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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dbe0d3a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62219 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62219) diff --git a/old/62219-0.txt b/old/62219-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 416b3b4..0000000 --- a/old/62219-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5395 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Day of Small Things, by Anne Manning - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Day of Small Things - -Author: Anne Manning - -Release Date: May 25, 2020 [EBook #62219] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS *** - - - - -Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - -NEW WORKS. - - -Second and Cheaper Edition, price 7s. 6d., post 8vo., cloth, - -POPLAR HOUSE ACADEMY. - -By the Author of “Mary Powell.” - - “A tale as touching and alluring as it is simple,—a tale - sure to interest, whether by its sweet scenes of pathos, its - continuous interest, its exquisite traits of nature, or its - unaffected, unobtrusive tone of true piety.”—_Literary Gazette._ - - * * * * * - -In preparation, - -THE HOUSEHOLD OF SIR THOMAS MORE. - -Cheap Edition. - -To be followed by - -EDWARD OSBORNE. - -DEBORAH’S DIARY. - -Uniform. - - * * * * * - -This day, price 2s. boards; 2s. 6d. cloth, - -SEVEN TALES BY SEVEN AUTHORS. - -Edited by F. E. SMEDLEY, Esq., Author of “Frank Fairlegh,” &c. - - * * * * * - -Price 3s. cloth; or 3s. 6d. gilt edges, - -THE MANUAL OF HERALDRY; - -Being a concise Description of the several Terms used, and containing a -Dictionary of every Designation in the Science. - -New Edition. Illustrated by 400 Engravings on Wood. - - * * * * * - -THE ULSTER AWAKENING: - -An Account of the Rise, Progress, and Fruits of the Irish Revival. With -Notes of a Tour of Personal Observation and Inquiry in 1859. - -By JOHN WEIR, D.D., Minister of the English Presbyterian Church, -Islington; and Author of “Romanism: Lectures on the Times.” - - * * * * * - -Fifth Thousand, price 2s., - -THE BACKWOODS PREACHER: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF PETER CARTWRIGHT. - -Edited by W. P. STRICKLAND. Reprinted from the last American Edition. - - “For the rugged earnestness of the man it is impossible not to - have a high admiration. His life is full of strange incident, - and, setting aside its oddities, must command, and more than - command, interest.”—_Athenæum._ - - “Full of the richest Americanisms and quaintest anecdotes. - It gives the details of a religious phase of society almost - unknown in England.”—_Dickens’s Household Words._ - - * * * * * - -MOST ELEGANT CHRISTMAS PRESENT. - -THE BOOK OF THE THAMES, FROM ITS RISE TO ITS FALL. - -By Mr. and Mrs. S. C. HALL. With numerous Illustrations. - -THE AUTHORS TO THE PUBLIC. - - We have the honour to submit to the public a “Book of the - Thames, from its Rise to its Fall,” hopeful that our readers - may share with us the enjoyment we have so long, and so often, - derived from the “King of Island Rivers!” - - We have traced the bountiful river from the bubbling well out - of which it issues, in the meadow by Trewsbury Mead—its lonely - birthplace—through its whole course, gathering tributaries, and - passing with them through tranquil villages, populous towns, - and crowded cities; ever fertilizing, ever beautifying, ever - enriching, until it reaches the most populous city of the - modern or the ancient world, forming thence the GREAT HIGHWAY - by which a hundred Nations traverse the globe. - -NOTICES OF THE PRESS. - - “It is a book to endear to us our native England; and, produced - with all the elegance of the printer’s and binder’s art, will - richly adorn the drawing-room table.”—_Daily News._ - - “It is by far the pleasantest book, certainly the most complete - in design and execution, that has been published about the - Thames for many years, and we can easily understand that in - writing it the authors performed ‘a labour of love.’”—_Morning - Post._ - - “This is one of the best in appearance of the ornamental - works of the season which is just passed; the binding and the - typography are excellent, and the style lively, superficial, - and showy.”—_John Bull._ - - “A faithful as well as an agreeable guide to whatever of - interest occurs along the entire course of the river. In - short, it is a pleasant, well-written, and very handsome - book on the pleasantest river an author could have to write - about.”—_Literary Gazette._ - -IN THREE BINDINGS: - - Cloth 18s. - Superbly gilt 21s. - Morocco 26s. - -ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE, & CO., 25, PATERNOSTER ROW. - - - - -THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS. - - - - - THE - DAY OF SMALL THINGS. - - BY - THE AUTHOR OF “MARY POWELL.” - - Young and old all brought their troubles, - Small and great, for me to hear: - I have often bless’d my sorrow, - That drew others’ grief so near. - ADELAIDE PROCTER. - - LONDON: - ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE & CO., - 25, PATERNOSTER ROW. - 1860. - - LONDON: - PRINTED BY JAMES S. VIRTUE, - CITY ROAD. - - - - -DEDICATED TO MY TWO DEAR NIECES, FLORENCE AND ELLEN. - - - - -THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS. - - -“I think I have been laid up nearly two years on this sofa, Phillis?” -said I. - -“Two years, come the 6th of October,” said Phillis. - -“And, during that time, what mercies I have received! what alleviations, -what blessings!” - -“What sea-kale and early spare-o’-grass! what baskets of grapes and -pottles of strawberries!” said Phillis. - -“What songs in the night, what in-pourings of strength!” said I. - -“So many pheasants, too, and partridges!” said Phillis. “Teal, woodcocks, -and wild ducks!” - -“David might well say, the Lord maketh our bed in our sickness, Phillis,” -said I. - -“Such a pretty bed as it is, too!” said Phillis. “So white, sweet, and -clean! Russia sheets and Marseilles quilt, bleached on a heath common, -close by a sweetbriar hedge!” - -“Not only that—” said I. - -“Not only that,” said Phillis, “but such pretty daisy-fringe to the -curtains, and a clean tarletan blind to the window.” - -“Such a lovely view from the window!” said I. - - “‘Ever charming, ever new.’” - -“You see everything that goes by,” said Phillis. - -“Yes, Phillis. And then the hill! I scarcely ever look at it without -saying to myself, ‘I will look unto the hill from whence cometh my help.’” - -“The doctor lives the other way, though,” said Phillis. - -“I am never weary of watching the continually varying effects of light -and shade on it. And yet, how loath I was to settle in this place! But, -directly I saw that hill, with its steep, chalky sides, its patches -of short turf, its fringe of beeches at the top, and its kilns and -lime-burners’ cottages at the base, with the steep bridle-roads and -sheep-tracks winding up it, I felt, ‘That hill is my fate: there must -be a fresh air blowing over it, a fine view from it; and, with God’s -blessing, it may make me wiser, healthier, and happier than I am now.’” - -“It hasn’t made you healthier, though,” said Phillis. - -“O yes, Phillis, it did. For a long while after I came here, I used to -walk to it, and at length up it, every day. At first, I was surprised to -find how steep and long the road was, even to its foot.” - -“Oh, it’s a goodish step,” said Phillis. - -“But I thought nothing of it afterwards,” said I. “At first I used -to call it (to myself), the Hill Difficulty. After that, the Hill of -Conquered Wishes.” - -“Because you couldn’t get to the top,” suggested Phillis. - -“Not only that. There were a good many things I wished altered—things -that I could not alter for myself, and that I did not feel quite sure it -would be right to pray to God to alter.” - -“Such as puddles and miry bits of road,” said Phillis. - -“No, not things of that sort. And so I used to think them over, as -I walked up that hill, and struggle with myself to take them kindly, -humbly, and submissively, as they were, such seeming to be God’s will; -and at length I succeeded.” - -“That was a good job,” said Phillis. - -“At the top of the hill, there was a steep patch of turf, on which, as it -seemed to me, grew every wild-flower that I knew. I used to call it (to -myself), the Garden of the Lord.” - -“Wasn’t that rather wicked?” said Phillis. - -“Why, whose else was it, Phillis? Man had nothing to do with it.” - -“A woman had, you mean,” said Phillis. - -“No, I don’t.” - -“Why, wasn’t you a woman?—leastways, a lady?” - -“But I had not had the planting of it.” - -“Oh, I didn’t know it was planted,” said Phillis. “You said the things -growed wild.” - -“Well, so they did—the Lord planted them. I used to stand there, looking -at them, and smelling them, and inhaling the sweet, fresh air, till He -seemed nearer to me there than anywhere else.” - -“La!” said Phillis. - -“Then, if I felt very strong, I used to go on yet further, and climb -quite up to the trees at the top. I used to call that (to myself), the -Wood of the Holy Spirit.” - -“I wonder you wasn’t afraid,” said Phillis. - -“No, ‘the voice of the Lord’ seemed walking in the garden, and took away -all fear. Of what should I be afraid?” - -“Tramps,” said Phillis. - -“I never met any.” - -“That was a wonder, then,” said Phillis, “for they mostly come right away -over that hill, to and from the Fox’s Hole.” - -“Stay a minute, Phillis, and I will explain to you why I never was -afraid.” - -“Dear me! and I’ve been awaiting and awaiting all this time,” cried -Phillis, “to baste the chicken! I only stepped away from it for a moment, -to give you your medicine!” - -“Go, baste the chicken, then, Phillis. I beg your pardon for detaining -you. I forgot how many things you have to do, and to think of. Go, -Phillis, and baste the chicken.” - -This is just the way she goes on from day to day. It is certainly very -discouraging. An invalid finds it particularly hard to be without a -sympathizer; or, at any rate, a companion that can understand one. As to -calling me “ma’am,” she does not—and will not—once a week. But a Norway -deal won’t take the polish of mahogany; and a rough, stout, country -servant, will not convert into a Mrs. Flounce or a Mrs. Mincing. It is -surprising what work she can get through—what weights she can lift. I am -sure she could lift _me_. - - * * * * * - -The way I came to have Phillis was this. My nice maid, Hannah, married; -and Jane, her successor, did not suit me at all. My energetic neighbour, -Miss Burt, who is almost too bustling and busy for her friends, came in -one day when I was very ill, and told me she had found me a “sterling -creature,” who would suit me exactly. I had never empowered her to look -out. And when I heard that this sterling creature had only lived in a -farm, and afterwards with an old single gentleman, I did not feel very -desirous to enter into treaty with her. Miss Burt, however, told me she -had told her “there could be no harm in calling,” in which I did not -quite coincide; and she enlarged so much on her fidelity, sobriety, -honesty, cleanliness, and general proficiency, that I was somewhat -overpowered, and agreed to see the young person when she called, if I -were well enough. “Young! oh, she won’t see thirty again!” cried Miss -Burt, as she swung out of the room; and indeed I believe several more -years had been numbered by this “daughter of the plough.” But Phillis -is exceeding sensitive on the subject. “My age is my own,” says she, -shortly; “my age, and my name.” The latter, however, she told me one -day, in an uncommon fit of good humour, had been given her by her father -because it was in a favourite old song of his. “And when parson,” pursued -Phillis, “objected that it wasn’t a _Christian_ name, father said he -should like to know whose business it was to choose the name, his or the -parson’s. So there,” added Phillis, triumphantly, “I fancy father had the -best on’t!” - -I thought of Crabbe: - - “‘Why Lonicera wilt thou name thy child?’ - I asked the gardener’s wife, in accents mild. - ‘We have a right,’ replied the sturdy dame: - And Lonicera was the infant’s name.” - -Rather against the grain, I engaged Phillis. I was too ill to lose time, -and too ill to superintend her first start, consequently she fell into -her own way of doing things, and will not now adopt any improvement on -them without more exertion of authority on my part than I often feel -inclined for. I put up with her—and, perhaps, she puts up with me. - - * * * * * - -After living many of my earlier years neither in town nor country, but -in one of the western suburbs of London, I cannot express the pleasure -with which I hailed the novelty of a real country life. To exchange a -house in a row for a detached dwelling, in the midst of hills, copses, -and cow-pastures, was so delightful as to afford some compensation for -removing far away from many whom I dearly loved. Seven years my good -husband and I shared in tranquil married happiness; and, as he had -previously been a busy man in the city, the country was as new to him as -to me. - -It is a good thing for leisurely people, of whatever age, to acquire the -habit of noting down what they observe of interest, in a new position. -To such a habit, we owe the rich storehouse of John Evelyn’s “Journal,” -and White’s “Natural History of Selborne;” two books which, perhaps, no -country but England could have produced. On going to Nutfield, I resolved -to observe everything, try many an experiment, keep a note-book, and ask -many questions. - -We obtained possession of our house at Christmas; but did not go down to -it till the middle of February. In that month (as I failed not to enter -in my journal) the white wagtail re-appears, the woodlark, thrush, and -chaffinch begin to sing, rooks and partridges to pair, and geese to lay. -Mr. Cheerlove told me that the clamorous rook, the cheerful cuckoo, the -swift-darting marten, and the lively, sociable little red-breast, had -been called the birds of the four seasons. We arrived at Nutfield in the -rooks’ honeymoon. - -The first thing that struck us was the air. How cold, but how fresh it -was! How clear and free from smoke the atmosphere! A thin blue mist rose -from the ground, but it was but the ghost of a London fog. Then again, as -Mr. Cheerlove remarked, the dirt, plentiful as it was, merely consisted -of earth and water mixed together, without any abominable additions, -and, compared with London mire, might even be called _clean_ dirt. The -leafless condition of the trees gave us the opportunity of admiring the -forms of their branches—the gradual and beautiful decrease of size and -increase of delicacy between the sturdy trunks and the smallest twigs. -The landscape was not destitute of green: the grass, though scanty -and coarse, still retained its colour, and much of the growing wood -was coated with fine moss; while the glossy laurel and cheerful holly -contrasted with the sober laurustinus. Here and there, in the garden, we -found a snowdrop, a hepatica, a yellow aconite, a Christmas rose, and a -few sweet-scented blossoms of the alpine coltsfoot. - -When we began to explore the neighbourhood, we found scarcely any -wild-flowers, save now and then a daisy or sprig of gorse, or that -common-looking nettle that bears the splendid name of white archangel. -But we could say “a good time is coming!” and cheerfully await it. -Meanwhile the horse-chestnut, hazel, and honeysuckle were budding, and -the chickweed was putting forth its small white flowers; while the robin, -sparrow, wren, and thrush sang blithely among the bushes, and the lark -poured forth a short but lively song over our heads. - -Mr. Cheerlove had accumulated a great many books, which, on wet days, it -was his delight to arrange. We had two country maids and a boy, who found -enough to do, but were not overworked. The first year we made scarcely -any acquaintances; but my sister Eugenia, many years younger than myself -(now, alas! no more), was frequently with us; and, after our loved -mother’s death, lived with us entirely. Before she did so, Mr. Cheerlove -and I used frequently to take little journeys in our one-horse carriage, -jogging on from one place to another, putting-up, when it suited us, at -some neat inn, and there spending a day, half-day, or two or three days, -according to the attractions of the neighbourhood. In this way we strayed -through many counties, and made acquaintance with many rivers, towns, -villages, churches, cathedrals, old castles, and abbeys. - -At the end of seven years, my good husband died. He was several years my -senior, but I loved him—oh so dearly! and respected him so deeply! He was -not what is called a shining man, but with the kindest heart, an equable -temper, well-stored mind, a deliberate manner that gave great impression -to what he said or read, without being in the least tedious, and a habit -of employing himself beyond all praise. - -He was gone; and the sunshine of my life was gone too! It seemed to me -as though I had never valued him enough while he was alive—might have -expressed more demonstrative affection. We never had an unkind word. - -Dear man! how I love to think of him! The memory of his dear, placid -face, his harmonious voice, his gentle touch, and tread, and tone, makes -my heart swell! - -Eugenia and I were then left together. She had nothing; I was not rich; -and we quitted Nutfield, and went into a country town. We had once been -members of a large, cheerful family, but death had mown them all down, -and reserved his keenest, most relentless edge for the last. After a few -uneventful years, Eugenia became fatally ill. She died; and I was left -alone! And then I came here. - -People were very kind to me. Miss Burt was my first acquaintance, and I -must say she did me good service; never resting till she had fixed me -under this roof. Indeed, she is seldom happier than when doing something -for somebody; her only faults, that I know of, being a love of vexatious, -petty domination, and a great impatience of check. Having nailed me here, -as she called it, she next took me round to a few poor people under the -hill, whom she put, as it were, under my charge; saying her own hands -were full enough, and too full already, and the superintendence would -rouse me, and do me good. I shall never forget her tone and attitude -when, on entering one of these cottages, and espying a small grease-spot -on the floor, she stood transfixed, and tragically exclaimed— - -“What’s _that_ I see?” - -The poor woman looked cowed; and I am sure I felt so. - -When we came out, Miss Burt said to me, complacently and with a little -authority, “That’s the way you must do things.” She had looked into every -corner, turned up the basins and tea-cups, detected a black-beetle, which -scudded away with a very reasonable instinct of self-preservation, and -removed the match-box, which she said was too near the fire. - -It might be her way, but I could never make it mine. I could not defy the -_Lares_ and _Lemures_ of a rustic hearth in that fashion; and never could -make myself more at home in a poor person’s dwelling than its owner. But -perhaps Miss Burt did most good. - -Time had its healing effect. I had practically learnt that here we -have no “continuing city,” and the impression of the lesson was perhaps -weakening, when I was laid low by a prostrating and painful illness, that -at first threatened my life, and then left me in a state of weakness and -incapacity that has confined me two years to this sofa. - -Thus, the story of my life is comprised in few words. And yet I retain -the habit of jotting down its nothings. As a favourite writer of mine in -_Fraser’s Magazine_ has said, “There is a richness about the life of a -person who keeps a diary, unknown to others. A million more little links -and ties must bind him to the members of his family circle, and to all -among whom he lives. Life, to him, is surrounded, intertwined, entangled -with thousands of slight incidents, which give it beauty, kindliness, -reality.” - - * * * * * - -I wish Harry Prout would leave off writing poetry. He might do something -good in prose, but he has a taste, which he mistakes for a talent, for -verse. There are many books of the day which he might translate well, if -he would but seize the passing moments as they fly. - -Harry looked in this evening, and gladly remained to drink tea with me. -There was a small iced plum-cake on the tea-table, a present from Mrs. -Secker; and I was pleased to see the lad pay his respects to it pretty -handsomely. We got quite cozy and confidential over our little meal. He -looked about him with satisfaction, and said, “Everything is so trig and -tidy here! I wish we were in your easy circumstances, Mrs. Cheerlove.” - -I laughed, and said, “My circumstances are very narrow, however easy I -may make them—or take them.” - -“They may be comparatively easy, though, if not absolutely, I think, -ma’am.” - -“Yes, there are comparative and absolute values.” - -“Compared, for instance, with those of a straitened family like ours.” - -“Ah, Harry, there are so many of you! Your father has a larger income -than mine, but there is not so much to spend per head. But soon, my dear -boy, some of you will be able to increase it; and, meanwhile, comfort -yourself with the reflection that the real or imagined necessary expenses -of those who have large means, are greater than those of persons who have -only small ones.” - -“I can’t make the reflection, ma’am, because I don’t believe it.” - -“It is so, though, I assure you. Take the case of a number of persons -(I quote Archbishop Whately) of each amount of income, from a hundred a -year to a hundred thousand, and you will find the preponderance of those -who are in pecuniary difficulties constantly augmenting as you proceed -upwards.” - -“If the _fact_ be so, ma’am, of course I cannot controvert it; but I -cannot see how it should be so.” - -“And when you come to sovereign states, whose revenues are reckoned by -millions, you will scarcely find one of them that is not involved in -debt.” - -“Ah, they have so many public expenses.” - -“And private people have so many private expenses. The temptation to -spend increases faster than the wealth.” - -“Well, it seems to me, that if I had but competence, I could keep within -my income.” - -“At first you would; but your ideas of competence would alter. At least, -it is the common tendency of people to go beyond their means. I feel it -in myself.” - -“_You?_” incredulously. - -“Yes, indeed, Harry. Perhaps I think how shabby and faded the crimson -window-curtain begins to look, and I find I can afford to buy a new one. -Then I consider that the new window-curtain will make the old carpet look -very bad, and I find I cannot have that without pinching. Besides, the -new carpet would entail the expense of a new rug; and then the fluted -silk of the cabinet piano must be renewed; and, after all, how little -it would add to the expense to have new chintz for the sofa and chairs! -Thus, expenses mount up—expenses I cannot afford.” - -“I see.” - -“So it ends in my not incurring any of them.” - -“Your curtain looks very nice, though, Mrs. Cheerlove.” - -“Ah, I had it dipped and embossed.” - -“Your chintz, too.” - -“That was washed and callendered.” - -“Well, I thought only such persons as mamma did those things.” - -“There is no need they should be obtruded, Harry.” - -“No, that’s what I’m always so afraid of.” - -“Nor, if they happen to become known, is there any need to be ashamed.” - -“Ah, I can’t help that.” - -“Not always, I dare say, being young and thin-skinned; but the less you -annoy yourself that way, the better. So you think I am better off than -_you_?” - -“O yes, with this nice quiet room. You may smile, Mrs. Cheerlove, but -really it’s no joke, when a fellow wants to do a bit of writing, to have -a parcel of children swarming about him, making all sorts of noises. It -has such an effect sometimes on _me_, I know, that I am ready to declare -the supreme good to be, a quiet room and leisure to use it.” - -“To write poetry in it—hey, Harry?” - -“Well—perhaps—yes.” - -“Meanwhile, the high stool in the office—” - -“May better be filled by some one else, ma’am.” - -“While you— - - “‘Invoke the Muses, and improve your vein.’ - -Do you admire Coleridge?” - -“Oh immensely! Did he make that line?” - -“Ah, Harry, you betray your ignorance of your favourite craft! No; the -line is Waller’s.” - -Harry blushed, and said, “You laid a trap for me.” - -“Not intentionally, I assure you. But my transition was rather abrupt. -I was going to direct your attention to a favourite passage of mine in -Coleridge’s works.” - -“Pray do,” said Harry, rising alertly and going to the book-case. - -“Bring me the second of those two small volumes, lettered ‘Biographia -Literaria.’” - -“Oh, it’s in prose!” said Harry, in disappointment. - -“Prose by a poet, however—which, by-the-way, was the name of a pretty, -though not very shining, little work by James Montgomery, that has now -dropped out of sight. Here is the passage: it begins—‘Never pursue -literature as a trade. With one exception’ (I think he means Southey) -‘I have never known an individual healthy or happy without some regular -employment which does not depend on the will of the moment—’” - -“Bah!” muttered Harry. - -“‘But can be carried on so far mechanically that an average quantum of -health, spirit, and intellectual exertion are requisite for its faithful -discharge.’” - -“I’m surprised Coleridge should say that.” - -“Well, Harry, he was one of the many people who preach better than they -practise. Hear me to the end—‘Three hours of leisure, unalloyed by -any alien anxiety, and looked forward to with delight as a change and -recreation, will suffice to realize in literature a larger product of -what is truly _genial_ than weeks of compulsion.’” - -“Ay, I never write but when the fit is on me,” murmured Harry. - -“‘Money and immediate reputation form only an arbitrary and accidental -end of literary labour. The _hope_ of them may often prove a stimulant to -industry, but the _necessity_ of acquiring them will, in all works of -genius, convert a stimulant into a narcotic.’ - -“It did in Sir Walter Scott’s case,” I observed. - -“‘Motives, by excess, reverse their very nature; and, instead of -exciting, stun and stupify the mind. For it is one contradistinction of -genius from talent, that its predominant end is always comprised in the -means; and this is one of the many points of likeness between genius and -virtue.’” - -“Then I’ve a genius,” cried Harry, laughing, “for I always write verses -for the pleasure of writing, and not for money!” - -“Stop, my dear boy, hear him out—‘My dear young friend, I would say to -every one who feels the genial power working within him, suppose yourself -established in any honourable occupation. From the counting-house, the -law-courts, or from visiting your last patient, you return at evening -to your family, prepared for its social enjoyments; with the very -countenances of your wife and children brightened by the knowledge that, -as far as they are concerned, you have satisfied the demands of the day. -Then, when you retire into your study—’” - -“I wish I had one!” sighed Harry. - -“‘You revisit in your books so many venerable friends with whom you can -converse. But why should I say _retire_? The habits of active life will -tend to give you such self-command that the presence of your family will -be no interruption. Nay, the social silence, or undisturbing voices of -a wife or sister, will be like a restorative atmosphere, or soft music, -which moulds a dream without becoming its object.’” - -“What beautiful English he writes,” said Harry. - - * * * * * - -I was interrupted where I last left off by the entrance of the three -young Pevenseys, with their governess, Mademoiselle Foularde, whom I -had supposed still at the sea-side. But it appears that an epidemic -had broken out at Hardsand, which occasioned their immediate return to -the Stone House. I was very glad to see them all; they seemed to bring -sunshine into my shady little room; and I had a toy railway-engine for -the amusement of my little friends, which delighted the two young ones -exceedingly. Arabella, or, as they frightfully abbreviate her name, -Arbell, has grown quite tall and womanly, for a girl of fourteen. She -has her mother’s good profile, but is dark, like her father, and the -expression of her face is rather stern and repelling. Mademoiselle was -charming; but I do not think she and her eldest pupil go on comfortably -together. Whenever I addressed a remark to Arbell, Mademoiselle answered -it, and went on speaking so as to detain my attention; this occurred -three times, and I could observe Arbell look annoyed. As for Flora and -Rosaline, they had a regular boxing-match, when they thought I was not -looking. I caught Rosaline’s hand in mine, with the little fist doubled -up, and said, “Why, Rosaline! you quite surprise me! I did not know you -were a pugilist!” - -She opened her large blue eyes, as if amazed at my interference, and then -seemed disposed to laugh; but I said quite gravely—“No, no, we have no -fighting here. If it is allowed at the Stone House, I don’t allow it in -my parlour.” - -“It is not allowed at the Stone House, but they do it for all that!” -burst forth Arbell, and then shut herself up again in rigid silence. -Mademoiselle Foularde darted an indignant look at her, and then drew -Flora towards her, fondling her, and saying— - -“_Ah, fi donc, Rosaline! Bonne petite Fleurette! comme je l’aime!_ I -never saw her fight before, did I?” - -“How _can_ you say so!” muttered Arbell, and then sighed, and began to -play with her little dog Shock. - -After this, the conversation rather flagged; but I showed the little ones -some prints I was meaning to paste into a nursery picture-book; and when -I had quite won their good-will, kissed them, and said, “You won’t fight -again, will you?” Both said “No” very cordially; and Mademoiselle and I -exchanged looks and smiled, and then I said, “I am sure you remember that -pretty verse: - - “‘But, children, you should never let - Such angry passions rise; - Your little hands were never made - To tear each other’s eyes!’ - -What _were_ they made for, hey?” - -Both gave me a quick look, but seemed at fault. - -“Why, to work, and to write, and to draw, and to paint pictures, and hold -knives and forks, and spoons, and slices of plum-cake, and to give pence -and sixpences to poor people, and a thousand other good and pleasant -things. Will you remember?” - -Both smiled, and said “Yes;” and then I produced slices of the iced -plum-cake Harry Prout had cut up, and told them to hand the plate first -to Mademoiselle and Arbell, and then to help themselves. This produced -general good humour and sociability, and, after the cake had been duly -honoured, Mademoiselle rose to take leave, saying she feared they had -stayed too long, but that it was so difficult to get away from _me_, I -so charmingly blended instruction with entertainment, &c. &c. &c., which -I might have liked better if I had not thought it rather exaggerated and -insincere. - -I said to Arbell at parting, “I have seen and heard too little of you. -What a treat it would be if you would spend a morning with me, and help -me to make this picture-book.” - -Her face brightened directly, and she exclaimed, “Ah! I only wish I -might!” But Mademoiselle interposed with something about Mrs. Pevensey’s -wish that the school-room routine should suffer no interruption, with a -little smile and shrug to me, as much as to say, “So, of course, we must -obey;” and Arbell went away, looking as rigid and uncomfortable as at -first, carrying Shock under her arm. - -In the afternoon, to my surprise, Mrs. Pevensey’s elegant carriage -stopped at my little garden-gate, and Mrs. Pevensey herself came in. -She was charming with smiles and good-nature; and, in her delicate -silver-grey silk, rich velvet, and blush roses, looked so youthful, that -one could hardly suppose her the mother of seven children. She has a -well-stored mind, ready wit, or rather, playfulness, good judgment, and -everything that contributes to make a delightful companion. As a wife -she is admirable, living on the most affectionate terms with a husband -who is considered by most people rather hard to please; she has formed -extensive plans for ameliorating the condition of the poor, which she -is carrying out with great success; and, as a neighbour, she is most -thoughtful and kind—as I have good reason to know. - -She brought her own entertainment with her; for her conversation was an -almost uninterrupted flow of what she had done, whom she had seen, where -she had been, interspersed with remarks full of good feeling and good -sense. I must say that, to an invalid, this continuous flow is sometimes -more fatiguing than if the communications were more reciprocal and broken -up. The mind is kept on the full stretch; the eyes gaze on the speaker -till they ache, and even the bodily posture becomes wearisome; yet I am -sure the kind friend always goes away thinking, in the goodness of her -heart, “Well, I have amused her nicely, and given her a good many things -to think about,” which is true, too, though they have been purchased -rather dearly. - -It was only after Mrs. Pevensey had told me a multiplicity of things, and -was going away, that I found the opportunity of telling her how glad -I had been to see her children quite recovered from the effects of the -measles. - -“Yes,” said she, with a motherly smile, “they all look well—all, at -least, except poor Arbell; and _she_—” (Here she gave a little shrug, -like Mademoiselle, as much as to say, “Something is not quite straight in -that quarter.”) - -“I told Arbell I wished she might be permitted to spend an hour or two -with me some morning,” said I. “If I have more than one companion at a -time, I can hardly do them or myself justice.” - -“I am sure I wish she would come,” said Mrs. Pevensey, smiling sweetly. - -“With your permission, I think she will,” said I. “May I claim it?” - -“Ah, I shall be too happy,” said she; “but you don’t know Arbell.” - -“Suppose, then, we say to-morrow,” said I, pertinaciously. - -“To-morrow the hair-cutter is coming. Any other day.” - -“The day after to-morrow, then?” - -“With all my heart, if—I don’t know what Mademoiselle will say.” - -“Mademoiselle seemed to think the same of _you_.” - -“Of _me_? Oh, I’ve no voice in the matter! Mademoiselle has unlimited -sway in the school-room. Mademoiselle is a most excellent creature. -I have unbounded confidence in her. She is quite superior to her -position—came to me from the Comtesse de St. Velay—has written an -admirable essay on education—her brother is professor of foreign -literature at Tarbes.” - -“Perhaps Mademoiselle uses your name as a kind of authority.” - -“Very likely,” laughing sweetly; “_Mamma’s_ name is probably made free -use of, in the school-room and nursery. I remember when, ‘I’ll tell your -Mamma!’ was a terror to myself. Oh, we all go through these things in -our turn. Poor, dear Arbell! there is excellent promise in her; but at -present she is under a cloud. She lives in a world of her own, is proud -and stubborn, and Mademoiselle says her spirit must be broken. It may be -so, but I don’t wish to stand by and witness the operation.” - -“I am sorry to hear you say that,” cried I, anxiously, “for I think the -operation so extremely hazardous, that it ought only to take place under -the mother’s eye.” - -“It would affect me more,” answered she, very seriously, “than a surgical -case.” - -“I can quite believe it,” replied I, with equal seriousness; “but -possibly your sagacity and maternal affection united would enable you to -discern that no such painful course was needed. If Arbell were a little -more under your eye—” - -“My dear friend,” interrupted she, “Arbell is constantly under my eye -already. Do you imagine I shut myself up from my children? No, no! that -would indeed be neglecting a mother’s first duty. Dry recapitulation -of lessons, indeed, and endless practising, fall exclusively to the -superintendence of the governess; but Arbell always _learns_ her lessons -and writes her exercises in the room with me, for hours every morning.” - -“I am heartily glad to hear it,” said I, with a sense of relief. - -“We lunch together—that is, they have their early dinner when we lunch,” -pursued Mrs. Pevensey; “always except when we have friends. And though my -afternoons are generally engaged in drives, and the children of course do -not appear at the late dinner, they may always do so at dessert, and the -younger ones always _do_. In the evenings, it is very much at Arbell’s -option, or, at least, at Mademoiselle’s, whether they appear or not. -Sometimes Arbell has lessons to prepare; sometimes she is engaged in her -own devices; and really, I think they are more healthful and suitable for -a young girl than large mixed parties, when silly people too often say -silly things to children, so that frequently I am not sorry to miss her -from the drawing-room. And now, good-by! I have paid an unconscionable -visit; but there is no getting away from _you_. I am so glad you are—I -_think_ you are better?” - -“Thank you, yes. Then I shall see Arbell the day after to-morrow?” - -“Undoubtedly, if she will come. At what hour? They dine at two.” - -“Shall I say eleven?” - -“Yes, do; and I will send for her at half-past one, because it is nearly -half-an-hour’s walk. Good-by, good-by! I must make peace as I can with -Mademoiselle.” - -And she left me with an engaging smile. - - * * * * * - -Arbell has been, and gone. She came in rather before eleven, carrying her -little white lap-dog, who had a new scarlet ribbon round his neck. I saw -directly that the cloud was gone,—she looked as fresh as a rose, and as -cheerful as a lark. - -“Good girl, for being so punctual,” said I. - -“Punctual!” said she. “Why, I hope I’m more than that, or Shock and I -have raced in vain! I would not let old John come with me more than half -way, and then we took to our heels and ran—didn’t we, Shock?” - -“I feel the compliment,” said I, very sincerely. “Perhaps, though, you -would as soon have run in any other direction.” - -“No, I shouldn’t,” said she, with a bright look, as she untied the blue -strings of her large straw hat, and threw it on the ground. The next -minute she picked it up, and put it, with her gloves and visite, on a -side-table. - -“Why did you do that?” said I, curiously. - -“Because you are not Mademoiselle. She says I never can be tidy, but you -see I can.” - -“What people can be, they ought to be,” said I. - -“What people can be at some times they can’t be at others,” said Arbell. -“Is it not so, Mrs. Cheerlove?” - -“Yes, my love, sometimes.” - -“Thank you for calling me ‘my love.’” - -“By-the-by, why do they abbreviate your name into Arbell?” - -“Because an ugly name is good enough for an ugly girl,” said Arbell, -quickly; and then, with a little self-reproach for so captious a speech, -“No, the real reason is, because it is the abbreviation by which the -celebrated Lady Arabella Stuart was called by her grandmother, the old -Countess of Shrewsbury. Mamma read about her in Miss Strickland’s -“Queens,” I believe, and so took a fancy to call me Arbell.” - -“Though you do not like it.” - -“I like whatever mamma likes, almost.” - -“I am very glad to hear you say so, my love. Are you hungry?” - -She looked at me artlessly, and said, “I should like a slice of -bread-and-butter.” - -“Or jam?” said I. - -“No, bread-and-butter. I should only have dry bread in the -school-room—and scarcely that, because Mademoiselle says we ought not to -be hungry before an early dinner.” - -“But you have had a walk,” said I, ringing the bell; “and persons who -have left off growing sometimes forget how hungry they were when they -were not full-grown.” - -“_You_ don’t.” - -“Ah,” said I, “young people only come to me by way of a treat—to me and -to themselves. If you were with me much, I’m afraid I should spoil you.” - -“What _is_ spoiling, Mrs. Cheerlove?” - -“Can you ask?” - -“I know what it is in the common acceptation of the word—it is what -Mademoiselle does to Flora: she spoils her by letting her have her own -way; but she spoils me by _never_ letting me have mine!” - -“It is easy to see, Arbell, that you are not very fond of Mademoiselle.” - -“How _can_ I be?” - -“(Some bread-and-butter, Phillis.) My dear, I cannot reply to your -question, except by asking others; and I do not feel it quite right to -seek a confidence which you do not repose in your own mother.” - -“I wish she would let me,” said Arbell, with filling eyes. - -“Why, my dear, you spend your mornings together.” - -“But how? Dear mamma is always preoccupied—by papa, by the housekeeper, -by the gardener, by the nurses, by her own maid. She must always see -poor little Arthur’s spine rubbed herself” (here Phillis brought in the -bread-and-butter, and went out), “and baby is cutting her teeth; and she -has to give orders about her Italian garden, and dinner, and relief for -the poor, and the children’s new dresses and her own, and to send baskets -and hampers of things to grandpapa. Then, when all this is over, if I -venture to begin with ‘Mamma!’ she says, ‘My dear, I am writing a note.’” - -A tear dropped on Shock’s white coat, and she turned her head away. -“Nobody has so small a share of her as I,” said she; “and I love her so -much!” - -“My dear Arbell,” said I, after a pause, “I cannot help thinking what -an inestimable advantage it may be to you in after-life, to have had -this training, this by-play, this insight, as a bystander, into your -mother’s life. You may yourself be placed at the head of an equally large -establishment: many girls, so placed, after a life exclusively devoted -to their own studies and amusements, are completely at sea. They have no -practical knowledge, no taste even, for the daily duties which it is a -woman’s greatest honour and pleasure to discharge well; they are complete -babies. They meet every emergency with a helpless, ‘Well, I’m sure I -can’t tell what is to be done!’ and everything is at a stand-still, or -goes the wrong way.” - -Arbell seemed struck. “That never occurred to me,” said she. - -“In spite of the elegancies by which your mother is surrounded, hers is, -in reality, what many would pronounce, and find to be, a very hard life. -Her cheerfulness, presence of mind, sound judgment, and love of order, -enable her to get through its cares gracefully and successfully; so that -those who only see the _face_ of the enamelled watch, and not all its -interior works and springs, little guess that her head, and even her -hands, have more to do, in their own peculiar department, than those of -some of her dependents.” - -“That may be true,” said Arbell, reflectively. Then, after a short -silence, “What would you do in my place?” - -“Ah, my love, I should probably not do better in your place than you do, -if as well.” - -“Oh, Mrs. Cheerlove!” - -“The question is not what I, or any other person might do, but what -_should be done_. A very able and excellent author—well known to your -mother—John Foster, has said, ‘There is some one state of character, and -plan of action, _the very best possible_, under all the circumstances -of your age, measure of mental faculties, and means within your reach; -the _one plan_ that will please God the most, and that will be the most -pleasing to look back upon at the hour of death.’ Now, should not you -aspire to ascertain what is that best possible course, and then most -zealously devote yourself to its execution? I believe you to be capable -of it.” - -Arbell looked full of high and generous resolve. “If mamma had said this -to me,” exclaimed she, at length, “I should have been capable of it long -ago.” - -“Perhaps you have never spoken to her on the subject with the openness -with which you have now spoken to me.” - -“I have never had the opportunity. However, I will not dwell any more on -that. What is the one best course now for me?” - -“There need be no marked change in outward performances: only in their -spirit. Your mother loves you dearly, but she is too busy to attend -to all your little troubles. Do you be too busy for them too! Take -an intelligent interest in whatever you are about, be it French, or -German, or anything else; and if interrupted in it, and your attention -distracted by what is being said to nurse, housekeeper, or gardener,—take -an intelligent interest in that too! Think, ‘Ha, here is something worth -remembering!’ treasure it, note it, commit it to memory, bear it in mind, -lay it to heart; and then return with fresh eagerness to the matter in -hand.” - -“It sounds well,” said Arbell, thoughtfully; “I’ll try.” - -“And if you cannot get others to sympathize with you, why, sympathize -with _them_. It is easy to say, ‘I can’t; their tastes and feelings -are so different.’ So are yours from theirs, and yet you expect them -to sympathize with _you_. Don’t get into the way of feeling isolated. -Robinson Crusoe really _was_ so, and did not find it very comfortable, -in spite of his pretty plantations and snug cave. If you plant yourself -on a little island, and break down the bridge to it, you must not expect -people to be at the trouble of fetching a boat. Besides, you perhaps -seek sympathy at unseasonable times. Your father, in the midst of some -profound calculation, would hardly like your mother to come in and claim -his attention to some sentimental sorrow: she thought he had looked -coldly at her on such and such an occasion; or could hardly have been -aware, such another time, that she felt low and unwell.” - -“No, indeed,” said Arbell, laughing. - -“Nor must you expect Mrs. Pevensey to have leisure or relish for such -ill-timed appeals from yourself. Be intent on forming a noble character; -and you will be sure to find that character appreciated in after-life.” - -“Ha!” - -“You will try, will you not?” - -“I will! if only Mademoiselle——” - -“Ah, let us look on Mademoiselle as some one placed in close relation to -you by our heavenly Father for wise purposes of His own, which He does -not think it necessary to communicate to her or to you. And now eat your -bread and butter.” - -She did so, having first given me a hearty kiss. - -I am always glad when fine, bright weather on a Sunday morning favours -the church-goers, though I am debarred by bodily infirmities from joining -the multitude on their way to the house of God, and swelling the voice -of praise and thanksgiving among such as keep holy-day. And though my -eyes have sometimes swelled with tears, and my heart yearned with vain -longings, as I have seen the scattered parties trooping past my gate, yet -more often, far more often, I have silently bidden them good speed, and -mentally repeated that sweet and soothing sonnet of Mrs. Hemans— - - “How many blessed groups this hour are bending - Through England’s primrose-meadow paths their way! - Toward spire and tower, ’mid shadowy elms ascending, - Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day! - The halls, from old heroic ages grey, - Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low, - With whose thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play, - Send out their inmates in a happy flow, - Like a freed vernal stream. _I_ may not tread - With them these pathways; to the feverish bed - Of sickness bound. Yet, oh my God! I bless - Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath filled - My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled - To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.” - -And, since I have been no longer bound to the sick-bed, but only to the -house, my thankfulness has deepened under a cheerful sense of alleviated -pains and added blessings; so that I may sincerely say my home-kept -Sabbaths have generally been very calm and sweet. - -I have made out a little routine for myself, which I adhere to pretty -closely. Having early in life acquired the habit of rising betimes, I -have no temptation to curtail the Sunday by lying in bed; nor is Phillis -so overworked as to need, or even to wish for, an extra hour’s sleep. I -therefore hear her stirring as soon as the clock strikes six; and, till -she comes to afford me a little assistance at seven, I lie tranquilly -cogitating on God’s mercies, lifting up my heart to Him, and almost -invariably repeating that hymn of Hugh White’s, which so fitly opens the -invalid’s Sunday. - - “Let me put on my fair attire, - My Sabbath robes of richest dress, - And tune my consecrated lyre, - Lord of the Sabbath! thee to bless. - - “Oh, may no spot of sin to-day - My raiment, clean and white, defile! - And while I tune my heartfelt lay, - Bend down on me thy gracious smile. - - “Let holy feelings, heavenly themes, - Raise, and refresh, and fill my mind; - And earth’s low vanities and schemes - No place nor entertainment find! - - “The looks, the thoughts, the sweet employ - Of saints, whose treasure is above, - Be mine to-day! their zeal, their joy, - Their peace, and purity, and love. - - “My spirit may with theirs unite, - My humble notes with theirs may blend, - Although denied the pure delight - Thy sacred courts with them to attend. - - “The faith and patience of the saints, - These I may exercise each hour— - When, weak with pain, the body faints, - I best may exercise their power. - - “O Saviour! with completion crown - Desires thou wakenest not in vain; - Stoop to thy lowly temple down, - Bring all these graces in thy train! - - “This is thy day of bounty, Lord! - I ask no small, no stinted boon, - But showers, rich showers of blessing, poured - On me, though worthless and alone. - - “If the weak tendril round thee twine, - It ne’er is hidden from thine eye: - I cling to thee, life-giving Vine, - Strength, verdure, fruitfulness supply!” - -Hugh White, himself on the bed of sickness, used to send Mrs. Hemans -beautiful flowers in her last illness; and perhaps he may have sent her -this pretty hymn too. I should like to know that he did, and that it -comforted her with the comfort wherewith he himself was comforted: one -Christian poet should fitly thus console another. - -Having chewed the cud awhile on this sweet hymn, and possibly on one or -two others, I begin my toilette with great deliberation. It is indeed -always a lengthy process; not on account of any special self-decoration -(of course, the “Sabbath robes of richest dress,” in the hymn, have a -purely figurative meaning, though I think respect for the day may be -shown in the outward garb too), not because I delight in braiding of the -hair and costly array; but on account of downright bodily weakness, which -necessitates frequent little rests and intermissions: and as I have no -one to hurry for, why should I hurry? - -However, by eight o’clock I find my way to my sofa in the adjoining room, -with the little breakfast table set near the fire in winter, and near -the open window in summer. I read a psalm, collect, and the epistle -and gospel of the day, to myself, while I recover myself a little. I -have no voice for reading aloud before breakfast. My breakfast is no -great matter; it does not take long, neither do I hurry it; but when -one has nothing to do but to eat and drink, it cannot be a very tedious -occupation. Phillis clears the table, brings in her Bible, we read a -portion, verse and verse alternately, and then I offer a prayer, and she -then goes to her breakfast. Then I lie and meditate a little. - -I have put secular books, newspapers, work-baskets, &c., out of the way -overnight; so that the room has an orderly, Sabbath-like appearance. The -large Bible and little Prayer-book are on the small table beside me: some -other book also at hand, in the course of Sunday reading. My canary-bird -must be attended to, Sunday as well as week-day. I give him my attention -as soon as I am a little rested; and perhaps remain at the window a -little, looking at the flowers in the garden-borders, the little children -from the hill trooping to the school with their cold dinners in their -bags, and the hill itself, girdling in the prospect, and ever calling to -mind the verse, “I will look unto the hill from whence cometh my help.” - -A widow woman, who nursed me during part of my illness, always comes to -cook my dinner, and take care of me while Phillis goes to church. She -gets her dinner for her pains, and sits placidly reading while the meat -is roasting, now and then with an eye to the spit. Afterwards, she goes -to afternoon service. She is too infirm, and too far from the church to -be able to go more than once in the day. - -Of course, I always have a few pleasant words with Mrs. Goodey; and -sometimes she tells me of some case of distress among the cottagers, -which I make it my business to relieve, or get some one to look into, -the first opportunity. But punctually, as the clock strikes eleven, I -commence my solitary prayer service, feeling it a special pleasure, as -well as duty, to offer prayer and praise at the same time that my fellow -Christians pray and praise. - -Now, as I do not slavishly go through those portions (they are but few), -which can only be appropriately used collectively (St. Chrysostom’s -prayer, for instance), one would think I should arrive at the end of -the morning service a good deal sooner than they do in church. Sooner, -certainly, but not so much so as one might suppose. For, when thoughts -wander, (and, alas! who is there among mortal men, who, in this respect, -sometimes sinneth not?) I feel it incumbent on me to go over the ground -again. Thus, if I repeat a clause in the litany mechanically, I feel that -the least I can do is to repeat it with more attention, and something of -contrition. Even the wicked king in “Hamlet” said: - - “My words fly up—my thoughts remain below: - Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go!” - -Thus, of course, the more I detect inattention, the more I lengthen -the service. And then again, in the lessons, I frequently read the -consecutive chapters, perhaps two or three. So that, sometimes, Mrs. -Goodey comes in, to my surprise, to lay the cloth, before I have -finished. But, more generally, I have done earlier, and lain back on -my sofa-cushion, and taken a good rest, gazing on my Sunday nosegay, -and on my dear father’s portrait on the wall. I have no likeness of my -mother—not even a _silhouette_; she never would have one taken: but her -face is indelibly stamped on my memory and heart. - -Then Phillis bustles in with the one hot dish; and generally has brought -home some scrap of news, which she is in haste to impart. - -“Master Frank preached to-day.” (The Rev. Francis Sidney is always, with -her, Master Frank). “How well he do speak up, to be sure! The deafest -in church might hear ’un. Well, I can’t justly mind what ’twas about, -but ’twas charity, I think, or else hope. No, ’twas charity; because he -brought in, ‘But the greatest of these is charity.’ Yes, I know he did. -Yes, yes—’twas on charity.” - -Then she adds that Mrs. Stowe’s twins are going to be christened in -the afternoon, by the names of Esau and Jacob. And then I observe that -Esau and Jacob indeed were twins, but that I hope the little Stowes -will love one another more than they did; adding that, as if to show -the universal sinfulness of the human heart, a remarkable instance -was given us in them, that even the proverbial love of twins for one -another was insufficient to prevent one from over-reaching the other. To -which Phillis, with a grunt, rejoins, “The young Stowes ha’n’t got no -birthright.” - -In the afternoon Phillis generally comes in, and we read the prayers, -psalms, and lessons together; but sometimes Miss Secker drops in, and -then Phillis and I defer our reading till the evening, unless she goes to -church. Miss Secker brings a sermon with her, and sometimes I speculate -a little, beforehand, whether it will be by Barrow, or Bishop Wilson, or -Jeremy Taylor, or by Douglas Forsyth, or Melville, or Henry Vaughan of -Crickhowel. We generally talk it over afterwards, and though our remarks -may not be very original or deep, they refresh and animate me, being my -only intellectual intercourse during the day. - -Often our remarks make us turn to our Bibles to verify and illustrate -them; which sometimes unexpectedly opens up a new subject fertile in -interest. Thus, last Sunday, we lighted on that wonderful statistical -account of the ancient glory and wealth of Tyre, as vivid and minute as -if the details were of yesterday:—how that its famous merchant-ships, -the instruments of its mighty commerce, were built of deal from Senir, -_i. e._ Mount Hermon, and their masts were of cedar from Lebanon, their -oars of oak from Bashan, their benches of ivory from Chittim, their sails -manufactured in Egypt, their awnings from the isles of Elishah; how that -the mariners of these ships were from Sidon, their pilots picked men of -Tyre, their caulkers the men of Gebal; and then the details of their -armies, their merchants, their great fairs and markets, and the endless -variety of merchandize brought to them from all parts of the civilised -world. It gave us a great deal to think of:—and very likely it seemed as -incredible to the Tyrians, that their proud city should ever become a -mere desolate rock, on which the lonely fisherman should dry his nets, as -it would to us that London should be reduced to its condition before the -days of Julius Cæsar, when old King Lud changed its name from Trinovant -to Lud-town. - -Another time, finding that Nathanael was by some eminent scholars -supposed to be the same with the apostle Bartholomew, we hunted up -all we could on the question; and came to the conclusion that, as he -was supposed to be the son of Tholomai, or Ptolemy, Bartholomew, or -Bartholomai, might be the surname given him by our Lord to signify the -son of Tholomai; in like manner as he called Peter, Bar-jona, or the son -of Jona. Questions of this sort will continually arise to interested -readers of the Scriptures; for the more we search them, the more do -little twinkling lights disclose themselves to us, reflecting light on -one another. - -I happened, unguardedly, to drop something about these pleasant readings -to Miss Burt, when she put me into a sad fright by exclaiming, “Oh, -_I’ll_ come and read to you some day!” for I did not like her reading, -which is too much of the denunciatory sort. However, happily for me, -she found it would not consist with her more important engagements; she -therefore not only refrained, but took some pains to prevent Miss Secker -from coming to me too, telling her that if she had any time to abstract -from her own devotional exercises between morning and evening services, -she thought she might just as well devote it to some of the poor, who -could neither read nor write, as on a friend who could do both, and had -every comfort around her. However, Miss Secker did not see it exactly in -the same light, and therefore has continued to drop in once every two or -three weeks, to my great comfort and obligation. She rarely stays more -than an hour; and when she does not come, Phillis and I have our little -service together, and then I read or meditate in quiet till tea. - -Mary Cole, a great favourite of Phillis’s, then drops in to have tea in -the kitchen, and take charge of the house while Phillis goes to church. -I can’t say Mary is quite as great a favourite of mine as she is of -Phillis’s; but that is no great matter, as she comes to see Phillis, not -me. Thus, Phillis has a companion at both her Sabbath meals: it makes a -little change for her, and prevents her hankering for more holidays than -I can grant. And the visitors, neither of whom are capable of walking a -second time to the distant church, get their meal and a little variety -in return for their charge. People of their rank are seldom much of -readers, and it is well to give them a little sober intercourse in lieu -of their falling asleep with their heads on the kitchen-table. To whom -little is given, of them will less be required than of others more -favoured. - -Mary Cole, though a heavy girl, is gifted with a sweet voice and correct -ear for music; and as she sits all alone, she beguiles the evening -hours by singing hymns, often to my solace and delight. Sometimes it -is my favourite “Wiltshire,” sometimes “St. David’s,” another time the -plaintive penitential psalm, - - “From lowest depths of woe,” - -to the rare old tune called Irish, which fills my eyes with quiet tears. - - * * * * * - -In that twilight hour known as “blind man’s holiday,” I lay this evening -mentally colouring a picture of what I had just been reading, till it -became distinct and real. - -A desert place, all sand and stones, with scattered tombs hewn here and -there in the rocks, or mere cairns heaped rudely over human remains, -gleaming white and ghastly in the fitful moonlight. A single living -figure, making night hideous by leaping among these tombs—wildly -shrieking as the moon drifts through the clouds and casts strange -shadows—yelling in ecstasy of fear, to the dismay of far-off travellers, -who hasten on their journey in dread of they know not what. Can anything -be more forlorn than the state of this poor wretch? His fellow men, -at a loss how to treat him, bound him with strong chains, which he -snapped in their faces, and then he fled. And now, unless indeed, some -fellow-sufferer be glaring at him, silent and unseen, from among those -tombs, he is alone—alone with his tormentors, for he feels possessed by -myriads of evil spirits, whom he can no more cast out of his loathing -_self_, than he can tear out his brain. If he can frame a connected -thought, it is of despair. - -But three little boats are crossing that surging lake, in the darkness -of night. When they quitted the opposite shore, early in the evening, -the waters of that lake were still. The chief of the little company -lay down wearily to rest, and fell asleep, with his head on a pillow. -The others toiled at their oars, and looked anxiously about, as clouds -gathered, winds rose, and the waves became high and rough, and threatened -to engulf their little barks. The night wore on, and became more and more -tempestuous; they were, seemingly, in great jeopardy: and all this peril -and distress were being incurred that the Son of God might, unsought, go -and heal that one poor man. - -He recognises the Lord at once. “Oh!” he says, in anguish, “have you come -to torment me before the time?” Torment you, poor man! oh, how little you -know! You are possessed, you say, by a legion. Well, that legion shall, -if you will, take visible possession of those two thousand swine feeding -on the mountains—swine, which, they who keep shall deservedly lose, -seeing that their own law prohibits them as unclean. There!