14 OUR MONTHLY. A IOUS AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. JANUARY--1871. THE MANTLE OF ELIJAH. BY GEORGE LEE. FRONTISPIECE. Snow on the housetops, it lies white and pure; streets, where it is soon to a muddy slush; snow , on the fences, on the nd flying in big, damp e chilly air; snow on the rcoats of hurrying pedesn the broad backs of the ho cower and shiver on eats as they impatiently ir steaming horses; snow and untrodden in the narling whither nobody wants wooden steps of a decayed g house, in a mean little ch is a woman and a boy. lame, and the woman is my darling," she says snowing yet?" mamma, as hard as ever "Real sure, mamma. He said he would be here by noon." "What time is it now?" The little boy climbs upon a chair, and after studying for a moment the face of the clock, which ticks on its unpainted wooden shelf, says slowly: "Half-after 'leven; but I know he'll come." She draws another long breath, like one who is wayworn and weary, and stretches out a pitifully thin, white hand. He goes to her and puts his own small hand into that poor thin one. "You will be seven years old tomorrow, Johnny." of "Yes, just seven, mamma.' "I don't know, mamma," he says, "You have been a great comfort to me, my darling-a better son than your wicked mother has ever deserved. a long, long sigh, then You are like your father, dear child," she continues, softly stroking his forehead. "You never saw him-not even his picture. I gave it to your sister. sure the minister said he Poor little Maggie! I wonder if she -o-day?” my darling!" mamma. is alive." ding to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by the PRESBYterian Magazine Company, iD He says nothing-only weeps, his head on her pillow. "You are too young to understand it, Johnny; but you will know some day I have done you wrong. I am dying now, as I deserve to die, in poverty and disgrace, unknown and uncared for by anybody in all the world. But I have repented of my sin, O, long ago! and my punishment has been bitter, very bitter, my poor child, but just. I want you to promise me, Johnny, that when you have grown to be a man and know, as you will know then, who your poor mother was and how sinful, but how penitent-0, how very, very sorry, my darling, and how terrible her punishment was; I want you to promise that you will forgive her, and try to think kindly of her. Promise me, my child." He is looking wonderingly into her face, but promises, and she adds in a fainter voice: "You will never forget this, will you? Promise me you will never forget it." He promises this also, and again lays his head beside hers on the pillow. Drawing his face to hers, she kisses him, not once but many times, and holds him to her cheek almost convulsively. "So like your father!" she murmurs at length, drawing back her head to look at him. "So like your father!" Then, after a moment's silence: "He was a good man, a noble, kind, generous man; and I-God forgive me!killed him." She lies with her eyes closed, and there is perfect stillness in the room save only the ticking of the clock. The sound of wheels is heard, and a man drives up to the door. He alights, and tying his horse to the fence, gently knocks. "He's come! mamma! He's come! I'm going to the door to let him in." The minister takes her hand, kind child." And she looks wistfully into his face with her large gray eyes. "I got your letter," he says, "in which you intrusted him to my care. And, though at a loss to understand why you have chosen me to be his guardian, further than that I am a clergyman, nevertheless, I shall consider the trust a sacred one." His hasty termination of the sentence is apparently caused by a look of anxiety on her countenance. "I have made arrangements for taking him into my own family. He shall be cared for, even as my own son, dear madam.” "That is enough," she answers, the anxiety disappearing from her face. "I know he will be in good hands. You will train him up to be a good man. His father was a good man.' "God helping me, I will," says the minister, earnestly. "This is the package," she whispers, taking one from under her pillow and placing it in his hand-"the one I spoke about in my letter.” She seems desirous of speaking further. Her lips move, but no sound comes from them. She puts out her hand again, and for the last time draws the little lame boy's face to hers. The clergyman kneels at her bedside, and prays. My - husband." It is a long, quivering breath; but on her still lips is a sweet, glad smile. as though it were a smile of greeting. I thought then, however, only of its being a very sweet, glad smile. Looking back, and knowing what I now know, it seems a smile of greeting. "Ah! there are many things in life, the true significance of which we fail to see, except as we look back upon them through the lights and shadows of after years! And is it not a pleasant thoughtsurely we may entertain it-that when "O I am so glad—so glad you have all of our existence here is something ly, and asks her how she is. [APTER I. IE PARSONAGE. urned seven when the wbridge introduced me It was a long time ago, tinct recollection of the in November, 1847, the nksgiving. The air was which seemed uncertain 1 in rain or snow. It lly atmosphere, causing ich travelers as we met flamed appearance, and quent applications of a chief. Our ride was a d, for the most part, a one. Mr. Trowbridge his own reflections, and ly affected by the events days, and the novelty condition, to volunteer So I snugged up to his as I dared, and peeped uffalo robe, in curious every house we apad been told that I was onage, and my imaginaits endeavors to picture named. I thought a t be