Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 11. |
BY C. R. HANLEITER.
IP © E T R Y
“ Much yet remains unsung
IN MY DOWER SO BRIGHT.
In my bower so bright,
As I layl ant night,
The moon through the freali leaves streaming,
There were sounds in the air,
But I could not tell where,
Kor if I were waking or dreaming.
‘Twas the sound of n lute
To a voice half mute,
That sunk when I th ought it was swelling;
And it came to my cars
As if drown’d in the tears
Os the being whose woes it was telling.
Some accents I heard
Were like those of the bird
Who the livelong night is mourning;
And some were like those
That we hear, when the Rose
Sighs soft for her Zephyr’s returning.
The tones were so sweet,
I thought it most meet,
They should not be tones of gladness;
There are notes so fine,
That, were melody mine,
They should only belong to sadness.
And the air cteature sung,
And the wild lute rung
Like the bell when a cherub is dying:
1 can tell no more,
But the tale was of woe,
For the sounds were all lost in the sighing.
And still it sung on
Till the stars were gone,
And the sun through the dews was peeping :
When 1 woke in my bower,
Eve ry leaf, every flower,
Every bud, every blossom—was weeping
® E L [E©Y IE)
HOPES.
BY FKKDERIKA BREMER,
Authoress of the ‘ Neighbors ,’ ‘the Home,’ SfC.
I, bail n method, peculiar to myself, of
walking withoutmm.hu, .1
path of life ; although I was obliged, both
physically and morally speaking, to do it
nearly bare-footed. I hoped and hoped,
from day to day, from morning to evening,
from autumn to spring, from spring to au
tumn, from this year to next year ; and thus
had I got over, with mere hope, nearly thir
ty years of my journey through life without
suffering much from any of my numerous
privations, excepting the want of whole
hoots. I consoled myself easily even for
this, when I was out in the open air; but,
in company it always gave me an uneasy
sensation to turn my heels forward, at the
least torn part. It was much harder for me
however, to have nothing to take with me
into hovels of misery, but words of consola
tion.
I comforted myself, as a thousand others
have done, with casting a hopeful glance at
Fortune's rolling wheel, and with the phi
losophical remark, ‘With time, comes coun
sel.’
In the situation of curate to a parish in
the country, with a poor salary and meagre
diet, experiencing a moral famine in the so
ciety of the scolding mistress of the house,
of the indolent, self-indulgent pastor, of the
strutting son, and of the daughter of the
family, who, with high shoulders n ci feet
turned in, was going in a;ia out, and paying
visits from mor:;j n g till night, I was sensi
ble of a peculiar emotion of pleasure
and hoy*., when I received a letter from one
my acquaintances, informing me that an
uncle who was personally unknown to me, a
merchant in Stockholm, was lying at his last
extremity, and had inquired, in a sudden fit
of death-bed affection, for his good-for-noth
ing nephew.
Seated in an uncommonly hard and jolt
ing farmer’s cart, the grateful nephew soon
set out. With a very thin, small bundle,
and a million of hopes, he rattled up and
■down the hills, and reached at last without
‘broken bones the capital city.
At the inn where I alighted, I ordered a
small, only a very small breakfast—a trifle—
•a bit of bread and butter—a couple of eggs.
The host and a stout man were walking
mpand down the room, busily talking. ‘ISo,
1 must say,’ said the stout gentleman, ‘this
great merchant, Mr. P., who died the day
before yesterday, was and odd fellow enough.
‘Yes, yes,’ thought I, ‘aha! aha! an odd
fellow, who had plenty of money ! Here,
my friend,’ said I to the servant, ‘could you
get me apiece of beef-steak,or a little some
thing solid 1 Do you hear 1 a bowl of hot
■soup would not be entirely out of place.
Get it, if you can, but be quick.’
