sion which tells of better things. A change is about to
take place with him. I must draw near to him in his
sleep, and endeavour to touch some tender chord of
The pirate's nightly watch was ended, and, unheeding
the danger around him, he slept securely. His dreams
were of his childhood's home. Once more he was an
innocent boy, and, kneeling by his mother's side, he
lisped his evening prayer. Alas ! years had gone by
since words like these had passed his lips. Her soft
hand was upon his head as in days of yore, and her mild
countenance gazed lovingly upon him as she repeated
these words : — " For this, my son, was dead, and is alive
again ; he was lost, and is found."
The storm had passed with the shades of night, and
the morning dawned bright and beautiful. The vessel
now lay at anchor on the shores of a lovely but unin-
habited island. For a few hours the crew were -at liberty
S4 THE SEARCH FOR HAPPINESS.
to tread on land once more, and gladly did they avail
themselves of the privilege.
Still keeping near to the object of his mission, the
angel stood with Eveline in a thick grove, in the midst
of which the waters of a bubbling spring came gushing
up with a delightful coolness.
The pirate threw himself upon a mossy bank, and
seemed for a time lost in deep and painful reflection.
The perfect stillness of that little spot, so beautiful to
one whose eye had long been accustomed to nought but
the vast expanse of waters, with the deep green foliage
of its graceful trees, the fragrant breath of the brilliant
flowers, awakened feelings which had long been a
stranger to his heart. His dream came vividly to his
mind. With wonderful distinctness the home of his
childhood was before him ; and his angel mother, surely
her hand was even now upon his heated brow, and her
gentle tones breathed into his ear.
Nearer and nearer drew the ministering spirit, still
holding Eveline by the hand.
" Must you still work through earthly mediums ?" she
whispered. " Surely there are none on this lonely island
who can minister to a mind diseased."
"No human being, indeed," the spirit replied; "but
the Creator of the universe hath many mediums of good.
Even in inanimate nature, the fragrant flowers, the wav-
ing leaves, the gurgling waters, all may become mes-
sengers of hope and consolation to those who are bowed
down by aflSiction, or who have wandered far from the
right path. But see ! yonder comes the present mes-
Benger of peace;" and as he spoke, Eveline beheld a
THE SEARCH FOR HAPPINESS. 65
beautiful dove fluttering slowly through the air, until
she perched upon a tree overhanging the spring.
Absorbed in his own bitter reflections, the pirate
marked her not, until she sent forth her sweet mournful
notes of love. Another chord of memory was touched.
The sinner could bear no more ; he wept like a little
child, and, kneeling on that lonely spot, poured out his
heart in prayer.
Then solemnly he vowed to join no more the wicked
band who had led him so far in the sinful way. He
would remain in strict concealment until the vessel set
sail, trusting in Providence to open the w^ay for him to
leave the island, and dwell once more among his fellow
" It is enough," said the angel ; " my present mission
is ended. Return with me to my heavenly home."
In an instant they stood once more in that beautiful
garden where Eveline had first beheld her friend and
guide. New beauties now surrounded him. Trees,
birds, and flowers, had acquired a loveliness surpassing
anything which Eveline could have imagined to exist ;
and the angel himself seemed encompassed by a light
ttnd splendour unobserved before.
"It is but the form of the happiness within," he said,
in reply to the maiden's look of surprise. " The works
of love which I have been permitted to form have given
me the most interior delight, and therefore everything
around me glows with new beauty.
" Thou must now return to the material world which
is yet thy dwelling-place. Bear in thy heart the lesson
which thou hast learned. Live no longer for thyself.
56 TRUITS OF SORROW.
In every act of thy life have regard to the good of others.
Happiness will be thine, for thou wilt find dehght in use,
and this is the only source of true heavenly happiness.
The angel disappeared, and in her own apartment
Eveline awoke to ponder on her dream.
FRUITS OF SORROW.
I AVAS recovering from a long illness. Reclining upon
my couch, with its carefully arranged pillows and snowy
drapery, I enjoyed to the utmost the sensation of re-
newed life which, with increasing strength, thrilled
through every vein. The sashes were raised, and through
the closed blinds came the soft breath of a June morn-
ing, bearing on its invisible wings the mingled perfume
of a thousand flowers. On a table within reach of my
hand stood a vase filled with rare exotics, and by my
side sat the dear friend who had brought this beautiful
I never tire of gazing on flowers ; but now something
inexplicable attracted my attention to the countenance
of Lucy Latimer — a countenance which, notwithstand-
ing her thirty-five years, still wore a calm and mournful
beauty. Upon her features beamed their usual sweet
and benevolent smile, yet at intervals a convulsive spasm
distorted the small mouth or contracted the broad, fair
brow, and I thought that, more than once, a bright tear
glistened in her downcast eye.
