Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“
[ocr errors]

like," said the excellent deacon; them cheers was enough to carry any man off his legs, sir, if you'll believe me. We've scattered the enemy, that's what we've been and done, Mr Vincent. There ain't one of them as will dare show face in Salem. We was unanimous, sirunanimous, that's what we was! I never see such a triumph in our connection. Hurrah! If it warn't Miss as is ill, I could give it you all over again, cheers and all."

"I am glad you were pleased," said Vincent, with an effort; "but I will not ask you for such a report of the proceedings."

"Pleased! I'll tell you one thing as I was sorry for, sir," said Tozer, somewhat subdued in his exultation by the pastor's calmness-"I did it for the best; but seeing as things have turned out so well, I am as sorry as I can be-and that is, that you wasn't there. It was from expecting some unpleasantness as I asked you not to come; but things turning out as they did, it would have done your heart good to see 'em, Mr Vincent. Salem folks has a deal of sense when you put things before them effective. And then you'd only have had to say three words to them on the spur of the moment, and all was settled and done with, and everything put straight; which would have let them .settle down steady, sir, at once, and not kept no excitement, as it were, hanging about."

"Yes," said the minister, who was moving about his papers, and did not look up. The butterman began to be alarmed; he grew more and more enthusiastic the less response he met with.

"It's a meeting as will tell in the connection," said Tozer, with unconscious foresight; "a candid mind in a congregation ain't so general as you and me would like to see, Mr Vincent, and it takes a bit of a trial like this, sir, and opposition, to bring out the real attachment as is between a pastor and a flock."

"Yes," said Vincent again. The deacon did not know what to make

of the minister. Had he been piqued and angry, Tozer thought he might have known how to manage him, but this coldness was an alarming and mysterious symptom which he was unequal to. In his embarrassment and anxiety the good butterman stumbled upon the very subject from which, had he known the true state of affairs, he would have kept aloof.

"And the meeting as was to be to-morrow night?" said Tozer; "there ain't no need for explanations now-a word or two out of the pulpit is all as is wanted, just to say as it's all over, and you're grateful for their attachment, and so forth; you know a deal better, sir, how to do it nor me. And about the meeting as was called for to-morrow night?-me and the missis were thinking, though it's sudden, as it might be turned into a tea-meeting, if you was agreeable, just to make things pleasant; or if that ain't according to your fancy, as I'm aware you're not one as likes tea-meetings, we might send round, Mr Vincent, to all the seat-holders to say as it's given up; I'd do one or the other, if you'd be advised by me.'

66

[ocr errors]

Thank you-but I can't do either one or the other," said the Nonconformist. "I would not have asked the people to meet me if I had not had something to say to them-and this night's business, you understand," said Vincent, with a little pride, "has made no difference in

me.

66

[ocr errors]

No, sir, no-to be sure not," said the perplexed butterman, much bewildered; "but two meetings on two nights consecutive is running the flock hard, it is. I'd give up tomorrow, Mr Vincent, if I was you.'

To this insinuating address the minister made no answer-he only shook his head. Poor Tozer, out of his exultation, fell again into the depths. The blow was so unlookedfor that it overwhelmed him.

"You'll not go and make no reflections, sir?" said the troubled deacon; "bygones is bygones. You'll not bring it up against them, as they didn't show that sympathy they

might have done? You'll not make no reference to nobody in particular, Mr Vincent? When a flock is conscious as they've done their duty and stood by their pastor, it ain't a safe thing, sir, not to turn upon them, and rake up things as is past. If you'll take my advice, sir, as wishes you well, and hasn't no motive but your good, I'd not hold that meeting, Mr Vincent; or, if you're bent upon it, say the word, and we'll set to work and give 'em a tea-meeting, and make all things comfortable. But if you was prudent, sir, and would go by my advice, one or the other of them two is what I would do."

"Thank you, Tozer, all the same," said Vincent, who, notwithstanding his preoccupation, saw the good but terman's anxiety, and appreciated it. "I know very well that all that is pleasant to-night is owing to you. Don't suppose I don't understand how you've fought for me; but now the business is mine, and I can take no more advice. Think no more of it; you have done all that you could do.'

