The exiles, and other tales
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ] THE EXILES, AND OTHER TALES, BY CHARLES H. LAMSON. BANGOR: E. F. DUREN, 1856' page: (Table of Contents) [View Page (Table of Contents) ] PRINTED BY SAMUEL S. SMTH. CONTENTS. PAGE. [HE XFXTTTs. A TALE ...... 7 OT ALL A DREAM . . . . . . . 25 rHlE WiWlTE LILY . . . . . . 52 UDVENTURES . . . . . . 92 ?RED HOWARD ... . . .115 page: [View Page ] PREFACE. Tremblingly, and with many misgivings, do I offer this volume to the public; most sensibly do I feel its lack of literary merit and its multiplied de- fects; keenly do I realize its inferiority to many of its class now before the world; but long years of indisposition, attended by sufferings almost un- precedented in the history of human agonies, have tendered me indigent: thus compelling me to make this effort to sustain myself, which I hope will be favorably received by the public, and its errors excused by critics, who will favor me by being blind to the inaccuracies of a book which none save partial friends have extolled. My apology to the world for the infliction of this work, is that for eight long years my life has been one of anguish, at times almost unendurable. That horrible disease known as Tetanus has bowed me down, and deprived me of the energies common to early manhood. At times, my limbs have been so drawn as to-dislocate the joints of the neck, jaws, and shoulders, requiring much strength for their page: vi-7[View Page vi-7] Vi o PREFACE. replacement, and causing me excruciating suffer- ing. This misery is at present less acute than formerly, but not yet entirely relieved, nor can I attend in the least to business, or in any ordinary way do aught for my own support; therefore I offer this volume to the public that I may fulfil the darling wish of my heart, by procuring myself a home, where limbs long unrelieved from pain may find a comfortable resting place, and a soul that knows no congenial feeling with dependence may be liberated from its galling manacles. Many there are who will read this to whom I am already largely indebted for material aid, and for gentle and kind attentions, which have been lavishy and delicately bestowed, coming to the heart like that balm most healing to a soul deeply wounded by the blows that the Father has been pleased to inflict. To all of those friends it may not be inappro- priate here to express thanks, and to beg of others who may favor this volume with a reading, to re- member in extenuation of its demerits, that each line was penned in bodily anguish and mental un- quiet. CHARLES H. LAMSON. THE EXILES. A TALE. 'Neath Guatemala's burning skies, Our party stood, fatigued, Gazing there, with wondering eyes, On beauties, closely leagued With earth's sublimest majesty; Where mount, and deep ravine, And forest's dread immensity, Speak of the Great Unseen. But listen; ye who love to hear A tale of sunny climes, A tale of love, and hope, and fear, As told of olden times, And I will tell of castle old, Which then in ruins stood, Of gentle maid, and warrior bold, And priest, all pure and good. page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 a9TtE EXT!,ES. I'll tell thee all that we beheld, And the strange old tales we heard, Of lights and shades, of days of eld, And loves, and hopes, deferred. I'll tell thee of our little band, Our goodly company, Who wandered in the stranger land, In love and harmony. We trod upon the mountains top, As Moses once of old, Gazing on distant heights, that prop Bright clouds of molten gold. Near us a ruined castle stood, A crumbling, grand old pile, Where owls, and bats, with noisy brood, Hadreigned a long, long while. Its grim old cells, so damp and drear, Once, home of pious monk, Where fell the humble friar's tear, In ruins now are sunk. And lizards climb those dungeon walls, While slimy, loathsome snake, Like that which preinduced man's fall, Lies sleeping there, in state. TIE rXTLT4RS. 9 Its altar stands, a shattered thing, O'ergrown by blooming vine, And never-more shall anthems ring, In notes almost divine, As once they rung, before that shrine, That offering place to God; But birds of night. with dismal chime, Chaunt, where ghosts have trod. The grand old hall, that once was filled With lordly Dons, from Spain; Where often flowed rich wine, distilled From vintage over the main; Was mouldy then, and desolate, The place where beasts of prey Howl dirges, o'er the dismal fate Of Lords of early day. Thus, all around us, ruins lay, Crumbling slow, with age, Telling of grandeur in decay, Fading