Evening. The Old Man sitting in his chair within his own door - he appears very ill—his daughter supports him. Old Man. Oh what an icy pang shoots through my frame! God help the feeble who do suffer thus! Marg. Some woe hath fallen on thee in the city; Tell me, and who that stranger was, dear father. Old Man. Oh, ask me not of aught; I am afflictedBody and mind, I am afflicted sore! Marg. Call upon God, my father, he will help [Ugolin comes up. Ugo. My good old friend, how does it fare with you? thee. Old Man. My son, I am afflicted-mind and body Are suffering now together! Ugo. [to Marg.] What means he? Ugo. Father, shall we support thee to thy bed, And read to thee, and comfort thee with prayer? Old Man Ay, let me to my bed, that I may die! [They support him in. CENE V. Midnight. The Old Man lying on his bed — Ugolin and Margaret sit beside him— Margaret reads. "For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality; So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, Then shall be brought to pass the saying which is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. Oh Death, where is thy sting? O Grave, where is thy victory? Father, he is beside thee, even now. Ugo. My father, may the God of peace be with thee! Old Man. [looking earnestly at him.] Yes, thou art Marg. Old Man. Ugo. Remember, God is full of tender mercy, And knows our weakness, nor will try our strength Beyond what it can bear. Old Man. I fear to die, who have so prayed for death! Ugo. Bethink thee, how our blessed Lord was tried, And of the agony wherein he prayed That that most bitter cup might pass from him! Ugo. The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin of our dear brother here departed, we therefore comis the law, mit his body to the ground: earth to earth; ashes But thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory to ashes; dust to dust: in the sure and certain hope through our Lord Jesus Christ." of the resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ." [She closes the book. Old Man. The sting of death is sin! and over death; "T is the Lord Jesus Christ gives us victory! Thank thee, my daughter; there is holy comfort In those few words But think'st thou Ugolin Will visit us to-night? I fain would have His prayers before I die. Strang. [aside.] Thus is it, whether it be saint or sinner, All are alike committed to the grave, [He looks among the mourners Sure that's the old man's daughter! and that man Is pastor Ugolin! There then is buried [He hastens off. "I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, write, from henceforth, blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; even so saith the spirit, for they shall rest from their labours." This second defeat of Achzib was like a blow given by an unseen hand; it was an event altogether out of his calculation. He had heard how the spirit of the old man, in its moments of irritation, poured forth reproaches and murmurs against God, which would have been mortal sin had the heart responded to them. But his spirit resembled water in its dead calm, corrupt and unsightly, which nevertheless when agitated by the tempest overleaps its barriers, throws off its impurities, and rushes on in a strong, bright torrent. His discontent and his impatience were almost meaningless on his own lips; but addressed to him as the sentiments of another, to which he was required to assent, he started from their sinfulness, beholding, as it were, his own reflected image. This was an event beyond the range of Achzib's idea of possibilities. He was sceptical to all that virtue in human nature, which great occasions bring into action, though it may have lain dormant for half a life, and which may be regarded as a store in reserve for extraordinary emergency. "How," inquired Achzib, "has her loss been so very great?" Know you not," rejoined the other, "that a mother mourns most, suffers most, for the child least worthy of her love? Man knows not to what an extent that mother's heart has suffered: it has been wounded unto death, and yet it lives on, enduring a life more painful than death, a life quivering with the sting of outraged love!" "Was he not young," inquired Achzib; "how then has he committed so great sin?" "You cannot have attentively regarded these things," replied the stranger, "or you would know that, for a young man, the most perilous of all con~ ditions is to be the son of a widow; for losing the authority, the counsel, the example of a father, he falls into numberless temptations, against which a mother can be but an insufficient defence. Besides, young men, too often having experienced the easy, irresolute, uncertain government of a mother in their boyish years, cease to regard her with respect as they approach manhood." "But," said Achzib, recalling to mind the firm principle and devoted affection of the Poor Scholar, "I have known such arriving at manhood, armed at all points against temptation, and cherishing in their souls the most ardent love, the most holy reverence for a mother." "God forbid," replied the stranger," that I should say all mothers are inadequate to the government of a son, or all sons incapable of estimating, and gratefully rewarding the unwearied solicitude, the neversleeping affection of a mother; for I myself know a widow who has trained three noble sons from their fatherless boyhood, maintaining her own authority, and nurturing in their souls every virtuous and manly sentiment; and who now, adorning manhood, are as a crown of glory to her brow. And it may also be received as a truth, that love and reverence for a widowed mother will be as much a preservation from evil as the authority of a father- but these are the exceptions to the general rule, which is as I have said, that the sons of widows are the most peculiarly liable to temptation, and the least defended against it." The old man seemed, as it were, to have slipped from his grasp; and, half angry with himself for being overcome by so apparently weak an opponent, he turned from the burial-place and walked on, he hardly knew whither, for many hours. At length he was recalled to his own identity by coming upon a village church-yard, where a funeral was taking place. The dead seemed to have been of the lower class of society, if you might judge by the appearance of the coffin, its humble appurtenances, and its few attendants; but there was a something about its chief and only mourner, which told that misfortune had brought her thus low. Yet was her whole air melancholy and wretched in the extreme; and so "Exactly so," said the stranger: "the timid, enerharrowed by grief, so woe-stricken, so wholly self-vating system of female government, gives the heart abandoned, that no one could see her for a moment without