"I haven't found yet the work or the place I was meant for," said he. Fancy the waves of sound conveying a message like that to the Brydges, who quoted him every day of their lives as the one eminently successful man! He remembered a girl who might have written concerning him what some woman had written here concerning some man. To have so loved as to have won such love, would not that have been a truer success than he had achieved? Love-was it a real power still in the world? He groaned when he thought of the unbelief which had obtained an influence so hardening over him. But then he believed that he could still love such a woman as this Dorothy, perhaps―at least such a woman as his own mother. But where could such a one be found? Perhaps an elderly woman came in from the street, and addressed the clerk at his desk. "Was any mistake made here about baggage last night ?" said she. The clerk told her, with an air, "This is not the baggage office, madam." "No," she said, "I know it. I have been there. But I thought perhaps you might have heard something-somebody inquiring, maybe." John Taylor, hearing all this, began to hum "Come, Dorothy," and to make nonsense of his letter. Of course this individual wasn't Dorothy, but she was quite obviously involved in this trick of fortune which concerned merely Dorothy and himself. She was an elderly friend, perhaps, of that sweethearted widow. "Is there any mark on your valise ?" ask "But at his cousin Sally's, to-day. But then this ed the clerk. mistake of baggage seemed to have inter- "The same mark there is on this, that posed to prevent whatever might have hap-don't belong to me," was the answer. pened at his cousin Sally's! I saw the minute I looked at it that it wasn't mine." "Well," said the clerk, "I'll inquire among the passengers; there's one of them sitting there at that table now." "Thank you, Sir," said the woman, and she turned quickly toward the table, and saw-Mr. John Taylor! But a cat may look at a king. This second observation of J. T. since she had left the town office was not as startling to her as the first had been. She was able now to perceive that Mr. Taylor was merely So he lay there and discussed the point. Reluctant always to make a change that involved any exertion, a week spent in bed at the Henderson House began to look more attractive to him than the scene on which he would be gazing, probably, within four or five hours. The mistake of the valise could only be rectified by some activity on his part. He must either recover his missing effects at once or provide himself with other appareling. A return to town in either case seemed necessary, and of that he felt incapable. The bed on which he was lying, there-a transient guest in the Henderson House, fore, appeared to be the one place desirable. The haven he had gained he had no wish to leave. His mind continued to dwell upon the peace and the comfort of it till he recollected what Sally had told him about the station and the house in the years when she was accustomed to spend the autumn there for the sake of the gorgeous woods. though elsewhere his nod might mean millions. Under certain circumstances it might have taken her breath away to think of having his property in her hands, but just now she was cool enough. By this you will understand that, left to herself, she remembered effectually, if not very distinctly, that the blood of two or three generations of Americans was in her veins. He might remain where he was, and send his gifts forward with apologies. Sally It was Mr. Taylor, in fact, who felt a litwould have no reason to suspect his near-tle misgiving looking at her, for his commonness. He was dull, too dull for the society sense dispelled the illusion he had allowed of young folks met for pleasure, and he felt to envelop Dorothy, and he said to himself, worked out, now that he had leisure to as-"Of course the things are hers-the flowers, certain his feelings. gloves, and all," and he blushed in a way that showed it was not agreeable to think that he had, uninvited, possessed himself of a thought or two of hers. The more he thought of all this the less disposed he felt to mingle with youth and gayety. Diamonds and filigree would more than fill his place. Having proceeded so It was time he should make a sign, so he far in reflection, John arose and looked from looked up, pushed the writing materials the windows. He would dispatch a messen-away, and glancing toward the clerk's desk, ger forthwith to Watkins Park, and telegraph Will to hunt up his valise; after that he would go to bed, if nothing better offered. It was still early when he went down stairs to the hotel office and asked for writ- Then the woman explained, and it appearing materials. Furnished with these, heed that there was another J. T. in this world sat down to write a note to his cousin. He besides John Taylor; and before he was callwas in the midst of a well-constructed sen-ed to breakfast Mr. Taylor and Mrs. Thomptence which displayed not a little tact, when son had exchanged portmanteaus, and J. T., invited the question, which he heard the par excellence, had privately decided to go on | vision of white lilies. He was surely about to Factoryville by the eight-o'clock stage. to begin life over again. "I found myself too late to attend one festival," said he, in a lively tone, and he had actually persuaded himself that this was true. "I might attend another if I had an invitation." Why? Because this Mrs. Thompson was going. Absurd! I know it, but that is his business. Bowles, though, I may mention, lived at Factoryville. There was no calculating with certainty as to what Mr. Taylor