from mem'ries page. Yes, rapt in wonder, stood we there, Our roving, happy band, Gazing upon that scene so fair, Majestic, wild, and grand, page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 - THE RiXIL', We'd traveled long and happily, Light-hearted,. glad and free, We caroled forth right merrily, Our songs of lightsome glee. Dear, ever dear unto my heart, Luella De Estelle, Thou black-eyed maiden, free from art, Thy smile my soul hath thrilled. Luella's brother, guarded her, A brave and noble boy, Whose eye beamed fiercely, when the stir Of thicket, gave him joy And hope, for woodlands mazy chase; Wildly looked Bartolome, With loose curls flowing o'er his face, In dancing revelry. Many there were who roved with us, And all were dear to me, But dearest; the ingenuous Luella, and Bartolome. The maiden promised me her hand, 'Neath starry skies of Spain, Where suns are bright, but airs are bland, And life 's a happy dream, THE EXTTES. " Then slumbered we in love's young dream, Affection's purity; And wandered forth by sylvan stream, In holy ecstacy . We reveled in the lordly halls, Of noble De Estelle; And over all within its walls, Joy cast a witching spell. Bartolome, the youthful Lord, Was noble, true and good, And boldly walked he, all unawed By frowns, or threatening mood, Of haughty Dons of sunny Spain, Its sternest chivalry; Who, his towering soul would chain, With bonds of bigotry. Standing firm, though oft entreated By priests of papal power, Coldly to bow at shrines, created- By creatures of an hour; They raved, with apostolic wrath, And curs'd, with priest-like hate, To fright De Estelle to their path, Of mummery, and state. page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 THE E XITTS. Fearless, he remained unmoved; Braving the bigots power; Clinging to truth, though oft reproved; Ie saw his sister's dower His grand estate, that fine old hall The stately, solemn park; The winding brook ; the waterfall; All claimed by minions dark. Church and state, with power conjoined, Had issued a decree 'Gainst heretics, with stubborn mind, Who bended not the knee, Before the effigy of Christ, Or Mary's waxen form, Or spurned the altar smoke, though spiced With Ceylon's rich perfume. Banished from their ancestral home, Luella, and Bartolome, With me o'er stranger lands did roam,. And over shining sea. We gathered grapes, in vine-clad France, And drank her foamy wine, Full oft we've joined the joyous dance, In merry vintage-time. / TH PXTTr. j3 We climbed the mounts of Switzerland, Hearing the Tyrolese, With honest wish, and smile full bland, Give cheering words of peace. We shared the coarse and and homely fare, Of German cottager, And often-time we've greeted there, The care-worn voyager. We strolled the shady, solemn aisle, Of churches, old and grand; Enraptured by Madonna's smile, We oftentimes would stand: Thinking of home, in distant Spain,. With wonder in our minds, If she would e'er receive again, The spurners of her shrines. And when, beneath Italian skies On mellow starlit eve, I'd gaze in fair Luella's eyes, And then forget to grieve; While she would tell me of her love: An oft repeated tale: Though old, beside that tale of love, All other words were stale. 2 page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " THE EXILES. Among the Alps, and Apennines, Far up amid the cloud, We've heard the storm-king through the pines, Triumphant shriek; and loud. We've seen the tall and stately trees, By vivid lightning riven; Then, felt a soft and genial breeze, Like soothing balm from Heaven. We breathed the classic air of Rome, Walking where Caesars trod, Full proud of this, their gorgeous home, The masterpiece of God. And many times Luella wept, In ecstacy's delight, While admiration o'er us crept, As splendors cheered our sight. When looking on a lovely scene, By artist's pencil given, We wondered, if those prints serene, Spake most of earth, or Heaven. Fair forms of marble glistened there, Needing Pygmalion's tears To soften them with love's pure air, And give them breath for years; THE EXILES. 