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er's side, with her poor heart growing cold and when we parted, how I told you that I felt as if I faint within her. What should she do? They had hold of the last link of a chain ? " were all against her, mother, brother, friends'; / And then she had no one to take her part, no one, not a “What am I to do ?” she broke out wildly. single one, — to utter Philip Langton's name except “ O my God! what am I to do? How am I to with abuses or reproach. What should she do? live all my life long alone ? O Philip, help me! Hour after hour for those two weary days the poor Philip, have mercy on me! write me one word, or girl's desolate passionate question went up to I shall die. O, if I could have seen you once Heaven.
more, - only once more, - only once more before I And slowly and relentlessly, as those hours went go! All day long, - all night, as I lie awake, I on, the hope that had been her torch so long paled think of it. O Philip! write to me, — write to and died out. She fought for two days, and then me and forgive me, or my heart will break.” the battle ended. When the evening of the second She had been in her new home for a month when day came she knew that she must give him up. I the answer to that appeal was brought to her. A
She must give him up,- her love!- her life ! hard and cruel answer. This was what it said:She was sitting when the struggle ended by her “I trusted all iny happiness to you, and you have mother's side, who, worn out with forty-eight hours wrecked it. For this I give you no forgiveness. From of fretting, was lying at last with closed eyes and your solemn promise to become my wife, — from lips. She had lain so for half an hour, her thin your solemn promise to wait for me till I should face shrunk, her pale cheeks hollowed with those come and claim you,— no power on earth had the two days’ illness, and for half an hour Margaret had right to set you free. You have broken those sat and watched her. Sat in the deep silence, — promises of your own weak choice and will. Had the first moments of peace that had been given her, I been by your side you had not dared to do this - and watched her as she lay there, sickly and wrong to me. If you had been faithful I would feeble and lonely, till a conviction rose within her have loved you as never living man will love you heart that conquered her - a despairing hopeless now. I would have cherished you as never man conviction, that she dared not leave her.
will cherish you. You have chosen your own lot She sat when it had come, and rocked herself to apart from me. And I -" and fro, crouching her head, putting out her hands "The letter broke off here. To this last blank and covering her face, moaning over and over desolate line there was added nothing but the pasagain some low, unintelligible, broken-hearted words. sionate bitter cry, — " Margaret! Margaret ! ” She never changed sound or movement till Mrs. Morton's querulous voice broke on her misery. She only changed them then to raise her white face to her mother, and strive to utter words which at her L A PLEASANT room, with windows opening to a first effort choked her and would not come.
terrace, and, beyond, a garden sloping to the sea. And when at last, kneeling by the bedside, with A summer day in southern latitudes. her face pressed upon her outstretched hands, the “And so, after all these years,” cried a lady repoor girl uttered them, giving her broken-hearted clining on a cushioned sofa, “ Henry Fitzgibbon has promise that she would go, for her reward there come back again ! ” came this answer,
“Ay, he has come at last." “ Could you not have said as much at the begin- “I am so curious to see him. We must go early, ning,” Mrs. Morton said, “ without doing your best to Mr. Travers, and have a talk with him before the kill me first? But you are still as you have been other people come. And with regard to the girls, all your life, – thinking of no creature in the world Miss Morton," — Mrs. Travers raised herself a except yourself.”
little, and turned her head, — “as my sister likes
you to be early, you had better join us about iv.
At the far end of the room Margaret Morton sits The promise was given, and from that time writing, with a cheek that nine years have paled, onward she was altogether passive. The chief and a figure that their hand has made more slight. object of every one about her was to hurry her All the rounded comeliness of former days is gone; away before Philip Langton could hear that she was and yet that calm, refined, strong face is beautiful going. She knew this, but she never said a word. now with a beauty it never possessed of old. The Living as they did they only needed a few days to dark eyes have a deep, tender look in them, somemake their preparations for departure. The rector times sad, oftener composed and cheerful; for she promised, without detaining Margaret, to find a has wrought her way out of that great anguish of substitute for her in the school. By the end of a her youth, and it shades her years now only with a week they were all in readiness to go.
silent and subdued sadness, not any longer with She sat, on the last night, in her own room alone. passionate sorrow and revolt. Through all the week poor Langton's unanswered Yet the love that caused that bitter suffering has letter had lain upon her heart. To-night she wrote been the leading star, – the refining element of her to him.
