CHAPTER XIV.

"EXCELSIOR."

Happy season of bright joyous youth! It nerved Roland's springing step, flushed the glowing cheek, brightened the dark eye, and gushed forth in cheering song upon the early morning air.

The past for awhile faded, the future was left in the hands of the kind Father, and the youth revelled in the freedom of the present moment.

On through the charming scenes which led him to the place of his destination; sometimes, by the roadside where bloomed the neat little homes of New England, all with their pretty porches entwined with flowers of every hue; then, through the thick woods where happy birds carolled around his path; again by the river's brink, with the bright sky overhead, and in the sweet consciousness of an interest in all these beauties of creation, Roland could look up and say, "My Father made them all."

At length he stopped at the foot of the mountain which it was his ambition to reach.

Large numbers like himself were preparing for the ascent, but none on foot, save our young aspirant.

On through thick green foliage, and over rocky paths, he pressed his way, occasionally stopping to rest under some shady canopy.

Frequently in company with youthful parties, whose merry chatter disturbed the thoughts which began to crowd upon Roland, as the ascent brought frequently to view some new scene of beauty and grandeur.

As he pressed on, the journey became still more toilsome and difficult, the road stony and rough; and Longfellow's Excelsior came fresh upon his memory. Seating himself for awhile, he repeated audibly the beautiful lines.

The fresh mountain air inspired him with renewed courage and determination, and, starting once more, he strained every nerve in his efforts to scale these steep mountain heights.

The voices of the travellers on horseback became fainter every moment, until at length he was left in perfect solitude upon these dizzy heights. After many struggles over rocks, and by the brinks of deep ravines, Roland found himself upon the top of Mount Washington. The wind was blowing fiercely; he could scarcely keep his feet; the howling of its blasts through the deep solitudes, and wild whistling music among the tall green pines, together with the cold air, which almost cut his cheeks, and made him draw his coat more closely around him, almost banished the thought that at the foot of the mountain glowed the heat of summer.

He was highly favored, for it was a bright sunny day, and the atmosphere perfectly transparent. With cheeks tingling from excitement, and blood stirring in every vein, he stood entranced amid the glorious scenery. He felt that he had conquered, and the consciousness nerved the young soul for further efforts. This suited the tone of his character, and prefigured the temper with which he would in future fight the battle of life.

He looked around--grandeur marked every feature. Beneath him lay the great world, the theatre of future conflicts. The busy cities, the rivalries, the sins of men, the trials of the way, the din of battle, the "Slough of Despond," the "Giant Despair,"--but here certainly was also a glimpse of the "Land of Beulah."

Above, the glorious sky, so vast, so magnificent! around him, the scenery which no pencil could ever fully paint. Deep ravines, towering peaks of glory, falls of water dashing down the dizzy heights, and beyond! peak piled on peak, stretching as far as eye could reach, a whole amphitheatre of glorious mountains.

A voice within answered to the voice around; it was the same which had spoken to him in the days of childhood, when standing in one of his native glens, among the rude mountains of Scotland, he had listened to the story of his martyred ancestors.

His soul swelled then, child that he was, with lofty emotions. It swelled now with fuller, deeper majesty, as he listened to the voice of God among these mountains; and on through life, that voice will follow Roland. He took out his little Testament and read, "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help." And again,

"As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about his people."

"Need I look farther?" asked Roland of his soul. "God is here! _My_ God! _My_ Father!"--and, bowing his head, he lifted up the voice of prayer, and here amid these mountain solitudes, made a fresh covenant with the God of his martyred fathers. In this hour of rapt communion, he remembered Effie, his orphan sister, and Madeline, the dear little friend of his early youth.

Here, surrounded by these glorious mountains, in this vast solitude, it was easy to imagine the glories of that mountain of the Lord, when his people gathered home once more, should rest in peace; and when in the glories of the latter days, wars and tumults, strife and discord, sin and misery, should forever cease.

"Upon the frontier of this shadowy land, We, pilgrims of eternal sorrow, stand. What realm lies forward with its happier store Of forests green and deep, Of valleys hushed in sleep, And lakes most peaceful? 'Tis the Land of Evermore.

"Very far off its marble cities seem-- Very far off--beyond our sensual dream-- Its woods, unruffled by the wild winds roar: Yet does the turbulent surge Howl on its very verge One moment--and we breathe within the Evermore.

"They whom we loved and lost so long ago, Dwell in those cities, far from mortal woe, Hunt those fresh woodlands, where sweet carollings soar. Eternal peace have they: God wipes their tears away: They drink that river of life which flows for Evermore.

"Thither we hasten through these regions dim; But lo, the wide wings of the seraphim Shine in the sunset! On that joyous shore Our lighted hearts shall know The life of long ago: The sorrow burdened past shall fade for Evermore."