would or would not do, or where, or how, or when he would come out with success in his hand; the only thing to be relied on was the success. Every body said so who had deal-stop over, the wedding is to be in the church, ings with him. They had a good many miles before them, | and the greater part of the day were the only passengers. "We shall have a peaceable journey," said Mr. Taylor, as the driver shut the door on the surprised woman and the man who was following his "leading." "Yes," she answered, "if our baggage don't fall out by the way;" and then they both laughed, he precisely as if he were not worth his millions, and she as if she did not know that he was, and as if also she had forgotten that she was going, sad-hearted as to a funeral, to the wedding of her son. Were they to make a silent journey? Time must decide. Time's decision was that there should be no lack of talk between them. The woman knew every mile-stone on the road, and her husband and she knew Bowles of Factoryville, of course. Ah, yes! She spoke of her husband in such a way that her fellow-passenger for a long time supposed that he might be living on earth yet. At last, however, it became as clear to his mind as Wall Street is clear on a Sunday that she was a widow, and Dorothy besides; and that she was a fair-faced, sweetvoiced woman his eyes and ears assured him. And then he learned the poor little insignificant fact that it was her husband who built the first factory that was ever set to work in Factoryville. Factoryville had a history of its own which she knew well. It had grown, within her memory, from a hamlet of two hundred to a town of eight or ten thousand inhabitants, and was now making a great effort to get rid of its name. And had she friends still living there? Oh yes, it was there her son lived-her only son, James. So she was to speak, as it were by invitation, about her son to Mr. Taylor-Mr. John Taylor. To think of it! It was her boy she was going to visit. In fact, he was to be married the next day, and she had obtained leave of absence from Mr. Brydges, Jun., to attend his wedding. Mr. Brydges? Yes: she copied papers in his office. Sweet odors of mignonette seemed to float around Mr. John Taylor as he listened to this brief story, and he seemed to have a "If you are going to stop over,” said the widow, politely-she was as old-fashioned as politeness itself is "if you are going to very early; at nine o'clock in the morning." After a little reflection, or perhaps it was only a pause of hesitation, she added, "I did not expect it for six months yet. It is quite sudden." "Don't you agree with him as to the wisdom of the movement ?" asked the man from the gold-room, as if he had been her brother. They say you can not travel with a woman half a day in car or stage-coach (I don't know how it is about steamboats), without having a revelation granted you of all the secrets of her experience. But it would seem that the information Mr. Taylor obtained on this day's journey was not altogether thrust upon him. He asked a good many questions; provoked, perhaps, some expectations. At least nobody will wonder at it if the mother thought while they talked, "Here's a man who does what he pleasesand there's my poor James!" "It might have been better on some accounts if James had waited a little," said she. "Yet I don't know that it would be right to say so to either of them. I can not say it. You see, Sir, the young lady's father died quite unexpectedly, and my son says he feels bound to make the family smaller by one, and he has a better salary than he had at first. James is very ingenious. is like his father. I don't think Mr. Bowles would part with him on any account." He And so it came out very clearly that James Thompson was with Mr. Bowles. "There, that's it!" thought Mr. Taylor. "I knew there was something to come." One of the great differences between individuals is this, all are expecting something, but all don't know when it arrives. What says the proverb, "Many meet the gods, but few salute them." "If your son is an inventor," said he, taking his time to say it, "his way is easy enough. There's nothing that I know of equal to the head of an inventor. It is the best kind of head a man can have on his shoulders." John Taylor thoroughly believed this, and the widow could not doubt his sincerity. Yes, she thought, it is a great thing to be an inventor; but she could not think without a pang of the years through which her husband had passed-the make-shifts, the poverty, and death ending all just as they were coming into port after their long, tempestuous voyaging. If he wanted to know whether he had spoken to the purpose, Mr. John Taylor had only to look at the widow. But it was, as the gentleman said, a great | let her go away to earn her own living. If thing, a very great thing, to have the head she has a mind to help him, it's better she of an inventor. A smile lighted up her face, should do so after they're married." and seemed to renovate each feature, as she dwelt upon it. Perhaps it might not be the most profitable head, as he had claimed, but certainly it was the noblest; and sweetest of all smiles that ever glowed on mortal countenance was that which in painful defeat or in victory had shone on her husband's countenance. She did not speak; she was busied with these recollections which all lay on the other side of the grave-on that unapproachable earthly side over which the sunshine was always so solemnly resting. By-and-by she was startled, perhaps by the sound of a voice rather than by what the voice said. Who would have prophesied, when she set out on her journey, her heart so filled with