DEATH OF LITTLE PAUL. CXIII. DEATH OF LITTLE PAUL. 275 AUL had never risen from his little bed. He lay there, listening to the noises in the street, quite tranquilly; not caring much how time went, but watching it and watching everything about him with observing eyes. 2. When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening was coming on, and that the sky was red and beautiful. As the reflection died away, and a gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched it deepen, deepen, deepen into night. Then he thought how the long streets were dotted with lamps, and how the peaceful stars were shining overhead. 3. His fancy had a strange tendency to wander to the river, which he knew was flowing through the great city; and now he thought how black it was, and how deep it would look, reflecting the host of stars, and more than all, how steadily it rolled away to meet the sea. 4. As it grew later in the night, and footsteps in the street became so rare that he could hear them coming, count them as they passed, and lose them in the hollow distance, he would lie and watch the many-colored rings about the candle, and wait patiently for the day. His only trouble was, the swift and rapid river. He felt forced, sometimes, to try to stop it, to stem it with his childish hands, or choke its way with sand; and when he saw it coming on, resistless, he cried out! But a word from Florence, who was always at his side, restored him to himself; and, leaning his poor head upon her breast, he told Floy of his dream, and smiled. 5. When day began to dawn again, he watched for the sun; and when its cheerful light began to sparkle in the room, he pictured to himself-pictured! he saw the high church-towers up in the morning sky, the town reviving, waking, starting into life once more, the river glistening as it rolled (but rolling fast as ever), and the country bright with dew. 6. Familiar soun is and cries came by degrees into the street below; the servants in the house were roused and busy; faces looked in at the door, and voices asked his atten lants softly how he was. Paul always answered, for himself. - I am better. I am a great deal better, thank you! Tell papa so!" 7. By little and little, he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of carriages and carts, and people passing and repassing; and would fall asleep, or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense again— the child could hardly tell whether this were in his sleeping or his waking moments — of that rushing river. Why, will it never stop, Floy?" he would sometimes ask her. “It is bearing me away, I think!" 8. But Floy could always soothe and reassure him; and it was his daily delight to make her lay her head down on his pillow and take some rest. 9. Now lay me down," he said; "and, Floy, come close to me and let me see you!” 10. Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden light came streaming in, and fell upon them, locked together. 11. How fast the river runs between its banks and the rushes, Floy! But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves! They always said so!” 12. 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! but gliding smoothly on. before him. Who stood on Now the boat was out at sea, And now there was a shore the bank ? 13. He put his hands together, as he had been used to He did not remove his arms to do it; but they saw him fold them so, behind her neck. do at his prayers. 14. "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!" EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN. 277 15. 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! 16. O, 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! Charles Dickens. CXIV. EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN. I. EWS of battle! NEW news of battle! Hark! 't is ringing down the street; And the archways and the pavement Bear the clang of hurrying feet. News of battle! who hath brought it? Greetings from our gallant King? Then a murmur long and loud, Bursts from out the bending crowd. IV. Round him crush the people, crying, "Tell us all, O, tell us true! Where are they who went to battle, Randolph Murray, sworn to you? Where are they, our brothers - - children? |