Holidays at the Grange or A Week's Delight Part 14

"What a spiritual, poetical face!" exclaimed Mr. Wyndham. "I declare it reminds me of a portrait of Schiller which I once saw."

"And the mother, too--there is no doubt of that woman being a real lady," said Ellen. "Did you ever see a sweeter, gentler countenance?"

"Never," replied Alice. "But, uncle, do you not know that I have an idea? I guessed all along that Margaret Roscoe was _our_ little friend--but I feel sure that rascal of a Smith was lying, when he said he had seen her uncle's death in the paper. It's not very likely such a fellow as he was, would object to telling an untruth! He only wanted to get her trunks, and to quiet her, you may be sure. And I believe that Mr. Alan Roscoe is now living in Philadelphia--and I believe that I know him, uncle!"

Her uncle started, and exclamations of surprise and delight burst from all the circle. "It might very well be," Mr. Wyndham said; "I remember thinking our amiable friend Smith was speaking an untruth, at the time, although I did not carry out the idea. But do you know any one of that name, Alice? Surely, it cannot be Mr. Roscoe, the retired merchant, who is so prominent for his benevolence and liberality?"

"Yes, sir, it is--I am intimate with his oldest child, Carrie. And I know that he is a Scotchman, and they used to live in Charleston, and his name is Alan, and his little boy is called Malcom! that's after Margaret's father, I am sure. Carrie told me he had been named after an uncle in Scotland who was dead!"

"Is it possible?" replied Mr. Wyndham. "It really does look like it--if it be actually so, my dear wife, here is another reverse of fortune for your heroine, which you did not expect. The contrast would be great indeed, between the little whitewashed cottage, and the magnificent mansion on Walnut-street!"

"I hope it will not turn her head!" said Charlie Bolton.

"There is little fear of that, I think," rejoined Mrs. Wyndham.

"Margaret has early been tried in the furnace of affliction, and she has come out gold: I believe she really possesses that gospel charity, one of the marks of which is, that it is not, and cannot be, puffed up. But what shall we do? shall we tell her of our hopes?"

"By no means," replied her husband. "It would only excite expectations which, after all, may be disappointed--although I am strongly convinced that our suppositions are correct. For the first time in my life, I regret that to-morrow will be Sunday; but early on Monday morning I shall set out for the city, and for Mr. Roscoe's house or counting-room.

With my good wife's permission, I will take this medallion with me, and show it to Mr. Roscoe--then I shall know in a moment if he is really Margaret's uncle."

"Will you be so kind as to take me with you?" asked a dozen voices at once.

"No, I will not," replied Mr. Wyndham, laughing. "The carriage cannot possibly hold you all. If Alice wishes it, I will take her, both as a reward for her quickness in making this discovery, and as a means of introduction to Mr. Roscoe, with whom I am not acquainted. And if our surmises prove correct, I expect to bring Mr. Roscoe back with me, which is another reason for not riding twenty or thirty in a carriage."

"Oh, uncle! uncle! twenty or thirty!"

"Well, you are a baker's dozen, at least, that you cannot deny. I quite long to get to town! I believe I am as much of a boy as Harry, there, or Lewis--I _really_ wish I could put off Sunday just for one day, I am so impatient!"

"It will be an admirable exercise of your n.o.blest faculties, uncle,"

said Cornelia, slyly. "I am rather impatient myself, even at my mature age. But the _moral discipline_, uncle, that is so invaluable that we ought not to wish it to be otherwise."

"Ah, you witch! I believe in my heart this is your revenge for my refusing to take you to town with me," rejoined her uncle.

"Not a bit of it--I bear no malice--it is only my native and unconquerable pertness, which I sometimes fear may get me into a difficulty with some one yet. But I am not at all afraid of you, dear uncle; I know you understand that it's only my way."

"Certainly, certainly; I should be a cross old fellow if I wished to repress your youthful spirits."

"But, uncle," said Charlie Bolton, "couldn't you put off Sunday as Dean Swift, or somebody or other, put off the eclipse? That would obviate all the difficulty."