gloom, that before she had arrived at Factoryville the voice of a man so wise in the affairs of this world, and so successful, would be saying to her words which would make her see the world, as it were, created anew for her son? How ashamed in her heart was she that she had dared to doubt or to murmur, as though Heaven could have in store for her any thing really heart-breaking and evil! How ashamed of the tears she had shed on the receipt of her dear boy's letter, "How is it about Mr. Bowles-and your and of that feeling that in giving her conson? Does James satisfy him?” sent to his marriage she had, as it were, lost him! "Oh yes." "Why don't he take him in as a partner?" "That isn't possible," she said; but not because she had not thought the possibility over, and reasoned with herself many and many a time on the impossibility. "He is the foreman, though, you say, and necessary." "Mr. Bowles told me last year," she answered, "that he didn't know how he could get on without James." "He won't let him go if the business is worth a cent. Your son must make use of his opportunity," said John, speaking forcibly, from conviction: this was the business he was to attend to; for what else should he spend the day on the road to Factoryville instead of answering Bowles's letter by mail? "I will tell you," said the mother-and you know that she believed the Spirit of the Lord to be still moving on the dark waters, and also that she, poor soul, still trusted in Providence "I think if my son don't push his way now, he never will be his own man as long as he lives. Mr. Bowles and every other man will let him stand in the background as long as he will consent to do so. This is the thing that has troubled me. Perhaps I don't do right to say it, Sir; but you will understand me." Was it not enough to make one smile to hear her saying that to Mr. John Taylor? But he did not smile. Her anxiety, her earnestness, her modesty, her humility, touched his heart. "I am glad you have told me," said he. "As you say, marriage is the making of a good many men, but it nips off the enterprise and the hope of a good many too. I believe in Providence myself, ma'am. I agree with you that if James is like other men, he is going to take his stand to-morrow, and it speaks well for him that he is determined to marry the young lady off-hand, now that she is in trouble. I like it better than if he had VOL. XLVII.-No. 277.-5 When the stage drew up toward the steps of the Factoryville inn the widow said: "I can't tell you how I feel your kindness. You are the last man I would have expected to tell all this to. There is my son waiting for me! I can speak to him now with some courage: I believe all will be well, just as you think." "May I come to the wedding, if I can find my way to the church?" asked Mr. Taylor, as James came toward the stage door to open it. He had seen that his mother was a passenger. "Do come!" she answered. "Any body can tell you where it is. At nine o'clock!" She had apparently forgotten all the astonishing and magnificent things that she had ever heard about him, and invited him as cordially as she would have invited an old friend, or you or me. Standing for a moment on the green in front of the inn, Mr. John Taylor looked at the widow's son, and made up his mind. The widow said, as she walked away with her boy: "That gentleman, James, is one of the richest men in the city. And made all his money himself. And such a sensible man! I wouldn't have believed it! I told him about you, and he says you're going to do the right thing, bless you!" Whereupon, moved by the tearful energy with which the last words were spoken, the young man-a sturdy, dark-browed son of labor-kissed his mother on the public street. "There's an extry fine piece of crockery for you," said one of the loafers on the tavern steps to another, turning and looking at Mr. John Taylor as he walked into the barroom. "Soft bake," said another. But what if they had seen the rose leaves and diamonds in the stranger's vest pocket, or surveyed his letter, coming forward so unexpectedly the contents of his portmanteau ? Or what with plenty of money when it was so badly if they had known the thoughts that he was wanted. thinking about his ended journey? Wherever he was, in Factoryville or elsewhere, Mr. Taylor's purposes were distinctly ascertained. He had now to answer Bowles's letter, but moreover, and chiefly, to find out about James. And 'first of all he must ascertain the general estimate and opinion of business done at the factory, and the importance of James Thompson in the establishment. If the lovely young bride had known all he was thinking, and the wonderful delight he had in his thinking, she would not have been so surprised when she saw him next morning looking at her so kindly from the front pew, where he stood with Mr. Bowles during the ceremony. And if she had known what her husband knew when she walked out of the church, leaning on his arm, she could not have been so surprised to see how untroubled his eyes looked, and how serene his face, as he said, "You and I must trust in Providence. There's nothing like Providence for us, Netty. It is all right." James Thompson did not discover all this till some years later-about the time, probably, when Mr. Taylor went to Factoryville and bought out Bowles, and himself entered into business with J. T., Jun., as a machinist and an inventor, and so realized the dream of his youth, which was to produce something, and not merely to accumulate. I dare say you are wishing now that he had also married Dorothy in those good days. That may have been his wish-in fact, it was! But how could it be done when she was always thinking of one who waited for her in the heavenly place? No; but there was another good woman in the world for a good lover—and so, of course, he found her. WHEN A DREAM COMES TRUE. I HOLD your hand in mine, my darling, darling; I ask you idle questions, only caring And all the while the glimmer of a wonder A moon-lit rack of cloud- For while he waited in the porch for Netty and her family, standing there with his mother, Mr. Bowles had come in with the stranger who rode over to Factoryville in the stage yesterday, and had said to him, I think how oft the future will require it— "I have brought you a wedding present, "Ah, how then did it seem ?"