15 That they might people earth once more, With human forms divine, Like those which reveled here, before The day of love's decline. Bartolome, mid scenes like these, Smiled at Luella's bliss, Trying, her gentle heart to please, With brother's loving kiss. Nor, did her brother try in vain, Nor vainly, tried her lover, To save our gentle loved one pain, By earnest, fond endeavor. Her merry jest, and repartee, And laugh, like wild bird's notes, Oft filled our heart's with lively glee, Which answering laugh denotes. page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] CHAPTER SECOND. When we had traveled long and far, Gazing on scenes of splendor, We braved the rolling ocean's jar, O'er distant lands to wander. And there we stood, that tranquil eve, In the tropie's genial clime, Where blooming vines do closely cleave, To trees of fragrant lime. How drear; how grand; yon ruins look, How desolate their grandeur, I'd hear the cause, why man forsook, That pile, of ancient splendor. Mayhap some ghost, or weird hag, Can tell us of its tenants, Can speak of troubled sprites, who drag Long years away in penance." TCHE KXTL1BS. IT Thus spake a laughing, blooming belle, In playful, joyous, mirth, When there arose, whence, none could tell Nor if her home were earth, A trembling form, of woman old, Bowed down by many woes; With piercing eye, and hand, ice-cold, And hair, like drifted snows. A sturdy staff, the bony hand Of that strange woman bore, Seeming, like those from demon land, That wizards used of yore. Her sharp black eyes, with wicked leer, Subdued our merry group; Her scornful laugh, and frightful sneer, Caused all our mirth to droop. "Maiden," she said, "if thou would'st know The story of yonder pile, And those who dwelt there, long ago, List to my words awhile. Two hundred years agone, to-day, Here lived a cavalier, A bold, bad man, too proud to pray, And a stranger he, to fear. 2* page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 THE EXILES. Antonio;--for this his name, Had a daughter, young and fair, A child of pure untarnished fame, And holy, heaven-born air. A priest lived there, on yonder hill, And a man devout, was he, His humble mind, and saint-like will, From taint of sin seemed free. And oftentimes, the priest would cheer The gentle maid, when tearful, Turning her soul, from earth-scenes drear, Which made her home so fearful, To thoughts of Heaven, never lonely, Ever tranquil, holy, bright, Where glad spirits, angels only, Dwell in never-fading light. The man of God, the lowly man, Of holy, sinless life, Fell victim, to a hell-wrought plan, With hate, and malice, rife; The Spaniard bold, could illy brook To see his gentle child, Pray with the priest, in shady nook, And shun his revels wild. TESE MBXT; S. I3 "Antonio, a mistress had, Of fairest form, and mein, With air unholy, bold and bad, Though her years were scarce nineteen, A fitting mate for her lord, was she, That girl deep stained by shame, As, loud she laughed in revelry, By wine, and sin, inflamed." "Send for the priest," she said, one day When the cup was freely flowing, And jest, and song, wore time away, While cheeks, with wine were glowing. "I'd have the good man drink with me, And sing us a merry strain, He'd better dance, than bend the knee, Then call him hither amain." Her lord replied, "The man shall come, I hate that sniveling priest, I'll humble him, ere night is gone, And rosy grows the east." The laugh went round with noisy glee; The revelers, delighted With wine and jesting repartee, In evil, were united. page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] -20 THE I SBXTrs. The priest appeared,- A glass with thee," The smiling eyprian said, x Woman beware I for thou shalt see, Long years, of bitterest dread. Thy brazen face, thy sin-dyed soul, Thy wicked, bitter sneering; Shall bar thee ever, from that goal, Which Heaven's smile is cheering'. ' Antonio,'" said he, " beware! Long hast thou tempted Heaven, Thy gentle child of holy air, From- earth, thou'st nearly driven. Remember man I the day- is near When thou shalt fear and tremble, And weep o'er crimes unheeded here, Where sinfulones assemble." 'The host uprose with horrid frown, And with him sprang each guest, Binding the priest, they bore him down In a dungeon damp, to rest. But all were sad; no mirth had they, No revelry, that night, They could not sleep their gloom away, Nor cheered were they by light. THEE- XITm. 21 Antonio, with burning hate, Dread tools of torture bearing, His vengeance dire, to satiate,- Alone, just Heaven, daring; "Proud priest," he said, " here thou must die, Of hunger, and thirst, and damp, In robes of steel, henceforth thou 'It lie, When starving, thy lips thou 'lt champ. Think ye that God, thy boasted Lord, Can avert thy dreadful fate, Can free thee now, from this strong ward, And my most withering hate?" The holy man was calm and still, Breathing a silent prayer, Bowing unto the 'Father's wil1 With calm and trusting air. A sudden wind, the dungeon door With thundering force then closed, And echo, with