life. Its influence has led her in everything that Like one whom sorrow had stunned into insensi- she has done,- in everything that she has struggled bility, she told him all that had been done; she told to become. She has been true to it in her whole him of the promise she had given, almost without heart and being, in spite of Philip's injustice, in one demonstration of emotion. And only then, spite of her own renunciation. when all was said, suddenly at some stray thoughtShe has risen to the position of a governess in a
- the chance recalling of a few words uttered long merchant's family. Hither and thither her lot has before — all the great agony of her heart burst led her, during these nine years, over that wide
| American continent. She is now in a pleasant “Do you remember,” she said, " that evening southern town on the coast of Florida. She is all
alone in the world. The kind uncle who brought A hand was laid kindly on her arm, and on her her over is dead; the sickly mother dead, too, a ear came the tones of another voice:year ago; her brother, the only one remaining, is a “You feel this room very hot," it said. " Do you fortune-seeker in California.
not, Miss Morton ? I am sure you are hot, you look "You will be at my sister's at eight a'clock," so pale and tired. Come away with me, and let us Mrs. Travers said; and at eight o'clock Margaret take a little walk upon the terrace." and her two pupils sat in Mrs. Maurice's drawing- The outstretched hand drew her from her seat. room.
| O, this was cruel! There leapt up to her lips one She sat before a side-table strewn with books, piteous cry, one helpless cry of passionate resistance; and whiled the time away in turning them over. and then she rose, and went Away she went, There were a few small groups of ladies in the from where her hungry eyes had rested, to the room, making a faint buzz of conversation, but it dimly-lighted terrace. was not loud enough to interrupt her. For a long “Now take my arm, we will walk for a little while she read undisturbed, until the feeble buzz here." at last leapt into quicker animation, for the drawing. She answered “Yes," but she could not do it room door was opened, and new voices sounded, She tried, and walked a dozen steps; then suddenly new faces entered and filled the room.
stood still, and cried, A few feet from where she sat there stood a small “Let me sit down." empty sofa. Toward this there presently came two She leant against a pillar near her. persons, and took possession of it, - Mrs. Travers, “Mrs. Carlton, let me sit down! Here, where is and a gentleman whose face was strange to Marga- is not light; O here, where it is not light!" she ret. As they sat down it was he who spoke first. cried.
"Begin from your own marriage, and tell me “My dear, there is no seat: stand still one moeverything," he said. " What has become of all my ment." old friends. I can scarcely see or hear of one of Pausing to ask no questions, Mrs. Carlton hr
ried to the house. She was absent for a few seconds; "I can give you a score of histories," she answered. then she returned, and not alone. Another art * Who shall I begin with.” And they fell at once was laden with the chair that she had gone to find, into an animated talk together
and another hand get it by Margaret's side. It might have lasted perhaps for half an honr, « Thank you, Mr. Langton. Now, my dear, sit when, atter a momentary pause, Margaret heard | down. You will be better soon in this fresh air. these wonis:
She sat down as she was bidden; helplesslr, cati"In the midst of all this." Mrs Travers's com- out a word. She gave no thanks ranion sal, "how in the world hare you contrived Having come, he stayed. Deliberately and to be a little changed? To look at you I can once he took the place where she had stood, and Sanelr believe that I hare ever been awar; ret leant where she bad leant against the pillar. He the whole morning I hare been complaining to stood with his face partly towards her, with the Langton that I cannot recognize a single face I light upon it.
