SEAWEED.
The witcheries of the world were rapidly losing their power over
Madeline Hamilton--but Nature, calm, beautiful, bright, became more
dear, more elevating to her child--for had she not always been her
nursing-mother even from earliest childish days?
There was perfect harmony between the fresh guileless nature and the
green trees, the smiling sky, the deep blue ocean, and the sweet
voices among which she rambled; and deeper, fuller than ever was the
joy swelling in her young heart, when she could look upward and say,
"My Father made them all."
From the deep fountains of her new nature gushed out streams of love,
for all that God had made; for the more that she loved God, the
truer, and more spiritual became her love for her fellow-men. Then
the intimate relations between herself and Roland, the dear
companionship, the old feelings of perfect trust and reverence, and
the tender interest which enveloped her in such a mantle of
protection, dwelt with her daily; and neither needed words to tell
how truly they were one, nor with what unconscious, mysterious
knowledge, they had read each other's hearts. Roland could not but
feel "she loves me," and Madeline needed no language to make her
understand how precious was the sacred bond which united their warm
young hearts.
The little children that assembled around her still in her
Saturday-school, and her class on Sunday, all felt the sweet
attraction--the dwellers at the cottages, Aunt Matilda, and the
people in the kitchen, all realized that a warmer glow of love
kindled in the young face, and sweeter words were breathed from her
lips.
Madeline was really living--for the heart had found objects on which
to bestow its benevolence, and the feeling, day by day, was
deepening, widening, as she felt truly "Jesus loves me, and I love
him."
As the guardian of her worldly concerns, she received frequent
letters from Roland, full of kind advice and strengthening words. He
had laid down for her a plan which she was eager to carry out, and it
was a pretty picture to see the young girl with her little basket of
books, tracts, and domestic comforts, sallying forth daily among her
humble dependents. Hours for devotion, household cares, for reading,
music, for exercise, for benevolence, were systematically arranged,
and as carefully carried out; and while Aunt Matilda was yawning over
want of occupation, and imagining headaches, indigestion, and
countless other evils, Madeline scarcely found time for her numerous
duties. She was very happy; for even while she missed the smile of
her dear father's approval, was she not blessed with the assurance of
his unspeakable gain? and did she not hope to join him at last in the
better world, to part no more forever?
Her cheek bloomed with brighter tints, her eye beamed with holier
love, and her lips told tales of sweet inward peace and joy, drawn
from the deep wells of salvation. She was learning some of Mozart's
and Beethoven's finest music on her harp, and some sacred melodies
for her voice; for she knew the style that pleased Roland, and was
scarcely aware how all her occupations were mingled with the name of
that precious friend. Sometimes, doubts and difficulties would
obtrude themselves when reading the Scriptures, and then she would
wish for her faithful guide.
"Get Mr. Bruce's room ready, Mary," said Madeline to the chambermaid;
"he will here to-morrow," and she spent much of her time in
preparations for the welcome visitor.
Aunt Matilda found that although her niece treated her with respect
and affection, in the choice of her guardian she had exercised the
liberty which her father had given her, and the good lady had quietly
to submit. The respectful reverence with which Roland treated
Madeline's aunt almost disarmed her opposition to this intimacy, and
would have done so entirely, could she have divested herself of the
fear that Roland might some day be more than guardian. After tea,
Madeline led Roland to the drawing-room.
"I have learned some new music just for you, guardian," and she
played some of her finest pieces with exquisite taste and execution.
"How can people like polkas and waltzes after such music as this?"
said Roland; "it seems to speak so truly the language of the soul."
"I have some beautiful sacred melodies, and I want you to learn them
to sing with me, guardian, your voice is so good."
It was amusing to see Madeline assume the office of teacher, and when
he would make mistakes, with an arch expression around her mouth, to
hear her say--
"What a dumb scholar! don't you see that you are singing the wrong
note? I am so glad that there is something I can do better than you."
It was a laughing lesson, with Roland's blunders, and Madeline's
pretended reproofs, and the pat of the little hand on his head when
he succeeded.
"Don't be affronted, guardian, for I really do entertain a profound
respect for you, though not much wholesome fear; that is rather out
of my sphere, good sir."