FRUITS OF SORROW. 57
For the first time the thought flashed across my mind
that there might be " a story " connected with the life
of Lucy. I had known her from my childhood, and her
course had been ever the same. She had few pleasures,
but many duties. She had literally gone about doing
good. A true sister of charity, wherever misfortune
came in the extensive circle of her influence, she was
seen binding up the broken heart, and pouring the oil
of consolation upon the bruised spirit. For all ailings,
mental or physical, she had a ready sympathy. From
the couch of the sufi*erer, hurried by some devouring
pestilence to the confines of eternity, she shrank not
while life remained. She smoothed the pillow of the
consumptive, and held the cooling draught to fever-
parched lips; and, above all, her warnings and her
prayers often led their object to exclaim, in true peni-
tence and submission, " Not my will, Lord, but Thine
be done !"
Did a fond mother bend in agony over the form of
her departed darling, Lucy's gentle soothings brought
comfort to her sorrowing heart. Did some young wife
see the husband of her heart's choice,* the father of her
little ones, stricken in his prime, and borne away to the
silent tomb — the soft voice of Lucy awakened her to
present duties, and reminded her of the loving care of
Him who is the ^'Father of the fatherless, and the widow's
God." In short, she who had been an only child, and
was now an orphan, seemed never to feel the want of
kindred ; for she was the daughter, the sister, the beloved
friend of all who sufi'ered.
" Dear Lucy," said I suddenly, after a long silence,
58 FRUITS OP SORROW.
during wliich all these thoughts had passed in review be-
fore me, " you are very sad to-day, and I know by the
dreamy look of your eyes, that it is some sorrowful
memory of the past which thus disturbs you. Will you
not tell me what it is ? You have never spoken to me
of your past life ; yet I remember having heard my
mother say, long ago, that your youth had been blighted
by some fearful misfortune. If it is not too painful, will
you tell me about it? I feel that I can sympathize
with you, though, before this illness, I have hardly known
sorrow or pain."
Lucy's face was turned from me as I spoke ; but when
I concluded, she arose, and approaching the bed, stooped
and kissed me. Then, without saying a word, she buried
her face in the pillow, and gave way to an uncontrollable
burst of tears. Surprised and grieved that I should have
caused such pain to that dear friend, who, under all pre-
vious circumstances, had seemed calm and self-controlled,
I mingled my tears with hers, beseeching her forgive-
ness, and endeavouring to soothe her by the gentlest
words. But the repressed sorrows of years had found
vent in tears which could not at once be checked. After a
long time, however, her sobs ceased, and when, at length,
she raised her face, nothing but the mournful expression
of her moistened eye told of the conflict which, of late,
had raged so fiercely in her soul.
"Forgive, my dear young friend," said she, "these
tears which may have seemed to reproach your kindness.
On this day, the anniversary of my bitter trials, a word
recalls their memory ; but believe me, your gentle ex-
pressions of sympathy alone could have unsealed the
FRUITS OP SORROW. 59
fountain of my grief. But I will tell you the story of
my youth, and then you will cease to wonder at my occa-
sional hours of sadness or even violent grief.
" When the month of June, 1832, was ushered in, I,
like you now, was young, and lived with my parents in a
luxurious home ; but, unlike you, I had one great sorrow.
I had been long engaged to Cecil Alleyne, a young cler-
gyman, who had devoted his life to the work of a mis-
sionary. We were to have been married on the first of
June, and to have gone out to India as missionaries. But
Cecil was in declining health. A cold, taken during the
previous winter, while in the exercise of parochial duties,
had preyed upon a delicate constitution, and it was now
feared that that scourge of northern climates, consump-
tion, had marked him for its prey. At the time appointed
for our marriage and embarkation, he was too ill to leave
his room, and the ship sailed without us.
" You may well believe that it was a bitter trial to
this noble young man, full of earnest enthusiasm in the
cause he had espoused, to be thus cut short in a career
which promised to be one of more than ordinary useful-
ness. But he bowed meekly to his Maker's will, with
scarcely a murmur at the blighting of all his hopes.
