Beautifully dawned the last morning of the old year. How lovely are
some few winter sunrisings! A cold, grey sky, and dim, glimmering
light, scarcely reveals surrounding objects. Presently a delicate blush
appears, gently stealing over the east. It deepens to a ruddy glow; and
then bright, golden clouds, tinged with many a varied hue, overspread
the sky, lighting up in the strongest relief every leafless tree, even
to the most fibre-like branches.
Everything is very still. Edith sits silently at the window of her
dressing-room, watching that lovely dawn. Presently a few starlings
appear on the frosty slopes, with their quick, impatient gestures and
rapid movements, seeking a breakfast. A pair of beautiful blackbirds
droop their jetty wings, and seem numbed with cold. A robin, cheerful
even in adversity, trills a few grateful notes on a shrub near the
window, and Edith thinks that no new-year’s serenade could be half as
touching as that low, sweet song. She thinks, too, what a lesson it
teaches; for her melancholy eye had been straying mournfully over the
broad lands stretching far and wide before her, and--“’tis an old tale,
and often told,”--she had almost envied the humblest cottager in those
her lordly possessions. “Farewell, old year!” she exclaimed; “none
other will ever dawn upon me as you did. May the new bear happiness and
joy to many! Oh, Marion! you little thought how desolate I am, when you
prophesied that there was yet much in store for me.”
Marion’s picturesque cottage could be plainly seen in the distance,
shut in by the blue range of hills above, and sheltered with sweeping
larches. The morning sun now shone brightly upon it, and Edith pictured
to herself the beaming, happy countenance of her friend.
“May God bless you, Marion!” she continued with emotion; “for to the
example of your gentle goodness I owe all that is now left me,--the
knowledge of that usefulness, that patient love and forbearance, which
makes you so dear to others, so happy in yourself, and without which
all that the world calls beauty and talent is hollow and heartless
indeed! You taught me the value of true affection--the folly and
littleness of the false pride I rejoiced in; and yet so sweetly, that
I was only humbled to myself--not to you. Would that it had been but a
few short months before! Oh, Percy! how willingly would I now confess
myself in the wrong! But now I am forgotten! In your benevolent plans,
in your honourable successes, there is no thought of me; or I am only
remembered as a wilful, imperious woman, whom you once foolishly loved.
I shall never see you again--mine the sorrow, mine the fault! But I am
earning the right to self-esteem; I am doing all that I believe you
would approve of, did you care for me now.”
Her heart was very full as she descended to the breakfast-room. No
one was there; but on the table lay a simple nosegay. “From Marion,”
was written on a slip of paper. Edith mentally thanked her friend for
the love which she knew was expressed in the fragrant gift; but tears
sprang into her eyes as she looked on it; for a few lovely roses,
the little blue periwinkle, with its shining green leaves and “sweet
remembrances,” and a few early primroses and violets, were arranged
almost exactly as she had received them from a still more beloved hand
the year before. She started as her mother entered the room, and turned
hastily to conceal her emotion; but touched by the look of anxious
love which she caught fixed on herself, exclaimed, while she suffered
the large tears to fall down her face, “Oh, my mother, I will not be
proud to _you_--Heaven knows there would be little merit in that! I was
thinking”--and her beautiful head lay on her mother’s gentle bosom--“of
the happiness which I have thrown away--of one who has forgotten me.”
“Ah, my dear child!” said her mother, as she tenderly pressed her hand
on the throbbing brow, “in the doubtfulness of our nature we often
accuse those of forgetfulness whose hearts may be breaking for our
sake.”
Edith looked up, a sudden expression of joy beaming over her
countenance. As she bent again over the flowers, the sweetest gleam of
hope stole over her, and she felt the magic influence of those words.
Happy are they who in their own interests, joys, and sorrows, forget
not the welfare of others! Edith looked forward with pleasure to the
events of the day; for in the morning the school which she had built
was to be opened, with an appropriate address from the good rector;
and in the evening, young and old, rich and poor, were to be assembled
in her splendid home. She had gaily declared to the gentry her wish to
receive, as lady of the manor, “all good comers,” that New-Year’s Eve;
and to sup in the old hall of her ancestors, after the manner of feudal
times, with the peasantry of her estate “below the salt.” They, of
course, looked forward to the event with unmixed pleasure and delight.
Not so all those of gentler birth; for she had lived but little among
them until of late, and was understood still less. Many thought it a
capricious whim of the spoiled beauty, and many wondered what strange
thing she would do next. “It was not that she cared more than the rest
of them that the poor should enjoy themselves, but that she loved to
do as no one else did. What a pity her uncle’s fine estate was left in
such hands!”
So charitably reasoned some of the invited guests; but, happily, there
were others who knew Edith better, and welcomed with delight her kind
and benevolent plan for a happy new-year’s eve to them all.
