Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

was above; and the most silvery sounding little bell was just heard to strike as the casement of the window flew open; not a moment had passed ere a beautiful young head appeared at the window, and bending over, said, in the sweetest of woman's tones, and whisperingly, "Wait one instant, good Michael, and I will be down." Now, let every reader paint for himself the loveliest young crea ture that can spring up in their imagination-let them give her a soul, and a heart, and a mind, and a manner-a person, a voice, a countenance, and add unto it all that nameless charm which is emitted by such a combination, and even then the being they picture will fall short in loveliness of what was Medora Blessington! But how dare I speak for her, after all I have here said? Well, I must be forgiven, for I know I shall not, I cannot do her justice; -and again I ask the gentle reader to supply the charm, the enchantment, which my subject deserves, but which my poor words, I feel, will never yield.

The old man had just seated himself on a bench near the myrtle, when, from a glass door of a small room, stepped the Aurora of the scene. She brought a glass of milk, and a slice of bread, to the old man. "We are both very early this morning, Michael, and it will be near two hours before you get your breakfast, so just take this, for I am sure you are tired."-" A little feeble, dear, kind lady-but I would not say tired, on such a morning as this, though I have been out since four.But how comes it I was not in time to wake you?-how comes it, my loved young mistress, that you have already asked the day's blessing for the old man, before he was here to tell you to wake up to see how gracious the Lord was to us-What another glorious day to our harvest!" -"I know not why it was, but it was nature's own doing. I did not ask the lark to come to my window," said she, playfully, looking at the ancient man; "no, no; dear Old Michael is my lark, and as he first taught me to lift up my heart, it is he who shall have his wish of seeing me in these calm morning hours, in awakening me to thanksgiving for the blessing of the day-spring from on

high that visiteth us. Yes, I can ne ver forget that you have been a father, or a pastor to me, dear Michael;" and as she gently took the emptied glass from the old man, a tear fell on his hand from the most beautiful fount tears ever flowed from. It was just one dew-drop of the soul, fresh, pure, and grateful as those that lie among the choicest violets. The sunshine of those eyes was not for an instant clouded by it-but all, all the brighter and more exquisitely beaming. The old man looked at her awhile, as if he could only look and love her, and then said, with an earnest, pious tone," May God ever bless thee!"

"I will go in and fetch my books, and then I will walk with you as far as the seat on the common, for I shall have time this morning for my favourite spot." She soon came back, with a large and shady straw bonnet, a little basket with three or four small volumes in it, pencil and paper, and a little sketch-book; and closing the door softly after her, for the whole house seemed hushed, they went out together at the same gate where Michael had made his

entrance.

"What a morning it is, my lady! I can almost fancy I hear the birds utter the praises of God, so sweet and holy-sounding are their warblings in the still of such a dawning as this was."-" And why not, Michael? I ever feel sure that they do. I even go so far as to believe, sometimes, when their notes call up good feelings in us, and win us to short prayers, and sending sudden thankings to heaven for all the gifts our Father sends us to enjoy in the calm of summer evenings, and all the various periods when nature shews most lovely; then do I feel almost that the gentle birds that speak to us, and teach, and comfort us, must be ministering angels. The thought will come across me, at least-Do you think there is folly in it, Michael ?"

"Folly? Oh no-I think nothing folly, dear lady, that has aught of piety in it. But why ask a poor old man, ignorant and unlettered as I am? Thy heart is pure, young creature-and may God keep it so!-and any thoughts like unto that need not be checked whilst it is a passing thought, for it would not be whole

some to indulge too much in what we have no warranty for in God's word; and those who take hold of a fancy of this kind, and love it too much-more than a thought of their own should be loved-have been known to become visionaries-to live in little worlds of their own, and, neglecting those straight-forward paths of holiness that our Heavenly Father has already pointed out to us, have chosen instead little flowery footways, where there is only room forone to walk-where they tread alone, dear lady, doing no good to others, and, ten to one, getting into a maze themselves. But it is thus with those who have not drunk freely of the waters of life-whose dawn, Lady, of religion in their souls, has been like unto the false dawn, common, as I have heard or read, in Eastern countries, which appears an hour or two before the true dawn comes; but the true dawn does come-and so it will, by God's grace, to those poor bewildered ones who are feeling out a way for themselves, till He pleases to shew them better, by His ministers, or by any other of His many means. But thy true dawn is already risen, and thy day is begun-and you are blest with an understanding that will not let any twilight musings, or summerevening thinkings touching this beautiful and wonderful world we are placed in, carry you too far; you will betake yourself, in soberness of mind, as well as piety of heart, to your home again, fulfilling its duties, and offering up, at your bed side, a prayer of faith, of hope, and of love-and through the ONLY Mediator."

