The Bellefontaine Republican. [volume] (Bellefontaine, Logan County, Ohio) 1855-1905, 1899-01-10
REVERIE.

Peter closed his book, raped the ashes
from his pipe, sank back in his chair and,
cheek in hand, sat reading the fire. 1t
was late. Only the soft ticking of the
clock and the flap of the fire broke the
dead stiffness of the house, but through
the night November gale was blowing,
whistling in the privet hedge, plucking
angrily at the windows, moaning drearily
in crevice and chimney. At intervals a
hurrying foot sounded along the pave
ment. Steadily past went the tramp of a
rowing policeman.
A long while he sat there listening,
dreaming. At last he arose and, pulling
aside the blind looked out Mighty dark
it was, the panes streaked and rain splat-
tered, the lights blurred adown the street,
the trees beyond the hedge standing out
gaunt and black against a lowering sky.
Swish! came the rain; wbishl shrieked
the wind. Oh, a grand night, thought
Peter, and turned away. But sleep was
far from him, and his book was finished,
and the fire still blazed Involuntarily he
crossed the room, turned low the lamp
and, seating himself before his little par
lor organ, began fumbling the keys.
He struck few big, solemn chords,
mimicked the wind upon the treble and
echoed the moaning chimney upon the
bass, wandered idly from key to key, pres
emily by merest chance. you might think,
stumbling upon the opening chords of
"Eventide, the sweet old tune of ''Abide
With Me-" 1t was his favorite hymn, the
hymn of his youth and manhood He low
ed its words, and the melody haunted him
ever. Something in his mood, the hour,
the clash and bluster of the night, was in
strange harmony with it, and at sound of
it the winds fell and the rain ceased its
patter, time stood still, the world hung
silent, the past flashed in, and there sat
Peter, looking out across the years, and
he was boy again, and it was a Sabbath
evening in autumn time of the long ago.
Twilight has come, and in the church
on the hillside all is dim By the organ
two candles burn dimly. The chancel
window is a long blur of fading colors,
the tablet benea th only a tarnished streak
Through the open doorway and the dia-
mond paned sidelights falls hazy after
glow, the merest shadow of the dead sun s
glory, but from the sky above the lake and
through the pine tops behind the gallery
window comes but faintest twilight. Like
the ghosts of themselves stand pulpit and
reading desk by the chancel steps, and be-
tween them, himself but ghost in white,
the figure of the rector, tall, snowy hair
ed figure, speaking out wisdom and solace
to the dusky shades scattered sparsely
among the pews. Softly, almost pathet-
ically, his voice comes through the gloam-
ing. Far up are the bowed figures of the
old almswomen; by the font is the gnarled
form of Henry, the sexton; in the family
pew are children in white; here are wom-
en- in poke bonnets and shawls, there a
handful of men heavily shouldered, rough
handed, clad in coarsest of tweed; in the
choir pew is a cluster of maidens and
youths, and among them the figure of a
boy, lean, mighty restless, with eyes that
seek the sky and rove the dusk.
The voice dies away, and out of the hush
come full and ringing the roll of the or
gan and the clear rising of the voices
The old hymn it is; the old familiar voices.
Harkl "Abide with me-" they go; "fast
falls the eventide; the darkness deepens;
Lord, with me abide" How near seems
heaven and the peace of Godl How far
away the world and all its petty vanities,
Its turmoil and evildoingl "Change and
decay" sings each one, the youth in his
promise and flower, the ancient in her leaf
and feebleness; "Change and decay in all
around see. o, thou who changest not
-uA, ebO PdoAOo VI OAC NOlC0SJ OAo y6dTu-
ing of them -" abide with mel'
Darker it grows; the afterglow is gone
Darker it grows. The organ swells and
rolls, the voices leap and fall, clear as a
bell rings out fresh young treble, soaring
out and up, sounding like-the evensong of
a bird in the woods when spring has come.
Harkl "Ills have no weight sings the
clarion voice of youth, land tears no bit
terness. Where is deaths sting?" it cries
where, grave, thy victoryp" Hear it
that imperious voice of youth!
Darker it grows. The voices stop. The
shadows move, knecl, are STILL A figure
fits to the chancel steps, uplifts it's face
and raises it's hands. Down through the
darkness and the quiet comes a voice,
hushed to the tenderness of benediction
just a moment of sweet silence, then a
stir, shuffling, a moving of shadows,
and there are the old familiar faces
Out from the porch come the worship
ers, their faces still solemn with the peace
that passeth understanding. 'Good
night" they say and part. There goes
John, the ferrymen, big and numbering;
there Terry, the gardener, lean and sham
bling; there Deans, the schoolmaster, old
and bowed there are the children, laugh
ing as they run; there in front, leaping in
his freedom, the youth who sang like a
bird in springtime All, lively lad is
thatl Not now does he look at the pine
tops or the sky, not thought has he now
of death or the grave. There he goes he'll
ter skelter, down hill, rushing for the
boat. Down he sprawls; up he is with a
whoop. Now he is at the shore, splatter-
ing among the stones, shouldering at the
boat, jumping the thwarts, springing up
on the pier with boat hook and painter
In they go one and all, John at the tiller,
beauty in the waist, manhood and youth
at the oars. 1t is home for him now
Sunday tea, with iara and cake, and the
lamplight shining on the happy faces.
Peter raised his eyes, laughed softly,
turned out the lamp, then rose and started
for bed, and as he went, stumbling in the
dark up the stairs, the winds were moan.
ing again and the rain beating on the sky
light, and time was going again, and the
world whirling, and Peters face was
grave and he kept mumbling softly, "Ah,
for the golden sr'-Temple Magazine
The Doctors PapOose.
hon