LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.
I was agitated by many contending emotions as I alighted from the train
which had borne me to Philadelphia; but, along with many sad thoughts,
came the consoling one, that I had not returned to my native city the
friendless being I had left it.
We stayed for a short time with my old friends, the Burnsides, while my
uncle attended to the business of buying and furnishing a suitable
residence. Before removing to our home, my uncle engaged Mrs. Burnside
to find a person suitable to occupy the position of housekeeper in his
dwelling. It immediately occurred to Mrs. Burnside that my old friend,
Mrs. O'Flaherty, would be well qualified for that position. She had
remained in the service of Mrs. Wallingford since the time when I first
introduced her to the reader; but, fortunately for us, Mr. Wallingford
was about removing his family to a distant State, and they would no
longer require her services. Mrs. O'Flaherty was overjoyed when she
learned that she was to reside with me. When I, in company with Mrs.
Burnside, called to make the necessary arrangements for her removal to
her new home, I could hardly believe that the tidy, well dressed matron
I saw could be the same poor woman to whom I had given food when hungry
and destitute.
"Indade," exclaimed Mrs. O'Flaherty, "an' I niver expected to see the
happy day whin I would live wid you in a home av yer own."
The matter was soon arranged, and an early day appointed for her to
commence her duties as housekeeper in the dwelling of my uncle.
It was quite a change for me to find myself so suddenly removed from my
position as teacher in a small school and installed as mistress in my
uncle's elegant home in Walnut Street, Philadelphia. We found Mrs.
O'Flaherty very trustworthy, and well qualified in every way for her
position.
Soon after our return to Philadelphia, my uncle accompanied me to the
graves of my parents. I cannot describe my feelings when I found myself,
after so long an absence, again standing by the spot where reposed the
dust of my loved father and mother. I seemed almost to feel their
presence, and the tears I shed were gentle and refreshing. Seated by
those graves, I, for the first time, spoke to my uncle of the
circumstances which had caused me to leave Mrs. Leighton, and remove
from Philadelphia. He expressed much sympathy for me and said,--
"You should endeavor to banish these circumstances from your mind. You
are young, and, I trust, have yet many years of happy life before you."
I learned from Mrs. Burnside that Mr. Leighton had lately met with
several heavy losses in business. William was still in England. He had
written two or three letters to Birdie, but had corresponded with no
other member of the family. Laura and Georgania had both married, and
removed to a distant city. Birdie had finished her studies, and returned
home. Lewis was attending school some two hundred miles from the city.
Mrs. Burnside further informed me that the health of Mrs. Leighton was
very much impaired. According to the information I gained from Mrs.
Burnside, there seemed to have been a great change in the family of Mr.
Leighton since I left Philadelphia.
Time passed happily away in my new home. We often saw company, for all
my old friends soon sought me out, when they learned of my return to the
city; and my uncle, being of a social disposition, extended a kindly
welcome to them all. Birdie Leighton called. I was truly glad to see
her, and she seemed equally happy to meet me; but our meeting could not
be otherwise than constrained and formal; and, owing to circumstances,
anything like intimacy was, of course, out of the question. I had almost
forgotten to mention that, among the first to call upon me in my new
home, were Mrs. and Miss Kingsley, for she was _Miss_ Kingsley still;
the same who were so much shocked by meeting with a governess at a
fashionable party. Surely, thought I, my uncle's money is working
wonders, when I am already patronized by the exclusive Mrs. Kingsley.
Their call I have never yet returned.
While walking one day, with a friend, I caught a glimpse of Mrs.
Leighton, as she rode past in her carriage. She was so much changed
that, at the first, I hardly recognized her; but, upon looking more
closely, I saw that it was indeed Mrs. Leighton.
A year and a half had now glided by since my return to Philadelphia.
Nothing worthy of note had taken place during this time.
The last letter from my friends in New Hampshire informed me that
Obadiah was still pursuing his studies, with a view to the ministry.
This afforded me but little surprise, as I had often heard him make
remarks which led me to think he had an inclination to that calling.
One sultry evening in August, I retired early to my own room, as I was
suffering from a severe head-ache. The usual remedies afforded me relief
from pain; but I found myself unable to sleep. As the hour grew late, my
nervous restlessness so much increased that, abandoning the idea of
rest, I rose and lighted my lamp. I felt almost alarmed at my own
agitation, which seemed so unaccountable, I seemed to feel the
foreshadowing of some unusual event. After a time, I closed my window,
and was about to extinguish my lamp and again seek repose, when I was
startled by the sudden ringing of fire-bells. Hastily unclosing my
window, I heard the sound of "Fire! fire!" echoed by many voices, and
accompanied by the hasty tread of many feet upon the pavement. I
observed the appearance of fire a few streets distant, but was unable to
make out its exact location. I listened eagerly, hoping to gain from the
many voices which reached my ears some account of the burning building.
