CARRIE.

[4]Scimetars.

[4]

Scimetars.

[5]Went down.

[5]

Went down.

[6]Separated.

[6]

Separated.

[7]This was only used early in the cruise.

[7]

This was only used early in the cruise.

[8]The crew of a whaleman are all on shares, orlays, according to their stations in the ship.

[8]

The crew of a whaleman are all on shares, orlays, according to their stations in the ship.

[9]Governor.

[9]

Governor.

CARRIE.

———

BY LILIAN MAY.

———

“She hath laid her down by the crystal river,To bathe in its waters of life forever.”

“She hath laid her down by the crystal river,

To bathe in its waters of life forever.”

We have lain the bud of our promise downTo rest in the darksome mold,For the light within had flickered and flown,And the pure warm heart was cold.Now the crisping snow lies above her head,And low is the wind’s chill moan,That ruffles the sheet on her narrow bed,But the spirit afar hath flown.The glorious dawn of immortal lifeGilds the hope of our joy above,And the heavy grief of this bitter strifeIs sunk in the light of His love.With a golden harp in her little hand,An emerald crown on her brow,She walketh the halls of the better land,And hymneth a sweet strain now.

We have lain the bud of our promise downTo rest in the darksome mold,For the light within had flickered and flown,And the pure warm heart was cold.

We have lain the bud of our promise down

To rest in the darksome mold,

For the light within had flickered and flown,

And the pure warm heart was cold.

Now the crisping snow lies above her head,And low is the wind’s chill moan,That ruffles the sheet on her narrow bed,But the spirit afar hath flown.

Now the crisping snow lies above her head,

And low is the wind’s chill moan,

That ruffles the sheet on her narrow bed,

But the spirit afar hath flown.

The glorious dawn of immortal lifeGilds the hope of our joy above,And the heavy grief of this bitter strifeIs sunk in the light of His love.

The glorious dawn of immortal life

Gilds the hope of our joy above,

And the heavy grief of this bitter strife

Is sunk in the light of His love.

With a golden harp in her little hand,An emerald crown on her brow,She walketh the halls of the better land,And hymneth a sweet strain now.

With a golden harp in her little hand,

An emerald crown on her brow,

She walketh the halls of the better land,

And hymneth a sweet strain now.

NELLY NOWLAN TO HER AUNT

AFTER HER VISIT TO A LONDON CHURCH.

———

BY MRS. B. C. HALL.

———

“My dear Aunt,—I have often longed to turn my pen to the paper, but no one, only the Almighty, knows how hurried, and bustled, and bothered I am, getting myself up to understand every thing,or to make believe to do so, which comes to much the same thing for a while anyhow, which I daresay you don’t understand, and so best for you, Aunt dear!

“I’m with the lady still, and likely to remain, for she’s both kind and helpless, and is well enough to do without a nurse, (she says,) though if I’m notthatno one ever was. She’s not fractious, poor dear! only humorsome, and does not care to stay long in one place—restless-like; I have my trials with her too in many little ways—I didn’t want her to know I could read, because she might ask me to read prayers and things contrary to my religion, but unfortunately, I said I could write, and that let herinto it—she was ’cute enough to know that I must readfirst.

“We were a while in a place, they call it by the name of Bath; it’s a mighty unnatural city, where thecouldwater comes up out of the earth in a continued boil, and you wouldn’t see a carriage with a pair of horses in a week’s walk, for it’s the men are horses there and draw the sick creatures, that bathe in, and then drink, the hot water, up and down the hills, and you’d think it a holy place, for every second gentleman you meet is a priest or a minister; yes, indeed, they must be a mighty delicate set of gentlemen in England, for there’s a power of them in Bath. My mistress never meddles with my religion, only folds her spectacles in the Bible and leaves it in my way—but I take no notice. I can hardly expect you to believe me, but the water comes as I tell youhotout of the earth; there must be a fire under itsomewhere; but who can tellwherethat fire is, orwholooks after it? The inhabitants, I’m sure, live in greater terror of an explosion than theylet onto the poor innocents that do be looking after their health; and maybe that’s the reason they fill up the town with the Clargy to keep all quiet; sure it’s them we send for ourselves when any thing unnatural is going on; if you mind[10]when the underground noises were heard in Castle Croft, they sent for his Reverence Father Joyce at once, and kept him ever so long about the place, and no one heard a stir of noise since! so maybe, the holy men are useful that way in Bath, to keep down the spirits of the waters in their right place.

