THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES '3) A(, INTRODUCTION. BY THE REV. CHARLES B. TAYLER. " JJftjHEREUNTO shall I liken the kingdom of God?" W said that Divine and Adorable Redeemer, who spake as never man spake, and whose every word is with authority and power. " It is like leaven, which a woman took, and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened." There is a force and ful- ness in this short parable, which commends itself to every man's conscience in the sight of God, as proving to us, with admirable plainness, the reality of vital re- ligion. Our blessed Lord addresses His searching, but quiet appeal, to every one of His professed disciples, from the most richly endowed to the least gifted mnong us. lb- applies the ame test, He demands the same proofj II.' is satisfied with nothing shorl of the same re- i'rom every con ience and every heart He gra- ciously teaches us that something more, nay much more, 622643 IV INTRODUCTION. than an accurate acquaintance with the doctrines of the Word of God is required in the children of the king- dom ; not merely the knowledge of Divine truth in the head, but the transforming power of a new and quicken- ing principle of Divine life in the heart — a spiritual lea- ven pervading and permeating the whole inward man, transmuting and renewing, by its inworking and sancti- fying influence, the thoughts, feelings, imaginations, affec- tions, words, and actions, till the whole is leavened. In the simple and beautiful narrative now presented to the reader, a female hand has taken the leaven of heavenly principles, with the full acknowledgment of an humble and prayerful dependence upon that Divine hand which can alone impart a quickening influence to the appointed means, and shown us what, by the grace of God, will be the effect produced upon the character and conduct of a child. With an intimate knowledge of human nature, and a charming naturalness, she has brought before us the life-like portraiture of a young and ingenuous girl, affectionate, impressible, and impulsive, but wayward and self-willed, full of warm and generous feelings, but perverse, proud, and passionate, with a mind of superior power, and great intelligence, but headstrong and impatient of control, — a character needing the severe chastening, with which in the providence of God she is INTRODUCTION. V visited, to prepare her heart to receive the heavenly leaven. Such a preparation is needed. The leaven is put into the meal, — not among the corn, till it has been brought under the crushing and grinding power of the millstones — for "leaven among unground corn does not work " — the corn must first be ground, and the grinding of the corn is the previous and necessary discipline pre- paring the heart for the leaven. In the progress of the touching account of the discipline to which this inter- esting child is subjected, we behold the working of that continued discipline and the working of the inward lea- ven going on together, till, by degrees, the resistance of the natural and carnal mind is subdued, and the chasten- ing, which at first seemed grievous and not joyous, yields the peaceable fruit of righteousness to her who is exercised thereby ; gradually the perverse will is over- come, the old corrupt nature renewed, and the youthful sufferer is made a partaker of the Divine nature ; and thus the kingdom of God, which is righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Ghost, by the inworking in- fluence of the heavenly leaven, established within. The child of nature becomes the child of grace and walks in fellowship with God. Such appears to me to be the plan in the mind of the writer of the following pages, and the lively, graphic, Vi INTRODUCTION. and touching narrative, is the admirable illustration of that plan. I would heartily recommend this little volume not only to young, but to grown-up readers. We may all profit by it. Charles B. Tayleb. Otley Eectoky, Ipswioh, Jan. 1, 1859. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. — Coombhurst Grange 9 II. — The Hope Family 14 III. — Lilias' Birthday 20 IT. — Pride and Passion 30 V. — The Little Mimic 41 VI. — The Father's Reproof 57 VII.— The Broken Vase G4 VIII. — Lilias Stricken 77 IX — Cherished Grief 88 X— NewJ Faces 97 XL — Taking up the Cross 106 XII. — Self-Confidence 115 XIIL— Pride Subdued 121 XIV.— The Dormer Family 130 XV. — Friendships Established 141 XVI. — A Sudden Outbreak 151 XVII. — Anger and its Effects 163 XVIIL— Penitence 175 XIX— Maud's Victory 185 XX. — Healthful Pleasures 195 V1U CONTENTS. CIIAPTER PAGE XXL— A Friend in Need 209 XXII. — Everard's Arrival 224 XXIII. — Sanctified Affliction 239 XXIV. — The School Festival 251 XXV. — Sadness and Sympathy 266 XXVI. — Grandpa Fraser's Story 274 XXVII.— Trials Ahead 289 XXVIII. — Ambition Corrected 301 XXIX — III Temper Overcome 312 XXX— Separation 317 XXXI. — Mental and Spiritual Vision. 326 XXXII. — Mr. Gambler's Return 333 XXXIII. — The Anticipated Parting 342 XXXIV.— A Heavier Trial 349 XXXV. — Lilias the Nurse and Comforter 362 XXXVI. — Pleasure ln New Duties. 368 XXXVII. — Family Changes 374 XXXVIII.— The Visit to Mabel 384 XXXIX.— The Sad Return 392 XL. — Lilias again the Nurse 400 XLI. — Conclusion 405 BLIND LILIAS, I. COOMBHURST GRANGE. fT is always agreeable to be well acquainted with a neighborhood in which our friends have taken up their residence ; to be able to picture to ourselves the pleasant country scenes, or peopled streets and squares, amidst which they move ; and, in imagination, if not in reality, to share the sights and sounds which occupy and interest those whom we love. In real life we therefore make a point of visiting our friends in their own homes ; and with the view of keeping up the impressions we have received, we carry away with us sketches of their homes, and, if possible, of the landscape or principal buildings liy which they are surrounded. But in books we cannot thus realize 1 lie objects which encompass the homes of those to whom we are introduced; and who for the time being become to us as friends, and draw out our affections and sympathies towards 10 BLIND tILIAS. them, with a power more or less strong, as their characters and the circumstances in which they are placed are more or less life-like, and more or less accordant with our own. In books, therefore, it is necessary to construct ' : word-pictures" of the scenes to which we would introduce our readers, and we must consequently draw their attention to places before we bring persons before them. There is on the south-western part of Devonshire a most beautiful tract of country, varied by hill and valley, coombe and dale, and studded with orchards and pasture lands. Its finely undulating scenery is richly wooded, and rather thickly set with the pleasant and comfortable-looking homes of country gentlemen, interspersed with those even more comfortable-looking dwellings, the homesteads of our English farmers and yeomen. Along the southern coast of this most delectable land, has of late years been constructed a railroad, and oh, how exquisitely lovely is the scenery of which it affords a prospect to the delighted traveller ! Passing from the rich inland country that borders the river Exe, he is almost" startled by the sudden- ness with which a magnificent view of the broad blue sea, with all its thousand glories, opens on him. COOMBHUKST GRANGE. 11 If it is a bright day and the time of high water, the scene is indeed most lovely. To the right, the pretty town of Exmouth clusters on a hill, at the opposite side of the mouth of the river, along the margin of which the road has been winding. The red sandstone cliffs which extend from there to near Sidmouth, and then the white ones, which com- mencing there continue on to Lyme Regis, and beyond it to the east, are all in view ; whilst west- ward, stretches out that exquisite line of coast which includes Dawlish, Teignmouth, and Babbi- combe, with all their lovely coves and little bays, the shores of which arc richly wooded, even to the water's edge. The two promontories, Hope's Nose and Berry Head, which form the extremities of Torbay. terminate the landscape The railroad runs in some parts so near the sea, that, in windy or stormy weather, the spray dashes against the windows of the carriages, and in a fine day the sea birds hover above the water, or dive under, and rise, and float, and dive again, close in sight ; and the little pleasure boats and fishing skill's skim about hither and thither; and the charmed traveller thinks that he never beheld so fair a view. or so enjoyed a railroad trip, when, Ilcigli Presto! the whole is gone, and he finds himself in utt< r 12 BLIND LILIAS. darkness ! He has dived into a tunnel, and when he again emerges from it he finds an entirely new view of rock, and cliff, and sea. Again he is de- lighted, and again the fair vision has fled, and dark- ness and chill vapors alone surround him. This is the case no less than seven times within about as many miles, and every time that he emerges from a tunnel, a new, but each time equally lovely scene of rock, and cliff, and sea, and ships, like the sudden changes in the dissolving views, awaits him. And now, leaving the coast, and turning from the immediate neighborhood of the sea, we pass on through a fair inland scene, in sight of happy villages, and hamlets, and pretty old stone churches, encircled by the quiet resting-places of the dead, and at last, through an avenue of stately trees, as- cend, by a hilly road which leads through a park- like ground studded with varied forest trees, to a house. It is Coombhurst Grange, the home to which I would introduce my readers. Singular and interesting is the appearance of the house. It is square and large, built of rather dark stone, and with three gables on each side. On two of the fronts are large projecting stone porches, and over that which faces the south is a room, with a deep COOMBHURST GRANGE. 13 oriel window, decorated with richly carved mullions and tracery work in stone. All the windows are casements, and all set in highly ornamental stone work, but the oriel, which belongs to a noble old drawing-room, fitted up with carved oak wainscoting and ceiling, is far more beautiful and elaborate in its design than the rest. All the lower part of this house is lightly covered with flowering plants of all hues ; and there are innumerable rooks cawing overhead and winging their way to their rookery for the night ; and we hear the sound of the deep rolling sea, although we cannot see it. Such are the externals of the house. 2 II. THE HOPS FAMILY. ^\ T the period at which our story commences, ^W the house that I have described was occupied by a gentleman of the name of Hope. He was of Scotch extraction, and had been educated for the Scottish bar ; but the health of his wife having required a milder climate than that of her native land, he had thrown up his profession, sold his Scotch estates, and travelled for a time in Italy and the south of France. On returning to England, the mild climate of Devonshire, which was found exactly to suit Mrs. Hope's state of health, induced him to settle there, and he therefore purchased the house and grounds called Coombhurst Grange. For two or three years after their settlement in Devonshire, Mrs. Hope's health continued to im- prove ; and her husband and children, associated with the beloved wife and mother amidst scenes of such beauty and in so genial a clime, seemed al- most to forget the insidious nature of the disease, which had banished her from their northern home. THE HOPE FAMILY. 15 But that disease, though kept in abeyance for a time, had taken too strong a hold of her constitu- tion to be eradicated, and after giving birth to her seventh child, the little Lilias who is to be the chief personage in our tale, she died. She was a true Christian, and had long felt that this was not her rest, and before she was removed to her better home, she had received the blessed assurance that the long chastening which her illness had proved to her beloved husband, had been blessed to him, and that she left her children in the hands of one who would labor with faithful prayer to bring them to the Saviour who had proved Himself to her " a faithful deliverer." Of the seven children whom she left, four were sons, and three daughters. Nugent, the eldest, was, at the time of the commencement of our story, passing through his academical course at Oxford ; Evcrard was with a tutor, preparing to join his brother at the university; and Vernon and Ed- ward, two fine boys twelve and ten years old, were at Eton. Of the girls, Maud was the eldest ; she was about seventeen, and her sister Mabel some two years younger, and Lilias was nearly nine. All three girls were living at home, the two elder under the care <>f a lady who had been their gover- 16 BLIND LILIAS. ness from childhood, and carrying on their studies partly under her guidance and partly under their father's ; whilst the little Lilias acted the part of pet, playmate, and pupil to each in turn, and stood as fair a chance of being spoiled as any little lady need wish to do. Maud was tall, fair, and graceful — much like her mother in pei'son, and, like her, richly gifted in taste and intellect. She was an artist by nature, and her powers had been highly cultivated by her father, from whom she inherited the taste for drawing ; but music was her greatest gift. The very spirit of harmony seemed to dwell in her, and the rich, full tones of her voice, combined with a peculiarly chaste and delicate taste, gave great charms to her singing. Maud and Mabel, though as closely united in sisterly affection as it was possible for two girls to be, and inseparable companions, differed as materi- ally in character as in person. The elder was of a grave, rather reserved, and very thoughtful turn of mind, and possessed strong, though usually well- controlled feelings. She was devoted to her father ; and the early death of her mother having made her more closely his companion than she otherwise would have been, and devolved on her cares and THE HOPE FAMILY. 17 duties which do not usually occupy one so young, she had become more matured in mind and charac- ter than is usual with girls of her age. Mabel, on the contrary, was, both in appearance and manners, younger than might be expected at near sixteen. Maud's judgment was sound and good, but she was rather diffident and afraid to act on it ; whilst Mabel was ready in decision and rapid in action ; but, as is often the case with those of quick and eager temperament, she not unfrequently formed hasty judgments and took rash steps, and so got into difficulties from which her sister was called on to extricate her. She was frank and joy- ous in spirit, " what her heart thought her tongue spoke," and the pleasant musical voice in which she gave utterance to the thoughts of her merry heart added to the attraction which her cheerful spirits and lively manner gave to her. Always vehement and energetic, a new object was sure to occupy all Mabel's thoughts, whether sleeping or waking; nor could she rest until, by talking or acting, she had given full scope to her imagination, and thrown off some of its first impetus. Both sisters were alike good and dutiful to their father ; but the extreme impressibility of character of the latter, and the calm thoughtfulness which 2* 18 BLIND LILIAS. distinguished the former, contrasted strongly, and seemed to place a greater distance between the sisters than the two years of age which separated them ; and Maud consequently exercised an influence over her eager and excitable young companion more like that of a mother than of a sister. Lilias, as we have inferred, held almost too promi- nent a place in the family. Left, when a few weeks old, to the sole guardianship of the widowed father, she had been considered by him as a peculiar charge ; and as she had been given to him just at the time when his heart first turned unreservedly to Christ, and had begun to realize the joy of fel- lowship with Him, he had specially devoted himself to the task of bringing up this little one. His elder children had enjoyed the high privilege of their mother's teaching, but Lilias had none but himself; and, therefore, though in truth without showing any undue partiality to his infant child, he certainly de- voted himself to her with such anxiety and watch- fulness as was not unlikely to lead her to think herself of too much importance. Her elder sisters also, and her brothers when at home, made so much of her, and were so apt to contend which should lead her in their walks, and play with her at home — laughingly to dispute for THE HOPE FAMILY. 19 her kisses, and vie with each other in indulging her every wish — that their father, who was not blinded to the danger she was in, was often obliged to check their unwise indulgence of the little pet, and even seriously reprove them for spoiling her. The poor child was certainly in a very dangerous position. Pretty, talented in no common degree, and at the same time highly sensitive of praise, fond of admiration, and vehemently passionate, it seemed but too probable that Lilias would become conceited and self-willed, and Mr. Hope, though aware of the danger, found it a somewhat difficult task properly to restrain one who was so beloved and petted by all. He was, however, strongly convinced of the extreme importance to them all that she should be kept in her right place in the family, and he was earnest in his determination to do so. Thus, in consequence of this wise control, the little girl, though at all times in some peril, had hitherto escaped becoming that most disagreeable thing, a spoiled child, and though often taking liberties with her brothers and sisters, and not unfrequently breaking out into uncontrolled fits of passion, she was, on the whole, a tolerably good child. III. UIiIAS' BIRTHDAY* 'HE 21st of July was Lily's birthday; and on the clay on which she would complete her ninth year, according to annual custom, a party of young friends from the neighborhood was to assemble at the Grange, to spend a long day ; and three or four, who came from a considerable distance, were to sleep, and stay for a few days. The boys were at home, but the elder brothers were enjoying a trip into Scotland, and Miss Colville, the girls' governess, was absent on a visit to her relations, and in consequence the whole party were enjoying a season of holiday. Lilias, at all times a most excitable child, was wild with delight for days before the expected festival. Every toy was pulled out, and underwent a thorough cleansing, and papa was called on to heat his glue-pot, and stick heads and tails, legs and arms, on all the frac- tured animals that could be rummaged out of their retreat, and nurse to put all the dolls' garments into a wearable state. It was a busy time indeed LILIA8' BIRTHDAY. 21 in the nursery. What with washing and ironing frocks, re-drcssing babies, and grooming donkeys and horses, Lily and nurse seemed to have enough to do. Lily was scarcely considered now as a nur- sery child ; indeed, the name of " nursery " began to yield to that of "play-room," and the little girl rather made a point of its being called so. On this occasion, however, she was too busy to care about names ! The idea of playfellows was enchantment to her, and to have several for days together, and to be herself the queen of the entertainment, was more than delightful ; for Lilias, like many older people, always liked to be first and most important. Iu two of the large fields belonging to the Grange, the hay was not as yet carried, but lay in long ridges, and on the birthday all the little ones were to participate in the joy of helping, or pretending to help, to make il into ricks, which were to be placed as usual in the corner of the field nearest the house. When these ricks were completed, Mr. Hope's hay harvest would be finished, and it was arranged (hat the harvest supper should be one of the pleasures of the birthday ; and, in consequence, all hands were at work from dawn on the 21 st, scattering the sweet half-made hay abroad in (he sunshine with their prongs, to complete the process 22 BLIND LILIAB. of drying, and raking, and tossing, and raking again. It was a lovely morning, and the boys were out before breakfast with their picks and rakes, well pleased to help in the work, and as Lily looked from her window, before she went to her papa's room for her morning's reading, she was delighted to see the busy men and women at their pleasant labor. Vernon and Edward saw her at the open window, and tossing their hats into the air, scampered to- wards the house to offer her their birthday greetings. Then Lily went to her father, and received his lov- ing kiss and a few words of affectionate advice, re- minding her that birthdays were not to be thought of only as days of special amusement and pleasure, but that they are like the milestones that mark the progress we have made on our way through life, and that we should think seriously at such times, whether we have gained ground in spiritual things, whether we are growing in love to God and obedience to His will. After reading a portion of Scripture together, the father and his child knelt down, and Mr. Hope prayed for special blessings on his little one. Lilias rose from her knees much solemnized ; but her joyous spirits soon recovered themselves, and taking her father's hand she bounded along, skipping and jumping, into the library, where her LILIAs' BIRTHDAY. 23 sisters and brothers met her. Presents were not given until after morning prayers ; but service over the whole party adjourned to the breakfast- room, and there were all the beautiful gifts laid out in order on the table, and a lovely little nosegay on Lily's plate, and vases of exquisite flowers, and plates of delicious fruit, all gathered together to delight the little plaything of the family on her birthday. Lily's heart beat with delight as she went from one pretty thing to another, reading the affectionate words inscribed on the labels at- tached to each present, hugging and kissing each giver most unmercifully, and then returning to purr about amongst her offerings, like a happy kitten over its playthings. The morning was spent by Lily and her brothers in receiving the different parties of visitors, as they arrived one by one, and in exhibiting to each all the various presents that she had received. Papa had given her a beautiful Bible, with maps and references, a possession that the little lady had long coveted, and she was very ,i,'mihI of Ix'ing now thought old enough to take care of it. Maud had presented her with a magnificent drawing-room for her dolls, furnished in the most tasteful manner, the walls covered with an elegant gold and white paper, and the ground with a beau- 24 BLIND LILIAS. tiful crimson carpet. Then there were chairs and couches, and tables, and a grate, and a fender, and even a little copper coal-scuttle and hearth-brush, articles of use and ornament that called forth al- most more admiration than all the rest together. Mabel's gift was a tea-set for the dolls and their guests, and Lily informed her visitors, that they were to " have tea out of them that very afternoon, before they went to the hay field." The boys had given her a pretty new geographical game, with a teetotum and counters ; and even the absent broth- ers had not forgotten her, but each had commission- ed Maud to get her a nice book, so she was not only the happy owner of all these playthings, but also of Masterman Ready and Robinson Crusoe, books which she promised to lend to every one, " as soon as she had done with them herself." The first arrivals were Annie and Rosamond Bright, the children of a neighboring clergyman, and they were soon followed by Mary and Walter Green, with their tiny sister Lina, a little, round, fat thing of five, who had never before spent a clay from home without her mamma, and had only been permitted to do so now on Lily's most earnest entreaties that " the darling " might come, and Maud's promises to make the little creature her own especial charge. LILIAs' BIRTHDAY. 25 All these were, as they arrived, nicely put in order by the nurses who brought them, and then left with strict charges to be very good, and mind every thing that they were told. Lily then took then) to her play-room, where nurse sat to attend to them, and soon they were all fully engaged in admiring Lily's new playthings, and amusing them- selves with the old. Lily not unreasonably feared the havoc that so many little hands would make in her pretty new toy, and begged that no one would touch it ; and she herself set the example of for- bearance by standing with her hands behind her whilst they all looked at each article of the furni- ture. But there were plenty of toys that the vis- itors were allowed freely to use ; and when the lit- tle twins Johnny and Josephine D' Urban, and their cousin Gertrude Mavor, were introduced into the room, they found all the other children as busy at play, and making as much noise, as if they had been settled there for a month. Ernest Graves and his sister, their physician's children, were the next to come ; and two or three more little girls who soon arrived completed the party. " Come, Earnest,'' said Vernon, " we don't want 3 26 BLIND LILIAS. to stay here ; let you and me go and see the new- puppies, and then I'll show you my pony." " Very well," replied Ernest, who was a fine lad of about Vernon's age ; " I should like it of all things — come along. Will you go too, Ned 1 " he added. Edward agreed to join them, and the three boys set off to the stables ; whilst the younger ones of the party, ten in number, including the little host- ess, set about amusing themselves in groups as they best liked. Janette Graves, who was a year older than Lilins, sat down on a low chair to examine Lily's dolls' drawing-room, and Mary Green with her. The other younger ones were delighted with loading a toy wagon, and making the wooden teams draw it round and round the room. Johnny D'Urban and Walter Green pretended to be millers, and played at buying the sacks of flour that the wagoners brought ; and Gertrude Mavor relieved Maud from all anxiety about little Lina, by taking her under her special care as her own child for the day, and was now playing nursemaid for the little one's dolls. Lily, seeing that .all the boys and younger chil- dren were safe at play, now relaxed her authority over the drawing-room, and she and the two other LILIAS' BIRTHDAY. 27 little girls were soon busy enough in full play with the pretty new toy, placing and replacing each separate piece of furniture, and admiring every article, as they carefully examined it, as emphatic- ally as Lily could desire. Lilias was very good and very happy. No one interfered with her own peculiar pleasures and prerogatives ; and Maud, when she looked in on the little ones, was delighted to see her behaving as a little hostess should to her guests, and all going on so very satisfactorily. Lilias had been so little accustomed to have any one with whom to share her amusements, or who was likely to interfere with her will, that she scarce- ly knew how to behave with other children. Those who have little brothers and sisters are, of course, often called on to yield up their own wishes to those of others, and to share everything with the rest ; but solitary children such as Lilias, from having no one to claim a share in any indulgence, or to take turns with them in any amusement, are very apt to become selfish, and desirous of ruling the others, and of engrossing everything for themselves ; and hence arose Maud's fear as to whether the little girl would behave pleasantly towards her companions. Long before the children were inclined to leave 28 BLIND LILIAS. their play, the first dinner bell rang, and the nnrses called their little charges to be put neat before they went down stairs. Gertrude would not give up Lina to any one. She said it was " her child," and would let no one but herself brush the little one's hair, and wash her hands, and then she led her down, choosing to hold the office of nurse and playmate herself, so that the two, the youngest and the eldest of the little party, for Gertrude was twelve years old, became wholly inseparable companions. There was an elegant dinner laid for the little party, and all were so sober and dignified in their demeanor, when they entered the dining-room, that no one could have imagined it was the same set of children, who had but lately made the house echo with their mirth and play. They were all now conscious of the honor of dining out, and of the importance of being on their very best behavior. Besides this, some, if not all of the party, were rather shy and frightened, and would have found it rather difficult at first to utter a word. Lilias was seated at the top of the table, a dignity reserved only for birthdays, and Maud sat by her, to help her in her office of president. Little Lina sat by Gertrude, who cut her dinner for her, and helped her constantly, though by so doing, she left herself LILIAS BIRTHDAY. 29 but little time to enjoy her own meal. " Miss Mavor," said nurse, " do please to let me 'tend up- on the little one ; you'll let your chicken get quite cold." But Lina pouted, and said " No ;" so Ger- trude said " No," too ; and thanking nurse, said that she had undertaken the care of the darling, and did not mind a bit about her dinner. The meal over, a game of play on the stairs commenced, and hide- and-seek, battledore, and genuine romping of all kinds followed, for about an hour. Mr. Hope then called the elder ones into the library, and showed them some prints, whilst the little ones proceeded to the play-room, to take tea out of the new tea- things ; — a mere play tea, for the proper meal was to be partaken of in the hay field two hours later, when the sun was a little lower, and the air less heated. 3* IV. PHIDS AND PASSION* " JMftHAT shall we do next ? " said Edith Gay, /W a merry, romping girl of ten years old, when, after having a little exhausted their spirits, by running and jumping over the hay, bury- ing each other in it, and playing all sorts of tricks, they at last came to a pause. They now stood all together in a group under a large tree by the stream that ran through the meadows. " Yes, what shall we ? " joined in two or three voices. " Let us try who can jump over the stream," said Walter Green. " No, no ! " said Lilias, " we girls can't do that !" " Cannot we have some lines, and fish 1 " asked Ernest. " Fish, Graves ! who ever saw a fish in a stream like that ? No, that won't do," answered Vernon. " Well, then, I '11 tell you, Vernon," replied Ernest ; " let us all get into that wagon and drive round the fields." PRIDE AND PASSION. 31 ''So we will, so we will," exclaimed the chil- dren. '' But we must not without leave," suggested Edward ; " I will run and ask Williams ;" and oft* he ran and soon returned with the desired permis- sion, and followed by Williams to help them man- age the horses ; and in a very few minutes a dozen or more of merry creatures were seated on the soft hay, of which the Avagon was half full, urging on the great horses to trot, and shouting at the top of their voices, utterly regardless of the jumbling that ensued, as the wheels jolted over the drain courses which crossed the fields in every direction. Ger- trude and Lina were not of the party, but sat under a tree playing with flowers, for the wise and moth- erly little girl was afraid to trust her young charge in the crowded wagon, and Gertrude never thought of her own pleasure when it seemed to interfere with either the pleasure or the good of others. " Let me go too, Toodie," said the little thing, jumping up, as the merry and noisy party passed by the spot where they were sitting, rattling along and waving their bands and handkerchiefs. ■■ No, darling, Toodie cannot let you go; Lina is too little," replied Gertrude. " But you're not too little. Why don't you go, 32 BLIND LILIAS, Toodie V asked the child ; " you could take care of me. Do go, it is so funny ! " But Gertrude, true to her charge, would not be persuaded, and when, on their next round, the boys stopped the wagon and begged her to come in, she still steadily, but with the most perfect good humor, declined, and continued to devote herself to her little playfellow's amusement. All the children in the wagon enjoyed the sport exceedingly. On they went, over rut and hillock, hay mound and drain course, Williams running at the head of the horses until, exhausted by his ef- forts, the poor man stopped to rest a moment. Then Vernon and Ernest clambered over the front of the wagon to the shafts, and thence to the backs of the horses, where they seated themselves in tri- umph ; and as they did so, Miss Lily, ever foremost in frolic, seized the extempore reins, made of a piece of cord which Williams had tied on for them, and the whip which Vernon had abandoned, and began to slash about her, and urge the horses f< ir- ward with whip and voice. For a little while noth- ing was to be heard but shouts of mirth and laugh- ter, but then Lilias, not content with a moderate exercise of her authority, began slashing at the horses with all her might, and not being either very PRIDE AND PASSION. 33 skilful or very careful, her brother and his friend came in for a share of the whipping. " Hallo !" exclaimed Vernon, angrily ; " who is that slashing me with the whip 1 ?" and turning around he soon discovered who was the culprit. There stood Lilias, her hat thrown off, her long curls flying about in wild disorder, her face scarlet with heat and excitement, waving her long whip about in the air, shouting at the top of her voice, and gesticulating more like a great boy than a young lady. "Lilias!" he exclaimed. " for shame! put down the whip and reins directly, you naughty child — you had no business to take them ; a child of your age attempting to do such a thing, indeed ! Put down the whip," he reiterated, seeing that his sister was not disposed to obey his command, " or I'll make you." Excessively annoyed and angry at Vernon's dic- tatorial manner, and at his calling her "such a child," Lilias replied in a pert and disagreeable manner, that she should not do if lor his bidding, and that he was hut a child himself. On this, her brother, who, having I a two years at a public school, had a most supreme contempt for girls, especially little i^irls. and by n<> means thought 34 BLIND LILIAS. himself a child, became very angry, and seeing that Lilias again triumphantly flourished the whip, and gave the horses another cut, he called to Williams, who, being at the head of the horses, knew nothing of what was passing, to stop, and as soon as he had done so the young gentleman scrambled from the horse back into the wagon, exclaiming, " I'll teach you." Lilias, who was a little afraid of her brother, and perhaps rather alarmed as to what sort of teaching he might have recourse to, sprang away, and Ver- non pursuing her to the back of the wagon, she suddenly overbalanced herself and fell over the low tail-board to the ground, a little more hastily than she quite liked. Of course she roared lustily, but whether with wrath or pain the party in the wagon could not decide. In an instant Vernon leaped down, and was at her side. To his great satisfac- tion he found that she had fallen on a heap of hay, and had probably received no injury ; but his anger had rapidly changed into sorrow and compunction when he saw her fall, and he now affectionately, and with many apologies, tried to raise her up. But the young lady would not be mollified, and, as is wont with passionate children, she continued PRIDE AND PASSION. 35 to lie on the ground, kicking and screaming, and looking the very picture of naughtiness. " O Lily," he said, half frightened at her violence, " do get up, and not cry so. I had no idea of hurt- ing you, and I am so soi*ry !" " You pushed me out, you naughty boy — you did. You did it on purpose to kill me, and I'll tell papa, and then you'll see what he will say to you," sobbed the naughty child, renewing her screams and kicking. " No, Lily, nonsense," replied Vernon ; " I did not push you — it was you that overbalanced your- self in pushing me back. But come, Lil," he added, " make it up and be friends — I am very sorry I was rude and cross. Come, darling, you arc not hurt; let me help you up again, and you shall drive if you like, and whip me too if you will ; but don't let us spoil every one's pleasure so. and on your birthday, too." But Lily would not be entreated. She said she was hurt, and would not get into the nasty wagon in, nor have anything to do with such rude, dis- agreeable bovs ; and seeing thai several of the chil- dren, who had now descended from the wagon and stood round, were rather disposed to smile at her absurd appearance and expressions, she suddenly 36 BLIND LILIAS. sprang from the ground in afresh access of passion, saying, "And instead of pitying me, you are laugh- ing at me — a nice set of friends you are, to be sure !" and turning suddenly, she flew across the fields into the house, where she was found an hour after seated in the nursery in sullen dignity. And so Lily's happy day was spoiled. The other children had tea and junket, and strawberries and cream, in the hay-field. They saw the ricks com- pleted, and had the pleasure of seeing all the work- men and their wives and children enjoy the hay- harvest supper at the farm-house ; but Lily, poor child, though not under sentence of punishment (for her father, who, for a long time, had not heard of her ill conduct, had left her to herself, and taken as yet no notice of it), could not prevail on herself to rejoin the party, but sat alone, sullen and angry, though several of her little friends kindly came to seek and try to soothe her. It is sad indeed to see how often our own tem- pers stand in the way of our happiness. Every indulgence and pleasure that a little girl could de- vise, had been provided for Lilias, and nothing hin- dered her enjoyment save her own pride and pas- sion. But pride, cherished in the heart, is enough in itself to destroy all comfort and enjoyment — a PRIDE AND PASSION. 37 single word or look will wound a proud spirit, when an humbler one will pass many by, if not with- out notice, yet without feeling hurt. The child who begins to give way to bad feeling and passionate actions, never knows when she will stop. The Scripture says, "The beginning of wrath is as when one lcttcth out water ; therefore let alone strife, before it be meddled with." I have heard children say, " But I can't help being in a passion, it comes on me so quick that I can't stop it." My children, this would not be so if you habit- ually tried to remember Him who was once a child like yourselves — to think of Him who was meek and lowly in heart, and try to be like Him. The best recipe I can give to any one who is subject to fits of anger, and to be "easily provoked," is to pause a moment before you take notice in words of an\ thing that offends you, and lift up your heart to God in this short prayer — "Father, help me, and make me patient and humble like Thy dear Son Jesus Christ." [f you pray thus with all your heart, and then try to acl in conformity with your prayer, you will spare yourself many a sorrowful hour, and your parents and friends many a troubled thought. Above all, I won!. I add that you will spare your Saviour the grief of seeing any little 4 38 BLIND LILIAS. one, whom He would fain call a lamb of His fold, acting like a little savage heathen child who never heard of God or His holy Son. Lilias knew better than she allowed people to suppose. She knew that she had offended God, and disgraced herself in the sight of her little friends. She knew also that she had been the means of spoil- ing much of their enjoyment, and that she owed them all the reparation she could make, and ought to ask all their pardons, and try and do all she could by kind and gentle behavior to make amends to them ; yet, poor child, she could not at present make up her mind to do this, and consequently she sat in her solitude until her father came to seek her, and finding her still unsubdued and sullen, he desired nurse to give her some tea up-stairs, and then to put her to bed. Her punishment was of a salutary nature. Left to her own reflections, though at first inclined to lay the blame of her fault on any one rather than her- self, and to rebel against that kind father who had sentenced her, and nurse, who, when she brought her some refreshment, tried to lead her to a better state of feeling, yet as time went on Lilias began to see with clearer eyes, and to be conscious how much she had been to blame. In consequence of this, PRIDE AND PASSION. 39 before she went to bed, she was able to beg that her papa would come up, and when he did so, to con- fess her fault to him and ask his forgiveness. " But there is One whose pardon you ought to ask before mine, dear Lily," said Mr. Hope ; " have you asked Him to forgive you ?" "No, papa," replied she; "I have not seen him, and I don't think I ought to ask his pardon. It was all his fault in the beginning, and I think he ought to ask mine." " I did not speak of your brother, my dear," an- swered Mr. Hope; "but as you name him, I must iust say that I do not think it was all his fault, even in the beginning. Besides, if I am not misinformed, Vernon did ask your forgiveness, and say he was sorry, and ask you to be friends. But my naughty and passionate little girl refused to forgive her brother. Now it is your place to ask his pardon. Do not you think so V "Yes, papa," said Lily half aloud. "But, dear child, is there not One of more im- portance than either I or Vernon, whom you have offended by your wild passions ? Let us kneel to- gether and ask Him to pardon you, and then per- haps you will feel better able to send your brother a message of love by me. and meet him in the 40 BLIND LILIAS. morning as a little brother and sister should meet." Lily and her father knelt together, and Mr. Hope, in simple language, such as his child would feel and understand, offered a short confession of sin, and prayed the God of all love and mercy to pardon her, and give her a new heart, and grace hereafter to walk in Christ's ways ; and, when they rose, Lily's heart was softened, and her pride gone, and sobbing on her father's breast she humbly con- fessed that she had indeed been very naughty, and sent a loving message to Vernon, and " good-nights" to her young friends, and then with a heart more at peace than it had been for many hours, the little girl laid her head on her pillow, and was soon fast asleep. V. THS LITTLE MIMIC. ^Ij^rlLIAS woke the next morning with rather a asmj heavy heart. -She did not quite like the idea of coming into the presence of those who had witnessed her misconduct, nor could she quite make up her mind what to say to Vernon, nor exactly decide as to what she should do in other respects. After nurse had left her, and she had said her prayers, and read her morning chapter in the Bible, she therefore lingered a little, looked out of the window, and then stood irresolute for a moment. At last, feeling like a wise child that the time must come, and thai matters would not be made better by delay, she boldly opened the door, and was pro- ceeding on her way down-stairs, when, to her great surprise, she saw Vernon standing at the stain window. He had been waiting for her to appear, and was the first to say how sorry he was for what had happened; that he knew he bad not been kind the day before, and was quite ready (<> take the 42 BLIND LILIA9. blame on himself. But Lily said, "No, it was, most of it, her fault," and asked him to forgive her ; so then they kissed each other most lovingly, and walked hand in hand into the library where all were assembled for morning prayers. When the little twins and Gertrude saw that she and Vernon were friends, so far from laughing at Lily, or as she had feared, looking unkindly at her, they all ran to her and kissed her, and not a word was said by any one in reference to yesterday, and e< nsequently in a few minutes she was again quite happy and as full of play as any of the party. The morning of the day after Lilias' birthday was lovely, and the little girls enjoyed, each in turn, a ride on the pony on the soft grass of the field, whence all the hay was now cleared away ; and the boys, meanwhile, took a walk with Mr. Hope. But at about twelve the day became overcast, and a thoroughly wet afternoon set in, precluding the pos- sibility of any more out-of-door amusements, so that the little visitors were obliged to content them- selves with home occupation. Vernon and Ger- trude began a long game of battledore, and their merry voices might be heard the house over, count- ing their number of strokes, and laughing as now THE LITTLE MIMIC. 43 one, and then the other, made false strokes, and let the shuttlecock fall to the ground. Johnny D'Urhiin and Edward Hope settled to drawing ; the former copying a landscape of his sis- ter's, whilst the latter diverted himself with sketch- ing a strange wild procession of animals — cats riding on rats, foxes on camels, hens on cocks, with the bridle in their beaks, etc., etc., while the whole air above was fdled with cats, dogs, and other ani- mals, riding at full speed on eagles, geese, and other birds, lie was a child of considerable pow- ers of mind, and possessed of a remarkable degree of fancy and imagination, so that he not only amused himself, but Gertrude also, who sat by him after her game was over, laughing at the odd con- ceits that he produced so rapidly. Lilias and Josephine, who were of about the same age, amused themselves with Lily's dolls, of which she had an immense number of every age and kind. First the whole party, wooden and wax, giris and boys, were elaborately instructed in every branch of Learning in which either of the little girls had been accustomed herself to be exercised. Sev- eral of them were, of course, stubborn and naughty ; and then they were disciplined, and reproved, and punished, but we must confess, with a greater de- 44 BLIND LILIAS. gree of severity, and for times of far longer dura- tion, than the little teachers themselves ever expe- rienced. Lessons over, the whole party were taken for a walk, Lilias playing mamma, and Josephine nurse. After this it was discovered that one poor little creature called Willie — a doll of that species that turns its head, and makes a kind of barking noise — had a dreadful cough. It was pronounced to be hooping-cough, and poor Willie was made to keep on coughing, while the little nurses with moth- erly assiduity, proceeded to undress him, and lay him in the cradle. " We must fetch the doctor for the poor darling," said Josephine — " mamma did when baby had it;" and off she ran, begging that Johnny, who held the office of family physician to the inhabitants of doll- land, would come immediately, and prescribe for poor Willie — a call that Johnny was quite willing to obey. Gertrude came with him, and Ned, find- ing that the drawing party was broken up, soon fol- lowed them. Johnny, who, from baby's recent treatment, was well up in the symptoms of, and remedies for, the complaint, ordered that Willie should not be kept in bed, but must on no account go out of the house ; so then the little nurses took him up and dressed him again. Then Johnny pre- THE LITTLE MIMIC. 