Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 24

There's not a leaf that rustles now, A bird that chants its simple lays, A breeze that pa.s.sing fans our brow, That speaks not of its Maker's praise.

O, then, let us who gather here Praise Him who gave us this glad day, And when the twilight shades appear Pa.s.s with his blessing hence away!

THE WARRIOR'S BRIDE.

CHAPTER I.

ROME was enjoying the blessings of peace; and so little employment attended the soldier's every-day life, that the words "as idle as a soldier" became a proverb indicative of the most listless inactivity.

The people gave themselves up to joy and gladness. The sound of music was heard from all parts of the city, and perfumed breezes went up as an incense from the halls of beauty and mirth.

It was, indeed, a blessed time for the city of the seven hills; and its people rejoiced as they had not for many a long, long year-ay, for a century.

"Peace, sweet peace, a thousand blessings attend thy glad reign. See you how quietly the peasant's flocks graze on our eternal hills? The tinkling bell is a sweeter sound than the trumpet's blast; and the curling smoke, arising from the hearth-stones of contented villagers, is a truer index of a nation's power than the sulphurous cloud from the field of battle. What say you, Alett,--is it not?"

Thus spake a youth of n.o.ble mien, as he stood with one arm encircling the waist of a lady, of whose beauty it were useless to attempt a description. There are some phases of beauty which pen cannot describe, nor pencil portray,--a beauty which seems to hover around the form, words, and motions of those whose special recipients it is; a sort of ethereal loveliness, concentrating the tints of the rainbow, the sun's golden rays, and so acting upon the mind's eye of the observer as almost to convince him that a visitant from a sphere of perfection is in his presence.

Such was that of Alett. She was the only daughter of a distinguished general, whose name was the terror of all the foes, and the confidence of all the friends, of Italy-his eldest daughter; and with love approaching idolatry he cherished her. She was his confidant. In the privacy of her faithful heart he treasured all his plans and purposes. Of late, the peaceful security in which the nation dwelt gave him the opportunity of remaining at home, where, in the companionship of a wife he fondly loved, children he almost idolized, and friends whose friendship was not fict.i.tious, he found that joy and comfort which the camp could never impart.

Alett was ever in the presence of her father, or the young man whose apostrophe to peace we have just given.

Rubineau was not the descendant of a n.o.ble family, in the worldly acceptation of the term. It was n.o.ble, indeed, but not in deeds of war or martial prowess. Its n.o.bleness consisted in the steady perseverance in well-doing, and a strict attachment to what conscience dictated as right opinions. The general loved him for the inheritance he possessed in such traits of character, and the love which existed between his daughter and the son of a plebeian was countenanced under such considerations, with one proviso; which was, that, being presented with a commission, he should accept it, and hold himself in readiness to leave home and friends when duty should call him to the field of battle.

We have introduced the two standing on a beautiful eminence, in the rear of the general's sumptuous mansion.

The sun was about going down, and its long, golden rays streamed over hill and dale, palace and cot, clothing all in a voluptuous flow of rich light.

They had stood for several moments in silence, gazing at the quiet and beautiful scene before them, when the musical voice of Rubineau broke forth in exclamations of delight at the blessings of peace.

Alett was not long in answering. It was a theme on which she delighted to dwell. Turning the gaze of her large, full eyes up towards those of Rubineau, she said,

"Even so it is. Holy Peace! It. is strange that men will love the trumpet's blast, and the smoke and the heat of the conflict, better than its gentle scenes. Peace, peace! blessings on thee, as thou givest blessings!"

Rubineau listened to the words of his Alett with a soul of admiration. He gazed upon her with feelings he had never before felt, and which it was bliss for him to experience.

She, the daughter of an officer, brought up amid all the glare and glitter, show and blazonry, of military life,--she, who had seen but one side of the great panorama of martial life,--to speak thus in praise of peace, and disparagingly of the profession of her friends-it somewhat surprised the first speaker.

"It is true," he replied; "but how uncertain is the continuance of the blessings we now enjoy! To-morrow may sound the alarm which shall call me from your side to the strife and tumult of war.

Instead of your gentle words, I may hear the shouts of the infuriated soldiery, the cry of the wounded, and the sighs of the dying."

"Speak not so," exclaimed Alett; "it must not be."

"Do you not love your country?" inquired the youth.

"I do, but I love Rubineau more. There are warriors enough ready for the battle. It need not be that you go. But why this alarm? We were talking of peace, and, behold, now we have the battle-field before us-war and all its panoply!"

"Pardon me, my dearest Alett, for borrowing trouble; but at times, when I am with you, and thinking of our present joy, the thought will arise that it may be taken from us." No more words were needed to bring to the mind of Alett all that filled that of Rubineau. They embraced each the other more affectionately than ever, and silently repaired to the house of the general.

CHAPTER II.

"To remain will be dishonor; to go may be death! When a Roman falls, the foe has one more arrow aimed at his heart; an arrow barbed with revenge, and sent with unerring precision. Hark! that shout is music to every soldier's ear. Hear you that tramp of hors.e.m.e.n? that rumbling of chariot-wheels?"

Twelve months had pa.s.sed since the time of the last chapter, and, after repeated threatening, war had actually begun. Instead of idle hours, the soldiers had busy moments, and every preparation was made to meet the opposing array in a determined manner, and with a steadiness of purpose that should insure success.

The general watched for some time the fluctuating appearance of public affairs, and it was not until war was not only certain, but actually in progress, that he called upon Rubineau to go forth.

A week hence Rubineau and Alett were to be united in marriage; and invitations had been extended far and near, in antic.i.p.ation of the event. It had been postponed from week to week, with the hope that the various rumors that were circulated respecting impending danger to the country might prove untrue, or at least to have a foundation on some weak pretence, which reasonable argument might overthrow.

Day by day these rumors increased, and the gathering together of the soldiery betokened the certainty of an event which would fall as a burning meteor in the midst of the betrothed and their friends.

The call for Rubineau to depart was urgent, and its answer admitted of no delay.

"To remain," said the general, "will be dishonor; to go may be death: which will you choose?"

It was a hard question for the young man to answer. But it must be met. The general loved him, and with equal unwillingness the question was presented and received.

"I go. If Rubineau falls--"

"If he returns," exclaimed the general, interrupting him, "honor, and wealth, and a bride who loves and is loved, shall be his-all his."

It was a night of unusual loveliness. The warm and sultry atmosphere of the day had given place to cool and gentle breezes. The stars were all out, shining as beacons at the gates of a paradise above; and the moon began and ended her course without the attendance of one cloud to veil her beauties from the observation of the dwellers on earth.

Rubineau and Alett were seated beneath a bower, cultivated by the fair hand of the latter.

The next morning Rubineau was to depart. All the happy scenes of the coming week were to be delayed, and the thought that they might be delayed long-ay, forever-came like a shadow of evil to brood in melancholy above the place and the hour.

We need not describe the meeting, the parting.

"Whatever befalls me, I shall not forget you, Alett. Let us hope for the best. Yet a strange presentiment I have that I shall not return."

"O that I could go with you!" said Alett. "Think you father would object?"

"That were impossible. Nothing but love, true and enduring, could make such a proposal. It would be incurring a two-fold danger."