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day afternoon rambles, angel cradles, shadowy eyes flashing as he gazed long and thoughtfully on forests, boundless prairies, red volcanoes, or the firelight flickering on the well-worn backs of veritable Elysian fields at will, without one the tall chairs round this room. He and I were to remorseful recollection of Virgil misconstrued. part that day week; we had agreed to make the Such to us were clouds then.
most of our time, so he took up his abode with me Sunnmer comes again, and again with long in this old house, which we then had all to ourtwilight and balmy dawn, with meditative rambles selves. We kept late hours, talking through the over miles of heath land sleeping in the moonlight, long nights, often till a winter sky's cold grey took with the gushing music of the nightingale, whose a warmer tint from the tardy flush of dawn, indul. song now seems like the music of sorrow, mel. ging in subtle self-dissections, reducing, as is the way lowed by time, with all the soothing sounds of a of youths, probabilities to certainties, and years to summer night floating near open casements, months, when Walter Cheyne would be likely to whereout men gaze with dreamy eyes into a dark- prove in his own person Young's hopeful thesis — ness redolent of closing flowers, but I feel not as “ a desire is an earnest of fulfilment.” theu. I have still my boyhood's wild love of all | indeed, a long, dreary vista—but hope saw through night's sweet influences--but I cannot dwell on it a light gleaming ; onwards would he go with a them as I would. They will melt away before-it prayer on his lip and strong will looking out from may be—one passing thought of the outer world; those dark, wild eyes of his. Poor friend ! " lighter the shadow of that one thought troubles for a than vanity itself” are all those sanguine fancies season the soul's clear under current ; my heart is grown colder—my
head has schooled it to that cruel coldness in the school of the world; but they are
The smoke-wreaths still curl gracefully in spiral unchanged, those subtle influences and sweet externals, which will soothe to purify many a weary before me, as
rings—once more there is another life picture heart when mine is lying under the hawthorn in our old churchyard.' Shelley knew a like feeling
Seul, je viens recueiller mes vagues reveries. when he wrote
Let me show it to you, as a dim shadowing forth of We rest-a dream has power to poison sleep ;
what has been not in the hard outline of a concise We rise-one wandering thought pollutes the day;
narration—but abstractedly, pensively, and as We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep,
though you (and not I) were the dreamer. Fancy Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away.
carries me away to my dingy Londou chambers, It is the same ! For, be it joy or sorrow,
where I sat moodily endeavouring to put my The path of its departure still is free,
thoughts on paper, as a means of obtaining a guinea Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow; or two from a newspaper office hard by. Again, Nought may endure but mutability !
as of old, with the startling distinctness of a sound
heard here at midnight, I hear a low tap at my Earthly joys have eagle-wings—my poor lost door-then walking out to the landing, I see a friend and I could not be always dreaming. I
little boy, with red eyes and a white, haggard face, was myself perpetually preaching of the “poetry He had hoped to find in London's life lottery a
who brought me a note from poor Walter Cheyne. of action,” as I lay leisurely on my back in the prize; he pined, struggled, worked long and sun; the world was to be our battle-field, and we
I had were both going shortly on our several ways-he, wearily to that end, and drew a blank. sanguine, frank, impetuous, and with Pistol's idea
never heard of him since we parted two years back _the &a
on the old terrace of this place—for he had failed which unfortunately has two sides ; and I, leisurely, in his ambition, and his pride was stronger than
his friendship. hopefully, with a quiet heart, as was my wont then. loneliness of heart, in a dingy room, in a dreary
And now he was dying, in great Walter Cheyne was the only son of a clergy- street of London, without a friend to soothe the man of ancient lineage and small means, whose pride wore, as an anchorite his hair-shirt, a con
pangs of approaching dissolution. I left the boy tinuance of petty mortifications of self, by reason of the dark staircase, making the old balustrade creak
in the passage, as with one bound I leaped down a long pedigree and a scanty purse. Having left Oxford, after a short sojourn there, in a fit of dis
with the unwonted energy of my descent, and in a gust, he betook himself to London, and there Memory brings him before me now—as he lay
few minutes I was at poor Walter's bed-side. meeting an old college friend, whose bread was only there
dying in that darkened room, with the last procurable by his pen's painful drudgery, he first conceived the idea of settling down in our peopled rays of the setting son beaming redly through the desert of brick and mortar
half-drawn curtains on the sufferer's pale face.