But with little of his child-like confidence in our hea-
renly Father, I rose in fierce rebellion at this unexpected
disappointment. Alas ! how little did I dream of the
sorrows yet in store for me ! or how soon my proud
heart would be humbled by repeated afflictions !
" Cecil's father lived at S , six miles from my
own home, and thither, at an early hour, I was sum-
moned on the 16th of June. Cecil was very ill, the old
60 FRUITS OP SORROW.
servant said. He had broken a blood-vessel during tbo
previous night, and, believing that his hours were num-
bered, he earnestly desired to see me.
" I had returned from S but a few days before,
and left him apparently better — so much so, that we
had planned a quiet marriage as soon as he should be
able to ride over to us. For this I was, if possible,
more anxious than himself, that I might gain the sweet
privilege of being his constant nurse. Thus when I saw
Mr. Alleyne's carriage drive to the gate, I ran eagerly
down the path, expecting to see dear Cecil alight from
it. Judge then of my disappointment at the intelligence
" Making my preparations with tearful haste, I was
soon on my way, and anxiously urging greater speed.
The journey seemed interminable, but we arrived at
last, and springing from the carriage, I soon stood by
the bedside of my dying Cecil. The bed, for freer cir-
culation of air, was drawn to the centre of the apart-
ment. Opposite to it was the vine-covered window
which opened into the garden, from whence rose the
perfume of countless flowers, the busy hum of bees from
the quaint old apiary in its sunniest nook, and the song
of birds from out the branches of the magnificent horse-
chestnuts which, even in the sultriest noon, threw their
cooling shadows upon the house. Without, all was life
and joy ; within, gloom and the shadow of death.
" There lay Cecil, but how changed ! The pallid
brow, the sunken eye, the laboured breath — all told
how swift were the strides which the destroyer was tak-
ing with his victim. But a holy calm sat on brow and
PRTJITS OP SORROW. 81
lip, for to him death had no terrors. A hright smile
beamed on his pale face as he saw me, and he feebly
raised his arms to clasp my neck as I knelt beside him
and wept with grief that would not be controlled.
" 'Weep not, my beloved one,' he said, in feeble ac-
cents ; ' mourn not, my Lucy, our parting will not be
long, and we shall meet above. Gladly would I have
lived to have passed the years with you here ; but God
wills otherwise, and let us not repine. Grieve not,
Lucy, that he is so soon taking me from a world where
poison lurks in every cup, where danger follows our
footsteps in every path, and where the blight of sin is
on all we hold most dear.'
" With a violent effort I controlled the manifestations
of my sorrow. But it was his office to cheer me ; the
words of the dying infused courage into the heart that
was so soon to be left alone. But few more words
passed between us, for, exhausted by the violent hemor-
rhage and long suffering, he desired sleep to refresh him
for the farewells which soon must take place. I passed
my arm beneath his head, and, after a glance of undy-
ing affection from those glorious eyes which had always
beamed with love for me, he closed them in a soft slum-
ber, peaceful as an infant's upon its mother's breast.
His sleep was long, and when he awoke, the shadows
of evening were falling, and the honeysuckle at the
window had filled the apartment with the rich fragrance
that twilight dews always win from its perfumed chal-
ices. It seemed the fitting incense to bear the pure
soul to heaven.
"This slumber had been refreshing, and Cecil waa
62 FRUITS OP SORROW
able to converse with his parents and every member of
the household. Never will aught connected with that
evening fade from the memory of those who stood
around that death-bed, and listened to his inspired
words. His glorious intellect, almost cleared from the
dull film of mortality, grappled with ideas seemingly
too great for human utterance ; and his words fell upon
the ear solemnly, as ' oracles from beyond the grave.'
Never had the lamp of his afi'ections burned brighter.
Dear, exceedingly, as the loved ones who now surrounded
him had ever been, in this hour words failed to express
his affection for them. And as his eye, full of love,
wandered over the circle, each felt that the bond which
connected our spirits was one which would endure to
all eternity. He spoke at intervals for several hours,
but at length fell into a quiet slumber, and all, except
his parents and myself, departed to seek repose. He
awoke again at midnight, and with kind consideration,
entreated his aged and grief-worn parents to seek the
rest they so much needed.
