play, to see them babies with their long bright curling hair, their
sparkling eyes, and their beautiful light tread, rambling about the
garden, deep in love. Boots was of opinion that the birds believed
they was birds, and kept up with 'em, singing to please 'em. Sometimes
they would creep under the Tulip-tree, and would sit there with their
arms round one another's necks, and their soft cheeks touching, a
reading about the Prince, and the Dragon, and the good and bad
enchanters, and the king's fair daughter. Sometimes I would hear them
planning about having a house in a forest, keeping bees and a cow, and
living entirely on milk and honey. Once I came upon them by the pond,
and heard Master Harry say, "Adorable Norah, kiss me, and say you love
me to distraction, or I'll jump in head-foremost." On the whole, sir,
the contemplation o' them two babies had a tendency to make me feel as
if I was in love myself,--only I didn't exactly know who with.
"Cobbs," says Master Harry, one evening, when I was watering the
flowers; "I am going on a visit, this present midsummer, to my
grandmamma's at York."
"Are you indeed, sir? I hope you'll have a pleasant time. I am going
into Yorkshire, myself, when I leave here."
"Are you going to your grandmamma's, Cobbs?"
"No, sir. I haven't got such a thing."
"Not as a grandmamma, Cobbs?"
"No, sir."
The boy looks on at the watering of the flowers for a little while,
and then he says, "I shall be very glad indeed to go, Cobbs,--Norah's
going."
"You'll be all right then, sir, with your beautiful sweetheart by your
side."
"Cobbs," returns the boy, a flushing, "I never let anybody joke about
that when I can prevent them."
"It wasn't a joke, sir,--wasn't so meant."
"I am glad of that, Cobbs, because I like you, you know, and you're
going to live with us,--Cobbs!"
"Sir."
"What do you think my grandmamma gives me, when I go down there?"
"I couldn't so much as make a guess, sir."
"A Bank of England five-pound note, Cobbs."
"Whew! That's a spanking sum of money, Master Harry."
"A person could do a good deal with such a sum of money as that.
Couldn't a person, Cobbs?"
"I believe you, sir!"
"Cobbs," says that boy, "I'll tell you a secret. At Norah's house they
have been joking her about me, and pretending to laugh at our being
engaged. Pretending to make game of it, Cobbs!"
"Such, sir, is the depravity of human natur."
The boy, looking exactly like his father, stood for a few minutes, and
then departed with, "Good night, Cobbs. I'm going in."
If I was to ask Boots how it happened that I was a going to leave that
place just at that present time, well, I couldn't rightly answer you,
sir. I do suppose I might have stayed there till now, if I had been
anyways inclined. But you see, he was younger then, and he wanted
change. That's what I wanted,--change. Mr. Walmers, he says to me,
when I give him notice of my intentions to leave, "Cobbs," he says,
"have you anything to complain of? I make the inquiry, because if I
find that any of my people really has anythink to complain of, I wish
to make it right if I can."
"No, sir; thanking you, sir, I find myself as well sitiwated here as I
could hope to be anywheres. The truth is, sir, that I'm a going to
seek my fortun."
"O, indeed, Cobbs?" he says; "I hope you may find it." And Boots could
assure me--which he did, touching his hair with his bootjack--that he
hadn't found it yet.
Well, sir! I left the Elmses when my time was up, and Master Harry, he
went down to the old lady's at York, which old lady were so wrapped up
in that child as she would have give that child the teeth out of her
head (if she had had any). What does that Infant do--for Infant you
may call him, and be within the mark--but cut away from that old
lady's with his Norah, on a expedition to go to Gretna Green and be
married!
Sir, I was at this identical Holly-Tree Inn (having left it several
times since to better myself, but always come back through one thing
or another), when, one summer afternoon, the coach drives up, and out
of the coach gets them two children. The Guard says to our Governor,
"I don't quite make out these little passengers, but the young
gentleman's words was, that they was to be brought here." The young
gentleman gets out; hands his lady out; gives the Guard something for
himself; says to our Governor, "We're to stop here to-night, please.
Sitting-room and two bedrooms will be required. Mutton chops and
cherry pudding for two!" and tucks her, in her little sky-blue mantle,
under his arm, and walks into the house much bolder than Brass.
Sir, I leave you to judge what the amazement of that establishment
was, when those two tiny creatures all alone by themselves was marched
into the Angel; much more so, when I, who had seen them without their
seeing me, give the Governor my views of the expedition they was upon.