The thin hands, almost feminine in their delicate where each one
whiteness, the wasted form, the laboured breathings Seeks his mate, yet is alone
-all told a tale of long sorrow soon to be hushed in as a literary hermit, with hope as a sign-post to death. The dark eyes still were wild in their fame. I can see in fancy that lost friend of my glances as of old; but there was a softened sadearly years before me as he stood in life, with his ness, a quiet hopelessness, as regarded things
present, in their wanderings round the sick man's given in the land whither I go. I have loved chamber now. He was dying, and he knew it well love brought me tears-set love was not all in —therefore then-and not till then-had affliction vain ; love dies not with our bopes, and love's conquered my poor friend's pride so far as to suffer memory is green round my heart, as the grass will him to write to me a last request, that I would be ere long upon my grave. I made idols, and "come quickly to see him die.”
the world shattered them in its cold, mighty scorn. I came into the room with a fast-beating heart, Friendship and love are not shadows—they are life's and cheek white as his who lay on the bed before substance truly; earth’s evil dreams may shroud me. Then he spoke—but the voice was not the or distort them for a while—nay, bliud us for the voice of the Walter of my schooldays; it was a while, till we leave them for the myths of our low and musical, but the music was sad, as the half- own unquiet hearts—but now, dying, I say that forgotten song anew-remembered. How we talked, love is the Paraclete of earth, and friendship love's till the moon rode high in the heavens, and the second self; I have the memory of pure love, and stars looked calmly down through the half-open the presence of pure friendship embodied, s, window on our sorrow-I cannot—I will not in you, to lead me by the hand on to the mists of notice now. The neighbouring clocks struck one, the Silent Land. Under my pillow you will find two, three, four, yet I still sat by that bedside Shelley’s ‘Prometheus Unbound,'_give it to me with the dying man's hand in mine.
—there-read what Asia says to Panthea." “You will not leave me,” said he with a strange, I read with a tremulous voicesweet smile, " death will soon relieve friendship of
All love is sweet, this vigil. It is well, perhaps, that this life-drama Given or returned. Common as light is love, is thus soon played out; it is well, perhaps, that And its familiar voice wearies not ever, here, in this quiet room, with my hand in yours, we
Like the wide heaven, the all sustaining air, should meet at last, dear friends so long divided
It makes the reptile equal to the God
They who inspire it most, are fortunate, and we meet but for you to see me die. I have
As I am now; but they who feel it most, lived on thus far through many sorrows, and have Are happier still, after long sofferings, hoped in my selfish pride even in the very teeth of As I shall soon become. despair-and now life's warfare is over ; the world's shadows are fading fast away in the light of the eternal dawn fast breaking on my weary soul. and feverish activity of the great city began once
The sky was red with dawning day—the hum S-, I could wish no better death than this. Remember how, long ago, you and I read together dingy factories—and my poor friend's hour was
--the air grew thicker with the smoke of in Izaak Walton (remember the place of my read
come. A whispered prayer through his half-parted ing and my mention of it when you go back to our boyhood's home); we thought then that the lips a gentle sigh—a faint clasp of my hand
he mind of man could compass by a wish no greater
“The sun is rising-throw open the window happiness in death than by the prayer of pretty let me see him for the last time — I shall not see little Maudlin— to die young, and to have spring-him set.” time flowers strewn over her grave.' Could I could you wish for me a better death now ? ! die rays fell on the face of the departed! There lay
Up rose the sun redly in the heavens ; but his after the fever of the soul is over—after pride's Walter Cheyne, the gifted, pure hearted friend of sinful repinings and self-relying efforts have ceased —İ die at early dawn, with the flashes of friend! I wept then-I could not weep now; thou
my happier days, dead in that quiet room! Poor daybreak beaming over this haggard face, with art gone where sin and sorrow come not, where the sweet breath of this yet untainted morning hope and fear vex not, where faith, after long wind fanning my hot temples ; dying with my early hopes faded around me—with faith in the wanderings
, leaves man on heaven's shore. I wept
then that I had lost a dear friend; but selfish was future to which our God beckons me with loving that sorrow—for he fell asleep in God ! hand—I leave earth's trials, sius and sorrows, for
Reader! I buried him in the churchyard at a purer dawn beyond the tomb, and our friendship, home, which in life he had loved so well. Often which began when we first strolled in the quiet in the long summer evenings do I sit upon his 'gloaming' by our own river side, pauses but for
grave, when the sky is turning grey, and the a brief space on the brink of my early grave. village is quiet, and the crows By home heavily When I am dead, S. take me away from Lon
over the broad fields. On the stone that marks don, and lay my body under the tree we planted by his resting place is his sell-chosen epitaph : the moss-grown church-wall at home, where the sun of summer mornings may rest on the sward, and
Walter Cheyne. the south winds moaning through the old creaking ash may gently stir the daisies on my grave. You
AGED 22 YEARS. will promise me this ?”
