PS 2199 S\ /^ ^ ^ ^ .L37 H4 Copy 1 .i'j ^i^v> / / / Heart Sketches, BY ALICE IvANCASTER. " World voicevS east, world voicCvS west, They call thee heart, from thine early rest. Come hither, come hither and be our guest. Heart, wilt thou go ? * No ! No ! Good hearts, are calmer so.' " — Mrs. Brownina. TWO COPIES RECEIVEJD. Library of CODgrdii^ OffUt of tits FEB 8 - 1909 KegUUr of Cspyrlgkfft 58777 COPYRIGHT BY THE AUTHOR. Contents, INTRODUCTION, i. FROM OUT THE GLOOM. 2. THE WILD ROSE'S SECRET. 3. THE SPIRIT OF PEACE. 4. AT THE SUNSET HOUR. 5. "DON." 6. COMPLETENESS. "]: THE BRIDAL. Introduction, ^ A^ T^HE following pages are offered to what the Author trusts wdll prove a kind public ; not entireh' to gratify- aspirations to authorship, but more to preserve, perhaps for onl}- a brief period, a few thoughts brought from the realm of imagination, with the exception of slight local touches suggested by real places and events. The Author. i \\ I f^ k From Out the Gloom, Wearied with the glitter and empty show of a bUvSy city, and worn with the rush and turmoil of crowded streets, a woman stepped from amidst the jostling throng into the quietness of one of the great churches that f^tood on the fashionable thoroughfare, whither she had come for a promenade. As she walked up the dimly lighted aisle, the silence unbroken, save by the rustle of her owm silken skirts, fell like a balm on her world-saddened spirit. Setting down in a luxuriously cushioned pew, not far from the richly ornate altar, her thoughts were soon far away from the scenes that had so re- centh' surrounded her, and she was once more a merr}^ thoughtless girl, seated on the step of her obscure birthplace wdiere she so often watched for the home coming of her father's teams. Once more she hears through the open window the mother's croon- ing of a gentle lullab}' to the little sister, who for so II FROM OUT THE CxLOOM. nian^- 3'ears has been sleeping in the quiet church 3'ard adjoining the little church, around which clus- ters the most sacred of her life's memories. Again she hears the kindly tones of her father's voice speak- ing to the faithful horses, as he was wont Ho release them from the burdens of the day. Again she feels the kindly touch of his hand resting in silent greet- ing on her rebellious curls, and again the warm good night kiss from her mother is fresh on her lips. But suddenh' from out the solemn gloom of the place, there breaks across her reveries the sound of glad music. A master's hand has touched the great organ, and the notes steal into her wearied soul with rest and sweetness. Butgradualh' there rises in the strain a harshness. A discord as of the World's sor- rows has crept in, and there comes before her all the darkness of life's grief that has crossed her path since the loved ones of whom she has been dreaming were her companions. And she remembers the host of sad and loneU' ones in the great cit}-, who 12 FROM OUT THE Gl.OOM. not only dwell in the gloom of sorrow and loneliness, but whose paths have not been cast in pleasant places nor gilded wnth the riches of earth, and there rises in her heart the resolve no more to seek happiness sel- fishly in the glory of empty baubles, but to seek those in need of comfort, to cheer the sad and help the suffering, and thus forget her own heart sorrows. Then as if in harmony with her thoughts and in pro- phecy of future 3-ears, the music rises in clear, triumphant notes of joy, and with firm and high resolves controlling the purposes of her heart, she steps from out the gloom feeling that a holiness has met her that will continue with her for manv davs. 13 The Wild Rose's Secret, One cool vSpring morning a tin}' wild rose sprang into life in an out of the wa}- corner of a rose garden, filled with rare cultivated roses. At first when the little rose became conscious of the luxuriant growth and witching perfume of the choice roses with which it was overshadowed, it was smitten sick to the very root to see how compara- tively valueless it must be, and it feign would have stopped its growth and withered awa\-. But this was not to be the fate of the wild rose, for the sunshine and the rain refreshed it and nourished it until one beautiful morning when the dew drops were spark- ling in the first rays of the rising sun, the little rose tree awoke to find itself covered with delicate tinted blossoms, and at last the little plant was contented. But when the sunbeams touched the dew drops and it was lighted by their brightness, it was more than contented; it was happ}'. 14 THE WIIvD ROSES SECRET. That afternoon when the owner came to walk in the garden, her glance found the wild rose plant and she exclaimed over the beauty of the bush and the exquisite delicacy of the blossoms, and vshe said vShe would take them to the great artist who lived near by and they w^ould give him much pleasure and he would make from them a beautiful picture that would glad- den the eyes and refresh the thoughts of many. Now the wild rose was • more than contented, more than happy; it was satisfied, for it had found a wonderful secret of successful living in giving joy to others.