—the real -Master of those swine has driven them all, impetuously, into the sea: -and _you_—_feel_ yourself delivered. Ah, well you may fall at His feet, -and look up to Him so meekly, gratefully, and lovingly; well you may -suffer yourself to be clothed by His compassionate disciples; and, while -they who have lost their swine roughly desire Him to depart out of their -coasts, well may you, fearing the evil ones may return unto you in His -absence, and make you seven-fold worse, beseech Him to let you ever abide -with Him. No safety, no sweetness, like that of being ever with Jesus. - -But he mildly forbids, and charges you rather to go and declare to others -what great things He has done for you; and you cheerfully, implicitly -obey. Strange things have you to relate to those wondering friends and -kinsfolk, who lately thought the best thing they could do, was to bind -you with chains! - - * * * * * - -I have often thought how capitally I invested five shillings a few years -ago, in two apple-trees, which I gave to two poor women living under the -hill. One of the trees produced twelve fine apples the second year; the -year following, its owner sold a couple of bushels of the fruit. In a -cottage full of hungry children, where meat is only tasted on Sundays, -a good apple-pudding is no despicable hot dish on the noon-day board. -Blackberries, of the children’s gathering, sometimes make a savoury -addition to it. - -When my cook Hannah married and settled in a cottage of her own, I gave -her a few roots of Myatt’s Victoria rhubarb, and some round, white, -American early potatoes, with enough onion-seed for a nice little square -bed; a quart of peas, a quart of beans, a few early horn carrots, and -a little parsley-seed; also pennyworths of canariensis, nasturtium, -escolzia Californica, sweet-pea, candytuft, and red and white malope. Her -husband immediately dug, raked, and planted the ground, and at once took -to gardening after his day’s work. I need not say they are a respectable -couple. He cannot read; but she reads _The Leisure Hour_ and _Sunday at -Home_ to him. - -Though we had a February of almost unprecedented warmth, I am told the -primrose is shyly and charily putting forth its blossoms. But soon -the warm banks will be gay with them, while the sweet wood-violet will -betray itself by its fragrant breath at the roots of old trees. Among -the earliest wayside productions is Jack-in-the-hedge, or sauce-alone; -as ugly a Jack as one need wish to see, breathing odiously of garlic. -Somewhat later, and rarer, is the perfoliate shepherd’s-purse, with its -miniature pouches, that remind one of the scrip wherein a young shepherd, -who lived to be a king, put five smooth pebbles from the brook. Its -leaves, as I lately showed the little Prouts, are perfoliate, that is -to say, they look as though the stem runs _through_ them—a very nice -and singular distinction, never to be forgotten after being once seen. -A fortnight hence I expect to hear the yellow celandine has made its -appearance. Wordsworth, who has immortalized it, as much as a poet can -immortalize a flower, says, at first his unaccustomed eye saw it nowhere; -afterwards, he saw it everywhere. - -If the month be genial, we shall, towards its close, see “God’s -hand-writing on the wall” of our gardens, in the opening buds and -blossoms of our cherry-trees. Sheep are already turned out on the fresh -pasture-land: their bleatings and tinkling bells sound prettily. Here and -there may be seen a bee, a small fly, a gnat: how soon shall we see the -first butterfly? - -Toads are curious creatures: there was one that used to sit watching Mr. -Cheerlove at his gardening with its beautiful eyes, and sometimes climb a -little way up the paling to have a better view. I suppose it varied the -monotony of its life. ’Tis of no use to cart them away in a flower-pot; -they will return from a considerable distance to their old quarters. -If you hurt them, they will look at you very viciously—and why should -they not? We have no call to molest the poor wretches; the world is wide -enough for us all. Efts and newts are objectionable: they haunt old -drains, dust-holes, and any damp, unaired corners. Moles loosen the soil, -and make sad work sometimes with the roots of one’s flowers; but yet, on -the whole, they are found to do more good than harm. They make themselves -subterranean galleries, and are very methodical, taking their walks at -stated times. Hence it is very easy to trap them; but if you take one, -you may take two, for they are so affectionate that the mate is sure -to follow the leader. Hence I always felt a sort of pang in having them -destroyed, especially as they have such human-like little hands for paws; -and I was glad to be told that the cruelty was unnecessary, and that -their loosening the soil did it good, though it might injure particular -plants. In moving a stack of firewood at Nutfield, we found underneath it -a rat’s nest, containing fifteen partridges’ eggs. How did the rat convey -them there? Did he roll them, or carry them on his fore-paws, walking on -his hind legs? - -The starry heavens are now very glorious. Jupiter, bright, untwinkling -planet, is splendid to behold. There are many more stars to be seen to -the east than to the north; no human being knows why. The naked eye -beholds what are called stars of the sixth magnitude, whose light left -their surfaces a hundred and forty years ago. It is very singular that -numerous stars, beyond the range of any but a very powerful telescope, -prove to be placed in _couples_: they are called _binary_ stars. Before -Sir William Herschell’s death, he had completed a list of three thousand -three hundred double stars. His sister Caroline shared his watchings, and -took down the result of his observations in writing. - -My dear father gave me a taste for astronomy very early in life; and in -later years I have found star-gazing to have a strangely calming effect -under the pressure of great trouble. I have looked out on the star-lit -sky during Eugenia’s last illness, and after her death, till I felt every -grief silenced, if not allayed, and every feeling steeped in submission. -The stars make us feel so little! our lives so fleeting to a better -world! our souls so near to God! O Cassiopeia, Andromeda, and Perseus, I -owe to you many a consoling and elevating thought of your Maker! - - * * * * * - -My chimney does not smoke once in six months; but to-day, as ill-luck -would have it, an unfortunate little puff came out in the presence of -Miss Burt, who immediately declared that my chimney wanted sweeping -shockingly; and that if I did not immediately put the chimney-sweeper’s -services in requisition, I should not only be endangering my own -life,—which I had no right to throw away,—but that of my servant, who -would not particularly relish being burnt in her bed. - -In vain I assured her that the chimney had not long been swept. Miss Burt -talked me down, utterly deaf to the reminder that, being on the ground -floor, we could easily walk out of the house in case of any disaster. - -“As if _you_ could walk out of the house!” cried Miss Burt, indignantly; -and just then, Phillis coming in with coals, “Phillis,” cried she, “have -you any mind to be burnt in your bed?” - -“I should think not, Miss Burt,” replies Phillis, brisking up, and -looking secure of some very entertaining rejoinder. - -“You hear,” says Miss Burt, nodding triumphantly at me. - -“You may go, Phillis,” said I, softly, which she did with some -reluctance. - -I was in nervous expectation of a fresh puff, when Miss Burt luckily -found herself a new subject. - -“There goes Miss Sidney!” said she. “How she does poke to be sure. Any -one can see she has never had dancing-lessons. I think Mr. Sidney much to -blame. By the way, Frank gave us an excellent sermon on Sunday. I wish -you could have heard him.” - -“I wish I could,” said I. - -“Oh, I don’t suppose you care much about it, as you had Miss Secker to -read Jeremy Taylor. Doesn’t she read through her nose?” - -“Dear me, no!” - -“Well, I should have expected it. Young people waste hours on their music -now-a-days, but—commend me to a good reader.” - -“Then,” said I, laughing, “I really can commend you to Miss Secker, or at -any rate, honestly commend her to _you_; for her reading is neither too -fast nor too slow, too loud nor too low; her voice is pleasant and her -manner reverent.” - -“Ah, I like something _earnest_.” - -“She is earnest too. What a favourite word that is now.” - -“Is it? Then I’ll drop it! I hate words that are used up:—suggestive, -sensuous, subjective, objective. Bad as Shakspere, taste, and the musical -glasses!” - -She started up, and was going to take leave, when she stopped short and -said— - -“What do you think that absurd man, Mr. Hitchin, has done? Painted his -cypher on his wheel-barrow!” - -“Well,” said I, amused, “I cannot emulate him very closely, as I have no -wheel-barrow, but I can put my crest on my watering-pot!” - -She laughed rather grudgingly, and said, “I suppose you don’t remember -the tax on armorial bearings.” - -The chimney-sweeper has just called!—Miss Burt met him, and told him -there would be no harm in his just looking in, to know if he were wanted! - - * * * * * - -Can April indeed be here? Yes, the blackbird wakes me at six o’clock, and -the nightingale sings long after the sun has set. - -The hedges are beginning to sprout, and the banks are decked with -primroses and celandine. - - “Scant along the ridgy land, - The beans their new-born ranks expand; - The fresh-turned soil, with tender blades - Thinly the sprouting barley shades.” - -So sings the sweet rural poet, Thomas Warton; of whom I suspect Harry -Prout knows as little as of Waller. - - * * * * * - -Poor Mr. Prout is dead! the father of eight children. Yesterday morning, -while it was yet dark, the turnpike-man heard a horse galloping furiously -down the hill. On going down, he found the horse stopping at the gate, -with Mr. Prout’s foot dangling in the stirrup, and his bleeding body -on the ground. His skull was fractured, and he was quite dead. He was -praising his new, showy, chestnut horse to me only a few days ago, and -saying it was well worth a hundred guineas. It would have been worth a -good many hundred guineas to his family had he not bought it. Poor Mr. -Prout! - -The turnpike-man’s wife, it seems, immediately got up, assisted her -husband to carry him in and lay him on their bed, and then washed his -wounds; while the man, leading the vicious creature he was afraid to -mount, came into the town to tell the news and get assistance. Poor Mrs. -Prout and Harry were soon on the spot; Mr. Cecil soon followed. He and -Mr. Prout were rivals, and rather cool to one another; but he looked very -sorry as he hastened up the hill. - -I cannot help constantly thinking of them all. Last night, I dreamt I -saw Mr. Prout galloping up the hill, all in the dark, along the edge of -that frightful chalk-pit, to the poor woman for whom he had been sent; -and then coming home, thinking of his snug house and warm bed, when—off -dashed the horse! - -I have lost a kind doctor and friend; rich and poor deplore him, for he -was sociable, kind, and humane. Often in money difficulties, poor man; -though I believe his good wife made every shilling go twice as far as -most could. She always kept up appearances, too, so nicely! No finery, -no waste; but everything (whatever poor Harry might think) suitable and -appropriate. - -Every one I have yet seen—not many, to be sure, but every one I _have_ -seen—expresses regret, and is eager to show sympathy, and wonders what -the widow and children will do. Something for themselves, that is -certain—except the little ones, who cannot. Mrs. Prout is hardly capable, -I am afraid, of undertaking a school; or that would keep them all nicely -together. Therefore, Emily and Margaret must go out as governesses or -teachers; Harry must get a place in some office; something must be found -for James; Edward must be put to school; and Fanny must make herself her -mamma’s little factotum, and look after the two youngest. - -Easy to _say_ “must” to all this! - -What a change a few hours have made! - - * * * * * - -Harry has spent more than an hour with me this evening. I never saw a -poor lad so overwhelmed with grief. He, the rosy-cheeked fellow! who -would have you believe—in his verses—that his tears were his meat day and -night, is now positively ashamed of crying bitterly over an irreparable -loss. I honour him for so deeply lamenting a good father; it raises him -in the scale of human being—as genuine, well-placed affection always -does. He will now have to exchange imaginary woes for stern realities. - -He came quite at dusk. I did not think, at first, it was his voice, -asking if he might come in, it was so subdued. I said, “Ah, Harry!” and -held out my hand. He grasped it in his, and then sat down and sobbed. I -waited a little while in silence; then, when his emotion had somewhat -spent itself, I said— - -“I thank you very much for coming—it is very kind of you, for I was -longing to hear many things that no one else could so well tell.” - -“Oh!” said he, drying his eyes, “the kindness is to myself—I could not -stand it at home any longer!” - -“How does your dear mother bear up?” - -“Wonderfully!”—crying again. “But she quite broke down this evening: so -my sisters persuaded her to go to bed; and as they are sitting with her, -I was quite alone, and thought I would steal out to you for a little -while. What a shocking thing it is!” - -I knew to what he referred, and said, “It is indeed, my dear Harry. For -your comfort, you must reflect that our heavenly Father is _peculiarly_ -the God of the widow and orphan. He makes them his _special_ charge.” - -“I can’t think what we shall do!” - -“Do your best, my dear boy, and you will be sure to do well.” - -“Uncle John will come to the funeral. And Uncle John will very likely -provide for James, and take him into his business, which is that of a -wholesale druggist; but what is to become of _me_, I can’t think!” - -“Should you be glad if your uncle took you instead of James?” - -“Why no, not glad; because it is not a line of business that suits my -taste. You know, Mrs. Cheerlove,” said the poor boy, faltering, “I -always aspired to be something of a gentleman.” - -“And is not your uncle one?” - -“Hardly. But I would be anything just now, to be of service to mamma—my -_mother_!” - -“That’s right. Perhaps you would like to be in a surveyor’s office.” - -“That would be better—only, who is to place me in one?” - -“Or should you like to be a medical man, like your father?” - -“Ah, Mrs. Cheerlove, his was a hard life! And those hospitals! But have -you heard of Mr. Pevensey’s kindness?” cried he, suddenly brightening. - -“No!—in what?” - -“Directly he heard of what had happened, he sent my mother a note, to -say how sorry he was; and that as he was sure she would be glad to part -with the horse that had occasioned such a terrible calamity, and he heard -my father valued it at a hundred guineas, he inclosed a cheque for that -amount, and would take it off her hands.” - -“Excellent!” said I. “So opportune! so kindly thought of! And this is the -man whom so many think churlish!” - -“Ah, he’s anything but that,” said Harry; “and quite the gentleman. Of -course mamma—my mother, I mean—was glad to get rid of the brute, and -would have been so for half the money. How strange it seems! Only three -days ago, my father was patting and praising that animal, and calling him -‘Hotspur,’ little thinking he should so soon be laid low! What an awful -thing sudden death is, Mrs. Cheerlove!—_here_ one minute, and the next in -the presence of God!” - -“Are we not in His presence _now_, Harry? We cannot see Him, but He sees -and hears us. If a person is well prepared, a sudden death is, in my -opinion, a great mercy.” - -“Oh, how _can_ you think so!” - -“Well, I do. The shock is very great, doubtless, to the survivors; but -the sufferer is mercifully spared a great deal of painful discipline: and -if he be but about his Master’s work, ‘Blessed is that servant whom his -Lord, when He cometh, shall find so doing.’” - -“My father was about his Master’s work, Mrs. Cheerlove.” - -“Certainly he was. He was visiting the sick and needy, in the exercise -of his profession. It could never have been without self-denial that -he turned out of his bed into the dark, cold night, on such an errand, -whether to rich or poor.” - -Harry seemed to dwell on the reflection with comfort; and I rang for tea, -and gave him a cup that was both hot and strong, which I knew to be good -for his poor aching head. We had a long talk afterwards, and he left me -in a composed and chastened frame of mind. Certainly, a sudden death, -like Mr. Prout’s, may be called a leap in the dark; but the believer -_leaps into his Saviour’s arms_. - - * * * * * - -This morning, to my great surprise and pleasure, Mrs. Pevensey came in, -bright with smiles, and said, “The weather is most lovely! and you know -you always promised that I should take you your first drive. It shall be -as short as you like; but, if you feel equal to the effort, you cannot -have a better opportunity. And as I am just going on to inquire after -poor Mrs. Prout, I will take you up on my return, which will give you -time to get ready without hurry.” - -I felt quite bewildered, for I had not been out for more than two years! -If I had had time, I believe I should have said “No,” but as I had not, -I said “Yes,” and very thankfully too. All my nervous misgivings about -over-exertion and painful consequences were lost sight of in the thought, -how delightful it would be to breathe once more the sweet, sweet open air! - -Phillis _did_ stare when she heard of the projected attempt. I think her -surprise vented itself in the ejaculation— - -“Well, I’m sure!——” - -But there was no time to say more, for there was a grand hunt to make -for carriage-boots, and warm shawls, and gloves, and a certain bonnet -that would unquestionably require all Mrs. Pevensey’s self-command not to -laugh at—it was so sadly out of date. She _did_ give it one amused look, -but that was all; for she is kindness itself, and has too much real wit -to depend for it on personal ridicules. She knew she had taken me by -surprise, and must make allowances. So, having triumphantly got me into -her most easy of close carriages— - -“Where shall we go?” said she. - -“Oh,” said I, “the turnpike will be _quite_ far enough.” - -“Very well. Then, to the turnpike, George,” said she, as the footman shut -us in. But the roguish woman must have glanced, I am sure, to the left -instead of to the right, as she spoke; for the coachman, doubtless taking -his instructions from George, drove us to the farthest turnpike instead -of the nearest. - -Well, it was very pleasant! I had been so long pent up, that - - “The common air, the earth, the skies, - To me were opening Paradise.” - -We are nearly through April; and the hedges are quite green, though the -oaks, ashes, and beeches are still leafless, and the meadows are not yet -sprinkled with buttercups. But the blackthorn is in full flower. Besides, -a great many alterations had been effected since I was last out, which I -noticed with surprise and interest; for though hearing of alterations is -one thing, seeing them is quite another. My old favourite promenade, the -elm-tree walk (sometimes called the Queen’s Walk, though the queen’s name -I never could ascertain), was as yet unharmed amid the rage for letting -ground on building leases to freehold-land societies; but, beyond it, new -houses had sprung up in various directions. When I first came to live in -the neighbourhood of Elmsford, there were only four houses between me -and the town; and having for some few years been accustomed to live in a -street, I used occasionally, on dark nights, to feel rather unprotected. -If a dog barked at the moon, I used to think of thieves, and remember -that some suspicious-looking man had begged at the door; or I thought of -fire, and ruefully considered the scarcity of water. Besides, where were -we to get help?—Why, in _heaven_, where I may ask for it at once, thought -I, and for freedom from all disquieting alarms. So I used to seek it, and -then yield to the quiet, dreamless sleep that was _sent_. - -Now, in place of four houses, I saw a dozen, with stone porticoes to -the doors and heavy architraves to the windows, and very little green -about them higher than three-foot laurels, which the cows had evidently -nibbled, as they do mine, on their way to and from milking. - -At one of these houses we stopped, while the footman carried a beautiful -basket of hothouse flowers to the door, and delivered a message. While we -waited, I heard the sound of a harp, and listened to it with pleasure. - -“How pretty!” said I. - -“Ah, you may well say so,” said Mrs. Pevensey, with a sigh. “The player -is soothing a much afflicted father, who, in his day, was an accomplished -musician, and a man of fine intellectual taste. I shall take her a -drive to-morrow; it will make a little change for her, which is better -than none. ‘He that contemneth small things shall fall by little and -little.’”[1] - -A door or two off, we left a little flat round basket, containing about -two dozen large hothouse strawberries—scarlet, ripe, and tempting, as -they peered out of their coverlet of dark green leaves. Several such -little baskets had, during two or three springs, found their way to _me_. - -“That is for poor Miss Peach, who is dying of consumption,” said Mrs. -Pevensey. “Arbell set them out so nicely. My dear Mrs. Cheerlove, -whatever you said to Arbell the other day, has had magic effect! She has -been quite a different girl ever since!” - -“That is more to her praise than mine,” said I. “What I said was very -little.” - -“All the better, perhaps, since it was to the purpose. She is now brisk, -pleasant, and active—has found her way out of dreamland into the affairs -of daily life. Mademoiselle is highly satisfied with her; and Mr. -Pevensey, finding she was writing a little summary of Italian middle-age -history for her own amusement, was so pleased at it, that he told her -he would give her five sovereigns, if she did it well by Christmas. So -she is carrying it on with double spirit, ransacking the library for -materials about the Guelfs and Ghibelins, the Neri and Bianchi, instead -of moping; and is glad to refresh herself afterwards with a good -wholesome game of play with Rosaline and Floretta.” - -“Ah, a golden spur sometimes pricks the best,” said I. “Small premiums -for small achievements are better than competitions for a prize, which -_must_ disappoint one or many. A rivalry with one’s self is the only safe -rivalry.” - -“I think so too. And five pounds is nothing, you know, to Mr. Pevensey.” - -“No, but a hundred pounds may be more so. Harry Prout gratefully told me -of his buying the horse.” - -“Mr. Prout had over-estimated it,” said she, quietly smiling. - -“I guessed as much.” - -“In fact, if it cannot be thoroughly broken, by Rarey’s means or others, -Mr. Pevensey will have it shot; for he says it is better a showy horse -should be killed, than another father of a family.” - -“Surely.” - -“And the money, you see, won’t be wasted, because it was useful where it -was sent. There is some thought of quietly getting up a subscription, -under the name of a testimonial. Mr. Secker, the suggestor, will -acquaint Mrs. Prout with it, and ask whether she would like a silver -cup or the money; and of course she will prefer the latter. Only -half-sovereigns will be asked, but those who like to give more may do so -unknown to all but Mr. Secker, as there will be no published subscription -list.” - -“All the better,” said I. “There are too few who— - - “‘Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.’” - -“More than you think, though, perhaps. There!—now you get a glimpse of -the church. Your next wish will be to be in it; but you must not attempt -too much at first. In a little while, I hope you may manage it.” - -Having nearly reached the turnpike, we turned about on our homeward -course. And thus ended my pleasant drive. Had I had my choice, my frame -of mind would have been serious; as it was, it was cheerful. I felt tired -and shaken, but less so than I expected. On saying so to Phillis, she -remarked— - -“Said so—didn’t I? My ’pinion is, if you’d gone afore, it never would -have hurted ye.” - -Kind words cost little: and I had _had_ a good many. I could not help -thinking, had Eugenia been alive, how she would have sped me forth -with fond solicitude, and tenderly hailed my return!—with some word -of thankfulness, too, to Him in whose hand are the issues of life and -death—some cheery gratulation that we were to be spared yet a little -longer to each other. - -But I called to mind the substance of a nice little tract called “The -Scales Adjusted.” Things are often equalized by roughs and smooths being -set against one another. And, though snubbed by my maid, I felt that in -this instance my good things predominated. - - * * * * * - -“So you’ve been and seen them big stone houses at last!” said Phillis, as -she wheeled my little tea-table up to my easy-chair. “They _do_ make ours -look small, don’t they?” - -Now this was a very disagreeable view of the subject. Of course, a little -house _does_ look smaller than a large one, turn it which way you will; -but mine—Whiterose Cottage—was quite large enough for me, and could -not be turned in a prettier direction. As we lost sight of the tall, -shapeless stone houses, and came first to the graceful elm avenue, and -then to— - - “Where my cottage-chimney smokes, - Fast between two aged oaks,” - -I could not help thinking how snug and suitable for its mistress it -looked. - -True, it has only one sitting-room, save a little snuggery eight feet -by ten; true, it is all built on one floor, and that on the ground: -every room in it, but the first and last, opening into a narrow matted -passage, or gallery. But to me this seems the very prettiest, most -convenient plan, for a single woman with one servant, that could possibly -be desired; and my only wonder is, that instead of there not being such -another, perhaps, in England, there are not dozens, or hundreds. How many -a rich man, now, might run up a little place like this, on some corner -of his estate, for a widowed aunt, or old maiden sister or cousin, where -she might be as happy as the day is long, and live on next to nothing, -quite respectably; and, when she dropped off, like a ripe acorn from -the oak, and almost as noiselessly, the “Old Maid’s Home” might revert -in perpetuity to a succession of decayed gentlewomen, whose simple, yet -genteel tastes would thereby be met by their modest means. - -Not that I would have them _called_ old maids’ homes, for that would -stamp them at once, like a workhouse woollen waistcoat, or a charity -cloth cloak. No; they should be Sweet Homes, or have other such pretty -significatives; giving them rank with the best Rose Cottages, Myrtle -Cottages, and Laurel Cottages, in the land. They might prettily be -called after their fair owners—Julia’s Cottage, Maria’s Cottage, Helen’s -Cottage, and so forth. Mine is Whiterose Cottage. It has not an exterior -like a long, narrow knife-tray, or candle-box: on the contrary, though -its rooms lie parallel, they are not of an uniform width or length; -consequently, the walls have what Mary Russell Mitford called “a charming -in-and-outness;” and there is not a straight line or “coign of vantage,” -that is not draped by some gay or graceful climbing plant—rose, -jessamine, lophospermum scandens, morandia Barclayana, ecremocarpus, -nasturtium, and callistegia, or Romeo’s ladder. - -The dwelling was built by a retired tradesman of good taste, and some -originality as well as education. He was a widower, without children, -determined to have everything comfortable for his old housekeeper as -well as himself—consequently, the kitchen, though small, is as complete -in all its appointments, as can possibly be wished; with water laid -on, and a little oven in the kitchen-range—in which, as the furnishing -ironmonger triumphantly says, you may bake a pie, a pudding, and a pig. -Phillis, I believe, enjoys her kitchen quite as much as I do my parlour. -Kitchen and parlour stand sentries, as it were, at each end of the house. -There is hardly a hall worth speaking of—only a little vestibule built -on, that will just hold a mat, a flower-stand, a hall-chair, and an -umbrella-stand. Over the threshold, the quaint old man has carved “PARVA, -SED APTA,” which, I am sure, is true enough. And on one of the panes of -the high lattice-window, with its eight compartments, in the parlour, is -written with a diamond ring— - - “True happiness is of a retired nature, and an enemy to pomp and noise.” - -On another, “Know Thyself.” The good man, though much respected, was -accounted rather crotchety—and, perhaps, I am so too; for, certainly, I -no sooner saw these little whimseys, than I took a fancy to the place, -and was quite thankful to find the rent within my means. It was not till -I had taken it, that I remembered (towards night) the possibility of -alarms from thieves and sturdy beggars. A kind friend suggested a fierce -dog; but, to confess the truth, I am also much afraid of fierce dogs. -So then, the same kind friend suggested a kennel without the dog, a -man’s hat hung up in the hall, and a large bell—adding, that, with these -defences, I must be safe. I trusted I might be so, even without them. So -here I am thus far in safety. And often, as I lean back to rest towards -sunset, letting harmless fancies have their course, I picture to myself -the old recluse, seated, like brave Miles Standish, with his Cæsar’s -“Commentaries,” at the lattice, poring over some huge old book—Bunyan’s -“Holy War,” suppose— - - “Turning the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks, thick on the margin, - Like the trample of feet, proclaimed where the battle was hottest.” - - * * * * * - -“As well be out of the world as out of the fashion,” said our amusing -friend Captain Pinkney; and, accordingly, I sent this morning for little -Miss Campanelle, to hold counsel with her about a new bonnet. Mrs. -Pevensey took me by surprise, and therefore made allowances; but she will -not take me by surprise next time, and therefore I must not expect her -to make allowances again. We owe it to our richer friends not to neglect -appearances consistent with our means; on the other hand, the rich do -us more harm than they perhaps are aware of, when they avow a contempt -for such moderate efforts to keep pace with the times as we ought not to -exceed. - -My bonnet was decidedly behind the times. - -“Dear me, ma’am,” said Miss Campanelle, primming up her little rosebud -mouth, which showed a strong inclination to expand into a laugh, “there -is enough in this bonnet for _two_. Only, the shape is so completely out -of date, that it won’t bear altering: otherwise the materials are quite -fresh.” - -“They may well be,” said I, “for they were nearly new when I put them -away two years ago. However, I mean to have a new bonnet; and I dare say -I shall find some one who will be glad to have this.” - -“Dear me, yes, ma’am; it will be quite a nice present,” said Miss -Campanelle, hastily. “There are many people who would be glad to -modernize it for themselves.” - -Then, thought I to myself, why could not you modernize it for _me_? -Perhaps she read my thought in my face, for she added— - -“There are some people who do not at all mind style, if they are but -respectable. Now, respectability depends upon the material; but style on -the making it up. And it’s style that shows the lady.” - -“Yes,” said I; “one style shows the old lady, and one the young lady; one -the fashionable lady, and one the lady who does not care for the fashion. -It does not seem to me so very many years ago since bonnets were worn so -large that it was considered a very severe, but not extravagant, remark, -when some one said of another, - - “‘And all her soul is in her hat— - Quite large enough to hold it.’” - -“Ah,” said Miss Campanelle, “that must have been before my time.” And, -as she still seemed inclined to ruminate on the future of my bonnet, I -nearly committed the unpardonable folly of asking her whether she could -make any use of it herself. Instead of which, I very fortunately began by -asking her whether she knew of any one who would be glad of it. - -“Why, since you are kind enough to ask me, ma’am,” said she, quickly, -“I _do_ happen to know of some one for whom it would be the very thing. -Some one _very_ respectable, and very poorly off,—a widow, but no longer -wearing widow’s mourning; only black, ma’am, like you,—who seems quite -overlooked, because she’s below the genteel, and yet no one can class her -among the poor—her manners are above that; but yet I do assure you, she -often dines on bread-and-butter.” - -It appeared she was the widow of a pianoforte-tuner, who lodged with -Miss Campanelle; and as I feared it might hurt her to receive the bonnet -from myself, I gave it to Miss Campanelle to give it in her own person -to her, which she was quite pleased to do. And she went away with the -_Illustrated News_ and some black-currant jam for herself. - - * * * * * - -The funeral is over. The house is re-opened, and the little mourners go -about the streets; while their widowed mother must do many things besides -sit at home and weep, for she has to provide for their future and her -own. Mr. John Prout is going to take James, and get Edward into Christ’s -Hospital. How strange the little flaxen-headed fellow will look in his -blue gown and yellow stockings! I hope his round cheeks will not lose -their fresh, rosy colour in London. The subscription will enable Mrs. -Prout to article Harry, and leave her something over. How much better -than spending it on a silver cup or vase, for which she would have no -use! She hopes some one will buy the good-will of her husband’s business, -and take the house, and perhaps furniture, off her hands; otherwise -there must be a sale. At any rate, she must find cheaper quarters. Mr. -John Prout proposed her going to live cheaply in Yorkshire, with little -Arthur and Alice, while the two elder girls went into situations; but she -naturally shrank from going so far from them. Mr. Prout insured his life -for a small sum, so that she is not utterly destitute. I understand there -is a pretty little row of houses called Constantine Place, newly built at -the other end of the town, and that one is still vacant, and thought to -be just the size that will now suit Mrs. Prout. - -Well—I have been to church once more!—on a week-day, not on a Sunday; -but I am deeply thankful for it. I went slowly crawling along in the -donkey-chair, the wheels of which would have creaked less had they -received a not very expensive greasing with a little dripping. The ride -shook me a good deal, and the boy kept worrying the donkey with a little -stick that did no good, and only made it obstinate. They who would -quicken a donkey’s paces must observe the law of judicious kindness. -I felt rather bewildered and scant of breath when I was in church: -there were not a dozen persons in it, and the few voices sounded faint -and hollow. I was hardly capable of more than a general emotion of -thankfulness; but the service was very short; and by waiting till every -one else had left the church, I escaped salutations. - -——Miss Burt has just looked in. - -“_I_ saw you!” said she. “You need not think to creep into any corner -where _I_ shall not spy you out! Well, I congratulate you with all my -heart; and I hope that now you have once begun, you will keep it up. -Nothing worth doing, is to be done without a little effort; and if _I_ -were never to go out but when I felt inclined, I might stay at home all -my life. Of course you saw the memorial window?” - -“No, I did not look about—” - -“Not see the window! Why, it was immediately in front of you! You could -not have helped seeing it!” - -“Then of course I did see it; but I did not observe it.” - -“My mother taught me at a very early age,” said Miss Burt dryly, “to -observe _everything_. So that now I never go into a church, or room, or -pantry, without seeing everything in it at a glance—and remembering it -too. It is a faculty that may be acquired: and therefore should be. This -was the way in which Robert Houdin taught his son to exhibit what passed -for second-sight. He used to take the child up to a shop-window—the next -minute take him away. ‘Now, Robert, what did you see?’—‘Two work-baskets, -ten penwipers, six whizzgigs.’—‘No, you didn’t.’—‘Yes, I did.’—They go -back again. The child proves right. The boy, by cultivating the faculty, -had become quicker than his father. He took in at a glance the whole -contents of a shop. And applied this habit so dextrously before a crowded -audience, that things which they did not believe he saw, or had seen, -he described accurately. The consequence was, that his father realized -immense profits.” - -She paused to take breath. - -“I think, however,” said I, “that there are times when such a faculty may -be supposed to lie dormant.” - -“No, never. It becomes intuition.” - -“I think there are times when feeling takes the place of observation.” - -“Oh, if you’re getting metaphysical, I’ve done with you! Never _would_ -dabble in metaphysics! When people begin to talk of their feelings—” - -“I was not going to talk of my feelings,” said I, with a tear in my eye. - -“Fine feeling and I shook hands long ago,” said Miss Burt, rapidly. “Deep -feeling is quite another thing; and does not betray itself in words. -Deep feeling leads to action—fine feeling to inaction; deep feeling is -excited for others—fine feeling thinks of itself; deep feeling says, - - “‘Life is real, life is earnest’— - -fine feeling is ready to lie down and die; deep feeling is a fine, manly -fellow—fine feeling is a poor, puling creature.” - -“Very good,” said I, hardly knowing whether to laugh or cry; for it -really was clever, only I knew it was all meant for a hit at myself. - -“Very good, only you won’t let it do you good, hey?” said Miss Burt. -“‘Excellent soup for the poor.’ You think the cap would fit Mrs. A. or -Mrs. B. very well.” - -“No, I was not thinking of Mrs. A., B., or C.” - -“You were not, were you, _Mrs. C._?” laughing. “No; that’s just what I -thought. - - “‘General observation, - Without self-application,’ - -does little good that I know of. _My_ plan always is to take a thing -home.” - -“But, my dear Miss Burt, I laid no claim to deep feeling, that I can -remember; and surely you have hardly cause to charge me so _very_ -plainly with fine feeling.” - -“Now don’t get warm! There’s nothing that hurts me so much as to see -anything I have meant kindly, taken quite amiss. _Do_ keep your temper. I -assure you I came into this house prepared for nothing but kind words.” - -“And I am sure I have spoken no unkind ones,” said I, the tears rolling -down my cheeks. - -“Now you’ve upset yourself. This church-going has been too much for you. -Why didn’t you lie down the minute you came in?” - -“I was going to do so, but——” - -“Why didn’t you lie down? You should have lain down directly. Phillis -should have _made_ you do so, and then have brought you a glass of jelly, -or a little good broth. Phillis was to blame for not having it all ready -for you against your return, without your knowing anything about it. I -shall speak to her.” - -“Oh, pray don’t! Phillis’s place is to obey orders, and not to prepare -surprises. Surely I can direct her what I shall like her to prepare, -myself.” - -“You are now making a matter of temper of it. I shall say not a word. I -am quite calm, but I feel I’d better go. If anything _does_ make me feel -irritable, it is to see.... Well, well, I will look in another time, when -I hope we shall be in better tune. I’m sure I had not an idea!—Good-by; -good-by!” - -As soon as I heard the little gate slam, I had a hearty cry. Mr. -Cheerlove used to speak of people making a storm in a saucer, and surely -this had been one, if ever there was such a thing. - -On first coming in, my intention had been to lie down and rest quietly -till Phillis brought me a little arrow-root; but I had scarcely untied -my bonnet-strings when Miss Burt came in. _Had_ I had time to recover -myself, I should not have been so weak as to let her upset me; but, as -the matter stood, she had done so completely, and I felt utterly unable -to resist shedding tears. - -“Don’t come in, Phillis,” said I, hastily, as she opened the door; for I -thought I should have some observations, silent ones at any rate, on my -red eyes. - -“Here’s Mr. Sidney,” said Phillis. - -I looked up, quite ashamed. Kind Mr. Sidney it was, who had, like Miss -Burt, seen me in church, but who had come to congratulate me in a very -different manner. - -“I am afraid you have done rather too much this morning,” said he, very -kindly. “I am not at all surprised to see you rather overcome. It is a -good way from this house to the church; and I dare say the donkey-chair -shook you a good deal. I wish there were an easier one to be had. My aunt -uses it sometimes, and says it shakes her to pieces. Well, but my dear -Mrs. Cheerlove, this is a great step gained. I am sure we all have great -reason to be thankful that it has pleased the Lord to restore you to -us. You have a great deal of ground yet to gain, I can readily believe, -before you are quite one of _us_; but still, every step in advance is a -mercy.” - -He appeared not to notice my tears, and, though they still forced their -way, they had lost their bitterness. - -“I went home,” continued he, “and said to my wife, ‘Mrs. Cheerlove was -in church this morning; I shall step down and wish her joy:’ and I put -this little book in my pocket to read you a few lines, which I thought -you would enter into. What I like myself, I can’t help expecting others -to like;—others, I mean, in whom exists some similarity of taste and -feeling. You know I have known what it is to be brought very close to -an unseen world, and to have been raised up again quite contrary to all -expectation; and, therefore, I can sympathise very truly with you.” - -“You had so many things to make life dear,” said I, dejectedly, “and so -many depending on you in your family and parish, that your death would -have been a very heavy misfortune; but I have not one near tie left! My -work, which was never very important, seems done; and I am, in fact, -little more now than a cumberer of the ground. I therefore cannot feel -quite as thankful perhaps, for recovery as I ought.” - -“That proceeds,” replied he, quietly, “from rather a morbid state of -feeling, which is not at all natural to you, and which will in a great -measure pass off with your present exhaustion. But nevertheless, I can -quite understand that a Christian believer, brought very close to the -threshold of God’s kingdom,—so as almost to hear the voices on the other -side the door, and very sincerely desirous to enter His awful presence, -under the assured protection of the Redeemer,—_may_ feel a kind of -disappointment at being sent back again into this wilderness-world—just -as the Israelites were when they were on the very confines of the -promised land. But all we have to do in such case is _to submit_, and _to -trust_; and I think this little hymn very experimentally teaches us our -duty.” Then, in a very feeling, calming voice, he read:— - - “‘It is thy will, my Lord, my God!— - And I, whose feet so lately trod - The margin of the tomb, - Must now retrace my weary way, - And in this land of exile stay, - Far from my heavenly home. - - “‘It is thy will!—And this, to me, - A check to every thought shall be, - Which each might dare rebel. - Those sacred words contain a balm, - Each sad regret to soothe and calm, - Each murmuring thought to quell. - - “‘It is thy will!—And now anew, - Let me my earthly path pursue, - With one determined aim; - To thee to consecrate each power, - To thee to dedicate each hour, - And glorify thy name. - - “‘It is thy will!—I ask no more; - Yet, if I cast toward that bright shore - A longing, tearful eye, - It is because, when landed there, - Sin will no more my heart ensnare, - Nor Satan e’er draw nigh.’[2] - -Do you like it?” - -“Oh yes! very much.” - -“Carry shall copy it for you then. This little volume is my _vade mecum_. -You may always find my Bible in my right pocket, and this in my left. It -is rather too dear for the poor, which I regret; but its circulation is -already very extensive.” - -I found that it was the “Invalid’s Hymn-book,” and that my favourite -Sabbath hymn, which I had erroneously attributed to Hugh White, was, as -well as this, by Miss Elliott. - -“Will you let me offer you a glass of wine?” said I. - -“Thank you, I shall like a glass of wine-and-water and a biscuit very -much, if you will have the same.” - -“I will, then.” - -I believe it was partly on my account he had it. As we partook of our -refreshment, he spoke so pleasantly and interestingly, that I was -completely lured away from all my sad thoughts; and, after offering up a -short, fervent prayer, which was full of tempered thanksgiving for life, -and faith in the life to come, he left me quite composed and cheerful. -And here have I been living the happy half-hour over again. - -I must just note down something else that he said to me. - -“I sometimes hear people,” said he, “deplore their living in vain. No one -lives in vain who does or bears the will of God. Where there is little -or nothing to perform, there may be something to endure. A baby can do -nothing, and is only the object of solicitude to others, but I suppose -no one with any sense or feeling will say that babies live in vain. -Even if they answer no other purpose, they are highly useful in creating -sympathy, watchfulness, and unselfishness in others. A paralyzed person, -a person shut up in a dark cell, may, by patient endurance, eminently -glorify God. And, as long as He thinks it worth while we should live, we -may always find it worth while to fulfil the purposes of living in things -however small. Only the bad, the slothful, the selfish, live in vain. -We may have our good and evil tempers without speaking a word. We may -nourish holy or unholy wishes, contented or discontented dispositions, -without stirring from our place. ‘Since trifles make the sum of human -things,’ even a bit of liquorice given to a servant-girl with an -irritable throat, going out in a cutting wind, shall not be in vain. - -“No one can say, my dear Mrs. Cheerlove, that that good and great man, -Sir Isambard Brunel, lived in vain. Towards the close of his life, -however, days of weakness and helplessness supervened, when he was drawn -about his son’s garden in a Bath chair, on sunshiny mornings. Well, Lady -Brunel told me that on those occasions he would often bid them bring him -one of his favourite blue and white minor convolvuluses, and he would -then examine it with his magnifying glass, till he espied the minute -black insect which he was sure to find in it, soon or late. ‘See here,’ -he would exclaim, ‘this little creature is so small as scarcely to be -discernible, and yet the Almighty has thought it worth while to give it -every function requisite for life and happiness.’ He did not think it -lived in vain.” - - * * * * * - -Harry has had tea with me for the last time, though he does not go to -London till the day after to-morrow. We have promised to correspond, -which, I saw, pleased him; for, poor boy, he feels very homesick, now -that he is actually going, and will be glad of any little glimpse of his -family that I can give. I said, “How is it that you, who thought anything -better than your monotonous life, are now sorry to leave home?” - -“Ah! what can be more monotonous than a solitary lodging will be!” cried -Harry. - -“But the romping of noisy children—the crying baby—” - -“Don’t name them, please! I see now, they are not worthy to be named.” - -—“Are destructive of the repose needful for literary composition,” said -I, rather mischievously. “Then, Margaret’s daily practising—the surgery -bell—” - -“Will be sounds by distance made more sweet,” interrupted he. “Pray, Mrs. -Cheerlove, have you ever taken the trouble to—ever found leisure to—dip -into the little manuscript volume of poems I placed in your hands before -our unhappy loss?” - -Instead of giving him a straightforward answer, I opened a small book -beside me, and read:— - - “‘In broad daylight and at noon, - Yesterday I saw the moon - Sailing high, but faint and white - As a schoolboy’s paper kite. - - “‘In broad daylight yesterday - I read a poet’s mystic lay; - And it seemed to me, at most, - As a phantom or a ghost.’” - -“Oh horrible, horrible!” cried Harry. “So then you think my verses poor -and unreal? Not fire enough? or what—what is it?” - -“Pause, and hear me,” continued I, reading on:— - - “‘But, at length, the feverish day - Like a passion passed away; - And the night, serene and pale, - Fell on village, hill, and vale. - - “‘Then the moon, in all her pride, - Like a spirit glorified, - Filled and overflowed the night - With revelations of her light. - - “‘And the poet’s song again - Passed like music through my brain: - Night interpreted to me - All its grace and mystery.’” - -“Did it?—did it?” cried he. - -“Well, in some degree it did. I read them by daylight, when I confess I -thought your time might have been better spent in almost any harmless -thing than in writing them. After tea I remembered how many of my -own young attempts, of one sort and another, had demanded far more -indulgence. So then I read them again, and not only liked them better, -but liked some of them very well—very much. I do not think, however, that -your verses will _sell_. Here, now, is a stanza you must explain to me:— - - “‘Overcome with trouble deep, - Rest, too restless to be sleep, - While these sorrows did combine, - An angel’s face looked into mine.’ - -Now, what did you mean by that?” - -“That I shall never divulge,” said Harry, folding his arms. - -“Oh, very well, then. If you only half confide to me and to the public a -secret that is never to be divulged, we may as well know nothing about -it.” - -“There is a very solemn meaning underneath,” said he, gravely. - -“There _may_ be,” said I, after pondering over it a little. And a vision -floated before me of poor orphaned Harry crying himself almost to sleep, -and then suddenly becoming aware that his mother was bending over him -with looks of love. “The next verse,” said I, “I tell you frankly, Harry, -I like very much:— - - “‘Oh! if my griefs their hold forsook, - But at an angel’s passing look, - Saviour, how great the joy must be, - Always of beholding thee!’ - -Yes, Harry, that is very sweet—very nicely thought and worded. Go on -amusing yourself, my dear boy, at leisure moments, only don’t let -it interfere with the real business of life. Sir Walter Scott said, -‘Literature was a good stick, but a bad staff.’ Remember that our four -greatest poets, Chaucer, Shakspere, Spenser, and Milton, were all -practical men; and would never have written in their masterly way if -they had been otherwise. And don’t get into the way, Harry, of writing -far into the night; it robs the morrow—nay, it robs many morrows. There -are young men who like the reputation of being great readers, writers, -and thinkers, who boast of keeping themselves awake to study by drinking -strong coffee, tying wet towels round their heads, and other silly -things. In the first place, I do not quite believe them; in the second, -I always feel a little contempt for boasters: and even supposing they -neither boast nor exaggerate, they burn the candle at both ends, and it -wastes all the faster. Rise as early as you will, it does no harm to the -health nor the head; but remember Sir Walter Scott. As long as he rose at -five, lighted his own fire, and wrote before breakfast, he could devote -the chief part of the day to his other affairs, and the whole evening to -relaxation in his family. As long as he did that, all went well with him. -But when, with a laudable desire to pay off debts,—which, after all, he -could not pay,—he wrote, hour after hour, all day long, and by gas-light, -nearly all night too, human nature could not stand it; his mind, already -overwrought by heavy afflictions and perplexing difficulties, gave way -under the too great pressure he put upon it in its state of extreme -tension. The consequence was, his powers of usefulness ceased—his -magician’s wand was broken!” - -“Poor man!” said Harry, after a little pause. “No, I’ll never overdo -myself like that; and yet, Mrs. Cheerlove, there’s something grand, too, -in dying at one’s post.” - -“Very grand and very glorious in many cases; only, if you exhaust -yourself at the beginning of the race, you won’t reach the goal, or win -the prize, which otherwise you might have reasonable hopes of. And, to be -_useful_, you must not despise commonly prudent precautions. By the way, -would you like an admission to the reading-room in the British Museum?” - -“Oh, very much! You know I shall be quite near it.” - -“Well, I think I can get you one. Perhaps you would like to know a nice -old lady and her daughter, who live in a quiet street hard by?” - -“Dear me, yes—exceedingly! You know, I don’t know a soul.” - -“Their name is Welsh. They are not smart people, but the mother is -very kind, and the daughter, who is some years older than yourself, -intelligent and intellectual. If you like one another (which I see no -reason to doubt), I think your dropping in on them now and then, just as -you drop in here, to tea, would be taken kindly.” - -“I am sure it would be a kindness to myself,” said Harry, brightening. -And he took down their address in a little pocket-book, that his sister -Emily had given him as a keep-sake; and I promised to write to Mrs. -Welsh, and prepare her to expect him. - -“I know a clever artist, too,” said I; “a sensible, friendly man, with a -nice little wife. They, also, are quiet people; but yet they sometimes -receive, beneath their unassuming roof, noteworthy persons, whom one -would like to have a glimpse of.” - -“Why, Mrs. Cheerlove, that promises still better than the other! Will you -write to them too?” - -“I will, Harry. And now I believe you know the extent of what little I -can do for you.” - -“I call it much, not little,” said he, gratefully; and the rest of our -conversation was very cheerful. - - * * * * * - -I have had a small tea-party, of very small people—their ages ranging -from five to twelve. Two Hopes, two Bretts, and three Honeys. I took -Mary Brett into my confidence, and gave her half-a-crown to lay out to -the best advantage for the tea-table; and it was astonishing to see the -variety of little paper bags she brought back. This having been _her_ -treat, Louisa Hope’s was that of being tea-maker, in which she acquitted -herself admirably. All talked at once; and, as I had expected as much, I -was very glad no grown-up person was present to compel a check to it, for -it was not of the smallest annoyance to myself. - -After tea, I proposed that Mary Brett should be blindfolded, and put in -the corner, while Phillis cleared the table, and then, still blindfolded, -come forth and tell us a fable of her own making. The idea was applauded; -and the fable was a very fair one, to this effect:— - -“A cuckoo, observing a thrush busy making her nest, contemptuously -remarked—‘It is easy enough to stick a few bits of wool and straw -together in that way.’—‘It may be very easy for you to _say_ so,’ replied -the thrush, after dropping a dead leaf from her beak, ‘but if you were -industrious enough to try yourself, instead of using other people’s -nests, you would find the difference.’ - -“‘_Moral._—People who have never made a book, a fable, or shirt, or -anything, don’t know how hard it is till they have tried.’” - -Helen Brett, fired with the desire of emulation, immediately declared -_she_ would make the next; but I made them all file in silence round -Mary, who, touched by each in turn, said—“Not you,”—“Not you,”—“Not you;” -and at length—“_You_ shall be the next,” catching little Gertrude by the -wrist. - -Gertrude’s effusion was about as witless as might have been expected. “A -bear—no, a tiger,—no, a bear met a lion one day, and said—‘What are you -going to have for dinner?’ The lion said—the lion said—O dear, I don’t -know what he said!” - -This produced shouts of derisive laughter, and Gertrude was doomed to -forfeit. Then the others took their turns, with various success; after -which, the forfeits were cried. Then we had “The Knight of the Whistle.” -I produced a penny whistle, and, blowing a pretty shrill blast, put Willy -Hope in the middle of the room, and told him he was to find out who blew -the whistle. The children ran round him, blowing the whistle, he running -sometimes after one, sometimes after another, never able to find it;—for -a very good reason, because very early in the game, it had been pinned by -a long string to the back of his own little tunic. - -Then I reclaimed the whistle, and again blowing a loud blast, said to -Willy, “See if you can do like that;” but dropped it on the carpet, and -affecting to pick it up, produced another, which, the moment he blew it -with all his might, sprinkled his face all over with flour. - -Of course, these tricks did not bear being repeated. Moreover, I could -perceive Louisa Hope was thinking—“All this may not be too childish for -_you_, but it is for _me_.” So I said—“Now then, Louisa, write something -on a piece of paper, and take care I do not see what you write.” She -looked surprised, but immediately complied. “Fold it up very small,” -said I. “Hold it to the right,—what are you afraid of? Stretch your -arm straight out, it won’t hurt you! Now to the left. Now towards the -ceiling. Now towards the floor. Now put it _on_ the floor, and place on -it a candlestick, a box, or _anything_ that will completely cover it.” -All this took up some time; and she became a little excited, while the -younger ones were intensely interested. - -“Nay,” said I, “stand upon it, so as completely to cover it. I will tell -you what is on the paper all the same.” - -“What?” said she, with her eyes very wide open. After a moment’s silence, -I coolly said, “_You_ are upon it.” On which ensued shouts of laughter -from the little ones; while she, springing away from the paper, cried—“Is -_that_ all?” but could not help laughing too. - -I had one more trick for her in store. I took six pieces of paper, placed -three of them on the back of my hand, and then, as a preliminary, blew -them away with an air of great mystery—informing my audience, at the same -time, that they were going to see something they did not expect. Then, -placing the other three pieces in my hand, I said— - -“Which of these three pieces do you desire shall remain on my hand, when -I blow on them?” The children drew round. Louisa looked keenly at me, -and then, with decision, selected her piece. I immediately placed my -forefinger on it, and blew the others away; while the children laughed -and clapped their hands; and Louisa exclaimed, with anger at herself for -having been deceived into expecting anything better—“Oh, Mrs. Cheerlove, -anybody could do that!” - -Sponge-cakes and roast apples concluded the evening. - - * * * * * - -Two dozen rosy little country children and more came to my door this -morning, with their little nosegays of cowslips, primroses, blue-bells, -and cuckoo-flowers, tied at the top of small peeled wands, chanting their -artless rhyme of - - “Please to remember the first of May, - For ’tis the ladies’ garland-day;” - -which Mr. Sidney thinks a variation from - - “For ’tis _Our Lady’s_ garland-day.” - -However that may be, who can refrain from giving halfpence and biscuits -to the pretty little rogues? The white-headed milkman is carrying quite -a beau-pot of garden and hothouse flowers, on the inverted lid of his -milk-pail, from house to house, this afternoon, hoping for a sixpence or -shilling here and there, which may meetly be granted to his grey hairs -and laborious life. For, in hot afternoons, along the shadeless road, and -long before dawn, on inhospitable winter mornings, in face of hail, snow, -rain, or ice, this old man punctually fulfils his vocation, which none -should heedlessly call light. He is one of our country worthies. Another -is the postman, who brings our letters at six in the morning, and calls -for those we wish to post at seven in the evening; a stalwart, Robinson -Crusoe-like looking man, with cheery voice and intrepid mien, who wears -a brigand-like high-crowned hat, enormously thick boots, and a leathern -belt, and padlocked bag. I know his swift, steady tramp from afar, and -like to hear his blithe “good-night” to Phillis. - -This man’s name is Love. Phillis did not know him or his name when she -first came here, and finding such a formidable-looking personage at the -door about dusk, asked him somewhat bluntly—“Who are you?”—“Love,” said -he, with equal curtness. “Nonsense!” said Phillis. On which he burst -out laughing, and assured her it was his true-born surname, and that -he had no other, except that which was given him by his godfathers and -godmothers. Whereupon Phillis, as she averred afterwards, was ready to -bite her tongue off for speaking such a foolish word, and for a long -time she hated to answer the door to him; but gradually they have become -cronies (I believe he is equally civil to all the servants along the -road), and she even sometimes asks after his wife. - - * * * * * - -Emily Prout came to me this morning, all smiles, to show me Harry’s first -letter. I could not help observing how much older she looked in mourning; -sorrow and fore-thought have laid their fingers on her young brow; while -her manners are remarkably lady-like and self-possessed. Harry, after -warm-hearted inquiries for all at home, went on to say that his first -lodging was horrid—its evils were beyond description. However, in the -course of a few days, he had called on Mrs. and Miss Welsh, who, to -his surprise, had received him as kindly as if he had been the son of -an old friend. It was very encouraging. And they had invited him to tea -that very evening, and everything was as snug and cosy as at dear Mrs. -Cheerlove’s; and Mrs. Welsh quite pitied him about his lodging, and said -she knew a very much better one, _and cheaper_, in her own street; and he -had already moved into it, and was as comfortable as possible. The few -inconveniences that _might_ be named, he would not; they would do him -good: - - “Lives of great men all remind us, - We may make our lives sublime!” - -which he meant to do. And Miss Welsh was a delightful companion, and had -promised (“to take him” scratched out) he should take her to the National -Gallery, British Museum, and all the gratis sights, little by little, -till he had seen them all. And he was always to go to church with them, -morning and evening (“which you know will save the expense of tipping -the pew opener, and be more sociable too.”) And Mr. and Mrs. Whitgrave, -also, were very nice people. He had found an Italian patriot there, who -spoke of unhappy Orsini; and had known that glorious Garibaldi, and -related how Madame Garibaldi swam across a river, holding on by her -horse’s tail. And he did not mind the office life at all; he had so many -pleasant things to think of. James and Ned and he should see one another -sometimes. James had a tail coat, and did not look bad. - -Poor, good, brave boy! For there _was_ bravery in thus meeting -insurmountable evils in a great, untried world. I loved him for dwelling -so on the cheerful side; and a tear started into my eye, when Emily, -in her affectionate way, kissed me, and said, “All _this_, dear Mrs. -Cheerlove, is owing to _you_.” - - * * * * * - -“_Il se répand quelquefois de faux bruits._” And the corollary ought to -be, “Do not help to spread them.” Small country towns are proverbially -rife with false reports, often to the serious detriment of their -subjects, even when the reports themselves are not ill-natured. - -I have known so many groundless reports heedlessly spread, that my custom -is to say, “Oh! indeed,” and let the matter drop, unless there should be -anything of a noxious tendency in it; and then I not only forbear to pass -it on, but endeavour to make the reporter admit at least the possibility -that it may be untrue or exaggerated. This may sometimes lessen the -rapidity and virulence with which it spreads; at any rate, I have been -found a non-conductor, and my house “no thoroughfare.” When Mrs. Brett -asked me mysteriously if I had heard the dreadful news that Mr. Hope was -going out of his mind, I not only replied in the negative, but gave my -reasons for supposing it untrue: and so it has proved. Again, when Miss -Secker told me that the Holdsworths were such adepts in table-turning, -that the tables flew about the room like mad, _especially after -unbelievers_, I plainly told her I must hear it confirmed by more than -one credible witness before I could believe it; and some weeks afterwards -I had an opportunity of quietly inquiring about it of Mrs. Holdsworth’s -aunt, who assured me it was all nonsense, and that a mere Christmas -waggery had been distorted into a scandal, greatly to the annoyance of -Mr. and Mrs. Holdsworth. That report, too, of old Mrs. Ball’s sudden -death, and their holding a glass over her mouth to see if she breathed, -actually had not a shadow of foundation, and would never have been -traced, had not some one accidentally opened a letter that was intended -for somebody else. - -This morning, Miss Burt told me what I should be very sorry to hear, were -I assured of its truth, although I have no personal acquaintance with -the parties. But though Mr. and Mrs. Ringwood may have had some little -differences, I cannot think that they will separate. His companionable -qualities are such, that they lead him too much into society; and, as the -editor of a somewhat influential local paper, he has a certain literary -reputation. This may (though it need not) make him less domestic and more -dissatisfied with cold mutton at home than one could wish, especially -if the cold meat be accompanied with cold looks, and the only tart is a -tart reply. Nor is it impossible that Mrs. Ringwood may be a bit of a -worry, and revenge herself for lonely evenings by morning confidences of -how she is used, and what she has suffered. I think she looks a little -querulous and self-conceited. But this report I believe to be idle. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Pevensey has again taken me a drive. This time, it was through the -town, along the north road, and all round Hutchley Heath, which looked -lovely. As we passed Mrs. Prout’s, it was melancholy to see the sale -going on:—old stair-carpets hanging out of the windows, shabby-looking -chairs and glasses on the door-step and in the hall, with business-like -brokers looking at them in a disparaging way. The surgeon, who has -purchased the business, has been glad to take the house, but not the -furniture; so Mrs. Prout is selling off all she does not want, and -removing the rest into No. 2, Constantine Terrace, where everything is so -fresh and clean, that Mrs. Pevensey thinks she will find herself far more -comfortably situated than in her large, old house. - -“Well,” said Mrs. Pevensey, smiling, “we are going to have a great loss -in our family. We are going to lose Mademoiselle Foularde!” - -“Indeed!” said I. - -“Yes; she is going to leave us at Midsummer, and settle in Germany. She -is engaged to be married to a Professor Bautte.” - -“Professor of what?” - -“Gymnastics.