‘Yes,’ said mine host, ‘he was pretty
strong. Thirty thousand rix dollars, and
more in the bank. Nobody in the whole ci
ty had dreamed of such a thing—thirty thou
'Thirty thousand ! 1 repeated, in my ti t-
Timphantsoul, ‘thirty thousand! HeiP.young
rtiah—waiter! give we thirty thou —no,give
me bank at—bo. give me a bottle of wine, I
*ay 1’ and from my head to my heart, the
alternate echoes ringing within me at every
pulsation—thirty thousand! thirty tbou
sand!’ , , i
‘Yes,’ proceeded the stout geutleman, and
can you really believe it, that, among the
mass of debts, there are nine hundred t*x
& JPiimtlg Jlctospaper: Dcfootetr to Hitcvatuvr, Slgriculture, jEecftaHtcs, duration, jFoteiflw Domestic tuteiUflcncc, &c.
dollars due for cutlets, and five thousand
dollars for champaigne 1 How the credi
tors are all standing round, gaping ! All the
things in the house are scarcely worth two
pence ; and without if, to maker up for this
deficiency, there stands a single miserable—
caleche !’
‘Aba! that is a Little different. Here,
young man—waiter ! take away again the
meat and the soup, and the wine ! and, do
you hear 1 take particular notice that I have
not tasted a morsel of these things ; indeed,
how should I ? for I have done nothing but
eat and drink since I opened my eyes this
morning, (a horrible falsehood.) and it just
struck me that it was not worth while, there
fore, to pay anything for such a superfluous
meal.’
‘But you have ordered it, sir,’ answered
the waiter, exceedingly provoked.
‘My friend,’ I replied, putting my hand
behind my ear, a place from which persons
who are in perplexity are accustomed to
seek necessary aid, ‘my friend, it was a mis
take, for which I am not bound to pay ; it
was not my fault, that a Tich heir, for whom
I ordered the breakfast, has become poor all
at once, indeed, poorer than before, since
he has not more than half of his credit for
the future. If, then, in such a change of cir
cumstances as you can well understand, lie
cannot pay for an expensive breakfast, yet
that does not hinder me from paying for the
eggs which I have eaten, and giving you, at
the same time, a penny for douceur, since
my allairs oblige me to go away from here
at once.’
By means of my excellent logic and good
drink money, I was able, with a bleeding
heart and thirsting lips, to get rid of my
costly breakfast, and set off with my little
bundle under my arm, to walk round the ci
ty looking for a room, which I could hire
for a small sum ; thinking, in the mean time
by what means I could procure even this
small sum.
I had got a bad headache by the sudden
shock caused me by the difference between
the reality and my hopes. But when, dur
ing my perambulations, I saw an elegantly
dressed gentleman adorned with stars and
ribbons, alighting from a splendid coach, and
1 *'***.• ami
the deep wrinkles on his forehood, and over
his eyebrows—the characteristic lines of ill
humor; when I saw', also, a young count,
whom I had known at the University at Trp
sula. walking as if he could scarcely bold
himself up from premature old age and wea
riness of life—then I raised my hand, dtew
in a long breath of air, which happened (un
luckily) just in this place to be strongly im
pregnated with the smell of sausages, and
celebrated poverty and a good conscience !
11l an obscure street in theoutskirtsof the
city, I found at last a little room better suit
ed to my darkened circumstances, than to
the bright hopes 1 had cherished a few hours
before.
I had obtained permission to pass the win
ter in Stockholm, and expected to spend my
time here quite differently from what I had
now reason to anticipate. But what was to
be done 1 The worst of all would be, to
lose courage : to cross one’s arms, and
look to Heaven for help, not much better.
‘The sun breaks forth when it is least ex
pected,’ I thought, whiledatk autumn clouds
were hovering heavily over the city. I de
termined to exert all my energies to be ob
taining, for the present, a decent support,
with something better in prospect than w- 6
opened to me under the miserable *-, a t ron .
age of the. pastor G-., at>'i meanwhile to
earn my daily bread, ’ey copying papers—a
wretched m.feans of escape from a wretched
condition.
And thus 1 passed my days in fruitless at
tempts to find ears which were not deaf, in
the w’earisome occupation of transcribing
fairly the empty ideas of empty beads, with
food constantly diminishing, and hopes as
constantly rising, until the evening, against
which 1 afterwards made a cross in my cal
endar.