“I told you my lady was fidgetty-like, and she very soon got tired of Bath and would come to London. Now, dear, I’ll leave it to another time to say what I’ve got to say about London—and remember, sure if I wrote for a hundred years, I could notinsenseyou into what it is, or what it is like. Aunt, it’s full up of people! underground, overground, high up, down low—people—people in misery and sin, people in plenty and pleasure; it’s never still by day or night, for at night, the very breathing of such thousands and thousands of people, is like to stifled thunder; it’s full of a pale withered-up sort of life in one place, and it is blooming like a fresh May morning only a stone’s-throw from the same, in another; it’s a city of contradictions—it’s the grandest place upon the face of the earth, if it was only for the multitudes of living immortal creatures it contains, and it’s the meanest place in the universe:—they make money out of the very scrapings of the streets!—and, bless your kind heart! it’s yourself that would be troubled to see the people driving on, and on, and on forever, without rest, and all so solid like. And, aunt, but it’s lonesome to be surrounded by such thousands of people without knowing one of them from Adam, only all black strangers, no one to bid you good morrow morning, or say, God save you; for their manners are not our manners; they’re a fine, kind-hearted people, but they’re mortal fearful you should think so. The first lodging we were in, I thought to be very kind and mannerly to the mistress of the house, and so when I met her the next day I dropped her a curtsey—and says I, ‘The top of the morning to ye, Ma’am;’ well, instead of returning my civility, she told my mistress I’d insulted her; you see they’re an unaccountable people, but it’s notthatI wanted to write about. Aunt, dear, I know you’re anxious about how I get on with my ‘duty’ and I took your advice and resolved to walk in my own way, and when I told my mistress I’d like to get leave to go to my duty, she told me she was well satisfied with the way I was going on, I was doing my duty perfectly; so I thanked her for her good opinion, but said I wanted to make a clean breast, if I could find out a proper Clergy to make it to; and then she smiled her faint, quiet smile, just for all the world like a thread of moonlight, and said, she understood now that what I meant by ‘duty,’ was going to the Priest, to confession, and gave me leave to go next Sunday to first Mass. So I got my instructions where to go and set off with a light heart. To be sure it did me good to enter a place of my own worship again, and the music was just wonderful—only they made me pay a shilling for a seat, think of that! but I’d have paid ten, if I had it—to get in, my heart warmed so. And the tears came to my eyes, when I see the fine men serving on the altar and such fine blessed candles—all wax. And theralebowing and turning; and little boys in their little albs that keeps all the saints’ days, running about the streets, the darlings, in all sorts and kinds of mischief. Oh, I was so delighted, and so thankful, and the music and the velvet, and the painted windys with the sun shining through them, and the beautiful things, put me a-past all judgment—if I could have had you there just to see what a picture it was! But by ’n by, I heard one of their reverences in the pulpit, though I was so bewildered I never saw him go there, and I said to myself, ‘Mass can’t be half over yet,’ think-it was soon for thesarmint[11],—and then I thought again may be it was the difference of the country, and looking round I saw all the ladies had crosses on their Prayer-books, and that set me right again, for I was sure none but ourselves would have that. Then the organ and the little boys in their little albs began again; and I was fairly transported, for never had I heard such music—notsinging-music, buttalking-musicit was. Oh my heart beat quick with joy, to think how I had got into the right place, and how in the very thick of a nation of heretics, there was every thing natural-like in my own faith. I cried down tears of joy, and indeed others did the same. Then another priest—a fine man intirely—got up into another pulpit, and gave us I must say a finesarmint, I never could desire a better—and it’s the truth I’m telling you—he spoke of fasts, and saints, and gave out the services on next saints’ days—and reminded us of confession. Oh, aunt darling, don’t you or Father Joyce think bad of it if I say—and it’s thrue as if they were the last words I should write in this world—that no holy priest of Rome could pay greater honor to the saints than himself; or insist finer on confession and fasts, or bow with more devotion to the altar; I don’t care who gainsays it, but he was a fine man. Oh glory! says I, aint I in luck? aint I blessed? aint I happy? and I thought to myself I’d make bould to ask a fine grand ould waiting gentleman, who carried his head high, and was all over fine: I asked him where I could get spaking with any of their reverences? and he said some ofthe sisterswere in the vestry then, as they were going to change thehour of vespers, and, indeed, hewasmighty civil, and said if I wanted to ask a Christian question I might wait there, and he took me near the little room where they keep the vestments, and presently a fine, grand lady came out, and I heard her complain how she caught coldat Matins, and one of their reverences came out and bid her good day by the name of ‘Sister Mary,’ and then the grand ould waiting gentleman bustled on bowing (not to the altar, but to the lady), and called out for Lady Jane Style’s carriage. I had a great mind to call out ‘Whist,’[12]for I thought it no way to be shouting for carriages at the open door of a holy place. Well; one young priest passed, and another, backing out and making obadience to theirShooparier: and then came two more ladies—‘sisters,’ no doubt, and then another priest. Oh! how my heart would have warmed to them, only they seemed somehow only half way, and at last theShooparierhimself came, and I thought any one could see he was theralething; he was the very stamp and moral of Father Joyce, and no cardinal could be more stately—there was a lady, sweet-faced and gentle-looking with him, but when I fell on my knees and asked to speak with him she smiled and went on!