—I knew you would smile; but you _would_ ask.” - -“Oh, I only smiled because I was surprised. I concluded he was a -professor of metaphysics, at least; or something prodigiously learned, -that I did not understand.” - -“Gymnastics are safer than German metaphysics. The one can but break your -neck, the other may turn your head.” - -“So you will have to look out again.” - -“Yes, but at my leisure. I think of taking all the children to the -sea-side for the holidays; and as the younger ones are rather beyond the -nurse, and require to be kept a little in order, I have been thinking -of offering to take Emily Prout with us, if she would undertake their -charge.” - -“Dear me! what a very nice thing!” - -“You do not think she would object to it, then?” - -“Oh no! I am persuaded she would like it exceedingly. She is so very -anxious not to be burthensome to her mother! And she is much more womanly -than she was. Her manners are so quiet and pleasant, that I feel sure you -will like her.” - -“Well, it may be that if I found her enough of a governess for Rosaline -and Flora, we may make a permanent engagement; but I shall prefer seeing -what is in her first, which I can very well do during the holidays. She -is very young, I believe.” - -“Barely seventeen. Too young for Arbell.” - -“Oh, I am not thinking of Arbell. Arbell is getting on very well at -present; the chief danger is of her doing too much. She is growing fast, -and I shall not be sorry to slacken her lessons a little for some months. -If I find I can leave the children quite comfortably with Miss Prout, -at Hardsand, Mr. Pevensey and I shall probably take Arbell with us on a -tour of some extent. It will open her mind, and give her something to -remember with pleasure, all the rest of her life.” - -“It will, indeed, be a great treat to her; and it is such an advantage to -young people to see new and interesting places with their parents. Is she -sorry Mademoiselle is going away?” - -“Not sorry; but she behaves to her very pleasantly, and is busy in my -room, at every spare moment, working a present for her. Arbell is very -clever at her needle.” - -“That is a good thing, for every woman ought to be so, whatever her -condition. How it beguiled the captivity of Mary Queen of Scots! Queen -Caroline, the wife of George II., used to do great quantities of -knotting. And think how Marie Antoinette, Madame Elizabeth, and Madame -Royale, used to mend their own clothes and those of the poor king, in -the tower of the Temple. No doubt it, in some measure, diverted their -thoughts from their sad fate. The tranquillizing effect of needle-work is -what our impulsive, excitable sex cannot be too grateful for.” - -“My mother knew an old Scotch countess,” said Mrs. Pevensey, “who, in -her latter days, used often to exclaim, piteously, ‘Oh, that I could -sew!’” - -After a pause she resumed:—“I have sometimes puzzled myself about the -much-vexed question, ‘Should we try to do good in the world at large, -before we have done all the good that needs to be done at home?’ There is -a great cry got up against Mrs. Jellaby, and other pseudo-representatives -of a class whose sympathies are widely engaged; and so much has been said -about ‘charity beginning at home, and charity that ends there,’ that one -gets rather perplexed. The Bishop of Oxford has, I think, lately settled -the question. He said, ‘Our Saviour foresaw and provided against it, by -dispersing His disciples far and wide, while yet much remained to be done -in Jerusalem.’ Here is a guide, then, for us: we may do all the good we -can, far and wide, even though we should be disappointed nearer home, or -even _in_ our homes, of doing all the good we _wish_.” - -After this, we fell into a very interesting conversation, which I only -hope was as profitable to her as I felt it to be to me. I have been -stupid and sluggish of late, but this interchange of thought, feeling, -and experience quite roused me. - -Christian and Hopeful were approaching the end of their journey when they -came to the drowsy land called the Enchanted Ground; and the way they -kept themselves awake was, by conversing freely on their past experiences -of God’s mercies and providences. - - * * * * * - -This morning, I have had rather a painful little adventure. - -Though the wind was southerly, and the clouds portended rain, yet Phillis -was sure it would blow off. In fact, she had set her mind upon certain -cleaning, which I believe she preferred doing in my absence; and as -I took a hopeful view of the weather, I went to the week-day morning -service at church. - -On returning, as usual, in the rear of the little congregation, I was -slowly drawling along Church Row, and thinking what a pity it was that -such good houses should be so falling out of repair, when down came the -rain very heavily. I had just passed Mrs. Ringwood’s, and noticed that -the parlour-blind wanted mending, and that Mrs. Ringwood, with a baby -in her arms, was idly looking over it. I began to spread my shawl more -completely over me, and was putting up my umbrella, when some one from -behind called, “Mrs. Cheerlove! Mrs. Cheerlove!” - -The boy stopped the donkey, and said, “There’s Mrs. Ringwood a calling of -you.” - -I looked round, and saw her, without her baby, standing on her door-step, -with her light curling hair blowing in the wind, while she eagerly looked -after me. - -“Do come in, ma’am,” cried she, with great good-nature, and colouring as -she spoke. “It is raining quite fast! I am sure you ought not to be out -in it.” - -The boy, at the same moment, took the matter into his own hands, by -turning the donkey round, so that I was before her door the next minute. - -“I don’t think it will come to much,” said I, bowing and smiling. “I’m -extremely obliged to you. _Pray_ don’t come into the rain.” - -“Oh, it won’t hurt me,” said she, now at my side, “and it _will_ hurt -you. Do come in till it is over.” - -It was very good-natured of her. I made no more resistance, but alighted -as quickly as my infirmities would permit, and entered the house just as -the rain became a violent shower. - -I was turning round to speak to the boy, when I saw him drive off, -at a good deal quicker pace than he drove _me_; and Mrs. Ringwood -said, laughing, “I told him to come for you when the shower was over; -otherwise, the chair would have been quite wet, and unfit for your use.” - -So I followed her into the parlour, where she had put the baby down on a -sofa, in order that she might run out to me. - -“It was very lucky,” said she, “that I was looking over the blind.” - -My heart smote me for having called her, even to myself, idle; and I -thanked her very gratefully for her kindness. She answered with a smile, -and then left me for a moment or two alone with the baby. It was a long -while since I had been alone with a baby; I looked at it with interest, -and amused myself by making it smile. - -A casual glance round the room disappointed my expectations of its -comforts and capabilities. It was smaller than I should have supposed it, -and inelegantly contrived. No fitting up could have concealed this; but -the fitting up was not very good. The carpet was showy and shabby, and -did not harmonize with the paper. The room wanted papering and painting; -but the window-curtains were conspicuously new, and made the rest of -the furniture look still more worn. On the table lay _Punch_ and the -_Athenæum_, and a smart cap in the process of making. - -Mrs. Ringwood came back, looking rather discomfited. “Dear me,” said she, -“I can’t find my keys—Oh, here they are!” And carrying them off, and her -cap at the same time, she presently returned with a glass of wine and a -biscuit, saying, “You really must take this.” - -In vain I assured her I was a water-drinker; I saw I should hurt her if I -declined, and therefore took the glass, and put it to my lips, though I -knew it would do me no good. - -“I don’t know what I should do without a glass of wine sometimes,” said -she. “I hope baby has not been troublesome.” - -“O no! What a nice little fellow he is! How old is he?” - -So then ensued some baby-talk, which seemed to make us much better -acquainted. - -“He must be a great resource to you,” said I. - -“Well, children are plagues as well as pleasures, sometimes,” said Mrs. -Ringwood. “I often think people who have no families have no idea of what -mothers go through.” - -“That is true enough, I dare say,” said I. “But the maternal instinct -is implanted to make us insensible to those troubles—or, at least, -indifferent to them.” - -“Oh, nobody can be indifferent to them, Mrs. Cheerlove! Duty is duty, and -pleasure is pleasure; but they don’t amount to the same thing, for all -that.” - -This was said with an asperity which seemed to place us miles apart -again. The next moment she added, “At least, time was—when I was very -young, you know, and fresh married—when I believe I really did think them -one and the same thing.” She gave a little laugh, to hide a tear. - -“I don’t know how it may be with you,” said I, twining the baby’s little -fingers round mine, “but I think in most people’s lives there are times -when, all at once, they seem to break down under their burthens, and to -need a friendly arm to set them up again.” - -“Some have not that friendly arm,” said she, her mouth twitching. “I only -wish I had. Oh my goodness, Mrs. Cheerlove!”—suddenly becoming familiar -and voluble—“you’ve no idea what a life mine is! These four walls, if -they had tongues, could tell strange stories!” - -“Ah! what walls could not?” said I, hastening from particulars to -generals. “We were not sent into this world to be happy——” - -“Well, _I_ think we _were_,” interrupted she; “and yours must be a -strange, gloomy religion if it makes you think otherwise.” - -“At any rate, we cannot depend on being happy,” said I, “as long as our -happiness is founded on anything in this world.” - -“Ah! there I agree with you,” said she, sighing profoundly; “there’s no -trusting to anything, or any one, whether servant, friend, or husband—you -find them all out at last.” - -She fixed her eyes on mine. - -“My lot,” said I, “was, I know, a favoured one; but I never found out -anything of Mr. Cheerlove, but that he was a great deal better and wiser -than myself.” - -She raised her eyebrows a little. - -“Some think that all men are superior to all women,” said she, rocking -the baby to and fro, “but I can’t subscribe to that opinion. I think we -have our rights and our feelings as well as our duties; and our rights -and our feelings have some little claim to attention. When a man makes -invidious remarks—” - -“Or a woman either,” said I, laughing a little. - -“—Which are felt to be meant for personal application,” pursued she, -“one’s spirit rises.” - -“Certainly, it is best to speak out,” said I, “or else be silent.” - -“Oh, let them speak out! If it’s in them, I’d rather it came out of them. -I detest your innuendoes!” - -“However,” said I, “we can never make the crooked tree straight. We must -take people as we find them.” - -“Or _leave_ them!” said she. Then, suddenly pausing, she pressed me, -quite in an altered tone, to take a little more wine. “You have scarcely -tasted it—perhaps you prefer some other sort.” - -“Oh no, thank you. The fact is, I have so long been a water-drinker, that -even a little sip makes my mouth feel all on fire.” - -“Ah! then that can’t be pleasant, I’m sure,” said she, cordially. “I -won’t press you to have any more. I only wish I knew what you _would_ -like.” - -“I like looking at you and your baby,” said I, smiling. - -“Do you think him like me?” - -“Yes.” - -“Ah! you said that, I fear, to please me. I own I laid myself out for -it. But now, tell me, Mrs. Cheerlove, don’t you think that we have -pleasing things said rather too often to us before marriage, and too -seldom afterwards?” - -“Yes, I think that is sometimes the case.” - -“Oh, and how it depresses one, not to know if you please!—nay, to be -pretty sure you don’t! I’m sure, I could do anything, almost, to give -satisfaction—take down a bed, lift a box!—” - -“You would be like the French crossing the Alps when the trumpet sounded.” - -“Just so; I lose all sense of fatigue and crossness.” - -“Can’t you hear a _mental_ trumpet?” - -“What?” - -“Something _within_, that shall cheer you along your path.” - -“Ah! I fear I can’t.” - -And the poor little woman, gushing into grief, told me, the acquaintance -of an hour, such a tale of woe, that my tears flowed with hers. She was -comforted by my sympathy, and said, clasping her hands— - -“Oh that I could see my path clear!” - -“I think you will,” said I, though my hope was not very sanguine. - -“Sometimes I think I’ll write to mamma. I sit down and write her such -long letters, and after all, don’t send them.” - -“Excellent!” said I. - -She looked surprised. - -“Your plan is excellent,” I pursued. “By pouring out your griefs to your -dearest and earliest friend, you relieve your own mind; and, by not -sending your letter, you give no pain to hers.” - -“But it is merely from irresolution,” said she. - -“Never mind what it is from. The plan is excellent. Continue to write -to her—write often—pour out your whole heart—and then put the letter -carefully away till the next day; enjoy the comfort of finding what a -strong case you made out—and, having done so, burn it!” - -“Are you joking?” said she. - -“No, as serious as possible. It is no joking matter.” - -“Well, I thought you were too kind to do so. And, dear me! I feel a -great deal better for this talk. Things don’t look so dark; and yet they -have not in the least altered.” - -“Only a different hue is thrown over them. That makes all the difference -sometimes;—and answers as well as if the things _were_ altered; as long -as we can make the hue last.” - -“Only,” said she, beginning to chafe a little, again, “one cannot bear to -be put upon.” - -“Ah,” said I, gently putting my hand on her arm, “_the Christian will -even bear to be put upon_, be it ever so much, and, for his Master’s -sake, bear it patiently; and when he _has_ so far subdued his feelings as -to be able so to do, how glorious the triumph, the happiness, and peace -that will take possession of his heart!”[3] - -“Oh!” said she, after a moment’s deep pause, “what a cordial! How _could_ -you say it? What a mind you must have!” - -“Not at all,” stammered I, feeling dreadfully stupid and humiliated. - -“_Could_ you say it all over again? I have such a poor head, and would -so gladly retain it. You can’t, I suppose. Ah! well—‘the Christian can -bear to be put upon,’—that was the text—that’s enough. It will bring all -the rest to mind—the general effect, that is.” - -“And you’ll try to _act_ upon it?” - -“Yes. I really will. I give you my word. Only it isn’t at all fair all -the effort should be on one side. But I’ll try, though I’m sure I shall -break down.” - -“Oh no! I hope better things of you!” - -“Ah, you don’t know me—I’m such a poor, weak creature. I don’t like -_him_ to say so, though,” she added, laughing, with one of those sudden -transitions which seemed natural to her. - -“Here comes the donkey-chair. I thank you _very_ much for your great -kindness.” - -“Mine? oh, don’t name it. It has been all on the other side! What is the -line of poetry about ‘An angel unawares——’” - -“In the Bible,” suggested I, provoked at being tempted to smile. - -“Oh yes! (what a shame!) ‘thereby entertained,’ and so on. Which is just -what I’ve done, you know. Oh, I’m so sorry you’ll go. Do look in again -some day. I have very few friends; for some people look down on me, and -I look down on some other people. And so I get no society at all. Baby -wants you to kiss him. ‘Ta, ta, Mrs. Cheerlove.’ Pretty fellow!” (kissing -him rapturously). “Mind you don’t get the hem of your dress draggled as -you go down the steps. There now, the scraper has torn your braid! Mind -your foot does not catch in it, and throw you on your face. I’ll have -that scraper mended against you come next. Mr. Ringwood has spoken of it -several times. You’ve done me so much good, you can’t think! more than a -glass of wine!” - -Poor little woman! I’m afraid her head is rather empty. But if her -intellect has not been much cultivated, she has genuine affections—with -a good deal of _étourderie_, wilfulness, and self-appreciation. How they -will get on together I cannot conjecture. A chance word of mine made a -transient impression; but “the next cloud that veils the skies” will -sweep it all away. - -We must not, on that account, however, relax our humble endeavours, nor -despise the day of small things. Line upon line, precept on precept, here -a little and there a little, effect something at last. Grains of sand -buried the Sphinx. - - * * * * * - -Directly I saw Phillis, I perceived a very queer expression on her face. -“Ah,” thought I, “she remembers what she said about the weather, and is -rather ashamed of my having been caught in the rain. I shall charge her -with it, and hear what excuses she can make. She is a capital hand at -self-defence.” - -But, at that moment, my ears were struck by a loud, harsh, jarring sound, -that absolutely petrified me—the piercing scream of a cockatoo! - -“Where in the world is that bird!” cried I, in dismay. - -“In our kitchen, ma’am,” said Phillis, demurely. “’Tis a present from -Miss Burt. I guess she thought you was fond of birds.” - -“Fond of them? Why, I’m so fond of them that I can’t bear to see them in -cages.” - -“But this here thing’s on a stand!” - -“Or anywhere but in their native woods,” continued I, rapidly. “I have -been offered canaries and bullfinches again and again, and always -refused. The sweetest melody could not reconcile me to their captivity. -And a cockatoo, of all birds in the world! Why, it will drive me -distracted!” - -“Well, there, _I_ says ’tis a nasty beast,” says Phillis, with a groan, -“and has made a precious mess on my clean floor already, scattering and -spirting its untidy messes of food all about, and screeching till one -can’t hear one’s self speak. ‘Do be quiet, then!’ I’ve bawled to it a -dozen times, and it answered me quite pert with, ‘_cockatoo!_’” - -I could not help laughing. “Really,” said I, “it is too bad of Miss -Burt—she might have given me warning.” - -“Oh, I suppose she thought ’twould be an agreeable surprise,” said -Phillis, with a grim smile. “There’s a note for you along with it.” - -“Pray give it me.” - -This was the note:— - - “5, Chickweed Place, Elmsford, June 10. - - “My dear Mrs. Cheerlove, - - “I’m off this afternoon to Canterbury, to spend a month; and, - meanwhile, have sent you my cockatoo to amuse you. Perhaps - you did not know I had one. It only arrived yesterday, as a - present from Lady Almeria Fitzhenry. So you see it is quite - an aristocratic bird; and it will look extremely well on your - lawn in fine weather, and, on wet days, afford you company. - Mrs. Grove is dying to have one, so you may consider yourself - favoured. If you get attached to it, you shall have it all the - winter. I am sure it will be a pet with Phillis. - - “Your affectionate friend, - - “CORNELIA BURT.” - - “P.S. Please send me back the directions for making the magic - ruff.” - -“Phillis,” said I, “Miss Burt thinks you will make the cockatoo quite a -pet.” - -“It’s a great deal more likely to put me into a pet,” said she. (Screech, -screech, went the cockatoo.) - -“He knows you are talking of him,” said I, “and does not like to be -spoken ill of behind his back.” - -“Then he’ll hear no good of himself from me,” says Phillis. - -“The donkey-boy is waiting to be paid,” said I, “and Miss Burt wants -something sent back. I will send it by him, and write her a line about -the bird.” - -“Suppose he takes it back,” cried Phillis. - -“No, that would hardly do.” - -“Well, ’twould look queer-like, that big stand in the donkey-chair!” and -she went off laughing. - -I hastily wrote:— - - “Whiterose Cottage, Wednesday morning. - - “My dear friend, - - “On returning from church, I found your kind note and your bird - awaiting me, and I am sorry your maid was obliged to return - without the directions for knitting the ruff, which I inclose. - You are very good to provide an amusement for me in your - absence; but if Mrs. Grove really wishes for the cockatoo, I - hope you will let me transfer it to her, for its loud voice is - too much for me, and I understand nothing of the management of - birds. Wishing you a pleasant visit to your friends, I remain, - - “Affectionately yours, - - “HELEN CHEERLOVE.” - -Having dispatched this missive, I felt greatly relieved; but my morning’s -work had so tired me that I was fit for nothing but a long rest on the -sofa, and would gladly have taken a little nap; but, every time my eyes -were ready to close, I was roused by the angry cry of “cockatoo.” - -“That bird is a most disagreeable animal,” thought I. “How can any one -endure him? Even the wearisome cry of a gallina would less offend my -ears. It would be long before I should wish for a parrot: but a parrot is -a clever, entertaining bird, and affords some variety—this bird has only -one word. A rook can only say ‘caw,’ yet contrives to make its one harsh -note tolerably pleasant; but _this_ tiresome thing—Oh dear, there it -goes again! Phillis must be tormenting it.” - -In fact, the cockatoo set up such a noise that I became quite irritable, -and rang the bell. “Phillis, don’t worry that bird.” - -“_I_ worrit the bird?” cries she, in high dudgeon, “why, I wasn’t even in -the kitchen. I declare it worrits _me_!” - -And, hastening off, she soon returned with the cockatoo on its stand, -flapping its wings, and violently pecking her bare arms, and set it down -before me with a jerk, saying, “There, you’ll see now, mum, whether it’s -worrited by me or not. And it was a present, not to me, but to yourself.” - -“Poor Phillis! how _could_ you let it peck your arms so?” - -“Oh!” said she, mollified, and smearing them with her apron, “I’m not -made of gingerbread!” - -“But I really cannot have this bird _here_.” - -“Why, you see, he’s quiet with _you_.” - -“But, if he is, I cannot be. I was trying to go to sleep; and I shall -expect him to scream every moment.” - -“Oh well, then, I must carry him off.” - -“Don’t let him peck your arms more than you can help.” - -“Of course I shan’t,” said she. - -“He’s really a handsome bird.” - -“Handsome is that handsome does,” said Phillis, pitying her arms. - -“Perhaps if I go along with you, offering him something to eat, he may -not fly at you.” - -“Well, you can but try, mum,” said Phillis. - -So I did try; and directly he felt his perch in motion he flew, not at -her, but at me. - -“Oh, that’ll never do!” says Phillis. “Tell ye what, you radical, I’ll -wring your neck for you as soon as think, if you don’t keep quiet. -Please, mum, leave ’un alone—you only makes him wus.” - -And off she went with her screeching enemy, leaving me deeply impressed -with her own valour, and my incapability. - -A man has just called for Mr. Cockatoo, bringing rather a _dry_ note from -Miss Burt, saying she was sorry I could not take a kindness as it was -meant. - - * * * * * - -Early as the sun now rises, the nightingale is awake while yet dark, -uttering the sweetest melody. Then a profound pause ensues; which, in -half-an-hour or less, is broken by some infinitely inferior songsters; -and soon, when the glorious sun uprears himself in the east, a full -chorus of larks, linnets, thrushes, blackbirds, redbreasts, titmice, -redstarts, and other warblers, pour forth their morning hymn of praise; -while the rooks caw on the tall tree-tops, and the wood-pigeon and cuckoo -are heard in the distant wood. - -Yes, I am fond of birds in their own green shades. I am fond, too, of -entomology, though not very knowing in it. The change of grubs into -butterflies is so striking, that, as Swammerdam says, “We see therein -the resurrection painted before our eyes.” Spence and Kirby, in their -delightful book, have elicited wondrous facts. How many people see rooks -following the plough without knowing why they do so. It is in order -to eat the cockchafer grubs which the plough turns up. The cockchafer -grub, which remains in its larva state _four years_, preys not only -on the roots of grass, but of corn; and will so loosen turf, that it -will roll up as if cut with a turfing-spade; so that the rooks do good -service in destroying these mischievous little grubs. But insects are -not universally mischievous. A fly was once discovered making a lodgment -in the principal stem of the early wheat, just above the root, thereby -destroying the stem; but the root threw out fresh shoots on every side, -and yielded a more abundant crop than in other fields where the insect -had not been busy. - -This reminds me, while I write, of another instance of compensation, -which occurred to my own knowledge. A great many years ago, a good old -market-gardener, whom I well knew, and who used to go by the name of -“Contented Sam,” lost a fine crop of early green peas he was raising -for the spring market, by a violent storm, which literally shelled the -pods when they were just ready to gather, and beat them into the earth. -He was looking at the devastation somewhat seriously, when some one -passing cried out, “Well, master, can you see anything good in _that_ -now?” “Yes,” said he, rousing up, “I dare say God has some good purpose -in it, somehow or other.” And so it remarkably proved; for the peas, -_self-sown_, came up late in the season, when there were none in the -market, and sold at a much higher price. - -To return to Messrs. Kirby and Spence. The friendship of these two good -and eminent men lasted nearly half a century. During the course of that -time, the letters that passed between them on entomology were between -four and five hundred. These letters were mostly written on sheets of -large folio paper, so closely, that each would equal a printed sheet of -sixteen pages of ordinary type. These they called their “first-rates,” or -“seventy-fours;” the few of ordinary size being “frigates.” But once, Mr. -Kirby having even more than usual to say, wrote what he called “The Royal -Harry,” alluding to the great ship “Harry,” built in the reign of Henry -VIII., of which I have seen a curious print. This _noteworthy note_ was -written on a sheet nearly the size of a _Times_ Supplement, and closely -filled on three pages! Talk of ladies’ long letters after this! - -The correspondence sprang up, and was continued, some months before they -ever saw each other. They then spent “ten delightful days together,” at -Mr. Kirby’s parsonage, and devoted part of the time to an entomological -excursion in the parson’s gig. - -At length, the idea occurred to them both of writing a book on entomology -together, and in a popular form, which should allure readers by its -entertainment, rather than deter them by its dryness. All the world knows -how happily they accomplished it; and I have heard one of them say, the -partnership was so complete, that in subsequent years neither of them -could positively say, “This paragraph was written by myself, and this by -my friend.” - - * * * * * - -This morning, as I was at work, enjoying the soft air through the open -window, and listening to the blackbird and cuckoo, I heard a carriage -stop at the gate, and soon afterwards, Arbell, carrying a parcel almost -half as large as herself, came in, looking very merry, and said— - -“Good morning, Mrs. Cheerlove! Mamma thought you would like to see what -I have been doing for Mademoiselle; so she set me down here, and will -call for me presently.” - -And with busy fingers she began to take out sundry pins, and remove -divers coverings, till out came a splendid scarlet cushion, elegantly -braided in gold. - -“How do you like it?” said she, wistfully. - -“I think it superb! Will it not be rather too magnificent for -Mademoiselle’s _ménage_?” - -“Mademoiselle is very fond of bright colours, and means to have -everything very gay about her, though she will not have a house to -herself, only a flat; so that I feel sure she will like it.” - -“Well, then, everybody must, for it is a splendid cushion, indeed! Why, -the materials must have quite emptied your purse!” - -“Mamma was kind enough to say, that if I did it well, she would not mind -paying for the materials; and I am glad to say she is quite satisfied -with it. But I particularly want to know what you think of the pattern.” - -“It is intricate, and very rich. Where did you get it?” - -“In a way you would never guess,” said Arbell, laughing. “One day, mamma -took me with her to call on Mrs. Chillingworth; and as they talked of -things that did not at all interest me, I sat looking at a great cushion -on the opposite sofa, and thinking how bad the yellow braid looked, and -how much better the effect would be in gold. The pattern pleased me; so -I looked at it till I was sure I could remember it, and when I got home, -I drew it on a sheet of paper. Mamma was amused, and said it was very -ingenious of me; but I did not think of turning it to account, till it -occurred to me that I might work it for Mademoiselle. So I asked mamma, -and she approved of it, and said I might.” - -“Well, I think it does you great credit in more ways than one.” - -“How strange it was, Mrs. Cheerlove, that I should take such interest -in doing something for Mademoiselle! I had such pleasant thoughts while -working it. Oh, what do you think? I am going to have such a treat! Papa -wishes to investigate the iron mines in Piedmont, and is going to take -mamma and me with him; and on our return, we are to see everything worth -seeing. Will not that be delightful?” - -“It will, indeed. Of course you will, meantime, learn to speak French, -German, and Italian, as fluently as you can.” - -“Oh, yes; I am fagging very hard now; I have such a _motive_, not only -for acquiring languages, but for improving in drawing, that I may sketch, -and for obtaining information about all the objects in our way. I am -making a list of ‘things to be particularly observed.’” - -“An excellent plan.” - -“You seem to have a good many books, Mrs. Cheerlove. Have you any likely -to be of service to me, that you could lend me?” - -“I am afraid they are hardly modern enough,” said I, doubtfully. “You are -perfectly welcome to any of them.” - -She scanned their titles at the back:—“‘Alpine Sketches.’ That’s -promising. ‘1814!’ Oh, what years and tens of years ago! ‘_With all my -heart, said I, as H. carelessly mentioned the idea._’ What an abrupt -beginning!” She laughed, and replaced the volume on the shelf. “Mamma,” -said she, “has been reading the Rev. Mr. King’s ‘Italian Valleys of -the Alps,’ and is very desirous to see the great St. Bernard and Monte -Rosa, and the Breithorn, and Petit Cervin. I am chiefly desirous to -see Mont Blanc. There’s such a charming account of it, and of Jacques -Balmat, in ‘Fragments du Voyage.’ But Jacques Balmat is dead, though -some of his family are guides. Papa has bought us two of Whippy’s -portable side-saddles, which fold up into waterproof cases, with spare -straps, tethers, whips, and everything one can want; and he has bought -guide-books, maps, saddle-bags, telescope and microscope, and air-tight -japanned cases to strap on our mules, so that our equipment will be -complete.” - -“You must take a sketch-book.” - -“Oh, yes, mamma has given me one already; and a journal, and a vasculum -for dried flowers and ferns.” - -“You will see beautiful butterflies, as well as wild flowers, in the -valleys.” - -“Are butterflies worth studying, Mrs. Cheerlove?” - -“Certainly they are.” - -“I will recommend papa, then, to take a butterfly-net. Do you think it a -good plan to keep a journal?” - -“Very, if you put down things worth knowing, while they are fresh in -your head; and refrain from such entries as—‘Had very hard beds last -night’—‘breakfast poor, and badly set on table’—‘feel languid and -dispirited this morning, without exactly knowing why.’” - -“Surely nobody could put down such silly things as those,” said Arbell, -laughing; “at any rate, I shall not. Ah, the carriage is at the gate. -Mamma desired me to give you her love, and say she could not come in -to-day. Good-by! Here is a little book-marker, on which I have painted -the head of Savonarola, for you, if you will be so kind as to accept -it. Oh, and I was particularly desired to tell you that the cocoa-nut -biscuits you liked so much, were made of nothing in the world but -chopped and pounded cocoa-nut, loaf sugar, and white of egg, baked on -wafer-paper. Good-by! good-by!” - - * * * * * - -The longest day has passed! There is always something sorrowful in the -reflection, although the days do not really seem shorter, on account -of the moon. It is the same kind of feeling which we experience more -strongly, when we feel that we have passed the prime of life, though we -are still healthy and vigorous, and our looking-glasses may tell us that -our looks are not much impaired. But the early summer, and summer-time of -life, are gone! - -I went to church to-day; but the heat is now so over-coming, that I must -discontinue my out-door exercise, while it lasts, till the cool of the -evening. As I passed Mrs. Ringwood’s, there was she at the open window -with her baby, and she nodded and smiled, and cried, “How d’ye do, how -d’ye do! You did me so much good! More than a glass of wine!” - -She was not in low spirits just then, at any rate. And really I don’t -believe I could bear her peculiar trials as well as she does—even with a -glass of wine! - - * * * * * - -Cooler weather again. I went to-day, in the donkey-chair, to call on Mrs. -Prout in her new house. It is small but cheerful, with everything clean -and fresh. A good deal of her old, heavy furniture has been supplied by -less expensive but more modern articles, which are more suitable to the -papering and fitting-up of the house; and yet I looked with partiality -at a few things that had been rescued from the sale—the old bureau, -easy-chair, work-table, &c. - -When I entered, little Arthur and Alice were the only occupants of the -drawing-room, playing, in a corner of it, at “Doctor and Patient.” -What imitators children are!—“Well, mum, what is the matter with you, -to-day?”—“Oh,” says little, lisping Alice, coughing affectedly, “I have -the guitar! (catarrh!)” After shyly exchanging a few words with me, they -ran off, just as their mother entered. - -She is an excellent little woman; there was no display of grief, but deep -affliction beneath the surface; and now and then a tear strayed down -her cheek, while yet she thankfully spoke of “many alleviations—many -mercies.” “But,” as she truly said—“her loss was irreparable.” - -All the while, there was Mr. Prout’s good-tempered countenance looking -down on us from the picture-frame, as if he approved of all she said. -It almost startled me when I first went in; and I sedulously avoided -looking at it, or even towards it, when his widow was in the room; yet -she evidently had gazed on it so continually, that she could now do -so without shrinking; and I often observed her eyes turning in that -direction, as if the portrait afforded her a sad consolation. - -She told me, it was quite arranged that Emily should spend the holidays -with the Pevenseys; and asked me somewhat anxiously, whether I thought -there could be any hopes of its leading to a permanent engagement. As I -was not authorized to communicate what Mrs. Pevensey had mentioned in -confidence, I only spoke hopefully, and said, I could see no reason why -it should not. - -“Emily is rather afraid of undertaking Miss Pevensey,” said Mrs. Prout. -“She thinks she looks too womanly, and probably knows already more than -she does herself. But I, who know what is _in_ Emily, have no fears on -that score; only, to be sure, she does look—and _is_—very young.” - -“I don’t think looks much signify,” said I, “if there be self-possession, -and a temperate manner.” - -“And Emily has both,” said Mrs. Prout. - -While she was speaking, little Arthur came in, and laid a bunch of -radishes, wet with recent washing, and placed in a toy basket, in her -lap. I had heard a boy calling radishes along the row. Mrs. Prout smiled, -kissed him, and said, “Good boy; we will have them by and by for tea;” -and he ran off with them, quite elated. - -“He has spent the last half-penny of his allowance on them, I know,” -said she, with a motherly smile; “and all for me. That is the way with -the generous little fellow—he continually spends his pocket-money on me; -whether on a few violets, or radishes, or perhaps a little measure of -shrimps—something he trusts in my liking, because he likes it himself.” - -“Such a little fellow is lucky to have any pocket-money at all,” said I. - -“Oh, they all have their little allowances,” said Mrs. Prout. “Perhaps -you think me wrong, in my reduced circumstances, to continue them, and it -_was_ a matter of consideration; but their father and I had felt alike on -that subject, and I therefore resolved only to diminish them to half the -amount, and save in something else, rather than reduce them to absolute -penury. I don’t like pinching on a large scale; I cannot, therefore, -expect them to do so on a small one. Besides, it teaches children the -value of money; gives them habits of calculation, fore-thought, and -economy. How can they practise self-denial, charity, or generosity, -without something, however trifling, they can call their own? But I never -permit them to exceed their allowances, or borrow, or run in debt. If -they spend too freely at the beginning of the week, they must suffer for -it till the week after. Arthur and Alice had twopence a week each, but -now they have only a penny; thus, they too, know something, practically, -of ‘reduced circumstances;’ and the stipends of the elder ones have been -lowered in proportion. So you see, I am not, after all, very extravagant.” - -I thought, afterwards, how much sense there was in what she had said; and -regretted her rule was not oftener acted on in families. Mrs. Pevensey, -for instance, not unfrequently makes Arbell handsome presents, but gives -her no regular allowance; consequently, not knowing what she has to -expect, Arbell is sometimes improvident—sometimes pinched. Consequently, -also, she knows little of the shop-prices of articles in common request, -and does not regularly keep private accounts. I know it is not my -province to interfere on the subject; but, should an opening unexpectedly -occur, I will just direct Mrs. Pevensey’s thoughts to it, by alluding to -the plan pursued by Mrs. Prout. - -Every one of these young Prouts has left off drinking sugar in their tea, -to lighten their mother’s bills; and at their own instance. How well it -speaks for them! - - * * * * * - -Priamond, Diamond, and Triamond, says Spenser, were three brothers in -Fairy-land:— - - “These three did love each other dearly well; - And with so firm affection were allied, - As if but one soul in them all did dwell, - Which did her power into three parts divide.” - -In the course of their story, a deadly quarrel ensued between the -youngest of these three brothers and Camball, brother of the Princess -Canace, which was assuaged by the goddess Concord, who gave them Nepenthe -to drink. And what is Nepenthe?— - - “Nepenthe is a drink of sovereign grace - Devised by the gods, for to assuage - Heart’s grief, and bitter gall away to chase, - Which stirs up anger and contentious rage. - Instead thereof, sweet peace and quietage - It doth establish in the troubled mind; - Few men, but such as sober are and sage, - Are by the gods to drink of it assigned— - _But such as drink, eternal happiness do find_.” - -I can well believe it, good Mr. Spenser. Where can it be found? Did you -ever drink of it yourself? or did you write thus feelingly because you -sought and found it not? Oh! by what name shall we pray for it? “_The -grace of God?_” - - * * * * * - -Here we are in the dog-days! and every one is complaining of the heat. -Last night we had a thunder-storm, and Phillis was afraid to go to bed, -till I told her that feathers were non-conductors. So then she thought, -the sooner she was on her feather-bed, the better. - -Mr. Cheerlove used to be very fond of watching the lightning—of enjoying -what Sir Humphrey Davy called “the sublime pleasure of _understanding_ -what others _fear_, and of making friends even of inanimate objects.” I -own I can never help starting at a very vivid flash. But I admire those -who are superior to vain alarms. - -My garden is all-glorious with roses, from the China, Japan, Macartney, -and Alice Grey, that embower the house and cluster the green palings with -their crimson, pink, cream-coloured, and white blossoms, to the rarer -yellow rose, and far more beautiful moss-rose, “queen of flowers!” I -literally tread on roses as I walk from room to room, for every breath of -air wafts the loose leaves through the windows, and scatters them about -the carpets, making them, as Phillis says, “dreadful untidy.” - -The hay is pretty well carried, and I am glad to say that the hay-turning -machine has not yet superseded hand-labour in this neighbourhood. The -poor woman who, with her husband and baby, found nightly shelter in -Cut-throat Barn, brought me some fine water-cresses at breakfast-time -this morning:—a grateful return for some old linen and broken victuals. - -The young Prouts came in just now, bringing in yellow bed-straw, -harebells, three different sorts of heath, and a bunch of flowering -grasses that will make a graceful winter nosegay. - -While Arthur turned over the contents of my curiosity drawer, and Alice -examined my collection of “pieces,” with permission to select three of -the prettiest for pincushions, Margaret read me Emily’s first letter from -Hardsand. All goes on satisfactorily. She finds herself quite equal to -the charge of the children, and Mrs. Pevensey tells her she more than -equals her expectations, and that she shall leave her at the head of the -school-room department with perfect confidence. Emily says, that so many -things, common to the Pevenseys, are new and delightful to her—their -polished manners and delightful conversation, the numerous little -elegances about them, the well-conducted servants, luxuriously-furnished -rooms, abundance of nice books, &c., all add something to her enjoyment. -As for her position among them, she does not mind it at all; in fact, she -is flattered by the confidence Mrs. Pevensey places in her, the obedience -of the children, and the respect of the servants. She admires the sea, -and the fine rough coast, and enjoys the daily walks on the sands. Arbell -seems to like her, and she likes Arbell. “When the children are gone to -bed,” she writes, “and Arbell is in the drawing-room, you cannot imagine -how I enjoy lying on the sofa and reading ‘Tremaine.’ But sometimes Mrs. -Pevensey looks in, and says, ‘Miss Prout, do come and join us—unless you -are tired.’ Then I spring up immediately, for I think it would neither -show good manners nor good feeling to hang back; and the result is that I -get a cheerful evening, and am made to feel completely one of themselves.” - -The Pevenseys were to cross the Channel the next morning: they were all -in excellent spirits. - - * * * * * - -August is the month when the fields are ripe to harvest, and when, to use -David’s joyous imagery, “The little valleys stand so thick with corn that -they laugh and sing.” That is a beautiful line in a Scotch song, which, -describing a graceful, pretty young girl, says— - - “Like waving corn her mien.” - -Nothing can be more graceful than the motion of corn, stirred by the -light summer air—not even the dancing, in his boyish days, of one of -our greatest civil engineers—now, alas! dead. Light as feather-down, -and as if it were the pleasure of his existence to float on his -native element—the air—the next moment you might see him deep in some -abstruse question with his father, grave as if he had never known a -smile. (“_Ut in vitâ, sic in studiis, pulcherrimum et humanissimum -existimo, severitatem comitatemque misure, ne illa in tristitiam, hæc -in petulantiam procedat._” Be that his epitaph, from his old and early -friend.) - -Sir Isambard Brunel once showed us a stone perforated by an insect, which -had suggested to him the horse-shoe form of the Thames Tunnel. On how -many of us would such a hint have been utterly wasted! Southey tells us -that when Sir Humphrey Davy first ascended Skiddaw with him, he cast -his eyes on the fragments of slate with which the ground was strewn, -and, stooping to pick one up as he spoke, observed, “I dare say I shall -find something here.” The next moment he exclaimed with delight, “I -_have_ found something indeed! Here is a substance which has been lately -discovered in Saxony, and has not been recognised elsewhere till now!” It -was the _chiastolite_. - - * * * * * - -I can scarcely form a pleasanter mental picture, than of a young girl, -healthy, talented, energetic, sweet-tempered, and with no burthen of -self-consciousness or morbid feeling, tired, but not too tired, after her -day’s toil as governess to a tolerably docile set of young pupils (and -all children may be _trained_ to docility), and resting body and mind on -a comfortable sofa in a cheerful room, with an entertaining book which -interests her; or now and then drawn off from it by pleasing thoughts of -home, and of the appreciation which there overpays her labours. And such -a picture do I form of Emily Prout. - -Before Mrs. Pevensey sailed, she engaged Emily permanently, at a salary -of eighty guineas, to be raised to a hundred if she prove equal to her -situation. - - * * * * * - -This morning, on my way to church, I saw Mrs. Ringwood looking over her -blind with rather a long face, and she bowed to me somewhat piteously. -Now, I cannot say that I had forgotten her request that I would look -in on her again, for it had occurred to me almost every time I passed -her door; but, somehow, something had said within me, “No, I will not.” -There was no need, I told myself; and there certainly was no inclination; -therefore my conscience was not at all uneasy—especially when I did not -see her looking over the blind. - -But now, it struck me, she might be specially looking out after me, and -thinking it very cross and unneighbourly of me not to call; she might -even seriously wish to have a little talk with me; and it might do her -more good than a glass of wine. - -So I resolved to call as I returned: and I did as I resolved. A rather -slatternly maid, for whom I would on no account have exchanged Phillis, -said “Missis was at home;” and showed me straightway into the parlour, -where was—not Mrs., but Mr. Ringwood. - -I suppose some people think him good-looking, but he is too much -be-ringed and be-whiskered for my taste. Mr. Cheerlove wore no whiskers; -nor any rings. My taste, therefore, is plain. Mr. Ringwood is not -plain—but rather showily good-looking. - -He said—“Bless my soul, Mrs. Cheerlove! This is a great compliment, -ma’am—I—(Jemima, tell your mistress)—I know how little you visit, and -how greatly your visits are prized. You could not have paid me a more -flattering compliment, ma’am, than in calling on my little wife.” - -Dear me, thought I, I shall not like this man at all—how oppressive he -is! I am sure I never thought of paying him a compliment, and wish he -would not pay me any. - -“I hope Mrs. Ringwood is well,” said I. - -“Well,” said he, running his fingers through his hair, in the Italian -way, or in imitation of it, “Emma is well enough, if she would but think -herself so;—she wants to go to the sea-side.” - -“A nice time of year,” said I. - -“Ah, ha,” said he; “but perhaps you are enough of a classical scholar, -Mrs. Cheerlove, to have heard something of ‘_res augusta domi_.’” - -“I have heard the expression,” said I. - -“Ah,—you don’t deceive me in that way,” said he; “I’ve heard of Mrs. -Cheerlove’s acquirements. You read by stealth, and blush to find it fame.” - -“I thought fame was acquired by writing rather than by reading,” said I. - -The absurd man bowed, as if I had meant to compliment him; for editing -the _County Advertiser_, I suppose! Oh dear! - -Luckily for me, Mrs. Ringwood came in, wearing the very smart cap I had -seen her manufacturing on a previous occasion. - -“Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” said she, hastening towards me, all smiles. -“I take it so kind of you!” - -Then I asked how the baby was, and she told me he was cutting his teeth, -and went into long details, naturally interesting to her, and very well -to tell to me; but that might as well have been spared, I thought, in the -presence of Mr. Ringwood. I wondered he did not walk off to his office. -Instead of which, he stood, shifting from one foot to the other, running -over the paper, and making it crackle prodigiously as he unfolded and -refolded it; and at length he said, somewhat abruptly— - -“My love, all this cannot be very entertaining to Mrs. Cheerlove.” - -“That is true, Alfred,” said she, with a little flutter which I could not -account for. “I was to blame for forgetting Mrs. Cheerlove had no family. -How have you been, ma’am, lately? Don’t you think a little sea-air would -do you a great deal of good?” - -I smiled, and said I did not feel any need of it. - -“Oh, but it braces one so,” said she. “It would strengthen ME, I know, -more than all the wine and porter in the world!” - -“Why should not you try to let your house?” said I. “Many people do.” - -“’Pon my honour, Mrs. Cheerlove, that’s a capital thought of yours!” -burst in Mr. Ringwood. “I wonder it never occurred to me. I’ll tell -you what, Emma, if you can let the house for the autumn, you may go to -Hardsand the very next day! Put up a ticket to-morrow.” - -“Oh, thank you, Alfred!” cried she. “I’m sure I’d no idea you would have -consented to such a thing, or I would have proposed it before.” - -(“Don’t believe such a thought ever entered your head,” muttered he). - -“I wonder, though,” she continued doubtfully, looking round the room as -she spoke, “who would take such a house as this?” - -“Did you never hear Cowper’s line,” said he, quickly— - - “‘We never shall know, if we never do try?’” - -“I’m sure I’ve not the least objection to trying—nay, I’m much obliged -to you for letting me—” - -“Not with the house,” put in he, quite smartly. - -“Of course not—how funny you are! But I haven’t the least idea about -these things.” - -“Your kind friend, Mrs. Cheerlove, can doubtless supply you with an idea -or two—she has plenty of her own.” - -“Oh, yes. Well then, Mrs. Cheerlove, what steps should you recommend?” - -“Oh, it is a very simple affair. Tell Mr. Norris, the house-agent, that -you want to let your house, furnished, for the autumn, at such a price; -and that it can be seen at such and such hours. Or, if you prefer it, you -can put up a bill.” - -“Dear me, yes! I think I’ll do both! How clever you are! So practical!” - -“Ah, Mrs. Cheerlove,” said Mr. Ringwood, with a shrug and a smile, “it’s -we literary people who are the practical ones after all!” - -Then she began to consider how many beds she could make up, and what she -should leave, what she should take, and what she should lock up; whether -she should allow the use of the piano, and whether the pictures should be -covered; till her husband impatiently cried— - -“Oh, hang the pictures!” and then laughed at his ridiculous exclamation. - -“But really, Emma,” continued he, “you need not give Mrs. Cheerlove a -list of all the cracked wine-glasses.” - -“I haven’t a list to give,” said she with simplicity. “Perhaps it would -be well if I kept one.” - -“You must make an inventory now, at any rate. Set about it this -morning—it will keep you amused for a week.” - -“My dear Alfred, you are always finding things for _me_ to do, instead of -yourself. You forget the baby.” - -“You take good care, my dear, I shall not do that. Mrs. Cheerlove, how I -do wish we could enlist you amongst us!” - -“As what?” said I, amazed. - -“As a contributor. Oh, you need not look so conscious!—murder _will out_. -I know you write. Now, do give me—poor, toil-worn editor as I am—some -little assistance. On public and local affairs, of course, I want no aid; -what I desire is historical anecdote, biographical sketches, traits of -character and experience—all that sort of _materiel_ for thought which -may or may not be used, according to the will of the reader—pleased with -the thing as it stands, but not always disposed to carry it on.” - -He spoke earnestly and well. - -“You do me great honour,” said I, “but, I assure you, you are quite -mistaken in me. I could not afford you the help you need.” - -“Why—they said you wrote throughout your long illness!” - -“Whoever _they_ may he, I can assure you, I only used my pen in hours of -solitude, as a companion; nothing more.” - -“But its results!——” - -“Will never appear before the public. Oh no, I am no authoress. And I -must confess to a prejudice against _female_ assistants in our leading -periodicals. I think it a province out of our sphere.” - -“Well, you compliment us,” said he, bowing; “but I own you have not -satisfied me. I am convinced you _could_, if you _would_. Dear me! how -time runs away, to be sure! I must run off this moment; but one takes no -count of time in _your_ presence, Mrs. Cheerlove.” - -And, presenting his hand to me in a very affable manner, and bowing over -mine, he flourished off. - -“Delightful!” cried Mrs. Ringwood, taking a deep breath; “how you’ve -drawn him out! Oh, I do so enjoy good conversation! But I’m no -converser—never was. Always such a simple little thing!” - -I knew not what to say; and she almost immediately went on in a dreamy -sort of way— - -“He used to tell me before marriage, he loved simplicity; so I wasn’t -afraid, you know. But now he likes intellect better.” - -“But why should you despair of pleasing him, even then?” - -“Oh, he knocks me down so! I don’t mean literally,” cried she, seeing -my look of dismay; “but he has a way of _setting_ people down, as the -saying is, whenever they talk in a way that does not please him; and if -I am chatting a little, and he wants to cut it short, he says, ‘My dear, -I beg your pardon,’ quite politely; and takes the lead, and keeps it—‘My -_dear_,’ not ‘My love.’ It was so pleasant to hear him say, ‘My love!’ -to-day.” - -“Well,” said I, “you will be busy now, and I hope soon to hear of -your having let your house.” And so I talked a little about various -watering-places, as if she might pick and choose where she liked; though, -after all, very probably, she will have no choice but Hardsand. And I -told her what a cheerful, bracing place Hardsand was considered. - -But, as I rode home, I thought that, perhaps I had done the little woman -no kindness, after all; for her efforts to let her house might only end -in disappointment. And the more I thought of blinds, scrapers, &c., -wanting repair, crumb-cloths wanting washing, and wine-glasses wanting -replacing, the less chance there appeared to me of anybody’s being -attracted by the house. - -“A pennyworth of putty and a pennyworth of paint,” said a nobleman, in -the last century, “would make my countess as handsome as any at court.” -Certes, a pennyworth of putty and a pennyworth of paint, or something -equivalent, will often go far towards making a house look tidy and -respectable. But, in Mrs. Ringwood’s domain, _il poco piú_ is sadly -wanting. A man may laugh at an Irish waiter who confidentially whispers -to him, as he hands him his venison, that “there is no currant jelly on -the sideboard, but plenty of lobster-sauce,” but he will not endure it -from his wife. - - * * * * * - -——What luck some people have! The Ringwoods have let their house the -very first day! Just now, I was very much surprised by a call from Mr. -Ringwood, who looked much more gentlemanlike than he did yesterday, and -said, with a very pleased look, “Mrs. Cheerlove, I am sure you will be -glad to hear the good news, and therefore intrude to tell you of it -myself. I called on Norris just now, and found the Hawkers are wanting a -ready-furnished house, while their own is painting—that is to say, for -six weeks; so I’ve seen Mr. Hawker, and we came to terms immediately; -supposing, of course, that the ladies make it out together. But I am sure -Emma will be glad to make every concession to Mrs. Hawker, so I look on -it as a done thing. Don’t you wish me joy?” - -I told him I did, very sincerely. - -“So you see,” said he, laughing triumphantly, “we literary people _are_ -the practical ones, after all!” - -“Mrs. Ringwood must be much obliged to you,” said I, “for so promptly -carrying out her wishes.” - -“Yes,” said he, drumming on his hat; “but I own I don’t see that I ought -to be expected to do everything in my office and out of it too. A man, or -even a woman, who fills the housekeeping purse, ought not to be liable to -every other branch of bother.” - -I thought with him, but only observed, that where there was one clever -head in the family, the others might accustom themselves, unconsciously, -to depend too much on it. - -“I believe you are right,” said he, stroking the important member in -question with a thoughtful air as he spoke. “I spoilt Emma myself in the -first instance—instead of remonstrating when I should have done so, about -one little matter and another. The consequence is—— No matter; but we -shall _never_ get straight now—never, never! I utterly despair of it.” - -“Ah, you are too sensible to do that! To make the best of untoward -circumstances, even if they result from our own fault, is not only more -prudent, but more noble, than to sit down in Ugolino-like despair.” - -“‘Ugolino-like’ is the light in that sentence!” said he. “Excuse me, but -you know I make a business of these things, and often have to insert them -in heavy articles. That phrase will fix your saying in my memory, and I -will endeavour to act upon it too—without which I know you won’t care a -half-penny for my remembering, or even quoting it. Ah, Mrs. Cheerlove, -you owe the world something from your pen. Why not try?” in a tone -intended to be very insinuating. - -“There are plenty in the field already,” said I. - -“Plenty, such as they _are_,” responded he. “Plenty—and too many! Oh, if -you knew the curiosities of literature that I hand over to my subeditor! -Now, I’ll read you a _morçeau_ I received this morning. I think I might -_defy_ you to make anything like it. The subject is the fancy bazaar our -ladies are going to hold at Willington:— - - “‘Come to Willington bazaar! - Enter, neighbours, near and far. - Pure delightsome harmony - Welcomes all friends cheerily; - Crops of pretty useful things, - Philanthropy to market brings; - Sympathy with ardour buys, - What industrial zeal supplies!’ - -Do you think you could have done that? No, I’m sure you couldn’t!” - -And, in excellent humour with himself and with me, he took leave, waving -his hand towards the book-case as he went, and saying:— - - “An elegant sufficiency! content, - Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, - Progressive virtue, and approving heaven!” - - * * * * * - -Guido Sorelli beautifully says, “I learn the depth to which I have sunk, -from the length of chain let down to updraw me.” Without inquiring into -his wisdom in publishing his “Confessions,” (written for the public, -apparently, and _not_ for Silvio Pellico), they certainly have, as he -says, a tendency to bring the reader to “a saddening contemplation of his -own heart.” This sensitive Italian was converted by the Bible, which he, -in the first instance, read for an hour daily, and completely perused in -three months; never opening it without first praying for humility. Nor -did he ever commence his daily seven hours’ task of translating “Paradise -Lost,” without imploring divine assistance; and the last four years of -his ten years’ labour of love, “bore the impress,” he tells us, “of -a happiness almost beatific.” Such are the silent, satisfying rewards -which high and virtuous art bestows on her children, wholly independent -of fame or emulation. Like the exquisite _fanatico per la musica_, in La -Motte Fouquè’s “Violina,” they “carry on their labour as a sweet secret, -hardly knowing at the time whether they shall ever feel inclined to -make it known.” The “last infirmity of noble minds,” is their seeking -the confirmatory sentence of some master-spirit, whom the voice of the -world, and their own cordial acknowledgment, place far above themselves. -All beyond this opens the door to rivalry and uneasiness. Once know that -you do a thing well, and the calm pleasure needs not to be augmented by -everybody’s owning it. - - * * * * * - -If a botanist ranges over an entire meadow, and find one or two new -specimens, he thinks his labour not in vain. And if I find one or two -noteworthy passages in a book, I am glad I have read it. Here, now, is -the life of Pollok. What true soul of art has not experienced, at some -period of its existence, the depression and despondency, the suspicion of -its own self-delusion, thus expressed by the young Scottish poet?