There was nothing but the shelter of a rude shed, but so enraptured was our young traveller that he resolved to stay.

In the evening, the screams of the wild mountain birds added to the grandeur of the scene; and often could be seen in the air, sailing along in graceful swoops, the American eagle, proud emblem of our country's glory. In the deep night season, the growling of wild animals, the howling of the winds, whose deep sighs through the ravines, filled the whole air with music--not sweet and silvery, but grand, majestic, overpowering; for nature has her deep bass as well as her rich tenor, and her sweet warbling treble. Here was the effect of the deep bass of harmonious instruments; and to crown all, distant thunder rolled from cliff to cliff, echoing until lost in the distance, and Roland looked on, and listened in eloquent silence. His visit was drawing to a close--how could he descend from such heights of grandeur, to the busy, bustling world again?

But duty called; packing up his little all, and gathering the ferns and mosses in a box which he had brought for the purpose, he commenced his descent. Not soon should he forget the inspiration of these vast solitudes, away from man, alone with God. He buckled on his armor, and with a brave spirit sped to the foot of the mountain.

Roland had heard much of the beauty of the charming lake Winnipiseogee, which lay on the route to the mountains, and thither he resolved to tarry for awhile.

Arriving in the evening, he rambled along its beautiful margin, the glorious mountains spanning the horizon, here adding features of beauty, there of grandeur.

It was a great transition from such wild magnificence, to this placid beauty; the calm lake, the pretty little hotel, the boating parties on the clear water, the refined society, the grassy banks with the fine old trees that formed so many bowers of shade, for here it was really summer; all this was soothing, not stirring as the mountain tops.

Day by day, musing, sketching, rambling, or rowing about in the little boat, owned by the family, he enjoyed nis summer recreation.

One evening, returning from one of these excursions on the lake, stepping on shore, whom should he encounter but Edmund Norris.

Seizing Roland's hand, he exclaimed, "Why, my good fellow! how came you here?"

"On foot, Edmund!" said Roland, smiling.

"But where are you staying?"

"At that little cottage, Edmund."

"Go, pack up your duds, Roland, and come with me, I can't do without you."

"Who is in your party, Edmund?"

"Only my mother and sister."

"They would consider me an intruder, Edmund; besides, it is impossible, I can't stay at a hotel."

"And why not, sir? I think I know, Roland; I will not take any denial--you have done me infinite service, and I can never repay you. I must introduce you to my mother, Roland; she is anxious to know you," and placing his friend's arm within his own, he hurried him off to the hotel.

"My friend, Roland Bruce, mother, my sister, Miss Norris," and Roland bowed to a very pleasant looking middle aged lady, and an interesting young girl, in the person of Jessie Norris.

"We are glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bruce," replied the mother, at the same time extending her hand; "this is a meeting that I have long desired."

The summer passed rapidly, and the party separated for their respective destinations.

Edmund would not hear of Roland's return on foot, consequently they travelled together to the point nearest Woodcliff, and there they parted, mutually pleased; Edmund to his home, and Roland back to Woodcliff, to pay a short parting visit to Effie.

"We shall meet at college, Roland," said Edmund.

"Yes, and it must be a hard working year; I can only go two terms after this."

Another week near Woodcliff, and Roland prepared for toil again.

"I have come, dear Effie, to say farewell for awhile," aid Roland. "I have brought you some beautiful ferns and mosses, and when I come again, I will expect to see the basket."

"I can make two, Roland, one for each window in the drawing room; Madeline will be so pleased,--they are both for her."

"Come, Effie, let us sing our mother's favorite hymn," and the orphans sang with sweet voices, and full hearts,

"God of our fathers, by whose care, Thy people still are blest; Be with us through our pilgrimage, Conduct us to our rest."

"Now, sister, let me go for one minute up the staircase; don't come with me, I want to be alone."

Roland stood upon the landing, and listened to the sweet murmurs of the Eolian harp. The summer wind swept lightly over the strings, and seemed to sigh, "farewell, farewell;" but for a moment, a stronger breeze swept over them, and higher, fuller arose the aerial music, and "aloft, aloft" they whispered.

He descended with a smile, and said,

"Now, dear Effie, I am ready; God forever bless my darling sister; don't forget 'Looking aloft! Looking aloft.'"

She smiled through her tears, and said,

"I'll try, dear Roland, but I am not so strong as you."

Back again on the first day of the term, Roland was warmly welcomed by the faculty.

He returned bravely, cheerfully, to his self-imposed service of drudgery; but the presence of many new members subjected him again to the same ordeal through which he had passed the first half of the former year.