“He bid me stand up, and asked what I wanted.

“ ‘To make a clean breast, your reverence, whenever it’s convanient to you, night or day. Your time is mine, holy father, and I would not delay you long, for I’ve kep’ watch over my thoughts and actions; though, for all that, I’m agratesinner.’ I spoke aspurtyas ever I could to the kind gentleman; well, he asked me if I wanted to be asister, and I said, No—I’d no inclination for a Nunnery, good or bad; and then, ‘My good girl,’ he says—quite solid-like, ‘what is it youdowant?’—and something quare came over me, at the changing of his countenance; and I makes answer, ‘May be your reverence would tell me the time for giving it: and as I like to be prepared and do the thingdacent, would your reverence tell me thecharge for absolutionin this town?’

“Now, aunt, I put it to you, could any thing be purtier, or fairer spoken than that? but his white cheek flushed—he turned on me in anger, only he could not hould a black look for a minute, and he says—

“ ‘Do you take me for one of the blind priests of Rome?’

“ ‘Indeed I did, sir,’ I made answer, ‘how could I help it?’ the words came to my lips quite natural—though my heart was beating with what I can’t tell, to think of his speaking that way of the holy fathers, and he treading as hard as ever he could on their heels—and then the look of pity he threw on me!

“ ‘Poor creature, poor creature,’ he says. ‘You come, I see, of a benighted race.’ Well, I was bothered. He walked gently on, and the very sweep of his coat, from head to tail, had a priestly swing with it; and then he turned back and looked at me so gently. ‘Have you been often here?’ he says. Well, I gave him another courtesy, but not so low as the others.

“ ‘No, sir,’ I answered, (I did not ‘your reverence’ him that time,) ‘and I wont trouble you again.’

“ ‘You do not trouble me,’ he says. ‘I only wish you trod in our paths.’

“ ‘I’d rather keep to my own, sir; and then I’ll make no mistakes.’ Well, he was a quiet gentleman, for he smiled at that. And he says again, ‘I would like to question you a little;’ and he was going on only I stopt him. ‘Question Father John Joyce, if you plaze, sir; I’ll give you his address—he always answered for me, and always will, that’s my comfort.’ And the name of my own blessed priest gave me strength. ‘He always answered for me,’ I repeated, ‘and for my people; he knows what he’s about, and will scorn to mislead any poor girl—it’s too bad, so it is, to be situated this way, that I can’t tell the differ between a holy priest and a protestant minister.’ Well, that settled him, as I thought it would; and he walks right away, and the pale beautiful lady in black, that had been leaning against a pillar like astatute, takes his arm; and the stout goold laced old gentleman beckons me on, not crossly. So I says, ‘Which of the sisters is that?’ And he gave a chuckle of a laugh: ‘That’s hiswife,’ he says.

“ ‘Oh! holy Moses,’ says I, ‘look at that now!his wife!’ And I thought of the candles and crosses and bowings; and all the saints he ran over; and the little boys in the little albs, and every thing so like the right—and yet the wrong; ‘hiswife, and he aPRIEST! let me out of the place,’ I says, ‘for it’s a sin and a shame; neither one thing nor another; all a delusion; let me out;’ and then I stopt. ‘Maybe he’s not a priest at all!’ I inquired, looking at the stout old gentleman, ‘and if he’s not, what is he?’

“ ‘I’ll tell you, young woman,’ he answers, and he makes believe to whisper; and then it came on me like a flash of lightning, that I had got into neither the one nor the other, but into ahalf-way house!

“ ‘And have you none of them in Ireland?’ he inquires.

