MASTER NEGATIVE 92-80737 MICROFILMED 1992 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES/NEW YORK as part of the "Foundations of Western Civilization Preservation Project" Funded by the NATIONAL ENDOWMENT FOR THE HUMANITIES Reproductions may not be made without permission from Columbia University Library COPYRIGHT STATEMENT The copyright law of the United States - Title 17, United States Code - concerns the makmg of photocopies or other reproductions of copyrighted material.. Columbia University Library reserves the right to refuse to accept a copy order if, in its judgement, fulfillment of the order would involve violation of the copyright law. AUTHOR ADAMS, WILLIAM TITLE: SACRED ALLEGORIES PL A CE: NEW-YORK DATE: 1844 Master Negative # COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT 3^sJPJJL7.-. BIBLIOGRAPHIC MICROFORM TARGET Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record 244 A3 • m / »« Alaa.3» Ht^v.W: 18M-48. ^saorei alleRorles. 1. rne sttalow of oro39. 2. The ilataai mils. 9o-«-104p. 11. pi. ;5. iN.Y. 1344. mH^TTP^ the ax. ■I ■ I ■ I ■ •-.•^■ifca ■T Mil - I- ^ -- . i - - Restrictions on Use: TECHNICAL MICROFORM DATA REDUCTION RATIO: /^. FILM SIZE: IMAGE PLACEMENT: lA dlX IB IIB DATE FILMED: Visjii^ INITIALS tl^_ HLMEDBY: RESEARCH PUBLICATIONS. INC WOODBRIDGE. CT ' < ^% c Association for information and Image Management 1100 Wayne Avenue, Suite 1100 Silver Spring. Maryland 20910 301/587-8202 Centimeter T 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 mm iiiiuiiLiiiiiiilii|iiii|ilii|iiiiJ 12 3 4 5 Inches 2 3 1.0 I.I 1.25 50 36 mil 3.2 63 1^ u ■A u. ■Ubu 1.4 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.6 MfiNUFPCTURED TO flllM STflNDflRDS BY fiPPLIED IMRGE, INC. '^^mmk ''^'imgm ^-^ lM|ppti)(H(t|liBii%i|kwipwN»i*iP^p'i» m ■ ■inpn i um ■■ ' w.^ I m«i ^wmpginm iil i .■■■» n i i ini i » i — 1 --j^p I SACRED ALLEGORIES, BY THE REV. W. ADAMS, M. A.|?/>i->4? I. THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS ii. THE DISTANT HILLS NEW-YORK: GENERAL PROT EPISCOPAL S. S. UNION DANIEL DANA Jr. AGENT Dapoaitory 20 John Street. 1844. UJ loo VREF A C E Entebkd according to Act of Coni^ess, in the vedr lau, by JoH.v W Mitchell, (as Treasurkr of the General Piv^testanf lipiscopal Sunday School Union) in the QHice of the Cl.-rk of the Uniteeuted sin. But, two distinct views may be taken of our position in the Church upon earth. We may either regard it as enabling ua, l>y the light that s-liinr*. upon it from above, to pass in safety tiirough the trials of life, or a-s affording us a field of contempla- tion altogether removed from the present world. The former view has been principally adojjted in The Shadow of The Cross, the latter in The Distant Hills; and it is hoped that the two combined, may, by God's grace, be a means of leading tliote who read them, to endeavor to exercise and retain all their bap- tismal privileges ; both by seeking the mark of the cross .,n the earthly objects around them, and also, by setting tlie;r affection^ on things above, and having their conversation in IJenven. 100 o 8617S PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION The following beautiful Allegories are reprinted without alteration, from the London Edition, and some- thing, it is deemed, has been added to their original value in the elegant and appropriate ilhist rat ions, the designs lor which were furnished by our distinguished native artist, John G. Chapman SH^E)©W ©IF iri^CIB (SIIl®(SSo ^i (Eljc Sljaboiii of tl)e €ros0. CHAPTER I. Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be, As more of Heaven in each we see: Some softening gleam of love and prayer Shall dawn on every cross and care. THICK darkness was spread over the earth, and as I stood on the t(^p of a lof- ty mountain, the only object that I could see was A 1 S SHADOW OF THE CROSS. the sun, which had risen in the far east with a wonderful glory. It was as a ball of clear and living fire ; and yet so soft and chastened was its rav, that, while I gazed, my eye was not dazzled, and I felt I should like to look upon it for ever. Presently, as it shone upon the mists which rested on the eartli, they became tremulous with light, and in a moment they floated by, and a scene of life and beauty was opened ti my view. I saw a spot of ground, so rich and fertile, that it might well be called a garden; — the sweetest flowers were growing wild in the fields, and the very pathways appeared to sparkle with rubies and emeralds ; there were, too, the most luxuriant orchards, and cool SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 9 groves of orange trees and myrtles, and the breeze of the morning was play- ing among their branches. Now, as I watched the butterflies that fluttered over the flowers, and the lambs sport- ing on the smooth grass, and as I list- ened to the song of the nightingales in the woods, I fancied it was some scene of enchantment which I saw, it was so very full of happiness and hfe. Every where, at the extremity of the view, my eye rested on a clear narrow stream : I could trace neither mountain from which it rose, nor ocean into which it fell ; but it ghded round and round in an endless circular course, forming as it were a border of silver to that lovely garden on which the sun was shining. The morning light ever kept adding AS 10 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 11 || fresh beauty to each tree and flower on which it fell, but the brighest and clearest rays were those which were re- flected by this narrow stream; and at this I wondered the rather, because, on the other side of the ring of water, all was still wrapt in a thick and gloomy fog, and though I gazed long and ear- nestly, I saw nothing. Young and lovely children were con- tinually crossing the narrow stream ; there was no other way of escaping from the land of darkness to the land of light. Their garments became white as snow by their passage through the water, and sparkled with a dazzlinor brightness as the sun first shone upon them ; I observed, too, that each child, as he entered the garden, held a little cross in his hand. Now, when I reflect- ed how many millions might still be wandering in the dark and gloomy re- gion beyond, on whom the glorious sun would never shed its cheering warmth, I could not help thinking how happy tlie children were to have found thus early the narrow stream, and I said in my heart. Surely this lovely garden was made for them, and they will live in it for ever. While I was musing thus, it seemed that, in answer, a still soft Voice came floating on the breeze, and said, "It is indeed for sUch children as these that the sun is shining, and for them that the mists have been cleared away, but none of the beautiful things in the gar- den belong to them ; they are waiting A6 12 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. here as strangers, till their Father shall summon them home ; and when they go hence, they can take nothing away with them but the little crosses in their hands, and the white garments which they wear." '* Who, then, are these children?" I asked, "and what is the name of the garden? and when they are taken from it, whither will they go?" And the Voice said, "The chil- dren are sons of a mighty King, and the garden is called the Garden of tfir SfiatKObS OC the (tVOm; but no one can tell whither each child will go when he is taken away— it will depend on how far he escapes tlie dangers of the garden. If they carelessly lose their crosses, or so stain their beautiful gar- ments, that they can be made white no SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 13 more, they will be thought unworthy of the presence of the great King, and will be hid in an outer darkness, more thick and terrible than that which they have just left. But if, when they go away, the crosses are still in their hands, and they so far keep themselves clean that the King may recognise them for His own children, then will their garments be washed until they become more shining white than snow, and they will be taken to a brighter and happier land, in which they will live with their Father for ever." But I understood not what the Voice meant by the dangers of the garden, and I wondered, too, that it should speak to me of a blighter and happier land ; for I thought within myself, that 14 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 15 no land could be more beautiful than that on which I gazed, and no sun more glorious than that which was shining there. And the Voice again answered my thoughts, and said, ** It is indeed true, that no sun surpasseth in glory- that which is shining on the land en- circled by the silver stream; but were it not for the light so resting upon it, there is nothing to be desired in the gar- den itself. At one time every thing, not only here, but in the country around, was very good — there was no mist or darkness then; but now an enemy of the King has corrupted all. The very air the children breathe is wont to sully their white garments, amd each delight of the garden is full of hidden danger and deceit. While every thing appears to the eye so beautiful and innocent, there is, in truth, a poison lurking in each fruit and flower; cunning serpents are hiding in the grass ; snares and stumbling-blocks innumerable are placed in the broad ways that look so bright and smooth ; and even in the groves of myrtle roaring lions are wandering about, anxious to tear the children that come thither, and to stain their white garments with blood." And when I heard this, I wept bit- terly for the poor children, whom I had thought so happy before, and I said, " Oh wretched children, thus to be placed in a garden so full of dangers, and to be tempted by fruits and flowers which you dare not gather ! Surely there is not one of you who will not nt last ipiiii 16 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. imbibe some secret poison, or fall into some dreadful snare, or be stung by a serpent, or torn by a lion; and so you will be prevented from entering that better country which your Father has prepared for you." And the Voice said, " There is not one of the King's children who may not dwell in peace and happi- ness in the garden. Not only is their Father Himself ever present with them, though they cannot see Him, but He has aiven to each a talisman, which will en- able them to Uve here in security, and even to enjoy the fruits and flowers until it is His good pleasure to call them to Himself. You see that the sun is shin- ing brightly and gloriously in the east ; you sec, too, that each little one has been provided with a cross : — so long SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 17 then as the cross is so held that the rays of the sun fall upon it, and cast a shadow upon the surrounding objects, they will remain safe and happy in their garden ; for every fruit on which the mark of the cross is seen, may be tasted of without fear, and each path may be trodden in safety on which its shadow rests. '* But will not," I asked, "the hands of the children become wearied by hold- ing the cross, and their eyes grow dim while they watch the shadows?" And the Voice replied, " Their hands would indeed soon become w-eary, and their eyes grow dim, if their sight or their strength were their own; but these are among the number of those precious gifts, that each child, as he crossed the 18 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. Stream, received from his Father. He is ever at hand to watch over them ; and, so long as they are really anxious to be guided by the cross, He will not suffer their sight or strength to fail. Nay more, He has appointed means, by which they themselves may seek the renewal of these gifts day after day, and hour after hour." When I heard this I wept no more, but I thought how good and kind that Father must be, who took such care of each little child. From this time I ceased to watch the trees and the flow- ers, or even the bright ring of water that kept flowing round the garden ; for I felt deeply interested about the King's children, and I fancied it would be very beautiful to see them throwing SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 19 shadows from their little crosses, and so living unhurt in the garden of the Shadow of the Cross. Now, I had expected that, as there wjis no difference in the crosses them- selves, so, too, would there be none in the shadows, and that every child who held the cross would make the same use of it. But I soon found that, though the crosses were indeed all alike, there was very great variety in the images which they cast. There were some which were very dark and gloomy, and some, on the contrarv, were so fair and soft, that thev were more beautiful to look upon than the surrounding light ; some fell flxed and steadfast, some faint and wavering ; some fell in clusters, and some alone. There was also a very B2 20 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 21 lit great difference in the way in which the children held their crosses : some merely raised them on high, and then walked quietly wherever the shadow fell ; some kept twisting them back- wards and forwards, as though it were a work of much difficulty to form the shadow ; and some, methought, even when the image was most distinct, were unable to see it. Many, too, there were who hid their crosses, and only used them now and then, and I knew that those poor children were in conti- nual danger ; and some, too, had thrown them away altogether, and I feared that they would be lost. At length my eye grew weary with the confusion of the scene, and I resolved to fix it steadily on some one child, and to watch its progress through the garden. One little girl there was amidst a group of chil- dren, with features so pure and lovely, that, when she had once attracted my attention, I could easily distinguish her from the rest. The name of " Inno- cence " was written on her forehead ; and, from the whiteness of her gar- ments, I thought that she must have 22 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 23 i entered very lately into the garden. I watched her as she played with lier companions in the fields, and I loved to see her stop with them to taste the fruits or gather the flowers by the way ; for I observed that she chose not the greenest paths, nor the ripest fruits, nor the fairest flowers, but only those on which the image of her cross was seen. Nay, neither fruit nor flower seemed to have any charms for her, unless the cross had thrown its shadow there ; and I wondered not that it was so, for the * more I gazed, the more soft Mud beau- tiful seemed tlie outUne that it tniced. The child was always happy; her sole pleasure was in her little cross and the shadows it formed ; fall where they would, she was sure to follow them. I saw, too, that she taught her friends to seek the shadows also, and when the mark of her cross and theirs might be discerned on the same object, then was she happiest of all. And as I gazed, behold ! a snow- white dove was resting on the cross, and the form of the little one began already to fade from my view ; her fea- tures became less bright, though not less pure, than they were before, and I knew that young Innocence, with her garments still white, was passing away from the garden. In a little while her companions were weeping, and the child was gone. I did not weep, for I felt she had been taken away to that brighter and happier land of which the Voice had spoken ; yet long after we had ceased 24 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. to see her, I fancied she was still present in the garden, and, as she had been wont to do, was holding her little cross in the light of the sun ; for its shadow continued to play around all the objects she had loved ; I could trace it not onlv on the faces of her friends, but on the flowers she had gathered, and the very pathways she had trod. I observed, too, that these images l)ecame brighter and more distinct from the tears that fell upon them, and images from other crosses kept clustering around them, and I thought, if the beautiful child were indeed still looking on the garden, how happy she must be that the crosses of those who wept for her. were thus blend- ed with her own. CHAPTER II. When with dear friends sweet talk I hold. And all the flowers of life unfold . Let not my heart within me burn. Except in all I Thek discern HEN Innocence had thus early been called a- way from the garden, I se- lected one of the little group of mourners, whom I next resolved to watch. He was a very beautiful boy, and had been one of the favourite friends of Innocence, -. '. A'lD 26 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 27 and when I first observed him, was cry- ing bitterly for his loss. But he soon dried his tears, and as I looked on his clear and open forehead, the name of " Mirth" was written there. Long after he had ceased weeping, I could see that he had not forgotten his companion, for