some very remarkleed; something like a ps; and, O, delightful essed of a steeple. How à a house with a steeple hen, just as the gloomy ening into night, Mr. ddenly reined up his te of a little red house, ack from the road, and distinguishing feature uld hardly believe my e parsonage ?" I asked Mr. Trowbridge, lifting nd, "this is the parson any steeple," I faltered. -y. The steeple is on "No; not as a general thing," he replied, with a grave smile. My questions seemed to amuse him. I was disappointed, and limped along by his side in a state of considerable mental bewilderment. He ushered me into a room where was a tall, middle-aged lady, getting supper. She kissed me with genuine tenderness and hoped, in a rather weak voice, that I was pretty well. It afterwards dawned on my apprehension that this lady was a maiden sister of Mr. Trowbridge, and for the time being his housekeeper. She wore, on the evening in question and on all state occasions, as I afterwards learned, a stiff black silk, which rustled like a husk mattress, or a small corn-field stirred by a gentle breeze. I was next introduced to my new brother. "Elisha," said his father, "this is the little boy I told you about, whose mother died the other day. Come and get acquainted with him.' But Elisha only favored me with a prolonged stare, until, as I was turning away, he startled me by saying, in a terrific voice, "How are ye?" I informed him that I was pretty well, and he maintained an unbroken silence until supper time. The long ride had given me a famous appetite; and being unused to the ceremony of grace before meat, I seized the mug of milk, which stood by my plate, and prepared to refresh myself with a long drink. But Elisha burst into a fit of astonished laughter. "Why, child, what are you laughing at?" said his aunt. "Him. He was going to eat before pa asked the blessing." This blunt reminder so disconcerted me that I poured the milk into my lap instead of down my throat, whereupon my new brother was so uproariously amused that his father summarily dismissed him from the table, greatly to my relief. Then the blessing was asked, and I got on with my supper very well except that Elisha distressed me by making faces and shaking his fist, from the kitchen, the door to which He continued his absurd grimaces and gestures, for some time, to his own infinite satisfaction apparently, but with no positive effect upon his sole and just then preoccupied spectator. At last, however, a crisis came. As I was in the act of drinking, looking over the rim of my cup at Elisha, he effected a maneuver, which so far surpassed all his former efforts, that my sense of the ridiculous was fairly touched and demanded instant expression. This, of course, brought on a violent fit of coughing and choking. "What made you laugh so suddenly?" asked Miss Trowbridge; when, after a great deal of spluttering and gasping and swelling of veins on my part, and a vigorous thumping between my shoulder on hers, quiet was restored. Filled with shame and confusion at a so undignified mishap, I replied with some asperity, "He was making up faces at me." Elisha, come here." He obeyed, rubbing his fists into his eyes, and protesting that he didn't make up no faces neither. Yes, you did!" I shouted wrathfully. "They were awful ones, too.' "Hush-h-h! Don't dispute about it, dear," said Miss Trowbridge, mildly. "Elisha," said her brother, "you may go up stairs to bed, and stay there until you are sorry you told a lie." "I'm a'ready," was that sorry young gentleman's frank confession, as he moved reluctantly toward the door. Being admonished by a movement of his father, he suddenly quickened his pace and disappeared up the stairway in a twinkling. Before two minutes had elapsed, however, I saw him cautiously peering around the door-post. Having caught my eye, he began another series of facial and bodily contortions. This exhibition might have continued indefinitely, had I not, after gazing at him for a moment with great admiration. promptly exploded into said Miss Trowbridge, looking at me with uplifted eyebrows. "I don't see anything to laugh at." 'He's making up faces again," I explained. "I ain't neither!" halloed Elisha from the region up stairs, "and if I was, he couldn't see 'em. I'm in bed." "He was right there in the doorway. I saw him," I asserted stoutly. Mr. Trowbridge rose from the table and proceeded up the stairs. Before he reached the upper landing, Elisha could be heard snoring. "Elisha," said his father, (( were you making faces again?" No answer. "Elisha!' "Elisha!" But so deep was Elisha's sleep that no vocal emphasis could awaken him. A succession of peculiar sounds, suggestive of rapid applications of an open hand upon a smooth and tolerable firm surface, such as may be found on the person of any well regulated boy, was soon accompanied by a discordant roar. The criminal speedily confessed his guilt, and sued for pardon, apparently with hearty contrition. "When you feel like a good boy," said Mr. Trowbridge, "you may come down." He came down immediately and presented himself at the table, as though nothing unusual had happened. After supper we went into the parlor, where Elisha astonished and delighted me by making the cat "lighten." Getting me into a dark corner, he held Tabby by the neck with one hand, and with the other vigorously stroked her back in the wrong direction, an operation which produced sparks, much more to our edification than that to the unhappy victim of his manipulations. Tabby growled ominously. "Hear the thunder? "This kind of lightning never strikes anybody," he remarked philosophically. Alas for Elisha ! Greater savans than |