ADELA CATHCART

BY GEORGE MACDONALD

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. 

CHAPTER

 I. SONG

 II. THE CURATE AND HIS WIFE

 III. THE SHADOWS

 IV. THE EVENING AT THE CURATE'S

 V. PERCY AND HIS MOTHER

 VI. THE BROKEN SWORDS

 VII. MY UNCLE PETER

ADELA CATHCART. 

CHAPTER I. 

SONG. 

I confess I was a little dismayed to find what a solemn turn theclub-stories had taken. But this dismay lasted for a moment only;for I saw that Adela was deeply interested, again wearing the lookthat indicates abstracted thought and feeling. I said to myself:

"This is very different mental fare from what you have been used to, Adela. "

But she seemed able to mark, learn, and inwardly digest it, for she hadthe appearance of one who is stilled by the strange newness of herthoughts. I was sure that she was now experiencing a consciousness ofexistence quite different from anything she had known before. But ithad a curious outcome. 

For, when the silence began to grow painful, no one daring to ask aquestion, and Mrs. Cathcart had resumed her knitting, Adela suddenlyrose, and going to the piano, struck a few chords, and began to sing. The song was one of Heine's strange, ghost-dreams, so unreal ineverything but feeling, and therefore, as dreams, so true. Why did shechoose such a song after what we had been listening to? I accounted forit by the supposition that, being but poorly provided as far as varietyin music went, this was the only thing suggested to her by the tone ofthe paper, and, therefore, the nearest she could come to it. It served, however, to make a change and a transition; which was, as I thought, very desirable, lest any of the company should be scared from attendingthe club; and I resolved that I would divert the current, next time, if I could. 

This was what Adela sang; and the singing of it was evidently a reliefto her:

 I dreamt of the daughter of a king, With a cheek white, wet, and chill; Under the limes we sat murmuring, And holding each other so still!

 "Oh! not thy father's sceptre of gold, Nor yet his shining throne, Nor his diamond crown that glitters cold-- 'Tis thyself I want, my own!"

 "Oh! that is too good, " she answered me; "I lie in the grave all day; And only at night I come to thee, For I cannot keep away. "

It was something that she had volunteered a song, whatever it was. Butit is a misfortune that, in writing a book, one cannot give the music ofa song. Perhaps, by the time that music has its fair part in education, this may be done. But, meantime, we mention the fact of a song, and thengive the words, as if that were the song. The music is the song, and thewords are no more than the saddle on which the music sits, the singerbeing the horse, who could do without a saddle well enough. --May Adelaforgive the comparison!--At the same time, a true-word song has music ofits own, and is quite independent, for its music, both of that which itmay beget, and of that with which it may be associated. 

As she rose, she glanced towards the doctor, and said:

"Now it is your turn, Mr. Armstrong. "

Harry did not wait for a second invitation; for to sing was to himevidently a pleasure too great to be put in jeopardy. He rose at once, and sitting down at the instrument, sang--I cannot say _asfollows_, you see; I can only say _the following words_:

 Autumn clouds are flying, flying, O'er the waste of blue; Summer flowers are dying, dying, Late so lovely new. Labouring wains are slowly rolling Home with winter grain; Holy bells are slowly tolling Over buried men. 

 Goldener lights set noon a-sleeping Like an afternoon; Colder airs come stealing, creeping After sun and moon; And the leaves, all tired of blowing Cloudlike o'er the sun, Change to sunset-colours, knowing That their day is done. 

 Autumn's sun is sinking, sinking Into Winter's night; And our hearts are thinking, thinking Of the cold and blight. Our life's sun is slowly going Down the hill of might; Will our clouds shine golden-glowing On the slope of night?

 But the vanished corn is lying In rich golden glooms. In the churchyard, all the singing Is above the tombs. Spring will come, slow-lingering, Opening buds of faith. Man goes forth to meet his spring, Through the door of death. 

 So we love, with no less loving, Hair that turns to grey; Or a step less lightly moving In life's autumn day. And if thought, still-brooding, lingers O'er each bygone thing, 'Tis because old Autumn's fingers Paint in hues of Spring. 

The whole tone of this song was practical and true, and so was fitted tocorrect the unhealthiness of imagination which might have been suspectedin the choice of the preceding. "Words and music, " I said to myself, "must here have come from the same hand; for they are one utterance. There is no setting of words to music here; but the words have broughttheir own music with them; and the music has brought its own words. "

As Harry rose from the piano-forte, he said to me gaily:

"Now, Mr. Smith, it is your turn. I know when you sing, it will besomething worth listening to. "

"Indeed, I hope so, " I answered. "But the song-hour has not yet come tome. How good you all ought to be who can sing! I feel as if my heartwould break with delight, if I could sing; and yet there is not asparrow on the housetop that cannot sing a better song than I. "

"Your hour will come, " said the clergyman, solemnly. "Then you willsing, and all we shall listen. There is no inborn longing that shall notbe fulfilled. I think that is as certain as the forgiveness of sins. Meantime, while your singing-robes are making, I will take your placewith my song, if Miss Cathcart will allow me. "

"Do, please, " said Adela, very heartily; "we shall all be delighted. "

The clergyman sang, and sang even better than his brother. And thesewere the words of his song:

 _The Mother Mary to the infant Jesus. _

 'Tis time to sleep, my little boy; Why gaze they bright eyes so? At night, earth's children, for new joy, Home to thy Father go. But thou art wakeful. Sleep, my child; The moon and stars are gone; The wind and snow they grow more wild, And thou art smiling on. 

 My child, thou hast immortal eyes, That see by their own light; They see the innocent blood--it lies Red-glowing through the night. Through wind and storm unto thine ear Cry after cry doth run; And yet thou seemest not to hear, And only smilest on. 

 When first thou earnest to the earth, All sounds of strife were still; A silence lay around thy birth, And thou didst sleep thy fill. Why sleep'st thou--nay, why weep'st thou not? Thy earth is woe-begone; Babies and mothers wail their lot, And still thou smilest on. 

 I read thine eyes like holy book; No strife is pictured there; Upon thy face I see the look Of one who answers prayer. Ah, yes!--Thine eyes, beyond this wild, Behold God's will well done; Men's songs thine ears are hearing, child; And so thou smilest on. 

 The prodigals arise and go, And God goes forth to meet; Thou seest them gather, weeping low, About the Father's feet. And for their brothers men must bear, Till all are homeward gone. O Eyes, ye see my answered prayer! Smile, Son of God, smile on. 

As soon as the vibrations of this song, I do not mean on the chords ofthe instrument, but in the echo-caves of our bosoms, had ceased, Iturned to the doctor and said:

"Are you ready with your story yet, Mr. Henry?"

"Oh, dear no!" he answered--"not for days. I am not an idle man likeyou, Mr. Smith. I belong to the labouring class. "

I knew that he could not have it ready. 

"Well, " I said, "if our friends have no objection, I will give youanother myself next time. "

"Oh! thank you, uncle, " said Adela. --"Another fairy tale, please. "

"I can't promise you another fairy-tale just yet, but I can promise yousomething equally absurd, if that will do. "

"Oh yes! Anything you like, uncle. _I_, for one, am sure to likewhat you like. "

"Thank you, my dear. Now I will go; for I see the doctor waiting to havea word with you. "

The company took their leave, and the doctor was not two minutes behindthem; for as I went up to my room, after asking the curate when I mightcall upon him, I saw him come out of the drawing-room and go downstairs. 

"Monday evening, then, " I had heard the colonel say, as he followed hisguests to the hall. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE CURATE AND HIS WIFE. 

As I approached the door of the little house in which the curate had solately taken up his abode, he saw me from the window, and before I hadhad time to knock, he had opened the door. 

"Come in, " he said. "I saw you coming. Come to my den, and we will havea pipe together. "

"I have brought some of my favourite cigars, " I said, "and I want you totry them. "

"With all my heart. "

The room to which he led me was small, but disfigured with no offensivetidiness. Not a spot of wall was to be seen for books, and yet therewere not many books after all. We sat for some minutes enjoying thefragrance of the western incense, without other communion than that ofthe clouds we were blowing, and what I gathered from the walls. For I amold enough, as I have already confessed, to be getting long-sighted, andI made use of the gift in reading the names of the curate's books, as Ihad read those of his brother's. They were mostly books of the sixteenthand seventeenth centuries, with a large admixture from the nineteenth, and more than the usual proportion of the German classics; though, strange to say, not a single volume of German Theology could I discover. The curate was the first to break the silence. 

"I find this a very painful cigar, " he said, with a half laugh. 

"I am sorry you don't like it. Try another. "

"The cigar is magnificent. "

"Isn't it thoroughfare, then?"

"Oh yes! the cigar's all right. I haven't smoked such a cigar for morethan ten years; and that's the reason. "

"I wish I had known you seven years, Mr. Armstrong. "

"You have known me a hundred and seven. "

"Then I have a right to--"

"Poke my fire as much as you please. "

And as Mr. Armstrong said so, he poked his own chest, to signify thesymbolism of his words. 

"Then I should like to know something of your early history--somethingto account for the fact that a man like you, at your time of life, isonly a curate. "

"I can do all that, and account for the pain your cigar gives me, in oneand the same story. "

I sat full of expectation. 

"You won't find me long-winded, I hope. "

"No fear of that. Begin directly. I adjure you by our friendship of ahundred years. "

"My father was a clergyman before me; one of those simple-hearted menwho think that to be good and kind is the first step towards doing God'swork; but who are too modest, too ignorant, and sometimes too indolentto aspire to any second step, or even to inquire what the second stepmay be. The poor in his parish loved him and preyed upon him. He gaveand gave, even after he had no more that he had a right to give. 

"He was not by any means a rich man, although he had a little propertybesides his benefice; but he managed to send me to Oxford. Inheriting, as I suspect, a little tendency to extravagance; having at least no loveof money except for what it would bring; and seeing how easily moneymight be raised there for need true or false, I gradually learned tothink less and less of the burdens grievous to be borne, which asubjection to Mammon will accumulate on the shoulders of theunsuspecting ass. I think the old man of the sea in _Sindbad theSailor_, must personify debt. At least _I_ have found reason tothink so. At the same time I wish I had done nothing worse than run intodebt. Yet by far the greater part of it was incurred for the sake ofhaving works of art about me. Of course pictures were out of thequestion; but good engravings and casts were within the reach of aborrower. At least it was not for the sake of whip-handles and trowsers, that I fell into the clutches of Moses Melchizedek, for that was thename of the devil to whom I betrayed my soul for money. Emulation, however, mingled with the love of art; and I must confess too, thatcigars costs me money as well as pictures; and as I have already hinted, there was worse behind. But some things we can only speak to God about. 

"I shall never forget the oily face of the villain--may God save him, and then he'll be no villain!--as he first hinted that he would lend meany money I might want, upon certain insignificant conditions, such assigning for a hundred and fifty, where I should receive only a hundred. The sunrise of the future glowed so golden, that it seemed to me theeasiest thing in the world to pay my debts _there_. Here, there waswhat I wanted, cigars and all. There, there must be gold, else whencethe hue? I could pay all my debts in the future, with the utmost ease. _How_ was no matter. I borrowed and borrowed. I flattered myself, besides, that in the things I bought I held money's worth; which, in themain, would have been true, if I had been a dealer in such things; but amere owner can seldom get the worth of what he possesses, especiallywhen he cannot choose but sell, and has no choice of his market. Sowhen, horrified at last with the filth of the refuge into which I hadrun to escape the bare walls of heaven, I sold off everything but a fewof my pet books"--here he glanced lovingly round his humble study, whereshone no glories of print or cast--"which I ought to have sold as well, I found myself still a thousand pounds in debt. 

"Now although I had never had a thousand pounds from Melchizedek, I hadknown perfectly well what I was about. I had been deluded, but notcheated; and in my deep I saw yet a lower depth, into which I_would_ not fall--for then I felt I should be lost indeed--that ofin any way repudiating my debts. But what was to be done I had no idea. 

"I had studied for the church, and I now took holy orders. I had a fewpounds a year from my mother's property, which all went in part-paymentof the interest of my debt, I dared not trouble my father with anycommunication on the subject of my embarrassment, for I knew that hecould not help me, and that the impossibility of doing so would make himmore unhappy than the wrong I had done in involving myself. I seized thefirst offer of a curacy that presented itself. Its emoluments were justone hundred pounds a-year, of which I had _not_ to return twentypounds, as some curates have had to do. Out of this I had to pay onehalf, in interest for the thousand pounds. On the other half, and thetrifle my mother allowed me, I contrived to live. 

"But the debt continued undiminished. It lay upon me as a mountain mightcrush a little Titan. There was no cracking frost, no cutting stream, towear away, by slowest trituration, that mountain of folly andwickedness. But what I suffered most from was the fact, that I must seemto the poor of my parish unsympathetic and unkind. For although I stillmanaged to give away a little, it seemed to me such a small shabby sum, every time that I drew my hand from my pocket, in which perhaps I hadleft still less, that it was with a positive feeling of shame that Ioffered it. There was no high generosity in this. It was mostlyselfish--the effect of the transmission of my father's blindbenevolence, working as an impulse in me. But it made me wretched. Addto this a feeling of hypocrisy, in the knowledge that I, the dispenserof sacred things to the people, was myself the slave of a money-lendingJew, and you will easily see how my life could not be to me the realitywhich it must be, for any true and healthy action, to every man. In aword, I felt that I was humbug. As to my preaching, that could not havehad much reality in it of any kind, for I had no experience yet of therelation of Christian Faith to Christian Action. In fact, I regardedthem as separable--not merely as distinguishable, in the necessity whichour human nature, itself an analysis of the divine, has for analysingitself. I respected everything connected with my profession, which Iregarded as in itself eminently respectable; but, then, it was only theprofession I respected, and I was only _doing church_ at best. Ihave since altered my opinion about the profession, as such; and while Ilove my work with all my heart, I do not care to think about its worldlyrelations at all. The honour is to be a servant of men, whom God thoughtworth making, worth allowing to sin, and worth helping out of it at sucha cost. But as far as regards the _profession_, is it a manly kindof work, to put on a white gown once a week, and read out of a book; andthen put on a black gown, and read out of a paper you bought or wrote;all about certain old time-honoured legends which have some influence inkeeping the common people on their good behaviour, by promising themhappiness after they are dead, if they are respectable, and everlastingtorture if they are blackguards? Is it manly?"

"You are scarcely fair to the profession even as such, Mr. Armstrong, " Isaid. 

"That's what I _feel_ about it, " he answered. "Look here, " he wenton, holding out a brawny right arm, with muscles like a prize-fighter's, "they may laugh at what, by a happy hit, they have called muscularchristianity--I for one don't object to being laughed at--but I ask you, is that work fit for a man to whom God has given an arm like that? Ideclare to you, Smith, I would rather work in the docks, and leave the_churching_ to the softs and dandies; for then I should be able torespect myself as giving work for my bread, instead of drawing so manypounds a-year for talking _goody_ to old wives and sentimentalyoung ladies;--for over men who are worth anything, such a man has noinfluence. God forbid that I should be disrespectful to old women, oreven sentimental young ladies! They are worth _serving_ with aman's whole heart, but not worth pampering. I am speaking of theprofession as professed by a mere clergyman--one in whom theprofessional predominates. "

"But you can't use those splendid muscles of yours in the church. "

"But I can give up the use of them for something better and nobler. Theyindicate work; but if I can do real spiritual instead of corporeal work, I rise in the scale. I sacrifice my thews on the altar of my faith. Butby the mere clergyman, there is no work done to correspond--I do not sayto _his_ capacity for work--but to the capacity for work indicatedby such a frame as mine--work of some sort, if not of the higher poeticorder, then of the lower porter-sort. But if there be a living God, whois doing all he can to save men, to make them pure and noble and high, humble and loving and true, to make them live the life he cares to livehimself; if he has revealed and is revealing this to men, and needs forhis purpose the work of their fellow-men, who have already seen andknown this purpose, surely there is no nobler office than that of aparson; for to him is committed the grand work of letting men see thethoughts of God, and the work of God--in a word, of telling the story ofJesus, so that men shall see how true it is for _now_, howbeautiful it is for _ever_; and recognize it as in fact _the_story of God. Then a clergyman has simply to be more of a man than othermen; whereas if he be but a clergyman, he is less of a man than anyother man who does honestly the work he has to do, whether he befarm-labourer, shoemaker, or shopkeeper. For such a work, a man may wellpine in a dungeon, or starve in a curacy; yea, for such a work, a manwill endure the burden of having to dispense the wealth of a bishopricafter a divine fashion. "

"But your story?" I said at last, unwilling as I was to interrupt hiseloquence. 

"Yes. This brings me back to it. Here was I starving for no highprinciple, only for the common-place one of paying my debts; and payingmy debts out of the church's money too, for which, scanty as it was, Igave wretched labour--reading prayers as neatly as I could, andpreaching sermons half evangelical, half scholastic, of the most unrealand uninteresting sort; feeling all the time hypocritical, as I havealready said; and without the farthest prospect of deliverance. 

"Then I fell in love. "

"Worse and worse!"

"So it seemed; but so it wasn't--like a great many things. At allevents, she's down stairs now, busy at a baby's frock, I believe; Godbless her! Lizzie is the daughter of a lieutenant in the army, who diedbefore I knew her. She was living with her mother and elder sister, on avery scanty income, in the village where I had the good fortune to bethe unhappy curate. I believe I was too unhappy to make myself agreeableto the few young ladies of my congregation, which is generallyconsidered one of the first duties of a curate, in order, no doubt, tosecure their co-operation in his charitable schemes; and certainly I donot think I received any great attention from them--certainly not fromLizzie. I thought she pitied and rather despised me. I don't knowwhether she did, but I still suspect it. I am thankful to say I have noground for thinking she does now. But we have been through a kind of amoderate burning fiery furnace together, and that brings out the sense, and burns out the nonsense, in both men and women. Not that Lizzie hadmuch nonsense to be burned out of her, as you will soon see. 

"I had often been fool enough to wonder that, while she was mostattentive and devout during the reading of the service, her faceassumed, during the sermon, a far off look of abstraction, thatindicated no reception of what I said, further than as an influence ofsoporific quality. I felt that there was re-proof in this. In fact, itroused my conscience yet more, and made me doubt whether there wasanything genuine in me at all. Sometimes I felt as if I really could notgo on, but must shut up my poor manuscript, which was 'an ill-favouredthing, sir, but mine own, ' and come down from the pulpit, and beg MissLizzie Payton's pardon for presuming to read it in her presence. Atlength that something, or rather want of something, in her quietunregarding eyes, aroused a certain opposition, ambition, indignation inme. I strove to write better, and to do better generally. Every goodsentence, I launched at her--I don't quite know whether I aimed at herheart or her head--I fear the latter; but I know that I looked after myarrow with a hurried glance, to see whether it had reached the mark. Seldom, however, did I find that my bow had had the strength to arouseMiss Lizzie from the somniculose condition which, in my bitterness, Iattributed to her. Since then I have frequently tried to bring home toher the charge, and wring from her the confession that, occasionally, just occasionally, she was really overpowered by the weather. But shehas never admitted more than one such lapse, which, happening in a hardfrost, and the church being no warmer than condescension, she wickedlyremarked must have been owing, not to the weight of the atmosphere, butthe weight of something else. At length, in my anxiety forself-justification, I persuaded myself that her behaviour was a sign ofspiritual insensibility; that she needed conversion; that she lookedwith contempt from the far-off table-lands of the Broad church, or thedizzy pinnacles of snow-clad Puseyism, upon the humble efforts of onewho followed in the footsteps of the first fishers of men--for such Itried, in my self-protection, to consider myself. 

"One day, I happened to meet her in a retired lane near the village. Shewas carrying a jug in her hand. 

"'How do you do, Miss Lizzie? A labour of love?' I said, ass that I was!

"'Yes, ' she answered; 'I've been over to Farmer Dale's, to fetch somecream for mamma's tea. '

"She knew well enough I had meant a ministration to the poor. 

"'Oh! I beg your pardon, ' I rejoined; 'I thought you had been round yourdistrict. '

"This was wicked; for I knew quite well that she had no district. 

"'No, ' she answered, 'I leave that to my sister. Mamma is my district. And do you know, her headaches are as painful as any washerwoman's. '

"This shut me up rather; but I plucked up courage presently. 

"'You don't seem to like going to church, Miss Lizzie. '

"Her face flushed. 

"'Who dares to say so? I am very regular in my attendance. '

"'Not a doubt of it. But you don't enjoy being there. '

"'I do. '

"'Confess, now. --You don't like my sermons. '

"'Do you like them yourself, Mr. Armstrong?'

"Here was a floorer! Did I like them myself?--I really couldn't honestlysay I did. I was not greatly interested in them, further than as theywere my own, and my best attempts to say something about something Iknew nothing about. I was silent. She stood looking at me out of cleargrey eyes. 

"'Now you have begun this conversation, Mr. Armstrong, I will go on withit, ' she said, at length. 'It was not of my seeking. --I do not think youbelieve what you say in the pulpit. '

"Not believe what I said! Did I believe what I said? Or did I onlybelieve that it was to be believed? The tables were turned with avengeance. Here was the lay lamb, attacked and about to be worried bythe wolf clerical, turning and driving the said wolf to bay. I stood andfelt like a convicted criminal before the grey eyes of my judge. Andsomehow or other I did not hate those clear pools of light. They werevery beautiful. But not one word could I find to say for myself. I stoodand looked at her, and I fear I began to twitch at my neck cloth, with avague instinct that I had better go and hang myself. I stared andstared, and no doubt got as red as a turkey-cock--till it began to bevery embarrassing indeed. What refuge could there be from one who spokethe truth so plainly? And how do you think I got out of it?" asked Mr. Armstrong of me, John Smith, who, as he told the story, felt almost inas great confusion and misery as the narrator must have been in at thattime, although now he looked amazingly jolly, and breathed away at hiscigar with the slow exhalations of an epicure. 

"Mortal cannot tell, " I answered. 

"One mortal can, " rejoined he, with a laugh. --"I fell on my knees, andmade speechless love to her. "

Here came a pause. The countenance of the broad-church-man changed as ifa lovely summer cloud had passed over it. The jolly air vanished, and helooked very solemn for a little while. 

"There was no coxcombry in it, Smith. I may say that for myself. It wasthe simplest and truest thing I ever did in my life. How was I to helpit? There stood the visible truth before me, looking out of the woman'sgrey eyes. What was I to do? I thank God, I have never seen the truthplain before me, let it look ever so ghostly, without rushing at it. Allmy advances have been by a sudden act--to me like an inspiration;--anact done in terror, almost, lest I should stop and think about it, andfail to do it. And here was no ghost, but a woman-angel, whose _Thouart the man_ was spoken out of profundities of sweetness and truth. Could I turn my back upon her? Could I parley with her?--with the Truth?No. I fell on my knees, weeping like a child; for all my misery, all mysense of bondage and untruth, broke from me in those tears. 

"My hat had fallen off as I knelt. My head was bowed on my hands. I feltas if she could save me. I dared not look up. She tells me since thatshe was bewildered and frightened, but I discovered nothing of that. Atlength I felt a light pressure, a touch of healing, fall on my bendedhead. It was her hand. Still I hid my face, for I was ashamed beforeher. 

"'Come, ' she said, in a low voice, which I dare say she compelled to befirm; 'come with me into the Westland Woods. There we can talk. Some onemay come this way. '

"She has told me since that a kind of revelation came to her at themoment; a sight not of the future but of the fact; and that this liftedher high above every feeling of mere propriety, substituting for it aconviction of right. She felt that God had given this man to her; andshe no more hesitated to ask me to go with her into the woods, than shewould hesitate to go with me now if I asked her. And indeed if she hadnot done so, I don't know what would have come of it--how the storywould have ended. I believe I should be kneeling there now, a whitenedskeleton, to the terror and warning of all false churchmen who shouldpass through the lonely lane. 

"I rose at once, like an obedient child, and turned in the direction ofthe Westland Woods, feeling that she was by my side, but not yet daringto look at her. --Now there are few men to whom I would tell the triflethat followed. It was a trifle as to the outside of it; but it isamazing what _virtue_, in the old meaning of the word, may lie in atrifle. The recognition of virtue is at the root of all magical spells, and amulets, and talismans. Mind, I felt from the first that you and Iwould understand each other. "

"You rejoice my heart, " I said. 

"Well, the first thing I had to do, as you may suppose, to make me fitto look at her, was to wipe my eyes. I put my hand in my pocket; then myfirst hand in the breast pocket; then the other hand in the otherpocket; and the slow-dawning awful truth became apparent, that here wasa great brute of a curate, who had been crying like a baby, and had nohandkerchief. A moment of keen despair followed--chased away by a visionof hope, in the shape of a little white cloud between me and the greengrass. This cloud floated over a lady's hand, and was in fact a delicatehandkerchief. I took it, and brought it to my eyes, which gratefullyacknowledged the comfort. And the scent of the lavender--not lavenderwater, but the lavender itself, that puts you in mind of countrychurches, and old bibles, and dusky low-ceiled parlours on Sundayafternoons--the scent of the lavender was so pure and sweet, and lovely!It gave me courage. 

"'May I keep it?' I asked

"'Yes. Keep it, ' she answered. 

"'Will you take my arm now?'

"For answer, she took my arm, and we entered the woods. It was a summerafternoon. The sun had outflanked the thick clouds of leaves thatrendered the woods impregnable from overhead, and was now shining in, alittle sideways, with that slumberous light belonging to summerafternoons, in which everything, mind and all, seems half asleep and alldreaming. 

"'Let me carry the jug, ' I said. 

"'No, ' she answered, with a light laugh; 'you would be sure to spill thecream, and spoil both your coat and mamma's tea. '

"'Then put it down in this hollow till we come back. '

"'It would be full of flies and beetles in a moment. Besides we won'tcome back this way, shall we? I can carry it quite well. Gentlemen don'tlike carrying things. '

"I feared lest the tone the conversation had assumed, might lead me awayfrom the resolution I had formed while kneeling in the lane. So, asusual with me, I rushed blindly on the performance. 

"'Miss Lizzie, I am a hypocritical and unhappy wretch. '

"She looked up at me with a face full of compassionate sympathy. I couldhave lost myself in that gaze. But I would not be turned from mypurpose, of which she had no design, though her look had almost thepower; and, the floodgates of speech once opened, out it came, the wholeconfession I have made to you, in what form or manner, I found, the veryfirst time I looked back upon the relation, that I had quite forgotten. 

"All the time, the sun was sending ever so many sloping ladders of lightdown through the trees, for there was a little mist rising thatafternoon; and I felt as if they were the same kind of ladder that Jacobsaw, inviting a man to climb up to the light and peace of God. I felt asif upon them invisible angels were going up and down all through thesummer wood, and that the angels must love our woods as we love theirskies. And amidst the trees and the ladders of ether, we walked, and Italked, and Lizzie listened to all I had to say, without uttering asyllable till I had finished. 

"At length, having disclosed my whole bondage and grief, I ended withthe question:

"'Now, what is to be done?'

"She looked up in my face with those eyes of truth, and said:

"'That money must be paid, Mr. Armstrong. '

"'But how?' I responded, in despair. 

"She did not seem to heed my question, but she really answered it. 

"'And, if I were you, I would do no more duty till it was paid. '

"Here was decision with a vengeance. It was more than I had bargainedfor. I was dumb. A moment's reflection, however, showed me that she wasperfectly right--that what I had called _decision with avengeance_, was merely the utterance of a child's perception of thetrue way to walk in. 

"Still I was silent; for long vistas of duty, and loss, and painfulaction and effort opened before me. At length I said:

"'You are quite right, Miss Lizzie. '

"'I wish I could pay it for you, ' she rejoined, looking up in my facewith an expression of still tenderness, while the tears clouded her eyesjust as clouds of a deeper grey come over the grey depths of some summerskies. 

"'But you can help me to pay it. '

"'How?'

"'Love me, ' I said, and no more. I could not. 

"The only answer she made, was to look up at me once more, then stop, and, turning towards me, draw herself gently against my side, as sheheld my arm. It was enough--was it not?

"_Love me_, I said, and she did love me; and she's down stairs, asI told you; and I think she is not unhappy. "

"But you're not going to stop there, " I said. 

"No, I'm not. --That very evening I told the vicar that I must go. Hepressed for my reasons; but I managed to avoid giving a direct answer. Ibegged him to set me at liberty as soon as possible, meaning, when heshould have provided himself with a substitute. But he took offence atlast, and told me I might go when I pleased; for he was quite able toperform the duties himself. After this, I felt it would be unpleasantfor him as well as for me, if I remained, and so I took him at his word. And right glad I was not to have to preach any more to Lizzie. It wastime for me to act instead of talk. 

"But what was I to do?--The moment the idea of ceasing to _dochurch_ was entertained by me, the true notion of what I was to doinstead presented itself. It was this. I would apply to my cousin, theaccountant. He was an older man, considerably, than myself, and hadalready made a fortune in his profession. We had been on very good termsindeed, considering that he was a dissenter, and all but hated thechurch; while, I fear, I quite despised dissenters. I had often dinedwith him, and he had found out that I had a great turn for figures, ashe called it. Having always been fond of mathematics, I had been able toassist him in arriving at a true conclusion on what had been to him aknotty point connected with life-insurance; and consequently he had ahigh opinion of my capacity in his department. 