he continued to play in the same field in which Innocence had left him, and af- fection for his former playmate ever led him to choose those flowers on which the shadow of her cross was lingering still. While he remained there, I knew that the boy was safe from danger ; but afterwards, when he began to wander to other parts of the garden, I grew alarmed lest some evil might befal him ; for, though he grasped his own cross firmly in his hand, so quick and Hvely was his step, that I feared he might soon be tempted to move beyond its shadow. However, I was beginning to hope there was no good reason for my alarm; for, though he gathered more abundantly than Innocence had done of the flowers that were by the way, I observed that he never touched them until the shadow of his cross had rested upon them ; and if there were any on which it did not fall, he passed them by. But before long it seemed that his eye was attracted by a beautiful bed of roses and violets that grew on a little hill, at the foot of which he was walk- ing : I saw him hold his cross for a moment between them and the sun, and he quite laughed for joy as he caught a ■=^ f 28 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 29 glimpse of its shadow there ; he bound- ed lightly forward, and, intending to gather a lovely nosegay, began in haste to scramble up the hill. Now, this I perceived with sorrow, for I was afraid the little fellow had not observed that there were many roses there on which no part of the shadow fell ; and I feared lest in his eagerness he should seize one of them, and, by doing so, I knew not what risk he might incur. There was good cause for my fear. The child, breathless with liis scramble up the hill, stretched out his hand and plucked the finest rose that he saw; it was one of those on which no shadow had fallen, and he had scarce held it a moment, when a wasp, that had concealed itself among the leaves, crawled out and stung him on the finger : the poor boy scream- ed with pain, for the sting of the wasp was unlike any thing he had felt before. He hastily dashed the flower on the ground ; but one leaf, I observed, was blown back by the wind, and rested on his clothes : Mirth saw it also, and brushed it away; but, when it was gone, there was a stain on those gar- ments which had been so white before. It was but a very little spot, and, as the tears trickled down upon it, grew so faint, that it could hardly be dis- cerned at ali; but still the spot was there. The smart, however, that the sting caused was of no long continu- ance, and in a short time little Mirth was going merrily on his way, as though no accident had happened. ms(. 30 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 31 I By and by, as he was w^alking by a bright path across a field, one of his former companions perceived him, and ran over the green to meet him : I could see that he shook Mirth warmly by the hand, and persuaded him that for a lit- tle while they should amuse themselves together. But I was grieved that the friend of Innocence should join company with the child, for there was many a soil on his white garments, and there was no cross in his hand, and the name of '* Wayward " was written on his brow. I thought, t(X), that Mirth looked shock- ed when first he met him, and I heard him ask after his cross ; but Wayward laughed, and told him it was so trou- blesome to keep it always in his hand, that he now carried it in his clothes. He said, however, that he never forgot to take it out when there were any dif- ficulties in the way ; but in the green fields and smooth paths he needed not its shadow. Now, methought, the stains on his clothes proved that, without the cross, neither the greenest fields nor the smoothest paths were safe ; but it would seem that Mirth did not observe them, for his mind appeared at ease, when he found Wayward had not thrown away the cross ; and the two boys walk- ed on together. Little Mirth still, how- ever, kept his own cross in his hand, and its shadow ever fell clear and dis- tinct on the bright path he trod ; while Wayward walked heedlessly along the soft turf by his side, and laughed at the 4 32 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 33 caution of his companion. But I soon observed that Mirth was growing weary of the narrow way, and tired of placing his footsteps exactly in the print of the cross, and that by little and little he deviated from it ; he ventured first close by the side of the grass, and then just to tread on its edge, and so he walked nearer to his companion. Now they had not gone far, when, at the point where the turf looked most soft and in- viting, they fell into swampy ground, and in an instant the green miry water rose above their ankles. Poor Mirth, directly he felt it, leaped back upon the road, for it was at no great distance ; but before he could reach it his gar- ments were already splashed, and there was a sad shade of green all around their border. Wayward fell deeper into the marsh than Mirth, because he had been walking farther from the path; but, when he had forced his way out, he treated his misfortune Hghtly, and scarce stopped a moment to wipe the dirt from his clothes ; nor did I wonder at this, for they were so stained before, that the splashes of the green mud could hardly be seen on them at all ; but it made me feel the more pity for Mirth, as he looked sadly at his own stains; and I thought how foolish a thing it was, for a child, still clad in raiment of white, to walk with one whose garments were so defiled. It seemed, however, that Mirth thought not of that, for he still al- lowed Wayward to accompany him; 34 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. nav, in a little while I almost fancied he befjan to look discontented at the whiteness of his clothes, for the fear of spoiling them often forced him to pick his way over stones with care, while his companion could walk heed- lessly through the mud. Alas ! if it were so, the silly child had not much longer such cause for discontent ; for a beautiful butterfly in a neighbouring field caught the attention of Wayward, and in a moment away he ran, calling to his companion to follow ; and I saw that, for the first time, Mirth joined in the pursuit without consulting his cross. Now, I have no doubt the boys thought they would have to go but a very little way before they gained pos- session of their prize, — for I too fancied SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 35 so at first ; but, as they came near, the butterfly opened its bright ^vings to the sun, and fluttered away, settling first on one flower, then on another, and ever, S hOWI as the children stretched out their hands to take it, just eluded their grasp. A long and wearisome chase it led them in the end. At first they went merrily through the green fields ; but after- G« 36 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. wards, as they grew more eager in the pursuit, and the bright butterfly tempted them on, they climbed steep hills, and scrambled down into the valleys be- neath ; they ran through brooks, leaped over ditches, and broke through hedges in their way, and yet the provoking insect was no nearer than* before. And I said, " Oh that Mirth had tried whe- ther the shadow of his cross would rest on its glittering wings, before he began thus hastily to follow it I" for many a splash of mud had fallen upon him in the eagerness of the pursuit, and his little hands were so scratched with thorns, that in some parts they had sprinkled his clothes with blood. At length they came to a smooth grassy plain, at the border of which SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 37 was a lovely grove of myrtles. The butterfly flew high in the air towards the distant trees, for there was neither plant nor flower in the plain itself. Now, I observed that Mirth had out- stripped Wayward in the chase ; and as he ran heedlessly on, gazing upwards towards the butterfly, his foot struck against a stone concealed in the long grass, and he was thrown violently to the ground. The careless child was well nigh stunned by the fall ; and when he recovered his feet, he trembled exceed- ingly, and the mark of the green grass was deeply imprinted on his clothes; yet I was glad that the accident made him grasp his little cross, which before he had well nigh forgotten, the more firmly in his hand. Just as his com- 38 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 39 panion joined him, he held it thought- fully towards the sun ; and when he saw that its image was not reflected on the wood, but on a hard dull path, leading in an opposite direction, he at once turned aside from the beautiful butterfly which he had so long been following. Wayward, too, seemed a little fright- ened by his companion's fall, for he also took out his cross ; and when its dim shadow fell on the same hard, dull path, he too relinquished the pursuit of the butterfly, and accompanied Mirth. So the two boys walked on, sadly and silently, together ; but Mirth limped a little as he went, from the pain of his fall. Very glad I was that they had not ventured to enter the wood ; for. though they saw them not, I could see the bright eyes of a serpent gleaming from beneath the myrtle on which the butterfly was resting. He seemed to be waiting anxiously for the approach of the children, and 1 doubt not there was poison in his fang. Now, I have said that the road by which Mirth and Wayward left the grove of myrtles was dull and hard ; for I had by this time discovered that, soft and beautiful as every thing looked in the distance, there were not only some paths in the garden deceitful and dangerous, but others hard and dull. It led them by many a withered leaf and faded flower ; and each leaf and flower was watered by the tears of Mirth, for his eyes were ever fixed downward 40 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. upon the ground: he was as one who was unconscious whither he was walk- ing, and whose only care was so to measure each step that it might IliU exactly in the shadow before him. Wayward, too, for a little while, look- ed downward also, and step by step trod in the same path with his com- panion : but, when they had gone on for some time in safety, from the force of habit he left off carrying his cross in his hand, and concealed it as he had done before; and then he soon grew weary of the dullness of the road, and longed to turn aside to some of the pleasant paths on the right hand or on the left. He appeared to me, however, to be half afraid of wandering alone ; for I heard him coaxing Mirth to leave SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 41 ofF watching those gloomy images, and to come and join with him in some merry game, saying that, by doing so, he would the sooner forget the effects of his fall. But Mirth still walked on in the same disconsolate way, with his eyes fixed upon the ground. His heart was then indeed too full of heaviness to suffer him to think of play at all ; yet, perhaps, he might not have been able to resist very long the entreaties of Wayward, had it not so happened that the boys did not much further continue their walk together. A sudden turn in the dull road brought them to one of those fields over which in happier times Mirth had often loved to ramble with Innocence ; and the shadow of his cross rested full 42 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. on a faded lily, which had been sown and watered by the hands of his for- mer friend. Here the poor little fellow paused, and sobbed as though his very heart would break. I too felt very sor- rowful ; for my mind went back to the lovely scene when the two children had been playing together in the garden, and Mirth had been taught by Inno- cence to find pleasure in the cross. I remembered how happy they had both looked in their shining raiment of white, and how beautiful were the first holy images which fell on the objects around them; and, above all, I recollected the hour when the dove had settled so peacefully on the cross of her who was taken, while she was fading from my view: and then, as I gazed upon the SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 43 one who had been left, and saw how his garments since then had been stain- ed by many a dark and filthy spot, the bitter thought came upon me, whether, if his friend still looked upon the gar- den, she would recognise him now, and whether, if Mirth were called away, he would be received in that better country to which Innocence was gone. Such thoughts, also, seemed to force themselves on the mind of Mirth ; for he knelt down by the lily to which the shadow had led him, and, as the tears chased each other down his cheeks, and fell on the stains, I could hear him murmur, " Oh, purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow !" Then I knew he was speaking to the kind i 44 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. Father, who was ever present among His children in the garden ; and I re- membered how the Voice had told me that there were means by which the sight and strength of the children might be renewed. Presently I saw him bend low and gaze earnestly on the faded flower ; and while the big tear fell upon it, methought that his eye became less dim, and there was a gleam of hope and gladness on his face, as though he could again trace upon the leaves the light and lovely outline of the cross of Innocence. Then I also, in the midst of my sorrow, was glad ; and I felt that Mirth was really happier as be wept over the lily of his friend, than he had been while, in the thoughtlessness of his heart, he was chasing the painted SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 45 r butterfly on the green. Moreover, as I watched him, I saw him kiss his little cross and press it to his heart ; and I wondered not that he did so, for I knew it was that little cross, and that alone, which had freed him from all his perils ; for, without it, he must have been bitten by the serpent in the myrtle grove ; and had he not trod in its shadow along the hard dull road, he would not have been guided to the flower of Innocence at last. Hi CHAPTER III. But if, indeed, with reckless faith We trust the flattering voice, Which whispers, "Take thy fill ere death, Indulge thee and rejoice" Too sxixely, every setting day. Some lost dehght we mourn ; The flowers all die along our way. Till we. too. die forlorn. HE tears were fast rising in my eyes as I turned them a- way from the kneeh'ng child, so affecting was the scene ; but r„. a,.: "-k I SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 47 ■for the present I watched him no more, for about him my mind was now at rest ; but I felt fearfully anxious to trace the course of his companion who neglected the cross. Wayw^^ard had not seen the shadow resting on the flower, but had walked carelessly through the field ; otherwise his thoughts also might have gone back to the time when he played with Innocence, and he would perhaps have wept together with his companion. He had advanced some distance before he observed that Mirth had ceased to accompany him ; but as soon as he perceived it he was alarm- ed to find himself alone ; for, though he cared but little for the cross him- self, he had felt some sort of safety from being near to one who trod within 48 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. its shadow. He first looked anxiously around, and then in a hurried manner began to retrace his steps. I had no doubt that his intention was to rejoin his companion; but, short as was the distance back, in his haste he managed to lose the way, and got into a path that led him farther and farther from the field in which Mirth was kneehng. I could plainly hear his companion's voice calUng to him to return, and I saw that Wayward heard it also, for he continually paused and Ustened, as though he wished to ascertain the di- rection of the distant sound. And then the unhappy boy would shout loudly in reply, and turning to the right hand or the left, begin to hurry along some new track; but each time that he started SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 49 i J again, he made some fresh error in the way, and as I watched him I knew that it would be so, for his cross was not in his hand. In a little time he had got quite to a different part of the garden from that in which he had parted with Mirth. He saw there a pretty group of children, whom he was very anxious to join ; but they were frightened when they ob- serv^ed that he had no cross, and one of them cried out that his dirty hands would soil the whiteness of their gar- ments ; so they refused to let him take part in their play. He tried one or two other groups, but some hurried away as he approached, and others shrunk back from his touch, until at last he found a party of boys who had no crosses, and 50 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. whose clothes were more filthy than his own. These