— - -“The ideas,” he says, “which I had collected at pleasure, and which -I reckoned peculiarly my own, were dropping away one after another. -Fancy was returning from her flight—memory giving up her trust; what -was vigorous becoming weak, and what was cheerful and active, dull -and indolent.” And yet he was at this time on the brink of writing an -immortal poem! One December night, sitting alone in his lodgings in great -desolation of mind, he, to turn his thoughts from himself, took up the -first book within reach, which happened to be Hartley’s “Oratory.” He -opened on Lord Byron’s “Darkness,” and had not read far when he thought -he could write something to the purpose on the subject of the general -resurrection. After revolving his ideas a little, he struck off about a -thousand lines—the now well-known passage, beginning,— - - “In ’customed glory bright!” - -Soon afterwards he wrote to his brother, that “he had lately been -soaring in the pure ether of eternity, and linking his thoughts to the -Everlasting Throne!” “And I knew,” says his brother, “that he had now -found a subject to write on.” “May the eternal and infinite Spirit,” -wrote this sympathizing brother in return, “inform your soul with an -immortal argument, and enable you to conduct it to your own happiness in -time, and blessedness in eternity; and to His praise, honour, and glory -for ever!” - -Soon after this, Robert returned to his father’s humble dwelling, at -Moorhouse, where he continued his poem, but without any definite plan. -“One night, sitting alone in an old room, and letting his mind wander -backward and forward over things at large, in a moment, as if by an -immediate inspiration, the idea of the poem struck him; and the plan of -it, as it now stands, stretched out before him, so that at one glance he -saw through it from end to end like an avenue. He never felt, he said, as -he did then; and he shook from head to foot.” - - * * * * * - -How soon September has come! The roses are now nearly all over; but -the ram’s-head border I had cut in the grass-plat last spring is gay -with fuchsias, verbenas, geraniums, and balsams. Miss Burt, who has no -garden of her own, comes now and then to expend, as she says, some of -her superfluous energies, in raking and hoeing my garden, while I sit -near her in a light wicker chair, and watch her proceedings. She became -tired of her cockatoo about a month after her return, and made a present -of it to Mrs. Grove. The cockatoo thus shared the fate of a certain fine -cucumber, which I remember being passed from house to house one autumn, -till at length somebody was found who liked it. - -Mrs. Pevensey’s gardener’s boy brought me a delicate little griskin this -morning, to show me that, though out of sight, I am not out of mind. I am -reading a curious little tale Mrs. Pevensey lent me, called “Agathonia,” -about the Colossus of Rhodes. The style is inflated rather than grand, -which makes the incidents appear less grand than inflated; but yet, I am -struck with the story, which, picturesquely enough, opens thus:— - -Three weather-worn brigantines, belonging to Ben Shedad the Jew, are -anchored in the harbour of Rhodes, to carry off a hundred brazen statues, -the masterpieces of Lysippus and Chares, as well as the renowned -Colossus, whose remains have for nine centuries encumbered the arsenal. -The bastions are crowded with victorious Saracens—not a Rhodian is -to be seen among them; the island has been conquered and humiliated, -its temples razed, its churches defiled, its vineyards rooted up, its -population maltreated, and, to conclude, its works of art sold to the -Jews. - -As Ben-Shedad and his crew are proceeding to the spot where the prostrate -Colossus lies embedded in sand and rushes, one of the Jews attempts to -propitiate Velid, son of the emir of Rhodes, by kissing the hem of his -garment. The young man shrinks from him in disgust, and, turning to his -friend Al Maimoun, asks whether artizans might not have been found on -the island who might have removed the statue without its being polluted -by the touch of an accursed race. Al Maimoun replies, that certainly the -camp of the faithful might have supplied workmen; and Velid rejoins, that -were he not compelled to respect the contract, his soldiers should pitch -the Hebrews into the harbour. - -Meantime, the attention of the Saracen bystanders, who have been -deriding and cursing the Jews, is diverted towards another party slowly -approaching the Colossus, consisting of an Ascalonian soldier of the -emir’s, three Rhodians, and a tall, grizzled Numidian, who bear a -closely-curtained litter, which is accompanied by two veiled females. -One of the women stoops with age, but the other is slender and graceful -as a young roe. The crowd divides before them; and, when they reach the -fallen Colossus, the Rhodians pause, and, the litter-curtains being drawn -back, disclose the venerable grey head of an old man, spiritual as an -apostle, mild as a sage, who gazes long on the Colossus, lit up by the -setting sun, and then sinks back and weeps. - -All this is very vivid and touching. - - * * * * * - -A vague, but terrible report has reached me,—I fervently hope it may not -be true,—that a dreadful accident has happened to the Pevenseys somewhere -abroad. Phillis heard it of the baker. I am on thorns, while waiting for -more particulars. This October has set in wet; the rain has fallen fast -all the morning, and I cannot send out for the donkey-chair, nor spare -Phillis to go out and make inquiries; nor is a creature likely to call. - -Miss Secker has just been here. She says the report came from the Stone -House. Mr. Pevensey had written some hurried orders to the steward, -saying Mrs. Pevensey, in crossing the _Mer de Glace_, had fallen through -a _crevasse_, and, with difficulty, had been drawn up with ropes, alive, -but nearly dashed to pieces. Oh, melancholy news! the mother of so large -a family! so kind a neighbour! so admirable a wife! so charitable and -exemplary in the various relations of life! What a loss she will be, -should she not recover! Meanwhile, what responsibility devolves upon poor -Arbell, her sole nurse! It is enough to put a grey head on her young -shoulders. - - * * * * * - -This morning, I could not rest till I was off in the donkey-chair to call -on Mrs. Prout, and inquire whether she had heard anything from Emily. -The post had just come in; I found them in tears over Arbell’s letter, -inclosed to them by Emily. It was written at her mother’s bedside, in the -little parsonage of a Swiss _pasteur_. - -Poor mamma, she wrote, was taken out more dead than alive. The guides, -who were all goodness, made a kind of litter for her with their poles -and ropes, and threw their jackets over it. But when papa lifted her on -it, she thrilled all over, like a little bird that had fallen out of its -nest; and Arbell turned her head away, for it made her feel quite sick. -So then, as the litter shook her so much, they only took her at first to -the nearest _châlet_, where there was a very kind _bergere_, and where -they laid her on the heaps of hay for the cows; and a guide ran off to -the inn for an English doctor, whose name they happened to have seen on -the travellers’ book. - -Meanwhile, poor mamma lay quite still; but her face was very cold. And -once, when Arbell softly wiped the damp off it, and kissed her white -lips, she whispered, “Good girl—dear Arbell!” so that she was ready to -burst into tears, but knew she must not. And when the guide came back, -he said the English doctor had gone up Mont Blanc; and Arbell could not -help thinking, how stupid and wicked it was of him, to be running after -such nonsense when he had better have been minding his own business. -However, he brought back mamma’s maid, Kent, and a famous mountain -doctor, who ordered a sheep to be killed, and mamma to be immediately -wrapped in its skin, which they did. And, directly afterwards, a most -benevolent-looking _pasteur_ (such another as Oberlin must have been!) -came in, with a face of kind concern; and, after a few words with papa, -it was arranged that the guides should carry mamma, who seemed in a -stupor, to the _pasteur’s_ house, which was close at hand, and much -quieter than the inn. So they did so; Arbell holding her vinaigrette -to mamma’s nose all the way, though she could not be quite sure it was -of any use. When they got there, such a neat old housekeeper came out, -quite a Louise Schepler; for the _pasteur_, like Oberlin, was a widower. -But he had no children, which was all the better, because the house was -all the quieter. So they took dear mamma into the best bed-room, where -everything was very poor and scanty, but very clean; and just then, the -English doctor arrived, who had only gone a little way up the mountain -after all, and, strange to say! had turned back under an unaccountable -impression that he was wanted. And he said, as mamma was in the skin, -she might as well remain in it, though it was queer practice; and then he -gave her a very strong restorative from the _pasteur’s_ medicine-chest, -which made her open her eyes and look slowly round, without turning her -head; and then he said “You’ll do, my dear madam, now;” and nodded and -smiled, and went off talking to papa quite cheerfully. But, oh! he was -quite mistaken; for, as soon as the effect of the restorative subsided, -mamma felt herself rapidly sinking, and told papa she knew she was going -to die. Then poor papa, who had returned quite hopeful, lost all his -courage again, and cried bitterly; and called the _pasteur_, who came in, -and knelt down, and offered, oh! such a heavenly prayer! Even Kent, who -understood not one word of it, said the very _tone_ was prayer. He began -“_Seigneur!_”—and then made a great stop—and then began again, “Seigneur! -Holy and just are all thy ways! Who shall not magnify thee, O God most -holy?” And then went on. Arbell’s head was too confused for her to retain -it in her memory, but it sank into her heart, and seemed to carry her up -to heaven, quite away from all earthly, vexing cares. And when they rose -from their knees, dear mamma was asleep, and slept for hours! Meanwhile, -papa got some very strong jelly from the inn, and when she woke, he or -Kent gave her a spoonful of it from time to time, which she seemed to -like; for, when she wanted more, she opened her lips without speaking; -and Arbell or Kent watched her lips all night long, taking it by turns -to sleep a little on the ground. Poor papa got a little rest in the -easy-chair in the parlour. The doctor—Dr. Thorpe—had come very early in -the morning, and twice more in the course of the day, and was excessively -kind, though at first he had seemed rather _brusque_. He said all the -travellers, inn-people, and guides were deeply interested in mamma, and -prayers were being offered up. (Poor Arbell’s writing was here smeared -with tears). An English lady had sent Arbell a little text-book, which -was a great comfort to her, and so were many hymns she remembered; but -she had her little diamond Bible in her pocket already; there were -parts in it that she thought she should never be able to read hereafter -without their bringing to mind that little whitewashed room, with table, -chairs, and drawers painted sea-green, and cold, uncarpeted floor. She -was going to bed that night—papa insisted on it; but at four o’clock Kent -would change places with her; the _pasteur_ was going to sleep in the -easy-chair. She would soon write to dear Miss Prout again. - -Thus ended poor Arbell’s letter. What depths of new experience had she -sounded in a few hours! I could not help thinking of those beautiful -words of the prophet Hosea, “Come, let us return unto the Lord; for He -hath torn, and He will heal us; He hath smitten, and He will bind us up.” -I felt an impression that it would be so in this instance. - -The Pevenseys had been what people might call a _moderately_ religious -family; but without much devotional feeling apparent among them. Mrs. -Pevensey was a churchwoman; her husband had been brought up among -dissenters; Mademoiselle Foularde was a Roman Catholic; and each had such -a well-bred respect for what they deemed the prejudices of one another, -that I had sometimes feared it tended to a little indifferentism in -practice. But what right had I to judge of others? To their own Master -they would stand or fall. - - “Motives are all, in Heaven’s impartial eye, - But ’tis not ours to doubt and give the lie; - Let each give credit to his neighbour’s share, - But analyse his own with utmost care.”[4] - -How many afflicting thoughts must have passed through poor Mrs. -Pevensey’s mind, as she silently lay, hour after hour, sewn up in her -sheep-skin! I thought she must have needed _more_ than the fortitude of a -Roman matron; _nothing_ could have given her composure commensurate with -her need of it, under such circumstances, but the submission and faith of -a Christian. This trial, so afflictive at the time, might yet hereafter -be reverted to as the crowning mercy of her life, by having led her to -more complete subjection to the will of her heavenly Father. - - * * * * * - -Margaret Prout came in this morning, looking so pleased that I concluded -she had fresh and better news of Mrs. Pevensey. But no—she had only a -letter from Harry, and a note from Emily. I begged she would read me -Emily’s first, which she did. Emily said that immediately on hearing of -what had happened, Mrs. Pevensey’s maiden sister,—who goes among the -young people by the name of Aunt Catherine,—packed up bag and baggage, -got a passport and bills of exchange, and started off with a courier -for the scene of affliction. What a comfort she will be to them all! -Many would have shilly-shallied, and written to ask whether they were -wanted, and looked about for an escort, and awaited a quiet sea for -crossing, and nobody knows what, till the real day of need had passed. -That is not Aunt Catherine’s way. “What thou doest, do quickly,” has, -throughout her life, been to her a precept of Divine obligation. She -does not do things hurriedly—all in a scramble, so as to be twitted with -“most haste, worse speed,” by people less energetic than herself; but -she does them _at once_; consequently, she does them efficiently; while -her ardour, uncooled, supports her through the undertaking, and makes -her insensible of half the difficulty. I always regard this as a very -fine element in her character. Aunt Kate does not look twice at a pill -before she takes it; nor lose the post for want of finishing a letter -in good time; nor send a cheque to be cashed at the county-bank after -office-hours. She is never likely to be short of postage-stamps, or of -money for current expenses, or to leave small debts unpaid, or small -obligations uncancelled, and then to content herself with saying, “Oh, -I forgot that!” There is no one on whom I should more surely rely for -knowing, in a common-sense, unprofessional way, not only what remedy to -take for any illness, or what measures to resort to in case of a burn, -scald, or fractured limb, but what antidote to administer for any poison -accidentally taken—whether hot brandy-and-water for prussic acid, milk -for vitriol, or an emetic for opium, followed by draughts of vinegar -and water—thus preparing the way for the doctor she had lost no time in -summoning, but who might not be able instantly to answer her summons. - -Such a maiden sister as this in a large family household is invaluable. -Nor does Miss Pevensey deteriorate the price set on her sterling -qualities by acerbity, or bluff or snappish manners. On the contrary, -she is cordial and easily contented—always ready to take, without saying -anything to anybody, the least-envied seat in a carriage, or at table, -or in church, willing to sleep in the room with the chimney that smokes, -and to have the windows open or the doors shut, to suit her companions; -though, of course, she has her preferences. And all this without the -least servility—which, indeed, would be strangely purposeless, for she is -in independent circumstances. - -She is a small, thin woman, not in the least pretty; but excessively neat -in her apparel, and quite the gentlewoman; with a cheerful, sprightly -manner, so that most people like her. She is not single because no one -ever asked her to marry. She has grey eyes, an aquiline nose, thin lips, -and wavy brown hair, banded under an airy little cap. You would seldom -wish to have a dress off the same piece with her cheap, thin silks; but -they are always fresh, and well made, and you see directly that they suit -her exactly, and that what you are wearing would not suit her at all. I -have not seen much of her, but what I have seen, I have liked. - -Harry’s letter was capital. He had been with the Whitgraves to Hampton -Court, and after seeing the pictures, the maze, &c., they had dined on -the grass in Bushy Park. It had freshened him up for a week. And Mr. -Whitgrave had gone with him to the National Gallery, and told him what -to admire, _and why_. And Mrs. and Miss Welsh had accompanied him to the -British Museum, where they had spent a whole afternoon over the Assyrian -Marbles. - -“Only think,” he wrote, “of our looking at the very Bel and Nebo -mentioned in the prophecies of Isaiah! ‘Bel boweth down, Nebo stoopeth,’ -&c.,[5]—which they _did_, when they were taken from their pedestals by -the victorious enemy. Do you know, that when Babylon was taken by the -Persians, these two images were carried before the conquerors? Only think -of their finding their way to the British Museum! There is old Nebo, with -folded hands, and with an inscription on the hem of his garment, telling -us (now we can read the cuneiform letters) that he was carved and erected -by a sculptor of Nimroud, in the days of Semiramis, Queen of Assyria. As -I gazed on it, I could not help thinking, ‘Truly, _this_ is poetry, and -history too!’ It now turns out that the famous Semiramis was not the wife -of Ninus, but of King Pul, mentioned in the Old Testament; and that she -did not live, as has been commonly supposed, two thousand years before -the Christian era, but only eight hundred: which brings the date within -a hundred years of that given by Herodotus, so long called ‘the father -of lies,’ by people who would not, or could not, examine for themselves, -but whose veracity is being more and more established every day by the -researches of the learned. Of course, as a good deal of his information -was picked up from hearsay, he was liable to occasional errors, like -other people; but he seems to have been a careful, painstaking man, who -went from place to place to collect information on the spot wherever he -could; which was certainly a good deal more creditable way of gathering -materials for a history, than that of many modern writers, who merely -collect a few books around them in their study, and write out, day by -day, what has been written in pretty nearly the same words many times -before.” - -I thought this passage of Harry’s letter to Emily (who had inclosed it to -Margaret) so interesting, that I asked and obtained permission to copy -it. How good a thing it is when brothers and sisters write in this free, -communicative way to one another! not merely pouring out their feelings, -but taking the trouble to express thoughts, and thereby brightening and -polishing the best properties of their minds by collision. The present -Dean of Carlisle says, that he has known young men at college wholly -restrained from vice, simply by the hallowed and blessed influence of -their sisters.[6] - - * * * * * - -Arbell has again been heard from. Aunt Catherine had safely arrived, and -they were all so glad to see her! Also an eminent English surgeon, who -had been telegraphed for, and who accidentally, or rather providentially, -crossed in the same steamer, and, seeing the name of “Miss Pevensey” -on her carpet-bag, immediately introduced himself to her, and took -care of her all the rest of the way. This was an immense advantage to -Miss Pevensey, who speaks very indifferent French, and who, without -a courier, could not have got on at all: besides, he prevented her -thoughts from dwelling on one painful subject all the way, and told her -several instances of remarkable recoveries, which greatly cheered her. -He, on his part, was glad to get some idea of what sort of people they -were who had sent for him, and became interested in Miss Pevensey’s -account of her sister-in-law’s character and responsibilities. When -they arrived at the _pasteur’s_, Arbell said she was so glad to see -her aunt, that she could not help the tears running down her face. Sir -Benjamin pronounced dear mamma to be going on quite favourably; indeed, -he thought her progress, as far as it went, almost miraculous; and said -it showed that mountain-practice was not altogether to be despised. They -were going to begin their homeward journey by very easy stages, as soon -as an invalid litter could be constructed according to Sir Benjamin’s -directions, which would shake dear mamma as little as possible. They -could not think how they could ever be sufficiently grateful for M. -Peyranet’s goodness—the only way in which papa thought he could show a -sense of it was, by giving largely to his poor. - - * * * * * - -The harriers and stag-hounds are out this fine November morning; and I -see hunters in green coats and red winding down the steep chalky sides -of the hill; while men, boys, dogs, and cattle all seem animated by the -spirit of the chase—the cows and horses galloping round the meadows in -search of some outlet from their confinement. Certainly, the distant horn -does sound enlivening. For the poor hare there is no hope of mercy; but -the stag has been so often turned out, that I hardly think he can believe -himself in much danger. There he goes! I was cockney enough to mistake -him at first for a donkey! How gracefully he cleared the gate! Off he -goes, at a rocking-horse sort of pace. He will give them a good run yet. - -The trees are now as many-hued as Joseph’s coat of divers colours—orange, -golden, lemon colour, every shade of green, brown, and mulberry, some -cherry red; but few trees, except the walnuts, are quite leafless. The -pigs, with eager snouts, are grubbing for acorns around the oaks,—off -they trot, except one, to a new locality; he is too busy to note them, -till suddenly looking up, it seems to strike him, “_Can_ they be doing -better than I am?” and off he posts for his share of the spoils. - -How much one may see from a window! I can descry long wavy sheets of -gossamer, glittering with dew, shimmering in the air—the most exquisite -texture conceivable, fit for the wedding-veil of the fairy-queen! -The walnut-trees have been threshed; the wild-geese have flown home; -the swallows flew off on the 21st of September. Many garden-flowers -yet linger; but wild-flowers are reduced to a pitiful array, chiefly -comprising daisies, yarrow, ragwort, and furze. Bright days are becoming -fewer and fewer; but we had a fine Fifth of November, and I saw a rustic -Guy Fawkes set down in the middle of the road by a party of merry lads, -that they might scramble over a gate and race after a squirrel. The -skylark and thrush have not yet quite forsaken us, but our principal -songster is the robin, who pipes away most merrily. - -In one of Mary Russell Mitford’s fairy-like notes to me, written within -three weeks of her death, she says, “I am sometimes wheeled from my -fire-side to the window; and, about a month ago, a red-breast came to -that window and tapped. Of course, we answered the appeal by fixing a -little tray outside the window-sill, and keeping it well supplied with -bread crumbs; and now he not only comes himself, but has introduced his -kinsfolk and friends. Think how great a pleasure!” - - * * * * * - -No news of the Pevenseys’ return; but they must be slowly nearing home, -unless any fresh causes of delay have occurred. Winter is stealing -imperceptibly upon us; November has slipped away, and December has -arrived, almost without the change being felt. - -We speak of the merry month of May, and why not of the merry month of -December? Well, there is an answer to that question; but, before I give -it, I will consider what may be said on the bright side. True it is, that -many of nature’s processes are now veiled from human sight; but not less -true is it that they are secretly progressing. The seed-corn is garnered -in the earth; the earth itself in many spots is sweetening; the leafless -trees are preparing to burst into verdure next spring; and, had we power -to observe what is going on in their secret vessels, how much should -we find to delight and surprise us! what multitudes of contrivances of -which we have no knowledge, and even too delicate and complex to be -comprehended! Meanwhile, many of the trees, when unlopped, have forms -so beautiful as to present a delicate tracery, reminding one of black -lace (though that is a miserable comparison), when seen in the distance -against the clear, grey sky. There is little to do in the field; but the -flail resounds noisily within the barn; and the horses and cattle enjoy -the comfortable warmth of the straw-yard. Then, within-doors, how snug -and sociable is the fire-side! How the solitary enjoy the book, and the -domestic party the long talks they had no leisure for in the summer! -Christmas is coming; and is not that season proverbially merry, save -where there is some sad domestic bereavement or affliction? How gay the -shops are! with winter fabrics, and warm furs, and brilliant ribbons; -with jolly sirloins, plump poultry, heaps of golden oranges, rosy apples, -and all kinds of winter fruit! How gladly we think that the young folks -will soon come home for the holidays! “I call to mind,” says the genial -Southey, - - “The schoolboy days, when, in the falling leaves - I saw, with eager hope, the pleasant sign - Of coming Christmas; when at morn I took - My wooden calendar, and counting up - Once more its often-told account, smoothed off - Each day, with more delight, the daily notch.” - -Dearly do schoolboys love a hard winter, because it brings sliding, and -skating, and snowballing in its train. Is not December, then, a merry -month? Well, there is a reverse to the picture. In the first place, we -poor, creaky invalids feel his cold touch in every joint, and at every -shortening breath drawn from our wheezing chests, and very early in the -month get shut up by the peremptory doctor; unless, indeed, we are too -poor to be laid aside from the active toil that wins daily bread. Let the -invalid with every comfort around her, think of those who have neither -warm fires, nor warm clothing, nor warm bedding, nor warm food. See their -sad, pinched faces, shrinking forms, chilblained hands, and ill-protected -feet; think of their desolate dwellings, where the rain drips through the -roof, where the broken pane is stuffed with rags, and where, for many -hours daily, no fire burns on the hearth; and then refuse them sympathy -and aid if you are not of the same flesh and blood, children of the -same Creator! Oh, the time is drawing near when we may indeed warm our -own hearts by warming the bodies of others! by putting shoes with warm -stockings on bare feet, thick tweed on shoulders, and flannel on chests, -coals in the grate, and wholesome, nourishing food on the table! Here is -our encouragement—“And thou shalt be blessed; for they cannot recompense -thee, but thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.” - -As I look up from my writing on this 4th of December, I see a blue, -cloudless sky shining above steep, chalky hills that are clothed with -the short, sweet turf loved by sheep, below which are green meadows, -cut with dykes, to drain them during the winter; leafless hedges and -scattered clumps of trees, principally oaks, still clad in a good many -yellow leaves. The tiled roofs of many scattered cottages in the lanes -are now visible, that cannot be seen in the summer: all looks bright and -cheerful. Such is hardly a scene to remind one of the real severity of -winter:— - - “When all abroad the wind doth blow, - And coughing drowns the parson’s saw, - And birds sit brooding in the snow, - And Marian’s nose looks red and raw, - When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, - When nightly sings the staring owl, - ‘Tu-whit! tu-whoo!’ a dismal note, - While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.” - -For my part, I like hearing the owl; perhaps because Shakspere has linked -it with immortal verse. Dismal it is, I suppose—something like the -forlorn cry of a belated traveller for assistance: its association with -darkness and horror makes more vivid the contrast of the light twinkling -through the casement, the crab-apples roasting and sputtering as they are -popped, scalding hot, into the wassail-bowl, and Mrs. Joan’s assurance -to the hospitable host that she has had “quite enough,” and has quite -emptied her mug, to verity which, she turns it topsy-turvy—top-side -t’other way. - - * * * * * - -Down comes the rain!—and enters Miss Burt with dripping umbrella, and -dress hooked in festoons above her ancles, to tell me the Pevenseys -reach home to-day. She is full of the news, and has carried it on to the -Seckers. - -What a cheerless, wretched afternoon! Rain, rain, go to Spain! What -matter? Home is home, be it ever so homely,—and the Stone House is -anything but that, I am told—for I have never been within it. Mrs. -Pevensey’s first call was during my illness. How fresh and blooming she -looked! I had heard of her numerous family, but not of her personal -appearance—she did not visit any one I then knew, and I was unprepared -for her sweet face and charming manners. She seemed to enter like a -stream of sunshine, or like Una into the dark cottage of Abbessa. How -kind, how good she was!—she thought she could never do enough for me. - -And now she is ill herself—crippled, shattered perhaps for life, though -comparatively restored; as motionless, I am told, as a figure on an -altar-tomb. Sad, sad! - -But she is not in pain, and her mind is as cheerful and alert as ever; -and the little girls will hang over her with warm kisses; and the baby, -whom she cannot take in her arms, will leap and crow, and be held to -her; and the faithful family servants will receive her in a flutter of -sympathy, and hover about her with tender concern. - -——I feel very lonely to-night. How quickly the day closed in! and how -cheerless the rain sounds against the window-panes! The fire lights up -with fitful gleams the picture on the opposite wall, and the footstool -worked by Eugenia. - -I remember, when we first went to Nutfield, Eugenia and I sallied out, -one bright morning, with a basket, trowel, and old kitchen knife, to take -up some of the pretty purple heath on the common for our flower-borders. -We had not counted the cost. Snap went the thin old knife! Then we tugged -and tugged at the tough stems with our hands, to the great injury of -our gloves, and plunged at the roots with the trowel. But there seemed -no end to those fibres and their ramifications underground—they spread -interlaced and interwove in every direction:—and so, I think, must Mrs. -Pevensey’s social affections:—while I am like a flower in a pot. - - * * * * * - -Here is Christmas close at hand, and Emily Prout is looking forward to -the speedy arrival of the holidays. Harry is expected to-morrow. He will -return to a humble, but happy home,—all the better able to value it for -having been away from his family for some months. - -_I_ have no prospect of any other than a lonely, and perhaps a dull -Christmas; and I am shut up, I fear me, for the winter. I cannot walk; -the donkey-chair is unsafe for me, now that the weather is so cold; and I -cannot afford a close carriage. But I will endeavour to raise my thoughts -from things terrestrial to things celestial—from Christmas feasting to -Him whose birthday feast it is:— - - “Not more than others I deserve, - Yet God hath given me more.” - -Phillis has been very contrary lately. She is completely out of humour; -does everything badly, and resents the least word of reproof. Instead of -her waiting at table, it is _I_ who _wait_, while she does not answer the -bell. If coals are wanted, it is so long before she brings them, that the -fire is nearly out; then she comes in, throws on half a scuttle-full, -which, of course, extinguishes it completely; and, to finish all, upsets -the remainder on the carpet. Then she goes off in a towering rage, comes -back with dust-pan and brush, repairs the damage to the carpet in a very -slovenly way, and then fetches an armful of chips and paper, which make -a great blaze for a few minutes, and soon burn completely out. Is it not -singular that persons will sometimes appear to forget how to do a thing -that they have done, and done properly, for years? - -This morning, though I was suffering from neuralgia, and a drizzling rain -was falling, she scoured my bed-room all over, and set the windows wide -open, whereby everything in the room is as damp and limp as possible. On -my telling her that I would rather have had the cleaning deferred till a -drier day, especially when I was suffering from a cold, she replied that -Friday was the day for doing it, and she would do it on a Friday, or not -at all. On my rejoining—“Nay, is that a question for mistress or maid to -settle?” she replied, she never knew such a mistress; nothing she could -do gave satisfaction; and, as she saw it was no use trying to please me, -she hoped I should suit myself with another servant by that day month; -and then went off, banging the door after her, yet leaving it ajar. - -I felt resentment. I knew I had been a kind mistress to her; had studied -her comforts, allowed her many indulgences, and overlooked many faults; -and this was the way I was repaid! I felt it very hard. True, I had given -her much trouble during my long and painful illness; but she had been -engaged on purpose to assist in nursing me through it, and undertake the -whole general work of the little house; had said, again and again, the -work was nothing, and, in fact, was always sitting down to needle-work -at five o’clock in the afternoon. - -I was aggrieved: I thought, if she would go, she might: if there were -no attachment on one side, why need there be any on the other? And as -to getting another servant, why I _could_ but have a tiresome one, and -Phillis was that already. - -In writing all this down I perceive some bad logic, but I felt very -forlorn and depressed. When she came in to lay the cloth for dinner, she -said not a word, nor did I; but her face declared war. The dinner could -hardly have been worse cooked. - -After dinner Mrs. Prout called. She seemed sorry to see me not looking -well, and made such kind inquiries that a tear rolled down my cheek, and -I told her all my trouble. She was very indignant at Phillis’s conduct, -which she called abominable; and she said she would look out for a -better servant for me—a woman who could behave like that was not worth -her wages. I softened a little, and said she was not always so bad, of -course; and when I had been so very ill, was really very attentive to me. - -Mrs. Prout said yes, she remembered poor Mr. Prout saying I had a rough -sort of creature to wait up me, but that she seemed kind-hearted. - -“And, after all,” said she, “when we consider how little training such -women get before they go into service, and what indistinct notions they -have of their relative duties, we must make great excuses for them.” - -“O yes,” said I, “we must; and, perhaps, I have been too exacting.” - -“Well, it is possible you may have been a little so without intending -it,” said she. “We are all so apt to see things only from our own point -of view, and not to make sufficient allowances for others. Still, I don’t -see how you can go on comfortably together, since she makes no allowances -for _you_.” - -“Not unless she _would_ make allowances,” said I, doubtfully. - -“Do you wish her to stay?” - -“Why, yes, if she would go on comfortably; for I can’t bear strange -faces, and we shall never find any one who is perfect.” - -“Then, shall I say a few words to her, when she lets me out?” - -“My dear friend,” said I, “I shall be _very_ much obliged to you!” - -So the kind little woman arose, after telling me that Mrs. Pevensey had -reached home, and had borne the journey better than had been expected; -and that Emily was to come home on Saturday. And after she had taken -leave of me, I could hear her quiet voice for some time in the passage. -I could also hear an indistinct grumble, grumble, grumble, from Phillis, -and wondered what bad case she was making out against me. Then I heard -Mrs. Prout’s quiet voice again; but the only words that reached me were, -“You really should not;” and, “You really should.” - -Then the door closed after her, and I heard a tremendous cleaning of -fire-irons going on in the kitchen, and quantities of coals shovelled up, -and quantities of water pumped up; after which ensued a lull. I lay back -on the sofa, and stayed my troubled mind with; “O Lord! undertake for -me!” - -Just as it was getting quite dusk, I was startled from a little nap by -a smart ring at the back-door. A distant grumbling of voices ensued; -and as some suspicious-looking tramps had lately been hanging about the -neighbourhood, I became nervous, and rang the bell, to desire Phillis not -to parley with any people of the kind, but to shut and bolt the door. She -answered the bell, looking very glum. - -“Who is that, Phillis?” - -“Some one as has come after _my_ situation. I should’t ha’ thought -there’d been such a hurry!” - -“Why, you yourself gave warning; and you have never said a word since of -being sorry for it, and wishing to stay.” - -“You’ve never given me time!” - -“To settle the matter at once—_do_ you wish to say so now?” - -“Why, dear me, how can one settle a question like that in a minute?” - -“Send the person in.” - -“Then you _do_ want me to go?” - -“Phillis, have _you_ ever said you wanted to stay?” - -“Why, you knows as well as I do, that I can’t abear change.” - -“There are other things, though, you must bear, Phillis, if you can’t -bear that. Let a family be large or little, it can never be a happy one -where the great law of obedience is broken, and where the mistress is -obliged to follow the lead of the servant. I do not mean to follow that -course; and, therefore, if you wish to remain here, you must obey _me_.” - -“Why, don’t I?” - -“Certainly you don’t.” - -“Then you want to see this gal?” - -“Of course, it is the least I can do, since Mrs. Prout, no doubt, has -been kind enough to send her down.” - -Phillis put the corner of her apron to her eye. - -“Then ’tis you wants to change, not I,” said she, in a stifled voice; -“for I’m very well content to rub on as I am.” - -I took no notice. The next minute, she showed a tall young person into -the room, who stood close to the door. - -“You may go, Phillis.” - -Phillis shut the door, and went. - -“Good evening; will you come a little nearer?” said I. - -The stranger obeyed, and I suddenly became frightened; for the stride and -awkward gait convinced me it was a man in woman’s clothes. Thoughts of -robbery and murder rushed through my head as the figure advanced towards -me; but just then, the fire, which had been burning dimly, sent up a -bright tongue of flame, which lighted up the room, and shone on a face -that I thought was not altogether unknown to me. - -“Where do you come from?” said I. - -“Little Coram Street, London, ma’am,” in a voice of studied softness. - -“Hum! then I fear a country place won’t suit you.” - -“O yes, it will, ma’am! I likes the country best.” - -“I am afraid you are not used to hard work. Did you ever scour a room?” - -“I can work harder than people think, ma’am.” - -“Well, but, _did_ you ever?” - -“O ma’am, there’s _nothing_ I mind setting my hand to.” - -“Or clean a saucepan?” - -“Surely, ma’am, every servant can do that!” - -“Who will recommend you?” - -“Mrs. Prout knows me very well, ma’am.” - -“And so does Mrs. Cheerlove!” said I, laughing. “Oh, Harry! you impostor! -I found you out directly!” - -“Did you though?” said he, bursting into a fit of laughter, and throwing -his disguises right and left, till he stood before me in his original -dress. “Phillis didn’t; and a good fright I’ve given her. Served her -right, too! Listeners never hear any good of themselves, Mrs. Phillis,” -added he, as she put her head a little way into the room. - -“Why, I thought I heard a man’s voice, and it gave me quite a turn,” -said she, advancing in a hesitating way towards us; “and so I did,—for, -whoever would have thought of its being _you_, Master Prout!” - -“_You_ didn’t, it’s certain,” said he, rolling his things up into a -bundle, “or you wouldn’t have tried to set me against the place!—so there -I have you! Recollect, I’m a lawyer, and can take advantage of you at any -time.” - -She was, for once, without one word to say. - -“Yes, yes,” added he, “I’ve had a grudge against you this long while -for calling me _Master_ Prout, when all the world knows I’ve been _Mr._ -Prout ever so long. One would think I took my meals in the nursery. -So, mind you, Phillis, if ever you are uncivil to your mistress again, -or ever more call me _master_, I’ll show you I _am_ your master, in -one way or another. And, as for your not having answered the bell when -Mrs. Cheerlove wanted you, because you were making a cap, why, sooner -than keep her waiting for that, I’d have worn a brown-paper cap like a -carpenter. So now go and make the kettle boil—very boiling, indeed, for -I’m come to drink tea with Mrs. Cheerlove; and we Londoners don’t admire -tea made with lukewarm water, I assure you.” - -Off she went, with “Well, I’m sure!” on her lips, but with by no means a -displeased look on her face; and I could not help thinking, “Some people -may steal a horse, while others dare not look over a hedge. She has taken -a good deal more from ‘Master Prout’ than she would from Mrs. Cheerlove.” - - * * * * * - - The Stone House, December 27. - -When will wonders cease! I can hardly believe I am awake and in my -senses,—yet so it is:—yes, here I am, spending the Christmas holidays -with the Pevenseys:— - - “And nothing meets my eye but sights of bliss.” - -They had only been at home a few days when Arbell came in, all smiles, -to ask how I was, and to say that her mamma had thought a great deal -about me; and that it had occurred to her that as _I_ was an invalid, and -_she_ was an invalid, we should suit one another much better than if our -positions were more dissimilar; and that though we were not equal to a -merry Christmas, she did not see why we might not have a pleasant one. So -she had resolved on my occupying a certain bow-windowed blue room, with -dressing-room attached, during the holidays, and I should keep my own -hours, and choose my own companions, and dine early, and see as much or -as little of the family as I liked. She would not take no for an answer, -and she would send the close carriage for me the very next day. - -Well, as she would not take “No,” for an answer, what _could_ I say but -“Yes?” and “very much obliged,” too. It put me quite in a flutter, but a -flutter of pleasurable excitement; for I have come to think the Pevenseys -one of the most interesting families in the whole world. It was very -satisfactory to think that my wardrobe was in fine order; that my best -caps, handkerchiefs, &c., were all beautifully got up, and ready for -immediate packing; that my new black silk dress had not even been worn; -and that I had got rid of the neuralgia just long enough not to be afraid -even of changing my bed. - -I am sure the real danger will be in returning to my own house! I have -always considered it sufficiently snug; but the walls are so thin, -compared with these; and there are many chinks and fissures we are -obliged to stop up by ingenious contrivances, similar to what sailors -effect by means of _shakings_. Whereas here, if you want to open a -window, you may, indeed, do so with ease; but if you want it shut, it -really _will_ shut, without admitting a current of air strong enough to -blow out a candle! or making a noise like the roaring of a lion, through -some undetected orifice, as mine occasionally does at home, when least -expected or wished. I determined Phillis should enjoy herself in my -absence, and therefore permitted her to invite her widowed sister with -her small baby, to stay with her till my return, which she took very -pleasantly. - -And here I am, in the snuggest of dressing-rooms, on the first floor of -the Stone House, overlooking a charming Italian garden, something in the -Haddon Hall style, that is beautiful even in winter, with bright masses -of evergreens forming backgrounds to its “storied urns and animated -busts.” And this dressing-room opens into a delightful bed-room, and also -into a warm, thickly carpeted gallery, into which, also, open three other -spare bed-rooms, one of which is at present occupied by Miss Pevensey, -another by Arbell; chiefly, I believe, that I may not fancy myself -lonely, as a door at the end of the gallery shuts off this wing from the -rest of the house. - -Lonely!—in a house with eight children and sixteen servants! A likely -thing! Here, however, I may be as solitary, if I like, as a nun in her -cell; but as it is now ascertained that I enjoy the family ways, I am -continually having little visits from one and another. Firstly, Mrs. -Kent peeps in before I am up, to see whether the under-housemaid has -lighted my fire, and to inquire how I have slept; and to ask whether -I will have tea, coffee, or chocolate, in bed or out of it. Then, the -aforesaid housemaid (Mary, her name is) helps me to dress, as nicely as -Mrs. Kent could do. Then I step into the dressing-room, where I find -a clear fire, and breakfast for one awaiting me; chocolate and rusks, -may-be, or milk-coffee and French roll; or tea, toast, and a new-laid -egg. After this I commence my little prayer-service and Bible-reading, as -at home, while a prayer-bell, in some far-off quarter, which they tell me -is much too cold for me, summons the household to prayers. - -Immediately after this, the three little ones steal in from the nursery, -saying,—“Will oo like to—to—hear our texts?” Of course I say “Yes;” and -then one little creature says, “God is love;” and another reverently -repeats, “Little children, love one another;” and another, “Live -peaceably with all men.” They learn something fresh every day. Then -Arbell comes in, and we have long, delightful talks, till Mrs. Pevensey, -who sleeps late, is ready to hear her read a portion of Scripture: I -think they talk it over a good deal together afterwards. Meanwhile, -cheerful “Aunt Kate” looks in on me; brings me _The Times_, or “Pinelli’s -Etchings,” or something by the Etching Club, or Dickens’ last number, or -anything she thinks I shall like; makes up the fire, and has a cheerful -chat; but she does not stay long. - -After this, I see no one till the one o’clock dinner, except Rosaline -and Flora, who are happy to give me as much of their company as they -may, till called off for their walk. At one, we all assemble to a very -bountiful meal, presided over by Miss Pevensey and Arbell, who, I am -happy to see, already carves neatly and quickly. Then they generally -carry me off to the conservatory, music-room, or library, the weather -not inviting the delicate to indulge even in carriage exercise. Towards -dusk, comes the grand treat of all: Miss Pevensey, Arbell, and I, repair -to Mrs. Pevensey’s dressing-room, where we find her lying like a statue, -perfectly still and colourless, but with her active mind ready to enter -on any subject, gay, or grave, that may be started. These conversations -are truly enjoyable. They insist on my occupying a couch opposite -Mrs. Pevensey’s; Miss Pevensey establishes herself between us, in her -brother’s easy-chair, and Arbell sits on a cushion at her mother’s feet. -By the uncertain light of the fire, we harmoniously discuss all sorts of -subjects, in a style not quite equal to that of “_Friends in Council_,” -but that suits our requirements equally well. - -The Swiss tour affords inexhaustible subjects of interest and -entertainment. Sometimes Arbell tells what profound astonishment her -tooth-brush excited among the country girls; at other times, they speak -of the wonders of Mont Blanc, and Monte Rosa; and describe their arrival -at the hospice of the Great St. Bernard—the hospitable reception of -the good monks—their cheerful chat round the fire after supper—their -attendance at morning prayers, before dawn, in the chapel—and afterwards -witnessing the substantial breakfast given to the peasants who had -received a night’s shelter, before they descended the pass. - -Sometimes Mr. Pevensey comes in while they are thus talking, and exclaims— - -“What! still among the mountains? Mrs. Cheerlove must be quite bored!” - -“Oh no!” they boldly reply, “she is such a good sympathizer!” - -Then he, his sister, and Arbell, go down to their two hours’ dinner, -which I privately think it a privilege to escape. Mrs. Pevensey and I -have ice, fruit, cakes, and coffee. And then I see her no more, for Mr. -Pevensey spends the rest of the evening with her; and I say good-night, -and retreat to my own room, though not always to bed, if I have an -interesting book. - -Though Mrs. Pevensey is not well enough to receive visitors (except such -a quiet one as myself), it has been very interesting to witness the -benefactions to the poor, the Christmas-tree loaded with presents for the -children and servants, the school-children’s treat, the servants’ feast, -&c., which ushered in Christmas in this hospitable house. In connection -with these, something very mysterious was to take place on Christmas -Eve, in the largest drawing-room, which was known only to Mr. Pevensey, -Arbell, and a few assistants. Great expectations were raised, and most -absurd guesses made, as to what could be going on,—much peeping, prying, -and tittering outside the carefully-locked door, and many conjectures -hazarded on the occupations of those who passed in and out. A good deal -of hammering added excitement to the scene; and Mrs. Pevensey said, with -some anxiety, she hoped they were not hurting the new white and gold -paper; a tinkling bell was also heard. - -At length, the longed-for hour arrived; the school-children had had their -prizes and buns, the servants’ friends had had tea and plum-cake, the -Christmas-tree had displayed its glories, when, at the eventful hour -of eight, the public were admitted, and Mrs. Pevensey was carried into -the drawing-room. All were surprised, and rather disappointed, to find -it so dark; and when Arbell had marshalled every one to their places, -it became darkness itself, for every light was extinguished. A laugh, a -whispered remark, alone broke the silence, though all the household were -present, and the general feeling was of awe. - -At length, on the ringing of _a small bell_, the solemn, distant sounds -of an organ were heard (a very good barrel-organ in the nursery, that -played hymn-tunes), and a curtain, slowly rising, revealed the hospice -of St. Bernard!—or, at any rate, so good a transparency of it as to give -a very vivid impression of the place itself. There was the old monastic -pile, shut in among craggy, snow-clad rocks—the adjacent church, the -_morgue_—the gloomy little lake—the tiny patches of garden, in which -the monks grow a few cabbages and lettuces. To add to the illusion, a -twinkling light was seen in one of the distant windows; a dog’s short, -sharp bark was heard afar off, and the tones of the organ conveyed the -impression of a midnight mass. - -It was very impressively, capitally got up; and at small amount, as we -afterwards learnt, of trouble and cost. Ingenuity had been the prime -artificer; and Mr. Pevensey was much pleased at the cleverness with which -Arbell had seconded him. Altogether, the entertainment was well thought -of, and gave unmingled satisfaction. - - * * * * * - -——I have come to the last page of my little note-book. Oh that the last -page of my life’s story may end as happily! - - -THE END. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] Ecclesiasticus xix. 1. - -[2] These hymns have been inserted by the kind permission of the -publisher of “The Invalid’s Hymn-book.” - -[3] These golden words were once spoken by a wiser tongue than Mrs. -Cheerlove’s. - -[4] Jane Taylor. - -[5] Isaiah xlvi. 1. - -[6] The Rev. F. Close’s Sermon, addressed to the Female Chartists. - - -J. S. VIRTUE, PRINTER, CITY ROAD, LONDON. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Day of Small Things, by Anne Manning - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS *** - -***** This file should be named 62219-0.txt or 62219-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/2/1/62219/ - -Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Day of Small Things - -Author: Anne Manning - -Release Date: May 25, 2020 [EBook #62219] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS *** - - - - -Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p class="center larger">NEW WORKS.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="center">Second and Cheaper Edition, price 7s. 6d., post 8vo., cloth,</p> - -<p class="center larger">POPLAR HOUSE ACADEMY.</p> - -<p class="center">By the Author of “Mary Powell.”</p> - -<div class="smaller"> - -<p>“A tale as touching and alluring as -it is simple,—a tale sure to interest, -whether by its sweet scenes of pathos, -its continuous interest, its exquisite -traits of nature, or its unaffected, unobtrusive -tone of true piety.”—<cite>Literary -Gazette.</cite></p> - -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="center">In preparation,</p> - -<p class="center larger">THE HOUSEHOLD OF SIR THOMAS MORE.</p> - -<p class="center">Cheap Edition.</p> - -<p class="center">To be followed by</p> - -<p class="center larger">EDWARD OSBORNE.</p> - -<p class="center larger">DEBORAH’S DIARY.</p> - -<p class="center">Uniform.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="center">This day, price 2s. boards; 2s. 6d. cloth,</p> - -<p class="center larger">SEVEN TALES BY SEVEN AUTHORS.</p> - -<p class="center">Edited by <span class="smcap">F. 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With numerous Illustrations.</p> - -<div class="smaller"> - -<p class="center">THE AUTHORS TO THE PUBLIC.</p> - -<p>We have the honour to submit to -the public a “Book of the Thames, -from its Rise to its Fall,” hopeful that -our readers may share with us the -enjoyment we have so long, and so -often, derived from the “King of Island -Rivers!”</p> - -<p>We have traced the bountiful river -from the bubbling well out of which it -issues, in the meadow by Trewsbury -Mead—its lonely birthplace—through -its whole course, gathering tributaries, -and passing with them through tranquil -villages, populous towns, and crowded -cities; ever fertilizing, ever beautifying, -ever enriching, until it reaches the -most populous city of the modern or -the ancient world, forming thence the -<span class="smcap">Great Highway</span> by which a hundred -Nations traverse the globe.</p> - -<p class="center">NOTICES OF THE PRESS.</p> - -<p>“It is a book to endear to us our -native England; and, produced with all -the elegance of the printer’s and binder’s -art, will richly adorn the drawing-room -table.”—<cite>Daily News.</cite></p> - -<p>“It is by far the pleasantest book, -certainly the most complete in design -and execution, that has been published -about the Thames for many years, and -we can easily understand that in writing -it the authors performed ‘a labour of -love.’”—<cite>Morning Post.</cite></p> - -<p>“This is one of the best in appearance -of the ornamental works of the -season which is just passed; the binding -and the typography are excellent, -and the style lively, superficial, and -showy.”—<cite>John Bull.</cite></p> - -<p>“A faithful as well as an agreeable -guide to whatever of interest occurs -along the entire course of the river. -In short, it is a pleasant, well-written, -and very handsome book on the pleasantest -river an author could have to -write about.”—<cite>Literary Gazette.</cite></p> - -</div> - -<p class="center">IN THREE BINDINGS:</p> - -<table summary="Bindings and prices"> - <tr> - <td>Cloth</td> - <td>18s.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Superbly gilt</td> - <td>21s.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Morocco</td> - <td>26s.</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="center">ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE, & CO., 25, PATERNOSTER ROW.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h1><span class="smaller">THE</span><br /> -DAY OF SMALL THINGS.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="titlepage larger"><span class="smaller">THE</span><br /> -DAY OF SMALL THINGS.</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -THE AUTHOR OF “MARY POWELL.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Young and old all brought their troubles,</div> -<div class="verse">Small and great, for me to hear:</div> -<div class="verse">I have often bless’d my sorrow,</div> -<div class="verse">That drew others’ grief so near.</div> -<div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Adelaide Procter.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">LONDON:<br /> -ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE & CO.,<br /> -<span class="smaller">25, PATERNOSTER ROW.</span><br /> -1860.</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">LONDON:<br /> -PRINTED BY JAMES S. VIRTUE,<br /> -CITY ROAD.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="center larger">DEDICATED<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">TO<br /> -<br /> -MY TWO DEAR NIECES,</span><br /> -<br /> -FLORENCE AND ELLEN.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS.</h2> - -<p>“I think I have been laid up nearly two years -on this sofa, Phillis?” said I.</p> - -<p>“Two years, come the 6th of October,” said -Phillis.</p> - -<p>“And, during that time, what mercies I have -received! what alleviations, what blessings!”</p> - -<p>“What sea-kale and early spare-o’-grass! what -baskets of grapes and pottles of strawberries!” -said Phillis.</p> - -<p>“What songs in the night, what in-pourings -of strength!” said I.</p> - -<p>“So many pheasants, too, and partridges!” -said Phillis. “Teal, woodcocks, and wild ducks!”</p> - -<p>“David might well say, the Lord maketh our -bed in our sickness, Phillis,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Such a pretty bed as it is, too!” said Phillis. -“So white, sweet, and clean! Russia sheets and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -Marseilles quilt, bleached on a heath common, -close by a sweetbriar hedge!”</p> - -<p>“Not only that—” said I.</p> - -<p>“Not only that,” said Phillis, “but such -pretty daisy-fringe to the curtains, and a clean -tarletan blind to the window.”</p> - -<p>“Such a lovely view from the window!” said I.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘Ever charming, ever new.’”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“You see everything that goes by,” said -Phillis.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Phillis. And then the hill! I scarcely -ever look at it without saying to myself, ‘I will -look unto the hill from whence cometh my help.’”</p> - -<p>“The doctor lives the other way, though,” said -Phillis.</p> - -<p>“I am never weary of watching the continually -varying effects of light and shade on it. And yet, -how loath I was to settle in this place! But, -directly I saw that hill, with its steep, chalky -sides, its patches of short turf, its fringe of -beeches at the top, and its kilns and lime-burners’ -cottages at the base, with the steep bridle-roads -and sheep-tracks winding up it, I felt, ‘That hill<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -is my fate: there must be a fresh air blowing -over it, a fine view from it; and, with God’s -blessing, it may make me wiser, healthier, and -happier than I am now.’”</p> - -<p>“It hasn’t made you healthier, though,” said -Phillis.</p> - -<p>“O yes, Phillis, it did. For a long while after -I came here, I used to walk to it, and at length -up it, every day. At first, I was surprised to find -how steep and long the road was, even to its foot.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s a goodish step,” said Phillis.</p> - -<p>“But I thought nothing of it afterwards,” said -I. “At first I used to call it (to myself), the -Hill Difficulty. After that, the Hill of Conquered -Wishes.”</p> - -<p>“Because you couldn’t get to the top,” suggested -Phillis.</p> - -<p>“Not only that. There were a good many -things I wished altered—things that I could not -alter for myself, and that I did not feel quite sure -it would be right to pray to God to alter.”</p> - -<p>“Such as puddles and miry bits of road,” said -Phillis.</p> - -<p>“No, not things of that sort. And so I used<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -to think them over, as I walked up that hill, and -struggle with myself to take them kindly, humbly, -and submissively, as they were, such seeming to -be God’s will; and at length I succeeded.”</p> - -<p>“That was a good job,” said Phillis.</p> - -<p>“At the top of the hill, there was a steep patch -of turf, on which, as it seemed to me, grew every -wild-flower that I knew. I used to call it (to -myself), the Garden of the Lord.”</p> - -<p>“Wasn’t that rather wicked?” said Phillis.</p> - -<p>“Why, whose else was it, Phillis? Man had -nothing to do with it.”</p> - -<p>“A woman had, you mean,” said Phillis.</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t.”</p> - -<p>“Why, wasn’t you a woman?—leastways, a -lady?”</p> - -<p>“But I had not had the planting of it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I didn’t know it was planted,” said -Phillis. “You said the things growed wild.”</p> - -<p>“Well, so they did—the Lord planted them. -I used to stand there, looking at them, and -smelling them, and inhaling the sweet, fresh air, -till He seemed nearer to me there than anywhere -else.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> - -<p>“La!” said Phillis.</p> - -<p>“Then, if I felt very strong, I used to go on -yet further, and climb quite up to the trees at -the top. I used to call that (to myself), the -Wood of the Holy Spirit.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder you wasn’t afraid,” said Phillis.</p> - -<p>“No, ‘the voice of the Lord’ seemed walking -in the garden, and took away all fear. Of what -should I be afraid?”</p> - -<p>“Tramps,” said Phillis.</p> - -<p>“I never met any.”</p> - -<p>“That was a wonder, then,” said Phillis, “for -they mostly come right away over that hill, to -and from the Fox’s Hole.”</p> - -<p>“Stay a minute, Phillis, and I will explain to -you why I never was afraid.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me! and I’ve been awaiting and awaiting -all this time,” cried Phillis, “to baste the -chicken! I only stepped away from it for a -moment, to give you your medicine!”</p> - -<p>“Go, baste the chicken, then, Phillis. I beg -your pardon for detaining you. I forgot how -many things you have to do, and to think of. -Go, Phillis, and baste the chicken.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> - -<p>This is just the way she goes on from day to -day. It is certainly very discouraging. An -invalid finds it particularly hard to be without a -sympathizer; or, at any rate, a companion that -can understand one. As to calling me “ma’am,” -she does not—and will not—once a week. But a -Norway deal won’t take the polish of mahogany; -and a rough, stout, country servant, will not -convert into a Mrs. Flounce or a Mrs. Mincing. -It is surprising what work she can get through—what -weights she can lift. I am sure she could -lift <em>me</em>.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The way I came to have Phillis was this. My -nice maid, Hannah, married; and Jane, her -successor, did not suit me at all. My energetic -neighbour, Miss Burt, who is almost too bustling -and busy for her friends, came in one day when I -was very ill, and told me she had found me a -“sterling creature,” who would suit me exactly. -I had never empowered her to look out. And -when I heard that this sterling creature had only -lived in a farm, and afterwards with an old single<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -gentleman, I did not feel very desirous to enter -into treaty with her. Miss Burt, however, told -me she had told her “there could be no harm in -calling,” in which I did not quite coincide; and -she enlarged so much on her fidelity, sobriety, -honesty, cleanliness, and general proficiency, that -I was somewhat overpowered, and agreed to see -the young person when she called, if I were well -enough. “Young! oh, she won’t see thirty -again!” cried Miss Burt, as she swung out of -the room; and indeed I believe several more -years had been numbered by this “daughter of -the plough.” But Phillis is exceeding sensitive -on the subject. “My age is my own,” says she, -shortly; “my age, and my name.” The latter, -however, she told me one day, in an uncommon -fit of good humour, had been given her by her -father because it was in a favourite old song of -his. “And when parson,” pursued Phillis, “objected -that it wasn’t a <em>Christian</em> name, father -said he should like to know whose business it was -to choose the name, his or the parson’s. So -there,” added Phillis, triumphantly, “I fancy -father had the best on’t!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> - -<p>I thought of Crabbe:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘Why Lonicera wilt thou name thy child?’</div> -<div class="verse">I asked the gardener’s wife, in accents mild.</div> -<div class="verse">‘We have a right,’ replied the sturdy dame:</div> -<div class="verse">And Lonicera was the infant’s name.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Rather against the grain, I engaged Phillis. I -was too ill to lose time, and too ill to superintend -her first start, consequently she fell into her own -way of doing things, and will not now adopt any -improvement on them without more exertion of -authority on my part than I often feel inclined -for. I put up with her—and, perhaps, she puts -up with me.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After living many of my earlier years neither -in town nor country, but in one of the western -suburbs of London, I cannot express the pleasure -with which I hailed the novelty of a real -country life. To exchange a house in a row -for a detached dwelling, in the midst of hills, -copses, and cow-pastures, was so delightful as -to afford some compensation for removing far -away from many whom I dearly loved. Seven<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -years my good husband and I shared in tranquil -married happiness; and, as he had previously -been a busy man in the city, the country -was as new to him as to me.</p> - -<p>It is a good thing for leisurely people, of whatever -age, to acquire the habit of noting down -what they observe of interest, in a new position. -To such a habit, we owe the rich storehouse of -John Evelyn’s “Journal,” and White’s “Natural -History of Selborne;” two books which, -perhaps, no country but England could have -produced. On going to Nutfield, I resolved to -observe everything, try many an experiment, -keep a note-book, and ask many questions.</p> - -<p>We obtained possession of our house at -Christmas; but did not go down to it till the -middle of February. In that month (as I -failed not to enter in my journal) the white -wagtail re-appears, the woodlark, thrush, and -chaffinch begin to sing, rooks and partridges to -pair, and geese to lay. Mr. Cheerlove told me -that the clamorous rook, the cheerful cuckoo, -the swift-darting marten, and the lively, sociable -little red-breast, had been called the birds of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -four seasons. We arrived at Nutfield in the -rooks’ honeymoon.</p> - -<p>The first thing that struck us was the air. -How cold, but how fresh it was! How clear -and free from smoke the atmosphere! A thin -blue mist rose from the ground, but it was but -the ghost of a London fog. Then again, as -Mr. Cheerlove remarked, the dirt, plentiful as -it was, merely consisted of earth and water -mixed together, without any abominable additions, -and, compared with London mire, might -even be called <em>clean</em> dirt. The leafless condition -of the trees gave us the opportunity of -admiring the forms of their branches—the -gradual and beautiful decrease of size and increase -of delicacy between the sturdy trunks -and the smallest twigs. The landscape was not -destitute of green: the grass, though scanty -and coarse, still retained its colour, and much -of the growing wood was coated with fine moss; -while the glossy laurel and cheerful holly contrasted -with the sober laurustinus. Here and -there, in the garden, we found a snowdrop, -a hepatica, a yellow aconite, a Christmas rose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -and a few sweet-scented blossoms of the alpine -coltsfoot.</p> - -<p>When we began to explore the neighbourhood, -we found scarcely any wild-flowers, save -now and then a daisy or sprig of gorse, or that -common-looking nettle that bears the splendid -name of white archangel. But we could say “a -good time is coming!” and cheerfully await -it. Meanwhile the horse-chestnut, hazel, and -honeysuckle were budding, and the chickweed -was putting forth its small white flowers; while -the robin, sparrow, wren, and thrush sang -blithely among the bushes, and the lark poured -forth a short but lively song over our heads.