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drawing a on the blackboard, roots of trees. The glen is deep and says, “I'll kick this leg out a little narrow, and filled with trees ; so that, more,” - a very happy energy of ex- in the summer, it is all in dark shadow. pression, completely identifying herself Now, the foliage of the trees being alwith the cow; or, perhaps, as the cow's most entirely of a golden yellow, increator, conscious of full power over stead of being obscure, the glen is abits movements.
solutely full of sunshine, and its depths
are more brilliant than the open plain October 14.
The brilliancy of the or the mountain-tops. The trees are foliage has past its acme ; and, indeed, sunshine, and, many of the golden it has not been so magnificent this sea- leaves having freshly fallen, the glen is son as usual, owing to the gradual ap- strewn with light, amid which winds proaches of cool weather, and there and gurgles the bright, dark little having been slight frosts instead of brook.
There is still a shaggy richness on the hillsides.
October 28. - On a walk yesterday
forenoon, my wife and children gathered October 16. — A morning mist, filling Houstonias. Before night there was up the whole length and breadth of snow, mingled with rain. The trees the valley, between the house and Mon- are now generally bare. ument Mountain, the summit of the mountain emerging. The mist reaches December 1. I saw a dandelion in to perhaps a hundred yards of me, so bloom near the lake, in a pasture by dense as to conceal everything, except the brookside. At night, dreamed of that near its hither boundary a few seeing Pike. ruddy or yellow tree-tops rise up, glorified by the early sunshine, as is like- December 19. — If the world were wise the whole mist-cloud. There is a crumbled to the finest dust, and scat. glen between our house and the lake, tered through the universe, there would through which winds a little brook, with not be an atom of the dust for each pools and tiny waterfalls, over the great star.
go on with it. But now, seeing an opportunity to do something more to fulfil her wishes and to “ do anything for Miss Dudley,” I took up my task again, and quickly finished it. Then, still unsatisfied, I roamed through the woods, and along the shore, to gather specimens of the native plants, insects, and shells that seemed to me most like the foreign ones that I had copied, and grouped and painted and framed them like the first. The Doctor left both
for me at Miss Dudley's gate, with in Fanny's class in her Sunday school, this inscription on the envelope : “A stole into the garden and up to me, little offering of great gratitude, from looked wistfully into my face as if seeka sister of Fanny Morne." I suppose, ing some likeness there, kissed my by the way, this is one source of the cheek timidly, laid a large nosegay of satisfaction that some real mourners delicate flowers upon my knee, and find in wearing mourning, as they say, crept away as gently as she came. " for the dead," -a vague longing, like The flowers were all white; and I saw mine, after they have passed beyond at once that they were meant for Fanhuman care, to do or sacrifice still ny's grave. I might go there for the something more for them.
first time now, as well as at any other After that, there seemed to be noth- time. The Doctor and his wife were ing more that I could do for Fanny, out together, and no one was at home nor anything that, for myself, I cared to question me. to do. From habit only, I employed
Fanny had be
laid, I need scarcely myself. Julia, as she begged that I say, just where she wished.
My guarwould call her, had a large basket of dian had driven me there early one baby-clothes cut out. At that I seated morning to point out the place; and myself after breakfast; and at that I we found the withered clovers in the often worked till bedtime, like a ma- grass. It had rained often since. The chine, - startled sometimes from my swollen turf was nearly healed. I revery, indeed, by seeing how much untied the flowers, and slowly, and with was done, but saying nothing, hearing minute precision, arranged them in a little, and shedding not a tear.
cross above her breast. At last, when Julia would have remonstrated ; but there was no blossom more to add or the Doctor said to her : " Let her alone alter, I sat down again in my solitude for the present, my dear; she has had where I sat with her so lately, with the a great shock. Trust to nature. This same leaves fluttering on the same cannot last long with a girl like Katy trees, the same grass waving on the It is half of it over-fatigue, carried on same graves, and her beneath infrom her school-keeping to add to the stead of upon it. present account." To me he said : At first I could not think, — I could “ Katy, you may sew, if you like, but only cry. For now at length I had to not in-doors. I will carry your basket cry; and cry I did, in a tornado and out for you into the arbor; and in the deluge of grief that by degrees swept afternoon I am going to take you to and washed away the accumulated varide in the woods."
pors from my mind, and brought it to Our past selves are often a riddle a clearer, healthier calm. I believe that our present selves cannot read ; God in His mercy has appointed that but I suspect the real state of the case those who are capable of the strongest, was, partly that, as the Doctor be- shall not in general be capable of the lieved, I was for the time being ex- longest anguish. At least, I am sure hausted in body and stunned in mind, that it is so, not only with myself, but and partly that, in those young, im- with one better and dearer than mypetuous days, grief was such an all- self; so that the experience of life has convulsing passion with me, when I taught me to see in the sharpest of yielded to it, that to the utmost of pangs the happiest augury of their my strength I resisted it at the out- brevity. set, and seldom dared suffer myself to Thus it could not have been very suffer at all. But, as he also believed, long before I was able to raise my “this could not last long"; and it did head, and wipe my eyes, and look once not.