Presently the words--"Mr. Leighton's house is burning!" reached my
excited ears. I saw that the fire was raging fearfully, as the adjacent
streets were becoming lighter by the flames. I was about to call my
uncle, when I heard his step approaching. A moment after he rapped at my
door. Just then Mrs. O'Flaherty rushed up the stairs, breathless with
terror.
"May the Saints defend us!" she exclaimed, as she burst into my
apartment; "but is the city on fire? For wasn't it the light o' the
flames shinin' on me windy that waked me out o' me sound slape."
My uncle endeavoured to allay her terrors, telling her that the city was
certainly not on fire, although there was a burning building in our near
vicinity. He soon declared his intention of visiting the scene of the
fire.
I begged him to be careful and not expose himself to danger.
After my uncle left us, we stationed ourselves on the upper piazza, to
watch the progress of the flames. From the confusion of voices in the
street below I caught the words,--
"Poor Birdie Leighton is nowhere to be found, and it is feared she has
perished in the flames."
I shuddered as I listened to these words. It was a terrible thought to
me, that my once loved pupil had met with a death so dreadful. But I was
unwilling to give up the hope that she would yet be, if not already,
saved. We waited long in anxious suspense for the return of my uncle;
but the day had begun to dawn before he came. I feared to ask what I
longed to know. He must have read my anxiety in my countenance, for he
soon said to me,--
"The Leightons are now all safe in the house of a neighbor; but Birdie
came near meeting her death in the flames."
To my eager enquiries, he replied,--
"That before Mr. Leighton awoke, their sleeping apartment was filled
with smoke, with which the flames were already beginning to mingle. He
bore his wife from the apartment; and, with her in his arms, hastened to
awake Birdie, whose room adjoined their own. She hastily threw on a
portion of her clothing, and prepared to accompany her father and mother
in their descent from the chambers. She had fainted from terror, while
crossing the upper hall; and it was not till Mr. Leighton reached the
open air with his wife in his arms, that he missed Birdie from his side.
On leaving her apartment, he had besought her to keep close by him, as
her mother required all his attention. The agony of Mr. and Mrs.
Leighton, when, upon reaching the open air, they found Birdie to be not
with them, may be better imagined than described. Mrs. Leighton became
well-nigh frantic, and was almost forcibly conveyed to the house of a
neighbor. As soon as Mr. Leighton was relieved from the care of his
wife, he rushed toward the burning building, saying that he would either
rescue Birdie or perish with her. But, ere he reached the entrance, a
man issued from the house, bearing Birdie in his arms. The brave man had
rushed up the burning staircase, and reached the spot where Birdie still
lay, in a state of insensibility. Hastily enveloping her person in a
thick, heavy shawl, which he had taken with him for the purpose, he
rushed with her down the perilous staircase, and reached the open air in
safety, his clothing only being singed by the flames. Never," said my
uncle, "did I hear such a shout of joy as went up from the assembled
multitude when the man who rescued Birdie came from the house, bearing
her in safety to her father. Mr. Leighton fell on his knees and
fervently thanked God for sparing the life of his child. 'Now,' said he,
'I am content that my dwelling should burn.' He grasped the hand of her
rescuer, and said, with much emotion,--'Words are too poor to express my
gratitude; but, if my life is spared, you shall be rewarded.' 'I want no
reward,' said the noble man, 'for having done my duty.' He was a
laboring man, and had a large family dependent upon his daily earnings.
Quite a large sum of money was soon raised among the assembled crowd,
which he would not accept, till compelled to do so by the thankful
multitude."
In conclusion, my uncle said,--
"Consciousness returned to Birdie soon after she was conveyed into the
open air, and she was speedily conveyed to her anxious mother. The
rescue of Birdie from so dreadful a death was to me a matter of deep and
heartfelt thankfulness."
Previous to the burning of Mr. Leighton's dwelling his pecuniary
affairs, according to common report, had become very much embarrassed;
and this event seemed the finishing stroke to his ill-fortune. They were
unable to save anything from their dwelling, being thankful to escape
with their lives. He still continued his business; but, it was said, his
liabilities were heavier than he was able to meet. He rented a
moderate-sized house, and removed thither with his family. Those who
visited them said it was but plainly furnished. Their servants, with one
or two exceptions, had all been dismissed.