The Continental Monthly, Vol 2, No 6, December 1862: Devoted to Literature and National Policy — John Shaqi
The Continental Monthly, Vol 2, No 6, December 1862: Devoted to Literature and National PolicyVarious
History
The Continental Monthly, Vol 2, No 6, December 1862: Devoted to Literature and National Policy
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; United States -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Periodicals
'So good-by, aunty,' said I, as I finished, in a tone tremulous with
weakness and wrath; '_you_ love me, if Dora does not, and _you_ will
remember me kindly I know.' I wrung her hand and kissed her cheek, but
she never shed a tear; she had been wont to weep like a watering pot
when I went back to school or college after a visit, and I had always
left her, loaded with biscuits and blessings, thankless prodigal that I
was! and disposed to laugh at her display of maternal sorrow. How
grateful to my wounded and sorrowful spirit, my outraged heart, would
such a demonstration of love now have been! but all were alike heartless
and cold to-day, and she smiled serenely under my parting kiss, and
said, as I ran down the steps, 'Promise me not to go before you are well
rested in the morning, Georgy; the coach does not pass through till
eleven, and you'll come back, if I have occasion to send for you--before
then--professionally?'
I bowed assent; what could I do? and, cut to the heart, went slowly and
wearily home. I do not know how or by which way I arrived there, or whom
or what I passed upon the road; I saw nothing but the darkness of my
fortune, and felt nothing but the terrible sorrow that consumed my
heart. Phil was astonished at the gentleness of the reproof he received
for being discovered with a crowd of young vagabonds playing pitch-penny
in my very office; but I was too broken in spirit to administer justice
on him--how could I expect him to be true when all others were
faithless?--and quite subdued and conscience-stricken he waited upon me
assiduously, till my last bottle was packed at midnight and I sent him
to bed, with orders to call me at sunrise. The stage came through at
eleven, and I usually rose at nine; but I scorned to comply with my
aunt's injunction, to take my ordinary rest, and was bent upon the
additional misery of rising early in the morning.
What weary, dreary hours! I heard every one of them strike, as I lay
tossing on the patent spring mattress, in that darkly shaded and
sacredly secluded room, where I was wont to sleep the sleep of the
sluggard, until I saw the day break, for the first time in my life, I
think, and the novelty put me to sleep, and thence into a dismal dream,
from which I was awakened by a tremendous thumping at the office-door,
and the shrill voice of my Phil, in communication with the person
outside.
'I shan't open the door for nobody,' that faithful janitor was
announcing, 'and if you don't stop knockin' on it, I'll come out and
make ye. He's asleep, I tell yer; goin' away to-day, and wants to get up
in time for the stage, but I shall let him oversleep hisself, and he'll
think better of it by to-morrow. Come this afternoon if you want to see
him; that'll do for _you_.'
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