boys welcomed him gladly, and he began to leap and run with them. They all laughed loudly, and tried to be merry; but no shadow fell on the ground which they trod, and they soon grew weary of laughter itself. So their game terminated in a quarrel, and that brought on blows, which added fresh stains to the clothes of these un- happy children. Even Wayward grew shocked at the scene which he now witnessed, and, hastening away from his companions, again began to ramble through the garden alone. He now seemed to be wandering to and fro without any object, as a child that was blind ; but I saw that he plenteously gathered of the flowers, and SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 51 ate of the fruits that he found ; and as he did so his garments became more and more discoloured, and his coun- tenance pale and sickly, and his manner full of restlessness and languor, so that I was very greatly alarmed, for I could not but remember how the Voice had said that there was poison in the garden. I saw, too, that Wayward had become not only sickly but wretched also; he no longer could derive enjoyment from any thing he tasted or touched, but was suspicious of them all. Sometimes I thouirht he looked anxiously about him for the shadow of the cross ; and yet, whether it were from indolence, or from the force of habit, or from some fatal delusion, I cannot tell, but the cross itself he did not hold. D2 52 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. At length in his wanderings he came to a long high wall, on the Western side of which there was a tree loaded with nectarines, riper and more beauti- ful than any he had before seen. Now, at first he seemed as though he were going to turn away, for, though he held not his cross, he knew at once that the bright sun shining in the East could shed no image there ; and yet he lin- gered and looked wistfully at the truit ; and as he looked he perceived one ga- thering from the tree, whose garments were yet white, and whose cross was in her hand. I also looked at her that gathered the fruit, and I could read the name of " Selfdeceit" imprinted upon her brow ; and I saw there was something foul and horrible even in SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 53 the very whiteness of her garments, and that wan and ghastly were the images that fell from her cross. Now, I be- gan to wonder how those images were formed, and behold ! there gleamed in the air behind her a dark blue flame ; then I discovered that there were false meteor lights in the garden of the Sha- dow of the Cross : doubtless they were placed there by the enemy of the King, in order to tempt the children to taste the poisonous fruits ; but I shuddered exceedingly when I saw that the cross might thus be converted into an instru- ment of destruction : vet so unhke were the false images to those formed by the clear and brilliant sun in the East, that they could deceive none but the eye that had been long a stranger to the 54 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. real image, and the heart that was anxious to believe them true. Even Wayward, as he drew nigh, trembled, and felt there was something unnatural in the shadows that fell on the Western wall ; but when Selfdeceit offered him one of the ripest nectarines, and point- ed triumphantly to the pale outline that might be traced upon it, he was tempt- ed, and he took it and did eat. While he was eating, some of the juice oozed out from the fruit (for it was very ripe) and fell upon his clothes: it marked them with a stain which, thougli they were already much discoloured, was of a deeper crimson than any I had seen before. Wayward threw down the remainder of the nectarine, and was hastening away, but Selfdeceit called SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 55 4. to him to stop, and said that she could very easily remove the stain. So Way- ward stopped, and Selfdeceit took a sub- stance which seemed to me like chalk, and rubbed it over the spot on which the juice had fallen, and not that spot only, but over the whole of the gar- ments of her companion, until she had produced upon them the same foul and horrible whiteness that 1 had remarked upon her own. When it was done, I thought that Wayward tried to smile, as though he again were clean ; but the smile passed away in a sigh, for in his inmost heart he knew that the stains were hidden but not removed, and that the all-seeing eye of his Father could perceive them still. Yet he did not fly from Selfdeceit 56 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. as he ought to have done, but still continued in her company, eating the fruits on which the •false images fell, and allowing the treacherous chalk to be rubbed upon his clothes. The chil- dren did not walk very long together; but during that time ihe appearance of Wayward became so akered, that be- fore they parted I doubt whether Mirth could have recognised him again : the form emaciated by disease, the feverish and uncertain step, the hectic flush on his sallow cheek, and the wildness in his bloodshot eye, had left but little of the gay, though careless, child who had run so hi^htlv after the butterfly on the green. Yet, great as was the change in his appearance owing to the poison on which he hved, the change that had SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 57 taken place in his dress was greater still ; for his garments were more dis- guised by the strange whiteness caused by the chalk, than they could have be^i bv the darkest stain. He was, how- ever, fast becoming accustomed to its use, for it was astonishing how many accidents befell Wayward and Selfde- ceit as they moved along; — sometimes they slipped, and rolled into the mire ; sometimes they were tripped up, and fell on the swampy grass ; sometimes they stained themselves with fruit ; some- times noxious reptik^s would crawl over their clothes ; and sometimes foul spots, as in a leprosy, would suddenly break out upon them, without any cause which they could discern : and on each of these occasions, Selfdeceit would take 58 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. III! 'i ! out her chalk, and apply it to her com- pauion's garments and her own. In this wretched way they kept walk- ing side by side, until they came to the borders of a great wood, and there Selfdeceit bade her companion go first, saying that she would follow; but Wayward drew back, and refused to advance farther before he had first con- sulted his cross. I do not know why at that particular moment he should have paused ; it may be that it merely proceeded from his usual dislike to go first ; or it may be he was frightened by a deep and angry sound, even as the roaring of a Hon, which issued from the wood, and yet his ears had now grown so dull, that I cannot tell whether he heard it at all ; and I think it most SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 59 likely that he only delayed, because the scene brought back to his memory the hour in which he had stood with Mirth, at the entrance of the myrtle-grove, when the holy image had warned them both to turn aside. But be the cause what it may, he stood still, and drew his long-neglected cross from his bosom. It was, indeed, a scene that caused my heart to beat high with interest. Wayward was standing a little in ad- vance of Selfdeceit, and one step more would have brought him w^ithin the bor- ders of the wood ; and, as he raised his cross with a trembling hand, I could see a smile of mockery pass over the countenance of his companion. In a moment the meteor lights were flicker- ing in the air around them, and a crowd I 60 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. of confused and ghastly shadows fell at the feet of the bewildered boy. He had suffered his eyes to become so very dim, that it was in vain he now endeavoured to distinguish the true image from the false: but I observed that from that very uncertainty he hesitated whether to advance; and I believe at last he would have turned aside, had not Selt- deceit with her own hand lighted a torch behind him, which threw one long deep shadow in the direction of the forest. Then Wayward ventured to move forward; but scarce had he made the first step, when there was a laugh as of fiends in the air, and be- hold ! the earth opened beneath the feet of Selfdeceit, and she and lier aaming torch and her whited garments SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 61 ' were swallowed up, and 1 saw them no more. Together with th(^ light which had caused it, the long deep shadow also passed away, and Wayward once more looked round him in doubt ; he then saw the fate of his companion, and uttered a shrill and piercing cry, and, in his alarm dropping the cross out of his hand, he ran hastily from the 62 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. wood. But now, alas ! it was too late for tiight ; the lion, that had lain in wail tor him there, had already made his fatal spring : he seized on his prey, and pulled him down upon the ground, and in a moment was griping with his savage teeth, and tearing to pieces with his claws, the companion of Selfdeceit. CHAPTER IV. Refresh us, LoaD, to hold it fast ; And -wuen Thy veil is drawn at last, Let us depart where shadows cease, With words of blessing and of peace. r^.'.:^^^^^^ Vi^^-te i^ HAD already be- tjun to mourn for Wayward, as for one who was lost ; for, even had he been in health and vigour, his strength would have been but w^eakness against the ferocious animal that was devouring him now ; but sickly and yr'''S^*f^ Gi SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 65 powerless as he had been rendered by disease, save by his fearful shrieks he could offer no resistance at all. His cries for help were becoming fainter and fainter, when behold ! there came forth from the forest a fair and gentle girl ; her garments were almost of a spotless white, and yet methought she seemed as though she had been long in the garden, and the name of " Charity" was written on her brow. And I wondered at i\v^t how she could have wandered through that gloomy forest alone, and I was alarmed lest tlie Hon that was tearing Wayward might turn his fury upon her; but I soon found there was cause neither for wonder nor alarm, for her cross was in her hand. The sha- dow fell full on the forehead of the savage beast, and with a low sullen growl he forsook his prey, and crouched in servile fear before the little child. His eyes glared horribly as he turned back, and he kept moving his head to and fro, as though he fain would have shaken off the holy image ; but his struggles to resist its influence were all in vain, and step by step he was forced to shrink away, and hide himself in the darkness of the forest. Then did Cha- rity draw nigh to the faint and bleeding boy, and bandage his mangled hmbs, and stanch the blood that was gushing copiously from the wounds ; and, as she did so, the purple stream that flowed upon her garments of white, left no stain upon them, but only made them brighter than before. 66 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. Wayward had had a very narrow escape from destruction, and it was a long time before he so far came to him- self as to be able to stand up. I cannot tell what fearful dreams he may have had while he was lying prostrate on the ground ; but the moment that he arose, his first thought was of his cross : he felt for it in his bosom, but he found that it was not there ; and I shall not easily forget the look of anguish and despair that was on his face when he remembered he had let it fall. He threw himself down on the ground, and searched very anxiously for the treasure he had neglected so long ; but his head swam and his sight was dizzy, and he looked for it in vain. Nay, it had fallen so near the forest, and the grass was SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 67 SO long, and the bushes so numerous, that there was little hope of his recover- ing it again; and yet he now felt that, if he found it not, he himself was lost. He told Charity of his sad loss, and with tears and groans besought her ear- nestly to assist him in the search. So Charity raised her own cross on high, and the dark outline fell on a thick bush of furze close by the outskirts of the wood ; it was there that the cross of Wayward had fallen, and she bade the boy call earnestly on his gra- cious Father, and advance with a goQd courage, telling him that, though others might point out where it was, no hand but his own could take it up. Way- ward did advance, but it was with fear and trembling; he often raised his eyes E2 t 68 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. timidly towards the forest, as though he was afraid lest the lion might seize upon him again : when, too, he stood by the bush, and stretched out his hand, it was sad to see how the noxious insects stung him, and the thorns entered into the new-made wounds ; twice in anguish did he draw it back ; the second time that he did so, a low growl was heard issuing from the wood, and then in haste he thrust his hand down again, regard- less of the pain, and seizing on his lost treasure hurried back to the side of Charity. Now I rejoiced greatly that Way- ward had recovered his cross ; I was glad, too, that the chalk with which Selfdeceit had bedaubed his clothes was gone, for the red streams of blood SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 69 had washed it away. Yet still was I very sorrowful when I saw how fear- fully they were now defiled ; it seemed that whole rivers of tears would be un- able to restore to them any portion of their original whiteness, and I could not but doubt whether poor Wayward might hereafter be recognised as the King's child. The same thoughts, too, were weighing him down, for he groan- ed deeply and was very sorrowful ; and then I heard Charity speaking to him of the tender mercies of their King and Father, and telling him that, if only he was able to hold steadfastly for the time to come by the cross, and walk care- fully in its shadow, he need in no wise despair, for, though his own tears could not cleanse his garments, there was One * i I ^ 70 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. who mifjht wash them for him with the water of hfe, so that, though they were now as scarlet, they would become as white as snow, though they were red like crimson, they should be as wooL When he heard this. Wayward look- ed down upon his cross, but there still was very much of sadness in his gaze ; he felt in truth that his hand was too feeble to hold it steadfastly for the time to come, and his eye too dim to discern its shadow. But Charitv again addressed him with words of comfort ; she reminded him that they were not alone in the garden, and that there were means by which, if only he would be diligent in employing them, his strength and his sight would gradu- ally be renewed J the same kind Father, SHADOW OP THE CROSS. 