The important evening at last arrived. The village children could not
have existed much longer. Wide were the park-gates flung open, and
never had the old avenue rung with the sound of so many merry voices
before. Many a little belle startled a sleeping bird by stopping under
his resting-place to admire, by the light of the lantern she carried,
her bran new shoes and pretty frock, wondering if any of the great
ladies would look half as nice, and feel half as happy as she did. Some
timid little creatures clung to their mothers’ skirts, and looked with
mingled feelings of awe and admiration on the stately mansion, blazing
with light in the midst of the dark cedars, half afraid of entering
it until re-assured by the promise of seeing the kind lady whom they
all loved. But when they arrived there, and were welcomed by that
sweet lady herself, who shook hands with all, and wished them a happy
new-year; and when they saw the fine old hall with its bright armour,
and many magnificent rooms all beautifully lighted up and decorated,
and were shown the pictures and other wonderful things, their delight
knew no bounds. But, perhaps, that which charmed them most was a deep
recess at the lower end of the hall, completely filled with rare and
luxuriant plants, in the midst of which stood a beautiful figure of
Peace, joining the hands of Anger and Contention, who were regarding
with a mingled expression of surprise and admiration the heavenly
beauty which they had not perceived when occupied with their unholy
strife.
The children whispered softly here; for the light was very dim, but a
lovely glow irradiated the beaming countenance of Peace, and here and
there flowers glistened in the dark leaves around them.
And now tea and cake, such as they had never tasted before, awaited
them in a pretty room, gay with laurel and holly, where our friend Mrs.
Hope presided, half beside herself with joy, yet preserving the most
perfect order and decorum. Then the amusements of the evening began,
which comprised the merriest and oddest of all styles of dancing to the
music of the village band, the wonders of a magic lantern, and many
a childish game beside; but above all, the crowning delight was the
new-year’s gift to each of a pretty little volume, with the name of
each written in it by Edith’s own hand.
The hours flew too swiftly by--so thought these delighted little
people, as ten o’clock was announced, and Edith wished them all good
night as kindly as she had welcomed them; but in few words, for
carriages were arriving, and she had to receive her guests: they
thanked her in their simple way for the pleasure which she had given
them, and the homely sincerity of their gratitude lighted her sweet
face with happy smiles.
The spacious picture-gallery, which had been converted into a ball-room
for the occasion, was gay with many a shining wreath. The old family
portraits seemed to look down with pleasure, and to beam a welcome on
all assembled there; so thought several of the wandering villagers,
grouped here and there amid the more brilliant throng, watching the
mazes of the dance with interest and amazement, and listening with
equal surprise to the magnificent band, to the music of which many a
fairy foot was flying. Most, however, thought it very inferior to the
performance of their own village musicians, and wondered how people
could dance to such spiritless tunes on a new-year’s eve like this.
Edith had anticipated their predilection, their shyness, and their love
of country-dances and hornpipes; so they were soon marshalled by their
gentle chamberlain, Mrs. Hope, into another room, where they could
enjoy all these to their hearts’ content, and yet feel themselves
privileged to look in on the grandees whenever they pleased. Perhaps
this room, with its unrestrained mirth and merry laughter, was happier
than the more splendid one; for though many there were thoroughly
enjoying the beauty and gaiety of the scene, still there were
heart-burnings. In that large assemblage several met, who, though once
friends, had not spoken for years, and who felt startled and uneasy at
being brought into such close proximity. But scarcely a shadow could be
cast where the beautiful hostess moved and spoke--
“Thought in each glance, and mind in every smile.”
There was so much frankness in every kind and earnest word she said,
joined to the charm of her gentle and courtly manners, that the
coldest, the most obtuse, the most reserved, felt moved and interested
beyond themselves, and more cordially inclined to all the world beside.
And Marion was there, whose flowers were the only ornament on Edith’s
snowy dress; but she, usually so gay, was thoughtful almost to
sadness, and looked anxiously into her husband’s face as they stood for
a few moments apart--“I believed that of late years my father never
mixed in such scenes as these,” said he. “Edith could not have thought
he would come when she invited us.”
“I knew how it was to be,” said Marion; “there are many here to-night
whom she hopes to bring together again; rich and poor. See, she is
looking towards us now, while speaking to him! Oh, Edward, go up to
them at once, I entreat you!” exclaimed she earnestly.
“Not before so many people,” said her husband with emotion. “Suppose he
were to refuse my hand?”
Marion sighed: but her hopeful nature whispered that the New-Year’s Eve
was not yet ended. And now a clock of silvery tone chimed and struck
the hour of midnight. The guests were conducted to supper: unseen
harps, and sweet voices, gave a slow farewell to the old year, as they
were seating themselves at the upper end of the hall, and then burst
forth into a joyful welcome to the new, as the villagers entered
and took their places at the lower range of tables; this again died
away, and a sweet strain arose, of the softest prayer, for peace and
happiness to all! Marion looked round with emotion.
