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CHAPTER

IV.

« But I

eye?"

learned from the past, ever to forget and for

give.” Mr. and Mrs. Fessenden were becoming quite

There was a solemn, quiet wedding that evealarmed on account of Elma's prolonged stay,

ning in Mr. Fessenden's elegant parlor, but no and were about sending for her, when the door

invited guests. The occasion was too holy and opened, and she appeared before them radiant

tender for any unsympathizing hearts and eyes with the light of joyful hope, her eyes beaming

--and the still young and beautiful bride in her as they had not before for many a long month. simple white robe, was really more lovely than We were about sending for you, Elma,” said

she was at her first bridal, in her lustrous satin, Mrs. Fessenden, rather reprovingly.

bedecked with jewels. There were pure and have been so happy in the society of a dear, a

sad memories in her heart, and as a second time tery dear friend, whom I met to-day by acci

she placed her hand in Charles Vinton's, and dent, that I forgot entirely that you might feel

promised to love him, thoughts of their lost babe, uneasy at my prolonged stay," was Elma's re

of their once happy, but now deserted home, ply, as she tossed off her bonnet and looked so

came thronging in, and she yearned for the light much like herself ere touched by the hand of

and beauty of her native skies. sorrow.

A sunny morning! All nature is joyful-the “ Why, Elma,” exclaimed Mrs. Fessenden,

insects' hum, the murmur of leaves, flowers and taking her eyes off from her book, come here

running waters make the country a holy place, and tell me who has brought back as if by mag

full of the immediate presence and impress of ic, the rose to your cheek and the light to your

Deity-but the city, too, is gladsome, and the

sunlight sheds a beauty and joy in the humble May I introduce them to you, Harriet ?"

room of the poor sewing-girl, and on the little Certainly, if it is not Walter Parker."

rose-tree which sheds its fragrance around, Suiting the action to the word, she bounded sweetening and hallowing the hours of labor. It to the door and ushered in Mr. Vinton, saying shone, too, most brightly into the long unopened with an arch smile, “Mr. and Mrs. Fessenden, parlors of Mr. Vinton's splendid mansion, and allow me the pleasure of introducing you to Mr.

among the many plants and flowers in which Vinton."

Elma had so often taken delight. Old Matty, a Mrs. Fessenden gave a half serious, half com

servant of Mr. Vinton's, who had been in the ical glance at her, as she approached with

family ever since his boyhood, and on that acCharles, saying, “ You forget, Elma, you have

count was a privileged character, was very busy no right to drag along that gentleman in such

in dusting and arranging the ornaments and an unmerciful manner towards me.”

furniture, assisted by Lucy, another servant, who * But I will have a right soon, for if you

had lived with him since his marriage. Matty please, Harriet,” and then the tears ran down

went to the door and said, “ Thomas, it is time her face to mingle with the 'smiles,

you started for Mr. Vinton and his lady. The have a wedding here this very evening. It is

steamboat has come by this time.” Then turnthe anniversary of our divorce, and we will cele

ing to Lucy she said in trembling, sorrowful brate it by a re-union, -and do not distort your

tones, “How can we ever welcome another mis. face in endeavoring to look so grave and wise,

tress here? I know Miss Elma loved Mr. Charles Harriet, for I know you will not oppose it. In

dearly after she left him, for one day she came deed we perfectly decided the matter as we came

from Miss Fessenden's and said, “Matty,' oh along."

how low and mournful her voice did sound, “ Perhaps," said Mr. Vinton, addressing Mr. * Matty, will you let me go into the parlor ?' and Mrs. Fessenden, "you may not think I

I am

The door was not quite closed, and I saw her again worthy of her, after so easily giving her

looking at master's likeness, and sobbing as if

her heart would break. And now to think he up once, but, indeed, dear friend, I have endured a long and wearisome exile, an exile made must forget all about her, and marry some fine bitter and tedious by self-reproach. Elma has

foreign lady, whom may be we can't underfreely forgiven me my errors-will not you, her

stand.” Poor old Matty yielded to her feelings, kind and generous protectors, do the same ?"

and so did Lucy. They grasped his hands warmly, and while a

Well, we must not cry, Matty, you know tear stood trembling in her eye, Mrs. Fessenden

that Mr. Vinton wrote he wished to have every said, “ Yes, take her, and may you both have

thing in perfect order to receive his bride."

