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MELCHIOR'S DREAM
AND OTHER TALES,
BY
JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
LONDON: SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE, NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C. NEW YORK: E. & J.B. YOUNG & CO.
[Published under the direction of the General Literature Committee.]
Dedicated
TO
FOUR BROTHERS AND FOUR SISTERS.
CONTENTS.
MELCHIOR'S DREAM
THE BLACKBIRD'S NEST
FRIEDRICH'S BALLAD
A BIT OF GREEN
MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND
THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS
A BAD HABIT
A HAPPY FAMILY
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
It is always a memorable era in a mother's life when she firstintroduces a daughter into society. Many things contribute to make itso; among which is the fact of the personal blessing to herself, inhaving been permitted to see the day--to have been spared, that is, towatch over her child in infancy, and now to see her entering life uponher own account.
But a more uncommon privilege is the one granted to me on the presentoccasion, of introducing a daughter into the literary world; and thefeelings of pride and pleasure it calls forth, are certainly not lesspowerful than those created by the commoner occurrence. It is mycomfort also to add that these are not overclouded by any painfulanxiety or misgiving. There may be differences of opinion as to theprecise amount of literary merit in these tales; but viewed as thefirst productions of a young author, they are surely full of promise;while their whole tone and aim is so unmistakably high, that eventhose who criticize the style will be apt to respect the writer.
I ought here to express a hope that it will not be thoughtpresumptuous on my part, to undertake the office of introduction. Ibeg it to be understood that I address myself especially to thosereaders who have (I speak it with deep gratitude and pleasure)listened kindly and favourably to me for several years past, and whowill, I trust, be no less well disposed towards my daughter'swritings.
To them also it may be interesting to know, that in the "J.H.G." of"Melchior's Dream," etc., they will find the original of my ownportrait of "Aunt Judy."
But I have still something more to say: another little bit ofgratification to express. What one sister has written, another hasillustrated by her pencil; a cause of double thankfulness in my heartto Him from whom all good gifts come.
MARGARET GATTY.
NOTE.--_The foregoing Preface was written for the firstedition of "Melchior's Dream, and other Tales." This was published in1862 under Mrs. Ewing's maiden initials, "J.H.G." It contained thefirst five stories in the present volume, and these were illustratedby the writer's eldest sister, "M.S.G."_
MELCHIOR'S DREAM.
AN ALLEGORY.
"Thou that hast given so much to me, Give one thing more--agrateful heart."
GEORGE HERBERT.
"Well, father, I don't believe the Browns are a bit better off than weare; and yet when I spent the day with young Brown, we cooked allsorts of messes in the afternoon; and he wasted twice as much rum andbrandy and lemons in his trash, as I should want to make good punchof. He was quite surprised, too, when I told him that our mince-pieswere kept shut up in the larder, and only brought out at meal-times,and then just one apiece; he said they had mince-pies always going,and he got one whenever he liked. Old Brown never blows up about thatsort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in the holidays,particularly at Christmas."
The speaker was a boy--if I may be allowed to use the word in speakingof an individual whose jackets had for some time past been resignedto a younger member of his family, and who daily, in the privacy ofhis own apartment, examined his soft cheeks by the aid of his sisters'"back-hair glass." He was a handsome boy too; tall, and likeDavid--"ruddy, and of a fair countenance;" and his face, thoughclouded then, bore the expression of general amiability. He was theeldest son in a large young family, and was being educated at one ofthe best public schools. He did not, it must be confessed, thinkeither small beer or small beans of himself; and as to the beer andbeans that his family thought of him, I think it was pale ale andkidney-beans at least.
Young Hopeful had, however, his weak points like the rest of us; andperhaps one of the weakest was the difficulty he found in amusinghimself without _bothering_ other people. He had quite a monomania forproposing the most troublesome "larks" at the most inconvenientmoments; and if his plans were thwarted, an AEolian harp is cheerfulcompared to the tone in which, arguing and lamenting, he
"Fought his battles o'er again,"
to the distraction of every occupied member of the household.
When the lords of the creation of all ages can find nothing else todo, they generally take to eating and drinking; and so it came to passthat our hero had set his mind upon brewing a jorum of punch, andsipping it with an accompaniment of mince-pies; and Paterfamilias hadnot been quietly settled to his writing for half-an-hour, when he wasdisturbed by an application for the necessary ingredients. These hehad refused, quietly explaining that he could not afford to waste hisFrench brandy, etc., in school-boy cookery, and ending with, "You seethe reason, my dear boy?"
To which the dear boy replied as above, and concluded with thedisrespectful (not to say ungrateful) hint, "Old Brown never blows upabout that sort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in theholidays."
Whereupon Paterfamilias made answer, in the mildly deprecating tone inwhich the elder sometimes do answer the younger in these topsy-turvydays:--
"That's quite a different case. Don't you see, my boy, that AdolphusBrown is an only son, and you have nine brothers and sisters? If youhave punch and mince-meat to play with, there is no reason why Tomshould not have it, and James, and Edward, and William, and Benjamin,and Jack. And then there are your sisters. Twice the amount of theBrowns' mince-meat would not serve you. I like you to enjoy yourselfin the holidays as much as young Brown or anybody; but you mustremember that I send you boys to good schools, and give you all thesubstantial comforts and advantages in my power; and the Christmasbills are very heavy, and I have a great many calls on my purse; andyou must be reasonable. Don't you see?"
"Well, father--" began the boy; but his father interrupted him. Heknew the unvarying beginning of a long grumble, and dreading theargument, cut it short.
"I have decided. You must amuse yourself some other way. And justremember that young Brown's is quite another case. He is an only son."
Whereupon Paterfamilias went off to his study and his sermon; and hisson, like the Princess in Andersen's story of the Swineherd, was leftoutside to sing,
"O dearest Augustine, All's clean gone away!"