My host had just left me with the friend
ly warning, to pay my first quarter’s rent
the next day, unless I should prefer (the po
liteness was quite ala Francaise,) to make
another voyage of discovery with duck and
pork through the streets of the town.
It was on an intensely cold November
evening which had worked its eighth hour,
that, on my return from a visit to & poor
sick person where 1 had—perhaps rather im
prudently—emptied my purse, 1 was gree
ted in this affectionate manner.
I snufied my dim and sleep-inspiring co
velle with my fingers, and looked around
the little dark room, for whose further use,
it was absolutely necessary I should obtain
some money.
‘Diogenes had a worse one,’ I said in a re
signed mood, while I drew a rickety table
from the window, on the outside of which
the wind and rain were not civil enough to
remain. My eyes fell at the same moment
upon a brilliantly burning fire in the chim
ney of a kitchen, tantalizingly situated just
opposite to my small room, in which the
chimney was exactly the darkest thing.—
‘Men and women cooks have a happy fate
among erring mortals!’ thought I, as I look
ed with secret envy at the jolly well-fed
dame, who was standing amid gridirons and
stew-pans,in the full splendor of the fire, like
a queen, brandishing majestically the scep
tre of the fire-tongs, in the midst of her
glowing empire.
A story higher up I had a view through
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 17, 1843.
a window veiled by an envious curtain, <f
a brightly-lighted room, where a ntimerotii
family had assembled round a well-spreat,
table.
I was thoroughly stiffened with cold and
wef —how empty in that part of the body,
sometimes called the stoie-house, I will
not mention : but oh heaven, (I thought to
myself,) if that pretty girl who is (offer ing'a
cup of tea-nectar, and such delicious cakes
to that stout gentleman on the sofa, who can
scarcely rise from over-eating, could hut
stretch out her beautiful hand far
ther, and would, she should with
a thousand kisses. In vain—ah! the lazy
man takes the cup —he dips and dips in his
biscuits so slowly and lazily—it is enongh
to make one weep to see him. How the
sweet girl caresses him ! lam envious to
know whether it is the dear Papa himself or
an uncle—or perhaps—ah, the envialde
mortal ! but no, it is quite impossible—he
at least forty years older than she is. See,
that must be his wife—an elderly lady who
sits by him on the sofa, and to whom the
young lady offers biscuits—the old lady has
a very matronly appearance. But to whom
is she going now, 1 cannot see the person ;
an ear and a part of the shoulder is all that
I can discern on account of the window
frame—l cannot complain that the honora
ble lady should sit with her back to me, but
that she should let the young lady stand be
fore her a quarter of an hour, bowing and
offering Iter refreshments—that vexes me
greatly—it must be a woman, a man could
not beso uncivil to that angel—but—or—
now she takes the cup —and now, oh mis
ery, the hand of a large man is thrust into
the cake basket; the brute ! and how he
grasps, the awkward creature—l should re
ally like to know whether he is her brother!
he was probably hungry, poor fellow. Now
two little children come into the circle—like
their sister. I cannot but wonder whether
the man with the ear has left them any thing.
How that lovely creature caresses and kiss
es the little ones ; and gives them all the bis
cuits and cakes which the long fingers of
Mr. Devour-all, have left ! And now, the
sweet attgel herself has nothing of the whole
provision any more than I —except the per
fume. ■ - ,
VV l.at
the room : the old gentleman gets up from
the sofa; the person with an ear i ushes for
ward,and in doing so gives the git Ia push,
(the dromedary !) so that she strikes against
the tea-table, throwing back upon the sofa
the poor old lady who was just getting up ;
the child ten skip and clap their hands—the
doors fly open ! a young officer steps in—
the young lady throws her arms around him.
Ah so ! Aha! There we have it! I shut
my window-shutter with violence that makes
it crack, and sit down quite wet through,
and shivering on my chair.
What bad Itodo at the window 1 That
is what one gets for his curiosity.