66

we will

keep it as a memento of happiness,-a way. mark in our life-journey, telling of sundered, aching ties--telling also of re-union and bliss.”

E. LOUISA MATHER.

Millington, Conn.

TIIE HEART'S WEALTH.

The death of a child makes the schemes of the

wealth-seeking as nothing. A grandson of Baron Rothschild died, and for a long time afterward he gave up all interest in his vast enterprises. His agent came one day and detailed, as usual, the progress of his affairs, and ended with saying that a new advance in the public funds was expected,—“Do you believe in it, M. de Baron?. The bereaved one was aroused from his reverie, raised his head and answered with a look and tone full of sadness, “I, sir, I believe only in God.”

Hushed be the song of gladness,

For the young and loved are fled, And a voice to my ear like music,

Is hushed with the silent dead. I shall hear no more at morning

The sound of his merry glee, Nor take in the deepening twilight,

The beautiful on my knee.

I shall let Mr. Charles see that I ain't in 'perfect order,' ” said the old woman with impatience. “ The carriage is coming, Matty, and see how pleased Thomas looks. Now Mr. Vinton is out. Come, do see the bride-just such another little body as Miss Elma. You must go forward and receive her, Matty, or master will not like it.” But Matty stood apart in solemn silence from the throng of servants, feeling all her dignity as a servant and house-keeper, and with eyes resolutely bent on the floor. Not long, however, did she thus stand—for the bride's long veil was suddenly swept over her head, and then a blooming face lay close to her aged one, and the bride said laughingly, “Matty, don't you know me? Is this my reception, after being so long absent from you ?"

“ God bless you, Miss Elma, and Mr. Charles too,” said old Matty, and then excusing herself by saying she must see to things in the kitchen, she sat down and cried for joy.

Charles Vinton and his wife roamed from one familiar object to another, happy in each other, happy in being again at their dear home. A numerous gathering of friends in the evening added to their happiness by their gladness at their return. Cousin Walter was honored by an invitation, which, however, he saw fit to decline--and soon after he removed into a neighboring city. His loss was not much regretted by the community.

We will take one more'hasty glance into the domicil of Charles Vinton. It is the anniversary of their divorce and likewise of their second marriage, and Elma, with conscious pride and joy, is tenderly holding in her arms an infant a few weeks old, which she is fondly caressing, while Charles sits apart by the window, looking intently upon a small bit of paper, which he reads several times. Elma quietly lays her infint in old Matty's arms, and gliding up to her husband, looks over his shoulder exclaiming, “Ah! now I know what became of my lost rhyme, that I searched for”

“ Just one year ago to-day," chimed in Mr. Vinton, as he fondly drew his wife to his side.

"I thought it was lost, all this time,” said Elma,

" I saw you when you wrote it, and picked it up as soon as you

left.” And why have you not told me of it before?

“ As it was addressed to me, I concluded it was mine. Any how, dear wife, it was the means of our re-union, for if you had not returned for it, I should have sought you. I shall ever

How hushed, and still, and lonely,

Seems my home since he has gone, Like a sky, whence the light has faded,

Or a nest, whence the bird has fiown. His mother in vain may call him,

He heedeth her voice no more, And my ear will listen vainly,

For his footstop at my door.

O talk to me not of riches,

Can they bribe the stern, dark hand,
That leadeth the loved and lovely

Away to the spirit land ?
Can they give again to the mother

Her living and cherished boy?
Or send through her heart's deep anguish,

One thrill of rapturous joy ?