* We sball nerer teach this porthern mo drop She lodet up with an inroluntary start, but it to bear our southern warmth." Mrs. Carltoa sai was only for a moment. She had heard strangers - Mr. Langton, are all your country women so hard called by that name bere. There were more to secustom to new climates? Are they sach Langtons in the world than bers
fragile crestars as this one? * Br the war," vs Travers sid, who is this He turned his head bere Margaret sat si Mr. Langon. There hd roa pack him up." looked at ber. Following that look tha se do
Lang ( he is a man with sme name in chance upon bis fsce. Do tokea in bin of recognition, political cimes in England. He is just ROT S nothing but this quiet ansver,
-Yon are used to & vide coloring bere 0 Hesain the sun is present is be I am ! Deciben sows to Englomes otst*
1 - Ani net England is a good rss from the pa No: be and Traves into a discussion to Ari are not like a spowdrop M. Langtos Thermal t hack to their own stairs. I am surely Enck; y botte ra
Fred in its r. ALV: Lance
ne bi sme navne teres -Teme slot last. Wh us wie
man det at the long rubvi ne bo Rome Te
mingling with it, that one home figure, the centre mask, but all tenderness that in word or look had star of Margaret's life. But even he so changed. begun to appear in him shrank back before her All calmed, softened, refined; the old dark face, words. The pause that came when she ceased to dark and irregular still, but in its whole expression speak was broken by this cold reply, grown so full of harmony and strength ; its restive “ If there has been no suffering then my petition pride composed, its aggressive temper all subdued. may be granted the more easily. I have come a
She listened to him as he talked, listened at first long way,” he said slowly, “ to ask your forgiveness with a strange thrilling wonder of delight, then for a wrong done to you long ago.” He paused for presently with a nameless sickening pain. Oh! she a moment, and then his voice grew bitter as he had striven all these years to reach up to his height, ended. “It will cost you little to grant it. When and he had left her in the race, as if she had not the pain of a wrong has ceased, we can forgive the run.
| wronger easily." “And now, after all your European wanderings," She had been very calm outwardly when she had Mrs. Carlton said, "you have at last come here." spoken, but now her hands were crushed together, He answered, “Yes."
and her eyes, fixed on his face, were troubled and “ Are you going farther south ? "
dark. She stood one moment shivering, then all “ No; I shall retrace my steps now.'
her love rose in a wild defence, and out of that nine " But not at once, I hope ? "
years' silence leapt this cry, “I may leave to-morrow. If not to-morrow, still "It has not ceased! O, the pain has not ceased !" as soon as possible.”
Her head fell down upon her parted hands, she Sitting in the shadow, Margaret heard, and lifted hid her face upon them, and broke with passionate up her head, swiftly, suddenly, driven by the start helplessness into a low piteous sob. ling cry of her sharp misery. She lifted up her And then, as she stood there desolate, she felt his head, and her raised eyes saw
arm circling her round; and passionate once more, Oh! this was no stranger's look upon her, - this in its deep loving tenderness, she heard his voice, was no stranger's gaze, sending its keen light “Margaret, I have been faithful,” he cried. “In through her!
spite of that harsh wrong I have lived for you. I “ So soon as to-morrow? Why, Mr. Langton, have worked for you. I came to pray for more than you will have seen nothing."
forgiveness. I came to pray for my reward.” "I shall have seen what I came to see,” he It was far away, that English village by the old answered.
familiar sea, yet, before his tones had died away, “Ah, well! About that I cannot speak,” she how there flashed back on her a picture of it, clearer said, laughing; and there was a few moments' than the sight of tropic land. She lifted up her pause, which was broken presently by a sound of eyes, — the passionate gaze of old was on her face; music coming through the opened door.
she raised her arms, – they fell to their old place “That is Mrs. Travers's voice,” Mrs. Carlton said. upon his neck; she spoke to him. “ Mr. Langton, you must come and hear her, she Long years ago he had told her to wait for him has the finest voice I know. Miss Morton, will you till he came back. Like a child delivering up its remain here, or come with us? You had better trust, she whispered, both come.”
"I have waited!” She went forward towards the door, and Mr. That was all. From him there only came one Langton followed her. One moment Margaret saw passionate low utterance of her name. Then bethe two figures stand upon the threshold ; then one tween them there was perfect silence, and they stood went forward and the other' retraced his steps. beneath the tropic trees as they had stood nine
He came back in silence, calmly and quietly, to years before under the sea-cliff at Brent. the place that he had left, into Margaret's full sight, - there where she sat motionless, her clasped hands
CHORISTER SCHOOL-BOYS IN GERMANY. as he neared her only closing their fingers tighter.