a dismal roar, Roused bats, which there reposed. Antonio, in the dungeon lay, None knew of its springs, but he; They thought him in the chase away, And with him, the prison key. page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 THE EXILES. With joyfulness the mistress smiled, As she thought of dying foe, Naught knowing, -of the unseen tides That bore her along to woe. Long looked she for her paramour, And a weary year rolled by; His gentle child, the maiden pure,- In death had Olosae her eye. The woman lived for many years, In misery, woe, and gloom; In agony, and bitter tears, Longed she for a peaceful tomb. With shattered mind, by long unrest, The castle o'er she wandered, And found one day the bones unblest, From which she 'd long been sundered. Near them, lay a skeleton form, Still bound in iron fetter, And wildly laughed the woman lorn, As last of reason left her. The castle passed to other hands, But never since, have any Lived in its halls, or tilled its lands, Save beings foul, uncanny. THUE EXILES.- 23 But goblins hold their banquets there, With wild, unearthly yelling, And ghastly spectres throng its stair, Defiant, and repelling. Pass by that scene of infamy, Deep curses rest upon it, It ne'er received a companie But felt sore evil from it." Thus spake the hag; her form was gone, And none could answer whither, With the same laugh, and look forlorn As when she first went thither. None saw her come, none saw her go, And none would heed her warning, But day was gone long hours ago, So waited we till mornings By morning's sun we entered there, Jesting loud and cheeringly, Through dungeon damp o'er tumbling stair, Passed we on unfearingly. Luella, stood upon a stone; It fell through the old hall floor I Startled, we look 1 my God, she's gone I And we left standing there I page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 ToE EXILES. She 'd fallen to a mouldy cell Near her two skeletons laid; One, into fragments long since fell, While its mate in fetters staid. We moved away our mangled one, And buried her 'neath a tree, Where flowers ope to tropic's sun, And the birds sing loud and free. Since then, the world's been drear to me, And lonely have been my years, With longings for eternity, And eyes undimmed by tears. But on my sombre cloud of grief, Some beams of sunshine rest, Giving my withered soul relief, With hopes of heavenly rest. NOT ALL A DREAM. "HAPTER I. Languishing, groaning, and moaning with pain, And gasping for lazy breath; Oh! how I long to be well again, Or to sleep the sweet sleep of death. I've struggled all day with horrible pain, And for many a sleepless night, And weeks, and months, and years, shall wane, Leaving this terrible blight To cling to me, as now it clings, And for many a year has clung, Mocking my soul with arrowy stings, Like a serpent over me flung, Which has threatened to stop my feeble gasps, By crushing hard my frame; But my bosom heaves, and his loosened grasps, Will let me breathe again; 3 page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 NOT ALL A DREAM. That arrowy sting will rend my flesh, Its fangs are burning me now, Great God I it's tearing my wounds afresh, And racking my throbbing brow. A cold damp gathers on my face, And my brain has dizzy grown; Can this be death, and is my race On earth, so nearly flown? No; my breath comes back to me, And softly, lightly, tenderly Comes a loved one to my side, and I see Eyes of love look tearfully, While a voice in sweetest whispers, Offers a soothing potion; And, I dream of singing vespers, 'Mid the roar of the mighty ocean: I dreamed of sleep in a shady grove, On a bed of evergreen lying, While o'er my head, the air was clove, By feathery songsters flying; My sleep, was yet but half a sleep, For I knew of all around me, And felt its flowery fetters, keep My soul, in links that bound me. And while I reclined, there loud resounded, Through all the realms of air, NOT ALL A DREAM. 