Too well obey'd-too fast! A fatal hold That caught and pinn'd her to the river's bed: DEATH OF PAUL DOMBEY. LOY," said Paul, "what is that?" Where, dearest ? ” "There at the bottom of the bed." "There's nothing there except papa!" The figure lifted up its head and rose, and, coming to the bedside, said, "My own boy, don't you know me?" Paul looked it in the face, and thought, Was this his father? But the face, so altered to his thinking, thrilled while he gazed, as if it were in pain; and, before he could reach out both his hands to take it between them and draw it toward him, the figure turned away quickly from the little bed, and went out at the door. Paul looked at Florence with a fluttering heart; but he knew what she was going to say, and stopped her with his face against her lips. The next time he observed the figure sitting at the bottom of the bed, he called to it, Don't be so sorry for me, dear papa; indeed, I am quite happy!" His father coming, and bending down to him—which he did quickly, and without first pausing by the bedside- Paul held him round the neck, and repeated these words to him several times, and very earnestly; and Paul never saw him again in his room at any time, whether it were day or night, but he called out, "Don't be so sorry for me; indeed, I am quite happy." This was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so. How many times the golden water danced upon the wallhow many nights the dark, dark river rolled toward the sea in spite of him- Paul never counted, never sought to know. If their kindness, or his sense of it, could have increased, they were more kind, and he more grateful, every day; but whether they were many days or few, appeared of little moment now to the gentle boy. One night he had been thinking of his mother and her picture in the drawing-room down stairs, and had thought she must have loved sweet Florence better than his father did, to 66 have held her in her arms when she felt that she was dying; for even he, her brother, who had such dear love for her, could have no greater wish than that. The train of thought suggested to him to inquire if he had ever seen his mother; for he could not remember whether they had told him yes or no the river running very fast, and confusing his mind. Floy, did I ever see mamma?" "No, darling: why?" "Did I never see any kind face, like mamma's, looking at me when I was a baby, Floy?" he asked, incredulously, as if he had some vision of a face before him. “Oh, yes, dear.” Whose, Floy?" "Your old nurse's, often." "And where is my old nurse?" said Paul. dead, too? Floy, are we all dead, except you?" 66 "Is she There was a hurry in the room for an instant - longer, perhaps, but it seemed no more then all was still again; and Florence, with her face quite colorless, but smiling, held his head upon her Her arm trembled very "Show me that old nurse, much. Floy, if you please!" "She is not here, darling. She shall come to-morrow." "Thank you, Floy." arm. "And who is this? Is this my old nurse?" said the child, regarding with a radiant smile a figure coming in. Yes, yes! No other stranger would have shed those tears at sight of him, and called him her dear boy, her pretty boy, her own poor blighted child. No other woman would have stooped down by his bed, and taken up his wasted hand and put it to her lips and breast, as one who had some right to fondle it. No other woman would have so forgotten everybody there but him and Floy, and been so full of tenderness and pity. "Floy, this is a kind, good face!" said Paul. "I am glad to see it again. Don't go away, old nurse! Stay here!" "Now lay me down," he said; "and, Floy, come close to me and let me see you!" Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden light came streaming in and fell upon them, locked together. "How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, Floy! But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves! They always said so." Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was lulling him to rest. How green the banks were now! how bright the flowers growing on them! and how tall the rushes! Now the boat was out at sea, but gliding smoothly on; and now there was a shore before them. Who stood on the bank? He put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He did not remove his arms to do it; but they saw him fold them so, behind her neck. "Mamma is like you, Floy: I know her by the face! But tell them that the print upon the stairs at school is not divine enough. The light about the head is shining on me as I go!" The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old fashion - Death! Oh, thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of Immortality! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged when the swift river bears us to the ocean! T THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. HE muffled drum rolled on the air, Warriors with stately step were there; For it was a soldier's funeral. That soldier had stood on the battle-plain, But the brand and the ball had passed him by, And he came to his native land to die! To think that the friends of his youth might weep The bugles ceased their wailing sound, A volley was fired, a blessing said, One moment's pause-and they left the dead! His step was feeble, his lip was wan; He knelt him down on the new-raised mound, THE WATCHER ON THE TOWER. W HAT dost thou see, lone watcher on the tower? Is the day breaking? comes the wish'd-for hour? Tell us the signs, and stretch abroad thy hand, If the bright morning dawns upon the land.” "The stars are clear above me, scarcely one Has dimm'd its rays in reverence to the sun; But yet I see on the horizon's verge Some fair, faint streaks, as if the light would surge." “And is that all, O watcher on the tower? Look forth again; it must be near the hour. And the green woods beneath them on the slopes?" "A mist envelops them; I cannot trace "We thank thee, lonely watcher on the tower; But look again; and tell us, hour by hour, All thou beholdest; many of us die Ere the day comes; oh, give them a reply!" "I hope, but cannot tell. I hear a song, "What doth he say, O watcher on the tower? "He prophesies; - his heart is full; — his lay "We thank thee, watcher on the lonely tower, "He sings of brotherhood, and joy and peace, "Well done! thou watcher on the lonely tower. "It breaks-it comes the misty shadows fly: |