Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/502

 GOD'S KEEPING.

she saw an old man, with the most benign and gentle face that human eyes ever looked upon, supported by her mother. She left the arm of Monsieur Jaque and moved timidly toward that angel-faced man, who held back his hair with both hands, that he might look upon her. She sunk to her knees at his feet, for great suffering had made him sacred to ler. A single holy word trembled on her lips.

“Father!”

A look oftouching bewilderment came over that gentle face; the prisoner looked from the beautiful girl at his feet to the face of the mother.

“This is Therese,” he said, reproachfully.

“This is your child,” said madame, keeping back her tears. ‘She was a little thing when you went away.”

‘A—yes—I remember! So small—so small! But this one Oh, me! how strange! how strange!”

“Father, will you not speak one word to me?”

“One word? There was something I used to do;” he seemed troubled with thought a moment, then bent down and laid his hand on her head, “‘God—God bless them!”

He turned his pleased face upon his wife.

“These words are with me. I kept them close—here, here!”

“Kept them for us,’ said the wife; ‘for me and your child.”

“Both—both!” he muttered, in a dreamy, bewildered way. “Now rest, rest!”

He was very feeble and weary; in mounting those flights of stairs he had sat down more than once. Now he seemed troubled for breath.

His wife led him toward a low couch, but he had forgotten its use, and, turning from it, lay down in a corner of the room, with his face to the wall, and closing his eyes against the light, seemed to be asleep.



It had taken but few hours to storm the Bastile; but, though the people swarmed in and about it like bees, tearing down its walls and leveling it to the earth, it took many days to choke up that moat, and fill the cavernous hollows in which so many human beings had suffered and perished. Before the terrible structure was razed to the ground, a wedding-party entered one of the humble churches in the neighborhood. In passing, one of the party turned to look at the cloud of dust which constantly hovered over the rents and fissures torn, day by day, in those ponderous walls; could it be that this poor man looked back upon the place of his torture with anything like regret? It is impossible to say, but his face was sad as he walked into the church, and a look of strange bewilderment still hung about him. Even the marriage-service, which gave his only child to as brave and true a man as ever breathed, seemed a mystery to him. When she knelt for his blessing, he lifted one hand to the light, and burst into tears.

“Tt is gone! It is gone!” he said. ‘The Talisman, which gives happiness to me and Alas! until that is found, I can give no real blessing to my child, but know full surely that it will bring sorrow and death to any hand that wears it!”

THE END.

IN GOD'S KEEPING.

BY N. F. CARTER THE sun went down one golden day On fields of clover bloom, And called our loved one from his play, With twilight's deepening gloom.

He knelt beside us at the hour Of evening song and prayer; The sunshine of our garden-bower, The jewel of our care.

Invoking sweetest dreams of bliss, And God's kind care to keep; We gave him then our good-night kiss, And laid him down to sleep.

In silence rolled the hours away, With shadows overhung, Till to the world the new-born day Its morning banners flung.

No voice made answer to our call, Nor sound of little feet Tripping so lightly through the hall, The welcome smile to greet.

Does weariness so call for rest, He needs must sleep so long? Or is he filled with dreams so blest, So charmed with blissful song?

We found him in his wonted place, Hands clasped, as iffor prayer; The play of sunshine on his face, A smile of glory there.

His was a sweeter morning kiss Than we could give at best; God's own welcome unto bliss, And everlasting rest.