The Good Time Coming | Page 8

was more disturbed, more restless,
more dissatisfied with himself and every thing around him, than when
first introduced to the reader's acquaintance. He eat sparingly at the
breakfast-table, and with only a slight relish. A little forced
conversation took place between him and his wife; but the thoughts of
both were remote from the subject introduced. After breakfast, Mr.
Markland strolled over his handsome grounds, and endeavoured to
awaken in his mind a new interest in what possessed so much of real
beauty. But the effort was fruitless; his thoughts were away from the
scenes in which he was actually present. Like a dreamy enthusiast on
the sea-shore, he saw, afar off, enchanted Islands faintly pictured on the
misty horizon, and could not withdraw his gaze from their ideal
loveliness.
A little way from the house was a grove, in the midst of which a
fountain threw upward its refreshing waters, that fell plashing into a
marble basin, and then went gurgling musically along over shining
pebbles. How often, with his gentle partner by his side, had Markland
lingered here, drinking in delight from every fair object by which they
were surrounded! Now he wandered amid its cool recesses, or sat by
the fountain, without having even a faint picture of the scene mirrored
in his thoughts. It was true, as he had said, "Beauty had faded from the
landscape; the air was no longer balmy with odours; the birds sang for
his ears no more; he heard not, as of old, the wind-spirits whispering to
each other in the tree-tops;" and he sighed deeply as a
half-consciousness of the change disturbed his reverie. A footfall
reached his ears, and, looking up, he saw a neighbour approaching: a
man somewhat past the prime of life, who came toward him with a
familiar smile, and, as he offered his hand, said pleasantly--
"Good morning, Friend Markland."
"Ah! good morning, Mr. Allison," was returned with a forced
cheerfulness; "I am happy to meet you."

"And happy always, I may be permitted to hope," said Mr. Allison, as
his mild yet intelligent eyes rested on the face of his neighbour.
"I doubt," answered Mr. Markland, in a voice slightly depressed from
the tone in which he had first spoken, "whether that state ever comes in
this life."
"Happiness?" inquired the other.
"Perpetual happiness; nay, even momentary happiness."
"If the former comes not to any," said Mr. Allison, "the latter, I doubt
not, is daily enjoyed by thousands."
Mr. Markland shook his head, as he replied--
"Take my case, for instance; I speak of myself, because my thought has
been turning to myself; there are few elements of happiness that I do
not possess, and yet I cannot look back to the time when I was happy."
"I hardly expected this from you, Mr. Markland," said the neighbour;
"to my observation, you always seemed one of the most cheerful of
men."
"I never was a misanthrope; I never was positively unhappy. No, I have
been too earnest a worker. But there is no disguising from myself the
fact, now I reflect upon it, that I have known but little true enjoyment
as I moved along my way through life."
"I must be permitted to believe," replied Mr. Allison, "that you are not
reading aright your past history. have been something of an observer of
men and things, and my experience leads me to this conclusion."
"He who has felt the pain, Mr. Allison, bears ever after the memory of
its existence."
"And the marks, too, if the pain has been as prolonged and severe as
your words indicate."
"But such marks, in your case, are not visible. That you have not
always found the pleasure anticipated--that you have looked restlessly
away from the present, longing for some other good than that laid by
the hand of a benignant Providence at your feet, I can well believe; for
this is my own history, as well as yours: it is the history of all
mankind."
"Now you strike the true chord, Mr. Allison. Now you state the
problem I have not skill to solve. Why is this?"
"Ah! if the world had skill to solve that problem," said the neighbour,
"it would be a wiser and happier world; but only to a few is this given."

"What is the solution? Can you declare it?"
"I fear you would not believe the answer a true one. There is nothing in
it flattering to human nature; nothing that seems to give the weary,
selfish heart a pillow to rest upon. In most cases it has a mocking
sound."
"You have taught me more than one life-lesson, Mr. Allison. Speak
freely now. I will listen patiently, earnestly, looking for instruction.
Why are we so restless and dissatisfied in the present, even