“Now, aunty, dear, that bothered me as much as any thing, how that stout old gentleman knew I was Irish. I never told him so, and I am as well dressed as any English maid can be; you would not know me, (though I was always so nice,) I am so improved; and yet he says, ‘Have you none of them in Ireland?’ and I answered quite proudly, ‘No, sir; we’ve the rale thing there!’ and that settledhim. I saw he was ashamed of himself, and of all the goings on—creeping, creeping toward our holy church, and yet purtending to talk of its blindness; yet we ought to be content, for if they’re let to go on as they’re going, it’s asy told where they’ll stop;for the time’s coming, as I heard at Moorfields, where every thing was to my satisfaction, and I found theralepriest at last, though not so fine a man as our own dear Father Joyce, the heavens be his bed! and may he and the holy saints keep sin and heart-sorrow from you, my darling aunt! you who watched over me with as much as a mother’s love. It’s the spring-time now, and I often dream of the Bohreens, and the wild-bird’s song, and then again I feel as if the whole shadow of the mountain was over me like a shroud; but it isn’t long that lasts—as the song says—

“ ‘Hope will brighten days to come,And memory gild the past.’ ”

“ ‘Hope will brighten days to come,

And memory gild the past.’ ”

[10]Remember.

[10]

Remember.

[11]Sermon.

[11]

Sermon.

[12]Silence.

[12]

Silence.

A MOTHER’S PRAYER.

———

BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD.

———

I knelt beside a little bed,The curtains drew away,And ’mid the soft, white folds beheldTwo rosy sleepers lay;The one had seen three summers smile,And lisped her evening prayer;The other, only one year’s shadeWas on her flaxen hair.No sense of duties ill performedWeighed on each heaving breast,No weariness of work-day careDisturbed their tranquil rest:The stars to them, as yet, were inThe reach of baby hand,Temptation, trial, grief, strange wordsThey could not understand.But in the coming years I sawThe turbulence of LifeO’erwhelm this calm of innocenceWith melancholy strife.“From all the foes that lurk without,From feebleness within,What sov’reign guard from Heaven,” I asked,“Will strong beseeching win?”Then to my soul a vision cameIlluming, cheering all,Of him who stood with shining frontOn Dothan’s ancient wall;[13]And while his servant’s heart grew faint,As he beheld with fearThe Syrian host encompassingThe city far and near.With lofty confidence to hisSad questionings replied—“Those armies are outnumbered farBy legions at our side!”Then up from starry sphere to sphereWas borne the prophet’s prayer,“Unfold to his blind sight, oh, God!Thy glorious hosts and fair.”The servant’s eyes, bewildered, gazedOn chariots of fire,On seraphs clad in mails of light,Resistless in their ire;On ranks of angels marshaled close,Where trackless comets run,On silver shields and rainbow wingsOutspread before the sun.I saw the Syrian bands ere noonLed captive through the land,And longed to grasp the prophet’s robeWithin my feeble hand,While my whole soul went out in deepAnd passionate appeal,That faith like his might set withinMy babes’ pure hearts its seal.

I knelt beside a little bed,

The curtains drew away,

And ’mid the soft, white folds beheld

Two rosy sleepers lay;

The one had seen three summers smile,

And lisped her evening prayer;

The other, only one year’s shade

Was on her flaxen hair.

No sense of duties ill performedWeighed on each heaving breast,No weariness of work-day careDisturbed their tranquil rest:The stars to them, as yet, were inThe reach of baby hand,Temptation, trial, grief, strange wordsThey could not understand.

No sense of duties ill performed

Weighed on each heaving breast,

No weariness of work-day care

Disturbed their tranquil rest:

The stars to them, as yet, were in

The reach of baby hand,

Temptation, trial, grief, strange words

They could not understand.

But in the coming years I sawThe turbulence of LifeO’erwhelm this calm of innocenceWith melancholy strife.“From all the foes that lurk without,From feebleness within,What sov’reign guard from Heaven,” I asked,“Will strong beseeching win?”

But in the coming years I saw

The turbulence of Life

O’erwhelm this calm of innocence

With melancholy strife.

“From all the foes that lurk without,

From feebleness within,

What sov’reign guard from Heaven,” I asked,

“Will strong beseeching win?”

Then to my soul a vision cameIlluming, cheering all,Of him who stood with shining frontOn Dothan’s ancient wall;[13]And while his servant’s heart grew faint,As he beheld with fearThe Syrian host encompassingThe city far and near.

Then to my soul a vision came

Illuming, cheering all,

Of him who stood with shining front

On Dothan’s ancient wall;[13]

And while his servant’s heart grew faint,

As he beheld with fear

The Syrian host encompassing

The city far and near.

With lofty confidence to hisSad questionings replied—“Those armies are outnumbered farBy legions at our side!”Then up from starry sphere to sphereWas borne the prophet’s prayer,“Unfold to his blind sight, oh, God!Thy glorious hosts and fair.”

With lofty confidence to his

Sad questionings replied—

“Those armies are outnumbered far

By legions at our side!”

