The Good Time Coming | Page 2

wife, in whose spirit was a
tuneful chord for every outward touch of beauty; "it looks as lovely
now as yesterday; it was as lovely yesterday as the day my eyes first
drank of its sweetness. Hush!"
A bird had just alighted on a slender spray a few yards distant, and

while yet swinging on the elastic bough, poured forth a gush of melody.
"What a thrill of gladness was in that song, Edward! It was a
spontaneous thank-offering to Him, without whom not a sparrow falls
to the ground; to Him who clothes the fields in greenness, beautifies the
lily, and provides for every creature its food in season. And this
reminds me;" she added in a changed and more sobered voice, "that our
thank-offering for infinite mercies lies in deeds, not heart-impulses nor
word-utterances. I had almost forgotten poor Mrs. Elder."
And as Mrs. Markland said this, she withdrew her hand from her
husband's arm, and glided into the house, leaving his thoughts to flow
back into the channel from which they had been turned.
In vain for him did Nature clothe herself, on that fair day, in garments
of more than usual beauty. She wooed the owner of Woodbine Lodge
with every enticement she could offer; but he saw not her charms; felt
not the strong attractions with which she sought to win his admiration.
Far away his thoughts were wandering, and in the dim distance Fancy
was busy with half-defined shapes, which her plastic hand, with rapid
touches, moulded into forms that seemed instinct with a purer life, and
to glow with a more ravishing beauty than any thing yet seen in the
actual he had made his own. And as these forms became more and
more vividly pictured in his imagination, the pace of Edward Markland
quickened; and all the changing aspects of the man showed him to be in
the ardour of a newly-forming life-purpose.
It was just five years since he commenced building Woodbine Lodge
and beautifying its surroundings. The fifteen preceding years were
spent in the earnest pursuit of wealth, as the active partner in a large
mercantile establishment. Often, during these busy fifteen years, had he
sighed. for ease and "elegant leisure;" for a rural home far away from
the jar, and strife, and toil incessant by which he was surrounded.
Beyond this he had no aspiration. That "lodge in the wilderness," as he
sometimes vaguely called it, was the bright ideal of his fancy. There, he
would often say to himself--
"How blest could I live, and how calm could I die!"
And daily, as the years were added, each bringing its increased burdens
of care and business, would he look forward to the "good time
coming," when he could shut behind him forever the doors of the
warehouse and counting-room, and step forth a free man. Of the strife

for gain and the sharp contests in business, where each seeks
advantages over the other, his heart was weary, and he would often sigh
in the ears of his loving home-companion, "Oh! for the wings of a dove,
that I might fly away and be at rest!"
And at length this consummation of his hopes came. A year of unusual
prosperity swelled his gains to the sum he had fixed as reaching his
desires; and, with a sense of pleasure never before experienced, he
turned all his affections and thoughts to the creation of an earthly
paradise, where, with his heart and home treasures around him, he
could, "the world forgetting, by the world forgot," live a truer, better,
happier life, than was possible amid the city's din, or while breathing
the ever-disturbed and stifling atmosphere of business.
And now his work of creation at Woodbine Lodge was complete.
Everywhere the hand of taste was visible--everywhere. You could
change nothing without marring the beauty of the whole. During all the
years in which Mr. Markland devoted himself to the perfecting of
Woodbine Lodge, there was in his mind just so much of dissatisfaction
with the present, as made the looked-for period, when all should be
finished according to the prescriptions of taste, one in which there
would be for him almost a Sabbath-repose.
How was it with Mr. Markland? All that he had prescribed as needful
to give perfect happiness was attained. Woodbine Lodge realized his
own ideal; and every one who looked upon it, called it an Eden of
beauty. His work was ended; and had he found rest and sweet peace?
Peace! Gentle spirit! Already she had half-folded her wings; but,
startled by some uncertain sound, she was poised again, and seemed
about to sweep the yielding air with her snowy pinions.
The enjoyment of all he had provided as a means of enjoyment did not
come in the measure