The Portland daily press., 1870-06-18
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n RI IS z r E 8 s
CHARLES DICKENS.

inc story was ever told than that OF little faui
Domnev nnless. possibly it be that sadder one
of dear. gentle, patient. noble Lutte Nen,
in the Old Cur osity Shop; and SO long as En-
glish literature endures, VIII lnese De leau III
every household, in every land, with swelling
hearts and overfowing eyes. Had Dickens
written nothing but these two sorrowtul sto-
ries, he would have touched responsive
chord, and have been embalmed in millions OF
hearts Oh both sides of the ocean.
At last the master hand that magnetized the
world with its touch has been stled in that
death which it so often and beautifully describ-
ed-nOwhere more beautifully ana feellnely
than in the two brief extracts which we copy
here as Illustrating that boundless sympathy
with purity, goodness and suffering that made
himself as fresh and loving in heart as child
He has followed the " old, Old fashion" that he.
portrays here in such gentle, fearful words
. the old, old fashion, Death"-only to take on.
like little Paul, that older fashion vet of i'm
mortality"
DEATH OF LITTLE NELL.
She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and
calD, SO free from trace OF pain, so fair to lool,
upon. She seemed creature fresh from the
hand OF God, and waiting for the breath OF
lite; not one who had lived and suffered death
Her couch was dressed with here and there
some winter berries and green leaves gather
ed in spot she had been used to favor
when die, put me near something that Low
ed the light, and had the sky above it always
Those were her words.
She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble
Nell vas dead. Her little bird, poor slight
thing the pressure Of finger would have
crushed, was stirring nimbly in its cage and
the strong heart of its child-mis.ress was mute
and motionless forever! Where were the
traces OF her early cares, her sutferings and ia
tigues? All gone. Sorrow was dead indeed
In her; but peace and perfect happiness were
born, imased, in her tranquil beauty anu pro-
found repose.
And still her former self lay there, unaltered
in this change. Yes! the old fireside had
smiled upon that same sweet face; it had pass
ed like dream, through the haunts of misery
and care; at the door of the poor schoolmas-
ter on the sum .ner evening, before the furnace
fire upon the cold, wet night, at the still bed
side OF the dying boy, there had been the same
mild and lovely look. SO shall we know the
angels in their majesty after death.
The old man held one languid arm 10 his,
and the small, tight hand folded to his breast
for warmth. 1t was the hand she had stretch
ed to him with her last smile; the hand that
had led him on through all their wanderings
Ever and anon he pressed it to his lips; then
Rugged it to his breast again, murmuring that
it was warmer now, and as he said it, he look
ed in agony to those who stood around, as il
JmplOrluS lueIl 10 nelp ner.
She was dead, and past all help, or need OF
help. The ancient rooms she had seemed to
fill with life, even while her own was waning
fast, the garden she had tended, the eyes she
had gladened, the noiseess haunts of many a
thouehtless hour, the paths she had trodden
as it were, but yesterday, could know her NO
more.
1t is moi" said the schoolmaster, as he bent
down to kiss her on the check, and gave his
fnopc froo &c, 1Is
Heavens justice ends. Think what it is, COM
pared with the world to which her young spir-
1t has winged its early flight, and say, il one
deliberate wish, expressed in solemn mes
above this bed, could call her back to life,
which OF us would utter ?" y
She had been dead two days. They were all
about her at the time, knowing that the end
was drawing on. She died soon after day.
. break. They had read and talked to her in
the earlier portion of the night; but, as the
hours trept on, Sue sank to sleep. They could
tell by what she family uttered in her dreams
that they were of her journeyings with the
old man; they were of 10 painful scenes, but
OF those who had helped them, and used them
kindly; for she often said ICED bless YOU I,
with great tervor.
Waking, she never wandered in her mind
but orce, and that was at beautiful music,
which, size said, was in the air. God knows.
from very quiet sleep, she begged that they
would kiss her once again. This done, she
turned to the old man, with lovely smile up
on her face, such, they said, as they had never
seen, and could never forget, and chung, with
both her arms, about his neck. She had new
er murmured or complained; but, with quiz
ct mind, and manner quite unaltered, save
that she every day became more earnest and
more grateful to them, faded like the light up
the summers pvapinu
Along the crowded path they bore her now,
pure as the newly tallen snow that covered it.
whose day on earth had been as feeting I'm
der that Jorch where she had sat, when heaven
in its mercy brought her to that peaceful spot
she passed again, and the old CHI urch received
her in its quiet shade.
DEATH OF LITTLE PAUL.
One night he had been thinking of his
mother, and her picture in the drawng-room
down stairs, and thought she must have low ed
sweet Florence better than his father did, to
have held her in her arms when she thought
she was dyne-for even he, her brother,
could have no greater wish than that The
train of thought suggested to him to inquire
If he hsd ever seen his mother; for he could
not remember whether they had told him,
yes or no, the river running very fast and con-
fusing his mind.
"Floy, did ever see mammal"
mo, darling, why"
did l ever see any kind face, like mammals,
looking at me when was baby, Floy?"
He asked incredulousy, as if he had some
vision of lace before him.
.'Oh, yes, dear" r
"Whose, FIoy?" Fe~
"YOur old nurses. Often"
"And where is my old nurse?" said Paul.
us she dead, too? Floy, are we all dead, ex-
cept you?"
4llere was hurry in the room, for an in
srant-longer, perhaps; but it seem no more
then all was still again; and Florence. with
her lace quite cOlorless, but smiling, held his
head upon her arm. Her arm trembled yery
much
"Show me the old nurse, Floy, if you
please2"
"She is not here, darling. She shall come
tomorrow"
"Thank you, Floy"
Paul closed his eyes with these words aud
fell asleep. When he awoke the sun was
high, and the broad day was clear and warm.
he lay little, looking at the windows, which
were open, and the curtains ruStling in the
air, and waving to and fro: then he said,
"Floy, is it tomorrow? Is she Gomez"
Some one seemed to go in quest of her.
ferhaps 1T was Susan. Paul thought he
heard her telling him when he had closed his
eyes again, that she would soon be back bu:
he did not open them to see. She kept her
word-perhaps she had never been away
but the next Thing that happened was noise
OF footsteps on the stairs, and then Paul
woke-woke mind and body-and sat upright
IN his bed. He saw them now about him,
Ihere was no gray mist before Them as there
had been sometimes in the night. He knew
them every one, and called them by their
names.
Sand who is this? Is this my old nurse ?v
said the child, regarding, with radiant smile,
figure coming in.
Yes, yes. No other stranger would have
shed those tears at sight of him. and called
him her dear boy, her pretty boy her own
poor blighted child. No other woman would
have stopped down by his bed, and taken I'D
his wasted hand, and put it to her lips and
breast. as one who had some right to londe
it. No other woman would have so forgotten
everybody else but him and Floy, and been So
full of tenderness and pity.
"Floy! this is kind, good facer p said Paul
Il am glad to see 1t again. Don't go away,
old nurse! Stay here"
His senses were all quickened and he
heard name he knew.
who was that, who said 'Walterr" he
asked, and looked around "Some one said
Walter. Is he here? should like to see him
very much" III
Nobody replied directly; but his father soon
said to Susan, "Call him back, then let him
come up!" After short pause OF expectation,
al.