor; a clergyman is said to be "supported by" lis parish. lHe never earns a fair salary, but his people "cgive him a com- fortable support!" Did it ever occur to ou to say that you helped to support your grocer, butcher, shoemaker, physician, lawyer, Mrs. Burcham? Did you ever base on that ground a claim to overweight in evey pound of sugar, gratuitous supplies of meat, several. pairs of shoes per year as a bonus for your patronage, night-visits never to be chargedl in the bill, and briefs and travelling not to be in- eluded inll the fees? Yet a clergyman has his regular work, for which he receives a stipulated payment, just as much as any of these,-writing of sermons on veek-days, officiat- ing in desk and pulpit on Sundays, care of Sunday School, baptism of infants, regular visitation of parish, and perhaps burials of his own congregation (which he has'a right 'to xpect will be so arranged -as to cause him no expense). If, n addition to these, out of the largeness of his heart and Mis zeal for his aster's service, he chooses to hold himself ,t the beck and call of every conscience-stricken soul, every ick woman, every dying man, every corpse, every mourner, very poverty-pinched household, within a radius of five tiles of his dwelling; though such claimant never entered iS church nor gave a sixpence toward his salary; let it e so accounted of as a favor, a deed of brotherly kindness, loving gift of a generous heart, to be gratefully received Id thankfully ackInowledged, and not as a service set awn in the bond, and duly paid for! Do not assume that, O i because he is paid for conducting public worship, he is also paid for kneeling at your bedside and commending your soul to God. In the first place, love, sympathy, private prayers, are not bought and sold in the market. In the second place, if they were, they would command a higher price. MRs. BuRCHAMa (having recovered herself). You speak very contemptuously of that four hundred dollars; I sup- pose it does seem small to any one with extravagant city notions. But it is more than half the families in Shiloh have to live upon.- Major Burchami and I haven't spent over three hundred, this last year, all told. M5ss ESSIE. Did you reckon all the milk, butter, eggs, potatoes, early vegetables, plrk, rye, etc., that you used, at *the marlket price? Mrs. BIruEcHAi (carelessly). Oh! we raise all those, things, you know! EssIE (with a fiery spark in her eye). But Mr. Taylor does not raise them, you know! He has his sermons to write, and he must hold himself in readiness to respond to your calls in sickness, trouble and death. rHe buys them, and you sell them to him at the highest market prices. You do not think them worth reckoning among your living expenses; they form a large item in his. If they really cost you nothing, why not let him have them at the same cheap rate? Come, I'll be one of fifteen or twenty to furnish Mr. Taylor with everything of ordinary farm-growth that he needs during the coming year. If we do not feel the loss of what we use ourselves, nor make any account of it, we shall not be ruined by an additional fifteenth or twentieth of his consumption. There was a dead silence. Then Mrs. Shemnar said, with her weak little laugh, "It's all very well for rich people like you, Essie Volger, to make such a proposal, but---" ESSIE (interrtpting her). That shall not stand in the page: 236-237[View Page 236-237]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 236-237 286 Po for a moment I will give two shares, or three in proportion to my means. or three Another silence. Essie waited for some moments, ile the fls loWty fdd C ,0 S hI e the flush slowly faded from her cheek; then she resumed her work, and her full, red lip too on its most scoreful Boea x (sojtly). Io you not see that allyour discu cuved "on in this spirit, iWorse than useless? ics o Vlr- he M. , an u eless h '/s. Bur ' char and I r. Semnap will re-member all your gibes and stings, and forget your reasoning. I (hoking 4wowi a irritati)ng remar/ t/tat was risnc to wmy li29s)' )Velli a truce to discussion! N doubt Mrs. Burebam, -will fln e harifindr lel'ebrr31'C own gracefill and effectual way of howing her regard for Tyl ; even though she does not join in our curtain-mendi nor thugh She doe tmn m pegarc -mending. no accept yr r tion in regard to the f - mn-prou. ss pposi- .e reaaizes, notes fI ll t-, - ' Essie. Probably She ro ess fu ely that his happiness a,(, that of his family depnd, from henceforth, very much upon the kindness, sympathy , and forbearance, of this people. She feels that whatever we do to make his abode a Ccouse Beautiful, will, like all kindly, unselfish work, react favor- ably upon ourselves, Any pafsh which does its best to Provide its clergyman with aPlasan t and convenient to toe; thereby freeing hina -rplal and co"venient home; them!re reing. him from petty annoyances and cares, and enabling him to give his mind more unrserv adly to his intellectual and moral work wil Surely find its edc-y count, not only in the hea rric more thoroug h an c moe helpful ministrations it recive, but in its own warmer interest and affection, and its more r 1Wil b etween -t and its rain'0-"grous life. And there 'wil e between it and its minise; a continually increasin interchange of kindly deeds, delic'te onsieratlon, gati- tude, sympathy, love V ery different from the parochial re- lation which exists where the clergyman is eperchitL te- constanty, anod neer be visited; always to sympathize, yet a sk for no sympathy; to pray for all, and be prayee for of none; to study the wVelfare of each individual in his F?^"^;.':5^??^=- SHLOH. 237 cure, while no one takes thought for him! I would not quarrel with the first-mentioned parish, if it did assert that it ' gave its clergyman a support;' since it would doubtless be equally ready to declare that its clergyman gave, in re- turn, his labor and his love-the best of his thought and life. And I feel sure that Mrs. Burcham will do what she can to make Shiloh such a parish. S/IRs. BURCHAM- (accepting the overture). Of course, I want Mr. Taylor to have everything convenient and com- fortable, and I'm willing to do anything in reason to make it so. But I shan't do much toward it, if I stand here talking all the afternoon. Mrs. Shemnar, you and I might as well take that bedroom in hand. I'll go and look up Mr. Taylor, and find out what's to go in it. In obedience to which beneficent inspiration, the two ladies walked off. Shortly after, Mrs. Seber, Mrs. Banser, and Miss Bryer arrived, and undertook to reduce the kitchen to order. Another small party set about impart- ing a look of orderliness to the second floor. Aunt Vin had already installed herself in the pantry, and was scrub- bing, polishing, and arranging, con amore. The long summer afternoon wore on. Once I was called to the sitting-room by Mrs. Prescott, to give my voice in some question of arrangement; and as I halted in the kitchen on my return, I was pleased to hear Ruth Winnot babbling away like a meadow-brook to Essie V olger, while, now and then, her laugh gurgled merrily through both rooms. Coming nearer, and seeing her face uplifted and aglow, and her eyes dancing with merriment, I .could scarcely rid myself of the impression that the wan and mournful Ruth had somehow been spirited away, and this bright, merry, sparkling creature substituted in her place. I was even a little saddened by the sight; as if I had found a bird singing its song, and building its nest, in a flickering strip of winter sunshi e, -m istaking it for the dawn of an unending summer. page: 238-239[View Page 238-239]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 238-239 238 SHLOH. At six o'clock everything was complete; the old house prepared for the new life which was to be lived in it; which, nevertheless, would not be much unlike many other lives it had known (since it must be woven of the same human warp and woof); yet would be well worth living through, notwithstanding, with the peaceful light of piety shed over it, and immortal hope shining far on into the dusk. There is no resisting the natural gravitation of a farm- house toward the kitchen. It was there that we all assem- bled, by tacit concurrence, when the work was done; and it was there that I said: "It seems to me it would be well to sing the Gloria in Excelsis now, by way of pleasant finale to our after- noon. We will baptize the old house in a stream of har- mony, making short work with ghosts and spells, and washing away whatever discordances of feeling, temper, opinion, or faith, may cling to the walls. Lead off, Ruth." Ruth lifted up her voice with fervor, Essie joined in spiritedly, I took the alto, Mr. Taylor supplied the needed background, of a bass, and other voices fell 'in or stayed out, according to inclination or ability. The glorious old song of praise rolled its rich tide through the-rooms, pene- trating to the darkest corners of -garret and cellar, and leaving everywhere, I hoped, some helpful, healing, reviv- ing influence. Then, the party scattered. Before Miss Essie took her leave, she invited Alice and myself to tea with her the next afternoon; and managed to include Ruth in the invi- tation, with so much tact and cordiality, that the would-be . recluse promised to go before she knew it, and was left in a state of infinite amazement because she had done so. When all had gone, save our own little party, Mrs. Prescott drew me aside into the pantry. Loaves of bread, piles of biscuit, a tempting variety of cakes, balls of but- SHLO. 239 SI{ILOHH. ter, triangles of cheese, brown-paper parcels, and baskets of fruit and vegetables, werelmarshalled upon its shelves; in sufficient force to ensure to 3 Irs. Taylor som e weeks of easy and inexpensive housekeeping. Mrs. Prescott pointe d them out , and named their donors, with a mix- ture of feelings. Dlrs . Da nforth had covered herself with glory. i ' She said d she'd never heard of such a thing in her life, " said my sguide, "but as soo n as she found out hat I wanted she was ready to send everything she had in the house. " To one small card' of gingerbread, however, with a kind of Uriah EIeep air about it, she gave a withering glance. "I would just like to chuck that out of windoW, she said, spitefully. "Would you believe it that's all Mrs. Burchnam brought, and she as well off as anybody in the parish, if not better! The truth is, some give liberally and some don't give at all; and all share the credit. Mr Taylor sees his pantry wellfilled, and thinks everybody has had a hand in it, and- believes he's in clover Buthe won't live here long without finding out who his friends are,--that's one comfort!" A comfort that has its reverse of disomfort? Mr. Taylor was to spend the night at the Divines; not todisturb the newly-created order of hisdwelling, before its mistress's arrival. Therefore, windows were shut and doors fastened; and finally, standing on the broad, irregularly-shape doorstep, he tulrned the key on the si- "How strange," said Alice, softly, "to have a home full of promise, and not one memory!" Ind page: 240-241[View Page 240-241]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 240-241 XXIII. "EO? HAT the evening was not dull, after our busy 4, 9A b and fatiguing afternoon at the Gwynne ^^11^^t Place, was chiefly owing to Leo. The a two suppers incident to summer farm life-an early one for the women and guests, and an- !^ '^ other for the "'menfolks" returning at dusk from their labor-being over; Mr. Taylor was formally presented to that black incarnation of canine majesty, as I had been, on the night of my arrival in Shiloh, "May be you'll think it's almost an impertinence, now; but you won't when you see what comes of it, one of these days," said Mr. Divine, with a good-natured twinkle in his eye. "Leo's friendship's worth more than that of a good many humans in your congregation, Mr. Taylor." "Indeed! That may be saying a good deal for the dog, Mr. Divine; but it is not saying much for the ( humans.' "- "Isn't it?" returned the farmer, with his low, mellow laugh. "When you come to know Leo better, may be you'll change your mind. For my part, I know lots of folks that 'ud be a good deal better members of society, if they'd be only just half as careful to do their duty, as far as they know what 'tis, as Leo is to do his'n. If he hasn't got a soul, he's got a bigger and a cleaner conscience than most men. Why, I don't think he's shirked work or dis- obeyed an order five times since I've had him; and that's agoin' on seven year, now." SHLOH. 241 "Indeed!" said Mr. Taylor, beginning to look in- terested. "Not one sin per year against his conscience -that is a clean record! I wish mine -were as fair!"-' and the clergyman sighed. By and by, Mrs. Divine brought forth cakes, apples, and other convenient refreshments, for her guests; whereupon Philip, the younger of her sons, conceived the brilliant idea that Leo might be made to act as waiter. Accordingly, the basket of apples was put into the dog's mouth, and he was bidden to "pass it round." Two or three mistakes, at the outset,-such as depositing the basket and its contents in my lap; and then setting it on the floor and daintily prd- senting an apple to Alice with his teeth,-provoked much mirth; as well as the proud gravity with which he per- formed the task, when it became clear to him precisely - what was wanted:-while his quickness in catching the idea seemed truly wonderful to one not acquainted with his capacity for far better things. Mr. Taylor's. admiration, therefore, was extreme and enthusiastic. "The most intelligent animal I -ever saw!" exclaimed he. "I've seen trained dogs, of course,.and I know how they become so accomplished-by dint of a long course of whips and starvation. But a great, noble fellow like that, who understands what you say, and takes an idea almost as quick as it is presented to him,-I declare! it's enough' to make one believe in the transmigration of souls! What would you sell him for? I suppose he is worth a good deal of money." "Sell him!" repeated Mr. Divine, laughing quietly,- "Sell himt I'll tell you how near I came to selling him once, and what I was offered for him; and then, perhaps you'll tell me what you'd take for him, if he belonged to you. You see I've got a brother that lives down to Point, Long Island; and he wrote me last fall that there was a gentleman in his neighborhood who wanted to buy a right smart, knowing Newfoundland; and if I was willing to sell " . ^ . . . page: 242-243[View Page 242-243]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 242-243 SHLOH. Leo, he thought I could get at least fifty or sixty dollars for him, and perhaps more. Well, just about that time I happened to be pretty hard pushed for money;-I had a note coming due in a month, and nothing to meet it with. I'd got to sell something, and-in short, I made up my mind that I could spare Leo better'n anything else, though I hated awfully to part with him. So I and Leo went down to Point. When we got there, the gentleman-a Mr. Fife -had gone to York, to spend a day or two; and there was nothing to be done but wait till he come back. Well, the next day was fine,-the sun bright and warm, the water dancing and shining like quicksilver,-so brother took me out a sailing. Leo followed me into the boat, but there was five of us on board,-my brother and three of his children, besides myself,-and I thought he might be in the way; so I ordered him out, and told him to stay behind. He don't often disobey orders, as I told you; but the water down there seemed to set him most crazy,-he'd never seen any- thing bigger than our river before,-and he wanted to be in it all the time. So, after we'd got out a piece, lo and be- hold! there come Leo swimming alongside; and trying to look, the rogue! as if he thought 'that was what was meant; and if he wasn't wanted in the boat, there couldn't be the least objection to his going outside, as convoy ! I began to scold, and was about to send him straight back; but the boys pleaded hard for him, and brother said he guessed we might as well take him on board, seein' he wanted to go so bad; and I finally gave in, and Leo came over the side, as happy a dog'as ever you see. "Well, we sailed along,' as nice at you please, for an hour or so; and brother and I got to talkin' about old times, when we was boys together, and didn't take much notice of what was going on; when, all at once, we found that the sky was all clouded over behind us, and a storm trotting up in our rear faster than any race-horse. Of course, we put about right away, but that brought the wind dead ahead, and blowin' mighty strong; and 'twas slow work beating back towards the Point. Then, the storm broke on us,-whew! I never knew what wind was till then; it seemed as if 'twould blow us out of water. Brother took another reef in the sail, and we staggered along a bit; and then, just as we were going to come about on 'tother tack, there was a whiz and a bang and a crash, and our mast was snapped off, close to the deck, as clean as a whistle ! Mast and sail both overboard! Brother hur- ried to cut 'em all clear, for fear they'd swamp us; and then!--I shall never forget the look in his face as he turned round and gasped out, ' The oars! good heavens! we've forgot the oars!' "Well! there we was, drifting out to sea as swift as wind and water could carry us, and nothing to do but fold our hands and calc'late how fast they were adoin' it! Nothing in sight,-indeed, we couldn't see three boat- lengths through the storm; for the rain began to pour down in sheets, now,-though, to be sure, that brought down the wind a little. But 'twas getting so cold, I thought 'twouldn't take long for us all to freeze as hard as rocks, in our seats,--if we didn't go to the bottom first. And I began to think 'twas about time for me to be settling up my account with this world, when Leo-I sup- pose he saw the trouble in my face-crept up and began to lick my hand. Brother saw him, and his face brightened a little. How far can Leo swim ?' says he,-' I don't know,' says I, 'he's never been tried, that I know of.'--'If he could swim ashore, now,' says he, thoughtfully, 'there might be some chance for us:-but no, it's too far; he can't do it. I don't suppose he'd even try.'--' He'll do any- thing that I tell him to, if he thinks it's important,' says I; 'or he'll die atrying.' So brother wrote a line to his wife; and I rolled it up tight in my handkerchief, and tied it fast to Leo's collar. Then I took his head between my hands, and looked him right in the eye, and says I, 'Leo, A~~~~~g- page: 244-245[View Page 244-245]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 244-245 SHLOH. old fellow! if you can carry that letter ashore, to my sis- ter Nancy, may be you'll save your master's life; if you can't, good bye, for you've seen your last of him!' And I made him a sign to go overboard." Mr. Divine's voice faltered. Leo went to his side, and laid his huge head upon his arm, looking up at him with great, soft eyes, full of intelligent sympathy. Mrs. Divine took off her spectacles, and wiped them with great circumspection. "Father always breaks down when he gets to that part of the story, as many times as he has told it," said she, with a somewhat hysterical laugh. "And Leo knows the story just as well as he does, every word of it. Watch him now, and see if he don't." Mr. Divine proceeded. "Well, Leo looked me right in the eye, too, for a mo- ment; and if ever a dog's face said, 'Master, I'll save you, or I'll die,' Leo's face said it then. Actually, it seemed to me that there was tears in his eyes! And then, he sprang overboard, and was out of sight among the boiling waves, in a moment. "Well, when the storm came on, and we didn't come home, you won't need to be told that my brother's wife, Nancy, began to get scared. And she kept agoing to the door and looking out, to see if she couldn't hear or see something of us; and finally, as she opened the door for another look, Leo dragged himself across the threshold, all dripping, looked up in her face, gave a mournful sort of a howl and fell over on the floor at her feet, just like a log. Nancy thought that the boat had surely capsized, and we'd all been drowned; and Leo had just made out to swim ashore, but only to die of exhaustion. You can guess what a state of mind she was in, till one of the children said, 'Mamma, what's that on Leo's collar ?' So then she found brother's note. You may be sure she didn't waste much time ! She sent the children one way, and went an- other herself; and pretty soon all the neighbors were out SHILOH. 245 after us with boats and lanterns,-for the storm was now de- creasing fast. They found us, of course, or I shouldn't be here to tell the story! "When Nancy got back home, Leo was lying just where she left him, looking a good deal more dead than alive; but she found he still breathed faintly. So she and the children pulled him up to the fire, rubbed him and wrapped him in blankets, poured warm milk and brandy down his throat, and got him, so that when I came in, he could just raise himself up on his forelegs and lick my hand. But it was three or four days before he got that swim out of his bones. As nigh as we could calculate, he must have swum from eight to ten mile that night, in that heavy sea. And I've always thought that he never could have done it, if he'd nobody but himself to think of. But he couldn't fail his master. He couldn't make up his mind to stop and rest, or give up and go under, with his errand undone." Never was dog's face so eloquent as Leo's while this narrative was going on. It was almost human in its ex- pressiveness. Plainly, he comprehended every word, every detail. And when Mr. Divine paused, he reared his mag- nificent head and looked round upon us with the calm dig- nity of conscious worth. "Well!" continued Mr. Divine, "the story was all round, next day, of course; and Mr. Fife heard it, and came to see me. He offered me seventy-five, and a hun- dred, and a hundred-and-fifty dollars, for Leo ; and I can't say how high he'd have gone, if I hadn't cut him short by telling him that I'd about as lief sell him one of my chil- dren." "I should think so ! " burst out Mr. Taylor, very em- phatically, but with a little unsteadiness of voice. "So," concluded Mr. Divine, "I brought Leo home with me, and sold a couple of cows instead. Poor econ- omy, I s'pose; but when feeling gets into the accounts, it's page: 246-247[View Page 246-247]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 246-247 246, SHLOH. apt to play the mischief with the balance! Anyhow, I've never been sorry. Leo and I won't part, now, till one or t'other of us dies." There was a moment's silence. "Leo," yawned Phil, lazily, "just hand me another ap pile, will you?" And Leo, with a half-sigh, as if deprecating so sudden a descent from the heroic to the commonplace, brought him the basket. . XXIV. "FE'S QUIET FLOW. OU desire me to tell you something of my heart-life, Francesca. I knownot that I have .any, in your sense of the term. Ex- cept by that daily battle between Good and Evil-to which no anguish and no sorrow bring lasting truce; and of which, surely, I send you voluminous report-my heart gives little sign of life. I think it is slowly healing (or dying, I am doubtful which) down there, in the dusk and the quiet; but I resolutely refuse to make any investi- gation of the process. It is sore enough still, I suspect, to the touch. In one thing, I can discover a little improvement. My mind no longer insists upon a daily, hourly wandering thrfough the silent Forum of my Past, mournful with the ruins of vanished glory. The duties and cares of the Present continually start up by the way, and turn it back from that dreary, unprofitable journey. Between Sewing Society in- terests, and night watchings, and daily lessons with Ruth and Alice, etc., etc., it finds enough of travel and of inter- est withilts immediate sphere. The thousand little pre- sent plans and anxieties crowd in; and slowly, but surely, crowd out the heart-depressing tendency to dwell upon the recollection of past sorrow. It is the old story of Gulliver and the Liliputians, told over again ana enriched with a new meaning. Though the sorrow is a giant, and not to page: 248-249[View Page 248-249]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 248-249 248 SHLOH. be altogether expelled; yet its enemies are many, and by weaving myriads of minute chains about it, they are able to keep it down. Kind thanks to the busy little toilers! If they have not all been taken into the Divine counsels, they must in some way derive their power and efficacy from the Divine Beneficence. But what changes come over us, as we go on our life- journey! I remember when I thought it would be heaven to enjoy, all day, and never to work! Now I am of the opinion that a higher heaven would be to work all day, and never be tired! Yet the weariness deepens and sweet- ens the rest! There it is, Francesca! There seems to be nothing final in opinion or in feeling. No sooner do I come to a conclu- sion, you see, than some little after-thought steals in to modify it. No wonder brains that try to solve life's prob- lems unaided by those two potent affirmative signs, C God" and "Trust," .get bewildered and go fearfully astray. Without these, they can never get a final answer. What they take to be one, soon turns out to be the beginning of a new term. Since my last jotting-down, life has flowed very quietly with me. Some few of its ripples, however, deserve charac- terization. First, in order, if not in importance, the tea-drinking at Essie Volger's came off according to appointment. She lives in a large, white, maple-shadowed, open-hearted look- ing mansion; somewhat antiquated in point of style, but comparatively modern, in point of date; yet old enough to have made its place good in men's familiar knowledge and everyday interests.' It differs from the prevailing Shiloh pattern, chiefly, in having a portico in front and in lacking a lean-to behind. Its outward expression is one of dignified, yet not ungenial, comfort and amplitude; and the sight of the interior only deepens it. The furniture is older than the house,-Mr. Volger having deep-rooted prejudices in SHLOH. 249 favor of his old-time belongings, not to be easily eradicated, even by the potent influence of his only and idolized daugh- ter. He is a different type of farmer from Mr. Divine,-less genial in manner, more reserved in speech, of a ruggeder texture both without and within. The glance of his eye is keener, the grasp of his hand looser, than those of my large- hearted host. Doubtless, he is shrewder at a bargain, closer in calculation, more astute of policy. Certainly, his affairs thrive better. The Divine acres are diminishing in number, year by year; the Volger estate threatens to swallow an entire district. Mr. Volger's daughter, only, brings anything resembling an illumination to his face. She is the sunshine of his heart, as well as of his dwelling and farm. Witnessing the cheery, widely-diffused influence of her joyous and active tempera- ment, one is half persuaded that the corn grows and the grass greens by it. One moment, she is out in the ten- acre lot, picking corn; another, down by the brook, gather- ing wild iris; the next, out on the lake fishing; anon, bring- ing in wood from the woodpile; then, in the kitchen; con- cocting a favorite dish (too abstruse to' be entrusted to Hagar, the black cook); next, at the piano practising new music;, by and by, up on the haymow, hunting hen's nests; soon after, in the parlor, entertaining friends; and finally, saddling or harnessing her dumpy little Canadian pony- , and riding or driving off to Clay Corner, or " up street; " --nodding, as she goes, to every man, woman, child, negro, Irishman, and whatever other varieties of human nature are to be met with, on the road. Everybody knows her; everybody smiles at sight of her; everybody who has a trouble that seelks outlet, a difficulty that needs to be talked over, a joke that wants to be laughed at, a sorrow that craves sympathy, a message designed for anybody on her way (or. even a little out of it), stops her on the road, and presses her remorselessly into the service. She brings the mail; she goes for the doctor; she carries prescriptions *11 page: 250-251[View Page 250-251]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 250-251 250 SHLOH. to be filled; she delivers messages and parcels; she has an eye after stray cattle; and she gives every footsore travel- ler a lift; and every ragged, unwashed urchin, playing at marbles or mud pies, by the roadside, a ride. Her spirits are often so vivacious and wildly effervescent as to seem ut- terly careless of boundary-lines: yet in virtue of some in- herent sense of propriety, never step over them. She is not exactly lady-like, in the conventional sense of that much abused term; but she is something far more health- ful, efficient, and delightful. She would seem to have been created for some Arcadian state of society, where that term is as yet unknown, or that meaning still unfolded. Her exact type is rare enough, even in New England; I doubt if it is tot be met with elsewhere. It is manifest that she was a charming hostess. An hour with her checked off more milestones from the jour- ney of acquaintanceship than -a day with most people. She soon put Alice more at her ease than I had ever seen her (to be sure, they are far-away cousins, and fast friends) ; and Ruth quickly felt, and responded to, the frank cordial- ity of her manner, and the breezy vivacity of her spirits. Yet there was a marked difference in the character of their mirth;-Essie's was that of a heart which had never known sore cross or heavy sorrow; Ruth's, even in its brightest flow, never lost some subtly pathetic quality. After tea, we rambled down to the shore of the lake aforementioned, which bounds one side of the farm. We were guided thither by a funny little brook, that prattled and gambolled, like a child, all through the meadows, and then tumbled headlong down the hillside, in order to fling itself, laughing, into the placid bosom of the lake, as on to a mother's breast. A light skiff lay by the bank; and Es- sie rowed us out into the sunset light, and sent a merry " Halloo!" over the shining water, to wake an echo sleep- ing somewhere among the hills. The answer came back soft and subdued, as if from the lingering influence of a sSILOH. * 251 happy dream; and then Ruth's tender, pathetic voice hushed it to silence and to sleep again with the lovely mel- ody of "Allan Water." In the evening, there was music; and I was agreeably surprised to find that Essie plays un- usually well-as playing goes-with a smooth, gliding touch, and much taste and feeling. So well, indeed, that after we had arrived at that point of familiarity where it ceased to be an impertinence (a point quickly reached with her), I ventured to tell her that it was a sin and a shame that she did not play even better;--that is to say, a better class of music, with a deeper comprehension of musical ideas; a profounder knowledge of the depths from which they come, and those to which they address themselves. This brought forth much musical talk, and comparison of studies and masters,-to which Ruth listened like one en- tranced, and Alice with her usual quick insight, making her lawful prey of analogies and metaphors :-which resulted in an agreement that we-that is, Essie and Hshould take up the practice of duets together, beginning with Beet- hoven's symphonies. By reason of which tuneful copart- nership, we have come to be "Essie " and ("Winnie" to each other. We discussed the melodeon, too, and-to cut that mat- ter short-it is now doing its best to engender and pro- )mote harmony in that little loft of a gallery at St. Jude's, under Essie's skilful fingers. She entreated me, humbly and earnestly, to play it; but I steadily declined, mindful of Bona's emphatic discourse on that head. Her musical ability was amply sufficient for the need, and there was no excuse for me to thrust myself into the matter; and so de- prive both the parish and herself of the benefit of whatever increase of interest or of energy might be developed in her, by the position. I attend the rehearsals, however, by re- quest; and am made, by tacit concurrence, a sort of musi- cal director. Next, there has been an arrival of uncommon interest page: 252-253[View Page 252-253]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 252-253 252 SHLOa. in Shiloh; causing something more than the usual ripple of interest and talk consequent on the advent of a stranger, in a community so small, so remote, and so largely made up of life-long residents,-the fabric of whose daily lives, moreover, is woven of threads, too even and too sober- tinted to allow of many home-made excitements. The new- comer is an artist, with the peculiar, though indefinable air of his class about him; and but recently returned to his fatherland, after an absence of some years spent chiefly at Rome in the study and exercise of his art. He first came hither in company with a friend of Mrs. Danforth, for a day's fishing; but he was so charmed with Shiloh's quietude, freshness and isolation,-in short, with its exces- sive ruralness,--that he forthwith looked up a boarding- place for himself and his easel, established the twain there- in, and is said to divide his time about equally between painting and rambling over the country. I have met him but once. A few evenings ago, I found him seated in Mrs. Danforth's moonlighted porch, listening to the fluent, sparkling talk of the mistress of the mansion; who at once presented to me, C Mr. Cambur." The moon- light revealed distinctly enough-albeit, it here whitened them into marble, and there darkened them with deeper shadows than ever daylight gives-features clearly and finely cut;--a wide brow, deep-set eyes, a straight nose, and a mouth alppaently capable of much and varied ex- pression, though thickly veiled by a brown beard. The talk soon turned toward Italy; and as I listened to the artist's fresh, animated narrations, awaking and bright- ening my own fond reminiscences of that pleasant land, I seemed to be there once more; a part of its varied, pictur- esque life; breathing the ethereal gold of its sunshine, and soothed by the kindly balm of its air. His enthusiasm cul- minated in the exclamation,- "Surely, no one who has lived for any length of time in Italy, and felt the charm of its sky and its atmosphere, SHLOH. 253 and the loving-kindness of its earth, need count himself homeless, though some tremendous catastrophe should sweep every other country from the face of the globe!" "You are talking nonsense," rejoined Mrs. Danforth, with her characteristic frankness; yet accompanying the words with a gesture that divested them of any appearances of discourtesy. "It is all very well for artists and poets who make their living out of the picturesque, to rave about It- aly. But for people of sober minds and pursuits, with so- ber predilections for cleanliness and comfort, any American home,-even this hideous, square, white pine-box over our heads!-is vastly to be preferred to those shiftless, dingy Italian farm-houses, or great, grand, cheerless Roman pal-. aces. To my taste, age is no recommendation in a house. I don't want to spend my life in scrubbing off my great- grandfather's smoke and dust, mould and grime; nor in fighting the rats, mice, moths, roaches, and other vermin he congregated under his roof; any more than I want to wear his shoes and his periwig, or set up his skeleton in my dining-room. On the contrary, I should like a new house, newly furnished, once in five years. And as for the his- toric associations upon which you lay such stress, they used to make me feel as if the air in Rome was a great deal too thick and heavy to breathe; it had been used over so many times since the days of the Csesars as to seem to have no healthful property left! I hope it will be a long time be- fore our new, fresh, vigorous country shows any of that sort of picturesqueness that you artists love so well;-- made up of one part, age; two parts, decay; three parts dirt!" "Amen!" said Mr. Cambur, heartily. "Beautiful as Italy surely is, I do -not want to see her features or her life duplicated here. Our country has her own genius, mission, destiny; let her work them out in her own way!" As the talk went on, I found that he knew many of the artists who most frequented my father's study, in Rome, page: 254-255[View Page 254-255]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 254-255 254 SHLOH. and could give me their subsequent history;--so many, in- deed, that I began to wonder that I had never encoun- tered nor heard of himself, while there. "You would not remember me if you had," he replied. "Reflect that the later years of your stay in Rome were the earlier ones of mine; and that I was but a beginner in Art, worshipping both her works and her workers humbly and afar-off, To be sure, I am. little more than that, now:--I will venture to say that the. name of Cambur is so strange to the trumpet of Fame as never to have reached your *ears," and, lie ended with a peculiar, mean- ing glance at Mrs. Danforth. "If it has not," said she, laughing, and returning the glance with one equally expressive,-"I am sure Miss Frost will say, after she has seen your pictures, that it is Falme's own fault. I shall bring her to your studio some day, and you must show her ' Dreams. " "With great pleasure," he replied, bowing. " Only let me suggest that the said 'some day' does not arrive until next week. I am expecting a box of pictures, art- curiosities, etcaetera, shortly; then, my studio will be in bet- ter order for the reception of such visitors, and I shall have more to show you." "Too much, I suspect," said I. "In looking at pictures, I am always troubled because I am asked to look at too many; and expected to begin to comment as soon as I be- gin to look. Whereas, when I find a picture that I like, that suits my mood, that has anything at all to say to me, I want to sit down silent before it for an hour. And I do not want to look at anything else, till next day!" "I promise you that you shall look at my pictures in just your own way," said he smiling;-" at least, so far as I am concerned." ' "And I promise you that you shall not/" exclaimed Mrs. Danforth, with humorous earnestness,-" that is, if I am your companion." SHLOH. 255 Throughout the conversation, I was tantalized by one of those strange memories or resemblances,-I could not tell which,--at once so pertinacious and so elusive. Some- thing in Mr. Cambur's face, or voice, or manner, had a curi- ous familiarity in unfamiliarity, for which I could not account. I took my leave without finding any clue to it, and was haunted and perplexed by it half the way home. j Moreover, Mrs. Tay or arrived duly; and the Divine household, including Winnie Frost, did itself the honor to wait upon her very soon; A blithe, active, black-eyed little woman; fresh and naiive in many of her ways as a child; yet with a sufficient funq of wholesome common sense about her-an excellent addition to the joint stock. She straight- way individualized her home by a few careless touches, and interfused into its atmosphere some new and delightful quality; as if she had brought a trunkful of sunbeams, or na fewn boxes of mountain dew, and flung them around at random. She is, plainly, the delight of MMr. taylor's eye, and the joy of his heart,-as plainly, she is the balance- wheel of the domestic and conjugal machinery; after her advent, I felt more at ease about his future career in Shiloh. With so wise a counsellor and so ready a sympathy at his hearthstone, I fancied that his chances of daily contact with wayside thorns would be considerably diminished, and his certainty of daily cure very much increased. The character of the twain may be further elucidated by an anecdote that went roaming about Stfiloh, soon after their housekeeping commenced; eliciting much laughter; which, nevertheless, was often curiously entangled with a tear. It arranges itself, almost inevitably, in the dramatic style. SCENE. A chamber, in the Gzwynne Place. Time.- Sunday Morning. MRs. TAYOR, sola, with a bandbox be- fore her. MRS. T. Why I what can have become of my bonnet? h r \d page: 256-257[View Page 256-257]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 256-257 256 SHLOH. I certainly put it here. (Rummages in closet and bureau.) Not to be found anywhere! what does it mean? Enter MR. TAYOR. MR. T. Why, my dear, what is the matter? MRs. T. I can't find my bonnet--my best bonnet,-I have looked everywhere. It must have been stolen. I thought you said thieves were unknown in Shiloh. MR. T. (with the air of one well pleased to be able to give a satisfactory expglanation). Oh! is that it? I quite forgot to tell you-I gave it away. MRS. T. Gave it away! MR. T. Yes, dear,-to that poor Mrs. Simmons, whose husband was buried last Wednesday, over at Fox Swamp. She said she had no bonnet to wear to the funeral, and she did not know how, nor where, to get one; it really was a sorrowful case. So I thought how fortunate it was that you were in mourning, and I came home and got yours,- you were gone up to Mrs, Divine's to tea that afternoon, you know. I meant to have told you, of course; but, I de- clare! I forgot all about it. MRs. T. (cheerily). Well, never mind, she. is welcome. I only wish it had been my second best; I think that would have answered for Mrs. Simmons very well; it would cer- tainly have corresponded better with the rest of her ap- parel. But I must make it do for the remainder of the summer. MR. T. (hesitating). H-really am afraid I gave that away, too. To Mrs. Simmon's sister,-you see, one needed a bonnet as much as the other! And I thought you would have time to make another before Sunday,--you make bon- nets so easily, out of almost nothing- MRs. T.' (parenthetically). Sometimes it is difficult to get the " almost," though! MKI. T. (continuing). But what a memory I have!. I ought to have told you, of course. I am so sorry! 'r SHLOH. 257 MRs. T. (rather constrainedly). May I ask what else of mine you gave away? MR. T. (pathetically). Do not speak in that way, my dear, or I shall wish there never was such a thing as a bon- net! I gave nothing else away, of course, nothing. Ex- cept--ah! yes, one of your veils,-I think it was the second- best, this time. I remembered that you could not make veils so easily as bonnets, my dear. MKzs. T. Thank you for your consideration! (Then sink- ing into a chair and laughing hysterically). It is too good a joke! I haven't a bonnet to wear to church, except my sun-bonnet! Would you advise me to wear that, or stay at home? MR. T. (seeming not to see the point of the joke, but, apparently, beginning to perceive something, more to the point). I declare! It is too bad! Strange that I should have forgotten it so entirely! I promise you, my dear, that I never will touch anything of yours again, without ,asking you first i Upon honor! MRS. T. (wiping her eyes and choking down her laugh- ter). Thank you, dear. That would be the better arrange- ment, I think. But never mind, this time./ I will run up to Mrs. Prescott--" acrost lots "--and see if I cannot bor- row a bonnet of her, for to-day. FINALE. Mrs. Taylor appears at church in Mrs.- Preo- cott's second-best bonnet, and looks as if she had donned her grandmother's head-gear, by mistake. At present, however, " our little minister's wife," (which, in Shiloh parlance, is synonomous with " our min- ister's little wife,") cannot be expected to take'any active, regular part in parish work;-even the most exacting of the parishioners admit that. The absorbing and never- ending business known, hereabout, as " doing your own work; " added to the care of a great, fat, roly-poly baby, nearly as large as herself; furnishes employment for most of Mrs. Taylor's energies within Jher own immediat e page: 258-259[View Page 258-259]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 258-259 YtV i , 7JI L.JULJ. * sphere. Yet scarcely the less is the influence of her bright, cheerful spirit,'her active good-will, her warm in- terest and sympathy, her inherent tact, felt as a power in the parish. And the little she is able to do in Sunday School and Sewing Society, is doubly appreciated; because it is something more than is hoped for, instead of some- thing less than is expected. It would be unpardonable were I to omit to state, in this connection, that Mr. Taylor has already experienced the benefit of his introduction to Leo. Every morning, before breakfast, a scratch is heard at the kitchen door of the Gwynne Place. Being opened, Leo enters majestically, delivers a pail of new, warm milk to iMrs. Taylor, and gra- ciously offers a paw to her husband. Then, he goes straight to the cradle and puts his nose in the baby's face. She catches hold of it with avidity, pokes her tiny fingers into his eyes, doubles' up her fists and rains puny blows upon his great head, pulls his long ears, kicks up her chubby feet, and coos and crows at him in an ecstasy of in- fantine delight. Never is Leo so softly benign of aspect as in these moments. He lays aside his stateliness as a garment; his bushy tail swings gently from side to side; his eyes smile; there is something deeply tender, even to pathos, in his look. Plainly, that innocent baby-face stirs his large, loving heart to its depths. He is loth to leave his small friend, when Mrs. Taylor comes with the empty pail; and his distress is augmented by the fact that she sets up a shrill scream of protest as he turns away. Nevertheless, obedient to the call, of duty, he takes the pail in his mouth and trots briiskly home- ward. Parish matters, in general, flow with tolerable smooth- ress, so far; though there are growing indications of a crit- cal and unfriendly spirit in the Burcham. quarter. Mr. Tay- lor's foibles-and they are numerous-get small considera- ;ion at their hands. Theirs are not the minds to discern the true proportion of good in a character like his, nor to realize how very small a part of him it is that is heavy with the soil and the weakness of the flesh, and trails in the dust of the world. It is far easier to discern the spots in the sun's disc, than to estimate the good done by his light; less diffi- cult to point out some spot where his rays do not penetrate than to number the myriads of animate and inanimate things that are cheered and vitalized by their influence. Still, I do not expect any worse trouble from this faction than a continual, irritating friction ;--chiefly, it must be acknowledged, because its interest in Church affairs is not so strong, nor so sensitive, as to urge it into any violent. quarrel in their behalf! At large, the little stir of life and interest caused by Mr. Taylor's advent, newness, and energy, is fast settling back into the old, sluggish quietude. Mrs. Prescott, to be sure, works on with unflagging zeal, and is, unquestionably, the salt of the parish; without whom, there would be a dire dearth of that active and preservative substance. At present, she is going about armed with a subscription paper designed to raise funds for painting, papering, and otherwise improv- ing the little church on the hill; which seems to have so thoroughly engrossed the major part of her thoughts and affections. She has even pressed me into the service, aver- ring that there are hearts (or pockets) hereabouts, which will open more readily to the knock of a comparative stranger, with the indefinable, but easily recognized air of the city about her, than to her own sharp, well-known rap. So,-in the rattling and rusty, but still strong and hearty, Divine wagon,-upon an odd, cumbrous, movable seat, de- nominated a ":chair,"-drawn by the fat, sleek, staid horse accounted safe for " woman-driving," and which Mrs. Pres- cott complains of as much too safe, even to the point of in- tolerable laziness ;-we drive round the country, stopping here and there to tell over -again the story that we have told so many times before, as to hav:e exhausted invention f page: 260-261[View Page 260-261]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 260-261 260 SHLOH. in trying to vary it; and receiving fifty cents, or it may be a dollar, by way of liberal response. In some places, we get, in addition, much good will, pressing invitations to take refreshment, and whatever amount of gossip we have time to listen to; in others, the understood fare of beggars -few words, cold looks, and scant courtesy. But now, I really have something to tell you! To think that here-of all places in the world!-'when I thought I had left the little, blind god, with all his belong- ings, forever behind!-But I will not, as the Shilohites say, "get- ahead of my story." One bright morning, a week ago, Mrs. Divine's voice came up the staircase, "Some one to see you, Miss Frost." I descended to the kitchen, and at the farther end- which serves as a sort of reception room--I found a slight, pale, gentle-looking girl, awaiting me. "Miss Carrie Thorne-a niece of Miss Caroline Bryer's," said Mrs. Divine, seeing me look inquiringly at my visitor, who was quite unknown to me. "Ah! I am glad to meet her. Is your aunt well, Miss Thorne?" "Quite well, thank you." And, after a moment's pause, she added; "Mother sends her compliments to you, Miss Frost, and would like the pleasure of your company to tea this afternoon." I was so taken by surprise that I had said, "Yes, cer- tainly, -thank you," before I was at all conscious what I was about. The invitation was so unexpected, the "mother" such a very unknown quantity, the messenger so quietly prepossessing, the whole thing so unprecedented! If I had happened to have noticed the expression of Mrs. Divine's face, I should probably have given a different an- swer. She now asked, in a tone that instantly drew my attention;- "Is your mother expecting other company, Carrie?" SHLOH. 261 "Oh, no, ma'am. Only " (and she spoke as if from the fulness of delight) '"Rick is coming up." O-h!" said Mrs. Divine, prolongedly, "Is he going to 'stay long?" "OnLy until to-morrow. He will drive up from Haven- ton to-day, and back to-morrow morning. I will tell mother you are coming, Miss Frost-thank you." And Carrie Thorlie departed. Mrs. Divine and I remained looking at each other in silence, until the sound of her light footsteps died away. Then she burst into a laugh-a laugh with something more than merriment in it. "I wish you joy of your invitation, Miss Frost! I hope you'll spend a very pleasant afternoon!" "Mrs. Divine, what does it all mean? Who is this ' mother '?" "Who? Mrs. Thorne? She is Caroline Bryer's sister." "Well, what else? I see there is something behind.?' But Mrs. Divine's tongue-which generally runs over the catalogue of her neighbors' virtues and foibles readily enough, and deals out their family history with most un- reserved, yet not unkindly, veracity-now seemed glued to her mouth. "Well!" said she, at last, "I can talk fast enough about my neighbors, when I know them well, and am sure I shan't make mistakes. But I don't know Mrs. Thorne well, and I might give you wrong impressions. To tell the truth, the Bryers are a queer family, take them all in all--though Caroline is as nice a person as you'll find anywhere; and ,any one can see that there's no harm in that little Carrie, that's just .gone from here. Her mother's a widow, and has lately come home to live. She isn't one of our sort, nor one. of your sort, either, Miss Frost." "What sort is she, then?" ( I can't say. If you go up there, you can find out for . . page: 262-263[View Page 262-263]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 262-263 262 SHLOH. . yourself. I reckon you're capable of taking her measure, without any help.," "I cannot conceive," said I, in a tone of vexation, "what made me accept the invitation! Only there was something so winning in that pale girl's face and voice,. that it made me forget everything else. But I can send an excuse." "Oh, no; go, by all means," returned Mrs. Divine. "You like to study human nature, and there's several sorts up there. There's two idiots-a man and a woman to be- gin with." "Yes," interposed Mrs. Prescott, who had entered, 'and found out the subject of our discourse, "I can tell you something rather funny about that. The Bryers first came to Shiloh when I and my sister Susan were young girls; and we heard, in some roundabout way, that there were two unmarried sons in the family. So we joked each other about them, as girls will, declaring that we should set our caps for them, and win them for husbands. Well, the eld- est one came first--Mortimer,-you'll see him there, with his hair all over his shoulders, and his head hanging down, and as silent as a gravestone,-he hasn't altered much, only that he's grown old. So I said to Susans' You can take that one, Sue, he don't suit me; I'll wait for the next.' And when the next one came, 'twas the idiot!" Itwas the idi 't * AMONG THE BYEE AND THOxNE&v AMONG THE1 BRYERS AND THORNES. SET forth for the Bryer Farm in the dreamy " a hush of a warm summer afternoon. The breeze had swooned away in the tree-tops, and gave no ! sign of reviving life. The shade was not a 4;, "broad contiguity," but an irregular succession iof dark, isolated patches on the arid and dusty highway. I was fain, therefore, to pause for a --..9 moment at the farm gateway, and take breath, while I reconnoitered the premises. The house stood at a considerable distance from the road, in the midst of a verdant mosaic of meadow, orchard, and cornfield. Originally it had been of the better sort of farm-houses; and its white, expansive front must have been a pleasant sight, seen through the green vista of a long avenue of maples and beeches, leading up to the vine- wreathed porch. But both the house and its surroundings had plainly fallen an easy prey to Time's omnivorous tooth. Its original white was merged into a dingy gray; its shingled roof and sides were loose, warped,and weather- gnawn; and the missing base-of one of the pillars of the portico had been replaced by a rough section of a log, with the bark still on. The avenue had become a grass-grown lane, through which a brown thread of footpath went wan- dering in a vague, aimless way, and seemed to owe its final arrival at the cracked door-stone chiefly to the agency of page: 264-265[View Page 264-265]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 264-265 264 .SHLOH. some happy chance. This lane was bordered on one side by a row of scrubby quince trees i on the other by a long line of crumbling stumps, among which three or four grey, decrepit maples stood disconsolately, unable to close up their ranks over their fallen comrades, and waiting, dumb and lonely, for their own stroke of doom. The fences were either falling down or rudely patched; and the gate whereat I stood had the look of an exhausted sentinel keeping watch over the brief bivouac of a defeated, wasted, and flying army. Houses often have as distinct and individual an expres- sion as faces of men. In this one, I soon discovered a quaint, curious resemblance to the only one of its inmates with whom I was tolerably well acquainted--Miss Caroline Bryer. Like that gaunt, antiquated virgin, with her air of decayed gentility, her manner of antique stateliness, and her cherished remembrances of bygone prosperity and dis- tinction, the shabby old dwelling seemed to be inwardly pluming itself upon obsolete glories, and to be trying to keep itself alive upon the insufficient nutriment of aristo- cratic reminiscences. I was somewhat dismayed to find, upon examination, that my choice of entrance upon the scene lay between climbing a stone wall and opening the aforesaid gate,- designed, it would appear, for the admission of carts and wagons, rather than for the use of the human species, and in' such a dilapidated condition that it was probable it would farl to pieces at an unaccustomed and unskilful touch. But if there had ever been a smaller and more manageable one, -as a certain irregularity in the stone wall seemed to indi- cate,-it had vanished long ago, and left not a wrack be- hind. I was relieved from the dilemma, however, by the opportune appearance of the face and bust of Carrie Thorne, in the open upper half of the front door; looking, for the moment that she stood there, framed in vine-leaves and thrown out into strong relief from the dark background of ' \ the interior, as if some lovely'ancestral portrait had de- scended from the walls and hurried to the threshold to bid me welcome. She waved her hand in token of speedy help, ran swiftly down the lane, wrought the incredible miracle of causing that crazy gate to revolve upon its rusty hinges without burying us both in its ruins, and led the way back to the house. A very different picture now filled the doorway-the full-length figure of Miss Bryer herself, clad in old-fashioned garments of rusty black, and with a general air'of rustiness about her-rustiness of joints, of voice, of manner, of garb -in admirable keeping with the rusty old roof over her head. Yet let me not be understood to say one disrespect- ful word of the mild, stately, decayed gentlewoman; the story of whose life, if fully and rightly told, would put to the blush myriads of lives that are lovelier to outward view; Wealth and position slipped early from her grasp. Idiocy put its woful mark upon the younger members of her family. Human love lingered for a moment at her side, and then passed on neglectful. Joy waved her a careless adieu; disappointment met her with a mocking salutation. Death made her motherless. Despair cast her down and trod her under foot. Then Duty came to her side, and whispered solemnly in her ear. Necessity raised her up, and sternly bade her move on. Care fastened its burden to her back. Quietly she gathered up the scattered fragments of her life and love, heaped them on the hearthstone of her heart, and kindled them :into blaze and warmth for the narrow, stinted lives of her infirm, irritable, exacting father and her imbecile brother and sister. By that quiet fireside these poor paupers of existence find ever undisputed room, and steady, if not vivid, glow. We will trust that, while only intent upon their comfort, her own self-lenying spirit fails not to catch some soft, reflected light, some healing warmth. She gave me a characteristic greeting; kind without verg- 12 2 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 266-267 266 SHLOH. ing upon cordiality, ceremonious without being cold. Behind her stood the two half-wits,-one with a gaping, staring, vacant face; the other silly, simpering, shuffling, restless. Both were past youth; neither would ever seem to be really old. Complete childishness of expression neutral- ized the effects of gray streaks in the hair, and wrinkles creeping into the face. They were scarcely less children now, after the lapse of forty or fifty years, than when they first opened, their eyes upon the earth. For them, neither sorrow, crime, care or responsibility exist. Yet it goes far to vindicate the course of God's providence in this world, and to reconcile us to the ministry of griefs and trials, to feel that none of us, whatever our lack or our burden, would willingly change places with them. It was evident that these irresponsible old children were kindly cared for; their garments were clean, though plain, their persons in perfect order. Miss Bryer introduced them with a slight wave of her hand, and a melancholy, depre- cating tone of voice- "Betsey and Simeon, my poor sister and brother." Obviously, she was nervous about the im- pression they might produce upon a stranger, but she was too kind-hearted to rob them of their childish gratification in the sight of a new face, or to interrupt their settled habit of following her about the house, like her shadow. Then she opened the door into a large, dim parlor. "I am glad to, see you in our poor old house, Miss Frost," she said, with a half sigh, as she placed me a chair. "It is not what it was once, neither are we,-the house and the family have gone down hill together,--but if you can put up with such, entertainment as we can give you, you are very welcome. Sit down a bit; I suppose Eliza is :expect- ing you to come right to her room,but you have had a warm walk in the sun; and you had better rest a little and cool yourself off before you go up." "Cool yourself off before, you go up "-" before' you go up," repeated the two idiots, one after the other, in such SHLOH. 