45 scribed certain oils to be rubber] into the chest, and other alleviating measures, kindly undertaking to superintend the application of the oils. Ned of- fered his assistance in fetching medicine from the chemist's, whilst Gertrude undertook to amuse the other doll little ones, and keep them out of the way ; consequently, the whole party, boys and girls, were soon so busy at play with the dolls as to be quite sorry to hear the first bell summoning them to prepare for dinner, and agreed that they would return to their play as soon as possible after dinnei\ When the little playfellows returned to their young family, they found that Willie's cough was no better. "Worse, indeed, poor child," Lilias said, and most certainly he did make a most strange and alarming noise. Moreover, it was discovered that several more of the dobs had symptoms of the same complaint, and required attention. After applying their remedies very freely, Johnny and Edward undertook to get up a show for the amusement of the invalids. For this purpose all the toys ainl pictures that could he mustered were set up in semicircles, and a stage built with bricks in the centre, on which were placed all the dolls. About twenty of different kinds and sizes, from Lily's beautiful wax baby to the humblest little 46 BLIND LILIAS. Dutch damsel, were placed on this ; and Edward with a long stick in his hand, took on him the office of showman, and described all the wonderful things before them in a loud voice, interspersing his descriptions with all sorts of fun and nonsense ; whilst Gertrude, Johnny, Lily, and Josephine, grouped behind the stage of dolls, amused them- selves in making small speeches and merry laughs, in all sorts of doll-like voices, to represent the re- marks of the tiny people for whose amusement the exhibition was supposed to be got up. All, little and big, were enjoying themselves most heartily, when the sudden appearance of Maud and Mabel, who, attracted by the sounds of mirth, came to see what was going on, almost broke up the fun. Poor Edward and Johnny were shocked to be found thus playing with the girls and their dolls, but the elder girls so much admired the show, and so carefully refrained from anything that might look like disrespect to the exhibition, that they were soon re-assured, and the fun went on with unabated ardor, until nurse summoned her little charges to be dressed. New pleasures were found for the evening, and the day passed off so pleasantly, that all the chil- dren agreed that they hoped it would be wet to- THE LITTLE MIMIC. 47 morrow. Lilias had been so much subdued by the events of yesterday as to be quite a different child in her demeanor. Gentle and yielding, and full of concern for the pleasure and comfort of others, she had herself found abundant enjoyment, and she told nurse when she went to bed that she never had been so happy, and she meant to be always good. The desires of the children for a wet day were fully gratified, for the morning rose with such a clouded sky, and such heavy rains, that there ap- peared every prospect that none of the party would be able to get out of doors that day. The time did not, however, pass so pleasantly as the day be- fore ; the home resources had been in some measure exhausted, and, besides this, Lilias had begun to for- get her good resolutions, and had been rather cross and pettish. Josephine wished to play with the dolls again, and Lily had set her mind on a game of battledore with Johnny, and would not give it up, and then the little girls were very near quarrel- ling, and would have quite done so, had not Ger- trude, who was always watchful for opportunilii \s of pleasing and helping others, and ready to give up her own pleasure, if by doing so she could minister to that of others, goodnaluredly left her employment, and £onc to play at dolls nnd doctors 48 BLIND LILIAg. with the little girl. All, however, went on pretty- smoothly until after dinner. Then the long con- finement to the house began to tell, and the children all became rather dull, and some of them rather contradictory. Lilias had a pretty kitten called Tiny, of which she was very fond. Josephine wanted Tiny to lie on her lap, but Tiny had a will of her own, and springing off Josephine's knee, climbed up Lily's frock, and established herself on her shoulder, and then began to pull at Lily's curls, and comb them with her claws, as she was accustom- ed to do. " Of course she will come to her own mistress," said Lily, stroking the little creature, "of course she will ; I should not love you a bit, Tiny, if you did not love me the very best of all in the world." " Oh, ' of course' indeed," replied Josephine, pet- tishly. " Of course she does come to you, because you coax her away from every one else, and it 's only because you feed her. If I had milk or meat, I would soon get her back." Lily fired up : " You would not ; you would never get her away from me. If you were to feed her all day long, she would not love you. She loves me though, pretty dear," added she, caressing THE LITTLE MIMIC. 49 her little pet ; " and I never feed her, or scarcely ever. Stupid little thing you are, Josephine ! " " Lilias ! " said Maud. Lilias blushed, and looked ashamed. Her sister's glance had reminded her that she had resolved not to be selfish any more, nor to try always to be first. It brought to her mind those better feelings; and taking the kitten gently from her shoulder, she placed her in Josephine's lap, saying as she did so, " I didn't mean it, Josephine. You shall have her. I '11 soon make her stay with you ;" and stroking her little favorite she soon got her to settle on Josephine's lap, and showing her friend how to please the little purring pet, by rubbing its throat, and letting it lie without holding it so tight as she had before, she soon had the pleasure of seeing Tiny at high play on Josephine's lap, and needed not Maud's affection- ate glance of approval to give her the higher pleas- ure of feeling that she had conquered self. Maud, seeing that the children were getting weary of the long day, now proposed that each one should do something in turn to amuse the rest — either to sing a song, or tell a story, or ask a riddle, or anything else they chose. This proposal was highly applauded, and it was decided that the eldest should begin. Vernon, therefore, sang a merry 5 50 BLIND LILIAS. comic song, with several amusing changes and gesticulations to suit the subject, which made them all laugh exceedingly. Maud had been called away, but she promised that she would come back and give her contribution at the end. Gertrude's turn came next. She chose to tell a story, and all sat round and listened with breathless interest, whilst she very prettily repeated a story of some French emigrants, which she had lately read, in which the children of a noble family had been re- duced to such necessity as to have been all obliged to go out as servants, some of them in the lowest capacity ; and as she told of their toils and of the efforts they all made to maintain their poor parents by their labors, her little auditors were all so full of sympathy that the girls almost wept. But Edward's arithmetical question, which came next, was of so puzzling and amusing a character, that the pathos of Gertrude's story was soon for- gotten. Edward's question was this : — "A woman went out to sell some eggs. To the first person she met she sold half she had and half an egg ; to the second, half she had remaining and half an egg; to the third, half she had then remaining and half an egg. At the end she had one egg left, and she had not broken or otherwise divided one egg in the THE LITTLE MIMIC. 51 course of her sales. Query, How many had she in her basket when she began V This was a puzzler indeed. Vernon thought and pondered over it, but did not speak. Lily guessed at random, " Six — nine — four ? " Gertrude saw at once that none of these numbers would do, but could in no way find out what would. Josephine followed Lily's example, and guessed all sorts of numbers without having any reasons for naming one more than another ; and Johnny quietly said, " It can't be true ; she could not have sold people half eggs three times over, and yet not have broken one, and so I shan't try to find out what can't be. You must have mistaken the riddle, Ned." But Ned, chuckling over his very successful at- tempt to puzzle them, would only assure them that he was quite right, and so they would see when they knew the answer. Many numbers were tried and re- jected, for the puzzle of the half eggs baffled them all. " Shall 1 tell ? " asked Edward. " Yes, do," said Gertrude, " I can make nothing of it." "It's all nonsense," said Master Johnny, "/have not tried." " And you would not have found out if you had, old boy," said Edward, laughing. 52 BLIND LILIAS. " Come, Ned, tell," said Lily : and Josephine too said, " Yes, do, tell what it is." But Vernon, who had for the last few minutes been so busy with pencil and paper, that he had not heard what was passing, now interposed, " Tell ; no, certainly not, don't tell, Ned. I almost have it, stop a minute ;" and, completing his calculation, he exclaimed, " I have it ; she had fifteen !" " Yes, to be sure," replied Edward. " Now, Master Johnny, I have been longing to convince you. Don't you see now 1 ?" But Johnny did not see. He was old enough to perceive the difficulty, but not to discover the way of obviating it without some explanation. So Ver- non set himself to make the matter clear to the lit- tle ones, all of whom were eager to make out the meaning of the answer. " Now attend," — said Ver- non, " and think — how many is half fifteen ?" " Seven and a half," said Lily. " Well, you know she sold to her first customer half she had — that is, seven and a half- — and half an egg." " I see," said Johnny ; " and that made eight, and then she had seven left. That 's capital." "Yes; and then the next customer had three and a half and the half egg made four, and the last had THE LITTLE MIMIC. 53 one and a half and the half made two, and then she had one left," continued Vernon. All were de- lighted, and, of course, after the explanation all understood. And now it was Lily's turn, as, on comparing ages, it was proved that she was a few weeks in advance of the twins. In an instant Lily was on her feet. She threw back her head, half closed her eyes, and began to strut up and down the room in a droll manner, saying several sentences, one after the other very rapidly, and ending each with, "Eh ! don't you think so, ma'am ?" Two or three voices exclaimed at once, amidst bursts of laughter, " Major Edwards. It's the Major himself — how well you do it, Lily." Then Lily changed her whole manner — got on a chair, and with a low, snuflling voice and droning manner, and wrinkled-up face, proceeded to imitate some one preaching a sermon. " That 's Mr. Scott," ex- claimed Vernon. " Capital, Lily ; now do old Mrs. Swenzer." But Gertrude looked grave, and said, " No, Lily ; it is not right to mimic people. Papa used to say he thought it very v, rong and unkind to turn people into ridicule. Don't do it, dear." " Nonsense ; I am not ridiculing them," replied 5* 54 BLIND LILIAS. Lily. "I am only taking off their manner, and making you guess who they are. I wish you would not be so fussy. There is no harm in it." " It 's because Gerty can't do it herself," said Johnny, who had been excessively delighted at Lily's performance. " She can never imitate any- thing ; she can't crow like a cock, or bray, or cackle, nor make any noise like animals ; when my turn comes, I'll give you all the barn-yard noises fast enough. I have never tried to do people, but I shall, and I dare say I shall do it very well. Do go on, Lily." " I do not think my uncle will let you, Johnny ; you know he does not like such things," said Ger- trude. " Well, Lily, you know papa himself dislikes all sorts of mimicking and ridiculing people, and has often told you not to do it," said Vernon. " Well, never mind," replied Lilias crossly ; " surely you need not interfere. You did not say a word, and told me to go on, until Gertrude ob- jected." " Because I forgot," replied Vernon. " If you choose to go on you can, but I shall not listen ;" and, walking towards the table where Gertrude had THE LITTLE MIMIC. 55 seated herself, he withdrew from the part of the room where the little mimic was performing. But Lilias was so elated by the praise she had received, that she would not be daunted by her brother's disapproval, and proceeded with her dan- gerous sport. It so happened that poor little Rosamond Bright, one of the children who had been of the birthday party, was slightly deformed, and had some odd tricks and ways with her face and limbs. Lilias now stuck out her shoulder, put her head on one side, pushed forward her chin, and stuck her tongue into her cheek in a manner so like poor little Rose, that no one could mistake whom she meant to repre- sent. She then began to walk about with a queer slouching gait, and speak in a voice so like Rose's, that Johnny and Josephine were in fits of laughter. Edward would not show how much he was amused, for he knew that Lily was doing wrong, but at the same time did not choose to let Vernon suppose that he was influenced by his opinion, and therefore remained a spectator. Lily, delighted by her success, and inflated by vanity (for the children had at once recognized the likeness to Rose Bright), was going on exaggerating her movements, and talking all sorts of nonsense, 50 BLIND LILIAS. when, to her infinite dismay, on suddenly turning round, she discovered that she had two additional spectators to her performance — her father and Maud. In an instant all her assumed manner was thrown off, and, self-convicted, Lilias stood blushing and confused in the midst of the circle. The other children in a measure partook of her shame, for their consciences told them that the amusement in which they had been engaged was one that Mr. Hope would disapprove. VI. THE F&THER'S REPROOF* •' \S OU are showing your little friends what they A ' may expect from you when they are no longer present," said Mr. Hope, in a tone of grave displeasure ; " and as they all seem so much amused at the exhibition with which you have been favoring them, they will perhaps follow your ex- ample, and amuse their friends at home by imitat- ing some of our defects and peculiarities." " No, papa, not all," said Vernon. " Gertrude has had nothing to do with it, and told Lilias that it was wrong, and went away when she would not stop." " I am glad to hear it,'' said Mr. Hope, looking approvingly at the little girl. "I am always pleased to find that any of my little friends have sufficient strength of principle to enable them to refrain from joining in what they disapprove, although they may not have power to prevent others from doing the thing they condemn. I wish that you, Vernon, had followed Gertrude's course, 58 BLIND LILIAS. instead of encouraging your sister in what you knew was wrong." Vernon blushed, and did not reply ; but Lily, who had a strong sense of justice, though angry with her brother, would not allow him to be blamed undeservedly, and answered for him : " Vernon did, papa. He said it was wrong, and that you would not like it, and then went away to the other side of the room, and did not look any more." "But I did laugh and encourage her at first, papa," said the ingenuous boy. " I did not think about it until Gertrude spoke. 1 ' " I am glad that you did right at last, my boy," said Mr. Hope, pleased with his candor. " But I am sorry for these little ones," he continued, " very sorry that my child's example should have been of such bad tendency. Johnny, should you like Lilias to mimic you and Josephine as she did Rose Bright just now V " No, sir," replied Johnny, " not if we were like Rosie ; but we are not, and people would not laugh if she did mimic us." " Very true, my dear," replied Mr. Hope. " But how can you be sure that within a little while you may not be as odd and feeble as she is ? I remem- ber her a pretty, bright little girl as I would wish the father's reproof. 59 to see. Then she had scarlet fever, and was very near death. She recovered slowly ; but the fever had left her as she now is — her poor little neck contracted, her leg shrunk, and her mind so weak- ened that she could scarcely understand anything." The children looked shocked ; and Lilias, looking up with a burning cheek, exclaimed, " O papa, I am so sorry ! If I had known that, I should never have mimicked her." " Your want of knowledge of the facts I have just told you, is no excuse for you, my love. You well know that I have often forbidden that most dangerous amusement of mimicking others, and told you that it was uncharitable and injurious. You are shocked now that you know how poor lit- tle Rose became such as she is ; but a moment's thought will tell you that no one is so by choice, and that if it has pleased God to afflict any one with any deformity, that is not a subject for jest and ridicule. ' Do unto others as you would they should do unto you,' is a precept which, if obeyed, would be a sure check on all mimicking. It is never pleasant to have any little peculiarities that we may possess pointed out and made a subject for ridicule. How would you like to see any one mocking me, Lily, and making fun of me '." tiO BLIND LILIAS. " They should not do it, papa, if I were there ; they could not do such a thing, for there is nothing to make fun of in you," replied Lilias, indignant at the very idea of such an insult to her darling father. " I do not see why, my child. There is no one whom ridicule cannot touch. Those who mimic one will as readily mimic another. It is no matter to the professed mimics whether the person be good or bad, wise or foolish ; whether the peculiarities that supply them with an object for their amuse- ment are the result of his own folly or of a dispen- sation from the hand of God, is all the same to them. They do not stop to think. " But come," he continued, thinking that sufficient impression had been made, "I hope I shall never see any of you commit a similar fault, and we will not now say any more about it. Tell me what you are going to do next." " Oh, we were each to do something in turn to amuse the rest," replied Edward ; " Vernon sang a song, Gertrude told a story, I gave a riddle, and then Lily was mimicking, and next, Johnny was going to do a farm-yard " "Do a f&rm-yard ?" inquired Mr Hope, "what does that mean V THE FATHER'S REPROOF. 1)1 " Why, you must first tell me if it is wrong to imitate cocks and hens, and geese, and donkeys, and so on," asked Johnny. " Not at all, my little man," replied Mr Hope, laughing. " Cocks and hens, and geese, and don- keys, are not at all likely to have their feelings wounded by you imitating their noises; it is only human beings that I meant to warn you against imitating." " Then I must leave out the chickens and the cows, because I cannot do them without doing Susan calling them, you know, and that would be doing human beings," replied Johnny. Mr. Hope explained that Johnny might safely imitate the voice of the servant calling the chickens and cows, and said, " I think this would be a fair test of whether you may imitate any voice or sound — ask yourself this question, ' Should I be vexed, if I were to find that the person or thing I am imitat- ing was present and heard me V If you would dis- like the idea of being overheard, either by the per- son represented, or his friends, do not do it, but if it is a thing you could freely do in their presence, without offending them, you may be quite safe. Now, how is it in this case ! would you imitate Susan in her presence ?" 6 62 BLIND LILIAS. " Oh yes," replied Johnny and Josephine, in a breath. " He always does it when she is there, and she laughs so when he makes the sounds of the chickens squabbling and scrambling for their food, and her voice scolding them," added the little girl. " Very good then," replied Mr. Hope, " let us have the farm-yard by all means ;" and Johnny, thus encouraged, began his scene. Truly his imita- tions of the brute creation were as life-like and clever as Lily's of human beings, and far less dan- gerous ; he neighed, and brayed, and cackled, and quacked, until all the children were in roars of laughter, and Mr. Hope and Maud fully joining in the mirth. Then he performed the voice of Susan calling the poultry, and the rush and clamor of the mixed multitude of ducks and fowls scrambling for their food, and ended by imitating Susan's call to the cows, and their answering lowing, at first dis- tant, and then nearer and nearer, and finally the sound of the milking, concluding the whole by sud- denly turning head over heels ! Johnny's share in amusing the circle was most satisfactory, and then came Josephine's turn; but she was shy, and would not do anything, until Johnny offered to sing with her, and then the little the father's reproof. 63 twins sang a pretty little playful conversational duet, which pleased all the party. Maud was now called on for her promised con- tribution. " Would she tell them a story % would she sing ?" " No !" Maud said she thought they had better have a good game of play, and she would help them in anything they liked ; so, as it was too warm for any romping games, " post " was decided on, and Mabel being summoned, Mr. Hope took the office of postman, and a most merry game they had, which lasted until the call to bed broke up the little party for the evening. VII. THE BROKEN YASEL ^EVERAL days had passed very pleasantly, but the time for the departure of the little visitors at length arrived, and Mr. and Mrs. D'Urban were expected to fetch their little ones and Gertrude on Thursday, when they would have been a whole week at the Grange. The weather had cleared, and for the last two days had been so fine that the children had been almost entirely out of doors ; and riding the pony, feeding the tame deer and rabbits, and other such amusements, had quite superseded the dolls and all their belongings ; and nothing now was heard of Willie or the hooping- cough. Lilias and Johnny, whose minds were much of the same sprightly nature, had made a close alli- ance, and were inseparable friends, rather to the exclusion of Josephine, who, they said, was " a muff," and didn't half play — a fault that certainly could not with truth be charged on Lilias or her new friend; for they played and did everything else with an ardor that left all the others far behind. THE BROKEN VASE. 65 Josephine had therefore been obliged to seek a play - mate and consoler in Maud ; whilst Mabel, Vernon, Gertrude, and Edward had employed themselves in taking long walks, with the view of collecting fossil madrepores and other pebbles, on the shore. Ev- ery one was pleased with Gertrude. She was so thoughtful and sensible as to make an agreeable and conversable companion for the elder members of the family, and at the same time so lively and play- ful, and so thoroughly good-tempered, that the little ones were never so well pleased as when she was their playfellow. " Gertrude will do it for us " — " Gerty knows how, she will help us," was heard from all in turn. And the little girl was so ready and willing to help, so capable and clever, and withal so simple and unpretending, that she never took advantage of her popularity to give herself airs, or be fanciful, or conceive that she was a per son of importance, but did the thing she was asked to do at once, and then returned to her own employ- ments without seeming to look for thanks or praise. Probably the secret cause of all this lay in the fact that Gertrude was a Christian child in more than name. She read her Bible with a view to learning God's will; she prayed that she might un- derstand it. and she daily soughl the aid of that Ot) BLIND LIL1AS. Holy Spirit by whose help alone she could hope to do God's will. Gertrude both prayed and watched. She was good because she went to God, the Source of goodness, asking to be made so ; she was useful because she tried to be so, and did not let her own self-pleasing stand in the way of the comfort of others, but was always ready to do anything for any one to the best of her power. " But it was not this that made her so clever V is a question some child may ask. — No ; reading the Bible and praying did not make her clever, but it helped her to use the gifts that God had given her aright ; it made her feel it her duty steadily to over- come difficulties, to give her mind to her lesson, and to try to do her best, and therefore she made more progress in learning than many a little girl who has more natural cleverness than she had, succeeds in doing. Besides this, there is nothing that helps people to do things well so much as a hearty and earnest desire to do so, and this Gertrude always had. She had a willing heart — and a willing heart makes a ready hand. Thursday was come, and all the young party, eager to make the most of the little time that remained, were early astir ; and as soon as the morning reading was over, they all started off in THE BROKEN VASE. 67 different directions. Johnny had made a pea-gun, and Lily was wild about shooting ; so the two ran off hand in hand, and Josephine after them ; but the other two were too quick for her; and she there- fore wandered off to the nursery to have a last game with the dolls, under nurse's auspices — her own nurse, Anna, being busy packing up their clothes. Maud, Mabel, Vernon, and Gertrude were gone to the shore to search for a pink fossil sponge, Vernon having picked up a beautiful specimen and given it to Mabel, and Gertrude being very anx. ions to get one like it. The beach where it was found lay but just below the house, and was acces- sible through the garden of the Grange, so that they could all run up and down at will, and be in the house in two minutes from the time they left the beach. Mr. Hope soon joined the pebbling party, and Lilias and her friend, weary of shooting peas and sand into the sea, ran off to seek some other amusement. Maud had a beautiful collection of sea-anemones and other marine animals ; and to attend to this, to watch the habits of the animals, and add from time to time to their numbers, was one of her chief de- lights. She had two establishments — one a large tank with fish and many varieties of anemones ; the 68 BLIND LILIAS. other a small and very elegant vase, in which she kept all her rarest and smallest specimens, madre- pores, balani, etc. The little vase was now rich in possession of some very beautiful specimens of nu- dibranchs — a class of slug-like animals, which are furnished with a breathing apparatus on the outside of the body, which is sometimes in the form of a coronet of tubes like feathers, and sometimes in other forms, but always very beautiful, genei'ally of bright colors. These animals are very delicate, and if roughly handled, or in any way mismanaged, they are sure to die. Maud was justly proud of her col- lection ; and it was strictly forbidden that any one of the children should touch the vase in which they were. It stood on a table in the oriel window of the great drawing-room. Exceedingly busy, and much interested in their search for pebbles, it was a long time before any of the party thought of retreating to the house. They found several fine specimens of the kinds they wanted ; and amongst others, Gertrude herself was so lucky as to pick up the very thing for which she was so anxious — a pink sponge as fine, or even finer than Mabel's ; and then Mr. Hope, looking at his watch, announced that it was full time for them to THE BROKEN VASE. 69 go in ; and the little party, with their baskets laden •with spoil, turned homewards. They had not got more than half-way to the house, when Maud heard herself loudly called, and looking on, she saw one of the servants running towards her and calling, " Oh, Miss Hope, your beautiful things is all spoiled ! The water's all runned out all over the floor, and all the fishes is dead, I'm. afraid." Exceedingly vexed and annoyed, Maud hastened on, followed, of course, by the whole party. It was as the servant had said. The whole ground below the smaller tank was soaked with water, and though the vase still stood on its stand, and the stones and animals in it, it was evident the water had long been drained off, and that they had been left dry, and were probably dead. Williams brought a pan of fresh sea-water, into which Maud hastily put the stones and shells on which her pretty favorites lay, and then inspected the vase. In the bottom she found a starred crack, with a small hole in the cen- tre, which had evidently been made by a blow. " Who can have done it ? " said Maud, after she had well examined the state of the vase and animals. " I am so very sorry." " It must have been one of the children " said 70 BLIND LILIAS. Mr. Hope. " Have any of them been playing here to-day 1 " " It 's master Johnny, I think, sir," said Williams ; " I saw him coming out of the room this morning about ten or eleven o'clock." " By himself, Williams 1 " asked Maud. " Yes, Miss, he was alone, and he had his little pea-gun in his hand," replied Williams. " And here's two peas on the ground," exclaimed a servant who was wiping the carpet ; " here, just down under the glass." Johnny was now summoned. He was found alone in the garden, nurse having called in his play- fellow to be dressed for dinner. He was still amus- ing himself with the gun, and brought it in his hand. " Johnny, my boy," said Mr. Hope, " did you do this ? " " No," replied Johnny, " I did not." " Are you sure 1 " asked Mabel ; " you see here are two of your peas close by ; I think you must have done it, Johnny." " What were you doing in the room this mor- ning, my dear 1 " inquired Mr. Hope. " Nothing, I have not been here to-day. Oh yes ! I did though just come in to look for Lily," said Johnny ; " but I did not break the thing." THE BROKEN VASE. 71 "It is strange," said Mr. Hope; "think again, Johnny — perhaps you struck it by accident and did not know that you had broken it. What did you do, love ? " " Nothing,*' replied Johnny, " I only came in and went out again, and I did not break it; "and the little fellow looked proudly round the circle, and seeing, as he fancied, doubt of his truth on one or two faces, began to get very angry, and added, " I 've told you so before, and if you do not choose to believe me, you can let it alone." But opinions evidently went hard against poor Johnny. Circumstances were against him, and the servants and some of the others seemed to believe him guilty. Mr. Hope stood in serious thought. It was not that he was anxious to discover who had done the mischief, but he was doubtful whether the little boy spoke the truth, and was unwilling either to cast a doubt on one who did not deserve it, or to allow falsehood to pass triumphant. But Gertrude now stood forward and said, " I don't think he did it, Mr. Hope. Johnny always tells the truth, and if he had, he would have said so." As she spoke the child looked gratefully at her, slipped round and took her hand, and then, his proud 72 BLIND LILIAS. feeling subdued by one of a softer character, burst into tears. " You did not do it, Johnny 1 " said she, bending down to him and speaking low. " No ! I did not," replied Johnny. "I am sure you did not, my boy," said Mr. Hope. " One who always tells the truth is not to be doubted — we all fully believe you, Johnny." At this moment the door opened, and a servant announced Mr. and Mrs. D'Urban. Johnny flew to them, and an explanation ensued of the cause of Johnny's tearful countenance. His father and mother corroborated Gertrude's testimony ; and Josephine being called, the three little visitors went with Mr. and Mrs. D'Urban into another room, whilst Mr. Hope and his children made themselves ready for dinner. In the drawing-room, when all were assembled, the subjeot of the broken vase was again discussed. There were many suggestions as to how the accident had occurred. Mr. Hope had forbidden any question- ing of the other children, as he felt disturbed at hav- ing so vexed poor Johnny, and was unwilling to create a like distress in any of the others. Lilias, who had been rather delayed by nurse's having to help arrange the dress and hair of the other children, was the last to enter the room, and THE BROKEN VASE. 73 join the circle. She had not before heard of the accident, and as she listened to the conversation, she blushed deeply and cast her eyes down to the ground. " I think now it must have been Johnny," said Edward in a low voice to Vernon as they both stood by Lilias. " I do not think so," replied his brother; "he says he did not." " Yes ; but it is not sure that he would own it if he did. Don't you remember how James Thorpe denied having broken the Doctor's fuchsia, and he did it after all, and was obliged to own it too ?" What answer Vernon would have made was never known. Lilias had by this time gathered the facts, that the vase had been broken, and that Johnny had been accused of breaking it — that he had denied it, but was not believed. Blushing and distressed, yet resolute in her purpose, the little girl stepped forward and stood in the midst of the circle of friends and strangers. " Papa ! Maud !" she exclaimed ; " it was I that broke the glass, at least I think so; I am almost sure of it." ■ You, Lily! and did not own it before?" said her father. 7 74 BLIND LILIAS. " I only now heard that it was broken, papa," replied she. "And yet you say that you broke it. How can that be, my dear ?" inquired Mr. Hope. Lilias blushed even deeper than before, and was silent. " Explain yourself, Lilias, what is it you mean, my dear ? Do not be so frightened, my love ; only speak out plainly," said her father. " I mean, papa," replied Lilias, " that I was look- ing at the pretty little things that swim on the top of the water, those little things like slugs, only bright colored, and one of the prettiest sunk down into the water and got under a stone, and I wanted to make it swim again, and so I took up the stone to let it out, and another stone slipped, and I heard a little crack, and was frightened because I thought I had broken the glass. But the water did not come out, and I did not see any crack, so I thought it was not broken, and came away." "But, my dear little girl," said Mrs. D'Urban, kindly, " it was in that case a mere accident, and you should not look so distressed ; I am sure your sister will not be angry." " But I was told not to touch the vase, and I did," was Lily's half-whispered reply. THE BROKEN VASE. 75 " Yes, dear child," replied her father, " that was the fault. The breaking the vase was an accident, but the act of disobedience was a fault. But I am glad that you see that yourself, and therefore will not say anything more about it, except that I shall ex- pect you to pay something every week out of your allowance for two months, to assist in replacing your sister's glass, which has been broken through your fault." " Oh, papa," said Maud, " I do not wish it ; don't make her." " It will be a good way of keeping her in remem- brance of a fault that must be conquered, my love, and I must enforce this punishment," replied Mr. Hope. " I should never punish for an accident, but self-will and disobedience must bring their own re- ward." Lilias was too sensible and right-minded not to understand and approve her father's decision, and fully acquiesced in it. And now dinner was announced ; and after that meal had been despatched, papa and mamma were shown all the dolls and the ponies and the other things which had proved the delimits of the last few days, and dun walked over every part of the grounds and to the beach. An early tea was then 76 BLIND LILIAS. taken, and the little visitors set out, in the cool of the sweet summer evening, to return to their home, leaving Lily wondering what she should do without her dear Johnny. To Maud's great satisfaction, and even still more so to Lilias', most of Maud's beautiful and rare an- imals recovered in the fresh water. The wet weed had helped to keep them alive, and when the girls went to look at them, they found the pretty crea- tures most of them swimming about and quite re- covered. Maud would fain have had Lilias excused the fine her father had laid on her, but Mr. Hope required that it should be paid, and the little girl's self-will certainly was a good deal lessened, whilst from week to week she was thus reminded of the evils of disobedience. * VIII. LILIAS STRICKEN. ^J^|ITH such strong passions and marked charac- teristics as those which were developing in the child whom he so dearly loved, Mr. Hope could not be otherwise than anxious as to her future tone of mind and character. Her extreme vivacity, strong self-will, aid pride, together with her craving desire to be first, most loved, most ad- mired, most thought of, gave him great fears lest she should grow into a self-centred and unamiable woman. Many were his consultations with Maud, as to what measures could be adopted in order to subdue her pride, and guide her to the right use of the very remarkable talents with which God had graciously endowed her, bu1 which at present seemed to lead her rather to evil than to good, by drawing on her the notice of friends and visitors, and obtaining for her a larger share of praise and notice than was at all good for her. But notwith- standing her many faull i, some of which have al- ready shown themselves in the few scenes in which 7* 78 BLIND LILIAS. our little heroine has been introduced, Lilias was so loving and affectionate, so true and candid, and withal such a loveable child, that her father and sis- ters felt, that although there was much in her na- ture that needed correction, there were nevertheless such fine points of character manifested in her, as to give reasons for hope that she would by God's grace eventually become all they could wish. But still the guardianship and guidance of such a mind was to her father a task of considerable anxiety, and called for much thought and earnest prayer for Divine teaching and help in the per- formance of the solemn duty he owed his child. And these faithful prayers were indeed abun- dantly answered, though it was in a way that he had not anticipated, and one which led her and all who loved her through deep waters and amidst heavy billows. One day, in the summer succeed- ing that in which we have introduced our readers to the family at Coombhurst Grange, Mr. Hope went with his children to spend a day amongst the rocks and cliffs which so magnificently bound the southern coast of Devonshire, and offer such beautiful and varied scenes to those who will seek them. They went in a boat ; and landing at a pic- turesque little cove, after amusing themselves for LILIAS STRICKEN. 79 some time in searching for varieties of sea animals and weeds with which to replenish Maud's aqua- rium, they climbed over the rocks to a second beach which lay a little beyond, leaving the boat and boat- men to await their return. Whilst thus wandering, a sudden and violent thunder-storm arose. The crash of the thunder and the awful flashes of lightning, together with the dash of the sea, which was lashed suddenly into foaming billows, and broke wildly amongst the rocks close to them, terrified the girls exceed 1 . igly ; and Mr. Hope, seeing a cavern above high-water mark, and not far from them, hastened to get them into the shelter it afforded. He had placed Maud and Lilias within it, and was returning down the rocks to assist Mabel, who, with her usual eager- ness and activity, had already ascended half-way to meet him, when a sudden slip of her foot precipi- tated her over the edge of the shelf of rock which shu had just reached. A scream from Mabel, and a harried exclamation from her terrified father, reached (he ears of the girls within the cave, and both started forward to see what was the matter. At that moment a dap of thunder more heavy than any they had before heard, accompanied by a most vivid flash of forked lightning, broke immediately 80 BLIND LILIAS. over their heads;, and Lilias fell senseless to the ground, just as Mr. Hope disappeared over the rock to render his assistance to Mabel. Maud sprang forwards, and lifting the inanimate form of her little sister in her arms, bore it into the shelter of the cavern ; for large drops of rain now began to fall ; and having placed her in a safe posi- tion, she dipped some water from one of the little pools which a former high tide had left, and began to sprinkle and bathe the child's ftice and hands with it, thinking that she had but fainted from ter- ror, and would soon recover. But all was in vain ; Lilias showed no signs of life, and having no other means of restoration at hand, Maud left her lying in the cave, and ran on towards the point where they had seen Mr. Hope disappear, to call him to their aid. Her position was indeed a trying one — her anx- iety about Lilias could not wholly supersede her fears for Mabel, and as she stood on that solitary spot, and shouted for help to those who she feared were themselves needing assistance, her heart almost sunk within her. But Maud was steadfast in faith, and lifted up her heart to God for strength, and soon was she rejoiced by the sight of-her father and Mabel, ascending by a more easy path than LILIAS STRICKEN. 81 that which they had at first taken. Mabel had sus- tained but slight injury from her fall, and soon all were gathered round the apparently dead child, each striving in different ways to restore her to consciousness. " Had you not better go and bid the boatmen come round from the other cove, papa ?" said Mam I. "The storm is over, and we will watch Lily until you return to carry her down. The sooner we can get home the better." " How can I leave you here alone, my dears ?" replied Mr. Hope; "and yet, I know nothing bet- ter that I can do." " Let me go, papa," said Maud. " I can easily get across, and meanwhile, you can carry Lily down the rocks, and be ready to put her into the boat the moment it comes round, and I can call at that cottage we passed, and bring some fresh water at any rate, if not other restoratives." Unwilling as Mr. Hope was to send Maud thus alone, he fell that her plan was the best that could be adopted, and she hastened away; whilst he, raising the child in his arms, and folding the little lifeless form to his bosom, began to convej her down to the shore. The motion, or the tender pressure of his arms, at la I awoke Lilias to some 82 BLIND LILIAS. degree of sensation ; she sighed heavily again and again, and at last a tear began to roll over her cheek. "Thank God ! thank God!" exclaimed her father, " she lives !" and laying her on a bank of shingle, with her head on Mabel's lap, he again dashed water from the pools over her, and had the blessing of seeing that, although she was still unconscious,. yet her deadly faintness began to yield, and a slight tinge of color returned to her cheek. The boat now came up, and he lifting her into it, Maud's arms received her weary little form. "Now pull away, my good fellows, double pay for double-quick work, and if either of you weary, give me an oar, but only get us quick home," said Mr. Hope ; and thus enjoined, although the sea was yet heaving from the influence of the late storm, the oarmen did indeed " pull with a will," and within an hour the suffering child was laid on her bed, in the little room next her father's that she had occupied from infancy. Dr. Graves, the physician who attended the family, was instantly summoned, and was soon earnestly engaged in studying the pulse, skin, and all other points which might indicate the state of his little patient, whilst her father sisters, and good 51 P P 1 I ,i n ■ fif LILIAS STRICKEN. 