A week ago this family came from the
country and took possession of the fine house
just opposite, and it never came into my
head to ask who they were, or where they
came from. What occasion had I this even
ing to make myself acquainted with their
household affaits ? How should this \Titec
est me ? I was out of bume; r j heart
too was rather heavy but never
theless true to principles, never to give
myselt uy, so Anxious thoughts, unless they
cr “uid lead to some useful end. I seized
the pen with stiffened fingerg, and in order
to direct my thoughts, I determined to at
tempt to draw a picture of domestic happi
ness—ol a happiness—of a happiness which
L had never enjoyed. For the rest 1 philo
sophized wltile I breathed upon my frozen
hands: “Am I then the first who has
sought in the hot-house of fancy a warmth
which the hard world of reality has denied
him ? Six dollars a cord for birchvvood ;
but it will not last till December. 1 write!’
• Happy, thrice happy the families in
whose narrow circle, no heart can grieve or
rejoice alone—no glance, no smile can be
unreturned —and where friends say to each
other daily with actions rather than words
—‘thy happiness, are mine too.’
‘ Beautiful is the peaceful, the quiet home,
which protectingly incloses the weary pil
grim of earth, which collects around the
friendly blazing hearth—the old man lean
ing on the staff’—the strong middle-aged
man, the loving wife and happy children,
who dance and sport around their blessed
earthly heaven, and who finish a day passed
in innocence, with grateful prayers upon
their smiling lips ; falling asleep on the
breast of their parents, while the soil voice
of the mother tells them in whispering lul
laby tones, how around their couch
The Angels are awake,
Forming a circle,
Surrounding the beds,
Where innocence sleeps.’
There I was oldiged to leave off’, for I felt
something like a drop of rain coming from
my eyes, which prevented my seeing how
to write fairly.
‘ How many,’ thought I, my reflections
taking involuntarily a melancholy turn—
‘how many are obliged to their sorrow, to
go without t’ne highest bliss of earthly life—
domestic happiness !’ I looked at myself
fora moment in the only whole mirror which
I had in.my room—that of truth, and then
wrote again with sad feelings, ‘He may
entirely be called unfortunate who, in the
chill and anxious hours of life, (which occur
so often,) is ptessed to no faithful heart
whose sighs no one answers, whoso silent
sorrow no one softens, by saying—l under
stand you ! I suffer with you!
‘ He is cast down, no one raises him up ;
he weeps, no one sees it, no one w ill see it ;
he goes out, no one follows him; he rests,
no one watches over him—he is solitary:
O how unhappy he is. Why does be not
die? Ah, who would weep for him ? How
colj is a grave, bedewed by no warm tears
of iftection !
‘He is solitary in tlie winter nights : for
him the earth has no flowers, and the lights
of leaven burn dimly. Why should he
walk forth, the solitary one—why should he
stay inthe house, why does he not flee away
a shadow among shadows ? Ah he still
hopes—he is a poor wretch, begging for
joy, who still, in the eleventh hour, waits for
the benevolent hand that shall give him
alms.
‘He would gather one little flower on
earth, and wear it iu his bosom, that be need
not afterwards go to rest so solitarily, so en
tirely alone.’
I was describing my own situation—l
was lamenting over myself.
Deprived of my parents in early life,
without brothers and sisters, friends or rela
tions,! still remained so solitary and desert
ed ill the world, thaf f migk* niXou 1.0 17., vviot.
ed toquit it, if I had not an inward trust in
Heaven, and a naturally cheerful tempera
ment. Until now, however, I had almost
constantly hoped in the future—and at the
same time with an instinctive feeling that
this was best, rather than from philosophy, I
had suppressed all to earnest desires for pie
sent comfort, when it was entirely out of my
power. But for some time, this had been
unfortunately not the case with me ; I felt,
and more than ever this evening, an inex
pressible desire to have someone to love
—to have a friend with me—one who should
be mine—in short, for the highest happiness
of life, a wife, a beloved and adored wife.
O, she would console me, she would make
mo happy ; her tenderness would make me
a king, though in the poorest cottage. That
the fire of love in my heart would not se
cure the faithful friend at my side from free
zing, was made but too certain, by the in
ftis
ever, and walked round my room a few
times—that is I took two steps forward, and
then turned directly about. The conscious
ness of iny condition followed me as the sha
dow on the wall, and for the first time in my
life, I felt dejected, and threw a dark look
into my obscure futurity. I had no patron,
and could not therefore for a long time ex
pect any income, by which to procure even
my own bread—ergo, nothing fora friend—
nothing for a wife.