"I never heard that story," cried George Wyndham, "But every one knows about 'Hail Columbia' _putting on_ an eclipse."

"I don't, I must own," replied Cornelia, laughing. "Do tell it straight, if you can, you monkey."

"I'll try, my own true sister. If it wasn't Hail Columbia, it was Columbus, and that's all one, the whole world knows. When the Indians began to discover that the Spaniards were not G.o.ds, as they at first thought, they became a little obstreperous, and wanted to starve them out--quite natural, under the circ.u.mstances. But Columbus, from his knowledge of astronomy, was aware that a total eclipse of the moon would take place the next night. So he called a meeting of the natives, and informed them that they had brought upon themselves the vengeance of the Great Spirit by their conduct--that at a certain hour, the light of the moon would be nearly put out, and its...o...b..would look like blood, as a sign to them of the displeasure of Heaven. And when the poor creatures really saw it happen as he had said, they were nearly frightened to death, and came to him, laden with provisions, and begging him to pray to the Great Spirit, that he might remove his wrath from them. Now I call that putting on an eclipse."

"The funniest circ.u.mstance in relation to an eclipse, happened to me,"

said Mrs. Wyndham. "When I was a very small child, I thought that quite as great a miracle was about to happen, as the Indians did. You must know that there came to Philadelphia a certain famous race-horse named Eclipse, of whose speed great marvels were told. Handbills about him were thrown into the house, and I thought he must really be a wonderful animal. Just at that epoch, I heard my father say something about an eclipse that night, and the moon in connection with it. My imagination was instantly fired. "Did you say, father, that Eclipse would go over the _moon_? why, can that be true?" "Oh yes, my dear, the eclipse is really going over the moon: if you wish it, you can stay up till nine o'clock, to see it." "Thank you, thank you, I should like to very much.

But I don't see how it can be!" "More wonderful things than that happen, my child: you'll understand it better when you are older; but you shall see it to-night, if you are not too sleepy." "No danger of that--I wouldn't miss it for the world!" "How much interest little Lucy seems to feel in the eclipse, mother!" said my father. "We must certainly let her stay up."

Night came on, and the show began. The best seat at an upper window was reserved for me, and I looked at the moon constantly, afraid that if I turned away my eyes for one moment the wonderful event might take place without my observing it. All were interested in my seeing it. "Lucy, do you see it, dear I do you see the moon getting dark?" "Oh yes, I see that, but I don't see Eclipse." "Why, that's the eclipse--when the dark shadow goes over the moon, that is an eclipse of the moon." "But I don't see the horse jumping over the moon, at all." "The _horse_? what do you mean, child?" "You said that Eclipse was to go over the moon, but I can't see him in the least!"

"Oh, Auntie! were you, really, such a _green_ child as that?"

"Yes, it is a literal fact. I thought it a most astonis.h.i.+ng thing that it could happen; but since my father so gravely said it would, my faith was equal to the demand made upon it. When I found it was only something about the shadow of the earth falling on the moon, I went to bed, grievously disappointed and quite disgusted: I felt somewhat as the amiable Smith did, that I had been _sold_."

"Ah, Auntie, we children could not be taken in so now, I can tell you!"

said Lewis.

"I know it," replied his aunt, smiling. "I am quite aware that the age of faith has pa.s.sed away, and that republican inst.i.tutions have made the young ones as wise and incredulous as their elders. I don't half like it myself!"

CHAPTER VI.

SUNDAY.--BIBLE STORIES.--CAPPING BIBLE VERSES.--BIBLE CLa.s.s.

