For a drunken, begging, squalid-letter-writing man, called Pecksniff: with a shrewish daughter: haunts thee, Tom; and when he makes appeals to thee for cash, reminds thee that he built thy fortunes better than his own; and when he spends it, entertains the ale-house company, with tales of thine ingratitude and his munificence towards thee once upon a time; and then he shews his elbows worn in holes, and puts his soleless shoes up, on a bench, and begs his auditors look there; while thou art comfortably housed and clothed. All known to thee, and yet all borne with, Tom!
So, with a smile upon thy face, thou passest gently to another measure; to a quicker and more joyful one; and little feet are used to dance about thee at the sound; and bright young eyes to glance up into thine. And there is one slight creature, Tom—her child; not Ruth's—whom thine eyes follow in the romp and dance: who, wondering sometimes to see thee look so thoughtful, runs to climb up on thy knee, and put her cheek to thine: who loves thee, Tom, above the rest, if that can be: and falling sick once, chose thee for her nurse: and never knew impatience, Tom, when Thou wert by her side.
Thou glidest now, into a graver air: an air devoted to old friends and byegone times; and in thy lingering touch upon the keys, and the rich swelling of the mellow harmony, they rise before thee. The spirit of that old man dead, who delighted to anticipate thy wants, and never ceased to honour thee, is there, among the rest: repeating, with a face composed and calm, the words he said to thee upon his bed, and blessing thee!
And coming from a garden, Tom: bestrewn with flowers by children's hands: thy sister little Ruth, as light of foot and heart as in old days, sits down beside thee. From the Present, and the Past, with which she is so tenderly entwined in all thy thoughts, thy strain soars onward to the Future. As it resounds within thee and without, thy kindling face looks on her with a Love and Trust, that knows it cannot die. The noble music, rolling round her in a cloud of melody, shuts out the grosser prospect of an earthly parting, and uplifts her, Tom, to Heaven!
THE END.
LONDON:
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
