nothing might have happened to his darling Mary; and the little children listened for her step, and wondered what she would bring them; for she seldom came empty-handed, often putting aside a portion of her own dinner for her young favourites, and sometimes, but very rarely, having a small piece of cake or pudding actually given her for that purpose; for when Mary did talk, it was always of others-she never asked anything for herself. The sick woman, also, looked eagerly for the hour of her return; her dull, heavy eyes glistening with pleasure as she heard that cheerful voice first silencing the noisy clamour of the little ones, and then asking, so kindly, how she felt, and what she could do for her, and whether she would like to hear her read a chapter. For Mary had no book but the bible; neither did they require any other. Or she would sit down, and do "a stitch of work" for her, as she called it. Poor Mary! many a weary stitch had she set that day; but this was a labour of love! As Mrs. M- grew worse, she and another woman, who lived in the same house, and was ever ready to do a kindness to a sick neighbour, whenever her own numerous avocations permitted, took it by turns to sit up with her, After which, Mary would snatch a few hours' rest, and go forth as usual to her work; often so weary as to be very near falling asleep over it several times in the course of the day. As we have said, she was far from strong; and her old mother often feared for her, but forbore to interfere. There was a poor widow lodging in the same house, who supported herself and four children by taking in washing—a bustling, kind-hearted, rough-spoken woman, whom most people began by fearing and ended with loving. They all lived hardly enough at times, but contentedly nevertheless. And after Mrs. M's illness, it was by no means an unfrequent occurrence to see six instead of four young faces gathered around her simple board, and eating their morning and evening meals together, just as if they had been all one family. A porringer more or less-what does it matter?" thought the good widow. "I shall never miss it!" other way of managing it. God knows, the poor have little enough to bestow upon one another but spare time and kind words, and they need not grudge those, any how!" 66 who also went out to work. We have often In the same house was another dressmaker, thought what a startling amount it would make, to reckon up all the poor dressmaker-girls living in only one narrow street in some populous neighbourhood; and actually, as the phrase is, much below the average price, in order to secure eating each other up:" that is, working so custom, that in the end all are forced to come down to the same low standard to keep themselves from starving; which is as much as they can contrive to do with all their unceasing exertions. When the younger of Mrs. M- -'s childrensickened of the small pox, this heroic girl took a little boy not three years old-fell ill and him into her own bed, and nursed and tended him through that most loathsome disease, of instinctive horror. The child died, however, in which every woman, be she rich or poor, has an spite of all her care; and no one very much regretted it-not even the poor mother herself, for she knew that he was mercifully "taken away from the evil to come." Fortunately, his little sister never caught the disease at all, and his noble and devoted nurse but very slightly; although it left her long weak and ailing, and she lost the best part of her connection in consequence; being either too ill to come immediately upon being sent for, and her place being consequently supplied by another, or from a lingering fear of contagion experienced by those who knew the circumstances of the case. All comment of our own is needless in re peating instances such as these, which speak at once to the heart, and far outvie the most touching creations of fiction. After her brother's death, the little girl grew sad and grave beyond her years, and would sit for the hour together by the side of her poor mother's bed, sometimes questioning, with tearful eyes, when Willie would come back, or wishing that she might go to him. And then the sick woman became melancholy also, and prayed to God that he would take them all together. Until her kind neighbour, the laundress, seeing how matters stood, used to insist upon little Letty's going down to play with her own children, and set the door wide back, that Mrs. M- might hear them all laughing together, and be able to distinguish her child's merry voice among the rest. And then a smile would steal for a moment over her poor pale face, until chased away by sadder thoughts. The close of Mrs. M's lingering illness was somewhat smoothed by the attentions of those who, fortunately, had both the will and the power to assist, having heard of her misfortunes from those good neighbours who were too proud to complain of their own poverty, and of whose kindness the dying woman spoke with tears of heartfelt gratitude, more especially Mary, and the comfort she had derived from her reading and prayers. 