EOLIA. BY CAROLINE A. HAYDEN. ́T was a wild, desolate, dreary looking spot, I situated at the extreme point of a pretty little village on the Penobscot river. Behind it a dense thicket of stunted scraggy cedars; and before it, hemmed in by ragged rocks, partially covered with dark crisp moss, the water, with its low, sullen, monotonous tone, ever and ever the same; and the solitary hut, for it was nothing more, was in keeping with the surrounding scenery. Time had been when Elliot Howard had been esteemed for many sterling qualities; had taken his place in social life as became a worthy citizen, and prospered as the good industrious mechanic ever does. But in an evil hour he was led into temptation, went from bad to worse, until he had brought ruin upon himself and the faithful wife and tender offspring dependent upon his daily labor. Piece by piece the pretty furniture was sold to pay the ever increasing score at a neighboring bar-room, until driven by want, they had taken possession of the cheerless abode above named; called by the villagers the "Wilderness," not unappropriately, as far as it went. And here with the lapse of time, a young and beautiful face grew wan and pale; a crushed heart grew faint and weary with watching and hoping in vain; breaking almost, as one by one three little cherished forms were lain away in solitary enclosure near by, watered often by the mother's tears, who lay now waiting her time of burial. a It was indeed a wretched abode; and the few who had come hither, at the call of humanity, to pay the last tribute of respect, shuddered as they glanced around the cheerless room. Bare, rough walls with wide crevices, where sleet and snow, and the pitiless wintry blast came whistling and whirring in at will; a few rude articles of household stuff, undeserving the name of furniture, were there; while upon the cheerless, broken hearth, smoked and smouldered some untrimmed limbs of pine and cedar. A little child, the very type of poverty, was crouching in the chimney corner, clinging to the scanty skirts of an old crone who had come, out of pity, a few days before to take care of the mother, who up to the last moment had battled with fate and death, as it were, alone. The brief prayer was uttered, the truthful "I cannot for one," came, at last, hesitatingly, from the lips of a lady who had just wept profusely over the coffin of the dead mother. “My husband would not hear of it for a moment; he has no sympathy for men like Elliot Howard, who loaf around bar-rooms, and leave thei families to suffer. I dare say you think it wrong for him to sell the drink which makes some men worse at times than brutes, but if they did not get it of him, they would of some one else. When a man gets addicted to intemperance he will find the means some way, and my husband says it is just as fair to sell one thing as another." She paused for a reply, but none came, and another very gentle but firm voice said, "I'm sure I cannot do anything for the child, I've done enough for the mother in times past they used to live neighbors to us, and many a time I've sent them vegetables from my own garden, unbeknown to husband, who you all know is as close as the bark to a tree. I always liked Mrs. Howard; we used to go to school together when we were children, and, as girls, were very intimate, but time, you know, works wonderful changes. To be sure we have lain up something considerable by being frugal and industrious, but our family is expensive, and charity of course begins at home." "You take care it don't end there;" broke in the old woman sharply. "You're born, but you aint buried; and some of your little ones may live to want a home as much as poor little Eolia does. Don't cry, pet! If there was a crust to spare in my cupboard, I'd take you home with me to-night, and trust God for the future. But I can't, I'm too poor, and too old to be burdened with a young one like you. I declare here's Mrs. Merton crying; if you wasn't a poor widow, Mrs. Merton, I'll wage most anything you'd take the poor thing yourself." "I am indeed poor and a widow as you say, Mrs. Gates: but if no one else will do it, why I must. I cannot see poor Catharine's child left to suffer, or be sent to the poorhouse. She and I were schoolmates; and, until fate threw us widely apart, firm friends." And wrapping the poor shivering child in an old faded shawl, and inviting Mrs. Gates home with her, she left the wretched hovel and followed the other ladies on their homeward way. After the poor baby was divested of her filthy rags, washed, fed and left to childhood's sleep, the nimble fingers of Mrs. Merton were busy the live long night, in fashioning the necessary articles of warm, comfortable clothing, which next morning transformed the child into a creature almost beautiful. "O, Mrs. Gates, who would ever believe it? Is she not perfect? To tell the truth, it made me heart-sick to touch her; and two or three times on the way home I almost repented of my bargain, and wondered if it wasn't best to send her to the alushouse at once. O, I'm so glad I didn't, you dear little thing! She'll never miss her mother. God will send me the means to take care of her; and if that brute of a father ever tries to take her away from me, I will go where he will never will find us. Poor Catharine! what a queer name she gave her baby, suggestive of mournful music. I