“His sun hath gone down while it was yet day." “I will,” was murmured solemnly.
“ Then I die happy— forgiving many cruel Often, when I would sigh in sorrow, blind and slights and heartless calumnies, as I hope to be for. I selfish, that so much worth should be thus early
hidden in an unknown grave, faith whispers conso- moreover, evoked from that fire-light may have sat lation, that we shall meet again where his genius, heavily on your soul. If I have struck any chords looking ever upward, yearned to meet the glorious in your hearts, may their vibration leave no bitterspirits of old time, and that there, perhaps, joy uess behind! I would not willingly jar on failing perfected will remember in humility our brief strings. But we have all of us “Broken Memories” sojourn here, our pure friendship, our hopes and in our lives—and we should do well to heed them purer aspirations, his life of self-imposed penury oftentimes as medicines for minds a weary of the and sorrow, and his quiet grave under the old wall outer world. Better, indeed, would it be for all of the churchyard of his boyhood's home.
of us if we occasionally lent our souls to the Reader! men like him live around you; men memory-softened teachings of the past--for, of a like him struggle after the hope of their proud, truthtrue young hearts, and die in self contempt' and
The world is too much with usgreat loneliness of soul daily.
Reader! it is time night's curtain should fall on and without fresh, genial memories, our hearts me and my musings. I have gazed too long upon would soon grow “dry as summer's dust." Aud my fire, and my mind is weary; the phantoms, now I say-Farewell.
NEW YEAR'S E V E.
is gone ;
Hark! our city bells are ringing with a gleesome, silvery | To return, with prayers deep, heartfelt, to the life of every tone,
day, And the New Year wakes to being, and the dear Old Year With a knowledge, sorrow-softened, of the myths that lead
astray; While I stand in silent sorrow in the long-deserted street, To return--no more a dreamer-but self-possessed and still, Listening idly to the joy-vells, tils sorrow's self seems sweet A worker in God's present, sent to do a Father's will ; Till dim thoughts of saddest sweetness fill my eyes with To return with idle dreamings and empty hands no more, childish tears-
To walk onward to the future, while hope chaunts “Excelsior." Till that past doth robe this present in its shroud of hopes
and fears. I am twenty-one to-morrov--they will warmly bid me joy, Long, too long, I've been a dreamer, with shame's flush upon E’en as though it were a joyous thing to be no more a boy ; I am twenty one to-morrow-if they measure age by years ; I do look to God to strengthen a willing worker nov; I was twenty-one too early--if I measure age by tears. Long, too long, l've been the dreamer who in cold abstracBat these bitter thoughts are idle, and these murmurs idler
tions lives, still -
If God grant a nobler spirit I will do the work He gives ! Fool! to stand here idly enourning when my manhoods And, perchance, when this year's dying, I here again may stronger will
stand Should lead me from repining over days no more I see, With a better heart of earnest, and a truer, stronger hand; To hold fast the present's promise, and to set the dead past free Then I'll thank the All-wise Being, who loves to shield and In its grave to rest for ever ; and if memory wanders thcre, save, Let it wander for repentance-but never for despair ! That my momory once did wander to the dead past's guiet It should be for huinble sorrow o'er time's fair occasious lost, grave ! Not for selfish, sinful murmurs o'er too selfish wishes crossed;
W. B. B. S.
On my first arrival in South Africa, chance and a up, we commenced our wanderings over the wild service rendered had thrown me in the way of a hills in quest of game, resting on the grass beneath young frontier farmer, who, with the frank hospi- a tree in the barning noontide, and wending our tality which seems almost universal in the far south, way homeward by the brilliant light of a South invited me to his “ place to shoot. I went--and African moon, of which our own looks the pale a glorious week I spent! As soon as the sun was reflection.