[ocr errors]

I love to hear you talk, dear Michael; it reminds me of my very young days, when I thought it my best holyday to be let walk out with you among the mountains-when we used to be out for hours together and when I used delightedly to run to dear Mary, on my return, to tell her what you had taught me, how many things you had told me, and where we had been. What happy days those were! and how much do I owe, and must I ever owe, to you and to her! But do rest on the bank, Michael, for you must be tired, and I'll sit on my favourite little nook beside you." Old Michael rested himself in the sun, and Medora took her little sketch-book, and was using

her pencil. "They were happy days, and days that can be looked back upon without any bitterness in the sorrow that must shade every me. mory of the loved ones who have been taken from us-No, there is no bitterness, for I feel assured, dear Lady, that Mary is happy; and if I can but be the means of leading her little Mary in the same paths, the dews of my evening of life will not be heavier than it is good they should be."

"What I can do to brighten them, you know I will do gladly, oh! more than gladly! And you have promised, you know, Michael, to leave me two legacies-the little Bible you used to read to me in those long rambles of ours, whence I first learned what it was, and whose word-and your dear little Mary; and I must forget all that there is in the first,-aye, this beating heart must be made all silent and hard, before I can cease to do all in my power for the good, here and hereafter, of the second gift. I think, I hope, and I will ever pray that I may do well for her; what you, good Michael, would approve, and thank me for." "Oh! talk no more of it, dear one; I know it-I know it. May the old man's prayer bring some blessing upon you; for if there lives one who deserves to have all they wish, 'tis my own dear lady." "You think too well of me, Michael. I am not the very good girl you think I am-no, alas! my heart is a little rebel too, too often. You know it not, and often I know it not; but sometimes I find it out. Besides, I am not quite happy, Michael. Methinks, at times, that my poor mother, had she lived, all angel as you say she was, would not have been quite happy either.-And yet so kind, so excellent, so benevolent as he is!

it is so strange, so very unaccountable, that the one thing needful should be wanting. Oh! it is so sad too-but I will not speak more of it. You know what I refer to; and so now tell me what you have been meditating, as you walked by the way, Michael?"" Why, I think, lady, what most I dwelt on was the rich promises and comfortings in the 103d Psalm: and what language it is too! it is music to hear one's self say it, here in the stillness of morning, as one can gaze from east to west, and

adore the Maker of all, and only wish that the same fine thoughts, and holy ones, might abide with one throughout the day, from the rising up of the sun to the going down of the same; but then I must tell you that, finding I was so early, and remembering the day that it was, I went to the Wishing-Gate- "Indeed! did you, Michael? then will you be the happier; for the spirit or the angel that hovers there to listen to us is a good spirit, I am certain. I have a multitude of superstitions about that gate. They say, or you say, for it was from you I first learnt the legendary about it, that we may visit it, to put up a wish at least, three times only in the course of the year. Methinks I have a wish due; this very evening will I go, if my father does not need me to go with him elsewhere. I should like all the better to go the same day you go; besides, I too remember what day it is

[ocr errors]

"Well, I must leave you now, dear Lady; they'll be looking for me at the Squire's; and Mary will be there before me if I don't make good my way; she's to bring me my breakfast; and old Martha is told not to expect her home all day."-" Well, then, you will send her to me when she has done her breakfast and read to you, and I will keep her till you come to dinner: there is much for her to do in the garden; I can make her very useful.""Thank you, kind one; so she is with you, I am happy about her. So fare ye well, and may a blessing be with you through the day!"