The same diligence and fidelity, the same faithful friendship for Edmund, the same honors at the close, marked the second year; and at the period of vacation, another visit to dear Effie, to the familiar spots around Woodcliff, and he was anticipating a return for the last year to finish his college course.

"You cannot imagine, dear brother, how delighted Madeline was with the baskets--'did he gather them with his own hands, Effie?' she used to ask me day after day, and I saw her place a few of the ferns which I had saved, away in one of her school books. 'Thank Roland for me,' was her last message; 'tell him I expect to see him a great man, delivering orations, or public speeches, at any rate, at Maple Lane, yet.'"

Roland smiled, as he said, "The same little enthusiast yet."

"Little! brother! why, you forget, you have not seen Madeline for two years; she is no longer a little girl; she is fifteen now, and unusually tall for that age. I don't believe that you would call her Maddy now."

Roland's countenance fell; for this innocent hint had brought again most forcibly the conviction that the approach of womanhood was building a gulf which could not be passed, and the sweet intimacy of playful childhood could be no more renewed.

His third year at college was a season of rapid progress. On his return, Dr. Kingsley sent for Roland to his private room.

"You have been well tried, my son," said the good man. "I have looked upon your course, Roland, with pride; shall I say it to a boy? with reverence. Not one of fifty would have borne the indignities of your position, and risen above them all, as you have; you shall be rewarded. The offices which you have performed so nobly will be given to another, little Jack, the Janitor's nephew, and another boy hired for the purpose; you, Roland, shall have all your time for study."

Roland was a manly boy, but with a warm, tender heart. His eyes filled with tears of gratitude.

Seizing Dr. Kingsley's hand, he pressed a warm kiss upon its wrinkled surface, and said,

"Words cannot thank you, Dr. Kingsley, for all your goodness; the training of this college is more than a fortune to me."

"You must not lavish all your thanks upon me, Roland. Edmund Norris has told me all your trials, all the insults which you formerly received; he has told me of all your patient endurance, and noble return of good for evil. Mrs. Norris is wealthy, she has offered to place you exactly by the side of her son, bearing all your expenses, and occupying the same room. I judged you by myself, and thought that you would rather be indebted to the college. You will occupy the room with Edmund; but we must have the honor of educating Roland Bruce."

"You will be repaid, my dear sir, for all your kindness and delicacy. Oh! how faithful are the promises of God: 'Looking aloft' was the motto which my dear mother left me on her death-bed; I have tried to act upon it; and endeavoring to do my duty, have looked upward for God's blessing, and have never been disappointed."

Dr. Kingsley straitened himself up, put on a sterner look, took off his spectacles, that seemed suddenly to become moistened, and jerking his handkerchief out of his pocket, blew his nose violently, saying,

"I have a bad cold, Roland; I don't know how it came, but I did not feel it until you came into the room."

Roland smiled, for Dr. Kingsley did not like it to be known what a warm sympathetic heart beat under that cold, and somewhat stern exterior.

Roland's position, this year, was a happy one; and Edmund was about as much the gainer as he.

Rooming together, Roland's powerful example was a strong incentive to the young man; and though often tempted to relax, what at first was a severe task, became first a habit, then a pleasure.

A secret plot for some forbidden pleasure was again agitating among the wild ones.

"You need not ask Ned Norris to join us," said one of his former companions, "he's among the saints now; he dare not say that his life is his own when Roland Bruce is about. I don't care much about his company, but it is deucedly inconvenient to miss his purse, it was always open in former days--but old 'Boots' has the charge of him now, and there is no use of asking him to join this spree."

"Do you dare call him 'Boots' again?" said Stanley, doubling his fist, "I told you all that I'd knock the first fellow down that insults Roland Bruce; there is not one here fit to wipe his shoes."

"How came you to turn round so soon, Stanley? you were among the most bitter of his enemies," said Thornton.

"When you all stood off from me as if I were a leper, Roland Bruce quietly, nobly took care of me; he watched me on my sick bed, as if I had been his friend, instead of his enemy; and do you think that I'll ever hear you speak against such a fellow as that?"

The chief offender slunk away, evidently frightened.

"You never told me so, Stanley; it must have been before I came."

"I tell you now, Brown, Roland shall be treated as a gentleman, so long as I am in this college; so clear out, or I may knock you down."

Brown crawled away, and Roland was everywhere in the ascendant.

Many envied him his quiet superiority; but all respected the studious youth that was carrying off so many of the honors.

His path was henceforth a pleasant one, until one morning, whom should he see among the new students but Harry Castleton and Charles Davenport!

Roland's appearance was that of a gentleman; for, although he had not the changes which some had, he always contrived to appear genteel.

After breakfast, Roland advanced to the young men, and politely extended his hand. Charles, with a supercilious air, turned on his heel, saying,

"You are mistaken, sir; we do not know you."

