Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

and seeming to call us to exert ourselves for her; and yet she strengthened us, and as we looked at her we gained courage. Scarcely had she opened her dark blue eyes upon the world, before, on a cold foggy winter's night, we had to take her up and carry her away, we hardly knew whither - for still the clouds hung over us, and if all around us was dark, all before us was darker still. But, as we traversed our uncertain path, carrying our precious burden with us, she supported us more than we supported her, and seemed visibly to connect us with that care which we had so often been in danger of doubting.

After a while the storm passed away, and all around us became as bright as it had previously been dark. Our home was very happy, but Edith seemed to produce for us more of that happiness than any other of the many blessings for which we had to be thankful.

Our Heavenly Father had given her to us as a star to cheer our darkness, but even now that the day had come she increased its radiance not a little.

She was soon able to run about and talk to us in her broken childish prattle, making herself easily understood, not only by us but by others who were perfect strangers to her. That she was surprisingly quick, intelligent, and affectionate, was not the mere verdict of parental fondness, but a matter of common remark with all who knew her. There was nothing fairy-like or etherial about her. She was a chubby, little, rosycheeked, blue-eyed, golden-haired child, full of rough antics, and not unfrequently displaying childish tempers; but there was a wonderful fascination about her, and her influence upon us was almost magical. Though unusually quick, she was in no respect precocious, but thoroughly a child; and yet somehow we seemed to learn much from her, and to be made better and more trustful and hopeful by her presence. Parents teach children much, but do not children teach parents a great deal more?

Nearly two years passed away. They were years of peace and prosperity unmarked by any very notable incident. Meanwhile our little one was becoming more and more firmly bound to our hearts until we wondered how we had lived before she was given to us, and scarcely dared to ask how we should live if she were taken from

us.

The spring had come with all its freshness, and brightness, and promise, and for some weeks we had been meditating a sojourn amongst the mountains of North

Wales. All our preparations were made, our luggage packed, and the day came for our departure, but on the morning of that day we were roused earlier than usual: Edith had been very restless all night, and did not seem well.

The medical man, however, said that the indisposition was only very slight, and that in a few days she would be quite well again. But our hearts told us he was wrong; and so it proved. She became gradually worse during the day; and when, in answer to our further anxious summons, the doctor came again in the evening, he told us that there was no hope. The fatal croup had got so firm a hold of our little darling, that no earthly power could release her; she would continue to grow worse, and in a few hours must inevitably die.

Years have elapsed since that dreadful sentence fell upon my ears; but even now, as I think of it, I experience something of the thrill of agony which the terrible words caused at first. So sudden! so overwhelming! In the morning, "no fear;" at night, no hope."

66

I have often heard the Turkish proverb, “The Black Camel kneels at every man's door;" but on this night, for the first time, I seemed to hear his steady tramp in the distance approaching my dwelling. The night passed slowly on; the little sufferer tossed about in our arms or upon her bed, unable to remain at rest for more than a few seconds, and in the intense and lingering agony of her disease casting such appealing looks to us for the help which she could no longer ask, and which she seemed to think we ought to give, as rent our hearts with far greater pain than even the thought of losing her occasioned. And with every moan and every convulsion of the features there came the harrowing conviction that the worst had not yet come, and that the destroyer was but tightening his grasp upon our precious child; and ever that same steady tramp fell upon my ear with increas ing distinctness. Nearer and nearer the Black Camel came, but at length we even became impatient that he approached no quicker. So heartrending were our baby's sufferings, that even we, who on the previous morning had thought life almost impossible without her. -we, who feared only that we had idolized her, longed for her release; and were never so much disposed to doubt our Father's care as when her agony was thus protracted. At long last it came. The poor little face turned cold and pallid; the eyes, from whose dark blue depths so much affection had beamed, became fixed

and glassy; the once ruby lips lost all their colour; the breathing became fainter; and, just' as the calm grey dawn of the summer's morning looked into our sorrowful chamber, a last gentle sigh passed through those pallid lips, and our little Edith was in Heaven. The Black Camel knelt at our door for a moment, and, taking up his precious burden, passed on into the dim and distant land, whither so many of our treasures have been carried out of our sight. Our child was given to us for a while, just when our need was greatest; but, having cheered our sorrow, as perhaps only such a child could have cheered us, and having strengthened our faith in the Everlasting Love, her work here was done, though it hardly seemed begun, and He who gave her to us called her to something higher and nobler far, which even such a one was, by his grace and mercy, fitted for.

"He would have infant trebles ringing

The glories of the great I AM;
He would have childish voices singing
The hallelujahs of the Lamb."

There is nothing out of the common way in this simple recital of our first loss. No doubt almost every one who reads it could tell a similar story, for the proverb is true enough, "The Black Camel kneels at every man's door," but the purpose I have at present before me is to remind such that there is more in the proverb than at first sight appears.