The old man, with slow steps, departed, and Medora, who seemed to have begun a new drawing, lifted up her head, and looked at him awhile, and then pencilled on quickly for some twenty minutes longer; then she put away the drawing, and took to some little books she had in her 'basket, a small Testament, an Italian Dictionary, and a volume of Wordsworth; she read a time in the first, and then she looked into the last, and she pondered and seemed in doubt. At length she took a little sheet of note paper and the pencil, and the paper quickly received clear, distinct, and beautiful pencil writing on two of its pages; and then all were shut up and put in the basket, and left on the bench, save the volume

of the poet, which she took in her hand, and walked away with, rambling about, and, ever and anon, turning to the page she held open. She had just reached the most retired and beautiful part of the lake, when she was met by one meditative stroller, who seemed to have sought the tranquil spot, to obtain calm to an anxious and agitated spirit. The footstep made him raise his eyes, and with a start, and a look of delighted surprise, he said," Medora !" She blushed, and the blush was a "joy flush," as she held out her hand and said, "How little did I hope; how little did I expect to meet you. Your uncle is not worse, I trust?"-" No, no; at least I hope not, for I have not yet seen him. I am but just arrived; I have travelled all night. I am come to ask his advice, his consent; to TELL him, rather, that I am going to India."-" To India!" said Medora, with a look of unfeigned sorrow, and dismay, and surprise. She raised her head to look at him as he finished his hurried, and almost agitated recital; her bonnet hung back and shewed her beautiful eyes and forehead, and clustering dark curls. At the word India, she let fall her book, and it seemed to remind her that she was expressing an interest too great; for as she stooped to pick up the volume, she blushed excessively, and almost muttered, " You know I have no reason to love India. I wish not those I know to be doomed to go there." A change seemed to have taken place in Frederic de Lacey in the short moment when all this was passing; a beam of happiness shot across his intelligent countenance, and his mouth, which was more expressive of sweetness of disposition than any other mouth I ever beheld, looked its kindest, and smiled its gentlest, as he took the book from her hand, and, taking her hand, placed her arm within his, still holding the trembling little hand, and then said, "Now that I have once spoken this, let us calmly consider it, and let me teach you, my dear Medora, to look upon a residence in India as something better than a doom." They walked on a few paces; and though this was said with a steadier voice, both seemed under some restraint, for a short silence followed. Medora no longer looked at her com‐

panion, though she made no effort to release her hand. At length he said, by snatches, and as in much discomfort," Ought I not to think it a fair opening in life to me, to one dependent as I am on an uncle, or rather solely and wholly relying on my own exertions, when nothing offers here? Ought I not to be grateful and more than grateful? Ought I not to be delighted with the prospect of going where so much is to be done--where youth, and health, and energy, and God grant I may add devoted zeal in the cause!-are so much wanted; all which, as I hope, I could offer. It is not from my friend here, whom I have sometimes called in heart a female missionary, until she chid me for it, it is not from such a friend that I expected discouragement in these my views; ties enough are there of early friendship-deep attachment-to draw me from my purpose, to incline me to stay my acceptance of this offered preferment; to make me refuse the service of God; in short, that I may cherish and delight myself still with these affections that must ever cling to my heart; but surely Medora is not one to keep me back when she thinks of the good, little though it may be, which her friend may be enabled to aid others in performing, for the benefit of those many millions of souls whose state of darkness, she has so often marvelled at and mourned over? Tell me, tell me!--if I have not you for a strengthener of my weakness, one who will speak sweetly to me of its rich and high compensations for all of privation that the prospect compasses!" He pressed her hand, and sought her face, which was shaded and almost turned from him; at length she said, in accents almost inaudible," No, indeed; I can give you no comfort. How can I strive to reconcile you to a plan of which you speak with a tone of such deep sorrow? Oh! surely, surely, HERE YOU may do good; here there are souls to save-many, too many, it may be, of those to whom none other could speak as you would speak, whom none other is ordained to bring to the foot of the Cross. But forgive my earnestness; sorrow to me must ever come with the name of India; it deprived me of the blessing of a mother, a sainted mother too, who

would have made me what I never now can be; and for my father-did it render to him in early life what home and England would? Oh! no, no; I cannot say go to you; besides, CAN I say aught to banish an old, an early friend? Ask me not then to strengthen you, but rather ask me to plead on the other side, and then I will be eloquent, for, in truth, Medora Blessington cannot afford thus to part with those whose place in her regard no new friends can ever supply. Now may your uncle speak as I speak!"

At one part of this speaking, she could scarcely refrain her tears; but at the latter part she made an effort to be more cheerful and assured.