‘ But of what use in the world,’ said I
again quite seriously to myself, ‘is complain
ing I I tried once again to dismiss all my
anxious thoughts. ‘Ah! if but one Chris
tian soul would come to me this evening.
Whoever it might be, friend or foe any
thing is better than his solitude. Yes, even
it an iiihabitP’ut the invisible world should
ope l ’ Liitj uoor, he should be welcome to me!
‘V ho is this V Three knocks at the door 1
I cannot believe—three more ! 1 went to
the door and opened it; there was no one
there. Blasts of wind alone were howling
through the passage. I shut the door again
hastily, thrust my hands into my pockets,
and walked about humming to myself a lit
tle while. A few minutes afterwards I
thought 1 heard a sigh : I was silent, and
listened—again I distinctly heard a sigh,
and yet again, so deep and so melancholy,
that I cried out with inward distress : ‘Who
is there V No answer.
I stood still an instant, considering what
this might portend, when a frightful noise on
the stairs, as if a legion of cats were cater
wauling on the*anding-place, and finishing
by a violent knock at my door, put an end
to my uncertainty. I took up the candle
and a stick, and went out. At the instant
that I opened the door, the candle was
blown out. A gigantic figure in white, ap
proached tne, and I felt myself suddenly
seized by two strong arms. I shrieked for
help, and struggled so manfully to get free,
that I fell to the ground with my antagonist,
hut in such a manner that I was the upper
most. I sprang up again swift as an arrow,
and was going away to get a light, when 1
stumbled over something—God knows who’
it was; (l firmly believe that someone took
me by tho heels,) be that as it may, 1 fell a
second time, struck my bead against the ta
ble and lost my consciousness, bearing at
the same time a provoking noifb, which much
resembled laughter.
When I opened piy -eyes, they were met
by a dazzling biightncss. I closed them
again, and listened to a confused murmuring
around me—opened then, again a little, and
endeavored to distinguish the oiyects about
me, which seemed so extraordinary and
wonderful, that I was almost afraid that my
senses were disturbed. I was laying on the
sofa, and—no, I certainly was not mistaken
—tlie charming girl who had been constant
ly hovering before my fancy this evening,
stood actually at my side, and with a heav
enly expression of sympathy, was washing
my head with vinegar. A young man whose
countenance seemed familiar to me, was
holding my hand in both of his. I perceiv
ed also the stout gentleman, another thin
one, the lady, the children, and in a more
remote twilight 1. saw glimmering the para
dise of the tea-table ; I found myself by an
inconceivable whim of fate, in the midst of
the family I had just beui observing with so
lively an interest.
Afterwards, when I had fuliy recovered
my senses, the young man embraced me sev
eral times with military impetuosity. “Do
you not recognize me then ?” lie cried out,
astouished to see me like a statue in soul
and body. “ Have you then so entirely for
gotten Augustus Do., whose life you pre
served so lately at tlie risk of your own 1
whom you so bravely fished out of the wa
ter, exposing yourself to the danger of re
maining forever in the uninteresting society
of fishes ? See here: my father, my mother,
my sister Wilhelmina !” I pressed his hand,
and now the parents also embraced me.—
With a loud stroke of his fist on the table,
jhe father of Augustus now exclaimed :
“ And because you have saved my son’s life,
and because you are so good and honorable
a fellow, and suffer hunger yourself while
you give bread to others, therefore you shall
have the curacy at Halle—yes, you shall be
shepherd of the flock I say. 1 have juat
patronatus, you must know.”
I was not for a long time able to under
stand, think or speak, and not until by a
thousand explanations all was explained,
could I understand anything clearly, but
*hat Willw.lminn wns not —that Wilhelmina
was the sister of Augustus.