Not that he did say that--that was the princess' song--what he saidwas,
"_I wish I were an only son!_"
This was rather a vain wish, for round the dining-room fire (where hesoon joined them) were gathered his nine brothers and sisters, who, tosay the truth, were not looking much more lively and cheerful thanhe. And yet (of all days in the year on which to be doleful anddissatisfied!) this was Christmas Eve.
Now I know that the idea of dulness or discomfort at Christmas is avery improper one, particularly in a story. We all know how everylittle boy in a story-book spends the Christmas holidays.
First, there is the large hamper of good things sent
by grandpapa,which is as inexhaustible as Fortunatus's purse, and containseverything, from a Norfolk turkey to grapes from the grandpaternalvinery.
There is the friend who gives a guinea to each member of the family,and sees who will spend it best.
There are the godpapas and godmammas, who might almost be fairysponsors from the number of expensive gifts that they bring upon thescene. The uncles and aunts are also liberal.
One night is devoted to a magic-lantern (which has a perfect focus),another to the pantomime, a third to a celebrated conjuror, a fourthto a Christmas tree and juvenile ball.
The happy youth makes himself sufficiently ill with plum-pudding, totestify to the reader how good it was, and how much there was of it;but recovers in time to fall a victim to the negus and trifle atsupper for the same reason. He is neither fatigued with late hoursnor surfeited with sweets; or if he is, we do not hear of it.
But as this is a strictly candid history, I will at once confess thetruth, on behalf of my hero and his brothers and sisters. They hadspent the morning in decorating the old church, in pricking hollyabout the house, and in making a mistletoe bush. Then in the afternoonthey had tasted the Christmas soup and seen it given out; they had puta finishing touch to the snow man by crowning him with holly, and haddragged the yule-logs home from the carpenter's. And now, the earlytea being over, Paterfamilias had gone to finish his sermon forto-morrow; his friend was shut up in his room; and Materfamilias wasin hers, with one of those painful headaches which even Christmas willnot always keep away. So the ten children were left to amusethemselves, and they found it rather a difficult matter.
"Here's a nice Christmas!" said our hero. He had turned his youngestbrother out of the arm-chair, and was now lying in it with his legsover the side. "Here's a nice Christmas! A fellow might just as wellbe at school. I wonder what Adolphus Brown would think of being coopedup with a lot of children like this! It's his party to-night, and he'sto have champagne and ices. I wish I were an only son."
"Thank you," said a chorus of voices from the floor. They were allsprawling about on the hearth-rug, pushing and struggling like so manykittens in a sack, and every now and then with a grumbledremonstrance:--
"Don't, Jack! you're treading on me."
"You needn't take all the fire, Tom."
"Keep your legs to yourself, Benjamin."
"It wasn't I," etc., with occasionally the feebler cry of a smallsister--
"Oh! you boys are so rough."
"And what are you girls, I wonder?" inquired the proprietor of thearm-chair with cutting irony. "Whiney piney, whiney piney. I wishthere were no such things as brothers and sisters!"
"_You wish_ WHAT?" said a voice from the shadow by the door, as deepand impressive as that of the ghost in Hamlet.
The ten sprang up; but when the figure came into the fire-light, theysaw that it was no ghost, but Paterfamilias's old college friend, whospent most of his time abroad, and who, having no home or relatives ofhis own, had come to spend Christmas at his friend's vicarage. "Youwish _what_?" he repeated.
"Well, brothers and sisters are a bore," was the reply. "One or twowould be all very well; but just look, here are ten of us; and it justspoils everything. If a fellow wants to go anywhere, it's somebodyelse's _turn_. If old Brown sends a basket of grapes, it's share andshare alike; all the ten must taste, and then there's about a grapeand a half for each. If anybody calls or comes to luncheon, there area whole lot of brats swarming about, looking as if we kept a school.Whatever one does, the rest must do; whatever there is, the rest mustshare; whereas, if a fellow was an only son, he would have thewhole--and by all the rules of arithmetic, one is better than atenth."
"And by the same rules ten is better than one," said the friend.
"Sold again," sang out Master Jack from the floor, and went head overheels against the fender.
His brother boxed his ears with great promptitude, and went on, "Well,I don't care; confess, sir, isn't it rather a nuisance?"
Paterfamilias's friend looked very grave, and said, quietly, "I don'tthink I am able to judge. I never had brother or sister but one, andhe was drowned at sea. Whatever I have had, I have had the whole of,and would have given it away willingly for some one to give it to. Ifany one sent me grapes, I ate them alone. If I made anything, therewas no one to show it to. If I wanted to act, I must act all thecharacters, and be my own audience. I remember that I got a lot ofsticks at last, and cut heads and faces to all of them, and carvednames on their sides, and called them my brothers and sisters. If youwant to know what I thought a nice number for a fellow to have, I canonly say that I remember carving twenty-five. I used to stick them inthe ground and talk to them. I have been only, and lonely, and alone,all my life, and have never felt the nuisance you speak of."
This was a funny account; but the speaker looked so far from funnythat one of the sisters, who was very tender-hearted, crept up to him,and said, gently--
"Richard is only joking; he doesn't really want to get rid of us. Theother day the curate said he wished he had a sister, and Richardoffered to sell us all for ninepence; but he is only in fun. Only itis rather slow just now, and the boys get rather cross; at least, weall of us do."
"It's a dreadful state of things," said the friend, smiling throughhis black beard and moustachios. "What is to be done?"
"I know what would be very nice," insinuated the young lady.
"What?"
"If you wouldn't mind telling us a very short story till supper-time.The boys like stories."
"That's a good idea," said Benjamin. "As if the girls didn't!"