"I wrote to him, telling him I had resolved to go into business for atime. I did not choose to enlighten him further; and I fear I fared thebetter with him from his fancying that I must have begun to entertaindoubts concerning church-establishments. I had the cunning not to askhim to employ me; for I thought it very likely he would request myservices, which would put me in a better position with him. And it fellout as I had anticipated. He replied at once, offering me one hundredand fifty pounds to begin, with the prospect of an annual advance oftwenty pounds, if, upon further trial, we both found the arrangement toour minds. I knew him to be an honourable man, and accepted the proposalat once. And I cannot tell how light-hearted I felt as I folded up mycanonicals, and put them in a box to be left, for the meantime, in thecharge of my landlady. 

"I was troubled with no hesitation as to the propriety of theproceeding. Of course I felt that if it had been mere money-making, aclergyman ought to have had nothing to do with it; but I felt now, onthe other hand, that if any man was bound to pay his debts, a clergymanwas; in fact, that he could not do his duty till he had paid his debts;and that the wrong was not in turning to business now, but in havingundertaken the office with a weight of filthy lucre on my back and myconscience, which my pocket could never relieve them of. Any scrupleabout the matter, I felt would be only superstition; that, in fact, itwas a course of action worthy of a man, and therefore of a clergyman. Ithought well enough of the church, too, to believe that every man of anymanliness in it, would say that I had done right. And, to tell thetruth, so long as Lizzie was satisfied with me, I did not care forarchdeacon, or bishop. I meant just to drop out of the ranks of theclergy without sign, and keep my very existence as secret as possible, until the moment I had achieved my end, when I would go to my bishop, and tell him all, requesting to be reinstated in my sacred office. Therewas only one puzzle in the affair, and that was how the act towards Mrs. Payton in regard to her daughter's engagement to me. The old lady wasnot gifted with much common sense, I knew; and I feared both that shewould be shocked at the idea, and that she would not keep my secret. Ofcourse I consulted Lizzie about it. She had been thinking about italready, and had concluded that the best way would be for her to tellher mother the fact of our engagement, and for me to write to her fromLondon that I did not intend taking a second charge for some time yet;and so leave Lizzie to act for the rest as occasion might demand. Allthis was very easily managed, and in the course of another week, chieflydevoted to the Westland Woods, I found myself at a desk in CannonStreet. 

"And now began a real experience of life. I had resolved to regard themoney I earned as the ransom-money of the church, paid by her for theredemption of an erring servant from the power of Mammon: I wouldtherefore spend upon myself not one penny more than could be helped. With this view, and perhaps with a lurking notion of penance in somecorner of my stupid brain, I betook myself to a lodging house in HattonGarden, where I paid just three shillings a week for a bedroom, if thatcould be called a room which was rather a box, divided from a dozenothers by partitions of seven or eight feet in height. I had, besides, the use of a common room, with light and fire, and the use of a kitchenfor cooking my own victuals, if I required any, presided over by an oldman, who was rather dirtier than necessity could justify, or the amountof assistance he rendered could excuse. But I managed to avoid thisregion of the establishment, by both breakfasting and dining ineating-houses, of which I soon found out the best and cheapest. It isamazing upon how little a man with a good constitution, a goodconscience, and an object, can live in London. I lived and throve. Mybedroom, though as small as it could possibly have been, was clean, withall its appointments; and for a penny a week additional, I had the useof a few newspapers. The only luxuries I indulged in, besides one pipeof bird's-eye a day, were writing verses, and teaching myself German. This last led to some little extravagance, for I soon came to buy Germanbooks at the bookstalls; but I thought the church would get theadvantage of it by and by; and so I justified myself in it. I translateda great many German songs. Now and then you will hear my brother singone of them. He was the only one of my family who knew where I lived. The others addressed their letters to my cousin's place of business. Myfather was dreadfully cut up at my desertion of the church, as heconsidered it. But I told my brother the whole story, and he went home, as he declared, prouder of his big brother than if he had been made abishop of. I believe he soon comforted the dear old man, by helping himto see the matter in its true light; and not one word of reproach did Iever receive from his lips or his pen. He did his best likewise to keepthe whole affair a secret. 

"But a thousand pounds with interest, was a dreadful sum. However, Ipaid the interest and more than fifty pounds of the principal the firstyear. One good thing was, I had plenty of clothes, and so could go along time without becoming too shabby for business. I repaired themmyself. I brushed my own boots. Occasionally I washed my own collars. 

"But it was rather dreadful to think of the years that must pass beforeI could be clear, before I could marry Lizzie, before I could open mymouth again to utter truths which I now began to _see_, and whichgrew dearer to me than existence itself. As to Lizzie, I comfortedmyself by thinking that it did not matter much whether we were marriedor not--we loved each other; and that was all that made marriage itselfa good thing, and we had the good thing as it was. We correspondedregularly, and I need not say that this took a great many hours fromGerman and other luxuries, and made the things I did not like, mucheasier to bear. 

"I am not stoic enough to be able to say that the baseness and meannessof things about me gave me no discomfort. In my father's house, I hadbeen used to a little simple luxury, for he liked to be comfortablehimself, and could not be so, unless he saw every one comfortable abouthim as well. At college, likewise, I had not thwarted the tendency toself-indulgence, as my condition now but too plainly testified. It willbe clear enough to you, Mr. Smith, that there must have been thingsconnected with such a mode of life, exceedingly distasteful to one whohad the habits of a gentleman; but it was not the circumstances so muchas the companions of my location, that bred me discomfort. The peoplewho shared the same roof with me, I felt bound to acknowledge as sosharing, although at first it was difficult to know how to behave tothem, and their conduct sometimes caused me excessive annoyance. Theywere of all births and breedings, but almost all of them, like myself, under a cloud. It was not much that I had to associate with them; buteven while glancing at a paper before going up to my room, for I allowedmyself no time for that at the office, I could not help occasionallyhearing language which disgusted me to the back-bone, and made me say tomyself, as I went slowly up the stairs, 'My sins have found me out, andI am in hell for them. ' Then, as I sat on the side of my bed in mystall, the vision of the past would come before me in all itsbeauty--the Westland Woods, the open country, the comfortable abode, andabove all, the homely gracious old church, with its atmosphere of ripesacredness and age-long belief; for now I looked upon that reading-desk, and that pulpit, with new eyes and new thoughts, as I will presently tryto show you. I had not really lost them, in the sense in which Iregarded them now, as types of a region of possibly noble work; but evenwith their old aspect, they would have seemed more honourable than thisconstant labour in figures from morning to night, till I thoughtsometimes that the depth of punishment would be to have to reckon to alleternity. But, as I have said, I had my consolations--Lizzie's letters, my books, a walk to Hampstead Heath on a holiday, an occasional peepinto Goethe or Schiller on a bright day in St. Lawrence Pountneychurch-yard, to which I managed to get admittance; and, will you believeit? going to a city church on Sundays. More of this anon. So that, if Iwas in hell for my sins, it was at least not one of Swedenborg's hells. Never before did I understand what yet I had always considered one ofthe most exquisite sonnets I knew:

 "Mourner, that dost deserve thy mournfulness, Call thyself punished, call the earth thy hell; Say, 'God is angry, and I earned it well; 'I would not have him smile and not redress. ' Say this, and straightway all thy grief grows less. 'God rules at least, I find, as prophets tell, 'And proves it in this prison. ' Straight thy cell Smiles with an unsuspected loveliness. --'A prison--and yet from door and window-bar, 'I catch a thousand breaths of his sweet air; 'Even to me, his days and nights are fair; 'He shows me many a flower, and many a star; 'And though I mourn, and he is very far, 'He does not kill the hope that reaches there. '"

"Where did you get that wonderful sonnet?" I cried, hardly interruptinghim, for when he came to the end of it, he paused with a solemn pause. 

"It is one of the stars of the higher heavens which I spied through myprison-bars. "

"Will you give me a copy of it?"

"With all my heart. It has never been in print. "

"Then your star reminds me of that quaint simile of Henry Vaughan, 'If a star were confined into a tomb, Her captive flames must needs burn there; But when the hand that locked her up gives room, She'll shine through all the sphere. '"

"Ah yes; I know the poem. That is about the worst verse in it, though. "

"Quite true. "

"What a number of verses you know!"

"They stick to me somehow. "

"Is the sonnet your own?"

"My dear fellow, how could I speak in praise of it as I do, if it weremy own? I would say 'I wish it were!' only that would be worseselfishness than coveting a man's purse. No. It is not mine. "

"Well, will you go on with your story--if you will yet oblige me. "

"I will. But I fear you will think it strange that I should be socommunicative to one whose friendship I have so lately gained. "

"I believe there is a fate in such things, " I answered. 

"Well, I yield to it--if I do not weary you?"

"Go on. There is positively not the least danger of that. "

"Well, it was not to hell I was really sent, but to school--and that nota fashionable boarding, or expensive public school, but a day-schoollike a Scotch parish school--to learn the conditions and ways andthoughts of my brothers and sisters. 

"I soon got over the disgust I felt at the coarseness of the men I met. Indeed I found amongst business-gentlemen what affected me with the samekind of feeling--only perhaps more profoundly--a coarseness not of thesocial so much as of the spiritual nature--in a word, genuineselfishness; whereas this quality was rather less remarkable in thosewho had less to be selfish about. I do not say therefore that they hadless of it. --I soon saw that their profanity had chiefly a negativesignificance; but it was long before I could get sufficiently accustomedto their vileness, their beastliness--I beg the beast's pardon!--to keepfrom leaving the room when a vein of that sort was opened. But Isucceeded in schooling myself to bear it. 'For, ' thought I, 'there mustbe some bond--some ascertainable and recognizable bond between these menand me; I mean some bond that might show itself as such to them and me. 'I found out, before long, that there was a tolerably broad and visibleone--nothing less than our human nature, recognized as such. For bydegrees I came to give myself to know them. I sat and talked to them, smoked with them, gave them tobacco, lent them small moneys, made theman occasional trifling present of some article of dress, of which I hadmore than I wanted; in short, gained their confidence. It was strange, but without any reproof from me, nothing more direct than simplesilence, they soon ceased to utter a word that could offend me; andbefore long, I had heard many of their histories. And what stories theywere! Set any one to talk about himself, instead of about other people, and you will have a seam of the precious mental metal opened up to youat once; only ore, most likely, that needs much smelting and refining;or it may be, not gold at all, but a metal which your mental alchemy mayturn into gold. The one thing I learned was, that they and I were one, that our hearts were the same. How often I exclaimed inwardly, as somenew trait came to light, in the words, though without the generalizingscorn, of Shakspere's Timon--"More man!" Sometimes I was seized with akind of horror, beholding my own visage in the mirror which some poorwretch's story held up to me--distorted perhaps by the flaws in theglass, but still mine: I saw myself in other circumstances and underother influences, and felt sometimes for a moment, as if I had beenguilty of the very deeds--more often of the very neglects that hadbrought my companion to misery. I felt in the most solemn moods ofreflection, that I might have done all that, and become all that. I sawbut myself, over and over again, with wondrous variations, nonesufficient to destroy the identity. And I said to myself that, if I wasso like them in all that was undesirable, it must be possible for themto become like me in all, whatever it was, that rendered me in any waysuperior to them. 

"But wherein did this superiority consist? I saw that whatever it was, Ihad little praise in it. I said, 'What have I done to be better than Ifound myself? If Lizzie had not taken me in hand, I should not have doneeven this. What an effort it would need for one of these really to beginto rouse and raise himself! And what have I done to rouse and raisemyself, to whom it would surely be easier? And how can I hope to helpthem to rise till I have risen myself? It is not enough to be abovethem: only by the strength of my own rising can I help to raise them, for we are bound together by one cord. Then how shall I rise? Whoseuprising shall lift me? On what cords shall I lay hold to be heaved outof the pit?' And then I thought of the story of the Lord of men, whoarose by his own might, not alone from the body-tomb, but from all thedeath and despair of humanity, and lifted with him our race, placingtheir tomb beneath their feet, and them in the sunny hope that belongsto them, and for which they were created--the air of their own freedom. 'But, ' I said to myself, 'this is ideal, and belongs to the race. Beforeit comes true for the race, it must be done in the individual. If it betrue for the race, it can only be through its being attainable by theindividual. There must be something in the story belonging to theindividual. I will look at the individual Christ, and see how he arose. '

"And then I saw that the Lord himself was clasped in the love of theFather; that it was in the power of mighty communion that the dailyobedience was done; that besides the outward story of his devotion tomen, there was the inward story--actually revealed to us men, marvellousas that is--the inward story of his devotion to his father; of hisspeech to him; of his upward look; of his delight in giving up to Him. And the answer to his prayers comes out in his deeds. As Novalis says:'In solitude the heavenly heart unfolded itself to a flower-chalice ofalmighty love, turned towards the high face of the Father. ' I saw thatit was in virtue of this, that, again to use the words of Novalis, 'themystery was unsealed. Heavenly spirits heaved the aged stone from thegloomy grave; angels sat by the slumberer, bodied forth, in delicateforms, from his dreams. Waking in new God-glories, he clomb the heightof the new-born world; buried with his own hand the old corpse in theforsaken cavern, and laid thereon, with almighty arm, the stone which nomight raises again. Yet weep thy beloved, tears of joy, and of boundlessthanks at thy grave; still ever, with fearful gladness, behold theearisen, and themselves with thee. ' If then he is the captain of oursalvation, the head of the body of the human church, I must rise bypartaking in my degree of his food, by doing in my degree his work. Ifell on my knees and I prayed to the Father. I rose, and bethinking meof the words of the Son, I went and tried to do them. I need say no moreto you. A new life awoke in me from that hour, feeble and dim, but yetlife; and often as it has stopped growing, that has always been my ownfault. Where it will end, thank God! I cannot tell. But existence is anawful grandeur and delight. 

"Then I understood the state of my fellowmen, with all their ignorance, and hate, and revenge; some misled by passion, some blinded by dulness, some turned monomaniacs from a fierce sense of injustice done them; andI said, 'There is no way of helping them but by being good to them, andmaking them trust me. But in every one of them there lies a secretchamber, to which God has access from behind by a hidden door; whilethey know nothing of this chamber; and the other door towards their ownconsciousness, is hidden by darkness and wrong, and ruin of all kinds. Sometimes they become dimly aware that there must be such a door. Someof us search for it, find it, turn back aghast; while God is standingbehind the door waiting to be found, and ready to hold forth the arms ofeternal tenderness to him who will open and look. Some of us have tornthe door open, and, lo! there is the Father, at the heart of us, at theheart of all things. ' I saw that he was leading these men through darkways of disappointment and misery, the cure of their own wrong-doing, tofind this door and find him. But could nothing be done to help them--tolead them? They, too, must learn of Christ. Could they not be led tohim? If He leads to the Father, could not man lead to Him? True, he saysthat it is the leading of the Father that brings to Him; for the Fatheris all in all; He fills and rounds the cycle. But He leads by the handof man. Then I said, 'Is not this _the_ work of the church?'

"And with this new test, I went to one church after another. And theprayers were beautiful. And my soul was comforted by them. And thetroubles of the week sank back into the far distance, and God ruled inLondon city. But how could such as I thought of, love these prayers, orunderstand them? For them the voice of living man was needed. And surelythe spirit that dwelt in the Church never intended to make less of thevoice of a living man pleading with his fellow-men in his own voice, than the voice of many people pleading with God in the words which thosewho had gone to Him had left behind them. If the Spirit be in thechurch, does it only pray? Yet almost as often as a man stood up topreach, I knew again why Lizzie had paid no heed to me. All he said hadnothing to do with me or my wants. And if not with these, how could theyhave any influence on the all but outcasts of the social order? Ijustified Lizzie to the very full now; and I took refuge from theinanity of the sermon in thinking about her faithfulness. And thatfaithfulness was far beyond anything I knew yet. 

"And now there awoke in me an earnest longing after the office I hadforsaken. Thoughts began to burn in me, and words to come unbidden, tillsometimes I had almost to restrain myself from rising from the pew whereI was seated, ascending the pulpit stairs, and requesting the man whohad nothing to say, to walk down, and allow me, who had something tosay, to take his place. Was this conceit? Considering what I waslistening to, it could not have been _great_ conceit at least. ButI did restrain myself, for I thought an encounter with the police wouldbe unseemly, and my motives scarcely of weight in the court to whichthey would lead me. "

Here Mr. Armstrong relieved himself and me with a good laugh. I sayrelieved me, for his speech had held me in a state of tension such as tobe almost painful. 

"But I looked to the future in hope, " he went on, --"if ever I might becounted worthy to resume the labour I had righteously abandoned; havinghad the rightness confirmed by the light I had received in carrying outthe deed. "

His voice here sank as to a natural pause, and I thought he was going toend his story. 

"Tell me something more, " I said. 

"Oh!" returned he, "as far as story is concerned, the best of it is tocome yet. --About six months after I was fairly settled in London, I wasriding in an omnibus, a rare enough accommodation with me, in the duskof an afternoon. I was going out to Fulham to dine with my cousin, as Iwas sometimes forced to do. He was a good-hearted man, but--in short, Idid not find him interesting. I would have preferred talking to a manwho had barely escaped the gallows or the hulks. My cousin never didanything plainly wicked, and consequently never repented of anything. Hethought no harm of being petty and unfair. He would not have taken afarthing that was not his own, but if he could get the better of you inan argument, he did not care by what means. He would put a wrong meaningon your words, that he might triumph over you, knowing all the time itwas not what you meant. He would say: 'Words are words. I have nothingto do with your meanings. You may say you mean anything you like. ' Iwish it had been his dissent that made him such. But I won't say moreabout him, for I believe it is my chief fault, as to my profession, thatI find common-place people dreadfully uninteresting; and I am afraid Idon't always give them quite fair play. --I had to dine with him, and soI got into an omnibus going along the Strand. And I had not been long init, before I began thinking about Lizzie. That was not very surprising. 

"Next to me, nearer the top of the omnibus, sat a young woman, with alarge brown paper parcel on her lap. She dropt it, and I picked it upfor her; but seeing that it incommoded her considerably, I offered tohold it for her. She gave a kind of start when I addressed her, butallowed me to take the parcel. I could not see her face, because she wasclose to my side. But a strange feeling came over me, as if I wassitting next to Lizzie. I indulged in the fancy not from any belief init, only for the pleasure of it. But it grew to a great desire to seethe young woman's face, and find whether or not she was at all likeLizzie. I could not, however, succeed in getting a peep within herbonnet; and so strong did the desire become, that, when the omnibusstopped at the circus, and she rose to get out, I got out first, withoutrestoring the parcel, and stood to hand her out, and then give it back. Not yet could I see her face; but she accepted my hand, and with athrill of amazement, I felt a pressure on mine, which surely could benobody's but Lizzie's. And it was Lizzie sure enough! I kept the parcel;she put her arm in mine, and we crossed the street together, without aword spoken. 

"'Lizzie!' I said, when we got into a quieter part. 

"'Ralph!' she said, and pressed closer to my side. 

"'How did you come here?'

"'Ah! I couldn't escape you. '

"'How did you come here?' I repeated. 

"'You did not think, ' she answered, with a low musical laugh, 'that Iwas going to send you away to work, and take no share in it myself!'

"And then out came the whole truth. As soon as I had left, she set aboutfinding a situation, for she was very clever with her needle andscissors. Her mother could easily do without her, as her elder sisterwas at home; and her absence would relieve their scanty means. She hadbeen more fortunate than she could have hoped, and had found a goodsituation with a dressmaker in Bond Street. Her salary was not large, but it was likely to increase, and she had nothing to pay for food orlodging; while, like myself, she was well provided with clothes, andhad, besides, facilities for procuring more. And to make a long story asshort as now may be, there she remained in her situation as long as Iremained in mine; and every quarter she brought me all she could spareof her salary for the Jew to gorge upon. "

"And you took it?" I said, rather inadvertently. 

"Took it! Yes. I took it--thankfully as I would the blessing of heaven. To have refused it would have argued me unworthy of _her_. Weunderstood each other too well for anything else. She shortened mypurgatory by a whole year--my Lizzie! It is over now; but none of itwill be over to all eternity. She made a man of me. "

A pause followed, as was natural, and neither spoke for some moments. The ends of our cigars had been thrown away long ago, but I did notthink of offering another. At length I said, for the sake of sayingsomething:

"And you met pretty often, I daresay?"

"Every Sunday at church. "

"Of all places, the place where you ought to have met. "

"It was. We met in a quiet old city church, where there was nothing toattract us but the loneliness, the service, and the bones of Milton. "

"And when you had achieved your end--"

"It was but a means to an end. I went at once to a certain bishop; toldhim the whole story, not in quite such a lengthy shape as I have told itto you; and begged him to reinstate me in my office. "

"And what did he say?"

"Nothing. The good man did not venture upon many words. He held out hishand to me; shook mine warmly; and here I am, you see, curate of St. Thomas's, Purleybridge, and husband of Lizzie Payton. Am I not afortunate fellow?"

"You are, " I said, with emphasis, rising to take my leave. "But it istoo bad of me to occupy so much of your time on a Saturday. "

"Don't be uneasy about that. I shall preach all the better for it. "

As I passed the parlour door, it was open, and Lizzie was busy with ababy's frock. I think I should have known it for one, even if I had notbeen put on the scent. She nodded kindly to me as I passed out. I knewshe was not one of the demonstrative sort, else I should have beentroubled that she did not speak to me. I thought afterwards that shesuspected, from the sustained sound of her husband's voice, that he hadbeen telling his own story; and that therefore she preferred letting mego away without speaking to me that morning. 

"What a story for our club!" thought I. "Surely that would do Adela goodnow. "

But of course I saw at once that it would not do. I could not for amoment wish that the curate should tell it. Yet I did wish that Adelacould know it. So I have written it now; and there it is, as nearly ashe told it, as I could manage to record it. 

The next day was Sunday. And here is a part of the curate's sermon. 

"My friends, I will give you a likeness, or a parable, which I thinkwill help you to understand what is the matter with you all. For you allhave something the matter with you; and most of you know this to be thecase; though you may not know what is the matter. And those of you thatfeel nothing amiss are far the worst off. Indeed you are; for how arethings to be set right if you do not even know that there is anything tobe set right? There is the greatest danger of everything growing muchworse, before you find out that anything is wrong. 

"But now for my parable. 

"It is a cold winter forenoon, with the snow upon everything out ofdoors. The mother has gone out for the day, and the children are amusingthemselves in the nursery--pretending to make such things as men make. But there is one among them who joins in their amusement only by fitsand starts. He is pale and restless, yet inactive. --His mother is away. True, he is not well. But he is not very unwell; and if she were athome, he would take his share in everything that was going on, with asmuch enjoyment as any of them. But as it is, his fretfulness andpettishness make no allowance for the wilfulness of his brothers andsisters; and so the confusions they make in the room, carry confusioninto his heart and brain; till at length a brighter noon entices theothers out into the snow. 

"Glad to be left alone, he seats himself by the fire and tries to read. But the book he was so delighted with yesterday, is dull today. He looksup at the clock and sighs, and wishes his mother would come home. Againhe betakes himself to his book, and the story transports his imaginationto the great icebergs on the polar sea. But the sunlight has left them, and they no longer gleam and glitter and sparkle, as if spangled withall the jewels of the hot tropics, but shine cold and threatening asthey tower over the ice-bound ship. He lays down the tale, and takes upa poem. But it too is frozen. The rhythm will not flow. And the sadfeeling arises in his heart, that it is not so very beautiful, afterall, as he had used to think it. 

"'Is there anything beautiful?' says the poor boy at length, and wandersto the window. But the sun is under a cloud; cold, white, and cheerless, like death, lies the wide world out of doors; and the prints of hismother's feet in the snow, all point towards the village, and away fromhome. His head aches; and he cannot eat his dinner. He creeps up stairsto his mother's room. There the fire burns bright, and through thewindow falls a ray of sunlight. But the fire and the very sunlight arewintry and sad. 'Oh, when will mother be home?' He lays himself in acorner amongst soft pillows, and rests his head; but it is no nest forhim, for the covering wings are not there. The bright-coloured curtainslook dull and grey; and the clock on the chimney-piece will not hastenits pace one second, but is very monotonous and unfeeling. Poor child!Is there any joy in the world? Oh yes; but it always clings to themother, and follows her about like a radiance, and she has taken it withher. Oh, when will she be home? The clock strikes as if it meantsomething, and then straightway goes on again with the old wearisometic-tac. 

"He can hardly bear it. The fire burns up within, daylight goes downwithout; the near world fades into darkness; the far-off worlds brightenand come forth, and look from the cold sky into the warm room; and theboy stares at them from the couch, and watches the motion of one ofthem, like the flight of a great golden beetle, against the divisions ofthe window-frame. Of this, too, he grows weary. Everything around himhas lost its interest. Even the fire, which is like the soul of theroom, within whose depths he had so often watched for strange forms andimages of beauty and terror, has ceased to attract his tired eyes. Heturns his back to it, and sees only its flickerings on the walls. To anyone else, looking in from the cold frosty night, the room would appearthe very picture of afternoon comfort and warmth; and he, if he weredescried thus nestling in its softest, warmest nook, would be counted ablessed child, without care, without fear, made for enjoyment, andknowing only fruition. But the mother is gone; and as that flame-lightedroom would appear to the passing eye, without the fire, and with but asingle candle to thaw the surrounding darkness and cold, so its thatchild's heart without the presence of the mother. 

"Worn out at length with loneliness and mental want, he closes his eyes, and after the slow lapse of a few more empty moments, re-opens them onthe dusky ceiling, and the grey twilight window; no--on two eyes nearabove him, and beaming upon him, the stars of a higher and holier heaventhan that which still looks in through the unshaded windows. They arethe eyes of the mother, looking closely and anxiously on her sick boy. 'Mother, mother!' His arms cling around her neck, and pull down her faceto his. 

"His head aches still, but the heart-ache is gone. When candles arebrought, and the chill night is shut out of doors and windows, and thechildren are all gathered around the tea-table, laughing and happy, noone is happier, though he does not laugh, than the sick child, who lieson the couch and looks at his mother. Everything around is full ofinterest and use, glorified by the radiation of her presence. Nothingcan go wrong. The splendour returns to the tale and the poem. Sicknesscannot make him wretched. Now when he closes his eyes, his spirit daresto go forth wandering under the shining stars and above the sparklingsnow; and nothing is any more dull and unbeautiful. When night draws on, and he is laid in his bed, her voice sings him, and her hand sootheshim, to sleep; nor do her influences vanish when he forgets everythingin sleep; for he wakes in the morning well and happy, made whole by hisfaith in his mother. A power has gone forth from her love to heal andrestore him. 

"Brothers, sisters! do I not know your hearts from my own?--sick hearts, which nothing can restore to health and joy but the presence of Him whois Father and Mother both in one. Sunshine is not gladness, because yousee him not. The stars are far away, because He is not near; and theflowers, the smiles of old Earth, do not make you smile, because, although, thank God! you cannot get rid of the child's need, you haveforgotten what it is the need of. The winter is dreary and dull, because, although you have the homeliest of homes, the warmest ofshelters, the safest of nests to creep into and rest--though the mostcheerful of fires is blazing for you, and a table is spread, waiting torefresh your frozen and weary hearts--you have forgot the way thither, and will not be troubled to ask the way; you shiver with the cold andthe hunger, rather than arise you say, 'I will go to my Father;' youwill die in the storm rather than fight the storm; you will lie down inthe snow rather than tread it under foot. The heart within you cries outfor something, and you let it cry. It is crying for its God--for itsfather and mother and home. And all the world will look dull andgrey--and it if does not look so now, the day will come when it mustlook so--till your heart is satisfied and quieted with the knownpresence of Him in whom we live and move and have our being. "

CHAPTER III. 

THE SHADOWS. 

It was again my turn to read. I opened my manuscript and had just openedmy mouth as well, when I was arrested for a moment. For, happening toglance to the other side of the room, I saw that Percy had thrownhimself at full length on a couch, opposite to that on which Adela wasseated, and was watching her face with all his eyes. But his look didnot express love so much as jealousy. Indeed I had seen small sign ofhis being attached to her. If she had encouraged him, which certainlyshe did not, I daresay his love might have come out; but I presume thathe had been comfortably content until now, when perhaps some remark ofhis mother had made him fear a rival. Mischief of some sort wasevidently brewing. A human cloud, surcharging itself with electric fire, lay swelling on the horizon of our little assembly; but I did notanticipate much danger from any storm that could break from such aquarter. I believed that as far as my good friend, the colonel, wasconcerned, Adela might at least refuse whom she pleased. Whether shemight find herself at equal liberty to choose whom she pleased, was aquestion that I was unprepared to answer. And I could not think aboutit now. I had to read. So I gave out the title--and went on:

"THE SHADOWS. 

"Old Ralph Rinkelmann made his living by comic sketches, and all butlost it again by tragic poems. So he was just the man to be chosen kingof the fairies, for in Fairy-land the sovereignty is elective. "

 * * * * *

"But, uncle, " interrupted Adela, "you said it was not to be afairy-tale. "

"Well, I don't think you will call it one, when you have heard it, "I answered. "But I am not particular as to names. The fairies havenot much to do with it anyhow. "

"I beg your pardon, uncle, " rejoined my niece; and I went on. 

