With the exception of the young and thoughtless, who only look
forward to a season of festivity and enjoyment, and of the callous
and indifferent, who seldom think of such matters at all, the varied
feelings which hail the approach of Christmas may be compared to those
occasioned by the contemplation of advancing age--of age so different
in its aspects, whether we behold our fellow-mortals sinking down into
the vale of years alone, neglected and unloved; alienated from kindred
and friends, and still retaining the unholy animosities of earlier
years; unsubdued by religion, unsupported by the contemplation of a
useful and virtuous life; or, on the contrary, surrounded by loved and
loving hearts, looking back with gratitude and pleasure to the past,
and with hope and resignation to the future, in peace, and love, and
charity with all! Many a family in embarrassed circumstances, many a
poor widow with a “limited income,” looks on the increased expenses of
this season of the year, on its bills and various claims, with the same
feelings which anticipate the infirmities of declining years and sharp
attacks of rheumatism and gout. Many look forward to increased domestic
comfort, and brighter firesides. Many a mother smiles with delight on
her children, all assembled round her once more. Many a father rejoices
in their joyous laughter, or in the affection and reverence of maturer
age. Many an old friend is welcomed to the social board. But, alas!
there are many, too, who look back with a dreary regret to the years
that are gone, and think, how different Christmas Day seems now to what
it was!
Such melancholy thoughts were revolving in the mind of a man of
dignified and venerable aspect, pacing gloomily up and down the
splendid library of a fine old mansion. It was almost dark, and the
glare of the fire played over the rich volumes, and on the antique
carving of the furniture. He looked with a sigh at the hearth, once
crowded with happy faces. One only remained, and ah! how changed from
the blooming figure of earlier days, which rose before him! How feebly
that once beautiful head lay on the rich velvet cushion of her chair!
How much suffering and sorrow might be traced on that furrowed brow! He
felt that her reverie was as sad as his own; and truly too, for she was
thinking of many a fair child that had gone down to the tomb in all the
promise of early youth!--of the pride and joy of seeing them assembled
at Christmas, well and happy!--of the joyous holiday-makings and merry
meetings!--of the tearful partings, and the agony of those final ones,
when the thin, small hand, pressed in its tiny grasp the last life
greeting!
Still she could think of the departed with the softened and resigned
feelings which religion and time never fail to produce. But that which
fell most heavily on her heart and darkened her declining years, was,
that the last and only surviving one--the boy whom she had loved
best--whom she had watched over with such intense fear and anxiety--was
still a stranger from his father’s home. Month after month passed,
and still both, in their pride, hung back from any attempt at a
reconciliation. She felt that many more might not elapse before she
would be far beyond the reach of mediation, and with a mother’s and
a wife’s love she longed to see them united again ere she departed.
Presently she walked to the window, and laid her thin white hand on the
arm of her husband.
“I see you still love to watch the rooks going to rest in the old
elm-trees.”
“Yes,” said Sir John, hastily; “it is amusing to watch their odd
flights, and to imagine you can distinguish the croak of a particular
bird.” He would not say that it was Edward’s favourite pastime when a
boy, but his companion knew well that he _thought_ of the time when
both used to stand there together. “But who is this coming up the
avenue?” he said at length, as if willing to shake off the chain of
thought. “Mrs. Hope, I fancy, by her black dress. I suppose she is
come to tell us all about the dinner, as she promised.”
No door ever opened on a better, or kinder, or more zealous village
schoolmistress, than did this stately one on the spare, timid little
body who now advanced. No one ever looked more placidly happy, and no
one more pleased and grateful, when she was kindly placed in the most
comfortable of chairs by Sir John, and welcomed with a cordial smile by
his lady.
“I came up to tell you, sir, that everything was done as you desired.
The children were _so_ happy, it quite did one’s heart good to see
them. They all came in the morning with evergreens and holly, and we
made some beautiful wreaths to set off the room. Their new dresses
look very nice, and they are truly thankful to you for your kindness.
The coals and blankets, and other things, are all sent home too, and
many say they shall thank Sir John for a happy Christmas; which they
wish in return, with all their hearts, I am sure,” continued the good
little woman, with emotion; “for, thank God, _very_ few among them are
ungrateful.”
Sir John’s benevolent countenance brightened with pleasure as he
listened to the kind schoolmistress’s further recital of the village
festivities, to which he had contributed so largely; and his wife
marvelled how the heart of so good a man could be so unrelenting as she
knew it was.
Perhaps similar thoughts were passing in the mind of Mrs. Hope; for
after she had told all she ostensibly had to tell, and felt that it was
time for her to depart, she still lingered, and yet hesitated to speak.
“Is there anything you wish to say to us, Mrs. Hope?” said the lady,
kindly; “pray do not be afraid to mention anything in which we can be
of service to you. Is your son----”
“I thank your ladyship, I was not thinking of him then, but of some
one very different. I thought you might like to know, and yet was
not sure--but Mr. Edward and his lady came over to the school-house
to-day,” said she, as if from a desperate resolution, “and my heart
was quite full to see them come and go away again like strangers--just
at Christmas time, too!” Poor little Mrs. Hope trembled, for she saw
that Sir John’s brow darkened, and he drew back in his chair in an
agitated manner; but an encouraging look from the lady re-assured her.
“It was very pleasant to see him again,” she continued, “in the little
parlour where he often used to sit years ago, and give the prizes out
to the children, and speak encouragingly to them. I thought he had
forgotten the old place, and all he was so good to; but he told me he
had been longing to see it, and never could feel so happy anywhere
else.”
“Poor Edward!” said the lady, with emotion. “How does he look?”
“Very pale and delicate, ma’am; but just the same as ever--just the
same noble look,” said Mrs. Hope, fast gathering courage, “although not
quite so joyful like as it used to be. He made particular inquiries as
to how his father and mother looked, and seemed terribly cast down
when I told him how poorly you had both been.”
“Did he, indeed!” exclaimed Sir. John, starting from his seat, and
pacing up and down; “why did you not let me know he was with you?”
“I feared you did not wish to know it,” was the reply. “But oh, Sir
John! in my humble way I did think it strange that, in an erring world
like this, your heart should be turned from two such children!”
Tears were running fast down the face of the good little
schoolmistress. She hurried away; but her Magic Words were not spoken
in vain.
[Illustration: Day & Son, lith^{rs}. to the Queen.]