No doubt the notion which the Turks have, and which generally obtains, is that the Black Camel kneels to take up and bear away as his burden what is most precious to us. Such, and such alone, was my feeling when our little girl was taken from us; but I have lived some years since then, and have lived to learn that there is a deeper 'meaning in the saying, worth far more than that which lies on the surface.

The Black Camel takes away our treasure; but when he kneels at our door, does he not many a time leave behind a still greater

treasure?

What a blank we felt when Edith was no longer visibly present with us. How our hearts sank as we went to one spot after another which had become associated with her, and found all vacant and still; when at every turn a chair, a toy, or some little article of dress attracted our notice. The little hat, beneath which we could still almost see the flashing of her merry blue eyes. The tiny boots which she had worn for the first time, and which she showed us

THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXII.

with so much pride the very day before her death. The drinking cup from which alone she would allow her poor parched lips to be moistened during the protracted agony of the last hours. The corals which had encircled the bonnie neck, and the familiar frocks and pinafores which only seemed to be laid aside whilst she slept, to be put on again when she should presently awake. All brought fresh tears to our eyes, and made the sense of loss weigh more heavily upon our hearts. Oh! how desolate our home seemed for a while.

But at length we became sensible that though the Black Camel had taken what was so precious, he had left behind what was not less so. In one sense, we seemed even to have more of Edith than we had before. Her bodily presence was gone, and yet we had reason to acknowledge with deep thankfulness how true are the words spoken by a great teacher of our day who knows well what he says" the children whom God brings up for us are more to us than those we bring up for ourselves; the cradle empty blesses us more than the cradle filled." Our child did not appear to be far far away from us in an unknown land. It was as though the spirit, freed from the material body, got nearer to our spirit, and exerted upon us an influence such as was not possible before. It might be fancy, but it was a fancy which wrought for us advantages which were anything but fanciful. Perhaps she was amongst the ministering spirits commissioned from our Father. A helpless little baby when she died, but now gifted with a power to do for us far more than we could ever do for her.

our

Often the thought of Edith has checked wrong feeling-given fervency to prayers power to our faith, and reality to the spiritual world as the thought of no living child could do. She kept us from doubting our Father's care when she travelled with us in the first winter of her life, but more so since she has gone to her home in heaven as we have travelled the rough wilderness path without her. The Father who has our child in his keeping will surely take care of us. The very fact that He has taken her to his own bosom strengthens our confidence in his willingness to befriend us. For we have always felt that God removed her, not only because He loved her, We were sure but because He loved us. that He gave her to us in his love, and when she died we had no thought that the gift had been withdrawn in anger, but in the same love as prompted Him to send it.

And then, was it not worth something to 1445.

have our thoughts drawn heavenward, as they were drawn by our sainted child? So much of our thought and affection had been centred in her; and when she was called away, that thought and affection followed her to the better world.

A little while before her death, we had heard a story which has ever since had for us a special significance. Some years ago a party of friends were enjoying, on a fine summer's day, a boating excursion upon one of our inland lakes. Having gone a certain distance, one young lady declined to go further, saying that she would remain on one of the islands which studded the lake. She was therefore left; but the party remained away longer than they intended, and, a thick fog coming on, they were much afraid of losing her. At last, however, her clear voice was heard: "Come this way, father-come this way." The young lady is now in heaven; but still very often does her father hear the words repeated from the upper sanctuary, "Come this way, fathercome this way."

Thus did we hear our little Edith calling to us scores of times from different parts of the house; still the sound rings in our ears, frequently saving us from being too much absorbed with the visible present; and I confidently look forward to hearing it one day when the sights of earth grow dim, and its sounds dull, and when it will be especially cheering to recognize the voice of my own child amongst the many that join to call from the heights of immortality.

Then further the Black Camel bore away our treasure, but it was to a place of greater safety. We have now a much more certain prospect of possessing that treasure eternally than we should have had if it had remained with us upon earth.

It is undoubtedly a great joy to have our children clustering around us here, but the pavilion of our love is not safe from the entrance of the tempter, and all our strength cannot shield them from those influences which so frequently prevert the fairest dispositions. We have so often seen early promise end in shame and sorrow, that we cannot help sometimes shuddering to think what may become of the most lovely of our

children.

In more than the one case of which we have all heard, the angelic countenance of the child, from which the light of truth and affection has shone, and which the artist has enthusiastically painted and hung up in his studio as the type of holy innocence, has in a few short years, by the terrible alchemy of vice, been so transformed as to

furnish for the same artist a hideous impersonation of guilt.

