The Carnival Passed Away; The Season Of Lent Succeeded; Passion Week
Arrived.
We attended one evening a solemn service in one of the
churches; in the course of which a grand piece of vocal and
instrumental music was performed relating to the death of our Saviour.
I had remarked that he was always powerfully affected by music; on this
occasion he was so in an extraordinary degree. As the peeling notes
swelled through the lofty aisles, he seemed to kindle up with fervor.
His eyes rolled upwards, until nothing but the whites were visible; his
hands were clasped together, until the fingers were deeply imprinted in
the flesh. When the music expressed the dying agony, his face gradually
sunk upon his knees; and at the touching words resounding through the
church, "Jesu mori," sobs burst from him uncontrolled. I had never
seen him weep before; his had always been agony rather than sorrow. I
augured well from the circumstance. I let him weep on uninterrupted.
When the service was ended we left the church. He hung on my arm as we
walked homewards, with something of a softer and more subdued manner;
instead of that nervous agitation I had been accustomed to witness. He
alluded to the service we had heard. "Music," said he, "is indeed the
voice of heaven; never before have I felt more impressed by the story
of the atonement of our Saviour. Yes, my friend," said he, clasping his
hands with a kind of transport, "I know that my Redeemer liveth."
We parted for the night. His room was not far from mine, and I heard
him for some time busied in it. I fell asleep, but was awakened before
daylight. The young man stood by my bed-side, dressed for travelling.
He held a sealed packet and a large parcel in his hand, which he laid
on the table. "Farewell, my friend," said he, "I am about to set forth
on a long journey; but, before I go, I leave with you these
remembrances. In this packet you will find the particulars of my story.
When you read them, I shall be far away; do not remember me with
aversion. You have been, indeed, a friend to me. You have poured oil
into a broken heart, - but you could not heal it. - Farewell - let me kiss
your hand - I am unworthy to embrace you." He sunk on his knees, seized
my hand in despite of my efforts to the contrary, and covered it with
kisses. I was so surprised by all this scene that I had not been able
to say a word.
But we shall meet again, said I, hastily, as I saw him hurrying towards
the door.
"Never - never in this world!" said he, solemnly. He sprang once more to
my bed-side - seized my hand, pressed it to his heart and to his lips,
and rushed out of the room.
Here the Baronet paused. He seemed lost in thought, and sat looking
upon the floor and drumming with his fingers on the arm of his chair.
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