Stranica 183 [183]
135
was in high spirits, and however fatigued
or thoughtful Harry Maylie might have
been at first, he was not proof against the
worthy gentleman’s humour, which
displayed itself in a great variety of sal¬
lies and professional recollections, and an
abundance of small jokes, which struck
ever heard, and caused him to laugh pro¬
portionately, to the evident satisfaction of
the doctor, who laughed immoderately at
himself, and made Harry laugh almost as
heartily by the very force of sympathy.
So they were as pleasant a party as, un¬
der the circumstances, they could well
have been, and it was late before they re¬
tired, with hight and thankful hearts, to
take that rest of which, after the doubt
and suspense they had recently under¬
gone, they stood so much in need.
Oliver rose next morning in better
heart, and went about his usual early oc¬
cupatiens with more hope and pleasure
than he had known for many days. The
birds were once more hung out to sing in
air jlaces, and the sweetest wild
s that could be found were once
aithered to gladden Rose with their
et and fragrance. The melancholy
which had seemed to the sad eyes of the
anxious boy to hang for days past over
every object, beautiful as they all were,
was dispelled as though by magic. The
dew seemed to sparkle more brightly on
the green leaves, the air to rustle among
"them with a sweeter music, and the sky
ner old |
is the influence which the condition of our
own thoughts exercises even over the ap¬
arance of external objects. Men who
look on nature and their fellow men, and
ery that all is dark and gloomy, are in the
right; but the sombre colours are reflected
from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts,
The real hues are delicate, and require a
clearer vision.
It is worthy of remark, and Oliver did
not fail to note at the time, that his morn¬
ing expeditions were no longer made
alone. Harry Maylie, after the very first
morning when he met Oliver coming
laden home, was seized with such a pas¬
sion for flowers, and displayed such a taste
in their arrangement, as left his young
companion far behind. If Oliver were be¬
hindhand in these respects, however, he
knew where the best were to be found,
and morning after morning they scoured
the country together, and brought home
the fairest that blossomed. The window
of the young lady’s chamber was opened
now, for she loved to feel the rich sum¬
mer air stream in and revive her with its
freshness; but there always stood in wa¬
ter, just inside the lattice, one particular
little bunch which was made up with
oreat care every morning. Oliver could
not help noticing that the withered flow¬
ers were never thrown away, although
the little vase was regularly replenished ;
nor could he help observing that when¬
ever the doctor came into the garden he
lar corner, and nodded his head most ex¬
pressively as he set forth on his morning’s
walk. Pending these observations, the
days were flying by, and Rose was rapidly
and surely recovering.
Nor did Oliver’s time hang heavy upon
his hands, although the young lady had
not yet left her chamber, and there were
no evening walks, save now and then for
a short distance with Mrs. Maylie. He
applied himself with redoubled assiduity
to the instructions of the white-headed
old gentleman, and faboured so hard that
his quick progress surprised even himself.
Ít was while he was engaged in this pur¬
suit that he was greatly startled and dis¬
tressed by a most unexpected occurrence.
The little room in which he was accus¬
tomed to sit when busy at his books was
on the und-floor, at the back of the
house. It was quite a cottage-room, with
a lattice-window, around which were clus¬
ters of jessamine and honey-suckle, that
crept over the casement, and filled the
lace with their delicious perfume. It
ooked into a garden, whence a wicket¬
ond was fine meadow-land and wood.
here was no other dwelling near, in that
direction, and the prospect it commanded
was very extensive.
One beautiful evening, when the first
shades of twilight were beginning to set¬
tle upon the earth, Oliver sat at this win¬
dow intent upon his books. He had been
poring over them for some time; and as
the day had been uncommonly sultry and
he had exerted himself a great deal, it is
no disparagement to the authors, whoever
they may have been, to say that gradu¬
ally and by slow degrees he fell! asleep.
There is a kind of sleep that steals
upon us sometimes which, while it holds
the body prisoner, does not free the mind
from a sense of things about it, and enable
it to ramble as it pleases. So far as an
overpowering heaviness, a prostration of
strength, and an utter inability to control
our thoughts or power of motion, can be
called sleep, this is it; and yet we have
a consciousness of all that is going on