267 manner as to give the exact effect of a double echo of Miss Bryer's words. The unexpected iteration startled and confused me to such a degree, that it was not until after the lapse of a moment or two that I bethought myself of the necessity of making my hostess, some reply. "Thank you," I said, struggling to seem unobservant and at ease. "I did find it rather warm walking in the sun-even for me, and I am accounted among my friends a sort of salamander." "Count among my friends a sort of Sally Amanda"- "sort of Sally Amanda," echoed the half-wits, catching up my phrase, and inevitably travestying it; since it did not hap- pen to come within the limited scope of their comprehension. I gave an irrepressible start, and for a moment could not conceal my discomposure. It had not occurred to me that the idiots would find my sentences as available for repetition as their sister's. Mrs. Bryer sighed heavily. "You must not mind it," she said, in a low voice; " they don't know any better." Then she took up the broken thread of our talk. "I hope Mrs. Divine is quite well--and Mrs. Prescott and Alice. I told Eliza she ought to have invited Alice, too; but she said she never thought of it. The truth is, Eliza has not lived with us long,-only a year or so,-and she keeps herself so secluded that she has not found out who her neighbors are. But she begins to see that Carrie needs to go out more, and to have some society,--the girl is get- ting listless and low-spirited. And I suppose," she added, betraying an inward consciousness that Mrs. Thorne's sud- den overture to me stood somewhat in need of explanation, "she thought she would like Carrie to get acquainted with you,-I have often spoken:about you to her. But if I had known about her invitation in time, I should have seen that Alice was included in it. However, Eliza is apt to act out of her own-head, without notice or warning." page: 268-269[View Page 268-269]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 268-269 268 SHLOH. "Out of her head, without notice or warning'--" out of her head without notice or warning," echoed the idiots, lugubriously. I cast a glance at Carrie Thorne's slender, girlish figure, waiting for me in the doorway, with an involuntary feeling of surprise that I should have been sought for as an asso- ciate for her. The next moment I sighed deeply. The dis- parity, I knew well, was not so much outward as inward; not of years, but of feeling. To a surface-gaze, we might still seem well mated enough, as mating goes,-but I felt in my heart that experience of life and sorrow had separated us by half a century. Nevertheless, if it was for Carrie Thorne's sake that I was here, I would try not to defraud any reasonable antici- pation. So I rose and went near to her, in token that I placed myself at her disposal. She immediately conducted me up the crooked, oaken staircase to a large, front chamber furnished as a parlor, with considerable taste, and even an approach to elegance. Here sat a woman, with her sewing on her lap, whom, at the first glance, I took to be young; at the second (becom- ing aware of certain skilful devices of toilet, as well as of unmistakable maturity of expression), to be old; and it was not until the third, and a prolonged one, that I settled into the conviction that she was still in the border-land between youth and age,--so far as years were concerned,--but hope- lessly gray and old and worn in some sort of bitter knowl- edge and experience. She rose and received me with an ease and self-possession that evinced considerable ac- quaintance with life and manners; and quietly explained that she had taken the liberty of sending for me because she believed that my father and her deceased husband were formerly friends, though finally separated by the chances and changes of life. She had even met Mr. Frost once herself, and the impression upon her memory was so pleas- ant that she desired to know his daughter. And as she SHLOn. - 269 never went out, on account of delicate health, she had ven- tured to entrust Carrie with the duty of a preliminary call, and to ask me informally to tea. Her act being thus relieved of any doubtful character, and brought within the pale of social observance; she passed easily to other themes, --showing in all some refinement, some cultivation, and a rare and ready tact that could make up for any deficiencies in either. Still, I was conscious of some involuntary distrust of her, from the very first. An unaccountable conviction that her claim to my father's acquaintance was not genuine took possession of my mindl, and would not be dislodged; though she .answered, or parried, all my questions with such consummate skill as to leave me no reasonable ground for the belief. Somehow, she had possessed herself of a toler- ably correct resumie of his early life, and the places wherein it had been spent; and any inaccuracies were easily charge- able to a defective memory, or to the facility with which false impressions are given and received. I listened, assented outwardly, and inwardly disbelieved. To be quite frank with you, the moral repulsion-or whatever it was-appeared to be mutual. At the moment of our meeting, Mrs. Thorne's face expressed, for one swift instant, doubt, disappointment, and perplexity; the next, she had drawn on her mask of easy affability, and nothing but cordial interest and pleasure was thereafter suffered to peep from beneath it. Yet I was conscious, now and then, that a keen, furtive glance was resting 'upon and analyzing me; though I never once succeeded in surprising it. Carrie, meanwhile, had seated herself at a window, and was looking down the lane with an eager, expectant face. Suddenly, she started up, exclaimed, "O mother! Rick is coming!" and darted down the stairs. In another moment or two she was at the end of the lane, fulfilling her self- elected office of gate-opener. A handsome light carriage, drawn by a span of spirited horses, soon came through and page: 270-271[View Page 270-271]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 270-271 270 SHLOIT. stopped; the driver reached. forth his hand to assist her to a seat at his side, and then drove up the lane in dashing style. In a few moments, he entered the room, with his sister hanging on his arm, and was duly presented to me by his mother. Seeing how completely these two lives were absorbed in hislIlooked at him with somre feeble stir of interest. But, to my surprise, I saw no new acquaintance in Frederick Thorne. Although his name, in the familiar form current in Shiloh, had failed to strike any chord of associa- tion; my first glance disclosed the fact that he was identi- cal with a certain young"MMr. Thorne " whom I met last winter; but of whom I had known nothing, nor sought to know, save that he was a student at College, and a classmate of the eldest son of the Kenmores, with whom he was spending the holiday vacation. They are near neighbors and intimate friends of my aunt,-conse- quently, I saw a good deal of him during his stay. In truth, I had to endure some little good-natured teasing on the score of the very open and boyish admiration where- with he chose to honor me. I happened to be out when he made his final call, and Flora did more thian justice, I sus- pected, to the keenness of his regret at being prevented from saying farewell in person. 'And so, having made but a faint and transient ripple, on the surface of its flow, he passed out of my life,-and out of my memory, as well. Yet it was pleasant to meet him again, just now and here. The sight of his open, handsome face was like a cheery window-gleam by night, to a traveller over an unknown road. His delight at the unexpected meeting was so evident, too; and so frankly, yet courteously expressed; that it was impossible not to be grateful for it, and to share it in some degree. Moreover, Rick Thorne could scarcely appear otherwise than to excellent advantage by the side of his mother. His countenance was so full of frankness, joyousness, and careless * X good-humor; while hers was so reserved, so cool, so concen- trated. His manner was as frank as his face, only tempered by a fine, natural courtesy; hers, soft as velvet, yet some- how suggestiv e of claws underneath. Years of intercourse might not avail to sound all the deeps of her character; but a very short acquaintance would suffice to read him through and through ;-a sunny temper, an easy-going, generous, affectionate nature, a fine taste and some fancy, more capacity for emotion than thought; made to be some- body's spoiled darling all his life, and certain to do neither much harm nor much good in the world. In its essence, a selfish character; but not, necessarily, in its develop- ments ;-one that we feel instinctively was never made for life's sorrows, nor its storms, nor fitted to endure any of the forms of martyrdom which await those who have the strength and the will to enter into its conflicts, and fight its battles. It is not a character that appears to advantage on paper, I know; but it has its charm, and possibly its value, in real life. Seen by the side of one so old in the world's ways, and so skilled in the world's strategies as Mrs. Thorne's, it could not be otherwise than delightful and refreshing. I gave myself up to the enjoyment of it with the more heart- iness, in order to escape from the other. Seeing this, Mrs. Thorne took up her work, and quietly exchanged the posi- tion of actor for that of spectator; in which she reminded me of a spider lying in wait for incautious flies. Rick's talk was lively, unreserved, and careless, almost to boyishness. After the topics growing out of our last winter's acquaintance were exhausted; it ran much upon his 'personal tastes, pursuits, and exploits. He was espe- cially eloquent about his drive up from Haventon, and ex- patiated at some length-upon the excellent qualities of the "span " which had brought him. Mrs. Thorne heaved an involuntary sigh, and her brow showed a deep wrinkle. It did not escape her son's notice. page: 272-273[View Page 272-273]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 272-273 272 SHLOH. "You need not look so glum, mother," said he, frankly. "I suppose I might have come up with one horse, but there's twice as much fun in driving two. And I didn't run in debt for it, this time. I won ten dollars in a bet last week; so, you see, I could afford to give myself a treat." The frown on his mother's brow deepened, and she threw him a warning glance. I was amused to think how completely it was wasted. The character of her son was of the sort which would inevitably reveal itself. Tea was shortly announced. It was served in the long, oak-ceiled kitchen; within the depths of whose capacious fireplace the handful of sticks which had boiled the tea- kettle still blazed fitfully. Yet so remote the fire, so wide the yawning, black throat of the chimney, and so free the draught across the table (standing between two open doors), that the flame seemed not to add one more fervid breath to the sultry summer afternoon. On the contrary, the old fashioned fireplace,-with its broad, uneven hearth- stone, its smoke-blackened jams, its cavernous oven, its sooty back, its swinging crane, garnished with pothooks and trammels (on one of which the teakettle still simmered drowsily), its sturdy andirons; its gray bed of ashes, -its ruddy coals, and its half-consumed sticks, falling apart and sending up alternate jets of smoke and flame,-contributed an element of picturesqueness to the scene that I should have been sorry to miss. The half-wits did not appear at the table,-a banish- ment effected, doubtless, by the agency of Mrs. Thorne; though not without having left a grieved and doubtful shadow upon Miss Bryer's face. But an equally noticeable -and disconcerting ^presence was not to be thus averted,- that of Dr. Bryer, the master of the house. He mwas already seated at the right of the tea-tray, gaunt and grim,-his naturally stern, harsh, and arrogant traits of countenance seeming to have been intensified by old age and infirmity; SHLOH. , 273 as in certain ancient portraits, the fading of light and color serves but to bring into greater prominence the severe, in- flexible expression of the face, and to harmonize it more perfectly with the known character of the original. His garments were rusty, and carelessly put on; and a broad-- brimmed hat, with two or three turns of coarse twine around- it, by way of band, deepened the shadow of his overhanging brow. "You will please excuse father's hat," said Mrs. Thorne, apologetically. "Old people have their whims, which must needs be indulged ;-and it is one of my father's never to take off his hat except when he goes to bed. Indeed," she added, jestingly, "it is purely a matter of supposition on my part, that he does it then, for I have not seen him with- out it for years. I must also premise that he is quite deaf, so much so that he does not expect strangers to talk to him; he has hard work to understandvoices to which he is accustomed." Then she raised her voice. "Father, let me introduce you to Miss Frostf.' "Nonsense!" returned the old man, in a harsh, querel- ous tone, "you're out of your senses, Eliza! Who ever heard of frost on the first of July? And after such a sweltering day, too! But why don't you introduce that young woman?" M/rs. Thorne repeated her introduction in a still louder tone. "Corse!" said her father, eyeing me sharply. "I am glad to see you, Miss Corse; I hope you are very well." And then, evidently taking it for granted that whatever was inaudible to himself must needs be so to others, he muttered, distinctly enough, "Corse! Good heavens, what a name! Might as well be Corpse, and done with 'it!" ' Rick's face grew red, and he hastily lifted a glass- of water to his lips. The rising laugh, however, was not to 12* page: 274-275[View Page 274-275]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 274-275 274 SHLOH. beswallowed with the water; the twain met in his throat, and after a momentary struggle for the right of way, the laugh conquered. There was a choke, an explosion, a scat- tering shower, and Rick darted to the window. Mrs. Thorne sent after him a look of smothered fury, that would have made her fortune on the tragic stage; then, she smoothed her face into deprecation, and turned to me. "Miss Frost, I am sure you will excuse my father, on account-of his age and infirmities. But as for Rick, I am ashamed of him. There is no excuse for his untimely levity, unless it be that-" "That he couldn't help it," interrupted Rick, coming back to the table. "Nothing like the truth to wipe out an error. And Miss Frost would have laughed, too, if she had dared. I saw it in her eyes. Nevertheless, I humbly beg her pardon-and yours." iMrs. Thorne's look softened involuntarily. Her son's handsome face and frank, graceful manner, would have dis- armed a sterner censor. Dr. Bryer, meanwhile, had addressed himself to the dis- cussion of the edibles on his plate, in serene unconscious- ness of his blunder, or its effects.: He now intermitted his agreeable occupation long enough to inquire, "How did you come up, Rick?" "Drove up, sir. Had a splendid team--" began Rick, preparing to enter into the subject with enthusiasm, and at some length. "Plenty of steam!" interrupted his grandfather, gruff- ly. "I'll warrant it!--enough to have sent you to spit out your mouthful of cigar-smoke in Kingdom Come, if there had been a cow on the track, or a rail askew. I thank the Lord I never yet patronized any of those inventions for breaking people's necks. To be sure, young men's necks ain't good for much except to be broken, now-a-days. The railroads save the sheriff some trouble, I suppose." With which gracious remark the old doctor applied SHLOH. 275 himself afresh to his biscuit and butter; and the talk became general. In the midst of it, he launched a new inquiry. "Getting on well at college, Rick? Head of the first division, eh?" His grandson'sface fell a little. "Not exactly, grand- father," he answered, more seriously than his wont; "to tell the truth, it's about as much as I can do to hold my own in any division. I reckon study doesn't run in the Thorne blood; if it does, it has skipped a generation." "Zounds, Rick!" exclaimed the old man sharply, " you're too old to be skipping demonstrations. Why in the name of sense don't you face your work like a man, and not shirk it like a boy?" Rick gave a rueful shrug of the shoulders, but attempted no defence; nor did his grandfather seem to expect any. "You will observe,' said Mrs. Thorne to me, blandly', "that we do not think it worth while to correct my poor father's mistakes, when it is not absolutely necessary. The attempt to explain would only lead to fresh errors, and we think it better to let the subject drop in any way he pleases." "What's that you're saying, Eliza?"suddenly demand- ed the old doctor, suspending operations, and eyeing her suspiciously. Mrs. Thorne bit her lip. "I was saying that we would drop the subject," she replied, rather shortly. "Dropped zwhat?" queried the old man, evidently at a loss. "Did it break?" Carrie tittered, Rick laughed, and no one could repress a smile. Dr. Bryer looked angrily from one to another. His eldest daughter hastened to explain. Putting her lips close to his ear, she repeated her sister's words, in slow, distinct and not ungentle tones, that found easy access to his understanding. , ' page: 276-277[View Page 276-277]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 276-277 2T6 SHLOH. "Oh! with all my heart," he responded, dryly. "Es- pecially as it won't bear much handling. Addled eggs and addle pates it is as well to let alone," he added, with a caustic glance at his grandson. Plainly the spectacle of the latter's easy temper and sportive ways annoyed and irritated him. Having himself led an active, energetic, aggressive life from early youth; in rough and often hostile contact with the world; repaying every jest with a jibe, and every scoff with a scowl or a blow; he could not understand Rick's sun- shiny, laisser-/faire existence, nor the touch of Sybaritism in his nature, nor his good-humored endurance of his own biting taunts and sarcasms. He marveled that a young man, with all his life-battles yet to be fought, and his for- tunes to be made or marred, should be so gay, so self- indulgent, so inconsequent. If he could, he would have thrown him at once into the middle of the fight; unsuspi- cious that he was as little likely to receive downright blows as to give them (since the world invariably softens- a little -to persons of his make); unknowing that sorrow and trial, however much they might refine and spiritualize his char- acter, could never make him Strong with the kind of strength he- coveted for him. Especially was Dr. Bryer disgusted with his grandson's fastidious niceties of toilet: the cuit of his coat, the tie of his cravat, and the polish of his boots, he reckoned up against him as so many positive sins. His joyousness and his amiability he threw into the same category. These were not the faults of his own youth, therefore the doctor had no indulgence for them. If Rick had been fiery and reckless, or determined and vindictive, he could have had patience with him, and hope of his future; but for a handsome, amiable, indolent youth, whose worst vice was cigars, and whose highest ambition was to be dragged ignominiously through college at the tail of a "Third Division," he entertained nothing but contempt. If ever he felt the charm of his manner, he rebelled against it. He overlooked the good in him, because it was so SHILOH. 27t largely negative in its character; and he despised the evil in him, for the very same reason. His last stinging remark, however, was not without a momentary effect. Rick's face flushed, and he seemed on the point of making a hasty rejoinder; but his mother laid her hand upon- his arm with a firm, warning pressure, and Miss Bryer nervously sought to create a diversion by be- sieging me with tea-table attentions. To do Rick justice, his resentment was but a flash; and by the time I had suc- cessively declined cheese, dried-beef, pickles and jelly (some of them twice over, for Miss Bryer's anxiety confused her recollection), his wonted good-nature resumed its easy sway, and he was ready to follow up the assault with reinforce- ments of cake-loaf-cake, queen-cake, seed-cake, and I know, not what beside. I shall record- but one other tea-table topic. In some reminiscence of New Orleans, Mrs. Thorne suddenly men- tioned the name of Venner, and my start of surprise did not escape her notice,-nothing does! "Do you know them?" she asked. "The bankers? Only by reputation," replied I, evas- ively. She looked at me with keen scrutiny. "It was the youngest partner that I knew well," she went on,-"Mr. Paul Venner. A fine young man. Did you never happen to meet him?" "I think I have-in New York. But he was not then connected with the house of which you speak." "Indeled!" rejoined she, with a tone of surprise. "I understood him to say that he had grown up in it." I made no reply. What need to discuss the matter? Of course she labored under a misapprehension,-but many a worse one, involving it may be, the happiness of a life-- has had to pass without correction. Mrs. Thorne looked dissatisfied and curious. "I get an occasional letter from him even now," she continued, page: 278-279[View Page 278-279]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 278-279 278 SHLOH. with her eyes fixed on my face, as if bent on finding the clue to my first involuntary manifestation; " for the busi- ness in which he is my agent is still unsettled, and he keeps me informed of its progress." "Ah, indeed?" said I, doing my best to assume that mildly interrogative tone wherewith politeness so thinly masks indifference. She made another attempt. "By the way, did I not hear a rumor that he was married, or about to be?" "Very possibly,"'answered-I, gazing absently out of the window, and thinking, not of Mrs. Thorne, not of Madame Rumor, but of Paul's face as I saw it last-as I see it now, and shall see it, I fear, always,-changing slowly from sur- prise to doubt-certainty-anguish; and vanishing, stern and reproachful, into the gloom. Will he wear that face at the altar, I wonder? And was it the far-off swinging of his wedding-bells that made the air so close and heavy that sultry summer afternoon-overflooded with melody, even to faintness, as sometimes with perfume! Well! what could it possibly matter to me! Mrs. Thorne gave it up, and rose from the table. "Carrie," she said, presently, " it promises to be a fine sunset; suppose you and Rick take Miss Frost over to enjoy it from Sunset Rock. A spot," she added, turning to me, "where the departure of day is witnessed to great advantage, with whatever glories of light and cloud it wraps about it,-from which circumstance it derives its name." SUNSET PICTURES. I HE Bryer mansion and its immediate acres oo- X S,1^ cupied the flat crown of Chestnut Hill. To M 11^ the west began a gentle slope into a wide, undulating vale, robed with the varied green of forest, field, and meadow, and jeweled with tiny sheets and threads of water. On the brow of this slope was a great, rough, irregular mass of rock, with mosses and ferns-clinging to its sides, and a thrifty young oak rooted in a seam at its top; under whose boughs we sat down to view the marvelous pictures that sun and cloud were jointly making. Overhead the sky was clear and rosy. To the right, large masses of cloud were rolling ap,-their bossy fronts ruddy with the sun-glow, but stretching far back, dense, sombre and threat- ening. In the western horizon the sun hung low-a blood"' red ball of fire. Just beneath him, within a hand-breadth, as it seemed, of the horizon's rim, stretched a long, narrow line of cloud, straight and black and sharp as if drawn with ink. Toward this the sun was slowly descending. "How strange," said Carrie Thorne, suddenly, "to think that the sun which seems--and is-setting, to- us, is really rising upon another hemisphere!" "I am better content to forget it," I answered, speak- ing out of an uncontrollable bitterness of heart (Ah! those wedding bells!). "To-night, it only saddens me to know , ** page: 280-281[View Page 280-281]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 280-281 280 snILnoH. that other and fresher eyes discover, in the vanishing rose and gold of our sunset, the waking glory of their morn- ing." She looked at me with a gentle surprise. "I do not see why it should," she said, simply. "It makes me glad to think that there is morning somewhere, if not just over me." Then she went to gather some wild columbines growing in the clefts of the rock; and, lured on from one tuft of ruby-colored, honey-laden blossoms to another, dis- appearled from sight. Rick had thrown himself upon the rock, a little apart; and was watching the sky in silence, with a face whose quiet gravity might have beseemed a 'death-bed vigil. Gifted with a quick sense of beauty, and impressionable as water, his eyes dwelt admiringly on the. sunset's change- ful splendors, while his mood involuntarily reflected the spirit of the hour and scene. Meantime, the sun sank steadily. Ere long, his bright rim touched the black strip of cloud, and vanished behind it,--blotted, as it were, from the universe. The landscape shuddered, and the sky grew livid. From the dusky cloud-bastion on the right, came a low roll of thunder, as if in solemn, protest. In the boughs above us, a hidden bird gave a scared, uneasy twitter; and a breeze that had slept in the tree's top since morning, woke from its long dream, and stirred, and sighed. Rick threw me an awe- struck, appealing glance; as if to fill up the measure of his sombre delight with the certainty of another's sympa- thy; but he neither spoke nor moved. I was deeply grate- ful to him for his silence. At that moment, a talkative or a fidgety companion would have been intolerable. Suddenly, a faint red gleam shot from beneath the eb- ony cloud ; and on the instant the sun's lower rim emerged, and slowly grew upon our view. The spectacle now be- came wondrously and weirdly beautifiul. The straight, narrow cloud drew a belt of inky blackness across the sun's SHLOH. 281 broad disc; above and below which, the uncovered por- tions of that luminary glowed radiantly,-two distinct hemispheres of crimson splendor. Gradually the black belt crept up; little by little, the lower hemisphere broad- ened; the upper one diminished; and the sun reappeared to view. Round, red, and majestic, he hung for a few mo- ments above the horizon, bathing the earth and sky in his departing glory. Every glimpse of water became a spot of roseate sheen; every leaf and grass-blade had its face of ruddy glow and reverse of purple dusk; even the gray tints of the rock whereon we sat showed dimly through a lustrous, rosy veil. Thus regal, calm, and glorious, the sun sank finally from sight, "Beautiful!- beautiful!" exclaimed Rick, drawing a long breath, and starting up. "I never saw anything like it! And I doubt if ever I do again ;-however, a single sunset like that may well suffice one for a lifetime. But I would give a good deal to know what you saw in it, Miss Frost! Something more than sun and cloud and color, I'll be bound." Involuntarily I held out my hand to him. "Let me thank you first for keeping so still. Most people would have talked, and I could not have borne it. You shall have my thoughts gratis, since you are pleased to want any- thing so worthless. I was only thinking how often a hbt- man life passes suddenly behind as black and opaque a cloud as did the sun yonder; and I was wondering how many of them would partially emerge, and forever present to the mind's eye the spectacle of two/hemispheres of brightness, with a black belt of sorrowful experiences and memories between them. I did not think it worth while to puzzle myself with the still harder question how few of them would ever come out wholly from the cloud, to shine in undimmed and unrestricted brightness for awhile before sinking finally into the grave." He gave me a more penetrating look than I had thought - ., . page: 282-283[View Page 282-283]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 282-283 SHLOH. him capable of. "If it were my life," he said, with un- wonted energy, " it should come out from the cloud ! It should come forth radiant, not to sink into the grave, but to make a new morning for the new sky and the new earth that are waiting for it." I drew back, with a subtle, intuitive impression of some latent meaning in his words,-felt, but not understood. He paused for a moment, and then went on, more slowly, but in a tone expressive of even deeper feeling. " Do not for- get what Carrie said just now, that the sun which is setting to one, is rising to another; and try to derive a little cheer from the reflection that, in human life also, joy often begins to rise in the very spot where, from one point of view, he seems to have set forever." Both truth and comfort were in his words, if I could have stopped to take them. But I passed them over unheeding, intent only upon detecting .and defining that other suspicious, elusive ingredient; which, however, con- tinually escaped from my crucible of thought in formless, intangible vapor. A loud peal of thunder startled me in the midst of the attempt. Rick and I looked round simul- taneously. Behind us stretched a dense, dull gray canopy of clouds, lit up, for an instant, with the vivid glare of lightning; a chill, sullen wind breathed drearily in our faces; and two meadows beyond, between us and the house, we could see and hear distinctly the heavy march of the rain. "So that's what the clouds have been up to in our rear, while we were busy with those in front!" said Rick, with undisguised vexation. "A very well executed flank movement, it must be acknowledged! But an exceedingly unhandsome trick on the part of the elements, nevertheless. What has Carrie done with herself, I wonder ? "I suppose we are to run for it," said I, gathering up my skirt, preparatory to flight. But Rick stopped me. "It won't do," said he, decisively. "You will run straight into the rain, and your discomfort in being soaked will not be mitigated by the consideration that you are 'neither sugar nor salt'-except in a figurative sense. There is a hole under the rock-a cave, if you like that better-where I have found shelter from many a shower, in my boyhood; and it is large enough to hold us all, if I remember right. At all events, it is our only chance of escape. This way-the path is a little rough-let me help you down." I hesitated. The "hole under the rock" had not an inviting sound. Besides, I had no mind to seek its shelter until I was certain of Carrie's company. "I beg your pardon," said Rick, a little impatiently, fairly lifting me from the rock on which I stood to the one below, " but I see that I must take the matter into my own hands, if you are not to get wet; and I do-not propose that you shall, under my charge. There is a raindrop, now! And there is Carrie down below-all in good time! Run, Carrie, for the 'oven,' "-raising his voice, and accompany- ing the injunction with an expressive gesture. She nodded, and darted around the corner of the rock. At sight of her and the raindrops, my hesitation vanished, and I followed with alacrity. We were soon in the cave,- an oven-shaped cavity formed by the overlapping of the rocks. Its ceiling was only just high enough to admit of our sitting upright; but the lateral space was ample. It was beginning to be dusky, of course; though the opening faced the western sky, and would catch its latest gleam. An hour passed swiftly enough. There was, even a degree of enjoyment in our situation. Almost any event which transcends ordinary rules a little, without violating, them, is a pleasant break in a monotonous life. Moreover, circumstances like these give a strong impe- tus to acquaintance. Barriers of strangeness, of reserve, of shyness, melt down insensibly. Rick, Carrie, and I, were soon talking together with much of the ease and con- page: 284-285[View Page 284-285]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 284-285 284 SHLOH. fidence of old friends. Both of my companions gained thereby. Carrie showed an amiable, unselfish nature, sweet and sound to the core; and Rick, more manliness of thought and aspiration than I had given him credit for. -Naturally, our talk took a tinge of gravity from the sunset we had just witnessed; deepened by the loud roll of the thunder, the beat of the rain, and the growing duskiness of our retreat. I mention these incidents that you may understand how inevitably they stimulated the growth of feelings that, oth- erwise, would scarce have blossomed so soon,--that might have perished in their unquickened germs. At the end of an hour, the flashes of lightning that had lit up our cell from time to time, ceased; and the thunder died away in a faint far-off muttering. But the rain still fell heavily. Taking an observation, Rick gave it as his opinion that the shower had developed into a settled rain, and that we were " regularly in for it." "And so," he continued, buttoning up his coat, " the next thing is for me to go up to the house, and bring down a lot of outsiders for you and Miss Frost to go home with." "Outsiders!" laughed Carrie, " what do you mean?" "Outsiders, sweet sis, is a generic name for things to be worn outside,--shawls, rubbers, overcoats, etc." And Rick put on his hat, preparatory to launching himself into the rain. At this moment a faint "Halloo!" penetrated our hiding-place. "By all that's opportune, a rescue!" exclaimed Rick, dashing out, and returning it with a will. In brief space of time, a nondescript figure appeared at the mouth of the cavern. It had long, gray hair, keen black eyes, slouching garments, and a saturnine face;-in short, it was Mortimer Bryer, the hero of Mrs. Prescott's anecdote, who had not before deigned to show himself to SHLOH. 285 me. He was heavily laden with " outsiders," which he dis- pensed, with as few words as possible; then, taking Carrie on his arm, under an umbrella, he marched off at a great pace. Rick hoisted another over me, and we followed as fast as possible, but were inevitably distanced in the race. Mrs. Thorne met us at the door with profuse regrets and condolences. We had a merry drying by the kitchen fire, and plenty of vivacious talk from Rick afterward. I accepted, perforce, an invitation to spend the night; for all the celestial reservoirs seemed to be emptying themselves, as a preliminary step to a thorough renovation. At a tol- erably late hour, Mrs. Thorne conducted me to a large, dusky room, filled with grim, old-fashioned furniture. I slept in a high-post bedstead; over which a heavy canopy and hangings of dark chintz brooded like a cloud. Beside it, stood a tall, high-backed chair, in such a position as to seem intended for the reception of some ghostly watcher. Perhaps it was this that made sleep so unresponsive to my call, and gave me ample time to think how strange it was that Mrs. Thorne should know-Paul Venner! IFS \ ! page: 286-287[View Page 286-287]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 286-287 XXVII. I FIN THE BOWER. UHE morning was so clear and fair as to give i3 color to the fancy that nature was trying s3 t pi to make sweet amends for the storm of the preceding night. After breakfast, I announced i^.! ^ my intention of proceeding immediately home- ^^S.^ ward; but Mrs. Thorne managed, somehow, to set its fulfilment aside, and to substitute a plan ' ^ to visit some natural curiosity called "The Bower," in a- neighboring bit of woods. This involved the necessitylof waiting for the grass to dry, and another hour or two of Bryer and Thorne society, with a considerable preponderance, I thought, of Rick's. In due time, how- ever, we set forth, Carrie linking her arm in mine, and her brother in advance. Half way across lihe first meadow we were stopped by Mrs. Thorne's voice. "Carrie!" she called, with her head out of the win- dow, "I want you, just for a moment or two. I forgot to measure your belt. Go on, Miss Frost, she will overtake you directly." We went on, of course, but I had a singular feeling, for the moment, that Rick and Carrie and I were only puppets, whereof Mrs. Thorne pulled the wires! "The Bower " was worth seeing, nevertheless. A lux- uriant, wild grapevine had run up and down and across the SHLOH 287 boughs and trunks of contiguous trees, and woven a hut- like enclosure, with but a single narrow opening;--all of green verdure without, all a brown network of vines with- in, supported by mossy pillars of tree-trunks. Inside was a rustic seat,-not in the best repair. "Sit down," said Rick, after having tested its strength by a vigorous shake; "Carrie will be here soon. She will consider herself defrauded, no doubt, in not hearing your first exclamation of wonder - she would be doubly disap- pointed, if we did not wait for her." And Rick folded his arms, leaned against one of the gray pillars, and seemed to lose himself in thought. Some indefinable feeling made me careful not to disturb it. I sat silent, listening for Carrie's step, wondering how long Mrs. Thorne would deem it ex- pedient to keep her, and inwardly resolving that my move- ments should never again be woven into the intricate web of her designs. And yet, what possible object could she have in throw- ing Rick and me together? So utterly fruitless was my investigation in that direction, that I began to think my- self needlessly suspicious; and to settle down into the be- lief that things had taken their natural course, after all, uninfluenced by my bland and -easy hostess, except as she was naturally desirous of fit companionship for her daughter. Then, secure in his intense and prolonged absorption, Is suffered my eyes to rest upon my companion, and was new- ly and vividly impressed with his wondrous personal beau- ty ;-a beauty similar in kind, though not at all in expres- sion, to that which old masters give to Our Lord, blended of both masculine and feminine traits. The exquisite mould and outline of his form and countenance had the superadded charm of perfect health,-the richest vitality animating the most symmetrical mechanism. He stood where both face and figure continually caught fresh lights and changeful tints from the flickering play of sunbeams; page: 288-289[View Page 288-289]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 288-289 288 SIIILOH. falling through the wind-stirred roof of foliage; as if to typify how capable was his inner nature of imbibing pleas- ant hues and cheerful gleams of light from all points; and making me feel that, as a matter of artistic propriety, he ought always to be so placed as to receive the greatest pos- sible amount of material and metaphorical sunshine. Fate would do him as much wrong in withholding them, I thought, as in denying to ordinary men 'a sufficiency of air to breathe. His features ought always to. reflect the glow of a cheerful and happy spirit;-the frown of sorrow, of care, or of anger, would be as much out of place among them, as on the careless, open brow of a child. Yet the light veil of thought which now shadowed them, was rather a beautifier than otherwise. Indeed, it did more than shadow; it informed them with a deeper and more delicate intelligence, and subtly suggested (with what amount of truth I know not) some latent, finer temper of being. Seeing him thus, it occurred to me how easy it would- be for a thoughtless, inexperienced girl to lose her heart to him. I could even conceive that it were possible for a wo- man-gentler, tenderer,- more generous, and more disinter- ested than myself--to lay down her life and love at his feet; content for them to be trodden in the dust, if by that means his way might be made smooth and easy to the hap- piness that she could so much better bear to do without. There are women who might fitly be wedded to the horse- leech; they are satisfied (for a time, at least) to "give- give," asking little or nothing in return; with them it is enough for happiness to watch the abundant, unobstructed outflow of their own hearts. The motherly instinct is strongest in them. Their supremest delight is to cherish, to nurture, to nourish,--whether with milk of breast, love of heart, toil of hand, or ache of brow; and, till children come to divert the feeling into its more natural channel, it sets strongly toward lover and husband. Such an one SHLOH. 289 might ask nothing better of Providence than the opportu- nity of devoting herself to this beautiful, amiable, joyous creature, who would always retain, even in mature age, somewhat of the characteristics of youth ;-and, reversing the natural order of the relation of woman to man, she might be content to spend her days and strength in remov- ing the thorns from his pathway, and warding off from him the strokes of sorrow and of trial. I might even be capable of it myself, if he were my brother. But my hus- band-if ever I have one-must be more ready to shield than be shielded. He must have that deepest grace which comes from power, tempered with gentleness. He must be strong with moral strength, and wise with heaven- ly wisdom; and whatever sort of face he wears, it must be transfigured with the inward beauty of an earnest, loving spirit, a disciplined will, and a symmetrically developed in- tellect. In short, lie must be like-but what am I think- ing of!--like no one that I have ever seen, except through the beautifying, magnifying glass of ideality-a truth dis- covered too late. And yet-ah! yes, my father!-how often has thy memory arisen between me and bitter, sweep- ing distrust of mankind!-how tenderly does thine image, set itself to rekindle the failing fire of faith in human good- ness, on the hearthstone of my heart! Better man than thou no woman need dream of, nor desire to find! I had forgotten everything-the Bryers, the bower; Rick's presence, Carrie's absence-everything but my father's face, smiling upon me more tenderly than Italian skies; my father's voice, rich and sweet with the honey of wisdom, hived through long, serene years of patient thought and loving research. It cost me no small effort, therefore, to grasp the present again, and bring it home to my mind with the necessary distinctness, when Rick sudc- denly- broke the silence. "Miss Frost, may I ask you how long you are to re- main in Shiloh?" 13 page: 290-291[View Page 290-291]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 290-291 290 SHLOH. "I really cannot say. iSome weeks longer, certainly." "And I may not be able to come up again for three months!" Accepting the remark as conclusive, I did not answer it; but sought covertly to take out a tear' from each eye, that had welled up from the deep fountains so lately stirred. Rick drew nearer, and spoke again. "I have read somewhere that parting is ' sweet sorrow.1 But it can only be so, I fancy, to those who are certain, or hopeful, of meeting again. When and where may I ex- pect to meet you again, Miss Frost?" "( We will leave that to time and chance, if you please," I answered, lightly. "Time and Chance," he responded, shrugging his shoul- ders, "are not the deities I should choose to preside over this matter. To be sure, they have been kinder to me, in bringing about this most unexpected meeting, than I had dared to hope. But they are capricious divinities, at best. Mere acquaintanceship can invoke them, if it likes; but they will not do for-a stronger feeling." Instinctively, though vaguely, T comprehended that something was impending which it would better please me to avert. I rose, therefore, and moved toward the entrance, remarking, carelessly,--"I think we may as well go. I have done the 'Bpwer' thoroughly; I took it all in, roof, floor, foliage, tendrils, green grapes, mosses, cracks in the seat, and gaps in the walls, while you were in a brown study just now; and I have waited for Carrie as long as she can reasonably expect. I doubt if she is coming at all; probably your mother detained her until she thought it too late to start." My action only seemed to precipitate the communication it was designed to prevent. Rick placed himself directly in my path, and put forth a detaining hand. "Not yet," said he, hurriedly. "Listen to me a moment --indeed you must. I have no right, I know, upon so short SHLOH. Myi an acquaintance, to tell you that I love you, and yet,"--he stopped and drew a long breath,-" it is true!" Dismayed, confounded, at so sudden and unlooked-for a crisis, I stood silent, uncertain what tone it were best to, take. He went on, with scarcely a moment's pause. "Still, if I hadiknown when and where I might expect to see you again, I would not have spoken now. . But I could not make up my mind to part from you a second time, and leave our future meeting, and future relation, to mere accident. Hvas loth enough to do it last winter. Yet my feeling for you, then, was only admiration, esteem, liking,-the dawn of love,-while now! There are hours you know, that do the work of weeks, of months. Such an hour was yesterday's sunset, and those delightful moments in the cave, and this morning's quiet talk in the porch. Under such influences love springs up as quickly as Jonah's gourd, though not, I beg you to believe, with so evanescent a growth. But I did not, I do not, mean to press my suit upon you now. You cannot feel more strongly than I do that you ought to know me better before trusting your happiness in my hands. Indeed, I acknowledge frankly that, at this moment, I am not worthy of you. Not because my life has any depths which I would hide from your eyes, but because it has, as yet, no heights which I can point out to them with pride. I only ask your per-., mission to pursue the acquaintance so happily begun, so fortunately continued. Give me opportunity to show you, not only what I am, but what I can be, with the stimulus of your eyes upon -me. Give me time and opportunity to win -your love." The unexpected manliness and generosity of this speech touched me. Nevertheless, I had decided that it would be better not to treat the matter seriously. So I said, quietly, dropping, for the first time, the formal "Mr. Thorne," by which I had, always addressed him,- "Rick, how old are you?" e * ,* page: 292-293[View Page 292-293]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 292-293 292 SIIILOH He looked surprised, even-as was natural enough-a little annoyed. "I am-I shall be twenty-one in three months." "And I am past twenty-four." I spoke in a tone to imply that there was an end of the matter. And again I rose to go. "If you think that makes any difference to me," said Rick, quickly, "you mistake me much. I love you just as you are,-I would not have you any different, by a day or an hour. And I promise you that the outward discrep- ancy-if there is any-shall totally disappear in a year or two. If you will only let me, I will make your Jlife so happy that youth shall linger with you, loth to, go, long after its usual time for flight. And the care of your hap- piness, the thinking and planning and working for it, will so quickly bring out all the manhood in me--will make me so steady, so grave, so mature, that I shall soon seem the elder of the two. Ah! see what you will thus do for me! you will give me higher aims andi new strength. Without you, my life will remain objectless, valueless. With you and through you, all pleasant possibilities of growth, of achievement, of usefulness, of happiness, open to me." No doubt he believed what he said. For the moment I half believed it, too. The warm tide of his earnestness bore me on with it irresistibly. And suddenly Miala stood beside me, whispering in my ear. "What better mission than this does the world now hold for you?" she asked, with an indescribable mixture of seriousness and sarcasm. "( Your life is bereft of its future; why not devote it to bettering the future of another! You will never love again, with the depths and heighths of your nature: why not be content with the quiet, careful, elder-sisterly affection that you might bring yourself to feel for Rick Thorne'! Be his providence, and take his destiny into your hands. Repeat the grand miracle of the creation; breathe vital, inspiring, strengthening breath into this beau- SHLOH. 293 tiful clay. Supplement his grace with your strength, his brilliancy with your depth, his amiability with your con- scientiousness, his easy temper with your steadfastness, his impulsiveness with your patience. In short, make a MAN of him, and find your reward in your work. Many a better woman might be glad of the chance." BONA (with slow emphasis). Perhaps you have all those good qualities in the measure required. I hope so. For, very strong you need to be to undertake the work of God's good providence! Very deep, to be able to sink the lie you would live out of the reach of your own self-condem- nation! Very conscientious, to walk unscathed through the fiery furnace of wedded life, bare of undoubted wedded love! Very steadfast, to keep memory always muzzled, and regret ever at bay! Very patient, to wait till good comes of doing evil! Many a better woman might shrink from the trial. MALA (goineg on, cfter a moment, as if Bona had not spoken). You ought to consider yourself, too, somewhat. Home, in the sweetest sense of the word, you have none. Your family ties are few, and Time will make them fewer. Your duties are vague and scattered-a bit here, a bit there. Your objects take no definite hold on the future. In pity to yourself, give yourself a- home, a tie, a duty, an object, for life! BONA. A home unhallowed-a tie with a rotten thread in it -a duty full of an endless discouragement-an object quick with a gnawing dissatisfaction. The words came faintly, as if from afar. MALl :(impatiently). Well! suppose it is all true-what have you better now? You cannot be worse off than you are. BONA (drawing near). And if ever Paul Venner- I started and shuddered. "Rick," I said, drearily, "it cannot be. The truth is, I have no heart to give you." "You are engaged?" he asked, quickly. page: 294-295[View Page 294-295]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 294-295 294 . SHLOH. "No; but-I was-that is to say, I came very near to being so-once." "I see. You have had a bereavement, or a disappoint- ment. No matter-grief yields to time-I can wait. Hereafter, when--" I interrupted him. "There are cases when apparent harshness is true tenderness. This is one of them. I tell you frankly, that there can be no hereafter in this matter. It must be ended, now and here." He looked at me quietly and shook his head. "I have no doubt you believe what you say. You are" cruel- upon principle. But I shall cherish hope, though you give none. Some day you will find your heart empty. Then, seeing my love so ready, so patient, so true, you will open the door and let it in." "Hush, Rick! How can I make you understand with- out giving you needless pain? Our natures were never made nor meant to be joined together. In all that you have said to me, there is an intuitive, probably an uncon- scious, recognition of this fact. Such a union would have no firm foundation in natural fitness. Doubtless, I might have loved you very tenderly as a sister, very faithfully as a friend, but as a wife, wifely--never! Say no more-- further words on this subject can only be painful to both of us." He looked at me fixedly for some moments-then turned away his face. I heard a deep-drawn breath,-almost a sob. If he would only stand aside from the entrance and let me vanish quietly! As it was, I could do nothing but avert my gaze and wait. There was a long silence, which the birds filled up at their leisure. By and by, he lifted his head. "At least, we can be friends," said he. "You will let me write to you. You vill allow me to keep within the sphere of your good influence. Be what you just said you might have been-my tender sister, my faithful friend!" SHoILOH. 295 I sent a prophetic glance down through the future. He would begin by sending me mournful outpourings of hope- less love; his letters would pass through the several grada- tions of tender melancholy, devoted attachment, easy friend- liness, uneasy indifference (briefly struggled with), and finally cease. I had watched the course of two or three such friendships-if they deserve the name--among my acquaintance; there was no room for self-deception as to their way, their influence, or their end. 3nALA. Well! what harm? The matter will thus be disposed of without giving him any sudden wrench, any severe, racking struggle. And his friendship will be very pleasant while it lasts. And he will never take deep hold enough of your life to be missed when he is gone. BONA. And he will have lost all faith in himself, being proved so weak; all faith in any human love, having seen the slow fading out of his own. Far better for him to wrestle with it and conquer it nobly, as love, than to sit down supinely and wait for it to waste away, under other names, into nothingness! No man was ever harmed by conquering a misplaced or unrequited affection; but many a heart has been irretrievably vitiated by indulging one, harboring it long under divers disguises and through many transformations, growing tired of it, and finally losing it by the natural process of decay. Over the grave of sucha love no fragrant memories blossom, no soul grows tender, no life grows pure and strong! I turned to Rick. "Forgive me if I seem inapprecia- tive, ungrateful. It is just because I am your true friend, at heart, that I beg to decline the outward relation;-at least, until you have come to feel only friendship for me. If I did otherwise, how could I look your future wife in the face?" "My wife!" he repeated, bitterly, "I shall never have any." ' "Allow me to hope and believe,that you will; and all page: 296-297[View Page 296-297]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 296-297 296 SHLOH. the sooner that you are not encouraged to waste any of the best of your heart upon me, under the mask of friendship. The affection which we conquer, we keep intact for a better, brighter, holier occasion; that which we indulge unwisely, we are apt to fritter away piecemeal." "Ah," returned Rick, "if you were only as wise for yourself as for me, you would-" Carrie's voice cut the sentence short. She was coming along the path, singing a cheery snatch of song, Yielding to a sudden, foolish impulse, Rick dashed through the side of the bower,- a seemingly impervious mass of vines. I looked after him with a momentary fear; but the flexible branches had yielded and closed again, as if only a bird had passed. Almost immediately, Carrie appealed at the entrance. ' Where is Rick?" she asked, in wonder. "Looking for the fauns and dryads," I responded, drily. "They will acknowledge him as of kin--when he finds them! He went through that wall of vines, just now, in such a manner as to establish an indisputable claim to their relationship." "Ah!" said Carrie, with a knowing look, " he has hid- den, and means to surprise or to frighten me. It is an old freak. How could you betray him? I was delighted with the plausible explanation. "Let us steal'a march on him, and go home," said I. Carrie would have preferred to wait. She had a mind for her brother's society, and did not suspect that, just then, he had no mind for hers. Nevertheless, as she is one of those gentle, self-sacrificing beings, whose chief use of their wills is to furnish pleasant parallels to other and stronger ones, she yielded. Quickly we left the wood shadow and seclusion behind us. I drew a breath of relief as we emerged from it into the open meadow and the sunshine. XXVTII. DREGS. iHE worst part of our nature is seldom slow Eg h to revenge itself upon the best. After 1 t - any strain of moral heroism, comes an a inevitable reaction.