* * * * * "Thy natal day,
Love bids it welcome, the love which hath smiled,
Ever around thee, my gentle child!
Watching thy footsteps and guarding thy bed,
And pouring out joy on thy sunny head.
Roses may vanish, but this will stay,--
Happy and bright is thy natal day." MRS. HEMANS.
_Tuesday, April 11th._
Walter has to-day taken his first exercise in walking alone. He is very
proud of his achievement, but no more so than his little sister who
stands at a short distance with outstretched arms and utters the
encouraging words, "Come, dear brother; _come_ to sister!"
He makes the attempt, but is so elated that he does not regard the good
old-fashioned precept, "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed
lest he fall," and straightway he lies prostrate on the floor. But
sister is not discouraged, and amidst shouts of delight on his part, and
sweet musical tones on hers, he is placed against the wall and prepares
for a new triumph. Pauline is not satisfied that there should be so few
present to witness the astonishing feat. She runs to the library for her
father. "Oh! papa, come quick, and see what Walter can do!" She soon
assembled the whole household. Papa looked on with the most complacent
of smiles, hardly knowing which to admire more, the new use to which his
first-born son was determined to put his understanding, or the
unselfish triumph of his little daughter. Cæsar, Phebe and Ann loudly
applauded the little fellow. This, as is often the case with persons of
riper years, only made him top-heavy and brought him sooner down to his
proper level. But nothing daunted, he started again, rendered almost
wild by the hearty cheers of those around him. At last, mamma came to
the rescue. The young hope of the house must rest for a season, in
anticipation of new trials and new victories.
_Evening._
Emily called to hear the last advices from Joseph Lee. The latest
intelligence was quite encouraging. The patient is much more calm and
sleeps well under the influence of powerful anodynes, and if nothing new
occurs, bids fair to recover. If he were the most affectionate of
brothers, Lucy could not feel more grateful. She wrote to his physician
to spare no expense for the comfort of her brother, who would ere long,
she hoped, be able to return home.
_Wednesday, April 19th._
This is the second anniversary of my wedding. How much happiness has
fallen to my lot! My own Frank grows every day more dear to me. How
fervently he prayed this morning for me and for himself, giving thanks
to God for our happy union and the various blessings with which divine
mercy has crowned it, and seeking for us still larger supplies of grace,
that increased fidelity to its duties may perpetuate and multiply our
joys. May God give me grace to prove myself a worthy help-meet! I often
fear that I am too much engrossed with my earthly treasures. My husband,
children and friends occupy too much of my time and thoughts, while I am
liable to forget the Giver of these rich mercies. Oh, that I may not in
this way bring upon myself his chastening rod! Oh, that all my earthly
affections may be so sanctified as to be acceptable to my Father in
heaven!
_Tuesday, May 2d._
This is my dear Walter's birth-day. Through how many scenes have I
passed in one year! This was indeed the hour of nature's trial. But oh!
how richly is the agony of the mother repaid by her joy at the sound of
the sweet voice so soon calling her _mamma_! Next to _home_, the
embodiment of all earthly joys, this is to me the sweetest word in all
our language. From the bottom of my heart I pity the Stoic who cannot
comprehend the full and precious import of the word _home_.
_Evening._
We have had quite a little fête in honor of our young Lenox. Phebe
exercised all her skill in the preparation of a birthday cake, which was
however intended for the guests, the children being perfectly content
with a piece of the frosting.
Pauline's tiny set of china was brought in requisition. This was a
present from her father on her own birth-day, which we celebrate on the
sixth of June, the day on which we received her as a precious boon from
heaven. The dear girl, with Ann for an assistant, arranged the table in
the dining-room, and issued the invitations in behalf of her brother;
and when her feast was ready went round from room to room to lead in her
guests.
None of the household were omitted, though Ruth was obliged to excuse
herself as she had been previously invited to officiate as bridemaid in
the village. Papa and mamma were permitted to occupy seats together on
one side of the table, a privilege which the gentleman acknowledged by a
low bow. Grandmamma and aunt Emily sat opposite. Master Lenox was in his
high chair at the head of the table, with good Cæsar and Phebe beside
him. Pauline took the seat which I usually occupied, with Ann by her
side.
