The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1855-08-09

sympnOnys nat nfst moFeulent-sO iuii VI
restless active life-yearning, struggling, doubt
ing, stumbling, and aspiring yet deli
ant-so selfconscious, yet so full of unrest
and disquiet-blindly striving for its own will,
yet feeling at every turn the iron law of circum
stance. All! was it not my own untutored lite
personifed?
Suddenly, the instruments slid into the sec
ond movement-the funeral march-so slow,
so sad, so tearfully solemn; and again / saw
the white, dead face of my father, and shud
dered at the sound of the falling clods upon his
coffin. 1 was doubly orphaned. But, lifting
me from that grave, came the bright, glad,
joyful, buoyant strains of the scherzO, melting
into the tenderest fullest most divine harmo-
ny-the calm and noble serenity of soul at
rest with itself, man, and God. l felt seized
with strange, indefnable longing, deep in
ward yearning, to find in my own heart and life
harmony like to this-a longing mingled with
bitter sorrow and pain, for / felt that to this /
should never attain; and l could not repress
my tears.
"Really quite respectable performance for
this country" said Elliott, yawning, :" but we
must go to Paris to hear music. All! a lovely
face yonder," dwelling his opera glass, the
one in the white opera cloak, in the front seat
who is she 2"
| 1 thank Heaven am not "trarelled,". if it
incapacitates one for the appreciation of what
is really excellent at home; and l answered,
at venture, "Miss c." and turned away my
head to conceal my tears, and met the calm,
grave glance of my guardian. be had risen,
and was leaning with one hand on the back of
the seat, and his whole attitude was so full of
conscious repose, his face 80 thoughtful and
serene, so replete with the might of gentleness,
that he seemed the living realization of that
music; and, filled with this thought, did not
shrink from his glance, but kept my eyes fixed
on his, as if under the influence Of some spell.
He smiled quietly, and, leaning over his sis
ter, whispered few words; then, turning to us,
said, al see, by the programme, we have va
rious good things yet to come, from Mozart,
Handel. and Mendelssohn; but / always like to
carry away my impression Of Beethoven en-
tire. If you agree with me, we will leave"
"Let us CO." said; and, Elliott readily as
senting, we arose. In passing out, the fringe
of my shawl caught in some manner on the
seat in my haste to disentange it, l only made
the matter worse. Elliott, as supposed, came
to my relief but on looking up, found it to
be my guardian, Mr.. Elliott having passed on
with Susan.
81 trust my favorite, Beethoven, has had
some word or thought for you tonight, Miss
Southmayd. To me he is inexhaustible."
"Many, manyl" | said, "but he speaks of
that to which can never attain-reSt."
"Rest" he repeated; and l felt rather than
saw his searching glance, as we passed into
the entrance hall. "Life is a struggle, COM
bat, and not a summers dream. Rest is not
the chief aim of true life, but -
Mr.. Summerfeld Miss Southmaydl" in
terrupted Elliot, coming eagerly forward. "Al-
low me the honor of introducing my friend, Mr..
Allingham
Really, it was too bad (; and at that moment
/ L y1oho hr1t thQrQ
and fear L bowed to the graceful salutation of
the nguished-looking stranger with an air
little calculated to impress him with any great
opinion of my amiability.
Elliott was quite eloquent in praise of his
| friend whose acquaintance he had made abroad
and expatiated on his merits and accomplish
ments all the way home, expressing some sur
prise that my guardian had not before made his
acquaintance.
g 1t is scarcely more than year since the
gentleman returned from Europe; however, /
know him well by reputation" said that hitherto
silent gentleman, and somewhat evasively, as l
thought.
"Of course, he must make his mark even in
his native city, and prove an exception to the
rule, that prophet is without honor in his own
country. / wish we had met him earlier. His
criticisms on Beethoven would have been worth
having"
| wish we had never met him at all, for then
/ should have heard the word long to hear.
Rest not the aim of life? 1t is the burden of
all the teachings of priest and layman. Have
been misled here also? Can you tell me, Mar
garet, or shall venture to ask my guardian?
| 28M.-I did not ask him, neither shall do
so, for the magic of Beethoven could thaw that
icy nature only for moment, and have no
affinity for icebergs. Sometimes / feel some
thing within me that impels me to hate this
man. He has gone to New York for few days,
and 1 care not how long he stays.
Elliott and his friend Mr.. Allngham called
here to-day, Il am afraid 1 did Z. injustice the
other night, in wishing him away He may be
the least bit in the world conceited and puppy
like, but he has a good warm heart; he is not
above the frailties common to humanity, and l
prefer love to wisdom, any time. like his
| friend very much indeed. He seems equally at
home on any subject or in any place, and, what
is better, possesses the rare faculty of making
every one around him feel at home with him.
He is exceedingly graceful, and possesses all the
dignity and quiet selfpossession of my guard
ian; but in him it is the result of a thorough
knowledge of life in all its phases, while in the
latter it is the immobility of heart cold and
stern by nature.
have not played much since 1 came here,
and have never sung in the hearing of any one;
but, at Elliott's request sat down at the piano,
and we ran over several of those Duets we were
wont to sing together. / knew that sang well,
and was far better pleased with the delighted
surprise of Miss Summer6eld than with Mr..
Allingham's compliments though he is no mean
critic, | assure you.
AS the gentlemen left, Mr. Bigelow entered,
and, shaking his finger at me, began
"There, did not tell you how it would be?
| nrh n0tn inv ia of,d
had no more voice than a crow, l knew you
would begin drumming away, rolling up your
eyes, and screeching like an owl, in less than a
week after that young fellow came. It's strange
what chaff men are caught with but he is good
enough for you, my dear; quite good enough
to be harried through life by fashionable, fine
LADY," and the old man gave a very significant
glance at my costume, upon which l had be-
slowed rather more care than usual.
made no reply, but turned to the instru-
ment, and began my fathers old favorite,
"John Anderson my 10" and l must have
sung it from the heart; for when finished and
looked round, the old man stood over me, with
his keen, gray eyes sofened by tears, and Su-
san had dropped her work, and sat listening,
with such look on her quiet features-why, it
was as if the exquisite beauty of the music and
the words had passed into her face, and trans
| figured it. / never saw such an expression on
it before.
Suddenly the old man laid his hand on my
| head
| "You are good girl, I do believe, though
you are little bit proud and wilful but, may
| be, like you none the worse for 1t; good
girl, or you could never sing like that. And