"Cobbs," says the Governor, "if this is so, I must set off myself to
York and quiet their friends' minds. In which case you must keep your
eye upon 'em, and humor 'em, till I come back. But before I take these
measures, Cobbs, I should wish you to find from themselves whether
your opinions is correct." "Sir to you," says I, "that shall be done
directly."
So Boots goes up stairs to the Angel, and there he finds Master Harry
on a e-normous sofa,--immense at any time, but looking like the Great
Bed of Ware, compared with him,--a drying the eyes of Miss Norah with
his pocket-hankecher. Their little legs was entirely off the ground,
of course; and it really is not possible to express how small them
children looked.
"It's Cobbs! It's Cobbs!" cries Master Harry, and he comes running to
me and catching hold of my hand. Miss Norah, she comes running to me
on t'other side and catching hold of my t'other hand, and they both
jump for joy.
[Illustration]
"I see you a getting out, sir," says I. "I thought it was you. I
thought I couldn't be mistaken in your heighth and figure. What's the
object of your journey, sir?--Matrimonial?"
"We are going to be married, Cobbs, at Gretna Green," returns the boy.
"We have run away on purpose. Norah has been in rather low spirits,
Cobbs; but she'll be happy, now we have found you to be our friend."
"Thank you sir, and thank _you_, miss, for your good opinion. _Did_
you bring any luggage with you, sir?"
If I will believe Boots when he gives me his word and honor upon it,
the lady had got a parasol, a smelling-bottle, a round and a half of
cold buttered toast, eight peppermint drops, and a Doll's hairbrush.
The gentleman had got about half a dozen yards of string, a knife,
three or four sheets of writing-paper folded up surprisingly small, a
orange, and a Chaney mug with his name on it.
"What may be the exact natur of your plans, sir?" says I.
"To go on," replies the boy,--which the courage of that boy was
something wonderful!--"in the morning, and be married to-morrow."
"Just so, sir. Would it meet your views, sir, if I was to accompany
you?"
They both jumped for joy again, and cried out, "O yes, yes, Cobbs!
Yes!"
"Well, sir, if you will excuse my having the freedom to give an
opinion, what I should recommend would be this. I'm acquainted with a
pony, sir, which, put in a pheayton that I could borrow, would take
you and Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, (driving myself if you approved,)
to the end of your journey in a very short space of time. I am not
altogether sure, sir, that this pony will be at liberty till
to-morrow, but even if you had to wait over to-morrow for him, it
might be worth your while. As to the small account here, sir, in case
you was to find yourself running at all short, that don't signify;
because I'm a part proprietor of this inn, and it could stand over."
Boots assures me that when they clapped their hands, and jumped for
joy again, and called him, "Good Cobbs!" and "Dear Cobbs!" and bent
across him to kiss one another in the delight of their confiding
hearts, he felt himself the meanest rascal, for deceiving 'em, that
ever was born.
"Is there anything you want just at present, sir?" I says, mortally
ashamed of myself.
"We should like some cakes after dinner," answers Master Harry, "and
two apples--and jam. With dinner we should like to have toast and
water. But Norah has always been accustomed to half a glass of currant
wine at dessert. And so have I."
"It shall be ordered at the bar, sir," I says.
Sir, I has the feeling as fresh upon me at this minute of speaking as
I had then, that I would far rather have had it out in half a dozen
rounds with the Governor, than have combined with him; and that I
wished with all my heart there was any impossible place where those
two babies could make an impossible marriage, and live impossibly
happy ever afterwards. However, as it couldn't be, I went into the
Governor's plans, and the Governor set off for York in half an hour.
The way in which the women of that house--without exception--every one
of 'em--married _and_ single--took to that boy when they heard the
story, is surprising. It was as much as could be done to keep 'em from
dashing into the room and kissing him. They climbed up all sorts of
places, at the risk of their lives, to look at him through a pane of
glass. And they were seven deep at the keyhole.
In the evening, I went into the room to see how the runaway couple was
getting on. The gentleman was on the window-seat, supporting the lady
in his arms. She had tears upon her face, and was lying, very tired
and half asleep, with her head upon his shoulder.
"Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, fatigued, sir?"
"Yes, she is tired, Cobbs; but she is not used to be away from home,
and she has been in low spirits again. Cobbs, do you think you could
bring a biffin, please?"