After sundry trials, they succeeded admirably, and Madeline's sweet
treble, with Roland's rich tenor voice, made truly delightful music.
"That's a good boy, Roland! you shall have a treat for your
performance," and Madeline ordered a _tête-a-tête_ supper before
retiring, with just such viands as Roland liked.
"Shall I see you to-morrow in the library, Madeline?" was Roland's
request, as he bade "good-night."
"Yes, at nine o'clock; I shall be occupied until that time."
A full hour was spent in transacting some business attendant upon his
office, and, at the close, Madeline, with a sweet, serious face,
seated herself on a lower seat by the side of her guardian.
"I have wanted you lately, Roland, I have been so troubled when
reading the Scriptures; I don't know what can be the matter, but my
mind has been so disturbed by doubts and difficulties, that they have
clouded my peace, and perplexed me so much."
"Are they connected with your duties, Madeline?"
"No, Roland; they are about deep, inscrutable mysteries that I cannot
understand," and Madeline, from a full heart, poured out all her tale
of doubts and trials into the ears of one ever ready and able to
counsel and aid her trembling steps.
On Sunday morning, Roland accompanied Madeline, opened the services
of the Sunday-school, and aided in teaching; in the afternoon, by the
side of his young friend, and using the same book, he joined in the
beautiful service which she loved, for he had outlived the prejudices
of his childhood, and had learned to love goodness and truth wherever
he saw it, or under whatever garb, and could now easily make
allowances for the deep aversion of those days of persecution to the
rigid ritualism which laid such heavy burdens upon the consciences of
Christian men.
While he remained at Woodcliff, one hour each morning was spent in
studying the word of God, and his clear explanations greatly aided
the young believer.
"This is a pleasant evening, Madeline; shall we walk down to the
shore? I must see the dear spot before I return to New York."
"Wait a minute, Roland, I must get my hood and scarf; it is a little
damp. Old Peter will be glad to see us, and I have something for
him."
"So have I," answered Roland. "He must be growing very old, for he
was an aged man when we first came to Woodcliff, and that is
seventeen years ago; I am now twenty-six."
"And I twenty-one; and yet, Roland, I do not feel more than sixteen;
I enjoy life as much as then, and I have just the same faith in
goodness as I had at that age."
They soon found themselves at the dear trysting place, and, seated on
the rock, they gazed in silence upon the grand old ocean. Madeline
was the first to speak.
"Does it seem possible, Roland, that eleven years have passed since
you stood there," pointing to a spot near them, "defending the poor
little things who had lost their diamonds?"
"And yet, Madeline, if we measure time by events, what a long life
mine would seem! So full of trial, of blessing, and of stirring
incident! What finger-posts of Providence have marked my way!"
"How strange are its wondrous dealings, Roland! I ran down to the
shore that evening with my dog Hector, just for a merry race and a
wild romp with my good old playmate, and I found you--then a poor,
threadbare boy, with a grand and noble soul--be still, Roland" (for
he was about to speak), "I felt what was hidden under your worn-out
jacket, child that I was; and I found such a friend! eternity only
will reveal what you have been to wild, impulsive Madeline;" turning,
with her young face all glowing, she added, "I fought your battles
then, Roland, and I have done so ever since, for my childish
instincts read truly."
"There are some scenes, Madeline, written upon the tablets of memory
with a diamond pen, and that afternoon was one; the face of the
bright child, with her generous impulses and her scorn of meanness,
the stained handkerchief, and the tender touch of the dimpled hand
have been with me ever since; to this have been added the bright,
wild, untamed intellect that interested me in Maple Lane School, the
docile pupil coming to me with such winning grace. I see the folded
hands and downcast eyes even now; the mischievous little sprite that
loved bewitching pranks; the gay young girl who, amid all the
blandishments of wealth, still nobly cheering my way; the riper
woman, with her noble heart, at last bowing at the foot of the cross,
and pouring out its love on all around her. These, Madeline, have
been with me always--cheering, blessing, soothing."
"All this, Roland, under the leading hand of a wondrous Providence,
you have done; sometimes I was led away, but for what a short period!
