Oldal 280 [280]
212 OLIVER TWIST.
follow her through the sultry fields at awakened in his own bosom old remem¬
noon, and hear the low tones of her sweet brances, melancholy, and yet sweet and
voice in the moonlit evening walk; I | soothing—how the two orphans, tried by
Px)
charity abroad, and the smiling, untirin
discharge of domestic duties at home;
would paint her and her dead sister’s
child, happy in their mutual love, and
the friends whom they had so sadly lost;
I would summon before me once again
those joyous little faces that clustered
round her knee, and listen to their merry
prattle; I would recall the tones of that
clear merry laugh, and conjure up the
sympathising tear that glistened in that
soft blue eye. ‘hese, and a thousand
looks and smiles, and turns of thought
and speech—1 would fain recall them,
every one.
How Mr. Brownlow went on from day
to day filling the mind of his adopted
child with stores of knowledge, and be¬
coming attached to him more and more
as his nature developed itself, and showed
the thriving seeds of all he could wish
new traits of his early friend, that
cy to others, and mutual love, and fervent
thanks to Him who had protected and
preserved them—these are all matters
said that they were truly happy, and
without strong affection and humanity
of heart, and gratitude to that Being
whose code is mercy, and whose great
breathe, true happiness can never be at¬
tained.
Within the altar of the old village
church stands a white marble tablet,
which bears as yet but one word, ‘ Agnes.’
There is no in that tomb, and may
it be many, many years, before another
name is placed above it! But if the spi¬
rits of the dead ever come back to earth,
to visit spots hallowed by the love — the
love beyond the grave —of those whom
they knew in life, I do believe that the
shade of that poor girl often hovers about
that solemn nook—ay, though it is a