Part 47

“O, I only meant something in that style; not widows’, of course, but rather like Mrs. Jamieson’s.”

This effort at concealment was the beginning of the tremulous motion of head and hands, which I have seen ever since in Miss Matey.

The evening of the day on which we heard of Mr. Holbrook’s death, Miss Matilda was very silent and thoughtful; after prayers, she called Martha back, and then she stood uncertain what to say.

“Martha!” she said at last; “you are young,”--and then she made so long a pause, that Martha, to remind her of her half-finished sentence, dropped a courtesy, and said: “Yes, please, ma’am; two-and-twenty last third October, please, ma’am.”

“And perhaps, Martha, you may some time meet with a young man you like, and who likes you. I did say you were not to have followers; but if you meet with such a young man, and tell me, and I find he is respectable, I have no objection to his coming to see you once a week. God forbid!” said she, in a low voice, “that I should grieve any young hearts.”

She spoke as if she were providing for some distant contingency, and was rather startled when Martha made her ready, eager answer: “Please, ma’am, there’s Jem Hearn, and he’s a joiner, making three-and-sixpence a day, and six foot one in his stocking-feet, please, ma’am; and if you’ll ask about him to-morrow morning, every one will give him a character for steadiness; and he’ll be glad enough to come to-morrow night, I’ll be bound.”

Though Miss Matey was startled, she submitted to Fate and Love.

* * * * *

God is our Father. Heaven is his high throne, and this earth is his footstool; and while we sit around and meditate, or pray, one by one, as we fall asleep, He lifts us into his bosom, and our awaking is inside the gates of an everlasting world.--MOUNTFORD.

TO MY WIFE.

ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF OUR WEDDING.

Now, Time and I, near fifty years, Have managed kindly to agree; Pleased with the friendship he appears, And means that all the world shall see.

For, with soft touch about my eyes, The frosty, kindly, jealous friend His drawing-pencil deftly plies, And mars the face he thinks to mend.

Nor am I called alone to wear Old Time, “His mark,” in deepening trace; That “twain are one,” this limner sere Will print in lines on either face.

’Tis not, perhaps, a gallant thing On such a morning to be told, But Time doth yearly witness bring, That--Bless you! we are growing old.

Together we have lived and loved, Together passed through smiles and tears, And life’s all-varying lessons proved Through many constant married years.

And there is joy Time cannot reach, A youth o’er which no power he hath, If we cling closer, each to each, And each to God, in hope and faith.

ANONYMOUS.

* * * * *

In the summer evenings, when the wind blew low, And the skies were radiant with the sunset glow, Thou and I were happy, long, long years ago! Love, the young and hopeful, hovered o’er us twain, Filled us with sad pleasure and delicious pain, In the summer evenings, wandering in the lane.

In the winter evenings, when the wild winds roar, Blustering in the chimney, piping at the door, Thou and I are happy, as in days of yore. Love still hovers o’er us, robed in white attire, Drawing heavenly music from an earthly lyre, In the winter evenings, sitting by the fire.

ANONYMOUS.

THE EVERGREEN OF OUR FEELINGS.

EXTRACTS FROM THE GERMAN OF J. P. RICHTER.

I oppose, as I would every useless fear in men, the lamentation that our feelings grow old with the lapse of years. It is the narrow heart alone which does not grow; the wide one becomes larger. Years shrivel the one, but they expand the other. Man often mistakes concerning the glowing depths of his feelings; forgetting that they may be present in all their energy, though in a state of repose. In the wear and tear of daily life, amid the care of providing support, perchance under misdemeanors, in comparing one child with another, or in daily absences, thou mayest not be conscious of the fervent affection smouldering under the ashes of every-day life, which would at once blaze forth into a flame, if thy child were suffering innocently, or condemned to die. Thy love was already there, prior to the suffering of thy child and thyself. It is the same in wedlock and friendship. In the familiarity of daily presence, the heart beats and glows silently; but in the hours of meeting and parting, the beautiful radiance of a long-nurtured flame reveals itself. It is on such occasions that man always most pleases me. I am then reminded of the glaciers, which beam forth in rosy-red transparency only at the rising and setting of the sun, while throughout the day they look gray and dark.

A golden mine of affection, of which the smallest glimmer is scarcely visible, lies buried in the breast until some magic word reveals it, and then man discovers his ancient treasure. To me, it is a delightful thought that, during the familiarity of constant proximity, the heart gathers up in silence the nutriment of love, as the diamond, even beneath water, imbibes the light it emits. Time, which deadens hatred, secretly strengthens love; and in the hour of threatened separation its growth is manifested at once in radiant brightness.

Another reason why man fancies himself chilled by old age, is that he can then feel interested only in higher objects than those which once excited him. The lover of nature, the preacher, the poet, the actor, or the musician, may, in declining years, find themselves slightly affected by what delighted them in youth; but this need produce no fear that time will mar their sensibility to nature, art, and love. Thou, as well as I, may indeed weep less frequently than formerly, at the theatre or at concerts; but give us a truly excellent piece, and we cannot suppress the emotion it excites. Youth is like unbleached wax, which melts under feeble sun-beams, while that which has been whitened is scarcely warmed by them. The mature or aged man avoids those tears which youth invites; because in him they flow too hot, and dry too slowly.

Select a man of my age, and of my heart, with my life-long want of highland scenery, and conduct him to the valley of the Rhine! Bring him to that long, attractive, sea-like river, flowing between vine-clad hills on either side, as between two regions of enchantment, reflecting only scenes of pleasure, creating islands for the sake of clasping them in its arms; let also a reflection of the setting sun glow upon its waters; and surely youth would again be mirrored in the old man, and that still ocean of infinity, which in the true and highest heaven permits us to look down.