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cheerlove had accumulated a great many -books, which, on wet days, it was his delight -to arrange. We had two country maids and a -boy, who found enough to do, but were not -overworked. The first year we made scarcely -any acquaintances; but my sister Eugenia, many -years younger than myself (now, alas! no more), -was frequently with us; and, after our loved -mother’s death, lived with us entirely. Before -she did so, Mr. Cheerlove and I used frequently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -to take little journeys in our one-horse carriage, -jogging on from one place to another, putting-up, -when it suited us, at some neat inn, and -there spending a day, half-day, or two or three -days, according to the attractions of the neighbourhood. -In this way we strayed through -many counties, and made acquaintance with -many rivers, towns, villages, churches, cathedrals, -old castles, and abbeys.</p> - -<p>At the end of seven years, my good husband -died. He was several years my senior, but I -loved him—oh so dearly! and respected him so -deeply! He was not what is called a shining -man, but with the kindest heart, an equable -temper, well-stored mind, a deliberate manner -that gave great impression to what he said or -read, without being in the least tedious, and a -habit of employing himself beyond all praise.</p> - -<p>He was gone; and the sunshine of my life -was gone too! It seemed to me as though I had -never valued him enough while he was alive—might -have expressed more demonstrative affection. -We never had an unkind word.</p> - -<p>Dear man! how I love to think of him!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -The memory of his dear, placid face, his harmonious -voice, his gentle touch, and tread, and tone, -makes my heart swell!</p> - -<p>Eugenia and I were then left together. She -had nothing; I was not rich; and we quitted -Nutfield, and went into a country town. We -had once been members of a large, cheerful -family, but death had mown them all down, -and reserved his keenest, most relentless edge -for the last. After a few uneventful years, Eugenia -became fatally ill. She died; and I was -left alone! And then I came here.</p> - -<p>People were very kind to me. Miss Burt -was my first acquaintance, and I must say she -did me good service; never resting till she had -fixed me under this roof. Indeed, she is seldom -happier than when doing something for somebody; -her only faults, that I know of, being -a love of vexatious, petty domination, and a -great impatience of check. Having nailed me -here, as she called it, she next took me round -to a few poor people under the hill, whom -she put, as it were, under my charge; saying -her own hands were full enough, and too full<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -already, and the superintendence would rouse me, -and do me good. I shall never forget her tone -and attitude when, on entering one of these cottages, -and espying a small grease-spot on the -floor, she stood transfixed, and tragically exclaimed—</p> - -<p>“What’s <em>that</em> I see?”</p> - -<p>The poor woman looked cowed; and I am sure -I felt so.</p> - -<p>When we came out, Miss Burt said to me, complacently -and with a little authority, “That’s the -way you must do things.” She had looked into -every corner, turned up the basins and tea-cups, -detected a black-beetle, which scudded away with -a very reasonable instinct of self-preservation, and -removed the match-box, which she said was too -near the fire.</p> - -<p>It might be her way, but I could never make it -mine. I could not defy the <i lang="la">Lares</i> and <i lang="la">Lemures</i> of -a rustic hearth in that fashion; and never could -make myself more at home in a poor person’s -dwelling than its owner. But perhaps Miss Burt -did most good.</p> - -<p>Time had its healing effect. I had practically<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -learnt that here we have no “continuing city,” -and the impression of the lesson was perhaps -weakening, when I was laid low by a prostrating -and painful illness, that at first threatened my -life, and then left me in a state of weakness and -incapacity that has confined me two years to this -sofa.</p> - -<p>Thus, the story of my life is comprised in few -words. And yet I retain the habit of jotting -down its nothings. As a favourite writer of mine -in <cite>Fraser’s Magazine</cite> has said, “There is a richness -about the life of a person who keeps a diary, -unknown to others. A million more little links -and ties must bind him to the members of his -family circle, and to all among whom he lives. -Life, to him, is surrounded, intertwined, entangled -with thousands of slight incidents, which give it -beauty, kindliness, reality.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I wish Harry Prout would leave off writing poetry. -He might do something good in prose, but -he has a taste, which he mistakes for a talent, for -verse. There are many books of the day which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -he might translate well, if he would but seize the -passing moments as they fly.</p> - -<p>Harry looked in this evening, and gladly remained -to drink tea with me. There was a small -iced plum-cake on the tea-table, a present from -Mrs. Secker; and I was pleased to see the lad -pay his respects to it pretty handsomely. We got -quite cozy and confidential over our little meal. -He looked about him with satisfaction, and said, -“Everything is so trig and tidy here! I wish we -were in your easy circumstances, Mrs. Cheerlove.”</p> - -<p>I laughed, and said, “My circumstances are -very narrow, however easy I may make them—or -take them.”</p> - -<p>“They may be comparatively easy, though, if -not absolutely, I think, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, there are comparative and absolute -values.”</p> - -<p>“Compared, for instance, with those of a -straitened family like ours.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Harry, there are so many of you! Your -father has a larger income than mine, but there is -not so much to spend per head. But soon, my -dear boy, some of you will be able to increase it;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -and, meanwhile, comfort yourself with the reflection -that the real or imagined necessary expenses -of those who have large means, are greater than -those of persons who have only small ones.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t make the reflection, ma’am, because -I don’t believe it.”</p> - -<p>“It is so, though, I assure you. Take the -case of a number of persons (I quote Archbishop -Whately) of each amount of income, from a hundred -a year to a hundred thousand, and you will -find the preponderance of those who are in pecuniary -difficulties constantly augmenting as you -proceed upwards.”</p> - -<p>“If the <em>fact</em> be so, ma’am, of course I cannot -controvert it; but I cannot see how it should be so.”</p> - -<p>“And when you come to sovereign states, whose -revenues are reckoned by millions, you will scarcely -find one of them that is not involved in debt.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, they have so many public expenses.”</p> - -<p>“And private people have so many private expenses. -The temptation to spend increases faster -than the wealth.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it seems to me, that if I had but competence, -I could keep within my income.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - -<p>“At first you would; but your ideas of competence -would alter. At least, it is the common -tendency of people to go beyond their means. I -feel it in myself.”</p> - -<p>“<em>You?</em>” incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed, Harry. Perhaps I think how -shabby and faded the crimson window-curtain -begins to look, and I find I can afford to buy a -new one. Then I consider that the new window-curtain -will make the old carpet look very bad, -and I find I cannot have that without pinching. -Besides, the new carpet would entail the expense -of a new rug; and then the fluted silk of the -cabinet piano must be renewed; and, after all, -how little it would add to the expense to have -new chintz for the sofa and chairs! Thus, expenses -mount up—expenses I cannot afford.”</p> - -<p>“I see.”</p> - -<p>“So it ends in my not incurring any of them.”</p> - -<p>“Your curtain looks very nice, though, Mrs. -Cheerlove.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I had it dipped and embossed.”</p> - -<p>“Your chintz, too.”</p> - -<p>“That was washed and callendered.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, I thought only such persons as mamma -did those things.”</p> - -<p>“There is no need they should be obtruded, -Harry.”</p> - -<p>“No, that’s what I’m always so afraid of.”</p> - -<p>“Nor, if they happen to become known, is -there any need to be ashamed.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I can’t help that.”</p> - -<p>“Not always, I dare say, being young and thin-skinned; -but the less you annoy yourself that -way, the better. So you think I am better off -than <em>you</em>?”</p> - -<p>“O yes, with this nice quiet room. You may -smile, Mrs. Cheerlove, but really it’s no joke, -when a fellow wants to do a bit of writing, to -have a parcel of children swarming about him, -making all sorts of noises. It has such an effect -sometimes on <em>me</em>, I know, that I am ready to -declare the supreme good to be, a quiet room -and leisure to use it.”</p> - -<p>“To write poetry in it—hey, Harry?”</p> - -<p>“Well—perhaps—yes.”</p> - -<p>“Meanwhile, the high stool in the office—”</p> - -<p>“May better be filled by some one else, ma’am.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> - -<p>“While you—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘Invoke the Muses, and improve your vein.’</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Do you admire Coleridge?”</p> - -<p>“Oh immensely! Did he make that line?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Harry, you betray your ignorance of -your favourite craft! No; the line is Waller’s.”</p> - -<p>Harry blushed, and said, “You laid a trap for -me.”</p> - -<p>“Not intentionally, I assure you. But my -transition was rather abrupt. I was going to -direct your attention to a favourite passage of -mine in Coleridge’s works.”</p> - -<p>“Pray do,” said Harry, rising alertly and -going to the book-case.</p> - -<p>“Bring me the second of those two small -volumes, lettered ‘Biographia Literaria.’”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s in prose!” said Harry, in disappointment.</p> - -<p>“Prose by a poet, however—which, by-the-way, -was the name of a pretty, though not very -shining, little work by James Montgomery, that -has now dropped out of sight. Here is the passage: -it begins—‘Never pursue literature as a -trade. With one exception’ (I think he means<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -Southey) ‘I have never known an individual -healthy or happy without some regular employment -which does not depend on the will of the -moment—’”</p> - -<p>“Bah!” muttered Harry.</p> - -<p>“‘But can be carried on so far mechanically -that an average quantum of health, spirit, and -intellectual exertion are requisite for its faithful -discharge.’”</p> - -<p>“I’m surprised Coleridge should say that.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Harry, he was one of the many people -who preach better than they practise. Hear me -to the end—‘Three hours of leisure, unalloyed -by any alien anxiety, and looked forward to -with delight as a change and recreation, will -suffice to realize in literature a larger product -of what is truly <em>genial</em> than weeks of compulsion.’”</p> - -<p>“Ay, I never write but when the fit is on -me,” murmured Harry.</p> - -<p>“‘Money and immediate reputation form only -an arbitrary and accidental end of literary labour. -The <em>hope</em> of them may often prove a stimulant to -industry, but the <em>necessity</em> of acquiring them will,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -in all works of genius, convert a stimulant into a -narcotic.’</p> - -<p>“It did in Sir Walter Scott’s case,” I observed.</p> - -<p>“‘Motives, by excess, reverse their very nature; -and, instead of exciting, stun and stupify -the mind. For it is one contradistinction of -genius from talent, that its predominant end is -always comprised in the means; and this is one -of the many points of likeness between genius -and virtue.’”</p> - -<p>“Then I’ve a genius,” cried Harry, laughing, -“for I always write verses for the pleasure of -writing, and not for money!”</p> - -<p>“Stop, my dear boy, hear him out—‘My dear -young friend, I would say to every one who feels -the genial power working within him, suppose -yourself established in any honourable occupation. -From the counting-house, the law-courts, -or from visiting your last patient, you return at -evening to your family, prepared for its social -enjoyments; with the very countenances of your -wife and children brightened by the knowledge -that, as far as they are concerned, you have satisfied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -the demands of the day. Then, when you -retire into your study—’”</p> - -<p>“I wish I had one!” sighed Harry.</p> - -<p>“‘You revisit in your books so many venerable -friends with whom you can converse. But why -should I say <em>retire</em>? The habits of active life will -tend to give you such self-command that the presence -of your family will be no interruption. -Nay, the social silence, or undisturbing voices of -a wife or sister, will be like a restorative atmosphere, -or soft music, which moulds a dream without -becoming its object.’”</p> - -<p>“What beautiful English he writes,” said -Harry.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I was interrupted where I last left off by -the entrance of the three young Pevenseys, with -their governess, Mademoiselle Foularde, whom I -had supposed still at the sea-side. But it appears -that an epidemic had broken out at Hardsand, -which occasioned their immediate return to the -Stone House. I was very glad to see them all; -they seemed to bring sunshine into my shady -little room; and I had a toy railway-engine for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -the amusement of my little friends, which delighted -the two young ones exceedingly. Arabella, -or, as they frightfully abbreviate her name, -Arbell, has grown quite tall and womanly, for a -girl of fourteen. She has her mother’s good profile, -but is dark, like her father, and the expression -of her face is rather stern and repelling. Mademoiselle -was charming; but I do not think she -and her eldest pupil go on comfortably together. -Whenever I addressed a remark to Arbell, Mademoiselle -answered it, and went on speaking so as -to detain my attention; this occurred three times, -and I could observe Arbell look annoyed. As for -Flora and Rosaline, they had a regular boxing-match, -when they thought I was not looking. I -caught Rosaline’s hand in mine, with the little -fist doubled up, and said, “Why, Rosaline! you -quite surprise me! I did not know you were a -pugilist!”</p> - -<p>She opened her large blue eyes, as if amazed at -my interference, and then seemed disposed to -laugh; but I said quite gravely—“No, no, we -have no fighting here. If it is allowed at the -Stone House, I don’t allow it in my parlour.”</p> - -<p>“It is not allowed at the Stone House, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -they do it for all that!” burst forth Arbell, and -then shut herself up again in rigid silence. Mademoiselle -Foularde darted an indignant look at her, -and then drew Flora towards her, fondling her, -and saying—</p> - -<p>“<i lang="fr">Ah, fi donc, Rosaline! Bonne petite Fleurette! -comme je l’aime!</i> I never saw her fight before, -did I?”</p> - -<p>“How <em>can</em> you say so!” muttered Arbell, and -then sighed, and began to play with her little dog -Shock.</p> - -<p>After this, the conversation rather flagged; but -I showed the little ones some prints I was meaning -to paste into a nursery picture-book; and when I -had quite won their good-will, kissed them, and -said, “You won’t fight again, will you?” Both -said “No” very cordially; and Mademoiselle -and I exchanged looks and smiled, and then I -said, “I am sure you remember that pretty -verse:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘But, children, you should never let</div> -<div class="verse">Such angry passions rise;</div> -<div class="verse">Your little hands were never made</div> -<div class="verse">To tear each other’s eyes!’</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">What <em>were</em> they made for, hey?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> - -<p>Both gave me a quick look, but seemed at fault.</p> - -<p>“Why, to work, and to write, and to draw, and -to paint pictures, and hold knives and forks, and -spoons, and slices of plum-cake, and to give pence -and sixpences to poor people, and a thousand -other good and pleasant things. Will you remember?”</p> - -<p>Both smiled, and said “Yes;” and then I -produced slices of the iced plum-cake Harry -Prout had cut up, and told them to hand the -plate first to Mademoiselle and Arbell, and -then to help themselves. This produced general -good humour and sociability, and, after the -cake had been duly honoured, Mademoiselle -rose to take leave, saying she feared they had -stayed too long, but that it was so difficult to -get away from <em>me</em>, I so charmingly blended instruction -with entertainment, &c. &c. &c., which -I might have liked better if I had not thought -it rather exaggerated and insincere.</p> - -<p>I said to Arbell at parting, “I have seen and -heard too little of you. What a treat it would -be if you would spend a morning with me, and -help me to make this picture-book.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> - -<p>Her face brightened directly, and she exclaimed, -“Ah! I only wish I might!” But -Mademoiselle interposed with something about -Mrs. Pevensey’s wish that the school-room -routine should suffer no interruption, with a -little smile and shrug to me, as much as to -say, “So, of course, we must obey;” and -Arbell went away, looking as rigid and uncomfortable -as at first, carrying Shock under her -arm.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon, to my surprise, Mrs. Pevensey’s -elegant carriage stopped at my little -garden-gate, and Mrs. Pevensey herself came -in. She was charming with smiles and good-nature; -and, in her delicate silver-grey silk, -rich velvet, and blush roses, looked so youthful, -that one could hardly suppose her the mother -of seven children. She has a well-stored mind, -ready wit, or rather, playfulness, good judgment, -and everything that contributes to make -a delightful companion. As a wife she is admirable, -living on the most affectionate terms -with a husband who is considered by most -people rather hard to please; she has formed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -extensive plans for ameliorating the condition -of the poor, which she is carrying out with -great success; and, as a neighbour, she is most -thoughtful and kind—as I have good reason to -know.</p> - -<p>She brought her own entertainment with her; -for her conversation was an almost uninterrupted -flow of what she had done, whom she -had seen, where she had been, interspersed with -remarks full of good feeling and good sense. I -must say that, to an invalid, this continuous flow -is sometimes more fatiguing than if the communications -were more reciprocal and broken up. -The mind is kept on the full stretch; the eyes -gaze on the speaker till they ache, and even -the bodily posture becomes wearisome; yet I -am sure the kind friend always goes away -thinking, in the goodness of her heart, “Well, -I have amused her nicely, and given her a -good many things to think about,” which is -true, too, though they have been purchased -rather dearly.</p> - -<p>It was only after Mrs. Pevensey had told me -a multiplicity of things, and was going away, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -I found the opportunity of telling her how glad -I had been to see her children quite recovered -from the effects of the measles.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said she, with a motherly smile, “they -all look well—all, at least, except poor Arbell; -and <em>she</em>—” (Here she gave a little shrug, like -Mademoiselle, as much as to say, “Something -is not quite straight in that quarter.”)</p> - -<p>“I told Arbell I wished she might be permitted -to spend an hour or two with me some -morning,” said I. “If I have more than one -companion at a time, I can hardly do them -or myself justice.”</p> - -<p>“I am sure I wish she would come,” said -Mrs. Pevensey, smiling sweetly.</p> - -<p>“With your permission, I think she will,” -said I. “May I claim it?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I shall be too happy,” said she; “but -you don’t know Arbell.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose, then, we say to-morrow,” said I, -pertinaciously.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow the hair-cutter is coming. Any -other day.”</p> - -<p>“The day after to-morrow, then?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> - -<p>“With all my heart, if—I don’t know what -Mademoiselle will say.”</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle seemed to think the same of -<em>you</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Of <em>me</em>? Oh, I’ve no voice in the matter! -Mademoiselle has unlimited sway in the school-room. -Mademoiselle is a most excellent creature. -I have unbounded confidence in her. -She is quite superior to her position—came -to me from the Comtesse de St. Velay—has -written an admirable essay on education—her -brother is professor of foreign literature at -Tarbes.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps Mademoiselle uses your name as -a kind of authority.”</p> - -<p>“Very likely,” laughing sweetly; “<em>Mamma’s</em> -name is probably made free use of, in the school-room -and nursery. I remember when, ‘I’ll tell -your Mamma!’ was a terror to myself. Oh, -we all go through these things in our turn. -Poor, dear Arbell! there is excellent promise in -her; but at present she is under a cloud. She -lives in a world of her own, is proud and stubborn, -and Mademoiselle says her spirit must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -broken. It may be so, but I don’t wish to stand -by and witness the operation.”</p> - -<p>“I am sorry to hear you say that,” cried I, -anxiously, “for I think the operation so extremely -hazardous, that it ought only to take -place under the mother’s eye.”</p> - -<p>“It would affect me more,” answered she, -very seriously, “than a surgical case.”</p> - -<p>“I can quite believe it,” replied I, with equal -seriousness; “but possibly your sagacity and -maternal affection united would enable you to -discern that no such painful course was needed. -If Arbell were a little more under your eye—”</p> - -<p>“My dear friend,” interrupted she, “Arbell is -constantly under my eye already. Do you imagine -I shut myself up from my children? No, -no! that would indeed be neglecting a mother’s -first duty. Dry recapitulation of lessons, indeed, -and endless practising, fall exclusively to the -superintendence of the governess; but Arbell -always <em>learns</em> her lessons and writes her exercises -in the room with me, for hours every morning.”</p> - -<p>“I am heartily glad to hear it,” said I, with a -sense of relief.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> - -<p>“We lunch together—that is, they have their -early dinner when we lunch,” pursued Mrs. Pevensey; -“always except when we have friends. -And though my afternoons are generally engaged -in drives, and the children of course do not appear -at the late dinner, they may always do so at -dessert, and the younger ones always <em>do</em>. In the -evenings, it is very much at Arbell’s option, or, -at least, at Mademoiselle’s, whether they appear -or not. Sometimes Arbell has lessons to prepare; -sometimes she is engaged in her own devices; -and really, I think they are more healthful -and suitable for a young girl than large mixed -parties, when silly people too often say silly -things to children, so that frequently I am not -sorry to miss her from the drawing-room. -And now, good-by! I have paid an unconscionable -visit; but there is no getting away -from <em>you</em>. I am so glad you are—I <em>think</em> you -are better?”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, yes. Then I shall see Arbell the -day after to-morrow?”</p> - -<p>“Undoubtedly, if she will come. At what -hour? They dine at two.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Shall I say eleven?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, do; and I will send for her at half-past -one, because it is nearly half-an-hour’s walk. -Good-by, good-by! I must make peace as I -can with Mademoiselle.”</p> - -<p>And she left me with an engaging smile.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Arbell has been, and gone. She came in -rather before eleven, carrying her little white lap-dog, -who had a new scarlet ribbon round his -neck. I saw directly that the cloud was gone,—she -looked as fresh as a rose, and as cheerful as a -lark.</p> - -<p>“Good girl, for being so punctual,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Punctual!” said she. “Why, I hope I’m -more than that, or Shock and I have raced in -vain! I would not let old John come with me -more than half way, and then we took to our -heels and ran—didn’t we, Shock?”</p> - -<p>“I feel the compliment,” said I, very sincerely. -“Perhaps, though, you would as soon have run -in any other direction.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, I shouldn’t,” said she, with a bright -look, as she untied the blue strings of her large -straw hat, and threw it on the ground. The next -minute she picked it up, and put it, with her -gloves and visite, on a side-table.</p> - -<p>“Why did you do that?” said I, curiously.</p> - -<p>“Because you are not Mademoiselle. She -says I never can be tidy, but you see I can.”</p> - -<p>“What people can be, they ought to be,” -said I.</p> - -<p>“What people can be at some times they can’t -be at others,” said Arbell. “Is it not so, Mrs. -Cheerlove?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my love, sometimes.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you for calling me ‘my love.’”</p> - -<p>“By-the-by, why do they abbreviate your -name into Arbell?”</p> - -<p>“Because an ugly name is good enough for an -ugly girl,” said Arbell, quickly; and then, with -a little self-reproach for so captious a speech, -“No, the real reason is, because it is the abbreviation -by which the celebrated Lady Arabella -Stuart was called by her grandmother, the old -Countess of Shrewsbury. Mamma read about her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -in Miss Strickland’s “Queens,” I believe, and so -took a fancy to call me Arbell.”</p> - -<p>“Though you do not like it.”</p> - -<p>“I like whatever mamma likes, almost.”</p> - -<p>“I am very glad to hear you say so, my love. -Are you hungry?”</p> - -<p>She looked at me artlessly, and said, “I should -like a slice of bread-and-butter.”</p> - -<p>“Or jam?” said I.</p> - -<p>“No, bread-and-butter. I should only have -dry bread in the school-room—and scarcely that, -because Mademoiselle says we ought not to be -hungry before an early dinner.”</p> - -<p>“But you have had a walk,” said I, ringing -the bell; “and persons who have left off growing -sometimes forget how hungry they were when -they were not full-grown.”</p> - -<p>“<em>You</em> don’t.”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said I, “young people only come to me -by way of a treat—to me and to themselves. If -you were with me much, I’m afraid I should spoil -you.”</p> - -<p>“What <em>is</em> spoiling, Mrs. Cheerlove?”</p> - -<p>“Can you ask?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I know what it is in the common acceptation -of the word—it is what Mademoiselle does to -Flora: she spoils her by letting her have her own -way; but she spoils me by <em>never</em> letting me have -mine!”</p> - -<p>“It is easy to see, Arbell, that you are not very -fond of Mademoiselle.”</p> - -<p>“How <em>can</em> I be?”</p> - -<p>“(Some bread-and-butter, Phillis.) My dear, -I cannot reply to your question, except by asking -others; and I do not feel it quite right to seek a -confidence which you do not repose in your own -mother.”</p> - -<p>“I wish she would let me,” said Arbell, with -filling eyes.</p> - -<p>“Why, my dear, you spend your mornings -together.”</p> - -<p>“But how? Dear mamma is always preoccupied—by -papa, by the housekeeper, by the -gardener, by the nurses, by her own maid. She -must always see poor little Arthur’s spine rubbed -herself” (here Phillis brought in the bread-and-butter, -and went out), “and baby is cutting her -teeth; and she has to give orders about her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -Italian garden, and dinner, and relief for the -poor, and the children’s new dresses and her own, -and to send baskets and hampers of things to -grandpapa. Then, when all this is over, if I -venture to begin with ‘Mamma!’ she says, ‘My -dear, I am writing a note.’”</p> - -<p>A tear dropped on Shock’s white coat, and she -turned her head away. “Nobody has so small a -share of her as I,” said she; “and I love her so -much!”</p> - -<p>“My dear Arbell,” said I, after a pause, “I -cannot help thinking what an inestimable advantage -it may be to you in after-life, to have had -this training, this by-play, this insight, as a bystander, -into your mother’s life. You may yourself -be placed at the head of an equally large -establishment: many girls, so placed, after a life -exclusively devoted to their own studies and -amusements, are completely at sea. They have -no practical knowledge, no taste even, for the -daily duties which it is a woman’s greatest honour -and pleasure to discharge well; they are complete -babies. They meet every emergency with a helpless, -‘Well, I’m sure I can’t tell what is to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -done!’ and everything is at a stand-still, or goes -the wrong way.”</p> - -<p>Arbell seemed struck. “That never occurred -to me,” said she.</p> - -<p>“In spite of the elegancies by which your mother -is surrounded, hers is, in reality, what many would -pronounce, and find to be, a very hard life. Her -cheerfulness, presence of mind, sound judgment, -and love of order, enable her to get through its -cares gracefully and successfully; so that those -who only see the <em>face</em> of the enamelled watch, and -not all its interior works and springs, little guess -that her head, and even her hands, have more to -do, in their own peculiar department, than those -of some of her dependents.”</p> - -<p>“That may be true,” said Arbell, reflectively. -Then, after a short silence, “What would you do -in my place?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, my love, I should probably not do better -in your place than you do, if as well.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mrs. Cheerlove!”</p> - -<p>“The question is not what I, or any other -person might do, but what <em>should be done</em>. A -very able and excellent author—well known to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -your mother—John Foster, has said, ‘There is -some one state of character, and plan of action, -<em>the very best possible</em>, under all the circumstances -of your age, measure of mental faculties, and -means within your reach; the <em>one plan</em> that will -please God the most, and that will be the most -pleasing to look back upon at the hour of death.’ -Now, should not you aspire to ascertain what is -that best possible course, and then most zealously -devote yourself to its execution? I believe you -to be capable of it.”</p> - -<p>Arbell looked full of high and generous resolve. -“If mamma had said this to me,” exclaimed she, -at length, “I should have been capable of it long -ago.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you have never spoken to her on the -subject with the openness with which you have -now spoken to me.”</p> - -<p>“I have never had the opportunity. However, -I will not dwell any more on that. What is the -one best course now for me?”</p> - -<p>“There need be no marked change in outward -performances: only in their spirit. Your mother -loves you dearly, but she is too busy to attend to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -all your little troubles. Do you be too busy for -them too! Take an intelligent interest in whatever -you are about, be it French, or German, or -anything else; and if interrupted in it, and your -attention distracted by what is being said to nurse, -housekeeper, or gardener,—take an intelligent interest -in that too! Think, ‘Ha, here is something -worth remembering!’ treasure it, note it, -commit it to memory, bear it in mind, lay it to -heart; and then return with fresh eagerness to -the matter in hand.”</p> - -<p>“It sounds well,” said Arbell, thoughtfully; -“I’ll try.”</p> - -<p>“And if you cannot get others to sympathize -with you, why, sympathize with <em>them</em>. It is easy -to say, ‘I can’t; their tastes and feelings are so -different.’ So are yours from theirs, and yet you -expect them to sympathize with <em>you</em>. Don’t get -into the way of feeling isolated. Robinson Crusoe -really <em>was</em> so, and did not find it very comfortable, -in spite of his pretty plantations and snug cave. -If you plant yourself on a little island, and break -down the bridge to it, you must not expect people -to be at the trouble of fetching a boat. Besides,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -you perhaps seek sympathy at unseasonable times. -Your father, in the midst of some profound calculation, -would hardly like your mother to come -in and claim his attention to some sentimental -sorrow: she thought he had looked coldly at her -on such and such an occasion; or could hardly -have been aware, such another time, that she -felt low and unwell.”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed,” said Arbell, laughing.</p> - -<p>“Nor must you expect Mrs. Pevensey to have -leisure or relish for such ill-timed appeals from -yourself. Be intent on forming a noble character; -and you will be sure to find that character appreciated -in after-life.”</p> - -<p>“Ha!”</p> - -<p>“You will try, will you not?”</p> - -<p>“I will! if only Mademoiselle——”</p> - -<p>“Ah, let us look on Mademoiselle as some one -placed in close relation to you by our heavenly -Father for wise purposes of His own, which He -does not think it necessary to communicate to her -or to you. And now eat your bread and butter.”</p> - -<p>She did so, having first given me a hearty kiss.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> - -<p>I am always glad when fine, bright weather on -a Sunday morning favours the church-goers, -though I am debarred by bodily infirmities from -joining the multitude on their way to the house -of God, and swelling the voice of praise and -thanksgiving among such as keep holy-day. And -though my eyes have sometimes swelled with -tears, and my heart yearned with vain longings, -as I have seen the scattered parties trooping past -my gate, yet more often, far more often, I have -silently bidden them good speed, and mentally -repeated that sweet and soothing sonnet of Mrs. -Hemans—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“How many blessed groups this hour are bending</div> -<div class="verse">Through England’s primrose-meadow paths their way!</div> -<div class="verse">Toward spire and tower, ’mid shadowy elms ascending,</div> -<div class="verse">Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day!</div> -<div class="verse">The halls, from old heroic ages grey,</div> -<div class="verse">Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low,</div> -<div class="verse">With whose thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play,</div> -<div class="verse">Send out their inmates in a happy flow,</div> -<div class="verse">Like a freed vernal stream. <em>I</em> may not tread</div> -<div class="verse">With them these pathways; to the feverish bed</div> -<div class="verse">Of sickness bound. Yet, oh my God! I bless</div> -<div class="verse">Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath filled</div> -<div class="verse">My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled</div> -<div class="verse">To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> - -<p>And, since I have been no longer bound to the -sick-bed, but only to the house, my thankfulness -has deepened under a cheerful sense of alleviated -pains and added blessings; so that I may sincerely -say my home-kept Sabbaths have generally -been very calm and sweet.</p> - -<p>I have made out a little routine for myself, -which I adhere to pretty closely. Having early -in life acquired the habit of rising betimes, I have -no temptation to curtail the Sunday by lying in -bed; nor is Phillis so overworked as to need, or -even to wish for, an extra hour’s sleep. I therefore -hear her stirring as soon as the clock strikes -six; and, till she comes to afford me a little -assistance at seven, I lie tranquilly cogitating on -God’s mercies, lifting up my heart to Him, and -almost invariably repeating that hymn of Hugh -White’s, which so fitly opens the invalid’s Sunday.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Let me put on my fair attire,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">My Sabbath robes of richest dress,</div> -<div class="verse">And tune my consecrated lyre,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Lord of the Sabbath! thee to bless.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Oh, may no spot of sin to-day</div> -<div class="verse indent1">My raiment, clean and white, defile!</div> -<div class="verse">And while I tune my heartfelt lay,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Bend down on me thy gracious smile.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Let holy feelings, heavenly themes,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Raise, and refresh, and fill my mind;</div> -<div class="verse">And earth’s low vanities and schemes</div> -<div class="verse indent1">No place nor entertainment find!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The looks, the thoughts, the sweet employ</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Of saints, whose treasure is above,</div> -<div class="verse">Be mine to-day! their zeal, their joy,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Their peace, and purity, and love.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“My spirit may with theirs unite,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">My humble notes with theirs may blend,</div> -<div class="verse">Although denied the pure delight</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Thy sacred courts with them to attend.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The faith and patience of the saints,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">These I may exercise each hour—</div> -<div class="verse">When, weak with pain, the body faints,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">I best may exercise their power.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“O Saviour! with completion crown</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Desires thou wakenest not in vain;</div> -<div class="verse">Stoop to thy lowly temple down,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Bring all these graces in thy train!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“This is thy day of bounty, Lord!</div> -<div class="verse indent1">I ask no small, no stinted boon,</div> -<div class="verse">But showers, rich showers of blessing, poured</div> -<div class="verse indent1">On me, though worthless and alone.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“If the weak tendril round thee twine,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">It ne’er is hidden from thine eye:</div> -<div class="verse">I cling to thee, life-giving Vine,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Strength, verdure, fruitfulness supply!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> -<p>Hugh White, himself on the bed of sickness, -used to send Mrs. Hemans beautiful flowers in -her last illness; and perhaps he may have sent -her this pretty hymn too. I should like to know -that he did, and that it comforted her with the -comfort wherewith he himself was comforted: -one Christian poet should fitly thus console -another.</p> - -<p>Having chewed the cud awhile on this sweet -hymn, and possibly on one or two others, I begin -my toilette with great deliberation. It is indeed -always a lengthy process; not on account of any -special self-decoration (of course, the “Sabbath -robes of richest dress,” in the hymn, have a purely -figurative meaning, though I think respect for the -day may be shown in the outward garb too), not -because I delight in braiding of the hair and -costly array; but on account of downright bodily -weakness, which necessitates frequent little rests -and intermissions: and as I have no one to hurry -for, why should I hurry?</p> - -<p>However, by eight o’clock I find my way to my -sofa in the adjoining room, with the little breakfast -table set near the fire in winter, and near the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -open window in summer. I read a psalm, collect, -and the epistle and gospel of the day, to myself, -while I recover myself a little. I have no voice -for reading aloud before breakfast. My breakfast -is no great matter; it does not take long, -neither do I hurry it; but when one has nothing -to do but to eat and drink, it cannot be a very -tedious occupation. Phillis clears the table, -brings in her Bible, we read a portion, verse and -verse alternately, and then I offer a prayer, and -she then goes to her breakfast. Then I lie and -meditate a little.</p> - -<p>I have put secular books, newspapers, work-baskets, -&c., out of the way overnight; so that -the room has an orderly, Sabbath-like appearance. -The large Bible and little Prayer-book are -on the small table beside me: some other book -also at hand, in the course of Sunday reading. -My canary-bird must be attended to, Sunday as -well as week-day. I give him my attention as -soon as I am a little rested; and perhaps remain -at the window a little, looking at the flowers in -the garden-borders, the little children from the -hill trooping to the school with their cold dinners<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -in their bags, and the hill itself, girdling in the -prospect, and ever calling to mind the verse, “I -will look unto the hill from whence cometh my -help.”</p> - -<p>A widow woman, who nursed me during part -of my illness, always comes to cook my dinner, -and take care of me while Phillis goes to church. -She gets her dinner for her pains, and sits -placidly reading while the meat is roasting, now -and then with an eye to the spit. Afterwards, -she goes to afternoon service. She is too infirm, -and too far from the church to be able to go -more than once in the day.</p> - -<p>Of course, I always have a few pleasant words -with Mrs. Goodey; and sometimes she tells me -of some case of distress among the cottagers, -which I make it my business to relieve, or get -some one to look into, the first opportunity. But -punctually, as the clock strikes eleven, I commence -my solitary prayer service, feeling it a -special pleasure, as well as duty, to offer prayer -and praise at the same time that my fellow -Christians pray and praise.</p> - -<p>Now, as I do not slavishly go through those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -portions (they are but few), which can only be -appropriately used collectively (St. Chrysostom’s -prayer, for instance), one would think I should -arrive at the end of the morning service a good -deal sooner than they do in church. Sooner, -certainly, but not so much so as one might -suppose. For, when thoughts wander, (and, alas! -who is there among mortal men, who, in this -respect, sometimes sinneth not?) I feel it incumbent -on me to go over the ground again. Thus, -if I repeat a clause in the litany mechanically, I -feel that the least I can do is to repeat it with -more attention, and something of contrition. -Even the wicked king in “Hamlet” said:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“My words fly up—my thoughts remain below:</div> -<div class="verse">Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Thus, of course, the more I detect inattention, -the more I lengthen the service. And then again, -in the lessons, I frequently read the consecutive -chapters, perhaps two or three. So that, sometimes, -Mrs. Goodey comes in, to my surprise, to -lay the cloth, before I have finished. But, more -generally, I have done earlier, and lain back on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -my sofa-cushion, and taken a good rest, gazing -on my Sunday nosegay, and on my dear father’s -portrait on the wall. I have no likeness of my -mother—not even a <i lang="fr">silhouette</i>; she never would -have one taken: but her face is indelibly stamped -on my memory and heart.</p> - -<p>Then Phillis bustles in with the one hot dish; -and generally has brought home some scrap of -news, which she is in haste to impart.</p> - -<p>“Master Frank preached to-day.” (The Rev. -Francis Sidney is always, with her, Master -Frank). “How well he do speak up, to be sure! -The deafest in church might hear ’un. Well, I -can’t justly mind what ’twas about, but ’twas -charity, I think, or else hope. No, ’twas charity; -because he brought in, ‘But the greatest of these -is charity.’ Yes, I know he did. Yes, yes—’twas -on charity.”</p> - -<p>Then she adds that Mrs. Stowe’s twins are -going to be christened in the afternoon, by the -names of Esau and Jacob. And then I observe that -Esau and Jacob indeed were twins, but that I -hope the little Stowes will love one another more -than they did; adding that, as if to show the universal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -sinfulness of the human heart, a remarkable -instance was given us in them, that even the proverbial -love of twins for one another was insufficient -to prevent one from over-reaching the other. -To which Phillis, with a grunt, rejoins, “The -young Stowes ha’n’t got no birthright.”</p> - -<p>In the afternoon Phillis generally comes in, -and we read the prayers, psalms, and lessons together; -but sometimes Miss Secker drops in, and -then Phillis and I defer our reading till the evening, -unless she goes to church. Miss Secker -brings a sermon with her, and sometimes I speculate -a little, beforehand, whether it will be by -Barrow, or Bishop Wilson, or Jeremy Taylor, -or by Douglas Forsyth, or Melville, or Henry -Vaughan of Crickhowel. We generally talk it -over afterwards, and though our remarks may not -be very original or deep, they refresh and animate -me, being my only intellectual intercourse during -the day.</p> - -<p>Often our remarks make us turn to our Bibles -to verify and illustrate them; which sometimes -unexpectedly opens up a new subject fertile in -interest. Thus, last Sunday, we lighted on that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -wonderful statistical account of the ancient glory -and wealth of Tyre, as vivid and minute as if the -details were of yesterday:—how that its famous -merchant-ships, the instruments of its mighty -commerce, were built of deal from Senir, <i>i. e.</i> -Mount Hermon, and their masts were of cedar -from Lebanon, their oars of oak from Bashan, -their benches of ivory from Chittim, their sails -manufactured in Egypt, their awnings from the -isles of Elishah; how that the mariners of these -ships were from Sidon, their pilots picked men of -Tyre, their caulkers the men of Gebal; and then -the details of their armies, their merchants, their -great fairs and markets, and the endless variety of -merchandize brought to them from all parts of the -civilised world. It gave us a great deal to think -of:—and very likely it seemed as incredible to the -Tyrians, that their proud city should ever become -a mere desolate rock, on which the lonely fisherman -should dry his nets, as it would to us that -London should be reduced to its condition before -the days of Julius Cæsar, when old King Lud -changed its name from Trinovant to Lud-town.</p> - -<p>Another time, finding that Nathanael was by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -some eminent scholars supposed to be the same -with the apostle Bartholomew, we hunted up all -we could on the question; and came to the conclusion -that, as he was supposed to be the son -of Tholomai, or Ptolemy, Bartholomew, or Bartholomai, -might be the surname given him by our -Lord to signify the son of Tholomai; in like -manner as he called Peter, Bar-jona, or the son of -Jona. Questions of this sort will continually -arise to interested readers of the Scriptures; for -the more we search them, the more do little -twinkling lights disclose themselves to us, reflecting -light on one another.</p> - -<p>I happened, unguardedly, to drop something -about these pleasant readings to Miss Burt, when -she put me into a sad fright by exclaiming, -“Oh, <em>I’ll</em> come and read to you some day!” -for I did not like her reading, which is too much -of the denunciatory sort. However, happily -for me, she found it would not consist with her -more important engagements; she therefore not -only refrained, but took some pains to prevent -Miss Secker from coming to me too, telling -her that if she had any time to abstract from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -her own devotional exercises between morning -and evening services, she thought she might -just as well devote it to some of the poor, who -could neither read nor write, as on a friend who -could do both, and had every comfort around her. -However, Miss Secker did not see it exactly in -the same light, and therefore has continued to -drop in once every two or three weeks, to my -great comfort and obligation. She rarely stays -more than an hour; and when she does not come, -Phillis and I have our little service together, and -then I read or meditate in quiet till tea.</p> - -<p>Mary Cole, a great favourite of Phillis’s, then -drops in to have tea in the kitchen, and take -charge of the house while Phillis goes to church. -I can’t say Mary is quite as great a favourite of -mine as she is of Phillis’s; but that is no great -matter, as she comes to see Phillis, not me. Thus, -Phillis has a companion at both her Sabbath -meals: it makes a little change for her, and prevents -her hankering for more holidays than I can -grant. And the visitors, neither of whom are -capable of walking a second time to the distant -church, get their meal and a little variety in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -return for their charge. People of their rank are -seldom much of readers, and it is well to give -them a little sober intercourse in lieu of their -falling asleep with their heads on the kitchen-table. -To whom little is given, of them will less -be required than of others more favoured.</p> - -<p>Mary Cole, though a heavy girl, is gifted with -a sweet voice and correct ear for music; and as -she sits all alone, she beguiles the evening hours -by singing hymns, often to my solace and delight. -Sometimes it is my favourite “Wiltshire,” sometimes -“St. David’s,” another time the plaintive -penitential psalm,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“From lowest depths of woe,”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">to the rare old tune called Irish, which fills my -eyes with quiet tears.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In that twilight hour known as “blind man’s -holiday,” I lay this evening mentally colouring a -picture of what I had just been reading, till it -became distinct and real.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> - -<p>A desert place, all sand and stones, with scattered -tombs hewn here and there in the rocks, or -mere cairns heaped rudely over human remains, -gleaming white and ghastly in the fitful moonlight. -A single living figure, making night hideous by -leaping among these tombs—wildly shrieking as -the moon drifts through the clouds and casts -strange shadows—yelling in ecstasy of fear, to the -dismay of far-off travellers, who hasten on their -journey in dread of they know not what. Can -anything be more forlorn than the state of this -poor wretch? His fellow men, at a loss how to -treat him, bound him with strong chains, which -he snapped in their faces, and then he fled. -And now, unless indeed, some fellow-sufferer be -glaring at him, silent and unseen, from among -those tombs, he is alone—alone with his tormentors, -for he feels possessed by myriads of evil -spirits, whom he can no more cast out of his -loathing <em>self</em>, than he can tear out his brain. If -he can frame a connected thought, it is of despair.</p> - -<p>But three little boats are crossing that surging -lake, in the darkness of night. When they quitted -the opposite shore, early in the evening, the waters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -of that lake were still. The chief of the little -company lay down wearily to rest, and fell asleep, -with his head on a pillow. The others toiled at -their oars, and looked anxiously about, as clouds -gathered, winds rose, and the waves became high -and rough, and threatened to engulf their little -barks. The night wore on, and became more and -more tempestuous; they were, seemingly, in great -jeopardy: and all this peril and distress were -being incurred that the Son of God might, unsought, -go and heal that one poor man.</p> - -<p>He recognises the Lord at once. “Oh!” he -says, in anguish, “have you come to torment -me before the time?” Torment you, poor -man! oh, how little you know! You are possessed, -you say, by a legion. Well, that legion -shall, if you will, take visible possession of those -two thousand swine feeding on the mountains—swine, -which, they who keep shall deservedly -lose, seeing that their own law prohibits them -as unclean. There!—the real Master of those -swine has driven them all, impetuously, into -the sea: and <em>you</em>—<em>feel</em> yourself delivered. Ah, -well you may fall at His feet, and look up to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -Him so meekly, gratefully, and lovingly; well -you may suffer yourself to be clothed by His -compassionate disciples; and, while they who -have lost their swine roughly desire Him to -depart out of their coasts, well may you, fearing -the evil ones may return unto you in His -absence, and make you seven-fold worse, beseech -Him to let you ever abide with Him. No -safety, no sweetness, like that of being ever with -Jesus.</p> - -<p>But he mildly forbids, and charges you rather -to go and declare to others what great things He -has done for you; and you cheerfully, implicitly -obey. Strange things have you to relate to -those wondering friends and kinsfolk, who lately -thought the best thing they could do, was to bind -you with chains!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I have often thought how capitally I invested -five shillings a few years ago, in two apple-trees, -which I gave to two poor women living under the -hill. One of the trees produced twelve fine apples<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -the second year; the year following, its owner -sold a couple of bushels of the fruit. In a cottage -full of hungry children, where meat is only tasted -on Sundays, a good apple-pudding is no despicable -hot dish on the noon-day board. Blackberries, -of the children’s gathering, sometimes make a -savoury addition to it.</p> - -<p>When my cook Hannah married and settled in -a cottage of her own, I gave her a few roots of -Myatt’s Victoria rhubarb, and some round, white, -American early potatoes, with enough onion-seed -for a nice little square bed; a quart of peas, a -quart of beans, a few early horn carrots, and a -little parsley-seed; also pennyworths of canariensis, -nasturtium, escolzia Californica, sweet-pea, -candytuft, and red and white malope. Her husband -immediately dug, raked, and planted the -ground, and at once took to gardening after his -day’s work. I need not say they are a respectable -couple. He cannot read; but she reads <cite>The Leisure -Hour</cite> and <cite>Sunday at Home</cite> to him.</p> - -<p>Though we had a February of almost unprecedented -warmth, I am told the primrose is shyly -and charily putting forth its blossoms. But soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -the warm banks will be gay with them, while the -sweet wood-violet will betray itself by its fragrant -breath at the roots of old trees. Among the earliest -wayside productions is Jack-in-the-hedge, or -sauce-alone; as ugly a Jack as one need wish to -see, breathing odiously of garlic. Somewhat later, -and rarer, is the perfoliate shepherd’s-purse, with -its miniature pouches, that remind one of the scrip -wherein a young shepherd, who lived to be a king, -put five smooth pebbles from the brook. Its -leaves, as I lately showed the little Prouts, are -perfoliate, that is to say, they look as though the -stem runs <em>through</em> them—a very nice and singular -distinction, never to be forgotten after being once -seen. A fortnight hence I expect to hear the yellow -celandine has made its appearance. Wordsworth, -who has immortalized it, as much as a poet can -immortalize a flower, says, at first his unaccustomed -eye saw it nowhere; afterwards, he saw it -everywhere.</p> - -<p>If the month be genial, we shall, towards its -close, see “God’s hand-writing on the wall” of -our gardens, in the opening buds and blossoms of -our cherry-trees. Sheep are already turned out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -on the fresh pasture-land: their bleatings and -tinkling bells sound prettily. Here and there -may be seen a bee, a small fly, a gnat: how soon -shall we see the first butterfly?</p> - -<p>Toads are curious creatures: there was one that -used to sit watching Mr. Cheerlove at his gardening -with its beautiful eyes, and sometimes climb a -little way up the paling to have a better view. I -suppose it varied the monotony of its life. ’Tis -of no use to cart them away in a flower-pot; they -will return from a considerable distance to their -old quarters. If you hurt them, they will look at -you very viciously—and why should they not? -We have no call to molest the poor wretches; -the world is wide enough for us all. Efts and -newts are objectionable: they haunt old drains, -dust-holes, and any damp, unaired corners. Moles -loosen the soil, and make sad work sometimes -with the roots of one’s flowers; but yet, on the -whole, they are found to do more good than -harm. They make themselves subterranean galleries, -and are very methodical, taking their -walks at stated times. Hence it is very easy to -trap them; but if you take one, you may take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -two, for they are so affectionate that the mate is -sure to follow the leader. Hence I always felt a -sort of pang in having them destroyed, especially -as they have such human-like little hands for -paws; and I was glad to be told that the cruelty -was unnecessary, and that their loosening the soil -did it good, though it might injure particular -plants. In moving a stack of firewood at Nutfield, -we found underneath it a rat’s nest, containing -fifteen partridges’ eggs. How did the -rat convey them there? Did he roll them, or -carry them on his fore-paws, walking on his hind -legs?</p> - -<p>The starry heavens are now very glorious. -Jupiter, bright, untwinkling planet, is splendid -to behold. There are many more stars to be -seen to the east than to the north; no human -being knows why. The naked eye beholds -what are called stars of the sixth magnitude, -whose light left their surfaces a hundred and -forty years ago. It is very singular that numerous -stars, beyond the range of any but a very -powerful telescope, prove to be placed in <em>couples</em>: -they are called <em>binary</em> stars. Before Sir William<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -Herschell’s death, he had completed a list of three -thousand three hundred double stars. His sister -Caroline shared his watchings, and took down the -result of his observations in writing.</p> - -<p>My dear father gave me a taste for astronomy -very early in life; and in later years I have found -star-gazing to have a strangely calming effect -under the pressure of great trouble. I have -looked out on the star-lit sky during Eugenia’s -last illness, and after her death, till I felt -every grief silenced, if not allayed, and every -feeling steeped in submission. The stars make -us feel so little! our lives so fleeting to a better -world! our souls so near to God! O Cassiopeia, -Andromeda, and Perseus, I owe to you -many a consoling and elevating thought of your -Maker!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>My chimney does not smoke once in six months; -but to-day, as ill-luck would have it, an unfortunate -little puff came out in the presence of Miss -Burt, who immediately declared that my chimney<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -wanted sweeping shockingly; and that if I -did not immediately put the chimney-sweeper’s -services in requisition, I should not only be -endangering my own life,—which I had no right -to throw away,—but that of my servant, who -would not particularly relish being burnt in -her bed.</p> - -<p>In vain I assured her that the chimney had not -long been swept. Miss Burt talked me down, -utterly deaf to the reminder that, being on the -ground floor, we could easily walk out of the -house in case of any disaster.</p> - -<p>“As if <em>you</em> could walk out of the house!” -cried Miss Burt, indignantly; and just then, -Phillis coming in with coals, “Phillis,” cried -she, “have you any mind to be burnt in your -bed?”</p> - -<p>“I should think not, Miss Burt,” replies -Phillis, brisking up, and looking secure of some -very entertaining rejoinder.</p> - -<p>“You hear,” says Miss Burt, nodding triumphantly -at me.</p> - -<p>“You may go, Phillis,” said I, softly, which -she did with some reluctance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> - -<p>I was in nervous expectation of a fresh puff, -when Miss Burt luckily found herself a new -subject.</p> - -<p>“There goes Miss Sidney!” said she. “How -she does poke to be sure. Any one can see -she has never had dancing-lessons. I think -Mr. Sidney much to blame. By the way, Frank -gave us an excellent sermon on Sunday. I -wish you could have heard him.”</p> - -<p>“I wish I could,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t suppose you care much about -it, as you had Miss Secker to read Jeremy -Taylor. Doesn’t she read through her nose?”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, no!”</p> - -<p>“Well, I should have expected it. Young -people waste hours on their music now-a-days, -but—commend me to a good reader.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said I, laughing, “I really can -commend you to Miss Secker, or at any rate, -honestly commend her to <em>you</em>; for her reading -is neither too fast nor too slow, too loud -nor too low; her voice is pleasant and her -manner reverent.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I like something <em>earnest</em>.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> - -<p>“She is earnest too. What a favourite word -that is now.”</p> - -<p>“Is it? Then I’ll drop it! I hate words -that are used up:—suggestive, sensuous, subjective, -objective. Bad as Shakspere, taste, and -the musical glasses!”</p> - -<p>She started up, and was going to take leave, -when she stopped short and said—</p> - -<p>“What do you think that absurd man, Mr. -Hitchin, has done? Painted his cypher on his -wheel-barrow!”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said I, amused, “I cannot emulate -him very closely, as I have no wheel-barrow, -but I can put my crest on my watering-pot!”</p> - -<p>She laughed rather grudgingly, and said, “I -suppose you don’t remember the tax on armorial -bearings.”</p> - -<p>The chimney-sweeper has just called!—Miss -Burt met him, and told him there would -be no harm in his just looking in, to know if -he were wanted!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Can April indeed be here? Yes, the blackbird -wakes me at six o’clock, and the nightingale -sings long after the sun has set.</p> - -<p>The hedges are beginning to sprout, and the -banks are decked with primroses and celandine.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Scant along the ridgy land,</div> -<div class="verse">The beans their new-born ranks expand;</div> -<div class="verse">The fresh-turned soil, with tender blades</div> -<div class="verse">Thinly the sprouting barley shades.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>So sings the sweet rural poet, Thomas Warton; -of whom I suspect Harry Prout knows -as little as of Waller.