71 she said, **who has given you the will and the power to recover your cross, can render it once more the guardian of your steps." Then did he take comfort, and while he feebly raised his cross, methought that he earnestly besought his Father to restore to him a portion of his former strength. For some little while Charity walked by his side, and gently holding him by the hand, guided him safely through the snares and stumbling-blocks which beset them on their way. But before long the warning shadows bade them proceed along different paths, that of Charity leading her through a smooth verdant meadow, that of Wayward fall- ing on a rough uneven ground, close ! I 72 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. to the border of the wood. So, with many a parting warning, and ever, as she went, holding on high the sacred sign, Charity bade adieu to Wayward, A'.HUr.A'* and I cannot tell that she ever beheld him again. For a moment I watched her hght graceful form as she passed through the pleasant fields : it was, indeed, a lovely sight; the long grass I: ' SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 73 and the flowerr? appeared to bend as she approached, lest they might stain the hem of lier white garments ; the little lambs would come to hck tlie hand which held the cross, and tlie birds sung more tunefully as its sha- dow fell upon them. But I turned from this pleasing pic- ture, for I was anxious to know what would become of Wayward now he was once more alone ; he too had been watching the retreating form of Charity, and the tear rose in his eye as he felt it was not for him to accompany her along the ways of pleasantness and peace. He began his sohtary journey, and I could see that he was strug- gling hard to hold firmly by the cross, and was inwardlv resolvinir to follow 74 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. i! the advice of Charity. But, alas ! that which might have been sweet and easy once had become a task of much la- bour and difficulty now ; for thougli his Father did not suffer his strength or sight altogether to fail, he was allowed continually to feel the ill effects of his former wanderings. His arm grew faint and weary when he lifted it on high; and his cross itself would at one time glow with a burning heat, and raise bUsters on his hand ; and at another, would become cold as a mass of ice, until his numbed fingers could scarce retain it in their grasp. Its shadow, loo, no longer fell on fruits or on flow- ers, nor on any thing desirable to the eye, but on husks and withered leaves, and all the refuse of the earth. I saw, ii r SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 75 also, that he staggered to and fro as he walked along, and that, from his very anxiety to place his footsteps right, he often stumbled and well nigh fell, and, by the continued difficulties of the path, he was brought into so great trouble and misery, that he went mourning all the day long. How strange must he now have thought it, that there had been a time when he fancied that he could walk safely without the aid of his cross ! and how often must he have wished that it would again afford him that clear and distinct shadow, which it was wont to shed when first he entered the garden ! For even this comfort was denied him now. The meteor lights which he had allowed to accompany him in his wanderings with 76 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. Sclfcleceit still continued to hover around him, and kept throwing their deceitful' shadows on secret poisons and hidden snares : many a time did he pause long and anxiously, before he could distin- guish between the true image and the false, and often had he reason to re- joice that the real shadow was dark' and gloomy, because he could the more easily discern it. He knew also that he had good reason to be alarmed, for the roar of the lion that had torn him once was ever sounding in his ears ; and each time that he hesitated, he fan- cied he could perceive his fierce eyes glaring upon hmi from the wood : it seemed as though the beast, having once marked him for his own, was watching every step that he took, and ready in a SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 77 moment to pounce upon his prey. At length the shadow fell upon a pathway leading directly into the wood ; Way- ward gazed doubtfully upon it a little while, but, when he saw that it was the true image, with slow and trembling steps he continued to follow it. I soon lost sight of him among the trees, so that I cannot tell what may have be- fallen him there ; but I have a good hope that he walked in safety through all its dangers, for, though his garments were stained with blood, and his hmbs were faint, and his eyes dim, and though the beasts of the forests were howling around him, his cross was in his hand. Still I was not sorry that I could no longer watch him, for it had become very painful to me to trace his steps ; i f 78 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 1 not only was there trouble in each path that he trod, but there was even much to render me sad in the gloomy shadows that fell from his cross; so I suffered my eye to wander towards the more lovely parts of the garden, in hopes .that once again it might rest upon Mirth. I soon discovered him not far from the field in which Wayward had left him ; he had altered very little since then, except that the cheerfulness of his coun- tenance and the buoyancy of his step had returned. He was holding his cross towards the sun, and his face beamed bright with gratitude as be traced its outline on the flowers strewed in his path. The shadows were not, indeed, so light and lovely as those which had fallen from the cross of Innocence, yet SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 79 Still they were very beautiful, — more beautiful than the fairest flowers on which they fell. The garments of Mirth had almost recovered their white- ness, yet they, too, were not so bright and shining as those of Innocence had been ; nay, I fancied I could yet trace upon them the dim outline of each for- mer stain, not only the deeper marks thai had been caused by his careless chase with Wayward, but even the first little spot that the falling rose leaf had lefl:. The marks were so very faint, tliat while the shadow of the cross rest- ed upon them they could not be dis- cerned ; but, when they were exposed to the clear and brilliant light of the sun, I could see that they still were there. *' Surely, then," I said within myself, i ^ I mm 80 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 81 " the children whose garments are yet unsullied, would run less heedlessly, if they knew that their early stains would continue with them so long !" Mirth was happy now, but he would have been far happier if he had never left the shadow of his cross ; for there was often a momentary expression of sadness on his face, when some gay butterfly with its golden wings fluttered across his path, and brought to his remembrance his for- mer wanderings. Yet were his garments so white, that it was easy to recognise him for the King's child ; and I knew that his kind Father would cleanse them at last from every spot, and I almost longed for the time when the white dove might settle on his cross, and Mirth should be called away from the garden. Then did my thoughts wander to the land to which Innocence was gone, and I said in my heart, how glorious must that land be in which this same bright sun is shining, while all the childr^ are clad in raiment of a dazzling white- ness ! Tt must be that the cross, which is their safeguard here, will there be their delight ; they will love for ever to watch the holy shadows ; and yet will they then require them no more, for in that better land there will be neither danger in the fields, nor poison in the flowers. • And the still soft Voice replied: "In that better land there will be neither fields nor flowers such as you now be- hold, for the grass withereth, and the flower fadeth, but there will be nothing I 82 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. t there that can either wither or fade. In that better land the cross will indeed be the delight of the children, and the bright sun will be reflected on their gar- ments of dazzling whiteness ; but, when raised on high, the cross will cast no shadow there ; it will itself shine with exceeding lustre, the rays of immortahty will be shed from it, and all things will be filled with light and gladness by its pure and living fire." Now, while I wondered at this, and tried to picture to myself a land lovely without fields or flowers, and in which the cross might be raised towards the sun and yet no shadow be discerned, behold ! the vision of the fair garden passed away, and I saw no more. ^txts from ^olg Strip tu«. The following and similar passages of Scripture may be impressed on the minds of children, by point- ing out their connexion with the different parfj of the ALIiEGOBY " The sun of righteousness (shall) arise with healing in his wings."* *' The darkness is past, and the true light now shineth.'"^ " That was the true light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world." ^ ** Ye are all the children of light, F8 ., SHADOW OF THE CROSS. and the children of the day ; we are not of the night, nor of darkness." * " That ye should show forth the praises of him, who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light."* " Except a man be born of water, and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God."* " The like figure whereunto even baptism doth also now save us (not the putting away of the filth of the flesh, but the answer of a good con- science towards God) by the resurrec- tion of Jesus Christ."^ " God is faithful, who will not sutler you to be tempted above that ye are able ; but will, with the temptation, also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it."^ SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 85 " The Lord is their strength, and he is the saving strength of his anointed."* " My grace is sufficient for thee : for my strength is made perfect in weakness." '" *' When that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away." " *« I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were."^* ** For they that say such things, de- clare plainly that they seek a country." '^ ** But now they desire a better coun- try, that is, an heavenly: wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God : for he hath prepared for them a city."'* " Come, ye blessed of my Father, in- herit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world."'' «* The children of the kingdom shall be 86 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 87 cast out into outer darkness ; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth." '^ " Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own un- derstanding. In all thy ways acknow- ledge him, and he shall direct thy paths." " " Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." ^^ *' Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil : for thou art with me ; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."'* " I heard a voice from heaven, say- ing unto me, ' Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord, from henceforth.' "20 " But I would not have you to bo ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not even as others which have no hope."^* "It is better to go to the house of mourning, than tq go to the house of feasting, for that is the end of all men, and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better."'^* " Whom the Lord loveth he chasten- eth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth." '^ ** Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not into the way of evil men."'^* " There is a way that seemeth right r 88 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death." ^ "As for me, my feet were almost gone, my steps had well nigh sUpped ; for I was envious at the foohsh, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked."* " The way of the wicked is as dark- ness ; they know not at what they stum- ble."^ " Before 1 was afflicted, 1 went astray, but now have I kept thy word."=* «*Let thine eyes look right on, and let thine eyeUds look straight before thee. Ponder the path of thy feet, and let all thy ways be established. Turn not to the right hand, nor to the left : remove thy foot from evil."^ " Now I rejoice not that ye were made sorry, but that ye sorrowed to re- SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 89 pentance : for ye were made sorry after a godly manner, that ye might receive damage by us in nothing. For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation, not to be repented of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death." ^ " Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."^' I " A DOUBLE-MINDED man is unstable in all his ways."^^ So they did eat and were well filled ; for he gave them their own desire ; they were not estranged from their lust. But while their meat was yet in their mouths, the wrath of God came upon them."^ 90 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. " Take heed, brethren, lest there be in any of you an evil heart of unbelief in departing from the living God. Bui exhort one another daily while it is call- ed to-day, lest any of you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin."^ *' In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them."^^ " For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ. And no marvel, for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light."* " Hypocrites ! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 91 of dead men's bones, and of all un- cleanness. Even so, ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within, ve are full of hypocrisy and iniquity." ^^ ** The way of peace they know not, and there is no judgment in their goings : they have made them crooked paths ; whosoever goeth therein, shall not know peace." ^^ ** Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil ; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness ; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter."^ '* For many walk of whom I have told you often, and now tell you even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ, whose end is de- struction." " *' When your fear cometh as desolation. 92 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. and your destruction cometh as a whirl- wind, when distress and anguish cometh upon you, then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer: they shall seek me early, but they shall not find me." " " Then shall two be in the field ; the one shall be taken, and the other left."^^ " To the Lord our God belong mer- cies and forgivenesses, though we have rebelled against him ; neither have we obeyed the voice of the Lord our God, to walk in his laws which he set before us."^^ !li " Brethren, if any of you do err from the truth, and one convert him, let him know that he which converteth SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 93 the sinner from the error of his way shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins."^** " Woe unto us that we have sinned ! for this our heart is faint ; for these things our eyes are dim."^^ " If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me. For what is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul ? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?"" " They that turn many to righteous- ness, (shall shine) as the stars for ever and ever."^^ ** There is no soundness in my flesh because of thine anger ; neither is there any rest in my bones because of my sin. 94 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 95 For mine iniquities are gone over mine head as an heavy burden, they are too heavy for me ; my wounds stink and are corrupt, because of my foolishness. I am troubled, I am bowed down great- ly > 1 g<^ mourning all the day long."*^ *' Wash me throughly from mine ini- quity, and cleanse me from my sin ; for I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me."** ** The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit ; a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.®" " For the Lord will not cast off for ever : but though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies."" "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace.' iV* " If thou, O Lord, shouldst mark ini- quities, O Lord, who shall stand ? but there is forgiveness with thee, that thou mayest be feared."®^ ** And he carried me away in the spirit, to a great and high mountain, and shewed me that great city, the ho- ly Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God, having the glory of God : and her Hght was like unto a stone most precious, even like unto a jasper stone clear as crystal."®* ** And I heard a great voice out of lieaven, saying. Behold the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes ; and I 96 SHADOW OF THE CROSS. there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain, for the former things are passed away."^' I Mai. iv. 2. 19 Psalm xxiil. 4. 38 Tsa. lix. 8. 2 1 John ii. 8. SO Rev. xiv. 13. 39 Isa. V. 20. 3 John i. 9. 21 1 Thess. iv. 13. 40 Phil. iii. 18, 19. 4 1 Thess. V. 6. 3^ Eccl. vii. 2, 3. 41 Prov. i. 27, 28. 5 1 Pet. ii. 9. 23 Heb. xii. 6. 42 Matt. xxiv. 40. 8 John iii. 6. ■n Prov. iv. 14. 43 Dan. ix. 9, 10. 7 1 Peter iii. 21. 25 Prov. xvi. 25. 44 James v. 19, 20. 8 1 Cor. X. 13. 26 Psalm Ixxiii. 2, 3. 4> Lam. V. 16, 17. 9 Psalm xxviii. S. Zl Prov. V. 19. 46 Matt. xvi. 24, 26. 10 2 Cor. xii. 9. 38 Psalm cxix. 67. 47 Dan. xii. 3. 11 1 Cor. xiii. 10. 29 Prov. iv. 25, 26, 27. 43 Ps. xxxviii. 3, 4, h, ( li Psalm xxxix. 12. 30 2 Cor. vii. 9, 10. 49 Psalm Ii. 2, 3. 13 Heb. xi. 14. 31 Matt. V. 4. 50 Psalm Ii. 17. n Heb. xi. 16. 32 James i. 8. 51 Lam. iii. 31, 32- 15 Matt XXV. 34. 23 Ps. Lxxviii. 29, 31. 52 Psalm xxxvii. 37. 16 Matt. viii. 12. 34 Heb. iu. 12, 13. 53 Ps. cxxx. 3, 4. n Prov. iii. 5, 6. 33 2 Cor. iv. 4. 54 Rev. xxi. 10, 11. 13 Prov. iii. 17. 36 87 2 Cor. xi. 13, 14. Matt. xxiu. 27, 2a 55 Rev. xxi. 3, 4. THE END I .^ Paox U. ^t Elistant J^UU. CHAPTER I. Abide with, me from morn till eve, For without Thee I cannot live: Ahide with me when night is nigh. For without Thee I dare not die. I T was a drea- ry night, and the wind moan- ed among the trees of a vast and gloomy fo- rest ; dark win- try clouds were JIB. m ii »',» iii L i «i ) jiiiii iii i ■ 8 THE DISTANT HILLS. flitting across the sky ; the moon and the stars gleamed forth at intervals, but their partial light was intercepted by the thick branches of the wood. Two poor orphans had been benighted there, and could find no track to lead them through its gloom. They felt that it was in vain for them to wander to and fro without some friendly hand to guide their steps ; yet they were afraid to call out for assistance, lest the wild beasts that howled around might be attracted by their cries ; and at length, cold, faint, and weary, they sank down side by side on the damp earth, and gave themselves over for lost. Now, while they were in this miser- able condition, they were startled by hearing the footstep of one who trod THE DISTANT HILLS. 