- * The above fancy which appeared la the "^Sub Alls Sto," 1897, a paper published by the students of St. Gabriel's School, Peeksklll. N. Y., is purely imaginary, and is not a simile con- taining- any personal reference whatever, as the writer was somewhat annoyed by having thought at the time of its appear- ing then, and indeed there is not the slightest personal reference anywhere between these covers. ^->i ^^J^^-> 15 The Spirit of Peace, Just around the corner of a quiet street, in the village of W , there stands a plain Tittle brown house with a tiny yard in front. Through the gate and up the narrow path are frequentl}- turned the footsteps of those of earth's children who are burdened with sorrow^ laden hearts. There is no chapel here where painted windows stream rich lights from radiant skies, and no pictured Madonnas and hovering angels, but going up the stairs and turning to the right one enters a small, plainly furnished room. A little table stands on one side covered with a spread, delicately embroidered, the work of patient fingers. On it, beside a thin empt}' vase, there lies a devotional book bound in blue. Over the table there hangs a peaceful land- scape flooded with sunlight, and underneath which hangs a calendar. There are knitted rugs on the i6 THE SPIRIT OF PEACE. floor, a rocking chair stands by the window, and in one corner there is a vacant couch. The room has no occupant, but a spirit of peace is there. In the house there dwells a widowed mother, who has buried her only child, a daughter, in the strength of young womanhood, and with her lives a girl, a stranger, for whom she cares. There is no sadness here, however, for above the vacant couch, in silent triumph, over death, there hangs the text, "Praise the Lord." The earthly tabernacle is gone, but in this silent chamber one knows that the pure heart which once loved the objects before us, is with the one who gave it life, and is now pulsing with joys that are beyond the measure of our earthly understanding. Eva has gone but she still speaks to those who remain, for there are people who remember her ministries and find their way to this quiet spot, and who are refreshed by this silent sermon, for there is something here more winning than the glitter of wealth and the pomp of the world. It is the spirit of peace, which cannot be purchased. 17 At the Sunset Hour, Long golden sunbeams were falling aslant the couch where Bessie la}' watching the deepening glory of mountains and sk^-, as the sun was sinking rapid- h' to rest. The radiance of the hour but enhanced the holy calm that had settled on the invalid's face since the respite from suffering had been so recenth" granted, and in her e^-es was fast gathering a far away look that told onh' too plainh', that with the close of the beautiful autumnal day, there would go out from that household the jo^'ous light of Bessie's presence. At the foot of the couch sat the mother, cjuiet with the sublime quietness of resignation. At the side sat the sister, her hand resting lightly on Bessie's pulse, the growing weakness of which but served to wound more deeph', the aching heart, beating underneath the forced exterior calmness. i8 AT THE SUNvSET HOUR. The gorgeousness of the crimson and gold of the western skies has given place to translucent and opaline hues when Bessie's lips moved. Bending low the sister caught the words, "Sing, sister; sing the dear old hymn, ' Guide Me, O Thy Great Jehovah. ' " For an instant the hallowed hush remained un- broken, and then sweetly tremously came stealing through the room the grand old words: " Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah, Pilgrim through this barren land: I am weak, but Thou art mighty: Hold me with thy powerful hand. Bread of heaven. Feed me 'till I want no more. " More bravely came the words of the second verse of the hymn, and then so low and tremblingly the last words: " When I tread the verge of Jordan, Bid my anxious fears subside; Bear me through the swelling current; Land me safe on Canaan's side: Songs of praises I will ever give to thee. " The singing ceased. Bessie's e3'es were clo.sed as 19 ' AT THE SUNSET HOUR. though in slumber, but the spirit had gone out be- yond the shining glories of the sunset sky to bathe in the brightness of eternal da}', and to be where the angel 's songs are never ceasing. 20 Completeness. One bright summer day a youth, glad in the strength of his earl}^ manhood, confident in mental attainments, stepped from college halls determined that his life should be rounded into completeness, even though he forced it by his own human will. "Fame shall be mine," he said. Toil and patience were rewarded with deserved results and fame was his, but he knew incompleteness remained. He said: "I will seek w^ealth. " Riches came and worldly treasures in abundance were his. Jewels and precious metals were in his coffers, and men came and went at his command. But though wealth and fame were his, he felt there was still something beyond, ere his resolve should be fulfilled. " I will seek more wisdom," he said, and re- searches long and deep, stored his mind with all 21 COMPLETENESS. learning and knowledge, but conipletenevSS had still eluded him. Ivove came with its full measure of jo}' and con- tentment, and the sunny hours sped as though winged by the lightest zephj-rs. but even in the midst of happiness there remained a sense that he was- not in unison, and did not understand the great pulsing, throbbing problems of humanit3^ But sad eyed and somber-robed, sorrow canie^ and smote with firm and sudden