VAN COURT'S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THE FIRST SORROW. BY ALARIC A. WATTS. 'Tis her first sorrow; but to her as deep As the great griefs maturer hearts that wring, And pick the mimic cherry on her lip. The willing captive that her eye could chain, Her voice arrest, howe'er inclined to roam, The household god (worshipped, alas! in vain,) Whose radiant wings flashed sunshine through her home Pressed to her bosom, now can feel no more ""Twas but a bird;" but when life's years are few, 'Tis her first sorrow-and she feels the more That sorrow's name she scarce hath known till now; A softer shade hath settled on her brow. The bitter tears that would not be repressed Are dried, like dew-drops on the sun-touched leaf; At length hath yielded to a tenderer grief. She weeps no more-her very sighs are stilled- VOL. 1.-10-o'r '51-K 439 [From Fraser's Magazine.] GABRIELLE; OR, THE SISTERS. Those who weep not here, shall weep eternally here. after. Ecclesia Graca Monumenta. DIM voices haunt me from the past-for the dream of life is dreamed, and may now be revealed; the dreamer is loitering on the Bier Path leading to the green grass mounds, whence mouldering hands seem to point upward and say, "Look thy last on the blue skies, and come rest with us." I have no happy childhood to recall; for I began to think so early, that pain and thought are linked together. I had a father, and a sister two years my senior; and our home was a small cottage, surrounded by a flowergarden, on the outskirts of a town, where the chime of church-bells was distinctly heard. These are sweet, romantic associations; but "garden flowers," and "silvery chimes," and "childhood's home," are words which awaken no answering chord in my heart-for Reality was stern, and Fancy wove no fabric of fairy texture wherewith to cover the naked truth. My mother died when I was born; and my father was a thin, pale man, always wrapped in flannels about the head and throat, and moving slowly with the aid of a stick. He never breakfasted with us-we were kept in the kitchen, to save firing-but he came down late in the forenoon, and when it was warm and sunshiny, he would take a gentle stroll into the fields, never townward. We dined at a late hour, and there were always delicacies for my father; and after dinner he sat over his wine, smoking segars and reading the newspapers, till it was time to go to bed. He took little notice of Gabrielle or me, except to command silence, or to send us for any thing he wanted. There were two parlors in the cottage, one at each side of the door; the furniture was scanty and mean, and the parlor on the left-hand side never had a fire in it, for my father always inhabited the other. It was bitter cold for Gabrielle and me in this left-hand room during the winter, for we were often turned in there to amuse ourselves; our sole domestic-an ancient Irish servitor, retained by my father solely on account of her culinary accomplishments-never admitted us poor shivering girls into the kitchen when she was cooking, for, said Nelly, "If I am teased or narvous, I shall, maybe, spoil the dinner, and then our Lady save us from the masther's growl." No one ever came near us-we seemed utterly neglected, and our very existence unknown. The house was redolent with the fumes of tobacco, and the garden where we played was a wilderness of weeds, among which roses bloomed in summer, and Gabrielle and I watched for their coming with delight: those summer roses, on the great tangled bushes, were surely more beautiful to us than to other and more fortunate children-we gathered and preserved each leaf as it fell, and never was fragrance so delicious! Now it may naturally be supposed, that from ignorance our impressions were not painful; but from the time when I first began to notice and comprehend, I also began to bitterly feel our condition, and Gabrielle felt it far more than I did. We knew that we were half-starved, half-clad, neglected, unloved creatures, and that our parent was a personification of Selfishness. We saw other children prettily dressed, walking past with their mothers or nurses-or trotting to school, healthful and happy; and our hearts yearned to be like them-yearned for a mother's kiss! Gabrielle was habitually silent and proud, though often passionate when we were at play together; but the outburst was soon over, and she hugged me again directly. I early learned to dislike all ugly things from gazing on her-her beauty was of a kind to dazzle a child-she was so brilliantly fair and colorless, with clustering golden hair falling to her waist, and large soft blue eyes, which always made me think of heaven and the angels; for, thanks to His mercy, I knew of them when I was yet a child. Of course we were unacquainted with our father's history as we afterward heard it. He was of a decayed but noble family, andalas! it is a commonplace tale-he had ruined his fortunes and broken his wife's heart by gambling. Worse even than this, he was irretrievably disgraced and lost to society, having been detected as a cheat; and broken down in every sense of the word, with a trifling annuity only to subsist on, he lived, as I remember him, pampered, luxurious, and utterly forgetful of all save Self. And, oh! God grant there be none-poor or rich, high or low-who can repeat the sacred name of "father" as I do, without an emotion of tenderness, without the slightest gossamer thread of love or respect twined around the