"The gates of heaven were left ajar; With clasping hands and dreamy eyes, Wandering out of paradise, She saw this planet, like a star; We felt we had a link between This real world and that unseen."

These beautiful lines of one of the sweetest of earth's singers, came to us like a new revelation at the advent of our first-born, as also those other immortal words--

"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting, The soul that rises with us, our life's star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.

Not in entire forgetfulness And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From heaven, which is our home."

Our little vocalist commenced rehearsing for her chosen profession the very minute that she first saw the light, and she certainly continued the development of her lungs with marvelous persistency. Then her numerous grandparents, uncles, and aunts all vied with each other in petting and spoiling the one pet lamb of the several families, and she basked in the sunshine of unlimited affection.

A few bright years sped by, all roseate with love, prosperity and contentment in this happy valley. Then two little cherubs, just alike as "two peas in a pod" came to us at dawn of day, like twin rays from the rising sun, their blue eyes beaming with smiles which have continued ever since.

We named them Ada and Ida: but were obliged to label them to tell "which was which," and said label is essential for distinguishment to this very day, though twenty-four bright summers have pa.s.sed since the sight of them first gladdened our hearts.

But almost with the sunbeams came the terrible cloud overspreading all our lives. The mother had scarcely welcomed the twin buds of promise, when she faded away like a flower and was

"Gone beyond the darksome river, Only left us by the way; Gone beyond the night forever, Only gone to endless day;

Gone to meet the angel faces, Where our lovely treasures are; Gone awhile from our embraces, Gone within the gates ajar."

There seemed to be no light left on earth; the sun was blotted out forever,

Oh glory of our youth that so suddenly decays!

Oh crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze!

Oh breath of summer blossoms that on the restless air Scatters a moment's sweetness, and flies we know not where!

"A boat at midnight sent alone To drift upon the moonless sea; A lute whose leading chord is gone; A wounded bird that hath but one Imperfect wing to soar upon, Are like me Oh loved one, without thee;"

but the pitiful wailings of the twin girl babies called me back to earth again, and I took up the cares of existence, though they seemed greater than I could bear.

The largest church in the village was filled to overflowing with sincere mourners, for the sweet face of the departed had brought good cheer into many darkened households in our town. All sectarian barriers were for the time burned away by the flame of sympathy, and wonderful to tell, the Universalist clergyman who married us was allowed to p.r.o.nounce the eulogy in an orthodox Congregational church.

When the organ pealed the requiem and the choir chanted the ever dear words of the hymn--

"Only waiting till the shadows are a little longer grown,"

and closing with the triumphant expression of a deathless faith; it required but a little imagination to see the light streaming through the open door of heaven, and to hear the responses of the angel choir from the great cathedral on high, and we wended our homeward way thinking not of "dust to dust, ashes to ashes," but of the disembodied spirit to be our guardian angel forevermore.

"Faith sees a star, and listening love hears the rustle of a wing."

Infinitely sad was the pa.s.sing of our beloved, to those left in the earth-life; but soothingly comes to us the song chanted by the choir invisible whenever a soul escapes the mortal coil:

"Pa.s.sing out of the shadow, Into a purer light; Stepping behind the curtain, Getting a clearer sight.

"Laying aside a burden, This weary mortal coil; Done with the world's vexations-- Done with its tears and toil.

"Tired of all earth's playthings, Heartsick and ready to sleep-- Ready to bid our friends farewell, Wondering why they weep.

"Pa.s.sing out of the shadow Into eternal day-- Why do we call it dying, This sweet going away?"

CHAPTER XIV.

TRIBULATIONS OF A WIDOWER.

But we must descend from the sublime to the stern realities of this workaday world. Of all the people on this earth, a lone, lorn widower with three babies on his hands, is the most forlorn and miserable.

Take care of them himself he cannot, and if he hires the ordinary woman to do so, she immediately sets her cap for him, and leaves no stone unturned to secure him for a husband, especially if he is possessed of some of this world's goods which she covets with all her mind and soul.

Words are inadequate to describe the annoyances I endured for two weary years from this cla.s.s of women, who seemed to be the only ones who would come to a lonely country home to a.s.sume such responsibilities and endless labors. The world seemed full of these anxious but not aimless women, who claimed to adore little children; but who really cared for nothing except to capture a "widower with means."

One nurse carelessly slipped on the stairs, and the twins went flying from her arms through the air down the long pa.s.sageway, apparently to their death; only a miracle saved them. I picked up the little wingless cherubs, scarcely bigger than my fist, and their blue eyes smiled at me, as if they had really enjoyed their aerial flight.

