BOOK FIFTH. "Oh, touch it not, Philario, Oh, touch it not, this yellow pestilence Laid waste my Eden." FAZIO (Milman). "Mark me, Clotilda, And mark me well, I am no desperate wretch, MATURIN (Bertram). "Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere; For where the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines its pathway, Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness." EVANGELINE (Longfellow) BISHOP CLARE came as usual in the month of May, bringing with him the small package of gold that was remitted semi-annually from England through him to my grandmother, its ostensible recipient. She showed me this before transmitting it to my grandfather. "How much this would purchase, Lilian !" she said, “and we need many things that we must still do without." "But this is legally yours, grandmother.” "Not morally, Lilian; therefore I must not touch it; and the new piano, and the carpet for the dining-room, and twenty other needful things, must remain matters of anticipation still. This gold, which might surround our lonely lot with comforts, goes to feed that fierce furnace that roars so dismally over our heads, like the fires of hell, Lilian !” I had seldom seen her so excited about temporal matters as on this occasion. "Take it to him," she said, lifting the package from the table, and extending it to me; "and, if you choose, ask him for what you want. Natural affection may for once restrain his self-in -affection, his esteem; he would never forgive you-perhaps drive you from him ignominiously." "I have spoken to him very plainly on many subjects,” I rejoined; "and once or twice I have offended him, I know, but he has always forgiven me freely, frankly." "This is a different affair. He amuses himself with your independence in discussion-he has told me so; but a matter of such delicacy you must not venture to approach." Thus warned, I sought his presence, and, after delivering the package of gold, which he received with the glee of a child made happy by a roll of candies, I ventured to prefer my request, introducing the subject nearest my heart in a very artistic manner, as I thought. 'Grandfather, you have never heard me play," I said. "No, child; how should I, with my sedentary habits? The mountain will not come to Mahomet, and Mahomet cannot go to the mountain, you know; but your singing pleases me. It reaches me from below, sometimes." "Ah, I did not know that my voice was so piercing. True, I do sing very often without the piano, of late, in my grandmother's room, whence the sound reaches you readily. Our old instrument is so unmusical! It shrieks out, when I strike it, as if it was hurt, and I can but pity the tortured keys. I expect to see the spirit of Clementi-its maker, you remember-rise to avenge its wrongs, some day. I am quite superstitious about abusing the poor old spinnet any longer." "Harpsichord, child-give it the true name. It was a very grand one in its day. Well, well, I suppose you want a new one. |