Oh, all my heaped up riches,

I would lay at the angel's door, Could they give to our sorrowing bosoms,

Our beautiful boy once more. Yet vain the wish, for never

Did death bring back his prey, And vain alike our weeping,

Above the mouldering clay.

But not in vain are all things,

The hand that know's not gold,

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“ But over all things brooding slept

The quiet sense of something lost.” We stumbled in upon chaos the other morning. The renowned, the classical, the quizzical, the spiritual, the homoegenical, the oceanical “38 Cornhill, Bosion,” was "being” ruinated! What a spectacle for such a sympathetic nature as ours! What an "intensifying” effect it had upon our tender sensibilities! The“ process" was perfectly “exhaustive," and we should have wept in very weakness if the dust had not made every energy necessary to keep away the blinding cloud from filling our eyes. And then too, how could we afford the time to weep, as but a moment was given us to take a last and lingering look at the memorials of the past, so soon to be hewn down by the battle axe of Improvement. And then the thought came, this is the second ruin we have witnessed here! Here stood that fabric which always inspired awe as we passed it in early manhood, --solemn faces, belonging to forms in black clothing, were seen in the dusky light of the stairway ascending and descending, and it seemed as though the fates of the eternities were all arranged above that winding stairway. Many a figure seen going up there, seemed to possess wonderful courage; and the very fact that it was seen going up without trembling, settled the happy issue, and the poet sung right,“And moving up from high to higher,

Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope

The pillar of a people's hope,
The centre of a world's desire."

What a day was that when we first entered the mysterious retreat-that seven-by-nine little closet over the entry, and by the solitary window saw the transformations of a Monday morning in clerical speech and manners. What merry and what solemn things were there heard ! What boundless wit and good humor from the kingly soul of the circle ; what shrewd sayings and keen common sense apprehension of the vulnerable point in an argument or illustration from the king's paige ; what ecstasies of feeling and felicities of thought and speech from the dear soul whose cough as the late festival came in like the Selah of the Psalms, and reminded us of the old physician's quaint advice, “ You must street-her,” and only meant that she must have more fresh air. And there too was that balloun wit and wisdom, rising so majestically and gravely, and then sailing off so fancifully and gaily, that you hardly know how it is possible for one so penetrating into the very heart of things, to sport so vivaciously with the bubbles on the surface. And there too with his readiness to take a subscriber's name, sell a book, answer a squib, write an editorial, reply to an argument, or tell a story, was the well fleshed trumpeter, not a whit more disinclined to take part in all social chat and friendly controversy, than if the stores of the magazine were not to be supplied by him. And there was also the warm basin, ready to receive any hand that it could make cleaner and more friendly, and “open as day to melting charity” towards those whose Monday's enjoyment depended on their having in prospect a place for preaching the next Sabbath. And moving in and out were the young aspirants after the honors and martyrdoms of the ministry, like young trees bending and swaying around the “Brave Old Oak.” What a benediction was the presence of that old soldier of the Cross! His presence reminded of a thousand battles fought and won; and we took courage as we went out from his sight to pour our earnestness into the labors of the week and the next Sabbath efforts. What a grand progress was made when the room was enlarg. ed-a settee in place of a bench, a desk to write on, and a carpet! It seemed then that the Denomination was really something; and we rose far more proudly up the stairs, conscious that we were entering the audience-chamber of the Great. Down went stairway and room; and when the new building went up, our associations of delight were narrowed by the broadened avenue of entrance. And now the second must

go, with all its eleven years memories,--the dethroned-removed out of its place-made to floor worn by the passing to and fro of “the give way to the rage of the times for furnaces, brethren,” the gyrations on the heel as the puz- was too much for our weak nerves, and had zled or too happy one ground the boards as he there been any thing of the whale about us, we turned round and round on his heel.