9 softly among the leaves of the forest; the roar of the lion, the hissing of the serpent, and all other evil sounds, were hushed as it drew near ; and presently the silence was broken by a gentle voice, which asked the children whether they would be glad to leave that danger- ous wood, and to be taken to a bright, cheerful, and happy home. The poor orphans scarcely understood the mean- ing of the words ; they made an effort to arise ; but their limbs were too feeble to support them ; they tried to speak, but their voices also failed ; so they could only look up to the stranger with tearful eyes, as though they fain would have besought him to have pity upon them, and carry them away from that terrible place. 10 THE DISTANT HILLS. Then the stranger took the little girls in his arms, and with a quick, unerring step, walked straight on, until he had brought them to a river at the boundary of the forest. Here he paused for a moment, and bathed the children in the refreshing water. He then crossed over to a gentle eminence beyond, and suf- fered them to rest on the soft grass. Now, such was the virtue of that river in which the two sisters had been bathed, that it not only had washed away from their garments the stains that had clung to them in the wood, but it had also re- moved the stiffness and weariness of their limbs, and given them, as it were, new life. The night, too, had passed away, and a fresh morning now dawned upon them ; and as the early sun shone THE DISTANT HILLS. 11 brightly, they felt cheerful and happy, and began, with grateful hearts, to thank the kind stranger for their deliverance. He looked down, and putting one hand on the head of each, smiled graciously upon them, and told them that they were now among the number of his Father's adopted children, and that their names were Rhoda and Minna ; he promised also that if they would be content to love and obey him, he had yet greater kindness in store for them than that which they had received. While the children wondered at these words, he raised his finger, and, pointing to the east, asked them what they saw. Rhoda and Minna looked up and gazed in silence, for they were unable to de- scribe the grandeur of the scene. It 12 THE DISTANT HILLS. seemed as though there were a vast ocean of hills and mountains, rising majestically one above the other ; the sides of them were covered with the brightest flowers and greenest verdure, but the top of them they were unable to see, for a bright and fleecy cloud was resting upon it. And the stranger said, ** Among those glorious mountains my Father has his dwelHng-place, and you, from this hour, must learn to look upon them as your home. Thousands and thousands of happy children are living there ; they already regard you as members of the same family as themselves, and at this moment, in their morning song, are rejoicing at your deliverance from the dangers of the forest. Listen, and you # t THE DISTANT HILLS. 13 will hear their voices." Then there arose a soft and gentle breeze ; it was fragrant with the flowers that grew upon the mountains, and strains of heavenly music came floating upon it. Rhoda and Minna listened in rap- ture to the sound, and they wondered whether their kind deliverer would bear them at once to those distant hills, and allow them to unite their voices in the song of joy. But he answered their thoughts, and said, " Not yet, my chil- dren ; I cannot yet suflfer you to dwell with the rest of my family in their happy home ; you must be content for a little while to think of it, to watch it, to wish for it, and to love it. For one day and one night I shall leave you on the spot where you now are. Here you 14 THE DISTANT HILLS. ^ will have a period of light, and a period of darkness ; during the former you must be watchful, during the latter you must rest ; but the length of each of them is uncertain. I shall not tell you how many the hours of hght, and how many those of darkness will be. It may be that you will be allowed the gradual suc- cession of morning, noon, and evening ; and will experience also the changes of sunshine and of storm ; for it may be that the sun which now shines upon you will sink in a moment, while yet it seems to be in the east, and the night will suddenly arrive. But whatever be the length of the day, the service that I require of you is the same : you are to keep raising your eyes to those beautiful hills in the distance ; to take delight ]D THE DISTANT HILLS. 15 in the mountain breeze, and to listen with joy and thankfulness*^ to the soft strains -of music that you hear. So will your hearts and voices be in har- mony with the rest of my Father's chil- dren, when the hour comes at which I shall return to take you to the land where they dwell. I do not, indeed, forbid you to enjoy the beauties of the spot on which you will be left ; you may employ yourselves in cultivating the ground, and endeavour, as far as you are able, to increase its loveliness ; you may also, if you wish it, play toge- ther upon the grass, and gather freely of the flowers that are around you ; but do not suffer vour affections to be fixed upon them, or regard them as your own : they cannot afford yoa lasting pleasure ; 16 THE DISTANT HILLS. for they will soon themselves wither and die : the garden in which they grow is only for a little while your • resting- place, the distant hills are your home. Of all the objects that you now see, those hills alorie- are eternal, and will never disappoint your love ; if any trouble or affliction befal you, it is to them that you must lift up your eyes, for upon them are herbs that can as- suage every care and sorrow, and trees and flowers that never fade. This, then, is the easy service that I require of you during the present day. Do not forget that at any moment it may close, and that, sooner or later, a long night will succeed it. You will then feel your eyes grow heavy, and a deep sleep, that you cannot resist, will fall upon you ; THE DISTANT HILLS. 17 but if you have remained within view of the eastern mountains, you may lie down to rest without fear, for no evil shaU befal you during the long hours of the night. On the morrow the shrill blast of a trumpet will arouse you from your repose, and I will then return with the children to whose voices you have been listening, and carry you away to the beautiful hills. There you will live with me for ever ; for to that happy land there is no morning, noon, or even- ing, but the joy and unchanging bright- ness of an everlasting day." The stranger paused a little while, that the hearts of the sisters might in- dulge in those glad and grateful feelings which his promise had called forth ; he then directed their attention to a long B 18 THE DISTANT HILLS. ruinous wall, situated between the emi- nence on which they stood and the beautiful mountains in the east, and with sadder accents again addressed them. " Whatever, my children, be the events of the day, let neither sun- shine nor storm tempt you to take shel- ter beneath that ruined building. At present you can hardly discern its out- line, but when the sun shall have risen higher in the heavens it will become clearer, and you will see much that is hidden from you now. I warn you, therefore, beforehand, that the flowers that grow there are poisonous, the huge stones ready at any instant to fall, and that everything about it is full of dan- ger ; and, above all, remember that though from this point it appear low THE DISTANT HILLS. 19 K" and insignificant, when compared with the height immeasurable of the distant hills, yet, if you stand close under it, they will be shut out altogether from your view. Do not imagine that when you once lose sight of them you can come back as soon as you wish it, and raise your eyes to them again ; diffi- culties that you know not of will meet you on your way ; nay, it may be that the day will close so suddenly that you will have no opportunity to return ; and, should it be otherwise, there are strange sights and sounds in the neighbourhood of the wall, which will soon blot out the remembrance of all you now love to see and hear. You will gradually forget the distant hills, and the sweet notes of music that proceed from them ; BS so THE DISTANT HILLS for there will be nothing to recall them to your minds. If, when your eyes grow heavy, be it sooner or later, you are still found lingering under the wall, sad indeed will be your fate ; for, how- ever long the night may be, you will then be unable to leave the spot where sleep shall first steal upon you ; and to-morrow, when the trumpet sounds, the whole of that building will fall with violence to the ground, and those who lie under it, will be crushed beneath its ruins. Do not, then, my dear chil- dren, allow for one instant the frail and perishable wall to intercept your pros- pect of the distant and eternal hills." After this grave warning, the kind stranger gave to each child a flute, telling them that his Father loved to THE DISTANT HILLS. 21 hear the voices of all his children, and that they must endeavour to take part in the music of the happy family that dwelt around his throne. He bade them also, if at any time they. had carelessly wandered from the spot where he placed them, to think of him, and with sorrowful hearts to play upon these flutes, that so they might be brought back to it again ; for that though they were afar off", and their voices very faint and feeble, still each note would find its echo among the mountains, and that he himself would never fail to send an answer to their song. Now as Rhoda and Minna raised their eyes to thank him for his gift and promise, they found they were alone. He had already left them, and was gone to the distant hills. 22 THE DISTANT HILLS. The sisters stood for a little while, holding each other by the hand, and meditated in silence on the words they had heard. They had thought first of all that it would be a very pleasant and easy task to watch continually the glorious view that opened upon them from the east, and to hope for their kind benefactor's return ; and yet now they could not help trembling with an instinctive alarm at the warning he had given them about the dangerous wall. It seemed so very sad a fate, if on the morrow, when he came back to take them with him to their promised home, they should be found crushed to pieces by the ruin. Rhoda was the first to endeavour to set this feeling aside. <* Look, sister," THE DISTANT HILLS. 23 she said, "at that dark mouldering pile of bricks and stones ; surely there is little there to tempt us from the green grass and pleasant flowers of the spot on which we are. Nay, had it not been pointed out to us, we should scarcely have observed it at all." But Minna raised her eyes very timidly, and replied, " Some danger there must be, or our kind protector would not have cautioned us against it. Remem- ber that this is but the first beginning of our day ; and he warned us, that while the sun was in the east, we should not be able to see clearly the things that grew upon the wall. Doubt- less, under a clearer light, or if haply we approach nearer, it will seem brighter and more attractive than it does now. 34 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 26 Let us, then, my dear sister, resolve to look at it no more, but at once to fix our gaze upon the distant hills." As she thus spoke, she breathed lightly upon her flute, and a soft note of music proceeded from it : in an instant, the cloud that rested upon the mountains was stirred by a gentle breeze, and a strain of far sweeter melody was wafted back to the chil- dren. Then Rhoda also breathed upon her flute, and played it in harmony with that of Minna ; and when the distant music was again heard in reply, both the sisters found pleasure in the thought, that they formed part of the same choir with the children who dwelt upon the hills, and that the kind stranger, according to his promise, was hstening to their song. For the few first hours of their day of trial the two sisters lived happily together on the spot where they had been left : they had, indeed, but little temptation to wander from it : all was new to them ; everything near seemed bright and cheerful, and they gladly availed themselves of the permission they had received to enjoy their beau- ties. They did not begin by cultivating the ground, but gathered plenteously of the flowers that already grew there ; many of the most beautiful withered at their touch, and there were thorns con- cealed in others, which tore their hands ; but so light and joyous were the hearts of the children, that each little pain and disappointment was no sooner felt than it was forgotten. Sometimes they would 2(J THE DISTANT HILI.S. weave sweet garlands, and playfully en- twine them in their hair ; sometimes, in the buoyancy-of their spirits, they would chase one another along the green turf; THE DISTANT HILLS. 27 L0Si.VO. and, when they were weary, they would sit side by side under a myrtle, and listen to the warbling of the birds that fluttered among the branches. During these periods, Minna would often contrast the sad and gloomy forest with the pleasant spot on which she was now permitted to dwx41 ; and, whije she meditated with gratitude on the stranger's kind promises, she would wonder how many hours might elapse before he came back for her again. Then she would softly whisper her thoughts to Rhoda, and remind her that their day might be short, and that they must practise continually on their flutes, in order that, on the morrow, their ears and voices might be in har- mony with those of the happy family who already dwelt upon the distant hills. Rhoda never refused to accom^ pany her sister ; but she seemed to raise her eyes more languidly towards the east, and to listen less gladly than i i 28 THE DISTANT HILLS. Minna to the answering melody that came from thence; nay, there were times at which it appeared doubtful whether she heard it at all : her atten- * tion was drawn away by the rustling of the leaves, and the chirping of the birds ; and the reason of this must have been, that even while her flute was at her lips, her heart was not meditating on the kind stranger's return. There was, in truth, at this time, a very great difference between the two sisters, though their pleasures and oc- cupations seemed to be the same. The mind of Minna was evidently fixed on her future home ; she could not, indeed, pass her whole time in playing upon her flute, but she felt that the minutes given to amusement were in some sort THE DISTANT HILLS. 29 dangerous, and was very careful lest her affections might be carried away by the pleasures which she was allowed to enjoy. Thus, she would often stop in the midst of her play, and raise her eyes, to be quite sure she was still in sight of the distant hills ; when the flowers were sweetest, she would hold them up on high, and try to increase their fragrance by the perfumes wafted from the mountain breeze ; and when the birds were singing most merrily around her, she would breathe gently on her flute, lest her ear might be too long captivated with the gladness of their song. But it was not thus with Rhoda : during the time passed in amusement the distant hills were for- gotten ; and she would probably, in 30 THE DISTANT HILLS. her eagerness, have more than once lost sight of them altogether, if Minna had not warned her of her danger. Her eyes, too, were continually wan- dering towards the forbidden wall ; its outline was gradually becoming less and less indistinct ; and, if truth be told, it no longer appeared to her so destitute of attraction as in the first instance she had declared it to be. Meanwhile the hours glided by ; there was no sudden change ; but the sun continued quietly on its course till the fresh breeze of the morning had given way to a bright and burning heat. The children knew not why, but they felt that they themselves were affected by the progress of the day. Their former joy and excitement were succeeded by THE DISTANT HILLS. 