"I have done my humble endeavour, sir, as is my dooty, to keep things straight," said the deacon, doubtfully; "and if you'd tell me what was in your mind, Mr Vincent- -?"

But the young Nonconformist gathered up his papers, closed his desk, and held out his hand to the kind-hearted butterman. "My sister has come back almost from the grave to-night," said Vincent; "and we are all, for anything I can see, at the turning-point of our lives. You have done all you can do, and I thank you heartily; but now the business is in my hands."

This was all the satisfaction Tozer got from the minister. He went home much discouraged, not knowing what to make of it, but did not confide his fears even to his wife, hoping that reflection would change the pastor's mind, and resolved to make another effort to-morrow. And so the night fell over the troubled house. In the sick-room a joyful agitation had taken the

place of the dark and hopeless calm. Susan, roused to life, lay leaning against her mother, looking at the child asleep on the sofa by her, unconscious of the long and terrible interval between the danger which that child had shared, and the delicious security to which her mind had all at once awakened. To Susan's consciousness, it appeared as if her mother had suddenly risen out of the mists, and delivered the two helpless creatures who had suffered together. She could not press close enough to this guardian of her life. round her, and laid her cheek against the widow's with the dependence of a child upon her mother's bosom. Mrs Vincent sat upon the bed supporting her, herself supported in her weariness by love and joy, two divine attendants who go but seldom together. The two talked in whispers, Susan because of her feebleness, the mother in the instinct of caressing tenderness. The poor girl told her story in broken syllables-broken by the widow's kisses and murmurs of sympathy, of wonder and love. Healing breathed upon the stricken mind and feeble frame as the two clung together in the silent night, always with an unspoken reference to the beautiful forlorn creature on the sofa-that visible symbol of all the terrors and troubles past. "I told her my mother would come to save us," said poor Susan. When she dropped to sleep at last, the mother leant her aching frame upon some pillows, afraid to move, and slept too, supreme protector, in her tender weakness, of these two young lives. As she woke from time to time to see her child sleeping by her side, thoughts of her son's deliverance stole across Mrs Vincent's mind to sweeten her repose. The watch - light burned dimly in the room, and threw a gigantic shadow of her little figure, half erect on the side of the bed, still in her black gown and the close white cap, which could not be less than dainty in its neatness, even in that vigil,

She held her arms

upon the further wall. The widow slept only in snatches, waking often and keeping awake, as people do when they grow old; her thoughts, ever alive and active, varying between her projects for the future, to save Susan from all painful knowledge of her own story, and the thankful recollection of Arthur's rescue from his troubles. From echoes of Tozer's speech, and of the cheers of the flock, her imagination wandered off into calculations of how she could find another place of habitation as pleasant, perhaps, as Lonsdale, and even to the details of her removal from thence, what portions of her furniture she would sell, and which take with her. "For now that Arthur has got out of his troubles, we must not stay to get him into fresh difficulties with his flock," she said to herself, with a momentary ache in her thankful heart; and so dropped asleep for another half-hour, to wake again presently, and enter anew into the whole question. Such was the way in which Mrs Vincent passed that agitated but joyful night.

In the adjoining room Arthur sat up late over his papers. He was not writing, or doing any work; for hours together he sat leaning his head on his hands, gazing intently at the lamp, which his mother had adjusted, until his eyes were dazzled, and the gloom of the room around became spotted with discs of shade. Was he to permit the natural gratification into which Tozer's success had reluctantly moved him, to alter his resolve? Was he to drop into his old harness and try again? or was he to carry out his purpose in the face of all entreaties and inducements? The natural inclination to adopt the easiest courseand the equally natural, impetuous, youthful impulse to take the leap to which he had made up his mind, and dash forth in the face of his difficulties-gave him abundant occupation for his thoughts as they contended against each other.