He had arrived that evening from service
with his regiment, when with which duiirtg
the preceding summer, an accident had giv
en me an opportunity of rescuing him from
a danger into which he had thrown himself
by youthful ardor and presumption. I had
not seen him after this circumstance; had
accidentally made his acquaintance at an ear
lier period—taking with him the cup of bro
therhood at the University, and afterwards
forgotten my dear lirother.
He had now, with the easily-kindled en
thusiasm of youth, been telling these cir
cumstances to liis family, and what else he
knew or did not know about me. The fath
er who had a living at his disposal, and who
(as I afterwards learned,) had made from
his window some compassionate observa
tions upon my meagre dinner-table, deter
mined, at his son’s earnest entreaties, to taise
me from the lap of poverty to the height of
teiicity. Augustus in nisr transport, wisn
ing to make me immediately acquainted
with my good fortune, and at the same lime
to indulge his fancy for droll tricks; an
nounced himself on my stairs in a manner,
whose consequences for me were a consider
able, though not dangerous contusion upon
my head, and the unexpected transition to
the opposite side of the street—from the
deepest darkness to the brightest light. The
good young man begged my pardon a thou
sand times for bis bcedlessness : I assured
him a thousand, times, that it was not worth
while to spcaj; of so trifling a circumstance.
And certainly the curacy was a balsam which
Would have made a deeper wound unfelt.
With surprise and some embarrassment,
I now perceived that the ear and shoulder,
whose possessor made such a frightful grasp,
in the cake-basket, and at which my wrath
was so much kindled, belonged to the father
of Augustus, and my patron. The stout
gatitlcman vyfjtj sat oir tlie soIB, was NYll*
hehijiua’s uncle.
The kindness and cheerfulness of my new
friends, soon made me feel happy and at
home. The old people treated me as one
of their children, the young man es a bro
ther, and the two little ones seemed to re
gard me as a future companion for their
sports and frolics.
After I had received two cups of tea from
Wilhelrnina’s beautiful hand, to which l had
almost feared that in my absence of mind,
I should add .more biscuit than did my
worthy patron, 1 rose to take leave. They
entreated me to pass the night at their
house, but I remained fixed in my deter
mination to pass the first night of happiness
in my old habitation, in giving thanks to tlie
High Ruler of my destiny.
They all embraced me anew, and I em
braced them also very heartily, even Wil
hclmina, yet not till a gracious permission
was granted. “ I might as well have let that
alone,” I thought to myself afterwards, “if it
is to he the first and last time !” Augustus
went back with me.
In my room we found mine host in the
midst of overturned tables and chairs, with
an expression of countenance hovering be
tween rain and sunshine ; on one side of
his face his mouth was stretched open as far
as the ear, with a horrible smile ; on the oth
er side it was drawn down to the chin with
vexation ; his eyes followed the same direc
tion, and the whole had the appealance of
a cramp, until the manner in which Au
gustus ordered him to leave us alone,
changed his whole aspect into that of the
most friendly grin ; while the man himself
vanished from the door with the most hum
ble bows.
Augustus was in despair about my table,
my chair, my bed, &c ; I had much difficul
ty in restraining him from beating the host,
who insisted on being paid for sttch a hole I
I could only satisfy him by making a solemn
promise that I would go somewhere elso
the very next day. “ But be sure to tell
him,” Augustus insisted, “ before you pay
him, that he is a rogue, a rascal, a , or
if you will not, I will tell him sci.” “ No, no,
beware !” I said, interrupting him,“ let roe
alone, I will make all right.”
After my young friend had left me, I pass
ed a few happy houtsin thinking of the
j number 12.
WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
change in my prospects, and in blessing God
for it.
Then my thoughts fixed on my parsonage;
and heaven knows what fat oxen and cows,
what parks adorned with flowers, fruits arid
vegetables, I saw in spirit surrounding my
beautiful paradise, in which my Eve was
walking by my side, and supported by my
arm ; and, especially, what countless num
bers of happy and improved human beings
I saw streaming out of the church in which
I had been preaching. I christened, I con
firmed, I married the dear children of my
flock; in the joy of my heart, 1 forgot only
the burying.
