"On the night when I first came into this city"s streets it was so. My harp was perfect then; but it was the voice, and not the other music, that the people eared for, when I sang. Wait now."
The little girl obediently stood still, and all at once Tiny began to sing. None of his gay songs sung at feasts, and revels, or on holidays, but a song of peace, as grand and solemn as a psalm; and the quarrelling men and boys stood still and listened, and, before the song was ended, the ringleaders of the fight had crept away in shame. Other voices then began to shout in praise of the young stranger, who with a few simple words had stilled their angry pa.s.sions. "The brave fellow is blind,"
said they; "we will do something good for him!" And one, and another, and another, cried out, "Come with us, and we will do you good."
But instead of answering a word, Tiny went his way as if he were deaf as a post, as well as blind as a bat, and by his side, holding his hand close, went the little beggar girl.
Until they came in the increasing darkness to a narrow, crooked lane, and met a woman who was running, crying, with a young child in her arms.
"What is this?" asked Tiny.
"A woman, pale as death, with a child in her arms," said the girl.
"Wait!" shouted Tiny, stopping just before the woman. His cry so astonished her that she stood, in an instant, as still as a statue.
"What is it that you want?"
"Food! medicine! clothes! a home!" answered she, with a loud cry.
"Give me the child--take this--get what you need, and I will wait here with the little one," said Tiny.
Without a word the woman gave her child--it was a poor little cripple-- into his arms; and then she went on to obey him; and softly on the evening air, in that damp, dismal lane, arose the songs which Tiny sang to soothe and comfort the poor little creature. And in his arms it slept, hushed by the melody, a slumber such as had not for a long time visited his eyes.
Wonderful singer! blessed songs! sung for a wretched sickly stranger, who could not even thank him! But you think they died away upon the air, those songs? that they did no other good than merely hushing a hungry child to sleep?
A student in an attic heard the song, and smiled, and murmured to himself, "That is like having a long walk in in the woods, and hearing all the birds sing."
A sick girl, who had writhed upon her bed in pain all the day, heard the gentle singing voice, and it was like a charm upon her--she lay resting in a sweet calm, and said, "Hark! it is an angel!" A blind old man started up from a troubled slumber, and smiled a happy smile that said as plain as any voice, "It gives me back my youth, my children, and my country home;" and he smiled again and again, and listened at his window, scarcely daring to breathe lest he should lose a single word. A baby clad in rags, and sheltered from the cold with them, a baby in its cradle--what do you think that cradle was? as truly as you live, nothing but a box such as a merchant packs his goods in! that baby, sleeping, heard it, and a light like sunshine spread over its pretty face. A thief skulking along in the shadow of the great high building, heard that voice and was struck to the heart, and crept back to his den, and did no wicked thing that night. A prisoner who was condemned to die heard it in his cell near by, and he forgot his chains, and dreamed that he was once more innocent and free--a boy playing with his mates, and loved and trusted by them.
At length the mother of the crippled infant came back, and brought food for her child, and a warm blanket for it, and she, and Tiny, and the beggar girl, Tiny"s companion, ate their supper there upon the sidewalk of that dark, narrow lane, and then they went their separate ways--Tiny and his friend, taking the poor woman"s blessing with them, going in one direction, and the mother and her baby in another, but they all slept in the street that night.
The next morning by daybreak Tiny was again on his way down that same long, narrow, dingy street, the little girl still walking by his side.
Swiftly they walked, and in silence, like persons who are sure of their destination, and know that they are in the right way, though they had not said a word to each other on that subject since they set out in the path.
"What is that?" at length asked Tiny, stopping short in the street.
"A tolling bell," said the girl.
"Do you see a funeral?"
"Yes; don"t you?"
Tiny made no answer at first; at length he said, "Let us go into the churchyard;" and he waited for the beggar girl to lead the way, which she did, and together they went in at the open churchyard gate.
As they did so, a clergyman was thanking the friends who had kindly come to help in burying the mother of orphan children. Tiny heard that word, and he said to the girl, whose name, I ought long ago to have told you, was Grace--he said, "Are there many friends with the children?"
"No," she answered sadly.
"Are the people poor?" he asked.
"Yes, very poor," said she.
Then Tiny stepped forward when the clergyman had done speaking, and raised a Hymn for the Dead, and a prayer to the Father of the fatherless.
When he had made an end, he stepped back again, and took the hand of Grace, and walked away with her in the deep silence, for everybody in the churchyard was weeping. But as they went through the gate the silence was broken, and Tiny heard the clergyman saying, "Weep no longer, children; my house shall be your home, my wife shall be your mother. Come, let us go back to our home."
