himself. A bow and arrows which 1 had lately given him were there; perhaps the boy could not resist looking on them; they were lying on the floor when I entered afterwards. From that closet Maurice heard the sound of a whip-he heard quick and brutal strokes falling heavily. Springing up, he ran to the window; beneath he saw one of the grooms beating, with savage cruelty, his beautiful and favourite little courser. The animal seemed almost maddened with the blows; and the child called out loudly to bid the man desist. At first the groom scarcely heeded him, and then smiling coldly at the indignant boy, told him that the beating was necessary, and that so young a gentleman could not understand how a horse should be managed. In vain did my child command the brutal fellow to stop. The man pretended not to hear him, and led the spirited creature farther away from beneath the window. Instantly the boy rushed from the room, and in a few moments was in the yard below. I entered the library shortly after my son left it. The person who had detained me brought news which had much disconcerted, nay displeased me. I was in a very ill humour when I returned to the room where I had left Maurice; I looked vainly for him, and was very angry to perceive that my request had been disobeyed; the closet door was open; I sought him there. While I wondered at his absence, I heard his voice loud in anger. For some moments I gazed from the windows in silence. Beneath stood the boy, holding with one hand the reins of his courser, who trembled all over, his fine coat and slender legs reeking and streaming with sweat: in his other hand there was a horsewhip, with which the enraged boy was lashing the brutal groom. In a voice of loud anger, I called out. The child looked up; and the man who had before stood with his arms folded, and a smile of calin insolence on his face, now spoke with pretended mildness, more provoking to the child, but which then convinced me that Maurice was in fault. He spoke, but I silenced him, and commanded him to come up to me in stantly. He came instantly, and stood before me yet panting with emotion, his face all flushed, and his eyes sparkling with passion. Again he would have spoken, but I would not hear.— "Tell me, sir," I cried; "answer me one question; are you right or wrong ?" "Right." the boy replied proudly.He argued with me-my fury burst out-Alas, I knew not what I did!— but I snatched the whip from his hand I raised the heavy handle,-I meant not to strike where I did. The blow fell with horrid force on his fair head. There was iron on the handle, and my child, my only son, dropt lifeless at my feet. Ere he fell, I was deadly cold, and the murderous weapon had dropt away from my hand. Stiffened with horror, I stood over him speechless,and rooted awhile to the spot. At last the yells of my despair brought others to me-the wretched groom was the first who came.-I saw no more, but fell in a fit beside my lifeless child. When I woke up to a sense of what passed around me, I saw the sweet countenance of my wife bent over me with an expression of the most anxious tenderness. She was wiping away the tears from her eyes, and a faint smile broke into her face as she perceived my returning sense. I caught hold of her arm with a strong grasp, and lifted up my head ;— but my eyes looked for the body of my child-it was not there. "Where is it?" I cried; "Where is the body of my murdered boy?" When I spoke the word " murdered," my wife shrieked-I was rushing out-she stopped me, and said, "He is not dead-he is alive." My heart melted within me, and tears rained from my eyes. My wife led me to the chamber where they had laid my child. He was alive, if such a state could be called life. Still his eyelids were closed; still his cheeks, even his lips, were of a ghastly whiteness ; still his limbs were cold and motionless. They had undressed him, and my mother sate in silent grief beside his bed. When I came near, she uncovered his fair chest, and placed my hand over his heart; I felt a thick and languid beating there, but the pulse of his wrists and temples was scarcely perceptible. My mother spoke to me. "We have examined the poor child," she said, "but we find no wound, no bruise, no marks of violence. Whence is this dreadful stupor? No one can answer me." "I can answer you," I said; 66 no one can answer but myself. I am the murderer of the child. In my hellish rage I struck his blessed head." -I did not see the face of my wife or my mother-as I spoke I hung my head; but I felt my wife's hand drop from me; I heard my mother's low heart-breaking groan. I looked up, and saw my wife. She stood before me like a marble figure, rather than a creature of life; yet her eyes were fixed on me, and her soul seemed to look out in their gaze.