66 "God knows," said Mrs. M—, what would have become of me and the children if they had not all helped me as they did! And Mary says it was He who put it into their hearts to do so, for He loves and cares for the poor." That young work-girl's was a true and beautiful faith! Mrs. M died at length, quite peaceful and resigned, and without a care; for the good widow had taken Letty to be her own child, promising to provide for her as such. She has five children now, and still argues after the usual fashion-"What does it signify, one little mouth more or less to feed? I shall never find the difference." Mary missed Mrs. Mvery much, just at first. It is so delightful to have any one to be kind to! But then she knew that she was better off. The luxury of doing good is one which all may enjoy, even the very poorest and weakest, in their own narrow sphere; and almost the only pleasure the memory of which remains ever fresh and green in the heart. Poverty has been called a dark and dreary mine; but there are jewels, nevertheless, to be found therein, which would add lustre to the most exalted station. It is true that we must dig deep for them, amidst a foul and pestilential atmosphere, that searches and withers up the noblest energies of those compelled to exist beneath its baneful influence. We must expect to come in contact with much of wretchedness and degradation, and have to weep over the most touching of all wrecks-that of humanity itself! Layer after layer of prejudice, and ignorance, and crime must be removed, carefully and tenderly, remembering that they are our fellow-creatures still. And then, when and where we least expect it, many a bright gem may be seen glittering forth, a thousand times more valuable for its dark setting. We have collected a few of these jewels in the present paper; and have yet enough remaining to make a bright rosary, to be told over with tears and prayers! THE TEA-VISIT. (A True Story.) "And they're a' noddin'." SCOTCH BALLAD. Would you behold an emblem true Of church supremacy, No wonder that with leer malign This goodly town, and did opine Its seeming piety might cause Yet three false gods did there give laws- On the cathedral's shady green, Not distant from the porch, A widow dwelt, whose spouse had been A pillar of the church. It so fell out, one summer's eve (Fierce Sirius then bore sway), Two spinster friends she did receive, A social "pool" to play. Remote the village whence they came, "To see you I am vastly glad," She cried. "Be seated, pray : A toilsome walk you must have had; 'Tis such a scorching day!" (The waiting-maid addressing then) The low settee's embroider'd arm The matron kind, with pitying eye, Whose sov'reign power she knew: Then hied she to the gay buffet, Whose portals wide and low, With careful hand she thence drew out "This cherry-bounce myself exprest The sisters shake their heads, yet sip The luscious juice the while; Its flavour praise with smacking lip, Cheer'd and refresh'd, they now may tell The hardships of the way; Until an overpowering spell Their flagging talk did stay. The vinous fumes a lodgment seek For when the citadel is weak, The foe will enter in. Bright sultry beams descend on eyes And drowsiness did soon surprise, And weigh their eyelids down. In vain the dame may questions ask, Though topics fresh she tries; Each answer seems a heavy taskThe phrase unfinish'd dies. Or, if to rouse themselves they try, But vainly now they try to rouse Their nearly dormant strength; Each effort faint and fainter grows, And silence reigns at length. One soundly slept with lips comprest, Her sister sate with eyes half-clos'd, And frequent start and quake; And as she all-remorseful dozed, She vainly wish'd to wake. Each sudden catch and transient snore, But mark example's magic scope ; Meanwhile her handmaids twain have plac'd On which the artist's skill had trac'd On tea-board, from Japan, are laid The heater, salamander-like, Endures the furnace-blast; The kettle sings through vapours thick, And overboils at last. That water does, with meaning double, Now, that no summons came, though late, The doubt she labour'd under. A moment on the lock she rests Her hand, but turn'd with care; Th' unconscious hostess and her guests She view'd with gaping stare. Then hastening back the news to bring, "'Twas wise to give a tongue to time" *— So sang a bard of yore: In voice of thunder speaks the chime, Responsive now the knocker's stroke And, laden well with shawl and cloak, The sleepers started at the knock, Then "Nine o'clock !" and "nine o'clock !" And "nine o'clock," as though to mock, "You'll stay to tea!" the widow cried; The case is hard, but part they must- And e'en unfelt thy potent charm, Which can the coldest speaker warm, Now cloak and shawl the sisters don, As closed