 * * * * *

"They did not mean to insist on his residence; for they needed hispresence only on special occasions. But they must get hold of himsomehow, first of all, in order to make him king. Once he was crowned, they could get him as often as they pleased; but before this ceremony, there was a difficulty. For it is only between life and death that thefairies have power over grown-up mortals, and can carry them off totheir country. So they had to watch for an opportunity. 

"Nor had they to wait long. For old Ralph was taken dreadfully ill; andwhile hovering between life and death, they carried him off, and crownedhim king of Fairy-land. But after he was crowned, it was no wonder, considering the state of his health, that he should not be able to sitquite upright on the throne of Fairy-land; or that, in consequence, allthe gnomes and goblins, and ugly, cruel things that live in the holesand corners of the kingdom, should take advantage of his condition, andrun quite wild, playing him, king as he was, all sorts of tricks;crowding about his throne, climbing up the steps, and actuallyscrambling and quarrelling like mice about his ears and eyes, so that hecould see and think of nothing else. But I am not going to tell anythingmore about this part of his adventures just at present. By strong andsustained efforts, he succeeded, after much trouble and suffering, inreducing his rebellious subjects to order. They all vanished to theirrespective holes and corners; and King Ralph, coming to himself, foundhimself in his bed, half propped up with pillows. 

"But the room was full of dark creatures, which gambolled about in thefirelight in such a strange, huge, but noiseless fashion, that hethought at first that some of his rebellious goblins had not beensubdued with the rest, and had followed him beyond the bounds ofFairy-land into his own private house in London. How else could thesemad, grotesque hippopotamus-calves make their ugly appearance in RalphRinkelmann's bedroom? But he soon found out, that although they werelike the under-ground goblins, they were very different as well, andwould require quite different treatment. He felt convinced that theywere his subjects too, but that he must have overlooked them somehow athis late coronation--if indeed they had been present; for he could notrecollect that he had seen anything just like them before. He resolved, therefore, to pay particular attention to their habits, ways, andcharacters; else he saw plainly that they would soon be too much forhim; as indeed this intrusion into this chamber, where Mrs. Rinkelmann, who must be queen if he was king, sat taking some tea by the fire-side, plainly indicated. But she, perceiving that he was looking about himwith a more composed expression than his face had worn for many days, started up, and came quickly and quietly to his side, and her face wasbright with gladness. Whereupon the fire burned up more cheerily; andthe figures became more composed and respectful in their behaviour, retreating towards the wall like well-trained attendants. Then the kingof Fairy-land had some tea and dry toast, and leaning back on hispillows, nearly fell asleep; but not quite, for he still watched theintruders. 

"Presently the queen left the room to give some of the young princes andprincesses their tea; and the fire burned lower; and behold, the figuresgrew as black, and as mad in their gambols, as ever! Their favouritegames seemed to be _Hide and Seek; Touch and Go; Grin and Vanish;_and many other such; and all in the king's bed-chamber, too; so that itwas quite alarming. It was almost as bad as if the house had beenhaunted by certain creatures, which shall be nameless in a fairy-story, because with them fairy-land will not willingly have much to do. 

"'But it is a mercy that they have their slippers on!' said the king tohimself; for his head ached. 

"As he lay back, with his eyes half-shut and half-open, too tired to paylonger attention to their games, but, on the whole, considerably moreamused than offended with the liberties they took, for they seemedgood-natured creatures, and more frolicsome than positivelyill-mannered, he became suddenly aware that two of them had steppedforward from the walls, upon which, after the manner of great spiders, most of them preferred sprawling, and now stood in the middle of thefloor, at the foot of his majesty's bed, becking, and bowing, andducking in the most grotesquely obsequious manner; while every now andthen they turned solemnly round upon one heel, evidently consideringthat motion the highest token of homage they could show. 

"'What do you want?' said the king. 

"'That it may please your majesty to be better acquainted with us, 'answered they. 'We are your majesty's subjects. '

"'I know you are: I shall be most happy, ' answered the king. 

"'We are not what your majesty takes us for, though. We are not sofoolish as your majesty thinks us. '

"'It is impossible to take you for anything that I know of, ' rejoinedthe king, who wished to make them talk, and said whatever cameuppermost;--'for soldiers, sailors, or anything: you will not standstill long enough. I suppose you really belong to the fire-brigade; atleast, you keep putting its light out. '

"'Don't jest, please your majesty. ' And as they said the words, for theyboth spoke at once throughout the interview, they performed a gravesomerset, towards the king. 

"'Not jest!' retorted he; 'and with you? Why, you do nothing but jest. What are you?'

"'The Shadows, sire. And when we do jest, sire, we always jest inearnest. But perhaps your majesty does not see us distinctly. '

"'I see you perfectly well, ' replied the king. 

"'Permit me, however, ' rejoined one of the Shadows; and as he spoke, heapproached the king, and lifting a dark fore-finger, drew it lightly, but carefully, across the ridge of his forehead, from temple to temple. The king felt the soft gliding touch go, like water, into every hollow, and over the top of every height of that mountain-chain of thought. Hehad involuntarily closed his eyes during the operation, and when heunclosed them again, as soon as the finger was withdrawn, he found thatthey were opened in more senses than one. The room appeared to haveextended itself on all sides, till he could not exactly see where thewalls were; and all about it stood the Shadows motionless. They weretall and solemn; rather awful, indeed, in their appearance, notwithstanding many remarkable traits of grotesqueness, looking, infact, just like the pictures of Puritans drawn by Cavaliers, with longarms, and very long, thin legs, from which hung large loose feet, whilein their countenances length of chin and nose predominated. Thesolemnity of their mien, however, overcame all the oddity of their form, so that they were very _eerie_ indeed to look at, dressed as theyall were in funereal black. But a single glance was all that the kingwas allowed to have; for the former operator waved his dusky palm acrosshis vision, and once more the king saw only the fire-lighted walls, anddark shapes flickering about upon them. The two who had spoken for therest seemed likewise to have vanished. But at last the king discoveredthem, standing one on each side of the fire-place. They kept close tothe chimney-wall, and talked to each other across the length of thechimney-piece; thus avoiding the direct rays of the fire, which, thoughlight is necessary to their appearing to human eyes, do not agree withthem at all--much less give birth to them, as the king was soon tolearn. After a few minutes, they again approached the bed, and spokethus:

"'It is now getting dark, please your majesty. We mean--out of doors inthe snow. Your majesty may see, from where he is lying, the cold lightof its great winding-sheet--a famous carpet for the Shadows to danceupon, your majesty. All our brothers and sisters will be at church now, before going to their night's work. '

"'Do they always go to church before they go to work?'

"'They always go to church first. '

"'Where is it?'

"'In Iceland. Would your majesty like to see it?'

"'How can I go and see it, when, as you know very well, I am ill in bed?Besides I should be sure to take cold in a frosty night like this, evenif I put on the blankets, and took the feather-bed for a muff. '

"A sort of quivering passed over their faces, which seemed to be theirmode of laughing. The whole shape of the face shook and fluctuated as ifit had been some dark fluid; till by slow degrees of gathering calm, itsettled into its former rest. Then one of them drew aside the curtainsof the bed, and, the window-curtains not having been yet drawn, the kingbeheld the white glimmering night outside, struggling with the heaps ofdarkness that tried to quench it; and the heavens full of stars, flashing and sparkling like live jewels. The other Shadow went towardsthe fire and vanished in it. 

"Scores of Shadows immediately began an insane dance all about the room;disappearing, one after the other, through the uncovered window, andgliding darkly away over the face of the white snow; for the windowlooked at once on a field of snow. In a few moments, the room was quitecleared of them; but instead of being relieved by their absence, theking felt immediately as if he were in a dead house, and could hardlybreathe for the sense of emptiness and desolation that fell upon him. But as he lay looking out on the snow, which stretched blank and widebefore him, he spied in the distance a long dark line which drew nearerand nearer, and showed itself at last to be all the Shadows, walking ina double row, and carrying in the midst of them something like a bier. They vanished under the window, but soon reappeared, having somehowclimbed up the wall of the house; for they entered in perfect order bythe window, as if melting through the transparency of the glass. 

"They still carried the bier or litter. It was covered with richestfurs, and skins of gorgeous wild beasts, whose eyes were replaced bysapphires and emeralds, that glittered and gleamed in the fire andsnow-light. The outermost skin sparkled with frost, but the inside oneswere soft and warm and dry as the down under a swan's wing. The Shadowsapproached the bed, and set the litter upon it. Then a number of thembrought a huge fur-robe, and wrapping it round the king, laid him on thelitter in the midst of the furs. Nothing could be more gentle andrespectful than the way in which they moved him; and he never thought ofrefusing to go. Then they put something on his head, and, lifting thelitter, carried him once round the room, to fall into order. As hepassed the mirror, he saw that he was covered with royal ermine, andthat his head wore a wonderful crown--of gold set with none but redstones: rubies and carbuncles and garnets, and others whose names hecould not tell, glowed gloriously around his head, like the salamandrineessence of all the Christmas fires over the world. A sceptre lay besidehim--a rod of ebony, surmounted by a cone-shaped diamond, which, cut ina hundred facets, flashed all the hues of the rainbow, and threwcoloured gleams on every side, that looked like shadows more etherialthan those that bore him. Then the Shadows rose gently to the window, passed through it, and sinking slowing upon the field of outstretchedsnow, commenced an orderly gliding rather than march along the frozensurface. They took it by turns to bear the king, as they sped with theswiftness of thought, in a straight line towards the north. The polestarrose above their heads with visible rapidity; for indeed they movedquite as fast as the sad thoughts, though not with all the speed ofhappy desires. England and Scotland slid past the litter of the king ofthe Shadows. Over rivers and lakes they skimmed and glided. They climbedthe high mountains, and crossed the valleys with an unfelt bound; tillthey came to John-o'-Groat's house and the northern sea. The sea was notfrozen; for all the stars shone as clear out of the deeps below as theyshone out of the deeps above; and as the bearers slid along theblue-grey surface, with never a furrow in their track, so clear was thewater beneath, that the king saw neither surface, bottom, nor substanceto it, and seemed to be gliding only through the blue sphere of heaven, with the stars above him, and the stars below him, and between the starsand him nothing but an emptiness, where, for the first time in his life, his soul felt that it had room enough. 

"At length they reached the rocky shores of Iceland, where they landed, still pursuing their journey. All this time the king felt no cold; forthe red stones in his crown kept him warm, and the emerald and sapphireeyes of the wild beasts kept the frosts from settling upon his litter. 

"Oftentimes upon their way, they had to pass through forests, caverns, and rock-shadowed paths, where it was so dark that at first the kingfeared he would lose his Shadows altogether. But as soon as they enteredsuch places, the diamond in his sceptre began to shine and glow andflash, sending out streams of light of all the colours that painter'ssoul could dream of; in which light the Shadows grew livelier andstronger than ever, speeding through the dark ways with an all butblinding swiftness. In the light of the diamond, too, some of theirforms became more simple and human, while others seemed only to breakout into a yet more untamable absurdity. Once, as they passed through acave, the king actually saw some of their eyes--strange shadow-eyes: hehad never seen any of their eyes before. But at the same moment when hesaw their eyes, he knew their faces too, for they turned them full uponhim for an instant; and the other Shadows, catching sight of these, shrank and shivered, and nearly vanished. Lovely faces they were; butthe king was very thoughtful after he saw them, and continued rathertroubled all the rest of the journey. He could not account for thosefaces being there, and the faces of Shadows too, with living eyes. "

 * * * * *

"What does that mean?" asked Adela. 

And I am rather ashamed to say that I could only answer, "I am notsure, " and make haste to go on again. 

 * * * * *

"At last they climbed up the bed of a little stream, and then passingthrough a narrow rocky defile, came out suddenly upon the side of amountain, overlooking a blue frozen lake in the very heart of mightyhills. Overhead the _aurora borealis_ was shivering and flashinglike a battle of ten thousand spears. Underneath, its beams passedfaintly over the blue ice and the sides of the snow clad mountains, whose tops shot up like huge icicles all about, with here and there astar sparkling on the very tip of one. But as the northern lights in thesky above, so wavered and quivered, and shot hither and thither, theShadows on the surface of the lake below; now gathering in groups, andnow shivering asunder; now covering the whole surface of the lake, andanon condensed into one dark knot in the centre. Every here and there onthe white mountains, might be seen two or three shooting away towardsthe tops, and vanishing beyond them. Their number was gradually, thoughhardly visibly, diminishing. 

"'Please your majesty, ' said the Shadows, 'this is our church--theChurch of the Shadows. '

"And so saying, the king's body-guard set down the litter upon a rock, and mingled with the multitudes below. They soon returned, however, andbore the king down into the middle of the lake. All the Shadows camecrowding round him, respectfully but fearlessly; and sure never such agrotesque assembly revealed itself before to mortal eyes. The king hadseen all kind of gnomes, goblins, and kobolds at his coronation; butthey were quite rectilinear figures, compared with the insanelawlessness of form in which the Shadows rejoiced; and the wildestgambols of the former, were orderly dances of ceremony, beside theapparently aimless and wilful contortions of figure, and metamorphosesof shape, in which the latter indulged. They retained, however, all thetime, to the surprise of the king, an identity, each of his own type, inexplicably perceptible through every change. Indeed this preservationof the primary idea of each form, was quite as wonderful as thebewildering and ridiculous alterations to which the form itself wasevery moment subjected. 

"'What are you?' said the king, leaning on his elbow, and looking aroundhim. 

"'The Shadows, your majesty, ' answered several voices at once. 

"'What Shadows?'

"'The human Shadows. The Shadows of men, and women, and their children. '

"'Are you not the shadows of chairs, and tables, and poker, and tongs, just as well?'

"At this question a strange jarring commotion went through the assemblywith a shock. Several of the figures shot up as high as the aurora, butinstantly settled down again to human size, as if overmastering theirfeelings, out of respect to him who had roused them. One who had boundedto the highest visible icy peak, and as suddenly returned, now elbowedhis way through the rest, and made himself spokesman for them during theremaining part of the dialogue. 

"'Excuse our agitation, your majesty, ' said he. 'I see your majesty hasnot yet thought proper to make himself acquainted with our nature andhabits. '

"'I wish to do so now, ' replied the king. 

"'We are the Shadows, ' repeated the Shadow, solemnly. 

"'Well?' said the king. 

"'We do not often appear to men. '

"'Ha!' said the king. 

"'We do not belong to the sunshine at all. We go through it unseen, andonly by a passing chill do men recognize an unknown presence. '

"'Ha!' said the king, again. 

"'It is only in the twilight of the fire, or when one man or woman isalone with a single candle, or when any number of people are all feelingthe same thing at once, making them one, that we show ourselves, and thetruth of things. 

"'Can that be true that loves the night?' said the king. 

"'The darkness is the nurse of light, ' answered the Shadow. 

"'Can that be true which mocks at forms?' said the king. 

"'Truth rides abroad in shapeless storms, ' answered the Shadow. 

"'Ha! ha!' thought Ralph Rinkelmann, 'it rhymes. The shadow caps myquestions with his answers. --Very strange!' And he grew thoughtfulagain. 

"The Shadow was the first to resume. 

"'Please your majesty, may we present our petition?'

"'By all means, ' replied the king. 'I am not well enough to receive itin proper state. '

"'Never mind, your majesty. We do not care for much ceremony; and indeednone of us are quite well at present. The subject of our petition weighsupon us. '

"'Go on, ' said the king. 

"'Sire, ' began the Shadow, 'our very existence is in danger. The varioussorts of artificial light, both in houses and in men, women andchildren, threaten to end our being. The use and the disposition ofgaslights, especially high in the centres, blind the eyes by which alonewe can be perceived. We are all but banished from towns. We are driveninto villages and lonely houses, chiefly old farm-houses, out of which, even, our friends the fairies are fast disappearing. We thereforepetition our king, by the power of his art, to restore us to our rightsin the house itself, and in the hearts of its dwellers. '

"'But, ' said the king, 'you frighten the children. '

"'Very seldom, your majesty; and then only for their good. We seldomseek to frighten anybody. We only want to make people silent andthoughtful; to awe them a little, your majesty. '

"'You are much more likely to make them laugh, ' said the king. 

"'Are we?' said the Shadow. 

"And approaching the king one step, he stood quite still for a moment. The diamond of the king's sceptre shot out a vivid flame of violetlight, and the king stared at the Shadow in silence, and his lipquivered. "

 * * * * *

"Now what does that mean?" said Adela, again. 

"How can I tell?" I answered, and went on:

 * * * * *

"'It is only, ' resumed the Shadow, 'when our thoughts are not fixed uponany particular object, that our bodies are subject to all the vagariesof elemental influences. Generally amongst worldly men and frivolouswomen, we only attach ourselves to some article of furniture or ofdress; and they never doubt that we are mere foolish and vague resultsof the dashing of the waves of the light against the solid forms ofwhich their houses are full. We do not care to tell them the truth, forthey would never see it. But let the worldly man----or the frivolouswoman----and then----'

"At each of the pauses indicated, the mass of Shadows throbbed andheaved with emotion, but soon settled again into comparative stillness. Once more the Shadow addressed himself to speak. But suddenly they alllooked up, and the king, following their gaze, saw that the aurora hadbegun to pale. 

"'The moon is rising, ' said the Shadow. As soon as she looks over themountains into the valley, we must be gone, for we have plenty to do bythe moon: we are powerful in her light. But if your majesty will comehere to-morrow night, your majesty may learn a great deal more about us, and judge for himself whether it be fit to accord our petition; for thenwill be our grand annual assembly, in which we report to our chiefs thedeeds we have attempted, and the good or bad success we have had. '

"'If you send for me, ' replied the king, 'I will come. '

"Ere the Shadow could reply, the tip of the moon's crescent horn peepedup from behind an icy pinnacle, and one slender ray fell on the lake. Itshone upon no Shadows. Ere the eye of the king could again seek theearth after beholding the first brightness of the moon's resurrection, they had vanished; and the surface of the lake glittered cold and bluein the pale moonlight. 

"There the king lay, alone in the midst of the frozen lake, with themoon staring at him. But at length he heard from somewhere a voice thathe knew. 

"'Will you take another cup of tea, dear?' said Mrs. Rinkelmann; andRalph, coming slowly to himself, found that he was lying in his own bed. 

"'Yes, I will, ' he answered; 'and rather a large piece of toast, if youplease; for I have been a long journey since I saw you last. '

"'He has not come to himself quite, ' said Mrs. Rinkelmann, between herand herself. 

"'You would be rather surprised, ' continued Ralph, 'if I told you whereI had been, and all about it. '

"'I daresay I should, ' responded his wife. 

"'Then I will tell you, ' rejoined Ralph. 

"But at that moment, a great Shadow bounced out of the fire with asingle huge leap, and covered the whole room. Then it settled in onecorner, and Ralph saw it shaking its fist at him from the end of apreposterous arm. So he took the hint, and held his peace. And it was aswell for him. For I happen to know something about the Shadows too; andI know that if he had told his wife all about it just then, they wouldnot have sent for him the following evening. 

"But as the king, after taking his tea and toast, lay and looked abouthim, the dancing shadows in his room seemed to him odder and moreinexplicable than ever. The whole chamber was full of mystery. So itgenerally was, but now it was more mysterious than ever. After all thathe had seen in the Shadow-church, his own room and its shadows were yetmore wonderful and unintelligible than those. 

"This made it the more likely that he had seen a true vision; for, instead of making common things look common place, as a false visionwould have done, it made common things disclose the wonderful that wasin them. 

"'The same applied to all true art, ' thought Ralph Rinkelmann. 

"The next afternoon, as the twilight was growing dusky, the king laywondering whether or not the Shadows would fetch him again. He wantedvery much to go, for he had enjoyed the journey exceedingly, and helonged, besides, to hear some of the Shadows tell their stories. But thedarkness grew deeper and deeper, and the Shadows did not come. The causewas, that Mrs. Rinkelmann sat by the fire in the gloaming; and theycould not carry off the king while she was there. Some of them tried tofrighten her away, by playing the oddest pranks on the walls, and floor, and ceiling; but altogether without effect: the queen only smiled, forshe had a good conscience. Suddenly, however, a dreadful scream washeard from the nursery, and Mrs. Rinkelmann rushed up stairs to see whatwas the matter. No sooner had she gone, than the two warders of thechimney-corners stepped out into the middle of the room, and said, in alow voice:

"'Is your majesty ready?'

"'Have you no hearts?' said the king; 'or are they as black as yourfaces? Did you not hear the child scream? I must know what is the matterwith her before I go. '

"'Your majesty may keep his mind easy on that point, ' replied thewarders. 'We had tried everything we could think of, to get rid of hermajesty the queen, but without effect. So a young madcap Shadow, halfagainst the will of the older ones of us, slipped up stairs into thenursery; and has, no doubt, succeeded in appalling the baby, for he isvery lithe and long-legged. --Now, your majesty. '

"'I will have no such tricks played in my nursery, ' said the king, rather angrily. 'You might put the child beside itself. '

"'Then there would be twins, your majesty. And we rather like twins. '

"'None of your miserable jesting! You might put the child out of herwits. '

"'Impossible, sire; for she has not got into them yet. '

"'Go away, ' said the king. 

"'Forgive us, your majesty. Really, it will do the child good; for thatShadow will, all her life, be to her a symbol of what is ugly and bad. When she feels in danger of hating or envying anyone, that Shadow willcome back to her mind, and make her shudder. '

"'Very well, ' said the king. 'I like that. Let us go. '

"The Shadows went through the same ceremonies and preparations asbefore; during which, the young Shadow before-mentioned, contrived tomake such grimaces as kept the baby in terror, and the queen in thenursery, till all was ready. Then with a bound that doubled him upagainst the ceiling, and a kick of his legs six feet out behind him, hevanished through the nursery door, and reached the king's bed-chamberjust in time to take his place with the last who were melting throughthe window in the rear of the litter, and settling down upon the snowbeneath. Away they went, a gliding blackness over the white carpet, asbefore. And it was Christmas Eve. 

"When they came in sight of the mountain-lake, the king saw that it wascrowded over its whole surface with a changeful intermingling ofShadows. They were all talking and listening alternately, in pairs, trios, and groups of every size. Here and there, large companies wereabsorbed in attention to one elevated above the rest, not in a pulpit, or on a platform, but on the stilts of his own legs, elongated for thenonce. The aurora, right overhead, lighted up the lake and the sides ofthe mountains, by sending down from the zenith, nearly to the surface ofthe lake, great folded vapours, luminous with all the colours of a faintrainbow. 

"Many, however, as the words were that passed on all sides, not awhisper of a sound reached the ears of the king: their shadow speechcould not enter his corporeal organs. One of his guides, however, seeingthat the king wanted to hear and could not, went through a strangemanipulation of his head and ears; after which he could hear perfectly, though still only the voice to which, for the time, he directed hisattention. This, however, was a great advantage, and one which the kinglonged to carry back with him to the world of men. 

"The king now discovered that this was not merely the church of theShadows, but their news-exchange at the same time. For, as the Shadowshave no writing or printing, the only way in which they can make eachother acquainted with their doings and thinkings, is to meet and talk atthis word-mart and parliament of shades. And as, in the world, peopleread their favourite authors, and listen to their favourite speakers, sohere the Shadows seek their favourite Shadows, listen to theiradventures, and hear generally what they have to say. 

"Feeling quite strong, the king rose and walked about amongst them, wrapped in his ermine robe, with his red crown on his head, and hisdiamond sceptre in his hand. Every group of Shadows to which he drewnear, ceased talking as soon as they saw him approach; but at a nod theywent on again directly, conversing and relating and commenting, as if noone was there of other kind or of higher rank than themselves. So theking heard a good many stories, at some of which he laughed, and at someof which he cried. But if the stories that the Shadows told wereprinted, they would make a book that no publisher could produce fastenough to satisfy the buyers. I will record some of the things that theking heard, for he told them to me soon after. In fact, I was for sometime his private secretary, and that is how I come to know all about hisadventures. 

"'I made him confess before a week was over, ' said a gloomy old Shadow. 

"'But what was the good of that?' said a pert young one; 'that could notundo what was done. '

"'Yes, it might. '

"'What! bring the dead to life?'

"'No; but comfort the murderer. I could not bear to see the pitiablemisery he was in. He was far happier with the rope round his neck, thanhe was with the purse in his pocket. I saved him from killing himselftoo. '

"'How did you make him confess?'

"'Only by wallowing on the wall a little. '

"'How could that make him tell?'

"'_He_ knows. '

"He was silent; and the king turned to another. 

"'I made a fashionable mother repent. '

"'How?' broke from several voices, in whose sound was mingled a touch ofincredulity. 

"'Only by making a little coffin on the wall, ' was the reply. 

"'Did the fashionable mother then confess?'

"'She had nothing more to confess than everybody knew. '

"'What did everybody know then?'

"'That she might have been kissing a living child, when she followed adead one to the grave. --The next will fare better. '

"'I put a stop to a wedding, ' said another. 

"'Horrid shade!' remarked a poetic imp. 

"'How?' said others. 'Tell us how. '

"'Only by throwing a darkness, as if from the branch of a sconce, overthe forehead of a fair girl. --They are not married yet, and I do notthink they will be. But I loved the youth who loved her. How he started!It was a revelation to him. '

"'But did it not deceive him?'

"'Quite the contrary. '

"'But it was only a shadow from the outside, not a shadow coming throughfrom the soul of the girl. '

"'Yes. You may say so. But it was all that was wanted to let the meaningof her forehead come out--yes, of her whole face, which had now andthen, in the pauses of his passion, perplexed the youth. All of it, curled nostrils, pouting lips, projecting chin, instantly fell intoharmony with that darkness between her eyebrows. The youth understood itin a moment, and went home miserable. And they're not married_yet_. '

"'I caught a toper alone, over his magnum of port, ' said a very darkShadow; 'and didn't I give it him! I made _delirium tremens_ first;and then I settled into a funeral, passing slowly along the whole of thedining-room wall. I gave him plenty of plumes and mourning coaches. Andthen I gave him a funeral service, but I could not manage to make thesurplice white, which was all the better for such a sinner. The wretchstared till his face passed from purple to grey, and actually left hisfifth glass only, unfinished, and took refuge with his wife and childrenin the drawing-room, much to their surprise. I believe he actually dranka cup of tea; and although I have often looked in again, I have neverseen him drinking alone at least. '

"'But does he drink less? Have you done him any good?'

"'I hope so; but I am sorry to say I can't feel sure about it. '

"'Humph! Humph! Humph!' grunted various shadow throats. 

"'I had such fun once!' cried another. 'I made such game of a youngclergyman!'

"'You have no right to make game of any one. '

"'Oh yes, I have--when it is for his good. He used to study hissermons--where do you think?'

"'In his study, of course. '

"'Yes and no. Guess again. '

"'Out amongst the faces in the streets. '

"'Guess again. '

"'In still green places in the country?'

"'Guess again. '

"'In old books?'

"'Guess again. '

"'No, no. Tell us. '

"'In the looking glass. Ha! ha! ha!'

"'He was fair game; fair shadow-game. '

"'I thought so. And I made such fun of him one night on the wall! He hadsense enough to see that it was himself, and very like an ape. So he gotashamed, turned the mirror with its face to the wall, and thought alittle more about his people, and a little less about himself. I wasvery glad; for, please you majesty, '--and here the speaker turnedtowards the king--'we don't like the creatures that live in the mirrors. You call them ghosts, don't you?'

"Before the king could reply, another had commenced. But the mention ofthe clergyman made the king wish to hear one of the shadow-sermons. Sohe turned him towards a long Shadow, who was preaching to a very quietand listening crowd. He was just concluding his sermon. 

"Therefore, dear Shadows, it is the more needful that we love oneanother as much as we can, because that is not much. We have no excusefor not loving as mortals have, for we do not die like them. I supposeit is the thought of that death that makes them hate so much. Thenagain, we go to sleep all day, most of us, and not in the night, as mendo. And you know that we forget every thing that happened the nightbefore; therefore, we ought to love well, for the love is short. Ah!dear Shadow, whom I love now with all my shadowy soul, I shall not lovethee to-morrow eve, I shall not know thee; I shall pass thee in thecrowd and never dream that the Shadow whom I now love is near me then. Happy Shades! for we only remember our tales until we have told themhere, and then they vanish in the shadow-churchyard, where we bury onlyour dead selves. Ah! brethren, who would be a man and remember? Whowould be a man and weep? We ought indeed to love one another, for wealone inherit oblivion; we alone are renewed with eternal birth; wealone have no gathered weight of years. I will tell you the awful fateof one Shadow who rebelled against his nature, and sought to rememberthe past. He said, 'I _will_ remember this eve. ' He fought with thegenial influences of kindly sleep when the sun rose on the awful deadday of light; and although he could not keep quite awake, he dreamed ofthe foregone eve, and he never forgot his dream. Then he tried again thenext night, and the next and the next; and he tempted another Shadow totry it with him. At last their awful fate overtook them; and, instead ofbeing Shadows any longer, they began to have shadows sticking to them;and they thickened and thickened till they vanished out of our world;and they are now condemned to walk the earth, a man and a woman, withdeath behind them, and memories within them. Ah, brother Shades! let uslove one another, for we shall soon forget. We are not men, butShadows. '

"The king turned away, and pitied the poor Shadows far more than theypitied men. 

