They gladly accepted her offer, and retired to a bench at the bottom of the garden, which was overshadowed by a n.o.ble oak, which, in the language of that delightful poet of nature, Bloomfield--
"Had reached its full meridian height Before our father"s father breathed."
"Hark! how merrily the Reading bells are ringing," said Josiah. "Listen, Rachel and George, how delightfully the sound, softened by distance, floats over the woods."
"Yes, they sound very pretty," replied Rachel; "but I wish they were not ringing, for we shall not hear the nightingale, as we did last night; and I prefer her sweet melancholy notes to the sound of those jingling bells."
"I wonder what they are ringing for?" said George, thoughtfully. "I shall never hear the sound of bells with pleasure again."
"Why not, my dear friend?" asked Josiah, not a little curious to learn the cause of his dislike.
"Indeed, Josiah, I have not fort.i.tude enough to tell you," returned George, hiding his face with his hands. "I once heard them ring as merrily as they do now, on as beautiful and calm an evening as this; but I have never been happy since, and, whilst the events of _that night_ weigh upon my mind, I shall never be happy again."
"And will not George reveal to his friend the cause of his grief?" said Josiah, kindly taking his hand. "Whence is this want of confidence and affection; surely I have deserved neither at thy hands?"
George flung himself into Shirley"s arms, and the long-concealed truth trembled on his lips, when little Rachel cried out in a joyful tone--
"Oh, here comes Henry West! he will tell us what the bells are ringing for!"
"And that I will, and give you a fairing to boot, pretty Rachel," said Henry, as he stooped down to kiss her rosy cheek. "Why, what"s the matter with Josiah and George? I thought I should have seen you both at the fair."
"Nay, Henry, I am sure such a thought never entered thy head," replied Shirley, "well knowing my aversion to such places of amus.e.m.e.nt."
"Well, I will own I did not much expect to see you there, Mr. Prim,"
said Henry, laughing; "but George has no such scruples of conscience, I dare say."
He turned to young Hope as he finished speaking, but was astonished and frightened to see the ghastly paleness which had overspread his countenance. "Josiah! your friend is ill: I think you are very imprudent to expose him to the evening air."
Josiah started up, and regarded George"s varying countenance with interest and commiseration.
"Oh! no, no! I am not ill," exclaimed George, in a hurried voice; "I feel much better in the open air:" then, in a mournful tone, he added, "Are you sure, Master West, that to-day was Reading fair?"
"I am certain," said Henry, smiling, "for I am just come from thence; Mrs. Wilson took me in her carriage, and I was very well entertained by all the fine things that were to be seen, which my good friend, Josiah, will allow to be very babyish in a great fellow like me. But, Joe, to make my peace, I have brought you two small copies of verses for your sc.r.a.p-book; and, as the subjects are serious, perhaps you will edify us all, by reading them aloud by the light of this glorious moon."
"With all my heart," said Josiah, unfolding the paper, and, hoping to divert George from his present state of dejection, he read the following lines:--
Awake, lute and harp, all thy melody pouring-- To heaven with the wild notes of triumph ascend; While the children of earth, their Creator adoring, The sweetness of song with their thanksgivings blend.
On the breezes of night, when the anthem is swelling, With shadowy splendour the air seems to glow, While fancy could hail each bright star as the dwelling Of spirits released from their bondage below.
When o"er the raised soul high sensations are stealing, The glorious spark immortality gave Seems to lose, in the glow of devotional feeling, Its portion of suffering, and soar o"er the grave.
To those regions of gladness, eternally glowing, With the glory of Him who created the spheres, From the light of whose countenance blessings are flowing, To wipe from the eyes of the mourner all tears.
Where glorified spirits, each other outvying, The praise of the G.o.dhead triumphantly sing; Such strains as might steal on the Saviour when dying, As angels supported their crucified King.
To those mansions of bliss, for the faithful preparing, Who the ordeal of suffering undauntedly tried, With their master and king in his glory are sharing, And exult that, to live, they in agonies died.
On the soul while such visions of splendour are burning, It sighs for that peace the world cannot bestow; Till the shadows of night, on the spirit returning, Awake it again to its portion of woe.