He

sat arguing the question within himself long after his fire had sunk into ashes. When the penetrating cold of the night drove him at last to bed, the question was still dubious. Even in his sleep the uneasy perplexity pursued him ;-a matter momentous enough, though nobody but Tozer-who was as restless as the minister, and disturbed his wife by groans and murmurs, of which, when indignantly woke up to render an account, he could give no explanation - knew or suspected anything. Whether to take up his anchors altogether and launch out upon that sea of life, of which, much as he had discussed it in his sermons, the young Nonconformist knew next to nothing? The widow would not have mused so quietly with her wakeful eyes in the dim room next to him, had she known what discussions were going on in Arthur's mind. As for the congregation of Salem, they slept soundly, with an exhilarating sensation of generosity and goodness,

all except the Pigeons, who were plotting schism, and had already in their eye a vacant Temperance hall, where a new preaching station might be organised under the auspices of somebody who would rival Vincent. The triumphant majority, however, laughed at the poulterer, and anticipated, with a pleasurable expectation, the meeting of next night, and the relief and delight of the pastor, who would find he had no explanations to make, but only his thanks to render to his generous flock. The good people concluded that they would all stop to shake hands with him after the business was over. "For it's as good as receiving of him again, and giving him the right hand of fellowship," said Mrs Brown at the Dairy, who was entirely won over to the minister's side. Only Tozer, groaning in his midnight visions, and disturbing the virtuous repose of his wedded partner, suspected the new cloud that hung over Salem. For before morning the minister's mind was finally made up.

THE ENGINE-DRIVER TO HIS ENGINE.

Air-" The Iron Horse."

PUT forth your force, my iron horse, with limbs that never tire!
The best of oil shall feed your joints, and the best of coal your fire;
So off we tear from Euston Square, to beat the swift south wind,
As we rattle along the North-West rail, with the special train behind :-

Dash along, crash along, sixty miles an hour!

Right through old England flee !

For I am bound to see my love,

Far away in the North Countrie.

Like a train of ghosts, the telegraph posts go wildly trooping by,
While one by one the milestones run, and off behind us fly:
Like foaming wine it fires my blood to see your lightning speed,-
Arabia's race ne'er matched your pace, my gallant steam-borne steed!

Wheel along, squeal along, sixty miles an hour!

Right through old England flee!

For I am bound to see my love,

Far away in the North Countrie.

My blessing on old George Stephenson! let his fame for ever last;
For he was the man that found the plan to make you run so fast :
His arm was strong, his head was long, he knew not guile nor fear;
When I think of him, it makes me proud that I am an engineer!

Tear along, flare along, sixty miles an hour!

Right through old England flee!

For I am bound to see my love,

Far away in the North Countrie.

Now Thames and Trent are far behind, and evening's shades are come;
Before my eyes the brown hills rise that guard my true-love's home:
Even now she stands, my own dear lass! beside the cottage door,
And she listens for the whistle shrill, and the blast-pipe's rattling roar :—

Roll along, bowl along, sixty miles an hour!

Right through old England flee!

For I am bound to see my love,

At home in the North Countrie.

W. J. M. R.

[blocks in formation]

[IN the good old times, before railways were known, the "Skylark," on the road, was the fastest coach, and its driver, Joseph

and

[ocr errors]

the best and

smartest coachman, in England. The "Skylark" has long ago gone the way of all coaches; and Joe is now landlord of the "Horns," at where long may ho flourish!]

Air" Four high-mettled steeds."

YE passengers so bothered,
Who snore in rattling trains,
By dusty vapour smothered,
Awake, and hear my strains!
I'll tell you of the good old days,
For ever past and gone,
Before your pestilent railways

Had spoiled all sorts of fun,-
When Joe, with light but steady hand,
Did four high-mettled steeds command,
And well was known, through all the land,
The Coachman of the " Skylark."

Can any greasy stoker,

With dashing Joe compare?

He was a jovial joker,

And company most rare.

Then wind and weather we defied,
We scorned your well-glazed car,
And gladly on the box would ride,
To smoke a mild cigar

With Joe, whose light but steady hand
Did four high-mettled steeds command
O! well was known, through all the land,
The Coachman of the " Skylark."

Where your long, dismal tunnel
Gropes through yon lofty hill
(A pitch-dark, noisome funnel,
That might Old Harry kill),
We, on the "Skylark," used to glide
Up from the smiling vale,

And on the mountain's heathy side
The freshening breeze inhale,

While Joe, with light but steady hand,
Did four high-mettled steeds command ;-
O! well was known, through all the land,
The Coachman of the "Skylark."

« AnkstesnisTęsti »