"'Oh! how we played with a musician one night!' exclaimed one of anothergroup, to which the king had directed a passing thought. He stopped tolisten. --'Up and down we went, like the hammers and dampers on hispiano. But he took his revenge on us. For after he had watched us forhalf an hour in the twilight, he rose and went to his instrument, andplayed a shadow-dance that fixed us all in sound for ever. Each couldtell the very notes meant for him; and as long as he played, we couldnot stop, but went on dancing and dancing after the music, just as themagician--I mean the musician--pleased. And he punished us well; for henearly danced us all off our legs and out of shape, into tired heaps ofcollapsed and palpitating darkness. We wont go near him for some timeagain, if we can only remember it. He had been very miserable all day, he was so poor; and we could not think of any way of comforting himexcept making him laugh. We did not succeed, with our best efforts; butit turned out better than we had expected after all; for hisshadow-dance got him into notice, and he is quite popular now, andmaking money fast. --If he does not take care, we shall have other workto do with him by and by, poor fellow!'

"'I and some others did the same for a poor play-wright once. He had aChristmas piece to write, and not being an original genius, he couldthink of nothing that had not been done already twenty times. I saw thetrouble he was in, and collecting a few stray Shadows, we acted, in dumbshow of course, the funniest bit of nonsense we could think of; and itwas quite successful. The poor fellow watched every motion, roaring withlaughter at us, and delight at the ideas we put into his head. He turnedit all into words and scenes and actions; and the piece came off "with asuccess unprecedented in the annals of the stage;"--at least so said thereporter of the _Punny Palpitator_. '

 * * * * *

"Now don't you try, uncle, there's a dear, to make any fun; for you knowyou can't. It's always a failure, " said Adela, looking as mischievousas she could. "You can only make people cry: you can't make them laugh. So don't try it. It hurts my feelings dreadfully when you fail; and givesme a pain in the back of my neck besides. "

I heard her with delight, but went on, saying:

"I must read what I have written, you monkey!"

 * * * * *

"'But how long we have to look for a chance of doing anything worthdoing!' said a long, thin, especially lugubrious Shadow. 'I have onlydone one deed worth telling, ever since we met last. But I am proud ofthat. '

"'What was it? What was it?' rose from twenty voices. 

"'I crept into a dining-room, one twilight, soon after lastChristmas-day. I had been drawn thither by the glow of a bright firethrough red window-curtains. At first I thought there was no one there, and was on the point of leaving the room, and going out again into thesnowy street, when I suddenly caught the sparkle of eyes, and saw thatthey belonged to a little boy who lay very still on a sofa. I crept intoa dark corner by the sideboard, and watched him. He seemed very sad, anddid nothing but stare into the fire. At last he sighed out: 'I wishmamma would come home. ' 'Poor boy!' thought I, 'there is no help forthat but mamma. ' Yet I would try to while away the time for him. So outof my corner I stretched a long shadow arm, reaching all across theceiling, and pretended to make a grab at him. He was rather frightenedat first; but he was a brave boy, and soon saw that it was all a joke. So when I did it again, he made a clutch at me; and then we had suchfun! For though he often sighed, and wished mamma would come home, healways began again with me; and on we went with the wildest game. Atlast his mother's knock came to the door, and, starting up in delight, he rushed into the hall to meet her, and forgot all about poor black me. But I did not mind that in the least; for when I glided out after himinto the hall, I was well repaid for my trouble, by hearing his mothersay to him: 'Why, Charlie, my dear, you look ever so much better sinceI left you!' At that moment I slipped through the closing door, and asI ran across the snow, I heard the mother say: 'What shadow can that be, passing so quickly?' And Charlie answered with a merry laugh: 'Oh!mamma, I suppose it must be the funny shadow that has been playing suchgames with me, all the time you were out. ' As soon as the door was shut, I crept along the wall, and looked in at the dining-room window. And Iheard his mamma say, as she led him into the room: 'What an imaginationthe boy has!' Ha! ha! ha! Then she looked at him very earnestly for aminute, and the tears came in her eyes; and as she stooped down overhim, I heard the sounds of a mingling kiss and sob. '"

 * * * * *

"Ah, I thought so!" cried Adela, who espied, peeping, that I had thislast tale on a separate slip of paper--"I thought so! That is yours, Mr. Armstrong, and not uncle's at all. He stole it out of your sermon. "

"You are excessively troublesome to-night, Adela, " I rejoined. "But Iconfess the theft. "

"He had quite a right to take what I had done with, Miss Cathcart, " saidthe curate; and once more I resumed. 

 * * * * *

"'I always look for nurseries full of children, ' said another; 'and thiswinter I have been very fortunate. I am sure we belong especially tochildren. One evening, looking about in a great city, I saw through thewindow into a large nursery, where the odious gas had not yet beenlighted. Round the fire sat a company of the most delightful childrenI had ever seen. They were waiting patiently for their tea. It was toogood an opportunity to be lost. I hurried away, and gathering togethertwenty of the best Shadows I could find, returned in a few moments tothe nursery. There we began on the walls one of our best dances. To besure it was mostly extemporized; but I managed to keep it in harmony bysinging this song, which I made as we went on. Of course the childrencould not hear it; they only saw the motions that answered to it. Butwith them they seemed to be very much delighted indeed, as I shallpresently show you. This was the song:

 'Swing, swang, swingle, swuff, Flicker, flacker, fling, fluff! Thus we go, To and fro; Here and there, Everywhere, Born and bred; Never dead, Only gone. 

 On! Come on. Looming, glooming, Spreading, fuming, Shattering, scattering, Parting, darting, Settling, starting, All our life, Is a strife, And a wearying for rest On the darkness' friendly breast. 

 Joining, splitting, Rising, sitting, Laughing, shaking, Sides all aching, Grumbling, grim and gruff. Swingle, swangle, swuff!

 Now a knot of darkness; Now dissolved gloom; Now a pall of blackness Hiding all the room. Flicker, flacker, fluff! Black and black enough!

 Dancing now like demons; Lying like the dead; Gladly would we stop it, And go down to bed! But our work we still must do, Shadow men, as well as you. 

 Rooting, rising, shooting, Heaving, sinking, creeping; Hid in corners crooning; Splitting, poking, leaping, Gathering, towering, swooning. When we're lurking, Yet we're working, For our labour we must do, Shadow men, as well as you. Flicker, flacker, fling, fluff! Swing, swang, swingle, swuff!'

"'How thick the Shadows are!' said one of the children--a thoughtfullittle girl. 

"'I wonder where they come from?' said a dreamy little boy. 

"'I think they grow out of the wall, ' answered the little girl; 'for Ihave been watching them come; first one and then another, and then awhole lot of them. I am sure they grow out of the walls. '

"'Perhaps they have papas and mammas, ' said an older boy, with a smile. 

"'Yes, yes; the doctor brings them in his pocket, ' said anotherconsequential little maiden. 

"'No; I'll tell you, ' said the older boy. 'They're ghosts. '

"'But ghosts are white. '

"'Oh! these have got black coming down the chimney. '

"'No, ' said a curious-looking, white-faced boy of fourteen, who had beenreading by the firelight, and had stopped to hear the little ones talk;'they're body-ghosts; they're not soul-ghosts. '

"A silence followed, broken by the first, the dreamy-eyed boy, who said:

"'I hope they didn't make me;' at which they all burst out laughing, just as the nurse brought in their tea. When she proceeded to light thegas, we vanished. 

"'I stopped a murder, ' cried another. 

"'How? How? How?'

"'I will tell you. --I had been lurking about a sick room for some time, where a miser lay, apparently dying. I did not like the place at all, but I felt as if I was wanted there. There were plenty of lurking placesabout, for it was full of all sorts of old furniture, --especiallycabinets, chests and presses. I believe he had in that room every bit ofthe property he had spent a long life in gathering. And I knew he hadlots of gold in those places; for one night, when his nurse was away, hecrept out of bed, mumbling and shaking, and managed to open one of hischests, though he nearly fell down with the effort. I was peeping overhis shoulder, and such a gleam of gold fell upon me, that it nearlykilled me. But hearing his nurse coming, he slammed the lid down, and Irecovered. I tried very hard, but I could not do him any good. Foralthough I made all sorts of shapes on the walls and ceiling, representing evil deeds that he had done, of which there were plenty tochoose from, I could make no shapes on his brain or conscience. He hadno eyes for anything but gold. And it so happened that his nurse hadneither eyes nor heart for anything else either. 

"'One day as she was seated beside his bed, but where he could not seeher, stirring some gruel in a basin, to cool it from him, I saw her takea little phial from her bosom, and I knew by the expression of her faceboth what it was and what she was going to do with it. Fortunately thecork was a little hard to get out, and this gave me one moment to think. 

"'The room was so crowded with all sorts of things, that although therewere no curtains on the four-post bed to hide from the miser the sightof his precious treasures, there was yet but one spot on the ceilingsuitable for casting myself upon in the shape I wished to assume. Andthis spot was hard to reach. But I discovered that upon this very spotthere was a square gleam of firelight thrown from a strange old dustymirror that stood away in some corner, so I got in front of the fire, spied where the mirror was, threw myself upon it, and bounded from itsface upon the square pool of dim light on the ceiling, assuming, as Ipassed, the shape of an old stooping hag, pouring something from a phialinto a basin. I made the handle of the spoon with my own nose, ha! ha!'

"And the shadow-hand caressed the shadow tip of the shadow-nose, beforethe shadow-tongue resumed. 

"'The old miser saw me. He would not taste the gruel that night, although his nurse coaxed and scolded till they were both weary. Shepretended to taste it, and to think it very good; and at last retiredinto a corner, and made as if she were eating it herself; but I saw thatshe took good care to pour it all out. '

"'But she must either succeed, or starve him, at last. '

"'I will tell you. '

"'But, ' interposed another, 'he was not worth saving. '

"'He might repent, ' said another more benevolent Shadow. 

"'No chance of that, ' returned the former. 'Misers never do. The love ofmoney has less in it to cure itself than any other wickedness into whichwretched men can fall. What a mercy it is to be born a Shadow!Wickedness does not stick to us. What do we care for gold!--Rubbish!'

"'Amen! Amen! Amen!' came from a hundred shadow-voices. 

"'You should have let her murder him, and so have had done with him. '

"'And besides, how was he to escape at last? He could never get rid ofher--could he?'

"'I was going to tell you, ' resumed the narrator, 'only you had so manyshadow-remarks to make, that you would not let me. '

"'Go on; go on. '

"'There was a little grandchild who used to come and see himsometimes--the only creature the miser cared for. Her mother was hisdaughter; but the old man would never see her, because she had marriedagainst his will. Her husband was now dead, but he had not forgiven heryet. After the shadow he had seen, however, he said to himself, as helay awake that night--I saw the words on his face--'How shall I get ridof that old devil? If I don't eat I shall die. I wish little Mary wouldcome to-morrow. Ah! her mother would never serve me so, if I lived ahundred years more. ' He lay awake, thinking such things over and overagain all night long, and I stood watching him from a dark corner; tillthe day spring came and shook me out. When I came back next night, theroom was tidy and clean. His own daughter, a sad-faced, still beautifulwoman, sat by his bedside; and little Mary was curled up on the floor, by the fire, imitating us, by making queer shadows on the ceiling withher twisted hands. But she could not think how ever they got there. Andno wonder, for I helped her to some very unaccountable ones. '

"'I have a story about a grand-daughter, too, ' said another, the momentthat speaker ceased. 

"'Tell it. Tell it. '

"'Last Christmas-day, ' he began, 'I and a troop of us set out in thetwilight, to find some house where we could all have something to do;for we had made up our minds to act together. We tried several, butfound objections to them all. At last we espied a large lonelycountry-house, and hastening to it, we found great preparations makingfor the Christmas-dinner. We rushed into it, scampered all over it, andmade up our minds in a moment that it would do. We amused ourselves inthe nursery first, where there were several children being dressed fordinner. We generally do go to the nursery first, your majesty. This timewe were especially charmed with a little girl about five years old, whoclapped her hands and danced about with delight at the antics weperformed; and we said we would do something for her if we had a chance. The company began to arrive; and at every arrival, we rushed to thehall, and cut wonderful capers of welcome. Between times, we scuddedaway to see how the dressing went on. One girl about eighteen wasdelightful. She dressed herself as if she did not care much about it, but could no help doing it prettily. When she took her last look of thephantom in the glass, she half smiled to it. --But we do not like thosecreatures that come into the mirrors at all, your majesty. We don'tunderstand them. They are dreadful to us. --She looked rather sad andpale, but very sweet and hopeful. We wanted to know all about her, andsoon found out that she was a distant relation and a great favourite ofthe gentleman of the house, an old man, with an expression ofbenevolence mingled with obstinacy and a deep shade of the tyrannical. We could not admire him much; but we would not make up our minds all atonce: Shadows never do. 

"'The dinner-bell rang, and down we hurried. The children all lookedhappy, and we were merry. There was one cross fellow among the servantswaiting, and didn't we plague him! and didn't we get fun out of him!When he was bringing up dishes, we lay in wait for him at every corner, and sprung upon him from the floor, and from over the banisters, anddown from the cornices. He started and stumbled and blundered about, sothat his fellow-servants thought he was tipsy. Once he dropped a plate, and had to pick up the pieces, and hurry away with them. Didn't wepursue him as he went! It was lucky for him his master did not see him;but we took care not to let him get into any real scrape, though hiseyes were quite dazed with the dodging of the unaccountable shadows. Sometimes he thought the walls were coming down upon him; sometimes thatthe floor was gaping to swallow him; sometimes that he would be knockedin pieces by the hurrying to and fro, or be smothered in the blackcrowd. 

"'When the blazing plum-pudding was carried in, we made a perfectshadow-carnival about it, dancing and mumming in the blue flames, likemad demons. And how the children screamed with delight!

"'The old gentleman, who was very fond of children, was laughing hisheartiest laugh, when a loud knock came to the hall-door. The fairmaiden started, turned paler, and then red as the Christmas fire. I sawit, and flung my hands across her face. She was very glad, and I knowshe said in her heart, "You kind Shadow!" which paid me well. Then Ifollowed the rest into the hall, and found there a jolly, handsome, brown-faced sailor, evidently a son of the house. The old man receivedhim with tears in his eyes, and the children with shouts of joy. Themaiden escaped in the confusion, just in time to save herself fromfainting. We crowded about the lamp to hide her retreat, and nearly putit out. The butler could not get it to burn up before she had glidedinto her place again, delighted to find the room so dark. The sailoronly had seen her go, and now he sat down beside her, and, without aword, got hold of her hand in the gloom. But now we all scattered to thewalls and the corners; and the lamp blazed up again, and he let her handgo. 

"'During the rest of the dinner, the old man watched them both, and sawthat there was something between them, and was very angry. For he was animportant man in his own estimation--and they had never consulted him. The fact was, they had never known their own minds till the sailor hadgone upon his last voyage; and had learned each other's only thismoment. --We found out all this by watching them, and then talkingtogether about it afterwards. --The old gentleman saw too, that hisfavourite, who was under such obligation to him for loving her so much, loved his son better than him; and this made him so jealous, that hesoon overshadowed the whole table with his morose looks and shortanswers. That kind of shadowing is very different from ours; and theChristmas dessert grew so gloomy that we Shadows could not bear it, andwere delighted when the ladies rose to go to the drawing-room. Thegentlemen would not stay behind the ladies, even for the sake of thewell-known wine. So the moddy host, notwithstanding his hospitality, was left alone at the table, in the great silent room. We followed thecompany upstairs to the drawing-room, and thence to the nursery forsnap-dragon. While they were busy with this most shadowy of games, nearly all the Shadows crept down stairs again to the dining-room, wherethe old man still sat, gnawing the bone of his own selfishness. Theycrowded into the room, and by using every kind of expansion--blowingthemselves out like soap-bubbles, they succeeded in heaping up the wholeroom with shade upon shade. They clustered thickest about the fire andthe lamp, till at last they almost drowned them in hills of darkness. 

"'Before they had accomplished so much, the children, tired with fun andfrolic, were put to bed. But the little girl of five years old, withwhom we had been so pleased when first we arrived, could not go tosleep. She had a little room of her own; and I had watched her to bed, and now kept her awake by gambolling in the rays of the night-light. When her eyes were once fixed upon me, I took the shape of hergrandfather, representing him on the wall, as he sat in his chair, withhis head bent down, and his arms hanging listlessly by his sides. Andthe child remembered that that was just as she had seen him last; forshe had happened to peep in at the dining-room door, after all the resthad gone up stairs. "What if he should be sitting there still, " thoughtshe, "all alone in the dark!" She scrambled out of bed and crept down. 

"'Meantime the others had made the room below so dark, that only theface and white hair of the old man could be dimly discerned in theshadowy crowd. For he had filled his own mind with shadows, which weShadows wanted to draw out of him. Those shadows are very different fromus, your majesty knows. He was thinking of all the disappointments hehad had in life, and of all the ingratitude he had met with. He thoughtfar more of the good he had done, than the good others had got. "Afterall I have done for them, " said he, with a sigh of bitterness, "not oneof them cares a straw for me. My own children will be glad when I amgone!" At that instant he lifted up his eyes and saw, standing close bythe door, a tiny figure in a long night-gown. The door behind her wasshut. It was my little friend who had crept in noiselessly. A pang oficy fear shot to the old man's heart--but it melted away as fast, for wemade a lane through us for a single ray from the fire to fall on theface of the little sprite; and he thought it was a child of his own thathad died when just the age of her little niece, who now stood lookingfor her grandfather among the Shadows. He thought she had come out ofher grave in the old darkness, to ask why her father was sitting aloneon Christmas-day. And he felt he had no answer to give his little ghost, but one he would be ashamed for her to hear. But the little girl saw himnow. She walked up to him with a childish stateliness--stumbling once ortwice on what seemed her long shroud. Pushing through the crowdedshadows, she reached him, climbed upon his knee, laid her littlelong-haired head on his shoulders, and said: "Ganpa! you goomy? Isn't ityour Kismass-day, too, ganpa?"

"'A new fount of love seemed to burst from the clay of the old man'sheart. He clasped the child to his bosom, and wept. Then, without aword, he rose with her in his arms, carried her up to her room, andlaying her down in her bed, covered her up, kissed her sweet littlemouth unconscious of reproof, and then went to the drawing-room. 

"'As soon as he entered, he saw the culprits in a quiet corner alone. Hewent up to them, took a hand of each, and joining them in both his, said, "God bless you!" Then he turned to the rest of the company, and"Now, " said he, "let's have a Christmas carol. "--And well he might; forthough I have paid many visits to the house, I have never seen him crosssince; and I am sure that must cost him a good deal of trouble. '

"'We have just come from a great palace, ' said another, 'where we knewthere were many children, and where we thought to hear glad voices, andsee royally merry looks. But as soon as we entered, we became aware thatone mighty Shadow shrouded the whole; and that Shadow deepened anddeepened, till it gathered in darkness about the reposing form of a wiseprince. When we saw him, we could move no more, but clung heavily to thewalls, and by our stillness added to the sorrow of the hour. And when wesaw the mother of her people weeping with bowed head for the loss of himin whom she had trusted, we were seized with such a longing to beShadows no longer, but winged angels, which are the white shadows castin heaven from the Light of Light, so to gather around her, and hoverover her with comforting, that we vanished from the walls and foundourselves floating high above the towers of the palace, where we met theangels on their way; and knew that our service was not needed. '

"By this time there was a glimmer of approaching moonlight, and the kingbegan to see several of those stranger Shadows, with human faces andeyes, moving about amongst the crowd. He knew at once that they did notbelong to his dominion. They looked at him, and came near him, andpassed slowly, but they never made any obeisance, or gave sign ofhomage. And what their eyes said to him, the king only could tell. Andhe did not tell. 

"'What are those other Shadows that move through the crowd?' said he toone of his subjects near him. 

"The Shadow started, looked round, shivered slightly, and laid hisfinger on his lips. Then leading the king a little aside, and lookingcarefully about him once more, "'I do not know, ' said he, in a low tone, 'what they are. I have heardof them often, but only once did I ever see any of them before. That waswhen some of us one night paid a visit to a man who sat much alone, andwas said to think a great deal. We saw two of those sitting in the roomwith him, and he was as pale as they were. We could not cross thethreshold, but shivered and shook, and felt ready to melt away. Is notyour majesty afraid of them too?'

"But the king made no answer; and before he could speak again, the moonhad climbed above the mighty pillars of the church of the Shadows, andlooked in at the great window of the sky. 

"The shapes had all vanished; and the king, again lifting up his eyes, saw but the wall of his own chamber, on which flickered the Shadow of aLittle Child. He looked down, and there, sitting on a stool by the fire, he saw one of his own little ones, waiting to say good night to hisfather, and go to bed early, that he might rise as early, and be verygood and happy all Christmas-day. 

"And Ralph Rinkelmann rejoiced that he was a man, and not a Shadow. "

 * * * * *

When I had finished my story, the not unusual silence followed. It wassoon broken by Adela. 

"But what were those other shadows, mysteries in the midst of mystery?"persisted she. 

"My dear, as the little child said shadows were the ghosts of the body, so I say these were the shadows of the mind. --Will that do?"

"I must think. I don't know. I can't trust you. ---I _do_ believe, uncle, you write whatever comes into your head; and then when any oneasks you the meaning of this or that, you hunt round till you find ameaning just about the same size as the thing itself, and stick iton. --Don't you, now?"

"Perhaps _yes_, and perhaps _no_, and perhaps both, " Ianswered. 

"You have the most confounded imagination I ever knew, Smith, my boy!"said the colonel. "You run right away, and leave me to come hobblingafter as I best can. "

"Oh, never mind; I always return to my wife and children, " I answered;and being an old bachelor, this passed for a good joke with thekind-hearted company. No more remarks were made upon my Shadow story, though I was glad to see the curate pondering over it. Before we parted, the usual question of who was to read the next, had to be settled. 

"I proposed, for a change, " said the curate, "that the club meet at myhouse the next time, and that the story be omitted for once. We'll havesome music, and singing, and poetry, and all that sort of thing. What doyou say, Lizzie?"

"With all my heart, " answered Mrs. Armstrong. 

"You forget, " said the colonel, "that Adela is not well enough to go outyet. "

Adela looked as if she thought that was a mistake, and glanced towardsthe doctor. I think Percy caught sight of the glance as it passed him. 

"If I may be allowed to give a professional opinion, " said Harry, "Ithink she could go without the smallest danger, if she were well wrappedup. "

"You can have the carriage, of course, my love, " said her father, "ifyou would like to go. "

"I should very much like to go, " said Adela. 

And so it was settled to the evident contentment of all except themother and son, who, I suppose, felt that Adela was slipping throughtheir fingers, in this strengthening of adverse influences. I was suremyself, that nothing could be better for her, in either view of thecase. Harry did not stay behind to ask her any questions this evening, but left with the rest. 

The next day, the bright frosty weather still continuing, I took Adelaout for a walk. 

"You are much better, I think, my dear, " I said. 

"Very much, " she answered. "I think Mr. Armstrong's prescription isdoing me a great deal of good. It seems like magic. I sleep very wellindeed now. And somehow life seems a much more possible thing than itlooked a week or two ago. And the whole world appears more like the workof God. "

"I am very glad, my dear. If all your new curate tries to teach us betrue, the world need not look very dreary to any of us. "

"But do you believe it all, uncle?"

"Yes I do, my dear. I believe that the grand noble way of thinking ofGod and his will must be the true way, though it never can be grand ornoble enough; and that belief in beauty and truth, notwithstanding somany things that are neither beautiful nor true, is essential to a rightunderstanding of the world. Whatever is not good and beautiful, isdoomed by the very death that is in it; and when we find such things inourselves or in other people, we may take comfort that these must bedestroyed one day, even if it be by that form of divine love whichappears as a consuming fire. "

"But that is very dreadful too, is it not, uncle?"

"Yes, me dear. But there is a refuge from it; and then the fear proves afriend. "

"What refuge?"

"God himself. If you go close up to him, his spirit will become yourspirit, and you will need no fire then. You will find that that which isfire to them that are afar off, is a mighty graciousness to them thatare nigh. They are both the same thing. "

Adela made me no answer. Perhaps I tried to give her more than she wasready to receive. Perhaps she needed more leading, before she would beable to walk in that road. If so, then Providence was leading her; and Ineed not seek to hasten a divine process. 

But at least she enjoyed her walk that bright winter day, and came homewithout being wearied, or the cold getting any victory over her. 

As we passed some cottages on our way home, Adela said--

"There is a poor woman who lives in one of these cottages, who used tobe a servant of ours. She is in bad health, and I dare say is not verywell off in this frost, for her husband is only a labourer. I shouldlike to go and see her. "

"With all my heart, my dear, " I answered. 

"This is the house, " said Adela; and she lifted the latch and went ingently, I following. 

No one had heard our entrance, and when Adela knocked at the inner door, there was no reply. Whereupon she opened the door, and then we saw thewoman seated on one side of the fire, and the man on the other side withhis pipe in his mouth; while between them sat the curate with his handsin his pockets, and his pipe likewise in his mouth. But they wereblowing but a small cloud between them, and were evidently very deep inan earnest conversation. 

I overheard a part of what the cottager was saying, and could not helplistening to the rest. 

"And the man was telling them, sir, that God had picked out so many men, women, and children, to go right away to glory, and left the rest to bedamned for ever and ever in hell. And I up and spoke to him; and 'sir, 'says I, 'if I was tould as how I was to pick out so many out o' mychilderen, and take 'em with me to a fine house, and leave the rest tobe burnt up i' the old one, which o' them would I choose?' 'How can Itell?' says he. 'No doubt, ' says I; 'they aint your sons and darters. But I can. I wouldn't move a foot, sir, but I'd take my chance wi' thepoor things. And, sir, ' says I, 'we're all God's childeren; and which o'us is he to choose, and which is he to leave out? I don't believe he'dknow a bit better how to choose one and leave another than I should, sir--that is, his heart wouldn't let him lose e'er a one o' us, or he'dbe miserable for ever, as I should be, if I left one o' mine i' thefire. '"

Here Adela had the good sense to close the door again, yet more softlythan she had opened it; and we retired. 

"That's the right sort of man, " said I, "to get a hold of the poor. Heunderstands them, being himself as poor in spirit as they are inpocket--or, indeed, I might have said, as he is in pocket himself. Butdepend upon it he comes out both ways poorer than he went in. "

"It should not be required of a curate to give money, " said Adela. 

"Do you grudge him the blessedness of giving, Adela?"

"Oh, no. I only think it is too hard on him. "

"It is as necessary for a poor man to give away, as for a rich man. Manypoor men are more devoted worshippers of Mammon than some rich men. "

And then I took her home. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE EVENING AT THE CURATE'S. 

As I led Adela, well wrapped in furs, down the steps to put her into thecarriage, I felt by the wind, and saw by the sky, that a snowstorm wasat hand. This set my heart beating with delight, for after all I am onlywhat my friends call me--an old boy; and so I am still very fond of snowand wind. Of course this pleasure is often modified by the recollectionthat it is to most people no pleasure, and to some a source of greatsuffering. But then I recover myself by thinking, that I did not sendfor the snow, and that my enjoyment of it will neither increase theirpains nor lessen my sympathies. And so I enjoy it again with all myheart. It is partly the sense of being lapt in a mysterious fluctuatingdepth of exquisite shapes of evanescent matter, falling like a cataractfrom an unknown airy gulf, where they grow into being and form out ofthe invisible--well-named by the prophet Job--for a prophet he was inthe truest sense, all-seated in his ashes and armed with hispotsherd--the womb of the snow; partly the sense of motion and thegoings of the wind through the etherial mass; partly the delight thatalways comes from contest with nature, a contest in which no vilepassions are aroused, and no weak enemy goes helpless to the ground. Ipresume that in a right condition of our nervous nature, instead of ourbeing, as some would tell us, less exposed to the influences of nature, we should in fact be altogether open to them. Our nerves would be athorough-fare for Nature in all and each of her moods and feelings, stormy or peaceful, sunshiny or sad. The true refuge from the slavery towhich this would expose us, the subjection of man to circumstance, is tobe found, not in the deadening of the nervous constitution, or in astruggle with the influences themselves, but in the strengthening of themoral and refining of the spiritual nature; so that, as the storms ravethrough the vault of heaven without breaking its strong arches withtheir winds, or staining its etherial blue with their rain-clouds, thesoul of man should keep clear and steady and great, holding within itits own feelings and even passions, knowing that, let them moan or raveas they will, they cannot touch the nearest verge of the empyrean dome, in whose region they have their birth and being. 

For me, I felt myself now, just an expectant human snow-storm; and as Isat on the box by the coachman, I rejoiced to greet the first flake, which alighted on the tip of my nose even before we had cleared our owngrounds. Before we had got _up street_, the wind had risen, and thesnow thickened, till the horses seemed inclined to turn their tails tothe hill and the storm together, for the storm came down the hill intheir faces. It was soon impossible to see one's hand before one's eyes;and the carriage lamps served only to reveal a chaotic fury ofsnow-flakes, crossing each other's path at all angles, in the eddies ofthe wind amongst the houses. The coachman had to keep encouraging hishorses to get them to face it at all. The ground was very slippery; andso fast fell the snow, that it had actually begun to ball in the horses'feet before we reached our destination. When we were all safe in Mrs. Armstrong's drawing-room, we sat for a while listening to the windroaring in the chimney, before any of us spoke. And then I did not joinin the conversation, but pleased myself with looking at the room; fornext to human faces, I delight in human abodes, which will always, moreor less, according to the amount of choice vouchsafed in the occupancy, be like the creatures who dwell in them. Even the soldier-crab must havesome likeness to the snail of whose house he takes possession, else hecould not live in it at all. 