31 feelings of restlessness and disappoint- ment. The spot on which they stood seemed to them to have lost much of its cheerfulness and beauty, and they could no longer take delight in the same simple pleasures as before. Hitherto they had gone on in happy thoughtless- ness, twining garland after garland ; but they now observed that the fairest and sweetest flowers were always the first to fade, and so they gathered them no more. Their former games had lost their interest, nay, the air itself was too hot and oppressive to suffer them to play. Their very listlessness prevented either sister from having recourse to her flute, the music of which would at once have soothed her mind ; and they were far too dispirited to seek employment Z2 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 33 I'll in the cultivation of their garden : they sat idly together under their favourite tree, while each gave way to her own sad and discontented thoughts. Minna looked from time to time, not on the hills themselves, but on the cloud that rested upon them : there it remain- ed, quiet and beautiful as before. The prospect towards the east had in no respect altered since it had first excited the admiration of the children. But Minna now gazed with a longing desire to behold something more ; she was half disposed to murmur that the glories of the summit of the mountain should still be concealed from her view ; and as she watched the cloud with this feeUng, it seemed to fall lower, and to grow darker than before. Rhoda, with yet more unquiet thoughts, was looking wistfully at the wall. Unlike the distant hiUs, it had greatly changed in appearance since the morning ; for the whole outline had been now rendered clear and distinct by the glare of the noon-day sun. It was a long irregular pile of building, very far from being altogether destitute of beauty ; and though parts of it had been much impaired by time, few who looked at it from a distance, would have discovered the dangerous state in which it wajs. Here and there were broken towers, and buttresses, but the ruined parts of them were concealed by the dark leaf of the ivy, the mouldering stones were covered with soft and deli- cate mosses, while, from the chinks m THE DISTANT HILLS. and crevices of the wall itself, grew a variety of red and yellow flowers, which dazzled the eye by the gaudiness of their colours. All this attracted the admira- tion of Rhoda, and while she thus gazed, she forgot that the whole building was a ruin, which could stand only a single day, and that on the morrow, those who were found near it would be crushed by its fall. She had indeed no imme- diate intention of approaching it, but her affections were already there, and some momentary impulse alone was re- quired to cause her to follow them. While her mind was in this state, a bright green lizard darted suddenly from a chink in the wall, and ran along its surface ; for an instant it glittered in the sun, and then lay half-concealed I J THE DISTANT HILLS. 35 ■beneath the leaves of the ivy. Rhoda sprang up, and seizing Minna by the hand, exclaimed, — ** Look, sister, look at that bright glittering creature ! Nay, but it is hiding itself from us now ; let us go a little nearer." As she said this she began to draw her sister down the hill. Minna had been too occupied by her own thoughts to observe Rhoda ; she was now taken by surprise, and allowed herself to be hurried a little way towards the wall. She had not, indeed, seen the lizard, but she was anxious for something new, and her curiosity was excited by the admira- tion of Rhoda. Before, however, she had advanced many steps, she raised • her eyes, as in walking she was wont to do, towards the distant hills. Great C2 36 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTAXT HILLS. 37 was her alarm when she found that the cloud on their summit was all that was now visible ; the sides of the mountains were already hidden from her, by her approach to the wall. " Stay, sister, stay," she said, " indeed we must go no farther, we cannot do so without losing sight of our happy home." Now, Rhoda was one step in advance of her sister, and as she raised her eyes, she found that not even the cloud itself was visible from the point on which she stood ; yet this only seemed to increase her eagerness to get close to the walL" '* A few steps farther," she urged, ** will bring us to the very spot, at which the lizard is concealed ; we need only look at it for a single instant, and then we can return." But Minna reph'ed, ** Sup- posing in that single instant our day were to close, and the hour of darkness to arrive, how very terrible it would be to have to pass the long night under the wall, and on the morrow to be buried beneath its ruins." Still Rhoda was not satisfied. " Sis- ter," she said, "from the spot where the stranger left us we have watched the sun rise gradually from the east ; It has not yet reached the centre of the heavens ; no mist or vapour is; near It, and we can see nothing to impede its course; surely then it is most un- likely that its light should altogether disappear during the little while we are away." « But why," answered Minna, "why should we needlessly incur so great a risk? To do so, were to ne- 3S THE DISTANT HILLS. gleet the warning the kind stranger has given us, of the uncertainty of our day : and even if many hours of light do re- main, remember what he told us of thr difficulties of a return. We do not, in- deed, know what they are ; but in part I can already understand them. Look behind us, and you will see that it will be no easy task to climb up that portion of the hill down which we have so thoughtlessly come. Every moment it appears to grow more steep and slippery than it was ; besides, there i5 something oppressive in the air we now breathe, that will unfit us for the effort ; even my flute seems to feel its dead- ening influence ; listen, how faint and languid is its sound." As she thus spoke, she raised the in- THE DISTANT HILLS. 39 strument to her lips, and a few plaintive notes proceeded from it ; they were in truth very feeble, but they found their echo among the eastern moun- tains. Rhoda heard it, and her heart was moved. The heavenly music had more effect upon her than even the affectionate entreaties of her sister ; the tears rose so quickly in her eyes, that she no longer saw the dangerous wall ; the temptation for the time passed away, and turning round, she, together with Minna, struggled resolutely up the steep ascent until they came to the spot at which in the mornmg they had been left. The sisters stood for a moment breathless with the haste they had made, but the mountain breeze soon !; I'^i 40 THE DISTANT HILLS. refreshed them, and then they raised their eyes, and gazed fondly on the lovely prospect that was again open to their view. They did not forget to play upon their flutes a song of thanks- giving ; and as the grateful strains were echoed among the distant hills, the cloud that rested upon them grew brighter and brighter, and there was a strain of gladness in the answering melody, as though the happy family that dwelt there were rejoicing at their return. CHAPTER II. 6i.si.ers in blood and liurlure too Aliens in heart ■will often prove ; One lose, the other keep Heaven's clue ; One dwell in wrath, and one in love T was only for '^^ a little while that the two sisters shared the same feel- ings of thank- fulness and J03": no sooner had the first excitement passed away, than Rhoda grew weary of watching the distant hills, and suffered her e3'es to 49 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 43 wander back in the direction of the wall. Her having once approached it, only increased the temptation to return ; for there were many other objects be- sides the bright lizard which she had now half seen, but which she was un- able to distinguish from the spot where the stranger had left her. The more she pictured them to herself, the more beautiful she fancied they must be ; and she half regretted that she had not gone on to examine them when she was already so far on her way. She said within herself, *' Oh, that I had satisfied my curiosity once for all, and then I could have left the building without a wish to return to it again !" These thoughts would, doubtless, of themselves have gradually led her on to fresh wan- derings, and they proved but an ill preparation for the trial that was near at hand. Hitherto the children had enjoyed so uninterrupted a sunshine, that they had almost forgotten to be thankful for so great a blessing : they looked upon it as their own, and it did not occur to them that in a few minutes it might pass away. But towards the after- noon a great change took place in the appearance of the day. A cold wind arose from the east, and there were dark watery clouds sweeping across the sky. Minna was the first to observe them. *.* Look, sister," she said, " how gloomy and threatening all around us has become ; every instant the dark- ness seems to increase. I remember 44 THE DISTANT MILLS. i the kind stranger warned us that) as the day advanced, the sunshine might be followed bv a storm. Let us then prepare ourselves to endure it. Already I can feel the first h(»avy drops of rnin, the sign of its approach." She had scarcely finished speaking when a vivid flash of lightning shot through the air. It was followed by a loud and angry peal of thunder ; and then the tempest began in all its fury. The rain poured down in torrents ; at the same time tlie wind increased, and the spot on which the children stood seemed more than any other exposed to its violence. Some trees were torn up by the roots, while large branches from others were broken off and carried away by tlie storm. THE DISTANT HILLS. 45 The two sisters stood for a moment in silent terror, and then Minna looked timidly aroun.d for a place of shelter ; but Rhoda exclaimed, " The rain is slanting from the east, we shall escape it under the shadow of the wall ; follow me and vou will be safe." Without waiting for a reply she rushed hastily down the hill and took refuge under the ruin. Minna's first impulse was to follow her ; but in an instant she recollected the danger, and called out earnestly and loudly on her sister to return. Rhoda did not hear her, for the voice was lost in the noise of the wind. Minna then began to play u])on her flute ; but though each gentle note, even in the midst of the tempest, was echoed back from the distant hills, still (I I 46 THE DISTANT HILLS. the sound did not reach Rhoda as she stood under the shadow of the wall. At length Miiuia was obliged to aban- don the attempt to recall her sister, and began once more to look for some spot in which she might safely rest until the storm was over. She did not look for it in vain. While she had been playing on her flute, a large cypress had been blown down by the wind. The trunk of the tree was now supported at one end by the upper boughs, and at the other by the roots which had been torn out of the ground. These, with the earth that still clung to them, offered an effectual protection from the rain. Minna crept beneath the thick branches and sat down under the fallen tree ; and as she sat there her heart was ver\' full THE DISTANT HILLb. 47 of heaviness and sorrow. She grieved because the bright sunshine of the day had passed and given place to cold piercing winds and a clouded sky ; she grieved to see the trees that she loved stripped of their branches, and the green leaves scattered hither and thither, and her favourite flowers drooping under the violence of the storm ; but most bitterly did she grieve for her sister, for she loved her very dearly, and she now feared that she never might behold her again. *'Alas!" she said, 'Uhese showers may perhaps continue until sleep steals upon Rhoda in her dan- gerous lurking place, and then when the new morning arrives she will perish imder the ruin." Yet, in the midst of her sorrow, Minna could find comfort 4S THE DISTANT HILLS. in her grateful affection for her kind protector, and in gazing stedfastly on her future home. The sky did indeed look black and lowering, but one shining cloud there was, which was only ren- dered the more bright and beautiful by the surrounding darkness, and the child knew that it was the cloud that rested on the distant hills. When she breathed upon her flute, it was thence that the answering melody came ; the sweet notes were borne back to her in on instant by the rushing wind, and they sounded no less clear and distinct than they had done in the stillness of the mornmg. But let us leave Minna, and return to the history of her sister. After she had run down the hill, she had no difti- lii \. THE DISTANT HILLS. 49 culty in finding the shelter she sought. The wall was sufficiently high to afford a complete protection from the rain ; but, alas, at the same time, it shut out from her the whole of the eastern view. It was with a feehng of soHtude, and almost of terror, that she crouched for the first time beneath the moulder- ing ruin. She forgot all the beautiful objects that she had so lately longed to see ; her head turned giddy with the strong scent of the flowers, and the buzzing of insects, and other strano-e murmurings that she heard; and her heart sickened at the thought that, per- haps, she never might return to her sister again. More than once she half ' resolved to begin the attempt, but the rain seemed to descend faster than ever, V 50 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 51 Jf and Rhoda had not courage lo face the storm. She still, therefore, lingered on until her car became accustomed to the humming sounds, and her fears and anxieties began to subside. She soon learned to forget the innocent joys of the morning, and the distant hills, and the heavenly music ; her thoughts were confined to the narrow spot on which she stood, while, at the same time, all that the stranger had told her of its danger was scarce remembered at all. She now looked stealthily around, and began to examine the different plants and shrubs that grew upon the wall. There were some rich crimson mosses very near, and they were so unlike any thing she had before seen, thai they immediately attracted her attention. She raised her hand and touched one of them, and when it felt soft and deli- cate, she could not resist the temptation to gather it ; yet she trembled exceed- ingly as she tried to separate it from the mouldering stone, for this was her first attempt to take any thing from the ruin, and she half feared that it might altogether give way and crush her by its fall. There seemed, however, to be no immediate danger; the moss yielded at once to her slightest effort, and Rhoda pressed it gently to her cheek, and then concealed it in her bosom. After this she gradually became bold- er, and, leaving the place in which she had first taken refuge, crept along the side of the wall. She entered into every D3 ?!!i '* I 52 THE DISTANT HILLS. nook and corner, and gathered abun- dantly of the strange flowers that she found. It seemed wonderful that she should think them beautiful ; for neither the rose, nor the lily, nor the gentle harebell, nor the humble violet, were there ; but rank weeds, and poisonous herbs, and shrubs that loved the dark- ness, and shrunk from the cheerful light of day. All these, by some strange in- fatuation, now proved attractive to the unhappy child ; but one purple floweret there was, which she admired more than all the rest. She w^ove it into a chaplet, and entwined it in her hair. Alas, she knew not that it was the deadly nifrht- shade ! Meanwhile the hours glided on ; and when the noon had some time passed THE DISTANT HILLS. 