These early lessons are never forgotten; and even in England, where I
was surrounded by so much more to tempt, my heart, true as the needle
to the pole, turned back with all its freshness to those early
memories and their teachings."
Roland sat in silence for a moment, his heart filled with unutterable
love--could it be duty to throw from him this gem of priceless worth,
this young, warm, guileless woman's heart? and yet as a flash darted
through his brain, the thought that would obtrude--as her guardian,
acquainted with the extent of her possessions, might he not be
thought selfish, mercenary?
"And now you see, good sir, you are my grave and reverend guardian,
and must know all about your ward," and Madeline flashed upon him one
of her arch glances of mischief; "if a young lady has offers of
marriage, I suppose that she ought to tell her guardian--is not that
so?" and she continued, smiling, "and always ask his advice about
such matters, for I have something of the kind to tell now."
Roland dropped his eyes, and moved away from the young lady, lest she
should see his emotion, and replied seriously, "I shall always be
interested in whatever concerns you, Madeline, and will advise here,
as elsewhere, truly, faithfully."
"Well! to begin--Harry Castleton is one of my devoted--he has
offered himself three times, and has as often been refused; for you
know, guardian, that I could never love him, but I am going to treat
him better; I have made a good beginning; what do you think of him
for Madeline?"
"Think, Madeline! I should never cease to mourn over such a
union--it could never be."
"Amen!" said Madeline, archly; "and then there was Mr. Livingston, of
New York, that all the belles were dying for; a man of wealth, rank,
fashion, and intelligence; not caring much for the gay world--what do
you think of him?"
"Did you love him, Madeline?"
"No--not exactly; and I used to think it was very strange! he was so
handsome and attractive! but what do you say about him?"
"I could not approve of him either."
"Why, guardian! you are grim, and hard to please--well! then there
was Tony Willikins; poor Tony! when I was a wild young thing, I took
a ride with Tony, and he asked me about his future establishment;
about his house, his carriage, his grounds, his furniture; and I gave
my opinion--well, to be sure! he built just such a house, ordered
just such a carriage, and then came, and asked me to live in his
house, and ride in his carriage. I almost laughed in his face; and
when I refused, he said that I had encouraged him, because I
described the house, and recommended the carriage; I did not think
that he was quite such a dunce, but I really felt sorry for Tony; I
did not mean any harm--now, guardian, what do you think of Tony
Willikins?"
Roland smiled at the story, and replied,
"I should object no more to this poor fellow with weak intellect, and
affectionate heart, than I would to a rich brainless fop, without a
heart."
"When I went to England," and Madeline's face assumed a more serious,
tender expression, "I was introduced to the family of the Earl of
N----; it was all that a Christian family ought to be, and there I
spent some of the happiest hours of my life. I was domesticated in
that household for many weeks, and became much attached to Lady
Alice, the eldest daughter. Lord N----, the eldest son, was a bright
example of a young English noble; refined, intelligent, pious, and of
an extremely prepossessing appearance; we were associated daily;
Roland, he learned to love me with all the depth and tenderness of a
true, manly nature. I never knew an hour of deeper sorrow, than when
compelled to say to that outburst of a warm affection, 'only
friendship can I return;' now, guardian, what would you think of him?"
They were sitting very near the edge of the shore, and as the waves
washed up the sea-weed, Roland took up a bunch, and handing it to
Madeline, said,
"You remember these flowers of the ocean--how often have I gathered
them for you?"
"Remember them!" and Madeline opened a small pocket-book, from which
she took a few faded weeds, "Ah! how often have these memorials
spoken to me, Roland; once I placed them by the side of the splendid
bouquet, that Lord N---- used to send me daily--and oh! the
difference."
"O, Madeline! dare I hope that the giver of these faded weeds was
dearer than Lord N----, with all his grandeur and his goodness?"
Madeline turned her deep expressive eyes upon Roland's face, as she
replied, in trembling tones,
"Nothing else could have made me insensible to the worth of Lord
Alfred N----; these faded weeds, the sea-shells, the sketch I found
once in the library, were more precious to me, more fondly cherished,
than all the gifts of gold that have ever been laid at my feet."
"Can such blessedness be mine? the wealth of such a heart?"
