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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. 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