+ The soul that has strug- gled up the Mount of Trial leaning on the arm, of the Holy Spirit, is wofully apt to slide down [' the corresponding declivity in the grasp of - Satan. Sometimes, I think, tie devil even joins in the good work of pushing us up, that the impetus thus gained may enable him the more easily to thrust us down. He helps to build up our characters to some lofty height of virtue, in order that they may the more surely topple over into some small neighboring pit of vice. He does not scruple to aid us in girding up our loins to the battle, that the bivouac may fall more completely under his control.. I left Bona in "The Bower." On the way back, I took bitter counsel with Mala. She offered a possible solution of the problem that perplexed me; also a suggestion or two, upon which I acted in due time. As we neared the house, I observed Mrs. Thorne seated at her window, sewing. It is a noteworthy circumstance that she is always sewing, in a characteristic fashion. She sets stitches with the ease and regularity of a machine, and with as little apparent interest in the process.- She un- dertakes nothing that exacts close attention-thought of 13, dc page: 298-299[View Page 298-299]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 298-299 298 SHLOH. brain as well as motion of hand; she chooses rather straight seams, bands, and hems,--work which keeps the fingers busy and leaves the mind free; which furnishes ready ex- cuse for dropping her eyes, upon occasions, yet, allows them full liberty to wander when there is anything to re- ward observation. She regarded Carrie and me from -her outlook with some surprise, some perplexity. Doubtless, Rick's non- appearance with us struck her as a somewhat singular cir- cumstance. Possibly, too, she discerned something in my face or manner suggestive of unexpected complications; for, in matters affecting her own interests, her perceptions are as quick and subtle as the electric fluid. Nevertheless, by the time I had ascended to her room deaving Carrie in the porch below, looking out for her brother), I might as well have tried to read thought or emotion in the immovable features of the Sphinx. Save for the bland smile that ever plays about her lips-affording as much real warmth to the heart as a phosphoric glimmer would to the finger-ends--- she was absolutely statuesque. "Mrs. Thorne," I began abruptly, " did you ever hap- pen to hear of my cousin-Wilhelmina Frost?" She searched her memory rapidly, "No, I believe not. Why do you ask?" "Because, madam, she is better worth your acquaint- ance than I am. She is young, beautiful, accomplished, and-chiefest grace of all!-rich. Perhaps you are not aware that there were three of the Frost brothers. The eldest left home early; he led a wandering, erratic life for years; he married late, in India. He died there, not long' since, leaving a large fortune to his only surviving child- a daughter;--and both to the guardianship of her, and my, uncle--John Frost. According to the terms of her father's will, she resides alternately with him and the relatives of her mother, She is now with the latter in a western city." SHLOHr. 299 "Ah!" said Mrs. Thorne, meditatively. The tone indicated that she had, at last, found the key to a puzzle. -l Moreover," I went on, with a blind, bitter, foolish ir- ritation; partly due to the natural revulsion of feeling, overwrought during my recent interview with Rick, and partly to my utter detestation of the motives and designs which-rightly or wrongly-I now attributed to Mrs. Thorne in bringing us together;--" moreover, she is heart-free (so far as I know, at least)-which I am not. Or it might be more to the point to say that my heart-all that is best of it-is dead and buried," Scarcely were the words spoken ere I repented of them. What folly to lay bare the hidden workings of my life,-- its secret grievances, trials, disappointments,-to a woman like Mrs. Thorne,-a mere calculating machine, without heart, sympathy, or conscience,-who would at once pro- ceed to incorporate them with her own schemes and use them unscrupulously to further her own ends, if she found them anywise capable of such subserviency; or else throw them out on the highway, to be ground into the dust by every passing wheel. However, having given myself up, utterly, into the hands of Mala, for the time,.I could think of no better way of mending the matter than by aiming a threat at Mrs. Thorne's maternal pride, and so enlisting it on my side. I went on, therefore, with still intenser bit- terness, because mingled with self-contempt. "However, as you may imagine, this is a part of my history which I do not care to put into the possession of Madam Rumor. If I find it there, by any means directly or indirectly traceable to this conversation, I shall consider myself. at liberty to offset it with a part of your son's, -namely, that I have just declined the honor of his hand." . She gave so genuine and unmistakable a start of sur- prise, that, for a moment, it confounded all my conclu- i* page: 300-301[View Page 300-301]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 300-301 300 SHLOa. sions. She had not expected this climax, then? Or, was it merely that she had not expected it so soon? I inclined to the latter supposition, inasmuch as, after that first gleam of surprise had passed, and the momentary flush of resent- ment which succeeded it had faded from her cheek, I fan- cied I could detect, in her countenance, the serenity of easy acceptance; not altogether devoid of satisfaction. Proba- bly, as matters had turned out, she was relieved- to find the affair ended so soon, and thus. It would save trouble. While she reflected, I stood regarding her with a chill and creeping of the flesh; as at something not quite hu- man. A curious piece of flesh-and-blood mechanism, in- formed with thought and will, but entirely destitute of af- fections, sympathies, emotions! It was plain that she con- sidered the subject purely in a material way, as a question of social or pecuniary advantage and loss; for her, its moral or emotional side did not. exist. I am aware that -my sketch-of Mrs. Thorne's character may justly be accused of exaggeration. It is all the truer, e on that account. There are peopledwhom it is nearly im- possible not to overdraw. Abhorrence, like anger, can sel- dom be restrained within absolutely just limits. Take it with what abatement you think fit. When she spoke, it was in the smoothest, blandest of tones, carefully ignoring everything in my words: or man- ner that might have constituted a cause of offence. ' I am very sorry to hear it. -Not that I blame you in the least, my dear,-of course you could have done nothing else un- der the circumstances,-but I regret that Rick should have been so precipitate, and that you should have been so an- noyed. But he is very young and impulsive, and you are " -she hesitated a moment, and I fancied there was a faint tinge of sarcasm in the tone wherewith she finished the sentence--" very attractive. I think you can afford to for- give him for the compliment (for such it was after alD, not- withstanding it was a little ill-timed. Allow me to say, SIILOH . 301 furthermore, that it gratifies me to know that your rejec- tion was based on grounds quite disconnected with his merits, and that I shall, of course, respect every confidence with which you have honored me,-and so we will dismiss the subject and forget it!" She paused, as if expecting a reply, but as I made none, she continued, after a moment; "Let me trust that this untoward little incident may not interrupt the course of the acquaintance so pleasantly begun. Rick leaves us this afternoon, you know, and will not return -for some months. And Carrie takes such a fancy to you!--you seem to have bewitched both my chil- dren! And- I own that I had hoped for much benefit to Carrie from your society. She really has none, at present. I am, perhaps, needlessly particular about her associates,; but I want her to retain the tone and manner of the sphere in which- I moved so long, and I am afraid she might lose it if she mingvled. too freely with Shiloh people. Not,"- she hastened to say; as if conscious that this implied too sweeping a censure, or she might have seen the involuntary curl of my lip,-" not that I suppose there are no persons here with whom she might fitly associate; but, as I never go out myself, I have no means of knowing who they are, so I have preferred to keep her at home altogether. If re- port says true, your heart opens freely enough to any claim upon its kindness-if not upon its deeper affection.- Do me the favor, as an old friend of your father, to number her among your friends, or proteges /" To say truth, I never felt less inclined to confer a favor in my life. "That," said I, coldly, " must be as circum- stances determine. Friendships are apt to take their own course." "True," she returned, with imperturbable good-humor, '" and I think yours will set towards Carrie, if allowed to take its own course. She is both lovable and loving,--ca- pable of blind adoration and unquestioning trust to a de- page: 302-303[View Page 302-303]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 302-303 302 SHLOH. gree which, to a person as old and worn and disilluisonized as I am, seems absolutely Quixotic." I was well aware of it. And it was an endless riddle to me how a character so gentle, so trustful, so affection- ate as Carrie's, and one so frank, careless and buoyant as Rick's, could have sprung from the dark and tortuous wind- ings of Mrs. Thorne's nature. Neither, it was certain, could be in her confidence, nor aid directly in her pro-- jects. Still, I would promise nothing, on Carrie's behalf; though I foresaw, clearly enough, that if she chose to seek me out, and cling to me, I shotild not have the heart to cast her off. The worst of it would be that I should sus- pect that the seeking was partly, if not mainly, the result of the mother's promptings; and I should be sure that it was entirely in accordance with the mother's aims. But why did Mrs. Thorne desire the continuance of the acquaintance? Wonderingly I asked the question. Mala furnished me with an answer-conjectural, of course. Mrs. Thorne's cold egotism quietly swallows or rejects whatever Gomes in its way,-men, women, events, possibilities,--ac- cording as they can, or cannot, be made instrumental to the attainment of her own ends. With her, feelings, sen- sibilities, principles, prejudices, affections, go for nothing, except as they count for or against her own garme. My re- jection of Rick weighed not the value of a grain of dust against the possibility of my being of future use to her. Through nle, Rick might yet be presented to the young heiress with whom she had, at first, confounded me. Through me, Carrie might be brought into contact with a sphere of society that she had no other present means of reaching unto. Mrs. Thorne would put no card out of her hand which might ultimately win her a trick. So I rea- soned,-with what disgust, both at her and myself, it is im- possible to say! Rick's voice now sounded from the porch, low, listless, dispirited. With it Carrie's gentle, loving tones went SHLOH. 303 twisting in and out, in silken threads of regret, explana- tion, and sympathy. Evidently she believed that his mood was due to that recent running away from him, of which she fancied herself to be guilty-never once imagining, guileless little soul! that it was he who had fled from her, blindly, recklessly. - His replies were vague and preoccu- pied. He was glad enough, doubtless, to find that he was supposed to be the victim rather than the culprit; and that explanation was to be received instead of given; but his mood did not clear up, and Carrie was disconsolate and re- morseful. Seldom is mortal blessed with such entire devo- tion and unlimited faith as she gave to this brother. In her eyes, he could have no fault. That was the one prin- ciple at the centre of all things. So secure was she of his right, that she took it for granted that she, and everybody else, was wrong. Mrs. Thorne offered no further opposition--except such as the merest courtesy required-to my departure. The whole household, with the notable exceptions of Dr. Bryer and the .saturnine bachelor, Mortimer, assembled in the porch for the ceremony of leave-taking. Mrs. Thorne, with her most gracious air of the courteous hostess; Miss Bryer, with real kindliness of heart under her formal man- ners ; Rick, leaning with folded arms against the dilapi- dated pillar, and looking after me moodily ; Carrie, hanging round me affectionately to the last moment, promising'to come and see me soon; and, finally, the idiots, catching up every farewell word and cqurteous phrase, and repeating it over and over, like a couple of parrots. I went slowly down the hill, and wondereI if it were true that only a day and night had passed since I climbed it! A day and night of quick-flowing events-of interest approaching to excitement-of something which, if it were not pleasure, went far to fill its place, in a monotonous life. I felt a strange dislike to go back to the old, quiet routine. Doubt and discouragement took possession of me. Would page: 304-305[View Page 304-305]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 304-305 304 SHLOH. not my life have been richer, at least, if not happier, if I had admitted into it that prospect opened to me by Fred- erick Thorne? Had I really done well in refusing so de- cisively his love-his. friendship-the opportunity for doino him good? I declare to you, Francesca, that, as I went moodily down the hill that day, I could not tell! Of one thing only was I tolerably certain-that I thor- oughly despised myself. After taking so high a tone with Rick, it was humiliating to have descended into the depths of meanness with his mother. Yet, as human beings are prone to do, I excused myself by blaming her. There are some natures (I argued) that inevitably soil and degrade whatever comes in contact with them. There are certain moral atmospheres, through which we are quick to detect evil and slow to recognize good, or they hopelessly confuse and confound the two. It must be a mind of steady poise or of very little susceptibility to influence, that can main- tain such intercourse without harm. I felt that I detested Mrs. Thorne, and all the more because some perverse part of my nature had shown itself so unexpectedly amenable to her influence. In such a mood, I reached the gate of the Divine home- stead. As usual, Uncle- True was at the woodpile, chop- ping wood. Mrs. Prescott was also there, picking up chips in her apron. Both watched me as I came up the road, and Uncle True laid down his axe. ' Good mornin', Miss Frost. ' Had a good time?" "I don't know-yes-I believe so." "Sorry you ain't sure on't," returned he, wiping his brow. "(Howsomever, it's a door that's got more'n one hinge to swing on,-a good un, a bad un, and another be- tween 'em that's neither one nor t'other, but passable. And that's the hinge that things swing on the most,- thank the Lord!" "I don't see what there is to thank the Lord for in that," said Mrs, Prescott, shortly. SHLOH. 305 Cc Wall," replied Uncle True, "Agur, the son of Jakeh, did. He said, 'Lord, give me neither poverty nor riches'; and I kinder think he meant suthin' more'n the sort of pov- erty and riches you carry in your pocket. I reckon most on us might pray,' Lord, give me neither a good time nor a bad 'un, but jest kinder passable,' with good reason. For, you see, in a good time we're apt to forget the Lord that sent it; and though a bad 'un may drive us to think of Him a leetle more, still-wall,we don't any of us exact- ly hanker arter trouble, you know!I "Children don't cry after picry, as a general thing," responded Mrs. Prescott, drily. Then she turned to me. "Well, what do you think of Mrs. Thorne?" she asked, abruptly. "Mrs. Prescott, I 'don't think of her--at least, not now." "IUmph!" said Mrs. Prescott, "any one who can't translate that into, 'Least said is soonest mended;' had better go and sell his head for a soap dish!" And, put- ting a final chip into her apron, she marched into the house. Uncle True gave no heed to this little episode, but went on with -his own train of thought, not stopping to supply the missing' links. "There's that bird, yonder, in the ma- ple; there's no doubt about his havin' a good time, is there now? Jest hear him sing!"' There was no question about it, whatever. His song was the distilled essence of a spirit jubilant within. "As long as he gits any sort o' stuff to peck at, and ain't actooally gobbled up and carried off and made a meal on, he seems to think his time's good 'nough. But we human critturs is more onreasonable. Some on us want fine clothes, and some on us want fine victuals, and some on us want larnin', and most on us want our own way. 1 Now, that bird is satisfied with the Lord's way. He builds his 'nest of what comes nighest to hand, and page: 306-307[View Page 306-307]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 306-307 306 SHLOH. ain't partic'ler what sort o' feathers he lines it with. He. don't growl, nor grumble, nor fret, nor swear, if he has to take up with a caterpillar instead of a ground worm for breakfast,-nary one on 'em sticks in his crop to spile his song. He'd abeout as soon have rye as wheat for dinner; and he's willin' to sing the same hymns his forefathers did, way back to Noah's ark, and to larn 'em to his children. I wish more of us had his sense, or his religion, or his instinct,-if that's what you'd ruther call it. I think t'would pass for either on 'em pooty well." And Uncle True set up a stick on end, and sent the halves flying in different directions with one swing of his axe, by way of climax to his speech. "Still," said I, after a moment, " a bird's life is not quite like a human life. The latter has so many more outs and ins, responsibilities and duties, and takes so many un- expected shapes, and has to be looked at from so many dif- ferent points of view." . "Um!" said Uncle True. "You see that little cloud up yonder. What does it look like to you, now?" "A little like a dipper." "I was thinkin' t'was suthin' like a shovel. Wall, now the wind has jammed in the handle, and puffed out the body, what is't like?" "Like a shield." "I was agoin' to say the ace of spades. But it don't matter what shape it takes, nor what it looks like to you nor me, so long as it keeps-like its Lord-about the Father's business. Which I take to be--for a cloud-to gather up all the damp it finds floatin' around loose, and to go where it's sent,-never doubtin' that it's the Lord that blows it, and not a senseless wind (for the wind's the breath of His mouth!); and then, to drop down wherever he wants it to, and refresh the earth." I went thoughtfully into the house. I suspect it was greatly due to Uncle True that I found Bona there--in my closet, " the door being shut." SHLOH. 307 Not that Mala was absent. The twain discoursed with me, at some length; but I have given so faithful a report of the circumstances which formed the text of their dis- course, that its tenor is easily divined. And I confess *ht I am in haste to have done with the subject. Turn it which way I will, I find no comfort in it: it leaves me with a heavy weight of self-dissatisfaction, and (as a nat- ural consequence) of dissatisfaction with everybody, else. -, page: 308-309[View Page 308-309]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 308-309 --XXIX. AN AFTERNOONS AT THE. SEWING SOCIBITY. I, HAVE been thinking, Francesca, how oddly Life often leads us to the very point we meant to shun. He who-enters upon any path, aiming at whatever goal, foresees little of the way by f which it will lead him. I did not imagine that ,? la grande passion would get into this sober chronicle; to say truth, I had a set purpose of keeping it out. Yet there it is, in spite of me. And its right to its place is all the more indefeasible, doubt- less, for the reason that I cannot now discover (and never may, this side of the veiD what is its special business there. In real life, events do not arrange themselves with the unity, the continuity, the steadily unfolding plot, of the critic's pet novel. Half the scenes and characters with which our days are filled might be spared, we are wont to think, with- out affecting the result. : Possibly they might, if Godcl's purpose in them were the bringing about of certain marlkecl events, rather than the training of immortal spirtis. The good or evil work they do, in tempting, restraining, devel- oping, and disciplining us, is none the less real that it often passes for a void in our experience. And yet, it would seem that we ought to recognize God's hand even more certainly in these scattered, inconsequential events-starting up in our path unexpected and undesired -than in those which are the more legitimate offspring of StILOH. '309 our own efforts, and work harmoniously into our plans. The eye of faith, methinks, studying them carefully, would catch a hint here, a clue there, to show that His purpose was shut within, if it did not shine through them; and would be made plain to our sight, and beautiful and just to our comprehension, in the great Day of Revealing. To be frank, however, I made my visit to Bryer Farm the subject of no such study, to no such comfortable end. Its only present fruits were mortification and regret. And on the morrow I woke as from a long, involved, oppressive dream. The events and personages that had stood out in such bold relief from the surface of the two preceding days, now assumed so vision-like a consistency as to seem un- deserving of serious consideration. Most gladly I turned my back on them. Life settled to its usual flow, and seemed not more monotonous than-was morally wholesome. In the afternoon the Sewing Society had its weekly meet- ing. To my surprise, I found Carrie Thorne there. The surprise was, by no means, a pleasurable one. It showed that my late adventure was not all a dream; and it afforded fresh evidence of Mrs. Thorne's determined and pertinacious character. She would leave no channel untried by which her daughter might find a way into my affections, or, at least, into my interests. Yet Carrie herself was so plainly guiltless of any ulterior design that it was impossible to be unkind to her, even with the vision of her mother looming in the background. She brightened up at sight of me as if : ' I had been the sunshine of her existence, and immediately came to put herself under my orders. She seemed to have come hither with the single object of keeping near me and constituting herself my slave; led by that simple, enthusi- astic admiration, akin to worship, and beautiful because so disinterested, which a young girl often cherishes for a wo- man a little older than herself. In response to her entreaty that she might be made of use, I led her to the work-table. "Take your choice of A \. page: 310-311[View Page 310-311]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 310-311 310 SHLOH. patchwork and plain-sewing; or, if you have any gift or grace at fancy-work, set yourself about some 'airy nothing' or other, for Mrs. Danforth's fair." "Mrs. Danforth's fair!" repeated that lady, suddenly flashing all her diamonds before my eyes, "I should just like to know when that name was given, and who stood sponsor!" "Impossible to tell. It is like a hundred other things current in the community,-everywhere received, and no- where acknowledged. Easier to find the source of the Nile than theirs. Never mind; the name fits, does it not?" "Fits like a duck's egg in a hen's nest!" "The simile does you credit. For, if the idea of the fair -did not actually originate with you, you have so kindly adopted it, and kept it warm, that I really think no one is so fairly entitled to the honor of its paternity." "All right!" replied she, good-humoredly. "It can pass for 'Mrs. Danforth's fair' till it brings a hundred dol- lars, or two, into the treasury; then, see how quick it will become the 'child of the regiment,'--that is to say, of the Society!" "Likely enough," I rejoined, laughing. "Only, Mrs. Danforth, I promise you that you shall wear your honors undivided, so far as I am concerned." And I attempted to move on. "Not so fast I " she exclaimed, catching me by the arm. "'There is a twang in your voice that does not escape my observation. Have you anything against my fair?" "No, since it is not mine." "Well, if it were yours." "The supposition is not to be entertained, for a mo- ment." "Why not?" she urged. "Because Miss Essie is waiting for me to help her about marking that quilt." She gave me a look of' keen scrutiny; "There is more : SHLOH. 3" than that in the way ;,-I see it in your eye. Come! out with it!" I drew her aside. "Mrs. Danforth, if you will insist upon making me say what you will not like to hear; at least, let me say it where it will not do you a mischief. Since a fair has been decided upon, by vote of the Society; I am not disposed, by so much as a word or a look, to lay a straw in its way. I will even do what I can for it, in the way of preparation;-I hope never to be classed among those who cannot engage in any work, or forward any end, unless they are allowed to do it just in their own way. Still, if the truth must be told, it is not a work that com- mends itself very strongly to my sympathies, and not at all to my better judgment. Do not ask me, therefore, to take any active part in its management. I cannot attempt to persuade people that they are giving liberally to God and His Church, when they are only spending money, more or less foolishy, upon their own pleasure. Neither can I convince myself that I am doing God service by selling 'chances'-a softer name for lottery tickets." Mrs. Danforth shrugged her shoulders. "The motive makes the deed," said she. "Why not the deed the motive, as well? Easy to fit a bad deed with a good motive." "Murder, for instance!" she returned, with the air of having uttered a poser. "Certainly. It puts a good man beyond the reach of the sorrows and vicissitudes of earth." "How, if it's a bad one?" "It prevents him from adding to the catalogue of his sins, and so increasing his condemnation." "Goodness gracious! What have. you -to say for rob- bery?" "The robbed has an opportunity to exercise the virtues of patience, forbearance, and self-denial. The robber in- tends to do good with his money,-'to found a hospital or build--or remodel-a church." , page: 312-313[View Page 312-313]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 312-313 312 SHLOH. Mrs. Danforth raised her hands and her eyebrows. ( Two birds and one stone! Only I am in doubt whether I am the stone or one of the birds! But what is the use of taking it so seriously? I do not believe that ever a young man was made a gambler by buying a chance in a pin- cushion. And people will spend money foolishy, anyhow; -they scour the whole earth for an opportunity to do it; why not give them one where the money will be converted to some good purpose?" "That is to say, why should not the Church make money out of the vices of the world?" "How you do put things! If the world won't give to the Church directly, it must be made to do it indirectly,- no thanks to it, of course!-but the Church gets the money all the same, and does good with it." "Perhaps so. Still, I incline to the opinion that Christ expects His people, by their liberality and self-denial, to support His Church; and not the World, either directly or indirectly. To be sure, they need not decline the latter's contributions; but neither must they descend to worldly methods of securing them. They should prefer to make up any deficiency by greater love, faith, perseverance, and self-sacrifice, on their own part."' "Well, is not that just what we are doing?" exclaimed Mrs. Danforth, triumphantly. "Some of us, certainly, are working hard enough, and self-sacrificingly enough, to de- serve some little credit for labors of love. Many cannot give money, but they gladly give work where it brings money. You would think it a righteous act if they put their work in a fancy store for sale, and gave the pro- ceeds to the Church,-why not, then, in a fair?" "Such arguments have convinced many, Mrs. Danforth, --and I respect their conviction,-but I do not find them quite satisfactory to my own mind. If fairs were conduct- ed in the sober manner, and on the equitable principles of a sale,--if they were disconnected with every unlawful or SHLOH. . i doubtful practice, tending to confuse the ideas of right and wrong in those who take part in them,-above all, if they were unattended with the putting forward of young girls, as saleswomen, in a manner from which every instinct, of delicacy should revolt; and which, moreover, can scarcely fail to give them a disrelish for quieter, safer, more prayer- ful methods of work,-my objections might cease. But, in those very things, I suspect, lies the secret of the fairls suc- cess, and of the readiness of many to engage in it. With- out them, it would be but an indifferent mode of raising money. But why waste more words? both our minds are made up. Besides, it would take the whole afternoon to discuss the subject, in all its bearings. Had we not better leave it where it is-at least, until you get this present fair off your hands?" "With all my heart. Only, if those are your senti- ments, I am obliged to you for your consideration in declin- ing to proclaim them on the housetops. A division in the camp, just now, would be a disaster,' indeed! But you shall not always escape me so easily. Some day, when dis- cussion is safe, I will corner you and convert you to- fairs!" "If you can!" returned I, coolly. Toward the close of the afternoon, Mr. Taylor appeared. Having made the tour of the room, and- said a pleasant word to each of the workers, he came to my corner. '"I congratulate you, Miss Frost, upon an enlarged prospect of usefulness." I looked at him inquiringly. "At last, I have succeeded in scraping together a Sun- day School class for you." '( Indeed! I was not aware that you had any such task in hand. I suppose you must be thanked." "As you please. Perhaps you think it should have been done sooner. But the old teachers had the first claim, I thought. The old teachers and the old scholars naturally " page: 314-315[View Page 314-315]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 314-315 314 , SHLOII. went together. And new scholars are not always to be had for the asking, I find. However, by the opportune arrival of two, and by a judicious weedingc of the old, I have been able to collect a class of five for you to begin with, next Sunday." "Is there no one else who would like it?" He looked surprised and disappointed. "Am I to un- derstand that you would not like it?" "Not quite so bad as that. Only, I should like permis- sion to do better-if I can. I have a theory that the best class for a teacher who really means work, and loves it, is the one that she gathers for herself, from the wayside, by her own personal magnetism of smile, voice, touch. No other will interest her so deeply, task her resources so thoroughly, or reward her labors so abundantly. For some time, I have had it in my mind to gather such a class from the waste places of Shiloh. I take shame to myself that I have not set about it sooner. But I will commence at once, if you will give me permission." "Not only that, but my heartiest thanks," said Mr. Taylor, shaking my hand warmly., "I wish there were more of your mind. Half my burden would roll off my. back. But have you had any experience of this sort of work?" "Yes, sir, a little. I once taught in a Sunday School in one of the worst districts of New York. Every new teacher was sent into the streets, literally to pick up his or her class out of the gutter. Some of the material thus brought in was as rough and gnarled and heterogeneous as could be imagined; and it was occasionally necessary to call in the police to keep chaos from coming again." "I wonder," observed Aunt Vin, without the smallest intention of satirizing the civil- force, "that some of the 'light-fingered sentry' didn't pick your pockets." "They did. But new and suspicious comers were searched at the door, before their exit, if anything was missing. And a few Sundays generally smoothed down the roughest of them, in a manner to seem little short of miraculous: It gave one new confidence both in God and human nature." "But, Miss Frost, isn't it rather like taking the clergy- man's own work right out of his hands, to go round hunt- ing up children for the Sunday School, in a regular parish?" "I claim the right to answer that question," said Mr. Taylor, quickly. "No, lrs. Seber, most emphatically, no! A clergyman would need a hundred hands, and as many heads, to do all of such work that cries out to be done. Moreover, a layman or a laywoman can often do it better than he. These wild children are apt to be afraid of him; they scatter at his approach like so many blackbirds. But let some pleasant-faced, soft-voiced lady stop and speak to them in the street, tell them a story, and promise them a picture-book, a cake, a penny; whatever tempts them most (I hold that nearly any bribe is lawful, at the outset), if they will come to her class next Sunday,-anda ten to one she gets them. Theirway is thus made clear to them. No strange teacher to be encountered,-they have felt the touch of the hand that is to lead them and feed them, and are sure that they like it. Of course they will not all follow. any one man or woman; one will be taken by one face, another by another,-this will yield' to one inducement, that to a different one,-but I believe that all might be brought in, if there were only scouts enough out after them. The child's heart being won, the parents are, of course, visited and asked to consent; somei thing about their circumstances and way of thinking is learned and reported to the clergyman; and his way is made straight for him to visit them and do them good. As straight, that is, as any way can be, in these crooked paths of earth. If laymen- only felt their duty in this matter!" "But everybody hasn't the time for such' business," page: 316-317[View Page 316-317]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 316-317 316 SHLOH. objected Mrs. Burcham. "Now, I like a class in the Sun- day School,-I have always had one,--but, good land! I shouldn't have, if I had to go round and hunt it up in that way!" ' For such teachers," said I, " there are the ready-made *classes. That reminds me, Mr. Taylor, that you have one, awaiting a teacher. Let me recommend-Miss Thorne." Carrie blushed, and at first, declined. But she finally accepted. And I fell straightway into a brown' study of the ramifications and results of influence. Extricating my- self, with an effort, I went in search of Mrs. Danforth, and drew her aside. "I believe your children are not in the Sunday School. May I have them as the nucleus of a class?"-? She held up her hands in amazement. "Well! that is what I should call by its right name, if I were not pre- vented by a due regard for decorum! What do you mean? Did I not hear you say, awhile ago, that you were going out into the highways and byways, to rake in the offscour- ings of the earth?-and you begin with me . Compliment- ary, to say the least of it!" -4Mrs. Danforth, you quite mistake the matter. In this favored corner of the earth-there are- no 'offscourings.' Shiloh recognizes only different degrees of prosperity,- some of them tolerably low down in the scale! Hie who is lowest, balances matters by increased independence and sensitiveness. If it were whispered about that Miss Frost designed to make up a class from' the children of 'poor folks,' not a child would be permitted, to enter it. None of us are poor folks, please to understand, except when we are asked to give something to support the Church,-and then, most of us are! But we are not to be confounded with paupers! Self-respect is the last thing that dies in a genuine Yankee. But, you see, if Mrs. Danforth's Effie and Gordon are in my class, not a word can be said. Let me have them, just for a little while, please! I will take good- SHLOH. care that they receive- no harm; and their presence and influence will do much to insure the success of my experi- ment. Pray consent!" rs,. Danforth is the incarnation of good-nature. Des-; pite her ingrained pride, and her occasional hautewr, no woman of my acquaintance finds it so hard to say " no" to a direct appeal for help. She looked half-amazed, half- provoked, but amusement prevailed at last. Bursting into a loud laugh, she said, with a most expressive outward gesture of her jewelled hands,- Take them! take all! But don't send them home to me with vermin outside their heads, nor Yankee phrases inside them,-or the compact does not hold good a moment longer. But what would Mark Danforth say ifheknew I had let his children go into a Ragged Class Shouldn't I get 'Hail Columbia,' and every other tune that would send a body quickly to the right-about-face! " a bodyt. ' page: 318-319[View Page 318-319]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 318-319 GATHERING IN. EEXT morning I began the real work of gathering in. The first step was easy: it l took me to a house wilere I had twice watched, and where Death had prepared the / way for me. The sad-faced widow promised , me her little Jamie without a dissenting word. Only, she feared that his wardrobe was not all that could be desired. A suggestion that its deficiencies might be supplied did not brighten her face. I stopped next before a rough, weather-browned house, in the midst of a potato field; above whose low roof a huge stone chimney rose like a watch-towerl: Here, I had often noticed, in passing, two or three neglected looking children playing around the bar-place which served in lieu of-gate. The premises seemed to be deserted, now; never- theless, I knocked at the door, and, getting no answer, lifted the latch. It admitted me into a small, dingy kitchen. A Sturdy boy sat on the hearth, amusing himself by sifting ashes through his fingers into his hat; near the window was a cradle with a sleeping babe in it; and by its side sat a pale, quiet, little girl, rocking it with a pa- tient foot and face, as if she had come unusually early to a corprehension of what was to be her chief business in life. Both stared at me. "Where is your mother?"I asked. SHLOH. 319 "She's gone a-washin'," skid the girl. "And left you to take care of baby and. brother?" The small hero in the ashes resented the implication. "She takes care o' baby, but she don't tetch me, t can tell ye! I takes carl o' myself,"-with immense dignity. "And he will get inter the ashes,"- added the small -woman. "Though mother said he mustn't, and she'll give it to him when she gets home." The prediction being ut- tered, not with a righteous exultation over merited punish- ment, but in the sad tone of a prophet heart-heavy with his own foresight. "Did you ever hear the story of Cinderella?"I in- quired. Libby shook her head; Bob vouchsafed no answer.- "If you will come here," said I, addressing the latter, "I will tell it to you." He looked tempted, but doubtful. He was balancing the attractions of stories and mischief. I settled the mat- ter by lifting him quietly by the collar, giving him a little shake, to clear him of the ashes, and setting him down on the other side of;me, remote from the hearth. He put his finger into his mouth, and looked at me, speculatively. He was uncertain whether to take offence or not. With- out giving him time to decide, I commenced the stpry of Cinderella -with variations. The heroine's worst trial was a boy-brother, ingenious in methods of torment, andtwith a perverse inclination for asheS. The fairy godmother gave him wonderful gifts; but, precisely at the wrong moment they t urned to ashes in his hands, or his mouth. The de- tails were harrowing, and the finale was made to suit this new version. When I finished, the eyes of my audience were like saucers. Then, without more pause than was necessary to discon- nect the two, I told the story of Samuel. It was not re-- ceived with the breathless wide-eyed interest awakened by page: 320-321[View Page 320-321]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 320-321 '320 SHLOH. the other; but, having won the ear of my audience with that, it listened quietly and soberly to this. "Tell me another," commanded my male auditor, when I stopped. "Not this morning. But if you will come to me, in the church, next Sunday noon--you and Libby-I will tell you another, with pleasure." His face fell. "And I should not wonder if it would be about- the tigers and crocodiles in Africa,-that eat up women and children," I went on. He looked eager. 'c Shan't I have ter larn lessons?" "Not unless you choose." "Then I'll come," pronounced he, decidedly. "I'm afraid mother won't let us come," said the little woman, sorrowfully. Not to burden my narrative with too many details, I left a note for the mother, begging her to let the children come to me; and departed, in the firm conviction that the young rascal who stood kicking his heels together on the doorstep would give her no peace until he had worried a consent out of her. Which proved to be well-founded. My next visit was to a red-haired virago, who had just set her foot into the middle of a pie sent her by a kind neighbor, as the readiest way of resenting the implica- tion that she needed charity; while the bearer stood by, crimson with mortification and discomfiture. She lost no time in giving me to understand that stuck-up- city folks," meddling with what was " none'o' their business," need not look for much better treatment at her hands. Neverthe- less, by dint of a few good-humored, but sharp retorts,- which seemed greatly to her taste,-- got her first to listen to me, then to ask a question or two, and finally, to say, grumpily ;- "If Mr. Taylor wants my younguns in his Sunday School, he'd better come arter 'em." SHLOH. 321 "I think he has called," replied I. "He did not find yon at home." "' 'Twouldn't hurt him to come again, would it?" "Doubtless he will come again, in due time. You must recollect that he has been in Shiloh only a few weeks." "Who's agoin' ter be in yer class?" "I have but three promised positively-Jimmy Lang (her lip curled), " and Mrs. Danforth's two children." 4"Mis' Danforth! that's the city woman down on Hope Plain; ain't it?" "The same." "Did ye ask her if she was willin' ter hev' her young- uns go with mine?" "Did I ask you if you were willing that yours should go with hers?" "Um!-Be they all go'n' ter set in the same seat? "Certainly, if the seat will hold them." "What's yer idee in gittin' up sech a class?" "To keep myself out of mischief on Sundays." Her stern features relaxed into a smile. "I guess ye'll make it out, if they're all like my Jim an' Bess. Ye'll hev' yer hands full, with them two younguns, an'no mis- take ; they're as full of the Old Nick as an egg is of meat. If ye think ye kin git any on't out on 'em, ye kin hev' 'em, an' welcome.' "Thank you; I will try. Please give me their names in full." And I wrote them down with- great satisfac- tion. Shiftlessness reigned absolute in tihe dwelling which I visited next. It creaked in the crippled gate (swinging painfully on one hinge), it looked out,of the patched, dingy windows, it greeted me in the pots and pails round the doorstep, it had made the kitchen its headquarters, and it smiledc me a good-natured welcome from the mistress'face. She was a woman athirst for knowledge. Before I had "* page: 322-323[View Page 322-323]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 322-323 322 soIILoa. fully explained the object of my visit, she interrupted. me with,-- "Ye're from York, ain't ye?" "I am." "Born thar?" "No, not in the city." "Lived thar long?" "Four or five years." "Didn't ye like the place?" "I did not dislike it." "What'd ye leave for, then?" "On account of my health." "What ails ye?" And so on, for full three quarters of an hour, yet in a manner quite free from any taint of impertinence. By the end of which time, I had given her all pressingly needful information relative to my origin, education, friends, age, means of support, the cost of my garments, and a hundred appendant matters of interest. In requital, she graciously allowed me to write down as my. scholar a certain white- haired; pug-nosed girl,-Mehitabel Baker by name; and, to all appearance, a second edition of the mother. But all this was, scarcely more than preliminary skir- mishing. The true tug of war was to come, I imagined, at Mr. Warren's. I wanted to capture Jack for my class, and I had reason to know that he was made of material as slip- pery as his father's was unmalleable. To win the adhesion of the one and the consent of the other, would be no easy task. At sight of the little brown house, I gathered to- gether my forces, and reviewed my weapons, as for a lbat- tle. Nor did I forget to invoke higher aid. God has put into the hands of His children two powerful agencies, labor and prayer. The first we use moderately, the other we are prone to neglect. Yet- it is, I believe, the mightier of the twain. Used in conjunction with the other-not flown to as a last and only resource, when that has failed-it would \ .v 323 SHTLOH be powerful, I think, for all things. The two were meant t o go toge , as the helve with the hatchet. Divorcinpg them, no one has a right to complain that either is inefi- cient. During all these weeks, I have not lost sight of the Warrens, though my intercourse with them has been limited to a few moments' chat at the door, or the gate, in passing; and there has been no occasion for bringing them into these chronicles. After Maggie's death, the small cares and petty business of life flowed in and filled up the vacant place, to outward appearance. A deeper shade of gravity on the mother's face; a look of fixed abstraction, easily kindled into irritation, upon the father's;-these were the only ripples on the surface of Life's sea, to show where asoul had gone down. Neither of them inclined to talk of her much; the one had been-so long unused to sympathy as to have lost the impulse to seek it, the other shrank from it as from friction on a sore. Yet the voices of both soft- ened to me, I fancied, as to none other; and it needed no words to show that they never saw me without a memory of their dead daughter in my arms. I found iMr. Warren, as was his most frequent wont, smoking a clay pipe at the one point of ingress to the house --namely, the kitchen door. He moved aside for me to enter, but remarked, as he did so, that there -was "no one within . Mrs. Warren was washing, out Under the woodshed. Could he do anything for me?" * "Truly you can," said I, seating myself on the door- step. "I came expressly to ask a favor of You. "Am I to -grant it ' unsought, unseen,' as the children .say?" asked he, good humnoredly. ", H--- well, yes." Ie gave me a keen look. "That moment of hesitation was fatal to yon" said he. "To a frank, spontaneous ' yes, I would have given a blind consent but not to cool calcu- lation. Since you take time to consider, so must I.' I , ,H page: 324-325[View Page 324-325]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 324-325 324 SHLOH. "It does not matter," said I, trying -not to show my disconcertion. "I only came to beg Jack of you for my Sunday School class. I am naturally desirous that it should reach a respectable number,--the more, that I have under- taken to gather it on my own responsibility, unprompted and unhelped." "You choose your phrases well," returned he, with a cynical :smile. "To an old sinner like me, the vice of am- bition, and the sturdy, everyday virtue of independence, are better motives to allege than a simple wish to do good." I was provoked into a satisfactory directness. "What need to bring my motives into the matter,-unless they Were inimical to our Jack, which you well know they are not? The question simply is, whether-as a personal favor, or out of regard for me, or from indifference, or for any other reason, good or bad, secret or acknowledged- you will let me have Jack?" "Miss Frost, would you not object-to send your son to be taught what you did not believe?" ' Not unless I had something better to teach him that I did believe." "What right have you to assume that I have not?" "What have you taught him, Mr. Warren?" He made a kind of grimace. "Little enough, to be sure. But he is too young yet to know about these matters. He cannot understand either the dogmas of religion or the systems of iphilosophy." "Of philosophy, I grant you. He may be a good deal older without being much more apt! But of religion, yes. Those ideas of a God, a Hereafter, Human Responsibility, Reward and Punishment, an Atonement, etc., whereat gray-headed sages and philosophers so stick and bungle, are always comprehensible enough to a child.- I never knew the dullest to profess any difficulty in understanding, nor hesitancy in receiving, them. Indeed, most children catch at them readily, if there is opportunity,-even when 325 SIIILOII. 32 there is no direct effort to inculcate them. If you are wil- ling to make. the experiment, we will find out, on the spot, whether Jack has them; or whether, having them not, he makes any difficulty of understanding and accept- ing them." Mr. Warren puffed away in silence for some moments, then he uplifted a stern call of "Jack! It found that re- markable urchin in some remote corner of the premises, and brought him hither, at breathless speed, with mixed feelings of awe and curiosity. There was a tone in his father's voice, to which he was unaccustomed; and he doubted whether it boded him good or evil. Not to linger on this part of my story, a few questions served to show that Jack, being gifted with somewhat un- usual powers of memory and observation, had a tolerably correct notion of the Christian scheme, derived from vari- ous chance sources of information. He knew who made him and all things,C-believed that God saw him at all times, and was especially conscious of His clear-seeing eye upon him when he had been doing wrong, and afraid of His wrath,-his idea of the Heavenly Father being plainly, somewhat colored by his experience of an- earthly one. Also, knew the main incidents of the life of Christ and the object of it,-had read about HSim in the Testament at school. On being asked if he believed the Testament, averred that he did; though a similar inquiry with refer- ence to Mother Goose and other stories, elicited only a'dis- dainful curl of the lip. ' Furthermole,.under considerable pressure, acknowledged that he expected to go to hell, if he died just as he was,-knew he was a bad boy, but couldn't seem to get to be any better, though he sometimes tried. And having thus made his Confession of Faith, Jack was dismissed to his work, or play, or mischief, to wonder within himself, doubtless, what it all meant. Mr. Warren smoked on silently, seeming to be the prey of bitter and corroding thought. After a little, as he said n, t.. page: 326-327[View Page 326-327]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 326-327 326 SHLOH. nothing, I remarked, drily that it appeared I had not much to teach Jack, in the way of Christian doctrine. The most I could do was to show him how to apply his knowledge to his own heart and life, by faith, so that he might continue his struggle to be a better boy more successfully. And I inquired, furthermore, with somewhat sarcastic emphasis if he (M: TWarren) had any new truths to impart to him, likely to afford him more efficient assistance in the good work, than those old ones, which had so imperceptibly made their way into his understanding? "Pshaw!" said Mr. Warren, impatiently. "Take him in Heaven's name, and do what you like with him! Since he cannot come to the study of these subjects with an un- prejudiced mind, as I had hoped,-why, let him learn what he can of one side before he takes up the other. It will not make much difference in the long run, I read the Testament, too, when .I was a boy--but it did not pre- vent, me from turning out what you, I suppose, would call an infidel." "Or an unbeliever," said I, composedly. "What rea- son have I to call you anything else? In all our acquaint- ance, you have never shown me anything but unbelief. Of your creed, if you have one, I know nothing. He reflected a moment, then he burst out with, "I do not believe in the inspiration of the Bible." I could not repress a smile. "There it is!" said I, you see you know not how to say anything but 'I do not believe.' Now, creed comes from credo, I believe. The Mohammedan has one, so have the Chinese, and the Afri- can. It is only philosophers and sceptics, lost and bewil: dered amid the mazes of their own imaginations, or dwarfed to the statue of their own dust-clogged reason, that have to content themselves with negations." He looked a little piqued. "Wait a moment; I have, at least, one article of belief, if that constitutes a creed. I believe in a God-or a Somebody, or Something, which ; - [ SHLOH. 327 may as well be called by that name as any--who made the universe, and governs it." "Do you also tremble?" asked I, audaciously. Not in truth, that I risked anything. I knew well that, the sharper the repartee in which I indulged with Mr. Warren, the better he liked it. " No, I don't," said he, with a grim smile. "And, therefore, it is fair to conclude that I am not-what you so politely insinuate." "I gladly accept the conclusion. As for your creed, it is good, so far as it goes. Which is about as far, I take it, as the most uncultivated savage would go, before he tried to embody this Deity in, or to represent Him by, an image of wood or stone, the work of his own-or some other-hands. Go on; let me see how you do that. Do you accept the *pantheism of Spinoza, or the materialism of Hume ? I' "Which would you recommend?" asked he, coolly, be- tween two puffs of his pipe. H' Fume, by all means." I replied, rising. "For it is most fit that a man who begins by getting rid of the Gos- pel, a Saviour, and all that the renewed heart holds most dear, should end by getting rid of himself--and everybody else-as does that most subtle and abstruse philosopher! For, having proved-to his own satisfaction!-that he has no identity apart from the perceptions conveyed to him, he goes on to say that if any one has a different notion of him- self, he cannot longer argue with him! See to what absurd- ities men are reduced, .who reject the revelation of God, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit!" And, I turned to go. "Sit a moment longer," urged Mr. Warren, "I want to ask you a question, or two." "To what purpose?" said I, still standing. "It will be the old story-endless discussion and no result. Besides, I do not care to treat serious matters any longer in this light way." page: 328-329[View Page 328-329]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 328-329 328 ' SHLOH. "I won't discuss," returned he, "I will only question. And you may be as serious as you like." I sat down reluctantly. "Seriously, now-and honestly-Miss Frost, do you believe the Bible, every word of it?" "Yes, I do." MiF. W. And yet, you are, I take it, a pretty well edu- cated woman; as much so as if you had been through college? I. Icannot say as to that,--I only know that, in most respects, my father gave me the same education that he would have given a son. Mn. W. And you have traveled in Europe? I. Yes,-and elsewhere. But to what end this cate- chism? Ma. W. I am coming to it. I can understand how these ignoramuses around us can believe in the Bible's absurdities and impossibilities; but it passes my comprehension how a thoroughly trained and informed mind can do it. I. Lord Bacon was a profounder thinker than Voltaire. And Bishop Butler was a more learned man than Tom Paine. MRE. W. Have you read the "Age of Reason "? I. Yes,-my father would have me read it, under his supervision. MR. W. And what do you think of it? I. I think it as shallow a work as was ever palmed off on a credulous public for a product of profound thought. Mn. W. (raising his eyebrows). A sweeping assertion. I. Not at all. The b9ok is nowhere profound. You can read it all through, from title-page to finis, at one sit- ting, and not once need to pause and reflect-; nor have a worse headache at the end than a shilling novel would give you. I MR. W. So you classify books, as some do wines, by the amount of headache in them! SHLOH, 329 I. No, not quite. But I think it might not be amiss to rate them according to the amount of heartache they cure. I doubt if the "Age of Reason " ever cured any! Whereas, the Bible has cured more heartache, and cured it more thoroughly, than any other book known. Notwithstanding its difficulties and obscurities--what you are pleased to call its absurdities and impossibilities,-the fact remains that, for hundreds of years, every kind of human misery has gone to it, as to a well of consolation, and found what it sought. Is there nothing in this fact, oh, contemptuous scoffer at its claim to Divine inspiration! to make you pause and reconsider your dictum? There are older books than the gospels,-why have they not equal power? There are works of stronger fascination as mere specimens of hu- man genius,--why have they not the same effect? MR. W. (thoughtfully). Probably, because none of them profess to answer so categorically those three great ques- tions that continually haunt and perplex the human mind, ' Whence came we? why are we here?" and "Whither do we go?" Most people prefer to take up with any ap- parently authoritative answer than to have none at all. I. Unwittingly, you have said more for the Bible than you can say against it! To admit that it is, after all, the one answer to those questions which best satisfies the uni- versal mind,-the loftiest and the lowest alike,-though human wit and wisdom and genius have exhausted them- selves in vainly trying to find out a better,-is tantamnount to admitting that it is inspired. If of human origin, why does no other work displace it? Other books die, and are forgotten. Early scepticism is well-nigh lost-Celsus and Julian are best known by the refutations of Origen and Cyril. Early moralists are shelved-in learned libraries. Early historians are superseded by works embodying their substance. But the Bible remains intact. Though a moun- tainous mass of commentary, criticism, and discussion, has been written upon and against it, nothing has ever sup- page: 330-331[View Page 330-331]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 330-331 330 SHLOH. planted, nothing permanently injured it. Does this fact also go for nothing, oh, bold contemner of its truths! that during all the long march of the ages, with the help of their accumulated light, knowledge, experience, and skill, human labor and human genius have failed to produce any work which so embodies its gist; incorporates its wisdom, exhausts its meaning, or weakens its influence, as to supel- sede it? The existence and the power of the Bible in the world are stubborn facts for sceptics. It has been truly said that it is a standing miracle. MR. W. Are not some of your remarks equally applica- ble to Homer and Virgil? I. Who reads them, beyond a certain educated class? Who cares for them, in translations? Will' the time ever come, think you, when a translation of them will be found in every house, and the mass of mankind go to it for com- fort and guidance in every sort of trial, bereavement, doubt, difficulty? MEb. W. Well, perhaps not. But our talk has drifted away from the point where it started, and which interested me most-the influence of education on Christianity. There have been more learned freethinkers than Tom Paine. Is it not true, after all, that men of the acutest minds and the profoundest learning have been opposed to Chris- tianity? I. Certainly. But the argument, if it proves anything, proves more for Christianity than against it. For in the first place, men of mightiest intellect and vastest erudition have given it their loving adhesion and service; and, in the second, see how little the adverse learning, pewer, and genius have availed to injure it I think God has allowed some of the finest talent to waste itself in attacking it, just to show the futility of the work. Do you remember Vol- taire's boast that, though it took twelve men to establish Christianity, he would show that it needed but one to over- throw it? Yet Christianity is stronger to-day than when SHLOH. 