Every hungry priest who has obtained a
living, every mortal, especially one who sees
a long-cherished hope unexpectedly fulfil
led, may imagine my feelings.
Later in the night, a veil seemed to fall
before my eyes, and my thoughts fell, by
degrees, into a state of confusion which cre
ated all sorts of extraordinary images. I
was preaching with a loud voice in my
church, and the whole congregation were
sleeping. After the service, the people, as
they came from church, were transformed
into oxen and cows, who came lowing to
meet me, when 1 was about to admonish
them. 1 attempted to embrace my wife,
but cotilJ > oeptoto tier (Tom a larfTfi
cow, which was continually increasing in
size, and finally grew over the heads of us
both. I tried to climb up to heaven upon a
ladder—the stars shining down upon mo
clearly and invitingly—but potatoes, grass,
pea-vines, and straw, were unmercifully
twisted about my feet, and prevented every
step. At last 1 found myself going heels
ovei head in the midst of my possessions,
and while I was wondering quietly at my
self in my sleepy soul, I fell soundly asleep
while thinking about my dreams. Still, I
carried on unconsciously, the chain of my
pastoral thoughts, and went on preaching in
my sleep during the whole of the night, for,
in the morning, I was awakened by the
sound of my own voice, uttering a loud
“ Amen.”
That the events of the evening before,
were real truths, and not wholly dreams, I
could not easily persuade myself, until Au
gustus came in and invited me to dine with
ms parents.
The parsonage, Wilhelmina, the dinner,
the new succession of hopes for the future,
which were.illuminated by the clear sun of
the present, all surprised me anew, with a
joy which may indeed be felt, but which can
hever be described.
I welcomed from the depths of a thank
ful heart this new life which was opening
upon me, with the fixed determination, that,
whatever might come of it, yet that I would
always endeavor to do right and to hove for
the best.
Two years aftqrWards, I was sitting ohe
summer afternoon at my dear parsonage,
before a cheerful fire. Near Vne was sitting
my sweet Wilhelmina, at herspinnitig-wheel.
I Was just about to read to bet a little ser
mon which I intended to deliver next Sun
day, and from which I promised tnyself
much edification both for her ami the wfoJ
cuiigiegaimn. wnTle I was turfiifig it ovei,
a loose leaf fell out; it was the very paper
on which, the same day two years before,
under totally different circumstances, I had
written down my sad and happy thoughts,
I showed it to my wife. She read it, smi
led with a tear in her eye, arrd with rather
a roguish look, which is, I belreVe, peculiar
to herself, she took her pen anrd Wrote on
the other side of the paper :
“The author can now, God/be praised,
make a sketch of himself, which shall be
exactly opposite to this which be drew in
an unhappy hour of a wretched solitary
mortal.
“ He is no longer solitary, no longer for
lorn. The silent sigh is answered, his se
cret sorrow is shared by a tenderly attach
ed wife. He goes out, her heart follows
him; he comes back, she goes smiling to
meet him ; his tears do not flow unmarked,
they are dried by her hand, and bis smile is
again reflected in hers ; she gathers flowers
to adorn his brow, or to streW in his path,
He has a family, attached friends, ahd wants
among his oWn relatives all those who have
none.”
My Wilhelmina had described truly the
happy present, and kindled by feelings
which are bright and joyful as the rays of
the spring sun, I will now, os before, let my
little troop of light hopes dance on into the
future.
I hope, then, that my next Sunday’s ser
mon will not be without benefit to my hear
ers; and should the tired ones sleep, I hope
that I shall not let that, or any of the great
er or smaller inconveniences of life go to
my heart, or disturb my tranquility. I know
my Wilhelmina, and 1 think I know myself
too, well enough to hope with certainty that
I shall always make her happy. The sweet
angel has given me a hope that she will
soon add another to the number of our tru
ly happy little household, J hope there will
be more in future. For tny child I have all
sorts of hopes ill petto. Should I have a son.
I hope that he will be my successor; should
I have a daughter, so—if Augustus should
wait—but, I believe, that he is now about
to marry.
I hope, in lime, to find a publisher sot my
set mens.
I hope to live with my wife at least a
hundred years,