At Elizabeth's door they stopped to rest, and alighting Tasted the currant wine, and the bread of rye, and the honey Brought from the hives, that stood by the sunny wall of the garden;Then remounted their horses, refreshed, and continued their journey, And Elizabeth with them, and Joseph, and Hannah the housemaid.
But, as they started, Elizabeth lingered a little, and leaning Over her horse's neck, in a whisper said to John Estaugh "Tarry awhile behind, for I have something to tell thee, Not to be spoken lightly, nor in the presence of others;Them it concerneth not, only thee and me it concerneth."And they rode slowly along through the woods, conversing together.
It was a pleasure to breathe the fragrant air of the forest;It was a pleasure to live on that bright and happy May morning!
Then Elizabeth said, though still with a certain reluctance, As if impelled to reveal a secret she fain would have guarded:
"I will no longer conceal what is laid upon me to tell thee;I have received from the Lord a charge to love thee, John Estaugh."And John Estaugh made answer, surprised by the words she had spoken, "Pleasant to me are thy converse, thy ways, thy meekness of spirit;Pleasant thy frankness of speech, and thy soul's immaculate whiteness, Love without dissimulation, a holy and inward adorning.
But I have yet no light to lead me, no voice to direct me.
When the Lord's work is done, and the toil and the labor completed He hath appointed to me, I will gather into the stillness Of my own heart awhile, and listen and wait for his guidance."Then Elizabeth said, not troubled nor wounded in spirit, "So is it best, John Estaugh.We will not speak of it further.
It hath been laid upon me to tell thee this, for to-morrow Thou art going away, across the sea, and I know not When I shall see thee more; but if the Lord hath decreed it, Thou wilt return again to seek me here and to find me."And they rode onward in silence, and entered the town with the others.
IV
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
Now went on as of old the quiet life of the homestead.
Patient and unrepining Elizabeth labored, in all things Mindful not of herself, but bearing the burdens of others, Always thoughtful and kind and untroubled; and Hannah the housemaid Diligent early and late, and rosy with washing and scouring, Still as of old disparaged the eminent merits of Joseph, And was at times reproved for her light and frothy behavior, For her shy looks, and her careless words, and her evil surmisings, Being pressed down somewhat like a cart with sheaves overladen, As she would sometimes say to Joseph, quoting the Scriptures.
Meanwhile John Estaugh departed across the sea, and departing Carried hid in his heart a secret sacred and precious, Filling its chambers with fragrance, and seeming to him in its sweetness Mary's ointment of spikenard, that filled all the house with its odor.
O lost days of delight, that are wasted in doubting and waiting!
O lost hours and days in which we might have been happy!
But the light shone at last, and guided his wavering footsteps, And at last came the voice, imperative, questionless, certain.
Then John Estaugh came back o'er the sea for the gift that was offered, Better than houses and lands, the gift of a woman's affection.
And on the First-Day that followed, he rose in the Silent Assembly, Holding in his strong hand a hand that trembled a little, Promising to be kind and true and faithful in all things.
Such were the marriage-rites of John and Elizabeth Estaugh.
And not otherwise Joseph, the honest, the diligent servant, Sped in his bashful wooing with homely Hannah the housemaid;For when he asked her the question, she answered, "Nay"; and then added "But thee may make believe, and see what will come of it, Joseph."INTERLUDE
"A pleasant and a winsome tale,"
The Student said, "though somewhat pale And quiet in its coloring, As if it caught its tone and air From the gray suits that Quakers wear;Yet worthy of some German bard, Hebel, or Voss, or Eberhard, Who love of humble themes to sing, In humble verse; but no more true Than was the tale I told to you."The Theologian made reply, And with some warmth, "That I deny;'T is no invention of my own, But something well and widely known To readers of a riper age, Writ by the skilful hand that wrote The Indian tale of Hobomok, And Philothea's classic page.
I found it like a waif afloat Or dulse uprooted from its rock, On the swift tides that ebb and flow In daily papers, and at flood Bear freighted vessels to and fro, But later, when the ebb is low, Leave a long waste of sand and mud.""It matters little," quoth the Jew;
"The cloak of truth is lined with lies, Sayeth some proverb old and wise;And Love is master of all arts, And puts it into human hearts The strangest things to say and do."And here the controversy closed Abruptly, ere 't was well begun;For the Sicilian interposed With, "Lordlings, listen, every one That listen may, unto a tale That 's merrier than the nightingale;A tale that cannot boast, forsooth, A single rag or shred of truth;That does not leave the mind in doubt As to the with it or without;A naked falsehood and absurd As mortal ever told or heard.
Therefore I tell it; or, maybe, Simply because it pleases me."THE SICILIAN'S TALE
THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE
Once on a time, some centuries ago, In the hot sunshine two Franciscan friars Wended their weary way with footsteps slow Back to their convent, whose white walls and spires Gleamed on the hillside like a patch of snow;Covered with dust they were, and torn by briers, And bore like sumpter-mules upon their backs The badge of poverty, their beggar's sacks.
