The Good Time Coming | Page 6

good we pine for of this world? Nay, my husband. We should not call a
spirit of discontent with our mere natural surroundings a law of the
Creator, established as a spur to advancement; for this disquietude is
but the effect of a deeper cause. It is not change of place, but change of
state that we need. Not a going from one point in space to another, but
a progression of the spirit in the way of life eternal."
"You said just now, Agnes, that you were no philosopher." Mr.
Markland's voice had lost much of its firmness. "But what would I not
give to possess some of your philosophy. Doubtless your words are true;
for there must be a growth and progression of the spirit as well as of the
body; for all physical laws have their origin in the world of mind, and
bear thereto exact relations. Yet, for all this, when there is a deep
dissatisfaction with what exists around us, should we not seek for
change? Will not a removal from one locality to another, and an entire
change of pursuits, give the mind a new basis in natural things, and
thus furnish ground upon which it may stand and move forward?"
"Perhaps, if the ground given us to stand upon were rightly tilled, it
would yield a richer harvest than any we shall ever find, though we
roam the world over; and it may be, that the narrow path to heaven lies
just across our own fields. It is in the actual and the present that we are
to seek a true development of our spiritual life. 'Work while it is
to-day,' is the Divine injunction."
"But if we can find no work, Agnes?"
"If the heart be willing and the hands ready," was the earnestly spoken
answer, "work enough will be found to do."
"I have a willing heart, Agnes,--I have ready hands--but the heart is

wearied of its own fruitless desires, and the hands hang down in
idleness. What shall I do? The work in which I have found so much
delight for years, is completed; and now the restless mind springs away
from this lovely Eden, and pines for new fields in which to display its
powers. Here I fondly hoped to spend the remainder of my
life--contented--happy. The idea was a dreamy illusion. Daily is this
seen in clear light. I reprove myself; I chide the folly, as I call it; but,
all in vain. Beauty for me, has faded from the landscape, and the air is
no longer balmy with odours. The birds sing for my ears no more; I
hear not, as of old, the wind spirits whispering to each other in the tree
tops. Dear Agnes!--wife of my heart--what does it mean?"
An answer was on the lip of Mrs. Markland, but words so unlooked for,
swelled, suddenly, the wave of emotion in her heart, and she could not
speak. A few moments her hand trembled on the arm of her husband.
Then it was softly removed, and without a word, she passed into the
house, and going to her own room, shut the door, and sat down in the
darkness to commune with her spirit. And first, there came a gush of
tears. These were for herself. A shadow had suddenly fallen upon the
lovely home where she had hoped to spend all the days of her life--a
shadow from a storm-boding cloud. Even from the beginning of their
wedded life, she had marked in her husband a defect of character,
which, gaining strength, had led to his giving up business, and their
retirement to the country. That defect was the common one,
appertaining to all, a looking away from the present into the future for
the means of enjoyment. In all the years of his earnest devotion to
business, Mr. Markland had kept his eye steadily fixed upon the object
now so completely attained; and much of present enjoyment had been
lost in the eager looking forward for this coveted time. And now, that
more than all his fondest anticipations were realized, only for a brief
period did he hold to his lips the cup full of anticipated delight. Already
his hand felt the impulse that moved him to pour its crystal waters upon
the ground.
Mrs. Markland's clear appreciation of her husband's character was but a
prophecy of the future. She saw that Woodbine Lodge--now grown into
her affections, and where she hoped to live and die--even if it did not
pass from their possession--bartered for some glittering toy--could not
remain their permanent home. For this flowed her first tears; and these,

as we have said, were for herself. But her mind soon regained its
serenity; and from herself, her thoughts turned to her husband. She