Then up from starry sphere to sphere

Was borne the prophet’s prayer,

“Unfold to his blind sight, oh, God!

Thy glorious hosts and fair.”

The servant’s eyes, bewildered, gazedOn chariots of fire,On seraphs clad in mails of light,Resistless in their ire;On ranks of angels marshaled close,Where trackless comets run,On silver shields and rainbow wingsOutspread before the sun.

The servant’s eyes, bewildered, gazed

On chariots of fire,

On seraphs clad in mails of light,

Resistless in their ire;

On ranks of angels marshaled close,

Where trackless comets run,

On silver shields and rainbow wings

Outspread before the sun.

I saw the Syrian bands ere noonLed captive through the land,And longed to grasp the prophet’s robeWithin my feeble hand,While my whole soul went out in deepAnd passionate appeal,That faith like his might set withinMy babes’ pure hearts its seal.

I saw the Syrian bands ere noon

Led captive through the land,

And longed to grasp the prophet’s robe

Within my feeble hand,

While my whole soul went out in deep

And passionate appeal,

That faith like his might set within

My babes’ pure hearts its seal.

[13]2 Kings, 6th chapter, 14-18 verses.

[13]

2 Kings, 6th chapter, 14-18 verses.

THE FIRST AGE.

———

By H. DIDIMUS.

———

(Continued from page 360.)

Again ten circles have passed, and thrice ten circles of the earth about the sun; and the boy who proffered grapes, and the infant folded in a mother’s warm embrace, have grown to manhood. The young earth, like young life, passed through many a change in thrice ten years and ten; and, from its teeming loins sent forth a still increasing multitude to worship the great First Cause. Upon every hill an altar smoked; and knowledge, with power to command the laws to which all matter is subdued, had not wholly passed from among the sons of men. Not yet were cities built, nor language confounded, nor the land parceled out among hostile clans, to be worried and made desolate; but the herd and the chase still supplied the simple wants which luxury has debased. In all the arts of that rude time; to run; to cleave the briny sea, a strong swimmer; to throw the spear; to draw the bow, certain of its mark; to know the signs which divide the day and fix the watches of the night; to call each tree and flower, beast and bird, by the name which Adam gave; the youths were well instructed, and poured a flood of joy into hearts which marked, from year to year, their growth in excellence and in strength.

The youngest, Ariel, his mother most loved; for he was mild of temper, and of a make which would have shamed the Apollo, cut by hands skilled to search out the hidden springs of manly beauty, and cunningly transform the ideal into a reality, to stand forever a wonder before the eyes of men. His auburn locks, parted on either side, fell thick, and rested upon his shoulders; and upon his brow, fairer than woman, sat intellect, softened and refined to express the hopes and sorrows, the sweet delights and bitter ills, which God gave a heritage to Adam and his seed when he drove out the sinning pair from Paradise. Tall, he stood like a cedar upon Lebanon. His eyes, large and lustrous, in color his mother’s and heaven’s, seemed ever dreaming of a life which, cradled upon earth, had elsewhere its happiness; and the long brown lashes that veiled their intenser light, shadowed with melancholy a face which else had been too bright. In childhood, he wept over tales of that fair land lost by his first ancestors; and sought on every side, through the sombre wood, and along the flowery mead, and up the streams to their sources amid the valleys of the hills, for some trace of a glory half-extinct which might lead him onward to its walls, guarded by flame; then, weary and sad, he would stand by the sea, and look out across its waters, and strain his eyes to find a new earth, and catch a glimpse of that strange fire which, under the rule of night, mellows the waves, and makes their path more enticing than the walks of Arcady the blest, or the garden in which Italia’s poet subdued Ruggerio to a witch’s love. Thus found by his mother, after long search, he would rest his head upon her knees, and repeat his hopes and disappointments, while she, softly chiding, wiped his tears away. Growing toward manhood, he, unwillingly and slow, now doubting and now believing, put off his childish faith, and sought for and found a rest more perfect, and more noble far, than that paradise which fled before the knowledge of evil and of good.

