As the rippling brook gives out
its silvery music, and earth seems drinking of the misty dew, that,
like a bridal veil, spreads over its verdant hillocks, they whisper
their requiem of regret, and mould the grave so carefully. "It's
mas'r's last," says one, smoothing the cone with his hands.
"We will plant the tree now," returns the other, bringing forward a
young clustering pine, which he places at the head of the grave, and
on which he cuts the significant epitaph-"Good master lies here!"
Duncan and Harry have paid their last tribute. "He is at peace with
this world," says the latter, as, at the gate, he turns to take a
last look over the paling.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
HOW WE SHOULD ALL BE FORGIVING.
LET us forget the scenes of the foregoing chapters, and turn to
something of pleasanter hue. In the meantime, let us freely
acknowledge that we live in a land-our democratic south, we
mean-where sumptuous living and abject misery present their boldest
outlines,--where the ignorance of the many is excused by the polished
education of a very few,--where autocracy sways its lash with
bitterest absolutism,--where menial life lies prostrate at the feet
of injustice, and despairingly appeals to heaven for succour,--where
feasts and funerals rival each other,--and when pestilence, like a
glutton, sends its victims to the graveyard most, the ball-room
glitters brightest with its galaxy. Even here, where clamour cries
aloud for popular government, men's souls are most crushed-not with
legal right, but by popular will! And yet, from out all this
incongruous substance, there seems a genial spirit working itself
upon the surface, and making good its influence; and it is to that
influence we should award the credit due.
Pages:
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625