There was something in these lines that greatly softened the heart of George Hope; and, turning to Josiah, he said with a deep sigh:--
"Josiah, does G.o.d always take vengeance on our crimes?"
"Not if we sincerely repent of them, and faithfully promise to sin no more;" returned Shirley; "and, should we again fall into temptation, G.o.d knows the weakness of our nature, and is ever more willing to forgive than we to implore his mercy."
"I have deeply repented of my past errors," said George; "and yet I feel as if my transgressions were not pardoned."
"You must banish such thoughts as these, my dear George," returned Henry, "or you will never be happy. I have heard my Father say, that if we sincerely repent of any crime we have committed, we must not doubt the mercy of our G.o.d. Surely you have every reason to be more cheerful than you are. Do but contrast your present character with your idle pursuits last year; and I am sure you will rejoice at the change."
George shuddered, while Henry continued--
"You were universally and justly despised by the whole village; and I will frankly own, I felt for you the most hearty contempt. Now, every one mentions you with interest and commendation; and you have gained the unfeigned love of Josiah and myself. Such a change in your favour should raise, not depress your spirits."
"I am perfectly sensible of your goodness, my kind friends," returned George, "and feel that grat.i.tude towards you which no words can express.
To-morrow I may feel in better spirits; but I cannot conquer the depression that clouds my mind to-night. But I see Josiah is going to read something else to us."
"It is a paraphrase on the twenty-ninth psalm," said Josiah; "and, though the author has failed in conveying the awful grandeur of the original, I think the verses will please my friends:--
"Ye sons of the mighty, a sacrifice bring To the footstool of power, and your thanksgivings raise; For the Lord is your strength, your Creator, and King, Who demands from his children the tribute of praise.
"Yea, the voice of our G.o.d, in its fury, controls And stills the wild waves of the tempest-swoll"n deep; When borne on the thunder as slowly it rolls, We hear midst its terrors Omnipotence speak.
"The voice of our G.o.d is a glorious sound: When it moves on the waters, or speaks through the storm, The cedars of Leba.n.u.s bend to the ground, And the mountains and hills from their fabric are torn.
"The voice of the Lord, in his wrath, can divide The red rushing flames, and their fury awake; When forth on the wings of destruction they ride, And beneath them the powers of the wilderness shake.
"Yea, the voice of our G.o.d is mighty in power On his bounty the wild tribes of nature depend: The hind rears her young in the green forest bower; From his altars the prayers of his children ascend.
"The voice of the Lord, in his glory, shall bring To his people the fulness and blessings of peace; The Lord o"er the water-flood reigneth a King, And his portion, eternity, never shall cease."
Josiah had scarcely concluded the psalm, when Mrs. Shirley came to fetch the young people from staying out longer in the night air; and Henry, bidding Josiah good night, and shaking George heartily by the hand, hoping to see him in better health and spirits the next day, took his leave.
The sun was scarcely up the following morning, when George tapped at Shirley"s door, and proposed a long walk into the country before breakfast.
The young Quaker was already dressed, and he accepted the invitation with pleasure, hoping, by the way, to induce his friend to reveal the cause of his grief. In the parlour they were joined by little Rachel, who begged so earnestly to accompany them, that George insisted on her request being granted.
The morning was delightful, the dews sparkled on the gra.s.s, and the blackbird poured his merry lay from among the high hawthorn hedges that rose on either side of them.
The spirits of the little party rose in proportion to the beauty of the morning; and they directed their course down a long, lonely, but very romantic lane, over-arched with old oaks, that formed a rich canopy over their heads.
Rachel ran laughing on before, filling a little basket she had in her hand with flowers; then, having pa.s.sed a sudden angle in the lane, the friends were alarmed by her giving a loud scream.
"What can have happened?" cried Josiah, hurrying forward. "I am afraid she has trod upon a snake among the flowers."
He had scarcely finished speaking, before Rachel came running towards them, out of breath, and very pale; and, flinging her arms round Josiah, she sobbed in the most agitated manner.
"Turn back! turn back, Josiah! There is something dreadful in the road."