The first thing to be done by one who would read a room is, to clear itas soon as possible of the air of the marvellous, the air of thestorybook, which pervades every place at the first sight of it. But I amnot now going to write a treatise upon this art, for which I have nottime to invent a name; but only to give as much of a description of thisroom as will enable my readers to feel quite at home with us in it, during our evening there. It was a large low room, with two beams acrossthe ceiling at unequal distances. There was only a drugget on the floor, and the window curtains were scanty. But there was a glorious fire onthe hearth, and the tea-board was filled with splendid china, as old asthe potteries. The chairs, I believe, had been brought from old Mr. Armstrong's lumber-room, and so they all looked as if they could tellstories themselves. At all events they were just the proper chairs totell stories in, and I could not help regretting that we were not tohave any to-night. The rest of the company had arrived before us. A warmcorner in an old-fashioned sofa had been prepared for Adela, and as soonas she was settled in it, our hostess proceeded to pour out the tea witha simplicity and grace which showed that she had been just as much alady when carrying parcels for the dressmaker, and would have been alady if she had been a housemaid. Such a women are rare in every circle, the best of every kind being rare. It is very disappointing to theimaginative youth when, coming up to London and going into society, hefinds that so few of the men and women he meets, come within the charmedcircle of his ideal refinement. 

I said to myself: "I am sure she could write a story if she would. Imust have a try for one from her. "

When tea was over, she looked at her husband, and then went to thepiano, and sang the following ballad:

 "'Traveller, what lies over the hill? Traveller, tell to me: I am only a child--from the window-sill Over I cannot see. '

 "'Child, there's a valley over there, Pretty and woody and shy; And a little brook that says--'take care, Or I'll drown you by and by. '

 "'And what comes next?' 'A little town; And a towering hill again; More hills and valleys, up and down, And a river now and then. '

 "'And what comes next?' 'A lonely moor, Without a beaten way; And grey clouds sailing slow, before A wind that will not stay. '

 "'And then?' 'Dark rocks and yellow sand, And a moaning sea beside. ' 'And then?' 'More sea, more sea more land, And rivers deep and wide. '

 "'And then?' 'Oh! rock and mountain and vale, Rivers and fields and men; Over and over--a weary tale-- And round to your home again. '

 "'Is that the end? It is weary at best. ' 'No, child; it is not the end. On summer eves, away in the west, You will see a stair ascend;

 "'Built of all colours of lovely stones-- A stair up into the sky; Where no one is weary, and no one moans, Or wants to be laid by. '

 "'I will go. ' 'But the steps are very steep: If you would climb up there, You must lie at its foot, as still as sleep, And be a step of the stair, "'For others to put their feet on you, To reach the stones high-piled; Till Jesus comes and takes you too, And leads you up, my child!'"

"That is one of your parables, I am sure, Ralph, " said the doctor, whowas sitting, quite at his ease, on a footstool, with his back againstthe wall, by the side of the fire opposite to Adela, casting every nowand then a glance across the fiery gulf, just as he had done in churchwhen I first saw him. And Percy was there to watch them, though, fromsome high words I overheard, I had judged that it was with difficultyhis mother had prevailed on him to come. I could not help thinkingmyself, that two pairs of eyes met and parted rather oftener than anyother two pairs in the room; but I could find nothing to object. 

"Now, Miss Cathcart, it is your turn to sing. "

"Would you mind singing another of Heine's songs?" said the doctor, as he offered his hand to lead her to the piano. 

"No, " she answered. "I will not sing one of that sort. It was notliked last time. Perhaps what I do sing won't be much better though. 

 "The waters are rising and flowing Over the weedy stone-- Over and over it going: It is never gone. 

 "So joy on joy may go sweeping Over the head of pain-- Over and over it leaping: It will rise again. "

"Very lovely, but not much better than what I asked for. In revenge, Iwill give you one of Heine's that my brother translated. It alwaysreminds me, with a great difference, of one in In Memoriam, beginning:_Dark house_. "

So spake Harry, and sang:

 "The shapes of the days forgotten Out of their graves arise, And show me what once my life was, In the presence of thine eyes. 

 "All day through the streets I wandered, As in dreams men go and come; The people in wonder looked at me, I was so mournful dumb. 

 "It was better though, at night-fall, When, through the empty town, I and my shadow together Went silent up and down. 

 "With echoing, echoing footstep, Over the bridge I walk; The moon breaks out of the waters, And looks as if she would talk. 

 "I stood still before thy dwelling, Like a tree that prays for rain; I stood gazing up at thy window-- My heart was in such pain. 

 "And thou lookedst through thy curtains-- I saw thy shining hand; And thou sawest me, in the moonlight, Still as a statue stand. "

"Excuse me, " said Mrs. Cathcart, with a smile, "but I don't think suchsentimental songs good for anybody. They can't be _healthy_--Ibelieve that is the word they use now-a-days. "

"I don't say they are, " returned the doctor; "but many a pain isrelieved by finding its expression. I wish he had never written worse. "

"That is not why I like them, " said the curate. "They seem to me to holdthe same place in literature that our dreams do in life. If so much ofour life is actually spent in dreaming, there must be some place in ourliterature for what corresponds to dreaming. Even in this region, wecannot step beyond the boundaries of our nature. I delight in readingLord Bacon now; but one of Jean Paul's dreams will often give me moredelight than one of Bacon's best paragraphs. It depends upon the mood. Some dreams like these, in poetry or in sleep, arouse individual statesof consciousness altogether different from any of our waking moods, andnot to be recalled by any mere effort of the will. All our being, forthe moment, has a new and strange colouring. We have another kind oflife. I think myself, our life would be much poorer without our dreams;a thousand rainbow tints and combinations would be gone; music andpoetry would lose many an indescribable exquisiteness and tenderness. You see I like to take our dreams seriously, as I would even our fun. For I believe that those new mysterious feelings that come to us insleep, if they be only from dreams of a richer grass and a softer windthan we have known awake, are indications of wells of feeling anddelight which have not yet broken out of their hiding-places in oursouls, and are only to be suspected from these rings of fairy green thatspring up in the high places of our sleep. "

"I say, Ralph, " interrupted Harry, "just repeat that strangest ofHeine's ballads, that--"

"Oh, no, no; not that one. Mrs. Cathcart would not like it at all. "

"Yes, please do, " said Adela. 

"Pray don't think of me, gentlemen, " said the aunt. 

"No, I won't, " said the curate. 

"Then I will, " said the doctor, with a glance at Adela, which seemed tosay--"If you want it, you shall have it, whether they like it or not. "

He repeated, with just a touch of the recitative in his tone, thefollowing verses:

 "Night lay upon mine eyelids; Upon my mouth lay lead; With withered heart and sinews, I lay among the dead. 

 "How long I lay and slumbered, I knew not in the gloom. I wakened up, and listened To a knocking at my tomb. 

 "'Wilt thou not rise, my Henry? Immortal day draws on; The dead are all arisen; The endless joy begun. '

 "'My love, I cannot raise me; Nor could I find the door; My eyes with bitter weeping Are blind for evermore. '

 "'But from thine eyes, dear Henry, I'll kiss away the night; Thou shall behold the angels, And Heaven's own blessed light. '

 "'My love, I cannot raise me; The blood is flowing still, Where thou, heart-deep, didst stab me, With a dagger-speech, to kill. '

 "'Oh! I will lay my hand, Henry, So soft upon thy heart; And that will stop the bleeding-- Stop all the bitter smart. '

 "'My love, I cannot raise me; My head is bleeding too. When thou wast stolen from me, I shot it through and through. '

 "'With my thick hair, my Henry, I will stop the fountain red; Press back again the blood-stream, And heal thy wounded head. '

 "She begged so soft, so dearly, I could no more say no; Writhing, I strove to raise me, And to the maiden go. 

 "Then the wounds again burst open; And afresh the torrents break From head and heart--life's torrents-- And lo! I am awake. "

"There now, that is enough!" said the curate. "That is not nice--is it, Mrs. Cathcart?"

Mrs. Cathcart smiled, and said:

"I should hardly have thought your time well-spent in translating it, Mr. Armstrong. "

"It took me a few idle minutes only, " said the curate. "But my foolishbrother, who has a child's fancy for horrid things, took a fancy tothat; and so he won't let my sins be forgotten. But I will take awaythe taste of it with another of Heine's, seeing we have fallen upon him. I should never have dreamed of introducing him here. It was MissCathcart's first song that opened the vein, I believe. "

"I am the guilty person, " said Adela; "and I fear I am not sorry for mysins--the consequences have been too pleasant. Do go on, Mr. Armstrong. "

He repeated:

 "_Peace_. 

 "High in the heavens the sun was glowing; Around him the white clouds, like waves, were flowing; The sea was very still and grey. Dreamily thinking as I lay, Close by the gliding vessel's wheel, A sleepless slumber did o'er me steal; And I saw the Christ, the healer of woe, In white and waving garments go; Walking in giant form went he Over the land and sea. High in the heaven he towered his head, And his hands in blessing forth he spread Over the land and sea. And for a heart, O wonder meet! In his breast the sun did throb and beat; In his breast, for a heart to the only One, Shone the red, the flaming sun. The flaming red sunheart of the Lord Forth its gracious life-beams poured; Its fair and love-benignant light Softly shone, with warming might, Over the land and sea. 

 "Sounds of solemn bells that go Through the still air to and fro, Draw, like swans, in a rosy band, The gliding ship to the grassy land, Where a mighty city, towered and high, Breaks and jags the line of the sky. 

 "Oh, wonder of peach, how still was the town! The hollow tumult had all gone down Of the bustling and babbling trades. Men and women, and youths and maids, White clothes wearing, Palm branches bearing, Walked through the clean and echoing streets; And when one with another meets, They look at each other with eyes that tell That they understand each other well; And, trembling with love and sweet restraint, Each kisses the other upon the brow, And looks above, like a hoping saint, To the holy, healing sunheart's glow; Which atoning all, its red blood streams Downward in still outwelling beams; Till, threefold blessed, they call aloud, The single hearts of a happy crowd. Praised be Jesus Christ!"

"You will like that better, " concluded the curate, again addressingMrs. Cathcart. 

"Fanciful, " she answered. "I don't like fancies about sacred things. "

"I fear, however, " replied he, "that most of our serious thoughts aboutsacred things are little better than fancies. "

"Sing that other of his about the flowers, and I promise you never tomention his name in this company again, " said Harry. 

"Very well, I will, on that condition, " answered Ralph. 

 "In the sunny summer morning Into the garden I come; The flowers are whispering and speaking, But I, I wander dumb. 

 "The flowers are whispering and speaking, And they gaze at my visage wan: 'You must not be cross with our sister, You melancholy man!'"

"Is that all?" said Adela. 

"Yes, that's all, " answered the singer. 

"But we cannot let you off with that only, " she said. 

"What an awful night it is!" interrupted the colonel, rising and goingto the window to peep out. "Between me and the lamp, the air looks solidwith driving snow. "

"Sing one of your winter songs, Ralph, " said the curate's wife. "Thisis surely stormy enough for one of your Scotch winters that you are soproud of. "

Thus adjured, Mr, Armstrong sang:

 "A morning clear, with frosty light From sunbeams late and low; They shine upon the snow so white, And shine back from the snow. 

 "From icy spears a drop will run-- Not fall: at afternoon, It shines a diamond for the sun, An opal for the moon. 

 "And when the bright sad sun is low Behind the mountain-dome, A twilight wind will come, and blow All round the children's home;

 "And waft about the powdery snow, As night's dim footsteps pass; But waiting, in its grave below, Green lies the summer-grass. "

"Now it seems to me, " said the colonel, "though I am no authority insuch matters, that it is just in such weather as this, that we don'tneed songs of that sort. They are not very exhilarating. "

"There is truth in that, " replied Mr. Armstrong. "I think it is inwinter chiefly that we want songs of summer, as the Jews sang--if notthe songs of Zion, yet of Zion, in a strange land. Indeed most of oursongs are of this sort. "

"Then sing one of your own summer songs. "

"No, my dear; I would rather not. I don't altogether like them. Besides, if Harry could sing that _Tryst_ of Schiller's, it would bring backthe feeling of the summer better than any brooding over the remembrancesof it could do. "

"Did you translate that too?" I asked. 

"Yes. As I told you, at one time of my life translating was a constantrecreation to me. I have had many half-successes, some of which you haveheard. I think this one better. "

"What is the name of it?"

"It is 'Die Erwartung'--_The Waiting_, literally, or_Expectation. _ But the Scotch word _Tryst_ (Rendezvous) is abetter name for a poem, though English. It is often curious how aliteral rendering, even when it gives quite the meaning, will not do, because of the different ranks of the two words in their respectivelanguages. "

"I have heard you say, " said Harry, "that the principles of thetranslation of lyrics have yet to be explored. "

"Yes. But what I have just said, applies nearly as much to prose as tothe verse. --Sing, Harry. You know it well enough. "

"Part is in recitative, "

"So it is. Go on. "

"To enter into the poem, you must suppose a lover waiting in an arbourfor his lady-love. First come two recited lines of expectation; then twomore, in quite a different measure, of disappointment; and then along-lined song of meditation; until expectation is again aroused, to beagain disappointed--and so on through the poem. 

 "THE TRYST. 

 "That was the wicket a-shaking! That was its clang as it fell! No, 'twas but the night-wind waking, And the poplars' answering swell. 

 Put on thy beauty, foliage-vaulted roof, To greet her entrance, radiant all with grace; Ye branches weave a holy tent, star-proof; With lovely darkness, silent, her embrace; Sweet, wandering airs, creep through the leafy woof, And toy and gambol round her rosy face, When with its load of beauty, lightly borne, Glides in the fairy foot, and brings my morn. 

 Hush! I hear timid, yet daring Steps that are almost a race! No, a bird--some terror scaring-- Started from its roosting place. 

 Quench thy sunk torch, Hyperion. Night, appear! Dim, ghostly Night, lone loveliness entrancing! Spread, purple blossoms, round us, in a sphere; Twin, lattice-boughs, the mystery enhancing; Love's joy would die, if more than two were here-- She shuns the daybeam indiscreetly glancing. Eve's star alone--no envious tell-tale she-- Gazes unblamed, from far across the sea. 

 Hark! distant voices, that lightly Ripple the silence deep! No; the swans that, circling nightly, Through the silver waters sweep. 

 Around me wavers an harmonious flow; The fountain's fall swells in delicious rushes; The flower beneath the west wind's kiss bends low; A trembling joy from each to all outgushes. Grape-clusters beckon; peaches luring glow, Behind dark leaves hiding their crimson blushes; The winds, cooled with the sighs of flowers asleep, Light waves of odour o'er my forehead sweep. 

 Hear I not echoing footfalls, Hither along the pleached walk? No; the over-ripened fruit falls Heavy-swollen, from off its stalk. 

 Dull is the eye of day that flamed so bright; In gentle death, its colours all are dim; Unfolding fearless in the fair half light, The flower-cups ope, that all day closed their brim; Calm lifts the moon her clear face on the night; Dissolved in masses faint, Earth's features swim; Each grace withdraws the soft relaxing zone-- Beauty unrobed shines full on me alone. 

 See I not, there, a white shimmer?-- Something with pale silken shine? No; it is the column's glimmer, 'Gainst the gloomy hedge of pine. 

 O longing heart! no more thyself delight With shadow-forms--a sweet deceiving pleasure; Filling thy arms but as the vault of night Infoldeth darkness without hope or measure. O lead the living beauty to my sight, That living love her loveliness may treasure! Let but her shadow fall across my eyes, And straight my dreams exulting truths will rise!

 And soft as, when, purple and golden, The clouds of the evening descend, So had she drawn nigh unbeholden, And wakened with kisses her friend. "

Never had song a stranger accompaniment than this song; for the air wasfull of fierce noises near and afar. Again the colonel went to thewindow. When he drew back the curtains, at Adela's request, and pulledup the blind, you might have fancied the dark wind full of snowyBanshees, fleeting and flickering by, and uttering strange ghostly criesof warning. The friends crowded into the bay-window, and stared out intothe night with a kind of happy awe. They pressed their brows against thepanes, in the vain hope of seeing where there was no light. Every nowand then the wind would rush up against the window in fierce attack, asif the creatures that rode by upon the blast had seen the row of whitefaces, and it angered them to be thus stared at, and they rode theirairy steeds full tilt against the thin rampart of glass that protectedthe human weaklings from becoming the spoil of their terrors. 

While every one was silent with the intensity of this outlook, and withthe awe of such an uproar of wild things without souls, there came aloud knock at the door, which was close to the window where they stood. Even the old colonel, whose nerves were as hard as piano-wires, startedback and cried "God bless me!" The doctor, too, started, and beganmechanically to button his coat, but said nothing. Adela gave a littlesuppressed scream, and ashamed of the weakness, crept away to hersofa-corner. 

The servant entered, saying that Dr. Armstrong's man wanted to see him. Harry went into the passage, which was just outside the drawing-room, and the company overheard the following conversation, every word. 

"Well, William?"

"There's a man come after you from Cropstone Farm, sir. His missus istook sudden. "

"What?--It's not the old lady then? It's the young mistress?"

"Yes; she's in labour, sir; leastways she was--he's been three hours onthe road. I reckon it's all over by this time. --You won't go, sir! It'smorally unpossible. "

"Won't go! It's morally impossible not. You knew I would go. --That's themare outside. "

"No, sir. It's Tilter. "

"Then you did think I wouldn't go! You knew well enough Tilter's no usefor a job like this. The mare's my only chance. "

"I beg your pardon, sir. I did not think you would go. "

"Home with you, as hard as Tilter can drive--confound him!--And bringthe mare instantly. She's had her supper?"

"I left her munching, sir. "

"Don't let her drink. I'll give her a quart of ale at Job Timpson's. "

"You won't go that way, surely, sir?"

"It's the nearest; and the snow can't be very deep yet. "

"I've brought your boots and breeches, sir. "

"All right. "

The man hurried out, and Harry was heard to run up stairs to hisbrother's room. The friends stared at each other in some perturbation. Presently Harry re-entered, in the articles last mentioned, saying--

"Ralph, have you an old shooting-coat you could lend me?"

"I should think so, Harry. I'll fetch you one. "

Now at length the looks of the circle found some expression in the wordsof the colonel:

"Mr. Armstrong, I am an old soldier, and I trust I know what duty is. The only question is, _Can_ this be done?"

"Colonel, no man can tell what can or cannot be done till he tries. Ithink it can. "

The colonel held out his hand--his sole reply. 

The schoolmaster and his wife ventured to expostulate. To them Harrymade fun of the danger. Adela had come from the corner to which she hadretreated, and joined the group. She laid her hand on Harry's arm, andhe saw that she was pale as death. 

"Don't go, " she said. 

As if to enforce her words, the street-door, which, I suppose, Williamhad not shut properly, burst open with a bang against the wall, and thewind went shrieking through the house, as if in triumph at having forcedan entrance. 

"The woman is in labour, " said Harry in reply to Adela, forgetting, inthe stern reality both for the poor woman and himself, that girls ofAdela's age and social position are not accustomed to hear such facts soplainly expressed, from a man's lips. Adela, however, simply acceptedthe fact, and replied:

"But you will be too late anyhow. "

"Perhaps just in time, " he answered, as his brother entered with a coatover his arm. 

"Ralph, " he went on, with a laugh, "they are trying to persuade me notto go. "

"It is a tempting of Providence, " said Mrs. Bloomfield. 

"Harry, my boy, " said the curate solemnly, "I would rather have youbrought home dead to-morrow, than see you sitting by that fire fiveminutes after your mare comes. But you'll put on a great-coat?"

"No, thank you. I shall do much better without one. How comical I shalllook in Farmer Prisphig's Sunday clothes! I'm not going to be lost thisstorm, Mrs. Bloomfield; for I second-see myself at this moment, sittingby the farmer's kitchen fire, in certain habiliments a world too widefor my unshrunk shanks, but doing my best to be worthy of them by theattention I am paying to my supper. "

Here he stooped to Lizzie and whispered in her ear:

"Don't let them make a fuss about my going. There is really noparticular danger. And I don't want my patient there frightened andthrown back, you know. "

Mrs. Armstrong nodded a promise. In a moment more, Harry had changed hiscoat; for the storm had swept away ceremony at least. Lizzie ran andbrought him a glass of wine; but he begged for a glass of milk instead, and was soon supplied; after which he buttoned up his coat, tightenedthe straps of his spurs, which had been brought slack on his boots, puton one of a thick pair of gloves which he found in his brother's coat, bade them all good night, drew on the other glove, and stood prepared togo. 

Did he or did he not see Adela's eyes gazing out of her pale face withan expression of admiring apprehension, as she stood bending forward, and looking up at the strong man about to fight the storm, and all readyto meet it? I don't know. I only put it to his conscience. 

In a moment more, the knock came again--the only sign, for no one couldhear the mare's hoofs in the wind and snow. With one glance and one goodnight, he hurried out. The wind once more, for a brief moment, held aninfernal carnival in the house. They crowded to the window--saw a dimform heave up on horseback, and presently vanish. All space lay beyond;but, for them, he was swallowed up by the jaws of the darkness. Theyknew no more. A flash of pride in his brother shot from Ralph's eyes, as, with restrained excitement, for which he sought some outlet, hewalked towards the piano. His wife looked at Ralph with the same lightof pride, tempered by thankfulness; for she knew, if he had been sentfor, he would have gone all the same as Harry; but then he was not sucha horseman as his brother. The fact was, he had neither seat nor hands, though no end of pluck. 

"He will have to turn back, " said the colonel. "He can't reach CropstoneFarm to-night. It lies right across the moor. It is impossible. "

"Impossible things are always being done, " said the curate, "else theworld would have been all moor by this time. "

"The wind is dead against him, " said the schoolmaster. 

"Better in front than in flank, " said the colonel. "It won't blow himout of the saddle. "

Adela had crept back to her corner, where she sat shading her eyes, andlistening. I saw that her face was very pale. Lizzie joined her, andbegan talking to her. 

I had not much fear for Harry, for I could not believe that his hour wascome yet. I had great confidence in him and his mare. And I believed inthe God that made Harry and the mare, and the storm too, through whichhe had sent them to the aid of one who was doing her part to keep hisworld going. 

But now Mr. Armstrong had found a vent for his excitement in another ofhis winter songs, which might be very well for his mood, though it wasnot altogether suited to that of some of the rest of us. He sang--

 "Oh wildly wild the winter-blast Is whirling round the snow; The wintry storms are up at last, And care not how they go. 

 In wreaths and mists, the frozen white Is torn into the air; It pictures, in the dreary light, An ocean in despair. 

 Come, darkness! rouse the fancy more; Storm! wake the silent sea; Till, roaring in the tempest-roar, It rave to ecstasy;

 And death-like figures, long and white, Sweep through the driving spray; And, fading in the ghastly night, Cry faintly far away. "

I saw Adela shudder. Presently she asked her papa whether it was nottime to go home. Mrs. Armstrong proposed that she should stay all night;but she evidently wished to go. It would be rather perilous work todrive down the hill with the wind behind, in such a night, but a servantwas sent to hasten the carriage notwithstanding. The colonel and Percyand I ran along side of it, ready to render any assistance that might benecessary; and, although we all said we had never been out in such anuproar of the elements, we reached home in safety. 

As Adela bade us good night in the hall, I certainly felt very uneasy asto the effects of the night's adventures upon her--she looked so paleand wretched. 

She did not come down to breakfast. 

But she appeared at lunch, nothing the worse, and in very good spirits. 

If I did not think that this had something to do with another fact Ihave come to the knowledge of since, I don't know that the particularsof the evening need have been related so minutely. The other fact wasthis: that in the grey dawn of the morning, by which time the snow hadceased, though the wind still blew, Adela saw from her window a wearyrider and wearier horse pass the house, going up the street. The headsof both were sunk low. You might have thought the poor mare was lookingfor something she had lost last night in the snow; and perhaps it wasnot all fatigue with Harry Armstrong. Perhaps he was giving thanks thathe had saved two lives instead of losing his own. He was not soabsorbed, however, but that he looked up at the house as he passed, andI believe he saw the blind of her window drop back into its place. 

But how did she come to be looking out just at the moment?

If a lady has not slept all night, and has looked out of windowninety-nine times before, it is not very wonderful that at the hundredthtime she should see what she was looking for; that is, if the objectdesired has not been lost in the snow, or drowned in a moorland pit;neither of which had happened to Harry Armstrong. Nor is it unlikelythat, after seeing what she has watched for, she will fall too fastasleep to be roused by the breakfast bell. 

CHAPTER V. 

PERCY AND HIS MOTHER. 

At luncheon, the colonel said--

"Well, Adela, you will be glad to know that our hero of last nightreturned quite safe this morning. "

"I am glad to know it, papa. "

"He is one of the right sort, that young fellow. Duty is the first thingwith him. "

"Perhaps duty may not have been his only motive, " said Mrs. Cathcart, coldly. "It was too good an opportunity to be lost. "

Adela seemed to understand her, for she blushed--but not withembarrassment alone, for the fire that made her cheek glow red, flashedin flames from her eyes. 

"Some people, aunt, " she said, trying to follow the cold tone in whichMrs. Cathcart had spoken, "have not the faculty for the perception ofthe noble and self-denying. Their own lives are so habitually elevated, that they see nothing remarkable in the devotion of others. "

"Well, I do see nothing remarkable in it, " returned the aunt, in a tonethat indicated she hardly knew what to make of Adela's sarcasm. "Mr. Armstrong would have been liable to an action at law if he had refusedto go. And then to come into the drawing-room in his boots and spurs, and change his coat before ladies!--It was all just of a piece with thecoarse speech he made to you when you were simple enough to ask him notto go. I can't think what you admire about the man, I am sure. "

Adela rose and left the room. 

"You are too hard on Mr. Armstrong, " said the colonel

"Perhaps I am, Colonel; but I have my reasons. If you will be blind toyour daughter's interests, that is only the more reason why I shouldkeep my eyes open to them. "

So saying, Mrs. Cathcart rose, and followed her niece--out of the room, but no farther, I will venture to say. Fierce as the aunt was, there hadbeen that in the niece's eyes, as she went, which I do not believe thevulgar courage of the aunt could have faced. 

I concluded that Mrs. Cathcart had discovered Adela's restlessness thenight before; had very possibly peeped into her room; and, as herwindows looked in the same direction, might have seen Harry riding homefrom his selfish task in the cold grey morning; for scheming can destroythe rest of some women as perfectly as loving can destroy the rest ofothers. She might have made the observation, too, that Adela had lain asstill as a bird unhatched, after that apparition of weariness hadpassed. 

The colonel again sank into an uncomfortable mood. He had loved his deadbrother very dearly, and had set his heart on marrying Adela to Percy. Besides there was quite enough of worldliness left in the heart of thehonourable old soldier, to make him feel that a country practitioner, ofvery moderate means, was not to be justified in aspiring to the hand ofhis daughter. Moreover, he could hardly endure the thought of hisdaughter's marriage at all, for he had not a little of the old man'sjealousy in him; and the notion of Percy being her husband was the onlyform in which the thought could present itself, that was in the leastdegree endurable to him. Yet he could not help admiring Harry; and untilhis thoughts had been turned into their present channel by Mrs. Cathcart's remarks, he had felt that that lady was unjust to the doctor. But to think that his line, for he had no son, should merge into that ofthe Armstrongs, who were of somewhat dubious descent in his eyes, andScotch, too--though, by the way, his own line was Scotch, a few hundredyears back--was sufficient to cause him very considerableuneasiness--_pain_ would be the more correct word. 

I have, for many pages, said very little about Percy; simply becausethere has been very little to say about him. He was always present atour readings, but did not appear to take any interest in them. He wouldgenerally lie on a couch, and stare either at Adela or the fire till hefell asleep. If he did not succeed in getting to sleep, he would showmanifest signs of being bored. No doubt he considered the whole affair apiece of sentimental humbug. And during the day I saw very little ofhim. He had hunted once or twice, on one of his uncle's horses: they hadscarcely seen the hounds this season. But that was a bore, no doubt. Hewent skating occasionally, and had once tried to get Adela to accompanyhim; but she would not. These amusements, with a few scattered hours ofsnipe-shooting, composed his Christmas enjoyments; the intervals beingfilled up with yawning, teasing the dogs, growling at his mother and thecold, and sleeping "the innocent sleep. "

Whether he had any real regard for Adela, I could not quite satisfymyself--I mean _real_ by the standard and on the scale of his ownbeing; for of course, as compared with the love of men like theArmstrongs, the attachment of a lad like Percy could hardly beconsidered _real_ at all. But even that, as I say, I could notclearly find out. His jealousy seemed rather the jealousy of what washis, or ought to be his, than any more profound or tragical feeling. Buthe evidently disliked the doctor--and the curate, too, whether for hisown sake or for the doctor's, is of little consequence. 

In the course of this forenoon, I came upon Master Percy in the kitchengarden. He had set an old shutter against one of the walls for a target, and was peppering away at it with a revolver; apparently quite satisfiedif he succeeded in hitting the same panel twice running, at twelvepaces. Guessing at the nonsense that was in his head, I sauntered up tohim and watched his practice for a while. He pulled the trigger with ajerk that threw the muzzle up half an inch every time he fired, else Idon't believe he would have hit the board at all. But he held his breathbefore-hand, till he was red in the face, because he had heard that, infiring at a mark, pistol-shooters did not even breathe, to avoid theinfluence of the motion of the chest upon the aim. 