"And mine, dear Roland! it seems too much of earthly good to know
that you are all my own, not only as my friend, but my dearest,
truest love."
"And can you, with all your wealth and attractions, turn from so
much, and give your heart to me? I have not much to offer, Madeline;
it is true that my dear friend, Uncle Malcolm, placed me above the
reach of need, but nothing compared to the heiress of Woodcliff; I
fear the judgment of your aunt; would that you were penniless."
"I want nothing but yourself, Roland; only your pure and noble self;
have we not loved each other always? and yet there was a time when I
was afraid of Helen Thornly."
"And when I was afraid of Lord N----; for I saw his worth, and his
attractions, Madeline; and knew that you were with him daily while I
was absent."
"What would your father think of such a choice, Madeline?"
"He was willing, in such a matter, to trust his daughter; dear, noble
father! he respected you, Roland, always; and I believe, if he were
living, he would smile upon us."
"Look at me, darling!" said Roland, "let me see those dear eyes,
those truthful, earnest eyes, just turned on me, as full of love and
tenderness as in days gone by;" (for Madeline had dropped her head,
and bent her eyes upon the ground.)
She raised them to Roland's face, and in the deep look of perfect
trust and tenderness, he saw what that hour had revealed to him.
Taking both hands within his own, and looking up to heaven, he prayed
that God would bless this sweet union of two young souls that had
been so long as one.
"This is a love, Madeline, which will stretch forward to eternity; it
will be companionship on earth in all that is pure and holy, to be
perfected in the world above."
One sweet, pure caress, one fond kiss sealed this heart union; and
taking her arm within his own, they turned their steps homeward.
"Let us just listen for one moment to the music of the ocean, Roland;
it is a grand old organ, with its deep, mysterious chords; it has
murmured many solemn hymns for us, many a varied melody--sometimes
gentle summer lullabies, sometimes wails like funeral dirges--what
does it waft us to-night?"
"Nothing but soft, sweet hymns of harmony, Maddy; bidding us praise
our Father and our God."
Old Peter had been watching the young people, in whom he was so much
interested; he saw the deep-absorbing interest of that interview; the
tender caress, and the slow step as they moved away, and he said to
himself,
"This is just what I thought would come of hoarding up old shoes.
God bless them! they are a dear young pair, and deserve to be happy.
What a handsome couple they will make! And they are both so good!
It puts me in mind of Becky and me in our young days," and the old
man wiped a moistened eye with his rough coat-sleeve.
Tea was long over when they reached home, but they wanted no supper;
and Aunt Matilda was out of patience at the monosyllables which she
received as answers, for both seemed wholly engrossed with each other.
"Let us go to the library," whispered Madeline; and as they stood
before the portrait of her father it seemed to look upon them, with
all the benignity of expression that dwelt upon the face of Mr.
Hamilton.
"It smiles upon us, Roland! does it not? I know my dear father too
well not to be assured that he would bless us; let us kneel before
his picture;" and as they bowed solemnly in the library, Roland
poured out his heart in earnest, fervent prayer, for God's choicest
blessings upon them both.
After an evening spent in happy converse, the hour of separation came
too soon.
"Let us listen to the Eolian to-night, Roland;" and Madeline led him
to the stair-case; standing there together, it discoursed soft, sweet
strains, for the evening was balmy and pleasant, and the wind fanned
gentle breezes among the foliage of Woodcliff.
"How soft! how sweet, Roland, the harp is to-night! it seems to
breathe only of happiness and peace; sometimes it has been so wild,
so sad, when I have been in trouble! I wonder if it does not just
echo the voice within."
"Doubtless it is so, Madeline; to-night the serenade is very sweet;
if the fairies play among the strings, they must know all about us,
dear."
"It is a pretty fancy, and cannot harm us, Roland; I don't believe
it, you know; but then there are many things I don't believe which it
is pleasant to think about."
"You must be careful, dear, in these flights of fancy, that they do
not depart from truth."
"Well then, Roland, we will banish the fairies, though they were long
the friends of my childhood, and substitute the good, real angels,
and think that the sweet music is mingled with theirs."
"Good-night, Madeline, may they guard your slumbers;" and Roland
clasped the little hand fondly, and impressed the kiss of pure
affection upon the fair young brow.
