'I know she did,' said Scheffer, looking not away from Paul, neither busying himself any longer with the endeavor to bring order out of chaos. 'I know she did.'
Then Paul laughed again, as he had not laughed in many a day; but it was laughter that did not jar the silence of the room—such laughter as formed a fit prelude for words like these:
'Find out if the lad is alive yet. There is a piece of business worthy of Scheffer himself! I'm tired of hunting out secrets. Promise me, August—promise before you leave this room—before you breathe again.'
Scheffer did.
Mrs. Mitchell waited tea that evening for at least an hour. Josephine was sure that if August could be found, Paul would bring him home. At last they came. Home at last! The darkness might besiege the house, it could not enter the hearts there; rain might fall on Scheffer's ruins, it could not prevent the rising of the Phoenix. Not recognized altogether as the household's eldest son, he stood under the roof of the little house on Cottage Row. But enough! he was satisfied: he saw two women smiling on him—one from her heart. And from the circle that night Paul, triumphant and joyful, excluded the vision of death.
LAS ORACIONES.
I moved among the moving multitude
In old Manila, when the afternoon
Releases labor, and the scorching skies
Are tempered with the coming on of night.
Above the 'ever loyal city,' rose
The surging sound of unloosed tongues and feet,
As the encompassed town and suburbs vast,
The boated river and the sentinelled bridge
Swarmed, parti-colored, with the populace.
The sovereign sun, that through the toilsome day
No eye had seen for brightness, now subdued,
Stepping, like Holy Pontiff, from his throne,
Neared to the people, and, with level rays,
As hands outstretching, benedictions shed.
Full the effulgence flashed upon the walls
Which girt the city with a strength renowned,
Rimming them with new glory: bright it gleamed
Upon the swarthy soldiery, as they filed
A dazzling phalanx through the gaping crowd
With martial intonation, and it played
Softly upon the evening-breathing throng
On the Calsada's broad and dashing drive,
On gay, armorial equipage, wherein
Dozed dowagers: on unbonneted dames
In open chariots, toying daintily
With dark hidalgos, as they sipped the scene
In languishing contentment, and between
Responsive glances, showing hidden fire,
With fluent breath of Spanish repartee.
There lounged senoras, fat officials' wives,
From their soft cushions casting cool disdain
On the mestiza, who, in hired hack,
Blooming in beauty of commingled blood,
And robed in slippery tissue, rainbow-bright,
Sat, in her sandal-footed grace, a queen
Among her fellows, they who yesterday
Whirled her lithe figure in the tireless dance,
And now, with airy compliment, kept bright
The flame she yet may quench in wedlock dull.
Thus rolled the wealthy in their liveried ease,
'Mid walking peasantry and pale Chinese,
And curious-shirted Creole; while, tight swathed
Up to their shrivelled features, mummy like,
The Indian women filled the motley scene.
Meanwhile, the sovereign sun had crowned the palms
Standing in stately clusters; and from thence
Scaled the high walls and climbed the citadel,
Pouring a parting radiance on the tower
Of San Sebastian: mounting to its goal,
It swept the public dial plate and lay,
E'en in the face of stern recording time
Smiling significance; thence slowly crept
Up to the turret, blazing, momently,
Thence reached the dizzy ball; and, last of all,
Kissed with its dying lips the sacred cross.
Then pealed the solemn vesper bell to prayer,
And suddenly—completely—with a hush,
As if a god-like voice had stricken it dead,
Stood still the city!
Motionless the life
That but an instant off stirred the warm air
With murmurs multifarious, and the waves
Of great humanity, sunk silenced there,
With stillness so supreme, that pulses beat
More quickly from the contrast, and the soul
Hearkened to listen, humbled and subdued
As when the Saviour uttered 'Peace, be still.'
The tardy laborer, walled within the town,
Brought the uplifted hammer noiseless down,
And stood in meek confession, tool in hand.
The mother hushed the baby lullaby,
And o'er her sleeping innocence exhaled
Voiceless thanksgiving. Children ceased to play,
Feeling an awe they comprehended not,
And stood, unconscious of their beauty's pose,
As those Murillo's pencil glorifies.
Upon the airy esplanade the steed
No longer pawed the air in wantonness,
But, like his compeer of the fabled song,
Stood statued with his rider, while below
The beggar ceased his cry importunate,
And to a Higher Almoner than man
Sent up a dumb appeal. In folly's court
The laugh was hushed, and the half-uttered jest
Fell witless into air, and burning thought
Cooled, as it flowed, unmoulded into speech.
As throbbed the distant bell with serious pause,—
Standing bareheaded in the dewless air,
Or prostrate in their penitence to earth,
Or bending with veiled lids,—the people prayed.
Then was that moment, in its muteness, worth
The laboring day that bore it, for all sense
Seemed filtered of its grossness; what was earth
Sunk settling with the dust to earth again,
As through the calm, pure atmosphere, arose
One mingling meditation unto Heaven.
Oh, beautiful is silence, when it falls
On housed assemblies bowed in voiceless prayer:
But when it lays its finger on the heart
Of a great city, stilling all the wheels
Of life's employment, that to Heaven may turn
Its many thousand reverend breathing souls
With gesture simultaneous; when proud man
Like multitudinous marble, moveless stands
With God communing, then does silence seem,
In its unworded eloquence, sublime.
Therein, doth Romish worship point rebuke
To him who doth ignore it, for therein
It rises to a majesty of praise
O'erspanning huge cathedrals, for it makes
The censer, candle, rosary, and book
But senseless mockeries.
So sunk the sun
Till on its amber throne, like drapery doffed,
Lay piled th' imperial purple. Then the stir
Of an awakened world swept through the crowd,
As forest leaves are wind-swept after lulls,
And, with the sense of a renewing joy,
The murmurous people turned them to their homes.
Manila, 1856.