Our sable friends had joined in the birth-day sports of Mass'r Frank and
Misse Emily, and felt no embarrassment in sitting with us on such an
occasion, in honor of which Phebe had donned a new turban of brilliant
hues, and Cæsar had given his face, eyes, and teeth an extra shine. But
Ann felt it necessary to apologize for the liberty, and said "Miss
Pauline would have it so."
The Doctor replied pleasantly, "All's right, Ann, Pauline knows what is
proper." As for the child, her duties became rather onerous. She flew
around the table, moving one here and another there, until at length her
guests were arranged to her satisfaction. Then she resumed her own seat.
Thinking that he had waited quite long enough, Walter, with a quick
motion jumped up in his chair, and helped himself to a large piece of
the sugared cake which stood before him. Pauline was shocked, and said
"Please, brother, don't do so, I was just going to ask papa to say
grace." But her papa was laughing so much that he declined to officiate
as chaplain, and advised her to distribute her treat at once.
To tell the whole truth, the young gentleman, in honor of whom the
invitation was given, did not get to himself much credit by his conduct
on the occasion. He upset everything within his reach, and was only
appeased when his obliging friend at his side allowed him the free use
of his curly head for a plaything, when he soon had his little fingers
so tangled in the wool as to allow the rest of the company an
opportunity to enjoy themselves in peace.
If all the truth must be told, the grave Doctor, from whom we should
least have expected trouble, did not certainly distinguish himself by
sobriety. Indeed I was obliged to request his mother to dismiss him from
the table, unless he could control his risibles.
Never was matron more perplexed and annoyed by the conduct of guests
than was our hostess. Flushed with excitement, her brow knit with
anxiety lest some one should be overlooked, she flew around, and then
remembering that this was not mamma's manner, she returned to her seat
and there tried to do the honors in the most approved style.
_Friday, May 12th._
Lucy has received a letter from Joseph in reply to one from her, urging
him to come home. In it he manifests the most horrible disregard of his
own state, just arising from what appeared to be his death-bed, and also
of the gradually dying condition of his father, and refuses ever to go
beneath "the accursed roof while the old man lives." The deeply
afflicted sister is horrified beyond measure, but of course will conceal
the letter from her father.
Squire Lee has often asked, if Joseph is not coming home, and feels
grieved that his son left him in anger. He confessed to the Doctor, a
few days ago, that the sins of Joseph lay heavily upon his conscience,
at the same time repeating a quotation from the morning reading in which
the woe was pronounced upon Eli and his house "because his sons made
themselves vile, and he restrained them not."
_Saturday, May 13th._
I called at Squire Lee's to-day, and happening to have Pauline with me,
I took her up into the old gentleman's room. He appeared extremely
feeble, and after I had said a few words to him, and was turning to take
a seat, Lucy led Pauline toward the bed. With a look of horror upon his
countenance, he screamed, "Who is she? _Who is she?_ I don't want her
here. Oh, let her go away!"
The poor child began to cry, and I hastily led her from the room,
wondering why the sight of her should cause such unusual agitation. Lucy
sent a servant to beg me to go into the parlor, where she would soon
meet me. I took Pauline in my lap, but it was some time before I could
succeed in soothing her. She said, "the sick man makes dreadful faces at
me."
Lucy said, her father wished her to apologize to me, and to say, that
the child resembled so strongly a lady he had known when in Europe, that
for a moment he thought her standing before him. "But when I told him,"
she added, "it was your little girl, he was relieved at once. I think,"
continued she, with slight agitation, "father must have had some
unpleasant associations, connected with the lady, he mentioned, for he
was laboring under strong excitement, while the perspiration stood in
drops upon his brow."
On my return, I related to Frank what had happened; he said I had better
avoid taking Pauline there again, since such excitements might prove
fatal to his patient. I don't remember that the old gentleman ever saw
her before.