Madeline's dreams were pure and holy that night, for was she not the
chosen companion of the man whom she most loved and honored on earth?
Next morning, she acquainted her aunt with what had taken place. She
was not surprised, but deeply disappointed.
"I cannot understand you, Madeline, to reject such a man as Lord
N----, and to choose one so low-born, so obscure as Roland Bruce; but
you must have your own way; you were always a wilful child!"
"You will learn to think differently some day, aunty; when you know
Roland, you will find out true nobility."
"Next Sunday will be our communion day, Roland; you will stay, can't
you?" said Madeline.
"I will try; by writing a few lines, I can be spared that long."
There were but few as yet gathered into that little fold; but it was
a blessed hour, when the two bowed together at the table of their
Master, and consecrated their united lives to his holy service.
There had been a parlor organ hired for their little church, and as
they together joined in the high praises of the Trisagion, their
spirits seemed to soar beyond the things of time and sense, and to
prostrate themselves together before the throne of God and the Lamb.
"This is living," said Roland, as they walked homeward together;
"loving God supremely, and each other fondly, for Jesus' sake, with
the sweet hope of eternal union, when the cares and sorrows of life
are ended; this is living, Madeline. God is love, and is best
pleased when his creatures are most like him."
"I used to think, Roland, that it was a sin for mortals to love each
other, and it once troubled me sorely, when I began to think of
becoming a Christian."
"Just study the life of Christ, dear, and the teachings of the
disciple whom Jesus loved the best, the loving John; his epistles are
full of heavenly love, and you will never make that mistake again;
for remember, that he teaches the duty of the highest exercise of
Christian love, when he says, 'That we ought to lay down our lives
for the heathen.'"
"How that view draws us to the blessed Saviour! How different from
the teachings of those who would represent God as seated far away,
upon the throne of the Universe, forbidding the approach of his
erring children."
"Always think of God, Madeline, as a loving Father, whom you may
always approach to plead the merits of his Son; he is ever ready to
look upon you graciously in the face of Jesus, our Redeemer."
"What precious hopes, dear Roland, does the gospel hold out to us!
union with Christ forever, and intimate soul-union with each other in
a world where there can be no change, no parting, no decay."
"Let us bless him, dearest Madeline, for these holy hopes, and show
that we love him, by lives devoted to his service; by-the-bye, do you
know that I begin to like your service better than our own? so much
that is sublime is taught by its offices. It seems to be an echo of
the voice within. How lofty is the language of the Trisagion! I
could almost have imagined the worship of the spirits before the
throne, crying 'Holy! Holy! Holy!' and could look forward to that
time, when, as disembodied spirits, we shall join with those who have
gone before; with patriarchs, and prophets; with martyrs, and
apostles; with 'the spirits of the just made perfect;' with my
mother, Effie, and your own dear father, in praising the God who has
brought us safely home."
"I am glad that you feel so, Roland, for I have decided preferences
for my own forms of worship; though I can hold communion with
Christians of every name, who truly love my Master."
Monday morning came, and with it, return to daily cares and duties.
"Madeline, I brought old Peter a warm over-coat for winter, one that
I have done with; I forgot to say anything about it that evening;"
and Roland smiled.
"And I forgot a Bible with large print, and a pair of good
spectacles; I had them with me, but I forgot them too."
"I hope that we may be excused this time, Madeline; our hearts were
engrossed by each other. Farewell, dearest, write daily," continued
Roland, "or rather keep a journal, and send it to me twice a week; I
want to know everything about you, where you go; all that you think
and feel are precious to me now."
Madeline blushed rosy red, as she found herself folded in a warm
embrace, and returned modestly the kiss of affection which was
pressed upon her lips.
"Pray for me, Roland, every day and every night; we can meet there,
dearest;" and Madeline stood upon the piazza watching him as long as
she could see him, and returned the wave of the hand, ere she
retraced her steps back to the library.
Letters from Lady Alice had just reached Woodcliff; for Madeline had
been in constant correspondence with her valued English friends.
They were particularly welcome, for in one was announced the
approaching marriage of Lady Alice to Lord Elmore, and several hints
about Lady Lucy Hampton and her brother Alfred; concluding with a
warm invitation to make a bridal visit to England.
