Christian life; Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Young women -- Conduct of life -- Fiction
It was on a golden summer morning that we together left my dreary
lurking-place. The sun shone forth as brightly as on the last day that I
had visited Miss Mortimer's abode; the trees were in yet fuller foliage;
and the hues of spring were ripening to the richer tints of autumn. The
river flashed as gaily in the beam, and the vessels veered as proudly to
the breeze. My friend sought to cheer my mind by calling my attention to
the bright and busy scene. But the smile which I called up to answer her
cares, came not from the heart. Cold and undelighted I turned from the
view. 'To what end,' thought I, 'should this prison-house be so adorned?
this den of the wretched and the base!' So dismal a change had a few
weeks wrought upon this goodly frame of things to me. But thus it ever
fares with those who refuse to contemplate the world with the eye of
reason and of religion. In the day of prosperity, this foreign land is
their chosen rest, for which they willingly forget their Father's house,
but when the hours of darkness come, they refuse to find in it even
accommodations fitted for the pilgrim 'that tarries but a night.'
When we had reached the cottage, and Miss Mortimer, with every testimony
of affection had welcomed me home, she led me to the apartment which was
thenceforth to be called my own. It was the gayest in my friend's simple
mansion. Its green walls, snowy curtains, and light furniture, were
models of neatness and order; and though the jessamine had been lately
pruned from the casement to enlarge my view, enough still remained to
adorn the projecting thatch with a little starry wreath.
On one side of my window were placed some shelves containing a few
volumes of history, and the best works of our British essayists and
poets; on the other was a chest of drawers, in which I found all the
more useful part of my own wardrobe, secured to me by the considerate
attention of Miss Mortimer. My friend rigidly performed her promise of
leaving my time wholly at my own command. As soon as she had established
me in my apartment, she resigned it solely to me: nor ever reminded me,
by officious attentions, that I was a guest rather than an inmate. She
told me the hours at which her meals were punctually served, giving me
to understand that when I did not choose to join them, no warning or
apology was necessary; since, if I did not appear in the family-room, I
should be waited upon in my own. These arrangements being made, she
advised me to repose myself after the fatigue of my journey, and left me
alone. Wearied out by an exertion to which my strength was yet scarcely
equal, I laid myself on a bed more inviting than the last which I had
pressed, and soon dropped asleep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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