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Poor Mr. Prout is dead! the father of eight -children. Yesterday morning, while it was yet -dark, the turnpike-man heard a horse galloping -furiously down the hill. On going down, -he found the horse stopping at the gate, with -Mr. Prout’s foot dangling in the stirrup, and -his bleeding body on the ground. His skull -was fractured, and he was quite dead. He was -praising his new, showy, chestnut horse to me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -only a few days ago, and saying it was well -worth a hundred guineas. It would have been -worth a good many hundred guineas to his -family had he not bought it. Poor Mr. Prout!</p> - -<p>The turnpike-man’s wife, it seems, immediately -got up, assisted her husband to carry -him in and lay him on their bed, and then -washed his wounds; while the man, leading -the vicious creature he was afraid to mount, -came into the town to tell the news and get -assistance. Poor Mrs. Prout and Harry were -soon on the spot; Mr. Cecil soon followed. He -and Mr. Prout were rivals, and rather cool to -one another; but he looked very sorry as he -hastened up the hill.</p> - -<p>I cannot help constantly thinking of them -all. Last night, I dreamt I saw Mr. Prout -galloping up the hill, all in the dark, along the -edge of that frightful chalk-pit, to the poor -woman for whom he had been sent; and then -coming home, thinking of his snug house and -warm bed, when—off dashed the horse!</p> - -<p>I have lost a kind doctor and friend; rich -and poor deplore him, for he was sociable,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -kind, and humane. Often in money difficulties, -poor man; though I believe his good wife -made every shilling go twice as far as most -could. She always kept up appearances, too, -so nicely! No finery, no waste; but everything -(whatever poor Harry might think) suitable -and appropriate.</p> - -<p>Every one I have yet seen—not many, to be -sure, but every one I <em>have</em> seen—expresses -regret, and is eager to show sympathy, and -wonders what the widow and children will do. -Something for themselves, that is certain—except -the little ones, who cannot. Mrs. Prout is -hardly capable, I am afraid, of undertaking a -school; or that would keep them all nicely together. -Therefore, Emily and Margaret must -go out as governesses or teachers; Harry must -get a place in some office; something must be -found for James; Edward must be put to school; -and Fanny must make herself her mamma’s little -factotum, and look after the two youngest.</p> - -<p>Easy to <em>say</em> “must” to all this!</p> - -<p>What a change a few hours have made!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Harry has spent more than an hour with me -this evening. I never saw a poor lad so overwhelmed -with grief. He, the rosy-cheeked fellow! -who would have you believe—in his verses—that -his tears were his meat day and night, -is now positively ashamed of crying bitterly over -an irreparable loss. I honour him for so deeply -lamenting a good father; it raises him in the -scale of human being—as genuine, well-placed -affection always does. He will now have to exchange -imaginary woes for stern realities.</p> - -<p>He came quite at dusk. I did not think, at -first, it was his voice, asking if he might come in, -it was so subdued. I said, “Ah, Harry!” and -held out my hand. He grasped it in his, and -then sat down and sobbed. I waited a little -while in silence; then, when his emotion had -somewhat spent itself, I said—</p> - -<p>“I thank you very much for coming—it is -very kind of you, for I was longing to hear many -things that no one else could so well tell.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said he, drying his eyes, “the kindness -is to myself—I could not stand it at home -any longer!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> - -<p>“How does your dear mother bear up?”</p> - -<p>“Wonderfully!”—crying again. “But she -quite broke down this evening: so my sisters persuaded -her to go to bed; and as they are sitting -with her, I was quite alone, and thought I would -steal out to you for a little while. What a -shocking thing it is!”</p> - -<p>I knew to what he referred, and said, “It is -indeed, my dear Harry. For your comfort, you -must reflect that our heavenly Father is <em>peculiarly</em> -the God of the widow and orphan. He makes -them his <em>special</em> charge.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t think what we shall do!”</p> - -<p>“Do your best, my dear boy, and you will be -sure to do well.”</p> - -<p>“Uncle John will come to the funeral. And -Uncle John will very likely provide for James, -and take him into his business, which is that of a -wholesale druggist; but what is to become of <em>me</em>, -I can’t think!”</p> - -<p>“Should you be glad if your uncle took you -instead of James?”</p> - -<p>“Why no, not glad; because it is not a line of -business that suits my taste. You know, Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -Cheerlove,” said the poor boy, faltering, “I -always aspired to be something of a gentleman.”</p> - -<p>“And is not your uncle one?”</p> - -<p>“Hardly. But I would be anything just now, -to be of service to mamma—my <em>mother</em>!”</p> - -<p>“That’s right. Perhaps you would like to be -in a surveyor’s office.”</p> - -<p>“That would be better—only, who is to place -me in one?”</p> - -<p>“Or should you like to be a medical man, like -your father?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Mrs. Cheerlove, his was a hard life! -And those hospitals! But have you heard of -Mr. Pevensey’s kindness?” cried he, suddenly -brightening.</p> - -<p>“No!—in what?”</p> - -<p>“Directly he heard of what had happened, he -sent my mother a note, to say how sorry he was; -and that as he was sure she would be glad to part -with the horse that had occasioned such a terrible -calamity, and he heard my father valued it at a -hundred guineas, he inclosed a cheque for that -amount, and would take it off her hands.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Excellent!” said I. “So opportune! so -kindly thought of! And this is the man whom -so many think churlish!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, he’s anything but that,” said Harry; -“and quite the gentleman. Of course mamma—my -mother, I mean—was glad to get rid of the -brute, and would have been so for half the money. -How strange it seems! Only three days ago, my -father was patting and praising that animal, and -calling him ‘Hotspur,’ little thinking he should -so soon be laid low! What an awful thing sudden -death is, Mrs. Cheerlove!—<em>here</em> one minute, and -the next in the presence of God!”</p> - -<p>“Are we not in His presence <em>now</em>, Harry? -We cannot see Him, but He sees and hears us. -If a person is well prepared, a sudden death is, in -my opinion, a great mercy.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, how <em>can</em> you think so!”</p> - -<p>“Well, I do. The shock is very great, doubtless, -to the survivors; but the sufferer is mercifully -spared a great deal of painful discipline: and -if he be but about his Master’s work, ‘Blessed is -that servant whom his Lord, when He cometh, -shall find so doing.’”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My father was about his Master’s work, Mrs. -Cheerlove.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly he was. He was visiting the sick -and needy, in the exercise of his profession. It -could never have been without self-denial that he -turned out of his bed into the dark, cold night, -on such an errand, whether to rich or poor.”</p> - -<p>Harry seemed to dwell on the reflection with -comfort; and I rang for tea, and gave him a cup -that was both hot and strong, which I knew to be -good for his poor aching head. We had a long -talk afterwards, and he left me in a composed and -chastened frame of mind. Certainly, a sudden -death, like Mr. Prout’s, may be called a leap in -the dark; but the believer <em>leaps into his Saviour’s -arms</em>.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>This morning, to my great surprise and pleasure, -Mrs. Pevensey came in, bright with smiles, -and said, “The weather is most lovely! and you -know you always promised that I should take -you your first drive. It shall be as short as you -like; but, if you feel equal to the effort, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -cannot have a better opportunity. And as I am -just going on to inquire after poor Mrs. Prout, I -will take you up on my return, which will give -you time to get ready without hurry.”</p> - -<p>I felt quite bewildered, for I had not been out -for more than two years! If I had had time, I -believe I should have said “No,” but as I had -not, I said “Yes,” and very thankfully too. All -my nervous misgivings about over-exertion and -painful consequences were lost sight of in the -thought, how delightful it would be to breathe -once more the sweet, sweet open air!</p> - -<p>Phillis <em>did</em> stare when she heard of the -projected attempt. I think her surprise vented -itself in the ejaculation—</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m sure!——”</p> - -<p>But there was no time to say more, for there -was a grand hunt to make for carriage-boots, and -warm shawls, and gloves, and a certain bonnet -that would unquestionably require all Mrs. -Pevensey’s self-command not to laugh at—it -was so sadly out of date. She <em>did</em> give it one -amused look, but that was all; for she is kindness -itself, and has too much real wit to depend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -for it on personal ridicules. She knew she had -taken me by surprise, and must make allowances. -So, having triumphantly got me into her most -easy of close carriages—</p> - -<p>“Where shall we go?” said she.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said I, “the turnpike will be <em>quite</em> far -enough.”</p> - -<p>“Very well. Then, to the turnpike, George,” -said she, as the footman shut us in. But the -roguish woman must have glanced, I am sure, to -the left instead of to the right, as she spoke; for -the coachman, doubtless taking his instructions -from George, drove us to the farthest turnpike -instead of the nearest.</p> - -<p>Well, it was very pleasant! I had been so -long pent up, that</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The common air, the earth, the skies,</div> -<div class="verse">To me were opening Paradise.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>We are nearly through April; and the hedges -are quite green, though the oaks, ashes, and -beeches are still leafless, and the meadows are -not yet sprinkled with buttercups. But the -blackthorn is in full flower. Besides, a great -many alterations had been effected since I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -last out, which I noticed with surprise and interest; -for though hearing of alterations is one -thing, seeing them is quite another. My old -favourite promenade, the elm-tree walk (sometimes -called the Queen’s Walk, though the -queen’s name I never could ascertain), was as yet -unharmed amid the rage for letting ground on -building leases to freehold-land societies; but, -beyond it, new houses had sprung up in various -directions. When I first came to live in the -neighbourhood of Elmsford, there were only four -houses between me and the town; and having for -some few years been accustomed to live in a -street, I used occasionally, on dark nights, to feel -rather unprotected. If a dog barked at the -moon, I used to think of thieves, and remember -that some suspicious-looking man had begged at -the door; or I thought of fire, and ruefully considered -the scarcity of water. Besides, where -were we to get help?—Why, in <em>heaven</em>, where I -may ask for it at once, thought I, and for freedom -from all disquieting alarms. So I used to seek -it, and then yield to the quiet, dreamless sleep -that was <em>sent</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> - -<p>Now, in place of four houses, I saw a dozen, -with stone porticoes to the doors and heavy architraves -to the windows, and very little green about -them higher than three-foot laurels, which the -cows had evidently nibbled, as they do mine, on -their way to and from milking.</p> - -<p>At one of these houses we stopped, while the -footman carried a beautiful basket of hothouse -flowers to the door, and delivered a message. -While we waited, I heard the sound of a harp, -and listened to it with pleasure.</p> - -<p>“How pretty!” said I.</p> - -<p>“Ah, you may well say so,” said Mrs. Pevensey, -with a sigh. “The player is soothing a -much afflicted father, who, in his day, was an -accomplished musician, and a man of fine intellectual -taste. I shall take her a drive to-morrow; -it will make a little change for her, which is -better than none. ‘He that contemneth small -things shall fall by little and little.’”<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>A door or two off, we left a little flat round -basket, containing about two dozen large hothouse -strawberries—scarlet, ripe, and tempting,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -as they peered out of their coverlet of dark green -leaves. Several such little baskets had, during -two or three springs, found their way to <em>me</em>.</p> - -<p>“That is for poor Miss Peach, who is dying of -consumption,” said Mrs. Pevensey. “Arbell set -them out so nicely. My dear Mrs. Cheerlove, -whatever you said to Arbell the other day, has -had magic effect! She has been quite a different -girl ever since!”</p> - -<p>“That is more to her praise than mine,” said -I. “What I said was very little.”</p> - -<p>“All the better, perhaps, since it was to the -purpose. She is now brisk, pleasant, and active—has -found her way out of dreamland into the -affairs of daily life. Mademoiselle is highly -satisfied with her; and Mr. Pevensey, finding -she was writing a little summary of Italian -middle-age history for her own amusement, was -so pleased at it, that he told her he would give -her five sovereigns, if she did it well by Christmas. -So she is carrying it on with double spirit, ransacking -the library for materials about the -Guelfs and Ghibelins, the Neri and Bianchi, -instead of moping; and is glad to refresh herself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -afterwards with a good wholesome game of play -with Rosaline and Floretta.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, a golden spur sometimes pricks the best,” -said I. “Small premiums for small achievements -are better than competitions for a prize, which -<em>must</em> disappoint one or many. A rivalry with -one’s self is the only safe rivalry.”</p> - -<p>“I think so too. And five pounds is nothing, -you know, to Mr. Pevensey.”</p> - -<p>“No, but a hundred pounds may be more so. -Harry Prout gratefully told me of his buying the -horse.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Prout had over-estimated it,” said she, -quietly smiling.</p> - -<p>“I guessed as much.”</p> - -<p>“In fact, if it cannot be thoroughly broken, -by Rarey’s means or others, Mr. Pevensey will -have it shot; for he says it is better a showy horse -should be killed, than another father of a family.”</p> - -<p>“Surely.”</p> - -<p>“And the money, you see, won’t be wasted, -because it was useful where it was sent. There -is some thought of quietly getting up a subscription, -under the name of a testimonial. Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -Secker, the suggestor, will acquaint Mrs. Prout -with it, and ask whether she would like a silver -cup or the money; and of course she will prefer -the latter. Only half-sovereigns will be asked, -but those who like to give more may do so unknown -to all but Mr. Secker, as there will be no -published subscription list.”</p> - -<p>“All the better,” said I. “There are too few -who—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.’”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“More than you think, though, perhaps. -There!—now you get a glimpse of the church. -Your next wish will be to be in it; but you must -not attempt too much at first. In a little while, -I hope you may manage it.”</p> - -<p>Having nearly reached the turnpike, we turned -about on our homeward course. And thus ended -my pleasant drive. Had I had my choice, my -frame of mind would have been serious; as it was, -it was cheerful. I felt tired and shaken, but less -so than I expected. On saying so to Phillis, she -remarked—</p> - -<p>“Said so—didn’t I? My ’pinion is, if you’d -gone afore, it never would have hurted ye.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> - -<p>Kind words cost little: and I had <em>had</em> a good -many. I could not help thinking, had Eugenia -been alive, how she would have sped me forth -with fond solicitude, and tenderly hailed my -return!—with some word of thankfulness, too, to -Him in whose hand are the issues of life and -death—some cheery gratulation that we were to -be spared yet a little longer to each other.</p> - -<p>But I called to mind the substance of a nice -little tract called “The Scales Adjusted.” Things -are often equalized by roughs and smooths being -set against one another. And, though snubbed -by my maid, I felt that in this instance my good -things predominated.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“So you’ve been and seen them big stone -houses at last!” said Phillis, as she wheeled my -little tea-table up to my easy-chair. “They <em>do</em> -make ours look small, don’t they?”</p> - -<p>Now this was a very disagreeable view of the -subject. Of course, a little house <em>does</em> look -smaller than a large one, turn it which way you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -will; but mine—Whiterose Cottage—was quite -large enough for me, and could not be turned in -a prettier direction. As we lost sight of the tall, -shapeless stone houses, and came first to the -graceful elm avenue, and then to—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Where my cottage-chimney smokes,</div> -<div class="verse">Fast between two aged oaks,”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">I could not help thinking how snug and suitable -for its mistress it looked.</p> - -<p>True, it has only one sitting-room, save a -little snuggery eight feet by ten; true, it is all -built on one floor, and that on the ground: -every room in it, but the first and last, opening -into a narrow matted passage, or gallery. -But to me this seems the very prettiest, most -convenient plan, for a single woman with one -servant, that could possibly be desired; and my -only wonder is, that instead of there not being -such another, perhaps, in England, there are not -dozens, or hundreds. How many a rich man, -now, might run up a little place like this, on -some corner of his estate, for a widowed aunt, or -old maiden sister or cousin, where she might be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -as happy as the day is long, and live on next to -nothing, quite respectably; and, when she dropped -off, like a ripe acorn from the oak, and almost as -noiselessly, the “Old Maid’s Home” might revert -in perpetuity to a succession of decayed gentlewomen, -whose simple, yet genteel tastes would -thereby be met by their modest means.</p> - -<p>Not that I would have them <em>called</em> old maids’ -homes, for that would stamp them at once, like a -workhouse woollen waistcoat, or a charity cloth -cloak. No; they should be Sweet Homes, or -have other such pretty significatives; giving them -rank with the best Rose Cottages, Myrtle Cottages, -and Laurel Cottages, in the land. They -might prettily be called after their fair owners—Julia’s -Cottage, Maria’s Cottage, Helen’s Cottage, -and so forth. Mine is Whiterose Cottage. It -has not an exterior like a long, narrow knife-tray, -or candle-box: on the contrary, though -its rooms lie parallel, they are not of an uniform -width or length; consequently, the walls have -what Mary Russell Mitford called “a charming -in-and-outness;” and there is not a straight line -or “coign of vantage,” that is not draped by some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -gay or graceful climbing plant—rose, jessamine, -lophospermum scandens, morandia Barclayana, -ecremocarpus, nasturtium, and callistegia, or -Romeo’s ladder.</p> - -<p>The dwelling was built by a retired tradesman -of good taste, and some originality as well as -education. He was a widower, without children, -determined to have everything comfortable for -his old housekeeper as well as himself—consequently, -the kitchen, though small, is as complete -in all its appointments, as can possibly be -wished; with water laid on, and a little oven in -the kitchen-range—in which, as the furnishing -ironmonger triumphantly says, you may bake a -pie, a pudding, and a pig. Phillis, I believe, -enjoys her kitchen quite as much as I do my -parlour. Kitchen and parlour stand sentries, as -it were, at each end of the house. There is -hardly a hall worth speaking of—only a little -vestibule built on, that will just hold a mat, a -flower-stand, a hall-chair, and an umbrella-stand. -Over the threshold, the quaint old man has -carved “<span class="smcap">parva, sed apta</span>,” which, I am sure, -is true enough. And on one of the panes of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -the high lattice-window, with its eight compartments, -in the parlour, is written with a -diamond ring—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“True happiness is of a retired nature, and an enemy to pomp and noise.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>On another, “Know Thyself.” The good man, -though much respected, was accounted rather -crotchety—and, perhaps, I am so too; for, certainly, -I no sooner saw these little whimseys, -than I took a fancy to the place, and was quite -thankful to find the rent within my means. -It was not till I had taken it, that I remembered -(towards night) the possibility of alarms -from thieves and sturdy beggars. A kind friend -suggested a fierce dog; but, to confess the truth, -I am also much afraid of fierce dogs. So then, -the same kind friend suggested a kennel without -the dog, a man’s hat hung up in the hall, and a -large bell—adding, that, with these defences, -I must be safe. I trusted I might be so, even -without them. So here I am thus far in safety. -And often, as I lean back to rest towards sunset, -letting harmless fancies have their course, I picture -to myself the old recluse, seated, like brave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -Miles Standish, with his Cæsar’s “Commentaries,” -at the lattice, poring over some huge old book—Bunyan’s -“Holy War,” suppose—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Turning the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks, thick on the margin,</div> -<div class="verse">Like the trample of feet, proclaimed where the battle was hottest.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“As well be out of the world as out of the -fashion,” said our amusing friend Captain Pinkney; -and, accordingly, I sent this morning for -little Miss Campanelle, to hold counsel with her -about a new bonnet. Mrs. Pevensey took me -by surprise, and therefore made allowances; -but she will not take me by surprise next time, -and therefore I must not expect her to make -allowances again. We owe it to our richer -friends not to neglect appearances consistent -with our means; on the other hand, the rich -do us more harm than they perhaps are aware -of, when they avow a contempt for such moderate -efforts to keep pace with the times as we ought -not to exceed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> - -<p>My bonnet was decidedly behind the times.</p> - -<p>“Dear me, ma’am,” said Miss Campanelle, -primming up her little rosebud mouth, which -showed a strong inclination to expand into a -laugh, “there is enough in this bonnet for <em>two</em>. -Only, the shape is so completely out of date, -that it won’t bear altering: otherwise the materials -are quite fresh.”</p> - -<p>“They may well be,” said I, “for they were -nearly new when I put them away two years ago. -However, I mean to have a new bonnet; and I -dare say I shall find some one who will be glad to -have this.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, yes, ma’am; it will be quite a nice -present,” said Miss Campanelle, hastily. “There -are many people who would be glad to modernize -it for themselves.”</p> - -<p>Then, thought I to myself, why could not you -modernize it for <em>me</em>? Perhaps she read my -thought in my face, for she added—</p> - -<p>“There are some people who do not at all mind -style, if they are but respectable. Now, respectability -depends upon the material; but style on the -making it up. And it’s style that shows the lady.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes,” said I; “one style shows the old lady, -and one the young lady; one the fashionable lady, -and one the lady who does not care for the -fashion. It does not seem to me so very many -years ago since bonnets were worn so large that it -was considered a very severe, but not extravagant, -remark, when some one said of another,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘And all her soul is in her hat—</div> -<div class="verse">Quite large enough to hold it.’”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Ah,” said Miss Campanelle, “that must have -been before my time.” And, as she still seemed -inclined to ruminate on the future of my bonnet, -I nearly committed the unpardonable folly of -asking her whether she could make any use of it -herself. Instead of which, I very fortunately -began by asking her whether she knew of any -one who would be glad of it.</p> - -<p>“Why, since you are kind enough to ask me, -ma’am,” said she, quickly, “I <em>do</em> happen to know -of some one for whom it would be the very thing. -Some one <em>very</em> respectable, and very poorly off,—a -widow, but no longer wearing widow’s mourning; -only black, ma’am, like you,—who seems quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -overlooked, because she’s below the genteel, and -yet no one can class her among the poor—her -manners are above that; but yet I do assure you, -she often dines on bread-and-butter.”</p> - -<p>It appeared she was the widow of a pianoforte-tuner, -who lodged with Miss Campanelle; and as -I feared it might hurt her to receive the bonnet -from myself, I gave it to Miss Campanelle to give -it in her own person to her, which she was quite -pleased to do. And she went away with the -<cite>Illustrated News</cite> and some black-currant jam for -herself.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The funeral is over. The house is re-opened, -and the little mourners go about the streets; -while their widowed mother must do many things -besides sit at home and weep, for she has to -provide for their future and her own. Mr. John -Prout is going to take James, and get Edward -into Christ’s Hospital. How strange the little -flaxen-headed fellow will look in his blue gown -and yellow stockings! I hope his round cheeks -will not lose their fresh, rosy colour in London.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -The subscription will enable Mrs. Prout to article -Harry, and leave her something over. How -much better than spending it on a silver cup or -vase, for which she would have no use! She -hopes some one will buy the good-will of her -husband’s business, and take the house, and -perhaps furniture, off her hands; otherwise there -must be a sale. At any rate, she must find -cheaper quarters. Mr. John Prout proposed her -going to live cheaply in Yorkshire, with little -Arthur and Alice, while the two elder girls went -into situations; but she naturally shrank from -going so far from them. Mr. Prout insured his -life for a small sum, so that she is not utterly -destitute. I understand there is a pretty little -row of houses called Constantine Place, newly -built at the other end of the town, and that one -is still vacant, and thought to be just the size -that will now suit Mrs. Prout.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> - -<p>Well—I have been to church once more!—on -a week-day, not on a Sunday; but I am deeply -thankful for it. I went slowly crawling along in -the donkey-chair, the wheels of which would -have creaked less had they received a not very -expensive greasing with a little dripping. The -ride shook me a good deal, and the boy kept -worrying the donkey with a little stick that did -no good, and only made it obstinate. They who -would quicken a donkey’s paces must observe the -law of judicious kindness. I felt rather bewildered -and scant of breath when I was in church: -there were not a dozen persons in it, and the few -voices sounded faint and hollow. I was hardly -capable of more than a general emotion of thankfulness; -but the service was very short; and by -waiting till every one else had left the church, I -escaped salutations.</p> - -<p>——Miss Burt has just looked in.</p> - -<p>“<em>I</em> saw you!” said she. “You need not think -to creep into any corner where <em>I</em> shall not spy -you out! Well, I congratulate you with all my -heart; and I hope that now you have once begun, -you will keep it up. Nothing worth doing, is to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -be done without a little effort; and if <em>I</em> were -never to go out but when I felt inclined, I might -stay at home all my life. Of course you saw the -memorial window?”</p> - -<p>“No, I did not look about—”</p> - -<p>“Not see the window! Why, it was immediately -in front of you! You could not have -helped seeing it!”</p> - -<p>“Then of course I did see it; but I did not -observe it.”</p> - -<p>“My mother taught me at a very early age,” -said Miss Burt dryly, “to observe <em>everything</em>. So -that now I never go into a church, or room, or -pantry, without seeing everything in it at a -glance—and remembering it too. It is a faculty -that may be acquired: and therefore should be. -This was the way in which Robert Houdin taught -his son to exhibit what passed for second-sight. -He used to take the child up to a shop-window—the -next minute take him away. ‘Now, Robert, -what did you see?’—‘Two work-baskets, ten -penwipers, six whizzgigs.’—‘No, you didn’t.’—‘Yes, -I did.’—They go back again. The child -proves right. The boy, by cultivating the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -faculty, had become quicker than his father. He -took in at a glance the whole contents of a shop. -And applied this habit so dextrously before a -crowded audience, that things which they did not -believe he saw, or had seen, he described accurately. -The consequence was, that his father -realized immense profits.”</p> - -<p>She paused to take breath.</p> - -<p>“I think, however,” said I, “that there are -times when such a faculty may be supposed to lie -dormant.”</p> - -<p>“No, never. It becomes intuition.”</p> - -<p>“I think there are times when feeling takes -the place of observation.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if you’re getting metaphysical, I’ve -done with you! Never <em>would</em> dabble in metaphysics! -When people begin to talk of their -feelings—”</p> - -<p>“I was not going to talk of my feelings,” said -I, with a tear in my eye.</p> - -<p>“Fine feeling and I shook hands long ago,” -said Miss Burt, rapidly. “Deep feeling is quite -another thing; and does not betray itself in -words. Deep feeling leads to action—fine feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -to inaction; deep feeling is excited for others—fine -feeling thinks of itself; deep feeling says,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘Life is real, life is earnest’—</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">fine feeling is ready to lie down and die; deep -feeling is a fine, manly fellow—fine feeling is a -poor, puling creature.”</p> - -<p>“Very good,” said I, hardly knowing whether -to laugh or cry; for it really was clever, only I -knew it was all meant for a hit at myself.</p> - -<p>“Very good, only you won’t let it do you good, -hey?” said Miss Burt. “‘Excellent soup for the -poor.’ You think the cap would fit Mrs. A. or -Mrs. B. very well.”</p> - -<p>“No, I was not thinking of Mrs. A., B., or C.”</p> - -<p>“You were not, were you, <em>Mrs. C.</em>?” laughing. -“No; that’s just what I thought.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘General observation,</div> -<div class="verse">Without self-application,’</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">does little good that I know of. <em>My</em> plan always -is to take a thing home.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear Miss Burt, I laid no claim to -deep feeling, that I can remember; and surely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -you have hardly cause to charge me so <em>very</em> -plainly with fine feeling.”</p> - -<p>“Now don’t get warm! There’s nothing that -hurts me so much as to see anything I have meant -kindly, taken quite amiss. <em>Do</em> keep your temper. -I assure you I came into this house prepared for -nothing but kind words.”</p> - -<p>“And I am sure I have spoken no unkind -ones,” said I, the tears rolling down my cheeks.</p> - -<p>“Now you’ve upset yourself. This church-going -has been too much for you. Why didn’t -you lie down the minute you came in?”</p> - -<p>“I was going to do so, but——”</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you lie down? You should have -lain down directly. Phillis should have <em>made</em> you -do so, and then have brought you a glass of jelly, -or a little good broth. Phillis was to blame for -not having it all ready for you against your -return, without your knowing anything about -it. I shall speak to her.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, pray don’t! Phillis’s place is to obey -orders, and not to prepare surprises. Surely I -can direct her what I shall like her to prepare, -myself.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You are now making a matter of temper of it. -I shall say not a word. I am quite calm, but I -feel I’d better go. If anything <em>does</em> make me feel -irritable, it is to see.... Well, well, I will look -in another time, when I hope we shall be in better -tune. I’m sure I had not an idea!—Good-by; -good-by!”</p> - -<p>As soon as I heard the little gate slam, I had -a hearty cry. Mr. Cheerlove used to speak of -people making a storm in a saucer, and surely -this had been one, if ever there was such a thing.</p> - -<p>On first coming in, my intention had been to -lie down and rest quietly till Phillis brought me -a little arrow-root; but I had scarcely untied my -bonnet-strings when Miss Burt came in. <em>Had</em> I -had time to recover myself, I should not have -been so weak as to let her upset me; but, as the -matter stood, she had done so completely, and I -felt utterly unable to resist shedding tears.</p> - -<p>“Don’t come in, Phillis,” said I, hastily, as -she opened the door; for I thought I should have -some observations, silent ones at any rate, on -my red eyes.</p> - -<p>“Here’s Mr. Sidney,” said Phillis.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> - -<p>I looked up, quite ashamed. Kind Mr. Sidney -it was, who had, like Miss Burt, seen me in -church, but who had come to congratulate me -in a very different manner.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid you have done rather too much -this morning,” said he, very kindly. “I am not -at all surprised to see you rather overcome. It is -a good way from this house to the church; and I -dare say the donkey-chair shook you a good -deal. I wish there were an easier one to be -had. My aunt uses it sometimes, and says it -shakes her to pieces. Well, but my dear Mrs. -Cheerlove, this is a great step gained. I am -sure we all have great reason to be thankful -that it has pleased the Lord to restore you to -us. You have a great deal of ground yet to -gain, I can readily believe, before you are quite -one of <em>us</em>; but still, every step in advance is a -mercy.”</p> - -<p>He appeared not to notice my tears, and, -though they still forced their way, they had lost -their bitterness.</p> - -<p>“I went home,” continued he, “and said to -my wife, ‘Mrs. Cheerlove was in church this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -morning; I shall step down and wish her joy:’ -and I put this little book in my pocket to read -you a few lines, which I thought you would enter -into. What I like myself, I can’t help expecting -others to like;—others, I mean, in whom exists -some similarity of taste and feeling. You know -I have known what it is to be brought very close -to an unseen world, and to have been raised up -again quite contrary to all expectation; and, -therefore, I can sympathise very truly with -you.”</p> - -<p>“You had so many things to make life dear,” -said I, dejectedly, “and so many depending on -you in your family and parish, that your death -would have been a very heavy misfortune; but I -have not one near tie left! My work, which was -never very important, seems done; and I am, in -fact, little more now than a cumberer of the -ground. I therefore cannot feel quite as thankful -perhaps, for recovery as I ought.”</p> - -<p>“That proceeds,” replied he, quietly, “from -rather a morbid state of feeling, which is not at -all natural to you, and which will in a great measure -pass off with your present exhaustion. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -nevertheless, I can quite understand that a Christian -believer, brought very close to the threshold -of God’s kingdom,—so as almost to hear the voices -on the other side the door, and very sincerely -desirous to enter His awful presence, under the -assured protection of the Redeemer,—<em>may</em> feel a -kind of disappointment at being sent back again -into this wilderness-world—just as the Israelites -were when they were on the very confines of the -promised land. But all we have to do in such -case is <em>to submit</em>, and <em>to trust</em>; and I think this -little hymn very experimentally teaches us our -duty.” Then, in a very feeling, calming voice, he -read:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘It is thy will, my Lord, my God!—</div> -<div class="verse">And I, whose feet so lately trod</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The margin of the tomb,</div> -<div class="verse">Must now retrace my weary way,</div> -<div class="verse">And in this land of exile stay,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Far from my heavenly home.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘It is thy will!—And this, to me,</div> -<div class="verse">A check to every thought shall be,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Which each might dare rebel.</div> -<div class="verse">Those sacred words contain a balm,</div> -<div class="verse">Each sad regret to soothe and calm,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Each murmuring thought to quell.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘It is thy will!—And now anew,</div> -<div class="verse">Let me my earthly path pursue,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With one determined aim;</div> -<div class="verse">To thee to consecrate each power,</div> -<div class="verse">To thee to dedicate each hour,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And glorify thy name.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘It is thy will!—I ask no more;</div> -<div class="verse">Yet, if I cast toward that bright shore</div> -<div class="verse indent1">A longing, tearful eye,</div> -<div class="verse">It is because, when landed there,</div> -<div class="verse">Sin will no more my heart ensnare,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Nor Satan e’er draw nigh.’<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Do you like it?”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes! very much.”</p> - -<p>“Carry shall copy it for you then. This little -volume is my <i lang="la">vade mecum</i>. You may always find -my Bible in my right pocket, and this in my -left. It is rather too dear for the poor, which -I regret; but its circulation is already very -extensive.”</p> - -<p>I found that it was the “Invalid’s Hymn-book,” -and that my favourite Sabbath hymn, -which I had erroneously attributed to Hugh -White, was, as well as this, by Miss Elliott.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Will you let me offer you a glass of wine?” -said I.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, I shall like a glass of wine-and-water -and a biscuit very much, if you will have -the same.”</p> - -<p>“I will, then.”</p> - -<p>I believe it was partly on my account he had -it. As we partook of our refreshment, he spoke -so pleasantly and interestingly, that I was completely -lured away from all my sad thoughts; -and, after offering up a short, fervent prayer, -which was full of tempered thanksgiving for life, -and faith in the life to come, he left me quite -composed and cheerful. And here have I been -living the happy half-hour over again.</p> - -<p>I must just note down something else that he -said to me.</p> - -<p>“I sometimes hear people,” said he, “deplore -their living in vain. No one lives in vain who -does or bears the will of God. Where there is -little or nothing to perform, there may be something -to endure. A baby can do nothing, and -is only the object of solicitude to others, but I -suppose no one with any sense or feeling will say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -that babies live in vain. Even if they answer no -other purpose, they are highly useful in creating -sympathy, watchfulness, and unselfishness in -others. A paralyzed person, a person shut up -in a dark cell, may, by patient endurance, eminently -glorify God. And, as long as He thinks -it worth while we should live, we may always -find it worth while to fulfil the purposes of living -in things however small. Only the bad, the -slothful, the selfish, live in vain. We may have -our good and evil tempers without speaking a -word. We may nourish holy or unholy wishes, -contented or discontented dispositions, without -stirring from our place. ‘Since trifles make the -sum of human things,’ even a bit of liquorice -given to a servant-girl with an irritable throat, -going out in a cutting wind, shall not be in vain.</p> - -<p>“No one can say, my dear Mrs. Cheerlove, -that that good and great man, Sir Isambard -Brunel, lived in vain. Towards the close of his -life, however, days of weakness and helplessness -supervened, when he was drawn about his son’s -garden in a Bath chair, on sunshiny mornings. -Well, Lady Brunel told me that on those occasions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -he would often bid them bring him one of -his favourite blue and white minor convolvuluses, -and he would then examine it with his magnifying -glass, till he espied the minute black insect -which he was sure to find in it, soon or late. -‘See here,’ he would exclaim, ‘this little creature -is so small as scarcely to be discernible, and yet -the Almighty has thought it worth while to give -it every function requisite for life and happiness.’ -He did not think it lived in vain.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Harry has had tea with me for the last time, -though he does not go to London till the day -after to-morrow. We have promised to correspond, -which, I saw, pleased him; for, poor boy, -he feels very homesick, now that he is actually -going, and will be glad of any little glimpse of his -family that I can give. I said, “How is it that -you, who thought anything better than your -monotonous life, are now sorry to leave home?”</p> - -<p>“Ah! what can be more monotonous than a -solitary lodging will be!” cried Harry.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But the romping of noisy children—the -crying baby—”</p> - -<p>“Don’t name them, please! I see now, they -are not worthy to be named.”</p> - -<p>—“Are destructive of the repose needful for -literary composition,” said I, rather mischievously. -“Then, Margaret’s daily practising—the surgery -bell—”</p> - -<p>“Will be sounds by distance made more -sweet,” interrupted he. “Pray, Mrs. Cheerlove, -have you ever taken the trouble to—ever found -leisure to—dip into the little manuscript volume -of poems I placed in your hands before our unhappy -loss?”</p> - -<p>Instead of giving him a straightforward answer, -I opened a small book beside me, and -read:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘In broad daylight and at noon,</div> -<div class="verse">Yesterday I saw the moon</div> -<div class="verse">Sailing high, but faint and white</div> -<div class="verse">As a schoolboy’s paper kite.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘In broad daylight yesterday</div> -<div class="verse">I read a poet’s mystic lay;</div> -<div class="verse">And it seemed to me, at most,</div> -<div class="verse">As a phantom or a ghost.’”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh horrible, horrible!” cried Harry. “So -then you think my verses poor and unreal? Not -fire enough? or what—what is it?”</p> - -<p>“Pause, and hear me,” continued I, reading -on:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘But, at length, the feverish day</div> -<div class="verse">Like a passion passed away;</div> -<div class="verse">And the night, serene and pale,</div> -<div class="verse">Fell on village, hill, and vale.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘Then the moon, in all her pride,</div> -<div class="verse">Like a spirit glorified,</div> -<div class="verse">Filled and overflowed the night</div> -<div class="verse">With revelations of her light.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘And the poet’s song again</div> -<div class="verse">Passed like music through my brain:</div> -<div class="verse">Night interpreted to me</div> -<div class="verse">All its grace and mystery.’”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Did it?—did it?” cried he.</p> - -<p>“Well, in some degree it did. I read them -by daylight, when I confess I thought your time -might have been better spent in almost any harmless -thing than in writing them. After tea I remembered -how many of my own young attempts, -of one sort and another, had demanded far more -indulgence. So then I read them again, and not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -only liked them better, but liked some of them -very well—very much. I do not think, however, -that your verses will <em>sell</em>. Here, now, is a stanza -you must explain to me:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘Overcome with trouble deep,</div> -<div class="verse">Rest, too restless to be sleep,</div> -<div class="verse">While these sorrows did combine,</div> -<div class="verse">An angel’s face looked into mine.’</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Now, what did you mean by that?”</p> - -<p>“That I shall never divulge,” said Harry, -folding his arms.</p> - -<p>“Oh, very well, then. If you only half confide -to me and to the public a secret that is never to -be divulged, we may as well know nothing about -it.”</p> - -<p>“There is a very solemn meaning underneath,” -said he, gravely.</p> - -<p>“There <em>may</em> be,” said I, after pondering over -it a little. And a vision floated before me of poor -orphaned Harry crying himself almost to sleep, -and then suddenly becoming aware that his -mother was bending over him with looks of love. -“The next verse,” said I, “I tell you frankly, -Harry, I like very much:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘Oh! if my griefs their hold forsook,</div> -<div class="verse">But at an angel’s passing look,</div> -<div class="verse">Saviour, how great the joy must be,</div> -<div class="verse">Always of beholding thee!’</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Yes, Harry, that is very sweet—very nicely -thought and worded. Go on amusing yourself, -my dear boy, at leisure moments, only don’t let -it interfere with the real business of life. Sir -Walter Scott said, ‘Literature was a good stick, -but a bad staff.’ Remember that our four greatest -poets, Chaucer, Shakspere, Spenser, and Milton, -were all practical men; and would never have -written in their masterly way if they had been -otherwise. And don’t get into the way, Harry, -of writing far into the night; it robs the morrow—nay, -it robs many morrows. There are young -men who like the reputation of being great -readers, writers, and thinkers, who boast of -keeping themselves awake to study by drinking -strong coffee, tying wet towels round their -heads, and other silly things. In the first place, -I do not quite believe them; in the second, I -always feel a little contempt for boasters: and -even supposing they neither boast nor exaggerate,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -they burn the candle at both ends, and it -wastes all the faster. Rise as early as you will, -it does no harm to the health nor the head; but -remember Sir Walter Scott. As long as he rose -at five, lighted his own fire, and wrote before -breakfast, he could devote the chief part of the -day to his other affairs, and the whole evening to -relaxation in his family. As long as he did that, -all went well with him. But when, with a laudable -desire to pay off debts,—which, after all, he -could not pay,—he wrote, hour after hour, all -day long, and by gas-light, nearly all night too, -human nature could not stand it; his mind, -already overwrought by heavy afflictions and perplexing -difficulties, gave way under the too great -pressure he put upon it in its state of extreme -tension. The consequence was, his powers of -usefulness ceased—his magician’s wand was -broken!”</p> - -<p>“Poor man!” said Harry, after a little pause. -“No, I’ll never overdo myself like that; and yet, -Mrs. Cheerlove, there’s something grand, too, in -dying at one’s post.”</p> - -<p>“Very grand and very glorious in many cases;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -only, if you exhaust yourself at the beginning of -the race, you won’t reach the goal, or win the -prize, which otherwise you might have reasonable -hopes of. And, to be <em>useful</em>, you must not despise -commonly prudent precautions. By the way, -would you like an admission to the reading-room -in the British Museum?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, very much! You know I shall be quite -near it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I think I can get you one. Perhaps -you would like to know a nice old lady and her -daughter, who live in a quiet street hard by?”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, yes—exceedingly! You know, I -don’t know a soul.”</p> - -<p>“Their name is Welsh. They are not smart -people, but the mother is very kind, and the -daughter, who is some years older than yourself, -intelligent and intellectual. If you like one -another (which I see no reason to doubt), I -think your dropping in on them now and then, -just as you drop in here, to tea, would be taken -kindly.”</p> - -<p>“I am sure it would be a kindness to myself,” -said Harry, brightening. And he took down their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -address in a little pocket-book, that his sister -Emily had given him as a keep-sake; and I promised -to write to Mrs. Welsh, and prepare her to -expect him.</p> - -<p>“I know a clever artist, too,” said I; “a sensible, -friendly man, with a nice little wife. They, -also, are quiet people; but yet they sometimes -receive, beneath their unassuming roof, noteworthy -persons, whom one would like to have -a glimpse of.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Mrs. Cheerlove, that promises still better -than the other! Will you write to them too?”</p> - -<p>“I will, Harry. And now I believe you know -the extent of what little I can do for you.”</p> - -<p>“I call it much, not little,” said he, gratefully; -and the rest of our conversation was very cheerful.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I have had a small tea-party, of very small -people—their ages ranging from five to twelve. -Two Hopes, two Bretts, and three Honeys. I -took Mary Brett into my confidence, and gave her -half-a-crown to lay out to the best advantage for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -the tea-table; and it was astonishing to see the -variety of little paper bags she brought back. -This having been <em>her</em> treat, Louisa Hope’s was -that of being tea-maker, in which she acquitted -herself admirably. All talked at once; and, as -I had expected as much, I was very glad no -grown-up person was present to compel a check -to it, for it was not of the smallest annoyance -to myself.</p> - -<p>After tea, I proposed that Mary Brett should be -blindfolded, and put in the corner, while Phillis -cleared the table, and then, still blindfolded, -come forth and tell us a fable of her own making. -The idea was applauded; and the fable was -a very fair one, to this effect:—</p> - -<p>“A cuckoo, observing a thrush busy making -her nest, contemptuously remarked—‘It is easy -enough to stick a few bits of wool and straw -together in that way.’—‘It may be very easy for -you to <em>say</em> so,’ replied the thrush, after dropping -a dead leaf from her beak, ‘but if you were -industrious enough to try yourself, instead of -using other people’s nests, you would find the -difference.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> - -<p>“‘<em>Moral.</em>—People who have never made a -book, a fable, or shirt, or anything, don’t know -how hard it is till they have tried.’”</p> - -<p>Helen Brett, fired with the desire of emulation, -immediately declared <em>she</em> would make the next; -but I made them all file in silence round Mary, -who, touched by each in turn, said—“Not you,”—“Not -you,”—“Not you;” and at length—“<em>You</em> -shall be the next,” catching little Gertrude -by the wrist.</p> - -<p>Gertrude’s effusion was about as witless as -might have been expected. “A bear—no, a -tiger,—no, a bear met a lion one day, and said—‘What -are you going to have for dinner?’ The -lion said—the lion said—O dear, I don’t know -what he said!”</p> - -<p>This produced shouts of derisive laughter, and -Gertrude was doomed to forfeit. Then the others -took their turns, with various success; after -which, the forfeits were cried. Then we had -“The Knight of the Whistle.” I produced a -penny whistle, and, blowing a pretty shrill blast, -put Willy Hope in the middle of the room, and -told him he was to find out who blew the whistle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -The children ran round him, blowing the whistle, -he running sometimes after one, sometimes after -another, never able to find it;—for a very good -reason, because very early in the game, it had -been pinned by a long string to the back of his -own little tunic.</p> - -<p>Then I reclaimed the whistle, and again blowing -a loud blast, said to Willy, “See if you can -do like that;” but dropped it on the carpet, and -affecting to pick it up, produced another, which, -the moment he blew it with all his might, sprinkled -his face all over with flour.</p> - -<p>Of course, these tricks did not bear being -repeated. Moreover, I could perceive Louisa -Hope was thinking—“All this may not be too -childish for <em>you</em>, but it is for <em>me</em>.” So I said—“Now -then, Louisa, write something on a piece -of paper, and take care I do not see what you -write.” She looked surprised, but immediately -complied. “Fold it up very small,” said I. -“Hold it to the right,—what are you afraid of? -Stretch your arm straight out, it won’t hurt you! -Now to the left. Now towards the ceiling. Now -towards the floor. Now put it <em>on</em> the floor, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -place on it a candlestick, a box, or <em>anything</em> that -will completely cover it.” All this took up some -time; and she became a little excited, while the -younger ones were intensely interested.</p> - -<p>“Nay,” said I, “stand upon it, so as completely -to cover it. I will tell you what is on the -paper all the same.”</p> - -<p>“What?” said she, with her eyes very wide -open. After a moment’s silence, I coolly said, -“<em>You</em> are upon it.” On which ensued shouts of -laughter from the little ones; while she, springing -away from the paper, cried—“Is <em>that</em> all?” but -could not help laughing too.</p> - -<p>I had one more trick for her in store. I took -six pieces of paper, placed three of them on the -back of my hand, and then, as a preliminary, -blew them away with an air of great mystery—informing -my audience, at the same time, that -they were going to see something they did not -expect. Then, placing the other three pieces in -my hand, I said—</p> - -<p>“Which of these three pieces do you desire -shall remain on my hand, when I blow on them?” -The children drew round. Louisa looked keenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -at me, and then, with decision, selected her piece. -I immediately placed my forefinger on it, and -blew the others away; while the children laughed -and clapped their hands; and Louisa exclaimed, -with anger at herself for having been deceived -into expecting anything better—“Oh, Mrs. Cheerlove, -anybody could do that!”</p> - -<p>Sponge-cakes and roast apples concluded the -evening.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Two dozen rosy little country children and -more came to my door this morning, with their -little nosegays of cowslips, primroses, blue-bells, -and cuckoo-flowers, tied at the top of small peeled -wands, chanting their artless rhyme of</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Please to remember the first of May,</div> -<div class="verse">For ’tis the ladies’ garland-day;”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">which Mr. Sidney thinks a variation from</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“For ’tis <em>Our Lady’s</em> garland-day.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">However that may be, who can refrain from -giving halfpence and biscuits to the pretty little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -rogues? The white-headed milkman is carrying -quite a beau-pot of garden and hothouse flowers, -on the inverted lid of his milk-pail, from house to -house, this afternoon, hoping for a sixpence or -shilling here and there, which may meetly be -granted to his grey hairs and laborious life. For, -in hot afternoons, along the shadeless road, and -long before dawn, on inhospitable winter mornings, -in face of hail, snow, rain, or ice, this old -man punctually fulfils his vocation, which none -should heedlessly call light. He is one of our -country worthies. Another is the postman, who -brings our letters at six in the morning, and calls -for those we wish to post at seven in the evening; -a stalwart, Robinson Crusoe-like looking man, -with cheery voice and intrepid mien, who wears a -brigand-like high-crowned hat, enormously thick -boots, and a leathern belt, and padlocked bag. I -know his swift, steady tramp from afar, and like -to hear his blithe “good-night” to Phillis.</p> - -<p>This man’s name is Love. Phillis did not -know him or his name when she first came here, -and finding such a formidable-looking personage -at the door about dusk, asked him somewhat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -bluntly—“Who are you?”—“Love,” said he, -with equal curtness. “Nonsense!” said Phillis. -On which he burst out laughing, and assured her -it was his true-born surname, and that he had no -other, except that which was given him by his -godfathers and godmothers. Whereupon Phillis, -as she averred afterwards, was ready to bite her -tongue off for speaking such a foolish word, and -for a long time she hated to answer the door to -him; but gradually they have become cronies (I -believe he is equally civil to all the servants along -the road), and she even sometimes asks after his -wife.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Emily Prout came to me this morning, all smiles, -to show me Harry’s first letter. I could not help -observing how much older she looked in mourning; -sorrow and fore-thought have laid their fingers on -her young brow; while her manners are remarkably -lady-like and self-possessed. Harry, after -warm-hearted inquiries for all at home, went on -to say that his first lodging was horrid—its evils -were beyond description. However, in the course<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -of a few days, he had called on Mrs. and Miss -Welsh, who, to his surprise, had received him as -kindly as if he had been the son of an old friend. -It was very encouraging. And they had invited -him to tea that very evening, and everything was -as snug and cosy as at dear Mrs. Cheerlove’s; and -Mrs. Welsh quite pitied him about his lodging, -and said she knew a very much better one, <em>and -cheaper</em>, in her own street; and he had already -moved into it, and was as comfortable as possible. -The few inconveniences that <em>might</em> be named, he -would not; they would do him good:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Lives of great men all remind us,</div> -<div class="verse">We may make our lives sublime!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">which he meant to do. And Miss Welsh was a -delightful companion, and had promised (“to take -him” scratched out) he should take her to the -National Gallery, British Museum, and all the -gratis sights, little by little, till he had seen them -all. And he was always to go to church with them, -morning and evening (“which you know will save -the expense of tipping the pew opener, and be -more sociable too.”) And Mr. and Mrs. Whitgrave,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -also, were very nice people. He had found an -Italian patriot there, who spoke of unhappy Orsini; -and had known that glorious Garibaldi, and related -how Madame Garibaldi swam across a -river, holding on by her horse’s tail. And he did -not mind the office life at all; he had so many -pleasant things to think of. James and Ned and -he should see one another sometimes. James had -a tail coat, and did not look bad.</p> - -<p>Poor, good, brave boy! For there <em>was</em> bravery -in thus meeting insurmountable evils in a great, -untried world. I loved him for dwelling so on -the cheerful side; and a tear started into my eye, -when Emily, in her affectionate way, kissed me, -and said, “All <em>this</em>, dear Mrs. Cheerlove, is owing -to <em>you</em>.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“<i lang="fr">Il se répand quelquefois de faux bruits.</i>” And -the corollary ought to be, “Do not help to spread -them.” Small country towns are proverbially rife -with false reports, often to the serious detriment -of their subjects, even when the reports themselves -are not ill-natured.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> - -<p>I have known so many groundless reports -heedlessly spread, that my custom is to say, “Oh! -indeed,” and let the matter drop, unless there -should be anything of a noxious tendency in it; -and then I not only forbear to pass it on, but -endeavour to make the reporter admit at least the -possibility that it may be untrue or exaggerated. -This may sometimes lessen the rapidity and virulence -with which it spreads; at any rate, I have -been found a non-conductor, and my house “no -thoroughfare.” When Mrs. Brett asked me mysteriously -if I had heard the dreadful news that -Mr. Hope was going out of his mind, I not only -replied in the negative, but gave my reasons for -supposing it untrue: and so it has proved. Again, -when Miss Secker told me that the Holdsworths -were such adepts in table-turning, that the tables -flew about the room like mad, <em>especially after unbelievers</em>, -I plainly told her I must hear it confirmed -by more than one credible witness before I -could believe it; and some weeks afterwards I -had an opportunity of quietly inquiring about it -of Mrs. Holdsworth’s aunt, who assured me it was -all nonsense, and that a mere Christmas waggery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -had been distorted into a scandal, greatly to the -annoyance of Mr. and Mrs. Holdsworth. That -report, too, of old Mrs. Ball’s sudden death, and -their holding a glass over her mouth to see if she -breathed, actually had not a shadow of foundation, -and would never have been traced, had not some -one accidentally opened a letter that was intended -for somebody else.</p> - -<p>This morning, Miss Burt told me what I -should be very sorry to hear, were I assured of its -truth, although I have no personal acquaintance -with the parties. But though Mr. and Mrs. -Ringwood may have had some little differences, I -cannot think that they will separate. His companionable -qualities are such, that they lead him -too much into society; and, as the editor of a -somewhat influential local paper, he has a certain -literary reputation. This may (though it need -not) make him less domestic and more dissatisfied -with cold mutton at home than one could -wish, especially if the cold meat be accompanied -with cold looks, and the only tart is a tart reply. -Nor is it impossible that Mrs. Ringwood may be -a bit of a worry, and revenge herself for lonely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -evenings by morning confidences of how she is -used, and what she has suffered. I think she -looks a little querulous and self-conceited. But -this report I believe to be idle.