He stood before her in silence for several mo (Translated for EVERY SATURDAY from Der Hausfreund.) ments; then, through the distant music, she heard | Some of our readers will doubtless remember the his voice.
songs which they as children often used to hear in - She said I should see nothing," he said, summer and winter evenings resounding from the abruptly. “ She was wrong. Shall I tell you what courtyards of the houses or along the streets of BerI have seen ?”
lin. The airs were sacred choral tunes, which were His eyes were directed towards her, but he did rendered, however, in an atrociously mutilated not wait for her to speak. Before she could reply manner. Sometimes one could distinguish a voice he spoke again.
which sang correctly and melodiously, and strove, " She told me to tell her about ruined cities. though in vain, to keep in tune the other discordant There are other ruins besides fallen stones. One singers. Amid the boyish voices of the little choir such," and his voice sank into infinite tenderness, thundered the sonorous bass of the leader of the “I have seen to-night, - a temple that I left entire, band, whom the boys used to call the “ Choir-father." - fresh from God's hand.”
When you approached the group of musicians, you She rose up suddenly from her seat and stood found that it consisted of eight or ten, often indeed before him with her slight figure erect, and with all of fewer boys. They wore gray or black cloaks of that she had in her of gentle pride gathered upon uniform shape with a short collar, and on their heads her face.
great heavy turned-up hats, such as now-a-days are “My white face does me wrong to-night,” she worn by the drivers of hearses. These lads, thus said. “I am no ruin. I have known sorrow, as attired, were the familiar chorister-boys, “ current others have; but no sorrow I have felt has crushed scholars,” or “ Currendejungens," as they are called me. I have grown to look old, perhaps; but I am in Berlin. The original intention of this youthful not young now, even in years."
choir was to give to needy and industrious lads His dark face had for a moment thrown off its education and practice in vocal music and at the
same time by their singing before the houses of the which perhaps with proper care, might have assured citizens to procure for them the means of carrying him a brilliant career. There have been, also, on their studies in the schools. This is the aim of people of distinction enough, who once were dointhese choristers or “ Currende," not only in Berlin, bered among these singing scholars. Fortune smiled but in every large city which has, or ever had, such upon many a one, whose voice gained him friends, an institution. The little fellows have often enough and who was received into a household and advanced aroused our sympathies. When in winter the icy by patrons who assisted the poor singer in gaining a December storm roared through the streets, and the still more advantageous position. chill wind whirled in eddying gusts about the wide We need only point to the great reformer, Luther, deserted squares, bearing with it flakes of snow, who owed his advancement to the institution of the i and drops of still colder rain, and the passengers, Current-scholars. By his wonderful voice he excitshivering and blue, hastened rapidly by, there was ed the attention and interest of the pious Frau something sad in the sight of the little troop of poor Cotta of Eisenach, ho prepared for him a happier children, making their way through the bustle and lot in life. The name given to these children shoes noise of the streets, and singing their hymns with the age of the custom, Currere: to run, to rore ! trembling voices, changed by the cold into a plaintive about. Originally the mendicant monks pursued tremulo, in front of houses from the windows of which this same course; they used to sing in front of the the bright lights of the warm comfortable rooms doors of houses. Subsequently they acquired the threw their rays upon the wet, dirty, cold streets name of " Bacchantes," people having in their minda without. The little lads with their grotesque hats the participators in the festivals of Bacchus, parties and plaited cloaks could not but excite a smile of larly the nocturnal rites, for already in the twelfth sympathy. Poor children! - who, in order to gain and thirteenth centuries the monks had given we what is often enough lightly trified away by the lazy to the students, who were called Beani, or - Yellor children of rich parents, - a school education, have bills," (Gelbschnäbel), and who likewise sang before to wander freezing through the streets for hour after the doors of the citizens. From these came, in the hour here and there carolling drearily a song, which fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries, the they repeat quite mechanically and without a travelling scholars. These sought to gain by song, and thought of its meaning, for they have already sung other productions and performances of theirs, the or drawled it, who knows how often. Frequently money needed for their education, and in this pursuit there is not even the semblance of a tune, for al- travelled