PAUL HARLEY'S DREAM

[AND]

[JOE'S LETTER] [A New Year's Story]

BY A.L.O.E.

Author of "The Claremont Tales," "The White Bear's Den," &c.

MARSHALL BROTHERS, LTD.

LONDON, EDINBURGH.

CONTENTS. ——————

PAUL HARLEY'S DREAM

CHAPTER I. PAUL

CHAPTER II. THE DREAM

JOE'S LETTER

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

PAUL HARLEY'S DREAM

BY A.L.O.E.

"It stops all fun!" cried Paul.

PAUL HARLEY'S DREAM

A Tale. ——————

CHAPTER I.

PAUL.

"I DO think it, and I will say it!" cried Paul Harley, with impatience. "Of all days in the week, a Sunday is the worst for New Year's Eve. It stops all fun, all larking, all hope of adventure. The New Year steals in like a thief when one is fast asleep in bed; unless, like that stupid fellow James Barton, one goes to some midnight service in church, to pray in the New Year, as he says. As if one had not had enough of that sort of thing all the Sunday!"

"My dear boy—" began his grandfather, Silas Harley, an aged man, who sat with his arm leaning on the table, and his Bible before him.

What Harley was going to say I cannot tell, for his grandson cut him short. Paul had been to school, and had learned many things there, of the knowledge of which he was not a little vain. But one thing, worth more than mere book-lore, he had not learned, which was to honour his father and his mother, which includes grandparents also. Paul was puffed up with pride, as a balloon is puffed out with gas.

He stood erect by the table, grasping the back of a chair, and looking down on the venerable man before him, whose white hair Paul should have honoured, with a saucy look, which seemed to say, "I don't want advice from you!"

"I wish that I could do this year what I did on last New Year's Eve," cried Paul. "A lot of us young fellows got on the top of a coach, and were off to Enfield for a spree at a farm. How the horses plunged through the snow; we were upset as nearly as could be!"

"No great fun in that," observed Harley.

"We had no end of snow-balling each other at Gale's farm, as long as daylight lasted," continued Paul; "and when night came on, we had dancing 'under the misletoe bough.' Ah! That night, what a merry one it was! We were just in the midst of a dance, hands round and down the middle, when the clock struck twelve, and in came the New Year!"

"And Sunday too," observed old Mrs. Harley, who was seated by her husband. "I hope, Paul, that you left off your dancing?"

Paul only, in reply, gave a saucy laugh, which pained his good grandparents. They had brought up the orphan boy ever since he had been a helpless baby, and had now, in return for their loving care, but disrespect and disobedience.

On the year of which I am writing, the thirty-first of December fell on a Sunday, and it was on the evening of this Sunday that Paul stood talking to his grandparents in the little parlour of their home, in one of the suburbs of London.

"We were sorry not to have you with us at church this morning, Paul," observed Harley. The old man and his feeble wife had with no small difficulty made their way to the house of prayer, to praise their Maker for mercies received through the closing year, and to ask for His blessing on the year so soon to open. The New Year to one or both of them, as they thought, was likely to be the last, but neither of them feared to "go home" to the rest prepared for the people of God.

"I don't care to go to morning service," replied Paul, bluntly; "I take my ease, and lie late in bed on Sundays, at least in such freezing weather as this. But I mean to go to-night to seven o'clock service; for I like to see the church all lit up, with the gas-lights flaring on the evergreens and the wreaths with which it is decked. I like, too, the hymn which is to be sung, it has such a pretty tune." And without the least reverence of manner, Paul rather bawled out than sang the first lines of a well-known hymn—

"'A few more years shall roll, A few more seasons come, And we shall be with those who sleep At rest within the tomb.'"

"Hush, my dear child, hush!" cried Mrs. Harley, with a shocked look. "You don't seem to think of the meaning of the words which you are singing."

Paul took no notice of the gentle reproof. "It's time for me to be off to church," said he; "it must be just on seven; I think the bells have stopped their ringing. Don't stay supper for me; I'm going to Uncle Sam's after I've been at church; he's to have lobster salad for supper on New Year's Eve, and I like that a deal better than your porridge. I mean to stop the night at Uncle Sam's, and get some fun with his boys on New Year's morning."

"Take your comforter!" cried the grandmother. "You're not the lad to stand sharp cold; remember that you nearly died of rheumatic fever last March!"