331 he assailed it. Whereas, Voltaire is but little read, even by his own countrymen. No writer enjoys so wide a repu- tation upon hearsay. The- great proportion of those who adopt his views and use his arguments, never read It line of his works. They take them at second-hand. Lucky for them that they do! To be obliged to wade through some five or sikx thousand closely printed pages, wherein attacks on Christianity are mixed up with all sorts of subjects,-to say nothing of gross indecency, ill-timed buffoonery, vehe- ment denunciation, unscrupulous ridicule, one-sided, dis- torted, inaccurate statements, and unwarrantable conclu- sions,-would go far to dampen the ardor of the devoutest disciple, if it did not make him sick of the very name of Voltaire! The more, that he wouldcfinl so little positive belief, to balance unbelief. He would find Voltaire's creed slipping through his fingers, as it seems continually to have been doing through his own. , For his later works show a marked deviation from his earlier opinions;-arguments which he characterizes as sophisms at one point of his life prevail with him, at another; objections which he states and answers here, overcome him there; his mind oscillates perplexingly between two opinions; and the whole makes nothing quite so clear as that very little was quite clear to himself. In all his works, there is a most striking contrast between the arrogancy of his processes of reasoning, and the humility, not to say meanness, of the results. One is' con- tinually amazed that he should have trusted so implicitly to human reason, if it could only lead him to such timid, qualified, and sombre conclusions. MR. W. (moodily). I cannot disprove your statements. You have read more widely than I, even (bowing with mock respect) of infidel writings. But it does not matter. I pin my faith upon no man, nor school; I judge for my- self. I bring all things to the test of my own reason. I. Does it tell you why and -how an inanimate seed in the earth springs up -to life, and grows and bears fruit? 4, page: 332-333[View Page 332-333]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 332-333 332 SHLOH. If not-if you cannot discover the vital principle, nor how it works-why believe that the seed has life and brings forth fruit? Would it not be more reasonable to deny both propositions, and plant no more seeds and eat no more fruit? Mr. W. I don't see what you are driving at. I. Your boasted reason cannot discern the vital princi- ple of inspiration in the Bible, nor of supernatural power in Christianity,-though it lives and germinates and bears fruit in countless human hearts. Deny that it exists, there- fore, and refuse to yourself, certainly--to others, if you can -its health-giving, life-giving sustenance. MPI. W. So does Mohammedisrm live and bear fruit. I. True, for Mohammedism is a religion and a worship, not a chill system of philosophy. It believesin God,and does not wholly reject Christ. The Koran borrows much that is good from the Bible. Its errors have their legiti- mate fruit in the condition of Mohammedomto-day. Con- trast it with Christian countries, if you would test the two religions by their fruits. MR. W. Ah! I would like to read the Koran once! I. Read something better, read the Bible! Read care- fully one of the gospels, or an epistle, and then read two or' ;hree chapters of the "Age of Reason," and see if you do lot get a faint glimmering, at least, of the reason why one ives indestructibly, while the other is on the high road to ,blivion. Having done that, perhaps you will be willing to ry still another plan. Instead of puzzling yourself with he mysteries, discrepancies, and obscurities of the Bible ee what light it can throw upon the dark places of your wn nature, upon the follies, contradictions, and intricacies f your heart and life. Thqugh you may not be able to aderstand and expound it, you will find that it very fully derstands and expounds you. Thereby you may get a nt of the several offices of the Bible and the human mind - e latter was not put into the world to explain and harmo, nize the former, but the former to explain and harmonize the latter. Finally, if you still doubt the Divine origin of the Scriptures; try, for just one week, to live up to its sim- ple, undoubted precepts. And if you find it even a harder task to practice its plain parts than to comprehend its diffi- cult ones, perhaps you will ask yourself the question how a human mind ever happened to frame and enjoin a code of morals so irksome to human nature, so opposed to the hu- man will, and so impossible of perfect human attainment! "And now," I concluded, "I must really go. WLhere do you suppose I shall find Jack? He has not yet been asked if he will be my scholar." "There will be no two words about that," said Mr. War- ren, gruffly. "If I say he is to go, he goes." "4 Nevertheless, I prefer to consult him. I want no un- willing disciples." Not to make a long story longer, I bribed Jack, unscru- pulously. He had longings unutterable, I learned, after a four-bladed knife. I did not hesitate to promise him the best one procurable at Clay Corner, so soon as he could re- peat to me, without error, the whole of the Catechism; and with the most unhesitating fluency, the Lord's Prayer, the Creed, and the Ten Commandments. page: 334-335[View Page 334-335]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 334-335 XXXI. THE STOLEN SKETCH. OT more than a day or two after the expe- dition recorded in my last letter, I made one of a totally different character in com- pany with Ruth,-Alice being away on a visit. The day's programme comprehended: first, a diligent gathering and pressing of ferns, in the dense, dim wood at the foot of the glen, for use in r winter decorations; next the ascent of a neighboring hill, for the sake of the view from its summit; and, finally, a return ulp thile glen to the shady, rock-barricaded nook long ago described to you;-to which last point Mrs. Divine promised to send Leo, at noon, with a lunch-basket; and where, moreover, we purposed to spend as much of the afternoon as should seem good to us, resting, dreaming, chatting, or reading aloud, according to mood. Days thus spent out-of-doors, are especially good for Ruth; they arle an important part of my crusade against her home-keeping,sedentary habits. Under their genial influences, the rose in her cheeks is deepening fast, the light brightening in-hereyes. Needless to add that she grows more beautiful, day by day! The first part of our progziramme had been faithfully car. [}ed out,--our books filled U ferns, the hill climbed and the view enjoyed. 'We were now in tie h ollow, /:esting on r the basin's bank ofluxuriant moss; sometimes talking, but oftener listening in dreamy silence to the fresh, clear voices SHLOH. 335 of the foliage above and the' water below. The hollow had the essential charm of such a spot--perfect solitude. We might linger there for hours, unseen and undisturbed, shut in by the interlacing boughs, the hoary rocks, the clear basin on which their heavy shadow ever fell, and wherein, their forms were distinctly mirrored. In truth, so perfect was the reflection, so faithful the reproduction of every line, tint, and motion, that the basin seemed to hang be- tween two forest solitudes, either of which might be taken for the reflected image of the other. Stooping overthe water, we saw faces, too, bending forth from the green foliage of that under world to meet our gaze,-answering to our smiles, our gravity, our gestures,--moving their lips to the sound of our words,-and making us feel vague and visionary by their very distinctness; as if the truth and vividness of their representation were so much abstracted from our actuality. The notion made us gay, as became shadows and unrealities,-mirth being of so airy and eva- nescent a quality as to associate readily with whatever is illusive and unsubstantial; while grief is heavy and opaque, and must needs give an account of itself and justify its ex- istence, before we give it, leave to pass into our sympathies. Ruth's eyes and cheeks were alight and aglow with gayety and color, yet she was weary, too; the long walk had been somewhat trying to her poor, little, crooked feet. Seeing this, I drew her head down on my lap, that she might rest the easier, and began reading aloud Tennyson's "Daydream "; whose fanciful theme and easy-flowing meas- ure were well suited to the time, place and circumstance. For, as the fairy-prince entered the spell-bound chamber, I sawRuth's eyelids droop slowly, and the long lashes rest, upon the fair cheek: the rippling water, the musical rhyme, had lulied' her to sleep. Nor( uld any "Sleeping Beauty? of fairy-tale or poet's dream have been lovelier than she! For some moments, I read on softly; then, my thoughts wandered, my voice died away, the book: fell by my side, * 4 page: 336-337[View Page 336-337]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 336-337 336 SHLOnI. with one finger. between its leaves, external objects faded from my sight,-I had strayed as far,into the Land of Reverie, as Ruth into that of Dream. Thus, a half-hour, or more, stole by. I was roused by a rustling tread in the open meadow, on the other side of the stone fence; in a moment Leo came over, basket in mouth, and dropped, lightly enough, upon the soft moss. I raised my hand with a warning gesture; Ruth's slumber was still so deep that I did not care to break it. The dog understood and obeyed. He came noiselessly to my side, set down his basket, and rubbed his head lightly against my shoulder, by way of mute, yet cordial, greeting. He then surveyed Ruth, for some moments, with a curious, grave intentness; as if he were wondering what sort of thing was this sleep of mortals, which held them in such deathke embrace. Possibly, he contrasted it with the lighter slumbers of his own race,-broken by the softest tread, the faintest sound, -and, doubtless, greatly to the advantage of the latter.. Suddenly, he raised his head, dilated his nostrils, and glanced suspiciously around. Then he ran quickly down the brook's bank, alternately putting his nose to the ground and lifting it in the air. I watched him idly, through the intervening boughs. At a point a littlebelow, where the widening stream is crossed by stepping-stones, he seemed to strike a trail: his manner became more assured; he crossed the brook swiftly, smelling at the stones as he went; and I soon saw, by the waving of the ferns and bushes, that he was coming up on the oth!er side. Some moments elapsed, and I was fast sinking into reverie again, when, suddenly, there was a strange commotion behind the screen of foli- age which topped the steep bank opposite me. Partly by dint of straining my sight through the clustering leaves, partly by means of suggestie sounds from behind them, I made out that Leo had surprised some intruder upon the scene:-an acquaintance, however, it appeared, for the dog was leaping and fawning upon him, with short, quick SHLOH. oo 4 barks of unmistakable delight; while the new-comer sought to repulse him quietly, but in vain. At length a voice exclaimed, in distinct, impatient, and not altogether unfa- miliar tones:- "Down, Leo! down, sir! down!" Ruth opened her eyes dreamily; Leo's bark 'subsided into a low whine. The next moment the screening boughs opposite parted; in the opening appeared a young man's head-and shoulders; on his face was an expression of, mingled chagrin, amuse- ment, and deprecation. "Fairly caught in the act you see!" said he, lifting his hat and bowing with a somewhat exaggerated humility. "Trespassing and-(ugly word!)-stealing. The culprit surrenders at discretion. He throws himself upon your mercy, Miss Frost." Ruth started up into a sitting posture, and gazed at him with wide open eyes of amazement, still soft with the haze of slumber. I saw him glance at her admiringly. "Mercy?"I repeated, dryly,-"I doubt if my stock on hand is equal to the demand. Take justice, instead; it is the rarer article, Mr. Cambur." "True," he rejoined, gravely. "If we could always get perfect justice at the hands of our fellow-men, we should not so often be obliged to ask for mercy. Well, I will try the quality of yours! I suppose I may come into court. Criminals on trial do not usually stand outside, looking in * at the window;--though some of them, doubtless, would not object -to such a position! You- will take it as an evi- dence of my guiltlessness of evil intent, I hope, that I volun- ' tarily place myself completely in your power." So saying the artist swung himself down the rock, by the aid of a pendent bough, and sat down upon a huge, outcropping tree-root at its base. The brook flowed and rippled between us. "There!" said he, putting, his hat on the ground be- 15 A page: 338-339[View Page 338-339]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 338-339 338 SH OH. side him, "that is the proper arrangement. This bank serves for the criminal's box, that for the judge's bench. I await your sentence, Miss Frost. I am curious to -taste the flavor of your justice." I did not answer: my attention was fastened upon Leo. He had followed the artist down the bank; and, being for- bidden by a second energetic "Down, Leo!" to spring upon him, he had cast himself at his feet, looking up at him with great, piteous, imploring eyes, and giving vent to his emotions by low, irrepressible sounds, mingled of bark, whine, and howl, yet full of ecstatic joy. In short, he seemed to have unexpectedly encountered the friend of his heart, after a separation of months or years. "I was not aware that Leo had the honor of your ac- quaintance," I remarked, glancing significantly at the dog. "H,-" the artist stammered and hesitated, drawing his hand across his brow, "That is to say, dogs always take to me, instinctively," he concluded, somewhat incoherently. "I should think so," responded I, dryly,-"if Leo's present performance is the usual measure of their 'taking to!' Do you always ' take to' their names instinctively, too?" -- He reddened and bit his lip. "Leo?-ah, yes, to be sure!" said he. "Well, you see, I once had a dog of that name myself; and it seems to come to my lips spontane- ously, whenever I speak to one of his kind. Odd that it happens to be your dog's name, too!" "Very," returned I, with quiet irony. The explanation was plausible enough; but I was too well acquainted with Leo's habitually reserved and dignified 'deportment toward strangers, to believe, for one moment, that this was his first meeting with Mr. Cambur. Still, if there were a mystery, it was not my business to pry into it. The artist had a right to the possession of his own affairs ;--the more indis- putably, because there was something in his face and bear- ing strongly indicative of inward integrity, and seeming to ! be a sufficient guarantee that the ambiguity wherein he chose to leave the present circumstance did not imply any- thing wrong. Besides, Mrs. Danforth and her friend had vouched, most emphatically, for his character and anteced- ents. I took pity, therefore, upon his embarrassment at Leo's persistent attention,-so inevitably suggesting a pre- vious acquaintance that he preferred to ignore,--and made an attempt to relieve it. "Leo! come here!' said I. - Mr. Cambur can dispense with your further attendance. Come to me, sir!" To my extreme surprise, the dog only turned his head, gave me a pathetic, pleading look, wagged his tail,-and resumed his adoring contemplation of Mr. Cambur. , That gentleman looked more annoyed than ever. "Go to your mistress!" he exclaimed, in a tone of impatient command, accompaniedl by a gesture of dismissal; but ad- ding, with an immediate assumption of playfulness;-"No need to stand .guard over me any longer, thou black consta- ble! I have given myself up to justice, and I shall bide its course, parole d'honneur." At his first word, Leo rose, slowly crossed the brook, and threw himself down by my side, with a heavy sigh and a deeply wounded air. "Now," continued Mr. Cambur, looking much relieved, "I should be glad of the learned judge's decision, if it is ready." "We will put you ontthe witness-stand first, if you please. What were you doing, over yonder?" "'Jm--sketching." " ," The landscape, doubtless," observed I, in a slightly satirical tone. "You might have chosen a better point of view; your look-out from thence could not have been ex- tensive." "If the truth must be told," he responded, with a mirth- ful gleam in his eyes, ' it was not so much the look-out as the look-in which attracted me." page: 340-341[View Page 340-341]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 340-341 340 StILOH. "tiumph! Let me see your sketch." Hie looked steadily in my face, for a moment, as if seek- ing to read my purpose there; then, he shook his head du- bleusly. "Of course, you have a right to demand it," said he; "I do not dispute that. Only, listen to me a moment, first; I will make a clean breast of the whole matter. I have been rambling over these hills and dales, all the morning. I struck this brook in that dark wood, down yonder, and followed it up; crossing on the stepping-stones and coming up on th is side. Seeing this group of trees and suspecting that a green nook was here conealed, witha pretty bit of rock and water, I looked in. Imagine mysu- prise and delight at seeing two nymphs of the foun- tain (for such I immediately pronounced them) seated by its brim; the one asleep-the other lost in thouaht Of- course, I gazed,-it is anartist's delight,-nay, his'very life,-to look; by it he breathes, feeds, and hsa his beingr Spontaneously, the nymphs had assumed attitudes'finer and more picturesque than I could have hit upon, if I had tried for months. In the basin below, the pictunre was repeated, -line for line, tint for tint,--a if they were reatures doubly existent-on the earth and in the water at the same moment. The artist's instinct awoke within me. sought in my pockets for paper; I found the biank page of a letter; I laid it on the top of my hat, and sketched away as for dear life; trembling lest some chance movement should spoil those charming attitudes, and change those graceful lines, before I could fix them on paper unconscious sitters were immobil e as statues-the wakiBungy one not less than the sleeper. As I sketched, I saw the fin- ished picture before me; every line, every color, perfect. It hung in a gallery, richly framed, an. admiring crowd of spectators before it. Underneath was w ritten, 'Dream-- Reverie--Reflection. Treat it kindly, I pray you, Miss Frost; upon it I base my hopes of earthly immortality!, SHLOH. 341 I-He ended in a tone between jest and earnest, and handed me the sketch across the ripple of the brook. Ruth looked at it with me, leaning over my shoulder. The figures were clearly, boldly outlined; the back- ground not even hinted at, which Mr. Cambur explained by saying he could come and sketch that, at his conven- ience. M3Iy face was indicated by a few rapid strokes only; it was on Ruth's that lhe had concentrated his attention. That had been drawn with a lingering tenderness of touch, betraying how deeply his artist-nature had been stirred by a thing so beautiful. The likeness was exact;-Ruth's face needs no idealizing; it is, in itself, as fair and ideal a coun- tenance as ever hovered in the outer haze of an artist's imagination. The original blughedwith pleasure, as she looked at the sketch, drooping her headl- low; she could not help seeing how lovely it was. "I think," said I, after examining it carefully, "that I must needs confiscate this. I have long wished for a pic- ture of-by the way, I suppose you must be introduced;- Miss Wi-nneot!--Ar. Cambur:- " (The artist rose and bowed low; Ruth bent her head, blushing):- "But," I continued, "I did not care for a picture of her, taken under the depressing, stiffening influence of a daguer- rian gallery. Now, this sketch of yours will do very well. Only, I wish the eyes were open!" "So do I," responded the artist. "Certain it is, that no one who has once seen them open, could thereafter'be wholly satisfied with any picture which only represented them closed. Miss Frost, I think this matter can be ar- ranged to our mutual satisfaction. Permit me to keep my stolen sketch, I am loth to part with it. Bring Miss Win- not to my studio, some day, and I will make you a sketch of her, in color, that cannot fail to satisfy you better than this; though I should need to dip my pencil into some marvelous mixture of dawn red, sunset gold, and twilight page: 342-343[View Page 342-343]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 342-343 342 SHLO. SIlLOl. shadow, adequately to represent her unllutterable hair and eyes! I shall be richly rewarded for my labor if I am a lowed to keep .a copy for myself." if I a And thus it was settled. After a little more talk, I took up the llnch-baslet and lifted the cover, remarking gravely :- 1I suppose artists nver ve a liteal apetite f actual food; as you observed a m aoment ago, th e ie or looking, sketching, and the like. But isos innot a nd I are commonplce persons, with commonplace wants. o e hae spent the moiing il gathering fenc l-s hills re tiredat and climbing h ; we are tirel -at least, ve weere,--certainly, we are ungry. Leo, sable messenger of Providencea-nd lrs. Divine!-has brought ,s seasonable food. SufEer sl to partake thereof. You call lool on, and sketch, as a com- panion piece to the other, 'Refectionl '! He made a comical grimace. "Or," I proceeded, taking out the contents of thle tast and spreading them on the moss, "if you think a taste of the edibles will tend nto mak yous I thm more spirited, step across the brook, and seat yourself on that moss-cushion., What a merry lunch had The artis brihtenel it with the gleam of a certain quiet humo r peculiar to him, and Ruth-her shyness being quickly overcole--with the responsive sparkle of an almost chidlikelg ;wi e kindhinehand shadow and sylvan scenerygave each its Futh was soon the gaycst of the party. Thougll more commonly inclined to melancholy, she is yet quite capable of that high carnival of the spirits which is its natural offset, and richly compensates, t by its blief bliancy, for ma ny sombre hours. In trut ,-it would not be dificult to believe ;hat two maidens, the one mirthfull, the other melancholy, ere magically bound together by the zone which clasps 'uth's waist and that you saw their faces alternately, SHLOH. 343 while their voices twisted together in one rich chord of harmony. The fancy gains color from the fact that there was always, even in the most joyous ebullition of her spirits, some faint intimation of hidden mournfulness, which -was yet the bewitching final touch, the ultimate clarlm, of her mirth. It was plain that the effervescing cup must be quickly quaffed, ere its sparkle and piquancy were over. The artist felt this, I saw. As became'the professor of an imaginative art, he was endowed with a quick, spiritual insight into many matters not within the scope of actual vision. He threw himself into the frolic with a zest I that betrayed his sense of its evanescent character. For some flitting moments, we seemed to have strayed far within the limits of Arcadia, leaving the dusty, cumbrous habitudes of modern life at its golden gate. Or, our feet had been lifted from the heavy soil of earth into a region of myth and mirth inaccessible in ordinary moods and moments; and all the more eagerly enjoyed because we knew it was so doubtful if ever again we should find the way thither. To say truth, the foregoing remarks- apply better to :Ruth and the artist than to myself. I soon subsided into little else than a mere spectators of their mirth; encourag- ing, but scarcely sharing, it; seldom catching the ball of jest and playfulness which they tossed back and forth, through the flicker of the sunshine and the dance of the leaf-shadows, except to save it from an untimely fall to the ground. It suited me better to lean back against the trunk of an overarching tree, and watch the airy grace and skill with w hich they kept it up. Thus, I happened to note how Mr, Cambur's face, ordinarily. somewhat graver and ma- turer' of expression than fairly belongs to his years, had grown animated and youthful under the happy influence of the moment; and 'so, the clue to that- perplexing resem- blance, before spoken of-and which h'ad not b een I ess troublesome throughout this second interview--was sud- ; . v s page: 344-345[View Page 344-345]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 344-345 344- SHLOH. denly supplied. Through the first gap in the conver stion therefore, I sent the following i vesation I have just remembered, Mr. Cambur, who it is that you resemble so strongly., He started as if it had been amisieof Somsort. Ah, indeed? said he, giving me a qluick, keen glance. Yes :-a young painter who came to one a year, o r more, before I left there, -Ar. A chum,-or H arry Archm as everybody called him; for he was one of those frank, genuine, generous youths, wose Christian name comes most easily to the lips. He ucl s to com e often to my fte r'sl study; I remember him well. Your resemblance to him is striking; yet there is a marked difference too He lwas younger, slenderel gayel, than yo are, and he wore no beard, only a lightcurlng moustache. Still, Ih think yo u could pass for his elder brother. Do you not "Know him? certainly, quite well," he answered with his eyes fixed on the book, i a half-sad, half-meditative, way. "ily father. used to think him a most promising- lo phyte in art," I ontinued. "Does he lfiltht promi se ? Is he doing well? os he fllithat promis "Not so well as he ought to do." "Indeed? I am sorry to hear it I Yet a friend of mine, in Romze, mentioned a pictture that he had recently p'inted -called ' Waiting,' I hink--in y te mendation; and I have much lrespect for her opinion il such matters. Hlave you seen it " "I have. " "And how do you like it?" "Not very well; that's, it does not s atisfy me, at ll," felt provoked. I might have known better than t ask you," Irejoined, caustically. Artists are not much given ;o the praise of one another's works. I never yet knew a Painter to bestow any hearty applause on a fellow-painter's SHLOR. 345 picture, in his particular line of, art; nor a sculptor to turn an admiring gaze upon anybody's lump of moist clay but his own!" 'The artist might have been excused if he had shown, himself hurt or indignant at my speech; but he only looked at me with a curious, inexplicable smile. "When you know mne better, Miss Frost," said he, quietly, " you will recall such part of that sweeping censure as you intend for me. I do admire, heartily, whatever of truthful beauty or of beautiful truth I find in anybody's work; either in con- ception, execution, or intent. So far from being captiously or jealously critical of other men's labors, I hold that any picture, or sculpture, or engraving,-however imperfect,- which has brought help, comfort, or aspiration, to one l1human soul, has thereby acquired a gracious and inde- feasible right to' be." He ended in a tone that showed he was deeply in earlnest. This lapse -into seriousness was the inevitable turning- point in our mood. The hour of careless gayety was over. Our talk waxed grave; possibly dull. I am sure it would be so on paper. Ere long, the artist rose. "Your sylvan hospitality is so pleasant," said he, "that I am in danger of trespassing on it too long. It is time for me to go back to my solitary, shadowy studio. Pray remember, Miss Frost, that I am at your service, in respect to Miss Winnot's picturewhen- ever you please to bring her thither. Addio! " He bowed, and took his way down the glen. Leo started up, and, after some hesitation, Jfollowed him. He soon returned; but with a more satisfied air. He had not been dismissed, I fancied, without some compensating kind- ness,-a word to soothe, or a caress to delight, his faithful, affectionate heart. MALA (studdenlrly). Wherever there is concealment, there is usually something wrong. X * 1 5' page: 346-347[View Page 346-347]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 346-347 346 BoNA. Is it out of the truth, purity, transparency, of your own heart that that suspicion arises MtLe (insistin). But where there is nlothing wrong, there can be no necessity for concealment. Boxei. Say, rather, Where there is anything really radically wrong, it is difficult, wellnigh impossible to con- rcealit If evil has taken up its abode ill the heart, it is sure to betray its presence in unguarded looks and tones, anT ill chance words. Whereas, the invariable language of Mr. Cambur's features and bearing is-as you have felt intuitively, and acted upon that illtuition--truth, honor generosity, kindness of heart. Besides, there is a diffelrnce between concealing and being silent. A man may have no disposition to hide his affails; wl'o yet does not feel called upon to discuss them with every chance comen Reticence is oftentimes but the natural offspring of painful recollec- tions. Mr. Cambur has a right to your charitable eon- struction of his silence, till you have bette reson for sup- posing himn to be unworthy of it. ter rea P- I. At all events, I will ask Mr. Divine where he got Leo. I BONAr. Would it not be more delicate and generous, more in accordance with the Golden Rule, to leave the mat- terJust where the person most concerned chose to leave it? To confess the unlovely truth, I turneda deaf ear to this inquiry. Going home, I met'Mr. Divine at the gate, on his swift way to the bamn, and put the tuestionwith reference to Leo, not stopping for a second thought. Thh answer was brief, definite, and conclusive:- "I got him of Major Burcham's Irishman, when he wasn't much more than a pup hen he It left me more in the dark than ever! Is , , . X , # i XXXII2 AN AETIST S' STUDIO,. FORTNIGHT went by ere I claimned the fulfilment of Mr. Cambur's promise; but it was not a fortnight fruitless in results, as regards the growth of our acquaintance. Durin g its progress, the elfish force, or fate, called Circumstance, seemed to delight in tirowing us together at every turn. I called upon Mrs. Danforth, and found the artist ten- antibg her porch, placidly awaiting her return from a visit to a neighbor. I met him twice or thrice at Essie's; for he had early won the freedom of the Volger premises, and ap- peared equally at home in the field' discussing soils and crops with the farmer, and in fhe parlor listening to his daughter's piano. A thorough liking, which promised to blossom out into warm and lasting friendship, .sprang up between him and Mr. Taylor, and I seldom went to the Gwynne Place, without encountering him in sitting- room or study, tossing the crowing, gurgling baby up to the ceiling, or dissertating earnestly upon Italy and Art to the clergyman. Lastly, by way ,of climax , I came suddenly upon him, one morning, seated at his ease beside A unt Vin's cheese-press, regaling himself with choice morsels of the curd, and listening, with an extremely di- verted face, to the maker' s conversation. I couldl not but marvel to see how quickly all Shiloh had opened ,its doors to him, how easily he had won *a place in its friendly re- page: 348-349[View Page 348-349]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 348-349 ico SHLOIT. gard, and how readily he adapted himself to an unaccus- tomed manner of life and a strange people. In many of these encounters, Ruth had been with me. It was rather on the assured footing of acquaintance, therefore, than as mere art-visitors, that we finally knocked at the door of Mr. Cambur's studio. It was opened by the' artist in person, palette in hand. A painter's studio is a spot which, to our preconceptions, at least, seems always situated a little way -above the dust and sordidness of the actual world, in a region of dream, vision, and enchantment, enriched with beauties of scenery and of being far beyond anything to be met with in the domain of reality. It is a sort of half-way station between earth and heaven, we think, from whence the artist paints both, with pencils dipped alternately in remembrance and in prophecy. And though the present example did not fully realize this ideal (as in truth, no studio ever did),- but, rather, served to show that the steps by which Art climbs to her grandest heights must all be taken toilsomely upon the earth,-yet indications were not wanting that it was a room marked out from the uses and pleasures of or- dinary life by a purpose and a character of its own. The windows were carefully darkened, save one, whose upper half showed a small square of sunless sky, and ad- mitted that partial light which, with its concomitant of strongly-defined shadow, best develops the pictorial char- acter in objects, or imparts it to them. Near the middle of the room stood an easel, with a picture just '" sketched in" upon it; one or two others, awaiting but the final touch, hung where the light visited them most kindly; unframied canvases leaned against the wall, turning their backs churl- ishy on the visitor; and pencil-sketches were pinned up here and there, or made an artistic confusion on the table, assisted by many curious little shreds from the skirts of Antiquity,--gems, seals, coins, ivory-carvings, etc.,--found in and about the soil of Rome. "At last!" exclaimed the artist, with a genial smile:. "Your welcome has been waiting for you long. I hope it has not cooled by the delay." "Certainly not: it is too genuine for that. Sit here, Miss Winnot." hie j eed chairs for us, and, after a little talk, brought forward stuch of his works as he cared to show. The first was the picture of which Mrs. Danforth had spoken,--"Dreams." A beautiful girl, lost in a sunset reverie---that was all the detail to be put into words. B]ut, as you looled, you saw that nlot only the girl, but the drapery, the slky, the atmosphere, dlreamed, too. Gazing upon it long, you also dreamedl; your ideas became vague and visionary, your imagination spread its wings and floated off unawares in the immaterialized gold of the sunset air. For the atmosphere was the really wonder- ful thing about the picture. Soft, rich, luminous, serene; neither mist, nor haze, nor sunshine, but with something of the br ightness, the softness, and the vagueness of each; it might have been the very etherwherein a poet dreams and paints his ideal pictures. fir. Cambur next uncovered one half of a large canvas, leaving the other still veiled. "The curtain conceals what -as once a failure, and is-now an unsightly dallb, which I spare you the discomfort of look- ing at," said he, as he stood before the picture, arranging the foilds. "It was my design to paint a Wis6 and a Foolish Virgin, believing that the aim and significance of the para- ble migh-t as clearly be broulllt out by two typical figures as by ten. I succeeded tolerably well with the representative of folly, but the other was wholly unsatisfactory: I have rubbed it out, and a aiting until a better rood, better rubbed it out, and am waltI^t influences, a whiter inspiration, shall enable me to takle it up again wiith a clearer probability of success." He stepped aside and the Daughter of Folly was re- vealed to view ;--fast locked in sleep. her graceful limbs all page: 350-351[View Page 350-351]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 350-351 350Ste. SH;ILOH T unstrung, a marvelous languor clifsef througho u her fi'ame, and her empty lamp slow slidiSg'fi om her uncon- Fair and foolish-not vicked ]lave made her unbeautif-qI;C^ ".. . w ed, that Woulc of ease, of brightness. O ..- ei f Pleasure, of , of brihtness: over whose Soul no tides of living waters had flowed, to quicken the "irituai life i flowed in vain. A t'f6 spltuai life, or had /iowedl in vai n. type of mere plhysinal beauty, warn, with life and health rich in color and grace, not devoi of many soft and womanly attributes; yet so mnifstly of the earth, earthy, hat you sied as you gazed, to feel how utterly use/ess it would be to awaken her. to fewold howhut half open upon you beautiful, softhe eyesmurmur aitlfy, soft^^, Tau eyes; nmurur faintly, ,;A little more slumber!, and close them agaain in a deeper sleep than before. We looked at the picture long and ftrtistgazed uon it' -ISO C ill silence. -The 'rtist gazed up on it /lso, with a thou 1tfl face. o ,w kDnte'Stor of Andre d sailhe, at length. Y p"I )o' O not," replied Ruth, quickly. "Tell it to m, pI-case." "Andrea del Castancuo was a painter of Fl lived^ , ^^ and wrought -nter Of Florence, who rlved and wrougl in days }When Art's power and progress were greatly limuited by the poverty 6f her means; when sh a oblied ^ l:^ ^ -, she was obhed t,0 content herself ,Yith the means;whe meagre and feeble effects produced by p aintin in distem- Per, as it is called; that is, with colors mixd ,ith gum siz, whites of eggs etc. , W's Ixe gunis Size, whites of eggs, etc. Dissatisfied with the limited resources of his palette and ambitios of distcion, drea was constantly dreaming of some new method which should more perfectly repr odue the-subtile refinements of Nature's coloring,--the exquisite quality of her tints, the transparency ofh^lgV ' lit"y of her tints, the transparency of-her lights, the soft clearness of her shadows, the far inward shining of gems and of he o wonderful blending of em ad ofhuman eyes; and her fe---e all, a,-light beneath shade', color 'gleaming through color --'he (re: e sico -.ou hi tm, a e amed andhede paired. *About thiste, came a ruin +-d he despmrecl ame a ruror that a new and efficient SHLOIL 351 method of preparing colors, by vhich all these effects might be faithffilly represented, had really been discovered at the north; and, shortly' after, there appeared, in Florence a young Venetian, Domenico by name, who was acquainted with the process of painting in oil. Andrea quickly won his friendship, his confidence, and his secret. Then he foully assassinated him, that he might remain sole possessor of the new art, in Florence. H-e returned to his studio and his easel, unsuspected;, and innocent persons suffered for his crime. But, from that moment, all his work revealed, with terrible power and distinctness, the fearful fact of a guilty, remorseful soul hidden in the bosom of the worker. Day by day, his pencil recorded that soups history on. canvas, for the reading of future ages,-its temptation, its fall, its- growing burden of -horror and remorse,-till, on his death- bed, he confessed the special crime which had first stained it, and henceforth colored all its conceptions." "How strange!" said Ruth, drawing a long breath; and then giving the Foolish Virgin a look that seemed to ask wh at possible connection could exist between that heedless damsel and this story of crime. The artist answered it as if it had been articulate. " My story, Miss Winnot," said he, " was intended to point the moral that a painter's canyas reflects the character -of his life as perfectly as a mirror reflects his features. My Fool- ish Virgin points it, also. When I began that picture, I was in Florence; dissolved and lost in its inexpressibly beautiful life, with its endless gratifications for the senses of sight and hearing; overcome by the Lotus-breath of its stealing south wind, the heavy scents of its flowers, the whisperings of its leaves and fountains, the lulling song of its bells, the rich languor of its sunshine. In short, I was leading a dreamy, sensuous, self-indulgent life; all whose influences were favorable to the conception of the Foolish Virgin-and to that only. For it, I needed little more than a rich profusion of color, a beautiful model, a south- page: 352-353[View Page 352-353]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 352-353 3852 SHLOH. warmed fancy; all these--and all outside influences, as well-were easily made harmonious with the principal note of my theme, and reduced to a perfect chord. But, for the Wise Virgin something more was demanded-the beauty of holiness; and that is beyond the power of mere pigments. It must be conceived in the clear regions of an undefiled, heaven-enlightened imagination; and wrought out by the aid of an active, divine life-principle within. Despite their many and glaring technical faults, this spirit- ual beauty has never been so clearly represented on canvas as in the works of Fra Angelico,--the monk who 'never began a picture without a prayer,' and whose whole art-life has justly been termed 'a hymn of praise.' Nowhere else do we find faces of saints and angels so purged from all earthness, and so irradiated with heavenly glory. Wliat Paul Akers said of one of them, applies with nearly equal force to all,* -'It comes to me as beauty and purity im- materialized, and my soul entertains it as a guest whose footsteps shook not the threshold of sense.' If I could but borrow of the gentle monk's pure inspiration, while I paint my Wise Virgin!" "The source from whence it was drawn is still accessi- ble," I observed, quietly. "But what was. your concep- tion of the Daughter of Wisdom?" "I scarce remember what it was; I can give you an idea of what it is. Hsee her springing swiftly forth to meet the Bridegroom; her newly-kindled lamp is in her hand, throwing a strong light upon her pure, noble fea- tures, which are still further illuminated from within by joyous anticipation. She looks straight before her, with an eager, intent gaze, as if already catching sight of the Bridegroom, in the distance, while her whole soul goes out to meet him: yet, with a tender, unfailing charity, she touches her sleeping sister as she passes her by, loth to go without a last attempt to waken and warn her. Her face is so full of earnest impulse, and her figure of airy motion, *j 353 SHLOH. forth from the canvas- that she seems actually stepping otiom ht: if could only fastenher onit!" -You will do it Jome day, sl I; "for the conceptio is too beautiful to be lost.'sale head, sayiug simply, Then, he set before uhead saying imply ,'The C1. The Call ot neeed The fair, listening face, slightly rIt is was; the eyes, gazng intently in the direction of the ^ed; the W j ^ ^^^^^^ fd their o-Wn storyl- voice jst heard, and recognized; told their nstory,. voic juth , l.&.r1,eked. and. listeeto.. and told it so wellthat , , vose" I had not too1 ed Tbe next was alsoa hea a Il,-cc nepose The, 't- next in h me next w s, aso, .with the fine, quick insight at it many moments, when, w j ayn which belongs to the true tit, he 1it i t hiasihee, ryi- , You do not care for it, I see yet artists rateithighe r than2 the other. They account it a tolerable success in the than the, othe-i. 1, department of color." aoul-a sig- , d o not car for e, unless there is a fcance--under it," returned I, with more rkness th courtesy. Jr g Cambur tUrned urp isd a fae upon med", fa his eyes lit. "Not care for color!" he ecrown and glory ofit is the darling child of light, the very crown nd glory of the material universe. To be onsistent, h Wch o does notlor care for color should not cae for ight; since, as lor without lit is mpossile, s light tlt colr would euenurle. Colo is to t he eye what tone is tothe be 'unlenfdurable. Covaia ear; ceapable, in its combinations, of the MOthe exquisite h mn . Color is the most vivid of all the exquisite hat make up my ony eption 1 of heaven. It is never i'as that mak up, Jeyusace descending the form of the holy city th ne Jerusalemon, but tdescenduing from God-which enraptures my imagination, but its in- fromle, entancingglory Gndcmagnificence of color;--the effable, entrancing the fadeless green of its yellow gleam of its golden street gt eso prt tree of life, the dazing whiteness of its gates of pearl, the mriad changeful hues of its walls of precious to es--a per, sapphire, jacinth, amethystand all the sing s page: 354-355[View Page 354-355]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 354-355 354 SHLOII. h::nri3^^^ between, lit by the glory of God, and radiating colors too gorgeous for mortal vision. What endless joy for the eye isstored up in that splendor and opulence of colore! Take it away from the inspired description, and see how much of ,the charm is fled!" "True," said I. "But what if the color were only a thin crust of paint?" Ie stared, uncomprehending. tIe had entirely lost sight of the point where the discussion began. Recol- lecting himself, after a moment, he said with a good- humored laugh ,-- Upon my ror d, I had quite forgotten that unlucky picture of mine;-do not set clown my rhlapsoy for a tilt in its defence. I am not such a fool as to attempt to argue with the feeling stirred by my pictures, be it ildifference or dislike. Artists, as well as authors, must take such measure of appreciation as is vouchsafed them, and be thankful. In- appreciation-- "He hesitated. "They can attribute to ignorance," said I, laughingly finishing the sentence. "No-not always. Oftener, it is the offspring of a lack of sympathy mwith their mood or intent. The worst of it is, the critic himself seldom recognizes it for that. Instead of saying, ' This picture does not suit e,' he pronounces, 'It is good for nothing.' The first he has an undoubted right to say, anywhere, of anything; the last he should be careful of saying unless he is reasonably certain that his disapprobation has its deep foundation in the immutable laws of life and art, and not in mere individual taste. But here is something, Miss Frost, which perhaps Will please you better."i 'He held up a pencil-slketch, the first rough jotting-down of his ideas for a picture of Faith and Guidance. It repre- sented a young girl, walking meekly along a narrow path, /it, for a few footsteps in advance, by the small, bright fame of a lamp in her hand. Beside her, but unseen, a JS3IILOa. 855 watchful, protecting angel walked, too; whose white wing, pointing upward into the sky, cast a deep shadow across her brow and eyes. The artist gave the sweet key-note of the sketch, by saying, quietly;-"I suspect that many of our, trials are but the shadows of angels' wings." My eyes filled with sudden tears. If we could always think that, how much easier to bear the trial! This sketch interested me most of all,-partly on ac- count of the beauty and pathos of the subject; and partly because it still glowed with the fire of inspiration, bringing the spectator closer to the heart and imagination of the artist than the picture to be elaborated from it would ever do. For this was genius in its first fervent heat, its swift moment of effervescence; unadulterated by any colder or staler mood; full of the animating power of a single, earn- est thought. It affected me so- deeply that I turned away, not caring to see anything more. Here was the gospel-- the good word--for which I had come hither. Leaving Mr. Cambur explaining another sketch to Ruth, I walked away toward the window. But, as I went, my skirt caught on one of the unframed canvases standing against the wall, and threw it down, face upward. I stooped to pick it up, and, involuntarily, my gaze fastened upon it. It was an exquisitely lovely female head; the features pure and delicate, the coloring rich and soft. But its chief charm was in thel expression of the face,--an earnest look- ing forth, blended with something of solicitude, something of hope, something of submissiveness,-all held together in that fine equilibrium so essential to a work of high art. "This is the best thing I have seen yet," said I. "What do you call it? i' I "It is called--" the artist hesitated long, and the word seemed to be drawn forth, by Truth, from some exceeding deep well, where it would fain have hidden itself-- "Wait- ing." page: 356-357[View Page 356-357]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 356-357 356 SHILOH. "-For what is she waiting?"I asked, after a pause. For whatever you please," returned he, smiling. "I !lave long since learned that the interpretation of my pic- tures varies with the eyes and the moods that look upon them. They never tell exactly the same story to any two persons,---the details differ, if the substance is identical." I continued to survey the picture attentively. Sud- denly, the mystic chord Of association stirred within me. "Waiting!'"I exclaimed, giving Mr. Camjur a surprised look),--' why that was the subject of Harry Archum's last picture,-the one whic has been sofavorably--"IstoppeC, confounded. I had just discovered the initials, H. B. A.," painted, atist-wise, In one corner of the canvas. "Yes," replied Mr. Camburl; ill a slightly constrained tone-; " this is a copy of that. lie painted it for me." Involuntarlily, I glanced at "The Call," and was at once struck by the great similarity of style and treatment in the two pictures. Impossible to believe that they had not been conceived in the same imagilation, and executed by the same hand. The first breathing of an odd suspicion woentthrough my mind. He colored; his quick perceptions j detected it at once. Ruth, less interested in the "Waiting," had gone back to the "eFooish Virgin," and was studying her attentively. The artist drew near to me. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked, in a low voice. "I can kIeep my own secrets," I answered, lightly, " and I recommend others to do the same, except where intimate friendship warrants or enjoins their disclosure." He drew himself up. "You Wish me to understand that yot are not my friend," said he. "Well, perhaps not-in the closer and truer sense, that is. Not enough your friend to have ally good claim upon your confidence; yet too much your friend to listen to any forced, unpremeditated revelation, of which you might re- pent to-morrow," SHLOH. ; 57 "Pardon me, but it was not so much confidence as explanation that I was about to offer you." "Believe me when I .say that I do not need it. Know- ing that you are Harry Archum, and remembering how highly my father thought of, you, I am satisfied that your motives for your present incognito are good, or, at least, innocent O" He looked down on me, gravely smiling. '; Trust with- out friendship!" said he, musingly,-" well, it is better than friendship without trust." "Friendship, Mr. Cambur, is generally of slow growth; trust is often intuitive, and springs up in a moment." "In some cases, friendship is partially the offspring of the will," he replied. M"liss Frost, just now you alluded to your father. You do not know how strongly I was attached to him, nor with what good reason. He it was who--when I sank down, bewildered, speechless, before the mighty tide of art that swept over me on my arrival in Rome; crushed with the sense of my own littleness and feebleness, and wondering that I had ever dared .to call myself an artist,-he it was who lifted me up and gave me new hope and confidence. He first spoke to me words of kindly, intelligent, discriminating praise. I vowed to my- self that I never would forget it, and I never have forgotten it. It so happened that I was in Florence at the time of his death, or I should have been at your side, caringsfor him as a son, for you as a brother. He went so suddenly, at the last!--I did not even know that he was gone, until you had left Italy. I returned to Rome,. to find only a vacant place, where I had always before found ready sym- pathy, wise counsel,. seasonable encouragement, a cordial welcome. And, for his sake, you see, do you hot? that I must needs be his daughter's friend, whether she will be mine, or no.: ' My willing service, my faithful regard are always at her disposal. Whenever she needs them, she has * page: 358-359[View Page 358-359]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 358-359 358 SHLO.. but to reach out her hand, and take them up. They will be ready for her." My eyes were fast filling with tears. Seeing them just ready to fall, he gave my hand a gentle, sympathizing pres- sure, and, with instinctive delicacy, went to join Ruth. As for me, I sat down and settled accounts with my pride. For it was that which had repelled the artist's con- fidence. It had haughtily declined to listen to any confi- dential communication from Harry Archum which was not' spontaneous, but merely forced out by circumstances. In return, he had heaped coals of forbearance and generosity on its head. I need not say that I found no balance in its favor.! In a few moments, Ruth came toward me, with ail ap- pealing look. "Mr. Cambur asks if I am ready to sit," said she. "Won't you come? The necessary arrangements were quickly -made, and the sitting began. For a time, I sat and watched the twain. They made a pleasing picture, in the artfully arranged lights and shadows of the studio;--the absorbed and delighted artist,. standing at his easel; the beautiful sitter, blushing beneath his intent gaze. I wondered if the opening chapter of a pleasant little romance might not be shaping itself before. my eyes. What more could an artist need-or ask-than to have that surpassingly lovely face always at his side, for inspiration, model, comfort, blessing? Then, as Ruth grew to be more at ease in her position, and began to respond to the artist's efforts to engage her in conversation, I went and sat down before the "Wait- ing," letting it -sink into my heart. Ah, Francesca! if I could but look forward to my future in just the spirit which softens and beautifies that face! XXXIII. THE UNOPENED LITU'ITER. I;URING the few. weeks past, some of the hitherto disconnected threads of this nar- 32i ^l? rative have become curiously entangled. It is typical, perhaps, of the way in which- lP % lives and characters, apparently the most remote, will be found to have been intimate m -^ - \ in relation and reciprocal in influence, when the day of knowing as we are known shall enlighten our souls. To make you understand it all, I must go back to a cer- tain morning near the end of August. What a morning it was! There had been a shower in the night, and the earth-still fair with undimmed summer greenness and I glory'-seemed as, daintily fresh and sweet as a newly- washed babe. The sight stirred Mrs. Prescott's instincts of neatness into renewed activity. Soon after break- fast, I heard her energetic footsteps overhead in the garret, mingled with enlivening sopnds of brushing and scrubbing; -and the staircase was quickly monopo- lized by a procession of brooms, dustpans, mops, pails of water, etc., of which Alice acted as the unwilling marshal. A little later, I heard the busy household reformer's voice projected from the garret window toward Mrs. Divine at the well-curb. "You have no idea, mother, how nasty this garret is! I shouldn't suppose it had had a thorough cleaning out: page: 360-361[View Page 360-361]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 360-361 360 SHILOI. since the year One. The dust is half an inch thick under the eaves, and there's cobweb enough hanging from the rafters to make a carpet for the floor, if 'twas all spun and wove!" "Um!" returned M3rs. Divine, in a tone to indicate that her mind was busy with some other subject, and declined to quit it for the consideration of the one thus brought to her notice. "Fo'o-my part,"' pursued Mrs. Prescott, seeing that no further response was to be hoped for, and with a slight ac- cession of sharpness in her tone, "if there's anything I like, it's to be clean. I can't abide nastiness. I don't mean to wallow in the dirt till I'm buried in it. And that's the worst thing about being buried, to my mind; I'd. rather be burnt up, or dissolved in a barrel of aqua fortis." ' Priscilla," remarked Mrs. Divine, mildly, yet not without a certain decision in her tone, " the garret's clean enough for my purpose, just as 'tis; if it ain't for yours, you've got the privilege of scrubbing it till it's suited to your mind. But don't expect me to bother about it; I've got my soap to. attend to,-which you use up faster than I can make it. I reckon dirt is only one of the miseries that Eve brought on us by eating the apple, and I don't mean to spend all my strength in fighting that, so I shan't have any to bring to bear on the rest. When the earth gets too filthy for decent folks to live in, perhaps the Lord'll be good enough to send another deluge, and give it a good washing out." "He's more likely to send a fire," rejoined Mrs. Pres- cott, grimly. "And that reminds me, there's the greatest lot of old, useless trumpery up here that was ever got to- gether; if I had my way, I'd make a bonfire of it. I can't think what you're saving it all for! Do let me clear some of it out!" Mrs. Divine quickly let go the dripping bucket, and mounted the stairs, in terror for the safety of her cherished SHLOII. 