" ' Lucy will remain with me,' he said, in answer to
his mother's remonstrances ; ' she is young, and will
not feel the loss of sleep, while watching will make you
ill, mother. And do not fear to leave me, for Lucy is
the gentlest and kindest of nurses.'
" Left alone, hours of sweet communion ensued be-
tween myself and Cecil. He seemed much better. He
felt, as he said, no pain, and at times his voice rang out
full, clear, and harmonious, as in health. He spoke of
our early love, hallowed as it was by many pleasant
memories, and besought me not to allow the current of
FRUITS OF SORROW. C3
mj affections, thus suddenly checked, to return and
create bitterness at their source ; but, rather, that I
should permit it to flow out in widening channels, till it
should embrace all who needed love or kindness, and
till its blessed waters should create fresh fertility in
desert hearts, and cause flowers to bloom by desolate
firesides. His apparent ease lulled me into security,
and I almost hoped his life would be prolonged. At
any rate, his words gave me courage to live and perform
my appointed work, and to await with patience our re-
union in heaven.
" After a time, he was silent, and lay motionless and
with closed eyes. Alarmed by his death-like stillness,
I arose and knelt beside his pillow to listen to his
breathing. He moved slightly as my lips touched his,
and murmured, as I thought, a few incoherent words
" I remembered no more, till I awoke with a start an
hour after, and found the gray light of early dawn
struggling with the dying flame of the lamps in the
apartment, and the morning breeze blowing chill through
the open windows. But colder still was the cheek against
which mine rested. I sprang to my feet, and gazed
earnestly at the pale, upturned face. Alas ! it was the
face of the dead !
" Oh, the agony of that moment ! With a wild,
thrilling shriek, the wail of a breaking heart, I sank
fainting upon the floor.
'^ It was a long time before consciousness returned,
and then my first thought went back to that dying
Bcene. I attempted to rise, but still faint, I fell back
64 FRUITS OP SORROW.
upon the pillow. But, after a time, strength returned,
and I arose and returned to Cecil's room. A long,
white object lay in the centre of the apartment, for
hours had passed and his remains had been prepared
for the grave. It was long before I could summon cou-
rage to look upon the face of the dead ; but at length
I raised the snowy linen that covered it, and all my
wild, rebellious feelings were rebuked by the calm and
placid smile which rested upon those features, to which
even death could not impart rigidity. It told of peace
and perfect joy, and, as I gazed, there grew in my soul
a sweet calm and resignation.
"I sat many hours with the grief-stricken parents,
beside that shrouded form. Noon came and passed, and
the day was waning to its close, when a messenger ar-
rived from my home, and I was summoned from my
mournful vigil to meet him in the hall. He was a
stranger, but his face expressed sympathy.
'"It grieves me much. Miss Latimer,' said he, 'to be
the bearer of unpleasant tidings, more especially as I
have just learned the sad event which has occurred here.
But I am directed by Dr. S to summon you to your
parents, who are both attacked by the cholera, which,
within the last twenty-four hours, has appeared in our
city. My carriage is at the door, and I will return as
soon as you are ready.'
" I listened like one entranced. Cecil dead, my pa-
rents perhaps dying ! Yet I had left them in health but
a day since. I must fly to them, yet could I leave the
dear remains of Cecil ? But I thought of his words of
the preceding night, and they gave me courage. With
FPailTS OF SORROW. bc
desperate calmness I ascended to the apartment of death,
pressed mj last kiss on Cecil's cold brow, bade farewell
to the bereaved parents, and in a few moments found
myself retracing the road I had travelled yesterday on
a similar errand.
" Such was the wild tumult of my thoughts, that I
scarcely noted the lapse of time before I reached my
home. The sun had set, and in the dim twilight the
house looked very desolate. There were no lights in
the windows, no sounds from the open doors, for all had
fled on the first alarm of the pestilence. In the hall I
was met by Dr. S . He was our family physician ;
I had known him from my childhood, and never before
had he met me without a smile. But now he looked
grave and very sad, and I knew that my fears had not
exaggerated the reality. I would have rushed past him,
but he detained me.
*' ' Tell me,' said I, ' if they live. Let me go to them
at once. Do not detain me !'
" But the good doctor still held my hand.