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mrs. Pevensey has again taken me a drive. -This time, it was through the town, along the -north road, and all round Hutchley Heath, which -looked lovely. As we passed Mrs. Prout’s, it was -melancholy to see the sale going on:—old stair-carpets -hanging out of the windows, shabby-looking -chairs and glasses on the door-step and -in the hall, with business-like brokers looking at -them in a disparaging way. The surgeon, who -has purchased the business, has been glad to take -the house, but not the furniture; so Mrs. Prout -is selling off all she does not want, and removing -the rest into No. 2, Constantine Terrace, where -everything is so fresh and clean, that Mrs. Pevensey -thinks she will find herself far more -comfortably situated than in her large, old house.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Pevensey, smiling, “we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -are going to have a great loss in our family. We -are going to lose Mademoiselle Foularde!”</p> - -<p>“Indeed!” said I.</p> - -<p>“Yes; she is going to leave us at Midsummer, -and settle in Germany. She is engaged to be -married to a Professor Bautte.”</p> - -<p>“Professor of what?”</p> - -<p>“Gymnastics.—I knew you would smile; but -you <em>would</em> ask.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I only smiled because I was surprised. -I concluded he was a professor of metaphysics, at -least; or something prodigiously learned, that I -did not understand.”</p> - -<p>“Gymnastics are safer than German metaphysics. -The one can but break your neck, the -other may turn your head.”</p> - -<p>“So you will have to look out again.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but at my leisure. I think of taking -all the children to the sea-side for the holidays; -and as the younger ones are rather beyond the -nurse, and require to be kept a little in order, I -have been thinking of offering to take Emily -Prout with us, if she would undertake their -charge.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Dear me! what a very nice thing!”</p> - -<p>“You do not think she would object to it, -then?”</p> - -<p>“Oh no! I am persuaded she would like it -exceedingly. She is so very anxious not to be -burthensome to her mother! And she is much -more womanly than she was. Her manners are -so quiet and pleasant, that I feel sure you will -like her.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it may be that if I found her enough -of a governess for Rosaline and Flora, we may -make a permanent engagement; but I shall -prefer seeing what is in her first, which I can -very well do during the holidays. She is very -young, I believe.”</p> - -<p>“Barely seventeen. Too young for Arbell.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I am not thinking of Arbell. Arbell is -getting on very well at present; the chief danger -is of her doing too much. She is growing fast, -and I shall not be sorry to slacken her lessons a -little for some months. If I find I can leave the -children quite comfortably with Miss Prout, at -Hardsand, Mr. Pevensey and I shall probably -take Arbell with us on a tour of some extent. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -will open her mind, and give her something to -remember with pleasure, all the rest of her -life.”</p> - -<p>“It will, indeed, be a great treat to her; and -it is such an advantage to young people to see -new and interesting places with their parents. Is -she sorry Mademoiselle is going away?”</p> - -<p>“Not sorry; but she behaves to her very -pleasantly, and is busy in my room, at every -spare moment, working a present for her. Arbell -is very clever at her needle.”</p> - -<p>“That is a good thing, for every woman ought -to be so, whatever her condition. How it beguiled -the captivity of Mary Queen of Scots! Queen -Caroline, the wife of George II., used to do great -quantities of knotting. And think how Marie -Antoinette, Madame Elizabeth, and Madame -Royale, used to mend their own clothes and those -of the poor king, in the tower of the Temple. -No doubt it, in some measure, diverted their -thoughts from their sad fate. The tranquillizing -effect of needle-work is what our impulsive, excitable -sex cannot be too grateful for.”</p> - -<p>“My mother knew an old Scotch countess,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -said Mrs. Pevensey, “who, in her latter days, -used often to exclaim, piteously, ‘Oh, that I -could sew!’”</p> - -<p>After a pause she resumed:—“I have sometimes -puzzled myself about the much-vexed question, -‘Should we try to do good in the world at large, -before we have done all the good that needs to be -done at home?’ There is a great cry got up -against Mrs. Jellaby, and other pseudo-representatives -of a class whose sympathies are widely -engaged; and so much has been said about -‘charity beginning at home, and charity that -ends there,’ that one gets rather perplexed. The -Bishop of Oxford has, I think, lately settled the -question. He said, ‘Our Saviour foresaw and -provided against it, by dispersing His disciples -far and wide, while yet much remained to be -done in Jerusalem.’ Here is a guide, then, for -us: we may do all the good we can, far and wide, -even though we should be disappointed nearer -home, or even <em>in</em> our homes, of doing all the good -we <em>wish</em>.”</p> - -<p>After this, we fell into a very interesting conversation, -which I only hope was as profitable to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -her as I felt it to be to me. I have been stupid -and sluggish of late, but this interchange of -thought, feeling, and experience quite roused -me.</p> - -<p>Christian and Hopeful were approaching the -end of their journey when they came to the -drowsy land called the Enchanted Ground; and -the way they kept themselves awake was, by conversing -freely on their past experiences of God’s -mercies and providences.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>This morning, I have had rather a painful little -adventure.</p> - -<p>Though the wind was southerly, and the -clouds portended rain, yet Phillis was sure it -would blow off. In fact, she had set her mind -upon certain cleaning, which I believe she preferred -doing in my absence; and as I took a -hopeful view of the weather, I went to the week-day -morning service at church.</p> - -<p>On returning, as usual, in the rear of the little -congregation, I was slowly drawling along Church<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -Row, and thinking what a pity it was that such -good houses should be so falling out of repair, -when down came the rain very heavily. I had -just passed Mrs. Ringwood’s, and noticed that -the parlour-blind wanted mending, and that Mrs. -Ringwood, with a baby in her arms, was idly -looking over it. I began to spread my shawl -more completely over me, and was putting up my -umbrella, when some one from behind called, -“Mrs. Cheerlove! Mrs. Cheerlove!”</p> - -<p>The boy stopped the donkey, and said, “There’s -Mrs. Ringwood a calling of you.”</p> - -<p>I looked round, and saw her, without her baby, -standing on her door-step, with her light curling -hair blowing in the wind, while she eagerly -looked after me.</p> - -<p>“Do come in, ma’am,” cried she, with great -good-nature, and colouring as she spoke. “It is -raining quite fast! I am sure you ought not to -be out in it.”</p> - -<p>The boy, at the same moment, took the matter -into his own hands, by turning the donkey round, -so that I was before her door the next minute.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think it will come to much,” said I,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -bowing and smiling. “I’m extremely obliged to -you. <em>Pray</em> don’t come into the rain.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it won’t hurt me,” said she, now at my -side, “and it <em>will</em> hurt you. Do come in till it is -over.”</p> - -<p>It was very good-natured of her. I made no -more resistance, but alighted as quickly as my -infirmities would permit, and entered the house -just as the rain became a violent shower.</p> - -<p>I was turning round to speak to the boy, when -I saw him drive off, at a good deal quicker pace -than he drove <em>me</em>; and Mrs. Ringwood said, -laughing, “I told him to come for you when the -shower was over; otherwise, the chair would have -been quite wet, and unfit for your use.”</p> - -<p>So I followed her into the parlour, where she -had put the baby down on a sofa, in order that -she might run out to me.</p> - -<p>“It was very lucky,” said she, “that I was -looking over the blind.”</p> - -<p>My heart smote me for having called her, even -to myself, idle; and I thanked her very gratefully -for her kindness. She answered with a smile, and -then left me for a moment or two alone with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -baby. It was a long while since I had been alone -with a baby; I looked at it with interest, and -amused myself by making it smile.</p> - -<p>A casual glance round the room disappointed -my expectations of its comforts and capabilities. -It was smaller than I should have supposed it, -and inelegantly contrived. No fitting up could -have concealed this; but the fitting up was -not very good. The carpet was showy and -shabby, and did not harmonize with the paper. -The room wanted papering and painting; but -the window-curtains were conspicuously new, -and made the rest of the furniture look still -more worn. On the table lay <cite>Punch</cite> and the -<cite>Athenæum</cite>, and a smart cap in the process of -making.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ringwood came back, looking rather discomfited. -“Dear me,” said she, “I can’t find -my keys—Oh, here they are!” And carrying -them off, and her cap at the same time, she presently -returned with a glass of wine and a biscuit, -saying, “You really must take this.”</p> - -<p>In vain I assured her I was a water-drinker; -I saw I should hurt her if I declined, and therefore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -took the glass, and put it to my lips, though -I knew it would do me no good.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what I should do without a -glass of wine sometimes,” said she. “I hope -baby has not been troublesome.”</p> - -<p>“O no! What a nice little fellow he is! How -old is he?”</p> - -<p>So then ensued some baby-talk, which seemed -to make us much better acquainted.</p> - -<p>“He must be a great resource to you,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Well, children are plagues as well as pleasures, -sometimes,” said Mrs. Ringwood. “I -often think people who have no families have no -idea of what mothers go through.”</p> - -<p>“That is true enough, I dare say,” said I. -“But the maternal instinct is implanted to make -us insensible to those troubles—or, at least, indifferent -to them.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, nobody can be indifferent to them, Mrs. -Cheerlove! Duty is duty, and pleasure is pleasure; -but they don’t amount to the same thing, -for all that.”</p> - -<p>This was said with an asperity which seemed to -place us miles apart again. The next moment she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -added, “At least, time was—when I was very -young, you know, and fresh married—when I -believe I really did think them one and the -same thing.” She gave a little laugh, to hide a -tear.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how it may be with you,” said -I, twining the baby’s little fingers round mine, -“but I think in most people’s lives there are -times when, all at once, they seem to break down -under their burthens, and to need a friendly arm -to set them up again.”</p> - -<p>“Some have not that friendly arm,” said she, -her mouth twitching. “I only wish I had. -Oh my goodness, Mrs. Cheerlove!”—suddenly -becoming familiar and voluble—“you’ve no idea -what a life mine is! These four walls, if they -had tongues, could tell strange stories!”</p> - -<p>“Ah! what walls could not?” said I, hastening -from particulars to generals. “We were not -sent into this world to be happy——”</p> - -<p>“Well, <em>I</em> think we <em>were</em>,” interrupted she; “and -yours must be a strange, gloomy religion if it -makes you think otherwise.”</p> - -<p>“At any rate, we cannot depend on being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -happy,” said I, “as long as our happiness is -founded on anything in this world.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! there I agree with you,” said she, sighing -profoundly; “there’s no trusting to anything, -or any one, whether servant, friend, or husband—you -find them all out at last.”</p> - -<p>She fixed her eyes on mine.</p> - -<p>“My lot,” said I, “was, I know, a favoured -one; but I never found out anything of Mr. -Cheerlove, but that he was a great deal better -and wiser than myself.”</p> - -<p>She raised her eyebrows a little.</p> - -<p>“Some think that all men are superior to all -women,” said she, rocking the baby to and fro, -“but I can’t subscribe to that opinion. I think -we have our rights and our feelings as well as -our duties; and our rights and our feelings have -some little claim to attention. When a man -makes invidious remarks—”</p> - -<p>“Or a woman either,” said I, laughing a -little.</p> - -<p>“—Which are felt to be meant for personal -application,” pursued she, “one’s spirit -rises.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Certainly, it is best to speak out,” said I, -“or else be silent.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, let them speak out! If it’s in them, -I’d rather it came out of them. I detest your -innuendoes!”</p> - -<p>“However,” said I, “we can never make the -crooked tree straight. We must take people as -we find them.”</p> - -<p>“Or <em>leave</em> them!” said she. Then, suddenly -pausing, she pressed me, quite in an altered tone, -to take a little more wine. “You have scarcely -tasted it—perhaps you prefer some other sort.”</p> - -<p>“Oh no, thank you. The fact is, I have so -long been a water-drinker, that even a little sip -makes my mouth feel all on fire.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! then that can’t be pleasant, I’m sure,” -said she, cordially. “I won’t press you to have -any more. I only wish I knew what you <em>would</em> -like.”</p> - -<p>“I like looking at you and your baby,” said -I, smiling.</p> - -<p>“Do you think him like me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! you said that, I fear, to please me. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -own I laid myself out for it. But now, tell me, -Mrs. Cheerlove, don’t you think that we have -pleasing things said rather too often to us before -marriage, and too seldom afterwards?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I think that is sometimes the case.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, and how it depresses one, not to know -if you please!—nay, to be pretty sure you don’t! -I’m sure, I could do anything, almost, to give -satisfaction—take down a bed, lift a box!—”</p> - -<p>“You would be like the French crossing the -Alps when the trumpet sounded.”</p> - -<p>“Just so; I lose all sense of fatigue and -crossness.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t you hear a <em>mental</em> trumpet?”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Something <em>within</em>, that shall cheer you along -your path.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! I fear I can’t.”</p> - -<p>And the poor little woman, gushing into grief, -told me, the acquaintance of an hour, such a tale -of woe, that my tears flowed with hers. She was -comforted by my sympathy, and said, clasping -her hands—</p> - -<p>“Oh that I could see my path clear!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I think you will,” said I, though my hope -was not very sanguine.</p> - -<p>“Sometimes I think I’ll write to mamma. I -sit down and write her such long letters, and -after all, don’t send them.”</p> - -<p>“Excellent!” said I.</p> - -<p>She looked surprised.</p> - -<p>“Your plan is excellent,” I pursued. “By -pouring out your griefs to your dearest and -earliest friend, you relieve your own mind; and, -by not sending your letter, you give no pain to -hers.”</p> - -<p>“But it is merely from irresolution,” said -she.</p> - -<p>“Never mind what it is from. The plan is -excellent. Continue to write to her—write often—pour -out your whole heart—and then put the -letter carefully away till the next day; enjoy the -comfort of finding what a strong case you made -out—and, having done so, burn it!”</p> - -<p>“Are you joking?” said she.</p> - -<p>“No, as serious as possible. It is no joking -matter.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I thought you were too kind to do so.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -And, dear me! I feel a great deal better for this -talk. Things don’t look so dark; and yet they -have not in the least altered.”</p> - -<p>“Only a different hue is thrown over them. -That makes all the difference sometimes;—and -answers as well as if the things <em>were</em> altered; as -long as we can make the hue last.”</p> - -<p>“Only,” said she, beginning to chafe a little, -again, “one cannot bear to be put upon.”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said I, gently putting my hand on her -arm, “<em>the Christian will even bear to be put upon</em>, -be it ever so much, and, for his Master’s sake, -bear it patiently; and when he <em>has</em> so far subdued -his feelings as to be able so to do, how -glorious the triumph, the happiness, and peace -that will take possession of his heart!”<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> - -<p>“Oh!” said she, after a moment’s deep pause, -“what a cordial! How <em>could</em> you say it? What -a mind you must have!”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” stammered I, feeling dreadfully -stupid and humiliated.</p> - -<p>“<em>Could</em> you say it all over again? I have such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -a poor head, and would so gladly retain it. You -can’t, I suppose. Ah! well—‘the Christian can -bear to be put upon,’—that was the text—that’s -enough. It will bring all the rest to mind—the -general effect, that is.”</p> - -<p>“And you’ll try to <em>act</em> upon it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I really will. I give you my word. -Only it isn’t at all fair all the effort should be on -one side. But I’ll try, though I’m sure I shall -break down.”</p> - -<p>“Oh no! I hope better things of you!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, you don’t know me—I’m such a poor, -weak creature. I don’t like <em>him</em> to say so, -though,” she added, laughing, with one of those -sudden transitions which seemed natural to her.</p> - -<p>“Here comes the donkey-chair. I thank you -<em>very</em> much for your great kindness.”</p> - -<p>“Mine? oh, don’t name it. It has been all -on the other side! What is the line of poetry -about ‘An angel unawares——’”</p> - -<p>“In the Bible,” suggested I, provoked at -being tempted to smile.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes! (what a shame!) ‘thereby entertained,’ -and so on. Which is just what I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -done, you know. Oh, I’m so sorry you’ll go. -Do look in again some day. I have very few -friends; for some people look down on me, and -I look down on some other people. And so I -get no society at all. Baby wants you to kiss -him. ‘Ta, ta, Mrs. Cheerlove.’ Pretty fellow!” -(kissing him rapturously). “Mind you don’t get -the hem of your dress draggled as you go down -the steps. There now, the scraper has torn your -braid! Mind your foot does not catch in it, and -throw you on your face. I’ll have that scraper -mended against you come next. Mr. Ringwood -has spoken of it several times. You’ve done me -so much good, you can’t think! more than a -glass of wine!”</p> - -<p>Poor little woman! I’m afraid her head is -rather empty. But if her intellect has not been -much cultivated, she has genuine affections—with -a good deal of <i lang="fr">étourderie</i>, wilfulness, -and self-appreciation. How they will get on -together I cannot conjecture. A chance word of -mine made a transient impression; but “the -next cloud that veils the skies” will sweep it all -away.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> - -<p>We must not, on that account, however, relax -our humble endeavours, nor despise the day of -small things. Line upon line, precept on precept, -here a little and there a little, effect -something at last. Grains of sand buried the -Sphinx.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Directly I saw Phillis, I perceived a very queer -expression on her face. “Ah,” thought I, “she -remembers what she said about the weather, and -is rather ashamed of my having been caught in -the rain. I shall charge her with it, and hear -what excuses she can make. She is a capital -hand at self-defence.”</p> - -<p>But, at that moment, my ears were struck by -a loud, harsh, jarring sound, that absolutely -petrified me—the piercing scream of a cockatoo!</p> - -<p>“Where in the world is that bird!” cried I, in -dismay.</p> - -<p>“In our kitchen, ma’am,” said Phillis, demurely. -“’Tis a present from Miss Burt. I -guess she thought you was fond of birds.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Fond of them? Why, I’m so fond of them -that I can’t bear to see them in cages.”</p> - -<p>“But this here thing’s on a stand!”</p> - -<p>“Or anywhere but in their native woods,” -continued I, rapidly. “I have been offered -canaries and bullfinches again and again, and -always refused. The sweetest melody could not -reconcile me to their captivity. And a cockatoo, -of all birds in the world! Why, it will drive me -distracted!”</p> - -<p>“Well, there, <em>I</em> says ’tis a nasty beast,” says -Phillis, with a groan, “and has made a precious -mess on my clean floor already, scattering and -spirting its untidy messes of food all about, and -screeching till one can’t hear one’s self speak. -‘Do be quiet, then!’ I’ve bawled to it a dozen -times, and it answered me quite pert with, -‘<em>cockatoo!</em>’”</p> - -<p>I could not help laughing. “Really,” said I, -“it is too bad of Miss Burt—she might have -given me warning.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I suppose she thought ’twould be an -agreeable surprise,” said Phillis, with a grim -smile. “There’s a note for you along with it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Pray give it me.”</p> - -<p>This was the note:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right smaller">“5, Chickweed Place, Elmsford, June 10.</p> - -<p class="noindent">“My dear Mrs. Cheerlove,</p> - -<p>“I’m off this afternoon to Canterbury, to -spend a month; and, meanwhile, have sent you -my cockatoo to amuse you. Perhaps you did not -know I had one. It only arrived yesterday, as a -present from Lady Almeria Fitzhenry. So you -see it is quite an aristocratic bird; and it will -look extremely well on your lawn in fine weather, -and, on wet days, afford you company. Mrs. -Grove is dying to have one, so you may consider -yourself favoured. If you get attached to it, you -shall have it all the winter. I am sure it will be -a pet with Phillis.</p> - -<p class="center">“Your affectionate friend,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Cornelia Burt.</span>”</p> - -<p>“P.S. Please send me back the directions for -making the magic ruff.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>“Phillis,” said I, “Miss Burt thinks you will -make the cockatoo quite a pet.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s a great deal more likely to put me into -a pet,” said she. (Screech, screech, went the -cockatoo.)</p> - -<p>“He knows you are talking of him,” said I, -“and does not like to be spoken ill of behind his -back.”</p> - -<p>“Then he’ll hear no good of himself from me,” -says Phillis.</p> - -<p>“The donkey-boy is waiting to be paid,” said -I, “and Miss Burt wants something sent back. -I will send it by him, and write her a line about -the bird.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose he takes it back,” cried Phillis.</p> - -<p>“No, that would hardly do.”</p> - -<p>“Well, ’twould look queer-like, that big stand -in the donkey-chair!” and she went off laughing.</p> - -<p>I hastily wrote:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right smaller">“Whiterose Cottage, Wednesday morning.</p> - -<p class="noindent">“My dear friend,</p> - -<p>“On returning from church, I found your -kind note and your bird awaiting me, and I am -sorry your maid was obliged to return without -the directions for knitting the ruff, which I inclose.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -You are very good to provide an amusement -for me in your absence; but if Mrs. Grove -really wishes for the cockatoo, I hope you will let -me transfer it to her, for its loud voice is too -much for me, and I understand nothing of the -management of birds. Wishing you a pleasant -visit to your friends, I remain,</p> - -<p class="center">“Affectionately yours,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Helen Cheerlove</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Having dispatched this missive, I felt greatly -relieved; but my morning’s work had so tired me -that I was fit for nothing but a long rest on the -sofa, and would gladly have taken a little nap; -but, every time my eyes were ready to close, I -was roused by the angry cry of “cockatoo.”</p> - -<p>“That bird is a most disagreeable animal,” -thought I. “How can any one endure him? -Even the wearisome cry of a gallina would less -offend my ears. It would be long before I should -wish for a parrot: but a parrot is a clever, entertaining -bird, and affords some variety—this bird -has only one word. A rook can only say ‘caw,’ -yet contrives to make its one harsh note tolerably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -pleasant; but <em>this</em> tiresome thing—Oh dear, there -it goes again! Phillis must be tormenting it.”</p> - -<p>In fact, the cockatoo set up such a noise that -I became quite irritable, and rang the bell. -“Phillis, don’t worry that bird.”</p> - -<p>“<em>I</em> worrit the bird?” cries she, in high -dudgeon, “why, I wasn’t even in the kitchen. -I declare it worrits <em>me</em>!”</p> - -<p>And, hastening off, she soon returned with the -cockatoo on its stand, flapping its wings, and -violently pecking her bare arms, and set it down -before me with a jerk, saying, “There, you’ll see -now, mum, whether it’s worrited by me or not. -And it was a present, not to me, but to yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Poor Phillis! how <em>could</em> you let it peck your -arms so?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said she, mollified, and smearing them -with her apron, “I’m not made of gingerbread!”</p> - -<p>“But I really cannot have this bird <em>here</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Why, you see, he’s quiet with <em>you</em>.”</p> - -<p>“But, if he is, I cannot be. I was trying to -go to sleep; and I shall expect him to scream -every moment.”</p> - -<p>“Oh well, then, I must carry him off.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Don’t let him peck your arms more than you -can help.”</p> - -<p>“Of course I shan’t,” said she.</p> - -<p>“He’s really a handsome bird.”</p> - -<p>“Handsome is that handsome does,” said Phillis, -pitying her arms.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps if I go along with you, offering him -something to eat, he may not fly at you.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you can but try, mum,” said Phillis.</p> - -<p>So I did try; and directly he felt his perch in -motion he flew, not at her, but at me.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’ll never do!” says Phillis. “Tell -ye what, you radical, I’ll wring your neck for you -as soon as think, if you don’t keep quiet. Please, -mum, leave ’un alone—you only makes him wus.”</p> - -<p>And off she went with her screeching enemy, -leaving me deeply impressed with her own valour, -and my incapability.</p> - -<p>A man has just called for Mr. Cockatoo, bringing -rather a <em>dry</em> note from Miss Burt, saying she -was sorry I could not take a kindness as it was -meant.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Early as the sun now rises, the nightingale is -awake while yet dark, uttering the sweetest melody. -Then a profound pause ensues; which, in -half-an-hour or less, is broken by some infinitely -inferior songsters; and soon, when the glorious -sun uprears himself in the east, a full chorus of -larks, linnets, thrushes, blackbirds, redbreasts, -titmice, redstarts, and other warblers, pour forth -their morning hymn of praise; while the rooks -caw on the tall tree-tops, and the wood-pigeon -and cuckoo are heard in the distant wood.</p> - -<p>Yes, I am fond of birds in their own green -shades. I am fond, too, of entomology, though -not very knowing in it. The change of grubs -into butterflies is so striking, that, as Swammerdam -says, “We see therein the resurrection -painted before our eyes.” Spence and Kirby, in -their delightful book, have elicited wondrous -facts. How many people see rooks following the -plough without knowing why they do so. It is -in order to eat the cockchafer grubs which the -plough turns up. The cockchafer grub, which -remains in its larva state <em>four years</em>, preys not -only on the roots of grass, but of corn; and will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -so loosen turf, that it will roll up as if cut with -a turfing-spade; so that the rooks do good service -in destroying these mischievous little grubs. -But insects are not universally mischievous. A -fly was once discovered making a lodgment in -the principal stem of the early wheat, just above -the root, thereby destroying the stem; but the -root threw out fresh shoots on every side, and -yielded a more abundant crop than in other fields -where the insect had not been busy.</p> - -<p>This reminds me, while I write, of another -instance of compensation, which occurred to -my own knowledge. A great many years ago, -a good old market-gardener, whom I well knew, -and who used to go by the name of “Contented -Sam,” lost a fine crop of early green -peas he was raising for the spring market, by a -violent storm, which literally shelled the pods -when they were just ready to gather, and beat -them into the earth. He was looking at the -devastation somewhat seriously, when some one -passing cried out, “Well, master, can you see -anything good in <em>that</em> now?” “Yes,” said he, -rousing up, “I dare say God has some good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -purpose in it, somehow or other.” And so it -remarkably proved; for the peas, <em>self-sown</em>, came -up late in the season, when there were none in -the market, and sold at a much higher price.</p> - -<p>To return to Messrs. Kirby and Spence. The -friendship of these two good and eminent men -lasted nearly half a century. During the course -of that time, the letters that passed between them -on entomology were between four and five hundred. -These letters were mostly written on sheets -of large folio paper, so closely, that each would -equal a printed sheet of sixteen pages of ordinary -type. These they called their “first-rates,” or -“seventy-fours;” the few of ordinary size being -“frigates.” But once, Mr. Kirby having even -more than usual to say, wrote what he called -“The Royal Harry,” alluding to the great ship -“Harry,” built in the reign of Henry VIII., of -which I have seen a curious print. This <em>noteworthy -note</em> was written on a sheet nearly the size -of a <cite>Times</cite> Supplement, and closely filled on three -pages! Talk of ladies’ long letters after this!</p> - -<p>The correspondence sprang up, and was continued, -some months before they ever saw each other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -They then spent “ten delightful days together,” -at Mr. Kirby’s parsonage, and devoted part of -the time to an entomological excursion in the -parson’s gig.</p> - -<p>At length, the idea occurred to them both of -writing a book on entomology together, and in -a popular form, which should allure readers by -its entertainment, rather than deter them by its -dryness. All the world knows how happily they -accomplished it; and I have heard one of them -say, the partnership was so complete, that in -subsequent years neither of them could positively -say, “This paragraph was written by myself, -and this by my friend.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>This morning, as I was at work, enjoying the -soft air through the open window, and listening -to the blackbird and cuckoo, I heard a carriage -stop at the gate, and soon afterwards, Arbell, -carrying a parcel almost half as large as herself, -came in, looking very merry, and said—</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Mrs. Cheerlove! Mamma<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -thought you would like to see what I have been -doing for Mademoiselle; so she set me down -here, and will call for me presently.”</p> - -<p>And with busy fingers she began to take out -sundry pins, and remove divers coverings, till -out came a splendid scarlet cushion, elegantly -braided in gold.</p> - -<p>“How do you like it?” said she, wistfully.</p> - -<p>“I think it superb! Will it not be rather too -magnificent for Mademoiselle’s <i lang="fr">ménage</i>?”</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle is very fond of bright colours, -and means to have everything very gay about -her, though she will not have a house to herself, -only a flat; so that I feel sure she will like it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, everybody must, for it is a splendid -cushion, indeed! Why, the materials must -have quite emptied your purse!”</p> - -<p>“Mamma was kind enough to say, that if I -did it well, she would not mind paying for the -materials; and I am glad to say she is quite -satisfied with it. But I particularly want to -know what you think of the pattern.”</p> - -<p>“It is intricate, and very rich. Where did -you get it?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> - -<p>“In a way you would never guess,” said -Arbell, laughing. “One day, mamma took me -with her to call on Mrs. Chillingworth; and as -they talked of things that did not at all interest -me, I sat looking at a great cushion on the opposite -sofa, and thinking how bad the yellow braid -looked, and how much better the effect would -be in gold. The pattern pleased me; so I looked -at it till I was sure I could remember it, and -when I got home, I drew it on a sheet of paper. -Mamma was amused, and said it was very ingenious -of me; but I did not think of turning it -to account, till it occurred to me that I might -work it for Mademoiselle. So I asked mamma, -and she approved of it, and said I might.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I think it does you great credit in more -ways than one.”</p> - -<p>“How strange it was, Mrs. Cheerlove, that I -should take such interest in doing something for -Mademoiselle! I had such pleasant thoughts -while working it. Oh, what do you think? I -am going to have such a treat! Papa wishes to -investigate the iron mines in Piedmont, and is -going to take mamma and me with him; and on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -our return, we are to see everything worth seeing. -Will not that be delightful?”</p> - -<p>“It will, indeed. Of course you will, meantime, -learn to speak French, German, and Italian, -as fluently as you can.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes; I am fagging very hard now; I -have such a <em>motive</em>, not only for acquiring languages, -but for improving in drawing, that I may -sketch, and for obtaining information about all -the objects in our way. I am making a list of -‘things to be particularly observed.’”</p> - -<p>“An excellent plan.”</p> - -<p>“You seem to have a good many books, Mrs. -Cheerlove. Have you any likely to be of service -to me, that you could lend me?”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid they are hardly modern enough,” -said I, doubtfully. “You are perfectly welcome -to any of them.”</p> - -<p>She scanned their titles at the back:—“‘Alpine -Sketches.’ That’s promising. ‘1814!’ Oh, what -years and tens of years ago! ‘<em>With all my -heart, said I, as H. carelessly mentioned the -idea.</em>’ What an abrupt beginning!” She laughed, -and replaced the volume on the shelf. “Mamma,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -said she, “has been reading the Rev. Mr. King’s -‘Italian Valleys of the Alps,’ and is very desirous -to see the great St. Bernard and Monte Rosa, and -the Breithorn, and Petit Cervin. I am chiefly -desirous to see Mont Blanc. There’s such a -charming account of it, and of Jacques Balmat, -in ‘Fragments du Voyage.’ But Jacques Balmat -is dead, though some of his family are guides. -Papa has bought us two of Whippy’s portable -side-saddles, which fold up into waterproof cases, -with spare straps, tethers, whips, and everything -one can want; and he has bought guide-books, -maps, saddle-bags, telescope and microscope, and -air-tight japanned cases to strap on our mules, so -that our equipment will be complete.”</p> - -<p>“You must take a sketch-book.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, mamma has given me one already; -and a journal, and a vasculum for dried flowers -and ferns.”</p> - -<p>“You will see beautiful butterflies, as well as -wild flowers, in the valleys.”</p> - -<p>“Are butterflies worth studying, Mrs. Cheerlove?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly they are.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I will recommend papa, then, to take a -butterfly-net. Do you think it a good plan to -keep a journal?”</p> - -<p>“Very, if you put down things worth knowing, -while they are fresh in your head; and refrain -from such entries as—‘Had very hard beds last -night’—‘breakfast poor, and badly set on table’—‘feel -languid and dispirited this morning, without -exactly knowing why.’”</p> - -<p>“Surely nobody could put down such -silly things as those,” said Arbell, laughing; “at -any rate, I shall not. Ah, the carriage is at the -gate. Mamma desired me to give you her love, -and say she could not come in to-day. Good-by! -Here is a little book-marker, on which I have -painted the head of Savonarola, for you, if you -will be so kind as to accept it. Oh, and I was particularly -desired to tell you that the cocoa-nut -biscuits you liked so much, were made of nothing -in the world but chopped and pounded cocoa-nut, -loaf sugar, and white of egg, baked on wafer-paper. -Good-by! good-by!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The longest day has passed! There is always -something sorrowful in the reflection, although -the days do not really seem shorter, on account -of the moon. It is the same kind of feeling -which we experience more strongly, when we feel -that we have passed the prime of life, though -we are still healthy and vigorous, and our looking-glasses -may tell us that our looks are not -much impaired. But the early summer, and -summer-time of life, are gone!</p> - -<p>I went to church to-day; but the heat is now so -over-coming, that I must discontinue my out-door -exercise, while it lasts, till the cool of the evening. -As I passed Mrs. Ringwood’s, there was -she at the open window with her baby, and she -nodded and smiled, and cried, “How d’ye do, -how d’ye do! You did me so much good! More -than a glass of wine!”</p> - -<p>She was not in low spirits just then, at any -rate. And really I don’t believe I could bear her -peculiar trials as well as she does—even with a -glass of wine!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Cooler weather again. I went to-day, in the -donkey-chair, to call on Mrs. Prout in her new -house. It is small but cheerful, with everything -clean and fresh. A good deal of her old, heavy -furniture has been supplied by less expensive but -more modern articles, which are more suitable -to the papering and fitting-up of the house; -and yet I looked with partiality at a few things -that had been rescued from the sale—the old -bureau, easy-chair, work-table, &c.</p> - -<p>When I entered, little Arthur and Alice were -the only occupants of the drawing-room, playing, -in a corner of it, at “Doctor and Patient.” -What imitators children are!—“Well, mum, -what is the matter with you, to-day?”—“Oh,” -says little, lisping Alice, coughing affectedly, “I -have the guitar! (catarrh!)” After shyly exchanging -a few words with me, they ran off, just -as their mother entered.</p> - -<p>She is an excellent little woman; there was no -display of grief, but deep affliction beneath the -surface; and now and then a tear strayed down -her cheek, while yet she thankfully spoke of -“many alleviations—many mercies.” “But,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -as she truly said—“her loss was irreparable.”</p> - -<p>All the while, there was Mr. Prout’s good-tempered -countenance looking down on us from -the picture-frame, as if he approved of all she -said. It almost startled me when I first went -in; and I sedulously avoided looking at it, or -even towards it, when his widow was in the -room; yet she evidently had gazed on it so -continually, that she could now do so without -shrinking; and I often observed her eyes turning -in that direction, as if the portrait afforded -her a sad consolation.</p> - -<p>She told me, it was quite arranged that Emily -should spend the holidays with the Pevenseys; -and asked me somewhat anxiously, whether I -thought there could be any hopes of its leading -to a permanent engagement. As I was not authorized -to communicate what Mrs. Pevensey -had mentioned in confidence, I only spoke hopefully, -and said, I could see no reason why it -should not.</p> - -<p>“Emily is rather afraid of undertaking Miss -Pevensey,” said Mrs. Prout. “She thinks she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -looks too womanly, and probably knows already -more than she does herself. But I, who know -what is <em>in</em> Emily, have no fears on that score; -only, to be sure, she does look—and <em>is</em>—very -young.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think looks much signify,” said I, -“if there be self-possession, and a temperate -manner.”</p> - -<p>“And Emily has both,” said Mrs. Prout.</p> - -<p>While she was speaking, little Arthur came in, -and laid a bunch of radishes, wet with recent -washing, and placed in a toy basket, in her lap. -I had heard a boy calling radishes along the row. -Mrs. Prout smiled, kissed him, and said, “Good -boy; we will have them by and by for tea;” and -he ran off with them, quite elated.</p> - -<p>“He has spent the last half-penny of his allowance -on them, I know,” said she, with a motherly -smile; “and all for me. That is the way with -the generous little fellow—he continually spends -his pocket-money on me; whether on a few -violets, or radishes, or perhaps a little measure -of shrimps—something he trusts in my liking, -because he likes it himself.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Such a little fellow is lucky to have any -pocket-money at all,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Oh, they all have their little allowances,” said -Mrs. Prout. “Perhaps you think me wrong, in -my reduced circumstances, to continue them, -and it <em>was</em> a matter of consideration; but their -father and I had felt alike on that subject, and I -therefore resolved only to diminish them to half -the amount, and save in something else, rather -than reduce them to absolute penury. I don’t -like pinching on a large scale; I cannot, therefore, -expect them to do so on a small one. -Besides, it teaches children the value of money; -gives them habits of calculation, fore-thought, and -economy. How can they practise self-denial, -charity, or generosity, without something, however -trifling, they can call their own? But I -never permit them to exceed their allowances, or -borrow, or run in debt. If they spend too freely -at the beginning of the week, they must suffer for -it till the week after. Arthur and Alice had twopence -a week each, but now they have only a -penny; thus, they too, know something, practically, -of ‘reduced circumstances;’ and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -stipends of the elder ones have been lowered in -proportion. So you see, I am not, after all, very -extravagant.”</p> - -<p>I thought, afterwards, how much sense there -was in what she had said; and regretted her rule -was not oftener acted on in families. Mrs. Pevensey, -for instance, not unfrequently makes -Arbell handsome presents, but gives her no regular -allowance; consequently, not knowing what -she has to expect, Arbell is sometimes improvident—sometimes -pinched. Consequently, also, -she knows little of the shop-prices of articles in -common request, and does not regularly keep -private accounts. I know it is not my province -to interfere on the subject; but, should an opening -unexpectedly occur, I will just direct Mrs. Pevensey’s -thoughts to it, by alluding to the plan -pursued by Mrs. Prout.</p> - -<p>Every one of these young Prouts has left off -drinking sugar in their tea, to lighten their -mother’s bills; and at their own instance. How -well it speaks for them!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Priamond, Diamond, and Triamond, says Spenser, -were three brothers in Fairy-land:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“These three did love each other dearly well;</div> -<div class="verse">And with so firm affection were allied,</div> -<div class="verse">As if but one soul in them all did dwell,</div> -<div class="verse">Which did her power into three parts divide.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">In the course of their story, a deadly quarrel -ensued between the youngest of these three -brothers and Camball, brother of the Princess -Canace, which was assuaged by the goddess -Concord, who gave them Nepenthe to drink. -And what is Nepenthe?—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Nepenthe is a drink of sovereign grace</div> -<div class="verse">Devised by the gods, for to assuage</div> -<div class="verse">Heart’s grief, and bitter gall away to chase,</div> -<div class="verse">Which stirs up anger and contentious rage.</div> -<div class="verse">Instead thereof, sweet peace and quietage</div> -<div class="verse">It doth establish in the troubled mind;</div> -<div class="verse">Few men, but such as sober are and sage,</div> -<div class="verse">Are by the gods to drink of it assigned—</div> -<div class="verse"><em>But such as drink, eternal happiness do find</em>.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>I can well believe it, good Mr. Spenser. Where -can it be found? Did you ever drink of it yourself? -or did you write thus feelingly because you -sought and found it not? Oh! by what name -shall we pray for it? “<em>The grace of God?</em>”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Here we are in the dog-days! and every one -is complaining of the heat. Last night we had a -thunder-storm, and Phillis was afraid to go to -bed, till I told her that feathers were non-conductors. -So then she thought, the sooner she -was on her feather-bed, the better.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cheerlove used to be very fond of watching -the lightning—of enjoying what Sir Humphrey -Davy called “the sublime pleasure of <em>understanding</em> -what others <em>fear</em>, and of making friends -even of inanimate objects.” I own I can never -help starting at a very vivid flash. But I admire -those who are superior to vain alarms.</p> - -<p>My garden is all-glorious with roses, from -the China, Japan, Macartney, and Alice Grey, -that embower the house and cluster the green -palings with their crimson, pink, cream-coloured, -and white blossoms, to the rarer yellow rose, and -far more beautiful moss-rose, “queen of flowers!” -I literally tread on roses as I walk from room to -room, for every breath of air wafts the loose -leaves through the windows, and scatters them -about the carpets, making them, as Phillis says, -“dreadful untidy.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> - -<p>The hay is pretty well carried, and I am glad -to say that the hay-turning machine has not yet -superseded hand-labour in this neighbourhood. -The poor woman who, with her husband and baby, -found nightly shelter in Cut-throat Barn, brought -me some fine water-cresses at breakfast-time this -morning:—a grateful return for some old linen -and broken victuals.</p> - -<p>The young Prouts came in just now, bringing -in yellow bed-straw, harebells, three different sorts -of heath, and a bunch of flowering grasses that -will make a graceful winter nosegay.</p> - -<p>While Arthur turned over the contents of my -curiosity drawer, and Alice examined my collection -of “pieces,” with permission to select three -of the prettiest for pincushions, Margaret read me -Emily’s first letter from Hardsand. All goes on -satisfactorily. She finds herself quite equal to -the charge of the children, and Mrs. Pevensey -tells her she more than equals her expectations, -and that she shall leave her at the head of the -school-room department with perfect confidence. -Emily says, that so many things, common to the -Pevenseys, are new and delightful to her—their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -polished manners and delightful conversation, the -numerous little elegances about them, the well-conducted -servants, luxuriously-furnished rooms, -abundance of nice books, &c., all add something -to her enjoyment. As for her position among -them, she does not mind it at all; in fact, she is -flattered by the confidence Mrs. Pevensey places -in her, the obedience of the children, and the -respect of the servants. She admires the sea, -and the fine rough coast, and enjoys the daily -walks on the sands. Arbell seems to like her, -and she likes Arbell. “When the children are -gone to bed,” she writes, “and Arbell is in the -drawing-room, you cannot imagine how I enjoy -lying on the sofa and reading ‘Tremaine.’ But -sometimes Mrs. Pevensey looks in, and says, -‘Miss Prout, do come and join us—unless you -are tired.’ Then I spring up immediately, for I -think it would neither show good manners nor -good feeling to hang back; and the result is that -I get a cheerful evening, and am made to feel -completely one of themselves.”</p> - -<p>The Pevenseys were to cross the Channel the -next morning: they were all in excellent spirits.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>August is the month when the fields are ripe to -harvest, and when, to use David’s joyous imagery, -“The little valleys stand so thick with corn that -they laugh and sing.” That is a beautiful line in -a Scotch song, which, describing a graceful, pretty -young girl, says—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Like waving corn her mien.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Nothing can be more graceful than the motion -of corn, stirred by the light summer air—not -even the dancing, in his boyish days, of one of -our greatest civil engineers—now, alas! dead. -Light as feather-down, and as if it were the pleasure -of his existence to float on his native element—the -air—the next moment you might see him -deep in some abstruse question with his father, -grave as if he had never known a smile. (“<i lang="la">Ut in -vitâ, sic in studiis, pulcherrimum et humanissimum -existimo, severitatem comitatemque misure, ne illa -in tristitiam, hæc in petulantiam procedat.</i>” Be -that his epitaph, from his old and early friend.)</p> - -<p>Sir Isambard Brunel once showed us a stone -perforated by an insect, which had suggested to -him the horse-shoe form of the Thames Tunnel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -On how many of us would such a hint have been -utterly wasted! Southey tells us that when Sir -Humphrey Davy first ascended Skiddaw with -him, he cast his eyes on the fragments of slate -with which the ground was strewn, and, stooping -to pick one up as he spoke, observed, “I dare say -I shall find something here.” The next moment -he exclaimed with delight, “I <em>have</em> found something -indeed! Here is a substance which has -been lately discovered in Saxony, and has not -been recognised elsewhere till now!” It was the -<em>chiastolite</em>.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I can scarcely form a pleasanter mental picture, -than of a young girl, healthy, talented, energetic, -sweet-tempered, and with no burthen of self-consciousness -or morbid feeling, tired, but not -too tired, after her day’s toil as governess to a -tolerably docile set of young pupils (and all children -may be <em>trained</em> to docility), and resting body -and mind on a comfortable sofa in a cheerful -room, with an entertaining book which interests -her; or now and then drawn off from it by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -pleasing thoughts of home, and of the appreciation -which there overpays her labours. And such -a picture do I form of Emily Prout.</p> - -<p>Before Mrs. Pevensey sailed, she engaged -Emily permanently, at a salary of eighty guineas, -to be raised to a hundred if she prove equal to -her situation.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>This morning, on my way to church, I saw -Mrs. Ringwood looking over her blind with rather -a long face, and she bowed to me somewhat -piteously. Now, I cannot say that I had forgotten -her request that I would look in on her -again, for it had occurred to me almost every -time I passed her door; but, somehow, something -had said within me, “No, I will not.” There -was no need, I told myself; and there certainly -was no inclination; therefore my conscience was -not at all uneasy—especially when I did not see -her looking over the blind.</p> - -<p>But now, it struck me, she might be specially -looking out after me, and thinking it very cross<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -and unneighbourly of me not to call; she might -even seriously wish to have a little talk with me; -and it might do her more good than a glass of wine.</p> - -<p>So I resolved to call as I returned: and I did -as I resolved. A rather slatternly maid, for -whom I would on no account have exchanged -Phillis, said “Missis was at home;” and showed -me straightway into the parlour, where was—not -Mrs., but Mr. Ringwood.</p> - -<p>I suppose some people think him good-looking, -but he is too much be-ringed and be-whiskered -for my taste. Mr. Cheerlove wore no whiskers; -nor any rings. My taste, therefore, is plain. -Mr. Ringwood is not plain—but rather showily -good-looking.</p> - -<p>He said—“Bless my soul, Mrs. Cheerlove! -This is a great compliment, ma’am—I—(Jemima, -tell your mistress)—I know how little you -visit, and how greatly your visits are prized. -You could not have paid me a more flattering -compliment, ma’am, than in calling on my little -wife.”</p> - -<p>Dear me, thought I, I shall not like this man -at all—how oppressive he is! I am sure I never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -thought of paying him a compliment, and wish -he would not pay me any.</p> - -<p>“I hope Mrs. Ringwood is well,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said he, running his fingers through -his hair, in the Italian way, or in imitation of it, -“Emma is well enough, if she would but think -herself so;—she wants to go to the sea-side.”</p> - -<p>“A nice time of year,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Ah, ha,” said he; “but perhaps you are -enough of a classical scholar, Mrs. Cheerlove, to -have heard something of ‘<i lang="la">res augusta domi</i>.’”</p> - -<p>“I have heard the expression,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Ah,—you don’t deceive me in that way,” -said he; “I’ve heard of Mrs. Cheerlove’s acquirements. -You read by stealth, and blush to -find it fame.”</p> - -<p>“I thought fame was acquired by writing -rather than by reading,” said I.</p> - -<p>The absurd man bowed, as if I had meant to -compliment him; for editing the <cite>County Advertiser</cite>, -I suppose! Oh dear!</p> - -<p>Luckily for me, Mrs. Ringwood came in, wearing -the very smart cap I had seen her manufacturing -on a previous occasion.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” said she, -hastening towards me, all smiles. “I take it so -kind of you!”</p> - -<p>Then I asked how the baby was, and she told -me he was cutting his teeth, and went into long -details, naturally interesting to her, and very well -to tell to me; but that might as well have been -spared, I thought, in the presence of Mr. Ringwood. -I wondered he did not walk off to his -office. Instead of which, he stood, shifting from -one foot to the other, running over the paper, -and making it crackle prodigiously as he unfolded -and refolded it; and at length he said, somewhat -abruptly—</p> - -<p>“My love, all this cannot be very entertaining -to Mrs. Cheerlove.”</p> - -<p>“That is true, Alfred,” said she, with a little -flutter which I could not account for. “I was -to blame for forgetting Mrs. Cheerlove had no -family. How have you been, ma’am, lately? -Don’t you think a little sea-air would do you a -great deal of good?”</p> - -<p>I smiled, and said I did not feel any need -of it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, but it braces one so,” said she. “It -would strengthen <span class="smcap">me</span>, I know, more than all the -wine and porter in the world!”</p> - -<p>“Why should not you try to let your house?” -said I. “Many people do.”</p> - -<p>“’Pon my honour, Mrs. Cheerlove, that’s a -capital thought of yours!” burst in Mr. Ringwood. -“I wonder it never occurred to me. I’ll -tell you what, Emma, if you can let the house -for the autumn, you may go to Hardsand the -very next day! Put up a ticket to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank you, Alfred!” cried she. “I’m -sure I’d no idea you would have consented to -such a thing, or I would have proposed it -before.”</p> - -<p>(“Don’t believe such a thought ever entered -your head,” muttered he).</p> - -<p>“I wonder, though,” she continued doubtfully, -looking round the room as she spoke, “who -would take such a house as this?”</p> - -<p>“Did you never hear Cowper’s line,” said he, -quickly—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘We never shall know, if we never do try?’”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“I’m sure I’ve not the least objection to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -trying—nay, I’m much obliged to you for letting -me—”</p> - -<p>“Not with the house,” put in he, quite -smartly.</p> - -<p>“Of course not—how funny you are! But I -haven’t the least idea about these things.”</p> - -<p>“Your kind friend, Mrs. Cheerlove, can doubtless -supply you with an idea or two—she has -plenty of her own.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. Well then, Mrs. Cheerlove, what -steps should you recommend?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is a very simple affair. Tell Mr. -Norris, the house-agent, that you want to let -your house, furnished, for the autumn, at such a -price; and that it can be seen at such and such -hours. Or, if you prefer it, you can put up a -bill.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, yes! I think I’ll do both! How -clever you are! So practical!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Mrs. Cheerlove,” said Mr. Ringwood, -with a shrug and a smile, “it’s we literary people -who are the practical ones after all!”</p> - -<p>Then she began to consider how many beds -she could make up, and what she should leave,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -what she should take, and what she should lock -up; whether she should allow the use of the -piano, and whether the pictures should be -covered; till her husband impatiently cried—</p> - -<p>“Oh, hang the pictures!” and then laughed -at his ridiculous exclamation.</p> - -<p>“But really, Emma,” continued he, “you -need not give Mrs. Cheerlove a list of all the -cracked wine-glasses.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t a list to give,” said she with -simplicity. “Perhaps it would be well if I kept -one.”</p> - -<p>“You must make an inventory now, at any -rate. Set about it this morning—it will keep -you amused for a week.”</p> - -<p>“My dear Alfred, you are always finding -things for <em>me</em> to do, instead of yourself. You -forget the baby.”</p> - -<p>“You take good care, my dear, I shall not do -that. Mrs. Cheerlove, how I do wish we could -enlist you amongst us!”</p> - -<p>“As what?” said I, amazed.</p> - -<p>“As a contributor. Oh, you need not look -so conscious!—murder <em>will out</em>. I know you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -write. Now, do give me—poor, toil-worn editor -as I am—some little assistance. On public and -local affairs, of course, I want no aid; what I -desire is historical anecdote, biographical sketches, -traits of character and experience—all that sort -of <i lang="fr">materiel</i> for thought which may or may not -be used, according to the will of the reader—pleased -with the thing as it stands, but not always -disposed to carry it on.”</p> - -<p>He spoke earnestly and well.</p> - -<p>“You do me great honour,” said I, “but, I -assure you, you are quite mistaken in me. I -could not afford you the help you need.”</p> - -<p>“Why—they said you wrote throughout your -long illness!”</p> - -<p>“Whoever <em>they</em> may he, I can assure you, -I only used my pen in hours of solitude, as a -companion; nothing more.”</p> - -<p>“But its results!——”</p> - -<p>“Will never appear before the public. Oh no, -I am no authoress. And I must confess to a -prejudice against <em>female</em> assistants in our leading -periodicals. I think it a province out of our -sphere.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, you compliment us,” said he, bowing; -“but I own you have not satisfied me. I am -convinced you <em>could</em>, if you <em>would</em>. Dear me! -how time runs away, to be sure! I must run -off this moment; but one takes no count of time -in <em>your</em> presence, Mrs. Cheerlove.”</p> - -<p>And, presenting his hand to me in a very -affable manner, and bowing over mine, he flourished -off.</p> - -<p>“Delightful!” cried Mrs. Ringwood, taking -a deep breath; “how you’ve drawn him out! -Oh, I do so enjoy good conversation! But I’m -no converser—never was. Always such a simple -little thing!”</p> - -<p>I knew not what to say; and she almost immediately -went on in a dreamy sort of way—</p> - -<p>“He used to tell me before marriage, he loved -simplicity; so I wasn’t afraid, you know. But -now he likes intellect better.”</p> - -<p>“But why should you despair of pleasing him, -even then?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he knocks me down so! I don’t mean -literally,” cried she, seeing my look of dismay; -“but he has a way of <em>setting</em> people down, as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -saying is, whenever they talk in a way that does -not please him; and if I am chatting a little, and -he wants to cut it short, he says, ‘My dear, I -beg your pardon,’ quite politely; and takes the -lead, and keeps it—‘My <em>dear</em>,’ not ‘My love.’ -It was so pleasant to hear him say, ‘My love!’ -to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said I, “you will be busy now, and I -hope soon to hear of your having let your house.” -And so I talked a little about various watering-places, -as if she might pick and choose where -she liked; though, after all, very probably, she will -have no choice but Hardsand. And I told her -what a cheerful, bracing place Hardsand was considered.</p> - -<p>But, as I rode home, I thought that, perhaps -I had done the little woman no kindness, after -all; for her efforts to let her house might -only end in disappointment. And the more I -thought of blinds, scrapers, &c., wanting repair, -crumb-cloths wanting washing, and wine-glasses -wanting replacing, the less chance there appeared -to me of anybody’s being attracted by the -house.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> - -<p>“A pennyworth of putty and a pennyworth of -paint,” said a nobleman, in the last century, -“would make my countess as handsome as any at -court.” Certes, a pennyworth of putty and a -pennyworth of paint, or something equivalent, -will often go far towards making a house look -tidy and respectable. But, in Mrs. Ringwood’s -domain, <i lang="it">il poco piú</i> is sadly wanting. A man -may laugh at an Irish waiter who confidentially -whispers to him, as he hands him his venison, -that “there is no currant jelly on the sideboard, -but plenty of lobster-sauce,” but he will not endure -it from his wife.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>——What luck some people have! The -Ringwoods have let their house the very first -day! Just now, I was very much surprised by -a call from Mr. Ringwood, who looked much -more gentlemanlike than he did yesterday, and -said, with a very pleased look, “Mrs. Cheerlove, I -am sure you will be glad to hear the good news,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -and therefore intrude to tell you of it myself. -I called on Norris just now, and found the -Hawkers are wanting a ready-furnished house, -while their own is painting—that is to say, for -six weeks; so I’ve seen Mr. Hawker, and we -came to terms immediately; supposing, of course, -that the ladies make it out together. But I am -sure Emma will be glad to make every concession -to Mrs. Hawker, so I look on it as a done thing. -Don’t you wish me joy?”