361 , {, . k accumulations. Some of that "trumpery," doubtless, was very closely entwined with her heart-strings. Time, while making it vulgar, dingy, and ridiculous to others, had apotheosized it to her sight. 'Moreover, it was better than a chronological table of her life. At the foot of the garret stairs she stopped, as if struck by a sudden thought, and called out to me;-"Miss Frost, if you've a mind to step up garret a minute, I guess I can show you something that'll interest you. There's a whole secretary full of curiosities up there, that brother Horace brought home from sea." The secretary proved to be a time-battered combination of desk and bureau, such as was in vogue a century ago, minus two claw-feet, half the brass rings that did the duty of modern knobs, and the lid which had been converti- ble into a writing-table. The top was composed of the oddest little drawers and pigeon-holes; enough, it would seem, hopelessly to confuse the memory of whoever sought to make use of them.;-even a'ghostly owner (and it must have had more than one) would need all his spiritual attri- butes to discover in which of them he had deposited his mortal secrets. Altogether, it looked just fit to be the re- pository of the curious medley stored within it,-shells, corals, uncut gems, coins, medals, buckles, amulets, seeds, weapons, African fetishes, and whatever of rare or curious the deceased captain (who appears to have had a very pretty taste in such matters) had been able to pick up dur- ing his-lifelong employment, in one capacity or another, in the merchant service. Many an odd or obsolete knick- knack, for which a virtuoso would give half his fortune, was here hidden; and likely to remain so till the dry- rotted rafters overhead should fall and bury them in their ruins. I was vainly trying to pick out and comprehend the v curiously-recondite stitch of a piece of Fejeean embroidery, : while listening to Mrs. Divine's animated rendition of an 16 page: 362-363[View Page 362-363]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 362-363 362 SHLOH. odd legend attached to it; when she broke off abruptly, and uttered an exclamation that instantly drew my atten- tion. She was holding a letter up to the light-a large, thick letter, written on a sheet of extraordinary size, and folded and sealed as was customary before envelopes came into use. The paper was -yellow as parchment, and the seal was unbroken. "If that don't beat all!" she cried. "Here I've found a letter stuck fast in the crack between the back and the bottom of that drawer; and the direction is in Horace's handwriting; and it's never been opened! And he died fifteen year ago, last spring! Can you make out that direction, Miss Frost? My spectacles don't seem to see quite so well as they used to." I took the letter, and read, "Frederick Thorne, Esq., No. 49 Street, New Orleans." "Why, that's stranger yet!" exclaimed she, staring at me in great amaze. "That must be Mrs. Thorne's hus- band, who died eight or ten year ago, at least,-and I never heard Horace mention his name, and didn't suppose he knew him! A letter from a dead man to a dead man, and the seal never broke-it's not quite comfortable!" And Mrs. Divine looked around as if she half-expected one or the other of the interested parties to gather up his bones and his ashes and whatever shadowy habiliments came to hand, and come forth from the dimmest corner of the garret to claim his forgotten property. "What's the use of wasting so much time on the out- side?" demanded Mrs. Prescott, impatiently. "Open it, and see what is in it." Mrs. Divine looked at her, meditatively. cI don't feel certain I've got any right to do that" she answered slowly; "I reckon Mrs. Thorne or Rick's got the best right to open Mr. Thorne's letters." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Prescott,- when the person the letter is written ton is dead, it's always sent back to the writer." SHLOH. d63 "When he's alive," returned Mrs. Divine,-" but, you see, Horace ain't. And it's beat into my mind, somehow, that he never wrote to Mr. Thorne, except on Thorne's own business. And I don't feel no call to pry into that man's affairs, dead or alive." Mrs. Prescott launched another suggestion. "Most likely Horace concluded not to send it, after 'twas writ- ten." Mrs. Divine gave it a momentary consideration, and shook her head. "If he had, he would have destroyed it. No, no, Priscilla; either he thought 'twas sent; or he was taken away before he had a chance to send it. You re- member he died on a return voyage, within sight of port." The matter was finally referred to Uncle True. Having turned the letter over and over, spelled out its address, weighed it on his palm, and balanced it on his forefinger, the wood-pile philosopher decided thus: "If a man's doin's died with him, and was buried five foot under ground, as he is,-the best thing to do with such a letter as this, 'ud be to put it right inter the middle of a good, hot fire, and look t'other way-while the ashes was agoin' up chimney. But we're all links in a chain, and it don't do to let go of one on 'em till it's -hitched on to an- other. . A man's papers gen'rally does that. There's one chance to nine that this letter was .meant to do suthin' o' that sort. And we mustn't send that chance a scurrin' up chimney in smoke. Put on your bonnet, Hannah, and go up to Mis' Thorne, and you and she open the letter to- gether." Mrs. Divine looked aghast. "Land Fakes! I can't do any such thing! I'm right -in the thick of soap- making." "Wall, send Priscilly, then." It was Mirs Prescott's turn to demur. "What! and leave all that muss on the stairs and up garret! Not for forty letters! I shan't stop and dress up * e are #y page: 364-365[View Page 364-365]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 364-365 364 SHLOH. till I'm through, and that won't be before night. Besides, I don't know Airs. Thoine, and I don't want to." Mrs. Prescott, be it understood, is not one whit less fas- tidious about her acquaintance, in her own way, than Mrs. Thorne herself. There was a moment of perplexed silence. Curious as the party undeniably were, their curiosity was not to be gratified at the expense of personal integrity, nor of household order. "Well," said Mrs. Divine at last, " it must wait till to- morrow, then." And she turned slowly away. Uncle True looked dissatisfied, and scratched his head reflectively. "It strikes me that a letter that has waited fifteen year to be opened, has waited about long enough," said he. "News and peaches often spile by keepin' just a leetle too long. I'd go up thar myself, only my old chair ain't able to travel quite so fur. Perhaps Miss Frost 'ud do it, now; she's allers obligin'. Besides, she knows Mis' Thorne. She'd do up the bus'ness right, and bring us hum a full report." And as this plan seemed best to satisfy the homely up- rightness of the parties,-leaving a way open for the speedy gratification -of curiosity, or interest, without interfering with the day's labors,-it was decided upon. I found Mrs. Thorne in her old place, at her old occupa- tion. She listened to my communication attentively, and then fell into a fit of profound thought;-apparently she was digging deep into her recollections, and weighing the letter's possibilities with extreme care. Rousing herself, she took up her work again, with something like a sigh, and said wearily;--"It is probably some unimportant mat- ter of business. Mr. Thorne was once, for a short time, in a shipping house. Oblige me by opening the letter and reading it aloud." To enable you to understand its contents better than I did, I give you, in advance, the explanations with which Mrs. Thorne favored me after the reading. SHLOH . 65 When she married Mr. Thorne, he was the presumptive heir of his uncle, Marcus Thorne, a moderately wealthy and immoderately eccentric bachelor. The marriage, however, or the bride, or something,--for she did not make this point quite clear,-so displeased the uncle as to cause a partial estrangement; which continued, with little diminution, till her husband's death. Up to this period she believed that the old gentleman had contemplated no other disposal of his property; but after that event she had heard of his making some efforts to learn the fate or the whereabouts of one Cyrus Thorne,-an elder half-brother of her husband, who had put the seal to a reckless youthful career by com- mitting some petty crime, and then running off to sea; since which time he had never been heard of, and was be- lieved to be dead. Nothing came of them, however, and Mrs. Thorne had quietly settled down to the belief that her son's prospects were bright and sure; when, two or three years afterward, M3arcus Thorne went to his kindred dust. The reading of his will disturbed that conviction. After providing for Rick's college expenses, and naming a certain sum to be paid to Carrie on her wedding-day, or, failing that, on her twenty-fifth birthday; it left the bulk of his property in trust for Cyrus Thorne, or his heirs, who were to be sought for with all speed and diligence. Whenever undeniable evidence of their death was forthcoming, it might be divided between Rick and Carrie in proportions specified by the will;-an instrument inspired, it would seem, partly by a latent affection for the runaway, and partly by a bitter determination that none of his property should ever pass into Mrs. Thorne's possession. Twelve years had elapsed. Cyrus Thorne, or his heirs were still to-be heard of, and Mrs. Thorne had grown old in suspense, longing, resentment, and despair. Imagine, then, how. her eyes first gloomed, and then sparkled, as she listened to Captain Hart's letter, which was long, and which I epitomize for you. , no page: 366-367[View Page 366-367]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 366-367 366 SHLOI. The honest seaman wrote that he believed it to be his duty to inform Mr. Thorne that, in a small seaport of South- ern Italy, into which he had been driven by stress of weather; he had encountered a pale, sombre, consumption-stricken man, who had made himself known to him as Cyrus Thorne. He had with him a child,-a motherless girl,-his love for whom seemed to be the sole sentiment of his waining life; and whose future engrossed his thoughts. Would Captain Hart touch there on his return? If he were still alive, lihe would embark with him for America; if not, he would find the child at his lodgings, with full powers and instructions for conveying her to her relatives. The Captain did " touch," and was greatly shocked to learn that Cyrus Thorne had died very suddenly of hemor- rhage within a few days of his departure. So suddenly, indeed, that he had had no opportunity to give any direc- tions concerning the child; and her nurse had finally sur- rendered her to the charge of an American gentleman, who had stopped in the town for a few days with his family; and whose interest in the orphan was, doubtless, heightened by the fact that his own little daughter was about the same age. He had promised to find out her friends, if possible; if not, to take kind care of her future. But the nurse went on to state that the party went up to Sondrio, and that she had learned through a friend employed as a servant in the principal inn that the child had sickened and died there. To enable Mr. Thorne to satisfy himself of the truth of this story, Captain Hart had taken pains to find out, by dint of patient inquiry in the town, that the said gentleman was from Philadelphia, and that his name was . But here I was completely at fault. Thle Captain's hand was crabbed and difficult enough, in straightforward sentences; and names, to which the context gives no clue, are always most puzzling in manuscript. By dint of united effort, we made out the Christian name to be Chester; but the surname was absolutely undecipherable. Mrs. Thorne thought it loolked something like Sanford; so it did, but between the " some- thing like" and identity was a sufficiently wide margin. She gave up the perplexing study, and rose with a dawning triumph in her eyes. "You will leave me this letter?" she asked. a It will be wanted in evidence, Rick and I shall set out for New Orleans to-morrow." I assented. a And Rick," she went on, as if unable to suppress hei growing exultation,- "Rick will have his rights, at last! I-e ought to have had them before, but it is not yet too late. He has not yet learned to have a will distinct from his mother's." She thought only of Rick-Carrie was forgotten! Or, it might be truer to say, she thought only of herself. In Rick's good fortune she saw but her own elevation to wealth, position, power. What an utter dislike I felt for her, as I listened! And Mala told me decidedly that, however glad she might be for Carriers, or even for Rick's salke, she should have chosen to be the bearer of such tidings to anybody on- earth rather than lirs. Thorne. To which Bona replied, quietly, that that was, perhaps, the very reason why I had been selected for the office. "Read that!" continued Mrs. Thorne, possessed by the restless, garrulous spirit of excitement, and thrusting an open letter into my hand, ' read that, and see what I have had to endure so long! Mr. Paul Venner will write me no more such letters, I fancy!" I glanced at it mechanically, intending to push it aside, and remained staring at the open page in amazement. I forget the contents,-a curt intimation that Rick's expenses must be diminished, I think,-but the handwriting was to- tally unknown to me-not a familiar line nor letter in it anywhere. I could not help saying:- "This is not Paul Venner's writing-it must be that of some clerk." I TIt is his, unquestionably," she replied, bitterly. "I ' 1' , - page: 368-369[View Page 368-369]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 368-369 368 rSHLore have good reason to know it well. It first made me ac- quainted with the fact that, instead of being left with a comfortable support, I had almost nothing; and I have often watched Mr. Venner write while he was drawing up papers for me to sign." I went home bewildered. Is Paul Venner so altered, then, that even his handwriting partakes of the- change? But what is it to me? It is curious to note how quickly, when one link of the solution of a mystery is found, others start up to complete the chain. Near the church, I met the artist. Something moved me to tell him the strange story to which I had been listening. "What did you say was the nurse's name?" he asked, when I had done. "Paola Valpino." "Then I can tell you just where she is to be found. Doubtless, her deposition will have to be obtained. She left La Pizzo years ago, and, on account of some family difficulties, took good care to leave no trace behind her. She had charge of the house in the Via del --, at Rome, where I had my studio; and she once told me this very story,-that is to say, what she knew of it.5' 'My report elicited not a few exclamations of wonder, on my return home. Mrs. Divine stared at me alternately over and under her spectacles, as it went on; and did not bethink herself that it would be easier to take them off, until it was finished. Then she remarked:- "Well! I certainly didn't think that Priscilla was about any special business of the Lord's, when she went to clean- ing that garret! And if I hadn't taken it into my head to show you Horace's curiosities, that letter might have lain there another fifteen year! I'll never think anything is of no consequence again!' "Umph!" said Mrs. Prescott, drily, 'the next time the SHLOH. .369 Lord sets us to find anybody's fortune in our garret, I hope it'll be our own!" "Fortune," observed Uncle True, "is a word I ain't partial to. It's so apt to get a ' mis' tacked on to the fust end on't afore you know it! If the Lord ever uses it- which I doubt,-I'm sartin He never applies it to houses, nor lands, nor bank-stock. I reckon your an' my fortunes, Priscilly, 'll never be found in the garret, unless we take to keepin' our Bibles an' sayin' our prayers thar!" That afternoon, I sent the address of Paola Valping, so unexpectedly obtained from the artist, to Mrs. Thorne; and felt that my part in the affair was ended. 16* o page: 370-371[View Page 370-371]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 370-371 XXXIV. DAISY. N the following day Mrs. Thorne left for a ;iS J New Orleans. I told myself frankly that I was glad she had gone. There are some natures the association with which-tends inevit- ably to debasement,--a lowering of the moral [,^ tone, and a darkening or obliquation of the 'X moral vision. It must be a strong mind, a tenacious idiosyncrasy, a most alert and unyield- ing will, that can long endure their contact without deteri- oration. I had learned to dread lMrs. Thorne's. There was some dull, remote chord in my heart that seldom failed to acknowledge the subtle power of her influence, by giv- ing forth a harsh and discordant sound. I breathed freer therefore, in knowing that influence would be felt no more. The temporary twisting of our life-threads was over; here- after each-would be spun separately to its end. She would not return to Shiloh until after my departure; or she would only come to gather up such of her personal effects as were worthy of transferring to another and a different sphere. Four or five days afterward, Mr. Divine having kindly placed the "woman-horse" (the current phrase for an ani- mal suited to feminine use), and the small top-buggy (a recent purchase), at my disposal, I set forth alone, purpos- ing to call upon Mrs. Danforth, shop a little at Clay Corner, and visit the railway station in search of a package of music, etc., to be sent me by express. * SHLOH. 371 Mrs. Danforth came first in order. After we had dis- cussed various affairs of the Sewing Society, and arranged for a full report of its acts,--to be read at the next meeting, as the speediest and most effectual way of causing certain grumblers to regale themselves in the fashion known as "eating one's own words,"-the stream of her talk began to eddy around various points of personal or family history, of no special interest to me. I waited absently, therefore; for a gap in the' narrative through which I might civilly take my leave, when a name, carelessly tossed upon its sur- face, caught my attention. "I beg your pardon, but of whom were you just now speaking?" "Of Chester Danforth, my husband's brother." A fac-simile of that illegible name in Captain Hart's manuscript, stereotyped on my memory by a long process of patient study, instantly rose before me. Danforth- Chester Danforth! certainly; how blind I was not to have seen it before! "Do you know if he was ever in the south of Italy?" I asked. 'To be sure he was, as we have sorrowful cause to remember. He lost his only child there by the malarial fever." "Ah, indeed! how very sad!" returned I, mechanically, too intent upon my own- train of thought to give muclk heed or sympathy to the event. "Did you ever hear of his having taken an orphan girl under his charge at La Pizzo!" "Why, yes, of course. It was Pearl--,more's the pity!" "And she died soon after at Sondrio?" "Died! good gracious, no! She is very much alive- rather too much so, all things considered " My surprise verged upon incredulity.' "Do I under- stand you to say," I asked, with very distinct and deliber- page: 372-373[View Page 372-373]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 372-373 372 SHLOH. ate emphasis, " that the orphan girl of whom Mr. Chester Danforth took charge at La Pizzo, in the year 18-, lived, and is still alive?" "Exactly," replied she, nodding her head. "She is called Pearl Danforth, and I have the inappreciable honor to be her aunt by adoption. Chester failed in every attempt to find out her relatives; and was glad to fail, I suppose, for he and his wife had become so attached to her in the year and a half that they had her with them in Europe, that it would have been like losing: a second child to have given her up. So, finally, they adopted her formally-a hazardous proceeding, I think, with a strange child, for you cannot tell what sort of blood it may have in its veins, nor in what unpleasant shape it may manifest itself. Pearl, certainly, has some very queer drops in hers. She grew up a strange, self-willed, erratic creature, as innocent to out- ward appearance as a child, but in reality as cool and subtle and slippery as quicklsilver. Chester had hard work to keep her in order, at the last; and after he died, her moth- er-that is to say, Chester's wife-could, not control her at all; since then she has taken her own course pretty much. She consorts chiefly with spirit-rappers, clairvoyants, short-skirted Bloomerites, long-haired philanthropists, and the like; she even professes to be a remarkably good me- dium (of the Old Nick, I grant!) herself, and can tip tables and spell out unmeaning sentences by the slow half- yard with the best of them, when she likes; in short, she is up to all manner of mischief, and keeps her poor mother in constant dread of what she may do next." "Can you tell where she may be found?" "Well, no, not precisely; nobody ever does know just where Pearl is to be found-the most unlikely spot you can think of is apt to be the one. Nevertheless, there is no difficulty in finding her when you want her; she is the sort oof person easy to be traced. She always leaves a- dozen or two of dazed individuals along her track, staring after her, SIILOHl:. 373 open-mouthed and bewildered, and only too glad to get a listener to all the strange things they have to tell of her. But what, may I ask, do you know of her, or of Chester?" I hastily turned the matter over in my mind, and de- cided that it was necessary to acquaint Mrs. Danforth with the finding and the contents of Captain Hart's letter, which I did as briefly as possible. She threw up her hands, when I had done, with an odd, deprecatory gesture. ': So the little witch is to be an heiress, and more inde- pendent than ever!" exclaimed she. "Between you and me, a fortune could scarcely have tumbled into a more pre- posterous spot. Don't you think we should be justified in suppressing the fact of Pearl's identity, with Cyrus Thorne's supposed-to-be-dead child, and leaving Rick and Carrie in the enjoyment of the property? I really believe they have the best right to it." I scarcely heard her. I was picturing Mrs. Thorne's isappointment, and striving to look a little way into the dusk of her children's future. "I see we are to do right, though the heavens fall," 'laughed M3rs. Danforth, construing my silence into disap- proval of her mock-earnest proposition. "Well, then, it becomes my duty to inform Pearl of this odd turn in her affairs; and you, I suppose, will do as much for Mrs. Thorne." The suggestion was like the firm grasp of a policeman upon an escaped convict's shoulder. It was a positive des- pair to be thus forced back into a distasteful atmosphere, just as I was congratulating myself upon breathing it no more; and into a new and inauspicious connection with an affair that I had believed to be, so far as I was concerned, happily concluded. And Mala did not scruple to question the wisdom. of the providence by which I was alternately made to appear as the good and the evil genius of a per- son with whom I should be best pleased to have nothing to do. page: 374-375[View Page 374-375]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 374-375 374 SHLOH m "'Let the matter alone" was her final advice, "and leave Mrs. Thorne to be notified of Pearl's claim, in due time, by Pearl's lawyer." But Bona would not permit me to act upon it. She averred that the blow would fall somewhat less crushingly upon Mrs. Thorne, if dealt before she had time to settle herself firmly into the belief that Rick's claim was beyond all question. She reminded me that my antipathy to her, and my tendency toward uncharitable judgment, in her re- gard, should, make me only the more solicitous to fail her in no ordinary kindness;-in short, she made her quiet voice so persistently heard through Dlala's murmurs and sarcasms, that I was forced to sit downiV to ]Mrs. Danforth's desk, and scribble a hurried note to Mrs. Thorne, through the house of "Venner & Co.,"-for I knew no other way of reaching her. And I left it at the post-office on my way to the station. I arrived at the latter spot just as the up-train was leaving. The little bustle occasioned by its departure was all over when I came out of the express office, and most of the arrivals had been borne off by the various vehicles in waiting. A single figure was pacing impatiently up and down the platform. As it turned round, I found myself face to face with Rick Thorne. Our greeting was cordial and unembarrassed. In that first moment, I think neither of us remembered precisely how we had parted. "I thought it most likely-that you had gone to New Orleans with your mother," said I. "To New Orleans!" he repeated in surprise. "Is mother gone to New Orleans? What on earth has taken her there?" "Then you did not see her before she went!"I ex- claimed, amazed that Mrs. Thorne should have taken the matter so completely into her own hands, as. she appeared to have done. . SHLOH. 875 'C No. She came to Haventon, it is true, a day or two ago; and I understand she made a regular fuss because I was not there, and they couldn't tell her where I had gone. H--" Here his self-possession quite forsook him, and a flush rose to his brow. It was only for a moment. "What is the use of mincing matters?" he went on, with a quick return of his old, easy, engaging frankness; "I am married, Miss Frost." X No doubt I opened wide eyes of wonder at him. The scene in "The Bower " came back upon me, now, vividly. I was provoked at myself that it caused a momentary pang.. I had no mind to furnish a confirmation, in my own person, of the sneering assertion that no woman likes to see a man's affections transferred from herself to another, even though they may have given her pain rather than pleasure; --yet from whence came that swift throe, if not from wounded vanity? Or, was its deeper root in the sudden, flitting vision of my own lonely future which rose before me, as he spoke? Yet what right have I to assume that it will be lonely? God's spirit, working in and through my prayerful efforts, is able to crowd. it with peace, joy, use- fulness, blessedness. "Allow me to be the first of your Shiloh friends to con- gratulate you," said I to Rick, quickly recovering myself. "Is your aunt expecting you-?" "No, I believe not. The truth is, my wedding was a, very sudden affair; the fruit of a hasty impulse, but a good one, I hope. I met her-that is to say, my wife- only a month ago, when I was in a wretched, despondent, gloomy state (I need not tell you the reason why), and she contrived to diffuse some sunshine through it, in such a miraculous way, that I was grateful, of course; and grati- tude turns easily to love, you know. Then she was in un- comfortable leading-strings, subject to the control of cer- tain people who were not at all in sympathy with her, and t page: 376-377[View Page 376-377]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 376-377 who were continually checking her bright, beautiful im- pulses, and clipping the wings of her fancy; and I saw her so unhappy under it all, that I could not help marrying her, just to set her free. I supposed mother would be rather angry at first, but I knew I could coax her out of it. And there was not time to write and consult her about it." The frank, easy, kind-hearted, inconsiderate, infatuated fellow! I hoped his wife had brought somewhat more of that uncommon commodity known as common sense into the sudden partnership than he had done. "And now," he concluded, "let me take you il and introduce you to her." I ceased to marvel at Rick's infatuation when a dainty little creature, half-asleep in the dingy waiting-room, lifted her picture-like head, with its great mass of golden curls and its innocent, wondering blue eyes, and smiled up into his face. But what a child! What a pair of children! What would become of them! IIlad Providence gracious- ly gifted them with some sparrow-like instinct, by the help of which to seek their food and build their nest, as an off- set to their scanty stock of human reason! And what sort of mercy might this soft dove expect at -the angry talons of Mrs. Thorne! Poor, bitter, disappointed, Mrs. Thorne! Mrs. Rick received me with the air of a childish prin- cess, quiet, grave, slightly tinged with shyness, yet without awkwardness or confusion. She replied to my congratu- latory remarks appropriately enough, answered the ques- tions I addressed to her, and left the rest of the conversa- tion to Rick and myself. A small boy, a rickety wagon, and a horse capable of serving every purpose of a skeleton without taking the trouble of dying, shortly appeared at the door, and termi- nated the interview. With a laugh at the style of his equipage,-the only one he had been able to procure,-and a seriously expressed fear that the horse would be " off his OD^ ' , legs " before they could reach Bryer Farm, Rick tossed in his trunk, handed in his bride, took his small driver on his knees, and set forth through the sunshine toward Shiloh. An hour afterward, having finished my shopping and turned my face homeward, I came upon them midway be- tween Clay Corner and Hope Plain, where the loneliness of the road is not tempered, for more than a mile, by any dwelling. The horse had been loosened from the wagon, and was panting under a tree by the wayside; Rick stood looking at him with a serious face; his wife sat in the wagon, unruffled and observant; and the small boy was making much ado of crying, with his dirty fists in his eyes. "What is the - matter?"I asked, drawing up beside the party. - "The matter is that this miserable beast is completely knocked up with old age, or starvation, or hard work,' or a mixture of the three; it would be a kindness to knock him in the head and put him out of his misery. I've a great mind to do it. Be off, you young rascal, and tell his mas- ter to come and look after him, if he's got a master. It's a question whether he'll have a horse when he gets here, and may he never have another!" There was a short consultation. It ended in Rick's placing his bride in the empty seat of my buggy, to be conveyed to Bryer Farm; while he turned back on foot in search of a team to bring on his trunk and himself. My passenger sat silent, stealing occasional glances at me from under her long eyelashes; doubtless, she was em- barrassed by the novelty of her position. To- set her at ease, by diverting her thoughts into a, familiar channel, I inquired what place she had been accustomed to call home? "Philadelphia." "Ah? I have many acquaintances there. Do you know the Maxwells or the Lightfoots?" "No. I know the Heavyheads very well." s J, page: 378-379[View Page 378-379]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 378-379 378 SHLOH. I looked at her face. It was perfectly simple and seri- ous, without a sign of having intended a witticism in it anywhere. Repressing a smile at the odd, but, as it ap- peared, fortuitous, conjunction of names, I said: "Would it be an impertinence to ask what name you have exchanged for that of Thorne? I may know some branch of your family." "My name was Dorn-Daisy Dorn." "A dainty name for a dainty lady," I thought, but not aloud. Truth to tell, I did not seem to "get on" with Rick's wife. The child-like sweetness and simplicity of her manner was slightly iced with a hauteur that seemed ab- surdly out of place there. It occurred to me, finally, that the congelation might be due to her knowledge of- Rick's former sentiment toward me, and I gave "Racer" a hint to trot faster. Not until I drove through the great gate of Bryer Farm did I realize what an awkward mission had been forced upon me-to bring home Rick's unheralded, unlooked-for bride; and Rick himself-nobody knew where. I sent an anxious glance down the long vista of the road, but he was not in sight. "Will you go in?"I asked, hoping, and, indeed, fully expecting, that the small creature beside me would beg to remain in the carriage until he should appear; but she only put forth her fairy-foot, and alighted, as easily as a bird might have done, on the porch. And Miss Bryer, warned of my arrival by some domestic scout, was already opening the door, with the pair of idiots at her back. Not until she had ushered us into the parlor, and cast several curious, questioning glances at my companion, did I ven- ture upon an explanation. Taking Mrs. Rick's hand in mine, in the belief that a friendly, sympathizing touch would be helpful to her in her trying position, I said: "Miss Bryer, I bring a new claimant for your love. Rick expected to have had the pleasure of presenting her 379 ,HLOI. '7. to you himself, but a provoking, though harmless, accident has detained him on the way hither. He is quite well, and will soon be here. Meantime, he sends you, by my hands, his wife." "Hands his wife! hands his wife!" echoed the half- wits, rapturously. Miss Bryer seemed turned to stone. ".Who's there?" suddenly called Dr. Bryer's harsh voice from the farther door. And after a moment he add- ed, impatiently, "Thunder and lightning! why don't you answer? " Thus adjured, Miss Bryer found tremulous voice. "I don't know-I believe-Miss Frost says it's Rick's wile." "Rick's knife," said the old man, sharply, "he's always 'losing something. Did that young Woman find it? Oh! there's Miss Corse. How do you do, madam?" I threw a compassionate glance at the bride, whose home-coming was so strange and so forlorn. Her expres- sion confounded me. Its innocent serenity was undis- turbed: she stood looking on as at a spectacle in which she had no-concern. Yet, for one brief instant, I seemed to catch a swift gleam of the eyes, a slight compression of the lips, indicating that she was not so totally unmoved as she appeared. I seemed to discover that the glances sped sidewise from under her long eyelashes, were cool, keen, subtle, comprehensive; noting every detail of the scene, penetrating the thoughts and analyzing the charac- ter of every actor therein. I seemed to see that she was at once observant, amused, contemptuous, and guarded. I say, seemed,-for, the next moment, meeting her clear, childlike eyes turned full upon me, I felt that I had been under a delusion. "I am sorry Carrie is not in," said Miss Bryer, address- ing her new niece, in a trembling voice and with evident effort; "she would make it more pleasant for you. She would not be so much overcome by-" The quivering voice broke down completely. page: 380-381[View Page 380-381]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 380-381 o oJu SHLOH. "Then Carrie did not go with her mother," said I, think- ing that the conversation would flow more smoothly on the level of the commonplace. "No: she is only gone to one of the neighbors. I ex- pect her in, every minute." The information settled a difficulty for me. Since meet- ing with Rick Thorne, I had been disturbed by a suspicion that it was my duty to make him acquainted with the cause and object of Mrs. Thorne's journey to New Orleans, and the discovery of Cyrus Thorne's daughter; and so save him from the trying alternations of elation and disappoint- ment which had befallen his mother. But it was not a pleasant task to tell a newly made bridegroom, in the presence of his bride, that his expectations of future wealth. were cut off; neither was it a moment to ask for a private interview. The thought of Carrie made my way clear be- fore me: I determined to tell her the facts, and leave her to communicate them to Rick. It happened that the brother and sister met at the gate, and walked up the lane together. His story was told, therefore, and her surprise partly over, before they joined us. Their coming was a, relief to us all. Rick was so easy, gay, and unembarrassed, and Carrie so unaffectedly glad of a sis- ter-in-law, that the atmosphere grew light and bright at once. Very soon, I drew Carrie aside. She listened to my statement with a gentle surprise. "Mother did not tell me that she felt at all certain about it," said she, simply. "She only said that there was a little more hope of Rick's getting the property." I was unfeignedly glad to hear it. I trusted that reflec- tion had made Mrs. Thorne somewhat less sanguine, and that the edge of her disappointment might be proportion- ably blunted. Charging Carrie to put Rick in possession of the whole story, before he chanced to hear the first part of it only from any other quarter, I took my leave. A VIIST TO THE CITY. '^H^.HE next morning, I started for New York, tak- ing Ruth Winnot with me. Thus it came about. iE ' Ruth's progress in music has more than justi- fied my anticipations. Exercises and studies that were Hills of Difficulty and Sloughs of Despond to me, in the earlier stages of my musi- cal pilgrimage, she cleared almost at a bound. I was delighted, and told her so frankly, even enthusiastic- ally. By and by, she grew careless. Content to read al- most by instinct and to execute easily, she neglected to understand how and wherefore she did so. The faint dawning of conceit showed itself, not directly manifested to me, but by many subtile channels of look and tone. I had praised her too much and made her way too easy. Then, without preparation or warning, I threw her into the thick of musical difficulties. I brought forth my old, grand songs and interminable studies, sang some, of them to her, and gave her a lesson upon one or two others. She began in confidence and ended in confusion. She blundered and floundered through her hours of practice, and came to her lesson with a most dissatisfied and anxious face. She received plenty of criticism, and no word of praise. The criticism was repeated, in nearly the same words, at every succeeding lesson. At the fourth repetition, Ruth's head went down upon the piano, and sobs brake-forth. I in- quired, composedly enough, what was the matter? * * ',.* page: 382-383[View Page 382-383]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 382-383 382 SHLOH. "I never can do that in the world! It's of no use to try!" she sobbed out. "After all, I am no singer. I have got to the end of my powers; I cannot go a step further. It is all dark to me! And yet, only a little while ago, the way was so easy and plain! What does it mean?" "It means," answered I, drily, "that I am not like Providence." She lifted her head and looked at me wonderingly. "Because Providence, Ruth, rarely gives to us more than just that moderate and judicious degree of encour- agement which serves to keep us in the humble and indus- trious exercise of our best powers, knowing that more would tend to pride and carelessness, as less does to discourage- ment and despair. Whereas I, having unwisely begun by giving you too much, was forced to balance matters by giving you none at all. Having made your way too easy, at first, the only alternative was to make it too difficult, at last, so as to teach you that it was necessary to take heed to your steps." "I see," she returned, mournfully, "I was doing in earn- est what I once prophesied that I should do, in jest,-I was getting conceited. I fancied that I had bit little, if any- thing, more to learn, and that I could learn it without effort. Forgive me!-I will not be such an idiot aRgain! Still," she added, sighing, "I do not see, now, how I am ever to learn that exercise!" "Neither do I, until you have been over some prepara- tory ground. We will return to the point where your way ceased to be easy, and work up to the exercise by degrees. By that time, I suspect that most of its difficulties will have disappeared." "And all this time has been wasted!" she exclaimed, dolefully. "Not so, Ruth, if it has taught painstaking and humil- ity to genius. Without the latter, it can achieve but little; without the former, it can achieve nothing worthily." SHLOH. 383 Thenceforth, her progress was sure as well as swiftw Every day seemed to add something to the compass or the. beauty of her wonderful voice. Its rare quality and rich resources became continually more apparent. So much so that I had a fit of humility, one day, and doubted if I were really competent to train and develop so exquisite an organ. To settle the doubt,-as well as in the hope of getting more light on the question of Ruth's future, which begins to press upon me,-I addressed a letter to my old teacher, Signor Canto. It brought me an answer, highly compli- mentary and encouraging, so far as concerned my qualifica- tions for teaching, and closing as follows, in the Signor's custom ary Italian-English: "When you can teach the Signorina no more, bring her to me. If she be the prodigio of genius that you believe, it shall please me much to help her to perfect and make fruit of her talent. Voices supe- riores are few; if you have found one, you have rare good fortune, it must never be lost to the world for want of cul- tivamento." I showed the letter to Ruth. Her eyes sparkled at first, then she grew thoughtful. After a moment, she said,-- It is very nice, only-I am afraid he would expect me to go upon the stage. I could never do that, you klnow." And she made a silent gesture toward her feet. "For other reasons, too, I hope, Ruth. The stage is no. place for a Christian woman, such as I trust you will be. The choir of the church, and, perhaps, the platform of the concert-hall, will give ample scope for all your talent, and not take you on dangerous ground." She shook her head. "Not the latter,--you forget-" And she gave another expressive downward look. "No, I do not forget. Only, I do not recognise that as an insuperable obstacle." i She gazed long and earnestly in my:face. Suddenly, she threw herself down at my side, hid her face on my shoulder, and burst out with- : page: 384-385[View Page 384-385]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 384-385 384 SHLOH. "Tell me, Miss Frost-there is no one else that I dare ask, it would be so hard for my mother to say 'no' to me!- tell me, is it not possible to have them straightened?" I was deeply moved; there was so much pent-up suffer- ing and desire in the tone. "I do not know, indeed, dar- ling. Certainly, it would involve a fearful amount of pain." "I don't care for that! I would bear anything-every- thing-only to be made straight. Oh! how often I dream that I am so!-that Christ, passing by, turns his soft eye on me, and says, 'Be healed!' And then to wake, and find it only a dream, and that I am crooked still! Ah! you don't know what that is, Miss Frost!" The result of this conversation was that Ruth and I made a flying visit to New York. First, I took her to the distinguished surgeon, Dr. Heartwell, my father's life-long friend. He gave her a rapid, but searching examination. This was his decision:- "Your medical adviser, at home, was right. I have reason, every day, to know that my brother practitioners of the country are not so far behind us of the city as their patients are apt to imagine. Although there is not a single sign or symptom of disease about you, and you may live as long, under favorable conditions, as the majority of the human race, or even longer; yet your constitution is too delicate, your nerves too sensitive, to justify our undertak- ing the operation. If done at all, it should have been done earlier. Still-not to leave you to the gnawing tooth of a miserable 'might-have-been'-I tell you frankly that I question if it could ever have been done safely." Then the kind old man, the practised Healer, learned in medicaments for the soul as well as for the body, laid a fatherly hand on Ruth's head. "After all, my child, it is not so serious a matter. You have youth, health, beauty, and, as Winnie tells me, talent. Why seek for more? Few have so much. And all of us have some crookedness, of mind, or soul, or body, never to be quite straightened in this life;-perhaps that we may the more ardently desire the life in which all crooked things are to be made straight, and all dark things plain. If. your crookedness is only of the body, you have more reason to rejoice than to be sor- rowfil." If Ruth was disappointed, she was also tranquilized. Hope, suspense, and longing, were alike at an end. She knew her ground. And the old man's reassuring words, , and benignant manner, were not without their effect. Then I took her to Signor Canto. He listened to her with an ecstatic admiration that continually leaped over the narrow limits of his slow English into enthusiastic Italian. "Of course, she had much to learn, and he could see that she was learning it," with a low bow to me,-" but her voice, it was magnifiec, sopra ogni cosa-above every- thing that he had imagined! It was superba, maravgli- osa, wonderful." Then he said to me, in Italian, "Something must be ,done for her feet. She would make her fortune-and yours and mine, too-on the operatic stage." "It cannot be, signore." "It must be. Take her to a surgeon." "I have just done so. He does not advise it." "Take her to another. Some one will be found to ad- vise it." "And kill her! I beg to decline. Besides, neither Miss Winnot nor I like the idea of the stage." He made a grimace. Then he besieged Ruth. Uncon- sciously, the kind-hearted, enthusiastic little man played the part of Satan in the wilderness, and played it well. He held fame, wealth, admiration, power, before her dazzled eyes. Paradoxical as the statement may seem, her crooked feet enabled her to stand-firm. For a moment, I was glad she had them. With her rare, exquisite beauty, and her marvellous voice, what temptations, what dangers, what 17 - - page: 386-387[View Page 386-387]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 386-387 386 SHLOH. downfalls may they not have saved her from! They were God's visible protection around her-the pillar of cloud that was shade by day, and light by night. At last, he gave up the vain attempt. "It isa thousand pities," he said, dolefully. "Such a career as you could have! Still, we have the concert, the oratorio, the Church service; we must make ourselves content. When will I have the honor to count you into my pupils, Miss Win- not?" , I remained in the city two or three days, in order to give Ruth a glance at some of its lions ;--Uncle John being only too glad to have us impart even a transient home- aspect to his great, empty house, and very fertile in ex- pedients for keeping us there. The business-mist did not once envelop him during our stay. He was greatly charmed with Ruth; and she was soon quite as much at ease with him as his own children; for him, she put on her brightest face and sang her sweetest songs. When she returned to Shiloh, it was plain that the trip had done her good. The city-accustomed to all sad and forlorn sights, and keenly appreciative of beauty-had scarcely noticed her feet, but had gazed admiringly in her face. She had met many strangers and not one rebuff. She had gained in confidence and in spirits. XXXVI. THE TRUTH AT LAST. X ' sig^n N the afternoon f the day of my return H ign46\sr from lNew York, I met Mrs. Danforth at B I ^ th e Sewing Society. She soon took occasion to H -'^ it lead me into a room apart. ; %1 Chi "Well!" she began, "I wrote to Pearl,-or H " ^ 4 rather, to her mother,-and she wrote back that Pearl was away visiting, and she had immedi- ately forwarded the letter. Probably Pearl has received it, by this time, and I shall soon hear how she takes it. By the way, I hear that Rick Thorne is married, and that you had the honor of carrying home the unexpected bride. How does she look? Is she pretty?" "Very pretty--a perfect little fairy." "^ Where does she hail from?" "Philadelphia." "Indeed! I have a large acquaintance there. What is-or what was-her name?" "Daisy Dorn." Mrs. Danforth gave me one look of unqualified amaze- ment. Then, she dropped into the nearest chair, and burst into a long, loud, ringing laugh,-yet a laugh that I never quite like to hear, because much too broad and noisy for a woman. "I do not see the joke," said I, rather severely. "Don't you? My good gracious! it is too rich!-Daisy Dorn is "-and she went off into another peal. page: 388-389[View Page 388-389]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 388-389 388 SHLOH. I waited in silent disapproval. "Is-is,"--she went on, catching her breath hysterically, "goodness alive! she is Pearl Danforth!" "Impossible!"I exclaimed. "That child!" "Child!" cried Mrs. Danforth, fairly screaming with mirth. "Bless your simple soul! she was of age two years ago. And she has the brain of a Machiavelli under those yellow curls of hers. I'll bet on her against Mrs. Thorne, two to one." "But her name-Daisy Dorn." "You persistent sceptic! Her name is Margaret: of course she is entitled to all its variations. Chester called her Pearl, because, as he said, he had picked her up on the seashore. She assumes the others as the fit takes her- Daisy, Madge, Greta, and I don't know what not. Lately, too, she has taken a fancy to resume the name of Dorn,- the name her father bore in Italy, and the only one Chester knew anything about;-no wonder he never found'her friends!" "And it is the German for Thorne!" said I. "Exactly. The affair grows clearer every moment, you see." "And Rick will get the property after all!" "Umph! that's as Pearl pleases! She is of age, you know. Perhaps he will get as much of it as is good for him; he certainly will not get any more. He will find that his wife has a will of steel under her soft, cushiony exte- rior. By the way, I wonder what possessed her to marry him! I always thought her on the look-out for a rich hus- band,-to be sure, she can afford to marry whom she pleases, now, but then, she did not know it when she did the deed! Can she really have fallen in love with his handsome face, and married him with her eyes shut to everything else, silly-girl fashion?" Remembering a look that she had given her husband, as he entered the depot, and another in the Bryer's parlor, I averred that I thought she had. SHLOH. 3 "Then," said Mrs. Danforth, "I should not wonder if she made him an excellent wife. She has brains enough for both; and artfulness enough to keep his simple head from suspecting half the crooks and corners of hers. She will manage him wholly, without his knowing that she does it. She will seem as transparent as a meadow-brook, when I she is as deep as the sea. The more she loves him, the less will she allow him to see her as she is,-that is, until the softening influence of wifehood and motherhood have made her nearer to what she should be." ( And you call that an excellent wife! Poor Rick!" MSrs. Danforth looked really abashed. "Miss Frost!" she exclaimed in a deprecating tone, "you surely know that I was not speaking abstractly, but relatively, for the present occasion. I do think that Frederick Thorne, with his temperament and characteristics, might have done much worse than to marry Pearl. For, after all, she is eccentric and secretive, rather than wicked. She is such a consum- mate actress, by nature, that she cannot help playing a part; and, loving her husband, she will play that of a good wife to perfection. Besides, I meant to imply, in the con- eluding clause of my unlucky speech, that I thought her likely to change very much for the better, in due time. But, my dear Miss Frost! pray do not think that I have no higher standard of womanhood than that!-none higher. than I had when I came to Shiloh, three months ago! Is it possible you do not see that I am trying to lead a little higher life myself, even though I do still talk-and perhaps act-carelessly,-that being the 'natur of the critter,' as the farmers say?" She ended "'twixt a smile and a tear." My own eyes grew dim. I had seen the change in her-though far too subtile a thing to define inll words-and rejoiced at it. I told her so, earnestly. "As the angels in heaven do over a sinner that'repent- eth!" said she, with the same mixture of mirth and seri- page: 390-391[View Page 390-391]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 390-391 ou"V SHLOIT. Ousness, which, I have learned, she uses instinctively as a mask to her deeper feelings. "Perhaps you'll never know till you get there, howmuchl you have lacl to do with it. Sunll- day School teachings sometimes rebound from the children and hit the parents. Seeing Gordon and Efie so earnestly trotting and tumblingheavenward, under your guidance, -I could not well help askingr myself wither my own ways tended. Yo may be sure that it has taken some of the conceit out of me, to find that what I did so unwil- lingly, as a great favor to you and a wonderful condescen- sion to the Sunday School cause in Shiloh, turns out to have been, humanly speaking, the salvation of my children and myself. To be sure, I was a Church member before, and active enough in Church work, after my fashion; but I suspe t I had as little of the Christian spirit as any Hottentot." ; . I was dumb. Never did I feel so humbled. It was so eplain to me that it was not"I," weakly and wearily oscil- lating between Bona and Mala, but the grace of God, that had done it! Mrs. Danforth had been very far from my thoughts in my Sunday School work. She wiped her eyes, and recturred to the preceding topic. I suppose I must go and call on Pearl," said she "though she doesn't deserve it. To thinlk that the eittle minx should have gone straight past my door with you, and not have stopped!--lnot even long enough for that sorely tried husband of hers to come up. But it isjust like her! I know she enjoyed her sudden, single-handed descent upon those startled Bryers a great deal better than any ,more commonplace introduction. She fairly lusuri- ated in that absurd scene. Well! I vill go and see her this evening, and tell her of her good fortune, if such it is to be called." The next morning, Mrs. Danforth knocked at the open door of the out-room, where Ruth and I were seated at the piano. "I thought I would just 'stop in and tell you that I found only an empty nest," she said, as we shook hands. "The bird is flown." "What--who!-"I asked, bewildered. "Who? Pearl-Daisy-M lrs. Frederick Thorne. I have just come from the Bryers; I did not go up there last night, I. had a sick headache. Meanwhile, Carrie had made Rick a statement of facts, as you requested her to do. He imparted them to his wife. The name of Chester Dan- forth made the' whole thing clear to Pearl's very.- quick comprehension. IFinale: she and Rick started for New Orleans at six o'clock this morning. Bon voyage I " page: 392-393[View Page 392-393]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 392-393 -XXXVII. THE SUAMMR'S WORK. THE summer is fast gliding by-a summer of some pleasure, of more labor, of multiply- ing interests, of much that has left a rich residuum of experience in the depths of my heart. It has made life's purpose and'signifi- cance clearer to me. It has taught me that, as our nature is constituted, and under its present conditions, we are made more contented, as well as wiser, by a due admixture of sorrow and disappointment in our earthly cup. The life that is rightly lived, grows richer by its losses and gladder through its tears. Not only "knowledge," but joy, "by suffering entereth." So long as we make earthly happiness an end, and seek it directly, we are certain to miss it, and to be continually chilled and soured and disappointed thereby; but as soon as we make up our minds to do without it, and put submission, useful- ness, an earnest striving after holiness, in its place, we are apt to find it quietly waiting upon them, as their humble handmaiden. So much of truth has the summer brought to me in its gliding by. Let us see what it has brought to others,-for it has suffered none of the persons-left behind by these chronicles to stand quite still. Alice Prescott took to the study of Italian as a bird to thie air. So far, the poet's dower is hers-she has the gift of tongues H SHLOH. 393 Moreover, the readings long ago inaugurated have been quietly educating her taste, and deepening her thought. For her sake, I have made ifrequent selections from the poets, and accompanied the reading, thereof ;with copious commentary, analysis, and criticism. I left these to do their silent work. That they did it I knew well, not only- by frequently surprising Alice with a pencil and a scrap of paper in her hands, and the pleasant trouble of poetic travail in her face; but by seeing the same scraps thrust silently and despondently into the kitchen fire. It was long ere I put forth a hand to save one of these from doom. "I hope I have your permission to read\ this," said I, when I had done so. "If it were worth reading, I would have brought it to you unasked. Do not mortify me-by looking at it!" "Is it lately written?" "Oh, no; I wrote it more than a fortnight ago." "Did it not seem worth reading to you, then?"' "Ah! yes,-everything does, at first. But, in a few days, all the flavor, all the life, have gone out of it. It is wishy-washy, and sickens me! It is cold and dead, and chills me! I hasten to put it out of my sight." "That is to say that the inevitable moment of doubt, discouragement, and disgust, which comes to every worker for Art, be it painter, sculptor, or poet, comes also to you. It may be that it-is the moment wherein his late standard, well-nigh reached, begins to mount higher; it may be the one which first reveals to him that the fairest, subtlest graces of his spiritual ideal are not to be embodied in color, marble, or rhythm. Still, that moment of disgust is not the time to judge fairly of the work done. Leave the decision to me whether this deserves the flames, or no. - "Not that," she exclaimed hurriedly; "let me bring you something I wrote this morning." Which has not yet losb its flavor? No, thank you. 17' page: 394-395[View Page 394-395]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 394-395 394: SHLOI. My praise, if I have any to give, will seem fearfully cold to that birth-warm effusion. While my criticism will not hurt this one nearly so much." Her reluctance continued, and seemed so disproportion- ate to the occasion, that I was first puzzled, then half-vexed. Seeing that, she yielded at once, and sat with a downcast face and deeply-suffused cheeks, awaiting the result. Of course, I expected to see "Lines to-" something, --summer, autumn, a cat, a flower, on the death of a friend, or some one of the hackneyed themes of youthful rhymers. What I actually saw, therefore, astonished me not a little. The verses had no title, and they ran thus: "I have locked my heart, and I give you the key. Throw it, I pray you, into the sea, It's of no use to you, and still less to me. "None shall come after you into that door,- None after you, and you enter no more!