-"Oh my husband," she cried out at length, "I see plainly in your face what you suffer. Blessed God, have mercy, have mercy on him! he suffers more than we all. His punishment is greater than he can bear !" She flung her arms around my neck: she strove to press me nearer to her bosom; but I would have withdrawn myself from her embrace. "Oh, do not shame me thus," I cried: " remember, you must remember, that you are a mother." "I cannot forget that I am a wife, my husband," she replied, weeping. "No, no, I feel for you, and I must feel with you in every sorrow. How do I feel with you now in this overwhelming affliction." My mother had fallen on her knees when I confessed my guilt; my wife drew me towards her; and rising up, she looked me in the face." Henry," she said, in a faint deep voice," I have been praying for you, for us all. My son, look not thus from me." As she was speaking, the surgeon of my household, who had been absent when they first sent for him, entered the chamber. My kind mother turned from me, and went at once with him to the bedside of the child. I perceived her intention to prevent my encountering the surgeon. She should have concealed for awhile, her son's disgrace; but I felt my horrid guilt too deeply to care about shame. Yet I could not choose but groan within me, to perceive the good man's stare, his revolting shudder, while I described minutely the particu lars of my conduct towards my poor boy. I stood beside him as he examined the head of my child. I saw him cut away the rich curls, and he pointed out to me a slight swelling beneath them; but in vain did he strive to recover the lifeless form: his efforts were, as those of my wife and mother had been, totally without success. For five days I sat by the bedside of my son, who remained, at first, still in that death-like stupor, but gradually a faint life-like animation stole over him; so gradually, indeed, that he opened not his eyes till the evening of the fourth day, and even then he knew us not, and noticed nothing. Oh, few can imagine what my feelings were !→ How my first faint hopes lived, and died, and lived again, as the beating of his heart became more full and strong; as he first moved the small hand, which I held in mine, and at last stretched out his limbs. After he had unclosed his eyes, he breathed with the soft and regular respiration of a healthy person, and then slept for many hours. It was about noon on the fifth day that he woke from that sleep. The sun had shone so full into the room, that I partly closed the shutters to shade his face. Some rays of sunshine pierced through the crevices of the shutter, and played upon the coverlid of his bed. My child's face was turned towards me, and I watched eagerly for the first gleam of expression. He looked up, and then around him without moving his head. My heart grew sick within me, as I beheld the smile which played over his face. He perceived the dancing sunbeam, and put his fingers softly into the streak of light, and took them away, and smiled again. I spoke to him, and took his hand in my own; but he had lost all memory of me, and saw nothing in my face to make him smile. He looked down on my trembling hand, and played with my fingers; and when he saw the ring which I wore, he played with that, while the same idiot smile came back to his vacant countenance. My mother now led me from the room. I no longer refused to go. I felt that it was fit that I should “commune with my own hear, and in my chamber, and be still."-They judged rightly in leaving me to perfect solitude. The calm of my misery was a change like happiness to me. A deadness of every faculty, of all thought and feeling, fell on me like repose.-When Jane came to me, I had no thought to-perceive her presence. She took my hand tenderly within hers, and sat down beside me on the floor. She lifted up my head from the boards, and supported it on her knees. I believe she spoke to me many times without my replying. At last I heard her, and rose up at her entreaties. "You are ill, your hands are burning, my beloved," she said. "Go to bed, I beseech you. You need rest." I did as she told me. She thought I slept that night, but the lids seemed tightened and drawn back from my burning eyeballs. All the next day I lay in the same hot and motionless state, I cannot call it repose. For days I did not rise. I allowed myself to sink under the weight of my despair. I began to give up every idea of exertion. - My mother, one morning, came to my chamber. She sat down by my bedside, and spoke to me. I did not, could not, care to notice her who spoke to me. My mother rose, and walked round to the other side of the bed, towards which my head was turned. There she stood, and spoke again solemnly. "Henry,” she said, “I command you to rise. Dare you to disobey your mother? No more of this unmanly weakness. I must not speak in vain, I have not needed to command before. My son, be yourself. Think of all the claims which this life has upon you; or rather, think of the first high claim of Heaven, and let that teach you to think of other duties, and to perform them! Search your own heart. Probe it deeply. Shrink not. Know your real situation in all its bearings. Changed as it is, face it like a man ; and seek the grace of God to support you. I speak the plain truth to you. Your child is an idiot. You must answer to God for your crime. You will be execrated by mankind, for your hand struck the mind's life from 49 ATHENEUM VOL. 1. new series. him. These are harsh words, but you can bear them better than your own confused and agonizing thoughts. Rise up and meet your trial.