83 old nurse, stood silently awaiting his opinion. Many remedies were applied, before any result beyond a faint moaning, accompanied by a restless movement of the head, and twitching in the limbs, was produced on the poor inanimate child ; and it was easy to see by Dr. Graves' countenance, that he had serious fears about her. At length, how- ever, the poor little girl became more composed, and by degrees the twitching of the muscles sub- sided, the tension of the skin relaxed, and Lily fell into a gentle sleep : not, however, quite unbroken by starts and other manifestations of a distressed nervous system. Leaving nurse and Maud to watch by the little sleeper, Mr. Hope now took the doctor aside, to ask in private what were his views of Lily's case, and was much relieved by the kind friend's assur- ance that he had now little fear but that she would recover. He said, however, that the system had received some very severe shock, and that he must watch over her for some time to come; and, promising to return in the evening, he Left Mr. Hope somewhat comforted, though still very anxious. " Lilias slept for some hours; then awoke con- scious, but very feeble. Before long, however, she 84 BLIND LIU IS. fell into a state which bordered on delirium, and for many weeks struggled on between life and death. And sad, sad was the heart of her father, sad too the hearts of all around the poor little sufferer ; for soon it was plain to all, that the lightning stroke that had east her to the earth, had been the bearer of a heavy message to them all — Lilias was blind. Her eyes were to all appearance uninjured, and when she opened the lids and seemed to look up, none could have imagined that the clear blue orbs, which looked so lovely under their long fringing lashes were sightless, that they would never again be the instrument of bringing objects before her mind, and that a long, long darkness lay before her — long, in all probability, as the term of her mor- tal life. The exceeding wo of her father when this fiict broke on his mind, may be imagined. There was no help for him but in his God. Yet Mr. Hope could say confidently, " I know in whom I have be- lieved." He could recognize a Father's hand even in this dire affliction ; and from the first moment in which the heavy trial fell on him no words but those of meek submission and pious acceptance of his Father's will were ever once heard from him. And though himself almost overwhelmed with grief, LILIAS STRICKEN. N.j it was he who comforted the son-owing brothers and sisters ; it was he who tried to console poor nurse, who, broken down under the sorrow that had fallen on her darling, could not be comforted. by slow degrees Lilias recovered conscious- ness and reason, she, as yet unconscious of the loss she had sustained, repeatedly asked for more light, and inquired in a half audible voice whether it was not almost morning; then Dr. Graves desired that a handkerchief might be lightly bound over the eyes, and that she might be told that he had ordered it as her eyes wore weak, and she must submit for a time to wear it. This lie did in order to delay her perception that she was blind until her recovery was a little more advanced, and the poor child, too weak to care much about it, wore the handkerchief as she was bidden. But by degrees, as she gained strength, her father felt that the hour he had antici- pated with so much pain and gently and tenderly, after much prayer thai God's support might be given to her and to himself] he broke the sad news to her, and besought her to bear it pa- tiently. Lilias, poor child, would not 1<>i- a time believe that she was blind. S f the hand- kerchief that had hitherto shielded her from the si I knowledge which new was so tenderly opened to 8 86 BLIND LILIAS. her, and then, indeed, she found that no ray of light visited her eyes ; and when, in reply to her urgent demands that she should be told how she came so, and when she should get well, the story of the storm (which she had quite forgotten) was told her, and her father said that he could not at present hope for any speedy recovery, the poor little girl gave way to such violent and impetuous lamentations and distress, and was so wholly overcome, that a relapse ensued, and for a time she was again very ill, so that great fears were entertained of her re- covery. When she was again sufficiently recov- ered to think or speak on the subject, no arguments or persuasions seemed to have any weight with her to induce her even to try to be submissive and pa- tient ; and the anguish of her father and family was greatly increased by the petulance with which she rejected every word of advice or consolation that they could offer. After a time, however, the vio- lence of her despair yielded to a settled depression of spirits, accompanied by a cold, impassive man- ner, and it was evident that she had resolved in no way to endeavor to meet her trial patiently, or make any effort to alleviate its force. She would not be induced to make any attempt to assist her- LILIAS STRICKEN. 87 self, or acquire auy resources which might enable her to employ her time comfortably, but gave her- self up to a sort of sullen stillness which it was most painful to witness. Such was her state up to the time at which our story recommences. IX. CHERISHED GRIEF. fN the comfortable and cheerful drawing-room at Coombhurst Grange sat two people on one fine evening in May. The casements were open, and the sweet, soft air that breathed through them was laden with the scent of many a fair flower that bloomed without. Blackbirds and thrushes, and a thousand other birds, sang cheerily on the trees and shrubs that skirted the lawn, and all nature seemed alive and gay. But the occupants of the drawing-room at the Grange seemed scarcely to feel in unison with the cheerful scene without. They were our two old friends. Mr. Hope and his little daughter Lilias. Mr. Hope appeared to have grown several years older in the course of the few months that had ]3assed since last we saw him. His hair was more sprinkled with silver, his fine countenance exhibited traces of care and suffering, and the bright animation and even mirthfulness of look which had always before this time distinguished him, had wholly vanished, and a -grave and rather CHERISHED GRIEF. 89 sad, though still calm and peaceful, expression had taken its place. Lilias was even more altered than her father. She was now a fair, delicate-looking child, very slight and even thin, and the joyous expression which used always to gladden her countenance, had changed into a mournful, and perhaps rather sullen look. Her hair which used to hang in long curls down her back, had all been cut off in her illness, and now clustered in close curls all over her head, completely laying bare her fine high forehead and temples, to which the extreme blueness of the veins gave a peculiarly delicate and singular appearance. She was lying on a couch near the open window her little thin hand resting on her father's knee, who vat by her ; and had apparently been reading to h r. He had now, however, ceased to do so, and was at that moment sorrowfully gazing on the child. \f length he rose, and Leaning over her couch, kissed her tenderly, and drawing her into his arms, he rested her head on his shoulder, as he seated him- self on the edge of her couch, and th her again and again. As he did so. the tears suddenly flowed down her cheeks, and heavy sobs rose audibly on his ear. "What is it. my child '." he asked; "why d< 90 BLIND LIMAS. my Lily cry so sadly ? Tell me, dearest, what it is." " I am sorry, papa," sobbed the child, nestling into his bosom, and trying to still the agitation that his affectionate manner had brought to a crisis ; for before he spoke, one silent tear and her look of sor- row had alone indicated that a straggle was going on in her heart. " It is of no use to say anything about it, papa. I did not mean to vex you ; it was only that something made a choking feeling come in my throat, and then I could not help crying." " What was it, darling 1 what made that feeling come'? tell me, dear," said Mr. Hope. " I think it was part of what you were reading, papa," replied Lilias. " But never mind ; don't cry too, papa ; never mind." " What was it, my precious child 1 was it that the beautiful scenes of which I was reading, were bringing your loss to your remembrance % " Lilias was silent ; she liked to brood over her grief, but not to speak of it. " Tell me, my child, was it so ]" '•Yes, papa," replied Lilias, "that was it — when you read about the sheep. Read it again, dear papa. I shall not cry now, and then we will talk about it ;" and as she 'wished, Mr. Hope resumed CHERISHED GRIEF. 91 the volume of Milton from which he had been read- ing, and, in beautiful and varied tones, read to his child that exquisite description of God's " far more pleasant garden."' "Out of the fertile e-round He caused to grow All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste; And all amid them stood the tree of life, High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit Of vegetable gold ; and next to life, Our death, the tree of knowledge, grew fast by, Knowledge of good bought dear by knowing ilL Southward through Eden went a river large, Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill Pass'd underneath ingulf 'd, for God had thrown That mountain as His garden-mould, high raised Upon the rapid current, which, through veins Of porous earth with kindly thirst updrawn, Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill "Water'd the garden ; thence united fell Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood, Which from his darksome passage now appears ; And now, divided into four main streams, Runs divers, wandering many a famous realm And country, whereof lure needs no account; But rather to tell how, if Art could tell, How from that sapphire founl the crisped brooks, Rolliug on orienl pearl and sands of gold, With mazy error and r pendant Bh Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed Flowers worthy of Paradise, which nol nice Art In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon Pour'd forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain, Both where the morning sun first warmly smote 92 BLIND LILIAS. The open field, and where the unpierced shade Imbrown'd the noontide bowers. Thus was this place A happy rural seat of various view ; Groves whose rich fcre a wept odorous gums and balm, Others whose fruit, burnish'd with golden rind, Hung amiable, — -Hesperian fables true, If true, here only, — and of delicious taste : Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks Grazing the tender herb, were interposed; Or palmy hillock, or the flowery lap Of some irriguous valley spread her store, Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose." " There ! papa," said Lilias, " that was what made me feel sad ! All those grand descriptions of glo- rious foreign scenes, such as I never saw, delight me, and I can fancy them all, and think I see them, because, you know, I never really have seen them, and so I can fancy them as well now that I am blind as I could before, when I could see ; but when I think of the copses with their pretty trees, and flowers, and the butterflies and bees flitting about amongst them, and of our own brooks and mead- ows, that I shall never see again, I feel so sorrow- ful ! And I thought of the old shaggy sheep, and the flocks of pretty white lambs, playing 'shock' on the sunny slopes, and then coming and kneeling down to suck, and shaking their long tails with de- light, as I saw them before I lost my sight, and then Oh, papa, how shall I ever bear it ! Never CHERISHED GRIEF. && to see you and dear Maudie and Mabel again, nor my brothers ! never to sec the flowers, and the birds, and the lambs ! Oh, papa ! 1 would rather have died at once."' And, giving way to her emotions, the poor child sobbed with almost hysterical distress. Mr. Hope still sat on Lily's couch, and held her in his arms ; and now, gently soothing her, he suffer- ed her to weep unrestrainedly for a few moments until her excited feelings were in a measure relieved. Then he spoke : — "My child, you know whose hand it is that has thus stricken you. My darling says it would have been better to die than thus to lose the sight of all the dear familiar objects. If the choice were given to papa, and he could dare to choose, he would rather have himself died ; or, what my child thinks is even worse, he would rather far have been made blind himself, than that his precious little one should lose the power of sight. But, thank God, we have not had to choose — we should have chosen wrong, darling ! What we have to do is to try to accept God's will — to have the same will with Hun, so as not even to wish things to be otherwise than lie appoints them for us. Try to do so. m\ child. I give you that for your aim in lite — aim always to 94 BLIND LILIAS. consent to His will, dearest ; not only to bear it with what is called resignation, but to accept it." " But I am so young, papa," answered the child, " and it is so very terrible. I am sure I could never get to be willing to bear this constant, dreadful darkness. It is very hard, papa !" " You will never be able to bear it in your own strength, Lilias," replied her father. " If you seek grace and strength from God you will be able not only to bear, but accept this great trial ; but never without it, my love. I was once nursing a little dying boy of just your age. His disease, which was in the brain, caused such agony of suffering as I never before saw a child endure. One day I said to him when I saw the anguish he suffered, ' Oh, my child, it is well that I have not the power to take away this pain, for I should surely do it ! Yet if it were good for you that it should be removed God could do it, and as He does not, it is plain that it would not be right to do so. " ' Yes,' he replied, ' you love me, and you would take it away ; and God loves me better than you do, and He could take it away, and does not ; and so if He does not I would rather keep the pain, He will help me to bear it ;' and although the agony rather increased than lessened, and continued to CHERISHED GRIEF. 95 within a few days of the close of his sweet and holy life, I never once heard him say a word that indicated other than entire submission to God's will. Try you to do the same, my own darling, and be sure, if your earthly father suffers with you, and would give his very life to save you from this trial, that your heavenly Father looks with even dearer love and pity on you." " What was that you read to Maud on Sunday, from a Iktle paper that you took out of your Bible, papa ? It was something about trying to have fel- lowship wilh God." " It was, dear, that ' to the end that we should be partakers of His holiness, we should cultivate fel- lowship with God our Father in His avowed and gracious designs.' Now, when wc have a friend whom we greatly honor and reverence, and love as much as we honor him, and this friend invites us to help him in doing some great and noble work that will bring honor and credit to him, we are not con- tent with knowing the end he proposes, but we strive, to understand exactly the way in which he would have it done, and to follow that way exactly. We are gratified when he lets us work with him, and for him, and makes us fellow-workers with himself, and our aim is not merely that the thing 96 BLIND LILIAS. he wishes may be done, but that it may be done in the way he likes. Now, this is as we should work for God. Have fellowship with Him. Delight to do His will, and to do it in His own way, not shrinking back when that way is hard and difficult, or when it involves pain and deprivation, but think- ing always, ' My Father has my good and His own glory in view, and I must not mind if I have to bear things which I do not like in the way of doing it' " '• But, father, I cannot like to be blind. It is a great trial." "It is, my darling, I cannot doubt it. But I trust that God will enable you to bear it patiently, and in the end to accept it at His hand." " But here come your sisters from their walk ; I see them coming up the avenue," continued he, after a pause, during which both he and Lilias had been in deep thought. " You must think of all we have said, my love, and pray — pray much, my child, and try to ' wait on the Lord ;' we will talk more at another time. Now lie still and rest, dearest, until Maud and Mabel come. They will soon be here; and kissing Lilias fondly, he placed her pil- lows comfortably, and laying her on them, himself took a book and began to read. X. NEW FACES. " iH-l£t ELL ' cnildren " saicl Mr - Hope, as his two ^VV nice-looking girls, clad in walking-dresses and followed by a fine Newfoundland dog, entered the room, "what have you to tell us? Here are we longing for some news from the gar- den of the sea ! Have you found any new beds of anemones, or got us some fresh sea-cucumbers to eat with our pickled salmon to-morrow? Ha, Mr. Nep ! what business have you here, I should like to know? Dogs in carpeted rooms! I am ashamed of you, sir. No, no ! Lily," added he in reply to a word of entreaty from the little girl, who was caressing her beautiful favorite ; " ' everything in its place, and a place for everything ;' and Master Nep's place is in the stable-yard, and not in the drawing-room, and there he must go ! Why, girls, how could you think of bringing him into the room ? he is quite wet." " O papa," said Maud, " we thought we had left him in the stable-yard, but the doors being all 9 98 BLIND LILIAS. open, I suppose he followed us in. He has had such a capital bath." " Well, he must go now," replied her father. " Come, old fellow," he added, rising and proceed- ing to put the unwilling dog out of the room ; but Neptune remonstrated so earnestly against going alone, that his master, patting his great head, sub- mitted to his all but spoken wish, and left the room with him, saying that he would give the dog and himself a few. minutes' walk before tea. Maud took the place her father had left, and began caressing her little sister, whilst Mabel went to take off her bonnet and prepare for tea. When Mabel returned to the room, her father had just come back from his walk with Neptune, and taken possession of his accustomed arm-chair. Eagerly seating herself on a stool at his feet, and fixing her eyes on his face with a sparkling look of delight, she exclaimed, " O papa, my own dear pater, we have met with such an adventure. We have seen such a sweet creature, and I am quite in love with her. O Maud, how shall we find out who she is, and get accmainted with them V " Indeed, May, that is more than I can tell you," replied Maud, laughing. " It will be easy enough to find out who they are ; but " NEW FACES. 99 " Oh, yes, I know," interrupted Mabel ; ' : of course we cannot get acquainted with them without some introduction, or having some proper reason for calling. But if they turn out to be very nice people, you will let us go and see them, will you not, papa? I know they must be very charming, and would just suit us." "If you will solve the problem which your words imply, May, we will think about it," replied Mr. Hope. " What problem, papa?" asked Mabel. " Why, how we are to find out whether they are 'very nice people' or not, before we know them. At present they represent 'an unknown quantity.' Are we to put down x and y, and ' swat it out by algebra," (as the Addiscombe boys used to say.) before we can discover their value ? But come, pussy, tell me all about this new wonder. Who is she r • Why, papa," replied Mabel, laughing and nest- ling into her favorite place in the corner of his chair, " that is exactly what I cannot do. But I am sure she musl be really worth knowing — she was riding on a donkey." "Well, then, really.'' said Mr. Hope, with mock gravity, "that does augur something re- 100 BLIND LILIAS. markable. I do not wonder at your enthusiasm." Lily laughed aloud, and all the others joined in chorus. " No, no, papa," rejoined Mabel. " I did not mean that there was anything remarkable in that ; but now, please, let me tell you all about it, and not once interrupt me or laugh at me. There, now, you cannot say another word," said she playfully laying her hand on his mouth. " Well, Maud and I were sitting chatting in the little cove, and watching the waves as they broke over the rocks. Oh, it was so lovely to-night, pater, I wish you had been there ! Well, as I said, we were sitting on the shingle with Nep (who had just been making fine fun in the water) lying at our feet, when we heard some very merry voices, and, turning to look, we saw coming down the path from the village, a cavalcade which interested us amazingly. First and foremost bounded a lovely little Italian greyhound — a sort of dove-colored creature — the very beau ideal of grace and lightness ; and he was followed by a child as light and graceful as himself, with long golden curls, and the loveliest little feet and legs that were ever seen. Another little girl, apparently a year or two older, followed her, and they and their pretty dog so absorbed our attention, that we scarcely no- NEW FACES. 101 ticed the rest of the party until they came close to us ; and then, oh then, out went my heart with a great bound, and clung to the heart of the most lovely, the most perfect creature I ever saw ! Was she not charming Maud ? Oh, I do wish we could know her!" and, springing from her seat, Mabel an to rave about the charms of her new friend elect, whilst Mr. Hope and Maud watched her with half amused and half anxious thoughts ; for they could not but fear that so much of suddenness and intensity of impression, such eager vehemence, must, if not carefully watched over and checked, be a source of future suffering and evil to the beloved child, who, wholly unconscious of their 1 1n nights, continued to pour forth her eloquent praises. "My child," said her father, tenderly, "I do not like to see you so eager and vehement. It makes me tremble for your future happiness when I see you thus giving way to an uncontrolled imagination, and so ready to bestow your affections on any ob- ject which may present an alluring aspect, before you have given your judgment time or opportunity top rdicl "ii its fitness. This redundancy of fancy needs schooling, my child. You remember what we were reading the other day in Butler. 9* 102 BLIND LILIAS. He calls imagination 'that froward delusive fac- ulty ever obtruding beyond its sphere ; of some assistance, indeed, to apprehension, but the au- thor of all error.' You remember the passage, dear 1 ?" " Oh yes ! father," replied the blushing and half tearful girl ; " it is very true. I have but too often proved the folly of my vehemence, and I will try to repress and check it — I will indeed, dearest father," she added, kissing his forehead ; then, after a pause, continued, " But now, pater, you must just let me tell you about this young lady, because you know I am never quite happy until I have told you everything I am thinking about, and I cannot help thinking of her." " Oh, tell me by all means, dear," replied Mr. Hope. " I shall like to hear whatever interests my child." "Well then, papa," resumed Mabel, "she was riding on Dobbs' donkey, and by her side walked a nice-looking girl of about fifteen, I should think. She and the two little ones were sisters, I suppose, for they were much alike, and all had fair complex- ions ; but the young lady on the donkey had quite a different cast of features, and was quite unlike the rest. She looked like a foreigner ; her hair was NEW FACES. 103 very dark — almost, if not quite black. Her figure was perfect — so light and graceful — and her features were quite classical. When we first saw her, she was entirely colorless, her face as white as marble ; but as she turned her head and spied us (for you know we were half hidden by the rocks, and she did not see us at first), such a lovely geranium tint rose on her cheek, and then died away again ! it was as when a wave curls over and catches on its surface a rosy tint from the rising sun, looking for a moment all brilliancy, and then losing its rich tinting as suddenly as it caught it. I never saw anything so exquisitely lovely as her whole appear- ance." " And of what age might this vara avis seem ?" asked Mr. Hope. " She was older than the others," replied Mabel. "I should think she must have been about twenty. Oh, she was such a sweet creature, papa ! I quite love her already. All the party were dressed as simply as possible, and all in very slight mourning ; but there was something a little peculiar about the form of their dresses which led us to think they must be foreigners, and the fine full guttural of the respectable elderly woman who was their only at- tendant (except Johnny Dobbs, the donkey boy) 104 BLIND LILIAS. confirmed our suspicions. Well, pater, from the pommel of Meta's saddle — they called her Meta (that is the German diminutive for Margaret, you know) — from the pommel of her saddle hung a zinc case, into which we afterwards saw them put- ting specimens of sea-weed, and the servant carried a tin botanical case ; so I conclude they are botan- ists. And that makes me more anxious than ever to know them, for I do want a little help in my bo- tany ; not exactly help, papa, because you can tell me everything I want to know, but I should like some one to collect with me, and care about making a hortus siccus. It is not in Queen Maud's way ; for though she delights in the flowers when they are sweet and fresh, she never cares about what she calls ' their dead bodies, when all the life has been squeezed out in the press.' However, I know we must have some better reason for making acquaint- ance with people than that one rides on a donkey, and the others have a dog and botanical cases; and so I must try to be wise and patient, and not let that ' obtrusive faculty' victimize me any further on the subject," added Mabel, laughing, as she rose from her father's side, at which she had again seated herself; and now I must go and give Lily's bird its groundsel." Leaving the room a few minutes NEW FACES. 105 with Maud, who went to lay aside her bonnet, they both soon returned ; and Maud, seating herself at the table began to make the tea, whilst the others took their places, and the meal proceeded amidst pleasant chat and mirthful laughter. XI. TAKING UP THE CROSS- JMIMLIAS was quiet and thoughtful during tea ; £Q} and after it was over, Maud led her to her couch, and sat down near her, with some wild flowers that she was going to arrange, in her hand. " Now, Maud," said Lily, whose head rested on her sister's shoulder, whilst her little thin hand was" employed in feeling the flowers, " I think I can tell you every flower you hold in your hand : I am going to try how well I can do with feeling instead of seeing. You have some wild roses, one honey- suckle, some of the Portland spurge that grows at the foot of the cliff, and three pyramidal orchises ! Is that right ?" " Nearly, darling," replied Maud, caressing her, but with tears rising in her eyes, as she saw that dear little hand groping amidst the sweet flowers ; " nearly, but not quite — only two pyramidal or- chises, and" "Oh, don't tell! stay a minute: let me feel TAKING UP THE CROSS. 10? again. I know ; two pyramidal, and one of the light ones with spotted leaves. Is not that right? I know by those long leaflets that grow up amongst the blossoms." " Bracts, they are called,' dear," said Mabel. " It is Orchis palmata. You clever little thing, to find out so quickly ! But there are more, Lily." '• Yes," said Lily, still lightly passing her little fingers over the leaves, and stems, and petals, of I lie flowers; "there is a bee orchis — two, three real bee orchises. How long it is since I saw a bee orchis : we used to find them on the windmill hill ! And do you remember my finding what we called the butterfly flower — I mean the blade of grass with seven little blue butterflies all asleep on it, hanging one below another like a spike of blos- soms — and how I brought them all home? Oh, how beautiful that place was ! O Maud, Maud !" And poor Lily bent her head, overpowered with a gush of tears, as the remembrance of her l<>st sense, and of the lovely scene on which she should never again look, arose to her mind. Maud wept also, and pressed her in her arms. Mr. Hope and Mabel had lefl the room whilst Lily was speaking, and the two sisters continued silent for a few minutes. Then Lilias lifted her bead, and 108 BLIND LILIAS. turning her sightless eyes towards her companion's face, as though as of old she could watch every glance of that beloved countenance, said reso- lutely — "You must not cry, Maud, nor must I — not ever again — I mean, not because I am blind. I am going to try to accept the trial, and to turn it into a blessing, dearest Maud. Papa has been telling me about trying to let God do what He thinks right cheerfully, and having fellowship with Him, the same as I used to like so much to have fellow- ship with papa, and help him in anything he is doing ; and so I am going to try if I cannot learn to have fellowship with God, and be satisfied with what He has done, and try to like it because He does it ; and therefore, Maud, do not you pity me any more. I mean, not say anything about it, or cry over me, but pray to God to make me able to be very happy, and not fret for what He has taken away." " May He indeed help you, my precious child !" said Maud. " And He will help you, Lily ; and I will try to help and strengthen you rather than to weaken you, as I have hitherto done by my sor- row." "And Mabel too," said Lily; "you must tell TAKING UP THE CKOSS. 109 Mabel, and we must all agree to try and remem- ber the many pleasant things that are left ; and you must teach me to do things without eyes that other people can only do with them, and I shall make a pleasure out of surprising people with what I can do — that will not be wrong, Maud, will it ? You know I hope not to be vain and proud, and I know it will be by God's help if I am able to do any- thing ; but I think it would amuse and please me, and take off my thoughts from being sorry, if I were to learn to do all sorts of things — to work, and to knit, and I might learn a little of botany, and I think, if you do not mind teaching me, I might go on with music, and many things — might I not, Maud ?" •'You may indeed, my darling," replied Maud. " And dear Lilias, if this trial does truly lead you nearer to God, and bring you to rest on Him, and look to Him from hour to hour, it will indeed prove a blessing in disguise." " Yes, that it will ! I have begun already, Maud ! that was why 1 felt the flowers — you know I never did that before. 1 never liked to take them in my hand, because they put me in mind of my blind- ness, and so with many other things. You know. Uncle William used to say, ' Little girls should see ib 110 BLIND LILIAS. with their eyes, and not with their fingers ;' and now I must say, ' Blind little girls must see with their fingers, and not with their eyes,' " added she, laugh- ing. "True, my precious child," answered Maud. " Do you know, I have heard of some blind people whose sense of touch had become so acute that they were even able to distinguish colors'? And you will soon find, dear Lily, that you will succeed in doing many things if you make a steady effort — things which you would have thought it impossible to do without sight. I once knew an old woman, that had lost her sight after she was grown up, who cut out and made all her own gowns and caps, and every article she wore, and not only so, but washed and ironed them all herself; and she was so neat and nice in her appearance, that you would never have known she could not see." " How curious it must have been to see her feel- ing about to cut the things, Maud ! I should like to do such things. But did she never burn herself with the irons, or cut her hands with the scissors 2" said Lily. " I never heard of her doing so, dear," replied Maud ; " though no doubt she did at first, and you must expect little accidents and failures at the begin- TAKING VP THE CROSS. Ill ning of your efforts, you know ; you will soon gain experience, however, if you go on patiently. But here is nurse to take you to bed, darling. God bless and strengthen you, my child ; M and affection- ately kissing each other, the sisters separated for the night. The next day was Sunday, a day that was always one of calm and quiet enjoyment at Coombhurst Grange. The family met rather earlier than usual for prayers, in order to give time for the elder girls to roach the school-house, before the assembling of the Sunday school, in which they both were accus- tomed to take an active part. Since Lilias' illness, Mr. Hope had himself taken charge of her at that hour, and during those of the morning service, leaving her under the care of one or other of her sisters in turn, whilst he enjoyed the benefit of the second service. On this day, however, soon after Maud and Mabel had with- drawn, and Mr. Hope had begun to read to Lilias, she said, ' ; Papa, if you will read the psalms and lessons first to-day before church-time, instead of doing so when the people are in church as you used, you could go to the service with Maud and May, could not you ? I do not think you can like 112 BLIND LILIAS. to stay at home every Sunday morning, and I shall not mind, papa." " But you will be alone, my darling, and I fear you would feel sad and solitary, if I were to leave you with only nurse." " I will try not to mind it, papa ; I do not mean to be selfish any longer. Nursie shall say all her hymns to me, and I will try to learn one from her to say to you, when you come home ; and she talks so kindly that though she cannot read to me, I shall be very comfortable, and then you know if it is a little dull it will not signify, and I shall try to think about what we were talking of last night. I am so much obliged to you, dearest papa, for saying all that." " Well, Lilias," replied Mr. Hope, " it shall be so ; I will join your sisters at church, and I do not think you will be sorry that you hare exercised self-denial, my child. But, remember, I shall depend on it that you do not allow yourself to yield to repining thoughts. If you feel that you do not bear the loneliness so well as you expect, tell me at once, darling, and I will not again leave you." But the little girl was steadfast in her desire, and for the first time since her accident, her father, who TAKING UP THE CROSS. 113 felt that, although it was painful to him to do so, it was better for his little one that she should be allowed to follow the dictates of her mind and con- science in the matter, left her in the house with only the servants, and joined his other children in the house of God. Lily bore her solitude manfully — it was no slight trial to her, to be left thus for the first time in her blindness ; and as she had hitherto suffered herself to sink under the blow, and made no effort to accus- tom herself to the position in which she stood, she now felt it more painfully than she would, had she from the first endeavored to move about alone, or to find some sort of occupation with which she could employ herself independently of others. There had been some excuse for the poor child not exerting herself, for her long illness had weakened her pow- ers, both of mind and body, and the suddenness of the stroke had, as it were, paralyzed her faculties. It had been with great sorrow that Mr. Hope and her sisters had seen her so entirely reject all their endeavors to rouse her from the state of depression into which she had fallen. Now, however, her father, rejoiced in the hope that a new spirit was at work within her, and a new principle influenc- 10* 114 BLIND LILIAS. ing her actions ; and so, with many prayers, that it might please God to subdue her heart, and mould it to His will, he left her to carry out her first independent effort to meet and conquer adversity. XII. SEIiF-CGXTFIDENCK (^\ T first Lilias made several grand and tolerably /•fW successful efforts to be happy, and to prove to herself that she was quite capable of fol- lowing out her plan. She repeated some hymns, or rather tried to do so, but found that, from a long habit of neglect, they had nearly all "slipped from her once accurate memory, and that there was not one that she could say through without mistake. Then she sang a little, and then nurse came, and she got her to remind her of the parts of the hymns she h.ul forgotten, and thus succeeded in making herself again perfect in two or three, telling nurse that next Sunday she should refresh her memory with more. After this she made nurse repeat some of her own store of hymns, and some passages of Scripture; ami thin another of the servants brought her a plate of fresh strawberries ami a bit of cake, which little refection created a most satisfactory diversion against the inroads of ennui ; and that ended, the little girl told nurse that she was not to help her, 116 BLIND LILIAS. for that she was going to try how well she could walk about by herself. So she got up, and with outstretched arras began. to feel around her. " I shall go out on the terrace, nurse, and when I get to the door, you can help me a little, but not before," said she. But vainly did poor Lily strive to find the door ; she wandered first towards the window, and then turning from that, stumbled over a footstool, and ended by striking herself against a couch and falling flat on it. Then she began to cry rather passionate- ly, and when nurse would have helped and com- forted her, she struck her, pushed her petulantly aside, and renewed her crying and lamentations, saying, that " it was of no use to try, she was sure that she never could get about alone, and that she was a most unhappy and wretched child." In the midst of this scene of distress the door opened, and Mr. Hope with Maud entered the room. "O Lilias, my child !" said he, "this is not as I had hoped to find you ; I should not have left you had I expected this. What is it, dear ? What has happened, and why are you lying in this corner of the room and crying so violently ? What is it, nurse ?" asked he, seeing that Lilias continued to sob and give no answer. SELF-CONFIDENCE. 117 Nurse explained what had occurred ; and then Lilias petulantly exclaimed, " I shall never be able to get about, papa. It is of no use to try ;" and again the poor child, yielding to anger and passion, sobbed and cried aloud. " You coulcl scarcely expect to succeed fully at the first trial, my dear," replied her father. " You must not be discouraged by one failure." " A little at a time, Lily," said Maud, kindly. " Patience and steady perseverance will conquer in time. You have expected too much, my pet, and thought you should succeed at once." " Come, Lilias, let me lead you back to your couch, my dear," said Mr. Hope gravely, seeing that she rudely repulsed her sister and continued crying. " I hope our next trial will succeed better than this, or I shall return to my former habits, and not leave you alone." He spoke with a tone which Lilias well understood to be one of displeas- ure, for he saw that temper rather than depression was the cause of her distress. Gently lifting her in his arms, he placed her on her own couch, and. taking liis Bible, sat silent by her side, whilst she continued to sob and ory until, exhausted by her own vehemence, the poor child, who still re- mained weak and delicate from the effects of her 118 BLIND LILIAS. long illness, fell asleep with the tears yet glittering on her cheeks. Dinner was now announced. On Sunday Mr. Hope made it a rule that the usual family arrange- ments should yield as much as possible to the higher claims of the day, and every facility be given for each member of his household to attend on pub- lic worship, as also for his girls to be able to take their place in the school with punctuality. An early and chiefly cold dinner, therefore, took the place of their usual later meal, and a rather more solid tea-meal than on other days was always greatly enjoyed by the whole party. Leaving Lilias under the care of nurse, Mr. Hope joined his daughters in the dining-room. " Where is Lily ]" asked Mabel, who had gone at once to her room after church, and had conse- quently not witnessed the little scene we have de- scribed. " Shall I fetch her ?" " No, my dear," replied her father, " she is asleep ;" and he then explained to Mabel how he had found her, and said, " Poor darling, she has a great and trying work before her, and we must ex- pect that she will fail many times before she suc- ceeds in bending her head meekly to the Hand which afflicts her." \ SELF-CONFIDENCE. 119 " But you seemed displeased with her, papa," said Maud. "Why was that 1 Poor child, I could not wonder when I saw her so overcome at finding her inability to move about alone." " I do not wonder at that either, my dear ; nor would any exhibition of sorrow have made me dis- pleased with Lily. She has but just begun to look her sore trial in the face, and it will be long before she is able to take up the cross, and bear it cheer- fully ; nothing but Divine grace can enable her to do so, and God forbid that I should be angry with my child for failing, where I have myself so often and so greatly failed." He was silent for a minute, probably struggling against the grief that oppressed him on account of his child, and lifting up his heart to God for strength for her and himself. "But I was displeased with Lilias, and must let her feel that I am," continued he, after a time. " Pride was the cause of her tears, and petulance the result of her failure to get into the garden alone. She is a precious child ; but self-dependence, self-satisl;n- tion, have from infancy been the faults of her nature. These must be subdued ; and I can see in the character of the trial which it has pleased God to lay on lier a fitness that makes me full of hope that she will eventually eomo forth 'as gold refined 120 BLIND LILIAB. in the furnace.' Hitherto this pride has shown it- self in a morbid resolution not to be comforted — not to try to do anything for herself. Now I truly hope and believe that her heart is touched by a bet- ter principle. She entered most sweetly into the spirit of the conversation which I had with her last night, and her little effort to begin to bring her new resolution into practice, by feeling your flowers, touched me greatly. This morning, too, her desire that I should leave her, and go to church, delighted me ; for I knew what an effort it must have cost her to deny herself my society, and remain alone. I would fain have stayed, but I felt that it was bet- ter to go, and I went. Then, satisfied with herself, my poor child yielded to the old fault, and fancy- ing she was strong, was allowed to feel her weak- ness. It will do her good, dear," he added, in reply to a pitying look from Mabel. " You know it would not have been right for me to let her think I could mistake petulance for sorrow. We shall talk it over when she wakes, and you need not fear that I do not fully appreciate the struggle she is making. Would God that I could bear it for her ! but it must be between her and her God ; and all that 1 can do is to guard her from any injury that our loving pity, if not properly directed and re- strained, might inflict on her." ! XIII. PKIDK SUBDUED. S soon as dinner was over, and the girls were gone to the school, Mr. Hope returned to his little daughter. He found her awake, and learned, on inquiry, that nurse had brought her some dinner, of which she had partaken ; so, dis- missing the good woman, he sat down by Lily's couch, and began to converse with her. On his entrance she looked ashamed, but turned away from him with a cold, offended manner, as if she were the aggrieved person. " My dear child," said Mr. Hope, " you have vexed and disappointed me to-day. Tell me, dear, what was it that so much upset you ? What had occurred to make you cry so violently this morn- ing r " I do not know what I have done wrong, I am sure, papa," replied Lily, avoiding a direct reply to her father's question ; " nor why you are angry with me," added she, coldly and proudly. " I did 11 122 BLIND LILIAS. my best to manage for myself, and it was not my fault if I fell down and struck myself." " Am I displeased with you, Lily, because you fell down 1" asked Mr. Hope gravely, and waiting for an answer. " I don't know, papa. If it was not for that, I am sure I do not know what it could be for," re- plied Lilias. " I was trying to get about by myself as you wished me to do, and then I stumbled and fell, and I thought you would all have been sorry to see me so when you came home, and, instead of it, you were quite displeased. It is very hard, I think ;" and still under the influence of temper, she began again to cry. " Lilias, my child," said her father tenderly, drawing his chair nearer to her, and taking her hand in his, "you grieve me much. Your little heart is at this moment full of pride, and injustice, and evil feelings. How unlike is it to the spirit of Christ ! Let us look into this matter together, my love, and may God of His mercy show you wherein your fault lies. It is He only who can do so. Last night, Lily, a new and holy desire seemed to possess your heart ; you felt that you had been striving against God, and refusing to ' hear the rod, and Him who had appointed it,' and you were PRIDE SUBDUED. 123 sorry, and I well believe that it was with real de- sire to return and repent, and to walk henceforward with Him, that you spoke as you then did. I be- lieve also, my love, that your request that I should leave you alone this morning, was dictated by the same right spirit ; and I cannot tell my little girl what thankfulness it produced in my heart, when I found her actively warring against self, by giving up that which I knew it must have cost her much to relinquish." As Mr. Hope spoke thus affectionately, and yet sorrowfully, Lilias turned round quickly, threw her arms round his neck, and, pressing her face against his shoulder, said in low tones interrupted by sobs, " Yes, dear papa, I did care very much. I am so sorry I vexed you. Do forgive me." " I will indeed forgive you freely, my child, for the sorrow and disappointment you have caused me. But let us go on, love, and see, if we can, why it was, and in what, that you failed. Pleased with the effort you had made, you began to think of it with self-elation ; you did not therefore humbly seek God's help to lead you through the little pri- vations and inconveniences which were likely to result from the loneliness, combined with want of sight, to which you had never before been exposed, 124 BLIND LILIAS. but you set about acting in an untried and new po- sition in your own strength, and with self-confidence, instead of confidence in God. Now, had you been trying in a right and humble spirit to ' do the best you could,' and had, under these circumstances, stumbled and struck yourself, I do not think you would have got into a passionate fit of crying, and struck your poor nurse, and have been cross with me and Maud. Do you think you should ?" " No, papa,' ' said Lily. " I think you would have laughed, and jumped up again, and made another trial, and either with or without another trip, would have got out on the ter- race, and pleased us all by showing us how well our precious little girl was getting on in her new learning ; and, Lily, what else would have given our hearts joy ?" " To see that I was beginning to try to have fel- lowship with God, and to try to be happy without my sight, papa ?" " Yes, darling ; that was it. But I hope I shall yet not be disappointed. I see that you are con- scious of your fault, and I think you will try not to be so proud, and impatient, and petulant. But al- ways remember that it must be ' by God's help,' and remember also, dear, that in such little trials PRIDE SUBDUED. 