And so the infant that has been fondled upon the lap, the joy and hope of its parents, and the admiration of all- the very light of the home, and seemingly essential to its happiness - has, despite all affectionate and tender care, and wise counsel and holy example, developed into a being of such depravity as to be a curse to his family, wringing with unutterable woe the hearts that were once so proud of him; and they have even mourned that he was not removed while yet in his innocence.

It is very hard to have a child taken from our arms just when all its attractions are unfolding, and our whole being is wrapped up in it—but it is far more terrible to have a child spared to us until we cannot help but see that it is lost for ever. In the one case we have the confident hope of everlasting re-union, in the other, we are certain that, should we enter heaven ourselves, we must leave our child behind us for ever in the outer darkness and the torments of the lost.

The first strong consolation which came over our spirits, calming their agitation as the Saviour's "Peace, be still," calmed the storm upon the lake, softly whispered into our ears as by the Divine Spirit himself almost at the very moment when our darling ceased to breathe, was the words

Safe, safe at home, where the rude tempter

comes not.'

Many a time now, as we sail over this tempestuous sea of life, carrying our other treasures with us, and trembling again and again lest the dashing waves of temptation should sweep them away, and they should be submerged in the billows and lost to us for ever, it is very sweet to look up to our Father's house, and think we have at least one child safe there, the wildest storm cannot reach her, and when we arrive on that peaceful shore, she will be ours for ever. The transformation we shall behold in her will not be that of the pure and gentle child into the hardened and repulsive sinner, but into the glorious angelic being, radiant even amidst the radiance of heaven

fit to occupy a place with those whose white robes flash beneath the dazzling light which beams from the Throne.

So long then as these things are so, is it not rather a matter for thankfulness that God has thus made our treasure secure for us? Is it not worth our while to give up resignedly and even thankfully the tempo

rary possession of it, or rather the temporary sight of it (for, as I have said, we still feel it to be ours), and especially considering that we have in return for our privation the honour of feeling that one has taken her place, in our name, in the glorious assembly of the redeemed? In the knowledge of that fact there is, too, an incentive to spiritual diligence which is a treasure greater even than the honour. Shall our Edith be the only one bearing our name in that glorious host? Shall she be there, and they from whom she took the name be absent?

and which this messenger leaves only with those who are prepared to receive them.

There is another thought which must not escape us. We have none of us done with this Black Camel yet. At least once more he is certain to come, kneeling at our door for the last time, no more to take away our household gods, but to take ourselves, either from our treasures or to our treasures. If he has brought us nothing worth the having when on former occasions he has visited us, then he will take us forever from our treasures when he comes for the last time.

If the removal of our loved ones from our My reader, the Black Camel has knelt side has not done great things for us at your door. I think I may fairly presume-giving us more meekness and submission this, if you have read so far, for these are -weaning us from the world - strengthbut common-place words, very trite doubt-ening our faith in unchanging love-makless to those who do not need them, as ing the spirit world more real to us, and water is insipid to those who are not thirsty; quickening our diligence in seeking for the and you have only read on line after line inheritance of the saints; it must have harhoping to find some comfort and help for dened and soured us, and the gulf between yourself. The treasures carried from your us and our sainted friends must have been home (for the sable visitant has perhaps widened by every bereavement, so that at been more than once) were, I doubt not, length the Black Camel will come to carry quite as precious to you as was my little us for ever out of their reach, and the only Edith to me. I hope you have also communication coming to us from their found that treasures have been left with blessed habitation will be, “They which you for which you do not feel that you have would pass from hence to you cannot, neipaid too dearly. Whether this is so or not, ther can they pass to us that would come to a large extent depends upon yourself. from thence."

The greatest treasures are sometimes within our grasp, and we do not know it; and because we do not know it we allow them to pass away and we lose them. The angel comes, but we see in him only a stranger, and a stranger in no very winsome guise, and so we neglect to entertain him, and he who might have filled our home with blessing passes out of it dishonoured, taking back with him the gift he would fain have left. Oh! how much richer we should all have been if we had only had the patience or the penetration to look beyond the dress, or even the tones and manner of our visitors, and to discover their nature and their mission.

Never was camel burdened with gems and spices and costly merchandise so richly laden as the Black Camel which God sends to every man's door! And yet, because he comes with a demand for some of our treasure, we shut our eyes to the good which he brings us, and often petulantly refuse to have it.

Let us be wiser for the future, and as we let him carry away out of our sight for a while our precious possessions, let us gratefully accept those gifts of unutterable value which only such a messenger could bring,

Let you and me, then, who are weeping because our children are not, seek in all lowliness and meekness to take the good things which our Father would send us through our sorrows, and as the Black Camel comes from time to time to our door he will greatly enrich and not impoverish us; and when he halts at our dwelling for the last time, it will be to bear us home where our loved ones are gathered, waiting for us, and where

"Hand in hand firm linked at last,

And heart with heart enfolded all,
We'll smile upon the troubled past,
And wonder why we wept at all."