But the friend proclaimed order, and seated himself with the girl inquestion on his knee. "Well, what sort of a story is it to be?"
"Any sort," said Richard; "only not too true, if you please. I don'tlike stories like tracts. There was an usher at a school I was at, andhe used to read tracts about good boys and bad boys to the fellows onSunday afternoon. He always took out the real names, and put in thenames of the fellows instead. Those who had done well in the week heput in as good ones, and those who hadn't as the bad. He didn't likeme, and I was always put in as a bad boy, and I came to so manyuntimely ends I got sick of it. I was hanged twice, and transportedonce for sheep-stealing; I committed suicide one week, and broke intothe bank the next; I ruined three families, became a hopelessdrunkard, and broke the hearts of my twelve distinct parents. I usedto beg him to let me be reformed next week; but he said he never wouldtill I did my Caesar better. So, if you please, we'll have a story thatcan't be true."
"Very well," said the friend, laughing; "but if it isn't true, may Iput you in? All the best writers, you know, draw their characters fromtheir friends now-a-days. May I put you in?"
"Oh, certainly!" said Richard, placing himself in front of the fire,putting his feet on the hob, and stroking his curls with an air whichseemed to imply that whatever he was put into would be highlyfavoured.
The rest struggled, and pushed, and squeezed themselves into moremodest but equally comfortable quarters; and after a few moments ofthought, Paterfamilias's friend commenced the story of
MELCHIOR'S DREAM.
"Melchior is my hero. He was--well, he considered himself a young man,so we will consider him so too. He was not perfect; but in these daysthe taste in heroes is for a good deal of imperfection, not to saywickedness. He was not an only son. On the contrary, he had a greatmany brothers and sisters, and found them quite as objectionable as myfriend Richard does."
"I smell a moral," murmured the said Richard.
"Your scent must be keen," said the story-teller, "for it is a longway off. Well, he had never felt them so objectionable as on oneparticular night, when, the house being full of company, it wasdecided that the boys should sleep in 'barracks,' as they called it;that is, all in one large room."
"Thank goodness, we have not come to that!" said the incorrigibleRichard; but he was reduced to order by threats of being turned out,and contented himself with burning the soles of his boots again
st thebars of the grate in silence: and the friend continued:--
"But this was not the worst. Not only was he, Melchior, to sleep inthe same room with his brothers, but his bed being the longest andlargest, his youngest brother was to sleep at the other end ofit--foot to foot. True, by this means he got another pillow, for, ofcourse, that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb could do without one, and so hetook his; but, in spite of this, he determined that, sooner thansubmit to such an indignity, he would sit up all night. Accordingly,when all the rest were fast asleep, Melchior, with his boots off andhis waistcoat easily unbuttoned, sat over the fire in the longlumber-room which served that night as 'barracks'. He had refused toeat any supper downstairs to mark his displeasure, and now repaidhimself by a stolen meal according to his own taste. He had got apork-pie, a little bread and cheese, some large onions to roast, acouple of raw apples, an orange, and papers of soda and tartaric acidto compound effervescing draughts. When these dainties were finished,he proceeded to warm some beer in a pan, with ginger, spice, andsugar, and then lay back in his chair and sipped it slowly, gazingbefore him, and thinking over his misfortunes.
"The night wore on, the fire got lower and lower, and still Melchiorsat, with his eyes fixed on a dirty old print that had hung above themantelpiece for years, sipping his 'brew', which was fast gettingcold. The print represented an old man in a light costume, with ascythe in one hand and an hour-glass in the other; and underneath thepicture in flourishing capitals was the word TIME.
"'You're a nice old beggar,' said Melchior, dreamily. 'You look likean old hay-maker who has come to work in his shirt-sleeves, andforgotten the rest of his clothes. Time! time you went to thetailor's, I think.'
"This was very irreverent; but Melchior was not in a respectful mood;and as for the old man, he was as calm as any philosopher.
"The night wore on, and the fire got lower and lower, and at last wentout altogether.
"'How stupid of me not to have mended it!' said Melchior; but he hadnot mended it, and so there was nothing for it but to go to bed; andto bed he went accordingly.
"'But I won't go to sleep,' he said; 'no, no; I shall keep awake, andto-morrow they shall know that I have had a bad night.'
"So he lay in bed with his eyes wide open, and staring still at theold print, which he could see from his bed by the light of the candle,which he had left alight on the mantelpiece to keep him awake. Theflame waved up and down, for the room was draughty; and as the lightsand shadows passed over the old man's face, Melchior almost fanciedthat it nodded to him, so he nodded back again; and as that tired himhe shut his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, therewas no longer any doubt--the old man's head was moving; and not onlyhis head, but his legs, and his whole body. Finally, he put his feetout of the frame, and prepared to step right over the mantelpiece,candle, and all.
"'Take care,' Melchior tried to say, 'you'll set fire to your shirt.'But he could not utter a sound; and the old man arrived safely on thefloor, where he seemed to grow larger and larger, till he was fullythe size of a man, but still with the same scythe and hour-glass, andthe same airy costume. Then he came across the room, and sat down byMelchior's bedside.
"'Who are you?' said Melchior, feeling rather creepy.
"'TIME,' said his visitor in a deep voice, which sounded asif it came from a distance.
"'Oh, to be sure, yes! In copper-plate capitals.'
"'What's in copper-plate capitals?' inquired Time.
"'Your name, under the print.'
"'Very likely,' said Time.
"Melchior felt more and more uneasy. 'You must be very cold,' he said.'Perhaps you would feel warmer if you went back into the picture.'
"'Not at all,' said Time; 'I have come on purpose to see you.'
"'I have not the pleasure of knowing you,' said Melchior, trying tokeep his teeth from chattering.
