And, consequently, thy rude hand to act The deed, which both our tongues hold vile to name: My nobles leave me; and my state is braved, This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, Between my conscience and my cousin's death. The dreadful notion of a murderous thought, Is yet the cover of a fairer mind' Than to be butcher of an innocent child. K. John. Doth Arthur live? Oh, haste thee to the peers, SHAKSPEARE. LESSON CLXXV. THE TWINS. 1. THE Kirk of Auchindown stands, with its burial-ground, on a little, green hill surrounded by an irregular and straggling village, or rather about a hundred hamlets clustering round it, with their fields and gardens. A few of these gardens come close up to the church-yard wall, and, in spring time, many of the fruit trees hang rich and beautiful over the adjacent graves. The voices and the laughter of the children at play on the green before the parish school, or their composed murmur, when at their various lessons together, in the room, may be distinctly heard all over the burialground. So may the song of the maidens going to the well; while all around, the singing of birds is thick and hurried; and a small rivulet, as if brought there to be an emblem of passing time, glides away beneath the mossy wall, murmuring continually a dream-like tune round the dwellings of the dead. 2. In the quiet of the evening, my venerable friend took me with him into the church-yard. We walked to the eastern corner, where, as we approached, I saw a monument standing almost by itself, and, even at that distance, appearing to be of a somewhat different character from any other in the burial-ground. And now we stood close to, and before it. It was a low monument of the purest white marble; simple, but perfectly elegant and graceful withal, and upon its unadorned slab, lay the sculptured images of two children asleep in each other's arms. Around it, was a small piece of the greenest ground, without the protection of any rail, but obviously belonging to the monument. It shone, without offending them, among simpler or ruder burial-beds round about it; and, although the costliness of the materials, the affecting beauty of the design, and the delicacy of its execution, all showed that there slept the offspring neither of the poor nor low in life, yet so meekly and sadly did it lift up its unstained little walls, and so well did its unusual elegance meet and blend with the character of the common tombs, that no heart could see it without sympathy, and without owning that it was a pathetic ornament of a place, filled with the ruder memorials of the very humblest dead. 3. "Six years ago," said my venerable companion, “I was an old man, and wished to have silence and stillness in my house, that my communion with Him before whom I expected every day to be called, might be undisturbed. Accordingly, my Manse, that used to ring with boyish glee, was now quiet; when a lady, elegant, graceful, beautiful, young, and a widow, came to my dwelling, and her soft, sweet, silver voice, told me that she was from England. She was the relict of an officer slain in war; and having heard one who had lived in my house, speak of his happy and innocent time there, she earnestly requested me to receive beneath my roof, her two sons. She, herself, lived with the bed-ridden mother of her dead husband; and anxious for the growing minds of her boys, she sought to commit them, for a short time, to my care. They and their mother soon won an old man's heart; and I could say nothing in opposition to her request, but that I was upward of three score and ten years. But I am living still; and that is their monument." 4. We sat down, at these words, on the grave, just opposite to this little, beautiful sloping head-stone of a structure; and without Manse, a clergyman's house. entreaty, and as if to bring back upon his heart the delight of old, tender remembrances, the venerable man thus continued. 5. "The lady left them with me in the Manse; surely the two most beautiful and engaging creatures that ever died in youth. They were twins. Like were they unto each other, as two brightplumaged doves of one color, or two flowers with the same blossom and the same leaves. They were dressed alike, and whatever they wore, in that did they seem more especially beautiful. Their hair was the same, a bright auburn; their voices were as one; so that the twins were inseparable in my lc.e, whether I beheld them, or my dim eyes were closed. From the first hour they were left alone with me, and without their mother in the Manse, did I begin to love them; nor were they slow in returning an old man's affection. They stole up to my side, and submitted their smooth, glossy, leaning heads to my withered and trembling hand; nor, for awhile, could I tell, as the sweet beings came gliding gladsomely near me, which was Edward, and which was Henry; and often did they, in winning playfulness, try to deceive my loving heart. But they could not defraud each other of their tenderness; for whatever the one received, that was ready to be bestowed upon the other. To love the one more than the other was impossible. 6. "Sweet creatures! It was not long before I learned to distinguish them. That which seemed to me, at first, so perfectly the same, soon unfolded itself with many delightful varieties, and then I wondered how I ever could have mistaken them for one another. Different shadows played upon their hair; that of the one being silky and smooth, and of the other, slightly curled at the edges, and clustering thickly, when he flung back his locks in playfulness or joy. His eyes, though of a hazel hue, like those of his brother, were considerably lighter, and a smile seemed native there; while those of the other, seemed almost dark, and fitter for the mist of tears. Dimples marked the cheeks of the one, but those of the other were paler and smooth. Their voices too, when I listened to them, and knew their character, had a faint, +fluctuating difference of inflection and tone, like the same instrument blown upon with a somewhat stronger or weaker breath. Their very laugh grew to be different to my ear; that of the one, free and more frequent, that of the other, mild in its utmost glee. And they had not been many days in the Manse, before I knew in a moment, dim as my eyes had long been, the soft, timid, stealing step of Edward, from the dancing and fearless motion of Henry Howard." 