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I
am an old man, and time has robbed me of many blessings; but, God be
thanked, I still enjoy the possession of all my faculties. My frame is
bent and suffering, but my mind is strong as ever, and my memory
faithful in bringing before me every circumstance connected with bygone
days, and those loved ones who have been taken from me. While I sit by
my solitary hearth; musing on scenes long past, what consolation it is
to feel that the separation from all I have held dear cannot last much
longer; for I am full of years, and the time is fast approaching when
the short feverish dream of life will be exchanged for the pure unfading
joys of eternity. With age I have not become selfish, and if it is not
in my power to bestow happiness, it is, at least, one of my chief
pleasures to witness it. In my time I have mixed equally with those
whose wealth enabled them to command all of the pomp and luxuries of the
world, and with those whose hardly-earned means were too limited to
procure many of the necessaries of life. Still, believe me, my friends,
it has not been among the former class that I have met with the most
frequent instances of happiness.
We
are too apt to imagine that happiness is dependent upon outward
circumstances; but it is not the place in which we reside, nor our
condition in life that can make us happy; a contented disposition and
reliance on the Almighty are the true essentials of human happiness,
whether in the cottage or the palace. These alone make us regard
annoyances and disappointments with lighthearted indifference, and
enable us to bear our severer trials with fortitude and hope. But as
example teaches better than precept, I will relate you a story, a true
story, and you shall follow out the moral for yourselves.
"Years
have passed since I first saw the gentle being who is the heroine of my
tale, yet I think I see her, as I beheld her then, seated on her
father's knees; her arms thrown wildly round his neck, her head nestled
in his bosom, beseeching, him to fetch her mother back, for it was on
the day that had consigned that mother to the grave: and the sight of
the child's distress was more than my poor friend could bear. With some,
gentle force I succeeded in carrying her into an adjoining room, where,
after I had exhausted all my ingenuity in the vain attempt to soothe
her, she wept herself to sleep.
"At
this time Zillah Levisson, for that was her name, was scarcely four
years old; she was too young to understand her loss in its full extent;
still she missed the fond caresses and tender care which a mother only
can bestow. She pined and fretted, and watched anxiously from day to day
for her return, till at length time softened down her grief, and the
pale countenance, that had so often bent over her in love and kindness,
came back upon her memory only at distant intervals, like the faint
indistinct vision of a long past dream. Her face recovered its smiles,
her childish sports again amused her, and she became by degrees the same
merry, happy little creature she had been before.
"Mr.
Levisson had been in earlier life one of my most intimate friends, but
events had separated us, and I had entirely lost sight of him, until
chance threw us together, about the period of his wife's death. He was a
man of deep learning, and by profession a teacher of Hebrew and the law.
His profits were small, but sufficed to enable him to live in tolerable
comfort and respectability.
"He
resided in a small house, in one of the narrowest streets in London. He
kept one servant, an old faithful creature, who had served him many
years, but whose increasing infirmities rendered her but of little use;
and therefore, when his wife died, he arranged that his pupils should
attend him at his own house; in order that he might be enabled to watch
at all times over his darling Zillah. She was the only surviving child
of seven, and all that was left to her widowed father to love and care
for.
"For
her sake he struggled with his grief, and his chief worldly aim was to
lay by some provision for her future support, so that, when it pleased
Providence to take him from her, she need not be obliged to depend
entirely on her own exertions for a scanty and precarious existence.
"Mr.
Levisson's life had been one of many trials, but he remembered that 'God
chasteneth those whom he
loveth,' and he felt that every sorrow had brought him nearer to the
All-wise Disposer of events; and when he gazed on the round rosy cheek
of his child, and listened to her gay and hearty laugh, he felt
comforted, and owned with gratitude, that there is no state so utterly
wretched, as to be without some point of comfort to redeem it, some
counterpoise to alleviate its misery.
"Being
a truly pious man, and possessing a heart almost womanly in its
tenderness, he was well qualified to supply the place of her lost
parent.