- Let the dust gather on ceiling and floor. "Let the dim ghost of our dead love all night Stalk through the empty rooms, bare of delight, Smell the brown roses that once were so white. "Let it count over 'mid silence and dearth, Hopes that once laughed in the glow on the hearth, Snows that have chilled both the flame and the mirth. "Then, when the dawn o'er the hilltops doth peep, Back to its grave let it silently creep,- Grave that the slow years dig ever more deep!" The cause of Alice's reluctance was at once made clear to me. For a moment, I felt a flush on my own cheek. By means of that marvelous intuition of hers, she had ar- rived at some conception of the sort of chill and torpor that had fallen on my heart, and given it voice, in my stead. Strange that the poet's insight can almost dispense with HSHILOH. 395 experience! That a slender New England girl, hid away in the quietest corner of a quiet town, with no personal knowledge of love, and quite innocent of its heartache, should write such a sombre, hopeless, death-scented lyric as this, was indeed a marvel! I read it twice or thrice, partly to get rid of my self- consciousness, partly to qualify myself for judgment. l," Well, Alice," I said, at length, " you need not burn this, and you may go on rhyming." BShe looked at me with a slow, tremulous joy dawning in her blue eyes. Yet the mute gaze seemed to ask for some- thing more. To gratify it, I went on :- "Your verses are better than I expected. They are simple and unpretending, and, therefore, do not greatly challenge criticism. I am glad to observe that you, avoid Hfalse rhymes and mixed metaphors, and that a distinct line of thought is traceabl'e throughout. This is something- much, in so young a poet." Her face' grew radiant, but her questioning look did not change. What an unerring instinct the girl has! "If you really crave a little criticism," said I, smiling, "here it is! The last line is not quite smooth." "Ah, yes! I know it," she replied.' "But how else am I to get both the thought and the rhyme?" "There, I suspect, is the poet's worst difficulty," said I. "To make sense and rhyme perfectly harmonious, so that neither warlps nor constrains the other; to manage both so artfully as to make it appear that the thought could in no otherwise be so well and adequately expressed;-thai must give him his hardest labor. But I should really lik( to know what is the poet's process, Alice." "I do not know if I can tell you," she answered, slowly "With me, it seems like a remembering rather than a mak "ing. My verses come to me precisely as you recall a half forgotten poem or song. Whole lines and stanzas start u] in my mind, without the least effort ;" but here and therO page: 396-397[View Page 396-397]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 396-397 396 SHLOH. are gaps which it is hard to ,fill. In vain I try to remember what belongs in them; the missing line or phrase hovers about the outer edge of my mind, but cannot be coaxed within it. It is only after long trial that I can fill up these gaps, at all; and the interpolation always has the air of a patch over a hole in a garment,--at least, to me." She then brought me her morning's production., It proved to be better than this, after all,-more original, and with a stronger, sweeter flow. It is too long to copy, but it can be found in the August No. of the Magazine. For, after Alice had copied it in her best hand (and it is not the least of her literary qualifications that she writes one which it is a pleasure and not a penance to read), I sent it to the editor thereof,-whom I happen to know slightly,- bespeaking for it a more prompt and careful examination than is usually vouchsafed to the production of an un- 'kniown author. Two or three days brought back a letter, saying that he would be " happy to hear from her again;" and enclosing a sum which filled Alice with shy, crimson delight, and made Mrs. Prescott hold up her head as high --as if she had received the first instalment of an ample and certain fortune. But Alice's literary path was not always to run thus smooth. Her second venture was " declined, with thanks;" it was "too grave for our columns," (which means simply that-it was devotionaD,-would she "try again?" She did try again, and her article was accepted; but not without a warning that it was below the mark of the first one, duly emphasized by a much smaller enclosure. Her rejected "'Hymn "--which was really the best of the three-finally found a place in the columns of a religious weekly; at a rate of compensation so low as to leave no question whatever about the comparative values of religion and non-religion in the literary market; nor any shred of doubt in which branch of the trade a neophyte's talent would be best re- warded-that is, so far as earthly remuneration is concerned. E ! SIIILOH. 397 And this brings Alice's intellectual history up to the X present point. As for her emotional one, that lies, for the most part, beyond my ken. NOt that she is deliberately secretive; but she is naturally reserved and likes little to talk about herself;--easier for a deep, shadowy, enclosed "well to turn itself into a running and sparkling brook than for Alice -to assume the openness and communicativeness of Ruth. Her natural channel of expression is her pen; that suffices her for interpreter and confidant. Of course, this summer of constant association has knit- ,ted Alice, Ruth, and myself very closely together. Any picture of me, at this epoch, would be incomplete without :one or both of them at hand, looking up to, me with an affection that is half worship. I get even a little too much of their society, and am often oppressed by their reveren- tial regard. It may be morally good for one, but it is none the less wearisome to fallen human nature, to be compelled to live always at the height of some loving, worshipping friend's ideal. Often I feel an insane impulse to do some- thing unredeemably weak or wicked, just to cast my image down from that uncomfortable and insecure elevation, and give it leave to stand, henceforth, upon the lower earth, among its kind. I am withheld therefrom by no selfish considerations of loss of power or prestige, but by an intu- itive knowledge that both these simple, loving souls would seem to see, in its downfall, the entire universe tumbling 1backward into chaos. In life's earlier years, as I have sore reason to know, it is a serious matter to lose one's ideals. With them the fair structure of faith crumbles to dust. The whole moral world falls, seemingly, into irretrievable ruin. - Its foundations heave and gape beneath our feet; its sky crashes down upon our heads, with fearful and start- ling effect. All that was worthy of reverence has hopelessly 'gone to rack, we think, as we struggle forth from the ruins, stunned and bewildered. It may be years before we find out the scarcely less bitter, if more wholesome, certainty page: 398-399[View Page 398-399]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 398-399 398 SHLOH. that it was only an unfounded, illusory fabric of our own creation which fell, and that the fair temple of Truth, with its immutable foundations in Goodness and Right, was in nowise involved in the crash. To be sure that crash must come to Ruth and Alice, sooner or later, but woe to him by whom -it cometh! To escape which malediction I go on teaching, moralizing, sug- gesting, encouraging, according to the established routine, and striving to keep my interests and sympathies unflag- gingly up to their work, in spite of the inevitable loss of their first fresh impetus, till I can recover it by a temporary withdrawal and rest,-things indispensable, it would seem, to the health of any friendship, however sweet andlcordial, wherein the sum of help, sympathy, and rest received does not very closely approximate to the amount rendered. In this effort Mala, as may be expected, gives me little assist- ance. Not -even under the guise of pride or self-respect is she capable of lending a steady, lasting aid to any good and unselfish work. But Bona, though often sore grieved, and, doubtless, tempted to withdraw and leave me to the unhelped and unhindered tendencies of my nature, doth yet stand by me, and enable me to struggle on, if not to the unmixed approval of my conscience, at least to the apparent satisfaction of my duo of satellites. Perhaps I ought to say trio, since the summer did what it could to bring Carrie Thorne into the same category. Still, no part of-the foregoing paragraph applies to her. The distance between the Divine and Bryer farms saved me from her too close attendance, and she is of too gentle, humble, and self-forgetting a nature ever to be felt as a restraint or a burden. She is content to adore her idols afar off, and accepts from them much or little with the same sweet thankfulness. Whereas Ruth can be both jealous and exacting, upon occasion, I find, or even without it; and Alice, though she, is neither of these; has such an insatiate hunger for thought, feeling, emotion, knowledge, and all SHLOH. 399 sorts of mental pabulum--things by which her genius is to live and grow, in truth a vital necessity of its existence-- that she becomes in constant association (not to use the simile harshy and divesting it of every heartless and repul- sive idea), a kind of human leech. The one wearies by excessive stimulation, the other by continual absorption. Carrie presented the reposeful side of the picture. She neither excited nor drained. She simply soothed. But the summer did something better for Carrie Thorne than to give her an assured place in my interests and affections. It brought her into closer contact with the life that beats around her, and so warmed her own into expansion and usefulness. She became an efficient teacher in the Sunday School,--quiet, painstaking, and obedient,- and she was one of the most regular attendants and faith- ful workers of the Sewing Society. I say, zwas, because these last summer days have-swept Carrie away from me, into an atmosphere of trouble and anxiety. Poor Mrs. Thorne was stricken with paralysis, on the receipt of Rick's sudden announcement of his hasty marriage. Following close upon my notice of the discovery of Cyrus Thorne's missing child, it seemed the deathblow to all her schemes, hopes, and ambitions. Rick's arrival, and the discovery that the bride and the heiress were one and- the same, could not undo the bodily mischief," though they may have brought some comfort to her mind. Carrie was immediately sent for. A letter just received H from her, reports Mrs. Thorne in a very dangerous situa- tion. There have been no new developments with regard to the artist. Though we meet often, and upon terms which 'time and a better knowledge of each other render more and more friendly, it is always 'in the presence of others, and the subject of his incognito has never again been broached. lie has nearly finished my picture of Ruth. The like- ness is perfect; yet he has not failed t'6 add, or take away, page: 400-401[View Page 400-401]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 400-401 400 SHLOI. that indefinable, inestimable something which makes all the difference between a mere portrait and a work of art. The "Dream; Reverie; Reflection," is also in progress. At my earnest solicitation, the artist has substituted Alice's face therein for mine ; as furnishing a stronger contrast to Ruth's, and more perfectly embodying the idea-reverie being Alice's normal expression. Both she and Ruth give him a sitting, when desired; yet I cannot report satisfac- tory progress in the little romance heretofore hinted at. His artist-eye lights up at sight of Ruth's face; yet his enjoyment of Alice's silent, intuitive sympathy with all his thoughts and moods is scarcely less evident. Certainly, he is beguiled, by its subtile charm, to talk to her more freely than to any one else of whatever he has done in the world, or dreams of doing. Nevertheless, he may forget her even while he talks to her most unreservedly, being moved solely by the natural impulse of thought to flow into the first sympathetic ear that comes in its way. Yet the themes which chiefly engage his mind and con- versation,-the history, scope, and mission of Art,--the suc- cesses,. discouragements, and self-consecration of her work- ers,-these, and kindred topics, discussed in a lofty, gener- ous spirit, and with a rare flow of language and imagery, are not without a noticeable effect in quickening and enlarging the minds both of Alice and Ruth. With every visit to the studio, their faces are informed with a deeper thought; the girlishness is fast departing thence, and some ,new charm of womanhood blossoms there daily. As for Essie V1olger, though Shiloh would seem to lose half its sunshine without her, and parish-work would greatly miss her helping hand, yet any detailed record of her fresh, active, joyous life, free and bright as a meadow- brook, and as innocent of care and turmoil would but serve to illustrate the French proverb, ' .etcreux lepeouple dont Vhistoire ennuie." XXXVIII. IN ST. JUDE S. l 5^-^' J uSt. Jude's the summer has wrought some l: ff greatly needed improvements. The fund for repairs prospered to such a degree, under Mrs. Prescott's fostering care, that a self-consti- tuted committee, composed of that active lady, Mrs. Taylor, Mrs. Danforth, Essie Volger, and your indefatigable reporter,-aided and abetted by the artist, whose surplus fancy and energy like to bubble over in gratuitous church architecture and decoration,-ventured to turn a half-dozen carpenters and painters into the sacred edifice, and to set them at work there. It was irregular, we knew;-but then, Church work had to be done irregularly in Shiloh! To call a parish meeting, and pass a vote, was to quash every for- ward proceeding. Fortunately the opposition would be as irregular as the advance. It would never organize, and therefore would be ineffective, save in producing uncom- fortableness. The aspiring gallery, which actually seemed to climb higher every time I mounted it, was -first brought low. 'Not alone to the confusion and wrath of the wasps that had tenanted it undisturbed all the week, and waged fierce war upon intruders on Sundays; nor of the urchins that had whispered and tittered and contorted in its recondite nooks during service, wholly out of eye-shot eitheir of minister or congregation; but to the dire dismay 6f all the representa- page: 402-403[View Page 402-403]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 402-403 402 . SHLOH. tive stagnancy and ossification of the parish. Major Bur- chain came to inspect the work, one day; and I heard him saying to Mr. Taylor, in his most pompous and overbearing tones,-- "You little sus-imagine what you are doing, sir i! The gallery is the main support of the church, sir, the main sup- port of the church. It keeps the walls, in place, and when it is taken away they will tum--collapse, sir, and leave nothing but a heap of ruins--a heap of ruins! I wash my hands of the whole business, sir, of the w-hole business!" Which supererogatory ablution the Major immediately performed, by rubbing his large hands together, sprinkling the air with imaginary water, and turning his broad, impos- ing back, typical of universal disapprobation, upon us and our proceedings. Whereat Mr. Taylor looked a little scared; but the feminine wing remained undaunted; and the artist, emerging from the shadowy corner where he had listened to Major Burcham's comments with what struck me as a very odd and inexplicable expression of counte- nance, laughed and poohed and insisted; so the work went on. The huge heap of gallery timber was quickly trans- formed into a small organ loft, at a moderate elevation, with not an inch of lounging or play-room in it; also a vestry at the rear of the chancel, to supersede a narrow cuddy in the vestibule, wherein Mr. Taylor had hitherto groaned himself into his surplice, and then walked, in state, up the aisle to the desk. Finally, two of the obnoxious win- dows were suppressed, the others were darkened with blinds, the chancel was refurnished, the artist gave an effective touch here and there, and St. Jude's was success- fully remodelled. Its walls, in spite of the loss of their "main support," preserved their equilibrium, and the ob- jectors recovered theirs. However, by the inevitable fatality attending all such work, the repairs outran the fund. Hereupon, Mrs. Dan- forth's fair came magnanimously to the rescue. It was SHLOH. 403 held in Mrs. Divine's house,-not; that it was more roomy, central, or adaptable, than many of its neighbors, but be- cause its mistress's heart was larger, wa rmer, and less easily irritated by domestic turmoil and upset, than any similar organ within a radius of many miles. It was good to see i how cordially she-entered into it, how readily she sacrificed- domestic routine and comfort to it; how she aided, satirized, and enjoyed it. Being an exotic, it required all Mrs. Danforth's tact, fluency, and skill, to save it'from languishing in Shiloh'sl ungenial air. To use her own felicitous phrase, she " gal- vanized the thing through," forcing a kind of spasmodic life from the very joints and muscles of death. The re- freshment tables were tolerably well patronized,--an appe- tlite being the one thing to be counted upon with certainty in all gatherings. But the native population " fought shy" of the fancy-work table-stocked with all sorts of frail and fanciful money-traps (under other names 2), knitted or cro- cheted by Mrs. Danforth, or donated by her idly-busy city friends. Great, brown farmers touched them with the tips of their horny fingers as if they suspected them to be dan- gerous combinations of the brittleness of glass with the flimsiness of cobweb, asked what they were for, bestowed upon them a certain amount of half-bewildered, half-con- temptuous admiration, and went their way without open- ing their purses. But for the timely presence of a waif from the city, who bought whatever he was requested to buy without looking at it; and a small army of Essie Volger's admirers, anxious to impress her with their generosity; these elegant nothings would have been left upon our hands. The quilts, how- ever, sold readily enough, by chances,'" as the softening phrase goes. Taken as a whole, the fair was a success,-- but a success resembling certain victories in the battle-field: which not even the conquering general himself would care to repeat. page: 404-405[View Page 404-405]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 404-405 404 SHLOH. The summer has done much for the Sunday School; it is now in" a most flourishing condition. Though it has a' duly appointed superintendent, Mr. Taylor never fails to give it the strength and inspiration of his presence; and makes it a point to shake the hand of every teacher and scholar, at each session, with, at least, a cordial "How do you do?"When the lessons in class are over, he devotes a quarter of an hour to catechising the scholars, in person; a time to which they look-forward with real pleasure. For he has the rare faculty of talking to children in a manner that is at once simple, entertaining, and instructive; neither wrecking himself upon the Scylla of silliness nor the Charybdis of obscurity. As for my own class, in which you take so kind an in- terest, it has bettered my anticipations. Being a work in an untried field, and undertaken very much on my own responsibility, my pride-as well as better feelings-'was deeply concerned in its success; and I spared no pains in its behoof. I prepared myself for the recitations with the utmost care; looking out or inventing stories, and hunting up pictures and curiosities- whatever could be made to serve the purposes of illustration. An old herbarium, coln- taining dried specimens of fig-leaves, palms, pomegranate, and other plants mentioned in the Bible, helped me out; so did the artist's collection of antiquities and portfolios of sketches. I took care never to be without something of the sort, to awaken and interest the childrens' minds, and give shape and point to their very vague ideas of Bible ac- cessories (to borrow a term from the language of Art). Also, I made it a rule to visit, at the earliest moment pos- sible, every child that was not in its place, on Sunday; and the mother's certainty that every such absence would be followed by my appearance beside her wash-tubs, on Mon- day morning, may have had its share in bringing about a gratifying regularity of attendance. The class now num- bers thirteen; it has greatly improved in appearance and H SHLO. 40F ,behavior; clean faces and clean garments, quietude, "and good lessons, are no longer the exception, but therrule, 'Yet its best fruits appear in the fact that some fea of its members are really setting their young faces heaven ward; though not, of course, without much blundering and tripping by the way; the truest evidence of their sin. cerity being that they pick themselves up after every fall, and, while yet sore and smarting, set forth again. Libby: sweet and patient by nature, and early trained by circum- stance to a sense 'of duty and responsibility, is most' for ward of them all; I am' sometimes oppressed by a vague fear of I know not what, when I observe how very near tc the kingdom she is. Next to her-so far as is patent tc human vision, for I do not count my judgment infallible, in this matter-comes Gordon Danforth. That boy has in him the making of another Bayard! His manner toward hiE smaller, weaker, poorer classmates, is redolent of the pur- est essence of chivalry, But the class has also borne good fruit, in an indirect way. Very soon after its commencement, such members of the congregation as are wont to spend the short intermis- sion between morning and afternoon service at the church, l began to gather in its neighborhood, listening attentively to its recitations, and begging a reversionary look at the pictures, maps,' etc., used in illustration, of the lesson. lDoubtless, some of them read their Bibles more understand- ingly thereafter. Certainly, the audience increased even faster than the class. One day, I was surprised to discover ' Mrs. Danforth's diamonds flashing in the midst of it. "Gordon and Effie make such a fuss about you and your teaching," whispered she, " that I am devoured with curiosity to see what it all means. You have fairly be- witched them, and I would like to make sure that youeuse no unlawful magic." When the recitation was over, she came to me with a piquant air, but an unusually thoughtful face. page: 406-407[View Page 406-407]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 406-407 trvu SHLOH. " Well! I must say I never saw you lay yourself for anybody as you dq for those children! No won they are fascinated! But do you really like it? Doe pay?" "I do like it, Mrs. Danforth,-better, I think, than any work that I do. And if any of them are made better and wiser for this life, even,-to say nothing of the future one, -does it not ' pay' well? Think of the amount of moral usury to be gained, by my-small principal, from the hearts and lives of thirteen children; some of whom are certain to become centres of influence to families, neighborhoods, friends!" She looked down thoughtfully.' "Miss Frost," she ex- claimed, suddenly, "I am afraid I shall have to cut your acquaintance!" "Indeed! May I ask wherefore?" "Because I never meet you without being made to feel --I do not' say it is your fault-that I am not, and never have been, of much use in the world. And I shall be driven either to renounce you or-run in opposition! Good bye!" Two days after, she stopped me in the road. "Have you ever been ragamuffin-picking down in my district?" she asked. "Not yet,"--I began, after a moment's consideration had shown me the drift of the inquiry. "Not yet!" she interrupted,-" then, don't you dare to do it! I will not stand any trespassing on my ground!" And, shaking her finger at me, with a humorous de- fiance, she went her way.' On the following Sunday, such persons as happened to be standing in or about the porch of St. Jude's-to wit, the majority of the males and a considerable number of the females of the congregation-saw an amazing sight. Mrs. Danforth's carriage drew up to the door, packed to bursting with small, tanned, freckled, oddly-clothed, and HSHLOH. 407 restless figures; and not far in the rear appeared its owner, on foot, leading her two children by the hand. Her. eyes sparkled even brighter -than her diamonds, as-we encount- ered each other at, the corner: "You see that I've decided on running an opposition!" said she, laughing. "Look out for your laurels, my dear!" ' They certainly are in danger," I answered, " if you in- tend to make a practice of sending a carriage after your scholars. But, Mrs. Danforth, you surely do not intend to walk home?" "No; I told them fair play was a jewel, and we would each ride one way. To make sure of them, I gave them the first' chance. Aren't they a nice-looking set, though? I expect to have a gorgeous time with them!" She stowed them into her seat, and managed to keep them tolerably still during service; then, she took them into a vacant corner and there began the workl of teaching them. Her success has been quite equal to mine; and she has even more adult listeners. She is none the less indus- trious in hunting up illustrative matter; while she has greatly the advantage of me in vivacity of manner and ex- pression; and especially in her wonderful spontaneity and fitness of gesture, by the help of which she tells a story or describes a scene in such manner as to seem to set its actors and images bodily before the listener's eyes. The Sewing Society has made its payments to the rec- tor's salary promptly,-far more so, I regret to say, than the pewholders,--and its later meetings have been charac- terized by unusual harmony and energy. * Yet, notwithstanding' so much good work done,--done, I realize more fully now that I see it on paper, than when under the influence of the delays, vexations, and discour- agements attending it,-Mr. Taylor has been much de- pressed of late. He began his work in Shiloh with a generous enthusiasm that gave a kind of personal warmth page: 408-409[View Page 408-409]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 408-409 408 SHLOH. to everything he said and did. He continued it with an en- ergy, indefatigability and engrossment, worthy of all praise. But the era of enthusiastic impulse and impetus is soon over; and when that of patient, plodding labor, looking rather to the Master's smile at the end than the day's gain, was be- gun, he found it, doubtless, comparatively slow, wearisome and disappointing. Likely enough the inevitable discrep- ancy between the amount of time and strength lavished and the immediate results, forced itself upon him, and sad- dened him. He came to me one morning with a face and voice full of the flaccidity of discouragement. He spoke drearily of indifference that had chilled, calumny that had stung, opposition that had bruised him; finally, he uttered the sombre suspicion that he had mistaken his calling. "See how little I have accomplished!" he went on, bit- terly. "The bishop comes soon for confirmation, and I know not that I have three candidates to present to him. And yet, when I began my ministerial work, I thought that nothing could long resist such zeal, faith and love, as I brought to it. I fancied that the world was getting sick. and tired of the old, broad, bad way, and only waited for my- hand to lead it into the narrow, new one. I believed that I saw the harbingers of a new and triumphant era for- the Church, in the sky; and that I should live to see it begun gloriously, and to feel that I had done what I could to help it along." "As to your personal work," said I, "may you never have better cause to decry it! As to the main point of the Church's ultimate triumph over the world, may we never live to doubt it! You were chiefly mistaken, I apprehend, in thinking that in this age, more than another, is the. Church's march toward millenial glory to gather speed and volume, or that of the world toward ruin to be arrested and turned back. God's plans are worked out not less slowly than surely. He, being eternal, can afford to wait."' SHLOH. 409 "And I, being mortal, cannot afford to seethat my life, so far, is a failure." "What right have you to pronounce it a failure?" "It has wrought so little for God's cause." "That remains to be seen. Neither you nor I can esti- mate the increase of the seed you have sown. Men die, and count their labor vain, yet the cause prospers. Results ap- pear, now and then; possibly some present worker takes the credit of them, and forgets to add his predecessor's la- bors to the long account. What matter? The drop which overflows the bucket, and gains the applause of men, is not, therefore, larger, nor of greater value, in God's sight. Be- sides, we may all solemnly comfort ourselves with the cer- tainty' that, after all, it is of little moment to His cause whether we work for it, or no. It will not fail nor flag, for - want of our poor, weak instrumentality. Innumerable agencies are at His command. He can call them forth from the mire, and fashion them out of the stubble. Fire and flood, battle and storm, and the unruly wills of sinful men, alike serve him." "You preach strange doctrine," said he, looking at me intently. "So it does not matter whether we work for God's -cause?'"' "Ah! I did not say that! It is of vast moment to us! For our own sakes, we ought not to let our hands rest, for one moment, out of His work. For we know that, if we build not according to His will, we build in opposition to it; and all such work is vain, and will be overthrown. We are working out our ruin, if we are not working out our salvation. That last is the 'work which we are chiefly set to do, and for which alone we are wholly responsible. To gave us from selfishness, God has so arranged that we cannot Iccomplish it without doing -our utmost for the salvation )f others. Every stroke deliberately withheld from theirs, is so much withheld from ours. Still, our own:is the main thing." 18 page: 410-411[View Page 410-411]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 410-411 "O SHLOH. Mr. Taylor looked at me meditatively, and as if not quite satisfied. "Else, how dark the providence," I went on, i' when a good man is cut off in the midst of his days and his use- fulness! But if we understand that, his own calling and election being made sure, his earthly work was finished, we see light. God could do just as well without him, on earth; and he was fitted, so far as he was ever likely to be, for heaven. What need to keep him longer in a state of pro- bation and trial? "Work on in faith and hope, Mr. Taylor, and look in your own heart for results. If you find them there, be content; for even St. Paul contemplated the possibility of being a castaway, while preaching to others. Leave out- side results to God." "Ah!" said he, with a smile that was tinged with sad- ness, " you should have been the preacher, and I the lay- worker, Miss Frost." d "Not so," I answered. "It would be strange indeed, if I tere not furnished with material for one short sermon to you, since you have preached me so many! I give you back the slow distillation of your own wisdom."- "It is better than I thought it was," he rejoined, cheer- ily. The event proved that Mr. Taylor's work was -more fruitful in results than'he had known. Yesterday he pre- sented eleven candidates to the Bishop for confirmation. Among them were Carrie, Ruth, and Alice-fruits, I hum- bly dared to think, not alone of his faithful sowing, but of my own quiet watering. The sweet thought bowed my head so low, while it lifted my heart- to the skies, that I quite forgot that my voice was to take the place of Ruth's, in the hymn to be sung while the candidates were gather- ing at the chancel-rail. Essie sounded the preliminary and opening chords, but I was deaf to the call. There was a momentary flutter of embarrassment and perplexity in SHLOH. 411, the choir. Then Ruth, standing just before the altar, half- turned, and took up the lagging strain. The sweet, clear, thrilling voice swept round the church, drawing a few trem- ulous voices after it, as it went, and then soared aloft, like, the very spirit of sacred song. The choir followed after- as soon as it could recover itself-with a kind of breathless swoop, and the church was filled with harmony. Still, that swelling voice from the chancel-rail led all the rest, domi- nating all, etherializing all, infusing through all its own sub- tile sweetness and intensity of feeling. How wondrously, and yet with what entire unconsciousness, thAinspired girl sang,-putting her whole soul into her voice, and slightly bending her head, as if listening to some celestial accom- paniment, inaudible to us:- I "Witness, ye men and angels! now Before the Lord we speak: To Him we make our solemn vow A vow we dare not break!" I drew a long breath when it was all over. For, I need not say that, not Alice, with her budding genius; nor Car- rie, with her softness; nor even Essie, with her bright good-nature, and the healthful play of her fresh, full life; but Ruth, with her varying moods, her sore cross of in- firmity, and her entrancing voice; lies nearest my, heart. Aunt Yin met us in the vestibule. "I know 'twould be a work of superderogation to tell you that you sing like a sheriff, Ruth," she said, benignantly; "you've had the opinion of better cynosures than I am. But I heard Essie Volger saying, the other day, that you could sing the rheumatic scale to refection; and I'm coming up, some day, on purpose to hear it. I haven't the least idea what sort of a piece it is; but if there's any music to be distracted from the rheumatiz, I'm the person to depreciate it. I have it awful, sometimes." 2'. v ' page: 412-413[View Page 412-413]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 412-413 XXXIX. A RE-FLOW OF TROUBLE. DN artist of wonderful power has appeared in Shiloh, and is painting the quiet little ham- let with a gorgeousness of color, a boldness of treatment, a breadth of effect, and a brillian- cy of tone, beyond all that Ruskin could con- ceive, or Turner dare to paint. She charges the forests with great masses of glowing reds, shading, at the edges, into orange. She makes a tree on the hillside-otherwise green-to hold out one bough burning as with flame, and another reddened as with blood. She paints the oaks in rich raiment of purple and crimson, blotched with golden brown. She dips her pencil in bright scarlet for the- sumach, arid pale yellow for the beeches. Here and there, in the meadows, an isolated maple becomes a fixed, earthly embodiment of the sunset's celestial and evanescent glories. At last, having emptied her palette of all its most brilliant. colors, she tones down the dazzling effect by drawing over the picture, soft, gauzy veils of azure and amethystine haze. Needless to say that her name is Autumn! Yes, Francesca, the feet of October are bright on the hilltops, and still I am in Shiloh! Two weeks ago Uncle John wrote to ask if it was not time for the " rose crop " to be in, and Flora ended a resum6 of her winter's plans with a threat to come and see for herself what mischief I was about, if I did not at once return to help in their execu- SILOI-H. 413 tion. Even Aunt Belle added a gracious postscript to the effect that a kindly welcome home was ready for me when- ever I chose to claim it; to characters so radically disso- * nant as hers and mine, an occasional separation is a wonder- r ful promoter of harmony. We shall tolerate each other all the more cordially through the winter for the summer's escape from the necessity of toleration. First, I was kept in Shiloh by the autumn pictures, to which every day added some new effect that I could not bear to miss; then, by a new wave of trouble, or rather, the reflow of an old one. In the fair, still, sunny days of late September, the fever, so long held in abeyance, broke out again. My child-woman, Libby, was one of the first to sicken. She was so unmistakably a child of God that, when Bob burst into my room crying out '"Libby's got the fever!"I felt how fit it was that she should be called to enjoy her heavenly inheritance, and knew that I had not a thread to hang an earthly hope upon. A few days later her mortal part went to swell the immortal harvest to be finally reaped from Shiloh burial ground. From the clods and the flowers laid gently upon her small grave, I went to Mrs. Burcham's bedside. She had been stricken down by the fever, about a week previous. Soon after, Major Burcham had sought Aunt Vin and begged her, with tears in his eyes, to take charge of the. sick-room; his wife had no relatives within easy distance, none of them could reach her under some days; meanwhile, she 'would be left to such care, willing but unskilful, as he could give her, and the various assistance of the neighbors. The appeal was not made in vain. For five days the faith- ful old nurse had been at her post: for the past three days and nights she had scarcely slept. That morning, I had looked in upon her, on my way to Libby's corpse, and found her looking nearly as haggard as her patient. "You are killing yourself," I remonstrated. "Surely, you can have'watchers at night." page: 414-415[View Page 414-415]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 414-415 "4 SIIILOIf. "Don't you be troubled! I'm made of tougher imma- terial than you think. As to the watchers, there's plenty of 'em to be had for the askin'--good, bad, and different. But the truth is, that every time I've left her, she's run down unrecountably,-pulse all gone to most nothin',-and it's took all my wits to bring her up again. So I've made up my mind that it's easier to stick by loer as long as she's in such a carious situation; or, at least, till you have done your last good deed for poor little Libby, and can come and stay with Mis' Burcham while I refute myself with a nap. I ain't afraid to trust her with you, but there ain't another person in all Shiloh that I'm willin' to leave her with, though it does sound a little like self-gloriousness!"- So Mr. Divine drove me directly from the graveyard to the house of Major Burcham. That gentleman was stand- ing by the gate, and assisted me to alight. I saw him look at Leo (who was with us, as usuaD in a way that I could not understand; I saw Leo look at him grimly, fiercely, giving utterance to a low growl. "Leo!" said Mr. Divine, sharply, yet with no intona- tion of surprise. - It was plain that the dog had an antipathy to Major Burcham, and that Mr. Divine understood it well. Mrs. Divine began to make kind inquiries after Mrs. Burcham. Before they came to an end, I discovered that the soft, warm slippers, in which I had expected to be "shod with silence " and with comfort, during the night- watch, had been left behind; and I begged Mrs. Divine to lend them to me, by Leo, sometime in the course of the rvening. "He has seen me alight here," said I, in conclusion, and will know where to find me." B "Ye-es," returned she, hesitatingly. Then, seeing that fr. Divine had engaged the Major's attention, she leaned ver, and whispered;-"Leo'Il bring them, I guess, seeing s you; but you had better keep a little lookout for him, llLUI1 . ' - t 4.V for I doubt if he'll come inside the gate,-that is, unless he sees you somewhere round. I'll send him about eight o'clock."' The wagon rolled away; Leo, after a long, wistful-look at me, as he saw me turn toward the house with Major Burcham, bounded after it; and I went in, wondering what possible cause of feud could exist between the faithful mild - tempered dog and the pompous man at my side. "Mr. Divine told me that he had bought Leo of Major Burcham's Irishman," said I to myself. Ah! yes, I see,- the Irishman's dog, treated with contempt, possibly with cruelty, by the Irishman's master. Leo remembers and resents it." Aunt Vin met me at the door of the sick-room. When she had made me fully acquainted with its routine, I said to her;- "Now, go straight to bed, and leave every care behind." "I'm agoin', " replied she, with a long yawn, "I don't need but one such conjunction. I didn't know I was so sleepy till you come in; the very sight of you was omniv- orous! Be sure and call me at nine o'clock; then, it'll be time to shift her on to t'other bed.' And Aunt Vin took herself off. Mrs. Burcham appeared not to notice the change of nurses. She lay with her eyes closed, in a half stupor, from which (I had been warned) she roused completely only at intervals. Sometimes she slept,-a troubled, un- easy sleep,-wherefrom it was necessary to waken her- - partially, at least--every few moments. Two hours crept slowly away; twilight began to gather. With it, heavy clouds rolled up from the east; a peal of thunder sounded from afar. Mrs. Burcham woke from a brief slumber with a start and a moan, and the sorrowful lament of David fell brokenly from her lips;- "My son! my son! oh, my son!" ; A page: 416-417[View Page 416-417]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 416-417 I heard it with alarm. Delirium was always a dreaded symptom, in the fever. And no question but she was de-- lirious,-for, if she had ever had a son, he must have been dead years ago; I had never heard of him. Indeed, I be- lieved her to have been childless. I laid my hand upon her head, felt her pulse, listened anxiously to her breathing, but could detect no sign of increasing fever or weakness; and I sat down again, a little reassured, just as another rumble of thunder filled the air. It helped to rouse her completely. She opened her eyes and looked at me, intelligently enough. There was no sign of the delirium I had feared. "It is Miss Frost," said she, feebly. "You are very kind. Is Aunt Vin resting?" "Yes; for a little while. She needed rest; and she said she was hot at all afraid to leave you with me, "re- plied I, fearing lest she might be disturbed at finding her- self in other hands than those of her accustomed and ex- perienced nurse. "I am very glad-that she is resting, I mean. I hope- you are making yourself comfortable. There is wine in the loset; it will help to keep up your strength. And there s an easier chair in the parlor, tell Bridget to bring it in br you." "Do not trouble yourself about me, I am quite comfort- ble),' I answered, much marveling at the change that a bw days of sickness had wrought in Mrs. Burcham's man- er. Gratitude for kindness and consideration for others rere not its most prominent characteristics, formerly. She insisted, and, to satisfy her, the chair was brought. 'hen, she closed her eyes, and sank again into stupor. An hour went by. Darkness was fuilly come. The orm, which had seemed to retreat, for a time, now drew' ,ar again; heavy drops of rain fell; flashes of lightning me and went, followed by the loud roll of thunder. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was about time for :o to arrive; and began to woaSder how I was to manage that " lookout " which Mrs. Divine had advised. The bed- room was at the back of the house; one window opened upon a dense orchard, the other, into a small recess or al- cove, enclosed on three sides only, andtermed in Shiloh a "shed." While I was yet considering the difficulty, I heard a sound in this shed; which, after listening a moment, I knew to be made by my canine friend, shaking the rain from his shaggy coat. Immediately, his huge head and chest appeared framed in the open window, his fore-paws resting on the sill, and, in his mouth a small package carefully wrapped in oiled-skin, to protect it from the rain. Instead of scratching at the main entrance, as is his wont, in his character of messenger, it would seem that the sagacious animal had quietly reconnoitered the premises, until, discovering me sitting alone in the sick- room, he had ventured to make .his appearance at the window. I rose, intending to relieve him of his burden, -give him a pat on the head, and silently motion him to depart, when a fearful peal of thunder shook the house, startling Mrs. Burcham into sudden consciousness. Her eyes opened full upon Leo's dark figure. "Who is that?" she asked, in alarm. "It is only Leo-Mr. Divine's dog," I hastened to say, soothingly,--" he has brought me some slippers that I fori got to bring myself." The look of fright passed quickly from her eyes, and a soft mournful expression came there instead. To my utter surprise, she said, in low, faint tones,-but distinct enough, doubtless, to the dog's quick ears,- "Leo! come here! . He leaped through the window, came to the bedside, and looked down upon her with a benignant, yet an inquisi. tive, face. She feebly lifted her wasted hand and laid it on his great, rough head. "Oh, Leo! Leo l" she exclaimed, :mournfully, "where 18' - : page: 418-419[View Page 418-419]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 418-419 "8 SIIILOH. 1 is your master?" Two large tears gathered in her eyes, and rolled down on the pillow. I was amazed and alarmed. The scene was utterly in- comprehensible; but I saw that it involved excitement and emotion which could not be otherwise than hurtful to my patient, and I hastened to put an end to it. "Leo!"I began, somewhat sternly, " it is time for you to go home, sir." "Oh!no, no," exclaimed Mrs. Burcham, pleadingly,- "do not send him away yet! It is so pleasant to have him here once more! Besides, he never likes to go out in. a thunderstorm, you know." It was true. Leo has a very human dislike, amounting to a species of nervous terror, of a thunderstorm. He will face one at the call of duty; but he would much prefer to have duty choose a fairer occasion. Yet I was astonished at Mrs. Burcham's intimate knowledge of his idiosyncrasy. However, it was no time to question nor argue. I pointed to a dim corner and bade Leo lie down, which he did at once. Then, seeing that it was nearly time for the patient's anodyne, I ventured to anticipate it a little, and to increase the dose by two or three drops, to balance the unexpected excitements of the moment. As she swallowed it, there came another heavy clap of thunder. "It is a fearful storm!" said she, with a slight shiver. "It was in just such a storm that- " She checked the words, or they faltered on her tongue, I could not tell which. A spasm of pain crossed her face; then, she closed her eyes and lay quite still, but neither in stupor nor in sleep, I saw plainly. I sat watching her, praying that the anodyne might quickly take effect. My anxiety was too great to allow me to wonder much at the scene which I had just witnessed. I only felt dimly, that here were memories and sorrows at work to which I had no clue; curiously connected with Leo, too; and not in the least explained by that hypothesis of the Irishman's dog SHLOH. 419 anrd the Irishman's master which had so satisfactorily ac- counted for whatever was strange in the joint behavior of Major Burcham and that dumb, black animal coiled up in yonder corner :-whom, by the way, I was:resolved to send quietly home as soon as I could do so without attracting the sick woman's attention. I deeply regretted that he had ever been sent hither on errand of mine. Little did I imagine'that it was God's errand, and not mine, which which had brought Leo there, that night! Some silent moments passed by, and I trusted that Mrs. Burcham's over-burdened heart was slowly sinking into the soft depths of slumber, when her eyes opened once more. There was no sleep, no forgetfulness in them,--only thought, trouble, wistfulness. "Miss Frost," said she, quite calmly, " how long do you think I have to live?" "My dear Mrs. Burcham!"I exclaimed, almost in des- pair, " pray do not agitate yourself any further, at present! Try to leave all your cares-your life also-in the hands of God, who careth:for you, who pitieth you as a father pitieth his own children. Lay yourself in His mercy as in a bed, and there sleep all your cares and fears away!" "'As a father pitieth his own children," she repeated, slowly, as if thinking aloud, and paying no heed to the rest of my words,-" yes. that is it-that is what I must say to him. Miss Frost, please tell m; husband I want to see him." "Would it not be better to wait till morning?'"I en- treated. "You have had too much excitement already; I really ought to forbid any more. Do try to forget all that troubles you, and go to sleep!" . . "I have tried,-l she answered, "and I cannot. Besides, I may not live till morning,--' the night cometh, in which no man can work.' And I have something to do before I. die--Leo has come here on purpose to remind me of it, to rouse me up to it, to help me through it.. Let me do it page: 420-421[View Page 420-421]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 420-421 420 SHILOH. while I have strength and reason. Please call my hus- band!" " I saw that it was necessary to do her bidding. Feeling her pulse, I found it strong and regular, though quick: something-love, duty, hope--was strengthening her for the work she had to do. Dimly I began to discern the finger of Providence, of Guidance, in the strange, and, at first sight, casual incidents of the evening:--whither it pointed, I would go! As Major Burcham entered the room, I cast an anxious glance at Leo. He lifted his head, and his eyes looked gloomy and sullen, but he made no unfriendly demonstra- tion; plainly, he respected the sanctities of the sick-cham- ber, or he deferred to the rights of the master of the house, or his fierceness was held in check by awe of the thunder- storm. I went out, and left the husband and wife to- gether. I had been in the sitting-room but a few moments, when Aunt Vin joined me. "It thundered so hard I couldn't sleep," said she, yawn- ing, " so I insided I might as well come down. What time is it?" " "It is near nine o'clock." I She looked thoughtfully at the closed door of the bed- room, through which came indistinctly the faint, beseeching tones of Mrs. Burcham's voice, and the heavier, yet sub- dued and broken, accents *of her husband. "I don't quite like that," said she, significantly, " though I've been participating it, this three days." It- was plain that the mystery was no mystery to her! Before I could answer, Major Burcham threw wide open the door. If that was Major Burcham! All his pomposity and self-sufficiency gone as completely as foliage from a, forest where fire hath been,-tears in his eyes,--a broken, shaken, grief-stricken man, whose very aspect smote me with compassion. SITiLOI. 4iM1 "Aunt Vin--Miss Frost--" he began, in faltering tones, -" my wife wants me to call you to witness that I promise her to-to forgive our son Henry fully and freely, from this day forth;-and to take immediate steps to find out what has become of him; and to-receive him, whenever he re- turns, as-as a loving father, whether--" His voice failed; a great sob heaved his broad chest. "Whether I am dead or alive," prompted Mrs. Burcham, slowly and distinctly. "Whether she is-dead or alive,-so help-me--God!" faltered the Major, in trembling, yet earnest and solemn tones. Mrs. Burcham's face, while these sentences were in pro- gress, was a sight to see!--the eager, hungry look with which she waited, at every break, for the next words, seem- . ing to draw them forth by the very force of her expectation, -the perfect satisfaction -and peace that settled upon her features as the Major ended, transfiguring them into a soft and beautiful unearthness. "I can die happy now!" she murmured, reaching up her arms to her husband, the dew of a new birth of wifely love shining in her eyes. Aunt Vin softly closed the door upon them. I'll give 'em jest two minutes, by the clock," said she, almost fiercely; '" then, I shall gravitate that man out of that roont so quick, he'll think he's an extant race!" Getting no answer, she turned and saw my face of mute perplexity. * "Goodness! 'child!" she exclaimed, " didn't you ever hear about Henry Burcham?" "Never." "Then I s'pose I must give you an exclamation. Well! he was Major and Mis' Burcham's only child, and as bright and handsome and good-hearted a boy as ever you see,- high-sperited, too, as you might demises seein' what stock he come from,-but a boy that everybpdy liked and m de pdy likd and d' page: 422-423[View Page 422-423]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 422-423 ISHLOtH. much of, in Shiloh. Well, his father was sot on makin' him a lawyer, but Henry wanted to be a painter,-he took to brush and pellet jest as nateral as a duck takes to water, couldn't help makin' picturs no more than he could help breathin', poor fellow! His father forbid it, in ex- tinct terms, over and over again, but his mother derived at it,in secret I guess,--anyhow, Henry had his canvas-backs and his boxes of brushes and collars up in his own room, and painted all the time he could get. Well, the upshop of it all was that Major Burcham found it out, one day and flew into a tearin' passion, and told Henry that if he was bent on disgracin' his name by being a poor miserable pamter, he wished he'd clear out and never show him his face agin. The boy took him at his word,-it was an awful, stormy night jest like this; and in the morning, they found his room empty, and him miners; and he's never been heerd on since. That's most eight year ago. It's strange you never happened to -ear on't, and you a-stayin' at the Di- fines, too! Why, f you say, ' Henry Burcham!'to that Great dog of theirs, now to this day, he'll whine and take mn like mad.' Leo!"I exclaimed, " what has he to do with it?" "WhyJ Leo was Henry Burcham's dog, first. Some- ody made him a present of him when he was a pup, and hey were uncommonly detached to each other. You nev- * r saw one without t'other; Mr. Dragner used to call 'em ramon and Pathos.' When Henry went off, he give the og to Mike, his father's Irishman, to keep for him;-but se Major never could bear the sight of him,-I guess he as an onpleasant momentum of his son!--and he kicked m, one day; and the dog sprang -at his throat, and like choke him to death -afore they could pull him off; and the Irishman had to sell him to Mr. Divine." For some moments, I sat silent, slowly digesting these rious items of information. Then, I took out my tablets d began writing rapidly. tilitLmU . Mo "4 What are you doin ?') asked Aunt Vin, with sur- prise,--" takin' notes ?-" "; No; I am writing these words;--' Your mother is dangerously ill, and longs to see you. Come immediately.' I sign it with my name, and I am going to send it, by Leo, to Henry Burcham-alias, Harry Archum--alias, Mr. Cambur !" "Good land i " exclaimed she, settling into the nearest chair, and jerking her head in her grimmest fashion, "if that don't beat all ! And to think that I never" once in- spected him! Yet I've told him, a dozen times, that he dissembled somebody I'd seen afore ! " " And now," said I, wrapping my tablets in a part of the oiled-skin so seasonably provided, " if you think you can venture to open that door, I will call Leo out, and send him on his errand." " " Bless us !" ejaculated Aunt Vin, -recalled to the recol- lection of her patient's situation, " I oight to have done it afore! " I led Leo quietly into the porch, and closed the door behind us.. " Take this," said I, slowly and distinctly, and strongly emphasizing the underscored words,--" take this, quickly, to fHenry BBurcham. He may be at the studio, or at Mrs. -)anforth's, or at the depot. FINs HIM ! " The, last words, I knew, Leo understood perfectly. How far he comprehended the rest of my directions, I could not be sure: but, as he had often surprised me by showing that he knew the names of many persons, places, and things, which no one had taken any special pains to bring to his notice; and as he had visited all these spots with me, on several occasions; I felt tolerably at ease, even on this point. The more, that he took the tablets be- tween his teeth, and, without tthe least hesitation dashed out into the storm. The thunder was dying away in the distance, but the rain fell more heavily 4han evere and an page: 424-425[View Page 424-425]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 424-425 SHLOH. angry wind drove it in sheets against the windows and shook it from the groaning trees. It was a wild night, dark to utter obscurity; no man would have liked to iace it; my- messenger, I felt, was the fittest, swiftest, surest) that could have been provided. In that faith, I went back to the sick-room. Before taking you thither, however, I will give you the explanation of my instructions to Leo. A few days previous to Mrs. Burcham's seizure, the artist had gone to the city, on business. He had told me that he should positively return on this (Saturday) evening. The train would be late, I knew; it would not reach the depot till after the storm had begun. He might wait there for it to cease; he might set forth, and be glad to take shelter with Mrs. Dan- forth; or he might persevere till he reached the studio. In one or the other of these places, I felt certain, he would be found. , Mrs. Burcham wis quietly falling asleep. The anodyne which I had administered, aided by the relief of mind and heart afforded by Major Burcham's promise, was at last taking effect. I I stole softly to Aunt Vin's side and asked, in a whisper, if the mother ought not to be informed that her son was nearer than she had believed, and that she might hope to see him soon? "Not till she's slept," answered Aunt Vin, decidediy. "That's her great consideratumn, now. Time enough to break his revival to her, when he gets here. But you'd better tell Major Burcham.'" He listened to the communication almost without a word. He looked even more pained than surprised to find that his son had been in Shiloh so long without making himself knon ;, nor did the shadow wholly dissipate as I Calked of his rising fame as an artist. He exhibited some rear lest my message might not reach its destination, and Jalked of setting forth himself; but, being made to consider SHLOI. 