more upon my two dear graves. The One afternoon, as I sewed in the setting sun glowed over them. They arbor, a sweet little girl, who had been looked soft and bright. From one of
them the echo of an angel's voice could not I do some little to help them, seemed still to say, “ Here, by mamma, with my free hands and the health and is where I like to lie"; from both in strength which were almost always unison I heard, “ It is good and brave mine? Very good I was not myself, to look things in the face and on all but I had been watchfully brought up sides ; but then among the sides, never in an innocent home; there was no forget the bright side, little Katy.” crime upon my conscience, and, even
Could I refuse ? I looked for the as I cast a rueful glance upon its blembright side. It was not far to seek. ishes, I heard a well-remembered voice In the first place, the worst was over. say from a grave once more : “ Have Never again could. I lose what I had patience withi my little daughter. Some lost, nor so at least I thought then of the richest fruits and souls are not - could I feel what I had felt. Sec- the first to ripen. The chief thing that ondly, my sorrow was only mine, and she wants is time to mellow.” no one's else. Those whom I loved And one of the brightest points in all were happy, every one of them; the bright side was, that, in living so mamma and Fanny, - I could not constantly through her illness with Fandoubt it, – happier far than I ever ny, who lived with God, I had been percould have made them, even if I had force brought nearer to Him, and therealways tried as hard as I did after they fore naturally learned to dread Him began to leave me, - safer than they less and love Him more than I had could ever have been in this world, and done ; so that I hoped, as I know my safe forever; and Jim, — I would not mother did, that the sunshine of His begin now to think about him again, but grace would help to mellow me. just so much I must, — he was happy Another bright point was, that I with Emma. Even thus much brought need not go back to Greenville. The a fresh gush of tears, though not for present mistress was glad to keep the him, — I could still truly say that I had school, and the committee willing to never shed one for him, and that was keep her. some comfort to my pride at least; My desultory thoughts still growing but for Fanny; because I had some- calmer, I began to form plans for my times thought that, when she was well way of living, as I used to do aloud, and I had time to think of anything when I could talk them over with my besides her, if I ever did tell anybody mother and Fanny. I did not plan of the mistake and trouble I had fallen anything great, however, because I into, I would tell her, and now, how- was conscious of no great powers. — I ever much I might need advice and already, I think, began to divine the assistance, that could never be. My truth of what a wise woman afterwards guardian and his wife were happy in
said to me,
“ Your own nature must each other, and would be happier still settle your work,” or rather of what after I roused myself, as I must and she implied, though she did not say it: ought, and ceased to sadden their In laying out your work, you should home. The world in which I still must do your best to take the diagonal belive was, whatever people might say of tween your nature and your circumit, not all sin, sickness, or
stances. — But I resolved, such as I Even where I sat, in one of those was, to try to make the most of myself spots which most persons accounted in every way, for myself, my neighthe dreariest in it, I could hear the bors, and my God. laughter of light-hearted children at I was to stay at my guardian's for their play, the soft lowing of cattle graz- the present. He forbade my trying to ing in the pleasant fields, and shouts teach again, for some months at least. of strong men at their wholesome, It was my duty, as well as my pleasure, useful work. I knew there must be to obey him. In the mean time, I could sickness, sin, and sorrow in it; but prepare myself to teach better when I
began again. I would draw and paint quaint and pithy lines, printed in one at odd times. Two hours a day I corner in double columns : would try to divide between history
“THE CONDITIONS. and the English classic poets, of both of which I knew sadly little. Julia “Sad soul, long harboring fears and woes
Within a haunted breast, often drove out with her husband; and
Haste but to meet your lowly Lord, then I could study by myself. When she And he shall give you rest. was at home, if I could not always
“Into his commonwealth alike chat with her as formerly, I could read
Are ills and blessings thrown. to her in French, which she liked to
Bear you your neighbors' loads; and hear; and that would be much more sociable and cheerful for her than my
“Yield only up His price, your heart, sitting mute. I would now exert my
Into God's loving hold, self to walk out every day for exercise,
He turns with heavenly alchemy
Your lead of life to gold. so that there would be no reason for her giving up her place in the Doctor's “Some needful pangs endure in peace, chaise to me. I blushed to think how
Nor yet for freedom pant, —
He cuts the bane you cleave to off, often I had suffered myself to be foisted
Then...." into it by her already. By my walks, I would earn leave to sit with her in
The rest was torn away. « And,'" doors; and then I could save her many repeated I, impatiently,
66 * Then'! steps and little household cares. Then
‘And — then' - what? There was what should I do for her husband ?
no answer, or at least I heard none; Sing to him in the evening, and begin, but the verses, so far as they went, if he liked it, to-night. It might be a
struck my excited fancy as a kind of little hard the first time ; but if so, there preternatural confirmation of the faint was all the more reason for having the
outline of life and duty which I had first time over. There was no need of been sketching. I marked the date of my choosing sad songs, or any that the day upon the white margin with my Fanny was fond of.
pencil, and took the paper with me But it was growing late. They would
as a memento of the time and place, be anxious. I must get up and go trimmed its torn edges carefully, and home. Go home! — without my home
laid it in Fanny's little Bible. mates ? — leave them here ? — with no kiss, — no good-night? I stood up, and sat down again. The blinding,
CHAPTER V. choking passion, that had seemed over, swelled up into my eyes and throat The next morning, at breakfast, Dr.