wonder if its soft wailing voice brought to mind her old olian harp we both loved so well in our girlhood days? She is like her mother, too, the same soft, dreamy, almond-shaped eyes, dark as midnight, with their long, silky fringes; and see the long glossy curls that are brown only when the sunbeams glance upon them. At other times they are almost black; and such a small mouth, and perfect features! How I shall love her, if only for her beauty." Time flitted by, and Mrs. Merton learned to love the little Eolia for something more than her almost perfect beauty. There was, in her character, a rare combination of virtues and graces, such as seldom unite in the same person; and, from the hour in which her adopted mother took her home, she had given more of filial love, reverence and affection than own daughs sometimes bestow Barely beyond the reach of poverty, (for it was only by the most persevering industry that Mrs. Merton kept actual want at a distance,) nevertheless Eolia grew up contented and happy; and, when old enough, lent her aid efficiently; and in time the little cottage could boast its share of luxuries as well as comforts. one. “I would wed Mrs. Merton to-morrow,” said rich Mr. Jenkins, "if it were not for that young I don't see why she need keep her, now that she is old enough to look out for herself. She might go out as nursery-maid, or in some other capacity. A girl like her is generally useful in a family; but I for one could never endure the thought of a poor nobody coming in for a share with our own children, if we chanced to have any. She's a beautiful woman, and would make an excellent wife. Suppose you broach the subject, Preston, and see what her ideas are; I don't like to commit myself, you know.” "You are too late, Jenkins, I have proposed, been accepted, and I accept the incumbrance as a blessing, I assure you. Not for the world would I separate Eolia from her mother, who has brought her up so tenderly and so well." And so in a short time Mrs. Merton became Mrs. Preston, and Eolia the adopted daughter of one of the wealthiest citizens of the place. Scarcely ever had Eolia seen her own miserable father, although much of the time, like a hermit or misanthrope, he still inhabited the wretched hut where she was born. He was an inebriate still, and too much absorbed in his own selfish pursuits to give often a passing thought to the child he had long ago deserted. Mrs. Merton, always dreading his interference, seldom named him in the hearing of Eolia. Very proud was Mrs. Preston of her adopted daughter, as well she might be; and she watched, with all a mother's interest, the growing attachment between a young gentleman whom she had known from his early infancy, and Eolia now nearly eighteen, and well qualified for the high and holy duties which, as a wife, would devolve upon her. They had lived all their lives in the same neighborhood, been at church and school together, and although Chester Stanley had never made a formal offer of his heart and hand, it was accepted by all who knew them as an established fact, that, at no very distant period, the twain would become one. Chester Stanley was proud and ambitious, and of late he had seemed more devoted than ever; keeping away some who would gladly have won a place in the heart which unwittingly was giving to him its earthly worship. Eolia would have shrank with bitter pain at the very idea of unrequited love; so congenial seemed his spirit so evenly and quietly had every sentiment of either heart kept pace with each other, and so confident was each of the other's integrity that, hitherto, not a doubt had arisen to cloud for a moment, the peace or harmony of two lives almost blended in one. If Chester Stanley had not said, formerly, the words which bound them together, it was more from thoughtlessness, than intention. Two lives flowing on smoothly and evenly. Ah! how little we know of the under-current which, swayed by circumstances, will raise up or sweep away many a barrier hitherto unseen. "What is this rumor?" he said one morning 'People say that Howard is at the old hut in the Wilderness,' literally dying of starvation and prostration, brought on by his abominable folly." to Mrs. Preston. 66 6 "I have heard nothing of the kind, Chester, but will inquire at once. If it is true, we must be up and doing; it will never do to let him stay there and die. Where is Eolia, I wonder?" "Eolia! I hope you are not going to permit her to go near him. It maddens me when I think of him as her father! what a wretch he has been all these years. You can make what inquiries you choose, but Mrs. Preston, for the love of heaven don't breathe a word to Eolia." "And why not, Chester? He is a fellow-being, although low down in the depths of sin and degradation. He was, at your age, just what you are now proud, high-spirited, ambitious and independent—and, when he wedded Eolia's mother, gave as good promise of fulfilling every duty of life as any one ever did. In an evil hour he was tempted - tempted beyond his strength to bear and trusting too much to his own strength, failed and fell. I think, in the first of it, he might have been saved, had one or two friends who I know possessed a great deal of influence over him, taken proper measures to do it; but they were disgusted; and coldly and proudly kept themselves aloof. Poor Howard, stung to the