Tubal, the eldest born, was mightier than his brother. Less tall, strong, he stood like Hercules leaning on his club. His lusty shoulders seemed made to bear the weight of any ill which time and the first sin might engender to crush the sons of Adam; and his foot was firmer than the rock. Within his broad breast, capacious, the wildest passions, love and hate, and jealousy and ambition, raged and crouched obedient to a will which held them bound, nor loosed its hold but to fulfill its purpose. His hair curled close, nor played in dalliance with the wanton air. His eyes, blacker than the night which covered Egypt when the chosen were oppressed, burned fierce; and within their depths lay hidden cunning, and power, and the determination to complete what cunning prompts and power may well perform. His nostrils swelled with triumphs not yet won; and on his lips, compressed, and on his swarthy brow, courage had stamped its signet. He loved the chase, and the boar pursued beyond the mountains which barred his father’s steps, and rose a barrier never passed till he burst through to conquer new fields, boundless, and rich in all the wealth of his rude life. Action was his rest; and to him plain fact was beautiful enough, nor sought he, in vain imaginings, to work out of strong matter kindred unto himself, forms of excellence which live only in a poet’s brain, to curse the possessor. His father loved him, for when a boy he drew his father’s bow, and threw his father’s spear, laughed at fatigue, and scorned the pleasures of quiet contemplation which, with his brother, stole half the days away. In him was small obedience, even from his birth; self-willed, he threw off his mother’s hand as a steed of high mettle, untamed, flings at the bit; and thus he grew, a Titan in his passions as a Titan in his make.

The morn had ushered in a new year, when Tubal and his brother went forth to worship upon the neighboring mountains, and offer up a sacrifice in acknowledgment of mercies past, of mercies present, and of mercies yet to come. From the sea a mist rolled inward, and covered all the land, and covered the forest wide, and crept up the hill-sides, and hung about their tops, and curled over, descending like a glory, to be lost in the space beyond. Bathed in cloud, seeing their path dimly, they walked hand in hand, loaded with gifts of the chase, and of the vine, and pure water, and sweet-scented wood. Ariel found a new beauty in the thick vapor which shut out the heavens, and so stilled the song of the trees that, listening, he believed he could hear the very mist singing, as it moved onward upon its errand of fruitfulness and health; but Tubal saw power, and felt his strength grow within him, and, invigorated, stood erect, and trod more proudly the earth which he claimed as his own. As they ascended the higher grounds, and climbed the steeps which led upward to the temple they had chosen, the cloud grew thinner, and the light increased, and they halted, silent, and bowed their heads, and pressed their lips to the mountain-side, and kissed God’s foot-prints—there seen, clear and radiant, as they are now to be seen impressed, eternal, upon the granite which, in the far North, lifts its head a mark to the returning mariner, who—far out upon the ocean—hails the beacon with all the joy of home. Then rising, they mounted quickly to the summit, round, and fair with its own flood, and standing, gazed. Gazed upon the cloud spread out beneath their feet, a vast expanse of silver water, covering land and sea; gazed upon the hill-tops which rose above the flood, as isles sleeping upon the bosom of a quiet lake; gazed upon the heavens, serenely blue, over-arching all; and gazed upon the sun, red and huge, struggling with the mist, till its rays, released, flashed upon the isles, and lighted up the heavens, and so wrought that the deep cloud, mastered by their heat, broke from its fastenings, and rolled in masses, and, rifted, opened cavernous, and showed, first the crowning tufts of the forest-trees, and then the lower boughs, and then the plain, reeking with moisture, and then the sea, bright and dancing, until the last wreath of feathery vapor ascending, vanished.

“For this, it is enough to have lived; thy works, O God, are wondrous fair!” said Ariel.

Tubal, turned away, silent; and casting his offerings upon the ground, threw up the heavy sward in piles high and broad, which he fashioned into a rude altar; then covering it thick with wood, found near at hand, he called unto his brother, and together they laid upon it the chase, the grapes, and the branches sweet-scented and laving, prayed.

“We thank thee, Father, for thy mercies past, thy mercies present, and thy mercies yet to come.”

“I thank thee for strength,” said Tubal.

“I thank thee for the comeliness of this earth,” said Ariel.

“Give me power to rule my fellow-men.”

“Give me knowledge to win thy love.”

“Give me honor, and obedience, with fear—”

“Give me humility, and trust, with faith—”

—“and may my will be a law unto many.”

—“and may my walk be good in thy sight.”

“Father, I thank thee for these limbs; this body, so perfect in its make—”

“Father, I thank thee for this life, so full of all excellence—”

—“clothe it with majesty.”

—“clothe it with purity.”

“Grant that I may live in the speech of generations far removed.”

“Grant that I may live in the hearts of generations far removed.”

“Bless, O God, my purpose.”

“Bless, O God, my father.”

“Strengthen, O God, my hands”—

“Strengthen, O God, my mother”—

—“so that they may well perform what thou hast given them to do.”

—“so that she may well perform what thou hast given her to do.”

“And accept, O God, these gifts, the fruit of thy bounty, by us acknowledged and adored.”

