The other MS., upon which she had expended much labor, was entitled "Keeping the Vigil of St. Martin Under the Pines of Grutli"; and while her vivid imagination revelled in the weird and solemn surroundings of the lonely place of rendezvous, the sketch contained a glowing and eloquent tribute to the liberators of Helvetia, the Confederates of Schweitz, Uri, and Underwalden.
Whether Mr. Manning would consider either of these articles worthy of preservation in the pages of his magazine, she thought exceedingly doubtful; but she had resolved to make one more appeal to his fastidious judgment, and accordingly sealed and directed the roll of paper.
Weary but sleepless, she pushed back the heavy folds of hair that had fallen on her forehead, brightened the gaslight, and turned to the completion of a chapter in that MS. which the editor had recommended her to commit to the flames. So entirely was she absorbed in her work that the hours passed unheeded. Now and then, when her thoughts failed to flow smoothly into graceful sentence moulds, she laid aside her pen, walked up and down the floor, turning the idea over and over, fitting it first to one phrase, then to another, until the verbal drapery fully suited her.
The whistle of the locomotive at the station told her that it was four o'clock before her task was accomplished; and, praying that God's blessing would rest upon it, she left it unfinished, and threw herself down to sleep.
But slumber brought no relaxation to the busy brain that toiled on in fitful, grotesque dreams; and when sunshine streamed through the open window at the foot of her bed, it showed no warm flush of healthful sleep on the beautiful face, but weariness and pallor. Incoherent words stirred the lips, troubled thought knitted the delicately arched brows, and the white, dimpled arms were tossed restlessly above her head.
Was the tired midnight worker worthy of her hire? The world would one day pay her wages in the currency of gibes, and denunciation, and envious censoriousness; but the praise of men had not tempted her to the vineyard, and she looked in faith to Him "who seeth in secret," and whose rewards are at variance with those of the taskmasters of earth. "Wherefore," O lonely but conscientious student! "be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labor is not in vain."
Literary women, whose avocation is selected simply because they fancy, it easier to write than to sew for bread, or because they covet the applause and adulation heaped upon successful genius, or desire mere notoriety, generally barter their birthright of quiet, life-long happiness in the peaceful seclusion of home for a nauseous mess of poisoned pottage that will not appease their hunger; and they go down to untimely graves disappointed, embittered, hating the public for whose praises they toiled, cheated out of the price for which they bargained away fireside joys and domestic serenity.