They seemed to have a charmed and charming existence; they were the admiration of all the people far and wide who flocked to our house to see and fondle the really "heavenly twins." My business kept me from home nearly all the time; but my father, mother, brother, and sister-in-law kindly watched my caretakers with argus eyes, and the so-called triplets throve wonderfully day by day.

Whenever in my absence, my good childless brother and his wife found one of my hired women unworthy, he would tell her to pack her trunk, then he would drive her to the depot, banish her from the town over which he long reigned as chairman of the selectmen and State representative, telegraph me to hunt up another one, and thus the road to the station was nearly worn out, and the railroad receipts were greatly augmented.

One of these women, while I was far away, greatly scandalized the whole town by leaving the "light infantry" to their fate one Sunday, and indulging in the pious delights of shooting wood-chucks. My indignant brother and his father-in-law deacon disarmed the jezabel, made her sleep in the barn that night, sent her off flying the next morning, and personally, tenderly as mothers, watched over the children until I arrived with another nurse.

One woman whipped little May secretly with a stick; but the victim's wonderful lungs aroused my mother who, reinforced by the entire family, overpowered the virago, and sent her off on the next train.

It is evident from these thrilling recitals that I was not a good mind-reader of woman character; but they were as sweet as angels when I was at home, and evidently the unwonted self-restraint to thus appear reacted very forcibly when the widower was out of sight.

I vowed in my wrath that I would never again speak to a woman outside my own immediate family. I tried in vain to hire men nurses, and I sympathized with Paolo Orsini, who slipped a cord around the neck of Isabella di Medici, and strangled her; I almost envied Curzon of Simopetra who had never seen a woman. But I soon found that this misanthropy was unjust, that I misjudged the pure depths of life's river by a little dirty froth floating upon the surface.

Women can no more be lumped together in level community than men can be. There is an ample variety of tenacious womanly characters between the extremes marked by Miriam beating her timbrels, and Cleopatra applying the asp; Cornelia, caring for nothing but her Roman jewels; Guyon, rapt in G.o.d; Lucrezia Borgia raging with bowl and dagger, and Florence Nightingale sweetening the memory of the Crimean war with philanthropic deeds.

What group of men can be brought together more distinct in individuality, more contrasted in diversity of traits and destiny, than such women as Eve in the garden of Eden, Mary at the foot of the cross, Rebecca by the well, Semiramis on her throne, Ruth among the corn, Jezabel in her chariot, Lais at a banquet, Joan of Arc in battle, Tomyris striding over the field with the head of Cyrus in a bag of blood, Perpetua smiling on the lions in the amphitheatre, Martha c.u.mbered with many cares, Pocahontas under the shadow of the woods, Saint Theresa in the Convent, Madame Roland on the scaffold, Mother Agnes at Port Royal, exiled DeStael wielding her pen as a sceptre, and Mrs. Fry lavishing her existence on outcasts?

CHAPTER XV.

FAITH SEES A STAR.

One day I was introduced by a friend to a very attractive lady school-teacher, who combined with superior domestic training, elocutionary and musical accomplishments. She was so sincere and sympathetic that I found myself almost unconsciously expressing the same sentiments that I had spoken to another long ago in the city by the sea.

The love which I supposed had pa.s.sed on forever to the other world, seemed to be sent back to me through the opening clouds of evening by my self-sacrificing spirit bride, to give to another who would love and cherish the helpless little ones who so needed a mother's care.

I poured forth all my sorrows, troubles, perplexities and needs to a congenial, sympathetic spirit, and she consented to go to my home and take up the burdens which the ascended mother had been required by the angel-world to lay down.

On the arrival of the new housekeeper, order was evolved out of chaos; the children received the best of care, and the horse a much needed rest after his arduous labors in carting to and from the depot the numerous hired women who had been "weighed in the balance and found wanting." In the following month of roses, Lillian concluded that my "first glance" attachment was reciprocated; we were married in her father's house at Allston; we enjoyed a brief tour of the White Mountains, and then settled down in our cottage to our life work. The peace of G.o.d, which always comes, sooner or later to those who strive to do their duty, was ours, and the inspiration of Whittier's sweet poem "My Psalm" brought infinite consolation to our blended lives.

"I mourn no more my vanished years; Beneath a tender rain, An April rain of smiles and tears, My heart is young again.

"All as G.o.d wills, who wisely heeds To give or to withhold, And knoweth more of all my needs Than all my prayers have told.

"All the jarring notes of life Seem blending in a psalm, And all the angles of its strife Slow rounding into calm.