125 as that of this morning, you are more likely to be foiled, than if assailed by those of a much more se- rious nature. When a man goes out to battle with a mighty foe, who he fears may kill him, he buckles on all his armor, and sees that every piece is sound and in its place ; but when he goes out to meet a comparatively insignificant enemy, he thinks not of doing so : consequently, he is often more injured and worried by the latter than he is by the former. And so with us, we forget to buckle on the ' ar- mor of faith ' when we go to meet vexations, whereas if we know that we are to encounter afflic- tions, we bind on our panoply and are safe !" Many earnest kisses had poor Lily impressed on her father's forehead and hands and cheeks from time to time, as gently drawing her nearer and nearer to his heart, he thus won her from her pride and anger. Truly he might have dealt with her sternly, for he was her lather, and she was at the mo- ment an undutiful child; but he would not thus have led her soul to penitence, and so to peace, had he done so, nor would such a course have been so accordant with our heavenly Father's dealings with His guilty children, for "God i- love, and li i that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, ami lie in him." It was the hour of the pleas-mi evening meal on 11* 126 BLIND LILIAS. the Lord's day, the commencement of which we have described. Tea and coffee, with fruit, cream, and other more substantial food, were arranged on a table spread with fine white linen, and shining plate and china, in a cheerful dining-room, that commanded an exquisite view of the sea, with its varied shore of beach, rock, and cliff, all now lit up with the glory of the evening sunbeams, for it was yet early. Mr. Hope and his three girls were seated round the table, Lilias as usual nestling close to her father's side, with one of his hands held fast in her own. This early tea-meal was always a fa- vorite time with the whole party — their rather hasty dinner, and the services of the day, forming an ex- cellent preparative for the enjoyment of the cake, fruit, and other light delicacies, which were always specially provided for the Sunday evening's refec- tion. Maud was presiding over the tea-table, and Mabel spreading some cream on bread for her little sister. " O papa," said Mabel, " did you see Meta and her sisters to-day 1 We did, and they looked so nice. There was a pleasing-looking lady with them, their mother no doubt, and they w T ere so prettily dressed ; all the girls wore hats, papa, true German PRIDE SUBDUED. 127 hats, and they had gray dresses with black ribbons. Did you see them, papa ?" " No, May, I did not," replied Mr. Hope ; " it is a pity, but I must own the truth, I missed that great sight; perhaps it might be that I was not gazing about me. Do you remember what good George Herbert says ? — ' In time of service seal up both thine eyes And send them to thine heart ; that, spying sin, They may weep out the stains by them did rise ; Those doors being shut, all by the ears come in. Who marks in church-time others' symmetry, Makes all their beauty his deformity !' " Mabel blushed, and Maud, who always sought to screen her sister, said, " But we followed them a little way, papa, and I dare say it was then that May noticed them, for I did not see them in church." " No, Maudie," replied Mabel ; " thanks for your kind excuse, but it was not so. I saw them come into church, and although I tried hard not to think of them, I could not keep my thoughts together, and I looked at them a great deal. I wish I had not, for I know it is wrong to gaze about at church, and I never can attend well, after I have once no- ticed any object that interests me." 128 BLIND LILIAS. " True, dear," replied her father. " But I fear it is a fault to which we are all too much inclined ; I mean that of giving divided attention, and allowing secular thoughts to creep in, and mingle with our most sacred services. Well may we pray, as that old woman of whom we lately heard did, that God would ' gather up the wanderings of our frail hearts, and pardon them for Christ's sake.' " " But you know, papa, I never can attend to that tiresome Mr. Scott," said Mabel ; " his manner is so dull, and his sermon even more so." "My dear Mabel," replied Mr. Hope, "you know I much disapprove of those strictures on the clergyman. There are few sermons from which you might not gain something, if you were to listen carefully, remembering that he who addresses you is Christ's minister. An old lady of more than seventy once said to me, when I in my youth made some such remark as that which you have now made, ' My dear young friend, I am an old woman, and have heard a great many sermons, but I never remember hearing one which had not something good in it. 1 I must quote Herbert again to you: — ' If all things else lack sense, God takes a text and preacheth patience.' " PRIDE SUBDUED. 129 A pause ensued, which was broken by little Lily asking Mabel whether she thought the new people as attractive as she had at first. " Quite," replied Mabel, with animation. " One thing I can say for them, and that is, that they behaved better at church than I did, for I saw that they were as quiet and attentive as possible, only the little one glanced up at me two or three times, as if she recognized me." XIV. THE DORMER FAMILY. fN a small and rather shabby-looking room, fit- ted up with such ill-assorted and half-worn fur- niture as it is usual to find in sea-side village lodgings, sat the party which had so excited Mabel Hope's interest. A common Scotch carpet on the floor, scanty window-curtains, and painted chairs and tables, were all it had to boast ; and yet by some magic art this mean little room bore an air of elegance that struck you at once as remarkable. There is something in the presence of a refined and delicate female taste which has the power of turn- ing even that shabbiest of places, a common, half- worn lodging-room, into a tasteful and pleasant- looking abode ; and so it was in the present in- stance. A gracefully arranged glass of wild flowers, two or three roses and lilies in a classical-looking little vase, desks, drawing implements, and books, decorated the room ; and an air of neatness in the arrangement of the furniture, together with the absence of all that litter of bonnets, and shawls, THE DORMER FAMILY. 131 and other out-door gear which are so commonly thrown off and thrown down on the chairs and tables of sea-side lodgings, gave at once the idea of a ladies' room — a place where intelligent people had passed the day. The party assembled in it did not belie the impression that the appearance of the l'oom was likely to have made. They were the girls with whom Mabel Hope had fallen so deeply in love, with the addition of an elder lady, whose countenance, though mild and benign in its ex- pression, bore tokens of a vigorous intellect and strong sense working within. Margaret Dormer, the eldest girl, she who had been riding on the donkey, was resting on the couch near an open window. She was less pale than when the Misses Hope had seen her, but appeared to be in somewhat delicate health. Rosalie, the second in age, sat near her on a low stool, with a German guitar slung round her neck, on which she was striking a few chords from time to time as they chatted ; whilst the two little girls, Emily and Blanche, were seated by the window, examining a store of pebbles that they had gathered on the beach. " What nice-looking girls those were we saw to- 132 BLIND ULIAS. night on the beach, Meta," said Rose ; " did not you think so ?" " Very — most attractive," replied Meta — " so amiable and bright-looking ; I longed to speak to them." "Well, we should in Germany," said Rosalie. " I do hate these cold English customs." " And yet, dear, they have their use," replied her aunt, Mrs. Evelyn. " There are many incongruous acquaintances and intimacies made on the Contin- ent, which would be avoided, if there were a little less freedom from restraint in speaking to stran- gers. Do you remember those people who so teased us at Munich 1 You know we should have avoided all that, if we had kept to English habits, and not fallen into chat, and then into intimate visit- ing, before we knew who or what they were." " True, aunt," replied Meta ; " there is good as well as evil in the custom of waiting for introduc- tions." ' : I wish we knew who they were," said little Blanche, the pretty -footed child of Mabel's eulogy ; " I wish we knew ; can't you guess, Meta ?" " Well, Blanche," replied Meta laughing, " it is an odd notion that I should be able to guess who strange people, in a strange place, may be ; and yet THE DORMER FAMILV. 133 I am not sure but that I can. Do you remember Mr. Nugent Hope whom we met at Signora Rozzi's, at Pau, Rose ? That tallest girl was like him, and I remember he told us that his father and sisters lived somewhere on the South Devon coast. I should not wonder if they were the Misses Hope." " Right, Meta ; I am sure you are right," replied Rose. ' : I saw a likeness to some one, but I could not at the time remember to whom. It was Mr. Nugent Hope, and she was very like him." " How much I should like to know them," said Margaret. " I am almost sure they must be the Maud and Mabel of whom Mr. Hope so often spoke — ' my bright May,' as he used to call her." " And that then must have been that dear dog that Mr. Hope told me such a sweet story about," said Blanche. " You remember, Emmy, how he jumped from a boat, and picked up a little hall- drowned boy who was just sinking, and brought him safe to shore in his great mouth, without biting liiui a bit. I was half afraid he would have fright- ened my Fata this evening; bul if I had but guess- ed it was thai good famous dog, I would have made him mj besl curtsey, and not have minded Miss Fata's shy looks. Next lime I see him on the beach, 12 134 BLIND LILIAS. I will tell him that I have heard of his good deed, and respect him as I ought." " Indeed, my child, you will do no such thing," replied Mrs. Evelyn. " In the first place, we do not know that these are the Misses Hope, or that the dog you saw was Neptune ; and even if your sister's guess should prove to be right, we must wait until we are sure that our acquaintance would be acceptable before we offer it. But now, sing to me, children — sing, Rosie." " What shall it be ? " asked Eosalie ; " a song or a hymn ] Oh, I know what you will like, aunt ;" and she began in a pure, clear, young voice, to sing that beautiful hymn of Schenk's — " Wie sind die vor Gottes throne ? Was ist das fur eiue schaar V As she sang, Emily and Blanche drew near and added the soft notes of their childish voices to the strain, and before it closed, Mrs. Evelyn and Meta's also swelled the melody, until its last emphatic lines rose on the air with a power and pathos un- speakable — " Amen, lob sei Dir bereit ; Dank und preis in Ewigkeit." Would that the English showed the musical skill THE DORMER FAMILY. 135 and taste of the Germans. There, young and old, poor and rich, sing, and many sing well ; and why should not the English ] Several days now passed pleasantly by, and the young ladies who were the objects of so much in- terest to each other, often met in the roads and lanes which encircled the village, or on the sea-shore, and never without casting furtive glances at each other. Margaret had ascertained that Maud and Mabel were the Misses Hope, and they in return had discovered the names of the strangers, and that they lodged at Cove Cottage, a small house not very far from their own gate ; but beyond this they had not gathered any information concerning them, save that they were likely to remain at Coombhurst during the summer. Another week had escaped, and another happy Sunday passed over the heads of our young friends. Lilias had in some degree taken warning by her failure, and, adopting the advice of her kind and wise father, had given herself up to her elder sister's guidance; Maud having undertaken to lead her about and initiate her by degrees into the difficulties of finding her way alone — a point which the poor child was now very anxious to attain. Naturally independent and eager, she had felt the affliction 136 BLIND LILIAS. which it had pleased God to lay on her more severely than a child who had been used to rely on others would have done. Rather delicate in health, she had been accustomed from her earliest child- hood to flit about the fields and hills, either on foot or on her pony, with but little restraint ; and al- though her education had not been neglected, it had not been allowed to occupy many hours in the day ; or rather, we should say, that part of education which is of a sedentary character had not been allowed to occupy her for any length of time to- gether, for, situated as she had been, as the com- panion of her accomplished father and sisters, edu- cation, and that of the highest order, had proceeded even during those very hours in which she was ap- parently employed only in out-of-door gambols. Lilias' mind and intellect were of the highest tone, and her dispositions excellent, but as we have before said, the pride and self-reliance of her char- acter, instead of leading her to strive against the results of the affliction which had deprived her of the independent powers she once possessed, had led her haughtily to reject all aid, and at the same time sullenly to resolve that she would make no effort to lighten the life-long trial that had fallen on her. But now a new spirit seemed to possess her. It THE DORMER FAMILY. 137 appeared as though her father's prayers for his child had been answered, and a new life implanted in her young heart — as if the Comforter had Himself de- scended on her, and brought submission to her re- bellious spirit ; and Lilias was now beginning to give evidence by her conduct, which was at the same time more submissive and more energetic, that a change was passing upon her. " Maud, will you take me to my lessons again, as you used before I was blind ?" she said, on the Sunday after the one the history of which we have before recorded. "I think I have not quite for- gotten my French ; and although I cannot now write exercises, I think, if you gave me the sentence in English, I could say it in French, and then you could correct it as I spoke ; and there are many things I might do. You would not mind, Maud ?" " Oh no, darling ! I should like it," replied her sister. " When shall we begin 1 " "To-morrow, if you can spare time ; and 1 shall like to go on with music. Drawing must be given u]) — and, for ever ! <) .Maud! (Lily had a marked talenl for drawing.) Well, never mind — I must not begin to be boitj ; and I shall ask papa to read history to me, and question me ; and May shall teach me botany, and you will see I shall not be a 12* 138 BLIND LILIA8. dunce at last. That is," added she, very gravely, " if God will help me ; but I do not deserve that He should, Maud, I have been so very wicked. I had quite made up my mind that I never would try to do anything. And, Maud," said she, hiding her face on her sister's shoulder, " I have said such wicked things to God, and blamed Him for doing what He did, as if I could know what was best, and I have never prayed to Him since I got better and was able to think, except sometimes to ask Him to kill me at once, instead of letting me live on so blind and desolate. Will God ever forgive me, Maud ? When papa talked so kindly to me, and told me what that little boy said, and that he would rather be blind himself than that I should, then all that sank down into my heart, and I became very sorry for my faults in refusing to accept what God thought best, and grieving you all so much. Will God forgive me, do you think, Maud ?" It was not easy for Maud to answer her, for Lily's earnestness, and sorrowful confession of a state of mind of which her sister had no conception, almost wholly overpowered her, and she was, consequently silent for a moment. " You think He will not Maud V she asked, in a startled voice, when she found that her sister did THE DORMER FAMILY. 139 not reply. " Oh, don't say so ! I hope He will, and that I shall never do so again." " Indeed, my precious child, I do not think so. ' If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.' Cast all your care in penitence on Him, dearest. No one was ever refused forgiveness who sought it for Christ's sake." " But it is such a long time — ten whole months that I have refused to speak to God, and looked on Him as my enemy." " True, dear ; but God is long-suffering, plenteous in mercy and truth. Return to God, and He will not refuse a penitent sinner. But be careful, dear- est Lily ; the Scripture says, ' God will speak peace unto His people, and to His saints, but let them not turn again to their folly.' 1 Do not you let repining thoughts ever harbor in your heart again. If you feel them coming, turn away from them, and try, dear, never to brood over your troubles. Ponder Goil's mercy as much as you will, and think as much as you like of all the things you can do to lighten (he (rial, but never allow yourself to brood over the thought of your blindness, or to become morbid in your feelings about it." " I will try, darling Maud," answered Lily ; " I 140 BLIND LILIAS. thank you so much for talking to me. I fear I shall be twice the trouble in teaching, now that I have no sight ; but I will do my very best, and try to give you as little trouble as I can." " But, Lily," said Maud, " I rather doubt what papa and the doctor will say to all this notion about study." " What is all this notion about study ?" said Mr. Hope, who had entered the room unobserved. " What ! is Lily going to Oxford to join Everard in his rooms, and try for a double first ?" " No, papa," said Lily, " but I want to begin les- sons again. May I ?" " No, my child, not yet. I must see you a little stronger before I have any set studies." " O papa !" began Lilias, with a little of the old pettish look gathering on her face — " O papa ! I wish it so much ; do let me !" Maud's hand was laid on her shoulder with a gentle pressure, and the word " Remember " breathed softly in her ear. " No, papa, I forgot ; I will not try till you see fit," said the little girl, making a strong effort to subdue herself; and, drawing Maud's head towards her, she whispered, "' Let them not turn to their folly.' Say ' Folly ' to me, Maudie, when I forget, and I shall understand." XV. FRIENDSHIPS ESTABLISHED. C^V^E must now introduce our readers to Mr. wV Hope's library, and a most comfortable room it certainly was. Wishing to unite his children with him in all his pursuits, the library, although nominally his own peculiar possession, and as frequently called "Papa's study" as it was the Library, had in fact become a sort of family sitting room, with these exceptions, that no visitors were ever shown into it except such as were specially in- vited for some literary or scientific purpose ; and that no needle-work, or other such employment, had place there. If the girls liked to share his oc- cupations, or to carry on their own studies there, they were always welcomed, but it was to be con- sidered as a place for quiet retreat and study, and no one who sat there was to be interrupted by idlers. Here the whole family usually assembled for half-an-hour directly after their early breakfast, to read some given portions of the Word of God, 142 BLIND LILIAS. and converse on the sacred subjects thus presented to them. Mr. Hope, himself well read in the Scripture, and his heart deeply influenced by its Divine teach- ing, was in an unusual degree capable of making this morning exercise useful and interesting to his children ; books and maps were consulted, and the letter as well as the spirit of the Bible illustrated to them, and impressed on their minds. It was on a day but a short time after the events which we have recorded, when, the Scripture lesson being concluded, and Maud and Mabel busy re- placing the books which had been taken, down for reference, on Mr. Hope's giving the signal that they were now disengaged, by ringing the bell, the letter- bag was brought in and opened. There was a letter for Lilias from her brother Vernon, and one for Maud, from some friend. Mabel was busy reading Lily's letter to her in a low tone near the window, and Mr. Hope deeply engaged in perusing a letter written on foreign paper. As he read, a smile of amusement passed gradually from his eye to his lip, and over his whole countenance. " What is it, father V said Maud, who, having just finished her letter, saw that that held by her father was from her brother Nugent. " What FRIENDSHIPS ESTABLISHED. 143 amuses you so much ? — is Nugent's heart caught at last by some fair foreigner V " Oh, what is it % do tell us, dear pater ; there is such a funny smile on your face — do tell us," said May who had heard Maud's question, and leaving Lily's letter in the midst, had hastened to the table, and springing to Mr. Hope's side, began to peep at the letter which lay open before him, as he threw himself back in his chair langhing. " No, no, Miss May ; why should you get pos- session of the news, saucy child, before your better behaved sister 1 Go along, monkey, and sit down." " I know what it is, pater — Nugent is going to be married, and bring home some pretty little frisky Smyrniote, or some beautiful Italian Contessa, as his bride — now do tell us, papa — I know I shall like Nugent's choice, whoever it may be." " Well done, May !" said Lilias merrily. " Nu- gent always used to like dark beauties, so perhaps he will bring home a little negro wife, with curly wool and white teeth ; and if he docs, you will be sure to admire her if Nugent does, and we shall have to teach her English." ■■Will, young ladies," said Mi-. Hope, "when you have speculated quite enough t<> please you, you shall hear Nugent's Utter, and judge fir your- 144 BLIND LILIAS. selves whether anything in it indicates that your brother means to jump to the conclusion of his state of freedom, as aptly as Miss Mabel Hope can jump to a conclusion on his designs. The letter is dated from Constantinople, but instead of endeavor- ing to enlighten me, after the manner of tourists in general, on the appearance of the city of the Sul- tan, and the actual admeasurement of each of its mosques and palaces, instead of imparting to me his reflections on the Turkish government, or the reli- gion of Mohammed, this is what he says : — " ' My dearest Father, — I write in much haste, being about to set sail for a tour in the Grecian Ar- chipelago, but I have just heard that some friends with whom I became acquainted at Pau, and who I am sure you will like, are purposing to pass the summer months at Coombhurst, or in the neighbor- hood, and I must beg you all to become acquainted as soon as possible, as I am confident that acquain- tance will, in this case, soon lead to intimacy and friendship. I am satisfied that my dear sisters will find both pleasure and benefit, from close associa- tion with " Here Mr. Hope paused and looked archly at Mabel — " What is the first name that rises hope- fully to your mind, May ?" FRIENDSHIPS ESTABLISHED. 145 " Oh, the Misses Dormer, papa ! is it the Misses Dormer ] oh, do tell us, papa !" exclaimed Mabel, eagerly. " What say you, Maud V said Mr. Hope. " Go back,*' added he, laughingly, putting aside Mabel, who had again tried to possess herself of the news, by creeping into his chair, and peeping at the let- ter •. '• I won't tell you at all if you are so impa- tient ; there now, sit still, and I will read the rest — but I have not had Maud's answer ; are you as anxious that your brother's friends should prove to be these young damsels as Mabel is V '• Perhaps not as anxious, papa," replied Maud. '• You know it is not my way to be so enthusiastic as May, but I do confess that I greatly admire those girls, and I have also taken a strong liking to the elder lady, Mrs. Evelyn I think they call her — their aunt, I mean." "Well now, listen," said Mr. Hope. '"My dear sisters will find both pleasure and benefit from cli«c association with the Misses Dormer, and their excellent aunt Mrs. Evelyn. Maud and Meta will talk German together, Rosalie and Mabel can botan- ize, fur Rose, though younger than Mabel, is ;t clever little thing, and a capital botanist; and you, my dear father, will delight in hearing their singu- 146 BLIND LILIAS. lar and touching voices joined in sacred song with those of our dear girls. Mrs. Evelyn will be an acquisition to you all ; she is a sterling character, and with much oi'iginality of mind, and a heart softened and refined by the influence of sanctified sorrow. My poor darling Lily, too, will be the gainer by the companionship of two very sweet lit- tle girls, and if you all talk of me sometimes, why, so much the better. And now farewell — my next from classic ground.' ' We need not say that but few hours elapsed be- fore Mr. Hope and his daughters presented them- selves at the door of Cove Cottage, and as all par- ties were disposed to friendship, an arrangement Avas made for a sail together that very afternoon, which ended in the whole party from the cottage returning to take tea at the Grange. It would not be easy to say when the first visit was ceremoniously returned by the Dormer party, for from that day forward such a continual inter- change of visits and notes, German lessons, and botanical excursions, commenced, that it would be far too fatiguing to detail. Each girl found a friend, and all were pleased with each other. Lilias was steady in her efforts to regain some of her lost power, and become able to look her FRIENDSHIPS ESTABLISHED. 141 affliction in the face, and meet it bravely. Of course there were constant failures, and these were often followed by fits of impatience, and now and then of anger, which made her for the moment retract all her good resolutions, and throw herself down on the couch in the same rebellious and insubordinate spirit as of old, under which she had so long suc- cumbed. But a new life was in her, and though the adversary did not fail to tempt and try her, and the evil nature within but too often yielded to his suggestion, yet the little girl was, by God's Spirit, enabled after these falls to rise again, and renew her resolves, and, by seeking fresh strength, to gain more and more firmness each day. Her health had now so much improved, probably in part from the happier state of her mind, and from the exercise and air which she now took, that within two or three weeks from the time her efforts first began, she was allowed to go to church, and, for the first time since her accident, the poor blind child once more sat and knelt beside her father in the house of God. There was trial in this, too. To be led into church, to be unable to see the clergyman, or to glance towards any of those friends whom she had been used to meet there, was a trial. But even out of this God brought good; for, on her return 148 BLIND LILIAS. home, she reminded her father of the passage from Herbert that he had quoted, and said cheerfully, "Then, papa, you see I have not to do for myself what you said — ' In time of service seal up both thine eyes.' God has done that for me, and now I can never stare about the church as I used some- times to do." "True, my child," replied Mr. Hope. " Get all the good you can from your sore affliction ; but you must try to control your thoughts, dearest, because they are as prone to wander off from the service as the eyes from the book, and though the poor eyes can never now supply subject for those wandering thoughts to rest on, they will find it in other ways if you are not careful. " But now, come and we will take a walk in the garden together, until your sisters are ready for tea," added he, affectionately. This was always Lily's great delight, and, with a joyful assent, she took her father's affectionate hand, and the next half hour was spent among the sweet flowers, in pleas- ant chat with her beloved companion. Margaret Dormer was, as Mabel had conjectured, not the sister of the children with whom the Hopes had seen her, at least not so by both parents. She was the child of Mr. Dormer by his first wife, an FRIENDSHIPS ESTABLISHED. 149 Italian lady, who had died when her daughter was not more than two years old. Margaret had been entirely brought up on the Continent, partly in Italy and the south of France, and partly in Germany. When she was about four years old, her father married again, and the three young girls, and a boy, who was now at school, were added to his family. The second Mrs. Dormer died about two years be- fore the period of which we speak, and Mrs. Eve- lyn, her widowed sister, who had for some years lived with them, took charge of the family. Mr. Dormer did not long survive the loss of his beloved wife, and had now been dead for about nine months. After the death of her father, a severe attack of fever, brought on by nursing him, and by bitter grief at his loss, had led Margaret to the brink of the grave, and so great a degree of delicacy had been induced by it, that if had been thought desirable to take her I'm- a time to her native land. They had therefore passed the last winter at Pan. and in the spring, Mrs. Evelyn, finding it n \ to come to England, had decided on taking up her abode in iweel village of Coombhurst, where they mighl find quiet, and where she hoped in the enjoyment of the fresh sea air and lovely natural scenery which the place afforded, her precious charge would soon 150 BLIND LILIAS. recover her health and spirits. Meta had inherited a considerable fortune from her mother, but for the younger children there was but a small provision in the relics of their father's property, and as Meta was not of age, and all were requiring education, Mrs. Evelyn had selected this village as a place where they might live at little expense, and with much enjoyment. She had determined, with the assistance of Meta, to instruct the little ones her- self, whilst Rosalie, who was sufficiently advanced to require such aid, was to receive masters from the town. Their only servant, Bertha, the German woman whom the girls had seen with the Dormers on the beach, had lived with them many years ; she knew English pretty well, but when alone with the young ladies, she usually spoke German, in which she acted wisely, as her English was none of the purest, and her marked features and peculiar dress drew on her as it were but too much of the notice of the country people. Such was the party with whom our young friends had begun to form an intimacy, destined to affect them all, more or less, and connected with the tenderest interests of all even to the end of their lives. XVI. & SUDDKIT OUTBREAK. " ^I'Y^W? pater, I have a charming plan to pro t^Mv pose," said Mabel one evening, when both families were seated in an alcove in the Grange, enjoying a repast of fruit and cream, with a pleasure which belongs only to the young, or to those whose natural tastes have not been vitiated by worldly excitement and pampered appetites. ." Now, all listen and approve," she continued ; : ' I propose, that as both Lily and Mela are ordered to live as much as possible in the open air, and as Rose and I like it, and all our friends would like to be introduced to the beauties of the country, and as a great many pleasant things would be sure to hap- pen from it, I propose, I say, that the present au- gusl party sin mid go once in every week, when weather permits, (you sec my scheme is well di- gested, and lakes in all contingencies,) to some beautiful place in the country, or by the sea, taking with us some dinner, and materials for tea-making, and so spend the whole day together, camp-fashion, 152 BLIND LILIAS. in any beautiful nook we may light on. Now, all who are for my plan hold up your hands." " Capital ! — carried by acclamation. I thought it would be," added Mabel laughing, as she saw every hand lifted. "Well, May, if Mrs. Evelyn approve," said Mr. Hope, " I see no objection, and think it an admira- ble plan. What say you, dear madam 1 I fear you look a little grave on it." " No, indeed, Mr. Hope," replied Mrs. Evelyn, " I like the plan much, but there are some difficulties which present themselves to my mind. In the first place, I think one whole day out of every week is rather too much to give to mere pleasure ; my girls are very young, and lessons must not be neglected, although I am willing to allow a considerable degree of relaxation, especially when it is taken in the open air. Another difficulty is that I scarcely know how so large a party, and some of them so delicate, can be conveyed to the distances Mabel seems to con- template ; we have, as you know, no carriage, nor must we often indulge ourselves in the expense of hiring one." " Well, my good friend," replied Mr. Hope, " the last named difficulty I can easily meet. We have a roomy Coburg, and 1 here is the girls' little pony A SUDDEN OUTBREAK. 153 carriage that will hold four, and then there is a rough pony that belongs to the school-boys, who, by the by, will soon be at home to join our parties, and I have my own horse ; so between all these machines, alive and dead, I think we shall find it easy enough for us all to go comfortably, and a couple of servants into the bargain. I confess, how- ever. I see the full force of your first objection ; and yet I think a little modification of our plans might obviate that too. If we do not set out until twelve or one o'clock (according to the distance we purpose going), as we are all early risers, that will leave a respectable portion of the day for study ; and if your young ones are steady and work well, a good deal may be clone in that time ; and, indeed, I should suggest that we only make whole-day ex- cursions occasionally, and at other times take a very early dinner, and, starting directly after it, get a long afternoon and evening, and a pleas. ml tea-drink- ing in some quiet nook. Then, I think, we might also combine a little reading and intellectual pursuit with our jaunting. We could not be on the move all the time \\^ are absent from home, so I pro- pose that a rim ile of ho;:! each our camp- ing ground, should be spenl in reading •volume of good history, criticism, or some other useful work. 154 BLIND LILIAS. Then a botanical lesson must form part of our day's business, and this can be carried on as we ramble about, and the flowers we gather will form subjects for us to analyze and discuss." " Yes, papa," said May, eagerly entering into the amendments on her original plan, " and I can take my portable press and papers, and whilst you read to us, Rose and I can place our specimens in it." " Very well, dear," replied Mr. Hope, " that can easily be done." " And, papa," said Maud, " let it be a rule that each in turn should be prepared with some original essay, or tale, or poem, or some nice bit of transla- tion to read aloud. No, not for us to read through ! You shall read all, and so spare our blushes, and not let any one but you know whose paper you are reading." " I suppose you will not wish to keep up your incog " said Mr. Hope, laughing, " if you find your essay admired ?" " Well, we shall see about that," replied Maud, merrily ; " probably not." " That is a capital thought, Maud," said Meta, " and by that means we shall have not only a pic- nic of raspberry tart and chicken, but an intellectual pic-nic too, and we will all contribute — Mr. Hope and Auntie also." A SUDDEN OUTBREAK. 155 "Yes, and we can do something," exclaimed the delighted children. •■ Lilias shall make one of her pretty stories, and I will write it down for her," said Emily; "and the writing wjll be my share." " And Blanche can translate one of Grimm's fables," said Rosalie. " I shall like that part as well as any of the whole plan." The new idea was long discussed, and all the de- tails duly considered ; and, fall of delight at the expected pleasure, the young party separated, all promising an intensity of study between the days of action, and on the mornings of those days — more easily promised than performed. '• I am truly glad of having made the acquisition of this new friendship and alliance," said Mr. Hope one day, when Emily and Blanche had been spend- ing a long holiday at the Grange, and they, lead- ing Lilias between them, had just left the room to play in the galleries and attic, which occupied tin' upper story of the house, lie spoke to Maud, who was silting alone with him — her sister being, as w:i - of late usual, gone to walk with Rosalie ami Mcta. "For Lily's sake, you mean, papa?" inquired Maud. "Yes, dear; for her sake 1 meant at that mo- 156 BLIND LILIAN. ment, but I think it is good for you all to have such nice young friends. Lilias has been for so long a time accustomed to be made the first object with us, and to have no will come in collision with her own, that I rejoice in the opportunity of giving her some notion of social claims, and of the neces- sity of yielding to others. It is very good for her, poor dear child." " I think it is, papa. It is good for us all some- times to have ourselves tested in different ways ; it is so easy to behave Veil when nothing interferes with our daily habits and likings, or for a time de- prives us of what we have been used to fancy was all our own." Maud spoke rather sadly. Her father fixed a steady look on her as she rose, and, turning aside, began to make some little alterations in the arrangement of a group of flowers that stood near ; but he made no comment, and Maud return- ing, resumed — " But how nicely Lily goes on, papa ! She is quite a different child from what she used to be — so obedient and gentle ! and she seems to have got back her old energy of character, and resolution to conquer all difficulties. She really makes most wonderful progress, considering her great disadvan- tages." A SUDDEN OUTBREAK. 157 " She does, my dear ; and I thank God for it," replied Mr. Hope. " I do trust and believe that our precious child has received that new, imperish- able life into her heart, which will in time purge out the old leaven. Yet she has, and will have, much to contend with before she has run her race. At present all is new and exciting to her, and she is ' running well ;' besides which, we have all been very careful in watching over her and assisting her. But there is still too much self-satisfaction about her. I shall not be sorry for the opportunity which, as I suspect, her intercourse with these children will afford of letting her see what is in her, and whether she has so fully overcome as she thinks." " You do not mean, that Lilias deceives us, or pretends to be better than she is?" said Maud. '• By no means, Maud. If Lily deceives any one it is herself. We know that it is in the nature of the human heart to deceive itself — to fancy, when circumstances allow of all going on smoothly, and we arc not tried, that we are strong, and incapable of acts which, when occasion offers, we readily com- mit. Lily's pride is enlisted on the good side just at present. She feels thai it is creditable to com- mand herself and behave well ; and so i1 is rather a help than a hin ! ranee : but it is not extinct, and 14 158 BLIND LILIAS. it must be, before she can walk worthy of her Christian vocation. The old man is alive and ac- tive in the heart of the dear child, although he is keeping pretty quiet at present. But he must be crucified with Christ, his deeds and ways utterly rejected, before we can be fit disciples of the ' holy child Jesus.' " Maud did not reply. She was thinking ; and Mr. Hope soon after left the room. We will now follow the little ones to their play- room. Lilias, eager and earnest in all she under- took, had quickly and easily learned to make her way about the house alone ; and as she thus gained exercise, and as her mind became less morbid, so her bodily health strengthened, and she was now able to run about and play with considerable spirit and strength. There were some games from which her want of sight, of course,, precluded her ; but there were others, where the ear had more to do than the eye in which it was as much a matter of course that she excelled her competitors. As the little girls went up the stairs, they heard the voices of the two boys, Vernon and Edward, who had returned home for the summer holidays a few days before; and summoning them to join in A SUDDEN OUTBREAK. 159 play, the whole party proceeded to the long gallery together. '• What shall we play at 1 ?" said Emily. ' ; Oh, blind-man's buff," said Lily ; and as all agreed, they began to bind a handkerchief over Vernon's eyes, he being the eldest, with the view of making him the blind man. Meanwhile Lilias, of course not seeing what was going on, and conclud- ing that as usual she should occupy that position, placed herself in the middle, and began to feel about for a captive. '•No, Lily, Vernon is to be 'blind man,' " said Emily ; " you must come out. Come and hold my hand, and I will keep you from going wrong." " No, Vernon, you can't be blind man," said Lily, pettishly ; "I am always in the. middle — of course I am." " Well, Lily, of course you are not this time," said Vernon, "for I am the eldest ; and 1 ask all if it is not the rule for the eldest always to be blinded first ?" " Certainly," "Yes, always," were the ready an- Bwers that passed from lip to lip. "Very well." aid Lilias; " then 1 shall not play. I am not going to stumble about and get knocks for nothing: and if I am not blind man I will not 160 BLIND LILIAS. play ;" and she went and sate herself down on a stool, with a proud and sullen look on her face, quite unlike anything that had appeared there for a long time before. " Oh, do play, Lilias ! I dare say Vernon will not mind ; he will let you be blind man — won't you, Vernon ?" said Emily, who was so fond of Lily that she could not fancy any one opposing her. " No, Emily," said Vernon ; " I see no reason why Lily is to have her own way in everything. I don't care two-pence whether I am blinded or not, but really Lilias must not be so absurd ;" and he began to feel round him, and endeavor to seize his nearest neighbor. "Fen play P 1 said one, and then another; "we are not playing, Vernon. We cannot begin until this is settled about Lily." " Why, what, is there to settle ]" replied Vernon. " She says she will not play ; and so let her sit still, if she likes it better." " Come, Lily,'' said little Blanche, " do not be so tiresome. We can do nothing, you see, because you are so conteairy" " Not contrairy, Blanche," said Edward, laughing ; " that is Devonshire. It is only nurse who says contrairy." A SUDDEN OUTBREAK. 161 They all laughed ; for, in her transit from Ger- man to English, Blanche had picked up some curious Devonshiroisms, and used them at all times, with- out the least idea that she did not speak the purest English. * " Come, Lily," said Edward, " we have had enough of this. Do come and play, and not he so silly." " I shan't," was Lily's rude answer. " Come, Lil," said Vernon, who was a very good tempered boy, "I'll give up. It is better to 'give up one's right than to stand up and fight ;' so I'll give up, and you shall be head and chief, as you always like to be. Here," said he, throwing off the bandage, and going towards her. "Poor dear, you do not need any bandage, do you V and he stooped down and kissed her; but Li lias, moved to passion by his remark, " You shall be head and chief," struck at him, stamped violently, and bursting into a fit of noisy crying, ran down the stairs, leaving all the young party dismayed at her passion, and greatlj v< xed, for thej had never before seen Lilias \n\i}w the influence of her natural temper and proud i pint. Lily pushed herway down the first flig and there sat down, swelling with indignation, and l I 162 BLIND LILIAS. cried and sobbed more and more violently, until at last her voice reached the ears of Maud, who was passing near, and of Mr. Hope, who was in his dressing-room, and both came in anxious haste to see what was the matter. " What is it, my darling V said Maud, sitting down by her, and folding her arms round the child's convulsed little form ; " what has happened V But Lilias angrily repulsed her, and springing by her father, rushed to her own little room, (striking herself so violently against the door as she entered, as almost to fall to the ground,) and darting into the room, she bolted the door, and throwing herself on her bed, gave way to an agony of tears and pas- sionate struggles. " Leave her alone, my dear," said Mr. Hope, see- ing that Maud scarcely knew what to do ; " leave her to herself. This is just what I told you must be. Lilias has quarrelled with some of her com- panions, and until her passion has abated it will be worse than useless to speak to her;" and drawing Maud's arm within his own, he led her away. But a tear glimmered in his eye, and as he passed the dressing-room door, he dropped Maud's arm and turned in thither, saying, " You must pray for your little sister, dear; we can no otherwise help her." XVII. ANGER &XTD ITS EFFECTS* (^"'HE children whom Lilias had thus suddenly It deserted looked after her in silent dismay. Edward, who was very fond of Lily, and always took her part, eagerly exclaimed against Vernon for having been, as he said, " so selfish as to hinder poor blind Lily from playing," and would have run after her, but Vernon withheld him. Vernon was a line, sensible lad of fourteen; ardent and vivacious in the extreme, but possessed of sound, clear judgment beyond his years. "No, Edward," said h'e, " I am very sorry for Lilias ; but it is not either right or reasonable, that because she is blind she should be encouraged in all sorts of self ish and ill-tempered ways. I appeal to all whether I did anything wrong or selfish. I even offered to give up to Lily (though I had the right), and she was too proud to accepl in\ offer. She always was a passionate, self-willed little thing, and now I think she will be worse than ever, especially if you all give up to her so." 164 BLIND LILIAS. " Indeed, Vernon," said little Emily Dormer, " I do not think Lilias is selfish and ill-tempered in general. I never saw her do so before, and I am sure she will be very sorry by and by. I did not know before that she was passionate." "Because you have not thwarted her," replied Vernon. " I tell you that she always has been very violent and self-willed, and as proud as Luci- fer. Now, you'll see by and by she will hold up her head, and look about her so grandly, just as if we had been to blame, and she the best girl in the world. Nobody ever caught Miss Lily confessing herself to have been in fault." " Now, Vernon, there you are quite wrong," broke in Blanche. " It was only two or three days ago that Lily behaved so nicely when Maud found fault with her for something, and she said she was very sorry, and knew she had been idle, and would try to do better." " Well," answered Vernon, " I am sure I am glad to hear it ;" but he spoke rather scornfully, and as if he did not quite believe it. " You 're always against Lily, Vernon," said Edward. " Now, don't say so, Edward," replied Vernon. " I love Lilias as dearly as any of you can, but it ANGER AND ITS EFFECTS. 