Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

-yet, when we seek for the cause of our terror or melancholy, we remember that it is but a dream. If Lissa had not loved Robbie so well she must have been mortally angry with him. But, she forgave him, wondering what could have so distempered his frank and generous nature towards a man who had wrought her much suffering, but who was one of earth's chosen and choicest.

As it was nearly time to expect a letter from Robbie, the friends in Newburgh had been written to, and Lissa had promised to be with them before Thanksgiving. That home-sickness which is heaven-sickness, was upon the young girl's heart, as she found herself alone on the country-road. She had been so desolate. Robbie gone, Milla estranged by the singular barrier which had arisen between them, her father careworn and preoccupied, if it had not been for the sweetness of her mother's friendship, what would have become of her in those wretched days? To-day, in the culmination of her desolate mood, she fled even from her mother's love. Every thing was unsatisfactory. She shrank from the idea of going into a strange house, of leaving her own dear friends; yet, remain with them she could not. In the unhappiness of her situation she yearned for heaven as the child first banished from it yearns for home-with a wild, wailing cry, if it could not be forbidden.

as

It was the balmiest of Indian-summer days. The slight chill of the morning had melted into an atmosphere of purple and amber, perfumed with fallen leaves, whose gorgeous fragments were scattered everywhere along her path. An amethystine haze hung above and around the Highlands, casting a thin veil over the deep blue of the Hudson. The fields were brown, the forests lay like patches of gold and carmine on the hillsides; no artist could hope to transcribe that melancholy splendor of coloring and tone; no heart, not in harmony with nature's and touched by sorrow, to feel the full influence of this pathetic beauty of blighted summer.

Elizabeth felt it. The universal sadness and mystery of the soulless creation impressed her with a power to soothe the rebellion of her mood. As her horse grew tired of his tearing pace, she allowed him to drop into a more reasonable gait; the feverish gleam of her eyes was dimmed in tears-she felt more like praying and less like suicide.

It must have been past the usual luncheon-hour when Elizabeth was startled from her reverie by merry voices, and looking about her, saw that she was four or five miles from home, and that Miss Bulbous's carriage had just driven in from a cross-road and come up abreast of hers.

"Can't you take this young gentleman along with you?" cried Miss Bulbous. "It will be a pleasure to you, I've no doubt, and save us ten miles' driving. I'm hungry, and I want to get home."

"Oh, Miss Bulbous," expostulated Sam, blushing very red, "you promised to take me home, but I can walk; perhaps Miss Cameron don't wish company. She might think it wouldn'twouldn't look well-to be seen-with only me."

"She'll be delighted, I know; and, as for looking, who'll see you?—I think it will look delicious," and the coachman was down and had the carriagedoor open before Miss Cameron, annoyed, but too kind to show it, could force herself to say,

"Certainly, there is a seat to spare; you are welcome to occupy it, Mr. Grizzle."

The next moment the young man was by her side, and the carriages had parted company. Sam felt as if he had been struck in the face by a rainbow. His ears tingled, and the earth and air looked all colors. It was the first time he ever had been entirely alone with Miss Cameron. He had worshipped his idol at a distance, and it appeared a superlative lift of fortune which had enthroned him beside her. For a few rods nothing was said. Elizabeth had been startled out of her solemn, tearful

reflections too suddenly to assume at once that gayety of manner which she usually adopted towards her neighbor; while he was quite overpowered by the mingled delight and embarrassment of his position. Gradually the rainbow which had smitten the young man scattered; he could make out the road, the river, the trees, the loud throbbing of his own heart, and even gained presence of mind to ask if he should drive. Miss Cameron declined.

Again there was silence for a few moments. Sam stole a furtive look at the face beside him; he could not be mistaken in the paleness of the smooth cheek, nor in the traces of tears on the fair eyelids. All his soul melted down in his breast at this sight, like a bar of lead at the touch of fire, and lay there in a quivering, solid pool in his bosom, reflecting Miss Cameron from every side and at every angle. The sight of her sadness filled him with a courage of which he never before had the slightest intimation that he was capable. Since she wept, she must be mortal; if mortal, why should he not aspire? Some would assume that gentle and generous compassion moved the lover; I choose to believe that he thought it a favorable moment to urge his selfish claims to that of which he had an instinct he was not worthy.

At all events, the first thing the booby did, who must be audacious or nothing, was to get hold of Elizabeth's disengaged hand and squeeze it. The air with which she withdrew it, and said, "Go on, Prince," was rather discouraging, but he managed to say,

"You've been crying, haven't you? I'd give a thousand dollars to know the reason why. Don't drive so fast, Miss Cameron," seductively.

