SOME DAYS ARE BORN OF SORROW.
“The path of sorrow, and that path
Leads to the land where sorrows are unknown.”
“Through sorrow’s night, and
Amid the deepening gloom,
Ye children of a heavenly king
Are marching to the tomb.”
H. KIRKE white.
It is a destiny, that every life be, to a greater or less degree, fraught with that heart-purifying element, which we term sorrow. And who would have it otherwise? Who would glide passively along the bright river of smiles, without one taste of that chiefest of disciplines, sorrow? How grateful should we be to Him who has permitted us to drink of the same cup with his only Son! for he was a “man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” Who is so blind that will not see the kind designs of our Father, in the disposition of those works of his hands which he pronounced good. Truly His eye is all-seeing; the overflow of his tender mercies toward the children of men are unbounded. What cell of goodness is there within the human heart, of which the breath of sorrow cannot raise the valve? In a word, what countless numbers of souls have been stayed in their mad career, have been saved from eternal destruction, through the chastening rod of the Lord.
It was the morning after the sailing of the Nautilus; the Sea-flower had arisen with the sun, and calling for old Nep, as was her wont, to accompany her on her morning’s walk, she tripped lightly along, humming a farewell to the last altheas, as they nodded their shrivelled heads, in view of their departure; but their words of adieu were made brief, by a voice as of one in distress; and coming near, it proved to be the musical Vingo, trilling the wild melodies of his old Virginia days.
“Good morning, Vingo; you must have been up a long time to have been away down to the shore; you must take it easier, and get more sleep. Even old Nep dislikes to leave his warm kennel this cool morning, for he did not come at my call, and so I would not disturb him.”
“Ah, missy, de old fellow am getting along in years as well as de rest ob us; and if it wasn’t for de gray hairs, dat will keep at de top ob de heap, in spite ob ebery ting, I should feel dat old age am coming wid long strides, when I see dat de wee bud ob de Sea-flower am almost in bloom. But see here, missy,” said he, holding up a fresh cod which he had taken, “I’m tinking dat make massa Harry’s eyes sparkle.”
It was the hour for family prayers.
“Had you not better go to Harry’s room, dear, and see if he is ill this morning? he is unusually late,” said Mrs. Grosvenor.
“I tink de fragrance ob de salt water about dat cod fetch him soon,” remarked Vingo, endeavoring to smooth his face into a proper state of sobriety.