"I'm not going to coddle myself like an old woman!" exclaimed the boy. "Cold only catches those who have to creep like snails!" Paul took down his cap from its peg as he spoke, and went off to church, certainly not in a mood either to praise or to pray.

The church was not full on New Year's Eve, for the weather was so extremely cold that some persons who would otherwise have come, dared not brave the piercing night air. Paul took his usual place in a dark part of the church, where he could see without being much seen. He sat during the prayers, and stared about him. Paul looked at the wreaths and the gas-lights, noticed the fashion of the ladies' bonnets, and amused himself with his own thoughts. There was no reverence either in the posture or in the spirit of Paul. He behaved himself in the house set apart for the worship of the Almighty as he would not have dared to behave in the Queen's palace; nay, as he would not have dared to behave in any gentleman's private dwelling.

Paul's body was in church, but his heart was not there. Now he thought of to-morrow's sports, now of his lobster supper. Then the lad's thoughts took a more evil course. Malice and spite were shown in such reflections as these:—

"I wonder how that James Barton can bear to stay up till midnight in a church! 'Pray in the New Year,' to be sure! That may be well enough for old folk, who are not likely to live many more years, but young chaps like James and me have fifty or sixty before us, and I can't see the use of all that praying. James wants to be thought better than any one else. He has given up playing skittles on Sundays, and has taken, I hear, to keeping a missionary-box. Catch me following his example! I've something better to do with my pennies.

"I don't like James Barton at all. I have owed him a grudge ever since our quarrel in a field three years ago, when he got me into a scrape with a farmer's wife by saying I'd stolen her apples. I've been on the watch ever since to pay him off for that bit of mischievous meddling. If I did take the dame's apples, that was no business of his. Fine fun I had last summer, when I crept up unseen to the neat model of a ship which James had taken weeks to rig out, and tore her sails, and knocked a hole in her keel, while he was wandering about in the brushwood gathering flowers and ferns! I made off as soon as I had done the job, but I'd have liked to have seen the lad's face, when he came to the place where he had left his pretty ship, and found her lying broken and spoiled in the mud! I wonder if he guessed who had played him the trick? He did not see me, I'm sure of that, for I stole away like a fox. I suppose that James has now grown so mighty good that, had I smashed him instead of his ship, he'd have taken it as meek as a lamb.

The next time that we meet, I'll try how he likes a box on the ear."

But I will put down no more of the worse than idle thoughts which, even in church, passed through the mind of the boy. I have said quite enough to show that Paul did not for one moment reflect that he was in the presence of his Maker; that the eye of God was upon him; that his secret malice was laid bare unto Him who hath declared in His holy Word, "The thought of foolishness is sin," Prov. xxiv. 9.

Paul only gave over making plans for teasing James when the clergyman gave out the hymn. We have seen that Paul was vain; and of nothing was he more vain than what he considered to be a very fine voice. A loud one it was, without doubt, and Paul took care that it should be heard all over the church.

A lady, speaking of church music, once said to me, "It makes me tremble to hear the children sing." My readers may think these very strange words, but to my mind there was cause for the lady's feeling of fear. Oh, my young friends, have you ever thought how you may displease the Lord, even whilst singing a hymn! "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who taketh His name in vain." Is it a light matter to sing of the glory of the Almighty, or the agonies of His dear Son, as carelessly as if you were but shouting out some idle ballad? A dark stain of sin was spreading over the soul of Paul as he boldly sang out, at the top of his voice, even words so solemn as these:—

"''Tis but a little time, And Christ the Lord shall come To take His ransomed people up To their eternal home. Then, oh, my Lord, prepare My soul for that great day; Oh, wash me in thy precious blood, And take my sin away!'"

Paul's hymn-singing was a mockery; his very prayer was "turned into sin!" What thought he of the great Day of Judgment? What thought he of the "precious blood," of which he dared so loudly to sing?

CHAPTER II.

THE DREAM.

THE hymn was over, and Paul sat down, but not to listen to a word of the sermon. Good and holy words were spoken, which touched most of the hearers' hearts, but they never reached the heart of Paul. The boy fell fast asleep in his dark corner of the church, and there he remained fast asleep till long after the sermon had been ended, and the blessing had been given by the preacher.