On Roland's next visit, he brought a warm letter from good Uncle
Malcolm, congratulating him on his prospects of domestic happiness,
and insisting on a visit immediately after his marriage.
"I do not think it at all improbable, Madeline, for I have business
which calls me to Scotland," said the young man.
Mr. Bruce was expected daily, and Madeline obtained a promise that
his first visit in America should be to Woodcliff.
In a few days he landed at New York, and met with a warm welcome from
his son.
"Are you really glad to see me, Roland?" asked the poor man, as he
looked up in his face with a sad, wistful expression.
"I am really glad, my father; I have a carriage ready for you, and
bright, pleasant rooms."
No pains were spared to make him happy, and under the wise,
affectionate treatment of his son, Mr. Bruce really seemed to be
losing much of that sad and moody state of mind which had so long
afflicted him. As soon as he could be prevailed upon to go, Roland
took him to Woodcliff, and introduced him to his intended
daughter-in-law.
Madeline received him with a warm, affectionate welcome; and although
shy at first, under the influence of her kind manners and sweet
music, he became daily more social and tranquil.
After singing several hymns to please him, he walked up to Madeline,
and laying his hand upon her head, he said,--
"Thank ye, my dear, ye hae ta'en a deal o' trouble to please an auld
mon--ye are to be my daughter, are ye na!" and stooping down, he
pushed back the rich folds of hair, to look more earnestly on her
sweet young face, and then kissed the pure, calm forehead.
"I will try to make you a good daughter, sir," and she kissed the
withered hand that was held out to her. From this time, quite an
intimacy sprang up between the two, for the music had driven away the
evil spirit for a time.
"She is vera luvely, Roland, amaist as luvely as yer mither was at
her age--be kind to her, my boy; ne'er suspect yer wife; but be sure
that ye hae her heart--are ye sure o' that, Roland!"
"Yes, father, she has never loved any one else, she is all my own!"
"Happy son! happy Roland!" whispered Stephen, as he took his son's
arm, to walk out on the piazza.
As Madeline took leave of the old man, she said,
"You will come again, dear sir, will you not?"
"Yes, my child, this hae been a pleasant visit; ye are guid an' kind,
an' I luve ye, my daughter."
* * * * * * *
Aunt Clara is on a visit to Woodcliff, and finds her most sanguine
hopes realized in what she sees of Madeline's daily walks of
usefulness, and many a time, with tearful eyes, exclaims,
"What hath God wrought!"
"Aunt Clara, I have been thinking a great deal about the men here;
there is a very large number among the factories, and in the cottages
of the fishermen. They very seldom come to our Sunday services, but
waste their vacant time in lounging about idly, and in drinking what
they have earned through the week. I have thought of a reading-room
where we could supply good reading for the evenings, and keep them
away from bad company; but I don't know how to go about it; I cannot
go among men, that would not be exactly feminine, and I cannot bear
all the expense myself."
"Would it not be well, Madeline, first to bring the matter before
some of the gentlemen of the neighborhood?"
"That is exactly the way, Aunt Clara; I'll send for Roland, he shall
make the speech--I'll give notice in the Sunday-school, and then I'll
send notices around to the principal gentlemen, to meet at the
Sunday-school room."
Madeline was full of her new plan, and put it into practice
immediately--notifying the Sunday-school, sending for Roland, and
canvassing the neighborhood thoroughly, by means of the messengers.
Ten days were allowed to prepare for the meeting; she talked about it
in the Sunday-school eagerly, for the ungodliness of the men was
sorely distressing to her benevolent spirit.
Roland came--the evening arrived, the room was lighted early, and
Madeline watched eagerly for an audience. A few strolled in, some of
the mothers of the children, some of the young ladies, and a few of
the children's fathers; but this was not what Madeline wanted--it was
nearly eight o'clock, and but two gentlemen, one the old minister of
Roland's church, the other, a gentleman somewhat interested in the
morals of the neighborhood. After a while, a half dozen more came,
then three or four more, until about one dozen were present; at last,
quite a party of young ladies and gentlemen took their seats, and the
meeting commenced.