425 the fury of the storm, and Leo's excellent qualifications for the task entrusted to him, he went sadly and wearily back to the silence and solitude of his chamber. The argument Which really prevailed with him, however, was probably shadowed forth in a few words spoken as he went;-- "After all, Mrs. Burcham might--want me, before I could get back again." Together, Aunt Vin and I kept the watch in the sick- room. Neither of us could sleep, now, till this matter was brought to some conclusion. We sat and listened through the subsidences of the wind and rain. Very slowly the hours wore away. Ten-eleven- struck; midnight drew near. It was three hours since Leo's departure. Anxiety took possession of me;-per- haps he had misunderstood my directions-perhaps he had failed in his quest-possibly the artist had not arrived,--a hundred ifs and peradventures, the gray, teasing progeny of suspense and expectation, thronged my mind and tor- mented me with their pertinacious, yet changeful, shapes. It exasperated me to see Aunt Vin's calm patience; it sickened me to think what long experience of just such vigils, such expectation, such delay and such anxiety, it argued.! Was there a sound outside? I held my breath to listen, with my eyes involuntarily resting on the outer door of the - sitting-room. I saw the latch noiselessly lifted; the door swung open; two dripping figures, a man and a dog, entered. Between them and me rushed Major Burcham,- nore upon the alert than I,-to throw his arms around his ;on, and murmur some incoherent words. It was all the work of an instant. Before Aunt Vin * ,ould turn round to see, what was going on, before I could -each and close the bedroom door, Mrs. Burcham opened ier eyes, saw the tableau, and read its meaning. "My son!" she cried, in tones that thrilled every ., ecart,-" it is my son!" - / .' - . \ page: 426-427[View Page 426-427]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 426-427 XL. THROUGH SHADOW TO LIGHT. T is said that joy never kills; neither does it; always cure. Sunday morning dawned fair and still. Its early rays showed Mrs. Burcham's face lit up with such peaceful brightness, the soft reflection of a mind aid heart at rest, that I thought her better; but Aunt Vin, quicker to detect the signs betraying the waste and progress of dis- ease, quietly shook her head. At seven o'clock,--the hour which the nurse's experi- ence declared to be the one wherein her patients were strongest,-the long weariness of the night being over, and that of the day scarce begun,-Mr. Taylor came, according to previous arrangement, to administer the Holy Commun- ion to the sick woman. "You will join us?" he said to Harry, as he was pre- paring for the feast. "Yes,-as my mother wishes it so much. That is, if you do not think I am unfit." "You have been confirmed?" "Oh, yes,-and I have communicated,-before I left home; but-" "But what? Have you lost your religious faith and hope?" "XNo, I think not. I believe firmly in religion, and I have tried to live it,-of late, at least,-according to my SHLOH.- 427 light; but I do not-that is, I did not, two months ago- believe in-Churches." Mr. Taylor laid his hand on his friend's shoulder, with a grave smile. "'An artist," said he, "and cannot see the beauty and the fitness of organization! As well say that you believe in boughs and roots, but not in trees; in flesh and bones, but not in bodies! All God's higher works are organized bodies, not loose elements nor disjointed mem- bers floating about without connection or concert,-then why not the highest work of all, His Church?-by which, as says St. Paul, His manifold wisdom is made known unto the principalities and powers m heavenly places,-a won- derful proof, certainly, of its excellency and importance." The artist returned the smile with one as grave, and more thoughtful. ' I see that I must take this matter into deeper consideration than I have yet done," said he. "Meanwhile--" "Meanwhile, if anything in your heart responds to the Church's broad, yet solemn, invitation,-' ye who do truly and earnestly repent, you of your sins, and are in love and charity with your neighbors, and intend to lead, a new life'--, I think you may venture to draw near with faith and take this holy Sacrament to your help and instruction and comfort." It was a holy and a beautiful hour, that early Sunday r morning Communion of the reconciled, reuiited family, in the sick-room's. hush; the world seemingly, so far, the Redeemer and the Comforter so near! And, seeing Mrs. Burcham's face so radiant with serenest joy, I said to myself once more, "She is certainly better." Three hours afterward, she died in her son's arms! Standing by her grave, and remembering how gentle and patient she had been in her sickness, how anxious to avoid giving trouble, how grateful for Mr. Taylor's con- stant visitations, and how desirous of making, amends to everybody whom she had wronged, I thought remorsefully page: 428-429[View Page 428-429]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 428-429 "1LOH. of the many severe and sarcastic things I have written about her,'and wished that they might be wiped out of re- membrance. It would be well if we could always, or even in general, speak of others as we do over their newly- turfed graves; recognizing their good, and silently leaving their evil to the Blotter-out of transgressions. For what have any of us to do with judgment, when our one, con- stant prayer is for mercy ! * After the funeral, I had a long talk with Harry Burcham, as he must now be called; which cleared up some points that had ,puzzled me, among them his two aliases. Stung to the quick by his father's angry, ill-considered words, he had left home resolved nevermore to be known by his patronymic till- that father himself should acknowl- edge that he honored rather than disgraced it. So, with a natural desire to feel that he had some small right to the name he was henceforth to bear, he had made it into an an- agram; writing himself, in Rome, as " H. B. Archum;" and winning, under that title, whatever measure of reputa- tion, as an artist, he now enjoyed. For seven years, in America and in Italy, he had led his lonely, struggling artist-life; absorbed, almost forget- ful; content to feel that he was slowly climbing toward those heights whereon his soul ever gazed with aspiration and longing. But, during the last summer, a strange homesickness had stolen over him. For the first time he felt something of the exile's pain. Standing by the turbid Tiber, he saw only the clear, blue river of his boyhood's love. In the Campagna, he dreamed of New England hills and rocks. The churches, palaces, ruins, and sppul- chres of the Eternal City, were continually fading from his sight and quiet New England homesteads, embowered inll lilacs and apple-blossoms, rose in their stead. ' So it had come to pass that, when the time drew near for Rome's foreign population to flee from the atmospheric terrors which overhang it, like a pall, in the summer-time, the artist said to himself,- "Why not spend my summer in my native land? Why not revisit the scenes of my childhood,-secure in the changes that time and foreign habits have wrought in me,-and judge for myself if my father's heart has soft- ened?-I know my mother yearns for her son!" But he had reason to suppose that his father might now be cognizant of his whereabouts and change 'of name; a mutual friend, residing in New York, having met and 'ecognized him, in Rome, 'three years previous. So he twisted his name into a second anagram,-H. H. Cam- bur,--while a slight acquaintance with Mrs. Danforth, formed abroad, and a more intimate one with an artist friend of hers, had opened the way for his introduction to Shiloh, in a manner to ensure him courtesy and confi- dence. He had given Mrs. Danforth such outlines of his history as were necessary to account for his change of name from-Archum to Cambur, bug had not confided to her the real facts of his birthplace and parentage. She supposed him to be living near, not absolutely in, his na- tive town. Many things had tended to prolong his stay in Shiloh. He had found a curious charm in residing among the scenes and companions of his boyhood, as a stranger; sometimes\ listening to his own story, and the varied commentary it provoked. He had not been able to decide whether his father really wished for his return, while he had been pained to discover that his mother was not the mother of his memories and his dreams. All the sweet bloom and foli- age of her character seemed to have been blighted and stripped off by some sharp frost-touch, leaving but a hard, bare, gray, and inattractive outline. Nor did he at once understand that this was the result of his own sudden flight and the long anguish, anxiety and suspense follow- ing it; aggravated by Major Burcham's stern interdiction page: 430-431[View Page 430-431]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 430-431 430 SEILOI. of any future mention of his name, which had compelled her to shut all her sorrow and care within the depths of her own heart. But, beginning dimly to discern this at last, he had determined to make himself known to her on his return from the city; and try whether joy and assurance would not soften and heal where grief and suspense had hardened and irritated. Sickness-a surer softener, a better reconciler, than either-had anticipated him! Now, too, the history of Leo's night-search for Harry Burcham was made known by the mouth of four witnesses. Mrs. Baird (with whom the artist boarded) stated that Leo scratched at her door at nine o'clock, on that Satur- day evening; that she admitted him; that he rushed straightway up to the studio, and there scratched and whined until she opened that door to him, also, and satis- fied him that the room was empty; whereupon, he rushed out again, and was seen no more. Mrs. Danforth's statement ran thus: "I was in the sitting-room with the children, when Leo marched in, all dripping, through the long window that opens on the veranda. Seeing a roll of something in his mouth, and knowing that you are in the habit of using him as a telegraph, a mail-carrier, an express-wagon, and every sort of go-all, fetch-all, and carry-all, I' took it for granted that his errand was to me. But he would not suf- fer me to touch the-roll; when I insisted, he growled,- not a musical nor a reassuring sound, by any means! So I suffered him to take his own course. He raced around. the room, smelt the chairs and the carpet, looked disgusted, put his head on one side, seemed to ask himself, ' What shall I do next?' and departed just as he had come." The depot-master testified that "Mr. Divine's big New- foundland came into the depot, that night, just as I was beginning to shut up; smelt round a little, and went out at the back door, about ten or fifteen minutes after Mr. SHLOH. 431 'C ) Cambur--I mean, Mr. Burcham-went out the same way, with Squire Delbyn. I noticed that he went with his nose to the ground, as if he was following a trail." Harry furnished the sequel, in telling his own story, as follows;- "The cars were late; we arrived in the midst of the -thunder-storm. There were no teams at "the depot, nothing but a drenched horse and buggy belonging to Mr. Delbyn, who was a fellow-passenger on the train. We waited until it was plain that the storm was settling into a steady, heavy rain, likely to last through the night; then, Mr. Delbyn said to me, You won't get any chance to ride to Shiloh, to-night, and you certainly won't foot it over, in this storm; besides, it is so dark you can't see your hand before your face. Get into my buggy and go home with me; in the morning Ill take or send you over to Shiloh, with pleasure.' The offer was too seasonable a one to be refused. We started; but ran into a tree in turning the first corner--I never saw so dark a night! Mr. Delbyn got out, to extricate the wheel, and feel his way back to the road,--for he could not see it. At the same moment a heavy body plunged into the buggy, and Leo thrust his nose and your tablets into my hand! I suspected some calamity at once. Mr. Delbyn, being a- smoker, was provided with matches; I lighted one under my hat, and made out to read what you had written. He," now insisted upon taking me over to Shiloh; so we turned about, and took a fresh start in that direction, creeping along at a snail's pace, and almost literally feeling the road. Just beyond Clay Corner, we ran into the fence. Here, I made up my mind that, under the circumstances, pedes- trianism was to be preferred to wheeling. So I got out, thanked my kind friend, turned his horse's head in the direction of his home, bade him good-night, and plodded on with Leo. At first, I was continually getting out of the road, into the ditch,'or among the bushes and stones; the dog was wholly invisible, his blackness blended indistin- page: 432-433[View Page 432-433]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 432-433 432 SHLOH. guishably with the pitchy darkness of the night. Finally, I bethought myself to fasten my handkerchief into his collar, and the dim white spot guided me surely, and even swiftly, to my father's door." "But how," said I, "could Leo have divined that you were in Mr. Delbyn's wagon?" "Probably he heard the sound of the wheels, in the dis- tance, and reasoned that it was worth while to follow them, not knowing what else to do. Or he may have caught the sound of our voices; his ears are quick, and that corner where we first came to grief, is not far from the depot. Faithful, sagacious fellow! I wonder if Mr. Divine would let me have him, now!-I would give him anything he chooses to ask." "I think not. You know Leo once saved Mr. Divine's life. He would sell half his farm before he would consent to part with him." "I am afraid so," returned Harry, with a sigh. "But you have not yet told me how you found me out!" "Leo is responsible for that, too. Do you remember athe day he caught you sketching us, in the glen? I was then perfectly well satisfied that you and he were old ac- quaintances, although you chose to ignore it. And when I learned that ;Major Bureham had a runaway son,-an artist, and Leo's first master,-the chain of evidence was complete, and the point whither it tended, manifest." "I wonder, sometimes," said the artist, thoughtfully, "whether my life would not have been better, happier, nobler, even, if I had stayed at home, done my father's will, and made my mother happy! Might I not look back upon it with more satisfaction?" You surely do not regret giving your life to Art?" "No, only the manner of doing it. I seem to see that it would have been better to wait for God, who gave the talent, to open a lawful road to its exercise. Besides, Art does not mean, to me, all that it did once. I thought it 'SHLOH. 433 the regenerator, I find it is but the refiner and polisher, of mankind. And a great deal of outward fineness and finish may co-exist with inward foulness and turpitude. Those wonderful, mutilated fragments of Greek sculpture, which no modern art can rival, were wrought in days of such social depravity as is almost unmentionable, in our times. I have long since been convinced of the utter futility of that gospel of beauty, which so many preach, at the pres- ent day, and upon which so many others rest their hopes for the regeneration of mankind! Art, alone, is impotent to that end! Only the Gospel of Christ can purify the heart and ennoble the character. But, as soon as we admit that, a new standard of life rises before us. We see that it is not so much its outward form and object, as its spirit, which makes it beautiful and noble. I seem to catch, dimly, glimpses of a life of obedience, patience, humility, self-sacrifice,-of outward narrowness, even,-lived here in Shiloh; which, in its spirit' and aim, would be loftier and lovelier than any artist's life in Rome. Ah! if I had only been strong enough, and patient enough, and noble enough, to have lived it!" "Go back to your studio," said I, "and paintthe Wise Virgin! I am sure you can do it, now! And so painted, it will serve to show that if Art, of herself, cannot purify the heart nor ennoble the life, she may be one of God's blessed instruments for doing both." "Do you think so?" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with all an artist's fire and fervor-" do you really think. so?' 19 ' * w \^' page: 434-435[View Page 434-435]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 434-435 XLI. THE EMPTY CHAIR. "this time the fever spread. It was creat- ing something like' a 'panic, in Shiloh. Many persons avoided the houses -where it-had entered. Watchers were hard to find. Aunt Vin's good I offices were in constant demand, either for the sick or the dead. She gave them freely; yet she was looking much worn. Alice, Ruth, and I, constituted our- selves her corps of assistants, and helped her as we could. But there was work enough for all,-it grew continually on our hands. Coming home after a morning spent with one of the sick ones, I noticed Uncle True at the woodpile, leaning his head on his hand, in an attitude of weariness unusual to him. "Wall, I don't feel reel smart," said he, in answer to my hurried inquiry if anything was amiss. "There's a singin' in my head that ain't birds; and once in a while the woodpile trots round me. like a horse round a cider-press. I hope it's agrindin' out suthin' that's worth while! Some on us takes lots o' grindin' before the reel good juice gits squoze out, ready to be cleared by the blood o' Christ and stored in the kingdom o' God. They used to clear wine with blood, sometimes, ye know. I guess it had a meanin', most things do have, if you only know how to find it." I took his hand. The quick pulse, the dry, hot touch,-- SHLOH. 435 I was getting to understand these symptoms only too well! "Is't the fever?" he asked, simply. No need to deceive the good old man, with his guile- less, trustful face,-so childlike through all its wrinkles! "(I am afraid it is," I answered, gravely. "I kinder thought so. You see that holler in Hart's rock, thar, 's run dry .this two days. And though I ain't superstitious, I know the Lord made the rock, and takes count o' the water, and HeI might mean it marcifully as a hint to me that my spring o? Iife's arunnin' dry, too, with- out goin' out o] His way, partic'larly, to do it. I've- allers found His ways and works full o' signs for my good or my comfort, when I looked arter 'em. This woodpile, now, it's pooty considerable of a world itself. It's got crooked sticks and straight uns, little uns and big uns, green uns and dry uns, sound uns and holler uns, hard uns and soft uns. And they all have to take their turn' in the fire of affliction. But see how different they act thar! Some on 'em begin to give out light and heat right off; it does you good to see 'em burn, they take it so cheerful like, as if they meant to find out the good in it; but there's others that does nothin' but fizzle an' sizzle, an' sug an' smoke, an' try not to stay put,-you may poke 'em an' stir 'em an' turn 'em over, jest as much as you like, but you -can't coax a good blaze an' a -revivin' warmth out on 'em, an' do yer best! Howsomever, they all go to ashes, at the last." "Is not that rather a sad conclusion?"I asked. "Not a mite of it. We don't throw away our 'ashes, ,you know;-they're good for manure, or lye, -or suthin'. And the Lord don't throw away His'n, no more, I guess. They're safe enough in His hands." Then he took up the axe, and drew his finger lightly along its edge. ' I'm glad I give it a good grindin' up yisterday," said he. "I allers like to leave my tools in good order. It's tryin' to human natur to have to stop and sharpen up tools that somebody else has dulled, before you can go to work yourself. Many * { page: 436-437[View Page 436-437]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 436-437 436 SHLOH. a good mind for work's been sp'iled that way. Wall, p'raps I'd better be agittin' into the house while I can." At the gate, he paused and looked round on the familiar landscape, rich with its autumnal glory. "It's a pooty world," said he, " and a good world, for the Lord made it. And, seems to me, it never looked pootier than it does now. But I guess 'taint the best He can turn out. And His will be done!" And thus Uncle True quitted the scene of his active labors. The fever wrought very gently with him. He was not. tortured with thirst nor pain; much of the time he slept quietly, or lay in a kind of misty stupor that had the appearance of sleep. Six days of care and watching, on our part; six days of patient waiting upon the Lord, on his; and the watching and the waiting were both over. The morning before he died, he said to me, while his eyes rested lovingly on his old arm-chair, the faithful com- panion of so many years, now standing empty by his bed,- "You wouldn't think it, would ye, now, Miss Frost? but that old chair thar's been the greatest blessin' the Lord ever give me. I had suthin' of a wild turn in my young days, and if He hadn't fust thrown me out od a wagon, and then sot me down in that chair for the rest o' my life, thar's no tellin' how swift to do evil my feet might have got to be! That chair's been the Hand o' Providence res- trainin' me, and the Everlastin' Arms round me, all my days, though I never see it quite so clear afore. . If you've got any cross to bear-and sometimes I've kinder suspected you had, though you've allers done your best to show a bright face and not shadder other folks with your- troubles --but if you've got any, take my word for't, the time'll come when you'll thank the Lord more for that cross than for all the pleasant things that ever He poured into your bosom." Shortly after, he turned his face to the wall. "I feel as n . . . SHLOI. 437 if I could sleep a little," said he. c"Sleep's about as good a thing as the Lord gives us, I reckon; it com es reel refreshin' at the end of a hard day's works or onto a bed of sickness. Some think it's a type o' death. I shouldn't wonder if 'twas,-one ain't to be dreaded no more'n tother, I reckon, by them that love the Lord." None of us could tell when the type became the reality. We only -knew that the waking was beyond our sight, past the shadow wherein man walketh and disquieteth himself in vain, in the sunshine of the eternal shore. For the sake of convenience, on the morning of the fun- eral, Uncle True's chair was restored to its wonted, out-of- the-way corner of the kitchen fireplace, and there it stands still. Through the day it tells its quiet story of a humble life well lived, a humble cross cheerfully borne, a humble spirit divinely nnurtured into rare beauty of holiness and dignity of faith; and at evening time, seen through the dancing firelight, by eyes dim with a slow-gathering mois- ture (that seldom falls in a tear), it becomes a dazzling, iridescent throne, fit to stand by the Crystal River, under the boughs of the Tree of Life. Over it Bona, Mala, and I, have many subdued talks. Of the latest of these, being yet fresh in my memory, I give a brief report. I had been thinking not only of Uncle True's sweet, mellow, genial character, and of the wisdom unto salvation' whereof he had gathered such rich store; but of the seem- ingly infertile soil of infirmity and bachelorhood out of which these had bloomed. So far as I could learn;' Uncle True had never known love--human love, pat excellence, that is-neither in its joy, nor in its sorrow. Yetwho,- looking at the first and highest end of our earthly existence, namely, the developing and training of the germ of im- mortal life within .us until it is fit for transplantation into the King's Garden,-which end being gained, all other losses may count for nothing, arid which being lost, all other successes are-worse than failures;--who, looking at ; ., , * page: 438-439[View Page 438-439]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 438-439 4 Zs SHLOH. these things, would dare to call Uncle True's life incom-. plete? And so I began the talk by asking myself:. * "Havelthe poets all been wrong, then, in singing human love as the sweetest, the richest, and \the most ennobling thing in human life?" MALA. Assuredly not. Look at the great and glorious deeds whereof it has been the inspiration!-at the courage, the patience, the fortitude, the self-sacrifice, the constancy, the heroism which it has brought forth! What grand na- d tures it has helped to enlarge and enrich! what lovely onles to beautify and refine! BoNA. A fair picture, and not without a certain truth. But it has black shadows,--be mine the painful task to point them out! Look at the sinful and shameful acts of which Love is often the motive,--the deceit, treachery, vice, degradation, misery, remorse, and despair, of which it is the too prolific parent. What gifted minds it has helped to drag down to'the dust! what gentle hearts it has soured, withered, or hardened! No, no! Human Love, though it may sweeten human life more than anything else, if its course do but run tolerably smooth, does not necessarily ennoble, nor unqualifiedly enrich, it. If it is entire, absorb- ing, satisfying, it tends to narrowness of aims and sympa- thies, and so to poverty of life and experience; if it is not, it provokes doubt, jealousy, anger, and discontent, on the one hand, and on the other, leaves the way open for trifling, falsehood, duplicity, and a gradual searing of heart anda conscience, likely to end in actual crime. Crossed or dis- ippointed, its only natural fruit is sorrow. In its unhal- lowed, illicit form, no need to say how surely it tends to infamy and ruin I! MALA. Do you pretend to deny that Love has arrested nany a youth's depraved and downward course, and lifted t up to purer air? BONA. Not at all; no more than you will deny that it las hindered, or turned aside and befouled, many another that was struggling up toward righteousness. , But let us not forget that, in both these cases, Love was less a con- trolling power than a mighty lever, either in the hands of the Spirit of Evil or the Spirit of Good. Satan tries all in- struments to work out his evil purposes; God blesses many means to His wise ends. Often He gives us Divine help through human 1hands. ;Graciously He orders or permits that an earthly love lall illume or direct the'first step or two in the hcavenwtlw 1 p',thl, while the heart is still far from Him and the cuar d ;1f to IIis call; but if the pilgrim cdo not soon learn to loo'k to a purer and more steadfast light, and to depend upon a higher and safer guidance, he will never get far on the heavenly road. 'Left to the nat- ural impulses of the natural heart, Love becomes but a blind leader of the blind, and it is by God's mercy alone that both do not fall into the ditch. I. The drift of all which appears to be that Love par- takes of the nature of the soil from whence it springs:-- from a pure heart, a pure. sentiment; from a vicious heart, a vile one. - BONA. And a pure heart isl-from whence? I. From the grace of God, duly sought in prayer, and faithfully applied in thought and act. BoNA. It follows, then, you see, that God's grace is the' true inspiration, the original cause, of whatever, is really- noble, pure, lovely; and of good report, in human love! M[ALA (insidiously). -Do you not see that she wholly ignores all the good, great, generous, beneficent deeds done in the name and service of Love by men who never thought, nor cared, to seek God's grace? BONA. Take care that your eyes are not dazzled by worldly glory, neither suffer yourself to confound worldly honor with the Divine blessing. No deed can rightly be called good, except it spring from an earnest desire to (do God's will and a loving regard for the honor of His name,-no matter how wisely and well Hte may overrule page: 440-441[View Page 440-441]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 440-441 "O SHLOH. its results to the good of mankind and His own glory. Nor must we forget how strong an indirect influence re- ligion exerts upon unrenewed hearts. .Little does a man of the world realize that what he proudly calls his " honor," is but the shadow of the fairer form of Christian virtue; and that his integrity, benevolence, temperance, and what- ever is comprehended under the head of morality, have their deep root in the Divine law that thundered from Sinai, and draw their unseen nourishment from the gentle precepts that dropped from the lips of Christ! And even so, human love continually--perhaps unconsciously-touches the hem of her divine sister's robe, and isinsensibly penetrated and purified by her virtue. Without this involuntary borrow- ing, this unacknowledged help, how inevitably would she go astray, how often would she perish! I (rather sadly). And so Art and Song and Poetry have all gone wrong, in their long apotheosis of human Love t In lavishing upon it their brightest colors, tenderest mel- odies, and sweetest numbers, they have insensibly led to an undue magnifying of its importance and an over esti- mate of its power! BosA. Would it hurt you much if I were to say, yes? Alas! Art, Poetry, and Song, are too much of the earth, earthy; their immortal spirit is hampered by a mortal body, or misread by mortal interpreters. Servants of earthly Beauty, and lovers of earthly Love, artists and poets and musicians forget that no heart was ever regener- ated by the one, no soul ever saved by the other! They forget, too, that all of their work which cannot be made to subserve these vital ends, is worthless, and must utterly perish! I looked grave, perhaps sorrowful. For a moment I was in doubt how many of the sweet creations of genius would stand this test. But, after a swift, timid glance sent round the world of imagination, I took courage. Few of the characters which one would really sorrow to miss SHLOH. 441 from that fair land, but shine with some soft reflection of heavenly virtue, or walk in the strength and serenity of a divine faith. Even that genius which, in its life and creed, violates every principle of religion-sets at naught its pre- cepts and denies its power-is forced, in 'its works, to pay reluctant homage to the beauty of holiness, and to irradi- ate its creations with the light of Divine truth. Seeing this point established in my mind beyond her power to shake it, Mala suddenly recurred to that at which the talk began. "Still," said she, " we must admit--the experience of the whole world goes to prove it-that nothing develops the higher nature like Love, that it as essential to life's completeness, as it unquestionably is to its hap- piness." BoSA. We must admit nothing that arraigns God's providence, nothing that questions His wisdom or His goodness. There are lives into which loye never enters (in the shape under consideration), yet we may safely believe that God withholds from no soul anything essential to its preparation for a future state of being. If you find Love in your path,---either its sunshine or its gloom,-you may fairly infer that it is meant to you for good, that it is a part of that mysterious process, by which time educates for eternity, an instrument which, if used aright, will do you good service 'in shaping your course for heaven. Buts if you find it not, you may rest assured that to you it would have been a hindrance and a snare, and you can work out your -salvation more surely and safely without it. : IBe not deceived by that plausible word, " completeness." Human life, being what it is,--a means, a seedtime, a pro- bation, looking to a future state for its end, its harvest, its entering into possession,-is, and must be, from its very nature, incomplete. No estimate of it, that takes not eternity into the account, is worth anything. Butwith that important addition, how quickly the balances change! What seems most incomplete here, mray there round out" 19"; page: 442-443[View Page 442-443]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 442-443 rtttt SIiLOIL. into the fulness of orbed perfection. The life that was lived without love--technically so called-may be found to have been fullest of that divine Charity, who holds both the life that now is and that which is to come in her soft em- brace,-greatest of "these three," in their abiding upon- earth, and sole survivor of them in the ages of endless fruition and perfect knowing! The point which I wish to impress upon you being, that all material which God gives us,-not love, nor talents, nor influence, nor successes alone,--ut all things, losses, failures, hindrances, disap- pointments, impoverishments, may be so wrought into our life-temple by patient labor and fervent faith, that the com- pleted structure shall show no deficiency, no incongruity, no want of fair proportion and costly adornment; but every stone shall seem chosen and fitted for its place; and all shall be polished into the similitude of that diviner temple '" eternal in the heavens." Human love may be one of its -carved and gilded capitals; or a lofty, illuminated arch; or a great, rich glory of an altar-window, many hued, and crowded with luminous blazonry of sacred symbolism; or only a blood-incrusted, ebony cross; or its absence may make room for a more minute and delicate finish of all the parts, a softer, chaster, more mellow and harmonious diffu- sion and exquisiteness of beauty! And yet there is a certain sense in which Love is an ef- ficient element of moral training; everywhere felt, ,but dimly discerned, and therefore vaguely expressed. But that efficiency grows out of its infirmity, its faithlessness, its earthness,-the very qualities, you observe, which most surely detract from the sum of human happiness, and which each one most earnestly deprecates, in his own experience. Yet, like our Lord, we 'must needs be made perfect through suffering. And to most hearts no suf- fering like that which comes from the affections!-none penetrates so deep, nor rankles so long, nor is so little sus- ceptible of earthly consolation. But, in the black depths DCLJUV;l. :O of that bitterest of sorrows, the soul often finds the, pearl of divine love, and struggles up with it to the fair shore of Peace. Out of the loneliness of bereavement-or desertion is first born that deep, tender, spiritual yearning for the visible presence of its Lord--"My soul thirsteth for Thee, ' my flesh also longeth after Thee, in a barren and dry land, where no water is!" And thus we reap a richer harvest from Love's losses than ever we could have gathered in from its increase. Out of its barrenness, or its ashes, its divine sister rises winged, and we are- alone no more forever! All this-and much more-said Bona softly to me over Uncle True's empty chair, from which Mala had flown dis- comfited. A wonderful touchstone is it, by which to try earthly experiences and possessions. Worldly balances un- dergo strange transformations in its light; debt and credit, profit and loss, change places. And. daily it recalls and points the good old man's last comfortable assurance, "Take my word for't, Miss Frost, the time'll come when you'll thank the Lord more for that cross than for all the pleasant things that ever He poured into your bosom." And sometimes, Francesca, it seems to me that that time, if not yet come, is swiftly coming-is near at hand. So near, at least, that I can now bear to set down how the cross came and of what material it was wrought. Now, you shall know all the strange, sad story of the two months that intervened between that joy-cry sent you from the fulness of a happy heart, "Paul has told me that he loves me; count us one forevermore!" and that brief, bitter sen- tence, wrung from the depths of a crushed, exhausted spirit, "Paul End I are two; never mention his name to me again!" " - page: 444-445[View Page 444-445]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 444-445 XLII. THE TREACHEROUS FLOWER. EVER till now, Francesca, could I have borne to rake out and siftthese ashes of my heart; thank you for awaiting the process so patient- ly. It is not every friend that knows how to be at once sympathetic and silent, tender without exaction, and interested without inquisitiveness. But first, how the love was told; for that is essential to a clear understanding of the Test. It so happened that we were all in the drawing-room, on that March morning-Flora; Sylvia Gay, a friend of hers Marcia Bodley, a friend of mine; Winnie Frost, a friend of yours-when Paul was shown in. It chanced, too, that I was sitting near the door, so I heard him say to' the servant in the hall, with marked emphasis, "Miss Winnie Frost, mind;" saw the slight start of surprise and brief expres- sion of chagrin with which he caught sight of our party; and felt my cheek flush with a sudden, shy consciousness of what these things might bode. Recovering his equa- nimity immediately, however, he drew a chair into our cir- cle; and Sylvia, with her wonted, free, dashing manner toward gentlemen, made him acquainted with the subject in hand. "You are just in timelMr. Venner. I am taking counsel, and 'in a multitude,' and so forth, there is wisdom. The uncomfortable truth is, that I cannot afford a new dress for Mrs. Bizarre's grand reception to-night, and there must be SHLOH. 44:5 a rentrfe of some one of the stock in hand. I am halting between two opinions-supposing one opinion to represent my white moir6, and the other, my pink tarlatan. You have seen me in both-which are you longing to behold me in again?" "Miss Gay looks so wel I in both, as to leave me no ground for a choice," he returned, bowing somewhat list- lessly. "Nor is it likely that I shall have the pleasure of seeing her in either to-night. I am suddenly called to New Orleans, on important business. I must take the three o'clock train in the morning, and I have scant time, for all that must be done beforehand; it was with difficulty that I could find a moment to come and bid you good-bye." -His gesture comprehended the party, but his eyes rested full on me. There was a chorus of regrets and deprecations from the three girls. Sylvia's were loudest and longest. "Prepos- terous!" she exclaimed, " why, this is to be the affair of the season. Besides, you cannot do any business this evening." "There is to be a consultation of the firm at my uncle's, and I must be present." "And your uncle's is on the same block as the Bi- zarre's. You can certainly look in when the consultation is over. ' He sat looking at her absently, meditatively. "Don't stare at me in that -Mrs. Jellyby fashion," she went on, saucily. "Come back from the left bank of the Nile, and tell me you will look in at the Bizarre's to-night; and see how brilliant we all are." "Well, possibly I may." "Good!" she returned, in excellent humor at the con- cession. "And now for your vote on the dress question, don't think to escape with a compliment. Which shall it be, pink or white?" There was the faintest possible curl of the lip, I thought, accompanying the reply. "If I might'presume to recom- a page: 446-447[View Page 446-447]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 446-447 i9t:O SHLOH. mend either, it would be the white moire, because-it is going to be a chilly night." "How absurd!" laughed Sylvia. "As if it mattered in the least what temperature is outside of a crowded recep- tion! You see the kind of criticism your tulle is to en- counter, Flora." To my unspeakable amazement, Paul suddenly roused to an appearance of-interest in the subject. Looking at Marcia, he said: "And in what, may I ask, is Miss Bodley to be beauti- ful to-night?" "In pink silk and'white roses,"\she replied, with mock seriousness. "I hope they meet your approval." "Entirely," with a grave bow. "And Miss Winnie-- how am I to find her in the crowd?" "By your lack of any toilet-data to guide you," answer- ed I, quietly, for the tone of the' conversation had jarred upon me a little. "How disobliging!" exclaimed Sylvia. "I will tell you, Mr. Venner; she is to wear blue silk and-dignity! Which becoming trimming will be visible--and unmistak- able-at any distance!" "Thank you," replied Paul, gravely; "I have now all the information I require." And very soon he took his leave. At dusk, a box and a letter were left at'the door for me. In the box, rich, creamy, odorous, safrona rosebuds; in the letter, a man's love, strong, tender, true-at least, I thought so then! "If there is any feeling in your heart which answers to mine," the letter concluded, "wear these rosebuds to-night. Seeing them in your hair, on your bosom, I shall under- stand--what it would be very sweet to hear you say! See- ing them not, I shall understand, not less plainly--what it will be very hard to bear!" Ah o Francesca, how exquisitely, girlishy, exuberantly happy I was! Impossible to shut it all within my own heart, and hence that joyous postscript to you! Before the night was over, how gladly would I have recalled it! My toilet for the evening was completed, all but the rosebuds; they should wait till the last moment, that their beauty and freshness might be unimpaired. Meanwhile, I heard little Bella crying in the nursery; the child was timid and forlorn in her new nurse's hands, and sorrowful for the old one, lately discharged. I opened the door, and she held out her little arms to me with a piteous wail and a look of entreaty, not to be resisted. My heart was so full of happiness that it was-most fit the little one should profit by the overflow, I thought-there was enough for both of us, and to spare; so I took her into my room, and gave her a blissful lalf-hour of stories and caresses. f Then Aunt Belle's maid knocked at the door, "Would you please step to Miss Flora's room a moment? she wants your advice about her hair." I opened the door into the nursery, called hurriedly, " Elise, come and see to Bella!" and went. Twenty min- utes Flora kept me, commenting, altering, discussing, till her coronal was arranged to her liking. '"Thank you," said she, at length, " it is quite right now. Go and finish your- self; it is nearly time for the carriage." I entered my room, humming an air. It was the last of my singing for many days. On the floor sat Bella,-by X her side an upturned box,-all around a litter of creamy petals and green leaves. She held up the last fragment of a rosebud to me, with a smile. At the same time the nurse entered. "Why did you not come when I called?" I asked, faintly. " Did you call?" returned the woman. "I did not hear you. I just ran down stairs a moment. Shall I take Miss Bella out?" The child cried, and ran from her. Captured at last, she was carried out, wailing. I sat quite still, cold, and silent. , , page: 448-449[View Page 448-449]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 448-449 r:ro SHLOH. ! The maid reappeared. "The carriage is waiting, Miss. Mrs. Frost begs you will hurry." She put a shawl round me, and I descended mechanically. In the carriage I gathered courage. Paul would misin- terpret at first, of course; but it would be easy to unde- ceive him as soon as we spoke together; some way for ex- planation must open. I could not admit any other conclu- sion. The reception-you know what those things are like-- a crush of silk, tulle, and broadcloth; snatches of talk snatches of music, snatches of supper-I need not describe * it. I moved through it all like one in a dream, a single thought in my heart. Midnight drew near. Standing by the mantel, I heard the French clock strike the sombre hour in the midst of the' gay scene. Some quick intuition made me look up. In the doorway opposite, between two smiling faces, I saw an- other, so pale, so gloomy, so stern, that I scarcely knew it for Paul's. One moment, its sad reproachful gaze met mine, and it was gone! Unconsciously, I took a step or two toward the vacant place. The crowd surged heavily between, and threw me back. i Half an hour after, Flora found me, sitting stonily in a corner. "Why, how pale you are!" she said, in alarm, : and you shiver like an aspen leaf. What's the matter? Are you ill?" And she went for Aunt Belle, whose stiff iatin soon rustled by my side. She ordered Uncle John md the carriage, and sent me home with a charitable hope hat I was " not going to be sick." I was not sick. The next morning, to be sure, I rose vith a dull pain in head and heart; but I went about nuch as usual, and not particularly wretched. Paul would eturn in due time, I thought; we should meet; all would Pe made right. In that conviction, I lived and breathed. Two months went slowly by. About the middle of I SHLOH. 449 May, Marcia Bodley called. "Have you heard the news?" she asked. "Paul Venner is to be married to a young lady in New Orleans." "Impossible!" burst from my lips. "Indeed, it is not. Here is a letter I received yester- day from cousin Hallie. Seeing is believing; read that paragraph." I read accordingly: "Tell me what is pretty for a bridesmaid to wear; I am to stand with Adele Roche. She will be married in June to Mr. Paul Venner, recently made a partner in the house of Venner & Co.'--you must know the New York branch. He is a splendid fellow, and she is as good as she is pretty, which is saying much," etc., etc. I crept up to my room, after she had gone, and felt as if the foundations of the earth were shaking under my feet! I grew- pale; I grew thin; I lost my appetite; I forgot how to smile. The doctor gave me a course of "iron,"- unnecessary trouble, so much had already entered into my soul! Finally, at his wit's end, he prescribed country air, change of scene, etc. And so I came to Shiloh, seeking a "Place of Rest "-rest from the bitterness .of Paul Yenner's memory. I have found it, too, in "Shiloh;" but I think not now of the quiet little hamlet, so fair under the dreamy autumn haze, so restful, even to sluggishness, in its aspect, -oh, Francesca, how could I have missed so long that deeper, sweeter meaning of the word which lends such music to Israel's blessing of Judah!"Until Shiloh come" into the heart, and until the gathering of its hopes and affections be "' unto Him;" there is no place of rest for. it in the universe! But, with Him, entereth the fulness of rest unutterable, the soft ripple of peace " that floweth as a river!" And now si taccia delpassato. Here hath it its decent burial, its sufficient epitaph. It hath done God's work;- - , driving me out of myself because introversion was so intol- erable, forcing me to live in the present and in eternity, 19 page: 450-451[View Page 450-451]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 450-451 4.50 SHLOr. because earth's future was so blank, it ]lath brought me to see wherein life's real value lies; to taste the sweetness that comes, not of the work done, but of the doing it unto the Lord. So, let it rest in peace! IIn finishing this letter, I seem also to have gotten to the end of all my energies.+ A strange languor, that is half weariness and half delicious peace, has hung about me all day, and grown with every wrord I have written. Good night! XLIII. THE FINDING OF THE CLUE. [Francesca to her Husband in Europe.] K. 1 - TRUCE to domestic historiography in this letter. Content yourself in knowing that the home-world revolves smoothly by sun- shine and starshine. My mind is too full of W innie and her affairs for possibility of other chronicle. Besides I want to make confes- sion, and get absolution--yours, the only y mortal remission I care for! I have been meddling. I am a would-be Providence, with a rankling fear of turning out an evil genius: Need- less to say (to you!) that I have been yielding to a head- strong impulse, and now begin to question its right to obedience. Write tout de suite, and pronounce that I have ' done well, or that I have not done ill, and deliver me from this bond of fear, this gall of uncertainty. To afford--you the necesstry standpoint for your judg- ment, I enclose W5innie's last letter. Stop, precisely here, and read it. Have you done so? Now recall the fact that, next to you, she is the dearest thing I have on earth. Ere your love lapped me in incalculable opulence, I counted myself rich in hers. Remember how she stood by me, in my trial "as by fire." Reflect what a woman she is,-strong of mind, lofty of soul, tender of heart. Tlen, knowing me as page: 452-453[View Page 452-453]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 452-453 452 SHLOH. you do, to the innermost, you will be able to picture my reading of it. How'I fumed and glowered! How I shook the child Bella, in imagination, till she could not tell rose- buds from falling stars! What vindictive fists I doubled up in Paul Venner's face! What fierce sarcasms I hurled at the whole race of male mankind, and how energetically I told my toilet-table that I was glad Providence had gra- ciously interposed to prevent Winnie from throwing her- self away upon any one of them! How, finally, when my fury had b]urnt itself out, I wrapped her in my faithful love, and wept over her tears of: regret and pity and despair. For I had never credited the rumor of Paul Venner's marriage. My mind refused to take in the possibility that a man, manly, who had once found entrance into Winnie's great heart and mind, could thereafter endure a narrower abiding place. I believed that the estrangement, however it had grown up, belonged to the order of things remedi- e able. He of the scythe and hour-glass vould cut it up, root and branch, in the fulness of time; its thorny work being done, its bitter-sweet fruit borne. I would lend him a helping hand myself, so soon as home duties should let me out of their grip long enough to look Winnie up, get a succinct account of the affair, and find out where such hand would be in order. Meantime, seeing how her character was getting its crowning grace of humility through it all, I managed to possess my soul in a fuming patience. This letter gave a death-blow to my hopes and plans. Paul Venner being married, what remained to be done? Clearly, nothing but to wish him joy, and Winnie, forget- fulness. Lucky for him that the "joy " did not depend on the sincerity of my good wishes. As for Winnie, she declared herself "at peace." The past was not only dead, but buried. Neither ghost nor vision haunted her memory, to disturb or to appal. The stream of her love, dammed up from its late channel, had SHLOH. 453 spread into a broad lake, for the mirroring of heaven and the refreshment of the people. Stuff and nonsense! I exclaimed, contemptuously. Does she think to make me believe that love--her love-- can die so easily? Does she fancy I forget how that vio- loncello voice of hers used to roll its molten richness along the last verse of Parthenia's song,- "And tell me how love cometh?" "It comes-unsought-unsent." "And tell me how love goeth?" "That was not love which went "- while I held on to my chair to Seep myself in the world of sense; to know, by touch, that I was somewhere, and not floating out on that purple stream'of melody to nowhither! Then I knocked myself down with a suddenly-grasped conviction. Winnie was not the sort of person to consume herself with love and longing for another woman's husband. She would tear such an affection out of her heart, by the roots; no matter how much bleeding flesh and fibre came with it. And I!-I was Spartan enough, thank Heaven! to stand by and encourage her in the doing it, though every wrench and every pang had its double ifi my own! Sans doute, she had done this. Without human encour- agement; without other cry for help than toward the Cross on Mount Calvary; without visible shrinking of spirit, or quivering of flesh. Silently, in the strength of God. Now, the bloody work was accomplished, the sharp agony over. She was healed, and "at peace." Why could I not be more thankful? Why did I so rebel against tu hard necessity? Because, knowing the sweetness and test of happy wedded love, as I do,-the comfortableness of being cherished and taken care of,--I longed to have- Winnie know it also. I did not want her to braid St. Catharine's tresses, though she grew ten times a saint in the process. I wanted her lifeb to have bloom as e *, * Of page: 454-455[View Page 454-455]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 454-455 454 'SHLOH. well as fruit. Sweet verdure of earth as well as illimitable blue of heaven. But what was to be done about it? Nothing. Only to write her a comfortful letter,-deep rather than broad (we are not the sort of women to bedear and bedarling one another much),-tell her I love and honor her above all other women; and then-let her go forth alone into her starlit dust. That was all! Lame and impotent conclusion! It made me frantic with helplessness. It oppressed me as -with an insufficiency of air to breathe. I longed for space, freedom, motion. A breezy walk on the Common would, perhaps, give me bet- ter heart to write. I bonneted, shawled, and set forth. I walked till I was tired, yet found no rest. A seeming paradox, but a simple truth. You will understand. Coming back through- Main Street, it occurred to me to step into Mr. Watling's office, and ask for news of Bessie. The business card of "Venner & Co., New Orleans," side by side with another of "Venner & Co., New York," was nearly the first thing that smote my gaze. Glad that my talk might have an excuse for hovering around the engross- ing subject of my thought, however emotely, I inquired if he knew the Venners, personally? "Certainly,-all of them, more or less," said he. "I know Mr. Amos Venner, head of the New Orleans house; tolerably well. And Hugh Venner, late head of the New York firm, was my most intimate friend, In truth, we were like brothers. I sorrowed for him as David for Jonathan." "Then you know Paul Venner, of course?" said I. "Which Paul Venner?" he returned. "Though, to be sure, I know them both." How I pricked up my ears-and my hopes! There were two Paul Venners, then? Here might be another comedy-no, tragedy-of errors! Holding up the possibility to look at it, I saw a flaw. SHLOH. * 455 Doubtless, the twain were uncle and nephew. And it was the junior, unquestionably, that was reported to be a candidate for matrimony. My ears dropped; my hopes likewise. "I mean the young man," said I; "do you know if he is married?" "They are both young men," he answered. "But the question of marriage settles the identity. Paul Venner, of New Orleans, was married last summer. Do you know him?" "I have heard him spoken of," I answered, dryly, thrust- ing down by the strong hand an inclination to " speak of " him myself, nippingly as frost. Mr. Watling looked at me sharply. "You have heard nothing to his disadvantage, I am sure; at least you ought not to have done. He is a fine young man, as young men go,-which, after all, is saying too little for him,-- most young men go to the bad in these da'ys. But his cousin, Paul Venner, of New York, is a finer young man still, as young men do not go, brave as a lion, gentle as a lamb, pure as a vestal, wise as a sage,--another Bayard, 'without fear and without reproach.' I should feel con- siderably easier about our country's future than I do, if I were sure that Uncle Sam could put his finger on fifty more like him, at need. To be candid, I love himn like my own son. And it cuts me to the heart that he should be going out of business just now, when the commercial world needs men like him so much, firm, calm, candid, upright men,- with stamina and conscience enough to resist the speculat- ing, defaulting, stock-gambling, gold-worshipping tenden- i cies of the times." I pricked up my ears again. This sounded like Win- nie's first mention of her Paul! She, too, had quoted the French knight, sans peur et sans reproche. Was there some miserable mistake, after all? If so, it was my duty to ferret it out. v - .. .. t ' . * 4' 1 'f4^ ; page: 456-457[View Page 456-457]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 456-457 456 SHLOH. "And why," said I, " does he quit business, then?" Mr. Watling sighed and shook his head. "I suspect it is the old story-a woman who 'would, and would not.' Paul owned as much to me when I saw him last. ' Iis old future was slain to him,' he said. 'He must build a new one out of other and better material.' In short, he had de- termined to study for the ministry. It had been the dream and desire of his youth, but he had given it ufp at his father's request; he wanted his son beside him in his count- ing house. He was not sorry that he had yielded; his commercial training would not come altogether amiss in the ministry; and it was an inexpressible gladness to re- member that he had been by his father's side in dark days of commercial quake and distress, and had been a stay and a comfort to him. But it had pleased God, now, to remove every obstruction from his onward path; his father needed his help and companionship no more; he had left him a for- tune ampler than his wishes or his needs; he saw his way quite clear before him, stripped of everything to hinder his progress or divide his strength.' I grumbled out that he would only spoil a good business-man to make a poor min- ister. 'I think not,' he answered, quietly; 'I have lived in and of the world, and I know what it is like. I have been down to the gates of death, and I know how it looks from thence. I know what it is to ' lose ;ll, yet find all,' and I can 'teach men so.' And you would be the last man on earth, Mr. Watling, to counsel me to resist my convictions of duty.' So I could only wring his hand and let him go. But I have not done mourning about it yet." Hie must mourn alone, then! My call was, clearly, to rejoice. For them who knew not yet what cause of re- joicing was coming to them. Coming-ever since the world came out of the murk of chaos. "Prepared " before chaos "was." The thought took my breath away. It pitched me down, headlong, from the mount of joy into the valley of humiliation. For, all this time, I had been SHLOIL. 