John stood some time looking on the ground, but he made no reply: and whether convinced by this argument or not, he did not say, but taking up a bar of iron he thrust it in the fire, and applying himself to the bellows, worked at it until the forge fairly roared. Dick stood look-、 ing on in silence; at last he said: John, I came to take you home with me.' John shook his head : 'I can't go; there's another death coming soon.' At the House?' said the other, inquiringly. · Ay! and very soon. I may be wanted." 'But after that, John, after that,' urged the other, 'you'll come then?' I Perhaps I may; perhaps I may not; I cannot tell,' said John. have kind friends here; perhaps I'll stay among them; perhaps I'll go abroad; I'm very restless now. My movements hereafter will be guided by another. I'm quite adrift, Dick, quite adrift. Dick Bolles saw that to the black-smith every thing had assumed a sombre hue; and so he sat down and spent the morning with him, and by conversing with him on other subjects, gradually drew his thoughts from dwelling upon himself; and when he left him there was a smile upon his face which augured brighter hours. 6 Another week had flitted by. Death was on his rounds, and his gaunt shadow began to hover over the House." From day to day Mr. Lindsey's life ebbed. From morning till night, and through the still, silent hours of darkness, when all were hushed in sleep except the solitary watcher at his bed-side, until the gray dawn of day changed to the blush of sun-rise, his struggling heart kept throbbing heavily on. Day after day the physician came and went; he gave no prescription; he left no directions, for man was powerless, and he felt that the great Conqueror was on his march, and silently watched him as one by one he sapped the foundations of life. Strength had failed, and the sick man had taken to his bed. He knew that his disease was gaining ground. He had withstood its wear and tear with manly courage. He had struggled not to yield, not from any craven fear of death, or any wretched clinging to life for life's sake, for he had learned to look with a steady eye into the dark abyss to which he was hastening; and with his mind free and clear, and his senses calm and collected, he gathered in his energies to grapple with his fate, but he felt the chill of the dark shadow which overhung him. The 'House' grew dim and dreary; and although the sun shone brightly over hill, and field, and wood-land, it did not dispel the gloom. The servants moved on tip-toe, and spoke in whispers, and constant watch was kept on the door of the sick man's room. The bell rang furiously, and word was sent for John Biggs. Mr. Lindsey was sinking rapidly, and wished to see him. As fast as man and horse could travel, the message went; and almost as soon, the grave sad face of the smith was seen at the door of the House. He was told to go up at once, for there was no time to waste moments were of more worth than gold now. Robust, gigantic, a personification of strength and sinew, of rugged, stalwart, iron life, he entered the sick-chamber, himself and all about him a type of earth, except the light which beamed like an emanation from heaven in his honest eyes. Mr. Lindsey was bolstered up in bed, his temples sunken, his eyes deep-set and glassy, and his fingers thin and long. By him stood his child, and at the bed-side sat a nurse. He beckoned John to him: he paused to gather strength, then fixed his earnest eyes on John. So little Tom is gone?' The color deepened in John's cheek, and he looked upon the floor. 'He is.' Again a pause to gather in his breath. 'My sand is running fast, John: I shall soon be with him.' The black-smith compressed his lips, but did not speak. Mr. Lindsey took John's hand in his and placed it on the head of his boy. He half rose from the pillow which supported him. His words were calm and deliberate, and strong Will was struggling with Fate as he spoke. 'I've sent for you again, John, before I die, to remind you of your promise.' 6 you There is no need, Sir,' replied John; 'I'll never forget it, never!' 'I thank you,' replied Mr. Lindsey. It's a heavy responsibility that have taken upon you.' 'I know it is, Sir,' said the smith, earnestly; but I trust in God to give me strength to bear it.' That's right, John; and if ever in the future your resolution fail, or my boy should weary out your patience with waywardness or perseverance in wrong, when friends have fallen off, and the world turns its back upon him, do you look back through the dim past to this hour and to me; and when you do so, forgive him, and shelter and protect him, for then he 'll want a friend the most.' It was a fearful effort to speak those slow, earnest words; to battle with the enemy which was griping at his heart; but he kept it down until he heard John's answer. 