The tears came at last; not a dry eye was in the room; but when I left them to go with Captain Wray to the “King’s Arms” (for he could not remain inactive), a voice had said to the storm of feeling, “Peace, be still;” and there was a great calm.
My story is nearly ended. That night I made myself known to my father, and the shock of feeling at seeing me and learning that my mother and sister were alive and near him, instead of doing him injury, effected a good that probably nothing else could have done. His was a strange wild history, and it was only little by little, and that extending over a long time, as the powers of mind and memory gradually returned, that I learnt it. When he left his home it was under the terrible delusion that nothing but the workhouse was before him, and he could not bear to see the distress that would come upon his family. He took ship to America, and on the voyage his mind gave way. Arrived in that country, he was placed in proper care by the authorities, but in all the wanderings of his mind he never divulged his name or residence. Several times his reason became temporarily restored, but then the thought of his deserted wife and home was too terrible for him ever to think resolutely of returning thither. Years passed in this way, and during his rational periods he had to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. At last he so far recovered that his determination to return to his native land, and at least ascertain what had become of his family, was carried into effect. Penniless when he arrived, and the season cold and inclement, he had to endure severe hardships. Circumstances brought him into the company of a band of carol singers, to whom he engaged himself as money collector, and he had resolved to work his way to Marantby as soon as he was able.
The best medical advice that could be had in London was obtained for him, and, by the blessing of God, his health of body and mind was restored. I will not attempt to describe the meeting with my mother, for no eye saw it. The effect was not injurious, on the contrary, from that day his old habits and spirits began to return, and for many years his life was one of unmingled peace and happiness.
And so it came to pass that Christmas Day ceased to be a day of painful memories, for we could say, “He was dead and is alive again, and was lost and is found.” Now his body rests beside that of my mother in the little churchyard at Marantby, and their spirits are in the bright world, where, perhaps, the angels are singing again this night that beautiful song they sang years ago, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and goodwill towards men.”
CASTLE CONNOR.
By Mona B. Bickerstaffe,
Author of “Begin Well, End Well;” “Araki, the Damio,” &c.
Christmas was always a merry season at Castle Connor, and not less merry than usual was the Christmas time of which I am going to tell you. The house was as full as it could hold, and added to the usual number of guests were three English cousins, who had come over to pay their first visit to their Irish relatives. At the public school from which they came, they were known as Max, Major, and Minor, and so we shall name them here. Max (whose real name was Dick Lindsaye) was in his seventeenth year, and only famous at K⸺ for being the biggest dunce, the biggest bully, and the biggest boaster in the school; for, while careful to avoid every kind of danger, he was prone to forge Falstaffian tales of the dangers he had surmounted, when no one was there to see him. Tom and Harold Cunliffe were his step-brothers; the former was a soft-faced boy, about thirteen years of age, with curly, brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a countenance beaming with good nature and good temper, but evidently a being more capable of enjoying the dolce far niente than any state of life in which he might be expected to be an active or energetic member of society. Yes, a quiet, easy-going youth was Tom, very different from the twelve-year-old Harry, a wiry, springy young fellow, who, while living in great awe of his big brother, was always laying plots for fun at his expense.
Major and Minor were great favourites wherever they went, while no one could endure Max’s snobbish conceit and self-importance. To have a speck of mud upon his highly polished boots, or a grain of dust upon his ever-glossy clothes, was to spoil his pleasure for the day, while his young brothers, unfortunately, went off to the opposite extreme, and were only too regardless of their personal appearance.