53 the wind was lulled and the storm ceased. Minna left her place of shel- ' feer, and looked anxiously for her sister. It was some little while before she was able to distinguish her; at length, how- ever, she caught a glimpse of her figure, half hidden among the leaves of the ivy ; but Rhoda did not see Minna, for her eyes were too intently fixed upon the wail. Then Minna played upon her flute, ill the hope that the well-known sound might induce the wanderer to return ; but though there was stillness in the air around, Rhoda heard neither the music itself, nor its echo among the mountains ; her ear was no longer awake to the distant melody— it had been too much deadened by the low and confused murmurs that issued from the ruin. T §4 thp: distant hills. She still, indeed, held her own flute in her hand, and every now and then would raise it hurriedly to her lips, but she cared not how irregular were the notes that proceeded from it ; and she neither sought nor expected an answer to her song. Yet we must not suppose that she had determined to continue where she was during the rest of the day ; for there were times at which she thought, with fear and trembhng, of the danger of falling asleep beneath the wall. But she fancied the hour of slumber was still very far off, and that she might safely remain until the dim twilight warned her of its approach. Then, she said within herself, she would hasten quickly away, and gaze once more upon the distant hills. THE DISTANT HILLS. bb Even the re-appearance of the sun, which her sister fondly fancied might remind her to come back, only brought Nvith it a fresh temptation to hnger near the building. Many thousand insects and reptiles, that had concealed them- selves during the storm, nov/ crept forth from their lurking places, to bask in the sunshine. Rhoda recognized among them the bright green lizard. It stood still upon a projecting stone, and, turn- ing round, fixed its sparkling eyes upon the child. She thought it would prove an easy prize, and advanced gently to take it in her hand; but, as she was approaching, the subtle creature gHded along the surface of the wall, and a^rain paused, and stood ghttering in the light, at a little distance from her. Rhoda % * 56 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 57 !l followed it, and, springing suddenly forward, imagined this time that the lizard could not possibly escape her ; but in an instant it had darted away, and was concealed behind the ivy. A slight rustling in the neighbouring leaves betrayed the hiding place to Rhoda. She crept onward to the spot, and look- ing cautiously among the branches, was just able to distinguish the object of her search. ** Ah, silly creature," thought she, " you flatter yourself you have escaped me, but I have caught you at last." At the same moment she closed her hands upon the iv}'-, and doubled over the leaf that covered the lizard. She then tore it from the stem,' and fancied that her wished-for prize was there. But she found that it was but an empty leaf which she held ; the hzard was again clinging to the w^alL a little in advance of her, and looking bri2:ht and beautiful as ever. In this w^ay it gradually tempted the child on, ahvays waiting for her, and always just eluding hor grasp, until it had brought her to the fragment of an old tower, more dark and ruinous than 58 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 59 any thing she had yet seen. But Rhoda was too eager in her pursuit to observe its State of decay ; nay, at the entrance she threw away the flute, which hitherto she had retained in her hand, because she fancied it had more than once pre- vented her seizing the hzard. She went into the tower, and saw the bright eyes again looking at her, from a projecting s^one beyond her reach. Without a moment's hesitation, she began to. chmb the wall. When she had reached a sufficient height, she clung with one hand to the ruin, while she stretched out the other to take the lizard. This time it made no effort to escape, and the delighted child took it, and placed it on the soft moss in her bosom ; but no sooner had she done this than part of the building gave way ; her feet and hands shpped, and she fell down, and the stone on which the lizard had been came roUing upon her. The unhappy child was crushed and bruised beneath its weight, and, as she attempted to rise, she found that her ancle had been sprained violently by her fall. She had just sufficient strength to crawl a few paces from the tower, and then, faint and dizzy with the intensity of the pain, she again sunk upon the ground. She remained there senseless for a little while. Alas ! she was still under the shadow of the wall ; and as the evening was stealing on, it seemed all hope of her escape from it was at an end. But suddenly she was aroused from her stupor by the noise of distant ^ill I ■ i t ■ ! II * i il \ ji 60 THE DISTANT HILLS. music. It came from the mountains in the far east, yet was unlike those gentle notes to which, in her bright and happy morning Rhoda had loved to Usten ; there was now the shrill blast of the trumpet, and the beat of the drum, and other sounds of war ; they seemed to approach nearer and nearer, and to grow more terribly loud, while they rolled like thunder through the hollow places of the wall, until the large stones tottered as though its foundations were giving way. The child awoke in an agony of alarm. She imagined the night must have al- ready passed, and that the new morning had arrived, and she expected every in- stant to be overwhelmed by the ruin. She attempted to rise, and in the strug- gle her hand rested on something that THE DISTANT HILLS. 61 was lying near her ; it proved to be the flute, which she had thrown down as she entered the tower. She took it with fear and trembling, and raised it to her hps, with an anxious wish that her kind protector might now listen to her song ; and though her own ear was all too dull to catch the feeble sound that proceeded from it, it was heard and welcomed among the dis- tant hills. It seemed as though Minna must have heard it also, for she played one joyous strain upon her flute, and then began to hasten to the assistance of Rhoda. She paused, however, after she had advanced a few steps ; for much as she loved her sister, she was afraid to venture in the neighbourhood ,1 HSI THE DISTANT HILLS. of the wall ; but as she raised her eyes towards the east, a new and glorious vision was open to her view. The beautiful mountains, and the cloud that rested on their summit, were reflect(^d from above in the clear blue sky, so that the ruin could no longer conceal them, and, still gazing stedfastly on her future home, she proceeded downward on her task of love. When she reached her sister, after tenderly embracing her, she tore awnv from her garments all the strange shru])< find flowers that had been gathered from the wall. To Minna their smell was like that of the deadliest poisons, and such in truth they were. Rhoda breathed more freely when they were gone : happily she had already lost her THE DISTANT HILLS. 03 wreath of nightshade in her fall from the tower. By the aid of lier sister she was now able to rise, and while her ears yet tingled with the noise of the drums and trumpets, she slowly and painfully began her return. It w.-is indeed a work of the greatest difficulty and labour ; her limbs had been crushed and bruised under the weight of the stone, and she suffered the most acute agony from the sprain in her ancle. More than once she was tempted to stand still, or to throw herself despair- ingly upon the ground. But the ascent was so steep and slippery, that she felt, if she once ceased moving forward, she must shde back again to the ruin; and, while she recollected its danger- ous state, the very pain she endured ^4 THE DISTANT HILLS. caused her to struggle the more ear- nestly to escape from it. Minna would fain have carried her in her arms, as the kind stranger had done when he found them both perish- ing in the wood ; but her own strength was far too feeble for so great an effort ; she was only able now and then to assist and guide her steps, and ever to soothe and cheer her by the soft music of her flute. She tried, too, to point out to her the glorious vision in the eastern sky ; but Rhoda sought for it in vain. To her eyes all above looked dark and gloomy — there was no reflec- tion either of the beautiful hills, or the bright cloud ; still, however, she per- severed in the painful ascent, until the outline of the hills themselves appeared THE DISTANT HILLS. 65 above the summit of the wall. Here her apprehensions began to subside ; she looked round, and imagined that if the building were to give way, none of the falling stones could reach her, on the point where she stood ; so she told her sister that she would wait there a little while until the pain in her ancle should cease. It was in vain that Minna entreated her to go on a few steps farther, that so they might rest on the very spot where the stranger had placed them. She re- plied that she was faint and weary, and that there could be no danger while they saw any part of the eastern mountains. So she sate down under the shade of a tree ; and as she sate down, the wall again became a suffi- B J W9' THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. G7 cicnt bcirrier to hide the mountains from her view. Minna, when she found her entreaties of no avail, stood affectionately by the side of her sister, waiting till she had recovered strength to resume her jour- ney. The tears rose quickly to her eyes, as she now had time to observe the change in Rhoda's appearance that her wanderings had produced. Not only were her garments soiled, and her hmbs bruised, and her hands torn ; but her cheek looked wan and pale, and she seemed altogether in a far worse state than when the stranger had saved her from the wood, and given her new life by washing her in the waters of the refreshing stream. Minna remembered, with a sigh, that there was no returnino: to tliose clear waters again ; still, however, she did not despair that the health and strength of her sister might be restored ; lor there were herbs upon the distant hills which were a remed}^ for every disease and sorrow, and Minna fondly hoped that the evening breeze would waft their fragrance to Rhoda, and so soothe her sufferings and assuage her pain, that when the night closed upon her, she might lie down in peace to rest. Alas ! she did not know that her sister carried that in her bosom which would cause those refreshing winds to blow upon her in vain. E^ lii THE DISTANT HILLS. 69 CHAPTER III. Once gain tlie mountain top and thou art I'ree, Till then wh.o rest pvesuine. who turn to look are lost HE pain m Rhoda's ancle bes^an to sub- side alter she had remained a few minutes under the tree, still she made no effort to resume the ascent ; she seemed to be sitting in a kind of dreamv state ; her eves were turned vacantly towards the dangerous wall, while every now and then her hands moved to and fro over her garments, as though she were feeling for her weeds and poisonous herbs, and wondering that they were gone. It was in vain that her sister gathered for her a nose- gay of the sweetest flowers that grew around ; they were such as Rhoda once had loved to wear, but her sight and smell had been so affected b}'^ the noxious plants that grew upon the ruin, that they were lost upon her now. She thrust them fretfully aside, and said, with truth, that she could not discover in them either fragrance or beauty. Still Minna would not forsake her sister, and at length, by her earnest entreaties, she persuaded her to rise ; rr m '.I 70 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. Rhoda even then appeared to hesitate whether to recede or advance, but Minna led her gently a few steps further up the slope, until they stood on a spot where the wall no longer deadened the force of the eastern wind, and the whole outline of the beautiful mountains could clearly be discerned. Here the children again paused : Min- na's heart beat high with a mingled feel- ing of anxiety and joy ; she could not help herself rejoicing once more in the glor}^ of the view, but when she turned for sympathy to her sister, she found no flush of pleasure on her face ; she had merely raised her eyes for a single instant towards the east, and had then loolted down and fixed them stedfastly on the wall. 71 Minna could hardly suppress her tears of disappointment, but she made one more attempt to move the heart of Rhoda ; she breathed upon her flute, and proposed that they should unite in one of those thankful songs, which thev baa often played together during their bright and happy morning. Rhoda raised her flute to her lips, but the notes that proceeded from it were very harsh and full of discord, when com- pared with the sweet music of her sister, and they found no echo among the distant hills ; for at the very mo- ment that she sent them forth, her eyes were still fixed downward upon the ruin. She soon, therefore, ffrew weary of playing, and began to retire slowly towards the tree she had left. iill 72 THE DISTANT HILLS. But Minna once more seized her hand, and pressing it fondly to her lips en* treated her to remain. '' Stay, dearest sister," she said, " do not venture one step backward towards the forbidden wall ; from this spot you may behold the beautiful mountains ; see how noble is their outline, and how lovely the tints tliat are now shed upon them by the western sun ! Only gaze on them stedfastly, and our kind protector who dwells there will watch you, and com- fort you ; he will soothe you with the soft voices of the children who are around him, and though you feel sick and weary, he will restore you to your health and strength. The very breeze that he is now sending us is full of freshness and life ; do not suffer the m THE DISTANT HILLS. 73 wall to screen you from it again." But Rhoda replied, " Sister, in the morning I loved with you to gaze on the distant hills, but I can now perceive no beau- tiful variety in their colouring : one dark shadow is resting upon them all, and their loveliness is gone. In the morning the music sounded to me, as to you, like the soft voices of children ; but now, when I hear it at all, it rings terribly in my ears, as the war-cry of some mighty host, and I tremble while I Hsten to it. In the morning I rejoiced with 3^ou in the freshness of the eastern breeze, but now alas ! it blows so cold and cheerless on my breast, that I fain would shelter myself from it, even under the shadow of the wall." As she said this she pressed her m 'I. 74 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 76 m garment more closely to her bosom and immediately the lizard, that she had concealed there, came forth from its lurking place and looked wistfully around. Minna uttered a scream of surprise and terror. '* Oh Rhoda !" she exclaimed, *' cast that reptile from you, remember that it is an inhabitant of the wall ; it may haply be the cause that the winds have lost their freshen- ing influence, the music its softness, and the mountains their beauty." The lizard was startled at the voice of Min- na, and gliding quickly to the ground ran a few yards down the hill, and then turned roimd and looked at the children. Rhoda coloured very deeply as she replied, '' Nay, Minna, I did not feel the touch of the Hzard, and had in truth forgotten that it was in my bosom. It must have been lying be- tween my garment and some beautiful moss that I gathered from the wall." " But why," answered Minna, " should you thus cherish a moss that once grew upon the ruin ? we cannot tell what subtle poison it may contain. Oh, sis- ter ! even if it cling to you so closely that you must rend your garment in order to take it away, still pluck it out, and throw it from you, and open your bosom to the mountain breeze." Rhoda hesitated ; she still loved Minna, and could scarcely help yield- ing to her affectionate request ; alas ! in the moment of doubt, she did not raise her eyes or play upon her flute, but looked listlessly on the orround. 76 THE DISTANT HILLS. Hill 'i t .1 1 1 There, once more, the bright lizard met her view ; it had remained on the spot to which it had run when startled by her sister's voice, and seemed as though it longed to return to her, but was afraid to >'enture. All Rhoda's better thoughts passed away in a moment, she struggled to withdraw her hand, and impatiently exclaimed, " You know, Minna, that even now I can scarcely bear the keen blasts of the wind ; why, then, should I part with my warm and beautiful moss ? It is so soft and pleasant that I am sure it must be innocent — but let us speak of this another time. That beautiful lizard is waiting for me to come to it, and if it be but to bid' adieu to it for ever, I will caress it once more." It was in vain that Minna •mnir' THE DISTANT HILLS. 77 pointed sorrowfully to the west, and reminded her how much of the day was already gone. Rhoda had for- gotten the long chase of the morning, and the thousand arts by which the deceitful reptile had tempted her on; she was sure that she could overtake it in a moment, and then promised to come back and remain by the side of her sister. Doubtless, she intended to do so, and under this delusion she went away, and was led gradually to the ruin ; but she never returned from it again. Minna used every effort to detain her, and it was not until Rhoda, in her struggles to escape, began to drag her also down the slope that she was forced to release her hold. She raised 78 THE DISTANT HILLS. 1 I; : i s ill m her eyes and saw that the image of the bright cloud and distant hills had now faded from the sky ; she knew, therefore, that she must not again ap- proach the ruin, for she could not do so without losing sight of her promised home ; but, with a heart full of an- guish, and the tears streaming down her cheeks, she watched her sister's receding steps. Rhoda's path downward proved very smooth and easy ; even her wounds and bruises were forgotten for a time, and the sprain of her ancle no longer im- peded her walk ; the green lizard kept enticing her on, always creeping a few steps farther as she stooped to take it in her hand ; it led her by all the steepest parts of the descent, so that, THE DISTANT HILLS. 79 even had she wished, she could not have stood still ; but it seemed to Minna that she did not once pause in the pursuit nor cast a single look behind. In a few minutes she had traced her to the wall ; she watched her hurrying along its side until Rhoda again entered the ruined tower and was hidden from her view. She then turned away and felt very sorrowful ; but her heart would have been still heavier had she been per- mitted to know the remainder of her sister's history. It is in truth a very painful one. The green lizard did not this time remain in the ruined tower, but, passing through it, still glided along the side of the building to other parts, which were in a yet more dan- 80 THE DISTANT HILLS. 