"'There are not many people who have a personal acquaintance with me,'said his visitor. 'You have an advantage--I am your godfather.'
"'Indeed,' said Melchior; 'I never heard of it.'
"'Yes,' said his visitor; 'and you will find it a great advantage.'
"'Would you like to put on my coat?' said Melchior, trying to becivil.
"'No, thank you,' was the answer. 'You will want it yourself. We mustbe driving soon.'
"'Driving!' said Melchior.
"'Yes,' was the answer; 'all the world is driving; and you must drive;and here come your brothers and sisters.'
"Melchior sat up; and there they were, sure enough, all dressed, andclimbing one after the other on to the bed--_his_ bed!
"There was that little minx of a sister with her curls (he alwayscalled them carrot shavings), who was so conceited (girls always are!)and always trying to attract notice, in spite of Melchior's incessantsnubbings. There was that clever brother, with his untidy hair andbent shoulders, who was just as bad the other way; who always ran outof the back door when visitors called, and was for ever moping andreading: and this, in spite of Melchior's hiding his books, andcontinually telling him that he was a disgrace to the family, aperfect bear, not fit to be seen, etc.--all with the laudable desireof his improvement. There was that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb, as livelyas any of them, a young monkey, the worst of all; who was always inmischief, and consorting with the low boys in the village; thoughMelchior did not fail to tell him that he was not fit company forgentlemen's sons, that he was certain to be cut when he went toschool, and that he would probably end his days by being transported,if not hanged. There was the second brother, who was Melchior's chiefcompanion, and against whom he had no particular quarrel. And therewas the little pale lame sister, whom he dearly loved; but whom, oddto say, he never tried to improve at all; his remedy for her failingswas generally, 'Let her do as she likes, will you?' There were otherswho were all tiresome in their respective ways; and one after theother they climbed up.
"'What are you doing, getting on to my bed!' inquired the indignantbrother, as soon as he could speak.
"'Don't you know the difference between a bed and a coach, godson?'said Time, sharply.
"Melchior was about to retort, but on looking round, he saw that theywere really in a large sort of coach with very wide windows. 'Ithought I was in bed,' he muttered. 'What can I have been dreamingof?'
"'What, indeed!' said the godfather. 'But, be quick, and sit close,for you have all to get in; you are all brothers and sisters.'
"'Must families be together?' inquired Melchior, dolefully.
"'Yes, at first,' was the answer; 'they get separated in time. Infact, everyone has to cease driving sooner or later. I drop them onthe road at different stages, according to my orders,' and he showed abundle of papers in his hands; 'but, as I favour you, I will tell youin confidence that I have to drop all your brothers and sisters beforeyou. There, you four oldest sit on this side, you five others there,and the little one must stand or be nursed.'
"'Ugh!' said Melchior, 'the coach would be well enough if one wasalone; but what a squeeze with all these brats! I say, go prettyquick, will you?'
"'I will,' said Time, 'if you wish it. But, beware that you cannotchange your mind. If I go quicker for your sake, I shall never go slowagain; if slower, I shall not again go quick; and I only favour you sofar, because you are my godson. Here, take the check-string; when youwant me, pull it, and speak through the tube. Now we're off.'
"Whereupon the old man mounted the box, and took the reins. He had nowhip; but when he wanted to start, he shook the hour-glass, and offthey went. Then Melchior saw that the road where they were driving wasvery broad, and so filled with vehicles of all kinds that he could notsee the hedges. The noise and crowd and dust were very great; and toMelchior all seemed delightfully exciting. There was every sort ofconveyance, from the grandest coach to the humblest donkey-cart; andthey seemed to have enough to do to escape being run over. Among allthe gay people there were many whom he knew; and a very nice thing itseemed to be to drive among all the grandees, and to show hishandsome face at the window,
and bow and smile to his acquaintance.Then it appeared to be the fashion to wrap oneself in a tiger-skinrug, and to look at life through an opera-glass, and old Time hadkindly put one of each into the coach.
"But here again Melchior was much troubled by his brothers andsisters. Just at the moment when he was wishing to look mostfashionable and elegant, one or other of them would pull away the rug,or drop the glass, or quarrel, or romp, or do something that spoiltthe effect. In fact, one and all, they 'just spoilt everything;' andthe more he scolded, the worse they became. The 'minx' shook hercurls, and flirted through the window with a handsome but ill-temperedlooking man on a fine horse, who praised her 'golden locks,' as hecalled them; and, oddly enough, when Melchior said the man was a lout,and that the locks in question were corkscrewy carrot shavings, sheonly seemed to like the man and his compliments the more. Meanwhile,the untidy brother pored over his book, or if he came to the window,it was only to ridicule the fine ladies and gentlemen, so Melchiorsent him to Coventry. Then Hop-o'-my-Thumb had taken to make signs andexchange jokes with some disreputable-looking youths in a dog-cart;and when his brother would have put him to 'sit still like agentleman' at the bottom of the coach, he seemed positively to preferhis low companions; and the rest were little better.
"Poor Melchior! Surely there never was a clearer case of a younggentleman's comfort destroyed, solely by other people's perversedetermination to be happy in their own way instead of in his. Surely,no young gentleman ever knew better that if his brothers and sisterswould yield to his wishes, they would not quarrel; or ever morecompletely overlooked the fact, that if he had yielded more to theirsthe same happy result might have been attained. At last he lostpatience, and pulling the check-string, bade Godfather Time drive asfast as he could.
"'For,' said he, 'there will never be any peace while there are somany of us in the coach; if a fellow had the rug and glass, and,indeed, the coach to himself, he might drive and bow and talk with thebest of them; but as it is, one might as well go about in a wild-beastcaravan.'
"Godfather Time frowned, but shook his glass all the same, and awaythey went at a famous pace. All at once they came to a stop.
