The Argosy — page 326: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A Dream from Freaven. 305 to-day. I wonder why. A more pleasing sound than the ding-dong of ordinary Sundays. Why can’t they always nng? I remember now—one of the highest of our High Church dignitaries comes down to preach to-day in this suburb: that must be why they ring. How long is it since I have been to church! Let none condemn me, until they are placed in my circumstances, and as sorely tried as I have been. ‘There was no missing church before adversity came. { cannot afford a pew, and our clothes are not what they used to be. Margaret goes sometimes: she cannot forget that she is the daughter of a high churchman. If Dr. Channing could rise from his grave and witness the straits to which my imprudence has reduced her! A vision, an imaginary vista of the future, now and then steals over me on these calm, holy days—of these dark years being replaced by bright ones ; of the children growing up around us, anxiously trained in all the observances of religion ; when we shall sit, drawn together in peace and happiness, under our own vine and our own fig-tree, all the happier, the holier, for past adversity. But these hopeful dreams are broken off, as now, by the rushing thought that it is only a dream and never to be realised. | _ Never, never: the darkness has endured too long. I have humbly prostrated myself in agony, imploring of the Most: High, in my bitter erief and repentance, that for my wife and children’s sake He would turn our captivity : and He has answered not. The darkness has be- come more dark, the light of the future more dim and indistinct. Now the clocks are striking eleven; the bells are ceasing! in another moment not a sound will break the stillness. Oh, thank God for Sunday! I could repeat it with my pen, as I have done with my heart, a thousand times. No one can truly esti- mate the blessings of the day, until he shall have gone through the persecution which has of late been mine. How infinite the wisdom, how unsparing the bounty, that appointed one day in seven as a day of vest/ One half the world go down to their graves, and have never appreciated the boon in allits fulness. Let me lay aside my pen and think, and enjoy it while I may: to-morrow will come. Mday, Tuesday.—Surely there is a spell upon all I undertake: I had almost written curse, but let me not think that yet. If the morning opens with fair auspices, the night brings disappointment. Margaret is almost wearied out, and her naturally calm temper at moments gives way. Not for herself: but for the children I can see that her spirit is nearly broken. Still she bears up wonderfully. We were standing last evening at the window, without light, when little Cary ran in. ‘“‘ Mamma, we want to dance. Will you come and tune to.us ?” “ Not to-nigat, darling. My head aches. You must dance to your own tunes to-night.” “VOL. XVII. CORNICLOO© (CO) im ==)