16

A NEW DAY-DAWN.

deliverance as that proved. It ended my life in the poorhouse; it dated the beginning of an— other existence. The mother and her son had come there with the express purpose of finding and removing me. Weare had entreated for me, and his entreaties were prevailing; his mother consented to receive me. What mattered it, at that moment, whether I went as servant or as child? I thought not, I knew not of such distinctions. The joy of a life was centred in the blissful emotions roused when she said: 'Isa, child, you may come with me now. I am going to take you home to live with me. Will you be a good girl? I had never, never, heard a voice like that. Why should any one speak so to me? It seemed to me, that my own mother, had she addressed me, could alone speak in that manner. Even his voice, though very like his mother’s, had not the pitying tenderness that hers had. She knew what sorrow was; she spoke to one who knew what sorrow was; and, though I did not know it then, I know it now, it was for that very reason that the way in which she spoke, as much, yes, more than what she said, affected me. As once before, when Weare addressed me so kindly, I found myself voiceless, wordless; but my looks must have said enough for me; she seemed satisfied.

How can I hope to find words for my vivid recollections of the thoughts I had in that great hour?

“She led me away from the room of death, from the house of terrors; she placed me in the comfortable little one-horse carriage that stood in waiting, and Weare drove us to Richmond, while the magnificent dog (my first friend after my own heart) followed us. That is all there really was in the going. A child was taken by a charitable lady from the poorhouse. It was the mere fact, but what did it involve? Did it indeed involve as much as I imagine?

"It was like an unexpected, unhoped-for, but joyous, oh, how joyous, going through the gates of heaven! It was moving from the shadows of death to the glory and gladness—the fresh glory, the bewildering gladness, of life. It was the escape of the slave—it was a baptism into newness of being!

“When the horse was checked before one of the neatest and prettiest houses, in a quiet street of this bustling town, Weare, who had talked almost incessantly by the way, exclaimed: ‘Here, see! this is our place, little girl. I like to call you Isa. Isn’t it a pretty name, mamma?’ he added; and, leaping from the carriage, he said, 'Come, Isa,’ and he helped me out. How handsome

and bright he looked, as he stood so, holding the reins with one hand, and the other outstretched toward me, While his eyes fixed with such a gay expression on my face!

Small and unpre

sweet and lovely

"While we were alighting, a servant-man came from the yard where he was busied trimming some shrubs, and, taking the reins, he drove away, while we went into the house together. As I look upon it now, with a critic’s eyes, I can but smile, thinking of the place as it is, and as it seemed to me. tending as the cottage is (and is it, that can not be denied), what a different appearance it wears, contrasted with that it presented to my childish eyes and imagination! It seemed such a grand, such a splendid place; but all the grandeur, it must be confessed, lies now, as it did then, in the exceeding neatness and cheerfulness which first impressed me, being so far opposed to all I had heretofore seen or heard of. The rooms are small, the ceilings low, the furniture neither showy nor costly, but remark able, certainly, for an air of taste, freshness, and neatness. There was, there is, nothing here that, did I not know about it from experience, would seem calculated to strike even a beggar-girl, like myself, dumb with amazement; but I know I was struck dumb, though there was no show, no

splendor, in the place. It was all so orderly, so charmingly simple, so pretty, and so quiet—s0 quiet, that it seemed indeed like fairy—land.

“I remember, at that time, the entry-parlor and the small room beyond it were all carpeted alike, with a gay, small-figured cloth, the walls were hung with white paper, and the dark paint of the wood-work made such a beautiful contrast with it! There were a few pictures in the parlor, two of them were portraits. The piano stood. there, too, and the tables were adorned with some books and prints. In the little room leading from that there was plainer furniture, some blossoming plants, and a large birdcage, the home of a family of singing-birds. These were all the luxuries of which the house could boast, but there was an indescribable sunshine of comfort over all, and penetrating all, which amazed and confounded me. Ah, me! I looked around in this Paradise in vain for the malformed, frightful human beings, the gibbering idiots, the .foully-diseased, the decrepit old women, the wild, ungovernable, filthy children! Had I indeed not gone into heaven by some miracle? Was I still on earth? Was it not my duty, as it was my joy, to think of Weare Dugganne as my guardian-angel?

"Weare was a schoolboy; but for a few days

after my going home with him, he was allowed a vacation, as he himself told me, because his kind mother feared I might be lonely or homesick in a strange place, I was so young. I homesick, and there! He seemed glad to have a playmate, at least one of his own years, in the house.

“I often wonder What the result would have proved, had I been thrown among gayer and livelier children, in such a place as this, my adopted home. Would they have roused another life in me than that which has awakened? Or, do we, indeed, come from the land of souls with an individual, and, as regards the most important part, an unimpressible nature? Is personal influence, after all, so far-reaching, so real, as many imagine? Are not childhood, youth, and womanhood, stages of life independent to a degree far beyond what is conceded? We are free agents—how can we be free agents if constituted to be passively acted upon? and acted upon to an indefinite extent? I can not answer myself. Had I, in earlier years, been closely associated with the gay, it might possibly have been still better with me than it has been. Yet, after all, spirit-life is the real life we lead, surely. And must not the cause of the spiritual warrior, of necessity, be