from school to school. They were greatly though the choir-father, who stands in the middle of aided by the customs of those times, but more es his band, beats time with his hand, he hurries it along pecially by the piety of the people; and there were berond all possibility for the singers to keep pace even to be found public institutions for their support with him, för he too is shaking with the cold, and and instruction, so that, in the sixteenth century, i longing to go home, while he remembers that they was a matter of repute for a school to bare many of have still to visit six or seven houses, in which dweil such Bacchants among its members. These had reputed patrons of the choristers, and where they still younger lads under them, which they cale! can rely upon receiving a few groschen. When - Schützen," but who were treated by them in the they have sung one of their choral songs, or the most tyrannical manner, and were often misded into well-known school song, - Glad praises to the Lord, i stealing or begging. Frequently the Bacchan's re youthful choirs, sing, (which, by the way, often remained until late in years at the schools, where sounds strangely enongh amid wind and weather.) they were provided with places as sub-teachers, and then one of the poor children draws forth from under passed sometimes their whole life. Bachand Zane his mantle a dark lantern, leaves his companions, and the famous Thomas Plater were Bacchants and mounts the narrow steps of the house before and have themselves, written of their adrentures i which they have been singing, and which is very apt, this calling. With the better organization of the to be quite dark. Formerly, such an undertaking schools arose the necessity of providing for, apieruzsed to be br no means without its perils, for then enising some control over the itinerant singers there was no bright gas-jet to light his footsteps This was the origin of the Currende. The scholars Having gained the door, the lad rings or knocks were placed under the supervision of the Rector - Who is there?" asks & voice. The choristers and the parish: their funds were regulated and their beg for a little gift. Often enough a surly * No." | education superintended. The free sebars at the is the answer given by some * renter" disturbed in academies, however, seem Dot to bare alrs en the persal of his erenine paper, or by the lodgingswered the expectations which their benetactar house keeper, who is looking for a visit of quite a were justibed in entertaining. The Corrent-sches ditferent sort Often the voice of a shrewish, atingy ans, especiallr, from the very first must have do old woman croaks forth some abuse of the petitioner, 'tinguished tbemselves br frement trangressions and and even when a more generous hand opens to meet the school-rules. In the - Berlin Cloister and Schanie the humble petition, it opens onlr - in most cases History of Martin Dietrich, we find that, since - to bestow upon the needysbolar a few guached. was seen that the Current-hors of these schools had There were, indeed, people who used to set aside a' berpune very unruly, and played all manner of mars certain sum yearly for the Currende, and the latter chieris pranks oben they went about singing, ** sometimes receivei, ale legacies frorn dezetesrecin orenet 7 appointed orer them, bet benefactors. On the whole bowerer, the incitations name of George Schütze, who went abeat vith for these scholars onlr inst sacred in keeping them and prevented ail ungeemlr behavior. Io thereelres alive, and the per bars comht br ich end, also in the rear 170, from curitas means best of their income. Many a fine singer contributions on the recept of tbe Prorost BC. nererther has been his career in one of these enberg, a dwellne was bris for this othee OT bands of strimus vans for the voices were in eer' rear wall of the Cloister churbari, and the lier vers especially chosen on account of their time forward, twenty-four bots of the Curen strert. But many a one, too. has lost hresposre' were provided, besides their daily food, with to wind and reather, drafts and cokks an organ, i and other clothing, and also with some ney.=
pecially when they left the institution, and wished many more coals on the fire without fear of being to learn some trade."
over-roasted. There was only a tiny little bit of red Among the school regulations declared by Elector heat in one corner of the small grate, to which Mrs. John George in 1579, is the following:
Pullinger added fuel occasionally, with such a stern " The Choristers shall, in the streets, as well as in eye for economy, that she might have put it on with the houses on the occasion of weddings, in collecting a tablespoon. Mothers are apt to be selfish creacontributions behave themselves discreetly, and in a tures; so Mrs. Pullinger sat by the window, declarChristian manner; stand in the churches before the ing stoutly that it was n't at all cold, and that she pulpit, at Vespers, read a chapter from the Bible, but wanted all the light she could get that dismal day especially shall sing no drinking or lewd songs to to mend her husband's coat. If, however, you had please tipplers and dissolute persons.”
