him, and with the last effort of benumbed nature, he had roused himself from that fatal torpor, and prest through the snowwreath that had separated him from his child. As yet they knew not of the danger each had endured; but each judged of the other'ssuffering from their own, and father and daughter regarded one another as creatures rescued, and hardly yet rescued from death. 27. But a few minutes ago, and the three human beings who loved each other so well, and now feared not to cross the moor in safety, were, as they thought, on their death beds. Deliverance now shone upon them all like a gentle fire, dispelling that pleasant but deadly drowsiness; and the old man was soon able to assist William Grieve in leading Hannah along through the snow; whose heart was now filled with gratitude to God, joy in her deliverance, love to her father, and purest affection for her master's son; never before had the innocent maiden known what was happiness-and never more was she to forget it. The night was now almost calm, and fast returning to its former beauty-when the party saw the first twinkle of the fire through the low window of the Cottage of the Moor. They soon were at the garden gate-and to relieve the heart of the wife and mother within, they talked loudly and cheerfully-naming each other familiarly, and laughing between, like persons who had known neither danger nor distress. 28. No voice answered from within-no footstep came to the door, which stood open as when the father had left it in his fear, and now he thought with affright that his wife, feeble as she was, had been unable to support the loneliness, and had followed him out into the night, never to be brought home alive. As they bore Hannah into the house, this fear gave way to worse, for there upon the hard clay floor lay the mother upon her face, as if murdered by some savage blow. She was in the same deadly swoon into which she had fallen, on her husband's departure three hours before. The old man raised her up, and her pulse was still-so was her heart-her face, pale and sunken and her body cold as ice. I have recovered a daughter,' said the old man, 'but I have lost a wife;' and he carried her, with a groan, to the bed, on which he laid her lifeless body. 6 29. The sight was too much for Hannah, worn out as she was, and who had hitherto been able to support herself in the delightful expectation of gladdening her mother's heart by her safe arrival, She, too, now swooned away, and, as she was placed on the bed beside her mother, it seemed, indeed, that death, disappointed of his prey on the wild moor, had seized it in the cottage, and by the fire-side. The husband knelt down by the bed-side, and held his wife's icy hand in his, while William Grieve, appalled and awe-stricken, hung over his Hannah, and inwardly implored God that the night's wild adventure might not have so ghastly an end. But Hannah's young heart soon began once more to beat-and soon as she came to her recollection, she rose up with a face whiter than ashes, and free from all smiles, as if none had ever played there, and joined her father and young master in their efforts to restore her mother to life. 30. It was the mercy of God that had struck her down to the earth, insensible to the shrieking winds, and the fears that would otherwise have killed her. Three hours of that wild storm had passed over her head, and she heard nothing more than if she had been asleep in a breathless night of the summer dew. Not even a dream had touched her brain, and when she opened her eyes which, as she thought, had been but a moment shut, she had scarcely time to recal to her recollection the image of her husband rushing out into the storm, and of a daughter therein lost, till she beheld that very husband kneeling tenderly by her bed-side, and that very daughter smoothing the pillow on which her aching temples reclined. But she knew from the white stedfast countenances before her, that there had been tribulation and deliverance, and she looked on the beloved beings ministering by her bed, as more fearfully dear to her from the unimagined danger from which she felt assured they had been rescued by the arm of the Almighty. 31. They had all now power to weep, and power to pray. The bible had been lying in its place ready for worship-and the father read aloud that chapter in which is narrated our Saviour's act of miraculous power, by which he saved Peter from the sea. Soon as the solemn thoughts awakened by that act of mercy, so similar to that which had rescued themselves from death had subsided, and they had all risen up from prayer, they gathered themselves in gratitude round the little table which had stood so many hours spread-and exhausted nature was strengthened and restored by a frugal and simple meal partaken of in silent thankfulness. The whole story of the night was then calmly recited-and when the mother heard how the stripling had followed her sweet Hannah into the storm, and borne her in his arms through a hundred drifted heaps and then looked upon her in her pride, so young, so innocent, and so beautiful, she knew, that were the child indeed to become an orphan, there was one, who, if there was either trust in nature or truth in religion, would guard and cherish her all the days of her life. It was not nine o'clock when the storm came down from Glen Scrag upon the Black-moss, and now in a pause of silence the clock struck twelve. Within these three hours William and Hannah had seen the vicissitudes of trouble and joy, and felt that they were to live wholly for each other's sake. He now thought of his own Hannah Lee evermore moving about in his father's house, not as a servant, but as a daughter. Her heart swelled with joy when she heard her parents bless him by his name—and when he took her hand into his before them, and vowed before the Power who had that night saved them from the snow, that Hannah Lee should be his wedded wife-she wept in a transport of strange and insupportable happiness. 