-Tell me simply, that you obey me. I will believe you, for you never yet have broken your word to me." I replied immediately, rising up and saying, "I do promise to obey you. Within this hour I will meet you, determined to know my duties, and to perform them by the help of God." Oh! with what a look did my noble mother regard me, as I spoke. "God strengthen you, and bless you," she said; "I cannot now trust myself to say more." Her voice was feeble and trembling now, her lip quivered, and a bright flush spread over her thin pale cheek: she bent down over me, and kissed my forehead, and then departed. 66 Within an hour from the time when my mother left me, I went forth from my chamber with a firm step, determined again to enter upon the performance of my long-neglected duties. I had descended the last step of the grand staircase, when I heard a laugh in the hall beyond. I knew there was but one who could then laugh so wildly; and too well I knew the sound of the voice which broke out in tones of wild merriment ere the laugh ceased. For some moments my resolution forsook me. I caught hold of the ballustrade to support my trembling limbs, and repressed with a violent effort the groans which I felt bursting from my heart-I recovered myself, and walked into the hall. In the western. oriel window, which is opposite the doors by which I entered, sat my revered mother: she lifted up her face from the large volume which lay on her knees, as my steps sounded near: she smiled upon me, and looked down again without speaking. I passed on, but stopped again to gaze on those who now met my sight. In the centre of the hall stood my wife, leaning her cheek on her hand. She gazed upon her son with a smile, but the tears all the while trickled down her face. Maurice was at her feet, the floor around him strewed over with playthings, the toys of his infancy, which he had for years thrown' aside, but had discovered that very head, and stared at the stag with a look morning, and he turned from one to of vacant astonishment. The whole the other as if he saw them for the hunt, with the full rush and cry of its first time, and looked upon them all as noisy sport, came near. Up sprung treasures. An expression of rapturous the boy all panting, and ghastly with silliness played over the boy's features, terror. "Make haste, make haste," but, alas though nothing but a fear- he cried out, as I rose; "take me ful childishness was on his face, all the away;" he threw his arms round me, childlike bloom and roundness of that and I felt the violent beating of his face were gone. The boy now looked heart as he clung to me. I would have indeed older by many years. The hurried him away; but as the dogs and smile on his thin lips seemed to strug- the huntsmen came up close to us, the gle vainly with langour and heaviness, boy lost all power of moving. I felt his eyelids were half closed, his cheeks him hang heavily on me, and raising and lips were colourless, his whole form his face from my shoulder, I saw that wasted away. My wife came to me, he had fainted. I took him in my and embraced me; but Maurice no- arms, and carried him along the banks ticed me not for many minutes. He of the stream, till we were far from all looked up at me then, and, rising from sight and sound of the chase; and the ground, walked towards me. I then I laid him on the grass, and badreaded that my mournful appearance thed his face and hands with water.— would affright him, and I stood breath- He recovered slowly, and lay for some less with my fears. He surveyed me minutes leaning his head upon my bofrom head to foot, and came close to som, and weeping quietly; his tears me, and looked up with pleased curi- relieved him, and he fell asleep—I osity in my face, and then whistled as raised him again in my arms, and carhe walked back to his toys, whistled so ried him still asleep to his chamber. loudly, that the shrill sound seemed to pierce through my brains. August the 15th. This day I have passed some hours with my poor boy. He is changed indeed. All his manliness of character is gone he has become timid and feeble as a delicate girl. He shrinks from all exertion, he dislikes bodily exercise. The weather was so delightful this morning that