165 cannot be denied that she is proud and self-willed ; papa and Maud both allow it ; and as to Mabel, she has no patience with her. I thought her much im- proved when I first came home, but to-day she is unbearable." "I think Lily is improved though, Vernon, judg- ing from what you say," replied Emily, who, although less impulsive and eager than Blanche, and certainly not a clever child, had, nevertheless, a fine thoughtful mind, and much power of quiet obser- vation. " And I'll tell you why I think it is — Lilias has become more religious than she used to be, and that has made her more good ; but, then, when people are religious, you always expect them to be ffooder than they can be ; and so, though Lily is gooder, you expect that she will never be naughty, and then you are disappointed and angry with her." "Very true, little Miss Wise-head," replied Ver- non, laughing. " There is something in that ; but you know the Bible says, ' By their fruits ye shall know them;' and when I see persons who profess to be of the right sort bringing forth fruits of the wrong sort, then 1 think thai either thej are sham- ming, or else that there is not the power in religion that people say there is. For m\ part, I do not profess to be so religious as papa and Maud are; 166 BLIND LILIAS. but if I did, I should expect that it would make me as good and holy as they are. Religion does not allow of pride and passion." " But Lily is better, Vernon," said Blanche ; " and she will be better and better. I know she will, because she prays to God, and tries to be good." " Well, to-day is not much like it," replied Ver- non. " But come, girls — come and play. What shall we do T' Many games were suggested, but none pleased, for their power of enjoyment was gone, and at last they separated, Vernon going off to some out-door sport with his brother, and the little girls creeping down to Maud to be amused by her in the drawing- room. And how fared it with poor little Lilias all this time? Overcome by passion, she had fled, as we have seen, to her room, and there, throwing herself on her bed, she suffered the storm to rage unchecked, until its violence had almost brought down her bodily strength, and she became calm, save that a heavy sob now and then broke the stillness of the room. And now, in this more quiet mood, Lilias began ANGER AND ITS EFFECTS. 1 O 7 to brood over the trials, real and imaginary, that lay on her. " She, a poor blind child, weak and delicate as she was, to be treated thus ! Her bro- ther, whom she loved so dearly, and who had last holidays given up to her in everything, to set him- self against her so ! Every one was against her," she said. " It was very hard on her, cut off as she was from so many enjoyments, that her own bro- thers and her little friends should never be willing to give up to her in the least thing!" And so she brooded on, nor strove to contend against the un- just and evil thoughts which arose, until she had. in more or less degree, included all those dear ones whom she, nevertheless, so intensely loved, (and who were at that moment, though she knew it not, engaged in prayer for her, and weeping over her in their heart,) in the same condemnation. " Maud, if she had loved her as she used, would have followed her into her room to soothe and com- fort her. and so would papa! A few weeks ago he would not have let her cry and moan by herself; he would have come and comforted her, an I have punished Ven , and talked to him well for such cruel behavior;" and here | r Lily, who in her anger had spoken her thoughts aloud, moved to fresh tears by her own foolish and sinful cogitations, 168 BLIND LILIAS. again burst out into passionate sobs and noisy lamentations. A gentle knock at the door which opened from her father's room, and which was consequently un- locked, here drew her attention, but though she, on that signal, stilled her outward signs of emotion, she made no answer. The knock was not repeated, but the door gently opened, and Emily appeared at it, and, drawing softly near to the bed, laid her lit- tle head down by Lily's tear-swollen countenance, and began to cry. Lily lay still and took no notice of her. She affected to sleep, forgetting that her noisy crying must have made her little friend well aware that she was awake. " Lily, dear Lily," said the tender child, " I am so sorry ! Come down-stairs, Lily ; the boys are gone out rabbit-shooting, and Blanche and I want you so much. We cannot play or be happy whilst we think you are so sad here by your- self. Lily," she repeated, " speak, Lily ; I know you are not asleep." " Go along, Emily, and don't tease me," said Lily ; " I don't want to have anything to do with any of you ; we were a great deal happier before you came here, and I wish you had never come ; " ANGER AND ITS EFFECTS. 169 and again she repeated the same angry words that she had before said, " that no one loved her," &c. " O Lily, don't say so. Indeed it was not our fault that Vernon was angry to-day. I can't bear you to say that, Lily," said Emily. "Well, then, 1 can't help it," said the naughty and unjust child : " it's very true — Vernon was al- ways kind in me last year, and now he is always cross, and 1 don'l know what else it can be. Go away, Emily, I don't want you here ; it is very hard I can have no peace even in my own room." And angrily repulsing poor Emily, Li lias covered her head with the bed-clothes. During the latter part of this colloquy, Mr. Hope, unseen and unheard, had entered the room by the door that Emily had left open behind her, and had drawn softly near to the bed on which his beloved though naughty child lay. Motioning to Emily not to speak, he gently drew her towards him, kissed her sorrowfully, and leading her to the door, sent her down stairs, and himself returned and sat down by Lily's bed, who had again begun to utter the sorl of wailing cry which children who have exhaust- ed their strength, but not their passion and anger, are wont to utter. After a few minutes, hearing a gentle movement near her, she rose up on the bed, 15 170 BLIND LILIAS. and feeling about with her hands, said, " Why don't you go when I tell you 1 What makes you stay there, glorying over me in that manner'? Go this moment," and striking violently in the direction whence the sound had come, her hand fell on the head of her father. Something in even that sud- den touch showed her that it was not Emily whom she had struck ; and passing her hand over his hair, she instantly became conscious of who it was that sat beside her, and that she in her passion had struck him. Shocked and terrified, the poor child cowered be- neath the covering, now thoroughly roused to shame if not to contrition. " O papa, when did you come 1 How came you there? I thought •" but ashamed to add that she had thought it was Emily, and had meant to strike her, she suddenly stopped. " I know, Lilias, you thought it was your kind little friend, who, seeing how much I was displeased, had by her affectionate and kind intercession ob- tained my leave to come up and see whether you were yet returned to your senses. But I doubted how you would receive her, and followed her that I might be at hand in case it should be as I feared." "Did you hear, papa?" asked Lilias, blushing and distressed. ANGER AND ITS EFFECTS. 171 "I did, Lily; and not I only." " O papa, not Mrs. Evelyn — not Meta !" said she ; for Lilias was devoted to both, and to gain Mrs. Evelyn's or Meta's approval, was to her at all times an object of the most earnest solicitude. " You would not have liked them to hear you, then, Lilias ?" " No, papa !" whispered she ; " were they there ? Oh, don't tell me if they were, for then I can never bear that they should see me again !" " They were not either of them there, my dear," replied Mr. Hope. " Then who was it 1 You said not only you heard me speak to Emily. Was it Maud who was with you, papa V Mr. Hope gravely began to repeat some of the former verses of the 139th Psalm : — • Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways. For there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether." 1 " It was One. my child, whom you have professed to love better than either of your new friends. Lilias, what has He »en in your conduct of all those things which He loves, to-day % what has there been of gentleness, of meekness, of truth ?" 172 BLIND LILIAS. " I have not said any untruth, papa," replied Lily, avoiding the other questions, to which her con- science indeed pleaded guilty. " Look back a little, my dear," replied Mr. Hope. " Is it true that no one loves you % that no one cares for your happiness ? Is it true that Vernon, that Emily behave cruelly to you % Do you really wish the Dormers and Mrs. Evelyn had never come here % these are things that you have said, Lily — are they true V " Oh, forgive me, papa," said Lily, now really humbled. " I did not mean it at all — at least I did mean it when I was angry, but I do not think so now." " My dear child, when we give way to passion, and allow ourselves to harbor unjust and evil thoughts of others, we know not where we shall end," replied Mr. Hope. " Remember, my dear, it is not only of your family, and of your com- panions, that you have thought hard things, but of your God. It is His hand that has laid this trial of blindness on you, and every inconvenience or deprivation that arises from it must be traced to the same Hand. You have professed to be en- deavoring to accept this dispensation, and all its belongings, to have oneness with God in His wav ANGER AND ITS EFFECTS. 173 of trying, and instructing, and correcting you. How has it been with you of late, my child 1 I fear that, pleased with the improvement which there certainly has been in your conduct, you have rested sa t isfied with it, and having begun to think yourself a very good little girl, you have ceased to be watchful, : have trusted in your own strength. I do not ask for answers to these questions, Lily ; answer them in your own heart, as in the sight of God. I will leave you now, dear; I hope you are sorry for your fault, but I must have some tokens that it is so, before I can restore you to your place in the family, or to companionship with those whom you have grieved and offended, by your passionate and overbearing conduct. Dear Lilian, what will Ver- non, and Edward, and the others think of religion which seems to have no power over the heart and conduct? 'Where is now thy God?' 'Is He able to deliver thee V will be the questions which irre- ligious hearts will surely ask, when they see the profession of godliness overcome by passion and- ill temper." "0 papa, papa," cried the little girl, "1 am so sorry, I see it all now. Don'l go, papa. 1 cannot bear to be left alone, and do tell me what I can do 15* 174 BLIND LILIAS. to make up to Emily and Vernon for my naughti- ness." "You must take counsel with Him who will be to you wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption, my child. He will give you wisdom to see your way, and, I trust, grace to redeem your fault, as far as it may be possible. I can dictate nothing to you, but we will ask God to help you ;" and, kneeling by her side, the father commended his erring child to her heavenly Guardian and Guide, and besought that her sins might be blotted out in the blood of the Lamb, and that she might have strength and grace given her to walk in the straight and the right way. He then kissed his now penitent child and left her. XVIII. PENITENCE. CjT'HE dressing bell had rung, and all had gone to ^U^ their rooms to prepare for dinner, when Lilias rose from her bed, and after endeavoring, by- bathing her eyes, and smoothing her ruffled hair, to make herself a little more presentable, she pro- ceeded to feel her way to the room where her broth- ers slept. Her timid knock was answered by Ver- non's opening the door. " Why, Lilias," he ex- claimed, "is this you 1 ?" Lily, with a blushing and sorrowful countenance, felt her way to her brother, and though half ashamed of her own good resolu- tion, threw her arms round him, and said with scarcely audible voice, " Please to forgive me, Ver- non, I am very sorry." •'Well, wonders will never cease!" said he, in rather a provoking manner, for though an amiable and kind-hearted boy, his character was of so differ- ent a tone from poor Lily's, thai he could not at all enter into her feelings, and could neither understand the Btruggle she had endured to conquer herself suf- 170 liLIND LILIAN. ficiently to come and confess herself in the wrong, nor appreciate the conquest she had gained. " Why, we shall have the sky coming to kiss the earth next," he said, " now that proud Miss Lily comes to beg pardon." This Lilias could not endure, and turning away she burst into a fresh flood of tears, and rushed out of the room. Vernon was vexed with himself, and ran after her, calling, " Lily ! — come back, Lily ! — I did not mean to vex you !" But Lily was gone, and again on her bed, sobbing as if her heart would break. Vernon followed her to her door, and begged her to come out to him ; but poor Lilias, who was now drowned in tears, and almost in as great a passion as ever, could not speak, and Vernon went away, calling her " tiresome little thing," and cross both with her and with himself! Dinner went on as usual, but although nothing was said about Lilias, a cloud seemed to hang over all the party, and the meal was far from a cheerful one. As soon, however, as it was concluded, Mr. Hope sought his child. He had anticipated, that as he had left her so sorrowful and penitent, she would have come to him, but finding himself mistaken, he went again to her room. PENITENCE. 1*77 He found her in a very different state from what he had expected. She was still on her bed, pale, worn, and sorrowful, fairly exhausted by the vio- lence of her emotions, but nurse was standing by her with her clean frock in her hand, and the little girl was just rising in order to be dressed. " O papa ! dearest papa !" said she, " I am so glad you are come. Leave me now a little bit, please, nursie, and papa will call you when he goes down." And nurse having left them, she turned sorrowfully to her father, and said, " It will not do, papa — I have tried to be good, and only been naughty again." And then she told her father of the effort she had made, and of Vernon's mode of receiving her apologies. She did not blame Ver- non, but she said that when she heard him call her " proud Miss Lily," and speak so, all her anger came back, and " I got into a passion again, papa, and hated him — and I never shall be good — I know I never shall, papa" — sobbed the poor child. '• My deai- little girl," replied her father, "I think it possible thai you have nol tried quite in the right way. What, did you do, darling, before you went to Vernon? I know it must have been a great struggle to you. with your naturally proud temper, to make thai effort." 178 BLIND LILIAS. " Yes, papa, it was ; and I thought Vernon would have valued it." " And admired you for it ] Yes, Lily, I think it might have been so. My love, did you ask God to give you true humility, and a deep sense of your sin, to enable you to bear meekly all the discomforts which might result from it, before you went to your brother?" " No, papa." " I think that was the mischief. You went more with the expectation that he would admire your magnanimity, than with a true sense of your fault before your eyes. And then, when you found that Vernon did not appreciate the effort you had made, you were angry. It was but another form of pride that led you to him, my child. Vernon was very wrong to receive your request for pardon in that taunting manner ; but if you, dear, had been duly impressed with the sinfulness of your conduct, if you had viewed it as God views it, you would not have been so easily repelled. ' Consider him who endured such contradiction of sinners, lest ye be wearied and faint in your minds." The meek and holy Jesus was not ready to take offence at a word, my child. If He who had no sin bore gently the taunts and harsh words of those to whom He had PENITENCE. 179 done no ill, should net we try to bear patiently those which our own sinful conduct has called forth r Lilias was silent. After a time she said, " I see now, papa, that it was as you say. I did expect that Vernon would praise me for being humble, and 1 thought you would all think well of me for it. Now what can I do, papa % I was going to be dressed, and come down stairs ; but I do not like it — I am so ashamed." " I am disposed to think all this sad time of tears, and passion, and sorrow, has been as much as you can bear, my love ; and 1 therefore advise that you go into nurse's room, and sit quietly with her, and go to bed early, and to-morrow we shall see what it is then right to do." " But can I do nothing to-night to make them see that I am sorry?" •• You may send a message by me, dear." "Yes, papa; will you tell them all that I am very sorry, and that I know 1 was very naughty and wicked, papa? ami tell Emily thai I did not mean what I said. No, papa; you must not say that either, for I did mean it then : 1 think 1 could have killed her, and everj one of them. But tell her that it was only naughty, angry feelings that 180 BLIND LILIAS. made me say it, and that I do love her very dearly. And, papa, ask her not to tell Mrs. Evelyn — do, please, papa ! I should not like her to know." '• I believe it would be better not to ask it, dear," said Mr. Hope. " You have committed a great fault, and acted very sinfully, and now your only course is to submit yourself humbly to all the suf- fering and discomforts which sin always brings in its train. Remember, Lily, it is not the opinion that others may form of us that should be consid- ered : the grand thing is to have ' a conscience void of offence before God, and before man.' It is bet- ter, my love, when we have friends whose judgment we value, and whom we love, that they should know us as we are, rather than as we wish to seem to be. Leave all these things to be as it may please God, my child. If your little friends tell their aunt of what has passed, it will not deprive you of her love, especially if she also hear that you are penitent, and see hereafter that you are more watchful and careful to avoid offence." ; ' Yes, papa," said Lilias ; " I see that, and I will try to bear the punishment patiently." " And now then, my love, I must go down stairs. I will give your message, and your sisters will come and wish you good-night. God bless you, my dar- PENITENCE. 181 ling," he added, as, folding her trembling little form to his breast, he breathed a silent prayer t for her. "And God bless you, darling, best papa. I hope I shall not vex you so much ever again," said Lilias, fondly embracing and kissing him. And Lily went into what had of old been her nursery, and took some tea, and sat still and quiet on the low chair which she used to occupy when she was a little child. She was sad, but so humble and gentle, and so grateful to nurse for everything she did, that the good woman was quite touched. Presently a child's quick footstep sounded on the floor, and the color mounted to Lilias' cheek, and her lips quivered. It drew near to the little seat on which the blind child sat, and then two soft arms were wound round her neck, and a cool, fresh cheek was laid against her pale and heated one, and a shower of loving kisses fell on her. ' ; Dear Lily," and ''Dear, dear Emily, I am so very sorry," were the only words exchanged between (he two little girls; and then Emily said, ' 1 have brought up my new book to read to you — Mr. Hope said I might, and that I might slay all the evening up here with you, Lily. It is such a lovely book, Lily; shall I read? it is all about children who helped other people." And drawing a stool close 16 182 BLIND LILIAS. to Lily, whose aching head soon nestled on her shoulder, she began to read from that precious lit- tle book, " Ministering Children," until both little girls became so absorbed in the story, that all Lily's sorrows faded away ; and when her sisters came to fetch Emily, and wish Lilias good-night, they could scarcely believe that such a day of trouble had really passed over her head. The plan proposed by Mabel, and received with such warm acceptance by the whole of both fami- lies, had not been allowed to sink into oblivion. Many and very pleasant were the excursions that they made together, and greatly did the young peo- ple enjoy the free associations which they promoted amongst them, as well as the new and lovely scenes to which they were thus introduced. Sometimes these excursions were on the sea, and the whole party crossing the Bay to some one of the little coves, of which there are so many along that part of the coast, lauded and there encamped for the day. At others, they contented themselves with shorter distances, and visited the nooks and corners, amidst their own more immediate neighbor- hood, exploring every cavern and cliff on the shore, and leaving the marks of their gipsy fires in many a picturesque thicket and copse. PENITENCE. 183 A warm and earnest friendship had, indeed, sprung up between these two families. Each member of Mr. Hope's had found a friend ; yet they were not coupled exactly as at first sight one would have expected to find them. Maud and Meta ought legitimately to have been close allies, yet they were not. For some reason or other, they did not seem to draw towards each other. Again, Rosalie and Mabel by age. as well as mu- tual liking for the same pursuits, seemed to have been, as is commonly said, " cut out for each other ;" but, as we often find it in life, some sort of perversity seemed to prevail in this also. Mabel's whole heart was Meta's ; Rosalie she liked, but in a much less degree than she did her elder sister, and consequently, though all these girls were much together, Rose seemed as it were to walk alone, belonging to each generally, and none particularly, whilst Meta and Mabel, Maud and Mrs. Evelyn, and Emily and Lily were united in couples, and Blanche, who was Vernon's idol, and the pet of every one, flitted t'rom one friend to another, and was welcome to all. But, although Maud was much attached to Mrs. Evelyn, it was a different sort of friendship which existed between them from that which united the 184 BLIND LILIAS. younger couples. Mabel's intense enthusiasm made her restless, if not continually in association with Meta. It was, as she had herself styled it, a " falling in love," her ardor for Meta was a pas- sion ; and although her love was well bestowed, yet, being excessive, it was injurious to herself and those round her. Emily's love for Lily was less vehement, but it burned a strong steady flame, and very seldom was it that a thought injurious to her little friend arose in her heart. She looked up to Lily, who was indeed a remarkable child, with a sort of reverence, as if she stood altogether on different ground from herself; whilst Lilias, although distinctly taking the lead in the friendship, was so well aware that Emily was more amiable in temper than herself, and highly to be prized for the truthfulness and integrity of her character, and for her remarkable freedom from selfishness, that she held her little companion in more respect than Emily could exactly understand. XIX. MAUD'S VICTORY. " ^ifW AUD ' my chiia '" s;ii<1 ^ Ir * Ho P e ' one even_ W,i\\ ing when he was alone with her, " there is something wrong with you ; what is it, dearest ] You will confide in your own father. Tell me, love, why do I see you so much alone, and so often sad V Maud started, and blushed. She had not been aware that she had seemed sad ; that she had been so she well knew ; but there was a whisper in her heart, that the cause of that sadness was not quite what she would like to own, and she would rather not have been called on to probe and analyze her feelings, or to speak of them. She therefore re- plied, half evasively, " I did not know I had seemed sad, papa.'' "Tell in*'. -Maud, why you are not walking with your sister and the Dormer party. I heard them gging you to come with them. Why did you refuse to do so, dear ?" asked Mr. Hope. "I like better to stay at home, papa," replied 16* 18(5 BLIND LILIAS. Maud. "It is more pleasant to me to be with you, or in the garden, now." " Why now, dear '?" replied her father. " You used not to feel so. No one used to enjoy a ram- ble on the hills or on the beach more than my Maud ; but now you seldom join your sisters and our young friends. My dear girl, you must not think that I do not perceive the cause of all this self-seclusion. There is a wrong spirit working in you ; shall I tell you what I think, dear ? or do you yourself perceive and acknowledge it, and so save me the necessity?" Maud answered not — she was too single-minded and true to utter a word that might imply anything different from what she really felt, yet she was scarcely prepared either to justify or to condemn the workings of her heart, if indeed she knew ex- actly what they were, and whither they tended. "Dear Maud," said her father, " it grieves me to see, as I plainly do, that you are allowing yourself to brood over a secret, and, in a great measure an imaginary grievance. Your sister is wrong to per- mit herself to be so much, so over-occupied with any one object, as she is with Meta Dormer ; but you know, dearest, it is a part of her character to be thus easily excited to affection. We have often maud's victory. 187 spoken of it together as a trait which gave us fear for her happiness, and one which must he carefully watched over, and we have both done all we could to correct this disposition to undue devotion to any one object, however admirable that object may be in itself. I fully admit that Mabel is now devoting her energies and affections a great deal too much to Meta, and that to the neglect of other duties. But, my dear child, do you really think that Mabel loves any of us less than she did ] Do you feel the least doubt that, although she has not enough self-com- mand to break through the excess of which your heart (though not your lip) complains, the cool alienation of manner with which you treat her is exquisitely painful to her 1 Are you acting well, Maud, in thus encouraging in yourself these jealous and dividing feelings !"' "Jealous, papa!" said Maud. "Surely what I feel is not jealousy ; it is very natural that I should feel sorrowful, and mourn over having lost Mabel's love so entirely, and being now nothing to her, aud comparative strangers everything." "True, dear, it' it were so it would be reasonable that you Bhould feel sad and sorry ; but, Maud, if you had lost the set of pearls that your beloved mother bequeathed you, what should you do ?" 188 BLIND LILIAS. " Try to find them again, papa ; and you mean that I have not tried to regain my place in Mabel's affections ?" " Just so, dear. But if you missed your pearls I think, before you pronounced that they were lost, you would make quite sure that they were not merely mislaid — covered up for the time, and out of sight, but as safe and as surely yours as if they hung round your neck, or were wreathed into your hair. Now, dear child, be satisfied to take my word that you are wrong altogether in this fear. Dear Mabel is impetuous, volatile, over ardent, and she has not. alas ! as yet that only one thing that has power to give and preserve a right balance, an obe- dient subjection to God's guiding and instructing Spirit. May our good God give it to her, lest she run after her idols too fast and too long. But you, Maud, who, I trust, are under the rule of that Spirit, should you not bear with this almost only fault of our dear one 1 Bear with her, dear, not to encour- age the evil, but to lead her from it." But what can I do, papa ? If Mabel is with Margaret Dormer, she is happy ; if she is absent, she is always longing for the time when they shall be together. She does not like to talk of anything else, nor to do anything in which Meta has not an maud's victory. 189 interest, and so, when we are together, as I do not of course care to lie always talking and thinking of one for whom I have no particular liking, Mabel gets tired of mo, and then I am very unhappy," said Maud, the tears which she had long been re- straining, beginning to flow down her cheeks. " It is wrong, dear. I am very sorry for all this, and it pains me sadly to see my two girls, who have heretofore been but as one, thus separated," replied Mr. Hope. " I wish the Dormers had never come," said Maud, earnestly. " Nay, there you are wrong again, Maud. The providence of God brought them here, and led to our acquaintance, and it is quite wrong, because painful events ensue from any cause, to say that you wish it had not happened. It is no fault of the Dormers; they behaved very properly, and I con- sider them a great acquisition to you all. Yes, all. dear," he added, seeing that she was about to reject the idea as concerned herself. "Opportunity is showing you all what is in you, and but for the Dormers, opportunity would not have presented itself. The faults of which we complain in May were in her, but lacked opportunity to betray them- selves ; and my Maud must lool< ,ii home, and see 190 BLIND LILIAS. for herself, whether this same opportunity has not been the means of manifesting in her any evil that before lay dormant. " Let me ask you one or two questions, Maud ; you need not answer them to me unless you like to do so, but be fair with yourself. Have you been as kind and pleasant, in your manner and conduct to your sister, as you used to be? have you not rather repelled her, and refused to be anything to her if you would not be all ?" _" Perhaps a little, papa," replied Maud, with her accustomed candor. " I have felt being superseded so much, that I did not wish to seem to court Mabel." " Wrong again, my dearest ; never court great people, never court for gifts and riches, but court your sister's love day and night, till you win it. Lay siege to her heart, storm it, take it by strata- gem, anything to gain and hold that precious thing, a sister's love. And again, court the sinner to win him from his sin, and if you see sin, or even fault in your sister, let her not rest until you have won her from it at any price. Yea, even at the price of that most treasured thing, so hard to part with, your pride." " O papa," said Maud, almost reproachfully ; " jealousy and pride, these are strong words." MAUDS VICTORY. 191 " Tell me to-morrow, clear Maudie, when you have looked well into your own heart, with prayer that God would light it up, so that you may truly discern the nature of that which is within, that these two demons, pride and jealousy, have not had any- thing to say in the matter, and I will retract my words at once. But remember, my girl, that you, as May's eldest sister, and as one who has ever had and exercised the deepest and truest influence over her, will be called on to make answer before God for the use you make of that influence ; and if yofi lay it up in a napkin, and refuse to 'put it out to usury,' you will reap the fruit of such neglect here- after, either in this world, or in the next. Remem- ber, also, that your father's heart is wounded by this division, and, O Maud, let it speedily be healed ! Talk to your sister, dear, and let her talk to you of her new friends, let her feel as she has ever before felt, that Maud and Mabel are one; love Margaret Dormer because Mabel loves her, and Mabel will come back to you, and feel, if she does not say so, that her old in n I well-tried friend is of more real worth than any ikw one t<> her, and she will love you better than she did before. Do not let your sister's confidence and love become i!i<' property of another, as it rarely will, it' you chill it and reject 192 BLIND LILIAS. it as you have done of late. Walk with your sister and her new friend, study to unite yourself with them, and to throw yourself into their interests, and you will gain a true friend in Meta, as well as recall the fluttering affections of Mabel, and fix them more strongly than ever, by showing her that Maud's love and Maud's principles are not to be shaken by a breath." Maud turned towards her father, bent her tearful face over him, and tenderly kissing him, whispered, "I will try ; pray for me, papa," and left the room. From this day forward, a new era commenced. Deep and solemn were Maud's thoughts that even- ing, whilst, alone in her room, she endeavored to search out her heart, and see how it had been with her. She knelt and prayed for God's guidance, and then turning over the leaves of her Bible, to see what was the teaching of God's word, she opened at the beautiful 133d Psalm, " Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity !" and the sweet images of the holy anoint- ing oil covering and sanctifying the whole person, of the tender and genial dew descending from above, and distilling from height to height, fertilizing all, and beautifying and gladdening hill and valley, came home to her heart. She felt how little she maud's victory. 193 had promoted this sweet unity of late, and well, yet sorrowfully, she pondered over her own great fail- ure in Christian love and forbearance. " God helping me, I will do better for the time to come," said she, as, rising from her seat, she again knelt by her bedside and asked for the strength which she well knew she must receive abundantly before she could, in defiance of an un- usually proud nature, be able to carry out her inten- tions ; and then rising, she put on her bonnet and shawl, and set out on the path across the grounds which she thought the returning party would take, resolved at once to begin her strife with self, and to court and win the return of the love she so dear- ly prized. "Maud," said Mabel, as the party suddenly turned a corner and encountered her, " where are you going ?" "I was coming to meet you, dear," she said, affectionately, " I thought I should find you in this path. Where have you ben!" and pleasantly entering into talk, she asked Meta to give her some wild honeysuckles she had in her hand, and wreath- ing them around Mabel's hat as she was wont in old times to do, she seemed to have suddenly lost 17 194 BLIND LIUAS. sight of the troubled feelings that had so long per- plexed her, and to be herself again. We may easily imagine the satisfaction it was to Mr. Hope to see his three girls together approach- ing him with their young companions, as he came from the terrace to meet them. Nothing was said ; but he took Maud on one arm and Meta on the other, and led the way into the house with a thank- ful heart. A deeper earnestness in the " God bless you, my chi; 1," and the kiss he impressed on her forehead in return for her earnest embrace, when they separated for the night, was all that was observable in Mr. Hope's manner towards Maud : nor did any- thing further pass in words ; but from that day for- ward Maud and Mabel were, as they had ever been to each other, the most loving of sisters, and Meta became, as she deserved to be, the friend and com- panion of the elder as much as of the younger. XX. HEALTHFUL PLEASURES. fi=A DAY towards the middle of August, it being ^V Meta's birthday, had been fixed on for one of special enjoyment. It was to be a whole day of pleasure, and all were to meet at the Grange at nine o'clock before starting ; and arrangements were made in rather grander style than usual in honor of this birthday. The morning fixed on was most lovely, and gave promise of a perfect day. The air was so clear that every object seemed to beam forth with a depth and beauty of coloring such as is rarely seen. The sea, reflecting the blue sky, was like a lake of lapis lazuli, and the glittering little boats which a light breeze wafted blithely over its scarcely ruffled surface looked as bright as the golden flecks which adorn that beautiful substance. Mr. Hope had a nice boat, and it was now lying on the little white beach below his house. It was in fact the property of Nugent and Everard, and formed their special amusement when they were at 196 BLIND LILIAS. home, for both were excellent oarsmen, and de- lighted in aquatic excursions, especially when their father and sisters had a share in them. In their absence, the charge of it was entrusted to a respect- able old sailor in the village, who now stood ready, with the aid of his stalwart young son, to row such of the party as liked to go by water, or as there was a nice breeze they could put up a sail, whilst the rest, with some servants and the provisions, were to travel by an inland route, and meet the boat party on the scene of action. There had been much discussion as to where this " scene of action " should be ; one had proposed Wastcombe, another Petit Tor, and a third had most urgently pressed that they should go and dine with the hermit goat on the Thatcher — that fine, shaggy rock which, to- gether with its compeers, lying a mile or two off Hope's Nose, forms so beautiful an object from all parts of the neighborhood. But it was Meta's party, and she had been persuaded by Maud and Mabel (who seemed to have some private but weighty reason for desiring that it might be so) to decide in favor of Berry Head, which is the oppo- site headland to Hope's Nose, and forms the south- ern point of Torbay. Thus it was settled, all hav- ing come to the unanimous opinion that no place V ■;<.,■ ' 1 ■■( '■ As there was b nice breeze they could put up a sail." Blind Lilian. HEALTHFUL PLEASURES. 197 could offer to them greater enjoyment than that of spending a whole day amidst the beautiful and varied scenery that extends along that part of the shore between Brixham and the bluff headland which abruptly ends the coast in a sheer and pre- cipitous cliff of immense height. Blanche, Vernon, and Edward were all far too vivacious to like the idea of keeping still in the boat. If they went in the Coburg they could jump in and out and scramble about ; and as Neptune and Fata were to go too, they all agreed that a scamper over the hills with them would be by far the best fun ; and Mrs. Evelyn also preferred going by land, and Maud and Rose went with her to assist in watching over her merry young companions : so, with a pair of stout horses to draw them, the parly were packed into the carriage and set out in high spirits. Mr. Hope, Meta, Mabel, Lilias, and her insepar- able friend Emily, went in the boat. And now, which shall we follow — the boat, as it danced lightly over the waters, or the carriage, as it rumbled not bo Lightly through the stony Devon- shire Lanes and bully roads through which its course lay, until at last the whole party thought it better to get out, and walk in happy scattered groups, 17* 198 BLIND LILIA8. making In 11 and vale, and wood and coppioe, re- sound with their merriment 1 Perhaps it will be better for us not to attempt to follow either party, for to recount all the avdentures which befell either the one or the other would be more than we could venture to undertake. We should have to tell how Fata started a covey of patridges, which went up before her nose with such a startling whirr, that the poor little silly thing went away howling with fright ; and that Neptune plunged into a little over shadowed wayside pond, and then shook his drip- ping locks over little Blanche, without the least con- sideration for her clean morning frock. Then there were flowers collected by Rose for Mabel, and there were brilliant insects, which Ver- non and Edward chased vehemently for a moment, and then left to flit onwards uninjured on their joy- ful course. All this, and more, we should have to tell of the adventures of the land-party. On the other hand, were we to attempt to describe the musical splash of the waters on the side of the boat; the measured flapping of the little sail, which had been hoisted as they crossed the bay ; the bril- liant clearness and calm repose of the deep blue waters which lay below and round the little boat, and the party therein ; together with the grandeur HEALTHFUL PLEASURES. 199 of the rocks which rose in beetling crags far, far above them, and Jhere and there cast such deep shadows as to make the waters appear as of inky blackness ; — were we to tell of all this, we fear our readers would be tired of us and of our story. We will, therefore, pass it all over, and landing our party at once on the pretty beach which lies nearest Berry Head, conduct them a little way up the hill-side, and seat them near the mouth of a deep cavern, which opens towards the sea, and here, on a carpet of soft turf, sheltered from the heat of the sun by the overhanging rocks, we will leave them to await the arrival of the rest of the party. The plan for the day was for all to keep quite at rest in some shaded spot until after they had dined ; then those who were the strongest were to ascend the headland, inspect the remains of the Fort, which in war-time guards the entrance of the bay, and endeavor to get some specimens of the Goldilocks (Chrysocoma Linosyris), which, according to botan- ical books, is found only on that spot, yet, in fact (all hough exceedingly rare), it has been discovered in some other localities. Those who were not dis- id for so much climbing were to amuse them- es amongst the rocks and thickets lower down, ami all were to reunite for tea on intermediate 200 BUND LILIAS. ground at about six o'clock. During their quiet time the plants collected by the land-party were to be examined and arranged ; and Maud, who cared not for plants, at least not for those which had not color and fragrance to attract her, was to make a sketch. The boys had brought shrimping-nets, and the little girls were to amuse themselves as they chose. It was not long before the land-party came up, and joined company with the rest, and soon the tin- case of treasures was in high request. Margaret was an accomplished botanist, but her experience had been gained chiefly in other lands, and the wild-flowers of England were many of them quite new to her, and consequently full of interest. " Oh, how lovely ! What is this ?" said she, as Mrs. Evelyn drew from her case a beautiful speci- men of a bog-moss. " It is a moss, I see, but I never saw one of this kind. Look at those dark brown capsules — how pretty and urn-like they are, and how soft and silky the texture of those white tufted leaves !" "It is a Sphagnum of some kind," replied Mrs. Evelyn. " Ah ! you have met with a bog," said Mr. Hope. " Oh, now, Mr. Hope," said little Blanche, laugh- HEALTHFUL PLEASURES. 201 ing, " you have had a peep at my foot and my muddy frock, and so you guessed. I stepped on the most loveliest green mossy place, and thought I was going to pick such a beauty -flower, and plump went I in up to my uncle in the black mud, and the cold, cold water made me so ;" and putting out her pretty little foot, she exhibited it in such a state of disfigurement as a boa; alone could have made it. "Not up to your uncle, Blanche," said Lily, laughing, for she always greatly enjoyed Blanche's mistakes. " I do not think your uncle was in that bog." " What do you call it then ? — what is it in En- glish ?" said Blanche. " The knuckle of my foot I mean." " Oh, your ancle /" replied Emily ; " but really it is almost your knee, Blanchie — your whole leg is cased with that black mud." " Well, never mind," replied Blanche, " up to my Enhel, and that's German for grandchild ; so it was not up to my uncle,hx\l up to my grandson that my foot went." And the merry child laughed heartily al her own joke, a laugh in which all the other chil- dren readily joined. "But," said Mrs. Evelyn, " little girls should not be quite so self-con fidmi and assured that they can 202 BLIND LILIAS. take care of themselves. When I was warning a certain little lady to be careful how she walked, and bid her follow me, she would not be guided, and now see the results. The only way to get through a bog dry-footed is to plant your steps on tufts of heath, or rushes, or on spots where the roots of grass or some other plants have fixed, and made firm hard places that will bear your weight. By stepping from one to another of these, you may get along very well ; but those soft, tempting, mossy places, beau- tiful as they look, are not trustworthy. They are sure to give way beneath your foot, and plunge you deep in the mire." " A tolerably fair illustration of life may be ob- tained from a bog," said Mr. Hope. " Those bright green and red mosses are lovely to look at, but they, like many a gay thing in life, ' allure but to destroy ;' whilst the rugged and unsightly tufts of old roots, which afford such good footing, may rep- resent some duties which, although they look unat- tractive enough in the distance, so as almost to make us shrink from undertaking them, yet when once fairly entered on in an earnest spirit, present one with a safe and not unpleasant path." " But here is an old friend, also from the bog," said Mrs. Evelyn. " The asphodel {Nartheciv.m HEALTHFUL PLEASURES. 203 ossifragum), with its spear-shaped leaves, and spikes of golden bloom — that classic flower which the an- cients considered as an emblem of immortality, and as such planted it near the resting-places of the dead. Pope says, — ' By those happy souls which dwell In yellow meads of asphodel.' " " By the by, that idea is rather an odd one," re- marked Mr. Hope. " He forgets what an uncom- fortable locality it must be for his heroes to dwell in ; for as the plant grows only in black, boggy ground, they stand a good chance of looking some- what like Miss Blanchadine the fair !" " Oh, here is the sun-dew!" said Rose. " Yes ; both sorts — the long-leaved and the round leaved," replied Meta. "Look at the glittering drops of dew which hang on the tiny hairs, one on each, like fairy diamonds. I wish we had a micro- scope." "That wish is soon gratified," said Mr. Hope, drawing from his pocket a little portable instrument. "I seldom stir from home without my little friend, and mucb enjoyment have I derived from it.'' '• How beautifully the globules of dew are formed !" said Rosalie, who, after having looked 204 BLIND LILIAS. at it, passed it and the microscope on to her sis- ter. " Yes. indeed," said Meta, observing it with deep interest ; " each tiny hair is tipped with its own little crystal sphere, and each little orb reflects the hues of the sky, and the trees, and everything around it. What wonderful things !" " Yes ; glorious are thy works, O Lord God," said Mr. Hope ; " yet we do not see a thousandth part of them : the wonders of creation are too many and too great for finite man to perceive or recount. We may get a lesson from this little plant ; as it reflects the glorious light of the sun in its minute globules of dew, so should Christians be filled with the beams of the Sun of Righteousness, and reflect every surrounding object only in the light and colors which that Sun supplies." " But it is not wrong, papa, to long to know all about them, and try to find out all we can f" said little Lilias. " By no means, my child — ' Desire that tends to know The works of God, thereby to glorify The great Work-master, leads to no excess That reaches blame, but rather merits praise.' So says our own great poet, and truly I agree with HEALTHFUL PLEASURES. 