32. The young shepherd rose to bid them farewell- my father will think I am lost,' said he, with a grave smile, and my Hannah's mother knows what it is to fear for a child.' So nothing was said to detain him, and the family went with him to the door. The skies smiled as serenely as if a storm had never swept before the stars-the moon was sinking from her meridian, but in cloudless splendour-and the hollow of the hill was hushed as that of heaven. Danger there was none over the placid night scene-the happy youth soon crost the Black-moss, and arrived at his father's house in safety. The Widow and her Son. Pittie old age, within whose silver haires Marlowe's Tamburlane. 1. During my residence in the country, I used frequently.to attend at the old village church. Its shadowy aisles, its mouldering monuments, its dark oak pannelling, all reverend with the gloom of departed years, seemed to fit it for the haunt of solemn meditation. A Sunday, too, in the country, is so holy in its repose; such a pensive quiet reigns over the face of nature, that every restless passion is charmed down, and we feel all the natural religion of the soul gently springing up within us. Sweet day so pure, so calm, so bright, 2.. I do not pretend to be what is called a devout man; but there are feelings that visit me in a country church, amidst the beautiful serenity of nature, which I experience no where else; and if not a more religious, I am certainly a better man on Sunday, than on any other day of the seven. 3. But in this church I felt myself continually thrown back upon the world by the frigidity and pomp of the poor worms around me. The only being that seemed thoroughly to feel the humble and prostrate piety of a true Christian, was a poor decrepit old woman, bending under the weight of years and infirmities. 4. She bore the traces of something better than abject poverty. The fingerings of decent pride were visible in her appearance. Her dress, though humble in the extreme, was scrupulously clean. Some trivial respect, too, had been awarded her, for she did not take her seat among the village poor, but sat alone on the steps of the altar. 5. She seemed to have survived all love, all friendship, all society; and to have nothing left her but the hopes of heaven. When I saw her feebly rising and bending her aged form in prayer, habitually conning her prayer-book, which her palsied hand and failing eyes could not permit her to read, but which she evidently knew by heart-I felt that the faltering voice of that poor woman arose to heaven far above the responses of the clerk, the swell of the organ, or the chanting of the choir. 6. I am fond of loitering about country churches; and this was so delightfully situated, that it frequently attracted me. It stood on a knoll, round which a small stream made a beautiful bend, and then wound its way through a long reach of soft and meadowy scenery. The church was surrounded by yew trees. which seemed almost coeval with itself. Its tall gothick spire shot up lightly amongst them, with crows and rooks generally wheeling about it. I was seated here one still sunny morning, watching two labourers who were digging a grave. 7. They had chosen one of the most remote and neglected corners of the church-yard, where, by the number of nameless graves around, it would appear that the unknown and friendless were huddled into the earth. I was told that the new made grave was for the only son of a poor widow. While I was meditating on the distinctions of worldly rank, which extend thus down into the very dust, the tolling of the bell announced the approach of the funeral. 8. They were the obsequies of poverty, with which pride had nothing to do. A coffin of the plainest materials, without pall or other covering, was borne by some of the villagers. The sexton walked before with an air of cold indifference. There were no mock mourners in the trappings of affected wo; but there was one real mourner, who feebly tottered over the corpse. It was the aged mother of the deceased; the poor old woman whom I had seen seated on the steps of the altar. She was supported by a humble friend, who was endeavouring to comfort her. A few of the neighbouring poor had joined the train, and some children of the village were running hand in hand, now shouting with unthinking mirth, and sometimes pausing to gaze with childish curiosity on the grief of the mourner. 9. As the funeral train approached the grave, the parson Issued out of the church-porch arrayed in his surplice, with the prayer-book in his hand, and attended by the clerk. The service, however, was a mere act of charity. The deceased had been destitute, and the survivor was pennyless. It was shuffled through, therefore, in form, but coldly and unfeelingly. The well-fed priest scarcely moved ten steps from the church door; his voice could scarcely be heard at the grave; and never did I hear the funeral service, that sublime and touching ceremony, turned into such a frigid mummery of words. 10. I approached the grave. The coffin was placed on the ground. On it were inscribed the name and age of the deceased-George Somers, aged 26 years.” The poor mother had been assisted to kneel down at the head of it. Her withered hands were clasped as if in prayer; but I could perceive, by a feeble rocking of the body, that she was gazing on the last relicks of her son with the yearnings of a mother's heart. 11. The service being ended, preparations were made to deposit the coffin in the earth. There was that bustling stir that breaks so harshly on the feelings of grief and affection; directions given in the cold tones of business; the striking of spades into sand gravel, which, at the grave of those we love, is, of all sounds, the most withering. The bustle around seemed to awaken the mother from a wretched reverie. 12. She raised her glazed eyes, and looked about with a faint wildness. As ths men approached with cords to lower the coffin into the grave, she wrung her hands, and broke into an agony of grief. The poor woman who attended her, took her by the arm, and endeavoured to raise her from the earth, and to whisper something like consolation. Nay now-nay, nowdont take it so sorely to heart.' She could only shake her head, and wring her hands, as one not to be comforted. 13. As they lowered the body into the earth, the creaking of the cords seemed to agonize her; but when, on some accidental obstruction, there was a jolting of the coffin, all the tenderness of the mother burst forth; as if any harm could come to him who was far beyond the reach of worldly suffering. N |