</p> - -<p>I told him I did, very sincerely.</p> - -<p>“So you see,” said he, laughing triumphantly, -“we literary people <em>are</em> the practical ones, after -all!”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Ringwood must be much obliged to -you,” said I, “for so promptly carrying out her -wishes.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said he, drumming on his hat; “but -I own I don’t see that I ought to be expected -to do everything in my office and out of it too. -A man, or even a woman, who fills the housekeeping -purse, ought not to be liable to every -other branch of bother.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> - -<p>I thought with him, but only observed, that -where there was one clever head in the family, -the others might accustom themselves, unconsciously, -to depend too much on it.</p> - -<p>“I believe you are right,” said he, stroking the -important member in question with a thoughtful -air as he spoke. “I spoilt Emma myself in the -first instance—instead of remonstrating when I -should have done so, about one little matter and -another. The consequence is—— No matter; but -we shall <em>never</em> get straight now—never, never! -I utterly despair of it.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, you are too sensible to do that! To -make the best of untoward circumstances, even -if they result from our own fault, is not only more -prudent, but more noble, than to sit down in -Ugolino-like despair.”</p> - -<p>“‘Ugolino-like’ is the light in that sentence!” -said he. “Excuse me, but you know I make a -business of these things, and often have to insert -them in heavy articles. That phrase will fix -your saying in my memory, and I will endeavour -to act upon it too—without which I know you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -won’t care a half-penny for my remembering, or -even quoting it. Ah, Mrs. Cheerlove, you owe -the world something from your pen. Why not -try?” in a tone intended to be very insinuating.</p> - -<p>“There are plenty in the field already,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Plenty, such as they <em>are</em>,” responded he. -“Plenty—and too many! Oh, if you knew the -curiosities of literature that I hand over to my subeditor! -Now, I’ll read you a <i lang="fr">morçeau</i> I received -this morning. I think I might <em>defy</em> you to make -anything like it. The subject is the fancy bazaar -our ladies are going to hold at Willington:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘Come to Willington bazaar!</div> -<div class="verse">Enter, neighbours, near and far.</div> -<div class="verse">Pure delightsome harmony</div> -<div class="verse">Welcomes all friends cheerily;</div> -<div class="verse">Crops of pretty useful things,</div> -<div class="verse">Philanthropy to market brings;</div> -<div class="verse">Sympathy with ardour buys,</div> -<div class="verse">What industrial zeal supplies!’</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Do you think you could have done that? No, -I’m sure you couldn’t!”</p> - -<p>And, in excellent humour with himself and with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -me, he took leave, waving his hand towards the -book-case as he went, and saying:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“An elegant sufficiency! content,</div> -<div class="verse">Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,</div> -<div class="verse">Progressive virtue, and approving heaven!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Guido Sorelli beautifully says, “I learn the -depth to which I have sunk, from the length of -chain let down to updraw me.” Without inquiring -into his wisdom in publishing his “Confessions,” -(written for the public, apparently, and <em>not</em> for -Silvio Pellico), they certainly have, as he says, a -tendency to bring the reader to “a saddening -contemplation of his own heart.” This sensitive -Italian was converted by the Bible, which he, in -the first instance, read for an hour daily, and completely -perused in three months; never opening it -without first praying for humility. Nor did he -ever commence his daily seven hours’ task of -translating “Paradise Lost,” without imploring -divine assistance; and the last four years of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -ten years’ labour of love, “bore the impress,” he -tells us, “of a happiness almost beatific.” Such -are the silent, satisfying rewards which high and -virtuous art bestows on her children, wholly independent -of fame or emulation. Like the exquisite -<i lang="it">fanatico per la musica</i>, in La Motte Fouquè’s -“Violina,” they “carry on their labour as a -sweet secret, hardly knowing at the time whether -they shall ever feel inclined to make it known.” -The “last infirmity of noble minds,” is their -seeking the confirmatory sentence of some master-spirit, -whom the voice of the world, and their own -cordial acknowledgment, place far above themselves. -All beyond this opens the door to rivalry -and uneasiness. Once know that you do a thing -well, and the calm pleasure needs not to be augmented -by everybody’s owning it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>If a botanist ranges over an entire meadow, -and find one or two new specimens, he thinks -his labour not in vain. And if I find one or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -two noteworthy passages in a book, I am glad I -have read it. Here, now, is the life of Pollok. -What true soul of art has not experienced, -at some period of its existence, the depression -and despondency, the suspicion of its own -self-delusion, thus expressed by the young Scottish -poet?—</p> - -<p>“The ideas,” he says, “which I had collected -at pleasure, and which I reckoned peculiarly my -own, were dropping away one after another. -Fancy was returning from her flight—memory -giving up her trust; what was vigorous becoming -weak, and what was cheerful and active, dull and -indolent.” And yet he was at this time on the -brink of writing an immortal poem! One December -night, sitting alone in his lodgings in -great desolation of mind, he, to turn his thoughts -from himself, took up the first book within reach, -which happened to be Hartley’s “Oratory.” He -opened on Lord Byron’s “Darkness,” and had not -read far when he thought he could write something -to the purpose on the subject of the general -resurrection. After revolving his ideas a little, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -struck off about a thousand lines—the now well-known -passage, beginning,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“In ’customed glory bright!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Soon afterwards he wrote to his brother, that “he -had lately been soaring in the pure ether of eternity, -and linking his thoughts to the Everlasting -Throne!” “And I knew,” says his brother, -“that he had now found a subject to write on.” -“May the eternal and infinite Spirit,” wrote this -sympathizing brother in return, “inform your -soul with an immortal argument, and enable you -to conduct it to your own happiness in time, and -blessedness in eternity; and to His praise, honour, -and glory for ever!”</p> - -<p>Soon after this, Robert returned to his father’s -humble dwelling, at Moorhouse, where he continued -his poem, but without any definite plan. -“One night, sitting alone in an old room, and -letting his mind wander backward and forward -over things at large, in a moment, as if by an -immediate inspiration, the idea of the poem -struck him; and the plan of it, as it now stands,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -stretched out before him, so that at one glance he -saw through it from end to end like an avenue. -He never felt, he said, as he did then; and he -shook from head to foot.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>How soon September has come! The roses -are now nearly all over; but the ram’s-head -border I had cut in the grass-plat last spring is -gay with fuchsias, verbenas, geraniums, and balsams. -Miss Burt, who has no garden of her own, -comes now and then to expend, as she says, -some of her superfluous energies, in raking and -hoeing my garden, while I sit near her in a light -wicker chair, and watch her proceedings. She -became tired of her cockatoo about a month after -her return, and made a present of it to Mrs. -Grove. The cockatoo thus shared the fate of a -certain fine cucumber, which I remember being -passed from house to house one autumn, till at -length somebody was found who liked it.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Pevensey’s gardener’s boy brought me a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -delicate little griskin this morning, to show me -that, though out of sight, I am not out of mind. -I am reading a curious little tale Mrs. Pevensey -lent me, called “Agathonia,” about the Colossus -of Rhodes. The style is inflated rather than -grand, which makes the incidents appear less -grand than inflated; but yet, I am struck with -the story, which, picturesquely enough, opens -thus:—</p> - -<p>Three weather-worn brigantines, belonging -to Ben Shedad the Jew, are anchored in the harbour -of Rhodes, to carry off a hundred brazen -statues, the masterpieces of Lysippus and Chares, -as well as the renowned Colossus, whose remains -have for nine centuries encumbered the arsenal. -The bastions are crowded with victorious Saracens—not -a Rhodian is to be seen among them; the -island has been conquered and humiliated, its -temples razed, its churches defiled, its vineyards -rooted up, its population maltreated, and, to conclude, -its works of art sold to the Jews.</p> - -<p>As Ben-Shedad and his crew are proceeding -to the spot where the prostrate Colossus lies embedded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -in sand and rushes, one of the Jews -attempts to propitiate Velid, son of the emir of -Rhodes, by kissing the hem of his garment. -The young man shrinks from him in disgust, and, -turning to his friend Al Maimoun, asks whether -artizans might not have been found on the island -who might have removed the statue without its -being polluted by the touch of an accursed race. -Al Maimoun replies, that certainly the camp of -the faithful might have supplied workmen; and -Velid rejoins, that were he not compelled to respect -the contract, his soldiers should pitch the -Hebrews into the harbour.</p> - -<p>Meantime, the attention of the Saracen bystanders, -who have been deriding and cursing the -Jews, is diverted towards another party slowly -approaching the Colossus, consisting of an Ascalonian -soldier of the emir’s, three Rhodians, and -a tall, grizzled Numidian, who bear a closely-curtained -litter, which is accompanied by two -veiled females. One of the women stoops with -age, but the other is slender and graceful as a -young roe. The crowd divides before them; and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -when they reach the fallen Colossus, the Rhodians -pause, and, the litter-curtains being drawn back, -disclose the venerable grey head of an old man, -spiritual as an apostle, mild as a sage, who gazes -long on the Colossus, lit up by the setting sun, -and then sinks back and weeps.</p> - -<p>All this is very vivid and touching.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A vague, but terrible report has reached me,—I -fervently hope it may not be true,—that a -dreadful accident has happened to the Pevenseys -somewhere abroad. Phillis heard it of the baker. -I am on thorns, while waiting for more particulars. -This October has set in wet; the rain has fallen -fast all the morning, and I cannot send out for -the donkey-chair, nor spare Phillis to go out and -make inquiries; nor is a creature likely to call.</p> - -<p>Miss Secker has just been here. She says the -report came from the Stone House. Mr. Pevensey -had written some hurried orders to the -steward, saying Mrs. Pevensey, in crossing the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -<i lang="fr">Mer de Glace</i>, had fallen through a <i lang="fr">crevasse</i>, and, -with difficulty, had been drawn up with ropes, -alive, but nearly dashed to pieces. Oh, melancholy -news! the mother of so large a family! so -kind a neighbour! so admirable a wife! so charitable -and exemplary in the various relations of -life! What a loss she will be, should she not -recover! Meanwhile, what responsibility devolves -upon poor Arbell, her sole nurse! It is enough -to put a grey head on her young shoulders.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>This morning, I could not rest till I was off in -the donkey-chair to call on Mrs. Prout, and -inquire whether she had heard anything from -Emily. The post had just come in; I found -them in tears over Arbell’s letter, inclosed to -them by Emily. It was written at her mother’s -bedside, in the little parsonage of a Swiss <i lang="fr">pasteur</i>.</p> - -<p>Poor mamma, she wrote, was taken out more -dead than alive. The guides, who were all goodness, -made a kind of litter for her with their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -poles and ropes, and threw their jackets over it. -But when papa lifted her on it, she thrilled all -over, like a little bird that had fallen out of its -nest; and Arbell turned her head away, for it -made her feel quite sick. So then, as the litter -shook her so much, they only took her at first to -the nearest <i lang="fr">châlet</i>, where there was a very kind -<i lang="fr">bergere</i>, and where they laid her on the heaps of -hay for the cows; and a guide ran off to the inn -for an English doctor, whose name they happened -to have seen on the travellers’ book.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, poor mamma lay quite still; but -her face was very cold. And once, when Arbell -softly wiped the damp off it, and kissed her white -lips, she whispered, “Good girl—dear Arbell!” so -that she was ready to burst into tears, but knew -she must not. And when the guide came back, -he said the English doctor had gone up Mont -Blanc; and Arbell could not help thinking, how -stupid and wicked it was of him, to be running -after such nonsense when he had better have -been minding his own business. However, he -brought back mamma’s maid, Kent, and a famous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -mountain doctor, who ordered a sheep to be -killed, and mamma to be immediately wrapped -in its skin, which they did. And, directly afterwards, -a most benevolent-looking <i lang="fr">pasteur</i> (such -another as Oberlin must have been!) came in, -with a face of kind concern; and, after a few -words with papa, it was arranged that the guides -should carry mamma, who seemed in a stupor, to -the <i lang="fr">pasteur’s</i> house, which was close at hand, -and much quieter than the inn. So they did so; -Arbell holding her vinaigrette to mamma’s nose -all the way, though she could not be quite sure -it was of any use. When they got there, such a -neat old housekeeper came out, quite a Louise -Schepler; for the <i lang="fr">pasteur</i>, like Oberlin, was a -widower. But he had no children, which was all -the better, because the house was all the quieter. -So they took dear mamma into the best bed-room, -where everything was very poor and scanty, -but very clean; and just then, the English doctor -arrived, who had only gone a little way up the -mountain after all, and, strange to say! had -turned back under an unaccountable impression<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -that he was wanted. And he said, as mamma -was in the skin, she might as well remain in it, -though it was queer practice; and then he gave -her a very strong restorative from the <i lang="fr">pasteur’s</i> -medicine-chest, which made her open her eyes -and look slowly round, without turning her head; -and then he said “You’ll do, my dear madam, -now;” and nodded and smiled, and went off talking -to papa quite cheerfully. But, oh! he was -quite mistaken; for, as soon as the effect of the -restorative subsided, mamma felt herself rapidly -sinking, and told papa she knew she was going to -die. Then poor papa, who had returned quite -hopeful, lost all his courage again, and cried -bitterly; and called the <i lang="fr">pasteur</i>, who came in, -and knelt down, and offered, oh! such a heavenly -prayer! Even Kent, who understood not one -word of it, said the very <em>tone</em> was prayer. He -began “<em>Seigneur!</em>”—and then made a great stop—and -then began again, “Seigneur! Holy and -just are all thy ways! Who shall not magnify -thee, O God most holy?” And then went on. -Arbell’s head was too confused for her to retain it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -in her memory, but it sank into her heart, and -seemed to carry her up to heaven, quite away -from all earthly, vexing cares. And when they -rose from their knees, dear mamma was asleep, -and slept for hours! Meanwhile, papa got some -very strong jelly from the inn, and when she -woke, he or Kent gave her a spoonful of it from -time to time, which she seemed to like; for, -when she wanted more, she opened her lips -without speaking; and Arbell or Kent watched -her lips all night long, taking it by turns to sleep -a little on the ground. Poor papa got a little -rest in the easy-chair in the parlour. The doctor—Dr. -Thorpe—had come very early in the morning, -and twice more in the course of the day, and was -excessively kind, though at first he had seemed -rather <em>brusque</em>. He said all the travellers, inn-people, -and guides were deeply interested in -mamma, and prayers were being offered up. -(Poor Arbell’s writing was here smeared with -tears). An English lady had sent Arbell a little -text-book, which was a great comfort to her, and -so were many hymns she remembered; but she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -had her little diamond Bible in her pocket -already; there were parts in it that she thought -she should never be able to read hereafter without -their bringing to mind that little whitewashed -room, with table, chairs, and drawers painted -sea-green, and cold, uncarpeted floor. She was -going to bed that night—papa insisted on it; -but at four o’clock Kent would change places -with her; the <i lang="fr">pasteur</i> was going to sleep in the -easy-chair. She would soon write to dear Miss -Prout again.</p> - -<p>Thus ended poor Arbell’s letter. What depths -of new experience had she sounded in a few -hours! I could not help thinking of those -beautiful words of the prophet Hosea, “Come, -let us return unto the Lord; for He hath torn, -and He will heal us; He hath smitten, and He -will bind us up.” I felt an impression that it -would be so in this instance.</p> - -<p>The Pevenseys had been what people might call -a <em>moderately</em> religious family; but without much -devotional feeling apparent among them. Mrs. -Pevensey was a churchwoman; her husband had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -been brought up among dissenters; Mademoiselle -Foularde was a Roman Catholic; and each had -such a well-bred respect for what they deemed the -prejudices of one another, that I had sometimes -feared it tended to a little indifferentism in -practice. But what right had I to judge of -others? To their own Master they would stand -or fall.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Motives are all, in Heaven’s impartial eye,</div> -<div class="verse">But ’tis not ours to doubt and give the lie;</div> -<div class="verse">Let each give credit to his neighbour’s share,</div> -<div class="verse">But analyse his own with utmost care.”<a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>How many afflicting thoughts must have passed -through poor Mrs. Pevensey’s mind, as she -silently lay, hour after hour, sewn up in her -sheep-skin! I thought she must have needed <em>more</em> -than the fortitude of a Roman matron; <em>nothing</em> -could have given her composure commensurate -with her need of it, under such circumstances, but -the submission and faith of a Christian. This -trial, so afflictive at the time, might yet hereafter -be reverted to as the crowning mercy of her life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -by having led her to more complete subjection to -the will of her heavenly Father.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Margaret Prout came in this morning, looking -so pleased that I concluded she had fresh and -better news of Mrs. Pevensey. But no—she had -only a letter from Harry, and a note from Emily. -I begged she would read me Emily’s first, which -she did. Emily said that immediately on hearing -of what had happened, Mrs. Pevensey’s maiden -sister,—who goes among the young people by the -name of Aunt Catherine,—packed up bag and -baggage, got a passport and bills of exchange, -and started off with a courier for the scene of -affliction. What a comfort she will be to them -all! Many would have shilly-shallied, and written -to ask whether they were wanted, and looked -about for an escort, and awaited a quiet sea for -crossing, and nobody knows what, till the real -day of need had passed. That is not Aunt -Catherine’s way. “What thou doest, do quickly,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -has, throughout her life, been to her a precept of -Divine obligation. She does not do things hurriedly—all -in a scramble, so as to be twitted with -“most haste, worse speed,” by people less energetic -than herself; but she does them <em>at once</em>; -consequently, she does them efficiently; while her -ardour, uncooled, supports her through the undertaking, -and makes her insensible of half the difficulty. -I always regard this as a very fine element -in her character. Aunt Kate does not look twice -at a pill before she takes it; nor lose the post for -want of finishing a letter in good time; nor send -a cheque to be cashed at the county-bank after -office-hours. She is never likely to be short of -postage-stamps, or of money for current expenses, -or to leave small debts unpaid, or small obligations -uncancelled, and then to content herself -with saying, “Oh, I forgot that!” There is no -one on whom I should more surely rely for -knowing, in a common-sense, unprofessional way, -not only what remedy to take for any illness, or -what measures to resort to in case of a burn, -scald, or fractured limb, but what antidote to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -administer for any poison accidentally taken—whether -hot brandy-and-water for prussic acid, -milk for vitriol, or an emetic for opium, followed -by draughts of vinegar and water—thus preparing -the way for the doctor she had lost no time in -summoning, but who might not be able instantly -to answer her summons.</p> - -<p>Such a maiden sister as this in a large family -household is invaluable. Nor does Miss Pevensey -deteriorate the price set on her sterling qualities -by acerbity, or bluff or snappish manners. On the -contrary, she is cordial and easily contented—always -ready to take, without saying anything to -anybody, the least-envied seat in a carriage, or at -table, or in church, willing to sleep in the room -with the chimney that smokes, and to have the -windows open or the doors shut, to suit her companions; -though, of course, she has her preferences. -And all this without the least servility—which, -indeed, would be strangely purposeless, -for she is in independent circumstances.</p> - -<p>She is a small, thin woman, not in the least -pretty; but excessively neat in her apparel,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -and quite the gentlewoman; with a cheerful, -sprightly manner, so that most people like -her. She is not single because no one ever -asked her to marry. She has grey eyes, an aquiline -nose, thin lips, and wavy brown hair, banded -under an airy little cap. You would seldom -wish to have a dress off the same piece with -her cheap, thin silks; but they are always -fresh, and well made, and you see directly that -they suit her exactly, and that what you are wearing -would not suit her at all. I have not seen -much of her, but what I have seen, I have liked.</p> - -<p>Harry’s letter was capital. He had been with -the Whitgraves to Hampton Court, and after -seeing the pictures, the maze, &c., they had -dined on the grass in Bushy Park. It had -freshened him up for a week. And Mr. Whitgrave -had gone with him to the National -Gallery, and told him what to admire, <em>and -why</em>. And Mrs. and Miss Welsh had accompanied -him to the British Museum, where they -had spent a whole afternoon over the Assyrian -Marbles.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Only think,” he wrote, “of our looking at -the very Bel and Nebo mentioned in the prophecies -of Isaiah! ‘Bel boweth down, Nebo -stoopeth,’ &c.,<a name="FNanchor_5" id="FNanchor_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>—which they <em>did</em>, when they were -taken from their pedestals by the victorious -enemy. Do you know, that when Babylon was -taken by the Persians, these two images were -carried before the conquerors? Only think of -their finding their way to the British Museum! -There is old Nebo, with folded hands, and with -an inscription on the hem of his garment, telling -us (now we can read the cuneiform letters) that -he was carved and erected by a sculptor of Nimroud, -in the days of Semiramis, Queen of Assyria. -As I gazed on it, I could not help thinking, -‘Truly, <em>this</em> is poetry, and history too!’ It now -turns out that the famous Semiramis was not the -wife of Ninus, but of King Pul, mentioned in the -Old Testament; and that she did not live, as -has been commonly supposed, two thousand years -before the Christian era, but only eight hundred:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -which brings the date within a hundred years -of that given by Herodotus, so long called ‘the -father of lies,’ by people who would not, or could -not, examine for themselves, but whose veracity -is being more and more established every day by -the researches of the learned. Of course, as a -good deal of his information was picked up from -hearsay, he was liable to occasional errors, like -other people; but he seems to have been a careful, -painstaking man, who went from place to -place to collect information on the spot wherever -he could; which was certainly a good deal more -creditable way of gathering materials for a history, -than that of many modern writers, who -merely collect a few books around them in their -study, and write out, day by day, what has been -written in pretty nearly the same words many -times before.”</p> - -<p>I thought this passage of Harry’s letter to -Emily (who had inclosed it to Margaret) so -interesting, that I asked and obtained permission -to copy it. How good a thing it is when brothers -and sisters write in this free, communicative<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -way to one another! not merely pouring out -their feelings, but taking the trouble to express -thoughts, and thereby brightening and polishing -the best properties of their minds by collision. -The present Dean of Carlisle says, that he has -known young men at college wholly restrained -from vice, simply by the hallowed and blessed -influence of their sisters.<a name="FNanchor_6" id="FNanchor_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Arbell has again been heard from. Aunt -Catherine had safely arrived, and they were all -so glad to see her! Also an eminent English surgeon, -who had been telegraphed for, and who -accidentally, or rather providentially, crossed in -the same steamer, and, seeing the name of “Miss -Pevensey” on her carpet-bag, immediately introduced -himself to her, and took care of her all -the rest of the way. This was an immense advantage -to Miss Pevensey, who speaks very indifferent -French, and who, without a courier,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -could not have got on at all: besides, he prevented -her thoughts from dwelling on one painful -subject all the way, and told her several instances -of remarkable recoveries, which greatly cheered -her. He, on his part, was glad to get some idea -of what sort of people they were who had sent -for him, and became interested in Miss Pevensey’s -account of her sister-in-law’s character and responsibilities. -When they arrived at the <i lang="fr">pasteur’s</i>, -Arbell said she was so glad to see her -aunt, that she could not help the tears running -down her face. Sir Benjamin pronounced dear -mamma to be going on quite favourably; indeed, -he thought her progress, as far as it went, almost -miraculous; and said it showed that mountain-practice -was not altogether to be despised. They -were going to begin their homeward journey by -very easy stages, as soon as an invalid litter -could be constructed according to Sir Benjamin’s -directions, which would shake dear mamma as -little as possible. They could not think how -they could ever be sufficiently grateful for M. -Peyranet’s goodness—the only way in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -papa thought he could show a sense of it was, by -giving largely to his poor.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The harriers and stag-hounds are out this fine -November morning; and I see hunters in green -coats and red winding down the steep chalky -sides of the hill; while men, boys, dogs, and -cattle all seem animated by the spirit of the -chase—the cows and horses galloping round the -meadows in search of some outlet from their -confinement. Certainly, the distant horn does -sound enlivening. For the poor hare there is no -hope of mercy; but the stag has been so often -turned out, that I hardly think he can believe -himself in much danger. There he goes! I was -cockney enough to mistake him at first for a -donkey! How gracefully he cleared the gate! -Off he goes, at a rocking-horse sort of pace. He -will give them a good run yet.</p> - -<p>The trees are now as many-hued as Joseph’s -coat of divers colours—orange, golden, lemon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -colour, every shade of green, brown, and mulberry, -some cherry red; but few trees, except the -walnuts, are quite leafless. The pigs, with eager -snouts, are grubbing for acorns around the oaks,—off -they trot, except one, to a new locality; he -is too busy to note them, till suddenly looking -up, it seems to strike him, “<em>Can</em> they be doing -better than I am?” and off he posts for his share -of the spoils.</p> - -<p>How much one may see from a window! I -can descry long wavy sheets of gossamer, glittering -with dew, shimmering in the air—the most -exquisite texture conceivable, fit for the wedding-veil -of the fairy-queen! The walnut-trees have -been threshed; the wild-geese have flown home; -the swallows flew off on the 21st of September. -Many garden-flowers yet linger; but wild-flowers -are reduced to a pitiful array, chiefly comprising -daisies, yarrow, ragwort, and furze. Bright days -are becoming fewer and fewer; but we had a fine -Fifth of November, and I saw a rustic Guy -Fawkes set down in the middle of the road by a -party of merry lads, that they might scramble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -over a gate and race after a squirrel. The skylark -and thrush have not yet quite forsaken us, -but our principal songster is the robin, who pipes -away most merrily.</p> - -<p>In one of Mary Russell Mitford’s fairy-like notes -to me, written within three weeks of her death, -she says, “I am sometimes wheeled from my -fire-side to the window; and, about a month ago, -a red-breast came to that window and tapped. Of -course, we answered the appeal by fixing a little -tray outside the window-sill, and keeping it well -supplied with bread crumbs; and now he not -only comes himself, but has introduced his kinsfolk -and friends. Think how great a pleasure!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>No news of the Pevenseys’ return; but they -must be slowly nearing home, unless any fresh -causes of delay have occurred. Winter is stealing -imperceptibly upon us; November has slipped -away, and December has arrived, almost without -the change being felt.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> - -<p>We speak of the merry month of May, and -why not of the merry month of December? Well, -there is an answer to that question; but, before -I give it, I will consider what may be said on the -bright side. True it is, that many of nature’s -processes are now veiled from human sight; but -not less true is it that they are secretly progressing. -The seed-corn is garnered in the earth; -the earth itself in many spots is sweetening; the -leafless trees are preparing to burst into verdure -next spring; and, had we power to observe what -is going on in their secret vessels, how much -should we find to delight and surprise us! what -multitudes of contrivances of which we have no -knowledge, and even too delicate and complex to -be comprehended! Meanwhile, many of the trees, -when unlopped, have forms so beautiful as to -present a delicate tracery, reminding one of black -lace (though that is a miserable comparison), -when seen in the distance against the clear, grey -sky. There is little to do in the field; but the -flail resounds noisily within the barn; and the -horses and cattle enjoy the comfortable warmth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -of the straw-yard. Then, within-doors, how snug -and sociable is the fire-side! How the solitary -enjoy the book, and the domestic party the long -talks they had no leisure for in the summer! -Christmas is coming; and is not that season -proverbially merry, save where there is some -sad domestic bereavement or affliction? How gay -the shops are! with winter fabrics, and warm -furs, and brilliant ribbons; with jolly sirloins, -plump poultry, heaps of golden oranges, rosy -apples, and all kinds of winter fruit! How -gladly we think that the young folks will soon -come home for the holidays! “I call to mind,” -says the genial Southey,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The schoolboy days, when, in the falling leaves</div> -<div class="verse">I saw, with eager hope, the pleasant sign</div> -<div class="verse">Of coming Christmas; when at morn I took</div> -<div class="verse">My wooden calendar, and counting up</div> -<div class="verse">Once more its often-told account, smoothed off</div> -<div class="verse">Each day, with more delight, the daily notch.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Dearly do schoolboys love a hard winter, -because it brings sliding, and skating, and snowballing -in its train. Is not December, then, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -merry month? Well, there is a reverse to the -picture. In the first place, we poor, creaky -invalids feel his cold touch in every joint, and at -every shortening breath drawn from our wheezing -chests, and very early in the month get shut up -by the peremptory doctor; unless, indeed, we are -too poor to be laid aside from the active toil that -wins daily bread. Let the invalid with every -comfort around her, think of those who have -neither warm fires, nor warm clothing, nor warm -bedding, nor warm food. See their sad, pinched -faces, shrinking forms, chilblained hands, and ill-protected -feet; think of their desolate dwellings, -where the rain drips through the roof, where the -broken pane is stuffed with rags, and where, for -many hours daily, no fire burns on the hearth; -and then refuse them sympathy and aid if you -are not of the same flesh and blood, children of -the same Creator! Oh, the time is drawing near -when we may indeed warm our own hearts by -warming the bodies of others! by putting shoes -with warm stockings on bare feet, thick tweed on -shoulders, and flannel on chests, coals in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -grate, and wholesome, nourishing food on the -table! Here is our encouragement—“And thou -shalt be blessed; for they cannot recompense -thee, but thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection -of the just.”</p> - -<p>As I look up from my writing on this 4th of -December, I see a blue, cloudless sky shining -above steep, chalky hills that are clothed with -the short, sweet turf loved by sheep, below which -are green meadows, cut with dykes, to drain them -during the winter; leafless hedges and scattered -clumps of trees, principally oaks, still clad in a -good many yellow leaves. The tiled roofs of -many scattered cottages in the lanes are now -visible, that cannot be seen in the summer: all -looks bright and cheerful. Such is hardly a -scene to remind one of the real severity of -winter:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“When all abroad the wind doth blow,</div> -<div class="verse">And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,</div> -<div class="verse">And birds sit brooding in the snow,</div> -<div class="verse">And Marian’s nose looks red and raw,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> -<div class="verse">When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,</div> -<div class="verse">When nightly sings the staring owl,</div> -<div class="verse">‘Tu-whit! tu-whoo!’ a dismal note,</div> -<div class="verse">While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">For my part, I like hearing the owl; perhaps -because Shakspere has linked it with immortal -verse. Dismal it is, I suppose—something like -the forlorn cry of a belated traveller for assistance: -its association with darkness and horror makes -more vivid the contrast of the light twinkling -through the casement, the crab-apples roasting -and sputtering as they are popped, scalding hot, -into the wassail-bowl, and Mrs. Joan’s assurance -to the hospitable host that she has had “quite -enough,” and has quite emptied her mug, to -verity which, she turns it topsy-turvy—top-side -t’other way.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Down comes the rain!—and enters Miss Burt -with dripping umbrella, and dress hooked in festoons -above her ancles, to tell me the Pevenseys<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -reach home to-day. She is full of the news, and -has carried it on to the Seckers.</p> - -<p>What a cheerless, wretched afternoon! Rain, -rain, go to Spain! What matter? Home is -home, be it ever so homely,—and the Stone -House is anything but that, I am told—for I -have never been within it. Mrs. Pevensey’s first -call was during my illness. How fresh and -blooming she looked! I had heard of her numerous -family, but not of her personal appearance—she -did not visit any one I then knew, -and I was unprepared for her sweet face and -charming manners. She seemed to enter like -a stream of sunshine, or like Una into the -dark cottage of Abbessa. How kind, how good -she was!—she thought she could never do -enough for me.</p> - -<p>And now she is ill herself—crippled, shattered -perhaps for life, though comparatively restored; -as motionless, I am told, as a figure on an altar-tomb. -Sad, sad!</p> - -<p>But she is not in pain, and her mind is as -cheerful and alert as ever; and the little girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -will hang over her with warm kisses; and the -baby, whom she cannot take in her arms, will -leap and crow, and be held to her; and the faithful -family servants will receive her in a flutter -of sympathy, and hover about her with tender -concern.</p> - -<p>——I feel very lonely to-night. How quickly -the day closed in! and how cheerless the rain -sounds against the window-panes! The fire -lights up with fitful gleams the picture on the -opposite wall, and the footstool worked by -Eugenia.</p> - -<p>I remember, when we first went to Nutfield, -Eugenia and I sallied out, one bright morning, -with a basket, trowel, and old kitchen knife, to -take up some of the pretty purple heath on the -common for our flower-borders. We had not -counted the cost. Snap went the thin old knife! -Then we tugged and tugged at the tough stems -with our hands, to the great injury of our gloves, -and plunged at the roots with the trowel. But -there seemed no end to those fibres and their -ramifications underground—they spread interlaced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -and interwove in every direction:—and so, -I think, must Mrs. Pevensey’s social affections:—while -I am like a flower in a pot.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Here is Christmas close at hand, and Emily -Prout is looking forward to the speedy arrival -of the holidays. Harry is expected to-morrow. -He will return to a humble, but happy home,—all -the better able to value it for having been away -from his family for some months.</p> - -<p><em>I</em> have no prospect of any other than a lonely, -and perhaps a dull Christmas; and I am shut up, -I fear me, for the winter. I cannot walk; the -donkey-chair is unsafe for me, now that the -weather is so cold; and I cannot afford a close -carriage. But I will endeavour to raise my -thoughts from things terrestrial to things celestial—from -Christmas feasting to Him whose birthday -feast it is:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Not more than others I deserve,</div> -<div class="verse">Yet God hath given me more.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> - -<p>Phillis has been very contrary lately. She is -completely out of humour; does everything badly, -and resents the least word of reproof. Instead of -her waiting at table, it is <em>I</em> who <em>wait</em>, while she -does not answer the bell. If coals are wanted, it -is so long before she brings them, that the fire is -nearly out; then she comes in, throws on half a -scuttle-full, which, of course, extinguishes it completely; -and, to finish all, upsets the remainder -on the carpet. Then she goes off in a towering -rage, comes back with dust-pan and brush, repairs -the damage to the carpet in a very slovenly way, -and then fetches an armful of chips and paper, -which make a great blaze for a few minutes, and -soon burn completely out. Is it not singular that -persons will sometimes appear to forget how to do -a thing that they have done, and done properly, -for years?</p> - -<p>This morning, though I was suffering from -neuralgia, and a drizzling rain was falling, she -scoured my bed-room all over, and set the windows -wide open, whereby everything in the room -is as damp and limp as possible. On my telling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -her that I would rather have had the cleaning -deferred till a drier day, especially when I was -suffering from a cold, she replied that Friday -was the day for doing it, and she would do it -on a Friday, or not at all. On my rejoining—“Nay, -is that a question for mistress or maid to -settle?” she replied, she never knew such a mistress; -nothing she could do gave satisfaction; -and, as she saw it was no use trying to please -me, she hoped I should suit myself with -another servant by that day month; and then -went off, banging the door after her, yet leaving -it ajar.</p> - -<p>I felt resentment. I knew I had been a kind -mistress to her; had studied her comforts, allowed -her many indulgences, and overlooked many faults; -and this was the way I was repaid! I felt it -very hard. True, I had given her much trouble -during my long and painful illness; but she had -been engaged on purpose to assist in nursing me -through it, and undertake the whole general work -of the little house; had said, again and again, the -work was nothing, and, in fact, was always sitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -down to needle-work at five o’clock in the afternoon.</p> - -<p>I was aggrieved: I thought, if she would go, -she might: if there were no attachment on one -side, why need there be any on the other? And -as to getting another servant, why I <em>could</em> -but have a tiresome one, and Phillis was that -already.</p> - -<p>In writing all this down I perceive some bad -logic, but I felt very forlorn and depressed. -When she came in to lay the cloth for dinner, -she said not a word, nor did I; but her face -declared war. The dinner could hardly have -been worse cooked.</p> - -<p>After dinner Mrs. Prout called. She seemed -sorry to see me not looking well, and made such -kind inquiries that a tear rolled down my cheek, -and I told her all my trouble. She was very -indignant at Phillis’s conduct, which she called -abominable; and she said she would look out -for a better servant for me—a woman who could -behave like that was not worth her wages. I -softened a little, and said she was not always so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -bad, of course; and when I had been so very ill, -was really very attentive to me.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Prout said yes, she remembered poor -Mr. Prout saying I had a rough sort of creature -to wait up me, but that she seemed kind-hearted.</p> - -<p>“And, after all,” said she, “when we consider -how little training such women get before -they go into service, and what indistinct notions -they have of their relative duties, we must make -great excuses for them.”</p> - -<p>“O yes,” said I, “we must; and, perhaps, -I have been too exacting.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it is possible you may have been a little -so without intending it,” said she. “We are -all so apt to see things only from our own point -of view, and not to make sufficient allowances -for others. Still, I don’t see how you can go on -comfortably together, since she makes no allowances -for <em>you</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Not unless she <em>would</em> make allowances,” said -I, doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“Do you wish her to stay?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes, if she would go on comfortably;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -for I can’t bear strange faces, and we shall never -find any one who is perfect.”</p> - -<p>“Then, shall I say a few words to her, when -she lets me out?”</p> - -<p>“My dear friend,” said I, “I shall be <em>very</em> -much obliged to you!”</p> - -<p>So the kind little woman arose, after telling -me that Mrs. Pevensey had reached home, and -had borne the journey better than had been expected; -and that Emily was to come home on -Saturday. And after she had taken leave of me, -I could hear her quiet voice for some time in the -passage. I could also hear an indistinct grumble, -grumble, grumble, from Phillis, and wondered -what bad case she was making out against me. -Then I heard Mrs. Prout’s quiet voice again; -but the only words that reached me were, “You -really should not;” and, “You really should.”</p> - -<p>Then the door closed after her, and I heard a -tremendous cleaning of fire-irons going on in -the kitchen, and quantities of coals shovelled up, -and quantities of water pumped up; after which -ensued a lull. I lay back on the sofa, and stayed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -my troubled mind with; “O Lord! undertake -for me!”</p> - -<p>Just as it was getting quite dusk, I was startled -from a little nap by a smart ring at the back-door. -A distant grumbling of voices ensued; -and as some suspicious-looking tramps had lately -been hanging about the neighbourhood, I became -nervous, and rang the bell, to desire Phillis not -to parley with any people of the kind, but to -shut and bolt the door. She answered the bell, -looking very glum.</p> - -<p>“Who is that, Phillis?”</p> - -<p>“Some one as has come after <em>my</em> situation. -I should’t ha’ thought there’d been such a -hurry!”</p> - -<p>“Why, you yourself gave warning; and you -have never said a word since of being sorry for -it, and wishing to stay.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve never given me time!”</p> - -<p>“To settle the matter at once—<em>do</em> you wish to -say so now?”</p> - -<p>“Why, dear me, how can one settle a question -like that in a minute?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Send the person in.”</p> - -<p>“Then you <em>do</em> want me to go?”</p> - -<p>“Phillis, have <em>you</em> ever said you wanted to -stay?”</p> - -<p>“Why, you knows as well as I do, that I can’t -abear change.”</p> - -<p>“There are other things, though, you must -bear, Phillis, if you can’t bear that. Let a -family be large or little, it can never be a happy -one where the great law of obedience is broken, -and where the mistress is obliged to follow the -lead of the servant. I do not mean to follow that -course; and, therefore, if you wish to remain -here, you must obey <em>me</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Why, don’t I?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly you don’t.”</p> - -<p>“Then you want to see this gal?”</p> - -<p>“Of course, it is the least I can do, since -Mrs. Prout, no doubt, has been kind enough to -send her down.”</p> - -<p>Phillis put the corner of her apron to her -eye.</p> - -<p>“Then ’tis you wants to change, not I,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -she, in a stifled voice; “for I’m very well content -to rub on as I am.”</p> - -<p>I took no notice. The next minute, she showed -a tall young person into the room, who stood -close to the door.</p> - -<p>“You may go, Phillis.”</p> - -<p>Phillis shut the door, and went.</p> - -<p>“Good evening; will you come a little -nearer?” said I.</p> - -<p>The stranger obeyed, and I suddenly became -frightened; for the stride and awkward gait -convinced me it was a man in woman’s clothes. -Thoughts of robbery and murder rushed through -my head as the figure advanced towards me; but -just then, the fire, which had been burning dimly, -sent up a bright tongue of flame, which lighted -up the room, and shone on a face that I thought -was not altogether unknown to me.</p> - -<p>“Where do you come from?” said I.</p> - -<p>“Little Coram Street, London, ma’am,” in a -voice of studied softness.</p> - -<p>“Hum! then I fear a country place won’t suit -you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> - -<p>“O yes, it will, ma’am! I likes the country -best.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid you are not used to hard work. -Did you ever scour a room?”</p> - -<p>“I can work harder than people think, -ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“Well, but, <em>did</em> you ever?”</p> - -<p>“O ma’am, there’s <em>nothing</em> I mind setting my -hand to.”</p> - -<p>“Or clean a saucepan?”</p> - -<p>“Surely, ma’am, every servant can do -that!”</p> - -<p>“Who will recommend you?”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Prout knows me very well, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“And so does Mrs. Cheerlove!” said I, laughing. -“Oh, Harry! you impostor! I found you -out directly!”</p> - -<p>“Did you though?” said he, bursting into a -fit of laughter, and throwing his disguises right -and left, till he stood before me in his original -dress. “Phillis didn’t; and a good fright I’ve -given her. Served her right, too! Listeners -never hear any good of themselves, Mrs. Phillis,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -added he, as she put her head a little way into -the room.</p> - -<p>“Why, I thought I heard a man’s voice, and -it gave me quite a turn,” said she, advancing in a -hesitating way towards us; “and so I did,—for, -whoever would have thought of its being <em>you</em>, -Master Prout!”</p> - -<p>“<em>You</em> didn’t, it’s certain,” said he, rolling his -things up into a bundle, “or you wouldn’t have -tried to set me against the place!—so there I -have you! Recollect, I’m a lawyer, and can take -advantage of you at any time.”</p> - -<p>She was, for once, without one word to say.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” added he, “I’ve had a grudge -against you this long while for calling me <em>Master</em> -Prout, when all the world knows I’ve been <em>Mr.</em> -Prout ever so long. One would think I took my -meals in the nursery. So, mind you, Phillis, if -ever you are uncivil to your mistress again, or -ever more call me <em>master</em>, I’ll show you I <em>am</em> -your master, in one way or another. And, as for -your not having answered the bell when Mrs. -Cheerlove wanted you, because you were making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -a cap, why, sooner than keep her waiting for -that, I’d have worn a brown-paper cap like a -carpenter. So now go and make the kettle boil—very -boiling, indeed, for I’m come to drink -tea with Mrs. Cheerlove; and we Londoners -don’t admire tea made with lukewarm water, I -assure you.”</p> - -<p>Off she went, with “Well, I’m sure!” on her -lips, but with by no means a displeased look on -her face; and I could not help thinking, “Some -people may steal a horse, while others dare not -look over a hedge. She has taken a good deal -more from ‘Master Prout’ than she would from -Mrs. Cheerlove.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="right smaller">The Stone House, December 27.</p> - -<p>When will wonders cease! I can hardly believe -I am awake and in my senses,—yet so it is:—yes, -here I am, spending the Christmas holidays -with the Pevenseys:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“And nothing meets my eye but sights of bliss.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> - -<p>They had only been at home a few days when -Arbell came in, all smiles, to ask how I was, and -to say that her mamma had thought a great deal -about me; and that it had occurred to her that as -<em>I</em> was an invalid, and <em>she</em> was an invalid, we should -suit one another much better than if our positions -were more dissimilar; and that though we were -not equal to a merry Christmas, she did not see -why we might not have a pleasant one. So -she had resolved on my occupying a certain -bow-windowed blue room, with dressing-room -attached, during the holidays, and I should keep -my own hours, and choose my own companions, -and dine early, and see as much or as little of the -family as I liked. She would not take no for an -answer, and she would send the close carriage for -me the very next day.</p> - -<p>Well, as she would not take “No,” for an -answer, what <em>could</em> I say but “Yes?” and “very -much obliged,” too. It put me quite in a flutter, -but a flutter of pleasurable excitement; for I have -come to think the Pevenseys one of the most -interesting families in the whole world. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -very satisfactory to think that my wardrobe was -in fine order; that my best caps, handkerchiefs, -&c., were all beautifully got up, and ready for -immediate packing; that my new black silk dress -had not even been worn; and that I had got rid -of the neuralgia just long enough not to be afraid -even of changing my bed.</p> - -<p>I am sure the real danger will be in returning -to my own house! I have always considered it -sufficiently snug; but the walls are so thin, compared -with these; and there are many chinks and -fissures we are obliged to stop up by ingenious -contrivances, similar to what sailors effect by means -of <em>shakings</em>. Whereas here, if you want to open a -window, you may, indeed, do so with ease; but -if you want it shut, it really <em>will</em> shut, without -admitting a current of air strong enough to blow -out a candle! or making a noise like the roaring -of a lion, through some undetected orifice, as mine -occasionally does at home, when least expected or -wished. I determined Phillis should enjoy herself -in my absence, and therefore permitted her to -invite her widowed sister with her small baby, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -stay with her till my return, which she took very -pleasantly.</p> - -<p>And here I am, in the snuggest of dressing-rooms, -on the first floor of the Stone House, -overlooking a charming Italian garden, something -in the Haddon Hall style, that is beautiful even -in winter, with bright masses of evergreens -forming backgrounds to its “storied urns and -animated busts.” And this dressing-room opens -into a delightful bed-room, and also into a warm, -thickly carpeted gallery, into which, also, open -three other spare bed-rooms, one of which is -at present occupied by Miss Pevensey, another -by Arbell; chiefly, I believe, that I may not -fancy myself lonely, as a door at the end of the -gallery shuts off this wing from the rest of the -house.</p> - -<p>Lonely!—in a house with eight children and -sixteen servants! A likely thing! Here, however, -I may be as solitary, if I like, as a nun in -her cell; but as it is now ascertained that I enjoy -the family ways, I am continually having little -visits from one and another. Firstly, Mrs. Kent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -peeps in before I am up, to see whether the -under-housemaid has lighted my fire, and to -inquire how I have slept; and to ask whether I -will have tea, coffee, or chocolate, in bed or out -of it. Then, the aforesaid housemaid (Mary, her -name is) helps me to dress, as nicely as Mrs. -Kent could do. Then I step into the dressing-room, -where I find a clear fire, and breakfast for -one awaiting me; chocolate and rusks, may-be, -or milk-coffee and French roll; or tea, toast, -and a new-laid egg. After this I commence my -little prayer-service and Bible-reading, as at home, -while a prayer-bell, in some far-off quarter, which -they tell me is much too cold for me, summons -the household to prayers.</p> - -<p>Immediately after this, the three little ones -steal in from the nursery, saying,—“Will oo -like to—to—hear our texts?” Of course I say -“Yes;” and then one little creature says, “God -is love;” and another reverently repeats, “Little -children, love one another;” and another, “Live -peaceably with all men.” They learn something -fresh every day. Then Arbell comes in, and we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -have long, delightful talks, till Mrs. Pevensey, -who sleeps late, is ready to hear her read a portion -of Scripture: I think they talk it over a good -deal together afterwards. Meanwhile, cheerful -“Aunt Kate” looks in on me; brings me <cite>The -Times</cite>, or “Pinelli’s Etchings,” or something by -the Etching Club, or Dickens’ last number, or -anything she thinks I shall like; makes up the -fire, and has a cheerful chat; but she does not -stay long.</p> - -<p>After this, I see no one till the one o’clock -dinner, except Rosaline and Flora, who are happy -to give me as much of their company as they -may, till called off for their walk. At one, we all -assemble to a very bountiful meal, presided over -by Miss Pevensey and Arbell, who, I am happy -to see, already carves neatly and quickly. Then -they generally carry me off to the conservatory, -music-room, or library, the weather not inviting -the delicate to indulge even in carriage exercise. -Towards dusk, comes the grand treat of all: Miss -Pevensey, Arbell, and I, repair to Mrs. Pevensey’s -dressing-room, where we find her lying like a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -statue, perfectly still and colourless, but with her -active mind ready to enter on any subject, gay, -or grave, that may be started. These conversations -are truly enjoyable. They insist on my -occupying a couch opposite Mrs. Pevensey’s; -Miss Pevensey establishes herself between us, in -her brother’s easy-chair, and Arbell sits on a -cushion at her mother’s feet. By the uncertain -light of the fire, we harmoniously discuss all -sorts of subjects, in a style not quite equal to -that of “<em>Friends in Council</em>,” but that suits our -requirements equally well.</p> - -<p>The Swiss tour affords inexhaustible subjects -of interest and entertainment. Sometimes Arbell -tells what profound astonishment her tooth-brush -excited among the country girls; at other times, -they speak of the wonders of Mont Blanc, and -Monte Rosa; and describe their arrival at the -hospice of the Great St. Bernard—the hospitable -reception of the good monks—their cheerful chat -round the fire after supper—their attendance at -morning prayers, before dawn, in the chapel—and -afterwards witnessing the substantial breakfast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -given to the peasants who had received a night’s -shelter, before they descended the pass.</p> - -<p>Sometimes Mr. Pevensey comes in while they -are thus talking, and exclaims—</p> - -<p>“What! still among the mountains? Mrs. -Cheerlove must be quite bored!”</p> - -<p>“Oh no!” they boldly reply, “she is such a -good sympathizer!”</p> - -<p>Then he, his sister, and Arbell, go down to -their two hours’ dinner, which I privately think -it a privilege to escape. Mrs. Pevensey and I -have ice, fruit, cakes, and coffee. And then -I see her no more, for Mr. Pevensey spends the -rest of the evening with her; and I say good-night, -and retreat to my own room, though not -always to bed, if I have an interesting book.</p> - -<p>Though Mrs. Pevensey is not well enough to -receive visitors (except such a quiet one as myself), -it has been very interesting to witness the -benefactions to the poor, the Christmas-tree -loaded with presents for the children and servants, -the school-children’s treat, the servants’ feast, &c., -which ushered in Christmas in this hospitable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -house. In connection with these, something -very mysterious was to take place on Christmas -Eve, in the largest drawing-room, which was -known only to Mr. Pevensey, Arbell, and a few -assistants. Great expectations were raised, and -most absurd guesses made, as to what could be -going on,—much peeping, prying, and tittering -outside the carefully-locked door, and many conjectures -hazarded on the occupations of those -who passed in and out. A good deal of hammering -added excitement to the scene; and Mrs. -Pevensey said, with some anxiety, she hoped they -were not hurting the new white and gold paper; -a tinkling bell was also heard.</p> - -<p>At length, the longed-for hour arrived; the -school-children had had their prizes and buns, -the servants’ friends had had tea and plum-cake, -the Christmas-tree had displayed its glories, -when, at the eventful hour of eight, the public -were admitted, and Mrs. Pevensey was carried -into the drawing-room. All were surprised, and -rather disappointed, to find it so dark; and when -Arbell had marshalled every one to their places,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -it became darkness itself, for every light was -extinguished. A laugh, a whispered remark, -alone broke the silence, though all the household -were present, and the general feeling was -of awe.</p> - -<p>At length, on the ringing of <em>a small bell</em>, the -solemn, distant sounds of an organ were heard -(a very good barrel-organ in the nursery, that -played hymn-tunes), and a curtain, slowly rising, -revealed the hospice of St. Bernard!—or, at any -rate, so good a transparency of it as to give a -very vivid impression of the place itself. There -was the old monastic pile, shut in among craggy, -snow-clad rocks—the adjacent church, the <em>morgue</em>—the -gloomy little lake—the tiny patches of -garden, in which the monks grow a few cabbages -and lettuces. To add to the illusion, a twinkling -light was seen in one of the distant windows; a -dog’s short, sharp bark was heard afar off, and -the tones of the organ conveyed the impression -of a midnight mass.</p> - -<p>It was very impressively, capitally got up; and -at small amount, as we afterwards learnt, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -trouble and cost. Ingenuity had been the prime -artificer; and Mr. Pevensey was much pleased -at the cleverness with which Arbell had seconded -him. Altogether, the entertainment was well -thought of, and gave unmingled satisfaction.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>——I have come to the last page of my little -note-book. Oh that the last page of my life’s -story may end as happily!</p> - -<p class="titlepage">THE END.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Ecclesiasticus xix. 1.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> These hymns have been inserted by the kind permission of the -publisher of “The Invalid’s Hymn-book.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> These golden words were once spoken by a wiser tongue than -Mrs. Cheerlove’s.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Jane Taylor.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Isaiah xlvi. 1.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> The Rev. F. Close’s Sermon, addressed to the Female Chartists.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">J. S. VIRTUE, PRINTER, CITY ROAD, LONDON.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Day of Small Things, by Anne Manning - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS *** - -***** This file should be named 62219-h.htm or 62219-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/2/1/62219/ - -Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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