Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 52

"I was a perfect stranger. The captain was attentive to my wants, and made me as comfortable as he could. You will remember how neat and quiet all appeared when, with my friend Jenks, you called on me.

All of the pa.s.sengers took an interest in my welfare, and made up a purse for me; but they could not remain long with me. They had been long absent from home, and were desirous of seeing their families and friends, or else they had business in this or some other place.

One of them introduced my friend Jenks to me; and, O, sir, he has been, indeed, a good friend to one having so few claims on his attention. He told me one night of you, and, agreeable to his promise, he brought you to the cabin of the vessel. The rest you know."

Egbert had regained his strength to a great degree, and gave me the close of his narrative while we were having a pleasant drive through the country. A month had pa.s.sed since we first met, and though many of the pa.s.sengers had been heard from, the names of Evelina and her father had not been reported.

When we reached our home, from our afternoon's drive, I took up an evening paper, and the first paragraph I read was the following:

"MORE FROM THE WHITE WING.-The Orion, which arrived at this port this morning, brought fifteen pa.s.sengers, rescued from the boats of the 'White Wing.' Among the names mentioned in the above notice were these: "Mrs. Evelina Lawrence and her father, of England;" and, at the conclusion, was the following item:

"The case of Mrs. Lawrence and her father is one of those that loudly call for a bestowal of public sympathy and aid in her behalf.

She has lost a beloved husband,--one who, judging from the heavy sorrow that oppresses her, and the sighs and tears that break her recital of the events of their last hours together, was bound with the closest bonds of soul affinity to her own spirit. They must have been one, and are, indeed, one now, though to mortal eyes separated.

We commend her to the kind charities of those who would follow the golden rule of doing unto others as they, in like circ.u.mstances, would have others do unto them."

Egbert noticed my interest in that which I was reading; indeed, it would have been strange if he had not; for I could not suppress my joy, and it found expression in an occasional exclamation.

At length, I handed him the paper.

"My G.o.d! my wife!" he exclaimed, and he actually danced with joy and thankfulness. He would have rushed into the street, and by sudden exposure have caused a relapse of disease, had not I taken him by the hand, and forcibly, for a few moments, restrained him. So excessive was his happiness that, for a short time, he was delirious with joy. He laughed and wept by turns: at one moment extending his arms, and folding them as if clasping a beloved form; the next, trembling as if in some fearful danger. But this did not long continue. He soon became calm and rational, and we called a carriage for the purpose of going to the vessel on board of which he expected to greet his wife and her father.

My neighbor Jenks accompanied us, and, as we rode hastily along, my mind reverted to the night when first I met Egbert. That eventful evening came more vividly to mind as we found ourselves on the same wharf, and the carriage door was opened, and we alighted on nearly the same spot that we did at that time.

Egbert leaped from the carriage, and at one bound was on the vessel's deck. He flew to the cabin, and in a moment I heard the loud exclamations on either side, "My Evelina!" "My Egbert!" Mr.

Jenks and myself followed below. An old gentleman met us, and, though a stranger, he grasped a hand of ours in each of his, and wept with joy as he bade us welcome. The cabin was witness of a scene which a painter well might covet for a study. In close embrace Egbert and Evelina mingled joys that seldom are known on earth. The old man held our hands, his face raised, eyes turned upward, while tears of happiness, such as he had never before known, coursed down his features. The officers of the ship came hurrying in, and the crew darkened the gangway with their presence. What a joyous time was that! The evening was pa.s.sed in recounting the adventures of each; and even I had something to add to the general recital. It appeared that the boat in which Egbert had placed his charge was safely cleared of the wreck; and, after being floated about two days, was met by an English ship bound to London. They, together with about twenty others who were in the boat, were soon comfortably cared for. At the expiration of a few weeks, they reached London, and were there placed on board a vessel bound to Boston, at which place they in due season arrived. The grief of Mrs. L. during all this time I will not attempt to describe. The mind of my reader can better depict it than I can with pen. Hope buoyed her up. And, though she had seen him swept from her side into the waters where waves towered up to the skies and sank again many fathoms below, yet she did hope she might see him again on earth.

In the silent hour of night, as she lay and mused of those things, she thought she could hear a sweet voice whispering in her ear, "Berty lives, and you will meet him once again." And, as if in response to the voice, she said in her own mind, "I know he lives; but it may be in that bright world where, unenc.u.mbered with these mortal frames, we roam amid ever-enduring scenes." The voice again said, "On earth, on earth."

But now they had met. It was no mere vision now, and the truth flashed upon her mind that that voice she had heard and thought a dream was not all a dream. And then she mused on as she was wont to do, and, after relating to us the incident, she said, "May it not be that much of our life that we have thought pa.s.sed in dreamland, and therefore among unreal things, has been spent with actual existences? For what is an 'unreal thing'? It would not be a 'thing'

had it no existence; and what is the 'it' that we speak of? Can we not then conclude that there is nothing but what is and must have an existence, though not so tangible to our senses as to enable us to handle it or see it? What we call 'imagination' may be, after all, more real than the hard stones beneath our feet-less indestructible than they."

Thus she spake, and her theory seemed very plausible to me, though my friend Jenks, who was an exceedingly precise, matter-of-fact man, could not see any foundation for the theory.

