SUNSHINE HAS ITS SHADOWS.
"Man's love is of a man's life a thing apart,
'Tis woman's whole existence."
Byron.
We must now make an end for the present of our extracts from these
somewhat interesting chronicles. Sigurd, when we last saw him, was lying
in the arms of death, overborne by many wounds and hard circumstances.
He closed life's fitful career, clasping tightly the hand of Ethel; and
his great wish anent his burial was conscientiously carried out by her.
Saxon hands bore him by stealthy night-marches to a silent spot where
the fierce North Sea waves break upon the lonely Fen-country shore. They
dug for him a grave overlooking a wind-sheltered bay, where ofttimes the
Viking rovers had anchored their vessels of war, and from thence burst
like an avalanche over the country, sweeping it bare of its cattle and
its treasures. They dug deep his grave and laid his trusty sword beneath
his head; and Ethel was there--a sincere mourner at his burial. Then
they heaped the mound high, as Vikings were wont to bury their chiefs,
and as Sigurd wished it. Now, silently he awaits the great awakening,
and not without hope; for, according to his light, he had a great ideal,
and with rare courage, unselfishness, and devotion he struggled to
accomplish what was beyond him, and that which the march of the ages had
decreed should come to an end, but which should never be forgotten so
long as men long to know what races were the important factors in the
history-making peoples of the world.
It is scarcely necessary to say that Oswald's being received into favour
by the king, had a most beneficial effect upon the Saxon portion of the
population; and it did much to mitigate the rigours of that race
ascendency which the Normans strove to maintain. Our part of the country
began gradually to assume the wonted appearance of cultivation it had
worn prior to the troublous times of the Conquest. The lazy and
overbearing manners of the conquerors received a salutary check, and
Norman men-at-arms gradually settled down to peaceful occupations.
Wulfhere, the stalwart freeman, resumed possession of his ancient
patrimony, and in company of his charming little wife, Jeannette, was
more than content. Soon there began to play about his doors stout-limbed
youngsters, who, for enterprise and daring, bid fair to contribute
vigorously to the perpetuation of the stalwart race of _freemen_, which
had been such an important factor in English history for many
generations prior to the Norman Conquest.
The only other incident we need mention happened many years after the
events recorded in these pages.
One bright autumnal day, several of the children of Oswald were at play
in the woods near the castle, alternating their play by gathering the
walnuts and chestnuts which had fallen from the trees, or pelting the
squirrels as they leaped from tree to tree overhead, happy as only
children can be, when surrounded by bounteous and beautiful nature.
Suddenly there emerged from the thicket a woman, in the habiliments worn
by those who had renounced the world and devoted their lives to the
service of the church. The children were somewhat startled at the advent
of this strange figure; but her sweet face and winning smile completely
reassured them. She went up to the eldest boy and asked him his name.
"Oswald" was the reply. Then she took from her neck a beautiful crucifix
of gold, chastely and tastefully engraved, and to which was attached a
gold chain. This chain she put around his neck, depositing the crucifix
in his bosom. Then she removed his cap from his head, displaying a
profusion of curly locks, saying as she did so, "God bless thee, my
son!" Next she turned to the other children, inquiring their names, and
kissing and blessing them also. This done, she turned from them, and
stood gazing upon the castle in the distance for a minute or two; then,
as abruptly as she came, she disappeared in the wood, and was seen no
more. The children hastened home to show to their parents the beautiful
crucifix the stranger woman had given them, and to relate the strange
incident. Oswald pondered over the matter a long time, but with the
strange obtuseness which had marked the whole of his intercourse with
the beautiful Saxon, Ethel, he was utterly unable to identify the
strange visitant with any one he had known or remembered. A shade of
sorrow and sadness passed over Alice's face; and a tear trembled on her
eyelid, and fell unobserved to the ground. But she hinted not at the
personality of the stranger, though she understood the sad mystery, and
comprehended the tragedy which had been slowly and painfully enacted
through the years, in which a noble and virtuous woman's love had been
crucified.
THE END.
BRAILSFORD:
A Tale of West Riding Life.
BY JOHN BOWLING.
"'Brailsford' is a capital book, and, to those who can master the
Yorkshire dialect, it will give a great deal of pleasure. The excellent
teaching it contains makes it a most suitable book for a Sunday School
Library. If it once gets into a library, I feel sure it will be in great
demand. It is a thorough boy's book, and I wish every boy could read
it."--_Rev. Charles Garrett._
"Brailsford: a Tale of West Riding Life."--"This story ... is written in
a wholesome moral tone, and strikingly portrays the temptations which
assail young men in the business life of a large town. The hero of the
story is a draper's apprentice, who, by steadfast fidelity to duty,
rises to success; and the incidents are related with vigour, introducing
the reader to some curious phases of town life ... the book may be
safely placed in the hands of youths about to enter the commercial
world."--_Leeds Mercury._
"There is about this book a simplicity which charms, and an interest
that will carry the reader through every page. As pointing a moral, and
affording a stimulus to honest work, despite adverse circumstances, the
little volume will be of great value, and we trust it will have a wide
sale."--_Wharfedale and Airedale Observer._
"Our readers will recognise this as a reprint of a story which appeared
in serial form in the _Wesleyan Methodist Magazine_. At the time of its
original appearance we noticed it from time to time. In its new and more
convenient form it will greatly delight all lovers of the racy Yorkshire
dialect, and will at the same time prove instructive. It is a story of
the good and idle apprentice type, well told and satisfactorily ended.
The moral, of course, is unexceptional.... We heartily commend this
venture."--_Methodist Recorder._
"'Brailsford,' by John Bowling, is a tale of West Riding life, written
with animation and a keenly observant eye to various phases of character
that manifest themselves in rural districts. There is much humorous
dialogue in the book, bringing out several traits of Yorkshire life
excellently. There are, moreover, pathetic passages in this story, and
the author does not fail to inculcate some useful and noble
lessons."--_Methodist Times._
"... A most thrilling story.... We have the utmost pleasure in
recommending the book to our readers as one well worthy of a place in
every home.... The lessons which it sets forth are bound to make a deep
impression on every reader. We therefore earnestly wish the author every
success."--_Hunslet News._