"As
soon as she was old enough, he instructed her in all that he thought
would elevate her mind, without creating vanity, or a feeling of
discontent with her humble station. Above all, he loved to strengthen
and confirm those natural impulses of devotion which beat in every
child's breast, into those fixed principles which serve as unerring
guides through the trials of adversity and temptation. The child would
sit for hours on the low stool at his feet, her soft, intelligent eyes
fixed on his face, her hand enclasped within his listening with mute
attention, while he spoke of the beauties of God's works—his constant
care over all that he hath created, his benevolence, his never-failing
mercies; and her eye would kindle with enthusiasm, and she would beg him
earnestly to teach her how she might please this All-powerful Being; and
then he would instil into her willing mind the holy truths of our
blessed faith, and show her how clear and simple is the word of God, and
how very easy to obey. Nor was she led to think only on serious
subjects, she learned also to become practically useful: and by the time
she had attained her twelfth year, she had become a person of no small
importance.
"She
had the sole management of their little household, and she knew better
than many an older person, how to combine a comfortable sufficiency with
strict economy. No house in the street was so clean or well kept as Mr.
Levisson's: Zillah was never idle, and there was quite enough for her to
do, for, as I said before, old Grace's duties were almost nominal; to be
sure she bustled about a good deal, but I could see that all the
neatness and arrangement of that humble home might be traced to the good
sense and industry of my little friend.
''She
was passionately fond of flowers; her window-sill was always filled with
plants that did credit to her care. I remember once, when she was
plucking off the withered leaves of a rose-tree, she turned round upon
us, with a glowing face and triumphant air, 'See,' said she, 'this
rose‑tree is already beginning to blow, is, it not lovely? what a
charming world we live in: I wonder how Grace can say that misery is the
lot of every one; it is not mine, nor,' added she, embracing him, 'yours,
dear father, is it?'
Mr.
Levisson sighed, he parted back her dark locks, and pressed his lips to
her forehead: 'Poor child,' he murmured, as she turned again to her
flowers, 'poor child, she has not lived long enough to learn that one
sad remembrance of the past, is sufficient to cast a dark gloom over the
present and the future;' tears stood in his eyes, and I could see that
he was pouring forth a silent prayer that his child might be saved from
the bitter pangs which beset us on the thorny path of life. Happy
childhood! with its trusting confidence, its heedlessness of all save
the passing hour: how fleeting are its moments of grief, like April
showers, so transient, so quickly forgotten in the sunshine which
succeeds. Of all childhoods, I believe that of the humble and middle
classes is the happiest. The children of the rich and high are left to
the care, and too often to the neglect and cruelty of hired attendants,
whilst those of the poor are kept under the loving eye of their parents;
their feelings are understood; their affection returned; their attempts,
at usefulness, which all children so much delight in, neither treated
with contempt, nor punished as troublesome interference. Parents and
their children are of mutual assistance to each other, and their life is
a constant interchange of love. But, dear readers, should you ever
become parents, remember that much depends upon yourselves; you
must be at once the friend and instructor of your little ones; lead
them, not by threats or bribery, but through their best feelings,
to obey you; teach them by example the value of industry, the love of
virtue, and the consolation of prayer; and thus you will raise up to
yourselves so many friends, who, by their affection and integrity, will
form your solace through life."
Chapter 2.
"One
evening when I called on Mr. Levisson, I observed an unusual stir in the
house adjoining, which for some time past had been empty. Grace told me
that it was let, and that the new tenants had only taken possession that
day.
"The
family consisted of a widow and her two children, one a girl of
fourteen, the other a boy nearly six years younger. The latter was an
invalid, and from the effects of a long journey had become seriously
worse since their arrival. Zillah and her father had not long returned
from offering all the assistance the circumstances admitted of. Zillah
could talk of nothing but her new neighbours, she was so pleased at the
idea of having a companion of her own age, and amused herself in forming
a thousand plans for their future occupations.