" ' Summon all your fortitude, my dear child,' said
he. ' Can you bear to hear that your father is no
" ' My father !' I shrieked. ' Oh, do not tell me he
is dead ! And my mother ! — let me go to them. Do
not detain me ! — I will be calm, indeed I will !' I con-
tinued, as I saw the look of hesitation on the good doc-
" His strong arm aided me up the staircase, and in a
moment more I stood beside the corpse of my beloved
father. Still cold and pale he lay, whom but two days
G6 FRUITS OF SORROW.
since I had left in perfect health. Could it be that his
pious, loving smile would never rest on me more, or his
kind voice greet my ear ?
" But a moment I lingered there, for he was beyond
my aid, and my mother's moan smote my ear reproach-
fully from the next apartment. In vain I sprung to her
relief; in vain I called her by every endearing name;
in vain were all my cares. An hour after I entered the
house I was an orphan. During all the watches of that
terrible night, I sat alone by the dead bodies of my
parents — utterly alone, for even the good doctor had
departed to the bedsides of fresh sufferers. In the early
morning they were laid in the churchyard, and when I
returned to my splendid but now desolate home, I felt
thac no tie now bound me to my race.
"For days and weeks the dull apathy of despair
rested upon my soul, and I wandered about my once
cheerful home without aim or employment. During all
this time, the disease which had made me an orphan was
walking with fearful strides over the land. Our beauti-
ful city had become one vast charnel-house. Day and
night the death-carts with their fearful burden went on
their mournful way to the burying-places. Happy fire-
sides were fast becoming desolate, and, at length, the
universal wail of sorrow pierced even the dull apathy
which had fallen upon me. I roused myself, and went
forth among the sick. I stood, day by day, by the bed-
side of the pestilence-stricken. I wiped the death-sweat
from pallid brows ; I bathed the convulsed limbs ; I
prepared the healing draught — and many an eye gazed
upon me with gratitude in the hour of sujFpring. I found
THE TWO BEES. 67
my reward springing up amidst my exertions, for, in
ministering to the sufferings of others, my own were
lessened. I blessed the dying words of Cecil, which
had pointed me to an antidote to my own grief, so un-
selfish, and so complete.
" At length the summer of 1832 drew to its close,
and the pestilence raged no more among us. But my
attendance upon the sick had introduced to my notice
many cases of want. My sphere of duty was ample,
nor has it ever lessened, and I still find my happiness in
contributing to that of others. My days and years glide
calmly on, and I await in patience the time when I shall
rejoin my loved ones in a world where there is neither
sorrow nor parting."
She ceased ; but her simple story had left its impres-
sion. I drew from it justcr views of life and human
responsibility. It has left me wiser, if not better, and
so I trust it will leave my readers.
THE TWO BEES.
One summer's morning, fresh and sunny,
After a month of cloudless weather,
To gather in their choicest honey
A pair of bees set forth together ;
Two loyal knaves as e'er were seen,
Of the same good and gracious queen.
They'd not gone far, when in the air
They met a wandering odour sweet,
68 THE TWO BEES.
"Which led them to a garden fair —
A cottage-garden, plain and neat ;
Where poor but liberal hands had set
Some charming beds of mignonette.
And fragrant thyme, that filled the air
With rich and delicate perfume,
And roses, white and red, were there,
And dainty hollyhocks in bloom.
That soared majestic, straight, and tall,
Like mighty monarchs over all.
** Hurrah ! yon garden-plot," said one,
" A large and luscious spoil will yield.**
" Nay," said the other, " this bright sun
Shall tempt me further yet afield —
Perchance to pass my morning hours
With richer and with rarer flowers."
So one within the garden strayed.
And gathered honey all day long,
Watched by a little bright-eyed maid.
Who listened to his joyous song.
And, as from flower to flower he flew,
(So busy and so cheerful, too,)
A life-directing lesson drew.
The other onward, onward sailed,
But joyless was his flight, and dreary.
And soon his strength or spirit failed,
And all disconsolate and weary,
He called the garden plot to mind.
And wished that he had stayed behind.
At length, to his profound relief,
Came wafted odours in the air,
And welcome glimpses, bright and brief,
He caught of a genteel parterre ;
THE TWO BEES. 09
He hurried on, and, in a trice,
Alighted in a Paradise 1
How fortunate at last was he,
Admitted to that realm of beauty I —
But languidly the weary bee
Applied to his appointed duty,
And more than once bewailed the fato
That gave such privilege so late.
The sequel now.— At eventide,
When both the bees were home expected,