Roland had acted the part of a gentleman and a Christian, and he left the young men to imagine that they had humbled him.

They soon observed his intimacy with Edmund Norris, whose family they had met elsewhere. Determined to annoy him still farther, they sought the first opportunity of speaking alone.

"Do you know this young Bruce?" said Harry.

"Yes, sir, I have good cause to know him; he has saved me from many a false step and wicked companion."

"Do you know his origin?" continued Harry.

"I know that he is Scotch, and had a good mother."

"His mother was a common huckster, and he no better than a beggar; he lived in my uncle's neighborhood, and I have seen him many a time with old patched clothes, and scarcely a shoe to his feet."

"Indeed!" said Edmund. "I know that he is very poor; he has told me much of his history. You have told me now how poor he is--shall I tell you how noble he is in the estimation of all true hearts in this college? You are at mean work, sir, but you will not harm Roland Bruce; he is above your mark, sir. Good morning, Mr. Castleton."

Edmund saw that the two were cultivating the intimacy of several of the upstart boys, sons of the merchant princes of New York, with gold watches, full purses, fashionable wardrobes, empty brains, and cold, sordid souls.

Brown was one of them--a mean, cowardly fellow, who had not forgotten the attack of Stanley, and was glad to find allies in the two new students.

"There comes Boots," said Brown, one evening to Harry Castleton.

"Whom do you mean?" was the quick reply; and Brown pointed to Roland, who was walking in the lawn, arm in arm with Edmund Norris.

"Why do you call him 'Boots,' Brown?"

"I'll whisper the story to you--do you know that in the first two years that he was here, he earned his education by blacking boots, carrying up wood, making fires, &c., and now he has the presumption to hold himself up above us fellows, and the faculty really place him constantly before us as a pattern to follow."

"That is a good joke," answered Castleton; "I'll remember that story--a common boot-black! 'pon my word! brought here among gentlemen! Faugh! I shall smell boots every time I pass him."

The next week, a drawing was on the wall in the passage to the recitation room, representing a boy blacking boots, and underneath written "Boots" at his profession; and another picture of a boy with a basket of boot-blacking and brushes, receiving a diploma; under which was written "Boots graduates, ready to practise on gentlemen's feet." Roland and Edmund saw the low proceeding--they did not notice it; but, on going out of the hall, Castleton and Davenport passed close to the young men.

"Don't you smell boots, Davenport?" said Castleton.

Stanley was near; he heard the insult, as also did Norris.

Instantly, the two were surrounded; and Stanley, enraged, said,

"I will bear it no longer; you shall not insult Roland Bruce;" and he gave Castleton a violent blow in the face. Edmund, too, joined the fight. Castleton and Davenport tried to defend themselves, but in vain; surrounded by several of the boys, they received a sound drubbing.

Roland was distressed--he was a brave boy, and though he knew that in the anger of the combatants he was likely to become entangled in the broil, he stepped forward, and placing himself between Edmund and Castleton, he said,

"Edmund, I beseech you, come with me; it is not worth minding--leave these boys to themselves; they do not harm me."

"Go away, Roland; I must punish them in a way which they will never forget."

Roland, however, persevered, and succeeded in drawing away his friend.

The boys each had black eyes, swollen faces, and torn coats for their reward.

They did not again try the same game, but their hatred of Roland was by no means lessened; it was rather increased.

The term drew rapidly to a close--Roland was looking forward anxiously to his embarkation on the theatre of human life. He knew that he had nothing but his education, and simple trust in God. That was enough for his confidence. He graduated with high honors. Edmund was to stay another year, and grieved to part with his friend.

Dr. Kingsley congratulated Roland warmly--

"You have done nobly, sir," said the President; "your friends may well be proud of you."

"You forget, my dear sir, I have but two, who care particularly for my success, and they are both young girls; one my sister, and the other a little friend."

The good President gave him warm parting counsels, and on shaking his hand for the last time, said,

"Remember, you have friends at college; your Alma Mater will always be proud of her son."

The young men were all busily occupied, and full of eager anticipations. Vacation had arrived, and all had some dear home circle waiting for them, but Roland. He had none; and, on the waste of life, sometimes he could not but feel like a waif among the multitude, but never long.

"Looking aloft" was the general tone of his brave spirit. With five dollars in his pocket-book, he prepared to leave the college; and, on opening it, he found ten dollars more, with the pencilled words--

"You have been a faithful banker; accept this from Edmund."

Taking leave of his kind friends, he turned his face towards Woodcliff, and Effie looked with pride upon her dear brother, as she read the diploma over and over again.

"Would not our dear mother be happy, Roland?" said the young girl; "you have accomplished her desires; may all the rest be fulfilled, dear brother."