[blocks in formation]

Grizzle. You must not. I give you fair warning. Go along, Prince ! "

"Oh, Lord, I can't stop, now I've got a-going, no more'n that horse can, going down-hill. I'm desperate, and I'd just as lief you'd give me the mitten right out as to be kept in this suspense."

"Then I give it to you now. Pray, change the subject."

"I will, in a minute. I just want to say that, if you think I've ever had a fancy for Miss Bulbous, you're mistaken. I've never liked a girl since I saw you. Miss Bulbous is rich, and sweet on me; but, I'd rather have you for my wife than twenty like her. Oh, do say you'll have me, Miss Cameron! Pa'll give you all the money you want, and ma's 80 fond of you. You'll have a nice time in our house. Your horse goes like thunder; check him up, can't you?"

"Your mother is very good to me, Samuel; but, I'm sorry you spoke. You must know that I do not love you; and you should not have compelled me to say it."

"I knew it. I hadn't ought, that's So. But, I've been full and running over so long! Oh, Miss Cameron, are you engaged to any body else? Perhaps you're going to marry Mr. Dassel!" the sweat breaking out on his forehead, and his hands trembling.

"I shall never marry Mr. Dassel,— nor any one else. Now, Mr. Grizzle, will you please not annoy me any more?"

She spoke this last in a passionate voice, sharply; but, because Sam was afraid he had offended her, because he therefore was in despair, and Rose Villa was almost in sight, and Prince fairly racing, he cried out again, taking hold of her hands and the reins:

"I can't take 'no' for an answer. Oh, I know I can't. I shall go and drown myself. I'll try and be a good husband to you; you shall do just as you like. There sha'n't be a thing you ask for that I won't get for you. Ma'll feel so disappointed if you don't have Say you will; do say you will, Miss Cameron, that's a good girl!

me.

"You must not say any thing, Mr. Come, now! there's the house. You

[blocks in formation]

He pulled her hands and the reins; she ceased to make any resistance. She was thinking; and thought can compass much in brief time. In that hour of her desolation, when about to fly her own dear home, whose whole atmosphere had been poisoned to her, there was a certain sort of fascination in the picture her mind painted at Sam's words, "Mother likes you,-father'll give you all the money you want." Yes, here was ease, splendor, and affection. If Milla and Dassel should remain, as she wished them to, under her parents' roof, she need not abide with them, nor yet be without a home whose pride and idol she knew that she would be. It was true that Mrs. Grizzle was vulgar and uneducated; but she had a kind, motherly heart and way which atoned for many defects.

Sam Grizzle was esteemed a "good match" by most of the young ladies in the neighborhood. He had the outward dress of a gentleman, and might some time acquire refinement, in a limited degree. Then, to be married when Milla was, or before; to have a grand wedding, to step into a wealthy house,

dress richly, dispense bounty-would this not be a sort of balm to wounded pride, the best, the only pleasure now left to her? Would there not be triumph in it, under the circumstances? To show Mr. Dassel- She drew her breath in, not daring to look towards the flushed, eager face, venturing to bend nearer to her own.

"We'll be home in a minute more. Won't you give me an answer, Miss Lissa,-just the least little thread to hold on by, until you've time to think it over? There's ma on the portico now; please do tell this horse to stop, for he won't mind me," despairingly.

"Whoa, Prince," said Lissa, and the carriage came to a stop, but it was at the gate of Rose Villa, and Mrs. Grizzle was hurrying down the lawn, to ask what this delightful drive meant.

"Jump out," cried Lissa, nervously. "I do not wish to meet any one now. I will send you my answer to-night; ' and Sam jumped, feeling as if he were soaring to the stars instead of sinking to the earth. Prince started on, and in five minutes more Elizabeth stood in the centre of her own room, with flushed face, conscious of a high-beating pulse, and a very miserable, reckless mood.

(To be continued.)

THE GLORIA AND THE MISERERE.

I.

O SHEPHERDS, did you hear the angels singing

On Bethlehem's plain afar?

When the Gloria, through heaven's open arches ringing,

Reechoed from star to star?

The wide plain in dewy peace was sleeping,

The young lambs were folded to their rest;

The watchers gray their silent guard were keeping,

The whole earth was waiting to be blest.

O listeners to the melody elysian,

Abiding in the glory, were ye strong For the presence of the beatific vision, The rapture of the clear, celestial song.

II.

O shepherds, from the harmonies of heaven,
Attuned to lower notes, our spirits shrink;
The chalice of God's glory, to you given,

Was fairer than our paler lips may drink.