And Grace and Tiny went their way. On, and on, and on, through the narrow filthy street, out into the open country,--through a desert, and a forest; and it seemed as if poor Tiny would sing his very life away.
For wherever those appeared who seemed to need the voice of human pity, or brotherly love, or any act of charity, the voice and Hand of Tiny were upraised. And every hour, whichever way he went, he found THE WORLD HAD NEED OF HIM!
They had no better guide than that with which they set out on their search for the BEAUTIFUL GATE. But Tiny"s heart was opened, and it led him wherever there was misery, and want, and sin, and grief; and flowers grew up in the path he trod, and sparkling springs burst forth in desert places.
And then as to his blindness.
Fast he held by the hand of the beggar girl as they went on their way together, but the film was withdrawing from his eye-b.a.l.l.s. When he turned them up towards the heaven, if they could not yet discern that, they could get a glimpse of the earth! So he said within himself, "Surely we are in the right way; we shall yet come to the Beautiful Gate, and I shall have my sight again. Then will I hasten to my father"s house, and when all is forgiven me, I will say to my mother, Receive this child I bring thee for a daughter, for she has been my guide through a weary way; and I know that my mother will love my little sister Grace."
"And what then?" asked a voice in Tiny"s soul, "_What_ then wilt thou do?"
"Labour till I die!" exclaimed Tiny aloud, with flashing eyes.
"But for what, Poet, wilt thou labour?"
"FOR THE POOR WORLD THAT NEEDS ME," bravely cried he with a mighty voice.
"Ah," whispered something faintly in his ear, with a taunting voice that pierced his heart like a sharp sword--"Ah, you said that once before; and fine work you made of it!"
Tiny made no answer to this taunt, with words, but with all the strength of his great poet mind he cried again, "For the poor world that needs me!" and the vow was registered in Heaven, and angels were sent to strengthen him in that determination--him who was to sing the New Song to the Lord.
A long way further Grace and Tiny walked together on their journey; they walked in silence, thinking so fast that, without knowing it, they were almost on a run in the attempt their feet were making to keep pace with their thoughts. At length Grace broke the silence with a sudden cry--
"Oh, Tiny! what is this?"
Tiny looked up at the sound of her voice, and then he stood stock still as if he were turned to stone.
"Oh, Tiny! can you see?" again exclaimed Grace, who was watching her companion"s face in a great wonder; it became so changed all at once.
"Oh, Tiny, Tiny, can you see?" she cried again, in terror, for he did not answer her, but grew paler and paler, swaying to and fro like a reed in the wind, until he fell like one dead upon the ground, saying--"My home! my home! and the Beautiful Gate is here!"
Just then an old man came slowly from the forest, near to which they had come in their journey. His head was bent, he moved slowly like one in troubled thought, and as he walked he said to himself, "Long have I toiled, bringing these forest trees into this shape; and people know what I have done--of their own free will they call it a Beautiful Gate.
But oh, if I could only find the blind one lying before it, ready to be carried through it to his mother! then, indeed, it would be beautiful to me. Oh Tiny! oh my child, when wilt thou return from thy long wanderings?"
"Please, sir," said a child"s voice--it was the voice of our little Grace, you know--"please, sir, will you come and help me?" and she ran back to the place where Tiny lay.
Swiftly as a bird on wing went Josiah with the child. Without a word he lifted up the senseless Poet and the Broken Harp; and with the precious burden pa.s.sed on through the Beautiful Gate of the Forest, into the Cottage Home--Grace following him!
Once more the Broken Harp hung on the kitchen wall--no longer broken.
Once more the swallows and the poet slept side by side, in their comfortable nests. Once more old Kitty"s eyes grew bright. Once more Josiah smiled. Again a singing voice went echoing through the world, working miracles of good. Rich men heard it and opened their purses.
Proud men heard it and grew humble. Angry voices heard it and grew soft. Wicked spirits heard it and grew beautiful in charities. The sick, and sad, and desolate heard it and were at peace. Mourners heard it and rejoiced. The songs that voice sang, echoed through the churches, through the streets; and by ten thousand thousand firesides they were sung again and yet again. But all the while the great heart, the mighty, loving human heart from which they came, was nestled in that little nest of home on the border of the forest, far away from all the world"s temptations, in the safe shelter of a household"s love.
STORY FOUR, CHAPTER 1.
THE CHIMAERA, BY N. HAWTHORNE.