O that lonely, empty Physick said : “You did me a good life! Must I go back to it? How office, Katy, by singing me to sleepilong would it last? This was my only ness last night. I was as tired as a real home. When might I come here dog, — no, as a whole pack of Esquito sleep?
maux dogs, and, instead of lying In an instant it would have been all awake and saying to myself, every time over again with my hardly-won calm; I turned over, “What in this wide world but in that instant a white and gray am I ever going to do with that poor fluttering between the green graves little Nelly Fader?' I only repeated, caught my tear - blurred sight. I whenever I came to myself a little, thought it that of a living dove, but, Nelly Bligh shuts her eye when she going nearer, found only a piece of goes to sleep'; and then I followed torn newspaper, which had been her example.” wrapped around the stems of the “I only wish,” said I, “that there flowers, playing in the wind; and on was any good office beside that I could it my attention was caught by these
“Well, now I think of it, there is one “Does he think we can afford wood that I should be very much obliged to enough to warm all out-doors with ? " you to do, to me and Nelly Fader I knocked ; but Mrs. Cumberland besides. I 've got to hurry off in the was deaf, and went on : “My sakes direction opposite to her Uncle War- alive, child! what's all this?”. dour's ; and you talked of walking. “ The stewed damsons." Take this paper. Empty it into a “ Stewed damsons,' indeed ! wine-bottle. Fill it up with spring. Stewed stalks and stewed leaves and water. Cork it. Gum these direc- stewed creaturs ! Did n't you have tions on it. Take them to Nelly. Read faculty of yourself enough to know that them to her, and make her understand they 'd got to be picked over before them if you can, and follow them, which they went into the pot? There, there, I can't. I happen to have a better sam- child ! don't you go to cryin', whatple of the drug than is often in the ever you do." market ; and she may as well have the I knocked louder. benefit of it. Her aunt's a goose, and “ There's somebody to the door ; she's a baby. But, as she 's likely to mebbe it's the Doctor. You go and see be a suffering baby for some time to what 's wanted, an' don't take no more come, we must try to have patience, concern about these. I'll see to 'em." and take extra pains with her.”
After a little delay, occasioned per“ Is she going to die ? ” asked I, haps by the need of rubbing the eyeanxiously.
lids, which were red, a little pallid lass, “ No, no ! I 've no idea she is. apparently about sixteen years old, shyNo such good luck, poor little victim! ly opened the door, and looked relieved, 'Only nervous,' as people say. I can't I thought, to find only me at it. She find out that there's much else the had a small and pretty nose and mouth, matter. I utterly hate these cases. large, heavy blue eyes, flaxen hair drawn She ought to be under the care of a neatly, but unbecomingly, away from sensible woman; and if there only was her face, looked modest and refined, such a one in the profession, I'd guar but sadly moped, and was dressed in antee her her hands full of patients dark green, which set her off much out of my practice alone.”
as spinach does a dropped egg. “A female physician!” cried I, in “Miss Nelly ?” said I. horror.
“Yes, Miss Morne,” said she. “O Phil! what will you say next?” I had never seen her before ; but exclaimed his wife, laughing.
it afterwards came out that she had “Well, only wait till you're a male peeped at me through the blinds of physician, then, and see,” returned he, her chamber. jumping into his chaise, and relieving “ I have brought you a little treat his own nerves with a crack of the from Dr. Physick." whip, which put new vivacity into “O," said she, looking rather pleased; those of De Quincey.
“then is n't he coming to-day ?” I made ready at once, for the day “No; he sent me instead." was sulky. It had been weeping, and “I am glad to see you,” said she, had not yet begun to smile.
timidly, but beginning to look really Nelly lived with her uncle, the apoth- pretty, as her countenance went on ecary, Mr. Wardour, and his widowed brightening. “Won't you walk in ? " sister, Mrs. Cumberland. As I neared I did so, sat down opposite to her the door, I heard her voice, which was in the cold, shaded “best parlor," and not dulcet, from the parlor - kitchen : went over the directions to her aloud. “What's this here winder open for ?” She kept her face civilly turned towards
" It felt so close in here," was the me; but it grew utterly blank again, plaintive little answer ; "and the Doc- and I saw she was not paying the least tor said I ought to have the air." attention. So I played her a genuine