I took Maurice out into the park; he gazed round upon the sky, and the trees, and the grass, as if he had never looked upon them before. The boy wandered on with me beyond the boundaries of the park into the forest; he made me sit down with him on the bank of a narrow brook, and there he amused himself with plucking the little flowers that grew about in the grass, and throwing them into the water. As we sat there, I heard afar off the sounds of huntsmen; soon after a young stag came bounding over the hill before us, and crossed the stream within twenty yards of the spot where we sat. The whole heart of the boy would at once have leapt within him to follow in the boldest daring of the chase; but now he lifted up his August the 19th. My poor injured child loves me. I cannot tell why, but for the last few days he has seemed happier with me than with any other person. He will even leave his mother to follow me.— I feel as if my life were bound up in him; and yet to look on him is to me a penance, at times almost too dreadful to be borne. How he did sit and smile to-day among the books, for whose knowledge his fine ardent mind once thirsted. They are nothing to him now-he had been before amusing himself by watching the swallows that were flying and tittering about the windows; when, taking up a book, I tried to read. Maurice left the window, and sat down on the low seat where he had been used to learn his lessons.He placed a book on the desk before him, and pretended to read; he looked up, and our eyes met. Again be bent his head over the volume: I had a faint hope that he was really reading; and, passing softly across the room, I looked over his shoulder. The pages were turned upside down before him, and he smiled on me with his new, his idiot smile: he smiled so long, that I I had ordered the Arabian horse to be turned out, and this morning I took Maurice to the meadow where Selim was grazing. The little courser raised up its head as we approached, and, recognizing its master, came towards us. Maurice had not noticed the horse before, but then he retreated fearfully, walking backwards. The sagacious animal still advanced, and, turning quickly, the boy fled from him; but the sportive creature still followed,cantering swiftly after him--Maurice shrieked loudly like a terrified girl. Groaning with the heaviness of my grief, I drove away the once favourite horse of my poor idiot boy. Sunday, August the 30th. I have just returned from divine service in the chapel attached to my house. While the chaplain was reading the psalms, Maurice walked softly down the aisle and entered my pew. He stood before me with his eyes fixed on my face. Whenever I raised my eyes, I met that fixed and vacant gaze. My heart melted within me, and I felt tears rush into my eyes-his sweet but vacant look must often be present with me--it seemed to appeal to me, it seemed to ask for my prayers. Sinner as I am, I dared to think so.-It must be to all an affecting sight to see an idiot in the house of God. It must be a rebuke to hardened hearts, to hearts too cold and careless to worship there, it must be a rebuke to know that one heart is not unwilling, but unable to pray. Bitterly I felt this as I looked upon my child. He stood before me a rebuke to all the coldness and carelessness which had ever mingled with my prayers. His vacant features seemed to say, "You have a mind whose powers are not confused-you have a heart to feel, to pray, to praise, and to bless God. The means of grace are daily given to you." Oh ! God, my child stood before me as a more awful rebuke, as a rebuke sent from Thee. Did not his vacant look say also, "Look upon the wreck which your dreadful passions have made ?— Think upon what I was? Think upon what I am?" With a broken heart I listened to the words of life; for while I listened, my poor idiot child leaned upon me, and seemed to listen tooWhen I bowed my head at the name of Jesus, the poor boy bowed his.→ They all knelt down; but just then, I was lost in the thoughtfulness of my despair: my son clasped my hand, and when I looked round I perceived that we alone were standing in the midst of the congregation. He looked me earnestly in the face, and kneeling down, he tried to pull me to kneel beside him. He seemed to invite me to pray for him; I did fall on my knees to pray for him, and for myself; and I rose up, hoping that for my Saviour's sake, my prayers were heard, and trusting that our Heavenly Father feedeth my helpless child with spiritual food that we know not of— (La Belle Mag.) THE TRYSTIN TREE. WHEN winds are still, and silent eve And fear not, though the star of night But, if no light from earth or sky, And bright as noon the eve will be. To hear my vows of love to thee: The winds are still, and silent eve Comes stealing slowly o'er the lea, O now, dear maid, thy cottage leave, And meet me at the trystin tree. |