Eric, or Little by LittleFarrar, F. W. (Frederic William)
General
Eric, or Little by Little
Farrar, F. W. (Frederic William)
Schools -- Fiction
They gathered round him they soothed, and comforted, and prayed for him;
but his soul refused comfort, and all his strength appeared to have been
broken down at once like a feeble reed. At last a momentary energy
returned; his eyes were lifted to the gloaming heaven where a few stars
had already begun to shine, and a bright look illuminated his
countenance. They listened deeply--"Yes, mother," he murmured, in
broken tones, "forgiven now, for Christ's dear sake. Oh, Thou merciful
God! Yes, there they are, and we shall meet again. Verny--oh, happy,
happy at last--too happy!"
The sounds died away, and his head fell back; for a transient moment
more the smile and the brightness played over his fair features like a
lambent flame. It passed away, and Eric was with those he dearliest
loved, in the land where there is no more curse.
"Yes, dearest Eric, forgiven and happy now," sobbed Mrs Trevor; and her
tears fell fast upon the dead boy's face, as she pressed upon it a long,
last kiss.
But Montagu, as he consoled the poignancy of Wildney's grief, was
reminded by Mrs Trevor's words of that sweet German verse--
Doch sonst an keinem Orte
Wohnt die ersehnte Ruh,
Nur durch die dunkle Pforte
Seht man der Heimath zu.
VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
CONCLUSION.
And hath that early hope been blessed with truth?
Hath he fulfilled the promise of his youth?
And borne unscathed through danger's stormy field
Honour's white wreath and virtue's stainless shield?
_Harrow. A Prize Poem_.
The other day I was staying with Montagu. He has succeeded to his
father's estate, and is the best loved landlord for miles around. He
intends to stand for the county at the next general election, and I
haven't the shadow of a doubt that he will succeed. If he does,
Parliament will have gained a worthy addition. Montagu has the very
soul of honour, and he can set off the conclusions of his vigorous
judgment, and the treasures of his cultivated taste, with an eloquence
that rises to extraordinary grandeur when he is fulminating his scorn at
any species of tyranny or meanness.
It was very pleasant to talk with him about our old schooldays in his
charming home. We sate by the open window (which looks over his
grounds, and then across one of the richest plains in England) one long
summer evening, recalling all the vanished scenes and figures of the
past, until we almost felt ourselves boys again.
"I have just been staying at Trinity," said I, "and Owen, as I suppose
you know, is doing brilliantly. He has taken a high first class, and
they have already elected him fellow and assistant tutor."
"Is he liked?"
"Yes, very much. He always used to strike me at school as one of those
fellows who are much more likely to be happy and successful as men than
they had ever any chance of being as boys. I hope the _greatest_ things
of him; but have you heard anything of Duncan lately?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account