Sunday morning arose upon the earth, so clear, and calm, and beautiful, that it almost seemed as if it were conscious of the blessings bestowed by it upon millions of the human family. Happy day! when the man bent under the heavy load of oppressive labor and corroding care, may take the rest which the Maker of his frame intended for him, from the very beginning. Now, throwing off the weight, he can realize that he is a man--made in the image of his Creator, and made for happiness and immortality. Now, he can afford to think: he is no longer the mechanical drudge; he is no longer one little wheel in the great social machine; he is to-day a reflecting being, and the desire for mental and spiritual elevation throbs strongly within his heart. He sits at his hearth, whether in the proud palace or in the humble cottage, for the working-man is equally to be found in both, and feels himself to be the centre of the home. He enjoys sweet converse with the wife of his youth, and his children cl.u.s.ter round him, delighted to have his society. He walks to the House of Prayer, surrounded by those he loves, and joins with his fellow-men in adoration of the Great Supreme. He is happy, and is prepared by the sweet Sabbaths below for the bliss above.

Nor should we forget, on this day, the numerous attractive circles to be found throughout our highly-favored land, gathered together for Sunday-School instruction. Here, the voluntary system works to a charm: both teachers and scholars, drawn together by love, a.s.semble, with sparkling eyes and kindly words, in their respective cla.s.ses. Here, all ages can find something to interest them: the rosy-cheeked, chubby child runs along to its Infant School, fearing to be one moment behind the time, and singing,

"Oh, let us be joyful, joyful, joyful,"

with a full understanding of at least that part of the duty to be performed. And the adult walks quietly to the Bible Cla.s.s, where mutual study and conversation about some pa.s.sages of the Sacred Word elicit its meaning, and throw new light upon the holy page. And, in the ages intermediate between these two extremes, how bright and joyous are the groups cl.u.s.tered around each loving teacher! If the toil be great, how much greater the reward! how delightful is it to see the young mind expand, and the warm affections glow, beneath the hallowing influence of religion! And how pleasant and how good is it to find the hearts of adults and of children, of rich and poor, knit together by a common feeling of interest in the common cause!

Some such thoughts arose in the minds of our party at The Grange, and were fostered by the lovely calm of nature, which is so observable on Sunday in the country, where the very animals seem to know that they are included within the merciful commandment of rest. Mr. Wyndham was religiously observant of the day, but exceedingly disliked the gloom by which many worthy people think it a duty to lessen their own happiness, and to throw a chill and constraint upon that of others on this joyful festival. He thought that the weekly commemoration of the Saviour's resurrection should fill us with bright hopes and an enlivening piety; and that an air of cheerfulness should be thrown around it, which might say to all who had not yet entered within the gates of Zion, "Come ye, and taste that the Lord is gracious." People are doubtless much affected, in these minor shades of difference, by their natural temperaments. Mr. Wyndham's frame of mind was so kindly and hopeful, and so open to all that is pleasant and animating, that his religion partook of the genial influence. On Sunday, his face beamed with a more radiant smile than on other days, and he appeared to realize that it was indeed the foretaste of eternal joy.

In the morning, both old and young repaired with one consent to the little country church, in which they filled up quite a number of pews.

Being the last Sunday in the year, the venerable clergyman, whose earnest manner and silver hairs made his message doubly impressive to the hearts of his hearers, exhorted all, of every age, to bring back to their minds the fleeting days of that division of time which was so soon to pa.s.s away, and to be numbered with those laid up against the Judgment. When that year had begun, what resolutions of improvement had been formed, what vows of greater fidelity had been made? And how had they been kept? All had, during the seasons past, received new proofs of the kindness and long-suffering of the Father above; but had the goodness of the Lord led them to repentance? or had it fallen upon hard, unfeeling hearts, which it could not penetrate? How stood they in their accounts? Not their ledgers, not their cash-books did he now call upon them to examine; but records of a far higher character, which affected their heavenly interests, as well as their temporal prosperity--the deeds, the words, the cherished feelings of that year, which had left an impress upon their souls forever, and made them richer or poorer for eternity. They owed debts to their Maker and Redeemer, and to their fellow-men: how had they paid them? They continually received--did they also dispense the goodness of G.o.d? If unwilling now to think of these unsettled accounts, they should remember that one debt, notwithstanding all their reluctance, they would be obliged to pay--the debt of nature: and then would follow the final adjustment of all things--then would each one reap as he had sowed below.

