"Whatever thou hast in the city, bring them out of this place." I DREAMT that I was on a long journey, and came in the course of it to a very dreary and desolate country where was only one river, which ran wearily along through its dry and barren banks. Its very trees were brown, and had a withered look; and the low hills seemed as if no sun ever shone on them. They lay stretched as far as my eye could reach on either side. I shuddered at the wild and barren appearance of the country, and wished myself well and quickly out of it, taking for granted that no human beings dwelt there. While thinking of this, I saw some way off children playing near the river, and several youths who seemed to be quarrelling and disputing. I determined to go towards them; for the day was fast fading away, and I wanted a rest for the night. As I drew nearer, I saw some houses and huts scattered here and there. All the inhabitants had on their faces expressions which were distressing. Many of them appeared half starved, and the unfruitful ground seemed able to yield them scarce B enough food to support life. I was much struck with their wretched condition and appearance. They were very poorly and raggedly clothed, and suffering and want were marked upon their features; still there was something in their countenances which interested me. The houses had the same wretched appearance, poor and dark, and falling to pieces; in short, the whole look of the district and its inhabitants was forlorn in the extreme. I drew near to one of the groups of youths, of which there were many gathered here and there. It was painful to see how all of them had the same distressed and unhappy looks, as if their whole being had been stunted and deformed. I was very much struck with two among the group: one a little boy, very fair to look at, with a sunny eye, and with hair golden as the sun, which danced around his neck. I saw him playing, and ever and anon looking up suddenly as if frightened, and then a shade of deepest sadness crossed his face, and he heaved a sigh and looked anxious, as if he had expected something terrible. I addressed the child as he stood nearest to me. "What is the name of this place ?" said I. The child stared in my face and seemed perplexed, and gave me no answer. "It seems very dreary and desolate," said 66 can you tell me where I can rest for the night ?" The child pointed to a house or hovel not far off, and said, "That is where I and Cyril live; you can rest there for the night." I; "Have you no mother ?" said I, struck by the manner of the child. "Mother! oh, no; she went away long ago." "Went away ?" said I; "what do you mean? is she dead ?" The child seemed confused, and turned to a youth who was approaching us. "There, sir," said he, "is Cyril, my brother: he will tell you." The youth was a tall and interesting-looking boy; his face, too, wore the same expression of sadness and melancholy. His hair and eyes, which were very dark, were a remarkable contrast to the fair and gayer countenance of his brother. I gathered from him that he would gladly give me room for the night; but of the history of his parents, or indeed of anything to do with the place they dwelt in, I could gather little. I became so interested in my kind hosts, that I stayed a day or two among them, having my curiosity excited in no small degree by the mystery which seemed to hang over the whole place. It was on an evening or two after; the moon was rising gently behind the hills, and shining softly on the water which here and there lay along the plain. It was just such an evening that you can hardly tell where daylight ends and moonlight begins. The children and youths were, as usual, playing in the streets of the village, and their voices were mingling with the other sounds of evening. I saw that there was a stir among the various groups, and all attention seemed in a moment taken off, their faces were turned in one direction. It was towards a tree, which had before been the gathering-point for many a game and many a conversation. A shadow at this moment appeared: a Being clad in white, exceeding beautiful to behold, with a high staff in one hand and a book in the other, had taken his stand there. How he came there, when or why, no one seemed to heed; but there he stood, quietly and calmly watching the movements in the village. With expressions of wonder and amazement, and with fear in the faces of many, the children began to draw towards the figure. The little ones clung to the arms or dress of their elder companions, alarmed at the sudden appearance of the stranger. I noticed the book was open, and these words were written in it: "Wisdom crieth without; she uttereth her voice in the streets. She crieth in the chief place of concourse, saying, How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity? Turn you at my reproof!" Many of the children read these words, and some laughed at them. "Dear Cyril," said little Florizel, "how beautiful the figure looks, how kindly he smiles! I should like to hear what he has come to say: do come here." Cyril needed no pressing, for already his thoughtful eye was fixed on the face and form of the Visitant, and, with Florizel clinging to him, he approached the tree. All eyes were on the stranger, when, to their surprise, he spoke to them. "Children of the unhappy valley," said he, "I have come to bid you flee from your sad dwelling-place, for a great and terrible trouble is soon coming from the hills, and you and your homes will not escape. Flee, for your lives." Then I saw there was a great stir among the children; and some broke out into a loud laugh, and asked him how he knew it, and some said they would never leave their homes for any such idle tale. you have us "What does he say ?" said little Florizel; "that there is trouble coming? Do ask him, Cyril." "Kind sir," said Cyril, "whither would flee, and how shall we know that this trouble is coming ?" The Blessed One turned kindly to Cyril ; and I saw that the leaf of the book turned over, and the reading on it was, "They that seek Me early shall find Me." "Fair boy," said the stranger, "I would have you, and all who love their lives, flee away to 'the land which is very far off;' one where your mother already is, and above all where the King, whose chosen subjects you are, lives, and loves you with an everlasting love, who has sent me to call you thither; and as to the trouble, I bid you ask yourselves if you are happy or easy here." "I am not," said little Florizel; "I am quite wretched." "We are happy enough," said many voices at once; we will go on no such fool's errand." |