"'Now for it,' says Melchior; 'here goes one at any rate.'
"Time called out the name of the second brother over his shoulder; andthe boy stood up, and bade his brothers and sisters good-bye.
"'It is time that I began to push my way in the world,' said he, andpassed out of the coach, and in among the crowd.
"'You have taken the only quiet boy,' said Melchior to the godfatherangrily. 'Drive fast now, for pity's sake; and let us get rid of thetiresome ones.'
"And fast enough they drove, and dropped first one and then the other;but the sisters, and the reading boy, and the youngest still remained.
"'What are you looking at?' said Melchior to the lame sister.
"'At a strange figure in the crowd,' she answered.
"'I see nothing,' said Melchior. But on looking again after a while,he did see a figure wrapped in a cloak, gliding in and out among thepeople, unnoticed, if not unseen.
"'Who is it?' Melchior asked of the godfather.
"'A friend of mine,' Time answered. 'His name is Death.'
"Melchior shuddered, more especially as the figure had now come up tothe coach, and put its hand in through the window, on which, to hishorror, the lame sister laid hers and smiled. At this moment thecoach stopped.
"'What are you doing?' shrieked Melchior, 'Drive on! drive on!'
"But even while he sprang up to seize the check-string the door hadopened, the pale sister's face (a little paler now) had dropped uponthe shoulder of the figure in the cloak, and he had carried her away;and Melchior stormed and raved in vain.
"'To take her, and to leave the rest! Cruel! cruel!'
"In his rage and grief, he hardly knew it when the untidy brother wascalled, and putting his book under his arm, slipped out of the coachwithout looking to the right or left. Presently the coach stoppedagain; and when Melchior looked up the door was open, and at it wasthe fine man on the fine horse, who was lifting the sister on to thesaddle before him. 'What fool's game are you playing?' said Melchior,angrily. 'I know that man. He is both ill-tempered and a badcharacter.'
"'You never told her so before,' muttered young Hop-o'-my-Thumb.
"'Hold your tongue,' said Melchior. 'I forbade her to talk to him,which was enough.'
"'I don't want to leave you; but he cares for me, and you don't,'sobbed the sister; and she was carried away.
"When she had gone, the youngest brother slid down from his corner andcame up to Melchior.
"'We are alone now, Brother,' he said; 'let us be good friends. May Isit on the front seat with you, and have half the rug? I will be verygood and polite, and will have nothing more to do with those fellows,if you will talk to me.'
"Now Melchior really rather liked the idea, but as his brother seemedto be in a submissive mood, he thought he would take the opportunityof giving him a good lecture, and would then graciously relent andforgive. So he began by asking him if he thought that he was fitcompany for him (Melchior), what he thought that gentlefolks would sayto a boy who had been playing with such youths as youngHop-o'-my-Thumb had, and whether the said youths were not scoundrels?And when the boy refused to say that they were (for they had been kindto him), Melchior said that his tastes were evidently as bad as ever,and even hinted at the old transportation threat. This was too much;the boy went angrily back to his window corner, and Melchior--like toomany of us!--lost the opportunity of making peace for the sake ofwagging his own tongue.
"'But he will come round in a few minutes,' he thought A few minutespassed, however, and there was no sign. A few minutes more, and therewas a noise, a shout; Melchior looked up, and saw that the boy hadjumped through the open window into the road, and had been picked upby the men in the dog-cart, and was gone.
"And so at last my hero was alone. At first he enjoyed it very much.He shook out his hair, wrapped himself in the rug, stared through theopera-glass, and did the fine gentleman very well indeed. But thougheveryone allowed him to be the finest young fellow on the road, yetnobody seemed to care for the fact as much as he did; they talked, andcomplimented, and stared at him, but he got tired of it. For he couldnot arrange his hair any better; he could not dispose the rug moregracefully, or stare more perseveringly through the glass; and if hecould, his friends could do nothing more than they had done. In fact,he got tired of the crowd, and found himself gazing through thewindow, not to see his fine friends, but to try and catch sight of hisbrothers and sisters. Sometimes he saw the youngest brother, lookingeach time more wild and reckless; and sometimes the sister, lookingmore and more miserable; but he saw no one else.
"At last there was a stir among the people, and all heads were turnedtowards the distance, as if looking for something. Melchior asked whatit was, and was told that the people were looking for a man, the heroof many battles, who had won honour for himself and for his country inforeign lands, and who was coming home. Everybody stood up and gazed,Melchior with them. Then the crowd parted, and the hero came on. Noone asked whether he were handsome or genteel, whether he kept goodcompany, or wore a tiger-skin rug, or looked through an opera-glass?They knew what he had _done_, and it was enough.
"He was a bronzed hairy man, with one sleeve empty, and a breastcovered with stars; but in his face, brown with sun and wind,overgrown with hair and scarred with wounds, Melchior saw his secondbrother! There was no doubt of it. And the brother himself, though hebowed kindly in answer to the greetings showered on him, was gazinganxiously for the old coach, where he used to ride and be souncomfortable, in that time to which he now looked back as thehappiest of his life.
"'I thank you, gentlemen. I am indebted to you, gentlemen. I have beenaway long. I am going home.'
"'Of course he is!' shouted Melchior, waving his arms widely withpride and joy. 'He is coming home; to this coach, where he was--oh,it seems but an hour ago! Time goes so fast. We were great friends
when we were young together. My brother and I, ladies and gentlemen,the hero and I--my brother--the hero with the stars upon hisbreast--he is coming home!'
"Alas! what avail stars and ribbons on a breast where the life-bloodis trickling slowly from a little wound? The crowd looked anxious; thehero came on, but more slowly, with his dim eyes straining for the oldcoach; and Melchior stood with his arms held out in silent agony. Butjust when he was beginning to hope, and the brothers seemed about tomeet, a figure passed between--a figure in a cloak.