It was a late hour when Mr. Jenks and myself pa.s.sed to our homes.

The next day Evelina and her father were coseyly quartered at the house in which Egbert had boarded.

In the course of a a few weeks they arranged to go to the west, and locate in a flourishing town on the banks of the Ohio, not many miles above Cincinnati.

Mr. Jenks and myself accompanied them to the cars; and, amid our best wishes for their success, and their countless expressions of grat.i.tude to us, the train started, and in a few moments the Disinherited was going to an inheritance which G.o.d had provided, and which lay in rich profusion awaiting their possession.

Our hearts went with them. We could truly say they were worthy G.o.d's blessing; yet we had not need ask him to bestow it upon them; for their very existence was a proof that he gave it to them.

THE SEASONS ALL ARE BEAUTIFUL.

THE seasons all are beautiful, There is not one that's sad,-- Not one that does not give to thee A thought to make thee glad.

I have heard a mournful cadence Fall on my listening ear,-- 'T was some one whispering, mournfully, "The Autumn days are here."

But Autumn is not sorrowful,-- O, full of joy is it; I love at twilight hour to watch The shadows as they flit,-- The shadows of the falling leaves, Upon their forest bed, And hear the rustling music tones Beneath the maiden's tread.

The falling leaf! Say, what has it To sadden human thought?

For are not all its hours of life With dancing beauty fraught?

And, having danced and sang its joy, It seeketh now its rest,-- Is there a better place for it Than on its parent's breast?

Ye think it dies. So they of old Thought of the soul of man.

But, ah, ye know not all its course Since first its life began, And ye know not what future waits, Or what essential part That fallen leaf has yet to fill, In G.o.d's great work of art.

Count years and years, then multiply The whole till ages crowd Upon your mind, and even then Ye shall not see its shroud.

But ye may see,--if look you can Upon that fallen leaf,-- A higher life for it than now The life you deem so brief.

And so shall we to higher life And purer joys ascend; And, pa.s.sing on, and on, and on, Be further from our end.

This is the truth that Autumn brings,-- Is aught of sorrow here?

If not, then deem it beautiful, Keep back the intrusive tear.

Spring surely you'll call beautiful, With its early buds and flowers, Its bubbling brooks, its gushing streams, And gentle twilight hours.

And Summer, that is beautiful, With fragrance on each breeze, And myriad warblers that give Free concerts 'mong the trees.

I've told you of the Autumn days, Ye cannot call them sad, With such a lesson as they teach, To make the spirit glad.

And Winter comes; how clear and cold, In dazzling brilliance drest!- Say, is not Winter beautiful, With jewels on his crest?

Thus are all seasons beautiful; They all have joy for thee, And gladness for each living soul Comes from them full and free.

SPRING.

IT is early spring-time. The winter has pa.s.sed with reluctant step, and even now the traces of its footsteps are discernible on every side. At noon of these bright days the sun looks down smilingly upon the soil it seeks to bless with its cheerful, cheering rays. The tiny gra.s.s-blades peep out, and stretch forth their graceful forms, as if to thank the unknown source from which their enjoyments spring. "Unknown," I said. Is it "fancy" that makes my soul withdraw that word, and suggest that it may be that even that blade of gra.s.s recognizes the hand that ministers to all its wants? I think not. I think that what we term "fancy" and "imagination" are the most real and enduring portions of existence. They are of that immortal part that will live after crumbling column and the adamantine foundations of earth have pa.s.sed away, and lost their present ident.i.ty in countless forms of a higher existence. Are not all the forces of nature unseen, yet are they not real? Most a.s.suredly they are. But I am talking of spring. I hinted at winter's tardy withdrawal. Look you how that little pile of snow hides itself in yonder shady nook,--right there where the sun's rays never come; right there, as if ashamed, like a man out of place,--pity that it lingers. Here and there, at the side of the brook, a little ice is waiting to be dissolved, that it may bound away, bright and sparkling, over the glistening pebbles.

The farmer opens his barn doors that the warm, fresh breeze may ramble amid its rafters. The cattle snuff the refreshing winds, that bear tidings of green fields. The housewife opens door and windows, and begins to live more without than within.

Let us to the woods. How the old leaves rustle beneath our tread!

Winter bides his cold, wet hand underneath these leaves and occasionally we feel his chilling touch as we pa.s.s along. But from above the pleasant sunshine comes trickling down between the branches, and the warm south wind blows cheeringly among the trees.

Didst thou not hear yon swallow sing, Chirp, chirp?--In every note he seemed to say, "'T is spring, 't is spring."

Yes, 't is spring; bright, glorious season, when nature awakes to new life and forest-concerts begin.

Up with the window, throw open the closed shutter, let the fresh air in, and let the housed captive breathe the invigorating elixir of life; better by far than all your pills and cordials, and more strengthening than all the poor-man's plasters that have been or ever will be spread.

The bale and hearty youth, whose clear and boisterous laugh did the old man good, as he heard it ring forth on the clear air of a winter's night, has become satiated with the pleasures of sleigh-rides and merry frolics, and welcomes the spring-time of year as a man greeteth the return of an old friend from a long journey.

How his bright eye flashes with the joyous soul within him, as he treads the earth, and beholds the trees put forth their buds, and hears the warblings of the birds once again, where a few weeks since winter brooded in silence!