We list in our wandering faint and weary,
For the echo of the Gloria soft and low,
And our dull ears hear but the Miserere,

With its long, long wail of human woe.
It sobs with the sob the children smother,
Whose young lives no child-joys ever hold;
It wails with the wailing of the mother,

Whose thin lips are whitening in the cold.
It moans with the moaning of the dying,
When the night-dews are falling on the brave;
It sighs with the weary captive's sighing,
And groans with the groaning of the slave.

Do ye

III.

hear the Miserere, O ye reapers,
Bending downward with crystal tears?
For deeper grows the burden of the weepers,
With the onward rush of years.

They list where moss and ivy blending,
Clothe wall and tower with verdant maze;
They hear the organ-tones ascending,

With its voice of lofty praise.

They list while the Gloria is pealing,
But its clear notes' upward flow,

To their souls no glory is revealing,

And deeper grows the settling dark below;
They wait in the silence deep and dreary,
Till, echoing sad and slow,

Swells the deep chant of the Miserere,
But that cannot reach their woe.

[blocks in formation]

O bearers of the heaven-harmonious gladness,
Let the glory shine around!

For our hearts are fainting with the sadness,
And our ears are deafened by the sound.
We list in the ebb of earth's commotion,
For the Gloria our souls can dimly hear,
And wait till the full flow of the ocean,
Of sound seraphic meets our longing ear.
We know its bright epiphany draws nearer,
And our listening souls grow brave,

For the symphony of joy is sounding clearer,
Since the clanking chains are fallen from the slave.
Your wailing is not vain, O life-weeper,

For the gates of pearl unclose,

And the Gloria of heaven shall echo deeper,

Than the long Miserere of your woes.

AFTER THREE THOUSAND YEARS.

"Do you remember the last request you made of me, when we parted in Paris, you to return homeward, and I to bury myself in the tombs of the Pharaohs?" asked Vance, the latest lion of Eastern travel, of Marion Harleigh, as he took her out to dinner at Madame Belletoile's.

"Perfectly. I asked you to bring me some personal ornament from the mummy of a princess," replied the young lady with sang-froid.

"And you promised to wear it, remember," pursued Vance, maliciously watching for the pallor that did not

come.

[ocr errors]

'Exactly. I promised to wear it, and I am ready to keep my promise. Did you bring me the opportunity?"

"Could I have ventured to present myself before you without it?" replied the traveller, with smiling courtesy. "And what is it?"

"May I come to-morrow, and offer it?"

"I shall be very glad to see you."

The next morning, at twelve o'clock, Vance rang at the door of Mr. Peter Harleigh's fine town-mansion, and, upon inquiring for Miss Harleigh, was shown at once to the drawing-room, graced by that young lady's presence. She came to meet him with outstretched hand.

"Welcome home!" said she, a little more earnestly, perhaps, than she would have spoken to Professor Byzantium, who also returned to New York from Eastern travel, by the Persia.

men and women enough for family, at least in the present," said Marion, hating herself for the blush she could not restrain. Turning hastily, she added,

"This is Mr. Vance, Juliette. My cousin, Miss Randolph, Mr. Vance."

A little figure rose from the great arm-chair where she had been almost buried, and bowed smilingly in answer to the stately bow of the traveller. Then she seated herself upon the sofa beside Marion, and unconsciously offered her misty golden curls, pure complexion, and sweet blue eyes, in contrast to her cousin's trained and statuesque brunette beauty.

Vance, studying the two without looking at either, found it impossible to award the palm to either, and gave both credit for arranging a contrasting tableau-a manœuvre for which Juliette was as yet too innocent, and Marion too proud.

After ten minutes, Vance drew a little Indian casket from his pocket and placed it in Miss Harleigh's hand.

"There is the Pharaonic spoil you have kindly allowed me to bring for you," said he.

Marion opened the box, and uttered a little cry of surprise. It appeared filled with golden beetles sparkling with phosphorescent gleams. Immediately she closed the lid upon them, and looked up into Vance's laughing face.

"They will not harm you; they are securely chained," said he, opening the case as it lay upon Marion's lap, and taking from it a necklace of golden scarabæi, with diamond eyes and green enamelled wings. Each insect was linked to each by a tiny chain, but so loosely as to admit of perfect freedom of

Millard Vance held the hand she offered, long enough to dart the piercing glance of his hazel eyes deep into the heart of the young girl, and then, releasing it, said softly, "You are kind; but I have no home, movement. The necklace was clasped you must remember."

"You should interpret the word more widely, and feel that your native land is enough for home, and your country

by a medal of burnished gold deeply graven with certain symbols or characters, not easily to be deciphered even as to form.

« AnteriorContinuar »