"'I have seen you many times, Friend, face to face,' said the hero;'but now I would fain have waited for a little while.'
"'To enjoy his well-earned honours,' murmured the crowd.
"'Nay,' he said, 'not that; but to see my home, and my brothers andsisters. But if it may not be, friend Death, I am ready, and tiredtoo.' With that he held out his hand, and Death lifted up the hero ofmany battles like a child, and carried him away, stars and ribbons andall.
"'Cruel Death!' cried Melchior; 'was there no one else in all thiscrowd, that you must take him?'
"His friends condoled with him; but they soon went on their own ways;and the hero seemed to be forgotten; and Melchior, who had lost allpleasure in the old bowings and chattings, sat sadly gazing out of thewindow, to see if he could see any one for whom he cared. At last, ina grave dark man, who was sitting on a horse, and making a speech tothe crowd, he recognized his clever untidy brother.
"'What is that man talking about?' he asked of some one near him.
"'That man!' was the answer. 'Don't you know? He is _the_ man of thetime. He is a philosopher. Everybody goes to hear him. He has foundout that--well--that everything is a mistake.'
"'Has he corrected it?' said Melchior.
"'You had better hear for yourself,' said the man. 'Listen.'
"Melchior listened, and a cold clear voice rang upon his ear,saying:--
"'The world of fools will go on as they have ever done; but to thewise few, to whom I address myself, I would say--Shake off at once andfor ever the fancies and feelings, the creeds and customs that shackleyou, and be true. We have come to a time when wise men will not beled blindfold in the footsteps of their predecessors, but will tearaway the bandage and see for themselves. I have torn away mine, andlooked. There is no Faith--it is shaken to its rotten foundation;there is no Hope--it is disappointed every day; there is no Love atall. There is nothing for any man or for each, but his fate; and he ishappiest and wisest who can meet it most unmoved.'
"'It is a lie!' shouted Melchior. 'I feel it to be so in my heart. Awicked foolish lie! Oh! was it to teach such evil folly as this thatyou left home and us, my brother? Oh, come back! come back!'
"The philosopher turned his head coldly, and smiled. 'I thank thegentleman who spoke,' he said, still in the same cold voice, 'for hisbad opinion, and for his good wishes. I think the gentleman spoke ofhome and kindred. My experience of life has led me to find that homeis most valued when it is left, and kindred most dear when they areparted. I have happily freed myself from such inconsistencies. I amglad to know that fate can tear me from no place that I care for morethan the next where it shall deposit me, nor take away any friendsthat I value more than those it leaves. I recommend a similarself-emancipation to the gentleman who did me the honour ofspeaking.'
"With this the philosopher went his way, and the crowd followed him.
"'There is a separation more bitter than death,' said Melchior.
"At last he pulled the check-string, and called to Godfather Time inan humble entreating voice.
"'It is not your fault,' he began; 'it is not your fault, Godfather;but this drive has been altogether wrong. Let us turn back and beginagain. Let us all get in afresh and begin again.'
"'But what a squeeze with all the brats!' said Godfather Time,ironically.
"'We should be so happy,' murmured Melchior, humbly; 'and it is verycold and chilly; we should keep each other warm.'
"'You have the tiger-skin rug and the opera-glass, you know,' saidTime.
"'Ah, do not speak of me!' cried Melchior, earnestly. 'I am thinkingof them. There is plenty of room; the little one can sit on my knee;and we shall be so happy. The truth is, Godfather, that I have beenwrong. I have gone the wrong way to work. A little more love, andkindness, and forbearance, might have kept my sisters with us, mighthave led the little one to better tastes and pleasures, and havetaught the other by experience the truth of the faith and hope andlove which he now reviles. Oh, I have sinned! I have sinned! Let usturn back, Godfather Time, and begin again. And oh! drive very slowly,for partings come only too soon.'
"'I am sorry,' said the old man in the same bitter tone as before, 'todisappoint your rather unreasonable wishes. What you say is admirablytrue, with this misfortune, that your good intentions are too late.Like the rest of the world you are ready to seize the opportunity whenit is past. You should have been kind _then_. You should have advised_then_. You should have yielded _then_. You should have loved yourbrothers and sisters while you had them. It is too late now.'
"With this he drove on, and spoke no more, and poor Melchior staredsadly out of the window. As he was gazing at the crowd, he suddenlysaw the dog-cart, in which were his brother and his wretchedcompanions. Oh, how old and worn he looked! and how ragged his clotheswere! The men seemed to be trying to persuade him to do something thathe did not like, and they began to quarrel; but in the midst of thedispute he turned his head and caught sight of the old coach; andMelchior seeing this, waved his hands, and beckoned with all hismight. The brother seemed doubtful; but Melchior waved harder, and(was it fancy?) Time seemed to go slower. The brother made up hismind; he turned and jumped from the dog-cart as he had jumped from theold coach long ago, and ducking in and out among the horses andcarriages, ran for his life. The men came after him; but he ran likethe wind--pant, pant, nearer, nearer; at last the coach was reached,and Melchior seized the prodigal by his rags and dragged him in.
"'Oh, thank GOD, I have got you safe, my brother!'