7. Here the old man paused, not as it seemed from any fatigue in speaking so long, but as if to indulge more profoundly in his remembrance of the children whom he had so tenderly loved. He fixed his dim eyes on their sculptured images, with as fond an expression as if they had been alive, and had lain down there to sleep; and when, without looking on me, whom he felt to have been listening with a quict attention, he again began to speak, it was partly to tell me the tale of these fair sleepers, and partly to give vent to his loving grief. 8. "All strangers, even many who thought they knew them well, were pleasantly perplexed with the faces and figures of the bright English twins. The poor beggars, as they went their rounds, blessed them, without knowing whether it was Edward or IIenry, that had bestowed his alms. Even the mother of the cottage children with whom they played, confused their images in her affectionate heart, as she named them in her prayers. When only one was present, it gave a start of strange delight to them who did not know the twins, to see another creature, so beautifully the same, come gliding in upon them, and join his brother in a share of their suddenly bestowed affection. um 9. "They soon came to love, with all their hearts, the place of their new habitation. Not even in their cwn merry England, had their + young eyes ever seen brighter green fields; trees more brageous; or, perhaps, even rural gardens more flowery and blossoming, than those of this Scottish village. They had lived, indeed, mostly in a town; and in the midst of the freshness and +balminess of the country, they became happier and more glcesome; it was said, by many, even more beautiful. The affectionate creatures did not forget their mother. +Alternately did they write to her every week, and every week did one or other receive from her a letter, in which the sweetest maternal feelings were traced, in small, delicate lines, that bespoke the hand of an accomplished lady. 10. "Their education had not been neglected; and they learned every thing they were taught with a surprising quickness and docility. Morning and evening too, did they kneel down with clasped hands-these lovely twins- -even at my feet, and resting on my knees; and melodiously did they murmur together the hymns which their mother had taught them, and passages selected from the scriptures. And always, the last thing they did before going to sleep in cach other's arms, was to look at their mother's picture, and to kiss it with fond kisses, and many an cndearing name." 11. Just then two birds alighted softly on the white marble monument, and began to trim their plumes. They were doves, from their nests in the belfry of the spire, from which a low, deep, plaintive murmuring was now heard to come, deepening the profound silence of the burial-ground. The two bright birds walked about for a few minutes, around the image of the children, or stood quietly at their feet; and then, clapping their wings, flew up and disappeared. The incident, though, at any other time, common and uninteresting, had a strange effect upon my heart, and seemed dimly emblematic of the innocence and beauty of the inhabitants of the tomb, and of the flight of their innocent souls to heaven. WILSON. LESSON CXXVI. THE SAME- CONCLUDED. 1. "ONE evening in early autumn, (they had been with me from the middle of May), Edward, the elder, complained, on going to bed, of a sore throat, and I proposed that his brother should sleep in another bed. I saw them myself, accordingly, in separate places of repose. But on going about an hour afterward into their room, there I found them, locked, as usual, in each other's arms, face to face; and their innocent breath mingling from lips that nearly touched. I could not find heart to separate them; nor could I have done so without awaking Edward. His cheeks were red and flushed, and his sleep broken and full of starts. 2. "Early in the morning, I was at their bed-side. Henry was lying apart from his brother, looking at him with a tearful face, and his little arm laid so as to touch his bosom. Edward was unable to rise. His throat was painful, his pulse high, and his heart sick. Before evening he became slightly delirious, and his illness was evidently a fever of a dangerous and malignant kind. He was, as I told you, a bold and gladsome child; when not at his task, dancing and singing almost every hour; but the fever quickly subdued his spirit; the shivering fits made him weep and wail; and rueful indeed was the change which a single night and day had brought forth. 3. "His brother seemed to be afraid more than children usually are of sickness, which they are always slow to link with the thoughts of death. But he told me, weeping, that his eldest brother had died of a fever, and that his mother was always alarmed about that disease. Did I think,' asked he, with wild eyes and a palpitating heart, did I think that Edward was going to die?' I looked at the affectionate child, and taking him to my bosom, I felt that his own blood was beating but too quickly, and, that fatal had been that night's sleeping embrace in his brother's + |