Paul not only slept, but he dreamed—a strange and wondrous dream. The place in which he was seemed to widen, the roof to rise, till instead of a ceiling above him were clouds of glory, and beneath him a pavement of gold. There was music, but far sweeter, and more joyful than what Paul had heard in church. Instead of mortal men and women, shining, happy beings were around the dreamer, with starry crowns and waving wings, that glittered like jewels in the glorious light.

But though all that Paul saw in his dream was beauty and gladness, he could not delight in the beauty, he could not share in the joy. Paul's heart felt nothing but dread. He did not belong to the happy band; he could not join in their song; he feared lest one of the shining ones should notice that he was there. Paul would fain have hidden himself, but had no place wherein to hide. Terror seized him when one of the beautiful angels drew near, and said, "What dost thou here?"

Paul was dumb, and could not reply. The proud tongue which had so often repeated holy words without fear had lost all power to utter one now.

Then Paul seemed to hear the sentence, "Thrust him forth into outer darkness!" And the start of terror which he gave awakened the boy from his dream.

Paul found himself indeed in darkness. The lights in the church had all been put out; the worshippers had gone to their homes; no one had noticed the sleeping boy, and he had been locked into the church.

Paul's first feeling was that of great surprise at finding the church so still and so dark; his next was that of alarm. He groped his way to the outer door. How still and dark the place seemed as he moved down the aisle! And, oh, how terribly cold! The clock struck nine just as Paul reached the great door. It was locked. Paul shook it, and shook it again, but had no power to force it open. He called as loudly as he could, but the church stood in the middle of a large churchyard, no house was near, and no one heard the boy's voice.

"Some one will search for me, oh, surely some one will search!" cried Paul.

He thought of his loving grandparents, who, old and feeble as they were, would be sure to brave the piercing cold if they know that their boy was in danger. But then another thought startled Paul. "Grandfather will think that I am at my uncle's; he will fancy me seated at his table beside a blazing fire."

The contrast between his uncle's pleasant home, with its supper and cheerful blaze, made his present dreary position seem worse than ever to the hungry lad. But Paul tried to keep up his courage and warm his chilled frame by walking up and down the part of the church which was nearest to the door, stamping his feet and swinging his arms to keep out the cold.

Ten o'clock struck. Paul counted each stroke on the bell. How loud and solemn was the sound!

"Only ten!" muttered Paul. "I shall have to wait twelve whole hours before this church is opened to prepare for New Year's service! The New Year!" he repeated. "Oh! In how wretched a way I shall begin the New Year! I'll go to sleep in one of the pews, and so try to get over the time. The night grows colder and colder."

Paul did snatch a short sleep, but awoke quite cramped and chilled, and with shoots of rheumatic pain, which frightened him more than anything else. It was one of the bitterest nights that had ever been known in England. The boy dared not sleep again lest he should bring back his dreadful rheumatic fever.

When eleven o'clock struck, Paul's courage quite gave way. His limbs were trembling, his teeth were chattering, his blood seemed turning to ice. He remembered that his grandfather had read in the papers the day before that four persons had been found frozen to death.

"What if I should die before morning!" thought Paul, and it was a terrible thought. "I am not fit to die, I am not fit to go to the beautiful place of which I was dreaming. Hark! What is that tinkling sound which I faintly hear? The bells of St. John's Church are ringing for the midnight service; James Barton will be hastening now to that church to pray in the New Year. Oh, that I could pray too!" It was the first time that such a wish had come into the mind of Paul. He had attended church service hundreds of times, but he had never really prayed in his life.

"I can't pray, I can think of no words," groaned the poor boy, as he swayed his body to and fro; for he was afraid to remain quite still, and yet was almost too stiff and cold to move about freely. "Perhaps that hymn may serve as a prayer; I'll try a verse; it may help me to forget for a few minutes the misery that I am in."

In a very different way from that in which he had sung a few hours before, Paul, with trembling voice, attempted to sing—

"'Then, oh! my Lord, prepare My soul for that great day.'"

Paul felt that for him the great day might be near. He no longer felt sure of "fifty or sixty years" of life. He knew now that he had need of comfort, of help, of forgiveness. Paul clasped his numbed hands, and tears came into his eyes as he sang the words of entreaty—

"'Oh! wash me in Thy precious blood, And take my sins away.'"

