Lizzie Doten - Hesper, the Home-Spirit

In pursuance of one leading idea, has this little work been written: – that of giving to true merit its due. The world is ever ready to celebrate the achievements of its conquering heroes, who, according to the conceptions of mankind, are noble and great, but the patient, persevering heroism of those in humble life, who struggle hard and suffer long, is passed by unnoticed. Many such there are who bear their cross of suffering in silence, and go down to the grave with their hard fought battles and moral victories unhonored and unsung. God and his angels alone take cognizance of such, or it may be, some soul who has known a life experience, sends out a warmly gushing fount of sympathy, to cheer these lone wanderers upon their way. It is not the great and overwhelming sorrows of existence, but the petty, inglorious vexations of daily life, that most severely test the soul’s energies. They who can meet such trials with patience and firmness, gradually obtain the mastery, not only over circumstances, but also over themselves and others. It is one of the eternal laws of God that thus it shall be, and sure it is in its fulfilment, as the promise of his word. One thing only is needful for a complete and glorious victory, and that is “the love that never faileth,” “that seeketh not its own, but another’s good.” The working of especial wonders and miracles, the dazzling manifestations of genius, and the great intellectual attainments which cause the world to wonder and admire, belong only to the few, but the power to love is a gift for all, from the highest to the lowest, and the one thing needful is what all may obtain. Mankind, however, are not content with what is so common, but are continually gazing upward for some more glorious manifestation of the Holy Spirit, but not till the “Angels in the House” and “The Home Spirits” are fully known and appreciated, will the celestial beings unveil their lovely countenances and walk with man as of old. When human hearts have learned to live and love aright, then will “the kingdom come.” By love alone shall the world become regenerate and redeemed. God speed the day then, when its reign shall be universal and all the nations of the earth shall acknowledge its sway!

It was a cool, clear, autumn evening, and the full harvest-moon was pouring down a flood of mellow light upon the hills and vallies, when the worthy Mr. Byers emerged from the village post-office, and made his way as fast as his age and corpulence would permit, in the direction of “Locust Cottage.” This was a small, low, red farmhouse, situated in a green nook of the hills, and at present, owned and occupied solely by an excellent quaker lady, widely known as Aunt Nyna. Mr. Byers was evidently in haste, but his progress though labored, was not rapid. His short, thick legs, did not allow of very extended strides, and he went puffing and blowing at every few steps, like a locomotive. The way was, however, in reality, long, and it was with no small satisfaction, after some fifteen or twenty minutes toilsome walk, that he saw a bright light glimmering through the branches of the locusts, from the cottage windows. Pausing one moment to take breath, before entering the green lane which led directly to the cottage, he drew a letter from his pocket, and scrutinized it closely in the moonlight.

“That is certainly from over sea,” he muttered to himself, “and just the one she wanted. Lord bless her! how glad she will be!”

Returning it to his pocket again with a smile of the greatest satisfaction, he continued on his way. Instead of entering the cottage at once, as might have been expected after such a hasty walk, he lingered a few moments without. Stealing cautiously beneath one of the low front windows, he drew aside the sweet-brier that shaded it, and looked into the room.

Aunt Nyna sat by her cheerful fire, reading from a large, old-fashioned book, which lay open on the stand before her. The house dog dozed in the chimney corner, the tea kettle was singing on the crane, and the little canary was fast asleep with his head beneath his wing. No sound broke the silence save the monotonous tick of the old clock, faithfully numbering the moments, which to one heart at least were full of blessing. Unconscious that any save the All-seeing Eye was upon her, the good lady read on, until the white muslin handkerchief folded so neatly on her bosom was stirred with emotion, and raising her spectacles upon her forehead, she wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Shedding tears,” muttered Mr. Byers. “Right fortunate is it that I’m not there, for it makes a complete simpleton of me to see a woman weep. May be though she is thinking about him, and wonders why he doesn’t write. I declare it is a shame to keep her in suspense another moment,” and he entered without further delay.

“Good evening, Mrs. Dorothy;” he said with a friendly familiarity.

“Good evening Mr. Byers. I am right glad to see thee, for it is a long time since I beheld the light of thy countenance. Where hast thee been so long?”

“O, all about in spots, and nowhere in particular,” replied the old gentleman, as he took his seat in the capacious armchair which was placed for him, and removing his hat wiped the perspiration from his shining crown. “I just thought, Mrs. Dorothy, as it was so pleasant to-night, that I would call over and inquire if you had heard anything from Harry since he left? Let’s see – its full three months now, I believe.”

“Not one word as yet, Mr. Byers,” replied the good lady sorrowfully, “and verily I had no right to expect it before now. I had surely hoped though that thee hadst brought me somewhat. Yet I see I must wait a little longer.”

“Yes, Mrs. Dorothy, a little longer .” There was a merry twinkle in the old man’s eye as he spoke, and his hand moved nervously in his coat-pocket, but he looked up quickly at the row of crooked-necked squashes hanging along the wall, and at the bright pewter platters upon the dresser, and composed himself. “I declare, Mrs. Dorothy,” he continued, “how snug and comfortable you look here! I like to see a home that is a home, though I haven’t lived in one for many a year. When my Hannah was alive I knew what true enjoyment was – but,” he added, with solemn earnestness – “as the poet says, ‘Now she’s dead, and that’s all over.’” “Ah me,” replied the good lady with a sigh, “what a difference it makes to the whole of life when one we love is taken from us! There’s a shadow on everything ever afterwards. I remember when my poor dear husband died I felt – “ Here she hesitated, and drew her handkerchief from the black silk bag which lay on the table.

“Mrs. Dorothy,” said Mr. Byers, hastily, as he reached for his hat, “are you about to shed tears?”

“Nay, friend, nay,” she replied, calmly, and wiping her nose leisurely, she returned the handkerchief to its place. “I was only about to say, that after Mr. Nyna died, I felt that although I would gladly have laid down in the grave with him, that I must live for Harry’s sake, and so I lived.”