"But what a brother! with wasted body and sunken eyes; with the oldcurly hair turned to matted locks, that clung faster to his face thanthe rags did to his trembling limbs; what a sight for theopera-glasses of the crowd! What a subject for the tongues that wereever wagging, and complimenting, and backbiting, and lying, all in abreath, and without sense or scruple! What a sight and a subject forthe fine friends, for whose good opinion Melchior had been so anxious?Do you think he was as anxious now? Do you think he was troubled bywhat they either saw or said; or was ashamed of the wretched prodigallying among the cushions? I think not. I think that for the mostfoolish of us there are moments in life (of real joy or real sorrow)when we judge things by a higher standard, and care vastly little forwhat 'people say'. The only shame that Melchior felt was that hisbrother should have fared so hardly in the trials and temptations ofthe world outside, while he had sat at ease among the cushions of theold coach, that had been the home of both alike. Thank GOD,it was the home of both now! And poor Hop-o'-my-Thumb was on the frontseat at last, with Melchior kneeling at his feet, and fondly strokingthe head that rested against him.
"'Has powder come into fashion, brother?' he said. 'Your hair isstreaked with white.'
"'If it has,' said the other, laughing, 'your barber is better thanmine, Melchior, for your head is as white as snow.'
"'Is it possible? are we so old? has Time gone so very fast? But whatare you staring at through the window? I shall be jealous of thatcrowd, brother.'
"'I am not looking at the crowd,' said the prodigal in a low voice;'but I see--'
"'You see what?' said Melchior.
"'A figure in a cloak, gliding in and out--'
"Melchior sprang up in horror. 'No! no!' he cried, hoarsely. 'No!surely no!'
"Surely yes! Too surely the well-known figure came on; and theprodigal's sunken eyes looked more sunken still as he gazed. As forMelchior, he neither spoke nor moved, but stood in a silent agony,terrible to see. All at once a thought seemed to
strike him; he seizedhis brother, and pushed him to the furthest corner of the seat, andthen planted himself firmly at the door just as Death came up and puthis hand into the coach. Then he spoke in a low steady voice, morepiteous than cries or tears.
"'I humbly beseech you, good Death, if you must take one of us, totake me. I have had a long drive, and many comforts and blessings, andam willing if unworthy to go. He has suffered much, and had nopleasure; leave him for a little to enjoy the drive in peace, just fora very little; he has suffered so much, and I have been so much toblame; let me go instead of him.'
"Alas for Melchior! It is decreed in the Providence of GOD,that, although the opportunities for doing good, which are in thepower of every man, are beyond count or knowledge, yet, theopportunity once neglected, no man by any self-sacrifice can atone forthose who have fallen or suffered by his negligence. Poor Melchior! Anunalterable law made him the powerless spectator of the consequencesof his neglected opportunities. 'No man may deliver his brother, ormake agreement unto GOD for him, for it cost more to redeemtheir souls, so that he must let that alone for ever.' And is it everso bitter to 'let alone,' as in a case where we might have acted anddid not?
"Poor Melchior! In vain he laid both his hands in Death's outstretchedpalm; they fell to him again as if they had passed through air; he waspushed aside--Death passed into the coach--'one was taken and theother left.'
"As the cloaked figure glided in and out among the crowd, many turnedto look at his sad burden, though few heeded him. Much was said; butthe general voice of the crowd was this: 'Ah! he is gone, is he? Well!a born rascal! It must be a great relief to his brother!' A conclusionwhich was about as wise, and about as near the truth, as the world'sconclusions generally are. As for Melchior, he neither saw the figurenor heard the crowd, for he had fallen senseless among the cushions.
"When he came to his senses, he found himself lying still upon hisface; and so bitter was his loneliness and grief, that he lay stilland did not move. He was astonished, however, by the (as it seemed tohim) unusual silence. The noise of the carriages had been deafening,and now there was not a sound. Was he deaf? or had the crowd gone? Heopened his eyes. Was he blind? or had the night come? He sat right up,and shook himself, and looked again. The crowd _was_ gone; so, formatter of that, was the coach; and so was Godfather Time. He had notbeen lying among cushions, but among pillows; he was not in anyvehicle of any kind, but in bed. The room was dark, and very still;but through the 'barracks' window, which had no blind, he saw thewinter sun pushing through the mist, like a red hot cannon-ballhanging in the frosty trees; and in the yard outside, the cocks werecrowing.
"There was no longer any doubt that he was safe in his old home; butwhere were his brothers and sisters? With a beating heart he crept tothe other end of the bed; and there lay the prodigal, but with nohaggard cheeks or sunken eyes, no grey locks or miserable rags, but arosy yellow-haired urchin fast asleep, with his head upon his arm. 'Itook his pillow,' muttered Melchior, self-reproachfully.
"A few minutes later, young Hop-o'-my-Thumb (whom Melchior dared notlose sight of for fear he should melt away) seated comfortably on hisbrother's back, and wrapped up in a blanket, was making a tour of the'barracks.'
"'It's an awful lark,' said he, shivering with a mixture of cold anddelight.
"If not exactly a _lark_, it was a very happy tour to Melchior, as,hope gradually changing into certainty, he recognized his brothers inone shapeless lump after the other in the little beds. There they allwere, sleeping peacefully in a happy home, from the embryo hero to theembryo philosopher, who lay with the invariable book upon his pillow,and his hair looking (as it always did) as if he lived in a high wind.
"'I say,' whispered Melchior, pointing to him, 'what did he say theother day about being a parson?'
"'He said he should like to be one,' returned Hop-o'-my-Thumb; 'butyou said he would frighten away the congregation with his looks. Andthen, you know, he got very angry, and said he didn't know priestsneed be dandies, and that everybody was humbuggy alike, and thought ofnothing but looks; but that he would be a philosopher like Diogenes,who cared for nobody, and was as ugly as an ape, and lived in a tub.'
"'He will make a capital parson,' said Melchior, hastily, 'and I shalltell him so to-morrow. And when I'm squire here, he shall be vicar,and I'll subscribe to all his dodges without a grumble. I'm the eldestson. And, I say, don't you think we could brush his hair for him in amorning, till he learns to do it himself?'
