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So then, Oxford Street, stony-hearted step-mother! thou that
listenest to the sighs of orphans and drinkest the tears of
children, at length I was dismissed from thee; the time was come at
last that I no more should pace in anguish thy never-ending
terraces, no more should dream and wake in captivity to the pangs of
hunger. Successors too many, to myself and Ann, have doubtless
since then trodden in our footsteps, inheritors of our calamities;
other orphans than Ann have sighed; tears have been shed by other
children; and thou, Oxford Street, hast since doubtless echoed to
the groans of innumerable hearts. For myself, however, the storm
which I had outlived seemed to have been the pledge of a long fair-
weather--the premature sufferings which I had paid down to have been
accepted as a ransom for many years to come, as a price of long
immunity from sorrow; and if again I walked in London a solitary and
contemplative man (as oftentimes I did), I walked for the most part
in serenity and peace of mind. And although it is true that the
calamities of my noviciate in London had struck root so deeply in my
bodily constitution, that afterwards they shot up and flourished
afresh, and grew into a noxious umbrage that has overshadowed and
darkened my latter years, yet these second assaults of suffering
were met with a fortitude more confirmed, with the resources of a
maturer intellect, and with alleviations from sympathising
affection--how deep and tender!
Thus, however, with whatsoever alleviations, years that were far
asunder were bound together by subtle links of suffering derived
from a common root. And herein I notice an instance of the short-
sightedness of human desires, that oftentimes on moonlight nights,
during my first mournful abode in London, my consolation was (if
such it could be thought) to gaze from Oxford Street up every avenue
in succession which pierces through the heart of Marylebone to the
fields and the woods; for THAT, said I, travelling with my eyes up
the long vistas which lay part in light and part in shade, "THAT is
the road to the North, and therefore to, and if I had the wings of a
dove, THAT way I would fly for comfort." Thus I said, and thus I
wished, in my blindness. Yet even in that very northern region it
was, even in that very valley, nay, in that very house to which my
erroneous wishes pointed, that this second birth of my sufferings
began, and that they again threatened to besiege the citadel of life
and hope. There it was that for years I was persecuted by visions
as ugly, and as ghastly phantoms as ever haunted the couch of an
Orestes; and in this unhappier than he, that sleep, which comes to
all as a respite and a restoration, and to him especially as a
blessed {7} balm for his wounded heart and his haunted brain,
visited me as my bitterest scourge. Thus blind was I in my desires;
yet if a veil interposes between the dim-sightedness of man and his
future calamities, the same veil hides from him their alleviations,
and a grief which had not been feared is met by consolations which
had not been hoped. I therefore, who participated, as it were, in
the troubles of Orestes (excepting only in his agitated conscience),
participated no less in all his supports. My Eumenides, like his,
were at my bed-feet, and stared in upon me through the curtains; but
watching by my pillow, or defrauding herself of sleep to bear me
company through the heavy watches of the night, sate my Electra; for
thou, beloved M., dear companion of my later years, thou wast my
Electra! and neither in nobility of mind nor in long-suffering
affection wouldst permit that a Grecian sister should excel an
English wife. For thou thoughtest not much to stoop to humble
offices of kindness and to servile {8} ministrations of tenderest
affection--to wipe away for years the unwholesome dews upon the
forehead, or to refresh the lips when parched and baked with fever;
nor even when thy own peaceful slumbers had by long sympathy become
infected with the spectacle of my dread contest with phantoms and
shadowy enemies that oftentimes bade me "sleep no more!"--not even
then didst thou utter a complaint or any murmur, nor withdraw thy
angelic smiles, nor shrink from thy service of love, more than
Electra did of old. For she too, though she was a Grecian woman,
and the daughter of the king {9} of men, yet wept sometimes, and hid
her face {10} in her robe.
But these troubles are past; and thou wilt read records of a period
so dolorous to us both as the legend of some hideous dream that can
return no more. Meantime, I am again in London, and again I pace
the terraces of Oxford Street by night; and oftentimes, when I am
oppressed by anxieties that demand all my philosophy and the comfort
of thy presence to support, and yet remember that I am separated
from thee by three hundred miles and the length of three dreary
months, I look up the streets that run northwards from Oxford
Street, upon moon-light nights, and recollect my youthful
ejaculation of anguish; and remembering that thou art sitting alone
in that same valley, and mistress of that very house to which my
heart turned in its blindness nineteen years ago, I think that,
though blind indeed, and scattered to the winds of late, the
promptings of my heart may yet have had reference to a remoter time,
and may be justified if read in another meaning; and if I could
allow myself to descend again to the impotent wishes of childhood, I
should again say to myself, as I look to the North, "Oh, that I had
the wings of a dove--" and with how just a confidence in thy good
and gracious nature might I add the other half of my early
ejaculation--"And THAT way I would fly for comfort!"
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