205 him ; for though we cannot ' search out His works unto perfection,' yet surely there is no subject that it is more desirable for man to study than the works of his Maker. But now I think we must have off botanizing, or we shall have no time for our book." " Oh, this one more, Mr. Hope !" pleaded Emily, who, with her hand locked in Lilias's, had been in- tently listening ; " this little pink beauty, with leaves like a tiny, tiny acacia leaf. It was creeping in and out between the long, pale moss, like a car- pet for the fairies." " Ah ! that is the bog pimpernel (Anagallis tenella)" said Rose ; " how pretty it is !" " My own little precious fivorite flower," said Lily. " Oh, how I should like to see it growing !" and a cloud of sadness overcast her features. But speedily recovering herself, she added, "Never mind, papa; I did not mean to say that." And j ailling her father's head very close to her — for, as usual, she was his next neighbor — she whispered a few words in his ear, and then said aloud, " You remember, papa?" •' Perfectly, my darling. May He help you to attain it fully," wis Mr. Hope's half-whispered 18 200 BLIND LILIAS. reply, as he tenderly kissed her uplifted but blush- ing cheek. The words Lily had whispered were " Fellowship with God, papa. I must try for that.''" 1 And truly did the sweet child strive after it. This one thought before her mind seemed usually to be enough to support and cheer her under her great trial, and to have a compelling power over her. It was seldom now that Lily gave way to her petulant and proud temper ; every one noticed how careful she was to check herself when she was disposed to answer hastily, often suddenly stopping when a few words had escaped her, and then after a few moments say- ing, " Well, never mind !" or, " I did not mean to say that." Nor had she once, since the day the events of which we have recorded, given way to violence and passion. It was evident to all that a great change had passed on her, although she had yet much, very much, to conquer and contend with. Joyful as was Mr. Hope to see that the disci- pline with which it had pleased God to school his beloved little one, was thus working in her " the peaceable fruits of righteousness," it was at times almost too exciting and touching to his sensitive feel- ings, to watch the struggles which his little blind HEALTHFUL PLEASURES. 207 child had to maintain against her naturally proud spirit, and also with the repining feelings which ne- cessarily arose occasionally, when the loss which she had experienced presented itself more forcibly than usual to her mind. It was painful to him also to see the look of sadness which, from time to time, rested on her countenance — to hear the low sigh which perhaps none other heard, yet feel that it was better not to notice either, and let her fight the good fight so fur alone, only aiding her at such times by a prayer breathed from his sorrowing heart, to Him who is ever " touched with the feeling of our infirmities," and who, he knew, both could and would give to his child the strength she needed. Yet was Lilias not allowed to feel a lack of sym- pathy. Well did she know, that although her father and her other friends thought it wiser not to weaken her by over much expression of their affec- tionate and sympathizing feelings, yet that those feelings were in full and kindly exercise, and daily as she drew nearer to God, and was more and more earned in seeking to walk with Him, so did she draw closer and closer in love to those dear ones who she knew were so tenderly, though silently, Watching over her. "And now, Queen Meta," said Lily, recovering 208 BUND LILIAS. herself, and speaking in a cheerful tone — " you are the Queen of the day — what are we, your subjects, to do next?" " Well," replied Meta laughing, " I should say to dine, as I, for one, am very hungry." " Ah, yes — and here comes Williams ; to tell us that all is ready, I conclude," said Mr. Hope ; and without delay the whole party adjourned to a lovely nook in which their refreshments had been spread, and there we will leave them to enjoy their pleasant meal and pleasant chat. XXL & FRIEXTD IN NEED* ^"HE dinner over, the beautiful spot on which it. they had partaken of it was abandoned to the servants, who, with the two sailors, were then to enjoy their repast ; and the whole party set for- ward, some of them to seek a new spot for the scene of their evening meal, whilst the others un- dertook the ascent of the headland. As Lilias was not very strong, and as she could not, of course, derive pleasure from the grand and beautiful view which the summit of Berry Head commands, Mr. Hope decided that she should not attempt the walk, and, of course, as Lily did not go, Emily and Blanche remained with her. The boys went to the rocks for shrimping; and Mr. Hop.-, Mrs. Evelyn, with Meta and Eosc, Maud and Mabel, all set forward in full spirits to inspect the fortifications; appointing for the servants and chil- dren to be prepared with tea, cake, cream, and fruit, by the time of their return. " And be sure you fix on a nice place, Emily," 210 BLIND LILIAS. said Maud, " where we can overlook all the wide sea." " O yes," said Emily, " we will hold a council, and fix on a charming place, and have the tea-things all prepared, and the kettle boiling against you come." And full of delight in the prospect, they at once set about gathering sticks wherewith to light the fire, and running hither and thither, fixing first on one spot and then on another, and dragging their heaps of sticks wherever they went, until they were quite tired and breathless, and obliged to sit down and rest, and wait until Williams and Bertha should have dined, and come to aid them with their advice and strength. " I should like to tell you something that I know," said Lily to Emily, Blanche having run down to the shore to see what the boys were doing, " only it's such a secret," " Oh do, Lily," replied Emily ; " you know you ought not to have any secrets from me, because I am your friend, and you should tell me everything." " I should like it," said Lily ; " I long to tell you, but it is a great secret," " So much the better," answered Emily, " I shall be sure not to tell. Do tell me, quickly." A FRIEND IN NEED. 211 " Well, then," said Lily — " but do you think I ought to tell you, Emmy ? lam afraid not, because it is a real secret, and Maud and Mabel told me I was to be sure and keep it so, and not tell any one. I really do not think I must tell you now. But I have a secret, and a beautiful one. Oh, how I should like you to know it !" "You are very provoking, Lilias. Of course you ought not to tell if your sisters told you in con- fidence, and bid you not to do so. But you should not have said anything about it if you did not mean to tell." " No, I wish I had not," said little Lily ; "it was very foolish." " Of course it was, 1 ' said Emily, crossly ; " and now I shall have no more pleasure to-day, for I shall only keep on thinking what the secret is; if people knew anything that they are not to tell, they should not keep on saying that they have 'a secret,' 'a beautiful secret,' and that they wish so much to tell. It's quite as bad, or nearly so, as telling the thing at once, and it only makes people curious and un- comfortable. 3 " Well, di ver mind, dear.'' said Lily, good- humouredly ; " 1 will ask Maud to let me tell you ; but it is a secret even from papa." 212 BLIND LILIAS. " However, Lilias," said Emily, who, although a remarkably amiable child, was unfortunately very prone to curiosity, " I wish you had just thought a little before you raised my curiosity. You did it on purpose; I do believe you did, because you know I hate not to be told things that others know !" and rising hastily, Emily turned aside in an angry manner, and began to walk away towards the shore, hurrying her steps as she got further away, and found that Lily did not call after her. Now, it so happened that Emily in her anger for- got that Lilias could not see her go, and that the turf was so soft and full in that spot, that it was probable she would not hear her light footsteps as she departed. Such was, however, the case. Her little companion was aware that she had risen, and gone a step or two, but that she had absolutely gone away she had not discovered. Lilias, conscious that she had been wrong, and at the same time feeling some bitter risings of the old proud spirit which contended against her owning that fact, sat silent for a few moments ; but after a short time of struggle, having obtained the victory for that time, she spoke in a pleasant voice and said, " Now, don't be vexed, dear. I was wrong to speak before I thought, and 1 do assure you it was only A FRIEND IN NEED. 213 that I so longed to tell you, because I like you always to know what I am thinking about, and to share my pleasure. Come, Emmy, come and sit down again, there's a darling dear;" but no answer was returned. Emily was then far gone, and poor Lilias became conscious that she was left quite alone in that strange place. She was sorely frightened at first ; she knew not where she was, and having heard them all talking about cliffs, and precipices, and rocks, and having been in certain places most carefully led and guided, for fear she should get into danger, the poor child magnified the terrors of her position to her own mind and became dreadfully alarmed. In her first affright she uttered a loud scream, but no one heard her, and then recollecting the lessons she had received on presence of mind, and still more those which had of late so impressed her heart of God's all-guiding and preserving mer- cy, the poor little girl rose from the turf on which she sat, and kneeling down, besought God to keep her Bafe from harm, and make her patient and con- tented until He should please to send some one to her ; and having done this, and felt the peace which ever follows a simple casting of our care on our God, she resolved not to stir a step until some one came, and Beating herself exaetlj on the spot whence 214 BLIND LILIAS. she had risen, she began to strive to keep up her spirits in her dark solitude by singing hymns. Half an hour at least had passed and still Lily sang on, varying her song by an occasional German hymn which she had learned from her little friends. At length a step was heard approaching, and Lilias, sure that it must be some of her own party, left off singing, and springing up, said, " Oh, I am so glad. Thank God, you are come at last !" " And who are you, my little one, who seem to know me so well, and to be so glad to see me V asked a pleasant and harmonious voice, which, although it was new to the child's ear, she at once pei'ceived to be that of a gentleman. " I never saw you before, my dear ; did I '?" said he. " I do not know, sir," replied Lilias. " I do not know who you are. I thought it was my papa, or one of the servants, or Emily, or some of my own people." " Why, my child," said her visitor, laughing ; " I must be a very odd-looking man for you not to know, when you look full at me, whether I am your papa, or a servant, or a lady ! Why, what is it, little girl ? tell me how you came to be here alone, and whether I can take you to your friends." " Oh yes ; if you please, sir, pray do," replied A FRIEND IN NEED. 215 Lily. " I am afraid to make one step alone, lest I should fall down the cliff, or into the sea. If you will lead me to some of my friends, I shall be so much obliged to you ;" and she held her hand towards him in the groping manner peculiar to those who walk in darkness. " Ah, now I see !" said the stranger in a voice of the tenderest pity. "You are blind, poor child, and cannot see that neither cliff nor sea is near you. I think you must be Mr. Hope's little girl ; but how- is it that you are here alone ?" " Yes, I am, sir ; I am Lilias Hope," replied she eagerly, " and I have been blind for more than a year. Emily Dormer was here with me, and she went away just now. I do not know where she is." " But she should not have left you alone, my dear child," said the stranger. " I fear she is but a giddy guardian for a blind child." " Oh, no, indeed," replied Lilias quickly ; " she is very steady and kind, and generally takes such great ran- of me, and we are such friends. She never did so before ; but I suppose she forgot, and thought Williams and Bertha would come in a minute; I assure you, sir, she is not giddy." "Well, my dear," answered her new friend, " I will take Emily's character on your word. And 216 BLIND LILIAS. now," added he, " I suspect we are not far from some of your party, for I see a respectable looking man- servant, and a woman who looks like a bonne with them ; are they the Williams and Bertha of whom you spoke V The greeting of Lilias and the servants showed the stranger that he was right. " Miss Lily, my dear young lady, where ever have you a been to V asked Williams with evident astonishment at seeing the blind child approaching with a stranger. " When I came to see the young gentlemen, and Miss Emily and Miss Blanche all down among the rocks together, and no Miss Lilias, I was in a fine way. Excuse me, sir," continued he, bowing to the stranger ; " but Miss Lily's not able to make her way about like the rest, and when my master is to a distance, I feel answerable-like for her." The gentleman now gave his name as Mr. Gam- bier, and said that he was a clergyman, and that as Mr. Hope w T as his near neighbor, and he had much desire for his acquaintance, he would walk on in the direction which he heard he had taken, and intro- duce himself; and, leaving Lily to the charge of her attendants, he proceeded to do so. Meanwhile. Emily had suddenly remembered the A FRIEND IN NEED. 217 position in which she had left her friend, and ab- ruptly leaving the other children, who called after her in astonishment at her rapid flight, she hastened up to the little glade where she had been seated. Great was her dismay when she saw that Lilias was no longer there. That she had found the right spot she was sure, for there were the flowers she had thrown down when she had left the place, and a little further on, and in the direction of a very danger- ous path, lay one of Lily's gloves. Emily's terror was unbounded. Thoughtless of screening herself from .he blame which she knew she deserved for having left her alone, she rushed back to the shore in a flood of tears, and, shouting to the boys from a distance, she told them to come and help her to look for Lily, and then ran back herself to the spot, which was not far distant, in an agony of terror, followed by Vernon and the others. Vernon suggested that most likely the servants had found her, and taken her away with them ; but Emily would not be pacified. She was sure Lilias must have fallen over some cliff, or wandered away in those strange places, and would be irretrievably l«) I ; and all the sad stories of children lost in the wilds i hat she had ever read or heard of, seemed to rise bef.. re her terrified mind, and sitting down 218 BLIND LILIAS. on the ground, she moaned and cried, saying that it was all her fault. Vernon was, however, more reasonable ; he per- sisted that it was most likely that Lily was safe with the servants, aud that at any rate it was wiser to go and look for her than to sit there lamenting over imaginary terrors ; and, carrying out his de- signs, he ran to a high point at some little distance, and there saw that he was right, and returned with the welcome news that Lily, with Williams and Bertha, was very busy in getting out the tea equip- age, and at but a short distance from them, and that they had better all join the party, and get Bertha to light the fire quickly, and boil the shrimps that they had caught in the pools at once, that so they might be cold by tea-time. Joyous was the greeting of Emily and Lilias. Emily, whose displeasure never lasted long, and who besides had been too entirely quelled by her fright to have any remembrance of her having thought herself aggrieved, threw her arms round her little friend, and begged her pardon a dozen times, whilst Lily whispered, " I have not told why you went away, so do not you, Emmy, because they might be angry with you, and it was all my fault for vexing you." A FRIEND IN NEED. 219 " I have told them all," replied Emily, " and I am ashamed of myself, Lily. It was all my fault to be so cross, but I have had a lesson that I shall not forget." " But never mind, Emmy, not for me at least. I got very comfortable after just the first, and then God sent some one to find me out. It was like sending the angel to Hagar in the wilderness, and really his voice was like an angel's, it was so sweet ;" and beginning from the time Emily had left, she told her all she had done and thought, until "that nice Mr. Gambicr came and was so kind. I shall like him so very much, Emily ; I know I shall, and so will you, and papa, and Maud, and May. He is gone up the hill to meet them now, and I do hope he will come back to tea. But come, we must be busy — you lead me, and then we can both carry things, and we are to have tea on the grassy top of the old lime-kiln, such a pretty .place they say." And fully reconciled to each other, the little girls ran about from place to place gathering sticks and dry grass to make the fire, and receiving the differ- ent parcels from the baskets as Williams and Ber- tha unpacked them, to carry them to the place where they were to be used. " Why, girls, it is of no use for you to rush and 220 BLIND LILIAS. run about so, you will tire yourselves to death, and not get through the work either," said Vernon. " Come, let us make a chain, and hand the things on from one to another. Here, Ned, you stand there, and, Bertha, you take the things from Wil- liams and hand them on to Ned, and then Emily can take them from you, and pass them to Lily, and she can hand them on to me, and I will carry them to the ground. Here, Blanchie, you must help Lily, she will not be able to get on here without a guide." Delighted with this new mode of management, the children worked most pleasantly, and soon all the contents of the hampers were placed together on the green sward, which carpeted the top of the kiln. Then the fire was lighted, and Bertha and the boys boiled the shrimps, and put on the kettle, whilst Williams and the rest of the party spread the cloth, and placed on it all the requisites for their evening meal ; and just as they were all ready, voices were heard, and the walking party who had been guided by the smoke to the right point, sud- denly made their appearance, and with them Mr. Gambier. The spot on which the party had fixed as the most attractive for their resting-place, was indeed charming ; a very large circle at the top of the A FRIEND IN NEED. 221 cliff, in which the cavern before named lay, had been surrounded by a wall about breast-high, the space included being from thirty to forty feet in diameter, and looking not unlike the low battlement of the turret of a castle. The ground within this enclosure was level, and covered with soft short grass of unusual verdure, and the wildly extended \ ir\v which it commanded of the broad open sea on one hand, and of the lovely bay with its diversified shores on the other, and before them, was beautiful in the extreme. Brixham, Goodrington, Paignton, and then Tor, and Torquay, with its many hills all flecked with pretty villas, its crowded basin, and elegant spire, all lay outspread before them, and the immense fleet of fishing vessels that are always try- ing their trade at the mouth of the bay, gave life and spirit to the scene. "Why, this is a ' paradise of dainty devices,'" said Mr. Hope, as he entered through the gap in the wall, that admitted him to a sight of the pretty scene of busy children, and the pleasant-looking tea equipage. " What fairy directed you to this lovely place, my children .'" •• Wliy.it was really a fairy, Mr. Hope," ex- claimed Emily. "It was little Fata that found it out; we could not think where her ladyship was, 19* 222 BLIND LILIA8. when suddenly Williams heard her little voice barking, barking, and looking up, there she was, standing on the wall, and barking at a bird ; so he came up to fetch her, and found out this pretty place." The whole party were soon arranged on their grassy seats, and the large kettle having been pro- nounced to be boiling, the tea was made, and the pleasant meal proceeded most merrily. Mr. Gambier was a very satisfactory addition to their circle. He introduced many new subjects of conversation which pleasingly diversified their usual routine, and this was agreeable. But it was in himself that the charm lay. There was a freshness and vigor about him that was altogether unusual, and so high and true a tone of Christian principle pervaded his conversation, that it gave harmony and dignity to all he said. He was young, not handsome, but gentlemanly and pleasant-looking, cheerful even to mirthfulness, yet never saying a word that bordered on levity. Mr. Hope was greatly pleased with him, as were all the party, and all were, therefore, heartily glad when they learned that he was no other than their long ex- pected new vicar, who had arrived in the village but the day before. A FRIEND IN NEED. 223 " What is this I hear of you, Lilias ?" said Mr. Hope, after they had been seated a short time. "How came Mr. Gambier to find you sitting 'all alone by yourself, singing Langoleef " " No, papa," said Lily, " I was not singing that, I do not know what it is ; I was singing a hymn, I think." " But why were you there alone, dear, in that out-of-the-way place ? you should not have been by yourself; which of you was it that left her sol" he added, asking the question generally. " I am sorry, sir," began Emily, blushing and looking distressed ; but Lily hastily interrupted her, saying, " I was in a very safe place, papa, and sat quite still. Emmy was with me at first, and then she went down to the shore, and I sat still, and sang till Mr. Gambier came." Mr. Hope easily perceived by Emily's manner, and Lily's hasty interruption, that something had been amiss, but he kindly respected his child's evi- e to avoid discussion of the subject, and as he guessed that it must arise from a desire of ening her little friend from blame, he said no more, and Emily's relieved and grateful look would have more than repaid Lily for her forbearance, n it. XXII. EYERARD'S ARRIVAL* "i^J|>:OOK at that pretty yacht," said Mrs. / _i4 i y Evelyn, who had been for some time watching the sea. " What a beautiful little vessel ! She is come in close ashore, as if to land some one." All were so intent on looking at the vessel (which had now put off a boat, into which a gentle- man had stepped, and was being rowed straight to the rocks), that no one noticed the glance which was exchanged between Maud and Mabel, nor the bright light which illuminated their countenances, as they each took an arm of their father, and stood looking first at him, and then at the boat. But Meta, who stood by Lily, was very much astonished to hear her exclaim, ' : Oh, I ivish I could see, oh, I wish I could see !" with great vehemence. " Oh, do tell me, is he coming, has he landed 1 Oh, I wish I could but see ;" and then, overcome by her emotions, she began to cry. Maud left her father's side, threw her arm round Lily's waist, and gently evijrard's arrival. 225 soothing her, whispered a few words in her ear, and then leading her towards her father, she said, " Come, papa, let us, you and your three girls, go down and see whether we can find out who this visitor is. I think / have a guess." "It is Everard, my own dear son," said Mr. Hope, joyfully, as he watched the stranger; and taking Lily between himself and Maud, Mabel hastening on before, they all made their way down towards the shore as speedily as they could. " Why, Everard, how came you here, how did you know exactly where to find us, as if by magic ? My dear boy, how rejoiced I am to see you," said Mr. Hope, as he warmly embraced his son. "Ask the girls, sir," replied Everard, laughing, as he kissed his sisters. " It was their plan — they would insist on it that I should give you a pleasant surprise. I wrote to Maud that I should come by my friend Grosvenor's yacht, which was going down to Plymouth, and probably be in the bay this evening, so she and May set their young minds but she combined with them a pride of spirit, and something of a jealousy of feeling, that were far from Nugent's heart. Maud felt that respect and love were her right, and if she fancied that they were withheld from her, her spirit rose, and a cold reserve took the place of her usual tender and lov- ing manner. On such occasions, she wept in secret, everard's arrival. 237 but allowed no signs of her distress to be seen, if she could possibly avoid it. Nugent, on the con- trary, received the love, which was in general freely bestowed on him, as a gracious gift to which he had no right. His humility was so great, and in such constant action, that he seemed to think he had no sort of right to claim any special consideration, and that it was not reasonable to expect that people would care about him ; consequently, when he found that he was beloved by any one, it came on him as an agreeable surprise, and he accepted the distinction with gratitude and thankfulness, even if it so happened that he was not able wholly to return the affection in kind. If he fancied that he was dis- liked, he acquiesced good-humoredly in the circum- stance, and appeared to think it was a natural thing that it should be so, and that he had no reason to expect it would be otherwise. But notwithstanding this humble view of himself, Nugent Hope was not a man to be overlooked in society, still less to be disliked. Manly, intelligent, cultivated, with good sound judgment, and a re- markable rapidity of thought, which enabled him at once to perceive and combine the differenl points of an argument, and its bearings for and against a sub- ject, his opinion always carried mine weight with 238 BLIND LILIAS. it than that of most young men. At college he had been constantly turned to, in difficult cases, as umpire, and at home, even from childhood, what Nugent decided seemed always to satisfy contend- ing parties, for all knew him to be both clear- headed and just. Mr. Hope was proud of his sons, and, indeed, few fathers had better reason to be so, and he was now much rejoiced at having Everard, who had just taken his degree, and finished his academical studies, at home with him for a few months. XXIII. SANCTIFIED AFFLICTION- "^""HERE is no society more agreeable, than that '$£)) in which a few families and individuals, all and each of whom have independent pursuits, enough to keep them from hanging too much on others, are associated in close and affectionate inti- macy. Such was the little band of friends which met so frequently at the Grange, or at Mrs. Eve- lyn's cottage. The Dormers had found their coun- try retreat so agreeable, and affording so many ad" vantages, that Mrs. Evelyn had thought it advisable to take a small furnished house, and settle perma- nently at Coombhurst with her young party, who were all diligently engaged in pursuing their studies, and completing their education. Gordon Dormer had finished his career at Addiscombe, and sailed as a cadet to India, within a few months of their first arrival in the village, so that Mrs. Evelyn had now only her four girls to provide for. Nugent Hope had been expecte I to return home in the course of the autumn, but had been detained on the Continent, 240 BLIND LILIAS. consequently the two families remained just in the same position as when we first became acquainted with them, with the exception of the addition of Everard to that at the Grange, and Mr. Gainbier, as the daily associate and friend of all. The autumn passed pleasantly, and winter, never very severe in the favored climate of South Devon, was approaching. But winter has its charms as well as summer. In the house, there are the bright and cheerful fires which enliven our English rooms, and the pleasant long evenings, in which all are gathered together in the social circle, to recount and chat over the events of the day and the plans for the morrow and to enliven themselves and each other with some pleasant occupation or amusement — work, drawing, chess, or music. Then there is the morning walk in the clear cold air, on a frosty day, when every cottage and out-house roof glitters with its icy coat- ing, and the long rows of icicles, which fringe every projecting eave and gable, on which the sunbeams glisten, until they look like thousands of diamonds. How pleasant it is to walk along the crisp roads and fields, whilst the frost hangs in the air, and keeps all, where the sunbeams have not yet reached, bound in icy fetters ; and to see the flocks of larks and fieldfares, of finches, and linnets, which scared SANCTIFIED AFFLICTION. 241 from their repast of hips and haws by your ap- proach, spring into the air in dense flights, and set- tle on the next bushes, again to rise, as you again approach them, and repeat the same process over and over again, until they are freed from your in- trusion, by some turn in the road hiding you from them. How pleasant it is too, to see the confiding little robins sit and carol as you pass, and to hear the rook caw over-head, as it wings its way to some spot where the sunbeams have penetrated the earth, and left the grubs which lie beneath the surface ac- cessible to their long horny beaks. Then there are visits to the cottages to be made, and kindly plans for the comfort of their inhabitants to be discussed, and carried into effect. And all these things tend as much to intimacy, and have in them as much of the elemeuts of enjoyment, as those pleasant sum- mer excursions which we have described. So it was found to be by our young friends at the Cottage and at the Grange, whose friendship daily increased in warmth and closeness. Mr. Gambier was a thoroughly industrious and hard-working man, and devoted to the well-being of liis parishioners; and he had undertaken to initi- ate Everard Hope, who was preparing for holy orders, into the duties of a parish priest, by as- •^1 242 BLIND LILIAS. sociating him with himself in his parochial work ; and Everard, whose heart was deeply interested in preparing himself to fill the important and solemn office of a minister of the gospel, was very thank- ful for the opportunity of working under the auspices of one whom he so thoroughly loved and esteemed. The greater part of his mornings was, therefore, passed in the village of Coombhurst, which lay about a mile from the Grange — that house forming part of a large hamlet belonging to the parish. He and Mr. Gambier usually read divinity together for an hour or two, then visited the poor and the school until about two o'clock, and after taking some lunch- eon together, they generally rode or walked for a couple of hours, Mr. Gambier often returned with Everard to share the family dinner at the Grange, and spend as many of the evening hours there as he could spare from other duties. Lilias and Emily had both become very fond of Mr. Gambier, but the former, in particular, was deeply attached to him, and he was exceedingly in- terested in the little blind child. Many were the grave and earnest conversations which took place between them, but there was also a great amount of fun and playfulness constantly going on. Ever- ard was devoted to his little sister, and often might SANCTIFIED AFFLICTION. 243 she be seen mounted on her pony, Everard leading it, and running full trot, whilst Mr. Gambier held her hand to give her confidence, and kept up by her side, Neptune and Fata and half a dozen other dogs chasing after and round them, whilst Emily and Blanche vainly tried to keep pace, and failing in doing so, cut across and met them at diverse points. Sometimes Emily got a ride, and sometimes Blanche, and Lilias showed the improvement that was go- ing on in her character by often voluntarily check- ing her pace and making one or other of them take her place on the pony — an effort of self-denial which in former months she would not have thought of making ; and, indeed, it was a great effort, for she was always so highly exhilarated and pleased by the exercise and the proximity of her "dear Mr. Gam bier " and her favorite and merry brother, that there was no one thing that afforded the poor little girl so much delight as one of these wild gallops round and round the field and grounds. She had be- come so fearless, that the guardian hand which had at first been the only tiling that would induce her to venture out of a walk was no longer needed ; but she liked to have her friend so near, and he loved the child so well, that he still continued the attendance, and he was so fleet of foot, and of such 244 BLIND LILIAS. vigor, that he never got tired or out of breath with the exercise. Mr. Gambier had a deep insight into character, and so much tenderness and tact, combined with such firmness and sound judgment, as was likely to lead to confidence, and Lilias's in him was unbound- ed. She never said much on the inner thoughts of her little heart, unless to some one or two : to her father and to Maud, if she was quite alone with them, she would pour out all her thoughts and feelings, and show all the workings of her sensitive conscience and peculiar mind, without restraint, but hitherto to no one else. Mrs. Evelyn and Meta, dearly as she loved them, and earnestly as she sought their friendship, had not been able to find the key to the secret chamber of her heart ; she was reserved and restrained on such points even to them ; but to Mr. Gambier it was not so. At once, and very early in their intercourse, the child talked easily to him, and when he found her alone, she would nestle in close by his side, and converse with him with freedom and earnestness, on points which were never discussed with others, and lay open her heart to him with a sweet and rare confidence that he greatly prized. " What is my little linnet thinking of so earnest- SANCTIFIED AFFLICTION. 245 ly ?" said he one day, when he found her seated alone by the fire, and so lost in thought that she did not notice his approach. "Oh, dear Mr. Gambier, is that you 1 ?" she re- plied; " I am so glad — I was thinking about lives, and blind people, and having fellowship with God, and I am puzzled, and I should like to talk with you about it." " Well, Lily, you have a large subject, or rather several large subjects," he replied, sitting down by her. " Tell me, first, what you mean by ' lives.'' " '• Why, I mean people's lives. I think the peo- ple who live on earth should do as blind people are obliged to do ; now I do not quite know how to ex- plain what I mean, but it is something like this : you know when you came and found me at Berry Head r " Yes, Lily, I perfectly remember." " Well ; I was sitting cmite still, I did not know where I was, or how I should get away. I dare not move one step for fear I should fall over some of these places I had heard them speak of as we pa ed. 1 was safe at the minute, and obliged to wait till some one came to find me. So then I asked God to send some one, and you came. 1 did not know you, but I just told you what 1 wanted, and 21* 246 BLIND LILIA8. you said you would assist and lead me to my friends, and you took me and turned me round a different way from what I had fancied you would go, and you led me over some rough place, and then you said, ' Now I must carry you a little way,' and then you let me walk again, and then you said, ' Sit down here, and I will come back in a minute,' and you seated me on a stone and ran away ; hut it never came into my head to doubt that you would come back, or to think you did not take me in the best way, or to ask why you let me walk in one place and not in another ! " " All true, dear," said Mr. Gambier ; " but go on, and tell me all you were thinking." " Well, then, I thought, I am having fellowship with this kind gentleman ; I am letting him deliver me as he thinks best ; I should have thought he would have left me where I was, and gone to look for papa, and sent some of them to me, but he would not have taken all this trouble and carried a heavy girl like me, and done all he is doing without a good reason, and so all you did I liked, and I felt a sort of pleasure that you should manage it all your own way.'' " Well, my child, and what then ?" " Why, then, I thought, and I have thought about SANCTIFIED AFFLICTION. 247 it a great deal since, that it -was like what papa had been saying to me about our having fellowship with God — something the same as you preached once, you know — it was your first Sunday. He read me a little paper one day, and it was on the text, ' That we might be partakers of His holiness' (God's, you know), and he said the way to become so was to ' cultivate fellowship with God in His designs,' and try to understand the way in which God's every- day dealings with us may most thoroughly work in us, to lead us to that holiness, so that if we would be holy, we must give ourselves up to God, and not only do the things which He bids us, but do them in the way that He bids us, and let Him do all He likes with us ; the same as I let you lead me, and carry me, and set me down, and never said, ' Why do you do that V And so I think if the lives of all people, from beginning to end, were like that of a blind person — I mean, if we all gave our lives and souls up to God to be led and guided by His Spirit, as a blind girl is obliged to give her- self up to some friend to guide her steps, we should all be so safe and happy. Don't you think so, Mr. Gambier?" " Yes, dear, I do indeed. Now, dear Lily, that 24$ ISL1ND LILIAS. confidence you felt in me was faith — you hud faith m me ' Faith in you, Mr. Gambier ! No ; I had faith in God." " Yes, first in God ; you prayed to Him that He would deliver you, and were at rest in the quiet assurance that He would do so ; then I eame, and your faith in God led you to believe that He had sent me. But then you had faith in me, that is, you believed that I should lead you, not only to the place and the friends you wished to reach, but that I should take, you by the best and straightest way to them. Faith is belief. Faith is the same prin- ciple whether it acts on one object or on another. You may have faith in a foolish superstitious charm, or you may have faith in God. Faith is a firm belief that a thing is what it professes to be, and so you believed that I was a friend who could see, and would lead you right." " Yes, Mr. Gambier, I understand now. Then, if we have faith, real, true faith in God, we should give ourselves up to Him and try to consent to all He does and wills ?" ' ; Just so, dear ; the love that leads us to like that God should do His will in His own way, and to acquiesce in His will, and His way of working s\ NOTIFIED AFFLICTION. 249 in and for us, will follow on faith. If we believe that God in Christ is altogether lovely, that He is love itself— if we can truly feel, ' Thy nature and Thy name is love,' how can we help loving that which is love? And then, if we love God, we shall, as you say you did with me, ' feel a sort of pleas- ure in His doing it all Ilis own way.' " " Yes ; and that is what I am trying to do ; I am trying to like to be blind, and the way I do it is to think, ' God loves me, and of course if He loves poor little blind me, I shall not wish not to be blind. He made me so, and He could open my eyes if He liked, and if He does not, it must be best." And besides, Mr. Gambier, I did not love God before I was blind, and now I do, and so it shows that it is best."' " ' It is good for me that I have been afflicted,' has been the language of God's people in all ages, and you will not find it otherwise, my little Lilias," replied Mr. Gambier. " But now, my child, I have fallen into talk with you, and there are Evra, and the girls, and the pony, ail waiting, and I promised to bring you to them, and \ shall surely get a scold- ing ; so make haste, and get on your bonnet and pelisse, darling." " Oh, what pleasure 1 have !" said Lilias. "Do 250 BLIND LILIAS. not you think these pleasant things are what is meant by ' the loving-kindness,' of God 1 I do," said she ; and as nurse, who had been summoned, appeared to lead her to the nursery, and prepare her for her ride, she sprang up, and jumped, and clapped her hands as she danced away, with as much childish glee as if no such affliction as blind- ness lay on her, and no such serious thoughts had been under discussion. Surely a thankful heart that can discern God's hand in all things, and sees a Father's love in all events, has a greater amount of enjoyment than any other. To such a heart a very small and simple pleasure will give greater delight than the wealth and treasures of a world, to one who has no such spring of happiness. " My God, the spring of all my joys, The life of my delights, The glory of my brightest days, And comfort of my nights !" XXIV. THE SCHOOL FESTIYALu j^jhYtEEKS passed on, and Christmas drew near. tyy Vernon and Edward were again at home, and all were full of fun and frolic, holiday and pleasure. It was witli great satisfaction and delight, that Mr. Hope observed a growing attachment between Everard and Margaret Dormer. He was well pleased that his son should obtain the steadying in- fluence that a matrimonial engagement in many cases supplies ; and that he should secure for his wife such a girl as Meta, so endeared to them all, and so justly deserving their love, was indeed a thing to be greatly desired. It would be necessary that they should wait a couple of years before they married, as until Meta was of age, and would re- ceive her fortune, and Everard was in priest's orders, and had taken possession of a living that was to hi' hi-, they would have no means of estab- lishing themselves in life; but a period of two years at nineteen and twenty-three is not much, 252 BLIND LILIAS. and as their relative homes were so near that they could often meet, the young people were not de- pressed by the prospect. Everard was devoted to Meta, and she to him, and the girls were all de- lighted to find that Meta was to be their sister. One morning, as Christmas drew near, Mr. Gam- bier made his appearance just as the family at the Grange had sat down to breakfast, and willingly consenting to the urgent invitation of all combined that he would share their meal, he took his place, and opened the special business on which he had come so early. It was to announce that his school- treat and distribution of prizes was fixed for the next day but one, and to invite Mr. Hope and all his party to attend, saying that he had just secured Mrs. Evelyn and the Dormers, at whose house he had left Everard, who was going to walk with Meta, and bring her back to the Grange for the rest of the day. Mr. Gambier's festival was no new idea to the party, unly the day had not been quite fixed. It was to be an evening treat, in a nice new school- room, that he had begun on his first coming to the village. It had been well aired and warmed, and he had left the opening festival until this season, in- tending to combine the distribution of school prizes THE SCHOOL FESTIVAL. 253 and that of the women's benefit clothing club. There was to be a huge Christmas tree, and Lilias and her young friends had been delighting them- selves in preparing all sorts of little things to dress it. The whole was to conclude with a tea-drinking to which all those children who had been regular and punctual in attendance had leave to bring one other member of their family. It had been decided that the day should not be fixed until fine and mild weather, giving promise of some continuance, should come, so that the guests, young and old, might not be injured by going out in the evening. Such a time had now arrived. For two days it had been clear and dry, with a mild wind, the roads and lanes were free from mud, and the air soft and pleasant ; and as there was every probability that such weather would continue for some little time, the day had been at last fixed, and preparations on a large scale had begun. Lilias had entered the room whilst Mr. Gambier was talking, and now eagerly exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Gambier, you said Emily and Blanche and I should come, and help you dress up the room. May we come? do let us." '•That is part of my errand to papa. Lily. May tiny come — at leasl may Lily, Mr. Hope? Mrs. 254 BLIND LILIAS. Evelyn has promised for the others, and I am to drive over to fetch them all at nine o'clock, the day after to-morrow. Perhaps you will let nurse come too, as you know I have no proper attendant for little ladies; and I shall get farmer Crooks' cart sent over early (hat morning, for that load of ever- greens and berries you promised ine. Our Christ- mas tree will be splendid, for one of the men has brought me a holly, all laden with the best kind of berries, and twelve feet high, and its glittering var- nished leaves, and bunches of red berries will make a most brilliant spectacle when lighted up. The sharp thorns, or rather spikes on the leaves, are so strong and large, that we are going to stick some of Mr. Groves' fine ruddy apples, of whi }h he has sent us a great bag full, all about the tree. But I must not stay," added he, " I have a great deal to do, and but little time to do it, and at nine o'clock the day after to-morrow, God willing, I shall be at the door to pick up Mrs. Nurse and Lilias ;" and with hasty good-byes, he left them all in high glee at the antic- ipated pleasure, and mounting his horse, rode offat full gallop. The morning of the appointed day was most auspicious — a pleasant combination of clearness of atmosphere with softness of temperature, that held THE SCHOOL FESTIVAL. 