"'Oh, I will!' was the lively answer; 'I'm an awful dab at brushing.Look how I brush your best hat!'
"'True,' said Melchior. 'Where are the girls to-night?'
"'In the little room at the end of the long passage,' saidHop-o'-my-Thumb, trembling with increased chilliness and enjoyment.'But you're never going there! we shall wake the company, and theywill all come out to see what's the matter.'
"'I shouldn't care if they did,' said Melchior, 'it would make it feelmore real.'
"As he did not understand this sentiment, Hop-o'-my-Thumb saidnothing, but held on very tightly; and they crept softly down the coldgrey passage in the dawn. The girls' door was open; for the girls wereafraid of robbers, and left their bed-room door wide open at night, asa natural and obvious means of self-defence. The girls slept together;and the frill of the pale sister's prim little night-cap was buried inthe other one's uncovered curls.
"'How you do tremble!' whispered Hop-o'-my-Thumb; 'are you cold?' Thisinquiry received no answer; and after some minutes he spoke again. 'Isay, how very pretty they look! don't they?'
"But for some reason or other, Melchior seemed to have lost his voice;but he stooped down and kissed both the girls very gently, and thenthe two brothers crept back along the passage to the 'barracks.'
"'One thing more,' said Melchior; and they went up to the mantelpiece.'I will lend you my bow and arrows to-morrow, on one condition--'
"'Anything!' was the reply, in an enthusiastic whisper.
"'That you take that old picture for a target, and never let me see itagain.'
"It was very ungrateful! but perfection is not in man; and there wassomething in Melchior's muttered excuse--
"'I couldn't stand another night of it.'
"Hop-o'-my-Thumb was speedily put to bed again, to get warm, this timewith both the pillows; but Melchior was too restless to sleep, so heresolved to have a shower-bath, and to dress. After which, he kneltdown by the window, and covered his face with his hands.
"'He's saying very long prayers,' thought Hop-o'-my-Thumb, glancing athim from his warm nest; 'and what a jolly humour he is in thismorning!'
"Still the young head was bent, and the handsome face hidden; andMelchior was finding his life every moment more real and more happy.For there was hardly a thing, from the well-filled 'barracks' to thebrother bedfellow, that had been a hardship last night, which thismorning did not seem a blessing. He rose at last, and stood in thesunshine, which was now pouring in; a smile was on his lips, and onhis face were two drops, which, if they were water, had not come fromthe shower-bath, or from any bath at all."
* * * * *
"Is that the end?" inquired the young lady on his knee, as the storyteller paused here.
"Yes, that is the end."
"It's a beautiful story," she murmured, thoughtfully; "but what anextraordinary one! I don't think I could have dreamt such a wonderfuldream."
"Do you think you could have eaten such a wonderful supper?" said thefriend, twisting his moustachios.
After this point, the evening's amusements were thoroughly successful.Richard took his smoking boots from the fire-place, and was called uponfor various entertainments for which he was famous: such as theaccurate imitation of a train just starting, in which two pieces ofbone were used with considerable effect; as also of a bumble-bee, who(very much out of season) went buzzing about, and was always beingcaught with a heavy bang on the heads and shoulders of those who leastexpected it; all which specimens of his talents were rece
ived with dueapplause by his admiring brothers and sisters.
The bumble-bee had just been caught (for the twenty-first time) with aloud smack on brother Benjamin's ear, when the door opened, andPaterfamilias entered with Materfamilias (whose headache was better),and followed by the candles. A fresh log was then thrown upon thefire, the yule cakes and furmety were put upon the table, andeverybody drew round to supper; and Paterfamilias announced thatalthough he could not give the materials to play with, he had noobjection now to a bowl of moderate punch for all, and that Richardmight compound it. This was delightful; and as he sat by his father,ladling away to the rest, Adolphus Brown could hardly have felt morejovial, even with the champagne and ices.
The rest sat with radiant faces and shining heads in goodly order; andat the bottom of the table, by Materfamilias, was the friend, as happyin his unselfish sympathy as if his twenty-five sticks had come tolife, and were supping with him. As happy--nearly--as if a certainwoman's grave had never been dug under the southern sun that could notsave her, and as if the children gathered round him were those ofwhose faces he had often dreamt, but might never see.
His health had been drunk, and everybody else's too, when, just assupper was coming to a close, Richard (who had been sitting inthoughtful silence for some minutes) got up with sudden resolution,and said,
"I want to propose Mr. What's-his-name's health on my own account. Iwant to thank him for his story, which had only one mistake in it.Melchior should have kept the effervescing papers to put into thebeer; it's a splendid drink! Otherwise it was first-rate; though ithit me rather hard. I want to say that though I didn't mean all I saidabout being an only son (when a fellow gets put out he doesn't knowwhat he means), yet I know I was quite wrong, and the story is quiteright. I want particularly to say that I'm very glad there are so manyof us, for the more, you know, the merrier. I wouldn't change fatheror mother, brothers or sisters, with any one in the world. It couldn'tbe better, we couldn't be happier. We are all together, and to-morrowis Christmas Day. Thank GOD."
It was very well said. It was a very good speech. It was very well andvery good that while the blessings were with him, he could feel it tobe so, and be grateful.
It was very well, and good also, that the friend, who had neither homenor kindred to be grateful for, had something else for which he couldthank GOD as heartily. The thought of that something came tohim then as he sat at his friend's table, filling his eyes with tears.It came to him next day as he knelt before GOD's altar,remembering in blessed fellowship that deed of love which is thefoundation of all our hope and joy. It came to him when he went backto his lonely wandering life, and thought with tender interest of thatboyish speech. It came--a whisper of consolation to silence envy andregret for ever.
"There _is_ something far better. There _is_ something far happier.There is a better Home than any earthly one, and a Family that shallnever be divided."