the door I close my ditty: Had tea-visit in Lincoln city So free from SCANDAL been ! CHAP. XXIV. "The outmost crowd have heard a sound, In his private closet, far removed from the excitement stirring without, King Ferdinand was sitting, on the morning appointed for Stanley's execution: several maps and plans were before him, over which he appeared intently engaged; but every now and then, his brow rested on his hand, and his eyes wandered from their object. Isabella was at work in a recess of the window near him, conversing on his warlike plans, and entering warmly into all his measures, as he roused himself to speak of them, or silent when she saw him sunk in thought. The history of the period dwells with admiration on the domestic happiness of Ferdinand and Isabella, and most refreshingly do such annals stand forth amid the rude and stormy scenes, both in public and private life, most usual to that age. Isabella's real influence on the far less lofty and more crafty Ferdinand was so silent, so unobtrusive, that its extent was never known, either to himself or to her people, till after her death, when in Ferdinand's rapid deterioration from the nobler qualities of earlier years, it was traced too clearly, and occasioned her loss to be mourned, yet more than at the moment of her death. The hour of noon chimed, and Ferdinand, with unusual emotion, pushed the papers from him. "There goes the knell of as brave and true a heart as ever beat," he said. "If he is innocentas I believe him-may Heaven forgive his murderer! Hark! what is that?" he continued hurriedly, as the last chime ceased to vibrate; and, striding to the door of his cabinet, he flung it open, and listened intently. "Some one seeks the King! follow me, Isabel. By St. Francis, we may save him yet!" he exclaimed, and rapidly threading the numer ous passages, in less than a minute he stood within the hall. "Who wills speech of Ferdinand?" he demanded. "Let him step forth at once and do his errand." "I seek thee, King of Spain!" was the instant answer, and a young lad in the white garb of a Benedictine novice, staggered forwards. "Arthur Stanley is innocent! The real murderer is discovered; he lies at the point of death sixty miles hence. Send-take his confession; but do not wait for that. Fly, or it is too late. I see it-the axe is raised-is flashing in the sun; oh, stop it ere it falls!" And with the wild effort to loose the grasp of an old soldier, who more supported than detained him, his exhausted strength gave way, and they laid him, white, stiff, and speechless, on a settle near. With his first word, however, Ferdinand had turned to a trusty soldier, and bade him "fly to stop the work of death;" and the man needed not a second bidding: he darted from the hall, flew through the castle-yard, repeated the words to the first individual he met, by whom it was repeated to another, and by him again on and on till it reached the crowds around the scaffold; where it spread like wild-fire_from_mouth to mouth, reaching the ear of Don Felix, even before his eye caught the rapidly advancing soldier, whom he recognised at once as one of the Sovereign's private guards; impelling him, with an almost instinctive movement, to catch the upraised arm of the executioner at the very instant he was about to strike. "Wherefore this delay, Don Felix? it is but a cruel mercy," sternly inquired the Chief Hermano, whose office had led him also to the scaffold. "Behold and listen: praised be the holy saints, he is saved!" was the rapid reply, as the voice of the soldier close by the foot of the scaffold, was distinguished bidding them "Hold! hold! the King commands it. He is innocent; the real murderer is discovered!" And then followed a shout, so loud, so exulting, that it seemed to have burst from those assembled hundreds at the same instant. The prisoner heard it, indeed; but to his bewildered senses rude kindness suggested to revive him. Isabella had followed her husband to the hall, and been a quiet but penetrative observer of all that followed. She had started as the voice of the novice met her ear, and made a few hasty steps forward; but then checked herself, and quietly watched the proceedings of the taking the place as it did of the expected blow-rounded by the soldiers, who were doing all their it was so utterly meaningless that he neither moved nor spoke; and even Don Felix's friendly voice charging him-"Up, Stanley! up, man! thou art saved-thine innocence made known!" failed to convince him of the truth. He rose from his knees; but his limbs shook, and his face-which had changed neither hue nor expression when he had knelt for the fatal blow-soldiers. Perceiving how wholly ineffectual their was colourless as marble. He laid his trembling hand on Father Francis's arm, and tried to speak, but he could not utter a sound. ""Tis true, my beloved son: thy sinful thoughts have been sufficiently chastised; and the mercy of Heaven