255 out every hope of an unusually genial day. Lilias, who had been almost too much excited for sleep or food, could scarcely be kept steady long enough to eat a proper breakfast, so eager was she lest she should not be quite ready when her friend's carriage came. As it was, she was cloaked and bonneted full half an hour before the appointed time, and accused Mr. Gambier of being quite late, when, as the hall clock struck nine, he drove up with Emily and Blanche already packed into the carriage. Nurse and Blanche were to occupy the back seat, whilst Lily and Emily, delighted with the crowding which so many people and so many cloaks made in the carriage, were vociferous with pleasure, and wrap- ped their arms as closely as possible round each other, as they said, " to give Mr. Gambier a chance of sitting down in his seat." Luckily they had not to pass many habitations, for the spirits of the children could not be kept down, and as the boys insisted on running, one at each pony's head, and laughing and chattering all the way, there was no small amount of uoise. AH had breakfasted, ami Mr. Gambier therefore set down his load at the school-room, and promised to return as soon as he had put up the ponies ; and the boys, having taken the vacant places in the carriage 250 BLIND LILIAS. for the fun of the drive, entreated so earnestly to be allowed to stay and help in the preparations, that on their promise of being eminently useful, and not teasing the girls in the least degree, they were prom- ised a share of the sort of picnic dinner that the workers were to eat in the school-master's kitchen ; and as soon as possible, the whole party returned laden with baskets of flowers, evergreens, cakes, and apples, that had arrived from all the neighbors round, and all set to work in good style. There were the wreaths to be made for the ends and sides of the room, for the schoolmaster's desk, and for every other place where it was possible to hang them. The Christmas tree was to be fixed, and the prizes and club articles arranged before din- ner. Afterwards all the rest of the Hope and Dor- mer families were to join the party, and then the beautiful holly was to be decorated with the little things which had so long been in preparation for it. Poor Lilias sadly felt her want of sight. As the others shouted out their admiration of each effect that was produced, and called on each other, and sometimes even, in the forgetfulness of the moment, on her, to " look at this !" and " Oh, do look at that!" her spirits sank, and she felt much inclined to cry ; but she conquered herself, and tried to be 1I1K SCHOOL FESTIVAL. 257 busy and interested in weaving the wreaths, which she could do very well. " Lily, will you come and make this wreath for me?" said Edward, just as the poor child began to feel sadly depressed. " I cannot do it, and yours that you made for Mr. Gambier just now is prettier than any other in the room. Do come, dear;" and Lilias, cheered by the kind word so aptly said, brightened up, and sitting down on a low stool, be- gan to arrange the lauruslinas and bright berries as skilfully as if she could see their varying forms and hues ; and as Edward picked out and handed to her the different kinds, and gave her bits of string to tie them, and thanked his " darling, kind, clever Lily " over and over again, her spirits rose, and she was as merry as a bird. It was a happy morning and a busy one. Work proceeded rapidly, and by one o'clock the room was gaily wreathed with bright evergreens and colored flowers and berries, the Christmas tree lirml\ planted in a huge barrel, the top of which was cov- ered with mould to look like a large pot, and the loom well swept up in readiness fur the next act. Then ensued a washing of hands and brushing of hair under nurse's auspices, and then all the party adjourned to the clean new kitchen, with its sanded 258 BLIND LILIAS. floor and pretty casemented windows, where dinner consisting of a good piece of cold roast beef, and plenty of apple-pie and cream, mince-pies, and a -rand hot plum-pudding, stood ready for the hungry and very merry party. Six of the best school children had been allowed the pleasure of helping in the arrangements, and they were now to wait on the little party whilst they dined, and then to sit down with nurse and the other servants and share the remainder of the feast. At half-past two o'clock came Everard and Meta, then Mrs. Evelyn, Mr. Hope, Maud, Mabel, and Ruse soon after ; and on their arrival the tree was to be dressed, the prizes arranged according to the classes, and the club goods all ticketed, so that there was abundance of work to be done in a little time, as the children and their friends were to be admit- ted at half-past four. But of all this there was nothing that our little blind girl could do ; so, after trying in vain to keep out of the way of the busy people who were run- ning hither and thither, she went and sat down in the kitchen, which was now empty, and in truth ran a great risk of becoming doleful if not unhappy ; for it is not easy, when all around are busy and happy, and after the spirits have been raised to an THE SCHOOL FESTIVAL. 259 unusual height, at once to sit down in stillness amidst a bustle that we cannot share, and yet be cheerful and contented. Poor Lilias did try to bear it ; but she felt it hard and sad to sit there in her solitude and darkness, unthought of, and as it were uncared for, and her little heart could scarcely en- dure the struggle. But help was at hand. Just as she was on the point of yielding to her tears, a pleasant, dear voice sounded in her ears : " Why, my little linnet, I had lost you, and I want you so much. I have some- thing for you to do for me. Here, dear, are two nice little girls, little twin children, Lily, just ten years old, who have so lately come to the parish that they do not know our Christmas hymns, and it will break their hearts not to sing to-night, for they are both little singing birds. Do you think you could teach them the tunes V "Oh yes, dear Mr. Gambier," said Lily; "at least I can try, and I shall be so glad to have some- thing to do." " Then come in, little maidens," said he, leading two clean, bright-looking children towards the fire. "There, take <>ll' your bonnets and sit down by the irth, and this little lady will teach you the hymns. Agnes and Grace Burton are their names, Lily ; so 2(50 BLIND LILIAS. now set to work, and try how well you can accom- plish your task." Lilias felt rather shy in beginning her task of teaching the little girls, but the feeling soon went oft' her. She was too much accustomed to singing to care long for the presence of strangers. She had a most tuneful and exquisite voice, and that pure, lovely taste so seldom bestowed, but which gives a far greater charm to singing than any that the best of masters can impart. Music was a pas- sion with her, especially vocal music ; and now was she charmed to find in these two village children a power almost if not quite equal to her own. She sang the air of the first hymn once over, and then said, '• Now, try and sing it with me." The little girls began ; one instantly dropped into a rich second, the other sang with Lilias, and scarcely in a note did either err throughout the strain. " Why, you know it,'' said the little teacher. " No, miss," said one of the little girls, " we never heard it before — did we, Grace 1" " But who has taught you to sing a second so nicely ?" asked Lilias. " I don't know, miss — I don't know what you mean. Agnes and I always sing like that, it comes easiest, and we like it. Father used to sing in the THE SCHOOL FESTIVAL. 261 cathedral, and so did my brothers when they were alive — in parts, they called it." " Then now, sing again," said Lily, enthusiasti- cally ; "it's beautiful — it's like angels' singing — I never heard anything so sweet ;" and lifting up her own most powerful and lovely voice, she again began the hymn, her little pupils, now well accus- tomed to the notes, joining her with the most melo- dious young voices, and with as much energy as herself. So they went on ; Lily taught them the second hymn, and then asked them if they could chant, and learning that they could, they sang the Te Dcum and Jubilate, and then one psalm and then another, until, in their mutual delight, they seemed to have forgotten everything but singing, and were so taken up with it, that none of them either saw or heard that a whole group of people had gathered in the shadow of the door-way to listen. It was, however, time to expect the little guests, and Mr. Gambier making the listeners withdraw, himself came forward into the kitchen and stopped the concert. "Oh, Mr. Gambier," said Lily, eagerly, " they do sing so beautifully, the) have Mich l<>v. I* \<>iccs, and their car is as true as possible. It has been 262 BLIND LILIAS. such a treat to teach them, but they knew the tunes in a minute. I wish you could hear them" " I have heard them, dear. Both you and they must remember, dear Lilias, that all gifts are from God, and that if He has given to you or to them a power of singing, it is not that you may be vain of it, or praise and flatter each other, but that you may use it to praise Him who has bestowed it on you. It is no more credit to you to have good ears and good voices than it is to me to have good eyes and good hearing ;" and, so saying, he led the three little musicians to their respective seats, placing Lilias next her father, and little Grace and Agnes by their widowed mother, whom Mr. Gambier had invited as his own particular guest, seeing that her little girls had not been long enough in the school to give them a right to bring her, but that neither she nor they would be quite happy if she did not share their pleasure. It was altogether a pleasant scene ; the groups of happy children, rapturous with delight at the sight of the brilliant Christmas tree, laden with such fruits as hollies do not usually bear, and of which they were to be the joyful owners, and the gratified looks of the parents and relatives of the little ones, were all well in accordance with ihe ruddy flames THE SCHOOL FESTIVAL. 263 of the fine ashen fagots, which, in pursuance of an old -west-country fashion, snapped and cracked on the hearth (for the room was not as yet quite com- plete, and the stove had not been placed), and with the briirht light which illuminated the room. Tea was made in the kitchen in great tea-kettles, and poured into the cups, of which the little ones had each brought one, and large slices of cake were given out by the children and young ladies who waited on the little scholars; and greatly was the whole enjoyed. There were several of the neigh- boring clergymen and their wives and daughters present; amongst the rest the little Brights and Scotts, for whom Mr. Gambier was to provide tea m hen the rural part of the assembly had departed, so that, besides the other enjoyments of the day, the families from the Grange and Cliff Cottage had the pleasure of a social chat with several of their old friends and allies. After the tea, and before the distribution of prizes began, Mr. Gambier spoke a few affectionate and well-considered words of advice to all, and of commendation to those who deserved it. and then proposed that all should join in singing the good old Christmas hymn, "While shepherds watched their flocks by night," which was done with capital effect, and with great pleasure both to sing- 264 BLIND LILIAS. ers and listeners, for the children had been well taught, and they were strengthened and supported by the many sweet, and powerful, and well-trained voices of the Hopes and Dormers, all of whom were so highly musical. Lily's little pupils acquitted themselves much to her satisfaction, and after the singing was over, Mr. Hope asked them a few questions, and was much pleased with their answers, so much so that he agreed that when the spring came on they should be allowed to come once in every week to his house to sing with Lily, and re- ceive from her and her sisters such instruction as might be of service to them ; but it was only on condition that his little girl should carefully avoid over-praise and flattery, and try to give them such teaching as might have a tendency to steady their minds, and counteract the evils which were likely to ensue to two children in their position of life, from so great a gift of music as these little creatures possessed. It was a bright full-moonlight evening, and as the carriage could not conveniently take all, it was agreed that Mr. Hope with his two eldest girls, Meta, Everard, and Rosalie, should walk home, and his other guests having all departed, Mr. Gam- THE SCHOOL FESTIVAL. 265 bier proposed going part of the way with them ; and they all accordingly walked together, pleas- antly chatting over the events of the day until a turning which led round to his lodgings separa- ted them. 23 XXV. SADNESS MD SYMPATHY. 'HE next day brought new pleasures for Lilias. Gertrude, Johnny, and Josephine were to come and spend some days — they were to stay over Christmas ; and when they went, Mr. Fraser, the late Mrs. Hope's father, with two of his grand-daughters, was to come for some weeks. Gertrude was so grown and improved, that the girls said they should have scarcely known her. She had been for more than a year on the Continent, with her uncle and aunt D'Urban and their children, and had so lately returned that she and Lilias had not met since Lily's blindness. Great changes had also taken place in the other children. Johnny had been at school in Germany, and Josephine also ; they were now nearly eleven years old, and Ger- trude nearly fourteen, aud an entire change had taken place in their amusements and employments. They all spoke French and German, and great was the delight of the little Dormers to talk with them of the different things and places that they so well re- SADNESS AND SYMPATHY. 267 membered. Lilias had picked up a good deal of German in her intercourse with Emily and the oth- ers ; she had made Emily teach her sentences, and Meta had done all she could, by reading to her and repeating verbs, declensions, etc., until she knew m, to give her some ideas of the construction of (lie language; consequently, she could generally un- derstand at least a part of what was said when the Dormers talked with Gertrude and the D'Urbans, and could even sometimes speak a little herself. Gertrude, who was quick and clever, had learned when in France some kinds of delicate needlework, and she was in high request as teacher to all the girls. Meta, Maud, Rosalie, and Mabel, all became enthusiastic workers, and Emily and Blanche were also bent on learning. But poor Lily could not share the enjoyment of this new pursuit. It was long since she had so sadly lamented her loss of sight. Her sisters, the Dormers, and Gertrude were quite taken up with the discussion of stitches, and of shades of color in the silk and wool ; and Lily, whose eyes no longer could discriminate between blue, and purple, and pink, and red, grew very sad as she heard them so eagerly prosecuting the work that every one said was so beautiful. Johnny found her one day sitting on the stairs, and crying. 268 BLIND LILIAS. " What is the matter, Lily ?" he said ; " why, you '11 be frozen to death sitting there in the cold — what is the matter V Liiias avoided answering his ques- tions — she did not like to tell him her sorrow, hut still could not sufficiently check it to stop crying. "Come, Lily, don't cry," he continued, and unused to think of her as blind, he said, " Let us have a game of battledore." This unthinking suggestion completed her distress, and exclaiming, " Johnny, you know I cannot — -I can never play again !" she started up, and ran hastily into the library, where, throwing herself on the couch, she sobbed as if her heart would break, exclaiming as of old times, " Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do ? — I never, never, can bear it all my life." A hand, whose touch she well knew, was gently laid on hers, and she felt herself quietly raised up from the prostrate position into which she had thrown herself, and her head laid on Mr. Gambier's shoulder. " My dear child, try to quiet yourself," he said ; " now calm those sobs and tears, and tell me what has so troubled my little friend." The surprise of being thus accosted, assisted Lii- ias in subduing her agitation, and she became more quiet, but she did not speak. SADNESS AND SYMPATHY. 269 " Now, Lily, tell me what is the matter," said Mr. Gambier. But Lilias was ashamed, and she said so in a whisper, and begged him not to ask her. It was, however, not long before her friend had drawn from her an account of what had occurred, and in her recital he was pleased to find that pride and temper had really little or nothing to do with the subject of her grief, and that he might venture to soothe, and try to comfort her, without the necessity of mixing reproof with his consolation. ''Poor little girl," he said, affectionately, " your grief is very natural. Try to bear it, dear, for Christ's sake, and it will become lighter." " But you know, Mr. Gambier," said Lilias, mournfully, " I have tried so long to bear it, and I thought that I should never feel the loss of my sight so very much any more. I know it is very un- grateful, but I do wish so very much to be able to work, and to see all Gertrude's beautiful patterns and things." " I know you do, dear — I know you must wish it. But, Lily dear, I do not think it is ungrateful to wish it; but I think it might be ungrateful, if you were to let that, or any other wish, interfere with your cheerfulness, or with your endeavors to do 23*' 270 BLIND LILIAS. your duty. You must try to submit to God's will — to accept the trial in all its parts. But to be able to do this is not the work of a moment ; you must seek earnestly, day by day, and not be daunted. When your enemy comes out as an armed man to meet you, what must you do, Lily ?" " Put on my armor ?" asked Lily. " Yes, dear, ' the whole armor of God ;' put on especially 'the breastplate of faith and love,' — ' faith,' that God does well in all that He does — ' love,' O Lily, what will we not bear or do for one whom we love, and who loves us !" said Mr. Gam- bier, earnestly. "Yes, yes, Mr. Gambier," said Lilias, eagerly. " For you, or papa, or Maud, I think I could bear anything. Oh yes ! and God loves me better still than you do. Yes, indeed I will try again, try hard to have ' fellowship with God,' and like all He does." " Do, my child, even more and more ; and in the right way, with prayer — much prayer. But now, as all your young friends are busy with this work in which you cannot join, suppose you and I find something to do together. What shall it be ?" said Mr. Gambier, cheerfully." " Oh yes. How nice that will be," said Lily, SADNESS AND SYMPATHY. 271 quite restored to cheerfulness. " You said one day, that you would read me some of Shakspeare. Will you now V " Yes, that I will," replied Mr. Gambier, " I will read you part of ' The Tempest ;' " and taking the volume from the shelf, he began to read that play, ever such a favorite with the young ; and soon the little party was joined by Johnny, who, having popped in his head, and heard what was going on, crept in, and was soon absorbed in the interest of the story. Then Vernon and Edward came to look for Johnny, and they, too, stayed to listen ; so that when at last the working party broke up, and miss- ing Lily, came to seek her, they found the whole circle so intently occupied, as to have no thought for anything but Prospero and Miranda, and that lovely creation of the poet, Ariel, and were fain themselves to join the charmed group, and listen to the reader, until the play was finished. From this time, Lilias was able to bear for the rest of the party to be engaged in pursuits in which she could take no share, and whenever she found that the talk was so exclusively of shades and stitches, as to afford no opportunity for general or more amusing conversation, she ran off to seek her father, or some one else, who mighl be free to at- 272 BLIND LILIAS. tend to her, or failing such resource, to amuse her- self with the piano, or a chat with nurse. There were, however, very many hours in which the amusements were such as the little blind child could fully share in. Mr. Hope or Mr. Gambier occa- .'lallyread Shakspeare or some amusing book aloud, and then Lily listened with all her heart. They had also many merry games in the house, and pleasant long walks and rides. Nice music, too, enlivened them, and here Lilias was able to take her part freely, so that altogether the visit of her young friends proved very pleasant, and when they went away, it was agreed that Lilias should some day go with Emily, and spend a few days at Kingsford with them, Maud undertaking to be of the party, as guardian and helper to her sister. On the last day of the year, came Mr. Eraser, and his grand-daughters, Helen and Robina Camp- bell, two lively girls, of about the same ages as Maud and Mabel. It was the first time they had visited their relatives, or had, indeed, been in Eng- land, and they were full of delight at the novelties they had seen. Of course they were all affection- ately welcomed by the party at the Grange. Mr. Fraser had been a magnificent man, and his huge proportions, snow-white hair, and dignified step, at SADNESS AND SYMPATHY. 273 first made all the inmates of the house, except little Lilias, stand rather in awe of him. She, poor little dear, saw none of these alarming symptoms ; she felt the tender embrace with which the good old man held her in his arms, she heard the deeply breathed expression of love and pity with which he said, " Poor child, poor dear child, may our God give her better blessings than He has, in His infi- nite wisdom, withdrawn ;" and she at once yielded her loving little heart to this affectionate friend, and settling herself on a low stool by his side, gave her- self up to his companionship. XXVI. GR&KDP& ERASER'S STORY. fT was seldom that grandpapa -was seen without Lilias on one side and Emily on the other ; for, fond as Lily was of her new friend, it was only when she shared him with her old one that she was quite happy ; and so the two little girls led him to the poultry-yard and the fish-pond, to the hill and to the beach, questioning him on the differ- ence in things here and in his Highland home, and listening with the most intense and awe-stricken in- terest to the tales he told them of the mighty hills and wild districts of his native land, and of the snow storms and drifts which have such wonderful sway there. He told them of many poor creatures whom he had known of as perishing in the deep, deep snow ; of one family especially, who dwelt amongst the mountains. " The poor parents had one sweet girl of fourteen, who was gone to the town, which lay some two miles from her home, to purchase some provisions for the family against the Christmas day, which was now near at hand ; they GRANDPA FKASER's STORY. 275 had also two little girls, nine and six years old, and they were gone to the village school, which lay not half a mile from their home in the other direc- tion. " It had been a bright, clear morning, but at noon the sky became overcast, and before dark a heavy fall of snow had begun to lie thick on the ground. Alarmed for their girl, who was to have been at home before dark, the father set out to meet her and guide her steps through the more difficult part of the path, whilst the mother pre- pared the evening meal, and put some dry clothing for the children to warm by the fire, knowing that they must come in wet and cold. At the time at which they ought to return, she set open the door to guide and cheer them by the bright fire-light, but they came not. Then she went a little way on the road to meet them, but in vain ; and getting thor- oughly uneasy, she closed the door of her house, and set off for the village, hoping that the school- mistress had detained them until their father should come for them. " Alas ! when she got to the school she learned that the little ones had all been despatched to their homes almost as soon as the storm began, lest they should be unable to reach them when it had con- 276 BLIND LILIAS. tinued long. Struggling with the storm, and with difficulty beating her way through the deep snow, the poor creature hastily retraced her steps to her lonely home ; but not before she had roused some of the villagers, and induced them to go forth in search of her children. When she got to her shiel- ing, the house was empty, the fire almost out, and her distress was increased by finding that not only were her little ones not there, but that her husband and Bessie were also still absent. Hours passed, but no tidings of either party were obtained. The villagers sought in vain for the poor little girls, no trace of them was found ; and wild with terror, the mother set out to seek her husband and other child. Mercifully, before she had gone far she met them returning. The father had found his girl lying by the side of the road, uearly covered with snow, and quite unconscious. He had taken her in his arms and borne her to a shepherd's cot, which happily was not far distant, and after many loving efforts, the poor girl's life came back, and the blood once more mantled on her cheek and lip. Then, though with difficulty, her father, assisted by the shepherd, had brought her home, knowing the anguish of dis- tress in which his poor wife must be at their long absence." :;-../', tm ' f\0" : ^mj^^^ .,: .. ..,,'.; " The faihcr had found bis girl Dearly covered with snow and quito unconscious. Blind LUIu. GRANDPA FRA8ER'S STORY. "Ill " But, then, he did not know about the little girls, grandpapa ?" asked Lilias. " No : though of course he could not. Poor, poor man, what did he do?" " Worn out and wearied as he was, love, he could not believe that all had been done that might have been ; so again he sallied forth, and long and earnest was the search he made for his two little lambs, but they could not be found. O children, it was an awful thing to see the agony of that strong, earnest man, his wrestling with his grief and despair, his endeavor to comfort his wife and his poor half-dead child, and then again the wild outbreaking of his agony as he cast himself on his knees and called on his God to pity him and save his children. Never, never can I forget it." " What ! were you there, grandpapa !" " Yes, darling. The schoolmistress told me of the loss of the children, and I could not stay in my home whilst such wo was on the mountain, and I might be a comfort ; so I shared in the search for the precious little ones, and 1 saw and shared the anguish of the parents, for sweet little Effie and Lucy Graham were two of the dearesi amongst the lambs of my Hock: and surely they were lambs in the Good Shepherd's flock too !" •1A 278 BLIND LILIAS. "But, Mr. Fraser, do go on," said Emily. "Please, tell on." " Well, love," continued the old pastor, " 'tis a dreary tale, and I would fain I had not begun to tell it. The night passed at last, and then the search was renewed, but still in vain. The whole road from the school-house to the cottage was cleared of snow, and one of the dear lost children's little shoes was found, which showed that they had been on it, and then it was conjectured that they must have taken a wrong turn, and wandered far away, and been overpowered by the snow amidst the hills, and we were obliged to sit down and be still ; and hard it was even to me. The snow lay heavy on the ground, and was renewed from time to time, so that more than a month passed sadly before we could have hope of finding the bodies of the little ones ; and the mother pined away, and the father was wrapped in solemn wo. As Christian people, they tried to bend beneath the rod and kiss the hand that smote them ; ' Lord, Father, thou hast been merciful in sparing our eldest whom we had well-nigh lost ; help us to say, ' Thy will be done,' said the mother, with streaming eyes ; ' but O my precious little ones ! if I could but have had your GRANDPA FRASEr'b STORY. 279 little bodies, and washed and dressed them for the grave, and sat down by them in my sorrow !' " ' Wife.' replied poor Graham, ' He knows what is best. It won't do to accept part of God's deal- ings, and tell Him He would have done better if He had corrected us in a different way. 'Twould have lightened the load to have looked on their dear little faces and given them solemn burial ; but if our Father sees a needs-be that we should bear the whole load, let us try, my dear, to take it as it is, and say to all, "It is well." O Effie, 'tis indeed a bitter cup ; but our Saviour drank a bitterer for us, and drank it to the dregs, and He will help us through.' " Few people who had seen that cottar and his blithe wife on the morning of that snow-storm would have recognized them, Lily, at the end of the month from that day — so worn, so thin, so wo- stricken were they. Yet did their faith grow day by day ; and to look on them, sorrowful as they were, it was plain to see that they had a strength and consolation such as neither man nor angel can attain to, save from the teaching of the Holy Com- forter. " It was on the first of February, between five and six weeks after their atllictiou had fallen upon 280 BLIND LILIAS. them, that a thaw and heavy rain set in, and lasted two days ; and then the snow melted away, and on the third morning the sun shone forth in its glory. Then together the parents went forth to renew their search." " And did they find the dear children, grandpa % oh, did they find them alive V " They had not walked ten yards from their cot- tage, Lilias — nay, they had not left their own little garden, when, turning round, the mother's quick eye discovered a red and blue thing lying on the ground. She sprang towards it as it lay under the hedge, and just but a few yards from the end win- dow of the house, and there lying on the bank, wrapt in each other's arms, lay the two dead chil- dren, as calm, as fair, and their sweet faces as un- disturbed, as if sleep and not death had stretched them there. The sun shone full on the little corpses, the birds twittered on the tree above them, and there they lay — Effie, the eldest, with her little cloak pulled from her own neck to be folded over little Lucy, whose golden curls lay glittering on the neck and bosom of her elder sister. Effie had but one shoe on, but it was Lucy's that had been found ; and on looking at the little feet, it was seen that Effie had put hers on her sister's foot, and gone GRANDPA FRASER's STORY. 281 without herself. Tt was a sad sight, darlings ; I don't know how we all bore it." "And so the poor mother had the dear little bodies at last ! Sometimes it is so, grandpa, when people have got to be patient, and to say, ' Thy will be done,' and to be ready to bear all the trial, that God takes away part of it, and turns some other part of it into a pleasure, that so at last one sees so much that is good and pleasant, that one seems almost to like the thing that has been such a trou- ble — not that these poor people could ever have liked to lose little Effie and Lucy." " No, my child," replied Mr. Fraser, " they could not like the trial in itself, and for its own sake. You know, dear, it is said in the Epistle to the Hebrews, ' Now, no affliction for the present seemeth joyous, but grievous.' It is afterwards, when, if in times of trouble we sow to the Spirit, we are reaping the holy harvest of the peaceable fruits of righteousness, that we find the benefit of adversity — sanctified adversity, I should say. In the time of trial, if we are enabled to say, 'Thy will be done,' and accept God's dealings with us, not anxious that 1I«- should take away our trial, hut submitting ourselves to His will, meeklj and humbly — then 1 think we are in the position in 2 I 282 BLIND LILIAS. which God would have us, and that He does not call on us to like the discipline itself." " I am so glad to hear you say so, dearest grand- papa. I have tried so hard to like my blindness, and yet I cannot ; and sometimes I feel as if it was very wrong to feel as I do how much I should like to see them all, and all the beautiful sunshine, and flowers, and butterflies, in the summer, and those fine old dark trunks and branches of the trees, that I used to like so very much, when the green ivy and gray and yellow lichens were on them ! I feel it so much sometimes, grandpapa ; and then I try to make out to myself that it is pleasant to be blind, and to like it because God did it, but I do not succeed, and that makes me sad sometimes." " Do not let it make you sad, darling ; try and pray that you may learn to be quite contented and happy in your blindness, but do not vex yourself by striving after that which was never intended. My child, we are told to be content with such things as we have, not because we have them, but because they are what God has given us. To be ready to have a thing or to give it up, to occupy one posi- tion or another, in either case cheerfully, and be- cause it is God's appointment for us, is the thing we should aim at. Bear the discipline now. and hope GRANDPA FRASER'S STORY. 283 for the benefit hereafter. I suppose few little girls like best to be at school, unless it is those who are wise enough to look for the good that they will gain by learning." " No, grandpapa ; but then you see my trial will last all my life, and when are those 'peaceable fruits ' to come to me ?" " There are two things to be said about that, Lily. In the first place, it does not follow that the benefits will all be reaped in this life. If your affliction is, by God's grace, made an instrument to wean you from the world, and lead you nearer to God, you will even here begin to reap that harvest, but hereafter you will be able with thankfulness to say, ' It is good for me that I have been afflicted, that I might learn Thy statutes.' " " Yes, grandpapa ; I see that. But you said there were two things that might be said; what was the other ?" " Why, the other is — you say that your trial will last all your life. Now this I doubt, at least I doubt whether it will in its full measure. That you will be blind all your life, poor dear, is, I fear, but too true, but I think that the trial and affliction that your blindness is to you will greatly lessen ; you will, as time goes on. lo e of the vivid- 284 BLIND LILIAS. ness of your remembrance of external objects, that now leads you so much to long for sight, and, by degrees, acquire first one means and then another, of improving your position, so that, after a very few years, you will, I trust, be feeling the salutary effects of that discipline which was the means of first leading you to the Saviour for comfort, and then of rousing you to find objects of interest, and modes of usefulness, without that faculty on which most people are dependent ; aud I think that a very happy future remains in store for my precious little girl." " I think so too, grandpapa," said Lily, " and I thank you very much for setting me right. But one more thing. Is it wrong to like all the little pleasures that my blindness brings me, and let them partly make up to me for not seeing things ? I mean, that I think sometimes when dear papa leads me so carefully along, and stays by my side, when if I could see he would not do so ; and when Maud, and Mabel, and the rest always are so very kind, and Emily reads to me so much, and espe- cially when Evra and Mr. Gambier take me out on the pony ; then I think, ' this is all because I am blind,' and when I have been near liking to be blind, as I have tried so much to do, I believe it GRANDPA ERASER'S STORY. 285 has been just at those pleasant times, and for them, and not because of pleasing God, grandpapa." '• My little girl, you are altogether rather in a puzzle," replied grandpapa. "I have explained your mistake about liking to be blind ; and it is not good for you, dear, always to be so much with your inward eyes bent on yourself. Accept all these pleas- ant things, my child, as from the hand of God, and if you can realize that He sends them to you, and be grateful to Him for them, you are pleasing Him as much when you do so as you are when you are ac- cepting your blindness as from Him, and trying to be contented with it, and under the restrictions it lays on you. You know, dear, you arc to accept thank- fully the whole of God's will ; and these loving at- tentions of dear friends, ainl all the kindnesses you receive in consequence of your blindness, are as much parts of His dealings with you as the blind- ness itself. And you must use them aright, my love, and not make idols of those gratifications, nor allow yourself to hold them too fast — they are of the loving-kindness and tender mercy of your Father ; but you must try to be ready to give them up, if called on to do so." " Yes, grandpapa," said Lilias thoughtfully, and 286 BLIND LILIAS. after a pause added, " but I should not like it, and I hope it will please God not to try me." " Be thankful for to-day, darling, and trust God for to-morrow. You will never be without the best blessing whilst you have Hi in to turn to." " But what do you mean, grandpapa, by saying that it is not good for me to be looking so much into my own mind ?" asked Lilias. " I thought it was right that we should examine our own hearts, and see what our motives were, and when we had done right, and when wrong ?" " Certainly, dear, it is right," replied Mr. Fraser ; " but you know, my love, we may give an undue proportion of our time and thought to what is a duty. Now I have sometimes seen Christians so much occupied in watching the movements of their own hearts, as almost to forget to look up to Christ, or to listen to His consolations, and the teachings of His Spirit. They are so busied in scrutinizing every thought and feeling, that self and not Christ is the object of their attention. Search out your heart, love, with prayer before God, and you will find it full of evil, and that your only hope of peace is to look away from that sinful self, and, saying, ' God be merciful to me a sinner,' to look upwards. Keep your eye fixed on the glorious Day-star, my grandpa fraser'b story. 287 child ; be ever looking unto Jesus and trying to be like Him. What would you think, Lilias, of a very sick person, who should send for the doctor, and all the time of each of his visits be so occupied in thinking over her symptoms, and of how bad this was, and how threatening that, as to be unable to hear the pleasant and encouraging words he said to her ; and then again between his visits, to think and think again about all her ailments, so as to be so much absorbed by them as to forget to take the medicines he had prescribed for her V " Why, I should think her very silly, grandpapa," said Lilias. " Then now, dear, let me advise you to look more at Christ, and less at your own state of mind and feeling ; for the constant dwelling on the latter will only produce a morbid and unhealthy condition, and hinder you from rejoicing in God, whereas the for- mer will cause light, and life, and peace in your heart, and lead you to glorify Him, whom you will, so doing, perceive to be exceeding glorious, and pure, and holy, beyond what heart can conceive or speech can utter." All were silent for a time, after grandpapa had ceased, and then Emily said, " But please tell us, 288 BLIND LILIA8. Mr. Fraser, did poor Graham give dear little Effie and Lucy solemn burial V " Yes, dear, it was a solemn day indeed. All the people from the village and from the mountain hamlets round nocked to the kirkyard, to see the sweet little ones laid in their early graves. The snow had, as I told you, all vanished for a season, except in the heavy drifts, where it lies unthawed all the winter through in that cold climate. The ground was, however, laid bare, but on the morn- ing of the day when the children were to be buried, a thin scattering fell, and clothed all the country with white. It fell, too, into the open grave, where- in the little ones were soon to be laid, and lined it with its delicate flakes, and there, in that pure white tomb, more glorious in its beauty than the Parian marble, were the sweet children interred. " They were borne to the yard by little girls of their own age, clad in white, and many, many were the tears that fell to the memory of the little blossoms so early transplanted into the heavenly garden." They had now reached the Grange, and the two children, leaving grandpapa, ran up-stairs to talk over the little snow-perished children and Mr. Fraser's conversation, at their leisure. XXVII. TRIALS AHEAD. (Mf^ITHERTO no trials had assailed Lilias save -*\ her blindness itself and its immediate and necessary results ; and these had of late been so much softened to her by the loving watchfulness of her friends, that the pleasure of being the object of such care, at times almost counterbalanced the pain of her position ; and if she did not, as she said, like to be blind, it certainly very much aided her in bearing her deprivation of sight. Moreover, the trial of blindness was a recognized trial — re- cognized by herself and all around her as one to submit to which, required much faith and patience on her part, and much indulgence on theirs. It was ever present to her mind that she was to accept that trial and bear it cheerfully for Christ's sake, and by His strength she had been wonderfully enabled to do so. But now, poor child, she began to think, because she had in so great a degree conquer* d in this affliction, that she was strong, that she '* had attained." This is just the state of mind in which 25 290 BLIND LILIAS. it often pleases our heavenly Teacher so far to alter our position, that trials of a different character than those which have before assailed us or have been anticipated come on us and take us at unawares. So it was to be with our little blind child. New troubles were preparing for her in secret, and it was not long before they burst on her. Let it not be thought wrong to trust that God will bear us through new troubles that may lie be- fore us, since we have already proved His strength and goodness : " Because Thou hast been my help, therefore under the shadow of Thy wings will I re- joice." To trust God for time to come because He has been faithful in times past, is the right and safe position of God's children. Possessed of this con- fidence, this well-grounded faith, we shall be able to rejoice in present blessings without fear of future sorrows ; to bear present sufferings without dread of the extent to which they may amount hereafter ; and with filial confidence to say, " Thou hast deliv- ered my soul from death ; wilt not thou deliver my feet from falling ?" in the full assurance that He will deliver them. But there is a state of mind different from this, when the soul says, " I am strong." Then is it in a dangerous state ; and this is the position in which TRIALS AHEAD. 291 many a one who has been assailed by a great fight of affliction, and has conquered, is apt to fall. He thinks the light won, and loosens the armor, and so, when the enemy comes on him, is found unprepared. Such was the state into which our little friend was in danger of falling, had not God whose faithfulness never fails, graciously roused her out of her self- complacency. Whilst Mr. Fraser and his little companions had been enjoying their walk on the beach, and the elder girls with Everard had been paying a long visit at the Cottage, Mr. Hope had been receiving a visitor. As he sat alone in his study, he saw Mr. Gambicr crossing the lawn, and opening the window bade him come in there, for all the rest were out, and as ne was confined to the house by a slight cold, he hoped he would come and have a chat with him. With this invitation Mr. Gambier willingly com- plied. He had come, he said, with the express view of having some conversation with Mr. Hope, and rejoiced to find him alone and disengaged ; and seat- ing himself, he entered at once on the subject on which he wished to speak. Alas ! it was a sad one. lie had just heard of the serious illness of his wid- owed father, who was a clergyman holding prefer- ment in a large manufacturing town in the north. 292 BLIND LILIAS. He was an old man, who had been for a long time unable to take much of the duty of the parish, and had been suddenly deprived of the assistance of a coadjutor who had for many years filled the situa- tion of curate in the parish, and almost of a son to his good old rector. This good man was now dead, and Mr. Gambier said that, at his father's advanced age, he could not be satisfied to leave him wholly to the care and society of strangers ; and as there was no child but himself to watch over him, he had accepted the offer of an old friend to live in his house and take charge of his own parish — a step to which he had obtained the bishop's sanction — and was himself about to leave his home for an indefi- nite period, and become his father's curate and com- panion. He added, that as his friend Mr. Scobell, the gentleman who was to take charge of his pres- ent parish, was not young and was in delicate health, it was evident that he must not be burdened with all the duty, but would require the assistance of a curate. " Now, dear sir, do not you think this would be an excellent opening for Everard % He knows the people, and they him; he has worked with me, and knows all my plans ; and as he will be ready to take orders at Easter, I can then give him a title TRIALS AHEAD. :>93 and a moderate stipend, and he can live with you and his sisters until such time as a suitable house can be found for him to take home his bride." "Admirable, indeed, my friend,'' replied Mr. Hope. " We shall not know how to part with you, but I think you are right to go to your father. It seems that you have fully provided for the wants of your parish, and God's blessing will be on you in the execution of your filial duty. But how we shall miss you, Gambier ; and poor little Lilias ! what will she do without her kind friend and coun- sellor ?" " Indeed, indeed," said Mr. Gambier, " that part- ing with my dear little friend will be one of the most painful things in the whole business, — I have felt it such a pleasure to possess so large a portion of the dear child's love and confidence ; and to her I know it will be a great trial to be separated from me. But here, as in all His dealings, our heavenly Father has some good in store for us. We can- not doubt it. ' Goodness and mercy have followed us,' and will continue to do so. This new trial will help to form the Christian character of dear Lily, and perhaps will tend to show in.' something of my own heart, for truly I sometimes fear that my love for the dear little one is almost overweening." 