quick, went, deeper and deeper, down the path that led to utter ruin. He got into debt, grew disheartened, and finally, lost all his pride and whatever good feelings he possessed. "It is never too late to repent, or to do a kind act, and, if he shows no signs of penitence, is it not our duty all the same? Yes, Chester, I shall inform Eolia at once; and if she wishes to go there, shall accompany her. No foolish pride ever did, or ever will deter her from following in the path of duty." "It may be in the path of destiny, Mrs. Preston. I love Eolia very dearly, as you already know, but if she is going to lower herself in the eyes of the world, by any such humiliating associations, you must not blame me if I show proper resentment. I cannot endure the thought of her stooping in any degree; and I call it stooping pretty low to visit him in his degradation." “Well, Chester, we will leave the future to God. I can and will trust Eolia's good sense and judgment, and shall leave her free to follow the dictates of her own heart and conscience, ever the best guides when the character, like hers, is based upon a good Christian principle. Trust me, duty never points the wrong way." Chester turned away silent, but not convinced; and Mrs. Preston lost no time in seeking Eolia, and, gently as possible, making known the truth. The girl shuddered as she listened; for the faithful mother kept nothing back, and then between a gasp and a sob, she answered the question Mrs. Preston hesitated to ask. "Mother, I must go and take care of him; he is my father, you know, all the same, even if he did desert me in my helplessness. God raised me up a better friend in his stead, and now, perhaps, it is for me to lead him to a better life, or at least to make the passage to the grave easier and pleasanter. Dear mother, can I go?” "And Chester, Eolia?" "O mother, Chester is as dear a friend as earth contains for me; but he must not stand between me and a duty so sacred and so plain. It grieves me to offend Chester, but I cannot help it. He is so proud you know, mother, but he will not harbor any such feelings long, and it he did, I should go all the same." Wan, pale and emaciated, the miserable victim of an ill-spent life, lay upon the old wormeaten beadstead, with its ragged coverlid, literally dying of starvation. He had begged his way from a distant city back to the old place, as if its harrowing associations were necessary to fill up the bitter cup he was draining to its very dregs. He had gathered from one and another the facts of his daughter's prosperity; and, self-abased and despairing as he was, he could not think of intruding his misery upon her. He had only one wish to die! to die alone, if God willed it, knowing and feeling keenly, that all he was suffering and might still suffer, he richly deserved; and the sooner his wretched existence was blotted out the better. They came well prepared for the exigency, and, after the first painful meeting was over, Mr. Preston went for a physician. It was impossible to persuade him to take up his abode with them, where he would be kindly cared for; he wanted to die there! there! as if the spot where his neglected wife and little ones had suffered so much, would, in some way, soften the pangs of remorse. A suitable nurse was procured, the hut made comfortable, and Eolia, unhesitatingly and cheerfully took up her abode in the lonely spot, where, beyond all hope, he lingered for many weeks. Calm, patient and resigned, he went step by step down the dark valley, leaning as it were upon his daughter's arm. For though, as yet none dreamed it, the insidious seeds of consumption were already sown; and while the flush still lingered on the rounded cheek, and and the glorious eyes grew brighter than ever, her strength was certainly diminishing. There was no knowing how much secret grief and disappointment had to do with the fluttering heart and faltering footstep; for, from the hour when Chester had spoken to Mrs. Preston first upon the subject, he had kept himself aloof, shunning them assiduously; and stories began to circulate, of a new face which had won his admiration. now. Whether it were true or false, Eolia did not swerve from the stern duty before her; and she had the gratification, at last, of knowing, that, however wrong the path her father had for years been treading, he was in the right way She tended him as carefully and cheerfully as if he had been other than he was; and so, one stormy night, with the wind and sleet howling around the rude shelter, which, shattered and rough outside, was cheerful and comfortable within, she bent above him to catch his last words of thanks and blessing, and to close the weary sunken eyes. Then she sat down to watch with the good old nurse through the livelong night, beside the corpse. A few days more, and the last sad duty performed, Eolia was at home, listening to the soothing voice of her mother. Mrs. Preston knew well that it was not grief for the unnatu ral father, which caused the heart to beat almost audibly at the ringing of a bell or the approach of a footstep; that had robbed the cheek of its bloom, the bounding step of its elasticity, and crushed out the joyousness which had been the light of their happy home. And all this time Chester Stanley flitted about with Annabel Lee, at places of amusement public and private; and if he ever gave a thought