The visit was drawing to a close, and my un- In a moment I was on my feet-for I was unin. practised sinews were beginning to give way be jured by my fall, though it soon appeared my neath the unusual demands upon them, when, just companion had not fared so well, for the overthrow as the sun was setting at the close of a long day's had sprained his ancle, and he was unable to move sport-for though as tired as a dray-horse, I, of without assistance. course, regarded it in no other light-we found “We must take him between us down to Hotourselves some five miles from home, and as the tentot-lig's Hollow," said Timpson. country we had been traversing was unsuited for But that was easier said than done; for the horses, with nothing but our own legs to bear us sable centre was at least a head taller than either thither. And not only us, but our game—for I of his white supporters, and double their circumhad carried for the last two hoạrs alternately in ference, while his weight was sufficient for any ten my hand and on my back a huge paen-a kind of -at least, so it seemed to my weariness, as I wild turkey-which I had shot; and though every toiled down the rugged path, with the Kaffir's minute it made me feel how weighty was the deed brawny arm pressing heavily on one shoulder, that I had done, I would pretty nearly as soon while my valued paen did its best to equalise hare parted with life as with this large trophy of matters as it dangled from my other hand, my prowess-never perceiving that my skill would At length, when I began to entertain serious have been more surely proved by its being remark- thoughts of sitting down where I was, and passing able in the opposite extreme. However, onward the night beneath the bright stars, supperless and I toiled with my much-prized paen—not patiently, bedless, we reached Hottentot-fig's Hollow. but grumbling at the flowery wilderness through “Now, here we are sure of a hearty welcome, whieh we passed, much as I bad admired its acacia Kaffir and all,” exclaimed Timpsou, as we mounted groups and laurel shades in the morning.
the stone stoep. "Timpson !" I exclaimed at length, pausing “So we ought, for we have come far enough beneath a huge tree, and casting my paen on the for it,” I muttered discontentedly. At the same grass, " Timpson, let us stay where we are, make a instant the door opened, and then I knew wherefire, roast the paen and eat it, and go to sleep.” fore the long road to Hottentot-fig's Hollow had
“But there is no water within two miles of us, seemed so short to Timpson. my good fellow," was the rejoinder:
There, in the light of the lamp, stood a bright “Never mind; we'll drink his blood," I ex. fairy, with golden ringlets and deep violet eyesclaimed, looking down savagely at the heap of soft and sweet as a summer night. Despite all feathers.
my resolute batchelorhood, I forgot my fatigue as "But the same two miles will bring us to Hot. I stood gazing on the fairest face that in all my tentot-fig's Hollow, Farmer Franklin's place, where wanderings had ever met my eye. And my Kaffir we will get a good supper and bed, and lots of fun. companion forgot his pain—for his dark eyes flashed, So, never say die !"
and a smile brightened the night of his stern “A good supper and bed !” The words sounded countenance. in my ears like strains of fairy music wileing the But in a moment the bright fairy vanished from weary traveller onward, and with a sigh I shouldered the scene, giving place to a heavy, farmer-like man, my paen and strode manfully on. But to this day evidently the clod-hopper of the piece, who bade I am firmly convinced that if I walked one rood us welcome, and called for supper; whereupon the further that night I walked four miles, and no less bright fairy re-appeared, and, with the aid of a band convinced that Timpson's own place was nearer. of attendant elves—the dark tint of of whose fairy
At length, when I almost despaired of our jour complexions somewhat puzzled me until I recol. ney ever coming to an end, we reached the brow lected that South African fairies would naturally of a hill, and far beneath us two or three lights be dusky-soon placed supper before us. gleamed through the darkness, much as I should But despite all these fairy ministerings, the next suppose glow-worms to have gleamed before the day found me too weary for anything but to lie flood.
beneath the orange trees, and allow the air, per“Here we are at Hottentot-fig's Hollow !" cried fumed by their thousand blossoms, to play through Timpson, joyously.
my bair ; upon which the host declared me his I attempted a faint þyrrah, which was quickly captive for the next week, with liberty to wander drowned in a cry of another kind, as, stumbling about the Hollow, on giving my parole not to over some furry object, I rolled with it on the escape ; to which I consented, on condition that ground.
my paen formed part of the evening meal. “Help, Timpson !" I cried ! "I have fallen This was readily agreed to, and my paen made over a lion."
an appearance on the table at which I swelled with "Nonsense,” was the half-laughing reply; "if conscious pride. It was well nigh as imposing you had you would have been down his throat by as the peacock at some bygone banquet, and this time;" and pushing aside a bush that inter- looked quite into nothingness the roast pig and cepted the moonlight, be burst into a peal of ducks that were its companions on the board. But laughter at seeing me lying peaceably side by side it was emphatically the toughest morsel of game I with a huge Kaffir.
ever essayed, and right glad was I to partake of
the humbler fare that the bright fairy of last night retreated, leaving grassy vistas, around whose bor. —the Zerlina Franklin of to-day—had provided ders the sunbeams came glinted back in a thousand for us.