294 BLIND LILIAS. " And how soon shall you leave us, my friend ?" asked Mr. Hope. " As soon as I can possibly make my arrange- ments," replied Mr. Gambier. " I shall at once go to Ribblefond, and see my dear father, and endeavor to set things in some order, and shall then, God willing, return here for a time, see my arrangements for my people completed, and take leave of you all. We shall no doubt meet from time to time, but whilst my father lives my place of residence must be near him. You will find in Mr. Scobell all you could desire in a pastor. He is a Christian of the highest caste, and also a man of much intelligence and a good scholar ; and in his wife, too, I hope you will have a great acquisition, for she is most excel- lent." ' ; Our party will be sadly lessened soon," said Mr. Hope, " for I have agreed, at her grandfather's earnest entreaty, that Mabel shall go with him and her cousins to spend some months in the Highlands and be introduced to her dear mother's family. Maud is so important to her little sister's well-being, that I could not like to part with her, nor, indeed, would she hear of leaving us. It has not as yet been named to Mabel, but I think she will like the change; and though I do not willingly part with TRIALS AHEAD. 295 either of my dear children, I think it is very desir- able that one should be yielded to their grandfather's wishes, and so I shall agree to it, if she is willing to go. At first when Mr. Fraser proposed it, it was in the presence of the girls, and I at once said, No ; but he has earnestly pressed it since, and I have, on thinking the matter over, decided that I cannot re- fuse what he so much desires." " Everard too will be absent," said Mr. Gam- bier ; " will he not ?" ' ; He will," replied Mr. Hope. " We have agreed that for the next few weeks he had better give himself up to preparations for his final exam- ination; so he will go up to Oxford next week, and probably not return until he has received holy orders and is a minister of the Church of England." " And now, my dear sir," said Mr. Gambier, " I must leave you, but will join your party in the evening, if you will allow me, as to-morrow I set out for the North, and we shall not again meet for some weeks." Mr. Hope, of course, cordially pressed his friend to give them as much lime as he could spare, and then, Mr. Gambier requesting that Mr. Hope would communicate his plans to the rest of the party, the two gentlemen separated. 296 BLIND LILIAS. There was some little surprise felt throughout the family circle when, after dinner was over and the party had gathered round the firf , Mr. Hope drew Mabel into her favorite corner of his chair, and asked her how she would like it if he " changed his mind, and gave consent for her to go with her grand- father and cousins, first to Edinburgh, and then, when spring allowed them to travel, to his home in the Highlands for a few weeks ?" " Why, pater, I do really think I should like it very much," replied Mabel ; " I should not like leaving you, dear, darling pater, nor Maud, nor, in- deed, any of you, but I have a sort of longing, too, to go forth on my travels and see things — to see the great people in Edinburgh, and the great moun- tains in the Highlands, and all the other great and little things in the world — and I do think I should like to go — very much indeed, papa !" " But do you really think of allowing her to go, dear uncle ?" exclaimed Robina. " Oh, do let her, and then she can be Helen's bridesmaid with me.'' So many voices were now joined in the entreaty, including Mabel's own, that Mr. Hope was fain to admit that he had decided to let her go. Their journey northward was to begin in about three weeks, and Mabel, half sorrowing over the idea of TRIALS AHEAD. 297 parting with her father and sisters for the first time in her life, and half rejoicing in that of seeing new scenes and new people — a prospect in which the young generally much delight — set about making her preparations for the journey. Poor little Lilias was sorely troubled at the thought of losing " dear merry May," as she called her, and just when dear grandpapa, and Kobi, and Helen, were going away too. It would be " so dull," she said. Little did Lily know all that was in store for her. She comforted herself by think- ing, that there would still be a great many things left that were very pleasant, and amongst the brightest of these, shone the thoughts of Mr. Gam- bler and the pony, and of her own darling Emily, with whom she became day by day more closely intimate. But her dismay, when she heard that Mr. Gam- bier was also going away, was extreme. She wept and bewailed herself until reminded that her friend was coming in the evening, and would be vexed to see her giving way so much. Then she endeavored to cheer up, but her countenance was not sufficient!) under her command to enable her to look cheerful, and poor Mr. Gambier was greeted, when he arrived, with something very like 298 BLIND LILIAS. reproaches and with a very cloudy face. Mr. Hope had not told the little girl anything more than that Mr. Gambier was going away for a short time, as he justly thought it as well to break the matter to her by degrees ; and as he was coming back again for some weeks before his final depart- ure, her father thought that a future time would be soon enough to impart to her the heavier tidings that awaited her. Sitting close by the side of her friend, Lily, however, determined to make the most she could of her present pleasure, and a few whispered words from him, which contained a little of reproof and a good deal of comfort and encouragement, helped to make her again cheerful and able to enjoy the plea- sant evening with all its varied amusements. As Mr. Gambier was not to leave home early, he promised to breakfast with them next day, and then Mr. Hope and Lily were to go with him to the station, where he took the train, so that with that pleasure in view, the friends parted for the night with very tolerable equanimity. The next morning was bright but cold. Mr. Gambier came as he had appointed, and the break- fast passed off very pleasantly. An hour after it was over, the carriage was announced, as he wished TRIALS AHEAD. 299 to stop at Cliff* cottage, and say farewell to Mrs. Evelyn and the Dormers, and was also to go to his own home and take up his portmanteau. The drive was very pleasant, and the conversation lively, and when they got to the cottage, Emily was picked up, and taken with them to the station, with per- -ion to return and spend the day with Lilias ; so that this clay, that Lily had expected to he dreadfully sad and dull, hade fair to be a very pleasant one. The parting with Mr. Gambier once over, Mr. Hope proposed driving the two little girls through the town, and home by another way, and altogether Lily's spirits soon rose, and she and Emily became full of fun and glee. Although they were such fast friends, there were great differences both in the persons and the char- acters of these little girls. Emily was a stout, square-built child, sensible, and very pleasing in countenance, with straight, darkish-brown hair, and a peculiar simplicity of diction and manners. Lily, on the contrary, was tall, thin, and pale, with an intellectual countenance (the expression of which was, however, somewhat dimmed by the absence of light in the eyes), long massive eurls of auburn hair, and a rather romantic and poetical turn of thought, which often showed itself in her language. 300 BLIND LILIAS. Emily was a fine example of common sense. Lily was but too apt to depart from the rules that that rare quality might dictate. Emily seldom said a word on any subjeet until she had thought a little about it, and felt pretty sure she was right ; whilst Lily was apt to break out into vehement expres- sions of praise and admiration, or of blame and dislike, on the impulse of the moment, and before she had well considered whether such expressions were due or not. Thev formed excellent friends, Lily being like a graceful, light little barge on the waters, whilst Emily, acting as ballast, had a power over her eager and clever little ally, which those possessed of steady sense not unfrequently gain over their more brilliant companions. But though thus differing, their love for each other was un- bounded, and Emily's admiration of Lilias was only equalled by Lily's respect for Emily. XXVIII. AMBITION CORRECTED, '• \i SHOULD like to do some great thing, pJI Emily," said Lily, one day, " something worth doing. There is no reason that be- cause I am blind I might not distinguish myself, you know. A great many blind people have done wonderful things. There was Milton — who ever wrote such poetry? and he was quite blind, you know, Emma. And then there was Huber — what a naturalist he was ! and he could not see a bit, and all he learned about the bees was by means of his servant's eyes instead of his own." '• Yes," replied Emily ; " and then, again, there was that blind traveller, Mr. , something with an II — I forget his name, but he went all over Eu- rope, and to Egypt, and I don't know where, and wrote a book. I think if you do anything great, and excel in anything. Lily, it must be in music, for that is your especial talent." " So it is," answered Lilias ;" and I do think I will give up other things, and try whether I cannot 26 302 BLIND LILIAS. become such a musician as that people may come from all parts to hear 'The Blind Musician,' and put it in the papers, and foreigners, perhaps, des- cribe how wonderfully I play on the different instru- ments, and sing. Would it not be nice, Emmy, to hear all the people talking about the ' Little Blind Musician V " And Lilias, flushed with delight at her expected triumphs, became, as she always did on such occasions, quite vehement and excited. " But you know, Lily, you will not be a little girl by the time you have done all that," replied Emily ; " you will be quite grown up. And I am not sure, but I do not think you would quite like to sing and play to every one, just that they might admire and talk about you V " No ; that is true," answered Lily, a little daunt- ed. " It would take years to be a wonder in music, and when I had done I should not at all like to be made a show of : that will not do ; but what can I do, Emily 1 I should like to be first-rate at some- thing. I know if I had eyes I would learn, and learn, until I was as clever as possible ; but now I can do nothing worth doing," added she, in some- what of a repining tone. " Can my Lily really do nothing worth doing % " said Everard, entering the room at the moment. AMBITION CORRECTED. 303 u Why, I thought my little sister had quite settled what she was going to do, and not only so, but had made some progress in her chosen path. What is all this about, Mufti ?" (a pet name of Evra's own special invention). Ci What do you want to do, dear ?" said he, seating himself on an easy chair, and Lily on his knee. Lily, who was half a'shamed of her aspirations, was not cpiite willing to tell what had been the sub- ject of her conversation with Emily, She, however, could not escape; so, with a few blushes, she con- fided to Evra her earnest desire for distinction, ad- ding, ; ' Can you tell me anything that I might learn to do very well, Evra ? You know it is right to use the talents that God has given us, and papa says that if God has seen fit to take away one power, we should try to do the more with those powers that remain.'" " Very true, Muf." replied her brother ; " but tell me, little one, why you are so anxious to excel in some one thing V " Oh, it would be pleasant to be famous, Evra," replied Lily. " Oh ho ! you are ambitious, Missy ! thai is it," said Evra, Laughing. "I will tell you something you maj do, dearest," 804 BLIND LILIAS. continued he, gravely and tenderly, after a short pause ; " I have read of a little child who has been spoken of and set forth as an example for centuries past. I do not know the name of the child, nor its age ; I do not even know whether it was a boy or girl ; but it has become very famous, and I should like you to be like it. Who can tell me who or what that child was 1 " added he, turning first to Emily and then to Lily with an inquiring look. " I 'm sure I cannot think, Evra," said Lily ; " you don't know whether it was a boy or girl, or how old it was, or anything about it, and yet you say that it has been famous for centuries. I know now," added she, after a short time of consideration ; " it was that Spartan child who let the fox he had stolen bite and eat him, and would not make a sound ; was it, Ev ?" " That was a boy, Lily," said Emily, " and your brother says he does not know whether the one he speaks of was a boy or a girl. No, /think Mr. Everard means something different from that" continued she blushing, with the timid feeling that perhaps she was wrong. " What do you think, Emmy 1 don't be afraid, dear ; speak out, and if you are wrong, I will tell you," replied Everard. AMBITION CORRECTED. 305 " Well, then," replied Emily, " I fancied, but perhaps it was not right, that you meant that little child that Jesus took, and set him in the midst, and told those who wanted to be great, to be like that child." " And you were right, my dear. I did mean that child, and I should like you both to be such as it was. Be foremost in humility, in obedience, in zeal for God's glory, above all, in love, and you will have such distinction as neither man nor an- gel can take from you, the distinction of God's approval." " Yes, dear Evra," said Lily ; " that would be best, and I should be glad enough to have that best honor. But I might have that, and yet excel in some point of learning, or some accomplishment, too ; might I not 1 You know what I mean. I should like so much to be able to do something clever, something that you might all be proud of me, and that people would praise and admire me for; you know it would not be right for them to :^e and admire mc for humility, or goodness, and I should not like it either — I mean not to be noticed and talked about for such things, because the glory and credit of it all ought to be given to God, and not to me ! " 26* yOO BLIND LILIAS. " True, dear," answered Everard ; " but tell me, if God gives to any one great abilities, or wonder- ful musical powers, or anything else beyond what is common, is not that person called on to give the honor and glory of them to Him ? have you a right to cultivate and use those gifts for the purpose of making your family proud of you, and of being ad- mired, and sought after, and praised for them 1 Surely, my little sister, the praise belongs to Him who gave the powers, and not to him who possesses them 1 And do not you think also, that the eager seeking for distinction, which seems at present to possess you, is not unlikely to hinder you from at- taining to that better greatness of which we have been speaking ?" " Yes, Evra," said Lily, after a little thought. " I suppose it might be more likely to make me proud than humble, if I were to become so much noticed and praised. And so then, perhaps, I had better not try to get on so fast with things." " My dear child, get on as fast as ever you can ; make the very best of the abilities and powers that God has given you. Try to excel to the utmost, in anything you like, so that you do not devote time to one thing that ought to be given to another ; only do not do it that you may obtain praise of AMBITION CORRECTED. 307 men, or become exalted in their sight, but do it ' to the glory of God.' Make the best of every talent, and present the proceeds to God, saying, ' We are unprofitable servants ; we have done that which was our duty to do.' " " Well, Everard," replied Lilias, throwing her arms round his neck, and giving him a loving kiss, " I believe you are right, and I will try to grow better, and more humble, and go on learning to agree with God, and be contented to be just what He pleases, and use His gifts to His glory, and not to my own." " And now, that this long talk is ended," said Everard, " who will like to go with me, and sec the sliding on the common 1 The pond is all covered with thick ice. and I shall take my skates, and will give you each a slide in a chair on runners." " Oh, what fun !" shouted the little girls ; " do wait for us, we will not be a minute dressing," and off thev started, and soon returned, equipped for a winter's walk ; and before many minutes had elapsed, Everard, with his two little companions, together witli Helen and Robina Fraser, Maud and Mabel, were before the windows of the Dormers' OOttage, summoning the other girls to come out, and join them in their excursion, and then all the party proceeded together to the scene of action. 308 BLIND LILIAS. It was a brilliant morning. The sun shone bright and clear, and the objects which it lit up were most lovely. Some hours of drizzling rain and fog, fall- ing through a very still atmosphere, had been suc- ceeded by a sharp and sudden frost, which had pre- vailed for twenty-four hours with unbroken force. The result of this was, that every stem and branch, and even the most minute things on every tree and shrub, were coated with ice and tipped with glitter- ing icicles, and that the grass and herbage were com- pletely crusted over with a covering of pure white hoar-frost, the particles of frozen water ramifying in every direction, and each glittering with diamond- like lustre as it caught the sunlight on its polished surface. The brook was ice-bound, but at a lower level than that at which it had flowed the day be- fore the frost interrupted its progress, and in conse- quence the roots of trees and shrubs which grew on the banks were uncovered, and stood out now all one mass of frostwork on both sides the brook — "With forms so various that no powers of art, The pencil or the pen, can trace the scene ! Here glittering turrets rise upheaving high (Fantastic misarrangement) ; on the roof Large growth of what may seem the sparkling trees . And shrubs of Fairy-land. The crystal drops, That trickle down the branches, fast congeal'd, Shoot into pillars of pellucid length, And prop the pile they but adorned before." AMBITION CORRECTED. 309 There, too, rose groups of the beautiful male fern, like icy crowns ; and tufts of the lovely hart's- tongue — the brilliant green of its fronds but half concealed by the white frosting which partially coated them — hung heavy with their newly acquired clothing, quite to the surface of the spell-bound stream, looking like a crystal fairy forest, so white and glittering and delicate. All these fair visions were unseen by poor Lily, but she could hear the sweet voices which filled the air, the crisp sounds of (he ice as it crackled beneath their feet, and the song of the robin, as, " Content With slender notes, and more than half suppress'd, Pleased with his solitude, and Hitting light From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes From many a twig the pendent drops of ice, That tiuklo in tho withorcd leaves below." All this Lilias could hear and enjoy ; and also the merry voices of boys and girls, who, released from school by the Christmas holidays, were hastening to share the fun and pleasure which the frozen pond was sure to afford them. It was a gay and pretty scene that awaited our party when they arrived there. A fine broad piece of water, now converted into ice, so solid as to be quit.' - i£e ground for the 310 * BLIND LILIAS. many sliders and skaters who already occupied it, lay before them, surrounded by an open common, now well peopled with human beings, of all classes and ages, from Coombhurst and the neighboring villages, all in high spirits and prepared for enjoy- ment. There were childifen in their gay plaids and winter coats of many colors, ladies in their scarlet and blue and other gay-tinted cloaks and shawls, and roughly-clad meu and boys, together with little ones from the village schools — some shouting and running, others walking in merry groups chatting together, but all in holiday spirits and glee. A couple of hours were soon passed in the pleas- ant amusements of sliding and skating, and the little girls exceedingly enjoyed the new amusement of being pushed about in chairs on the ice by their brothers ; for Vernon and Edward, who were, of course, there, were both able to skate, and Vernon was allowed to share in pushing them, although Edward was not considered quite strong enough to manage more than his own movements. It was a day of great excitement and delight to the little girls, and they went home in full anticipa- tion of another sliding-party on the next day. Little was talked of in the evening but the ex- ploits of the skaters and the fun of the sort of AMBITION CORRECTED. 311 sleigh travelling that the chairs had afforded ; and many of the customs of different countries connec- ted with sleighing, and ice and snow travelling, were referred to, and passages from different authors were read, and places looked out on the map ; so that quite a new impulse seemed to have been commu- nicated to the whole party, and all separated for the night in eager anticipation of the next day's pleas- ures. But snow and ice are rare visitors at Torquay and in its neighborhood, and when they do come it seems that they find something that does not suit them in that district, for rarely do they extend the pleasures which their unfrequent visits afford for a longer period than a day or two. It was so in this instance. A thaw occurred in the night, accom- panied by soft rain, and before morning the brook ran freely on its course, the ducks found their usual passage through the waters of the pond, unimpeded by ice ; and the fairy columns and capitals which had sprung up so suddenly amongst the water- courses, ami suspended themselves from the eaves of the hi had all melted awa\ . " And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Left not a rack behind." XXIX. ILL TEMPER OVERCOME* LAS ! that we should have to recount so sor- rowful a fact ; with the melting of the ice so melted Lily's temper. She woke the next morning with her mind full of anticipated pleasure ; and when nurse came to call her little one, Lily began to dilate on the expected enjoyment that lay before her, when, to her infinite dismay, she learned that all hope of the kind must be laid aside, for that although it did not then rain, yet the frost was all quite gone, and sliding was an impossibility. Much annoyed and out of humor, she descended to the breakfast-room ; but she had sufficient com- mand over herself not to allow anything that might indicate the state of her mind to appear. The meal over, she proceeded to the study, and after the usual family Scripture-reading was over, she was left alone with directions to employ herself in pre- paring some French sentences in her mind, in readi- ness to repeat them to her sister when she should be ready to hear her — an employment which ILL TEMPER OVERCOME. 313 always formed a part of her morning lessons — when the door opened, and, instead of Maud, Emily and Blanche Dormer bounded into the room, wild with glee; and throwing her arms round Lily, and giving her a violent embrace and kiss, Emily exclaimed, " Joy, Lily, joy ! wish us joy, for we are going to have such a treat. Guess, Lily ; what is it?" " I'm sure I have not an idea, Em," replied Lilias. "What can it be? what arc we going to do?" •• Oh, not you — only Blanche and 1. 1 wish it were you too, dear Lily ; that is the only draw- back to our pleasure, or nearly the only one. My aunt has decided to let us go to Scotland, to stay with Aunt Montrose, and Janet, and our other cousins that we so much wish to see. We are to go under Mr. Eraser's care, and travel with Mabel and Robina and Helen, and to stay there three or E>ur months. Aunt Stirling wanted Rosalie too; but Aunt Evelyn said she could not spare her, for thai she must go on with her studies, but that we little ones might go. Won't it be nice, Lil?" •• Oh, very, I dare say,'' replied Lily, whose face, whilst Emi!\ was speaking, had assumed its old proud, impassive expression. 27 314 BLIND LILIAS. "I wish you were going too, dearest Lily," said poor Emily, who felt that in her first eagerness she had too much lost sight of Lilias's feelings and of her own real sorrow at being separated from hei friend. " I wish it so much, but you know that cannot be ; but I shall be so sorry to leave you, poor, dear darling ;" and the affectionate child put her arm round the waist of her little friend, and was going to kiss her, when Lilias coldly withdrew from her, and replied in a disagreeable, rude tone — " Yes, no doubt ; it looks like it." " But indeed I am, Lily — we both are, are we not, Blanche 1 ? but, you know, of course we like all the pleasure of such a long journey, and to see the new places, and all our dear cousins and relations, and to be visiting so much," said Emily, with tears in her eyes. " Now, don't be vexed, Lilias. You know I love no one so well as I do you ; and I shall write to you very often, and when we come back we shall be so happy together again." " Everybody will go away, I suppose, and leave me to do as well as I can by myself," said Lilias, angrily. " I should not have been so glail to go away from you, Emily ; but people are different from each other, and novelty pleases some better than anything." ILL TEMPER OVERCOME. 315 Emily began to cry, and Lilias to think. A silence of a few moments ensued, and then Blanche said, '• Don't mind her, Emmy — she's a cross, naughty girl to speak so to you. You are a bet- ter girl than she is, and she does not deserve to be your friend. Don't cry, dear — never mind her." "But I do mind, Blanche," said Emily, sobbing — " I do mind. I love Lily better than all the novelty in the world, and 1 thought she knew that I did." " And I do know it, dear," said Lilias, " and I ought not to have spoken so. I am very sorry, Emily, and it was very naughty to say such things. Blanche is quite right ; I do not deserve to have you for my friend. Do forgive me. I was vexed and cross at seeing that you seemed to like to go ; but I am sorry that I said what I did." Emily was not the sort of child to resist poor Lily's penitent entreaties even for a moment, and the two little girls cemented their union by an affectionate embrace ; and then they sat down toge- ther to talk over the projected plan on the most amicable terms possible. But though Lilias was thus sorry for her failure of temper, and acknowledged it in a manner quite different from what she would have done in former 316 BLIND LILIAS. years, she was far from being in a right state of feeling about the prospect of losing Emily. It never once occurred to her that this minor trial was a part of God's dealings with her — that the deprivation of Emily's society was a thing to be accepted as from God, quite as much as her blind- ness or any heavier trial; and so, although no longer cross to Emily, she allowed herself to re- peat over and over again how provoking it was that she should be going — that it would be so dull, and she should be so wretched, and many other foolish and rebellious speeches, which only served to place her more and more at a distance from that quiet and submissive spirit which she had been so carefully cultivating, and of which she had latterly attained so much. » XXX. SEPARATION, [i )UT although Lilias' good resolution often failed >^4J in the performance, and her better nature slumbered and slept, she was no longer " dead in trespasses and sins." As surely as she yielded to her impetuous and proud temper, and gave way to repining and discontent, so surely did a time of re- gret and repentance invariably follow ; and, as will ever be the case with those who are truly and abidingly under the influence of the sanctifying Spirit of God, such seasons of failure and regret were followed by times of more faithfulness ; and from each fall, she ro^e to fresh and stronger efforts to run with patience the race that was set before her; and thus, though we are obliged to confess that our little friend was still fir from what she should be, yet all who witnessed her daily walk and eon- versation could see thai a steady progress in good things marked her onward course. It was so in the presenl instance. Night came, and Lilias sat down by her bedside, to think over 27* 318 BLIND LILIA8. the events of the clay, before she knelt to seek God's pardon for the sins into which, during its course, she had fallen, and to pray for strength and grace to do better. She now remembered her conduct to Emily in the morning with contrition, and also her many repining thoughts and words, and became conscious how little her behavior had been in ac- cordance with her professed desire to accept the whole will of God — to let Him direct her path, and proportion her pains and pleasures — how little it had been likely to improve her young companions, and lead them to honor God. With these thoughts in her mind, Lily knelt and prayed earnestly, and with perhaps more humility than of late, for she felt her weakness, and longed for better strength ; and having done so, she lay down to rest, resolved that in the morning she would tell both Emily and Blanche how sorry she was, and how conscious of having done wrong, and with a settled determination to be more watchful for the future. "Of course," thought, she, "some of the things that are to happen to me will be painful and dis- agreeable, and sometimes it will be in one way and sometimes in another that I shall be tried. It is of no use to say that I like God to do all the things in His own way, and to let me have ' fellowship' with SEPARATION. 319 Him, and work with Him, and then to grumble and fret if the way He fixes on is one I dislike ! I must take it all — little trials and i^reat ones, pleasant and disagreeable — and be as cheerful as the angels would be. They would not grumble. They are minister- ing spirits sent to do His will, and they do exactly what God bids them, and are always praising Him, and so must I." And so, meditating on the angels and their employments, her thoughts ran on to con- sidering what were the occupations and delights of the saints in heaven, until she slept a happy peace- ful sleep, full of sweet dreams and thoughts of the holy and heavenly places, with their myriads of rejoicing inhabitants ; and fancied herself there be- fore the .throne, her closed-up eyes opened to be- hold "Him who sitteth thereon," her voice joined with the angelic choir and their heaven-tuned harps, and Emily, and Blanche, and the sweet little sing- ers at Abbotsleigh, all gathered round. And so she slept until the morning sounds waken- ed her to life and action, and she sprang from her bed full of happy thoughts, feeling quite willing to part with Mabel, and with Emily, and with any others, if God called them. In this peaceful frame of mind, Lilias made her appearance at the breakfast-table, and throughout 320 BLIND LILIAS. the day all were struck by her sweet and pleasant manner. The proposed admissions of her having been in fault were frankly made to Emily and Blanche, who came early to spend the day ; and instead of com- plaining as she had done the day before, she entered affectionately and cheerfully into their anticipations of pleasure, asked a hundred questions about the family they were going to visit, and the way they were to go, and begged them to write as often as they could. "But not to worry yourself, Emmy." added she, " because when you are from home, per- haps you will not have much time, and though I shall long for your letters, and get papa or Maud to write fur me very often, I shall never think, dear, that it is because you do not love me, or wish to write, if your letters are long in coming, for I know you do love me ! and you will talk to Janet about me, won't you ? If she should come back with you, what friends we shall all be, and how nice it will be 1 " The little girls had an immense deal to settle to- gether, on such important matters as children usual- ly consult much over — wdiat dolls Blanche should take, and what clothing the said dolls would re- quire ; whether the blue-eyed Alice, or the brown- SEPARATION. 321 haired Helen should go, and whether the baby should go or stay. Then Emily wished to take some of Lilias's books for her cousins to read, and Lily begged to be allowed to have Fata to stay with her during their absence. But there were more important points than these to discuss, for all the children had an interest amongst the poor and in the village school, and Em- ily had been intrusted with a class; and now she thought that Lilias. notwithstanding her blindness, might go on teaching the children until her own re- turn, so that her pupils might be kept together. This Lilias thought very possible, as she knew a great part of the Psalms and Gospels by heart, and so could hear the little ones read, and correct them when wrong, and could, of course, give them a little simple instruction, such as the very young children of whom Emily had charge required ; and as to their hymns, or any lessons that she did not know, she could "get Maud or Meta just to hear that." This idea was most delightful to Lilias, and she be- gan to feel that there were yet pleasures in store for her, and to recognize the truth, that when God takes one thing away he usually mother in compen- sation; and that the spirit to accept the new gift, 322 BLIND LILIAB. instead of that of repining for the old, is one of the best springs of happiness that we can have. February opened with clear bright weather. There lay a little snow on the ground, just a mere sprinkling, through which the green grass peeped up to the light, and over which the delicate snow- drops hung their pure white blossoms in abundant clusters, rivalling the snow itself in whiteness. The catkins, pendent on the hazel, scattered their golden powder on the air, as the soft breeze shook them, and the little lambs, now numerous in the pastures, ran bleating about in merry groups, rejoicing in the clear sunshine. Such was the scene without ; within it was less cheerful. The beloved grand- father, whose vigorous intellect had animated, whilst his loving spirit had cheered and won every mem- ber of the household at the Grange, was gone ; Mabel, the merry, guileless, blithe Mabel, was gone ; Robina and Helen, with their fine pure Scotch accent, and their bonny faces and lively spirits, were gone ; and, worst of all to Lilias, her own clear Emily and Blanche were gone — Emily, the faithful and trusty friend, the wise little counsellor, the sweet-tempered, unselfish Emily, was gone for months ; and the little blind Lilias could no longer have the guidance of that clear little hand, which for SEPARATION. 323 such a long time past, had always been ready to lead her through her noonday darkness; nor the help of that kind soft voice to read to her, and to tell her all those watchful observing eyes noted, as they walked or played together ! Only the day be- fore had the whole party started for their northern journey, and those whom they had left behind were now in their first stage of that heaviness of spirit which oppresses those who have parted with dearest friends, yet have not the excitement of travelling and change to distract their attention. Lilias was sad, but she had now advanced so far in her spiritual course, that though perhaps she talked less of her desire to consent to the will of God in all things, and yield herself up to Him to do all in His own way, yet she was not less desirous to be enabled to do so ; and the present trial found her in an humble and submissive state of mind. She had known that the trouble was approaching ; at the first intimation of it she had, as we have seen, given way to temper, and shown an insubordi- nate spirit ; but happily she had soon detected this, and had steadily set herself to conquer self, and submit cheerfully to the deprivations which must necessarily follow on the loss of so many beloved friends; and, therefore, although it was a great 324 BLIND LILIAS. struggle to the little girl, and she was in heart sad, she rose to meet the emergency with cheerfulness, and addressed herself with alacrity to doing all that lay in her power to brighten the spirits of her father and Maud. " Papa," said she, as soon as the breakfast things were cleared, " you know it won't do for us to sit down and be dull. Won't you and Maud take me for a walk ? It is sweet sunshine ; I can feel that. I'll tell you what I should like, papa, shall I V " Do, my pet," replied her father ; " I feel as if I should like to sit down, and moan over the loss of all our dear ones ! but, as you say, Muf, that will not do. Come, what shall we do 1 tell us your plan, Lil, and then Maud shall say what she thinks uf it." " Well then, papa ; I think we might set out di- rectly, go all round by the brook, and I suspect we shall find snowdrops — bulbous violets, old Gerarde calls them, though I never can tell why, for they are not a bit like violets. Well, there we shall find them, and you can show me where, and I can pick them myself; and then we will go to Abbot s- leigh, and call on old Mrs. Sutor, and take her the snowdrops, because I promised I would take her the first I picked ; and then we can go to Mr. Gambier'* SEPARATION. 325 lodgings, and ask when he is coming back. That will be a comfort, father dear, when we get him back, won't it ?" "I shall rejoice to see him, my love," replied her father; ''there are few such as he is." He spoke with a sigh, which Lily — whose ear now so much supplied the place of sight — instantly noticed. She had not, as we have already said, been told of Mr. Gambier's proposed departure, nor, indeed, had any except Everard, whom it so nearly concerned ; so that she was naturally building her hopes of a happy and pleasant summer with his frequent com- panionship, and many a delightful walk and ride of old. " Why do you sigh, papa ?" asked she ; " you have not heard anything about him, have you ? he is not ill 1" " No, my love," answered Mr. Hope ; " not that I have heard of. We will follow your plan, my child, if Maud likes." Maud gave a willing assent, and the little party prepared for their walk. XXXI. MEITT&L AND SPIRITUAL YISIOXT, r?i ND now, papa," asked Lily, as they walked s~#\ across the meadows towards the brook, " do not you think I might begin to have the lit- tle twins, as you promised me, at Christinas 1 I will do as you bid me, and take great care not to say too much of praise, and make them vain. I should like to teach them only sacred music, and let them learn psalms and hymns, the words I mean, and say them to me, and then I can explain their meaning a little, because you know, of course, as I am older, and have been better taught than they have, I know more than they do ; and so, if by first repeating the words, and talking and think- ing over the meaning and the doctrine they teach, we can get to feel them, and think about God whilst we are singing, I think we shall not be so much taken up with ourselves. Don't you think so, Maud ?" " Yes, darling," replied Maud, " I think your plan is a very good one. But I should like to help MENTAL AND SPIRITUAL VISION. 927 you ; -would it lessen your pleasure, or make you feel shy and uncomfortable if I were to be present, when I can spare time 1 1 think, perhaps, I should be of some help to you all." '■ Oh, thank you, Maud," said Lily, kissing her sister's hand, as was her wont to do when much phased. " You make me feel uncomfortable, or lessen my pleasure ! I should think not, indeed ; and now, papa, with Maudie to help, I- am sure you will not be afraid to trust me, and we might call to-. lay, and ask Mrs. Burton about letting them come." "Then I will tell you how it shall he, my child," said Mr. Hope. " I confess Maud's offer makes me better pleased with the plan, for you are so thoughtless, and so likely to overpraise the poor little, things (whose singing certainly is wonderful), that I was half afraid that more harm than good would be done. As there is no school on Satur- days, we will ask their mother to spare them for the whole day, and let them come at twelve o'clock, have their dinner with the servants, and their les- son afterwards, and get home before dusk ; we will try it once first, before we promise anything, but if they really prove to be nice, well-behaved chil- dren, and yon like it, 1 will allow them to do so 328 BLIND LIMAS. every week through the summer. You have no objection, dear ?" asked he of Maud. " Not the least, dear father," replied Maud. " I think in many ways it will be good both for Lily and the little ones, and I shall gladly share in their teaching." " Oh, how very kind, dearest of kind papas, and best of all kind sisters," said Lily, jumping about, and making such demonstrations of glee, as made her father and sister laugh at her. Presently she began to bleat like the lambs, and invited Maud to a run after them, and then returning to her father, who was watching her with affectionate pity, she said, "Do you remember that night when you read about the sheep, papa, till I cried ?" " Perfectly, my love," replied Mr. Hope. " I never thought then, papa, that I should have been able to like to hear their pretty bleating, and to run and enjoy the feeling of the air, and sun- shine, and the sounds of things that I could not see. I thought I should never care for anything again then, and now it is all so pleasant and so bright !" " ' None are so deaf as those who won't hear,' is an old saying, darling, and we may also say with truth, 'None are so blind as those who won't MENTAL AND SPIRITUAL VISION. 32{> see.' You were, at the time of which you speak, discontented and rebellious, resolved that as God had taken away the power of sight from your out- ward eyes, you would closely shut up your inward and mental vision — that the eyes of your mind should see nothing that was lovely or bright, and all should remain as dead in the spirit as it was in the eyes. It was a sad time, dear, to you and to us all. Those who ' refuse to be comforted.' and reso- lutely cherish misery, as you did, are little aware of the grief such a course produces in the hearts of those whom they best love, as well as of the ex- ceeding provocation it is to God, thus to rebel when His fatherly chastisement visits us." " You were all very kind, dearest papa," said Lilias. •' I am sure I must have tried you all very much ; but 1 did not feel that I was doing so at the time." "Self, my child, was uppermost; that is at the root of all inconsolable grief. I thank God, my Lilias, that you have learned to fight against this tyrant, self. I always feel sure, when I see an one yielding to tin- unchecked influence of grief, however weighty may be the cause, that other chastisements will follow, if the mourner be a child of God. It is self showing its pre-eminence in the 28* 330 BLIND LILIAS. heart, by making its own sorrows the sole object of its contemplation, to the exclusion of the suffer- ings which that self-concentration may inflict on others. Those who do so, seem to forget that friends around in many cases suffer as severely as themselves, from the same stroke that is bowing them to the earth, and they do not scruple to add to that which has broken down their own mind, the additional weight of their own manifest depres- sion." " ' God loveth a cheerful giver,' and this applies equally, whether the offering we make to Him is in the form of money, of worldly goods, or of any of those dearer things which we may be called on to give up, as health or friends. Does it not, papa V asked Maud. " I think so, my dear," replied Mr. Hope ; " or any of the precious faculties, with which God has graciously endowed us ; as you, my Lilias, of your sight." " I am sorry, papa, very sorry," said Lilias. " I have often thought about how wrong I was ; but, papa, ' then I was blind — now I see !' " said Lilias, the last words after a long pause, and with much solemn feeling ; and added again, after a moment, "I see, but not very clearly yet, papa ; it is just as MENTAL AND SPIRITUAL VISION. 'J3 1 if a little corner of one of my eyes were opened, and I could see one little spot, and in that little spot was your dear kind hand, held out for me to take hold of. I can just see God's hand, and one little step before me sometimes, and sometimes something slips in between me and my little spot of light, and shuts out the sight of His hand and the right way, and then I wander from it." 41 ' Mine eyes are ever unto the Lord,' says David ; and then we are told to ' run with patience the race that is set before us. looking unto Jesus.' If you see Him, you see enough dear. But here we are at the brook."' "And there are the snowdrops," exclaimed Maud ; "' run Lily,'" said she, taking her by the hand, and setting oft* at full speed towards some very fine roots, that sprung up among the low bushes that fringed the brook. " Oh, I feel them," said Lilias, grasping her littlo hand full of the tine long stems, with the leaves all together. ''What beauties, and how sweet they are!" and in a few minutes, all three were as busy gathering the lovely spring flowers, as if they were all children together. When they had collected a sufficient quantity, 332 BLIND LILIA8. they all proceeded with renewed spirits towards the village, chatting pleasantly as they went, of the be- loved travellers, and of home plans, amongst which the one of the little Burtons' visit was not forgot- ten. XXXII. MR. G&MBIER'S RETURN- 'HEIR fust call at Coombhurst was at a farm called Abbotsleigh, on their friend Mrs. Sutor, a nice white-haired old lady, the widow of a respectable farmer. She was aged and confined to her chair by rheumatic gout, but she was one of the most cheerful of beings, and always delighted in having flowers, and children, and birds, and kittens, and anything else that spoke of life and happiness, around her. Lily was a prime favorite with her, and the " little one," as Mrs. Sutor called her, found great delight in being always the first to take the young flowers of each season to her old friend. It was a sort of understood thing that Lilias was to bring the flowers, and, at the same time, to partake of a glass of the old lady's cowslip wine ; and it not unfrequently happened, that a piece of nice home-baked cake was ready to be produced, though sometimes some brown bread and butter, or bread and cream, supplied its place. On this occasion the whole party were iv«:ale