The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1855-09-13


| man and little child of some three wears old.
saw them drive up, from the window of my
room, and, not willing to disturb Susan, who
had lain down, | went to the parlor to receive
them.
There was an unusual excitement in my
guardians manner, as he greeted me. and in
troduced Z" Mr.. Fletcher, an old and valued
| friend"
And this is Mr.. Fletcher's daughter? ?" l
said, as stopped to kiss the little violet-eyed
girl. What is your name DEAR"
Il am little Juliet, and you are my Aunt
Susan" Gsped the little girl, as she chung
around my neck. Papa said you would love
"And so 1 will, dear; only am not Aunt
SUSAN" L returned, as lifted her to my knee.
she looked wonderingly from me to Mr..
Fletcher.
"This lady is Miss Southmayd, little Juliet /;
| dear friend of your Aunt Susan's," he said.
Won't you be my aunt, too?" said the
child, gravely, lifting her eyes to my face.
The ready " Yes' rose to my lips, but some
thing in Mr.. Fletchers keen glance disconcert.
ed me, and | answered only by caress, while
Mr.. Summer6eld said, tenderly, Yes, darling,
Eleanor will love you all the more dearly, be-
cause, like her, you are an orphan" and his
firm lip trembled, as he added, "You do not
remember my brother George, Eleanor; he left
the country many years ago; but this is his
| child-his dying legacy to Susan and myself
| will go speak with her." And he left the
| room.
While he was absent Mr. Fletcher spoke of
George Summerfeld; of the high promise of
his boyhood, 80 sadly clouded of his long
wanderings in foreign lands; of his marriage
to beautiful Grecian girl; of her death and
| of his WEAKNESS of life, and long illness which
! followed; of his yearnings for home, deepened
by his presence, for he had accidentally discov-
cred him. of his death-while the little uncon-
| scious child played with my watch KEY, or
clapped her hands in delight, as the white
| capped waves rolled in and broke upon the
beach.
Mr.. Summerfeld returned to conduct his
friend to our common sitting-room, and, feeling
somewhat in the way, | stroled out for walk.
had not gone far before he Joined me- and
then it flashed upon me at once, that this Mr..
Fletcher was some old-time lover of Susan's !;
and l was right Pacing to and fro upon the
beach there, L heard such story of constancy,
devotion, and self-denial, as made mine eyes to
fill with tears, and my cheeks to tngle with
shame, at the thought of my injustice towards
her.
Lewis Fletcher had fitted for college" I'M
der the tuition of her father; and the love that
sprung up between them then, grew with their
growth, and strengthened with their strength
Old Mr.. Summerfeld, on his death-bed, forget
full or unmindful of the bond between them
which had his full sanction, in his anxiety for
the younger children, won from Susan a prom
Use to be mother to them until they were able
to take care of themselves; and when Fletcher
came to claim the ful6lment of that earlier
VOW, this promise rose between them, like
dreary, blank wall. "Few who know her can
guess the struggle that went on within her, be-
tween love and duty" went on my guardian,
for few guess, by looking on that sweet, pa
tent face, what world of womanly tenderness
is hidden beneath that outward show of calm.
ness but duty triumphed."
"Duty!" l exclaimed, impetuously, "did
she owe no duty to him-Lewis Fletcher-to
herself? All you were selfish to let her choose
thus!"
She made her own choice" he said, rather
sadly. You forget that was quite young.
Then thought it right-now, l might think
differently"
l wonder why-and why he looks in my face
as If he were seeking the words there which
he wishes to utter-as he did just now. / am
getting to fear those glances.
"She was young, too, or she would never
have hidden him to give up all hope" he went
that. He waited patiently for some years, until
his health failed; then he gave up his charge
in the pleasant country village where he was
settled, and went abroad in the employ of the
Board of Missions. Unavoidable circumstan-
ces delayed his return until now, when he
brings us double blessing in himself and our
brothers orphan child. He wrote to prepare
us for his arrival, but the letter has failed to
reach u.s."
And this was the woman whom l had set
down as incapable of feeling! whom 1 had
looked down upon as too obtuse to appreciate
me, or sympathize with my sorrows, forgetful
that He who was emphaticaly the "man of
sorrows," was
"a meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit"
"And he will claim her now," said.
"He will"
I must be very selfish, indeed, Margaret, for,
when l should have felt nothing but Joy in the
thought that Miss Summerfeld's long trial was
over, my thoughts meanly crept back to myself
In few weeks, few months at farthest,
must go forth solitary wanderer, with none to
love or care for me. A piece of seaweed was
floating upon the waves some rods distant, and
suddenly it assumed strange interest in my
eyes-it seemed so like myself Would it float
at the mercy of winds and waves forever, or
up, became aware that my guardian was re-
garding me intently; and somewhat confused, as
l thought, at my observing his rudeness, he
asked, with smile, of what l was thinking?
/ told him, and added-"Y GU once told me
lit was in reference to something that had been
suggested by Beethovens music) that rest was
not the end of life. Will you tell me what is ?"
"What do you mean by rest, Eleanor"
Why, quiet cOntent-tO be satisfied with
ones sell" 1 said, simply.
"Look yonder," he said with smile, point
ing to an oyster, halfimbedded in the mud
there is rest, quiet, content selfsatisfaction."
" All but that is merely the repose of in
anition," / replied, "mere animal life, and of
the lowest graded"
Nevertheless, it is the life you described"
But it is not what / mean. At least, it is
not what mean now" rejoined. ~ am so
restless, so full OF strange, vague yearnipgs, so
dissatisfied with myself. 1 so long to be free
from these yearnings, to find what that music
expressed, perfect harmony" stammered.
"' And at certain season an angel came
down and troubled the waters you remember
the beautiful story, Eleanor. 1t is Just as true
now, as then, for the days of miracles are not
past and still, as of old, the angel comes down
and troubles the fountain of the human heart,
that the evil may not overcome the good-only
we, in our blindness, oft-times thrust him out.
The end of life | take to be the approxima-
ton of each individual life towards the Di-
vine Ideal-the carrying out and development
of every energy and power which we have re-
ceived from God. Then shall one truly know
rest-not the repose of inanition, like the oyster
yonder, or of luxury, or of safety, nor even of
the Mystic, but that which arises from the con-
seriousness of duty performed and victory won,
the repose Of calm trust and determination,