"As
I was desirous to know the sort of people from whom my little favourite
would most likely take her first notions of her fellow-creatures, I made
her introduce me to them the very next day. Mrs. Sloman was clever and
agreeable, but there was a fawning, flattering way with her, that made
me doubt her sincerity; and her daughter Sarah, though a fine lively
girl, was too forward and conceited to please me. Joseph, the little
sufferer, interested me much; but, indeed, he was so sweet tempered
under his sufferings, that he soon became endeared to us all.
"Zillah,
whose warm heart was full of kind feelings, was never better pleased
than when permitted to watch beside his couch; and her gentle step and
soft voice were looked for with eagerness by the poor little fellow,
who, perhaps, valued her attention all the more from the contrast it
afforded to the thoughtless indifference of his sister.
"It
so happened that after Mrs. Sloman had been settled in the neighbourhood
some months, an epidemic broke out in the street, and attacked all the
children; Sarah and Zillah had it slightly, but upon the feeble frame of
the invalid it fell heavily, and shortened, perhaps in mercy, the last
lingering hours of his fragile existence. When he died, his mother at
first refused all consolation, and gave way to the most noisy and
frantic grief; but, like all violent emotions, it quickly exhausted
itself, and she very soon seemed to forget the poor boy altogether.
"The
selfish do not mourn long for those whose absence does not materially
diminish their personal comforts, and selfishness was a prevailing
feature in Mrs. Sloman's character. As for Sarah, her admiration of her
new black frock banished all sorrow for the cause. Zillah appeared to
feel his loss the most, and remained so long pale, sad, and languid,
that her father became at last seriously anxious about her. Bad health
robs us of our activity, and many of the little duties which Zillah had
hitherto innocently prided herself on, were now left undone. Mrs.
Sloman, who was a constant visitor, never allowed any omission to pass
unnoticed, and while pretending to screen Zillah, from any blame,
artfully contrived to make it appear the result of neglect and
carelessness; still she was always expressing anxiety about her health,
and in various ways assumed so great an affection and solicitude for
Zillah, that Mr. Levisson's gratitude was excited, and she
imperceptibly gained considerable influence over him.
"Some
time during every year, it was my custom to pass a few weeks with a
relative residing in the county of D—; seeing Zillah growing thinner
and paler every day, I resolved to fix on the present time for my visit,
and I prevailed on Mr. Levisson to let her accompany me; our
preparations were soon made, and after a pleasant journey, every mile of
which seemed to add new life and vigour to my companion, we arrived at
the rural picturesque house of my friend; the change of scene, and the
pure fresh air soon made Zillah as strong and rosy as the robust country
children to whom I had introduced her: time glided happily on, and more
than two months having already passed, we began to think of returning,
when I was seized with a severe fit of the gout, which threatened to lay
me up for some time. Zillah wrote frequently to her father, and one of
her chief pleasures was to receive his letters in reply; latterly they
had been very short, but they were full of affection and fond
anticipations of the cheerful, happy days which were in store for Zillah
on her return home. One morning she entered my room with a disappointed
countenance; she had just received her usual letter, but, instead of
being from her father, it was from Sarah Sloman, and ran thus:
"'Dear
Zillah,—Your father sends his best love, and, as you are now so well,
he sees no reason why you should not come home, and so he wishes you to
come up next Friday in the early coach, and he will be at the place
where you stop, to bring you home; you will have such a surprise
when you come home; but can't say more at present. Good bye, and believe
me,
"'Yours ever,
"'Sarah Sloman.
"'P.S.
1.—Mother sends her love, and compliments to Mr. B.
"'P.S. 2.—Mother says she will be obliged if you will bring up
some flowers and a basket of apples.
"'Tuesday.'
"Zillah
and I felt sorry that Mr. Levisson should have deputed Sarah to convey
his wishes, and we were puzzled about the surprise alluded to. I confess
I had some misgivings on the subject, though I did not name them to
Zillah. As there was no chance of my being able to leave my chamber for
some time, and Zillah's health no longer affording any plea for her
continued absence, we were obliged to obey orders, and prepared for her
returning alone. I made her promise to write constantly, and tell me all
that concerned herself; and the accounts she sent me, together with what
I afterwards learnt, enable me to relate the incidents that follow.
(To
be continued.) |