"I ask your pardon, sir. What was it you--"
"I think a Norfolk biffin would rouse her, Cobbs. She is very fond of
them."
Well, sir, I withdrew in search of the required restorative, and the
gentleman handed it to the lady, and fed her with a spoon, and took a
little himself. The lady being heavy with sleep, and rather cross,
"What should you think, sir," I says, "of a chamber candlestick?" The
gentleman approved; the chambermaid went first up the great staircase;
the lady, in her sky-blue mantle, followed, gallantly escorted by the
gentleman; the gentleman embraced her at her door, and retired to his
own apartment, where I locked him up.
Boots couldn't but feel with increased acuteness what a base deceiver
he was, when they consulted him at breakfast (they had ordered sweet
milk-and-water, and toast and currant jelly, over night) about the
pony. It really was as much as he could do, he don't mind confessing
to me, to look them two young things in the face, and think what a
wicked old father of lies he had grown up to be. Howsomever, sir, I
went on a lying like a Trojan about the pony. I told 'em that it did
so unfort'nately happen that the pony was half clipped, you see, and
that he couldn't be took out in that state, for fear it should strike
to his inside. But that he'd be finished clipping in the course of the
day, and that to-morrow morning at eight o'clock the pheayton would be
ready. Boots's view of the whole case, looking back upon it in my
room, is, that Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, was beginning to give in.
She hadn't had her hair curled when she went to bed, and she didn't
seem quite up to brushing it herself, and its getting in her eyes put
her out. But nothing put out Master Harry. He sat behind his
breakfast-cup, a tearing away at the jelly, as if he had been his own
father.
In the course of the morning, Master Harry rung the bell,--it was
surprising how that there boy did carry on,--and said, in a sprightly
way, "Cobbs, is there any good walks in this neighborhood?"
"Yes, sir. There's Love Lane."
"Get out with you, Cobbs!"--that was that there boy's
expression,--"you're joking."
"Begging your pardon, sir, there really is Love Lane; and a pleasant
walk it is, and proud shall I be to show it to yourself and Mrs. Harry
Walmers, Junior."
"Norah, dear," says Master Harry, "this is curious. We really ought to
see Love Lane. Put on your bonnet, my sweetest darling, and we will go
there with Cobbs."
Boots leaves me to judge what a Beast he felt himself to be, when that
young pair told him, as they all three jogged along together, that
they had made up their minds to give him two thousand guineas a year
as head gardener, on account of his being so true a friend to 'em.
Well, sir, I turned the conversation as well as I could, and I took
'em down Love Lane to the water-meadows, and there Master Harry would
have drowned himself in a half a moment more, a getting out a
water-lily for her,--but nothing daunted that boy. Well, sir, they was
tired out. All being so new and strange to 'em, they was tired as
tired could be. And they laid down on a bank of daisies, like the
children in the wood, leastways meadows, and fell asleep.
I don't know, sir,--perhaps you do,--why it made a man fit to make a
fool of himself, to see them two pretty babies a lying there in the
clear still sunny day, not dreaming half so hard when they was asleep
as they done when they was awake. But Lord! when you come to think of
yourself, you know, and what a game you have been up to ever since you
was in your own cradle, and what a poor sort of a chap you are, after
all, that's where it is! Don't you see, sir?
Well, sir, they woke up at last, and then one thing was getting pretty
clear to me, namely, that Mrs. Harry Walmerses, Junior's, temper was
on the move. When Master Harry took her round the waist, she said he
"teased her so"; and when he says, "Norah, my young May Moon, your
Harry tease you?" she tells him, "Yes; and I want to go home!"
A billed fowl and baked bread-and-butter pudding brought Mrs. Walmers
up a little; but I could have wished, I must privately own to you,
sir, to have seen her more sensible of the voice of love, and less
abandoning of herself to the currants in the pudding. However, Master
Harry, he kep' up, and his noble heart was as fond as ever. Mrs.
Walmers turned very sleepy about dusk, and begun to cry. Therefore,
Mrs. Walmers went off to bed as per yesterday; and Master Harry ditto
repeated.