"Ah!" I said, "pretty well. But you should see Mr. Henry Armstrongshoot. "

Whereupon Mr. Percy Cathcart deliberately damned Mr. Henry Armstrong, expressly and by name. I pretended not to have heard him, and, continuing to regard the said condemned as still alive and comfortable, went on:

"Just ask him, the next time you find him at home, to let you see himdrive a nail with three pistol-bullets. "

He threw the pistol from him, exploded himself, like a shell, in twentydifferent fragments of oaths, and left me the kitchen garden and thepistol, which latter I took a little practice with myself, for the sakeof emptying two of the chambers still charged. Whether Henry Armstrongeven knew how to fire a pistol, I did not know; but I dare say he wasa first-rate shot, if I only had known it. I sent the pistol up to Mr. Percy's room by the hand of Mr. Beeves; but I never heard him practisingany more. 

The next night the curate was to read us another story. The timearrived, and with it all our company, except Harry. Indeed it was amarvel that he had been able to attend so often as he had attended. I presume the severe weather had by this time added to his sick-list. 

Although I fear the chief end of our readings was not so fully attainedas hitherto, or, in other words, that Adela did not enjoy the evening somuch as usual, I will yet record all with my usual faithfulness. 

The curate and his wife were a little late, and when they arrived, theyfound us waiting for them in music. As soon as they entered, Adela rosefrom the piano. 

"Do go on, Miss Cathcart, " said the curate. 

"I had just finished, " she replied. 

"Then, if you will allow me, I will sing a song first, which I thinkwill act as an antidote to those sentimental ones which we had at myhouse, and of which Mrs. Cathcart did not approve. "

"Thank you, " said everybody, Mrs. Cathcart included. 

Whereupon the curate sang:

 "I am content. In trumpet-tones, My song, let people know. And many a mighty man, with throne And sceptre, is not so. And if he is, I joyful cry, Why then, he's just the same as I. 

 The Mogul's gold, the Sultan's show-- His bliss, supreme too soon, Who, lord of all the world below, Looked up unto the moon-- I would not pick it up--all that Is only fit for laughing at. 

 My motto is--_Content with this_. Gold-place--I prize not such. That which I have, my measure is; Wise men desire not much. Men wish and wish, and have their will, And wish again, as hungry still. 

 And gold and honour are besides A very brittle glass; And Time, in his unresting tides, Makes all things change and pass; Turns riches to a beggar's dole; Sets glory's race an infant's goal. 

 Be noble--that is more than wealth; Do right--that's more than place; Then in the spirit there is health, And gladness in the face; Then thou art with thyself at one, And, no man hating, fearest none. 

 I am content. In trumpet-tones, My song, let people know. And many a mighty man, with throne And sceptre, is not so. And if he is, I joyful cry, Why then, he's just the same as I. "

"Is that one of your own, Mr. Armstrong?" asked the colonel. 

"It is, like most of those you have heard from me and my brother, onlya translation. "

"I am no judge of poetry, but it seems to me that if he was content, he need not say so much about it. "

"There is something in what you say. But there was no show-off inClaudius, I think. He was a most simple-hearted, amiable man, to allappearance. A man of business, too--manager of a bank at Altona, in thebeginning of the present century. But as I have not given a favourableimpression of him, allow me to repeat a little bit of innocent humourof his--a cradle song--which I like fully better than the other. "

"Most certainly; it is only fair, " answered the colonel. 

 "Sleep, baby boy, sleep sweet, secure; Thou art thy father's miniature; That art thou, though thy father goes And swears that thou hast not his nose. 

 A moment gone, he looked at thee, My little budding rose, And said--No doubt there's much of me, But he has not my nose. 

 I think myself, it is too small, But it is _his_ nose after all; For if thy nose his nose be not, Whence came the nose that thou hast got?

 Sleep, baby, sleep; don't half-way doze: To tease me--that's his part. No matter if you've not his nose, So be you've got his heart!"

CHAPTER VI. 

THE BROKEN SWORDS. 

Every one liked this, except Mrs. Cathcart, who opined, with her usualsmile, that it was rather silly. 

"Well, I hope a father may be silly sometimes, " said the curate, with aglance at his wife, which she did not acknowledge. "At least I fear Ishould be silly enough, if I were a father. "

No more remarks were made, and as it was now quite time to begin thestory, Mr. Armstrong took his place, and the rest took their places. Hebegan at once. 

"THE BROKEN SWORDS. 

"The eyes of three, two sisters and a brother, gazed for the last timeon a great pale-golden star, that followed the sun down the steep west. It went down to arise again; and the brother about to depart mightreturn, but more than the usual doubt hung upon his future. For betweenthe white dresses of the sisters, shone his scarlet coat and goldensword-knot, which he had put on for the first time, more to gratifytheir pride than his own vanity. The brightening moon, as if propheticof a future memory, had already begun to dim the scarlet and the gold, and to give them a pale, ghostly hue. In her thoughtful light the wholegroup seemed more like a meeting in the land of shadows, than a partingin the substantial earth. --But which should be called the land ofrealities?--the region where appearance, and space, and time drivebetween, and stop the flowing currents of the soul's speech? or thatregion where heart meets heart, and appearance has become the slave toutterance, and space and time are forgotten?

"Through the quiet air came the far-off rush of water, and the near cryof the land-rail. Now and then a chilly wind blew unheeded through thestartled and jostling leaves that shaded the ivy-seat. Else, there wascalm everywhere, rendered yet deeper and more intense by the duskysorrow that filled their hearts. For, far away, hundreds of miles beyondthe hearing of their ears, roared the great war-guns; next week theirbrother must sail with his regiment to join the army; and to-morrow hemust leave his home. 

"The sisters looked on him tenderly, with vague fears about his fate. Yet little they divined it. That the face they loved might lie pale andbloody, in a heap of slain, was the worst image of it that arose beforethem; but this, had they seen the future, they would, in ignorance ofthe further future, have infinitely preferred to that which awaited him. And even while they looked on him, a dim feeling of the unsuitablenessof his lot filled their minds. For, indeed, to all judgments it musthave seemed unsuitable that the home-boy, the loved of his mother, thepet of his sisters, who was happy womanlike (as Coleridge says), if hepossessed the signs of love, having never yet sought for itsproofs--that he should be sent amongst soldiers, to command and becommanded; to kill, or perhaps to be himself crushed out of the fairearth in the uproar that brings back for the moment the reign of Nightand Chaos. No wonder that to his sisters it seemed strange and sad. Yetsuch was their own position in the battle of life, in which their fatherhad died with doubtful conquest, that when their old military uncle sentthe boy an ensign's commission, they did not dream of refusing the onlypath open, as they thought, to an honourable profession, even though itmight lead to the trench-grave. They heard it as the voice of destiny, wept, and yielded. 

"If they had possessed a deeper insight into his character, they wouldhave discovered yet further reason to doubt the fitness of theprofession chosen for him; and if they had ever seen him at school, it is possible the doubt of fitness might have strengthened into acertainty of incongruity. His comparative inactivity amongst hisschoolfellows, though occasioned by no dulness of intellect, might havesuggested the necessity of a quiet life, if inclination and liking hadbeen the arbiters in the choice. Nor was this inactivity the result ofdefective animal spirits either, for sometimes his mirth and boyishfrolic were unbounded; but it seemed to proceed from an over-activityof the inward life, absorbing, and in some measure checking, the outwardmanifestation. He had so much to do in his own hidden kingdom, that hehad not time to take his place in the polity and strife of thecommonwealth around him. Hence, while other boys were acting, he wasthinking. In this point of difference, he felt keenly the superiorityof many of his companions; for another boy would have the obstacleovercome, or the adversary subdued, while he was meditating on thepropriety, or on the means, of effecting the desired end. He enviedtheir promptitude, while they never saw reason to envy his wisdom; forhis conscience, tender and not strong, frequently transformed slownessof determination into irresolution: while a delicacy of the sympatheticnerves tended to distract him from any predetermined course, by thediversity of their vibrations, responsive to influences from allquarters, and destructive to unity of purpose. 

"Of such a one, the _a priori_ judgment would be, that he ought tobe left to meditate and grow for some time, before being called upon toproduce the fruits of action. But add to these mental conditions a vividimagination, and a high sense of honour, nourished in childhood by thereading of the old knightly romances, and then put the youth in aposition in which action is imperative, and you have elements of strifesufficient to reduce that fair kingdom of his to utter anarchy andmadness. Yet so little, do we know ourselves, and so different are thesymbols with which the imagination works its algebra, from the realitieswhich those symbols represent, that as yet the youth felt no uneasiness, but contemplated his new calling with a glad enthusiasm and some vanity;for all his prospect lay in the glow of the scarlet and the gold. Nordid this excitement receive any check till the day before his departure, on which day I have introduced him to my readers, when, accidentlytaking up a newspaper of a week old, his eye fell on thesewords--"_Already crying women are to be met in the streets_. " Withthis cloud afar on his horizon, which, though no bigger than a man'shand, yet cast a perceptible shadow over his mind, he departed nextmorning. The coach carried him beyond the consecrated circle of homelaws and impulses, out into the great tumult, above which rises ever andanon the cry of Cain, "Am I my brother's keeper?"

"Every tragedy of higher order, constructed in Christian times, willcorrespond more or less to the grand drama of the Bible; wherein thefirst act opens with a brilliant sunset vision of Paradise, in whichchildish sense and need are served with all the profusion of theindulgent nurse. But the glory fades off into grey and black, and nightsettles down upon the heart which, rightly uncontent with the childish, and not having yet learned the childlike, seeks knowledge and manhood asa thing denied by the Maker, and yet to be gained by the creature; sosets forth alone to climb the heavens, and instead of climbing, fallsinto the abyss. Then follows the long dismal night of feverish effortsand delirious visions, or, it may be, helpless despair; till at length adeeper stratum of the soul is heaved to the surface; and amid the firstdawn of morning, the youth says within him, "I have sinned against my_Maker_--I will arise and go to my _Father_. " More or less, I say, will Christian tragedy correspond to this--a fall and a risingagain; not a rising only, but a victory; not a victory merely, but atriumph. Such, in its way and degree, is my story. I have shown, in onepassing scene, the home paradise; now I have to show a scene of a fardiffering nature. 

"The young ensign was lying in his tent, weary, but wakeful. All daylong the cannon had been bellowing against the walls of the city, whichnow lay with wide, gaping breach, ready for the morrow's storm, butcovered yet with the friendly darkness. His regiment was ordered to beready with the earliest dawn to march up to the breach. That day, forthe first time, there had been blood on his sword--there the sword lay, a spot on the chased hilt still. He had cut down one of the enemy in askirmish with a sally party of the besieged and the look of the man ashe fell, haunted him. He felt, for the time, that he dared not pray tothe Father, for the blood of a brother had rushed forth at the stroke ofhis arm, and there was one fewer of living souls on the earth because helived thereon. And to-morrow he must lead a troop of men up to that poordisabled town, and turn them loose upon it, not knowing what mightfollow in the triumph of enraged and victorious foes, who for weeks hadbeen subjected, by the constancy of the place, to the greatestprivations. It was true the general had issued his commands against alldisorder and pillage; but if the soldiers once yielded to temptation, what might not be done before the officers could reclaim them! All thewretched tales he had read of the sack of cities rushed back on hismemory. He shuddered as he lay. Then his conscience began to speak, andto ask what right he had to be there. --Was the war a just one?--He couldnot tell; for this was a bad time for settling nice questions. But therehe was, right or wrong, fighting and shedding blood on God's earth, beneath God's heaven. 

"Over and over he turned the question in his mind; again and again thespouting blood of his foe, and the death-look in his eye, rose beforehim; and the youth who at school could never fight with a companionbecause he was not sure that he was in the right, was alone in the midstof undoubting men of war, amongst whom he was driven helplessly along, upon the waves of a terrible necessity. What wonder that in the midstof these perplexities his courage should fail him! What wonder that theconsciousness of fainting should increase the faintness! or that thedread of fear and its consequences should hasten and invigorate itsattacks! To crown all, when he dropped into a troubled slumber atlength, he found himself hurried, as on a storm of fire, through thestreets of the captured town, from all the windows of which lookedforth familiar faces, old and young, but distorted from the memory ofhis boyhood by fear and wild despair. On one spot lay the body of hisfather, with his face to the earth; and he woke at the cry of horrorand rage that burst from his own lips, as he saw the rough, bloodyhand of a soldier twisted in the loose hair of his elder sister, andthe younger fainting in the arms of a scoundrel belonging to his ownregiment. 

"He slept no more. As the grey morning broke, the troops appointed forthe attack assembled without sound of trumpet or drum, and were silentlyformed in fitting order. The young ensign was in his place, weary andwretched after his miserable night. Before him he saw a great, broad-shouldered lieutenant, whose brawny hand seemed almost too largefor his sword-hilt, and in any one of whose limbs played more animallife than in the whole body of the pale youth. The firm-set lips of thisofficer, and the fire of his eye, showed a concentrated resolution, which, by the contrast, increased the misery of the ensign, and seemed, as if the stronger absorbed the weaker, to draw out from him the lastfibres of self-possession: the sight of unattainable determination, while it increased the feeling of the arduousness of that which requiredsuch determination, threw him into the great gulf which lay between himand it. In this disorder of his nervous and mental condition, with adoubting conscience and a shrinking heart, is it any wonder that theterrors which lay before him at the gap in those bristling walls, should draw near, and, making sudden inroad upon his soul, overwhelm thegovernment of a will worn out by the tortures of an unassured spirit?What share fear contributed to unman him, it was impossible for him, in the dark, confused conflict of differing emotions, to determine;but doubtless a natural shrinking from danger, there being no excitementto deaden its influence, and no hope of victory to encourage to thestruggle, seeing victory was dreadful to him as defeat, had its part inthe sad result. Many men who have courage, are dependent on ignoranceand a low state of the moral feeling for that courage; and a furtherprogress towards the development of the higher nature would, for a timeat least, entirely overthrow it. Nor could such loss of courage berightly designated by the name of cowardice. 

"But, alas! the colonel happened to fix his eyes upon him as he passedalong the file; and this completed his confusion. He betrayed suchevident symptoms of perturbation, that that officer ordered him underarrest; and the result was, that, chiefly for the sake of example to thearmy, he was, upon trial by court-martial, expelled from the service, and had his sword broken over his head. Alas for the delicate mindedyouth! Alas for the home-darling!

"Long after, he found at the bottom of his chest the pieces of thebroken sword, and remembered that, at the time, he had lifted them fromthe ground and carried them away. But he could not recall under whatimpulse he had done so. Perhaps the agony he suffered, passing thebounds of mortal endurance, had opened for him a vista into the eternal, and had shown him, if not the injustice of the sentence passed upon him, yet his freedom from blame, or, endowing him with dim prophetic vision, had given him the assurance that some day the stain would be wiped fromhis soul, and leave him standing clear before the tribunal of his ownhonour. Some feeling like this, I say, may have caused him, with apassing gleam of indignant protest, to lift the fragments from theearth, and carry them away; even as the friends of a so-called traitormay bear away his mutilated body from the wheel. But if such was thecase, the vision was soon overwhelmed and forgotten in the succeedinganguish. He could not see that, in mercy to his doubting spirit, thequestion which had agitated his mind almost to madness, and which noresults of the impending conflict could have settled for him, was thusquietly set aside for the time; nor that, painful as was the dark, dreadful existence that he was now to pass in self-torment and moaning, it would go by, and leave his spirit clearer far, than if, in hisapprehension, it had been stained with further blood-guiltiness, insteadof the loss of honour. Years after, when he accidentally learned that onthat very morning the whole of his company, with parts of several more, had, or ever they began to mount the breach, been blown to pieces by theexplosion of a mine, he cried aloud in bitterness, "Would God that myfear had not been discovered before I reached that spot!" But surely itis better to pass into the next region of life having reaped someassurance, some firmness of character, determination of effort, andconsciousness of the worth of life, in the present world; so approachingthe future steadily and faithfully, and if in much darkness andignorance, yet not in the oscillations of moral uncertainty. 

"Close upon the catastrophe followed a torpor, which lasted he did notknow how long, and which wrapped in a thick fog all the succeedingevents. For some time he can hardly be said to have had any conscioushistory. He awoke to life and torture when half-way across the seatowards his native country, where was no home any longer for him. Tothis point, and no farther, could his thoughts return in after years. But the misery which he then endured is hardly to be understood, save bythose of like delicate temperament with himself. All day long he satsilent in his cabin; nor could any effort of the captain, or others onboard, induce him to go on deck till night came on, when, under thestarlight, he ventured into the open air. The sky soothed him then, heknew not how. For the face of nature is the face of God, and must bearexpressions that can influence, though unconsciously to them, the mostignorant and hopeless of His children. Often did he watch the clouds inhope of a storm, his spirit rising and falling as the sky darkened orcleared; he longed, in the necessary selfishness of such suffering, fora tumult of waters to swallow the vessel; and only the recollection ofhow many lives were involved in its safety besides his own, preventedhim from praying to God for lightning and tempest, borne on which hemight dash into the haven of the other world. One night, following asultry calm day, he thought that Mercy had heard his unuttered prayer. The air and sea were intense darkness, till a light as intense for onemoment annihilated it, and the succeeding darkness seemed shattered withthe sharp reports of the thunder that cracked without reverberation. Hewho had shrunk from battle with his fellowmen, rushed to the mainmast, threw himself on his knees, and stretched forth his arms in speechlessenergy of supplication; but the storm passed away overhead, and left himkneeling still by the uninjured mast. At length the vessel reached herport. He hurried on shore to bury himself in the most secret place hecould find. _Out of sight_ was his first, his only thought. Returnto his mother he would not, he could not; and, indeed, his friends neverlearned his fate, until it had carried him far beyond their reach. 

"For several weeks he lurked about like a malefactor, in lowlodging-houses in narrow streets of the seaport to which the vessel hadborne him, heeding no one, and but little shocked at the strange societyand conversation with which, though only in bodily presence, he had tomingle. These formed the subjects of reflection in after times; and hecame to the conclusion that, though much evil and much misery exist, sufficient to move prayers and tears in those who love their kind, yetthere is less of both than those looking down from a more elevatedsocial position upon the weltering heap of humanity, are ready toimagine; especially if they regard it likewise from the pedestal ofself-congratulation on which a meagre type of religion has elevatedthem. But at length his little stock of money was nearly expended, andthere was nothing that he could do, or learn to do, in this seaport. Hefelt impelled to seek manual labour, partly because he thought it morelikely he could obtain that sort of employment, without a request forreference as to his character, which would lead to inquiry about hisprevious history; and partly, perhaps, from an instinctive feeling thathard bodily labour would tend to lessen his inward suffering. 

"He left the town, therefore, at nightfall of a July day, carrying alittle bundle of linen, and the remains of his money, somewhat augmentedby the sale of various articles of clothing and convenience, which hischange of life rendered superfluous and unsuitable. He directed hiscourse northwards, travelling principally by night--so painfully did heshrink from the gaze even of foot-farers like himself; and sleepingduring the day in some hidden nook of wood or thicket, or under theshadow of a great tree in a solitary field. So fine was the season, that for three successive weeks he was able to travel thus withoutinconvenience, lying down when the sun grew hot in the forenoon, andgenerally waking when the first faint stars were hesitating in the greatdarkening heavens that covered and shielded him. For above every cloud, above every storm, rise up, calm, clear, divine, the deep infiniteskies; they embrace the tempest even as the sunshine; by theirpermission it exists within their boundless peace: therefore it cannothurt, and must pass away, while there they stand as ever, domed upeternally, lasting, strong, and pure. 

"Several times he attempted to get agricultural employment; but thewhiteness of his hands and the tone of his voice not merely suggestedunfitness for labour, but generated suspicion as to the character of onewho had evidently dropped from a rank so much higher, and was seekingadmittance within the natural masonic boundaries and secrets andprivileges of another. Disheartened somewhat, but hopeful, he journeyedon. I say hopeful; for the blessed power of life in the universe infresh air and sunshine absorbed by active exercise, in winds, yea inrain, though it fell but seldom, had begun to work its natural healing, soothing effect, upon his perturbed spirit. And there was room for hopein his new endeavour. As his bodily strength increased, and his health, considerably impaired by inward suffering, improved, the trouble of hissoul became more endurable--and in some measure to endure is to conquerand destroy. In proportion as the mind grows in the strength ofpatience, the disturber of its peace sickens and fades away. At length, one day, a widow lady in a village through which his road led him, gavehim a day's work in her garden. He laboured hard and well, notwithstanding his soon-blistered hands, received his wages thankfully, and found a resting-place for the night on the low part of a hay-stackfrom which the upper portion had been cut away. Here he ate his supperof bread and cheese, pleased to have found such comfortable quarters, and soon fell fast asleep. 

"When he awoke, the whole heavens and earth seemed to give a full denialto sin and sorrow. The sun was just mounting over the horizon, lookingup the clear cloud-mottled sky. From millions of water-drops hanging onthe bending stalks of grass, sparkled his rays in varied refraction, transformed here to a gorgeous burning ruby, there to an emerald, greenas the grass, and yonder to a flashing, sunny topaz. The chantingpriest-lark had gone up from the low earth, as soon as the heavenlylight had begun to enwrap and illumine the folds of its tabernacle; andhad entered the high heavens with his offering, whence, unseen, he nowdropped on the earth the sprinkled sounds of his overflowingblessedness. The poor youth rose but to kneel, and cry, from a burstingheart, "Hast Thou not, O Father, some care for me? Canst Thou notrestore my lost honour? Can anything befall Thy children for which Thouhast no help? Surely, if the face of Thy world lie not, joy and notgrief is at the heart of the universe. Is there none for me?"

"The highest poetic feeling of which we are now conscious, springsnot from the beholding of perfected beauty, but from the mute sympathywhich the creation with all its children manifests with us in thegroaning and travailing which look for the sonship. Because of ourneed and aspiration, the snowdrop gives birth in our hearts to a loftierspiritual and poetic feeling, than the rose most complete in form, colour, and odour. The rose is of Paradise--the snowdrop is of thestriving, hoping, longing Earth. Perhaps our highest poetry is theexpression of our aspirations in the sympathetic forms of visiblenature. Nor is this merely a longing for a restored Paradise; for evenin the ordinary history of men, no man or woman that has fallen, can berestored to the position formerly held. Such must rise to a yet higherplace, whence they can behold their former standing far beneath theirfeet. They must be restored by the attainment of something better thanthey ever possessed before, or not at all. If the law be a weariness, we must escape it by taking refuge with the spirit, for not otherwisecan we fulfil the law than by being above the law. To escape theoverhanging rocks of Sinai, we must climb to its secret top. 

 "'Is thy strait horizon dreary? Is thy foolish fancy chill? Change the feet that have grown weary For the wings that never will. '

"Thus, like one of the wandering knights searching the wide earth forthe Sangreal, did he wander on, searching for his lost honour, or rather(for that he counted gone for ever) seeking unconsciously for the peaceof mind which had departed from him, and taken with it, not the joymerely, but almost the possibility, of existence. 

"At last, when his little store was all but exhausted, he was employedby a market gardener, in the neighbourhood of a large country town, towork in his garden, and sometimes take his vegetables to market. Withhim he continued for a few weeks, and wished for no change; until, oneday driving his cart through the town, he saw approaching him an elderlygentleman, whom he knew at once, by his gait and carriage, to be amilitary man. Now he had never seen his uncle the retired officer, butit struck him that this might be he; and under the tyranny of hispassion for concealment, he fancied that, if it were he, he mightrecognise him by some family likeness--not considering the improbabilityof his looking at him. This fancy, with the painful effect which thesight of an officer, even in plain clothes, had upon him, recalling thetorture of that frightful day, so overcame him, that he found himself atthe other end of an alley before he recollected that he had the horseand cart in charge. This increased his difficulty; for now he dared notreturn, lest his inquiries after the vehicle, if the horse had strayedfrom the direct line, should attract attention, and cause interrogationswhich he would be unable to answer. The fatal want of self-possessionseemed again to ruin him. He forsook the town by the nearest way, struckacross the country to another line of road, and before he was missed, was miles away, still in a northerly direction. 

"But although he thus shunned the face of man, especially of any onewho reminded him of the past, the loss of his reputation in their eyeswas not the cause of his inward grief. That would have been comparativelypowerless to disturb him, had he not lost his own respect. He quailedbefore his own thoughts; he was dishonoured in his own eyes. Hisperplexity had not yet sufficiently cleared away to allow him to see theextenuating circumstances of the case; not to say the fact that thepeculiar mental condition in which he was at the time, removed the casequite out of the class of ordinary instances of cowardice. He condemnedhimself more severely than any of his judges would have dared;remembering that portion of his mental sensations which had savoured offear, and forgetting the causes which had produced it. He judged himselfa man stained with the foulest blot that could cleave to a soldier'sname, a blot which nothing but death, not even death, could efface. But, inwardly condemned and outwardly degraded, his dread of recognitionwas intense; and feeling that he was in more danger of being discoveredwhere the population was sparser, he resolved to hide himself once morein the midst of poverty; and, with this view, found his way to one ofthe largest of the manufacturing towns. 

"He reached it during the strike of a great part of the workmen; sothat, though he found some difficulty in procuring employment, as mightbe expected from his ignorance of machine-labour, he yet was soonersuccessful than he would otherwise have been. Possessed of a naturalaptitude for mechanical operations, he soon became a tolerable workman;and he found that his previous education assisted to the fittingexecution of those operations even which were most purely mechanical. 

"He found also, at first, that the unrelaxing attention requisite forthe mastering of the many niceties of his work, of necessity drew hismind somewhat from its brooding over his misfortune, hitherto almostceaseless. Every now and then, however, a pang would shoot suddenly tohis heart, and turn his face pale, even before his consciousness hadtime to inquire what was the matter. So by degrees, as attention becameless necessary, and the nervo-mechanical action of his system increasedwith use, his thoughts again returned to their old misery. He would wakeat night in his poor room, with the feeling that a ghostly nightmare saton his soul; that a want--a loss--miserable, fearful--was present; thatsomething of his heart was gone from him; and through the darkness hewould hear the snap of the breaking sword, and lie for a momentoverwhelmed beneath the assurance of the incredible fact. Could it betrue that he was a coward? that _his_ honour was gone, and in itsplace a stain? that _he_ was a thing for men--and worse, forwomen--to point the finger at, laughing bitter laughter? Never lover orhusband could have mourned with the same desolation over the departureof the loved; the girl alone, weeping scorching tears over _her_degradation, could resemble him in his agony, as he lay on his bed, andwept and moaned. 

"His sufferings had returned with the greater weight, that he was nolonger upheld by the "divine air" and the open heavens, whose sunlightnow only reached him late in an afternoon, as he stood at his loom, through windows so coated with dust that they looked like frosted glass;showing, as it passed through the air to fall on the dirty floor, howthe breath of life was thick with dust of iron and wood, and films ofcotton; amidst which his senses were now too much dulled by custom todetect the exhalations from greasy wheels and overtasked human-kind. Nor could he find comfort in the society of his fellow-labourers. True, it was a kind of comfort to have those near him who could notknow of his grief; but there was so little in common between them, that any interchange of thought was impossible. At least, so it seemedto him. Yet sometimes his longing for human companionship would drivehim out of his dreary room at night, and send him wandering through thelower part of the town, where he would gaze wistfully on the miserablefaces that passed him, as if looking for some one--some angel, eventhere--to speak goodwill to his hungry heart. 

"Once he entered one of those gin-palaces, which, like the golden gatesof hell, entice the miserable to worse misery, and seated himself closeto a half-tipsy, good-natured wretch, who made room for him on a benchby the wall. He was comforted even by this proximity to one who wouldnot repel him. But soon the paintings of warlike action--of knights, andhorses, and mighty deeds done with battle-axe, and broad-sword, whichadorned the--panels all round, drove him forth even from this heaven ofthe damned; yet not before the impious thought had arisen in his heart, that the brilliantly painted and sculptural roof, with the gildedvine-leaves and bunches of grapes trained up the windows, all lightedwith the great shining chandeliers, was only a microcosmic repetition ofthe bright heavens and the glowing earth, that overhung and surroundedthe misery of man. But the memory of how kindly they had comforted andelevated him, at one period of his painful history, not only banishedthe wicked thought, but brought him more quiet, in the resurrection ofa past blessing, than he had known for some time. The period, however, was now at hand when a new grief, followed by a new and more elevatedactivity, was to do its part towards the closing up of the fountain ofbitterness. 

"Amongst his fellow-labourers, he had for a short time taken someinterest in observing a young woman, who had lately joined them. Therewas nothing remarkable about her, except what at first sight seemed aremarkable plainness. A slight scar over one of her rather prominenteyebrows, increased this impression of plainness. But the first day hadnot passed, before he began to see that there was something notaltogether common in those deep eyes; and the plain look vanished beforea closer observation, which also discovered, in the forehead and thelines of the mouth, traces of sorrow or other suffering. There was anexpression, too, in the whole face, of fixedness of purpose, without anyhardness of determination. Her countenance altogether seemed the indexto an interesting mental history. Signs of mental trouble were always anattraction to him; in this case so great, that he overcame his shyness, and spoke to her one evening as they left the works. He often walkedhome with her after that; as, indeed, was natural, seeing that sheoccupied an attic in the same poor lodging-house in which he livedhimself. The street did not bear the best character; nor, indeed, wouldthe occupations of all the inmates of the house have stoodinvestigation; but so retiring and quiet was this girl, and so seldomdid she go abroad after work hours, that he had not discovered till thenthat she lived in the same street, not to say the same house withhimself. 