Upon the brothers, thus ending, a light, greater than the sun, fell suddenly and smote them blind; and as they lay, prostrate with excessive dread, they heard a voice, soft as the movement of a gentle wind, saying, “Even as ye have asked, ye shall receive;” and then came silence, and darkness with the light of day; and slowly rising, fearful, they found the altar, with its gifts, all consumed. And where the altar stood, a glowing pool of metal burned, and hissed, and bubbled, and ran down the hill-side a thread of fire. Tubal, curious, doubting, with cautious step drew near; and as the metal cooled, and changed from white to red, from red to black, observed it narrowly, and beat upon it, and found it malleable, and broke it, and took it in his hands still warm, and held it out in triumph to his brother.

Such was the birth of iron; and in the air, above, beneath, on either side, far off and near, came music, and the brothers listened, mute with wonder, to a song prophetic of the metal and its uses.

Clink, clank.

The crackling of flame, playing with the air that fanned it, swept past.

Glowing, flashing.

Not speech, but sounds inarticulate, in strains wild, sturdy and noble as their subject, filled the ears of Ariel and his brother, to be interpreted as we interpret the voices of matter, miscalled dumb.

Clashing, clanging.

And there was a rushing to and fro of many feet, while the furnace roared with a pouring as of breath in hot haste.

Bubble, bubble—muffled, dull and deep.

The anvil rings, and blow on blow is given.

Sharp and quick.

Then the forging, and the grinding, and the filing, and the whetting, with the shock of blade on blade, till the clatter of that smithy, mingling and dividing, mellowed, rose sweeter than the notes fabled of the sun, when he with his first rays smote upon the head of Memnon in wonder-loving Egypt; or the song heard by the wandering Greek hard by Charibdis, enticing the listening mariner to his death.

Aha! aha! thou hast found a new life, and a new action, greatest of metals.

Who are ye, who thus welcome me with a hymn of glory?

We are the light, the eldest born, begotten in love, in love to endure forever.

We were present at thy beginning, and saw the hand which moulded thee with fire.

We saw the joy of thy young days, and acknowledge thee a child of God, like unto ourselves.

We know thy offices, and the laws which rule thee, liquid or congealed, obedient to God’s will.

In the depths of the earth wert thou engendered, and didst dwell in darkness for this hour.

From the center didst thou spring upward, and wert poured through all the veins of matter, to strengthen and complete.

But now thou art born into a new life, and art appointed to build and destroy.

Another, mightier than thyself, shall shape thee, and thou shall be his bondsman until thy work is done.

In the furnace and at the forge shall thy true worth be tried, and every good by heaven blessed, by thee be multiplied.

Then sing the praise of iron; the sturdy and noble iron—

Clink, clank;

Glowing, flashing;

Clanging, clashing;

Sharp and quick;

With the grinding, and the filing, and the whetting, and the shock of blade on blade; while the clatter of the smithy ringing, cries, it is mine to civilize.

The brothers hastened from the mount, and descending, bore homeward the new-found metal with dances, and with shouts, which called Erix and Zella to meet them, and to listen, with growing eyes and a faith equal to their own, to the marvelous tale of the light which fell from heaven, and their blindness and the voice within them, and the altar burned, and the molten pool, and the strange wild music which they heard, until a knowledge entered into them of the gift they had received.

“Father, my prayer is answered,” said Tubal, and quick, to make his knowledge sure, the four built up the first rude forge, and piled it high with wood, and put fire to it, and, as it burned, cast in the metal, which they watched until it reddened and flashed, coruscating. Then Tubal drew the metal forth, and beat it between two stones, and flattened it, and, twisting, gave it ever new forms, while Erix, with Ariel and his mother, stood admiring, and reasoned of its uses. And thus did Tubal work with cunning and with strength, from day to day, until he had won the skill to fashion the metal to his will; to arm his arrows and his spear, and devise new weapons for the chase. He soon found out the way of beating iron upon itself, nor lacked the wit of many inventions to aid his labor; and the ponderous sledge wielded by his arms, black with soot, from morn to eve resounded along the heaving sea, which knew no heavier din when, long after, Vulcan forged beneath Ætna. His tribe stood around him thick, and wondered at his work, and learned of him; and when, as time rolled on, the elders told his story to their sons, they called him the father of all who worked in metal.