'I will.' And then he sank heavily back, the light faded from his eye, and he spoke no more, but left John standing with his hand upon the child's head. John waited to hear if he had any thing more to say, but he did not speak, nor seem to notice him; and John stole out of the room, and took his station in the hall below. Word soon came that Mr. Lindsey was sinking fast. The members of the household gathered near the door. It soon was said that he noticed no one; and several of the older ones who had lived with him from childhood, and had grown old and gray, and decrepit in his service, went in and drew back in the dark corners of the room, watching the ebbing of his life. John still remained in the hall, watching the faces of those who passed him, and ready to go up if he should be called again. Once or twice, as the door of the room was opened, he thought he heard the dying man's voice, but it was fancy: he was not sent for again. The shadows of evening were coming on, and the window-curtains in the room were opened, and the old man with his filmy eye gazed out through the window and over the distant landscape. Hill and valley, meadow and forest, were spread before him. The scenes of his boyhood, manhood, and age- what dreams of the past were gathered about them, and what silent memories were crowding through that clogging brain! The shadows of evening are deepening; more dull and heavy is the beating of his heart. The twilight is darkening; the dull, filmy eye still looks out, but not upon the landscape, for it seems to stretch beyond it, and to gaze into the far-off distant sky. Still the struggling heart is striving laboriously and hard to retain its hold on life. The twilight has darkened almost into night, and still the dim eye looks out. Was that a cloud that swept across the sky, and flung its shadow over the face of the dying man? Bring lights, for it is dark, dark indeed; the darkness of the valley of shadows has flung its pall over the place : the struggle is past, and that strong heart is conquered, and at rest for ever! John Biggs left the House, and went along the road which led to his home but oh! how vividly rose up in his memory the past images of those days when first he had met him who had now gone from earth for ever! He recollected a crushed and broken-down man, seated in a miserable, ill-furnished room, with his head resting between his hands, almost ready to follow the counsel given to the patriarch of old, Curse GOD and die.' He remembered, too, a patient, loving face at his side, watching his look with anxious eyes, and breathing hope in tones which soothed him like an angel's whisper, and as it looked upward, bade him trust in GoD. And he remembered well how he had struggled hard to obey; but how difficult it was, when he saw her day by day fading at his side, and his sickly child growing wan and decrepit even in his cradle, to silence the murmurs which rose to his lips, to look through the dark vista before him, where there was no gleam of light, and yet hope on when hope seemed dead. But the dawn came at last; a kind hand was stretched out to save him; the means of labor were placed within his reach; labor reaped its proper harvest, and the whisperings of hope became realities. But where was she who had cheered him on, and with strong love had supported his sinking heart? She was sleeping with her dark lashes fringing her closed lids, her pale hands crossed upon her breast, and her face white as the fresh-fallen snow. He remembered it well. She was sleeping, never again to wake on earth, and he was to journey through life alone. Tears filled the eyes of the rugged man, but memory had not done its work yet; for still amid the dim past sprang up another form, a feeble, patient child, stretching its arms to him for succor and for love. 'Tom! Tom! my own little child!' muttered the black-smith, burying his face in his hands, and struggling hard to choke down the tears which rose; are we never to meet again on earth?' 'The dead rise not again here.' It was the very hour and the very spot at which he had uttered those words, 'The dead rise not again here.' But did he dream, or my s of yesterday, the anxiety and weariness of usual spirits; and now that I am alor but myself and the stars are sleeping, I e to fly to you, Emily, and pour all my gri ool yesterday morning, father and I, and too Father was sick on the way, and we were o I over night. The examination passed of themselves admirably, and did honor, the I tution. To my surprise, I received the firs and I must say I do not estimate very highly Committee. Ellen Summers wrote an exqu metaphors and comparisons; I think she -irls sent many kisses to you, which, by the il I see you. to return to these dear scenes of childhood t my eyes, Emily, oh no! not mine, wherei I have loved every inch of this old homeste every association treasured in my heart! W hrough the great gate, past the sentinel p the window to take in at a glance the dear ed changed, except perhaps that the early gr s grown more luxuriant. But when I enter f the place chilled me to the heart. und Elfie met us on the steps, and to the que I was told you were not here, and had sent that Agnes had been indisposed for some da ventured out, but would send the carriage for n s at my heart dimmed my eyes, for I saw noth were around my neck, and two warmer lips u argaret, Bertha; don't you remember sister How I thanked HEAVEN for those kis en Margaret drew Elfie toward me, and I kis me ‘sister Bertha;' and her large inquiring tered the house. Margaret is like, very lik s all the sweetness of hers, and her eye th nent recalls to me what I have loved and y ears. Cambr. ge, Mass. FADING! fading! Fine and fresh their color Fading! fading! Such are always fleeting; Fading! fading! Fools are we to paint them! Dreaming! dreaming! Oh! how bright and gaily Dreaming! dreaming! Heart! how very vainly, Look about, and live a little sanely; Do not shrink before the naked truth. Dreaming! dreaming! Heart! have done with dreaming! Truth, plain truth, destroys all shadowy seeming; Day-light! day-light! strangely hast thou lighted But a thousand fairy dreams thou'st frighted; Day-light! day-light! sternly and severely Day-light! day-light! I will thank thee for it; When, so soon! thou shov'st away my dreams. Fading! fading! Well may hearts be weary When their dreams have thus grown old and died. Oh! this glare of day is very dreary, Not a corner left wherein to hide! Fading! fading! Why not, then, forget them? |