About eleven or twelve at night comes back the Governor in a chaise,
along with Mr. Walmers and a elderly lady. Mr. Walmers says to our
missis: "We are much indebted to you, ma'am, for your kind care of our
little children, which we can never sufficiently acknowledge. Pray,
ma'am, where is my boy?" Our missis says: "Cobbs has the dear child
in charge, sir. Cobbs, show Forty!" Then Mr. Walmers, he says: "Ah,
Cobbs! I am glad to see _you_. I understood you was here!" And I says:
"Yes, sir. Your most obedient, sir."
"I beg your pardon, sir," I adds, while unlocking the door; "I hope
you are not angry with Master Harry. For Master Harry is a fine boy,
sir, and will do you credit and honor." And Boots signifies to me,
that if the fine boy's father had contradicted him in the state of
mind in which he then was, he thinks he should have "fetched him a
crack," and took the consequences.
But Mr. Walmers only says, "No, Cobbs. No, my good fellow. Thank you!"
and, the door being opened, goes in, goes up to the bedside, bends
gently down, and kisses the little sleeping face. Then he stands
looking at it for a minute, looking wonderfully like it (they do say
he ran away with Mrs. Walmers); and then he gently shakes the little
shoulder.
"Harry, my dear boy! Harry!"
Master Harry starts up and looks at his pa. Looks at me too. Such is
the honor of that mite, that he looks at me, to see whether he has
brought me into trouble.
"I am not angry, my child. I only want you to dress yourself and come
home."
"Yes, pa."
Master Harry dresses himself quick.
"Please may I"--the spirit of that little creatur,--"please, dear
pa,--may I--kiss Norah, before I go?"
"You may, my child."
So he takes Master Harry in his hand, and I leads the way with the
candle to that other bedroom, where the elderly lady is seated by the
bed, and poor little Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, is fast asleep. There
the father lifts the boy up to the pillow, and he lays his little face
down for an instant by the little warm face of poor little Mrs. Harry
Walmers, Junior, and gently draws it to him,--a sight so touching to
the chambermaids who are a peeping through the door, that one of them
calls out, "It's a shame to part 'em!"
Finally, Boots says, that's all about it. Mr. Walmers drove away in
the chaise, having hold of Master Harry's hand. The elderly lady and
Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, that was never to be (she married a
captain, long afterwards, and died in India), went off next day. In
conclusion, Boots puts it to me whether I hold with him in two
opinions: firstly, that there are not many couples on their way to be
married who are half as innocent as them two children; secondly, that
it would be a jolly good thing for a great many couples on their way
to be married, if they could only be stopped in time and brought back
separate.
_Charles Dickens._
[Illustration]
AMRIE AND THE GEESE.
Amrie tended the geese upon the Holder Green, as they called the
pasture-ground upon the little height by Hungerbrook.
It was a pleasant but a troublesome occupation. Especially painful was
it to Amrie, that she could do nothing to attach her charge to her.
Indeed, they were scarcely to be distinguished one from another. Was
it not true what Brown Mariann had said to her as she came out of the
Moosbrunnenwood?
"Creatures that live in herds are all and every one stupid."
"I think," said Amrie, "that this is what makes geese stupid; they can
do too many things. They can swim and run and fly, but they can do
neither well; they are not at home in the water, nor on the ground,
nor in the air; and therefore they are stupid."
"I will stand by this," said Mariann; "in thee is concealed an old
hermit."
Amrie was often borne into the kingdom of dreams. Freely rose her
childish soul upward and cradled itself in unlimited ether. As the
larks in the air sang and rejoiced without knowing the limits of their
field, so would she soar away beyond the boundaries of the whole
country. The soul of the child knew nothing of the limits placed upon
the narrow life of reality. Whoever is accustomed to wonder will find
a miracle in every day.
"Listen!" she would say; "the cuckoo calls! It is the living echo of
the woods calling and answering itself. The bird sits over there in
the service-tree. Look up, and he will fly away. How loud he cries,
and how unceasingly! That little bird has a stronger voice than a man.
Place thyself upon the tree and imitate him; thou wilt not be heard
so far as this bird, who is no larger than my hand. Listen! Perhaps he
is an enchanted prince, and he may suddenly begin to speak to thee.
Yes," she continued, "only tell me thy riddle, and I will soon find
the meaning of it; and then will I disenchant thee."
While Amrie's thoughts were wandering beyond all bounds, the geese
also felt themselves at liberty to stray away and enjoy the good
things of the neighboring clover or barley field. Awaking out of her
dreams, she had great trouble in bringing the geese back; and when
these freebooters returned in regiments, they had much to tell of the
goodly land where they had fed so well. There seemed no end to their
gossipping and chattering.