should have blubbered. Will nobody stop this What a pleasant front had that pilgrims Mec- march of—no, this rush and tumble of Improveca! One step and you rose to the threshold of ment! Cannot one old stove be spared! Must the door, on either side of which were broad we part with our warmest friend! How could windows, so often made alcoves into which "the the sun look down through that square of lights brethren" would retire by couples, to talk over in the ceiling and give aid to the nefarious busthe tremendous issues of an “exchange," some iness of making that "colored" friend of ours “agitating sermon," or a new settlement. There "a fugitive from service.” We never saw such the seeker for " a new minister” has stood, hold- meek submission as we witnessed in the “ar. ing the button of some hopeful candidate, or rest” of that Old Stove. Venerable Friend ! pressing the fraternal hand on the shoulder, as would that we could have taken thy part in that though measuring the extent of the breadth hour of destruction ! To think what kindly there to take the responsibility of the office of a warmth thou had diffused around so many cirminister for the times. What instances of war

cles—what bowels of mercies had been thinefare with the beast and the dragon, have there what a fiery heart could be tamed to manifest been related; what items of ministerial expos- only the warmth that cheers but harms not, like ure and adventure; what quirks in singular de- the wine of the gods that exhilarates but does velopments of human nature, have there been not intoxicate—what a fate to be reserved for told with all the jocose additions of a clerical such goodness, was that we saw before thee! imagination affected by the re-action of a Mon- “New birds for new cages," seemed to be the day morning. These corners were not dark, voice issuing from thy depths, running through but richly lighted—for Universalists ought to thy pipes out upon the morning air. This is a talk over their affairs and prospects in the light; wicked world, Old Stove. No better evidence and we have been amused to see the sun doing can be asked for than the treatment reserved for its best to make bright the broad back of some you. What have you done that you should be disblack clothed genius, the reflection of the sashes carded? To be removed for a time, like a miner squaring off the divisions of the sunshine, like to search for new riches in the dusky realms of the various “settlements" of some young and old things, might be very well; but to be borne happy minister who knows only of different dis- away never to be replaced in power and authortricts of sunshine. How the morning quiet of ity, that is too bad! New Building, new Store! some secluded talkers has here been broken in But thou shalt have revenge! When didst thou upon by the rapid entrance of some free and ever refuse to answer a draught, to make all easy, noisy-salutation brother, who shakes discounts needed to fill with the one thing need

ful the exhausted treasuries of the chilled and “ to all the liberal air

frozen ? And when thy mouth was opened, was The dust and din and steam of town.

it to give any other but the warmest welcome ? He brought an eye for all he saw ;

Let them have their furnaces, Old Stove, and He mixed in all our simple sports ;

they will soon wish thee back again. The heat They pleased him fresh from brawling forts,

of the hidden furnace is like hearing a friend And dusty purlieus of the draw"

without seeing him; and if it is pleasant to see

the lip move and the eye kindle and the cheek on Charlestown or some other bridge.

wear the suffusing of sensibility, then is the The long line of spectral forms, dotted here Stove better than the Furnace. And then, too, and there with a white neckcloth, is to be seen what theologian loves to think about furnaces ? no more; and that sight of passing wonder, be- They are the most difficult things in the world yond the counter and the post, around the Stove. to spiritualize. We cannot help thinking of the To see that grand centre of so much commotion plains of Dura and old Nebuchadnezzar and the and order, that had given such warmth with a golden image,-(the golden image might be liberal heart, and had only sizzled when care- pleasant to some, if it was not by the side of the lessly assaulted by orange peel or the moisture fiery furnace,) and what comfort is there in the of the vocal avenue of the human,-to see that poetry of a furnace that always burns best on

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warm days, and will not let you see what it is tus had an extra clearing and the whistle was that is blessing you when you cry, “ Poor Tom's in perfect order! Sometimes people would look a cold !"