It was a lovely scene, that huge banquet-hall, with its gay wreaths of
holly and flowers. The bright assemblage of guests; the happy faces of
the villagers below; the beautiful hostess, seated in an antique chair
at the upper end, with the banners of her ancient race, trophies of
ages long gone by, waving behind her; the lovely figure of Peace below,
almost shrouded in the dark leaves, and forming a striking contrast to
those warlike emblems: all these afforded a sight which, once beheld,
would not be easily forgotten.
After each guest had paid sufficient homage to the choice viands before
them, Edith took up a cup of curious workmanship; her face was radiant
with kindness and love as she looked on those around her.
“This cup has been possessed, for many a century, by my ancestors,”
she said; “preserved for ages as a venerated relic: doubtless many a
toast has been pledged in it--many a friendly welcome expressed; but I
believe no more cordial and sincere one than that with which I greet
you all this night. I would fain express the usual wish of a new-year
of all imaginable happiness and prosperity, but as such have never
visited this earth, we know it would be vain; and I therefore wish you
the greatest of all blessings--that which cheers and supports us in
the sorrows of life, and heightens beyond measure its pleasures and
enjoyments,--love and harmony in your hearts and homes! There may be
some among us estranged from friends and kindred, grieving over the
fault, (for few, let us hope, in a Christian land, can live unmoved in
enmity one with another,) and yet hanging back, in mistaken pride or
want of moral courage, from the few conciliatory words which would, in
most cases, suffice for a perfect reconciliation. The old year is now
passing away--may it bear with it all anger, all animosity! May those
few healing words be spoken,--and Peace, and Love, and Charity be with
us all!”
Edith’s voice trembled with emotion, but she did not perceive the
agitation of many of her guests, for her eyes were fixed, as if in a
dream, on the lower end of the hall. There was a movement of surprise
among those seated there: she made her way, she knew not how, through
them all. Yes, it was Percy!--One look, expressing a thousand emotions,
and their hands were clasped in each other! For an instant her lovely
head was bowed before him, while a few large, heavy tears, fell on the
flowers at her feet! But she soon mastered her emotion, and, with a
face radiant with joy, led him through the crowd of sympathising faces
to her mother’s side. In the short silence which ensued, the bells of
the village church were plainly heard ringing-in the new-born year!
When had they ever sounded so sweetly before?
And now a joyous strain again burst forth, and all returned to the
ball-room. Again the young, the beautiful, the gay, joined in the
dance; and never feet flew more lightly than theirs. But there
were those who felt a deeper joy; the serene, the heavenly one of
Reconciliation!
And Percy and Edith once more stood side by side,--united, happy! And
Marion told her wondering friend how Percy (who was an old college
friend of her husband’s) had come to see them that morning, and in
their quiet home had confessed that he was drawn to them by the desire
of obtaining news of her, round whom his deep true love still lingered
with so much regret. She had tried to persuade him to accompany them
that night, but still he doubted--still feared. Yet he now confessed to
Edith how, when they were gone, he had longed to see her face again,
how he had concealed himself in the crowd, and how he had been moved,
by what she had just said, to rush forward from the recess where he
stood unobserved, that he might be the first to own the gentle Magic of
those words!
And many others had felt them too! Marion was leaning on _her father’s_
arm--her eyes cast down and tearful in their joyfulness, as he spoke
to her in a low tone of the invalid whom she must see on the morrow.
And all hearts were touched and softened, and rich and poor felt drawn
closer together! And they thought of the voice that had said,--“Love
one another as I have loved you,”--and of the divine lessons of
peacefulness and long-suffering which some had forgotten! And many
blessed to the end of their days the Magic Words spoken by the
Peacemaker[A] on that New-year’s Night.
MAGIC WORDS.
Magic words! magic words!
From holy impulse they are born,
The seeming chance of circumstance,
God’s utterance to hearts forlorn;
Where’er they fall reject them not,
Nor think their mission is in vain;
’Twixt loving hearts, whom coldness parts,
Let not the dreary silence reign.
Magic words! what are they?
Things the truest soul will say!
Magic words! magic words!
Ah! dear as to the dying flow’r,
The starry dews that balm infuse,
And whisper of the fallen show’r!
Sweet as the bubbling desert spring
To one who wanders o’er the sands,
Are those chance words, that sow like birds
The flowering seeds of happier lands!
Magic words! what are they?
Things the simplest tongue may say!
Magic words! magic words!
O let them live on ev’ry lip,
A source of bliss, of holiest kiss,
And bond of fairest fellowship.
And evermore at this blest time,
Tho’ winter’s snows o’erspread the scene,
One magic call, to bind us all,
Shall be old Christmas’ evergreen!
Magic words! are not they
Offerings meet for Christmas Day?
London:--Printed by G. BARCLAY, Castle St. Leicester Sq.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] Edith, in the Anglo-Saxon language, signifies Peacemaker.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Superscripted characters are preceded by a carat character: lith^{rs}.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.