[Illustration]
Again Amrie soared. "Look! there fly the birds! No bird in the air
goes astray. Even the swallows, as they pass and repass, are always
safe, always free! O, could we only fly! How must the world look
above, where the larks soar! Hurrah! Always higher and higher, farther
and farther! O, if I could but fly!"
Then she sang herself suddenly away from all the noise and from all
her thoughts. Her breath, which with the idea of flying had grown
deeper and quicker, as though she really hovered in the high ether,
became again calm and measured.
Of the thousand-fold meanings that lived in Amrie's soul, Brown
Mariann received only at times an intimation. Once, when she came from
the forest with her load of wood, and with May-bugs and worms for
Amrie's geese imprisoned in her sack, the latter said to her, "Aunt,
do you know why the wind blows?"
"No, child. Do you?"
"Yes; I have observed that everything that grows must move about. The
bird flies, the beetle creeps; the hare, the stag, the horse, and all
animals must run. The fish swim, and so do the frogs. But there stand
the trees, the corn, and the grass; they cannot go forth, and yet they
must grow. Then comes the wind, and says, 'Only stand still, and I
will do for you what others can do for themselves. See how I turn, and
shake, and bend you! Be glad that I come! I do thee good, even if I
make thee weary.'"
Brown Mariann only made her usual speech in reply, "I maintain it; in
thee is concealed the soul of an old hermit."
The quail began to be heard in the high rye-fields; near Amrie, the
field larks sang the whole day long. They wandered here and there and
sang so tenderly, so into the deepest heart, it seemed as though they
drew their inspiration from the source of life,--from the soul itself.
The tone was more beautiful than that of the skylark, which soars high
in the air. Often one of the birds came so near to Amrie that she
said, "Why cannot I tell thee that I will not hurt thee? Only stay!"
But the bird was timid, and flew farther off.
At noon, when Brown Mariann came to her, she said, "Could I only know
what a bird finds to say, singing the whole day long! Even then he has
not sung it all out!"
Mariann answered, "See here! A bird keeps nothing to himself, to
ponder over. But within man there is always something speaking on, so
softly! There are thoughts in us that talk, and weep, and sing so
quietly we scarcely hear them ourselves. Not so with the bird; when
his song is done, he only wants to eat or sleep."
As Mariann turned and went forth with her bundle of sticks, Amrie
looked after her, smiling. "There goes a great singing bird!" she
thought to herself.
None but the sun saw how long the child continued to smile and to
think. Silently she sat dreaming, as the wind moved the shadows of
the branches around her. Then she gazed at the clouds, motionless on
the horizon, or chasing each other through the sky. As in the wide
space without, so in the soul of the child, the cloud-pictures arose
and melted away.
Thus, day after day, Amrie lived.
"_The Little Barefoot._"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE ROBINS.
A thing remarkable in my childhood was, that once going to a
neighbor's house, I saw on the way a robin sitting on her nest, and as
I went near her she went off, but, having young ones, flew about, and
with many cries told her concern for them.
I stood and threw stones at her, until, one striking her, she fell
down dead. At first I was pleased with the exploit, but after a few
minutes was seized with horror for having in a sportive way killed an
innocent creature while she was careful of her young. I beheld her
lying dead, and thought that these young ones, for which she was so
heedful, must now perish for want of their parent to nourish them; and
after some painful considerations on the subject, I climbed up the
tree, took all the young birds and killed them, supposing that to be
better than to leave them to pine away and die miserably. I believed
in this case that the Scripture proverb was fulfilled: "The tender
mercies of the wicked are cruel."
I then went on my errand, but for some hours could think of little
else than the cruelties I had committed, and was troubled.
He whose tender mercies are over all his works hath placed a principle
in the human mind which incites to goodness towards every living
creature; and this being singly attended to, we become tender-hearted
and sympathizing; but being frequently rejected, the mind becomes shut
up in a contrary disposition.
I often remember the Fountain of Goodness which gives being to all
creatures, and whose love extends to the caring for the sparrow; and I
believe that where the love of God is verily perfected, a tenderness
toward all creatures made subject to us will be felt, and a care that
we do not lessen that sweetness of life in the animal creation which
their Creator intended for them.
_John Woolman._
[Illustration]
THE FISH I DIDN'T CATCH.