Roland had acquainted Mr. Stewart with the object of the meeting, and
requested him to state it to the audience, and open the exercises
with prayer. Interest had brought but few, curiosity the larger
number.
After the opening exercises, Roland arose. His name had not been
announced; but while he spoke, the rich, manly voice, and quiet
dignity of manner at once enchained attention; and as he proceeded to
describe the wants of the neighborhood, and the necessity of some
efforts by which to benefit the working classes, gradually his manner
increased in warmth; and when he alluded to the days when as a boy
athirst for knowledge, he had sat on these benches, and had often
longed for the use of a well-assorted library, there was a general
buzzing among the young people.
"Who can it be?" said Minnie Smith.
"Why, don't you remember Roland Bruce?" replied Lizzie Belton.
"It cannot be possible--that elegant looking man, Roland Bruce! then
such a speaker! I can't believe the evidence of my own senses."
"I know his eye, Minnie, I knew him as soon as I looked at him--I
heard the other day that he is quite a distinguished lawyer in New
York."
"Well, dear me! who ever could have believed it?"
"Why, Madeline Hamilton believed it--or else she never would have
taken so much interest in him--proud minx! she always said that he'd
be a great man yet."
"Let us listen, Lizzie, we are losing his speech;" and the young
girls stopped talking, to listen to his eloquence. He represented
the wants of the working man, said he had an intellect demanding
food, as well as a body; that he had a right to both; he believed
that many might be reclaimed and elevated, if those more favored
would lend a helping hand, and recognise the one great fact of
brotherhood--on this he spoke feelingly, for he had felt deeply. In
glowing words, he enlarged upon the advantages of useful reading,
appealed to those who employed these men; and asked if they would not
make better workmen, more faithful laborers, more moral and
intelligent, if conscious that there were hands stretched out,
saying, "Come my brother, I will help you."
All listened respectfully; and at the close, the gentlemen present
contributed something, those of large means liberally, and Madeline
had the pleasure of seeing her scheme likely to prosper. After all
had subscribed, "M. H----" modestly added one hundred dollars to the
list. "Who is he? Who is he?" was the question whispered all round
when the meeting was over.
"A young man by the name of Bruce, I think," was the reply of Mr.
Belton.
"I can tell you, gentlemen," said Mr. Stewart, his former minister;
"he was once a boy in the Sunday-school of my church, and a member of
Maple Lane School, very poor, very humble, but an excellent son, a
devoted brother, an earnest Christian, with bright talents, all
exercised for his Master. He is a child of Providence, gentlemen,
raised to what he is by a blessing upon a mother's piety and manly
trust in God."
Several went forward, and shook him warmly by the hand.
"We are proud of our Maple Lane boy, sir; your minister has told us
something of your history."
Lizzie Belton and Minnie Smith looked quite abashed, hiding their
faces as Madeline proudly took Roland's arm, and left the room. As
soon as they were out of hearing, she exclaimed--
"There, Roland, don't say that I am not a prophetess; I knew the day
would come when you'd make these silly upstarts feel ashamed of
themselves. I felt proud of you to-night, Roland, for I saw that
they were mortified as soon as they knew who it was. I suppose that
they would like to obtain the notice of Roland Bruce now."
"Madeline, is not this very much of the old leaven?"
"Yes, I suppose it is, guardian; but it was in this very room where
they used to be so mean, and I could not help the feeling. They have
heard you make your speech in Maple Lane School, and it did some
good, too; I am thankful for that. Now I'm going to prophesy a
little more--don't shake your wise head, good sir, at my
folly--you'll be an 'Honorable' yet. I expect to address letters to
the 'Honorable Roland Bruce, U.S. Senate.'"
Roland burst out laughing.
"Of all the scheming little heads that ever sat upon the shoulders of
a woman, yours exceeds. What possesses you, Madeline?" and Roland
laughed again most heartily; "how can you ever dream of such a thing?
I shall never be a politician."
"No, I know that, I should be very sorry for that; but worth and
talent sometimes meets its reward, even here."
"Madeline, I have but one ambition,--to serve my God faithfully in
whatever station he appoints, and to walk hand in hand with one of
the purest and loveliest of God's creatures in the path that leads us
home to Heaven."