memory to bind the parental benediction thereto. Nelly had followed our deceased mother from her native isle, for she too was Irish, and clung to our father, ministering to his habits and tastes, a good deal, I believe, for our sakes, and to keep near us. She was a coarse woman; and, unlike her race in general, exhibited but few outward demonstrations of attachment. When her work was done in the evening, she sometimes taught us the alphabet, and to spell words of three letters; the rest we mastered for ourselves, and taught each other, and so in process of time we were able to read. The like with writing: Nelly pointed out the rudiments, and Gabrielle, endowed with magical powers of swift perception, speedily wrought out lessons both for herself and me. The only books in the house were a cookery-book; a spelling-book which Nelly borrowed; a great huge History of England, which formed her usual footstool; and an ancient, equally large Bible, full of quaint pictures. Would that I had the latter blessed volume bound in gold now, and set with diamonds! A new epoch opened in my life. I had already thought, now I understood; and the light divine dawned on my soul as Nelly, the humble instrument of grace, in simple words explained all that was wanting for our faith is very simple, notwithstanding the ineffable glories of Jesus and redemption. I dreamed by night of Jesus and of angels, and of shepherds watching their flocks all seated on the ground;" and I used to ask Nelly if she did not think an angel must be just like Gabrielle, with shining wings, certainly? But Nelly would say that Miss Gabrielle was too proud for an angel, and never likely to become one unless she liked her Bible better; and it was too true that my darling sister had not the same love for holy things that I had then. She liked to read of Queen Bess and Bluff King Hal; but when we found our way to a church, and heard the chanting, her emotions far surpassed mine, and she sobbed outright. At length Gabrielle, who had been pondering many days without speaking, confided to me her determination to ask our father to send us to school. "Why should I not ask him, Ruth?" she said. "I wonder we never thought of it before-only he is always poorly, or smoking, or drinking." I observed her beautiful lip curl as she spoke in a contemptuous tone, and I thought that Jesus taught not so; but I feared to speak-so I wept, and knelt down alone and prayed for my sister. Gabrielle did ask him, and my father laid down his paper, and took the segar from his mouth, gazing in dull amazement at the speaker, but I saw his gaze become more earnest and observant as he said, "Why, girl, how old are you?" "I was thirteen last month," replied Gabrielle. "You are a monstrous tall girl of your age, then, I declare; and you have learned to read from Nelly, haven't you?" nonsense; you can read, and write, and sew, and what more would you have? Pass the claret nearer, and reach me those segars; and take yourselves off, for my head is splitting." I must draw a vail over Gabrielle's passion when we were alone. "It is not for myself only that I sorrow," she exclaimed, as her sobs subsided; "but you, poor, little, delicate thing, with your lameness, what is to become of you in the big world if you are left alone? You can not be a servant; and what are we to do without education? for Nelly has told me our father's income dies with him." Her expressions were incoherent; and when I tried to comfort her, by assurances that the blessed Saviour cared for the fatherless, she turned away and left me. So ended the first and last application to our parent. When I remember Gabrielle's career from that period to her sixteenth year, I much marvel at the precocity of intellect she exhibited, and the powers of mind with which she was endowed. We had no money to procure books-no means to purchase even the common necessaries of clothing, which too often made us ashamed to appear in church. But suddenly Gabrielle seemed to become a woman, and I her trusting child. She was silent and cold; but not sullen or cold to me, though her mouth became compressed as if from bitter thought, and never lost that expression again, save when she smiled. Oh, that sunny smile of radiant beauty! I see it now-I see it now! I tried to win her, by coaxing and fondling, to read the Holy Book; but Gabrielle said we were outcasts, and deserted by God. When I heard that my wan cheeks burned with indignation, and I exclaimed, "You are wicked to say so;" but Gabrielle was not angry, for tears stood in her eyes as she fixed them on me, whispering, "Poor little cripple-sweet, gentle, loving sister-the angels that whisper these good things to you pass me over. I hear them not, Ruth." "Sister, sister, they speak and you will not hear: do you think the stupid, lame Ruth is favored beyond the clever, the beautiful, the noble Gabrielle ?" Then with an outburst of passionate love she would take me in her arms, and weep long and bitterly. I knew that I could not enter into the depths of her feelings, but 1 comprehended her haughty bearing and scornful glances; for the neighbors looked at us pitifully, and Gabrielle writhed beneath it; child as she was, there was something "Then you must go to some charity school, awful and grand in her lonely majesty of miss, for I have no money to pay for such' demeanor. Her self-denying, constant devo "Yes, we have," was the quiet reply; "but we wish to learn something more than that." |