Blue-Eyes and Battlewick, Chapters XII-XVII [pp. 182-201]

Blue-Eyes and Battlewick.
of the sufferings entailed by the mias matic diseases incident to newly-settled
countries; of the sudden death from congestive chills, of the ague-stricken patient, dosed by ignorant doctors, and the
long train of chronic organic maladies
resulting from their murderous maltreatment. lie saw the father quickly cut
down, and the mother struggling against
her own sickness that she might minister
to her children sicker than herself. He
dwelt upon the picture until his own
heart and the hearts of his hearers
ached. He contrasted the miserable existence among the rude pioneers of the
West with the peaceful and happy life
the Atwills had led in their quiet home
on the hill. He held,up first the one
and then the other picture, comparing
the tranquil beauty of the latter with the
ghastly maiarious lustre of the former,
until they who listened became sick for
very sympathy and silent with fear, and
until he himself grew angry with a world
that could witness unmoved so much
happiness transformed to such' misery.
IIe ceased, and none replied to him.
The parlor was still as dbath, for every
heart therein was beating low.
One person there had not opened her
lips during all the long colloquy with the
Doctor. Checked in her laughter, she
had fallen quite silent. This young
lady possessed a perfect figure (common
property of the Murdrum family,) a
neck only less white and round than her
sister Mary's, a suit of dark hair that
floated in curls down her shoulders, and
a pair of grey eyes susceptible of those
intense lights that are kindled only on
the altars of genius. The failing of this
poor girl, who had even less sense than
the rest of her family, was music, and
in this failing she excelled.
While all was still in the darkened
parlor, Jane went softly to the piano.
At first her fingers wandered lightly
among the keys, like the sad summer
winds that wander through the leaves,
preluding the sadder dirges of autumn.
There was no touch untuned to the
mournful thoughts of the silent circle
round her. Then came the deep chords
that introduce the tender and immortal
fireside hymn of that helpless, Tunisian
consul "who never had a home."
Rockwell, unbidden, joined his sister;
and their voices rose in perfect unison
upon the night-for the night was come:
"Mid pleasures and palace, though we
may roanm,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like
hollle.
A charmi from the skies seems to hallow
us there,
Which, search through the world, is ne'er
met with elsewhere.
"An exile from home, splendour dazzles
in vain;
Oh! give me my lowly thatched cottage
again,
The birds singing gaily that came at amy
call,
Give me, with these, peace of mind, dearer
than all."
Time can never impair the sweetness
of this hymn. It will be sung ages on
ages yet to come, until the last vestige of
human love is swept from the earth.
What the Lord's Prayer is to other
prayers, this song is to other songs. If
it breathes the anguish of a lonely heart
whose hopes die in memories of that innocence and peace no earthly Future
can restore, it imparts to that anguish
a sweetness sweeter than hope. It is the
entreaty of manhood for the lost catpacity of joy, and for something more than
that-for the celestial sadness of childhood. Age may hear it as feeliugly
as the unhappiest exile chained in far
dungeons. But to the wanderer it has
been and shall always be the only fitting
utterance of his woe.
Tears were falling fast when this
sweet hymn was ended. Sustained by
the strength of her sorrow, Jane's clear
voice did not break through all the trembling pathos of her song. But while the
dying tones were yet murmuring from
the keys, she ran weeping from the room.
Others quickly followed, seeking where
to vent their grief unseen. Forgetting
the courtesies of departure, Battlewick
hastened into the cold night air —a res
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