All listened with deep attention to the discourse, which was well calculated to arrest the most careless trifler; and thoughts were suggested, and resolves were formed that day, which acted, long afterward, as a stimulus to the discharge of duty. The hand which scattered that precious seed has since been laid low in the dust; but the "winged words" did not fall to the ground: they still live, and produce results, in immortal spirits.

There was no service in the afternoon. "Oh dear!" said George, "I suppose it's not right to say so, but it's rather stupid, I think. How we do miss Sunday School! We can't play to-day, and a fellow like me doesn't want to read the whole time: what on earth can we do? Cousin Mary, are you too much engaged with your book to help us poor souls?"

With a smile, Mary shut it up. "How would you like Bible stories?" said she. "If you please, I'll tell you one, keeping to Scriptural facts, but clothing them in my own language, and omitting the name, or giving a false one. And then you are to find out whom it is I have been telling you about, and to answer the questions I may ask you. How would you like that?"

It was agreed that it would be delightful: so Mary began by telling the story of

The Good Grandmother.

In ancient times, in a country of the East, there lived a Queen Dowager, whose heart was eaten up by ambition. She was a king's daughter, and had ever been accustomed to rule. While her husband lived she had exerted great influence at court, and had turned away his heart from the true and established religion of the state to the cruel wors.h.i.+p of the idols of her native land; and this she accomplished, although he had been religiously educated, and was the son of an eminently good man. Little did it affect her, that a highly-distinguished prophet of G.o.d wrote a letter to the king her husband, foretelling the evils that should befall himself, his family, and his kingdom, and that this prophecy had been literally fulfilled. Little did it humble her proud spirit, that by the common consent, her degenerate husband, who, through _her_ persuasions and example, had been led away from the path of duty, was judged unworthy to be interred within the sepulchres of his ancestors, and was buried apart. She had too much of her mother within her to be daunted by such trifles as these; for both of her parents had acquired an eminence in wickedness which have made their names by-words: but her mother's especially is considered almost a synonym for every thing that is unlovely in woman.

After her husband's death, her son succeeded to the throne, and he also did wickedly, for he had been educated under his mother's eyes, trod in her footsteps, and courted the society of her connections. And this was the cause of his death; for while paying a visit at the court of his uncle, her brother, they both were killed together in a successful insurrection. And now, if ever, if any thing of the woman was left in her nature, the queen's heart would be softened and humbled: at one fell swoop, death had carried off her only son, her brother, and every member of her father's house; she only was left, of all that proud and numerous family. Her aged mother, aged, but not venerable, although now a great-grandmother, had met her fate in a characteristic manner.

Determined, if she must die, to do so like a queen, she had put on her royal robes, and adorned herself with jewels, and caused her withered face, upon which every evil pa.s.sion had left its mark, to be painted into some semblance of youth and beauty. Her eyelids were stained with the dark antimony still used in the East, to restore, if possible, the former brilliant softness to eyes of hard, blazing, wicked blackness.

Gazing from an upper window of the palace upon the usurper, as he drove into the courtyard, the fearless woman, resolved to show her spirit to the last, railed upon him, and quoted a notable instance from history of one who, like him, had been a successful rebel, but had reigned for only seven days. Enraged at her insolence, her enemy, looking up, asked, "Who in the palace is on my side?" At these words, some officers of the household cast her down from the window: thus ingloriously she died, and the prancing horses of the chariot trampled over her. He who now was universally acknowledged to be the king, soon gave orders that she should be buried, observing that, wretch as she was, she was of royal blood. But the vulture and the jackal had been before him: naught remained of that haughty, revengeful, and heaven-defying woman, save the skull, the feet, and the palms of her hands. Thus, to the very letter, was fulfilled the prediction of a prophet, one of her contemporaries: it was the same individual who had sent an epistle to her son-in-law, the late husband of our heroine, announcing his fate. This fearless reprover of kings did not live to see the accomplishment of the divine messages he was commissioned to deliver, and yet he had not died: read me that riddle, if you can.