to Eolia, it was to blame her for what he termed her egregious folly. He probably thought he was teaching her a lesson; and, in future when they should meet and talk the matter over, he would have the satisfaction of hearing her say how much she had been to blame. Very pleasant were the few weeks allotted to Eolia; and even the good old pastor of the parish church felt it a privilege to watch her as she went down the shadowy valley. So patient, so resigned and happy, death had not a single terror for her. The night before she died, her mother proposed sending for Chester Stanley. She knew that Eolia, standing upon Heaven's threshold, would give way to no human weakness, such as regret for the earthly love which was too changeable to bear reverses; and, if he had misjudged her character or sentiments, she should set him right. Annabel Lee was dressing for a party, and the summons found Chester at her home waiting to attend her. She was very beautiful and fascinating; and as he glanced from the brilliant attire up at the clouded brow that said plainly enough, "I can not brook disappointment," he half resolved to bid the messenger say he would come to-morrow. "I will see you there," he said in a low tone," and rejoin you as soon as possible; but I must go, Annabel, it is an imperative duty. "You will do no such thing," she replied haughtily. "What is Eolia Howard to you, that you should neglect me at such a time?" "A very dear friend, Annabel;" and the expression of his face changed from anxiety to a sternness approaching severity. "I have neglected her too long; her moments are numbered. As it is, I may be too late." "Go at once, I will not detain you," and with a slight inclination of her head she swept haughtily from the room; and, stung to the quick, Chester followed the messenger, and in a few minutes stood with tearful eyes and a wildly beating heart, beside the deathbed of Eolia. She was just going; too weak and low for words; but her loving glance rested upon each in turn, revealing all the quivering lips would say. Beautiful in life, but O, how much more beautiful in death! Only once while he stood there, did the bewitching face of Annabel Lee intrude itself, and Chester shuddered, as his heart asked why he had been so madly blinded to his own real interest? It was, after all, only beauty which had allured him; and after all, Annabel's face was almost repulsive with the memory of that scornful look upon it; while the radiant one before him seemed like that of an angel. The spell was broken, as Eolia's last fluttering breath met the kiss imprinted upon lips striving to utter a parting blessing. Whatever of regret was mingled with her memory in the time to come was softened and hallowed. "Do you think," he asked of her mother a few days afterwards, "that my heartless neglect had anything to do with her failing health? How can I ever forgive myself if it be so?" “God's ways are mysterious, Chester, and He alone knows if, to save you such a sacrifice was not necessary. I know that Eolia's love was strong and pure enough to make the willing sacrifice acceptable; and I only hope that it has not been offered in vain. If her mission was to lead back but one erring soul to the path of duty, she performed it nobly, when week after week she bore the trials to which her father's sickness and death subjected her. O, Chester! as you treasure the memory of all the bygone hours you have spent together, I warn you to profit by her example." "I will, God helping me!" he replied. And he kept his word. Chester Stanley is all that Eolia could have wished him. Esteemed for many good and noble qualities of head and heart; ready and willing to take an active part in every good word and work; industrious and energetic; a good citizen, a good husband and father; kindly, genial and social, in public as in private life, and well deserving the title, "an honest man, the noblest work of God." Years have passed since Eolia passed away in her youth and beauty; but she still lives in the memory of at least one heart, whose daily life proves that woman's mission, if rightly performed, is holy. My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky; So it was when my life began, So is it now I am a man. GOING HOME. Where are you going so fast, old man, Where are you going so fast? There's a valley to cross, and a river to ford, The road has been rugged and rough, old man: How long since you passed o'er the hill, old man, Were there beautiful valleys on t'other side? The heat of the fervid sun? And how did you cross the waves, old man, Of sorrow, the fearful waves? Did you lay your dear treasures by, one by one, With an aching heart, and " God's will be done," Under the wayside dust, old man, In their graves, 'neath the wayside dust? There are sorrow and labor for all, old man, And you, peradventure, have had your share, You're now at the foot of the hill, old man, WE LOVE THE TRUTH. We are the boys who love the truth, And God condemns the liar's way. We'll speak the truth, we'll speak the truth. We are the girls who won't deceive, Our faults we'll not deny or hide; Parents and teachers it would grieve, If we should choose the wicked side. No, no; we'll keep a conscience clear, As on we pass through age or youth; Whate'er we do, where'er we are, We'll speak the truth, we'll speak the truth. Stern Daughter of the Voice of God, |