The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1894-10-03

OWteL CHeTuD- 90 you no. dll NduS bt-
gin to picture him so in your fancy-the
pure streams of melody that flow from
his rosy mouth. the Notwithstanding un-
conscious thrill with which those almost
baby lips utter the solemn words Of the
anthem? Ay, such was Toby Watkins
once, but tits many busters back. Yet
he is sill a Little Chorister. with
round face and thin sweet voice, and a
heart Of childiks freshness, albeit the
chubbiness of youth sits somewhat-com-
icaliy upon his mature years. Toby is
a whimsical fellow, full of strange con-
ceits and old-world enthusiasm; and. in
deed, to see his queer little physioSnomy
is almost a cure for the spleen, and the
mouth wrinkled in such fantastic wise
that 10 a stranger 1t must be pr0biemat-
zeal, when the face begins 10 work,
whether is be for mirth or weeping. Yet
I can very clearly call to mind that the
first time 1 saw him twas with a sort OF
admiring awe. Toby is now but little
accustomed to inspire.
The holiday times of somewhat lone
ly childhood were spent by me Tor the
most part at the residences Of certain
bachelor uncles. my guardians. There
was one, my fathers mothers brother,
that matched in his aspect of beautiful
and vensrab BILE age the antiquity Of his
surroundings. with which he had indeed
so grown up as to seem 10 have become
part Of their grandeur Those ancient
gray build ngs and the sedate life of the
elder members of a university COns1rted
perhaps little with my rosy yOuthfulness,
but l think l was at that age of a gen
tie speculative turn, and found 4 cnarm
in the clOisters and winding river-Waiks,
and even in my uncle's uncomDrehended
talk. There was gentle mOnOtOny ana
peace in this life that has ever chung 10
me. The kind shy faces of the Old stu
dents that were my uncle's friends. the
orderly quiet of the l1ttice-windOwed
house, and the daily services in the
beautiful cathedral made up, as 1 re-
to my relative. 1 was told, and heard il
with dim wonder. that he had never
for fifty years missed one of those ssTv-
ices in his c7nOpied stall in the cathe-
dral 1 mary ed indeed if the cathedral
could itself be so very old.
1t was this cathedral, albeit full Of
mystery, so very pure and fair. so young
with the eternal newness of beauty and
poetic association, that perhaps there
was the less fOOlishness in my childish
thought The delicate pillars and carv-
ing Of the roof. the high arches and
monuments, appeared To me TO bc cut
from rich ivory but a little yellowed. The
galleries and small dark spaces retreat
ing behind rows Of pillars that half con-
cealed them were Of infinite mystery ana
import. And there was, Immediately IN
front of my accustomed seat. the peri
wigged bust Of some deceased worthy
and beneath the description Of his virtues
a great g1fnning skull in stone Wits
featheTSd wings as OF an angel outspread
on either side Twas an effigy that
caused me much disquiet and curious
half-forTned thoughts; vague CLEANS Of
meaning struggled athwart my brain,
that was overloaded again as the incon-
gruOusness Of the image appealed 10 me-
and l was fain to create for IL a special
class Of beings unknown to scripture or
to fairy lore. Such ina ginings were,
however, lightly dispelled by the fiutter-
ings OF a starting that through some
crevice had penetrated from the outer air
into the dark nights Of the tower. and
must there beat and Starve its life out
(but this / did not know; or by q lime
that leaned and swayed against the pale
green glass Of a north window, pictur-
ing 1t beautifully. And my heart warmed
within me when the sun, moving round,
cast from the great window shift
ing rainbOws Of glorious color upon the
pale stone. / never tired Of gazing al
this phantasmag oria, and the radiance
appeared indeed no passing light, but a
spirit, the very spirit of the place. A
pagan notion this, and yet not, | think
wholly unchristian. For / held II, as
suppose, to be a kind OF symbol; not IN
itself adorable. but a manifestation and
type, as 1T were, Of that which. being so,
1 could yet more hardly comprehend.
Such feelings are at the heart OF that
childish reverence for the mystery Of
beauty that some few are happy enough
to possess stlll later in life. Toby Wat
kins is Of the number, but has not the
posts skill In words to reveal in the
mirror of his own child1ke soul the mys-
terry Of our ancient selves.
And then in the midst Of my fancies
such music broke in as IT seems TO me
have never heard since. Indeed 1 was
too young to know aught Of the sadness
Of the lOvehness we call perfect and yet
in my dark corner 1 have trzmbled and
wept as that thrilling sweetness pierced
through the self l knew and spoke Of
something infinitely greater and beyond.
Twas Toby's voice first bore me this
celestial message. The Htde fellow,
smaller and younger yet than myself,
appeared all that the sentimental are
apt TO imagine in these little sweet song
sters. and his voice was OF a rare quail
ity l never pictured him as possibly
dfrty-han6ed or commonly clothed. and
would as soon have thought OF "knuckle-
boning" with one Of those translucent
effigies of the apostles as with this grave
young dcniZen Of holy haunted PAGES.
But, since we were destined very
shortly 10 become intimates, this illu-
sion quickly vanished, and indeed he
was Of parts nothing above the avera &c,
except in all that concerned music,
wherein young Silver-tongue was to me
an oracle and seer. 1 was put, at the
age OF twelve, to the same school, that
l might be under the protecting eyes OF
my uncle, and found Toby, though dull
at books, to have a love for the old
city, and above all the old cathedral.
even greater than mine. / think he i'm
bined knowledge from the very stones
of the place. No one ever saw him read
(unless 1t were a book Of poetry, for
which he had PASSION, and yet when
he was in the vein you could perceive
that he had a very pleasant store of in
formation. But as for the dry bones Of
learning, twas scarcely to be called
aversion that he felt for them; he want
ed them not; syntax and theorem were
to him uncomprehended fantasies of no
possible service TO his intelligence, and
he never strove to acquire them. Sure,
no boy was ever so often and righteous
ly beaten; but nothing could sour the
sweetness Of his temper. and before he
had scrubbed the tears from his little
twinkling eyes his yelling hugh would
be heard as he devised impish tricks
upon his superiors.
We all loved Toby-poor Toby. that
never had a penny and never wanted a
friend: and 1 have heard him say that
despite the principal and a certain big
oted persistency upon the part Of his
masters. those were happy days. / look
back upon them with a tender melan-
choly. for methinks one Is never truly
happy but when the feeling Is uncon-
scious. And when in ripe years we gaze