But how much better was Paul's feeble prayer for mercy, than his late bold, careless singing of words so solemn and holy!

Twelve o'clock struck. The New Year had come! Some in London were praying, many were sleeping, not a few, alas! were drinking in the Now Year. Again Paul tried to get warmth by walking about, but the frost was becoming more intense as the night advanced. The moon had now risen, and dimly shone through the frosted windows. Paul could distinguish some objects near him, such as the reading-desk, on which lay the large Bible, that Bible which had been read so often in his hearing, but to which he had never cared to listen.

"If I live through this dreadful night, I will try to be a very different boy to what I have been," thought Paul Harley. "I will try to be more dutiful to my old grandparents; they have had little comfort in me. What would not I give now to be more like James, whom I despised for being so pious! There is no danger of his being driven into outer darkness. The angels will welcome him, for he loves the Lord whom they love."

The weary, weary minutes stole on. It was now nearly one o'clock. Drowsiness was creeping over Paul, but he knew the danger of sleeping when the cold is intense; if he slept now, he might never waken again, or waken in torture.

"I can only keep myself awake by singing," thought Paul. "I will sing that hymn over again, and try to think of the words, and to make them indeed a New Year's prayer."

Paul sang, and this time loudly, for he was calling on God from the heart, and so threw his whole soul into the hymn.

"Who is singing there—at this hour?" cried a voice from outside.

Paul sprang to his feet with almost a cry of delight.

"I'm Paul Harley—I'm locked in—I'm almost frozen!" he shouted with the utmost strength of his voice.

"Paul Harley!" echoed the speaker without.

"Oh! Run, run—quick as light—and get the key of the church!" cried Paul.

"Trust James Barton for that!" cried the voice, and off rushed the speaker at full speed.

Yes, it was James, who, returning from the church where he had prayed in the New Year, had taken his homeward way through the churchyard of that in which poor Paul was looked up. It was not James' shortest way home, but he had chosen it because St. Mary's church and churchyard would look, he thought, so beautiful in the moonlight, robed in their winter mantle of snow. James had been not a little surprised to hear the sound of Paul's hymn in a spot so lonely and quiet. But for that sound, James would have passed the church without suspecting that any one was shivering and starving within it.

I have not space to describe how James ran, as if for his life, to the house of the clerk of St. Mary's, and rang so furiously at the bell, that the poor man, his wife, and all his family, thought that the place was on fire. It is enough to say that James was trusted with the church key, for his character was known to the clerk, and back he hastened to the church. The big key was turned in the lock, the heavy door swung back on its hinges, the imprisoned Paul was set free; and with what a hearty grasp of the hand did he thank his kind deliverer!

"Come to our home for the rest of the night," said James; "mother will bid you heartily welcome, I'm sure of that. She is sitting up to give me my hot supper on my return from church, and I need not say how glad I shall be for you to share it."

Very thankfully was the invitation accepted. Paul felt as if new life were poured into his frozen veins when he sat by a glowing fire, and drank hot steaming soup. Before he went to rest, he had confessed to James the wrong he had done him by spoiling his ship, and asked forgiveness for that and other acts of unkindness.

"Let bygones be bygones," said James, smiling; "this is New Year's day you know; let us both resolve, by God's help, to begin it well, and make a better use of our time than we ever have done before."

Paul did make the resolve, and earnestly and prayerfully tried to keep it. He was a better and happier being to the end of his life for his adventure on New Year's Eve.

JOE'S LETTER A New Year's Story

BY A.L.O.E.

Author of "The Claremont Tales," "The White Bear's Den," &c.

MARSHALL BROTHERS, LTD.

LONDON, EDINBURGH.

JOE'S LETTER

BY A.L.O.E.

"No, Granny, I can't see him."

JOE'S LETTER

A New Year's Story. ——————

CHAPTER I.

"GO again, child, and see if the postman ben't coming down the lane! It's past nine, sure he ought to be here!"

This was the third time that old Janet Jones had sent her little Annie out into the snow, on the last day of the year. It was clear that the cottager was expecting the postman to bring her some very important letter indeed.

"No, Granny, I can't see him," said Annie, as for the third time she came back from the road, shaking the flakes from her hair, and stamping the snow from her boots. "Perhaps our old clock is wrong."