4 1l ! I i .L, gerous state. Rhoda was resolved to follow it ; her path, indeed, was no longer smooth and easy, as it had been while she was descending the hill; but she had gone so far that she would not abandon the pursuit. Alas ! half the pains that she now bestowed upon it, might have enabled her to get back again to that spot on which alone she could be safe. Sometimes she had to climb over loose slippery stones, and at others to crawl on her hands and knees through narrow crevices in the wall ; her eyes were filled with dust and dirt, and her limbs sorely bruised by fragments of the building that kept rolling upon them. She very often lost her footing and fell heavily upon the ground, but no sooner did she rise THE DISTANT HILLS. 81 again than she still struggled on. The unhappy child seemed insensible alike to pain and danger, until faint, breath- less, and weary, she once more held the beautiful lizard in her grasp. She now for the first time paused, and the feeling of joy and triumph, caused by her success, gave way in a moment to a sensation of alarm. She had come she knew not whither, and it seemed hopeless to think of retracing her steps. Her flute was gone ; she could not even tell where she had left it, but only had an indistinct recollec- tion of having thrown it aside after one of her falls. An unusual swarm of noisy insects were buzzing around her, and the shrubs that clung to the side of the building yielded a more noxious odour 82 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 83 ri even than those which she had gathered in the morning. Yet it was none of these things that first gave rise to her alarm ; but it was the terrible darkness that began to steal upon her. When she had left her sister, the sun had far to travel before it sunk to rest ; and, though the pursuit had occupied her longer than she was aware of, the hour of twilight had not yet really arrived. But the eminence that rose behind the wall excluded it altogether from the western light, no ray of the setting sun was ever reflected upon it, and the early evening was so dim and cheerless, that Rhoda imagined the night had already closed in. Still not even now could she resolve to make one vigorous effort to escape; she struggled against her own sad fears, and thought she would yet play for a few minutes with her favourite lizard before she be- gan to return. ^She tried to be calm ; but her limbs shook and her heart sunk within her, as she gradually unclosed her hand ; the lizard did not move : she looked at it, but the green skin no longer glittered. Fa 84 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 85 III and the brightness of its eye was gone : she touched it, and it felt clammy and cold — the lizard was dead. No tears fell from Rhoda, for she could not weep for it. Her delight in its former beauty was now succeeded by a feeling of horror ; she turned away her face and said within herself, " Is it, then, for this perishable object that I have gone through so many dangers, and abandoned the hope of my promised home ?" She now in haste began to climb the hill ; but the ascent, at the point to whi^^h she had come, was very steep, and covered with loose rolling stones ; it slanted down close to the very foot of the ruin ; there was no intermedi- ate space between them ; the stones slipped under the feet of Rhoda every step that she took ; fear inspired her with a momentary strength, but all her efforts proved fruitless ; sometimes she advanced a little way ; but no sooner did she stop to breathe, than she again slid back, so that after much labour and weariness, she still found herself standing beneath the dangerous wall. We cannot wonder that it was so, for she did not pause to search for the flute that she had thrown aside : the distant hills and their soothing music had passed away altogether from her mind. She felt, indeed, the extent of her danger, and longed to get back to the pleasant spot on which she had spent the morning of her day, but she could not fix her affections on 86 THE DISTANT HILLS. that kind protector who had promised, if she called out for his aid, to assist her to return. CHAPTER IV. Ever tae richest, tenderest glow. Seta round tne Autumnal eun — But there sight fails ; no heart may know The "bliss when life is doce KILE Rhoda was struggling in vain to as- cend the hill, the darkness gradually in- creased, and ^ she grew more and more alaimed. She cast a fearful glance around, and feehng the full mi- sery of her lonehness, began to think, 88 THE DISTANT HILLS. with bitter regret, of the flute that she had lost. For a few minutes she groped her way over the fallen stones, and sought anxiously for it among the crevices of the wall : happy would it have been for her had she persevered in the search ; but she met with so many unexpected difficulties that she relinquished it in despair. Not only was there so thick a darkness that she could hardly see her path ; but every time that she stooped down to feel for her flute, the swarm of insects that had hitherto only buzzed around her, began to worry her with their stings ; her eyes were so swollen that she was almost blinded with pain, while the sharp flint stones pierced her hands, and more than one serpent crawled 1i THE DISTANT HILLS. 89 from its lurking place and bit her with its poisoned fang. We cannot think it strange that Rhoda should soon have abandoned so painful a search, when we remember that in the afternoon, while the sun yet shone brightly upon her and she was cheered by her sister's voice, she wanted resolution to advance the few steps which might then have brought her to a place of security. She now crept into a hollow part of the ruin, and sitting down on a fallen stone, resolved to await quietly the approach of night. But she found that in quiet she could not await it ; she whispered peace to her heart, but no l>eace was there ; thoughts of terror would arise, and it was impossible for her to drive them away. It was in 90 THE DISTANT HILLS. vain that she tried to believe that the spot on which she rested was free from danger, and that the wall would afford her a sure protection during the long hours of the night ; the huge fragments that continually crumbled away mocked her idle hopes, and the wind that liowled among the mouldering stones seemed to echo back the warning which had been given her, that, if in the morn- ins: she were found beneath them, she would be crushed to pieces by their fall. It was a terrible thing to sit helplessly down and await so miserable a fate. Rhoda felt that it was so, and her heart was full of bitterness; neither could she find any joy or comfort in the present hour to relieve the dreary THE DISTANT HILLS. 91 prospect of the future. I have already said that the cheerful light of evening was never shed upon the wall. A thick heavy fog now rested on it, and noxious vapours were fast rising from the ground. All was cold and wretch- ed. The rank herbs, at the approach of night, sent forth the most strong and deadly odours, and Rhoda felt that she was breathing poison. Meanwhile the flowers had lost their gaudy colouring, and the beauty of every thing that had once attracted the love and admiration of the child, like that of the green lizard, had passed away. Even while she was indulging these sad thoughts, she felt something move upon her bosom ; she hastily thrust in 92 THE DISTANT HILLS. her hand and found that the soft bright moss, which she had placed there in the morning, and refused to pari with at the request of Minna, had become* a mass of rottenness and decay, and that shmy worms were crawling out of it. She now threw it from her with lontliing and disgust, and, springing from her seat, made one more effort to escape from the fatal ruin. But the noxious vapours had already taken their effect ; she staggered to and fro, and knew not whither she was goinij ; for a few moments she leaned for sup port against the wall, and then a thick mist obscured her sight, and she sunk down in a heavy slumber close beneath the ruin. THE DISTANT HILLS. 93 It is a pleasing task to turn our eyes from this sad picture, and gaze upon the soft sunset of the day of Minna. During the afternoon her employment had been to sweep away the withered leaves from the ground, and to prop the broken boughs and nurse the plants that had been injured by the storm. She found more real pleasure in this quiet occupation, than she had done in the joyous sports of the morning. It was, too, one of which she did not grow weary ; no listlessness followed it ; the Howers gradually increased in beauty, as though to thank her for her care, until the ground assumed the appear- ance of a garden, and the child felt more and more grateful to the kind 92 THE DISTANT HILLS. her hand and found that the soft bright moss, which she had placed there in the morning, and refused to part with at the request of Minna, had become a mass of rottenness and decay, and that shmy worms were crawling out of itto She now threw it from her with loatliing and disgust, and, springing from her seat, made one more effort to escape from the fatal ruin. But the noxious vapours had already taken their effect ; she staggered to and fro, and knew not whither she was iroimr : for a few moments she leaned for sup port against the wall, and then a thick mist obscured her sight, and she sunk down in a heavy slumber close beneath the ruin. THE DISTANT HILLS. 93 It is a pleasing task to turn our eyes from this sad picture, and gaze upon the soft sunset of the day of Minna. During the afternoon her employment had been to sweep away the withered leaves from the ground, and to prop the broken boughs and nurse the plants that had been injured by the storm. She found more real pleasure in this quiet occupation, than she had done in the joyous sports of the morning. It was, too, one of which she did not grow weary; no listlessness followed it; the (lowers gradually increased in beauty, a^ thouf^h to thank her for her care, imtil the ground assumed the appear- ance of a garden, and the child felt more and more grateful to the kind 1 94 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 95 protector who had placed her in so fair a spot, to wait for his return. She did not now make nosegays of the flowers, or weave them into perishable garlands, but she learned to watch their silent growth, and inhale their fragrance without a wish to gather them. Still there were times when some favourite plant, even while she looked at it, be- gan to wither and die ; and then she would raise her wistful e^'es towards the distant hills, and long for those brighter flowers which blossomed there but could not fade. Minna had left these peaceful occu- pations for a little while in order to assist Rhoda to escape from the wall. It had been the one wish of her heart that the sister who had been her play- fellow in the morning, should come back and pass the quiet hours of the evening with herself When all her hopes were disappointed, and she a second time lost sight of Rhoda, she wept bitterly and was very sorrowful. It was in vain that she returned to the garden which she had cultivated, her favourite flowers failed to afford her the same pleasure as before ; beautiful as they were, there was now a void in her heart that their loveliness could not satisfy. But Minna knew where to turn for comfort ; she breathed upon her flute, and the soft and solemn mu- sic that floated back from the east, seemed to sympathise with her own 96 THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 97 sad thoughts. She felt that she was not really alone ; the unseen choir of children who dwelt afar off were sharers in her sorrow ; one chord of affection had been snapped asunder, but she knew that those which uni- ted her to her kind protector and his happy family would remain unbroken for ever. Such thoughts aftbrded joy and peace to Minna, even in the midst of her tears, and as the evening closed in she dwelt upon them more and more. A soft languor began to steal upon her, and now she gave up her employment in the garden, and passed her time in playing glad songs upon her flute, and watching the beauties of the surround- ing view. The very same hours that Rhoda found so dark and terrible, breathed upon her a pure and holy calm. There were no damp fogs, no unhealthy vapours rising from the ground, no noxious smells, no swarm of insects buzzinu: in the air. Brii^ht as had been the morning of the day, the evening far surpassed it in its quiet loveliness. Minna could see by the western light the clear stream that she had crossed in the morning; while in the distance was the dim outline of the forest from which she had escaped. Her heart was very full of gratitude ; one short day had passed since the wild beasts were howling around her, and now that a new night was approaching. THE DISTANT HILLS. THE DISTANT HILLS. 99 she conld lie down without fear, for her kind protector had promised to watch over her sleep. But it was towards the east that the eye of the child was more frequently turned. There on the morrow would be her dwelling place. The beautiful moun- tains, when seen bv the indistinct twilight, appeared to be brought near- er than before, and there was a fringe of gold on the cloud that rested upon them, as it caught the last rays of the setting sun. The song of the birds was hushed, and no sound broke the stillness of the evening but the gentle notes of Minna's flute, and the clear soft music that was wafteJ back to her from the distant hills. The child gradually yielded to the soothing influence of tlie scene ; her languor increased ; she sank down upon a bed of violets, and having raised her- self for a moment to gaze earnestly upon the east, she closed her eyes iu a soft untroubled sleep. The hours of night passed slowly on, the pale moon and the stars appeared, and Minna still continued in the same G2 100 THE DISTANT HILLS. quiet repose. No new trials or tempt- ations could befal her ; there were to be no more changes of joy and sorrow : she had been weary, but she was now at rest — and so refreshing was that rest, that all signs of her former care and anxiety passed away ; the traces of the tears that she had shed were gone ; and, as the soft moon-beams played upon her face, it shone with a bright and holy loveliness. She slept quietly on, but it was not the heavy sleep of unconsciousness and oblivion ; a warm breeze from the mountains fanned her cheek, and the songs that she had loved still floated in the air. The smile of hope yet hngered on her features while they were hushed, in the stillness of sleep: and she slept as one who so I THE DISTANT HILLS. 101 rested from her labours, that she was ready to arise at the first appearance of dawn ; who enjoyed the tranquillity of the night, but was dreaming all the while of the life and gladness of the morning. And Rhoda also slept, but her slum- bers were very different from those of Minna. There was no peaceful security, no refreshing quietness, in her repose. As the night advanced, her features only became more wan and haggard than before, as though the troubles of the day, and the fears and anxieties of the evening had formed themselves into dreams and visions which disturbed her rest. It may be that she still fancied she was strusfflinff to escape from the wall ; but she could i ii (i 102 THE DISTANT HILLS. now only weary herself with the imagi- nary efforts of a dream. She remained powerless on the ground, and all her restlessness could not move her one step from the spot on which she had sunk to repose. The stranger had warned her that this would be the case : in the morning he had brought her to a place of security, which, in the folly of her heart, she had wilfully left ; the hours of darkness had arrived, and it was now impossible for her to return. She had abandoned the prospect of the dis- tant hills, and from this time forth she would see them no more ; she had re- fused to listen to the heavenly music, and she would never be allowed to hear it again. During the day-time she had taken up her portion with the THE DISTANT HILLS. 10'S fatal ruin; it was there she had spent the evening, it was there that slumber had overtaken her, and she was now forced to sleep beneath it until it should give way and crush her by its fall. Minna and Rhoda still slumber, for that trumpet has not yet sounded which alone can wake them from their repose. We cannot farther pursue their history, but we must think of them as sleeping at this very moment, the one within view of the beautiful mountains, the other under the dark shadow of the wall. The building has become verv old and ruinous, but it is still per- mitted to remain. The day of the children passed quickly by; but their ■;■!«-■ ijp^ai; i.:- 104 THE DISTANT HILLS. long night may not even now be draw- ing to a close ; no one can number its silent hours, or tell how near or how distant the dawn of the morrow may be. ^ COLUMB A UNIV ERSITY III 0032251459 7H A 3 Adao^s. I I