touch each heart string, until response sweet and strong were hers. And now after 3'ears, when soul met soul in the deep places of life, he knew he need search no more, for completeness was his. ^^US Don/' Donald, or " Don, " as everyboch' called him who knew the bright nrchin that sold papers on one of the wharfs of the big city, had never been in the countr}-. To be sure he had often w^ent to big parks where there was plenty of grass, with signboards, forbid- ding that you should tread upon it, and flowers and shrubs growing, but w4th policemen alwa3^s standing guard, so that one might not even touch them. And then there were some sweeping views of green fields there, that often seented to Don almost like visions of fairyland, but there w^ere always bare brick walls in sight and cutting off the view. Not that Don was a critical observer, for he had never seen field after field of rolling meadows and orchards, terminated onh' by mountains or tall trees. But now, at last, Don was going in the countr}' for two whole weeks. He was actually on the boat 25 "DON. " and sailing up the great river to where the kind lady Avas to meet him, who was to take him to her lovely coiintr}' home, and who had written to the cit}- mis- sionary- to send her just such a boy as Don. The first evening which was spent in that en- chanted spot, was one of traUvSporting pleasure. After being assured for the " dozenth " time that he could not only tread on the thickly growing grass, but that he could roll and play in it as well, Don's delight knew no bounds. Two whole da^'S had been spent in gathering flowers and watching the cows, and there yet re- mained wonderful rides behind the horses and moun- tain brooks to visit and the chickens and ducklings to come from the shell, when he came to his kind hostess and with a trembling lip expressed a wish to return to the cit3\ " Why," exclaimed the lady in surprise, "are you not happy here ? Your visit has only begun. What is the matter ' ' 26 "DON." " O, 3'es," said Don, "I like it here; 1113' mission teacher has told me about heaven and I think this must be most as good. But 3^ou see I have a brother there, younger than me, sick, down in the hospital, and ma is dead and pa has gone awa}', nobody knows where, and I alwa)^s went every night to see hirn, and I guess ma3^be he's lonesome without me, and since I've thought so, I'm not happ}^ here, and please, ma'ni, I'd like to go back where brother is, and I'd like to take him some daisies and violets if I ma\^ " So it happened, before the week was out, that Don, laden with sweet country trophies, stepped aboard the boat to return to the big city, because ' ' brother ' ' was there. ■'^^gmw 27 .0 hi \ .% The Bridal It is almost noon and the little church, with its tiny grass plot and old gray stepping stone in front, just off the narrow countr}^ road that winds past the little school house and up the hill to the nearest vil- lage, stands glistening white in the w^arni October sun. There is scarcely a chill of autumn in the air, and over on the hills that rise a short distance awav, there rests a slight purple haze, shading the brilliantly tinted trees that clothe their rugged sides, and giv- ing a suggestion of approaching Indian summer. Occasional carriages driving to and fro to deliver gaily dressed guCvSts who scatter about the door, give an unusual appearance of festivity to the quiet spot until we wonder its meaning, and learn that the time appointed for a wedding has arrived. A fair young girl, born in the shadow of the near by hills, and who has wended her wa}^ to the church and school from the first toddling 'steps of infancy, is 31 THE BRIDAL. about to plight her troth to a goodly youth of a neighboring town, and friends sincere and true have come to rejoice at the jo3'ous event. The people enter the church, which with drawn blinds would be almost in darkness, but for the dim- ly lighted lamps on the cabinet organ, placed at one side of the altar, that dispel the shadow and lend a hallowed light to the sacred precincts. The seats of the edifice are filled when the min- ister, grave and solemn, enters the chancel. Grave, because the lovely girl who has been a shining light among the people, known for her grace and meek- ness, is about to leave his fold. Solemn, because of the large responsibilities to be assumed by the youth- ful couple. Happy strains of the wedding march are sound- ing, when the door is closed for an instant, then suddenly opened and the bridal pair, not yet past boyhood and girlhood, move wdth measured tread to the altar, realizing the solemnity of the vows they are about to utter. 32 THE BRIDAL. Rich and melodious sound the tones of the min- ister, as they fill the room with the sweet words of the marriage service. Firm and happy the glad young voices repeat the vows. Quickly the brief service is ended, congratula- tions are said and the bridal couple have passed on into the great untried world. The place where the bride has grown from a joyous child to the dawn of a beautiful womanhood, and where even the trees and rocks and hills are dear to her, and the friends who have known and loved her from childhood are left, perhaps forever, by her, and the one to whom she cleaves. 33 FIRST EDITION. HIGHLAND DEMOCRAT PRINT. LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS ■I 016 117 905 A