457 crying out against God's ways, in my heart! You know I never distrusted Him, for myself. But, for my friend, I could have done better, I thought! So it was not a "miserable mistake." A wholesome one, instead, of the Father's own making. His machinery for cutting and polishing a pair of human souls into fit- ness for His -day of making up His jewels. His veil drawn between, while He was beautifying them-each for the other, and both for Himself. His sign and seal upon His "elect,"-elected, first, to the purification by fire; next to the sweetness and the hardships of His service; finally, to the fulness of the glory to be revealed! This was what I felt. What I said-when I could say anything-was too far away of kin for kinship to be traceable. "I How strange, that two cousins-german should bear ex- actly the same name! It must give rise to endless confu- sion and mistake." "It happened naturally enough," said Mr. Watling. (' Twenty-five or thirty years ago, Amos Venner was a cot- ton planter in Texas, and Hugh the American Consul at Naples. Sons were born to them, within a fortnight, or thereabouts, of each other. Letters traveled slowly in those days. Both the children were christened Paul, in honor of their paternal grandfather, before either brother knew of the other's good fortune. But I don't think it ever caused any trouble. They have lived too far apart; one at the South, the other in Europe or New York." I denied myself the pleasure of dispelling the illusion. I was in a white heat of impatience to get home and write to Winnie,-"Paul is not married. He has never so much as dreamed of the thing. He is going, to be a minister. He has buried you in his heart, and mourns the living dead. Over that grave, God writes ' Resurgam.' For He is gracious, and His mercy endureth." This would I write. . . SOS page: 458-459[View Page 458-459]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 458-459 458 SHLOH. But there must be something more, of where and when and why. "Do you know where Paul Venner is now?"I asked. "In New Orleans; or it may be, on his way home. Most likely the latter." "Has he been in New Orleans all summer?" Now, Mr. Watling looked at me suspiciously. This persistent questioning about a stranger began to strike him as odd, to say the least of it. I answered his look. "I ask from a deeper motive than curiosity. I take an inter- est in Paul Venner, which shall have a future explanation, Meantime, it will do no harm, and tay do good, for me to know what have been his outward movements since last spring." "-First," replied Mr. Watling, "his father despatched him to New Orleans, on important business for the firm. There, it was decided that he must proceed forthwith to California. He returned in August, to firdd his father look- ing ill and worn; 'waiting,' he said, 'for Paul to come back and take his place, so that he might give up, and be sick a little while.' The giving up was final; he died a month afterward.' For a time, Paul seemed quite, stunned by the blow. Then he came to the decision I told you of. He is closing up the business. The two houses having always been connected, he was obliged to visit New Or- leans again, two or three weeks 4ago, for consultation with his uncle. It is about time for him to return." * Now, I had got all I wanted. I bade Mr. Watling good- bye, hurriedly. Hset out for home at a great pace. On the way, it slackened. Thoughts came to' me; thoughts and a question. I could write to Winnie, but she--would she write to Paul Venner? I tried to tell myself, Yes; and could only get out an unwilling, No! Womanly pride, womanly delicacy,-fine- spun as cobwebs, yet strong as steel,-these would hold her back. SHLOH. 459 I sputtered furiously against- the folly, the sin, of sacri- ficing the happiness of two lives to a figment, a scruple, a mere conventionalism. It would be setting up an image of straw, and not daring to knock it down. Blenching at a moment's pain, and going out deliberately into a long ag- ony of years. Sickening at a little drop of bittersweet, and drinking slowly a great, bottomless cup of gall. In vain. Over all my resentful metaphors strode that relent- less, "No." It set its foot on my neck, and held me at its mercy. With clearest soul-sight, I saw what she would write back. "'Providence, having brought me so much, will surely bring me the rest, in His good time. I can wait." Anid what then? A dull pain of suspense, a slow fever of expectation, a growing weight of patience. , Across that peace whereof she had told me, " flowing as a river," I should have thrown a long, wavering shadow of unrest, a haunting " if," a slow-dripping " when." A joy with an ache in it. A gift with a sting in it. No, a thousand times, no! whatever I did, I would not do that! I walked slowly enough now, and pondered. Clearly, here was a case where Providence needed an instrument. None more ready and glad than I. That, sans dire. There- fore this clue had been put into my hands. What was I to do with it? The answer flashed back, as along an elec- tric wire. Give it to Paul Venner. But how? I did not know him. Write. An anonymous letter-- I stopped short. Anonymous letters are instruments of Satan. Slimy, as with the trail of a serpent' on them. Smnutched, as by pitchy hands. Of evil reputation, be- cause found in bad company. Besides, Paul Venner might suspect Winnie of having written it. I flushed all over at the bare thought. Nor did it help me much to pronounce that such suspicion would prove him unworthy ever to have stood at the white portal of her heart. , page: 460-461[View Page 460-461]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 460-461 "O SHLOH. What I did, then, should be done openly. I took my pen, and dashed off this :- "He that could trust his happiness to so fragile a thing as a flower, deserved the swift retribution that overtook him. But the spring will bring again saffrona buds as sweet as those that perished with their mission but half fulfilled; and for hopes which we nmourn as dead, there may also be a springtime and a reblooming. So (speaking as the spirit only moveth her) saith "( FRANCESCA GOLDEN." Reading it over, I thought I might have signed it "Py- thia," with fitness; it sounded oracular enough. But its meaning would not be dark to Paul Venner. And I sealed and sent it forthwith. Then I began to be dubious. I discerned that none can go back to the precise place in life, he has left behind. Circumstances have dug it up, or built a wall around it, or greened it over, or blighted it with barrenness. Or he has grown, or dwindled, and no longer fits into it. Besides, there is no such thing as a perfect reparation on earth. When a man would restore the fair image of Right to the place from whence he stole it, the old-niche is filled up or vanished. He must take up with the one which nearest resembles it; or, go on with his burden, vow- ing to steal no more. Perhaps Winnie and Paul have lived so far past that old point of divergence, as to make it impossible to return! Perhaps it is too late for the old mistake ever to be set right. Perhaps Winnie's love is dead, as she thinks; and not in a trance, as I have taken for granted! Perhaps Paul, in "finding all," counts nothing lost! Perhaps- I am in a state of mortal bewilderment with all these perhapses! Write quickly, and settle me into a certainty of having done well, or ill; either would be preferable to these doubts. Thine, FRANCESCA. XLIV. A NOTE OF WARNING. [Alice Prescott to Francesca.] EAR Mrs. Golden: I am sorry to have to tell you that Miss Frost is very ill-with that dreadful fever which has already caused us so much sorrow. Will you come to her at once, and also send word to her uncle in New York? We could not find his address among her papers, and none of us happen to know it. We found yours, how- ever, and therefore I write to you; indeed, I should have don'e so,in any case, for I feel certain that she would send for you, first of all, if she could. At present she is uncon- scious, and recognizes no one. I think her illness began early last week: I remember' she said to me that she had been writing you a long letter, and that it had been difficult to finish it satisfactorily;- ("My mind seemed all afloat, I could not anchor it any- where," was her expression. All through the week she was not quite her usual active, cheery self; but she declared positively that she was " not sick, only tired and languid," and as Uncle True's death had left us all in an exhausted and dispirited state, it did not occur to us to be uneasy about her until day before yesterday. Then grandma announced that it was " high time to take her in hand," and did so, administering medicine and forbidding her to leave page: 462-463[View Page 462-463]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 462-463 "2 SHLOH. her room. Yesterday she was so much better as to dissi- pate all our anxiety. This morning, on entering her room, I was terror-stricken to find her delirious; she called me "Annita," and began talking to me in Italian. I could just make out that she fancied herself in Italy. We sent for the doctor. He looked very grave, anld told us "it was always safest to prepare for the worst, while hoping for the best." We'shall send to the depot at every train, after to-mor- row morning. Meanwhile, be quite sure that she will ,have every care and comfort. Aunt Vin came up as soon as she heard of her sickness, took off her bonnet, and pro- claimed that she had " come to stay, wanted or not." She immediately took charge of the sick-room, and she is a most experienced nurse. As for Ruth and I, either of us would give our lives for Miss Frost, and we shall not leave her a moment. Besides, we have almost too many offers of help, watchers, etc.; there has been a continual stream of people coming and going, to inquire after her or -to tender assistance, ever since the evil tidings went out. I tell you, all this, that you may know that there are plenty of loving hearts and willing hands about her, that will not let her miss anything they have to give. Still, we should be glad to have some of her own friends here, to share the respon- sibility; and we thought Mr. Frost might wish to bring a physician from the city. Yours truly, ALICE PRESCOTT. XLV. THE SPIRIT OF HEAVINESS. [Francesca to her Husband..] (i T is little more than a week since I wrote ^you. It is years since I wrote you. The one be- t/ Hy- ing the literal fact; the other the felt truth. Such days as those through which I have just lived are not to be measured by cloclk-strokes. They stagger under a weight of event, emotion, pos- ]7^3f sibility, which sets the night afar off from the Ha9 morning, and the morning at a weary year's jour- ney from the night. Alice Prescott's letter, herein enclosed, will tell you all it told me. Before I had well finished it, I was thrusting indispensables into a travelling-bag. On my way to the depot, I telegraphed "Uncle John." In half an hour I was on board the express, dashing southward. Two changes of cars and eight hours of travel brought me to Shiloh station at dusk o A tall, erect, broad-shouldered, gray-headed man;, keen of eye, benignant of face; with an enormous black dog at his side; stood on the platform, expectantly. Straightway I went to him. "Mr. Divine, how is Winnie?" The answer came through quivering lips, ending with a sound akin to a sob: ( Sinking fast." Recovering himself, the farmer asked, "'Are you the page: 464-465[View Page 464-465]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 464-465 "4 SHLOH. only one?"And he looked behind me as if I should have been leader of a troop. "The only one. I am Francesca Golden. Is not Mr. Frost arrived?" He shook his head. "I telegraphed him at once," said I, "HHe should have been here first. He had not half the distance to come." "The worst of it is that this is the last train, and he cannot get here now till morning," said lie. "And I'm afraid--" But the fear, whatever it was, would not " out." No need. I got into the wagon without another word, - The sta- tion was on a hill, lit pallidly by the latest gleam of the west. From it the road sank swiftly toward the shadow of the valley below; hiding itself, as it went, under the gloom of trees. We sank with it, drearily. Sinking fast," rever- berated dismally through my heart. Everything was sink- ing with her, into the dusk of grief, the blackness of des- pair, the night of death! Clay Corner, with its clustering lights, its hum of busi- ness, its murmur of falling water, its red glow of a black- smith's forge, was quickly reached, and left behind. In the darkness beyond, the farmer found voice, and even a degree of eloquence. Winnie's goodness, Winnie's talents, Win- nie's genuineness,-these were the heads ilpon which he en- larged, as if enamored of the subject. Especially did he dilate upon her unlikeness to " city folks," as he had known them. "I own I didn't use to take to 'em much," said he. "There was more 'fine feather ' than ' fine bird' about 'em, I reckoned. They came and went among us like comets in the sky; no great shakes for light, and no account at all to steer by. They sickened us with their condescension, or riled us with their superciliousness. They left their religion at home, mostly, in their five-hundred-dollar pews with SHLOH. '465 their gilt-edged Prayer Books. They had plenty of bank- bills for pleasure,-dogs, horses, boats, excursions, and what not,-but only the smallest kind o' change for our contribution box; and they seemed to think we was well paid for giving 'em up our best seats by the honor they did us in sitting in 'em once a day, in fine weather. They were bothered within an inch of their lives to find ways to kill time, but they never thought 6f giving an hour to our Sun- day School, or our poor, or our Sewing Society; or, like Mrs. Danforth, they'd make a great show of work, and do a little something just as long as they could have their own way, and no longer (at least, that's the way she used to be, but I really think she's improving, too, and I reckon Miss /Frost's at the bottom of it!). As for trying to find out our talents and helping us to make the most of 'em, they'd sooner their own would rust out for want of using! They, lived among us as if they wasn't of us, and didn't mean to be. And they never left behind 'em any idea of a life Bny higher and deeper than our own; only one with a little more surface anid glitter. "Now, Miss Frost wasn't none of that sort. She's what I call a lady, through and through. She didn't leave her fine breeding nor her religion behind, when she came into the country. She was just as polite and respectful to Uncle True's gray hairs and mine, as if they'd grown on mayors of New York. She was never a mite stuck up, to anybody. She spent all her time and strength. in our service; and she carried her talents and her edication in her hand, ready for anybody that wanted 'em most. She went right into our kitchens and bedrooms, and watched by our sick and dying, just as if she had been one of ourselves; only with twice as much gentleness, and delicacy, and handiness. And there's no end to the good she's done, when you come to reckon it up; though its all come along so easily and naturally, that you wouldn't know what to lay it to, if you didn't keep your eyes open. She's made another creature out of Ruth 20* page: 466-467[View Page 466-467]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 466-467 Winnot. She's done everything for Alice. She's softened, down Mr. Warren from a regular bear to something border- ing on human. She's won all Jack's heart; and if she'd only been spared long enough, she'd have made room in it for something else. She's managed-the Lord knows how! -to keep peace in the Sewing Society, though some of the folks in it go together like fire and gunpowder. But, bless me, I couldn't begin to tell you all she's done, directly and indirectly, if I talked from now till morning! "But perhaps the best of it all was the way she's be-. haved to Mr. Taylor. She's always treated him with as much respect and consideration as if he'd been a Bishop; end she paid as good attention to his sermons as if he was ;he most learned man on earth,-though everybody knows he's got more edication than ever he thought'of. And she ias always supported him right straight through, even vhen she didn't quite fall in with his way of thinking. I emember when the Sunday School was reorganized, she alked over a plan with Priscilla that she thought was just bout right; and so did Priscilla. But when Mr. Taylor' Ome, he'd got his mind set on something quite different; nd Priscilla wasn't going to give in,--' she couldn't recon- le it to her conscience to give up a good plan for a poor ie,' she said. But Miss Frost told her that the question ntween the poor plan and the good one, and the responsi- lity, too, was Mr. Taylor's; the only question for th/emr as whether they'd submit themselves to their spiritual tstor, and gladden his heart by their goodwill, and rengthen his hands by their example and influence; or Nether they'd set themselves up in opposition to him, and ve rise to a dissension in the parish, and hinder his work, d weaken his power to do good; and so Priscilla had to me round. And there's no telling the good of such an ex-, iple, from such a person, in a community that ain't over- ighted with reverence for anything or anybody, and it would just as soon pick a quarrel with their minister , 1iUl-. T:tU I as eat their victuals. The fact is she's done us good, some- how, every day of her life since she come here. There ain't many city folks, I guess, that have made such a record. of a summer in the country as the recording angel has written down of hers!" This long speech did:not run its course without interrup- tion. Thrice a shadowy horse, wagon, and driver had come out of the, dusk before us, and halted; a voice, nasal per- haps, but certainly kind and interested, had propounded the query, "How is Miss Frost?" Without drawing rein, Mr. Divine had- responded, Sinking fast; " and the vision had disappeared in the gloom behind. My heart ached anew with each repetition of that answer-sank lower as with a fresh burden of despair. The road now began to climb., Reaching a level, Mr. Divine announced that we were on "Hope Plain," and pointed out the homes of Mrs. Danforth and Essie Volger. Up two or three more hills, and the "Gwynne Place " rose duskily into the darkening sky. I shuddered to come thus upon places made so vivid to my imagination through Win- nie's graphic picturings; and to find them dim, sombre shapes, wavering of outline and vague of tint, eluding my straining gaze and vanishing into gloom. The world she had evoked seemed fading-dying with her! More hills to climb; more jolting; a denser shadow of trees! Then a little white church reared itself lonelily upon the sky before us. Now I knew my ground. Swiftly we turned the corner, gently we trotted up to the gate. 'The large, sloping-roofed, venerable, kindly homestead of 'Winnie's story and my dreams rose before me. A comfortable vision after that long, dark, heavy-heart- ed ride 1Bursting with light,-every door and window contributing its cheery quota. Through one wide portal, the ruddy glow and flame of the kitchen fire. Between its gleam and our dusk, a short, brisk figure, with straight- down skirts and flying cap-borders, hurrying out to- meet : , page: 468-469[View Page 468-469]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 468-469 "8 SHLOH. me. Hearty, homely words of welcome, of sympathy, of an unconquerable springiness of hope, upon its lips. Can you guess what I did next! Up to this moment I had shed no tear. Now, the kind tone, the motherly man- ner, overcame me. My "windows of heaven" were opened. For one minute there was a swift downpour. "' Come right into the kitchen," said Mrs. Divine, "there's nobody there. The rest of the house is pretty much filled up with people waiting to see how the fever turns with Miss Frost. I told 'em they might go where they liked, if they'd keep out of her room, and leave the kitchen clear for Pris- cilla and me and the kitchen-work; that needs to go on all the more regularly when there's sickness in the house. And I've got a cup of tea and a bite all ready for you." I tried to decline the refreshment; I desired to go to Winnie at once. But there was no resisting Mrs. Divine's mingled kindness, peremptoriness, and good sense. ( You're not fit to go just yet; and there's no hurry-- she won't know you. Take your tea and get up your strength; you want to be able to stay when you do go. We try to keep her room as free from coming and going and confusion, as possible. Aunt Vin says that noise and excitement tells on the nerves of sick people, even when they don't seem to take any notice. And I guess she's * right." The kitchen was exquisite in neatness; redolent of Mrs. Prescott's spirit, tempered by the blither one of her mother. Mrs. Prescott herself took my bonnet and placed my chair. She was quieter, gentler than my ex- pectation; but I remembered that sickness and death had but lately visited the house, and that one-perhaps both! --had crossed its threshold again. Wonderful softeners they! As I sat at table, a slight, graceful, thonghtful-looking girl stole quietly to my side, and kissed me silently, with quivering lips. I needed no telling that I beheld Alice SH-ILOH. 469 Prescott. A few moments after, Essie Volger appeared,- a fine, open, intelligent face, a frank, easy, cordial manner, both a little shadowed now by grief and anxiety. With her, camae Mr. Taylor to wring my hand and utter a sym- pathizing, comforting word. All these, I felt, took me di- rectly into their hearts, for Winnie's sake, and made com- mon cause with me. My sorrow was theirs. One prayer was in all our hearts-"Spare her, good Lord!" Alice led me up stairs. Leo followed us, with grave and dignified aspect. In the little entry above, on a large chest, in a position to command the interior of the sick-room beyond, a boy sat motionless, sombre, mute, watchful. "It is Jack Warren," whispered Alice. "He will stay here." Stirred to the depths, I passed on. A large, wainscoted room, with the bed drawn near the middle, for greater convenience and freer air. On one side, a tall, gaunt woman, her finger on the patient's pulse, her head shaking fatefully-Aunt Vin. Flung down at the foot, in an attitude of complete dejection, a girl with 7au- burn hair. On the pillow, a wan, wasted face, veiled with stupor. These things I took in at a glance. The girl rose, and turned round. No. lovelier counte- nance ever lit the interior regions of a painter's imagination. With a sob, she threw herself into my arms,-sweet, lov- ing, impulsive Ruth Winnot, gifted and stricken by Provi- dence as at one blow. "We're amasin'glad to see you," said Aunt Vin. "We've been in a state of expectoration all day, and we'd about giv' up." Alice noiselessly placed me a chair on the farther side of the bed. I sat down and looked at Winnie through my tears. So changed--oh! so changed! "Speak to her," said Aunt Vin, " and see if she reck- onizes you." page: 470-471[View Page 470-471]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 470-471 -,'" - blllLOH. A Once-twice-thrice, I called her name. Into it I con-i densed an agony of supplication and tenderness that should have brought her back from the very portal of the grave, I thought. At the third repetition she ha]lf-opened her eyes, murmured something in Italian, of which I caught only the sombre word " notte," and relapsed into coma. "Oh! this is too much!"I groaned. "Not to know me, not to speak to me, not to hear what I would say to her! I cannot bear it! Oh! will she not wake-will she not understand-just for one moment, before she dies'?" "Couldn't conjuncture," said Aunt Vin, gravely. "The fever'll turn about midnight, I guess. What'll follow, I couldn't intend to say; not if I'd swallowed the6 pharma- copious and was physician in ordinal to the Queen. We must do our best and wait upon the Lord." The evening whre slowly on. Intense quiet in the sick- room, broken only by the rattle of spoons and phials, an )ccasional remark or direction from Aunt Vin, and faint sounds from below indicating the coming and going of anx- ous and sympathizing friends. At ten o'clock, Mr. Taylor stole quietly in, knelt by the )ed, and said a prayer or two from the order for the Visita- ion of the Sick, in low, solemn tones that only seemed to ,dd to the chamber's hush. They were followed by an Amen!" so loud and deep that it startled me. Lookingr p, I saw a new comer in the entry, by Jack's side. The )rm was hidden in shadow, but the rough, leonine ead, the deepset, glittering eyes, could only belong to Mr. Wrarren! Then the sounds from below ceased, the house grew ill, the long, fateful night-watch began! XLVI. THE CRY IN THE NIGHT. - [Firancesca to her Husband.] HLE I live, that night-watch will live, too, in my memory. I wish I could set it be- fore you, reasonably true of outline and col- oring! The large, low, quaintly-furnished room, dimly lit by the swealing candle. Two open windows-one merely a square of blackness, dense shadow laid against it, like a thing to be felt; in the other, the dusky foliage of a lilac, here, catching the light from within, there,vanishing into gloom. Without, a dark, clouded sky; an atmosphere still and ,warm, even to sultriness; the soft murmur of the brook flowing in the meadow. On the bed, the sufferer's motionless form and pallid face; low moans, as of pain, breaking at intervals from her parched lips. Ruth fanning hei, with a tireless, mo- notonous motion. Alice gliding to and fro, noiseless as a shadow;- bringing water from the well, ice from the cellar, broths and decoctions from the kitchen, obedient to a sign or a word from Aunt Vin. The latter personage by the bedside; cool, vigilant, cautious, and prompt, as a sentinel at his post or a general in the field. :In one corner, Leo, observant, alert; with an expression almost human in its anxiety, its mournfulness, and its ;in- telligence,. upon his face. u...- page: 472-473[View Page 472-473]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 472-473 472 SHLOH. Just outside the door, the dark, watchful gleam of Jack Warren's eyes. Behind him, indistinct in the shadow, -his father's saturnine features. In the room beyond, Essie Volger, seated by a table, shading her eyes from the light thereon. Near her, a sheen of silk, a sparkle of diamonds, a rapid, dramatic gesture, speaking for Mrs. Danforth. Below, Mrs. Divine, keeping up the kitchen fire; can- dle-stand by her side, Bible in her hand. Opposite to her, Uncle True's empty chair! These are the bald details of the picture. By the power of your sympathy, you will endow them with truth- ful light, shadow, tint, tone. - The candle will be less an illumination than a revealer of gloom. The faces will darken with anxiety and whiten with dread. The atmos- phere will be full of the breathlessness of approaching crisis. As the night wore on, Winnie's moans ceased. Her breath grew faint, her chest scarcely moved. Her pulse was like the slow lapping of a retreating tide. Growing lethargy,- scarcely distinguishable from death, held her more closely locked in its embrace. Suddenly a harsh sound smote the night. It came nearer: it resolved itself into a trampling of horses, a lashing of a whip, a rattling of swift-revolving wheels. It swept past the window, and was quenched in a moment, at the gate. Silence, for a brief space. Then a slight bustle, a sound of voices, from below. Presently, a rustling :on the stair- case, a group of new-comers in the doorway. I recognized Mr. and Mrs. Frost, Flora, Dr. Heartwell. We greeted each other gravely, briefly,-as people do greet by deathbeds. Uncle John whispered an explanation. "Did not get your telegram till this afternoon--some confounded remiss- ness at the office. Came to Pontport in last train-hunted up a carriage and driver-told him to drive like Jehu, for life and-death." SHLOH. 473 The last word choked him. He had just caught sight of Winnie's corpse-like figure. He stood for a moment si- lently regarding her. Then he turned away, drawing his hand across his eyes. Dr. Heartwell wasted no time in courtesies. He went straight to the bedside, gave the patient a rapid, compre- hensive glance,% tasted the contents of the phials on the stand, asked Aunt Vin a question or two, and vanished. In a moment he reappeared with a flask; Alice brought him a spoon; he administered a dose to the patient with his own professional hands. Then-he sat down, expectant. Now, first, I discovered, with a start, that still another spectator had been added to the scene. By the window, out of everybody's way,- yet where he could command a full view of Winnie, a young man had quietly planted him- self. Dark hair; a square brow; a calm, clear face; an attitude ready, resolved, and patient: these traits struck me at a glance. Who could it be, I wondered. A son of Mr. Frost's? No, he had none grown up. A friend of the, family, perhaps. Suddenly, my mind swooped upon the truth,--Paul Venner. I went to him and held out my hand. "You received, my letter?" "Yes. I know not how to thank 5ou. It confirmed what I had begun to suspect. For I met Frederick Thorne in New Orleans. He told me-much that was suggestive. I found your letter awaiting me in New York. I went im- mediately to Mr. Frost's, to learn if Winnie had returned. I met your telegram there. I am here." The look said, "Here, because it is my right; here, be- cause she is mine, as I am hers. Here, to save her if I may; to yieldsher into God's hands, if I must." Another hour went by. Slowly, as ifstretching its elastic length across an age. Time is the tent of Pen- page: 474-475[View Page 474-475]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 474-475 474 6HLOH. Benou, in the Arabian tale. Capable of compression into a nutshell, or of expansion to cover a kingdom. Dead silence, now. Even Dr. Heartwell and Aunt Vin spoke no more. They understood well enough without words. A look, a gesture, a nod,-these sufficed for con- cert of aim and action. As Winnie's strength declined, their vigilance and activ- ity increased. There was something awful, thrilling, sub- lime, in that struggle with death, in which they were plainly engaged. No inch of ground was to be yielded without a fight, no point left unguarded, no resource un- tried. Again and again they rallied Life's forces to the battle. Of the two, Aunt Vin seemed-most persistent, most in- defatigable. Holding fast by the hem of Hope's garment, she would not once turn her eyes toward the Medusa-head of Despair. Woman's patience, woman's intuition, woman's trust, in the long run, often come out ahead of manly strength, reason, independence. Nevertheless, the battle was going against them. I read that truth in their set lips, their anxious faces. Read it with alternate fever of revolt and chill of despair. In my heart, continual beginnings of fervent prayer, losing themselves in vagueness, ending in stony despondency. A little past midnight, I saw Winnie's lips move. I bent over her. "Lift me up," she murmured, faintly. Quick as thought, I was put aside. Paul's arms were under her; deftly, tenderly, he raised her. Not less prompt was Aunt Vin with a spoonful of stimu- lant. As it touched her lips, Winnie half opened her eyes. There was a gasp, a sigh. Her head fell lifelessly over upon Paul's arm. The unswallowed 'liquid flowed from her mouth. Aunt Vin laid down her spoon with a gesture of entire relinquishment, needing no word to enforce its meaning. Dr. Heartwell turned moodily away. In the faces of x SHLOH. 475 both, at that instant, was even more of discomfiture than grief. For a moment we stood looking at each other, in ghastly silence. We had seen--understood, but could not realize. Then, manifestations of grief broke forth. Variously, according to temperament. None are made alike. God, who rounds no two pebbles on the seashore to perfect iden- tity of shape, molds humanity also into infinitude of form and character. Mr. Taylor, hurrying in at somebody's frantic call, knelt and began the Commendatory Prayer. I believe he thought her, not dead, but dying. The solemn words brought in- stant hush. Paul gently lowered his white, motionless burden to the pillow, and, with one arm still under her and his eyes fixed on her face, sank upon his knees. I dropped beside him. Two soul-cries, voiceless and unheard on earth, rang pierc- ingly up to heaven. }Not the calm "Thy will be done!" of Christlike power and patience, but the sharp passion of anguish that once echoed over the waters of Gennesareth, "Help, Lord, or we perish!" And then, there came to pass -a thing so marvelous that I should fear to be discredited in the telling, if you were not the listener. One of those strange, unlooked-for happenings, that reason terms " coincidence," and faith, "God." A shrill, sombre cry rang through the chamber. So sudden, so weird, so startling, we held our breath in super- stitious awe, and looked fearfully in each other's faces. None understood its import; none could tell whence it came! There ensued an intense, terrified silence. But some- thing awful in the silence.; A horror that had suddenly come out of it, and might come again. Two-three minutes; they seemed like hours to our strained sense and shortened breath. Once again it smote our ears; three piercing, rising- page: 476-477[View Page 476-477]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 476-477 476 SHLOH. inflected notes, sad as a human wail, sharp as a cry of mor- tal distress. Afterward a rustle of the lilac leaves behind me. Now I began to understand. I breathed again; my chilled blood resumed its regular flow. A whippowill was hidden in the lilac, uttering his wild, lugubrious cry close to the window. Not softened by twri- light distances, as usually heard; but loud, shrill, startling, because so near.* The explanation did not mitigate the wonder. That a bird so shy, a dweller in woods and by streams, haunting the twilight, escaping into the darkness, should thus ap- proach a lighted window and send forth his voice within a few feet of a dozen people, was a circumstance so amazing as to leave little room for marvel at what followed. For at the third weird repetition, smiting sharply again the chamber's hush, Winnie lifted the eyelids we had thought would never lift more. Suddenly, as if startled from slum- ber by the strange sound. Quickly her eyes went round the room, seeking its cause. They fell on the circle of familiar faces. Perfect con- sciousness, perfect recognition were in their look. Lastly they rested upon Paul Venner. A swift light of joy, slowly clouded by a vague amaze, a struggling recol- lection. He leaned down over her close, answering them with something in his own that she alone saw. She read it, and was satisfied. The estranged hearts, the tried souls, met again. Not at the old point of divergence, but at a new, diviner point of union. The boughs of the lilac tree shook. There was a whirr of wings. The bird of the night, his appointed work being done, had flown! I * Lest this incident should seem not only marvelous, but impos. Bible, it may be well to state that it is an actual occurrence. * * * sHLOH. 4" Its work? To pierce the failing sense with its sharp cry. To reach after the flying consciousness, and startle it back to its place and its function. To recover lost identity out of dreamless void. To return the naked soul to the cast- off garmenting of the body. To bring Winnle back from the gate of death to the gate of life, that Love, standing there, in the person of Paul, might seize her and draw her in. So said I. But Science, in the person of Dr. Heartwell, said some- thing else. He averred that Winnie was not dead, after all,-only in a swoon. That consciousness struggling up from temporary anaesthesia, was met half-way by the bird's shrill cry, and. startled at once into vigorous action. That wonder and joy, together, kindled anew the failing spark of the spirit, and sent the ebbing life-current back to the heart. What, after all, is the difference? For Science did not attempt to explain the whippowill's temporary forgetfulness and abdication of all its well-known habits. Nor why it happened just at that moment and at that spot. ' . ^ Here, finally, Faith (still in the person of Dr. HeartwelD, had somewhat to say. That science always 'has to- stop something short of the Soul and its Ma5ker. That no probe ever yet found spirit, though it made the opening through which that etherial tenant escapjed. That no dissecting knife ever laid open its structure or its laws. That far be- low the point which science reaches and explains, the finger of God works on, invisibly, inscrutably. That any science which does not admit this, and grow humble with the ad- mission, and glad, finally, to put its feeble hand into that of faith, is only a learned ignorance. But this talk came afterward! Commonplaces thrust themselves into the tenderest, as in the grandest of earthly scenes. Between Winnie and Paul came Aunt Vin's prompt spoonful of stim- page: 478-479[View Page 478-479]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 478-479 478 SHLO. ulant. Meekly Winnie swallowed it. As if it had been nectar. Then her eyes closed wearily, her head still resting upon Paul's arm. Dr. Heartwell bent over her, scanning her well. Then he came toward us. "There is hope! She sleeps!" he whispered. His gesture said the rest. "Clear the room. Leave her in quiet." Is joy harder to bear than sorrow? It would seem so. For no sooner had we reached the " out-room," with the door shut, than sobs and tears broke forth. The long ten- sion of nerve and spirit gave way. Some wept silently in a corner; others threw themselves into the nearest arms and shed their tears in common. A sudden crash startled us. Amazed, we beheld the articles on the table flinging themselves on the floor, with- out hands. Would the night's wonders never cease? Alice, coolest of us all,--perhaps because the vivid glo- ries of her inner world of imagination make all outer events seem tame in comparison,-stooped and dragged forth from the debris-Jack Warren! . The boy had crept under the table for his own private "cry." Thinking himself not sufficiently concealed, it had occurred to him to pull the table-cover further over from beneath. Near the edge were books, a vase, a card- receiver, a candlestick. -These fell with a crash, not less startling to the author of their destruction, than to us, the astonished spectators. Now, the full reaction came. From joyful tears to joy- ous laughter the way is easy, to hearts exhausted with deep emotion. It takes but little to set them upon that path. Jack's misadventure sufficed for us. And the laugh let us down easily into sober gladness of heart. Then Dr. Heartwell, standing on the hearth, ordered us all peremptorily to bed. "For there is plenty of nursing and watching yet to be SHLOH. 479 provided for," said he. "It will be days before Winnie is past danger. You, Francesa Golden, must be ready to take that qlneer old nurse's place in the morning; she will need rest by that time, though she is made of steel. To- night, there will. be but little to do. Winnie will sleep most of the time. And if 'Aunt Vin' (is that what you call her?) -wants help, she has it at hand. Mr. Venner is a fixture in that room, for the present, I suspect! Mrs. Divine,"--with a wide, bottomless yawn,-- where shall I find a ' shakedown'?" So, Paul Venner and Aunt Vin kept the rest of that night-watch. They were very quiet, peaceful days that followed. Winnie was too weak to talk or to listen. But her. face was full of a deep content, a quiet joy, that could wait for utterance. Much of the time she slept, recruiting so the waste of disease. It was a week before Dr. Heartwell would let us talk of the past. When the full explanation came, it was no longer needed. Mutual love, mutual trust, had carried them far past that point. They felt the blessedness of faith in each other, " without sight." Each would have assumed the whole blame of the mis- understanding. "Forgive me," said Winnie, "I ought to have known you better." "Forgive me," said Paul, "I ought not to have trusted- a flower, nor a circumstance. In such a matter, a man should ask and wait for the spoken word, the unmistakable yea or nay." Easy to see it now! For moments like these are the mountain-tops of life, giving one a clear outlook before and behind. Happy they who find wisdom there, to carry with them down to the valleys! So I left them. For home needed me now more than they. Sufficient, henceforth, each to the other. , u 8 He , / page: 480-481[View Page 480-481]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 480-481 XLVII. STRIKING TENT. ERE beginneth the end, Francesca. The end of the old life, the beginning of the new. For all life's ends are beginnings, till its final end begins the Endless. I have sent them all out,-Ruth, Alice, Essie, Flora-fluttering down the staircase in their snowy draperies like a flock of white doves;-the last moments of Winnie . - Frost shall be given to you. If that white-robed vision which I beheld, just now, in the ancient mirror over the modern toilet-table be really she,-for I have my doubts! It was so different from anything I have-seen there before,-so softly radiant with happiness, as if diaphanous and lit from within,- that I failed to recognize it for an acquaintance. Yes, let me write it down and ponder it well,--I am happy! Not through any seeking, planning, or expecta- tion of my own, but by the gracious gift of God. That is what makes it so sweet; because it is so manifestly of His providence, so straight from His hand. The cup of earthly pleasure which we mix, for ourselves hath ever its great drop of bitterness at bottom; but "His blessing maketh rich, and he addeth no, sorrow with it." The happiness that He gives; springing out of sorrow and ripened out of pain; holding the promise of the life that is to come, as well as of that which" now is; " is happiness indeed! Best and beautifullest of it all is it to feel how tenderly \ SHLOH. 481 God has been leading me hither, all these days; that the error, the separation, the pain, the complete relinquishment of hope, were only so many necessary steps to this ehd. Be- yond all question, Paul and I needed just the lessons that we have learned. Without them, our present joy would lack its subtlest, most enduring flavor; our future relation be robbed of its most' quickening and preservative element. The fact is profoundly suggestive. Perhaps the most won- -drous of all the wonderful revelations of the Last Day, will- be that those very burdens and trials under which we. were most restive,-which seemed absolute hindrances to our power of being or of doing good,-the cups which we prayed most earnestly might pass from us, and which, if Christ had been a Deliverer from present trouble instead of future woe, He would surely have removed;--that 'these were the very steps by which we climbed, with His help, to our place in the heavenly habitations. It is good to be able to take this lesson, this realization, into coming times of trial. For happiness, I know well, is no lasting condition of human life; save, perhaps, as an in- ward spring; never as an outward circumstance. Hearts that rest upon God will have their inward sun shining be- hind and gilding all earth's clouds; but the clouds will visit them none the less with needful shadow and rain. Life will be a battle-ground and a conflict all the same, with inevitable foes of sin and mortal calamity standing in array; though Divine and earthly love combine to arm and to strengthen us for the fight. Not for earthly bliss merely, or mainly, therefore, do we join hands; but for mutual help, comfort, elevation; mutual strengthening of heavenly hope and faith; mutual encouragement in a life of earnest striving toward the right. And so long as we keep faith with each other in this point, we may look hopefully for God's -blessing on our union. Along the borders of the paths that tends to- 'ward higher things, He will graciously cause %tie human 21 \, page: 482-483[View Page 482-483]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 482-483 482 SHLOI. happiness that we do not live for, to blossom as a wayside flower, or gush -forth as a wayside spring,--full of casual sweetness, full of unexpected refreshment,-and leading us continually more and more to acknowledge His wisdom, and praise His goodness. This, we dare to hope. For we have not hesitated to tell each other frankly that we could have done without each other, if He- had so willed. Our onward lives had ceased to look dark; the love of Christ would have been sufficient for us, here, not less than here- after. Do we, therefore, love each other less? No! more -infinitely more! Not till His human children have learned to hold all love as subordinate to His, does God pour into their hearts the richest treasures of earthly affec- tion. When the gift will no longer harm, but wholly bless, Ip gives it to them without stint. "Seek first the King- dom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you." Pray for us, Francesca, that we may so seek, and. so be added unto! But the moments are gliding fast, and I forget that you are still in the dark upon several important points; I think nothing, save the wedding day, was fixed when I wrote you before,-all else was undelightfully chaotic. Dr. Heartwell came to our help at last-Paul's and mine--and forbade that grand, glittering, wearisome city wedding which we so deprecated, but upon which Aunt Belle had set her heart. "If you want to kill your niece outright," said he, bluntly, " drag her through all that parade and fatigue, for which-she has neither strength nor nerves; and you can't well miss of your aim. But if you want her to live, marry her the quickest and speediest way possible, and get her out of this climate before Old Winter is upon us in good earnest. There is a spark of pulmonic disease about her which he might fan into a flame: a, warm climate will quench it., If you mcst make a fuss over her, Mrs. Frost, SHLOH. 483 do it when she comes back next April, well and strong. Then you may give her the most costly, fashionable, and absurd 'reception' that you and Brown and Delmonico can devise among you. But not before, with my consent." There was no disputing professional dictum like this; and Aunt Belle, findclig that she must needs yield the point, was good enough to do it gracefully. She is here; so are Uncle John and Flora and the younger ones, down to that unconscious agent of Provi- dence, little Bella. The old house is brimming over with guests; yet not more sq than the hearts of its owners with genuine, old-time hospitality,-neither overlabored nor overcareless,-giving of its best as freely as the sky of its sunshine, and with as little self-misgiving. Mr. and Mrs. Divine were never more easy, more unembarrassed, more wholly themselves, than now. Aunt Belle looks at them with growing wonder and respect; she ]will carry some new lights upon farmers and farm-life back to her aristo- cratic home. The old house is full of cheer, too, but of a subdued and heart-deep kind; none that need turn aside, in its ful- lest flow, from Uncle True's chair; which Alice has had the lovely inspiration to wreathe with white flowers, fast- ened here and there by dainty bows of soft, white ribbon. The same pure taste and felicitous touch have been busy throughout the house, causing flowers to fall and cling to- gether everywhere, in such wise as must needs have sprung from the unhindered operation of their own sweet laws of being; and using autumn leaves, where flowers grew scarce, with wonderful richness and harmony of effect. To me, the latter have the deeper meaning. The fullest beauty of life and love has been revealed to me through the frost-touch of sorrow. What further miracles of decoration Alice and her corps of4 assistants have wrought, over at the church, re- mains to be seen. I only know that they have been busy page: 484-485[View Page 484-485]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 484-485 48'4 STIILOTL. there half the -morning, land that Aunt Belle took care that they should be amply supplied with flowers. For we are to be married in St. Jude's, Mr. Taylor offi- ciating. All Shiloh will be there to see, if it pleases. For all Shiloh is, in one sense, a friend. We go to Cuba for the winter. Alice accompanies us; I cannot yet do without my deft little hand-maiden, who has been hands and feet, strength and motion, to me, so long. During my illness, I learned to value her as she deserves. Her quick insight, which used to annoy me so much, was a rare treasure in my sick-room; divining what I wanted before -I knew it myself. Moreover, I desire to kindle her imagination and enrich her memory with tropi- cal pictures-palms waving and shimmering in moonlight glory, the golden gloom of orange groves, the rythmic tread of the breeze in the canefield, the purple distances of starry nights;-sometime, perhaps, to be distilled, by her thought-alembic, into verse that shall set them, in all their finest essence and deepest sentiment, before eyes that every; where long for, yet are denied the actual sight. The trip will not unhinge the self-poised, self-moved little maiden. She will come back to the old, quiet life, with vision cleared to discern its hidden beauty and value; to brighten the venerable house with her quickened thought and ffiller -.Aknowledge; to be Mr. Taylor's faithful helper; to succeed me in my secretaryship and Sunday teaching; to take up whatever work I lay down, and carry it forward to better end, I hope, than I have done. Sometime, too, I trust, to become the centre and light of a home of her own; which, I now have good reason to believe, will also be the home of Harry Burcham. A few days ago, I laughingly hinted this conviction to Ruth. She heard it in silence, turning her' face away. When her time for practice came, instead of the vocalizes which I expected, there rose from the outroom a song (if song-it could be called, that had no distinguishable words, SHLOII. 485 only a wild melody), which seemed to give full, fit expres- sion to every pang and pain that could rend a human- heart. Never, it seemed to me, were tones so deeply pathetic, so exquisitely sweet, so heart-brealingly mourn- ful. ' Sorrow seemed to iave been molten into music. I held my breath to listen, with unconscious tears in my eyes. But, while the anguish was yet at its profoundest depth, the voice seemed to soar out of it, as it were, and, with only enough of sorrow left for richest sweetness, gradually to rise and float out of hearing. And thus was it revealed, to Ruth and myself, that she has the faculty of musical improvisation! So, when Sig- nor Canto gets his coveted pupil, he will find her even more gifted than he expects. And he will get her very soon. For, it has been arranged that Ruth shall take my vacant place in Uncle John's household, this winter. Flora has taken an immense fancy to her; so has Uncle John; even Aunt Belle has been quickened into unwonted kindliness of -interest by her beauty, her talent, and her misfortune. In the spring, when Paul and I return to set up our temporary home in the city, during the prosecution of his theological studies, she will come to us. So far as human prevision goes, Ruth's future is assured. Needless to add that, so far as human plans and purposes are of avail, it will be musical. That is her desire. "I must give my life to music, now," she said to me, recently, with an unconscious betrayal of some hidden dis- appointment, some incommunicable sorrow. "And some- time, no doubt, I shall be quite happy in it," she added, sighing low, yet with eyes deeply lit by inward resolve and hope. Her genius, baptized in pain, will now soar on strong and purified wing! Essie came to me, a few days since, with a blush -on her cheek and a new sweetness in her blue eyes. She, too, is won. I have promised, if I am in lifl, to be here for her wedding in the spring. I am glad to be furnished with so page: 486-487[View Page 486-487]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 486-487 48t6 SHLO. . pleasant an excuse for an early visit to Shiloh,; a, spot that will always be thickly embroidered with golden memories and suggestions. I came to it seeking rest. I got, first, work; then, peace; finally, joy. -It may be a type. For all healthful life is labor, death may be only a peaceful sleep, and heaven is surely joy! I learn that Mrs. Thorne is slowly getting the better of the paralytic attack, but will probably be more or less of an invalid, for the- rest of her days. Carrie, of course, is with her. So are Rick and Pearl. The latter will soon be in the enjoyment of their inheritance. Paul saw a good deal of them, at New Orleans, and liked them much. HeI-e avers that Pearl has only enough of singularity left, to make her charming; and that the twain are excellently well suited to each other. A degree of friendship sprang up between him and Rick, out of which grew certain con- fidences that prepared him for your letter, and helped -to interpret its meaning. Mrs. Danforth is still here; also her diamonds. Both. will lend their brilliancy to my wedding. But they are not so inseparable as formerly; the lady is sometimes seen, now, without the jewels. She said to me, this morning, laughingly indicating them,-- "It is the last time -that they will go into St. Jude's ; and they will certainly never go into any other church, ex- cept to do honor to a wedding! I have learned better than to wear them to service. I wonder that I ever had the bad taste! So much good, you see, if no. more, has grown out of my exile in Shiloh,-slow, stupid, dear, de- lightful spot!" That exile is almost over. Mr. Danforth is expected on the next steamer, his business having been brought to. a satisfactory and prosperous termination. Harry Burcham cannot yet leave his father in that des- olate home. -It is probable that he will never return to Italy, except for a visit. Life has shifted its human prom- ,ise, its best reality, to his native land. SHLOII.. 487 The question of the ownership of Leo, mooted by Har- ry, was referred to Leo, himself. The two masters shook hands, separated in opposite directions, and each called'the dog. There was a moment of hesitation; then, Leo rub- bed his head against Harry's hand, by way of farewell,. and followed the master whose life he had saved, and whom he had served so long and so well. -If he had done -other- wise, I think it would almost have broken the farmer's heart! Certainly, it is best so. For both, alas! are grow- ing old. Let the last sands of their simple, genuine, and,-a unselfish lives run out together! Dear, noble, absurd Aunt Vin was one of the visitors turned out of my room at the beginning of this epistle. c( She had come," she said, " to offer me her conglomerations. Also, to utter a jeremy; Shiloh would be as dissolute as a grave without Alice, and Ruth, and me." She has prom-. ised to visit me Iin my own home. Aunt Belle could not refrain from a comic lifting of her eyebrows, when she heard: the invitation given and accepted; doubtless, she was pic- turing Aunt Vin's introduction to some of our city friends. Nevertheless, even she has learned to esteem the faithful, self-devoted nurse at an approximation to her -real value; and Aunt Vin will meet with all due courtesy at her hands. In Mr. Warren there is no positive change for the better.,. The most that can be said, is that he is less cynical, less, morose, less ready with his scepticism, than formerly. Also, he has taken to studying the Bible; but whether to find matter for cavil or for faith, I know not. But his wife - hopes and prays. Mrs. Prescott will be left to carry on the Sewing Society, and other lay Church-work, almost alone. She will do it with more tact and discretion than formerly, I think; she cannot do it with more zeal, perseverance, and singleness of heart. With all her faults, would there were more like her! Mr. Taylor is still in that spell-hedged dwelling,--the Gwynne Place,--whereof it is yet to be written that ever, Angel of Life or Death has crossed its threshold. His work page: 488-489[View Page 488-489]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 488-489 488 SHLOH. in Shiloh, so far as his temporal support is concerned, at least, will rest hereafter upon a more assured basis. As a thank-offering to God for His tender mercy toward us, Paul has bestowed upon St., Jude's an ample endowment. Many would consider it wasted upon a place so small, so out of the way, and so sparsely populated; but he thinks otherwise. These by-ways of New England, he says, these quiet, out-lying farm districts, hidden away among the hills, are the sources whence the waste of our towns and cities is largely supplied; whence, too, the great West draws much of its best brain and energy. It behooves us of the city, therefore, to see to it that these springs of our. being are not poisoned by indifference or infidelity; that this strength, wherewith we continually recruit our exhausted energies, is not of the Spirit of Evil, unto destruction, but of the Spirit of Good, unto God. And Bona and Mala? Both remain with me. My heart is still to be shaken and trampled by their irreconcilable warfare; the entity called "I " is still to- be tossed to and- fro on the tide of battle, the will burdened- with the ever- recurring necessity of declaring for one or the other. Every life, which is not all a miserable defeat, must needs be a conflict. The hour of death, only, is the hour of complete victory. Thanks be to God, who, in that hour, through our Lord Jesus Christ, maketh us " more than conquerors!" *e * , * * * * * And now, oh, Francesca! they call me Winnie Frost no more! But not less faithfully yours is WINNIET VENNE. THE END