"He soon learned her history--a very common one as outward events, but not surely insignificant because common. Her father and motherwere both dead, and hence she had to find her livelihood alone, and amidst associations which were always disagreeable, and sometimespainful. Her quick womanly instinct must have discovered that he toohad a history; for though, his mental prostration favouring theoperation of outward influences, he had greatly approximated inappearance to those amongst whom he laboured, there were yet signs, besides the educated accent of his speech, which would havedistinguished him to an observer; but she put no questions to him, nor made any approach towards seeking a return of the confidence shereposed in him. It was a sensible alleviation to his sufferings tohear her kind voice, and look in her gentle face, as they walked hometogether; and at length the expectation of this pleasure began topresent itself, in the midst of the busy, dreary work-hours, as theshadow of a heaven to close up the dismal, uninteresting day. 

"But one morning he missed her from her place, and a keener pain passedthrough him than he had felt of late; for he knew that the Plague wasabroad, feeding in the low stagnant places of human abode; and he hadbut too much reason to dread that she might be now struggling in itsgrasp. He seized the first opportunity of slipping out and hurryinghome. He sprang upstairs to her room. He found the door locked, butheard a faint moaning within. To avoid disturbing her, while determinedto gain an entrance, he went down for the key of his own door, withwhich he succeeded in unlocking hers, and so crossed her threshold forthe first time. There she lay on her bed, tossing in pain, and beginningto be delirious. Careless of his own life, and feeling that he could notdie better than in helping the only friend he had; certain, likewise, of the difficulty of finding a nurse for one in this disease and of herstation in life; and sure, likewise, that there could be no question ofpropriety, either in the circumstances with which they were surrounded, nor in this case of terrible fever almost as hopeless for her asdangerous to him, he instantly began the duties of a nurse, and returnedno more to his employment. He had a little money in his possession, forhe could not, in the way in which he lived, spend all his wages; so heproceeded to make her as comfortable as he could, with all the pent-uptenderness of a loving heart finding an outlet at length. When a boy athome, he had often taken the place of nurse, and he felt quite capableof performing its duties. Nor was his boyhood far behind yet, althoughthe trials he had come through made it appear an age since he had losthis light heart. So he never left her bedside, except to procure whatwas necessary for her. She was too ill to oppose any of his measures, or to seek to prohibit his presence. Indeed, by the time he had returnedwith the first medicine, she was insensible; and she continued sothrough the whole of the following week, during which time he wasconstantly with her. 

"That action produces feeling is as often true as its converse; and itis not surprising that, while he smoothed the pillow for her head, heshould have made a nest in his heart for the helpless girl. Slowly andunconsciously he learned to love her. The chasm between his earlyassociations and the circumstances in which he found her, vanished ashe drew near to the simple, essential womanhood. His heart saw hers andloved it; and he knew that, the centre once gained, he could, as fromthe fountain of life, as from the innermost secret of the holy place, the hidden germ of power and possibility, transform the outer intellectand outermost manners as he pleased. With what a thrill of joy, afeeling for a long time unknown to him, and till now never known in thisform or with this intensity, the thought arose in his heart that herelay one who some day would love him; that he should have a place ofrefuge and rest; one to lie in his bosom and not despise him! "For, "said he to himself, "I will call forth her soul from where it sleeps, like an unawakened echo, in an unknown cave; and like a child, of whomI once dreamed, that was mine, and to my delight turned in fear from allbesides, and clung to me, this soul of hers will run with bewildered, half-sleeping eyes, and tottering steps, but with a cry of joy on itslips, to me as the life-giver. She will cling to me and worship me. Thenwill I tell her, for she must know all, that I am low and contemptible;that I am an outcast from the world, and that if she receive me, shewill be to me as God. And I will fall down at her feet and pray her forcomfort, for life, for restoration to myself; and she will throw herselfbeside me, and weep and love me, I know. And we will go through lifetogether, working hard, but for each other; and when we die, she shalllead me into paradise as the prize her angel-hand found cast on a desertshore, from the storm of winds and waves which I was too weak toresist--and raised, and tended, and saved. " Often did such thoughtsas these pass through his mind while watching by her bed; alternated, checked, and sometimes destroyed, by the fears which attended herprecarious condition, but returning with every apparent bettermentor hopeful symptom. 

"I will not stop to decide the nice question, how far the intention wasright, of causing her to love him before she knew his story. If in thewhole matter there was too much thought of self, my only apology isthe sequel. One day, the ninth from the commencement of her illness, a letter arrived, addressed to her; which he, thinking he might preventsome inconvenience thereby, opened and read, in the confidence of thatlove which already made her and all belonging to her appear his own. It was from a soldier--_her lover_. It was plain that they had beenbetrothed before he left for the continent a year ago; but this was thefirst letter which he had written to her. It breathed changeless love, and hope, and confidence in her. He was so fascinated that he read itthrough without pause. 

"Laying it down, he sat pale, motionless, almost inanimate. From thehard-won sunny heights, he was once more cast down into the shadow ofdeath. The second storm of his life began, howling and raging, with yetmore awful lulls between. "Is she not _mine_?" he said, in agony. "Do I not feel that she is mine? Who will watch over her as I? Who willkiss her soul to life as I? Shall she be torn away from me, when my soulseems to have dwelt with hers for ever in an eternal house? But haveI not a right to her? Have I not given my life for hers? Is he not asoldier, and are there not many chances that he may never return? And itmay be that, although they were engaged in word, soul has never touchedsoul with them; their love has never reached that point where it passesfrom the mortal to the immortal, the indissoluble: and so, in a sense, she may be yet free. Will he do for her what I will do? Shall thisprecious heart of hers, in which I see the buds of so many beauties, be left to wither and die?"

"But here the voice within him cried out, "Art thou the disposer ofdestinies? Wilt thou, in a universe where the visible God hath diedfor the Truth's sake, do evil that a good, which He might neglect oroverlook, may be gained? Leave thou her to Him, and do thou right. "And he said within himself, "Now is the real trial for my life! ShallI conquer or no?" And his heart awoke and cried, "I will. God forgiveme for wronging the poor soldier! A brave man, brave at least, is betterfor her than I. "

"A great strength arose within him, and lifted him up to depart. "SurelyI may kiss her once, " he said. For the crisis was over, and she slept. He stooped towards her face, but before he had reached her lips he sawher eyelids tremble; and he who had longed for the opening of thoseeyes, as of the gates of heaven, that she might love him, stricken nowwith fear lest she should love him, fled from her, before the eyelidsthat hid such strife and such victory from the unconscious maiden hadtime to unclose. But it was agony--quietly to pack up his bundle oflinen in the room below, when he knew she was lying awake above, withher dear, pale face, and living eyes! What remained of his money, excepta few shillings, he put up in a scrap of paper, and went out with hisbundle in his hand, first to seek a nurse for his friend, and then to gohe knew not whither. He met the factory people with whom he had worked, going to dinner, and amongst them a girl who had herself but latelyrecovered from the fever, and was yet hardly able for work. She was theonly friend the sick girl had seemed to have amongst the women at thefactory, and she was easily persuaded to go and take charge of her. He put the money in her hand, begging her to use it for the invalid, and promising to send the equivalent of her wages for the time he thoughtshe would have to wait on her. This he easily did by the sale of a ring, which, besides his mother's watch, was the only article of value he hadretained. He begged her likewise not to mention his name in the matter;and was foolish enough to expect that she would entirely keep thepromise she had made him. 

"Wandering along the street, purposeless now and bereft, he spied arecruiting party at the door of a public-house; and on coming nearer, found, by one of those strange coincidences which do occur in life, and which have possibly their root in a hidden and wondrous law, thatit was a party, perhaps a remnant, of the very regiment in which hehad himself served, and in which his misfortune had befallen him. Almostsimultaneously with the shock which the sight of the well-known numberon the soldiers' knapsacks gave him, arose in his mind the romantic, ideal thought, of enlisting in the ranks of this same regiment, andrecovering, as a private soldier and unknown, that honour which asofficer he had lost. To this determination, the new necessity in whichhe now stood for action and change of life, doubtless contributed, though unconsciously. He offered himself to the sergeant; and, notwithstanding that his dress indicated a mode of life unsuitable asthe antecedent to a soldier's, his appearance, and the necessity forrecruits combined, led to his easy acceptance. 

"The English armies were employed in expelling the enemy from an invadedand helpless country. Whatever might be the political motives which hadinduced the Government to this measure, the young man was now able tofeel that he could go and fight, individually and for his part, in thecause of liberty. He was free to possess his own motives for joiningin the execution of the schemes of those who commanded his commanders. 

"With a heavy heart, but with more of inward hope and strength than hehad ever known before, he marched with his comrades to the seaport andembarked. It seemed to him that because he had done right in his lasttrial, here was a new glorious chance held out to his hand. True, itwas a terrible change to pass from a woman in whom he had hoped tofind healing, into the society of rough men, to march with them, "_mitgleichem Tritt und Schritt_, " up to the bristling bayonets or thehorrid vacancy of the cannon mouth. But it was the only cure for theevil that consumed his life. 

"He reached the army in safety, and gave himself, with religiousassiduity, to the smallest duties of his new position. No one had abrighter polish on his arms, or whiter belts than he. In the necessarymovements, he soon became precise to a degree that attracted theattention of his officers; while his character was remarkable forall the virtues belonging to a perfect soldier. 

"One day, as he stood sentry, he saw the eyes of his colonel intentlyfixed on him. He felt his lip quiver, but he compressed and stilled it, and tried to look as unconscious as he could; which effort was assistedby the formal bearing required by his position. Now the colonel, such had been the losses of the regiment, had been promoted from alieutenancy in the same, and had belonged to it at the time of theensign's degradation. Indeed, had not the changes in the regimentbeen so great, he could hardly have escaped so long without discovery. But the poor fellow would have felt that his name was already free ofreproach, if he had seen what followed on the close inspection whichhad awakened his apprehensions, and which, in fact, had convinced thecolonel of his identity with the disgraced ensign. With a hasty and lesssoldierly step than usual the colonel entered his tent, threw himselfon his bed and wept like a child. When he rose he was overheard to saythese words--and these only escaped his lips: 'He is nobler than I. '

"But this officer showed himself worthy of commanding such men as thisprivate; for right nobly did he understand and meet his feelings. Heuttered no word of the discovery he had made, till years afterwards;but it soon began to be remarked that whenever anything arduous, or inany manner distinguished, had to be done, this man was sure to be ofthe party appointed. In short, as often as he could, the colonel "sethim in the forefront of the battle. " Passing through all with wonderfulescape, he was soon as much noticed for his reckless bravery, as hithertofor his precision in the discharge of duties bringing only commendationand not honour. But his final lustration was at hand. 

"A great part of the army was hastening, by forced marches, to raisethe siege of a town which was already on the point of falling into thehands of the enemy. Forming one of a reconnoitring party, which precededthe main body at some considerable distance, he and his companions camesuddenly upon one of the enemy's outposts, occupying a high, and on oneside precipitous rock, a short way from the town, which it commanded. Retreat was impossible, for they were already discovered, and thebullets were falling amongst them like the first of a hail-storm. Theonly possibility of escape remaining for them was a nearly hopelessimprobability. It lay in forcing the post on this steep rock; which ifthey could do before assistance came to the enemy, they might, perhaps, be able to hold out, by means of its defences, till the arrival of thearmy. Their position was at once understood by all; and, by a sudden, simultaneous impulse, they found themselves half-way up the steepascent, and in the struggle of a close conflict, without being awareof any order to that effect from their officer. But their courage wasof no avail; the advantages of the place were too great; and in a fewminutes the whole party was cut to pieces, or stretched helpless onthe rock. Our youth had fallen amongst the foremost; for a musket ballhad grazed his skull, and laid him insensible. 

"But consciousness slowly returned, and he succeeded at last in raisinghimself and looking around him. The place was deserted. A few of hisfriends, alive, but grievously wounded, lay near him. The rest weredead. It appeared that, learning the proximity of the English forcesfrom this rencontre with part of their advanced guard, and dreadinglest the town, which was on the point of surrendering, should afterall be snatched from their grasp, the commander of the enemy's forceshad ordered an immediate and general assault; and had for this purposerecalled from their outposts the whole of his troops thus stationed, that he might make the attempt with the utmost strength he couldaccumulate. 

"As the youth's power of vision returned, he perceived, from the heightwhere he he lay, that the town was already in the hands of the enemy. But looking down into the level space immediately below him, he startedto his feet at once; for a girl, bare-headed, was fleeing towards therock, pursued by several soldiers. "Aha!" said he, divining herpurpose--the soldiers behind and the rock before her--"I will help youto die!" And he stooped and wrenched from the dead fingers of a sergeantthe sword which they clenched by the bloody hilt. A new throb of lifepulsed through him to his very finger-tips; and on the brink of theunseen world he stood, with the blood rushing through his veins in awild dance of excitement. One who lay near him wounded, but recoveredafterwards, said that he looked like one inspired. With a keen eye hewatched the chase. The girl drew nigh; and rushed up the path near whichhe was standing. Close on her footsteps came the soldiers, the distancegradually lessening between them. 

"Not many paces higher up, was a narrower part of the ascent, wherethe path was confined by great stones, or pieces of rock. Here had beenthe chief defence in the preceding assault, and in it lay many bodiesof his friends. Thither he went and took his stand. 

"On the girl came, over the dead, with rigid hands and flying feet, the bloodless skin drawn tight on her features, and her eyes awfullylarge and wild. She did not see him though she bounded past so nearthat her hair flew in his eyes. "Never mind!" said he, "we shall meetsoon. " And he stepped into the narrow path just in time to face herpursuers--between her and them. Like the red lightning the bloodysword fell, and a man beneath it. Cling! clang! went the echoes inthe rocks--and another man was down; for, in his excitement, he wasa destroying angel to the breathless pursuers. His stature rose, hischest dilated; and as the third foe fell dead, the girl was safe;for her body lay a broken, empty, but undesecrated temple, at the footof the rock. That moment his sword flew in shivers from his grasp. The next instant he fell, pierced to the heart; and his spirit rosetriumphant, free, strong, and calm, above the stormy world, which atlength lay vanquished beneath him. "

 * * * * *

"A capital story!" cried our host, the moment the curate had ceasedreading. "But you should not have killed him. You should have made ageneral of him. By heaven! he deserved it. "

Mr. Armstrong was evidently much pleased that the colonel so heartilysympathized with his tale. And every one else added some words ofcommendation. I could not help thinking with myself that he had onlyembodied the story of his own life in other more striking forms. But Iknew that, if I said so, he would laugh at me, and answer that all hehad done was quite easy to do--he had found no difficulty in it; whereasthis man was a hero and did the thing that he found very difficultindeed. Still I was sure that the story was at least the outgrowth ofhis own mind. 

"May we ask, " I said, "how much of the tale is fact?"

"I am sorry it is not all fact, " he answered. 

"Tell us how much, then, " I said. 

"Well, I will tell you what made me write it. I heard an old lady at adinner-table mention that she had once known a young officer who had hissword broken over his head, and was dismissed from the army, forcowardice. I began trying first to understand his feelings; then to seehow the thing could have happened; and then to discover what could bedone for him. And hence the story. That was all, I am sorry to say. "

"I thought as much, " I rejoined. 

"Will you excuse me if I venture to make a remark?" said Mrs. Bloomfield. 

"With all my heart, " answered the curate. 

"It seemed to me that there was nothing Christian in the story. And Icannot help feeling that a clergyman might, therefore, have donebetter. "

"I allow that in words there is nothing Christian, " answered Mr. Armstrong; "and I am quite ready to allow also that it might have beenbetter if something of the kind you mean had been expressed in it. Thewhole thing, however, is only a sketch. But I cannot allow that, inspirit and scope, it is anything other than Christian, or indeedanything but Christian. It seems to me that the whole might be used as aChristian parable. "

While the curate spoke, I had seen Adela's face flush; but the cause wasnot _visible_ to me. As he uttered the last words, a hand was laidon his shoulder, and Harry's voice said:

"At your parables again, Ralph?"

He had come in so gently that the only sign of his entrance had been therose-light on Adela's cheeks. --Was he the sun? And was she a cloud ofthe east?

"Glad to see you safe amongst us again, " said the colonel, backed byalmost every one of the company. 

"What's your quarrel with my parables, Harry?" said the curate. 

"Quarrel? None at all. They are the delight of my heart. I only wishyou would give our friends one of your best--_The Castle_, forinstance. "

"Not yet a while, Harry. It is not my turn for some time, I hope. Perhaps Miss Cathcart will be tired of the whole affair, before itcomes round to me again. "

"Then I shall deserve to be starved of stories all the rest of my life, "answered Adela, laughing. 

"If you will allow me, then, " said Harry, "I will give you a parable, called _The Lost Church_, from the German poet, Uhland. "

"Softly, Harry, " said his brother; "you are ready enough with what isnot yours to give; but where is your own story that you promised, andwhich indeed we should have a right to demand, whether you had promisedit or not?"

"I am working at it, Ralph, in my spare moments, which are not verymany; and I want to choose the right sort of night to tell it in, too. This one wouldn't do at all. There's no moon. "

"If it is a horrid story, it is a pity you did not read it last time, before you set out to cross the moor. "

"Oh, that night would not have done at all. A night like that drives allfear out of one's head. But indeed it is not finished yet. --May I repeatthe parable now, Miss Cathcart?"

"What do you mean by a _parable_, Mr. Henry?" interrupted Mrs. Cathcart. "It sounds rather profane to me. "

"I mean a picture in words, where more is meant than meets the ear. "

"But why call it a parable?"

"Because it is one. "

"Why not speak in plain words then?"

"Because a good parable is plainer than the plainest words. You rememberwhat Tennyson says--that

 'truth embodied in a tale Shall enter in at lowly doors'?"

"Goethe, " said the curate, "has a little parable about poems, which isequally true about parables--

 'Poems are painted window-panes. If one looks from the square into the church, Dusk and dimness are his gains-- Sir Philistine is left in the lurch. The sight, so seen, may well enrage him, Nor any words henceforth assuage him. 

 But come just inside what conceals; Cross the holy threshold quite-- All at once, 'tis rainbow-bright; Device and story flash to light; A gracious splendour truth reveals. This, to God's children, is full measure; It edifies and gives them pleasure. '"

"I can't follow that, " said Adela. 

"I will write it out for you, " said Harry; "and then you will be ableto follow it perfectly. "

"Thank you very much. Now for your parable. "

"It is called _The Lost Church_; and I assure you it is full ofmeaning. "

"I hope I shall be able to find it out. "

"You will find the more the longer you think about it. 

 'Oft in the far wood, overhead, Tones of a bell are heard obscurely; How old the sounds no sage has said, Or yet explained the story surely. From the lost church, the legend saith, Out on the winds, the ringing goeth; Once full of pilgrims was the path-- Now where to find it, no one knoweth. 

 Deep in the wood I lately went, Where no foot-trodden path is lying; From the time's woe and discontent, My heart went forth to God in sighing. When in the forest's wild repose, I heard the ringing somewhat clearer; The higher that my longing rose, Downward it rang the fuller, nearer. 

 So on its thoughts my heart did brood, My sense was with the sound so busy, That I have never understood How I clomb up the height so dizzy. To me it seemed a hundred years Had passed away in dreaming, sighing-- When lo! high o'er the clouds, appears An open space in sunlight lying. 

 The heaven, dark-blue, above it bowed; The sun shone o'er it, large and glowing; Beneath, a ministers structure proud Stood in the gold light, golden showing. It seemed on those great clouds, sun-clear, Aloft to hover, as on pinions; Its spire-point seemed to disappear, Melting away in high dominions. 

 The bell's clear tones, entrancing, full-- The quivering tower, they, booming, swung it; No human hand the rope did pull-- The holy storm-winds sweeping rung it. The storm, the stream, came down, came near, And seized my heart with longing holy; Into the church I went, with fear, With trembling step, and gladness lowly. 

 The threshold crossed--I cannot show What in me moved; words cannot paint it. Both dark and clear, the windows glow With noble forms of martyrs sainted. I gazed and saw--transfigured glory! The pictures swell and break their barriers; I saw the world and all its story Of holy women, holy warriors. 

 Down at the altar I sank slowly; My heart was like the face of Stephen. Aloft, upon the arches holy, Shone out in gold the glow of heaven. I prayed; I looked again; and lo! The dome's high sweep had flown asunder; The heavenly gates wide open go; And every veil unveils a wonder. 

 What gloriousness I then beheld, Kneeling in prayer, silent and wondrous, What sounds triumphant on me swelled, Like organs and like trumpets thunderous-- My mortal words can never tell; But who for such is sighing sorest, Let him give heed unto the bell That dimly soundeth in the forest. '"

"Splendid!" cried the schoolmaster, with enthusiasm. 

"What is the lost church?" asked Mrs. Cathcart. 

"No one can tell, but him who finds it, like the poet, " answered thecurate. 

"But I suppose _you_ at least consider it the Church of England, "returned the lady with one of her sweetest attempts at a smile. 

"God forbid!" exclaimed the clergyman, with a kind of sacred horror. 

"Not the Church of England!" cried Mrs. Cathcart, in a tone of horrorlikewise, dashed with amazement. 

"No, madam--the Church of God; the great cathedral-church of theuniverse; of which Church I trust the Church of England is a littleJesus-chapel. "

"God bless you, Mr. Armstrong!" cried the schoolmaster. 

The colonel likewise showed some sign of emotion. Mrs. Cathcart lookedset-down and indignant. Percy stared. Adela and Harry looked at eachother. 

"Whoever finds God in his own heart, " said the clergyman, solemnly, "has found the lost Church--the Church of God. "

And he looked at Adela as he spoke. She cast down her eyes, and thankedhim with her heart. 

A silence followed. 

"Harry, you must come up with your story next time--positively, " saidMr. Armstrong at length. 

"I don't think I can. I cannot undertake to do so, at all events. "

"Then what is to be done?--I have it. Lizzie, my dear, you have gotthat story you wrote once for a Christmas paper, have you not?"

"Yes, I have, Ralph; but that is far too slight a thing to be worthreading here. "

"It will do at least to give Harry a chance for his. I mustn't praiseit 'afore fowk, ' you know. "

"But it was never quite finished--at least so people said. "

"Well, you can finish it to-morrow well enough. "

"I haven't time. "

"You needn't be working at that--all day long and every day. There isno such hurry. "

The blank indicates a certain cessation of intelligible sound occasionedby the close application of Lizzie's palm to Ralph's lips. She did not, dare, however, to make any further opposition to his request. 

"I think we have some claim on you, Mrs. Armstrong, " said the host. "Itwill be my sister's turn next time, and after that Percy's. "

Percy gave a great laugh; and his mother said, with a slight toss of herhead:

"I am not so fond of being criticised myself!"

"Has criticism been _your_ occupation, Mrs. Cathcart, " I said, "during our readings? If so, then indeed we have a claim on you greaterthan I had supposed. "

She could not hide some degree of confusion and annoyance. But I had hadmy revenge, and I had no wish for her story; so I said nothing more. 

We parted with the understanding that Mrs. Armstrong would read herstory on the following Monday. 

Again, before he took his leave, Mr. Harry had a little therapeutic_tete-a-tete_ with Miss Adela, which lasted about two minutes, Mrs. Cathcart watching them every second of the time, with her eyes as roundand wide as she could make them, for they were by nature very long, andby art very narrow, for she rarely opened them to any width at all. Theywere not pleasant eyes, those eyes of Mrs. Cathcart's. Percy's were likethem, only better, for though they had a reddish tinge, he did open themwider. 

CHAPTER VII. 

MY UNCLE PETER. 

"Why don't you write a story, Percy?" said his mother to him nextmorning at breakfast. 

"Plenty of quill-driving at Somerset-House, mother. I prefer somethingelse in the holidays. "

"But I don't like to see you showing to disadvantage, Percy, " said hisuncle kindly. "Why don't you try?"

"The doctor-fellow hasn't read one yet. And I don't think he will. "

"Have patience. I think he will. "

"I don't care. I don't want to hear it. It's all a confounded bore. They're nothing but goody humbug, or sentimental whining. His wouldbe sure to smell of black draught. I'm not partial to drugs. "

The mother frowned, and the uncle tried to smile kindly and excusingly. Percy rose and left the room. 

"You see he's jealous of the doctor, " remarked his mother, with anupward toss of the head. 

The colonel did not reply, and I ventured no remark. 

"There is a vein of essential vulgarity in both the brothers, " saidthe lady. 

"I don't think so, " returned the colonel; and there the conversationended. 

Adela was practising at her piano the greater part of the day. Theweather would not admit of a walk. 

When we were all seated once more for our reading and Mrs. Armstrong hadher paper in her hand, after a little delay of apparent irresolution, she said all at once:

"Ralph, I can't read. Will you read it for me?"

"Do try to read it yourself, my dear, " said her husband. 

"I am sure I shall break down, " she answered. 

"If you were able to write it, surely you are able to read it, " said thecolonel. "I know what my difficulty would be. "

"It is a very different thing to read one's own writing. I could readanything else well enough. --Will you read it for me, Henry?"

"With pleasure, if it must be any other than yourself. I know yourhandwriting nearly as well as my own. It's none of your usuallady-hands-all point and no character. But what do you say, Ralph?"

"Read it by all means, if she will have it so. The company has hadenough of my reading. It will be a change of voice at least. "

I saw that Adela looked pleasedly expectant. 

"Pray don't look for much, " said Mrs. Armstrong in a pleading tone. "I assure you it is nothing, or at best a mere trifle. But I couldnot help myself, without feeling obstinate. And my husband lays somuch on the cherished obstinacy of Lady Macbeth, holding that to bethe key to her character, that he has terrified me from everyindulgence of mine. "

She laughed very sweetly; and her husband joining in the laugh, allfurther hindrance was swept away in the music of their laughter; andHarry, taking the papers from his sister's hand, commenced at once. It was partly in print, and partly in manuscript. 

"MY UNCLE PETER. 

"I will tell you the story of my Uncle Peter, who was born onChristmas-day. He was very anxious to die on Christmas-day as well;but I must confess that was rather ambitious in Uncle Peter. Shakespeareis said to have been born on St. George's-day, and there is some groundfor believing that he died on St. George's-day. He thus fulfilled a cycle. But we cannot expect that of any but great men, and Uncle Peter was nota great man, though I think I shall be able to show that he was a goodman. The only pieces of selfishness I ever discovered in him were, hisself-gratulation at having been born on Christmas-day, and the ambitionwith regard to his death, which I have just recorded; and that thisselfishness was not of a kind to be very injurious to his fellowmen, I think I shall be able to show as well. 

"The first remembrance that I have of him, is his taking me oneChristmas-eve to the largest toy-shop in London, and telling me tochoose any toy whatever that I pleased. He little knew the agony ofchoice into which this request of his, --for it was put to me as arequest, in the most polite, loving manner, --threw his astonishednephew. If a general right of choice from the treasures of the wholeworld had been unanimously voted me, it could hardly have cast me intogreater perplexity. I wandered about, staring like a distracted ghostat the 'wealth of Ormus and of Ind, ' displayed about me. Uncle Peterfollowed me with perfect patience; nay, I believe, with a delight thatequalled my perplexity, for, every now and then when I looked round tohim with a silent appeal for sympathy in the distressing dilemma intowhich he had thrown me, I found him rubbing his hands and spirituallychuckling over his victim. Nor would he volunteer the least assistanceto save me from the dire consequences of too much liberty. How long Iwas in making up my mind I cannot tell; but as I look back upon thissplendour of my childhood, I feel as if I must have wandered for weeksthrough interminable forest-alleys of toy-bearing trees. As often as Iread the story of Aladdin--and I read it now and then still, for I havechildren about, and their books about--the subterranean orchard ofjewels always brings back to my inward vision the inexhaustible richesof the toy-shop to which Uncle Peter took me that Christmas-eve. As soonas, in despair of choosing well, I had made a desperate plunge atdecision, my Uncle Peter, as if to forestall any supervention ofrepentance, began buying like a maniac, giving me everything that tookhis fancy or mine, till we and our toys nearly filled the cab which hecalled to take us home. 