cross-questioned Lizzie, the eldest daughter, a deIn more recent times, the choristers very often mure, anxious-faced little creature of eight, she did not have the reputation of being very com- would have told you that mother sat at the window mendable or order-loving pupils of the academies. on purpose that the little ones might snuggle over
The roving about in the streets probably contributed the fire. And the little ones, three in number, a a good deal toward making the young people a girl and two boys, were snuggling over the fire, little intractable. At least the writer of these lines stretching out their mites of hands, and making remembers, that the chorister-pupils of the institu- believe that the heat was very intense ; making tion at which he attended, had the reputation of believe, also, that an old wooden horse, who, though being high boys. That was the reverse of the he had lost his head and both forelegs, was still a medal. The choristers enjoyed, however, a great prime family favorite, - making believe that this popularity in Berlin, to which the often truly com- venerable nag was suffering exceedingly from the ical exterior which has made them a fertile subject furnace-like character of the heat to which he was for the pencil of a Hosemann and the pens of our subjected, and that from this cause he had contracted humorous writers probably contributed. The chor-sundry diseases beyond the reach of veterinary skill. isters belonged, among other things, to the familiar It might be inferred, from the glib way in which the and inevitable accompaniments of a New Year's children prattled stable-talk, and also from a colored morning, and certain individuals among the leaders print of the celebrated trotting-horse Gondolier, or choir-fathers, have become well known in the which hung over the mantel-piece, that their father city. The institution, however, outlived its original earned his living among horses, and the inference purpose, and became at last, only an asylum for the would be correct; but of this we will say more herechoir-leaders. Beyond their free education, the after, and rather observe for the present that the pupils received little other assistance. The gym- room was scrupulously clean, and that there were nasia replaced the choristers by choirs for the various little ornaments on the walls and on the liturgical songs, in the churches of the parishes to mantel-piece betokening a home-loving husband and which the gymnasia belonged.
wife. The furniture, however, was painfully scanty, Since 1851 an attempt has been made to revive for the chest of drawers, and several of the clothes the institution of the Currende, and by its means which they contained, had been confided to the to keep up among the people, the love for the good guardianship of a commercial philanthropist in the old church melodies. These newly established Blackfriars Road — with three golden balls over his choirs, for a yearly contribution of about two door-way - until better times came round. And thalers, sing every month in the houses of the cit- now let us listen to Mrs. Pullinger, a pretty, darkizens, some of their choral songs. Especial care has haired little woman of six-and-twenty, with a pale been taken that the children should present a neat thin face. She looks up from her work with a sad and pleasing appearance. They are civil and well smile, and says gently, behaved, and their performances contrast very “It's no use, Lizzie, scouring out the big saucefavorably with those of the earlier choristers, and pan; we shall have no pudding this Christmas." at the sound of their clear childish voices, every one “It may as well be clean as dirty," answers the is ready to open his purse for a donation to the little little housewife cheerfully, as she continues her polsinger, who enters the door of his house with mod- | ishing. est confidence, to solicit and receive with thanks the But these few words had attracted the attention smallest return for the performances of himself and of the little ones, who looked up with large round comrades.
eyes of disappointed wonderment.
“ No pudding?” cried little Alice. BOB PULLINGER'S ROSE-COLORED
“No pudding ? ” whimpered Bob, dropping a tear
on the wooden horse's ragged mane. SPECTACLES.
Even baby, twenty months old, and the family
pet, stammered out regretfully, as if recalling the CHRISTMAS EVE, 184, was, in point of weather, remembrance of many previous Christmas festivia miserable day. A cold, drenching rain, with oc-ties, “Me want puddeny, me muss have puddeny." casional intervals of sleet, was falling, while every “Hush, children,” exclaimed Lizzie with severity, now and then the wind blew in fierce, pitiless gusts, holding up an authoritative finger; “ you ought to so that feeble and elderly persons, encountering | be thankful that there's two loaves of bread in the Boreas in this unexpected manner at street corners, cupboard, and a pot of nice dripping.” Then, turnwere nearly taken off their legs by his rudeness. ing to her mother, she said, “ I hear father's step on In-doors, provided there were plenty of coals on the the stairs." fire, and plenty of food in the larder, the weather In a few moments Mr. Pullinger made his appearwas pleasant enough. But, unfortunately, every- ance, a short, bow-legged man, with a broad, goodbody in this great city was not so happily situated. humored face, and a pair of twinkling brown eyes. The Pullinger family, for example, who rented the He took from his shoulders a corn-sack, which he front and back attics at Number Eight, Warner wore by way of overcoat, and hung it on the banisStreet, Blackfriars Road, could have borne a good ters to dry.