and tender interest--what with the blessing, and the old
woman's love for me, and mine for her--and we ate it in a solemn and
gloomy room, for there was no table in the little back room, so we
used the counter of the old store; and the empty shelves and the
closed doors and shutters, with only the light from the back-door,
made me often look around shudderingly into the gloom and obscurity
of dark corners--for I abounded in superstitious terrors, and I
pitied the poor, lonely old woman for living in such a home more
than I ever pitied the cold and hunger she endured.

Often when our dinner was over, I read aloud to her in the Bible.
She could read it herself. But perhaps she liked to hear the sound
of a childish voice, and perhaps she thought that she was doing me
good. Did she do me good? heigho!--at all events, she left a
beautiful memory to gild this dark twilight that grows upon my soul.

But the loving, trusting childhood is gone, and why do I dwell upon
it? Why does its sensitive life yet move and stir in my memory? Has
it aught to do with the cold, dark present? The Present! Alas! what
a contrast it is to that childish faith! I almost wish that I could
now believe as I did then. But no. _Reason_ has dissipated the
visions and dreams and superstitions of childhood. It has made
unreal to me that which was most real. In its cold, chilling light,
I have looked into the world of tangible facts and possible
realities.

Ah! this cold, cold light, how much of beauty and love it has
congealed! It has fallen like a mantle of snow over the warm, living
life of the earth; and blooming flowers, that sent up odours on the
soft air, have crumbled to dust, and bright summer waters that
reflected the heavens in their blue depths, and glittered in the
light of stars and moon and sun, have now been congealed into solid,
dull opaque masses, which yield not to the tread of man. Alas! no
bird of beauty dips its wing in these dead waters, and plumes itself
for an aerial flight of love and joy. But the cold contraction
chains down all the freer, beautiful life, into a hopeless, chilling
inanity.

MIDNIGHT.--The gloom has gathered into a darkness that may be felt;
and seeing nothing, I would stretch forth my hands to feel if there
is anything within my mind to stay my soul upon. But, alas! in a
deep sorrow, how little do mental acquisitions avail! All the
beautiful systems and theories that delighted my intelligence, and
filled my