"Uncle Peter was little round man, not _very_ fat, resembling bothin limbs and features an overgrown baby. And I believe the resemblancewas not merely an external one; for, though his intellect was quite upto par, he retained a degree of simplicity of character and of tastesthat was not childlike only, but bordered, sometimes, upon the childish. To look at him, you could not have fancied a face or a figure with lessof the romantic about them; yet I believe that the whole region of hisbrain was held in fee-simple, whatever that may mean, by a race of fairyarchitects, who built aerial castles therein, regardless of expense. His imagination was the most distinguishing feature of his character. And to hear him defend any of his extravagancies, it would appear that heconsidered himself especially privileged in that respect. 'Ah, my dear, 'he would say to my mother when she expostulated with him on making somepresent far beyond the small means he at that time possessed, 'ah, mydear, you see I was born on Christmas-day. ' Many a time he would come infrom town, where he was a clerk in a merchant's office, with the waterrunning out of his boots, and his umbrella carefully tucked under hisarm; and we would know very well that he had given the last coppers hehad, for his omnibus home, to some beggar or crossing-sweeper, and hadthen been so delighted with the pleasure he had given, that he forgot tomake the best of it by putting up his umbrella. Home he would trudge, in his worn suit of black, with his steel watch-chain and bunch ofancestral seals swinging and ringing from his fob, and the rain runninginto his trousers pockets, to the great endangerment of the health ofhis cherished old silver watch, which never went wrong because it wasput right every day by St. Paul's. He was quite poor then, as I havesaid. I do not think he had more than a hundred pounds a-year, and hemust have been five and thirty. I suppose his employers showed theircare for the morals of their clerks, by never allowing them any marginto mis-spend. But Uncle Peter lived in constant hope and expectation ofsome unexampled good luck befalling him; 'For, ' said he, 'I was born onChristmas-day. '

"He was never married. When people used to jest with him about being anold bachelor, he used to smile, for anything would make him smile; butI was a very little boy indeed when I began to observe that the smileon such occasions was mingled with sadness, and that Uncle Peter's facelooked very much as if he were going to cry. But he never said anythingon the subject, and not even my mother knew whether he had had anylove-story or not. I have often wondered whether his goodness might notcome in part from his having lost some one very dear to him, and havinghis life on earth purified by the thoughts of her life in heaven. ButI never found out. After his death--for he did die, though not onChristmas-day--I found a lock of hair folded in paper with a date onit--that was all--in a secret drawer of his old desk. The date was farearlier than my first recollections of him. I reverentially burnt itwith fire. 

"He lived in lodgings by himself not far from our house; and, when notwith us, was pretty sure to be found seated in his easy-chair, for hewas fond of his simple comforts, beside a good fire, reading by thelight of one candle. He had his tea always as soon as he came home, and some buttered toast or a hot muffin, of which he was sure to makeme eat three-quarters if I chanced to drop in upon him at the right hour, which, I am rather ashamed to say, I not unfrequently did. He dared notorder another, as I soon discovered. Yet, I fear, that did not abate myappetite for what there was. You see, I was never so good as UnclePeter. When he had finished his tea, he turned his chair to the fire, and read--what do you think? Sensible Travels and Discoveries, orPolitical Economy, or Popular Geology? No: Fairy Tales, as many as hecould lay hold of; and when they failed him, Romances or Novels. Almostanything in this way would do that was not bad. I believe he had readevery word of Richardson's novels, and most of Fielding's and De Foe's. But once I saw him throw a volume in the fire, which he had beenfidgeting over for a while. I was just finishing a sum I had broughtacross to him to help me with. I looked up, and saw the volume in thefire. The heat made it writhe open, and I saw the author's name, andthat was _Sterne_. He had bought it at a book-stall as he camehome. He sat awhile, and then got up and took down his Bible, and beganreading a chapter in the New Testament, as if for an antidote to thebook he had destroyed. "

 * * * * *

"I put in that piece, " said the curate. 

 * * * * *

"But Uncle Peter's luck came at last--at least, he thought it did, whenhe received a lawyer's letter announcing the _demise_ of a cousinof whom he had heard little for a great many years, although they hadbeen warm friends while at school together. This cousin had been broughtup to some trade in the wood line--had been a cooper or a carpenter, and had somehow or other got landed in India, and, though not in theCompany's service, had contrived in one way and another to amass whatmight be called a large fortune in any rank of life. I am afraid tomention the amount of it, lest it should throw discredit on my story. The whole of this fortune he left to Uncle Peter, for he had no nearerrelation, and had always remembered him with affection. 

"I happened to be seated beside my uncle when the lawyer's letterarrived. He was reading 'Peter Wilkins. ' He laid down the book withreluctance, thinking the envelope contained some advertisement of slatycoal for his kitchen-fire, or cottony silk for his girls' dresses. Fancy my surprise when my little uncle jumped up on his chair, andthence on the table, upon which he commenced a sort of demoniac hornpipe. But that sober article of furniture declined giving its support to suchproceedings for a single moment, and fell with an awful crash to thefloor. My uncle was dancing amidst its ruins like Nero in blazing Rome, when he was reduced to an awful sense of impropriety by the entrance ofhis landlady. I was sitting in open-mouthed astonishment at my uncle'sextravagance, when he suddenly dropped into his chair, like a lark intoits nest, leaving heaven silent. But silence did not reign long. 

"'_Well_! Mr, Belper, ' began his landlady, in a tone as difficultof description as it is easy of conception, for her fists had alreadyplanted themselves in her own opposing sides. But, to my astonishment, my uncle was not in the least awed, although I am sure, however muchhe tried to hide it, that I have often seen him tremble in his shoesat the distant roar of this tigress. But it is wonderful how muchcourage a pocketful of sovereigns will give. It is far better forrousing the pluck of a man than any number of bottles of wine in hishead. What a brave thing a whole fortune must be then!

"'Take that rickety old thing away, ' said my uncle. 

"'Rickety, Mr. Belper! I'm astonished to hear a decent gentleman likeyou slander the very table as you've eaten off for the last--'

"'We won't be precise to a year, ma'am, ' interrupted my uncle. 

"'And if you will have little scapegraces of neveys into my house tobreak the furniture, why, them as breaks, pays, Mr. Belper. '

"'Very well. Of course I will pay for it. I broke it myself, ma'am;and if you don't get out of my room, I'll--'

"Uncle Peter jumped up once more, and made for the heap of ruins in themiddle of the floor. The landlady vanished in a moment, and my unclethrew himself again into his chair, and absolutely roared with laughter. 

"'Shan't we have rare fun, Charlie, my boy?' said he at last, and wentoff into another fit of laughter. 

"'Why, uncle, what is the matter with you?' I managed to say, in utterbewilderment. 

"'Nothing but luck, Charlie. It's gone to my head. I'm not used to it, Charlie, that's all. I'll come all right by-and-by. Bless you, my boy!'

"What do you think was the first thing my uncle did to relieve himselfof the awful accession of power which had just befallen him? Thefollowing morning he gathered together every sixpence he had in thehouse, and went out of one grocer's shop into another, and out of onebaker's shop into another, until he had changed the whole intothreepenny pieces. Then he walked to town, as usual, to business. Butone or two of his friends who were walking the same way, and followedbehind him, could not think what Mr. Belper was about. Every crossingthat he came to he made use of to cross to the other side. He crossedand recrossed the same street twenty times, they said. But at lengththey observed, that, with a legerdemain worthy of a professor, heslipped something into every sweeper's hand as he passed him. It wasone of the threepenny pieces. When he walked home in the evening, hehad nothing to give, and besides went through one of the wet experiencesto which I have already alluded. To add to his discomfort, he found, when he got home, that his tobacco-jar was quite empty, so that he wasforced to put on his wet shoes again--for he never, to the end of hisdays, had more than one pair at a time--in order to come across to mymother to borrow sixpence. Before the legacy was paid to him, he wentthrough a good many of the tortures which result from being 'a kingand no king. ' The inward consciousness and the outward possibility didnot in the least correspond. At length, after much manoeuvring withthe lawyers, who seemed to sympathize with the departed cousin in this, that they too would prefer keeping the money till death parted them andit, he succeeded in getting a thousand pounds of it on Christmas-eve. 

"'NOW!' said Uncle Peter, in enormous capitals. --That night a thunderingknock came to our door. We were all sitting in our littledining-room--father, mother, and seven children of us--talking aboutwhat we should do next day. The door opened, and in came the mostgrotesque figure you could imagine. It was seven feet high at least, without any head, a mere walking tree-stump, as far as shape went, only it looked soft. The little ones were terrified, but not the biggerones of us; for from top to toe (if it had a toe) it was covered withtoys of every conceivable description, fastened on to it somehow orother. It was a perfect treasure-cave of Ali Baba turned inside out. We shrieked with delight. The figure stood perfectly still, and wegathered round it in a group to have a nearer view of the wonder. We then discovered that there were tickets on all the articles, whichwe supposed at first to record the price of each. But, upon stillcloser examination, we discovered that every one of the tickets had oneor other of our names upon it. This caused a fresh explosion of joy. Nor was it the children only that were thus remembered. A little boxbore my mother's name. When she opened it, we saw a real gold watch andchain, and seals and dangles of every sort, of useful and useless kind;and my mother's initials were on the back of the watch. My father had asilver flute, and to the music of it we had such a dance! the strangefigure, now considerable lighter, joining in it without uttering a word. During the dance one of my sisters, a very sharp-eyed little puss, espied about half way up the monster two bright eyes looking out of ashadowy depth of something like the skirts of a great coat. She peepedand peeped; and at length, with a perfect scream of exultation, criedout, 'It's Uncle Peter! It's Uncle Peter!' The music ceased; the dancewas forgotten; we flew upon him like a pack of hungry wolves; we torehim to the ground; despoiled him of coats, and plaids, and elevatingsticks; and discovered the kernel of the beneficent monster in theperson of real Uncle Peter; which, after all, was the best present hecould have brought us on Christmas-eve, for we had been very dull forwant of him, and had been wondering why he did not come. 

"But Uncle Peter had laid great plans for his birthday, and for thecarrying out of them he took me into his confidence, --I being now a ladof fifteen, and partaking sufficiently of my uncle's nature to enjoy atleast the fun of his benevolence. He had been for some time perfectinghis information about a few of the families in the neighbourhood; forhe was a bit of a gossip, and did not turn his landlady out of the roomwhen she came in with a whisper of news, in the manner in which he hadturned her out when she came to expostulate about the table. But sheknew her lodger well enough never to dare to bring him any scandal. From her he had learned that a certain artist in the neighbourhood wasvery poor. He made inquiry about him where he thought he could hear more, and finding that he was steady and hard-working (Uncle Peter never caredto inquire whether he had genius or not; it was enough to him that thepoor fellow's pictures did not sell), resolved that he should have a morepleasant Christmas than he expected. One other chief outlet for hisbrotherly love, in the present instance, was a dissenting minister andhis wife, who had a large family of little children. They lived in thesame street with himself. Uncle Peter was an unwavering adherent to theChurch of England, but he would have felt himself a dissenter at once ifhe had excommunicated any one by withdrawing his sympathies from him. He knew that this minister was a thoroughly good man, and he had evengone to hear him preach once or twice. He knew too that his congregationwas not the more liberal to him that he was liberal to all men. So heresolved that he would act the part of one of the black angels thatbrought bread and meat to Elijah in the wilderness. Uncle Peter wouldnever have pretended to rank higher than one of the foresaid ravens. 

"A great part of the forenoon of Christmas-day was spent by my uncle andme in preparations. The presents he had planned were many, but I willonly mention two or three of them in particular. For the minister andhis family he got a small bottle with a large mouth. This he filled asfull of new sovereigns as it would hold; labelled it outside, _PickledMushrooms_; 'for doesn't it grow in the earth without any seed?' saidhe; and then wrapped it up like a grocer's parcel. For the artist, hetook a large shell from his chimney-piece; folded a fifty-pound note ina bit of paper, which he tied up with a green ribbon; inserted the paperin the jaws of the shell, so that the ends of the ribbon should hangout; folded it up in paper and sealed it; wrote outside, _Enquirewithin_; enclosed the whole in a tin box and directed it, _WithChristmas-day's compliments_; 'for wasn't I born on Christmas-day?'concluded Uncle Peter for the twentieth time that forenoon. Then therewere a dozen or two of the best port he could get, for a lady who hadjust had a baby, and whose husband and his income he knew from businessrelations. Nor were the children forgotten. Every house in his streetand ours in which he knew there were little ones, had a parcel of toysand sweet things prepared for it. 

"As soon as the afternoon grew dusky, we set out with as many as wecould carry. A slight disguise secured me from discovery, my duty beingto leave the parcels at the different houses. In the case of the morevaluable of them, my duty was to ask for the master or mistress, and seethe packet in safe hands. In this I was successful in every instance. It must have been a great relief to my uncle when the number of parcelswas sufficiently diminished to restore to him the use of his hands, for to him they were as necessary for rubbing as a tail is to a dog forwagging--in both cases for electrical reasons, no doubt. He droppedseveral parcels in the vain attempt to hold them and perform the usualfrictional movement notwithstanding; so he was compelled instead to gothrough a kind of solemn pace, which got more and more rapid as theparcels decreased in number, till it became at last, in its wildmovements, something like a Highlander's sword-dance. We had to go homeseveral times for more, keeping the best till the last. When Uncle Petersaw me give the 'pickled mushrooms' into the hands of the lady of thehouse, he uttered a kind of laugh, strangled into a crow, which startledthe good lady, who was evidently rather alarmed already at the weightof the small parcel, for she said, with a scared look:--

"'It's not gunpowder, is it?'

"'No, ' I said; 'I think it's shot. '

"'Shot!' said she, looking even more alarmed. 'Don't you think you hadbetter take it back again?'

"She held out the parcel to me, and made as if she would shut the door. 

"'Why, ma'am, ' I answered, 'you would not have me taken up for stealingit?'

"It was a foolish reply; but it answered the purpose if not thequestion. She kept the parcel and shut the door. When I looked roundI saw my uncle going through a regular series of convolutions, corresponding exactly to the bodily contortions he must have executedat school every time he received a course of what they call _palmies_in Scotland; if, indeed, Uncle Peter was ever even suspected of improperbehaviour at school. It consisted first of a dance, then a double-up;then another dance, then another double-up, and so on. 

"'Some stupid hoax, I suppose!' said the artist, as I put the parcelinto his hands. He looked gloomy enough, poor fellow. 

"'Don't be too sure of that, if you please, sir, ' said I, and vanished. 

"Everything was a good joke to uncle all that evening. 

"'Charlie, ' said he, 'I never had such a birthday in my life before;but, please God, now I've begun, this will not be the last of the sort. But, you young rascal, if you split, why, I'll thrash the life out ofyou. No, I won't--'here my uncle assumed a dignified attitude, andconcluded with mock solemnity--'No, I won't. I will cut you off with ashilling. '

"This was a _crescendo_ passage, ending in a howl; upon which hecommenced once more an edition of the Highland fling, with impromptuvariations. 

"When all the parcels were delivered, we walked home together to myuncle's lodgings, where he gave me a glass of wine and a sovereignfor my trouble. I believe I felt as rich as any of them. 

"But now I must tell you the romance of my uncle's life. I do not meanthe suspected hidden romance, for that no one knew--except, indeed, a dead one knew all about it. It was a later romance, which, however, nearly cost him his life once. 

"One Christmas-eve we had been occupied, as usual, with the presents ofthe following Christmas-day, and--will you believe it?--in the samelodgings, too, for my uncle was a thorough Tory in his hatred of change. Indeed, although two years had passed, and he had had the whole of hisproperty at his disposal since the legal term of one year, he stillcontinued to draw his salary of L100 of Messrs. Buff and Codgers. One Christmas-eve, I say, I was helping him to make up parcels, when, from a sudden impulse, I said to him--

"'How good you are, uncle!'

"'Ha! ha! ha!' laughed he; 'that's the best joke of all. Good, my boy!Ha! ha! ha! Why, Charlie, you don't fancy I care one atom for all thesepeople, do you? I do it all to please myself. Ha! ha! ha! It's thecheapest pleasure at the money, considering the quality, that I know. That _is_ a joke. Good, indeed! Ha! ha! ha!'

"I am happy to say I was an old enough bird not to be caught with thismetaphysical chaff. But my uncle's face grew suddenly very grave, evensad in its expression; and after a pause he resumed, but this timewithout any laughing:--

"'Good, Charlie! Why, I'm no use to anybody. '

"'You do me good, anyhow, uncle, ' I answered. 'If I'm not a better manfor having you for an uncle, why I shall be a great deal the worse, that's all. '

"'Why, there it is!' rejoined my uncle; 'I don't know whether I do goodor harm. But for you, Charlie, you're a good boy, and don't want anygood done to you. It would break my heart, Charlie, if I thought youweren't a good boy. '

"He always called me a boy after I was a grown man. But then I believehe always felt like a boy himself, and quite forgot that we were uncleand nephew. 

"I was silent, and he resumed, --

"'I wish I could be of real, unmistakeable use to anyone! But I fear Iam not good enough to have that honour done me. '

"Next morning, --that was Christmas-day, --he went out for a walk alone, apparently oppressed with the thought with which the serious part ofour conversation on the preceding evening had closed. Of course nothingless than a threepenny piece would do for a crossing-sweeper onChristmas-day; but one tiny little girl touched his heart so thatthe usual coin was doubled. Still this did not relieve the heart ofthe giver sufficiently; for the child looked up in his face in a way, whatever the way was, that made his heart ache. So he gave her ashilling. But he felt no better after that. --I am following his ownaccount of feelings and circumstances. 

"'This won't do, ' said Uncle Peter to himself. 'What is your name?'said Uncle Peter to the little girl. 

"'Little Christmas, ' she answered. 

"'Little Christmas!' exclaimed Uncle Peter. 'I see why that wouldn'tdo now. What do you mean?'

"'Little Christmas, sir; please, sir. '

"'Who calls you that?'

"'Everybody, sir. '

"'Why do they call you that?'

"'It's my name, sir. '

"'What's your father's name?'

"'I ain't got none, sir'

"'But you know what his name was?'

"'No, sir. '

"'How did you get your name then? It must be the same as your father's, you know. '

"'Then I suppose my father was Christmas-day, sir, for I knows of noneelse. They always calls me Little Christmas. '

"'H'm! A little sister of mine, I see, ' said Uncle Peter to himself. 

"'Well, who's your mother?'

"'My aunt, sir. She knows I'm out, sir. '

"There was not the least impudence in the child's tone or manner insaying this. She looked up at him with her gipsy eye in the mostconfident manner. She had not struck him in the least as beautiful;but the longer he looked at her, the more he was pleased with her. 

"'Is your aunt kind to you?'

"'She gives me my wittles. '

"'Suppose you did not get any money all day, what would she say to you?'

"'Oh, she won't give me a hidin' to-day, sir, supposin' I gets no more. You've giv' me enough already, sir; thank you, sir. I'll change it intoha'pence. '

"'She does beat you sometimes, then?'

"'Oh, my!'

"Here she rubbed her arms and elbows as if she ached all over at thethought, and these were the only parts she could reach to rub for thewhole. 

"'I _will_, ' said Uncle Peter to himself. 

"'Do you think you were born on Christmas-day, little one?'

"'I think I was once, sir. '

"'I shall teach the child to tell lies if I go on asking her questionsin this way, ' thought my uncle. 'Will you go home with me?' he saidcoaxingly. 

"'Yes, sir, if you will tell me where to put my broom, for I must notgo home without it, else aunt would wollop me. '

"'I will buy you a new broom. '

"'But aunt would wollop me all the same if I did not bring home the oldone for our Christmas fire. '

"'Never mind. I will take care of you. You may bring your broom if youlike, though, ' he added, seeing a cloud come over the little face. 

"'Thank you, sir, ' said the child; and, shouldering her broom, shetrotted along behind him, as he led the way home. 

"But this would not do, either. Before they had gone twelve paces, he had the child in one hand; and before they had gone a second twelve, he had the broom in the other. And so Uncle Peter walked home with hischild and his broom. The latter he set down inside the door, and theformer he led upstairs to his room. There he seated her on a chair bythe fire, and ringing the bell, asked the landlady to bring a basinof bread and milk. The woman cast a look of indignation and wrath atthe poor little immortal. She might have been the impersonation ofChristmas-day in the catacombs, as she sat with her feet wide apart, and reaching halfway down the legs of the chair, and her black eyesstaring from the midst of knotted tangles of hair that never felt combor brush, or were defended from the wind by bonnet or hood. I dare sayuncle's poor apartment, with its cases of stuffed birds and its squarepiano that was used for a cupboard, seemed to her the most sumptuous ofconceivable abodes. But she said nothing--only stared. When her breadand milk came, she ate it up without a word, and when she had finishedit, sat still for a moment, as if pondering what it became her to donext. Then she rose, dropped a courtesy, and said:--'Thank you, sir. Please, sir, where's my broom?'

"'Oh, but I want you to stop with me, and be my little girl. '

"'Please, sir, I would rather go to my crossing. '

"The face of Little Christmas lengthened visibly, and she was upon thepoint of crying. Uncle Peter saw that he had been too precipitate, andthat he must woo the child before he could hope to win her; so he askedher for her address. But though she knew the way to her home perfectly, she could give only what seemed to him the most confused directions howto find it. No doubt to her they seemed as clear as day. Afraid ofterrifying her by following her, the best way seemed to him to promiseher a new frock on the morrow, if she would come and fetch it. Her facebrightened so at the sound of a new frock, that my uncle had very littlefear of the fault being hers if she did not come. 

"'Will you know the way back, my dear?'"

"'I always know my way anywheres, ' answered she. So she was allowed todepart with her cherished broom. "

"Uncle Peter took my mother into council upon the affair of the frock. She thought an old one of my sister's would do best. But my uncle hadsaid a _new_ frock, and a new one it must be. So next day my motherwent with him to buy one, and was excessively amused with his entireignorance of what was suitable for the child. However, the frock beingpurchased, he saw how absurd it would be to put a new frock over suchgarments as she must have below, and accordingly made my mother buyeverything to clothe her completely. With these treasures he hastenedhome, and found poor Little Christmas and her broom waiting for himoutside the door, for the landlady would not let her in. This roused thewrath of my uncle to such a degree, that, although he had borne wrongsinnumerable and aggravated for a long period of years without complaint, he walked in and gave her notice that he would leave in a week. I thinkshe expected he would forget all about it before the day arrived; butwith his further designs for Little Christmas, he was not likely toforget it; and I fear I have seldom enjoyed anything so much as theconsternation of the woman (whom I heartily hated) when she saw a truckarrive to remove my uncle's few personal possessions from herinhospitable roof. I believe she took her revenge by giving her croniesto understand that she had turned my uncle away at a week's warning forbringing home improper companions to her respectable house. --But toreturn to Little Christmas. She fared all the better for the landlady'sunkindness; for my mother took her home and washed her with her own softhands from head to foot; and then put all the new clothes on her, andshe looked charming. How my uncle would have managed I can't think. He was delighted at the improvement in her appearance. I saw him turnround and wipe his eyes with his handkerchief. 

"'Now, Little Christmas, will you come and live with me?' said he. 

"She pulled the same face, though not quite so long as before, and said, 'I would rather go to my crossing, please, sir. '

"My uncle heaved a sigh and let her go. 

"She shouldered her broom as if it had been the rifle of a giant, andtrotted away to her work. 

"But next day, and the next, and the next, she was not to be seen ather wonted corner. When a whole week had passed and she did not makeher appearance, my uncle was in despair. "'You see, Charlie, ' said he, 'I am fated to be of no use to anybody, though I was born onChristmas-day. '

"The very next day, however, being Sunday, my uncle found her as he wentto church. She was sweeping a new crossing. She seemed to have found alower deep still, for, alas! all her new clothes were gone, and she wasmore tattered and wretched-looking than before. As soon as she saw myuncle she burst into tears. 

"'Look, ' she said, pulling up her little frock, and showing her thighwith a terrible bruise upon it; '_she_ did it. '

"A fresh burst of tears followed. 

"'Where are your new clothes, Little Christmas?' asked my uncle. 

"'She sold them for gin, and then beat me awful. Please, sir, I couldn'thelp it. '

"The child's tears were so bitter, that my uncle, without thinking, said--

"'Never mind, dear; you shall have another frock. '

"Her tears ceased, and her face brightened for a moment; but the weepingreturned almost instantaneously with increased violence, and she sobbedout:

"'It's no use, sir; she'd only serve me the same, sir. '

"'Will you come home and live with me, then?'

"'Yes, please. '

"She flung her broom from her into the middle of the street, nearlythrowing down a cab-horse, betwixt whose fore-legs it tried to pass;then, heedless of the oaths of the man, whom my uncle pacified with ashilling, put her hand in that of her friend and trotted home with him. From that day till the day of his death she never left him--of her ownaccord, at least. 

"My uncle had, by this time, got into lodgings with a woman of the rightsort, who received the little stray lamb with open arms and open heart. Once more she was washed and clothed from head to foot, and from skin tofrock. My uncle never allowed her to go out without him, or some one whowas capable of protecting her. He did not think it at all necessary tosupply the woman, who might not be her aunt after all, with ginunlimited, for the privilege of rescuing Little Christmas from hercruelty. So he felt that she was in great danger of being carried off, for the sake either of her earnings or her ransom; and, in fact, somevery suspicious-looking characters were several times observed prowlingabout in the neighbourhood. Uncle Peter, however, took what care hecould to prevent any report of this reaching the ears of LittleChristmas, lest she should live in terror; and contented himself withwatching her carefully. It was some time before my mother would consentto our playing with her freely and beyond her sight; for it was strangeto hear the ugly words which would now and then break from her dearlittle innocent lips. But she was very easily cured of this, although, of course, some time must pass before she could be quite depended upon. She was a sweet-tempered, loving child. But the love seemed for sometime to have no way of showing itself, so little had she been used toways of love and tenderness. When we kissed her she never returned thekiss, but only stared; yet whatever we asked her to do she would do asif her whole heart was in it; and I did not doubt it was. Now I know itwas. 

"After a few years, when Christmas began to be considered tolerablycapable of taking care of herself, the vigilance of my uncle graduallyrelaxed a little. A month before her thirteenth birthday, as near as myuncle could guess, the girl disappeared. She had gone to the day-schoolas usual, and was expected home in the afternoon; for my uncle wouldnever part with her to go to a boarding-school, and yet wished her tohave the benefit of mingling with her fellows, and not being always tiedto the button-hole of an old bachelor. But she did not return at theusual hour. My uncle went to inquire about her. She had left the schoolwith the rest. Night drew on. My uncle was in despair. He roamed thestreets all night; spoke about his child to every policeman he met;went to the station-house of the district, and described her; had billsprinted, and offered a hundred pounds reward for her restoration. All was unavailing. The miscreants must have seen bills, but feared torepose confidence in the offer. Poor Uncle Peter drooped and grew thin. Before the month was out, his clothes were hanging about him like asack. He could hardly swallow a mouthful; hardly even sit down to ameal. I believe he loved his Little Christmas every whit as much asif she had been his own daughter--perhaps more--for he could not helpthinking of what she might have been if he had not rescued her; and hefelt that God had given her to him as certainly as if she had been hisown child, only that she had come in another way. He would get out ofbed in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, and go wandering up anddown the streets, and into dreadful places, sometimes, to try to findher. But fasting and watching could not go on long without bringingfriends with them. Uncle Peter was seized with a fever, which grew andgrew till his life was despaired of. He was very delirious at times, and then the strangest fancies had possession of his brain. Sometimeshe seemed to see the horrid woman she called her aunt, torturing thepoor child; sometimes it was old Pagan Father Christmas, clothed in snowand ice, come to fetch his daughter; sometimes it was his old landladyshutting her out in the frost; or himself finding her afterwards, butfrozen so hard to the ground that he could not move her to get herindoors. The doctors seemed doubtful, and gave as their opinion--adecided shake of the head. 

"Christmas-day arrived. In the afternoon, to the wonder of all abouthim, although he had been wandering a moment before, he suddenly said--

"'I was born on Christmas-day, you know. This is the first Christmas-daythat didn't bring me good luck. '

"Turning to me, he added--

"'Charlie, my boy, its' a good thing ANOTHER besides me was born onChristmas-day, isn't it?'

"'Yes, dear uncle, ' said I; and it was all I could say. He lay quitequiet for a few minutes, when there came a gentle knock to the streetdoor. 

"'That's Chrissy!' he cried, starting up in bed, and stretching out hisarms with trembling eagerness. 'And me to say this Christmas-day wouldbring me no good!'

"He fell back on his pillow, and burst into a flood of tears. 

"I rushed down to the door, and reached it before the servant. I stared. There stood a girl about the size of Chrissy, with an old batteredbonnet on, and a ragged shawl. She was standing on the door-step, trembling. I felt she was trembling somehow, for I don't think I saw it. She had Chrissy's eyes too, I thought; but the light was dim now, forthe evening was coming on. 

"All this passed through my mind in a moment, during which she stoodsilent. 

"'What is it?' I said, in a tremor of expectation. 

"'Charlie, don't you know me?' she said, and burst into tears. 

"We were in each other's arms in a moment--for the first time. ButChrissy is my wife now. I led her up stairs in triumph, and into myuncle's room. 

"'I knew it was my lamb!' he cried, stretching out his arms, and tryingto lift himself up, only he was too weak. 

"Chrissy flew to his arms. She was very dirty, and her clothes had sucha smell of poverty! But there she lay in my uncle's bosom, both of themsobbing, for a long time; and when at last she withdrew, she tumbleddown on the floor, and there she lay motionless. I was in a dreadfulfright, but my mother came in at the moment, while I was trying to putsome brandy within her cold lips, and got her into a warm bath, and puther to bed. 

"In the morning she was much better, though the doctor would not lether get up for a day or two. I think, however, that was partly for myuncle's sake. 

"When at length she entered the room one morning, dressed in her ownnice clothes, for there were plenty in the wardrobe in her room, myuncle stretched out his arms to her once more, and said:

"'Ah! Chrissy, I thought I was going to have my own way, an die onChristmas-day; but it would have been one too soon, before I had foundyou, my darling. "

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME