Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB
[graphic][merged small][merged small][merged small]

EVERY WHERE

Vol. XXI

September, 1907

No. 1

"D.

The Court-House Bell.

BY WILL CARLETON.

OI love you? O, but listen!" And he saw her dark eyes glisten With a gentle joy that filled him, With a passion-wave that thrilled him: "Do I love you? Ask the ages Front of this life's blotted pagesCycles that our minds forget, But our souls remember yetIf the strands they saw us twine, In great moments half divine, Cannot stand against the cold Voice and touch of senseless gold! How can Wealth forbid the meeting Of two hearts that blend in beating? How can Thrift presume to fashion Heaven's eternal love and passion? Listen!-if 'tis not o'er-soon, Come to-morrow-day at noon;On that glad-that mournful day When my girlhood creeps awayOn that day-the understood Birthday of my womanhoodCome! and, joined in hand as heart, We will walk no more apart. Meet me do not let me waitBy this iron-this golden gateWhen, its mid-day hour to tell Rings the silvery court-house bell.

"Should I fail you, dear, tomorrow,
Go away, but not in sorrow;
There be many ways may mee:
Fetters round a maiden's feet,
There be watchers-there be spies-
There be jealous tongues and eyes;
Many hate my love for you,

3

And would cut our life in two.
Oh, they guard me all the time,
As if loving were a crime!

"Should I fail the second morrow,

Hope from next day you must borrow; If I fail you then-endure:

Hope and trust be still the cure.

Nought on earth has power-has art

Long to hold us two apart;

None but God were equal to it,

And I know he would not do it.

I will come to you, indeed;

You would wait, love, were there need?"
And he said, with brave endeavor,

"I will wait for you forever.
Each day I shall come for you,
Till you come, and find me true:
Each day hear the hopeful swell
Of the mid-day court-house bell."

So, next day, he stood and waited
For the soul his soul had mated;
Saw the clock's black finger climb
To its topmost round of time-
Heard the mighty metal throat
Sing afar its mid-day note;
Listened, with a nervous thrill,
And his warm heart standing still.
Glanced about, with keen desire,

And his yearning soul afire;

Searched and searched, with jealous care,
Searched-but saw no loved one there.
"Should I fail you, dear, tomorrow,
Go away, but not in sorrow;'

'Twas her word", he softly said:
"Be she living, be she dead,

Still my heart is scant of fear;

She will some time meet me here.

My sad soul I will employ

With tomorrow's destined joy;
Here is happiness for me,
Living o'er what is to be.

She will come-her love to tell-
With tomorrow's mid-day bell."

So, next day, he watched and waited,
With a heart by hope elated;
Peering-searching for a face
Full of love-exalted grace.

But his glance crept far and wide
With some fear it could not hide;
Crept across the grimy pavement,
Moaning in its dull enslavement;
Roamed the long streets, empty-seeming,
Though with lovely faces gleaming;
Shivered, as with landscape drear,
'Neath a blue sky, bright and clear;
For the bell, with sorrowing strain,
Called her to his side in vain.
""If I fail the second morrow,
Hope from next day you must borrow,'
'Twas her word", he bravely said:
"Let tomorrow stand instead."
Still upon his heart there fell
Shadows from the mid-day bell.

Day by day he watched and waited,
To cold Disappointment fated;
Bit by bit his hoping ceased;
Hour by hour his faith increased.
Oft he strove to find her, then,
In her guardian's palace-den;
But the looks he met were bleak,
And the marble would not speak,
Would not show the poisoned thong
Of a dark and fiendish wrong;
Would not tell the woe and rage
Of a dreary mad-house cage,
Where the girl was kept by stealth,
Lest she claim her paltry wealth.
Could not hear her frantic prayer
That God's hand might reach her there;
Could not see her droop away
Hour by hour and day by day;
Could not feel her breath grow still
With the healing arts that kill;
Could not trace the greed that gave
Her a half-named marble grave.
Still he watched and waited well,
'Neath the weary noontide bell.

Days and weeks and months and years
Coursed the face of time, like tears:
Spring's sweet-scented mid-day air,
Summer's fierce meridian glare,
Autumn's mingled lead and gold,
Winter's murder-thrusts of cold.
Patiently he braved each one;
At its mid-day cloud or sun
Silently he turned-was gone-
Sad, desponding, and alone.

Still his famished eyes crept round,

Still he thrilled at every sound:
"Nought on earth has power-has art-
Long to hold us two apart;

None but God were equal to it,
And I know He would not do it.'
'Twas her word", he grimly said:
"She will come, alive or dead."
Pavement travelers passed him by,
Day by day, with curious eye;
Dreamers sought romance to trace
In his bronzed and fading face;
Questioners, though kind, were yet
With cold, patient silence met;
Still he watched and waited well,
By the lonely court-house bell.

Yet he came-yet crept away;
And his dark-brown hair grew gray,
And his manhood's power grew spent,
And his form was thin and bent.
Poorly clad and rough to see;
Crushed by Sickness' stern decree;
For intense compassion fit,
But still grandly scorning it.
"He is crazed", they said, aside:
"I am sane!" his heart replied.
"I will come to you, indeed;
You would wait love, were there need!'
'Twas her word", he faintly said:
"Hands will meet if hearts are wed."
Sometimes to him it would seem,

Half in earnest, half in dream,
He could view her loveliness-
He could feel her fond caress.
But some passing sound or sight
Sent the vision back to night;
And a dull and mournful knell
Seemed the leaden court-house bell.

As, one day, his weakened form
Bent before a winter storm,
As he fell-Death's fear before him,
And a veil of darkness o'er him,

THE COURT-HOUSE BELL.

Soft a voice-or was it seeming?—
Full a form or was he dreaming?—
Brought a rapture that repaid
All the debts that Grief had made.
"O my love!" the words came fast;
"Do you see me, then, at last?
Do you hear me do you feel me-
Can the world no more conceal me?
'Did I meet you?' Oh, but listen.
When released from Pain's black prison,
Long through deserts and through meadows,
Long through Death's black silent shadows,
With my soul God's help entreating,
Sought I for our place of meeting.
Oh, I crushed my arms around you,
When I found you-when I found you—
Saw you sorrow's black net weaving-
Fondly suffering-bravely grieving-
Saw the truth you could not see-
Felt your loving faith in me.

5

How, each day, God's help entreating,
Came I to our place of meeting!
How I hailed each coming morrow!
How I strove to soothe your sorrow!
Times, the thought would come to cheer me,
'He can see me! He can hear me!'
Then the mists of earth would screen us-
Then day's darkness stepped between us.
Yet your dear soul I could see,
Suffering still its way to me.

Pain at last has cut the tether;
Death will let us live together.
Darling, throw your arms around me!
You have found me-you have found me-
Nought on earth had power or art

Long to hold us two apart.
None but God were equal to it,
And I knew He would not do it.
Listen! Hear the echoes swell
Of our merry wedding-bell!"

[blocks in formation]

IN N this great wide world, there is only one man that I detest, loathe, abhor, and that man is John Nubbins Brownley.

Plainly stated, and without circumlocution, the following are the reasons for my sentiments regarding him. There is not a generous impulse in his whole being; whatever action of his seemingly par.akes of that commendable quality is instigated by the meanest of motives.

He is never a friend except for his own elevation, and his selfish instincts are so hidden by innate deceitfulness that the innocent victim of his pretended regard is the last to discover the imposition.

He is so penurious he maneuvers for dinner invitations to save his purse, although his wealth is well up in the thousands and he could live luxuriously upon the interest of his money aloi.e.

He makes a business of learning small talk and short stories to make himself entertaining, while he has no more sense of the humorous than a snake. He prates of his honesty while stealing from his best friend.

He causes his eyes to shed tears in talking of the abuse to which animals, children, indigent and otherwise unfortunate human beings are subjected; at the same time he turns into the street a sick and starving family that fails to pay him rent for a tumbledown hovel. He does not hesitate to inflict upon a child within his power any physical tor

ture his savage nature instigates, and to kick in its wistful face the hungry dog that pleads for a bone to save him from

starvation.

From a small incident, innocent in itself, he constructs a story that smirches with suspicion the fairest reputation, and in the world at large his story carries conviction because the one germ of truth is known, and the public argues that if one fact be true, all must be.

He is so plausible, so suave, when he is upon exhibition, that only people behind the curtain of his deceit can possibly almost know him, and even they are. forced to doubt the evidence of their senses. His charlatanism is so diplomatic that the running world finds him admirable.

He is so great a coward that no man can ever outwit him, and his duplicity so painstaking and artful that the law seeks in vain to entrap him in its meshes.

These may be generalities, and not so convincing as particulars, but every particular possible with any generality in connection with John Nubbins Brownley may be attached to the generality to which it belongs, and then the full truth be still unrevealed.

Is it any wonder we, who know him, hate him?

Unfortunately he has his grasp financially upon many of the young men in our social circle. While with some this withholds real expression of feeling, the outer trenches of his pharisaical fortress are so closely guarded there is no oppor

« AnteriorContinuar »