Year: 1861




he spoke of you. He pitied you very much
but he said you had great deal left in life
yet, if you would not despair. After while
mother went out of the room, and | tolC
him you had been very good to me, and
wanted to tell you something to make yor
feel better Then be said l might repea
that verse to you. Does it do you good ?


"Much good, blessed child Your words
have helped me more than you can ever
know"


She left me then. l did not strive tc
keep her. l felt the need Of solitude to re-
ceive reverently the light, brighter thar
earthly dawning, which was rising upon my
spirit. Her words had thrilled me, as i
they had dropped downward from some an.
gels lips, leaning over the far-off bastions
of the celestial city CA great deal left fol
me yet in life..' And as 1 repeated those
words my blessings seemed to rise up before
me and reproach me. For me, Agur's
prayer had been answered. l had neither
poverty nor riches but competence was
mine IN my own right, which would secure
me against want. I had health and strength
and many friends. The paths about our
little village were all familiar to me.
could traverse them without guide; 1 could
feel the free winds sweep my brow could
inhale the sweet breath of flowers; could
hear the beloved voices of home Verify
God had not forsaken me- had been will.
fully shutting his mercies out of my heart
[ knelt now, and thanked him for what had
been left-prayed him to teach me to bear
patiently the loss of what had been taken.


When the bell rang for supper rose and
went quietly down stairs. They gave nc
noisy greeting to the son who had not sat
beside them there since the spring flowers
had blossomed, though now the summer lay
green and luxuriant upon hill and woodland
But understood my fathers wclcome-the
unuttered tenderness which deepened my
mothers voice-the eager grasp in which
my brother Richard held my hand. found
my plate and my chair in their old place
After that I never secluded myself from
them again.


When supper was over went out to 60
to evening prayers at the church. [ had
not thought I could ever 90 there again l
had dwelt morbidly on the curiosity with
which the congregation wouldslQok at me-
I never thought of that Hs od had
opened the eyes Of my spirit. went there
to thank him for this great mercy. [ had
never before been so deeply thrilled with
the church music. Hearing seemed to me
like new sense. Through it drank in
deep draughts of pleasure. I had sat in the
choir; and when prayers were over [ en-
treated the organist to play for me again.
Soon we became fast friends. [ think that
my enthusiasm pleased him, for twilight
after twilight found us alone in the church,
with only the little boy who blew the bel
lows-John Cunningham playing, and
listening and dreaming.


But soon felt think an intuitive sense
Of power revealed it to me-that the organ
ist was no artist. Sometimes [ longed tc
sweep him off the stool, and interpret with
my own fingers the music that was in my
soul. This idea that [ could be musician
dawned upon me slowly; but day by day
the sense of power strengthened.


At length I asked him to let me try.
think he was astonished. My soul was
flooded with harmony. Wild, sweet strains
came to me like the whispers of angels =
From that night [ was the master and he
my pupil Sometimes I would persuade
my brother to go with me to the church
and then, for hour after hour, the organ
would indeed be the voice of my soul. !
breathed out in music all the dreams of my
long, dreaming boyhood before the one stern
!.stroke had come, under which [ bowed my
head and rose up man. God was very
merciful. With this resource could never
be entirely lonely-wholly desolate.


When was twenty -one, John Cunning
ham had left Rye6eld, and I had been cho-
sen the organist of our village church. II
was my business, for which small salary
was paid me- This was all was, all [ ever
could be; but was content


My brother was in college. He was tax
ing my place; he would realize my early
dreams. The world called him brilliant
young man. At home there was little
change, save that Leona's lig hit football less
often crossed our threshold For some
years she had been at school in Boston In
the vacations she came home and then !
could tell by her voice that she was good
and innocent as ever. The next spring
it was winter now-her schooldays would
be over At last the time came. Oh, how
ioyfully [ welcomed her, though scarcely
knew why her presence seemed so infinitely
precious We wandered together into the
fields, and she told me how fresh and green
the grass was springing under foot-how
blue and bright was the May time sky. |
could smell the bloom of the fruit-trees
which were dropping their fragrant blossoms
in our path. She never wearied Of making
all things visible to me- She would tell me
how the mist was lying white and purple in
the valley-how the far hazy hills were
sleeping in the sunshine and, seeing with
her eyes, scarcely realized thatI was blind
But this dream also had an awakening
My brother Richard came home. He had
finished his course at the university with
high honors; and his advent in Ryefeld was
the signal for a series of parties, and picncs
and kiprc IN w hiob r oonlj No,