W. C. P.

From the Spectator.

THE GENIUS OF SHAKESPEARE.* MR. GRANT WHITE has made Shakespeare a study of love, but of that love which

* Memoirs of the Life and Genius of Shakespeare; with an Essay toward the Expression of his Genius, and an Account of the Rise and Progress of By Richard Grant White. the English Drama. London: Trübner. Boston (America): Little, Brown, and Co.

in cultivated Americans is one of the pleas- fessional audience waiting to listen to him, antest links between the Old World and not in every case in the most amiable disthe New. To say that the classical litera- position perhaps (for Shakespeare, although ture of England is loved by Americans his writings are so elevated, seems to inspire more than it is by ourselves would be a a furious desire to bite, and bite exceedingfeeble expression of the truth. Their love ly hard, in a certain number, at all events, takes the form of worship even more than of of his devotees), but still with curiosity, and admiration. But Mr. White is an active pol- Mr. White is sufficiently armed and equipitician as well as an author, and the practi-ped to bear the brunt of curiosity, whether cal sagacity which this circumstance enables truculent or gracious. him to bring to bear, has in a great degree preserved him from the disturbing and paralyzing effects of mere hero-worship. Mr. White is familiar with all that has been written on Shakespeare of any weight. At all events you can trace the influence of modern criticism, and the modern eclectic spirit so prominent of late in America, in almost every line of his work. He is at home in the broad views which look for the influences of race and what modern lights are pleased to call cosmic elements - is that the word? as they come to a head in some one individual. Thus, for instance, Mr. White, who is great on the AngloSaxon greatness of America, is strong on the Anglo-Saxon greatness of Shakespeare. Shakespeare was of the Anglo-Saxons, Anglo-Saxon, the truest expression of the Anglo-Saxon genius, "even though his genius was not of an age, but for all time." Only his race [the Anglo-Saxon race] could have produced him, for a Celtic, a Scandinavian, or even a German Shakespeare is inconceivable, and that race only at the time when he appeared." But if Mr. White is at home with the broader views, he is equally at home in the minuter details of criticism, and he shows a highly cultivated appreciation of Shakespeare both as a critic accustomed to analyze the great masters in literature, and also as a man alive to every natural beauty.

The Memoirs, as Mr. White perhaps a little fancifully calls them, of Shakespeare, which open the volume before us have one peculiar claim to attention. They are sifted and digested by a thoroughly practical man, whose sense of practical reality supplies him with an aditional critical faculty, and discriminate for us all that commentators and antiquaries have piled up respecting Shakespeare's life and antecedents. A connected account, stripped of all accessories and individual views, of what is really known of Shakespeare, and compiled by a highly cultivated man of the world, may or may not excite controversy, it will always have a value of its own. Possibly Mr. Grant White may lay chief stress in his own mind upon his own essay upon the Genius of Shakespeare, which occupies the kernel of the volume. At all events he speaks of his emotions and hesitation, when "shrinking back, as he essayed to measure with his little line and fathom, with his puny plummet, the vast profound of Shakespeare's genius." The man who has these feelings, and can express them with so much touching grace and appropriateness, must yet, after the struggle to overcome his natural sense of reluctance to so great a task, think more of the undertaking in consequence of the effort which it has cost him. This essay occupies a hundred and twenty pages, full of sound and delicate criticism, which of course we cannot undertake to reproduce here. But we can attempt to give a general idea of the drift of Mr. White's views. He could not well avoid saying, merely because it was so true, that Shakespeare had genius, in contradistinction with talent-genius being creative, talent adaptive, power- but he improves the truism by adding that "Shakespeare united in himself genius in its supremest nature and talent in its largest development, adding to the peculiar and original powers of his mind a certain dexterity and sagacity in the use of them which are frequently the handmaids of talent, but which are rarely found in company with genius." And this is important as well as true. Shakespeare's talent in the true sense of the word is only lost sight of in the greatness of his genius.

Mr. Grant White's essay upon Shakespeare will be read with a double interest in this country. This country abounds with Shakesperian scholars. If the men who have studied Shakespeare here with something of a professedly literary eye were gathered together, they might possibly fill a small town, or perhaps populate a minute county. The same can hardly be said of any other English classic, except perhaps Bacon. Two or three men take to one author, one or two to another, and if they stick to it they become a sort of authorities on that subject, as, for instance, Professor Masson on Milton, or Mr. Carlyle on Cromwell. But the number of students, and students with pretensions, upon Shakespeare is actually legion. And in this view Mr. White will find a large pro

« VorigeDoorgaan »