in as they rushed through Franklin Avenue, to

see if the law had not been invaded by a steam Many a sound was heard and a fun-eral note

engine being placed in the store. And what a As the Stove from its place they hurried ;

warm backer did many a one find our friend to And the sound was sad when the pipe they broke,

be while writing a letter at the desk,-many a And the noble old hero they buried.

greeting being sent forth abounding with a They buried him darkly,—for dark he was

warmth that the writer or reader little thought Some cellar doors up turning ;

of attributing to the right source. And then when And because there was none to plead his cause,

a backer was not needed, how the toe-tality of They left him there unburning.

the heat came to the understanding and sole, as

the Pilgrims sat on the exchange paper table We are serious in our regard for our venerable

or in the ample arm-chairs on the opposite friend. Our readers will not doubt our serious.

side. What a richness of color-strange as it ness. They must have felt it. And “is there

may seem-did our black friend bring to the not a cause ?" Thy friend and thy father's

countenances of those who stood up and faced friend, forsake not,” and espeeially when there him! Wrinkled faces have been smoothed as has been a great warmth of friendship--giving clothes by a heated flat, (not that our friend was a full return for all bestowments-kindled to in- ever a flat, for he was as round as his owner,) tensity of heat by every appropriate appliance, and what a rose hue has tinted the cheek late so keeping even its ashes alive that no man should

pale and sallow_"sicklied o'er with the pale cast make a lye out of them. We should have se

of thought.” When the ladies came, (for, old cured a daguerreotoype of our venerable colored

friend, many and beautiful did come to thy friend, had there been any opportunity, but there charmed circle,) so readily did they receive the was not. It seems too bad that it should be so.

cordial welcome of their ardent servant, that It would be some comfort to look upon even the

they always expressed a fanciful want, and a shadow of his ebony phiz and his tall form so

trumpet was transformed into a fan to cool their eridently made for use, not for mere ornament. "intensified” cheek and brow. What gushing He was tall and compact, bearing every evi- mirthfulness, what sharp shootings of wit, what dence of having been well fed and with fine di- | dodgings of the question, what melting letters, gestive organs. He was never troubled with

what mock poetry and sentimental sayings, have the dyspepsia. His coat was generally clasped made the palace of thy greatness ring, Old -he disdained buttons but when it was thrown

Stove! Many a hopeful one has taken a letter open, there was every evidence that he had a

from the rack and found it a rack, while others kindly bosom and a warm heart. He wore a

have received messages that made their heart pointed frill about his neck, very much after the

burn within them as bravely and joyfully as Queen Elizabeth fashion, the points thereof were

ever did thine, thou exiled servant of the saints. very sharp, seemingly to give warning of the

A strange life did our old stove live. How nobly character of the old hero, Touch me rashly, and

did it stand up there balf way between discusyou will get hurt. Despite all the changes in

sions of business and the knotty things of theol. the fashions, he stuck to the conical hat, and

ogy! What changes of opinions and methods was always as prim as any could desire a

has it heard plead for and adopted ! What great personage to be. He had a queer way

greetings for new comers into the circle-the with his arms,-they were always stretched up

critical as ready to penetrate to the salient points over his head, reaching up to the sky-light, to

of character, as its warmth was to enter the waft away, as with a blessing, the incense of

flesh and vivify the circulation! What a transhis smoking pipe. Whatever of wrong thought formation of feeling in a western or eastern may have been indulged in at any time in pres

brother, who had been dreaming that “distincence of our old friend, no man can say that that

tive Universalism” was exiled from Boston, but venerable African ever pointed to any thing

who found that the Old Siove had still its Murearthly, for he always piped a heavenward sug.

ray fire, and among the “notions” still prized gestion, like the lark “soaring as he sings."

were Ballouns-made to rise heavenward and What a song he would pipe some blustering bring reports of celestial phenomena. We well winter morning, when his whole vocal appara

remember the coming of a dear brother from the

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