Ariel went dreaming on his way; nor sought to rival his brother at the forge, nor questioned the right which he assumed to rule among his fellow-men. He acknowledged his brother’s worth, and knew him to be the completest man to meet the stern necessities of life—to lay deeply in that new age a strong foundation upon which others were to build, for good or ill, through many a revolving year, the politics of the earth. To himself it was given to see the future in its action; and it passed before him so distinct and bright, that Zella, sitting at his side, oft turned away with fear, as his tongue grew eloquent over a tale of greatness and of sorrow still hidden within the womb of time. Thrice blessed is he who knows his work and does it; who learns in early youth that the practical is the only good, nor chases phantoms, till, the harvest past, he turns a poor gleaner upon another’s steps, and begs from bounty what should be his of right. But Ariel had other hopes, not willed, but given for a purpose, to which he was bound as the winged chorister is bound to the melody which springs unbidden from its throat. He lived in the ideal, and strove to grasp the mysterious laws by which the world within acts upon the world without. The soul’s own greatness to all of God’s labor a greatness gives, which lesser spirits never know; and the soul’s beauty is poured upon all matter, as the setting sun, in ripe October, pours a purple flood of departing light upon the gorgeous landscapes of my native North. This Ariel knew; and when he listened to the voices of the sea, of the wood, and of the lesser herbage, growing; to the sighing of the air, and the creaking, and the grating of bough on bough, rocked by the wind; he believed that all were parts of one great hymn, whose interpreter was within, and, combined, would a language give more perfect to express the soul’s griefs and joys, the loveliness and magnitude of God’s labors, than that which Adam, articulate, invented.

Thus Ariel mused, and in his walks under the silent moon, watched close, to catch the notes which rose from every point of earth; and sitting with his mother, to whom he opened his whole heart, talked of this wisdom. And thus, one quiet eve, when the star which ushers in and leads off day’s hours, then called God’s love, now changed to the queen in Paphos worshiped, was just dipping beneath the western hills, and the wind slow rising set outward to the sea, these two, the mother and the son, went forth to drink new draughts of the knowledge he had found, and kept hidden from all else save her whose soul was like unto his own. She leaned upon his shoulder as a loved support, and they passed, mingling in sweet converse, along the wooded paths to the stream which flowed noiseless, and now dark beneath the forest shades, close by the bank upon which she had rested from the chase, and with Erix recounted the endless good with which heaven had blessed the earth.

“This water, so silent, yet speaks.”

“In sadness,” said Zella.

“For the day and for the night it has a several voice.”

“And does the sorrow which comes to us, a heritage of Eden, fall also here?”

“Mother, the star now hidden behind the western hills, its sister orbs, this earth, this wood, and water running, all speak to the soul according to its wisdom. Has sadness no beauty; grief no love? As darkness follows light, so joy and sorrow interchange, to make life perfect. This marvel of our God, in which strength and weakness strive to one end, were incomplete, did not thy tears, like fallen rain glittering in the sun, give brightness to the smile that hastens to drive thy tears away. In matter is to be found the sure interpreter of God’s will, and the purpose for which he made such excellence of earth and sky, with man, the chiefest excellence of all; and I watch to catch the secret which unlocks this knowledge, and will give to me, and to thee, my mother, the fullness of that glory which in the beginning was breathed into Adam, a living soul!”

As he spoke the wind sighed deeply along the silent stream, and the reeds there growing upon its sedgy bank gave forth sounds multitudinous, separate and commingled.

“List, mother!”

The symphony, at first low, scarce audible, dying, sprang to life again, and rose in notes æolic, flooding the air.

“It is this, mother, this that I would win; the common language of every created thing.”

We are the wind, whistling, piping, sounds melodious in the ear of night.

And there was a rustling as of forest leaves; and a murmuring, as of water running; while from the reedy grass came other voices,

Shrill and clear.

We are they with whom God wrought, in his six days of labor.

Then the swelling, round and full,

Sliding, springing,

Turning, beating.

Streams of pleasure,

Without measure,

And the movement quick and pure,

Now increasing,

Now diminishing,

Now combining,

Now resolving,

In sweet concord antiphonal, said that they were harmony.

“My prayer is answered, mother; for I have found the bond which binds heart to heart.”

Then Zella laid her head upon Ariel’s bosom, and in very gladness, wept; and confessed that life and death, her evil and her good, no longer were a mystery.

We are the law by which all things live, and move, and have their being.

And Ariel put out his hands, and plucked, and blew upon the reeds; and again the wind sighed along the silent stream; and again the grass there growing, waving, gave forth other sounds;

Brighter,

Higher,

More ecstatic;

Fiercer, fiercer, fiercer yet;

As if a Titan had strung his lyre to a new creation, or the fingers of a god swept the strings.

It is finished; and to man is given the art to rule the airs of heaven.

They turned, while yet the sledge fell heavy by the beating sea, and Erix wound a horn of joy, calling, then wound, then called, and wound and called again, and the echoes answered, calling;

[Conclusion in our next.]

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