publicly revealed. Our prayers have not been said in vain; thine innocence is known-the guilty one discovered!" To doubt those solemn accents was impossible, and though the effort was mighty to prevent it, Nature would have sway, and Stanley laid his head on the Prior's arm, and burst into tears. And the wild shout that again awoke, seemed to clarion forth a thrilling denial to the charge of weakness, which, on such openly demonstrated emotion, some hearts dead to the voice of Nature might have pronounced. efforts appeared, she advanced towards them. With the most reverential affection the men made way for her. They had been so accustomed to see her on the battle-field, tending the wounded and the dying, soothing their anguish and removing their cares, ay, and more than once doing the same kindly office in their rude and lowly homes, that her appearance and whatever. She motioned them all back, apgentle tending of the boy, excited no surprise parently to allow a free current of air—in reality to prevent them from adopting her own suspicions; she did not remove the somewhat unglance on that white and chiselled face was usually tightly-secured hood; but for her, one sufficient. Her skill was at length successful, and with the first symptom of returning animation, she left him to the soldiers, and joined the throng around the King; but her eye, which from long use, appeared literally endowed with power to take in every desired object, however separated, at one glance, still watched him as he painfully endeavoured to rise, and threw one searching glance towards the principal group. His eyes rested a full minute on the prisoner, with an expression which Isabella alone perhaps, of all in that hall, could read. A momentary crimson flushed his cheek, and then his face was bowed in his spread hands, and his slight frame shook, with the fervour of the thanksgiving, which his whole soul outpoured. King Ferdinand had not been idle while this exciting scene was enacting; questioning briefly but distinctly the villager who had accompanied the novice; the latter still remaining in a state of exhaustion precluding all inquiries from him. Perez, however, could only repeat the lad's words when informed that the execution of Senor Stanley was to take place that day. Father Ambrose had merely told him that he (Perez) had rendered a most important service to more than one individual by his compassionate care of the dying man, whose desire to communicate with the King was no idle raving. He had also charged him to take particular care of the Perceiving that the lad had recovered his young novice, who was ailing and weakly; that senses, Perez referred all the eager questioners the emergency of the present case alone had to him, feeling so bewildered at the marvellous compelled him to send the lad to Segovia, as his transformation of himself, in his own opinion, dress and ability, might gain him a quicker ad- from an ignorant rustic, who had never seen the mission to the King or Queen, than the rude interior of a town, to the permitted companion appearance and uncouth dialect of his com- of his Sovereign and his nobles, and even of panion. The Father had also requested him to Isabella, and he received from her lips a few words urge the officers, whom the King might send to of kindly commendation, that it was almost an take the dying man's confession, to travel at effort to speak; and he longed to rush back to their utmost speed, for he thought death was ap-his village and astound them all, and still more, proaching fast. triumph over his friend, the hostillerie-keeper, who, lord it as he might, had never been so honoured. With his usual rapidity of thought and decision, Ferdinand's orders were given, and so quickly obeyed, that even before the arrival of the Sub-Prior and Don Felix with the released prisoner, a band of men, headed by Don Alonzo and two of the chief officers of the Santa Hermandad, had already started for the village. The King still retained Perez, not only to reward him liberally, but that his tale might be repeated to the proper authorities, and compared with that of the novice, as soon as he had sufficiently recovered to give it. The entrance of Stanley effectually prevented his giving more than a pitying glance towards the poor boy, who had been raised on one of the benches, sur 66 Come hither, boy," said Ferdinand, kindly; and the novice slowly and with evident reluctance obeyed. "We could almost wish thy tastes had pointed elsewhere than the church, that our acknowledgments of thy exertions in our service might be more substantial than mere thanks; however, thy patron saint shall not want a grateful offering. Nay, our presence is surely not so terrible that thou shouldst tremble thus, poor child! Hast thou ought more to communicate?-ought for our private ear, or that of her Highness our Consort? If not, we will not exhaust thy little strength by useless questions." |