— James. You come into the firm with me to-To-morrow and to-morrow will desire it day, as well as make your contract with Miss Netty." And then Netty had come, and the organ was sending forth the glad sound of the Wedding March, and the minister stood in the chancel, and the sexton outside had his hand on the bell-rope ready to tell all the good folk far and near of the brave deed done in the village church at that early morning hour. So there was no time to be talking about business. It is a good thing to have influence-a great thing to have earned it. John Taylor felt that, of all his operations, this was the one that paid him best when he stood in the little parlor of Netty's mother, and it was talked over in the happy circle that Mr. Bowles would take James into partnership with himself that day. He smiled benignly as a god when he made his wedding present to the bride through James's mother-the very ornaments he had bought for his cousin Sally's daughter, thinking meanwhile how different the trip he had made and the festival he had attended from any thing he could have anticipated. But who that sets out on a journey will venture to say where he is going, or what may be the end thereof? Of course he had bought a share in Bowles's business, and had saved Bowles not a little perplexity by the answer he made to Vainly as any dream. What is it more? In dreams the eyes are holden; I wake with outspread arms, a shadow folding- It is but touch and sight a little plainer, I doubt, "O heart, art thou so much a gainer? O fire of God, O living, wingéd creature How canst thou warm to thy diviner nature Too eager quest, that hastest to their meeting, Hoping desire to fill, Thou standest half abashed, in tenderest greeting, With stinted bread the life-long hunger staying, With longing that makes life perpetual praying, If yet, O dearest heart, the world grows dearer, (While that which never has enough cries, Nearer What will it be when every barrier breaking Lets heart to heart come through? THE HARZ MOUNTAINS: A TOUR IN THE TOY COUNTRY. ON BY HENRY BLACKBURN. Na low seat, in an or Vienna would do well to turn aside for old-fashioned,un- a few days and explore a region about fashionable pub- which scarcely any thing seems to be lic garden, on the known. If the tourist refers to his handsouth side of book for Northern Germany, he will there Hanover, there be told that it is hardly worth the while is little Gretchen of the hunter after the picturesque who surrounded by ba- has seen other parts of Europe to go far bies, knitting and out of his way to explore the Harz, unless staring with all he be a geologist, or interested in mining her eyes. It is operations, and he will learn that this, the a quiet, rather deserted-looking spot, with most northerly range of mountains in Gerno attempt at trimness or attractiveness-a many, is only about sixty miles by thirty poor dilapidated "Terrasse," or public walk, in extent, and that its highest peak, the with old wooden seats, where Carl and Fritz Brocken, is only three thousand feet above have carved their names, and hacked about the level of the sea. The attractions of the with pocket-knives, and otherwise made Harz Mountains to the inhabitants of the themselves disagreeably at home. But it flat countries, in the burning days of July is, nevertheless, the place in Hanover to-day and August, are greater than the sea-breezes for quiet and rest; a place where babies, of their coast. The charm of mountaineerstrapped in stiff card-board packets, are ing, and walking on heather-covered hillbrought to sleep, where lovers come to love, sides, and wandering freely in forests of and old men to dream. pines, is greater and more alluring than the casinos on the sea-shore. Thus it is that the capitalists of the northern towns of Germany, especially Bremen, are popularizing the principal valleys in the Harz, construct "Unter den Linden," as we sit here to-day, let us turn our eyes southward, and scan the blue horizon. As we look we can trace a far-off sea of mountains, low, smooth, and spreading east and west, like a receding tide upon the sands. It is a deep sea-a sea of many mysteries, le-. gends, and dreams - the source of inspiration of Goethe's poetry and Heine's philosophy. "Unter den Linden," there come upon the south wind echoes of the Walpurgisnacht, and memories of the loves of Marguerite. The spirit-land of Northern Germany is before us. Poets, artists, philosophers, and the children of a thousand German homes have fed their fancies, and moulded their ideas of life beyond cities, from the little range of mountains which we shall venture to call the "Toy Country" of Northern Germany. We will not dwell on the poetic associations of the Harz at the outset, but rather tell the reader what it is like today-what it is that attracts in such numbers the inhabitants of Bremen, Hamburg, Hanover, and Brunswick, and why the traveler on his way from London to Berlin ON THE WAY TO THE BROOKEN. |