"Thank you for all those words of kindness," said he mournfully; "and yet another pang, it may be the severest, is thus added to the cruelty of my fate-to give pain to you; and yet to hear from your own lips that my absence will give you pain, this has soothing in it: for what that indicates your feeling an interest can fail to soothe ? But I am not fit to speak: my heart is too full; my happiness, my well doing, my destination for my whole life, depends on the next few hours. The will of God will assuredly be done; and what have I to do but to rest in faith on his directing me to what is best for me, and most for his glory, and then resigning myself to that sad conflict between the duties that lead to holiness and the deep affections that lead to happiness, which, alas! in this case must be mortified as well as sanctified? Here, then, I must leave you; but I will see you ere the day is done, and then may I have gained more courage and comfort to speak, of bidding adieu with a steadier voice and a less perturbed spirit. Have I your forgiveness for having thus broken forth, and given utterance to the melancholy thoughts of my night journey, which has fevered, you perhaps think, my very brain ?"—" Forgiveness! is it not the best proof of true friendliness and kindness to tell our sorrows? and think you that the

little Medora,' whom you used to call your sister, could grow up to forgive your shewing her confidence, and speaking of those things so near your heart, that prove you think her sympathy worth having? You know,

you know that this morning's sad ti dings can in no way call for my forgiveness, but much for my prayers, that-yes, yes, I must say it-that you may not go: Say no more to me, do not answer my foolish words, but just tell me, for my father is sure to ask, though I have not, how it is you are going? what post to fill?"-"That happily I can answer, as those who care most for me would wish I should. For a greater mitigation of my banishment I could not have. The new bishoprick of Madras* is given to my excellent friend, my almost father, Charles Townsend; and to be his confidential chaplain is the enviable, the happy place which is offered, in the most affectionate of terms, to the acceptance of the ungrateful being, who has passed hours of agony since it came within his reach! what to so many would be the summit of their wishes. You know all I feel for this man; judge, then, what I must feel for those who must be left behind! but I must leave you." And, disturbed to a degree of anguish, he hurried from her, scarcely look ing at her, as he tore himself away. Medora was greatly discomforted, and her brow told it. Millions of thoughts ran rapidly across the surface of poor Medora's brain, as she slowly bent her steps towards home; but one feeling pressed upon her heart, and to calm that, and to comfort it, and to gain strength and composure to meet her father's eye, and speak to him, as though that feeling was not, seemed her purpose as she sat for a while on the bench which had rested her, a little more than an hour before, in peacefulness and tranquillity. And now! but she had learnt where to seek submission; and that she might find it ready for her when she reached her home, and find it hand in hand with cheerfulness, was the short petition that she made in the few minutes that were left her. Some tears she shed, and then she looked up at the same lovely scene that had delighted her in the early morning; THAT was even more gladsome; and why should she be less so? She ga

thered her little books and papers together; she looked at the page she had written, and this seemed to cheer her. She found that her volume of Wordsworth was missing. Had it fallen into the lake? She could not remember; she knew it had fallen from her hand. Well, she would ask old Michael to look for it; and now home, for it was later, her little watch told her, than it ought to be.

"You are rather late this morning, my love," said Colonel Blessington, as his daughter came into the breakfast room; " you have tired yourself, for you do not look so well as usual. Have you been up long?" said he, most affectionately meeting her, and kissing the lovely lips that met his with a smile of sweetness, as she thanked him, and told him she had been up very long, and had been walking farther than usual. “Then shall I find something to employ and please me much, no doubt, here, beside my breakfast plate-What! the Sketchbook, and a page of writing besides! That is indeed industry, or rather, that is like my loved girl, to give a double delight to her father, who so prizes all that his child does."

"Now do I fancy I shall see a sonnet of my friend Wordsworth's put into as sweet Italian as Petrarch himself would have sung; but stopwhat have we here? dear me, what could induce you?—well, well, good

yes, very good-Though so strange a selection for a rendering into Italian-Beautifully done, really:" He read on between these words, and when he came to the end, said, "In truth, Medora, you have quite made poetry of it."" MADE poetry of it! Oh, my dear father, it is poetry-all is poetry almost in that book-too beautiful, too sublime, for me to dare to translate it, and I never before attempted it; but old Michael was with me this morning, and was saying how much he loved that psalm-how much he delighted to dwell on its promises, and repeat it as he walked among the glories of Him who inspired it-and this it was which made me think I would try

* I would this were prophetic, and that the time were speedily arriving when we shall have three bishops in India.

« ZurückWeiter »