broken rays from the hard, glossy surface of the The Kaffir was likewise a fixture, his sprain belligerent-looking vegetation-for the sword-like requiring him to be placed under the hands-not leaves and spear-like stems of the endless varieties of the beautiful Zerlina, but of one of lier shadowy of aloes pointing threateningly at the more peacenymphs. But he was an amusing fellow, and made able looking trees among them, suggested thoughts his visit as entertaining as possible by his uncivi. of an armoury of nature's own getting up. lised wit and shrewd observations; and when, at We had got about half way across the second the end of three days, his ancle was declared well
, glade, whose grassy carpet was almost hidden beand able to bear bis herculean weight, he showed neath the thick drugget of sugar bushes that cohis sense of his host's hospitality, as might some vered it, when Tipson suddenly reined in his knight of old, ere he departed from the castle horse, and pointing to a bright yellow bird flutterwhere his wounds had been cured—by tendering ing among the trees, cried his heart and hand to the acceptance of the chate- My best horse to a paen that I'll bring down lain's daughter. Nay, with a generosity that, I'll that golden cuckoo.” For, in hopes of finding be bound, none of these gallant knights ever thought game along the lane, we were taking our guns to of, he not only never inquired the lady's dower, the top of the hill, where a servant was in waitbut offered to bestow on her father any number of ing to bring them back. cattle he liked to accept-for Tyamie was a great And laying the rein on the horse's neck, and chief in Kaffirland, and the beautiful Zerlina ex raising his gun for a single instant, both man and ceeding fair in his sight.
horse remained motionless as some faultless statue, All unworthy this generosity was the chatelain's and then there was a little mocking flash in the reception of the Black Knight's suit—which I, in sunlight, and a sharp crack that echoed faintly my European innocence could scarce think meant among the hills, and all was still again. in earnest. But, like the rest of his race, Tyamie "Why, where is he, Charley ? I certainly did not could not gaze ou Caucasian beauty unmoved; and kill him," exclaimed Timpson, in the greatest pos. thence his gloomy sullenness when Franklin, with sible surprise. flushed cheek and flashing eye, turned off the “Where on earth can he have got to ?”' added matter as a jest. But it was no more a jest to Franklin, in the same tone.
he I, too, felt astonished, for I thought the cuckoo did not order his steed to the door, and spring on was to be shot; and I looked up to see my two it with clanging armour, as did the knights of old, companions gazing in round-eyed wonder at my yet he drew his leopard skin karosse—that badge empty saddle. The next moment they discovered, of chieftainship-more closely around him, and, exactly at the same time that I did myself, that, with scant thanks for the hospitality shown him, hidden beneath the sugar bushes, I was calmly departed, taking his way with hasty strides towards reposing on the ground beside the horse's feet. the nearest pass into Kaffirland.
Now there was really something for the hills to The indignant tears of the beautiful Zerlina fell echo, for peal above peal, louder and wilder, rose like pearls on his departure, and it was no light, the laughter of my compauions, and for the life of though a most delightful, task to soothe her into me I could not help joining them, though the subsmiles again. But, alas ! that task fell not to me ject was myself. but Timpson-who, I soon suspected, was bound And when that was ended, I demanded from by all the laws of love and chivalry to have couched, them, what still remained to me a mystery—the not lance, but asseghai, against the Black Knight, way in which I came to lie there? But the infor having aspired to the band of his “ ladye-love." | quiry was only a signal for a fresh burst of laughHowever, she never appeared to discover the ter; the fact, however, appeared to be that, like omission, and I took care not to suggest it, and in many another enthusiast, I had been carried out of a few hours the soft eyes were again lit with smiles, myself
, and forgotten that horses have nerves as and the lovers were sauntering happily beneath the well as fine ladies ; so that when the crack, of orange trees.
which I have already made honourable mention, The following day a large coursing party was caused my steed to start like a duchess at a squib, arranged to meet on the neighbouring flat, to he did not find even a bridle to check his sensitive initiate the stranger into the mysteries of South feelings—for it lay as passively on his neck as he African coursing; and accordingly Timpson, young immediately stretched me on the grass. Franklin, and I were up betimes, and mounted on This was certainly anything but an encouraging three of our host's best horses, we repaired to the beginning to my day's sport; but even before I scene of action. Our way lay through a wooded rose from the ground one subject for consolation lane, leading up from the Hollow, where the suggested itself-that, certainly, after this I should moss garlands from the overhanging trees swept bear no more of the indestructible paen, at which our faces as we passed, and the clustering blos. Timpson had fired shots enough to annihilate any. soms of the jasmine gleamed like stars among the thing less tough. Twenty minutes more brought myrtle leaves. Though twice or thrice the trees us to the place of meeting, where we found ten