knowing that it was her son who had been committed to the dust, the only child of his mother, and she a widow. "I believe you to be right," replied Achzib, not a little pleased with the hint, which had inadvertently been given him. "I believe you are right! and of all temptations to which a young man so circumstanced is exposed, those of pleasure would be the most besetting," continued he, remembering the first sin of poor Luberg. a bias towards pleasure, without strengthening it for resistance, or even enabling it to discriminate between good and evil. This is the snare into which such generally fall; and there is hardly a sin more Achzib remarked this to an observant stranger who sorrowfully degrading, or one which holds its victim stood by. You are right," he replied, "they bury the only child of a widow; a son, who having died before his time, will cause the mother's grey hairs to descend with sorrow to the grave!" more irreclaimably: he is as one self-conducted to sacrifice; a captive, who rivets on his own fetters while he groans for freedom: for the indulgence of those vices miscalled pleasure, while they deaden the will, leave quiveringly alive the sense of degradation How has the poor youth, who is now gone down to the dust, looked with streaming eyes upon pure and noble beings, whom though he still worshipped, he had not the power to imitate, and from whose society he was cast as a fallen angel from heaven! How, to obliviate the maddening sense of his own degraded condition, has he plunged into excesses which he abhorred! Alas, the spirit, writhing under the compunctuous sense of evil, and the hopelessness of good, is a sight upon which the angels of God might drop tears of pity!" Achzib was satisfied with what he had heard; therefore, bidding his companion good day, he returned to the city. He had, however, a superstitious repugnance to making another trial in the scene of his late defeat; he therefore removed to a city where all was new to him, and very soon commenced his fifth essay, according to the hints thrown out by the stranger of the church-yard. RAYMOND. RAYMOND. PERSONS. ACHZIB, A STRANGER, AFTERWARDS BARTOLIN A In its full joy unto the heaven of heavens; All that the soul desires of good and fair The Spirit of greatness where the great have dwelt, Am I not young, and filled with high resolves? MADAME BERTHIER, THE MOTHER OF RAYMOND. Glory and pleasure at the goal I see, THE PASTOR, HIS GUARDIAN. And I will win them both: pleasure, which crowns ADELINE, THE PASTOR'S DAUGHTER, BETROTHED Glory with its most radiant diadem TO RAYMOND. CLARA, A YOUNG LADY OF THE CITY. Time occupied, upwards of three years. ACT I-SCENE I. A summer morning—Raymond sitting under a large tree in the fields — a small village, half hid among wood, is seen in the distance. Pleasure, that springs from the proud consciousness Ere long, dear mother, thou shalt see thy son Yes, yes my mother, I will crown thy age Raymond. How full of joy is life! All things are Thy son, thy dutiful, illustrious son! made For one great scheme of bliss-all things are good, I will not bow unto the common things But who comes here? He hath the look of one Which nerves my limbs and makes all action pleasure. But I will up and meet him, and perchance The vigour of strong life is to my frame As pinions to the eagle: and my soul Is as a winged angel, soaring up Improve this meeting to a better knowledge. [He rises, and meets a stranger, who is advancing over the fields towards him. Raym Good morrow, sir! Strang. Your greeting I return with cordial thanks, Raym. One hour of a fair morning such as this To your long years, health, wealth, and happiness! Strang. I, like you, Seek only pleasure on this sunny morning. I left the city three days since, to spend An interval of business in the country, And chance directed me unto yon village, Where I shall yet abide a day or two. Raym. 'Tis a sweet, quiet hamlet, buried deep Within its wooded gardens! I am bound Thither this evening, to its excellent pastor, The kind and faithful guardian of my youth, Into the world. I know that youth is weak, And may be lured so easily aside! I I have a mother, sir, a widowed mother; A virtue such as thine may face temptation; Raym. Kind sir, you do commend me all too much. Raym. "Tis a fair place; and let me make you, sir, A household festival is never mended Kind sir, farewell to you! And spite his talk of virtue and high doings, Since my good father's death,-but now whose trust The cloven foot beneath my saintliest guise— Expires upon this day. Strang. Ha! one-and-twenty — It is an age of happiness-the boy Has not assumed the sternness of the man; Heavy experience does not weigh down pleasure. You are embarking, even now, young man, Upon a glorious sea; spread wide your sails; Catch every breath of heaven, and run down joy; Make her your own before the tempest comes! Raym. You are not a grave councillor, who bids The inexperienced watch, and watch and wait, Ever distrusting - still expecting evil! Strang. Wisdom is wisest which is bought from proof. Try all things, prove them, make your virtue sure Up, and partake of pleasure while you may; She is a woman who has tried the world, SCENE II. [He goes off. The mere perception of a vital power, Adel. Raymond, be sure he was some alchemist To you a drop thereof! Did you not taste, Oh say that we shall live; Though we have sinned, yet save! Alas, the day is done! God has abandoned us! Oh sea, roll over us Cover us mountains, ere the Judge appear! He will not, will not hear — He will not, will not save! ACT II.-SCENE I. Twelve months afterwards — a chamber in a magnificent house in the city. Bartolin. [alone.] So far and all is well, for my good Raymond, Though a self-willed, is still a hopeful scholar: Raym. Sweet Adeline, I shall come more than ever. The severing of the latest bonds of duty But you forget, I have your father's leave [He kisses her cheek. Nor shall there lack me means to effect disunion; All this shall reach her by a thousand ways. Raym. Hast thou not been mine angel for these And note the work of twelve months on the boy, years Oh ever since I was a little child? But now much more than ever! Adel. Boastful of virtue; see the end of all That proud ambition, which did plume itself Upon a glorious eyrie 'mong mankind! But this scheme The mother's heart is keenly sensitive, Of going to the city, I like not- Raym. "T was a mere vision! I but thought of it. And, when it hath been wrung, and wronged like her's, With the tide And ere I say good night, dear Adeline, [They go in. [Adeline is heard singing to her instrument. Eating her heart with miserable thoughts; But hark! there is the voice of merriment - But hark again! their merriment grows louder; [He goes out. |