27 A mighty blast; and I rose confounded, Gazing with wondering stare On all around me, And tried to flee, But terror bound me, While fixed I stood, in that old wood, That forest grandly fair. And my teeth were chattering, chattering, While my heart was wildly fluttering, When, I heard a gentle pattering, Upon the withered leaves, And a thousand merry voices Singing "Never grieve ;" While my inner soul rejoices, Feeling a sweet reprieve. For while I gazed with wonder, Was congregated there, A host who'd broken asunder, From throngs above the air, And with laughing, sunny faces, They were dancing over the ground, And like ethereal graces Were flinging flowers around, Or weaving them into wreaths, And twining them 'mid their hair, Till the whole of that sunny heath, page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 . NOT ALL A DREAM. Seemed covered with sylphs all smiling and fair, Who were singing to me their sweetest strain, While their songs were echoed over the plain, And over hills, and mountains far, And the end of earth, was not its bar, For its notes were heard, in Heaven above, Sending a thrill of purest love To every heart. For its holy song, Spake to that celestial throng, Of gladness coming, now in view, A host of pleasures ever new; While singing thus, the livelong day, I caught the words of their mazy lay. "Come to the bower of holy love, Come, where joyous spirits move, Come, where the wing of Heavenly dove, Shall fan the brow of the lover. Come, where the aromatic air Shall blow on all, and make all fair, In bloom, and youth, forever. Come to us and join our lay, And sing with us the livelong day, Or lowly kneel, when we gently pray To God, our loving Father. NOT ALL A DREAM. 29 We'd have thee join us, one and all, To all, we send this loving call, And each shall be our brother. Come and dance in blooming grove, Through gorgeous fields, we'd have thee rove, Singing softest songs of love, And gathering fairest flowers. Come, where the birds are gladly singing, And with plumage gay, their ways are winging, Through amaranthine bowers. Or where laughing boys, and playful girls, Are twining gems, amid their curls, And platting crowns of purest pearls, Rare pearls, of wond'rous price. Come, where all is true, and pure, Come to the land, whose joys endure, Whose name is Paradise. Come to us, from every nation, From mountain high, and cave of ocean, Come, and bliss shall be thy portion, And Heaven, thy peaceful home. Come with us, ye poor and lowly, Coime, to the world whose air is holy, Where smiling cherubs roam, 3* page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 NOT ALL A DREAM. Come, where zephyrs soft, ari sighing, And white winged angels, lightly flying, Each with the other, gently vieing, In singing songs of love, Come, we'll show you all the way, Come and join our blissful lay, Come to the world above. As theysung this hymn, I grew perplexed, And my soul was vexed, For the mazy text :Of their gladsome song, so loud and long, Bewildered me, And troubled me much, aye much; For I could neither feel, nor see, Though I tried to feel, and tried to clutch At its deep mystery. While yet I stood, in pensive mood, Alone, in that heavenly crowd, There came to me, close to me, A being pure, and bright, and free, Filling my soul with ecstasy; For on her shiniig, dazzling brow, Was written, "-Be ye happy now." NOT ALL A DREAM. 31 I'd have thee follow, follow me, Follow ye far, but come ye free, And I'll ever be thy guiding star, In that world Where beautiful spirits are, You shall be decked with radiant flowers, And I'll sing to you with seraph powers.; Follow, follow, follow me, And yourssoul shall fill with melody. Follow mne now my dreaming one, Your wings shall glisten like rising sun, But brighter, far, shall be your brow, Than the brightest dream, you've had ere now, And bliss, shall all thy thoughts control, While fairy music feeds thy soul, Follow, follow, follow me, And your soul shall fill with melody. Follow me now, where flowers bloom, Where, free from pain, and blight, and gloom, We'll rove by silvery, glittering stream, Fairer, than you've ever seen in dream, Or shining lake, or chrystal fount, Or sunny glade, or jeweled mount, Follow, follow, follow me, And your soul shall fill with melody. page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 NOT ALL A DREAM. Follow me now, my dreaming boy, I will lead thee on to a world of joy, To a world, where richest glories shine, Like sparkling gem, in a diamond mine, For, I've often talked to you in sleep, And when you sigh, I sadly weep, So follow, follow, follow me, And your soul shall fill with melody. NOT ALL A DREAM. 33 CTAPTER II. 'Twas thus she sung, and while she sung, I stood like one enchanted, Her voice, in my wildered ear, then rung, And my brain it long had haunted, In dreams, she had come to my wearisome bed, Whispering tones of love, Waking; I'd weep to find her fled, To her mansion, built above. But now, her arm was round me flung, While she nestled on my breast, And smiled on me, then sweetly sung, Luring home my soul to rest, And she led me on, and ever on, O'er hills, and dales, and flowery vale, Ever toward the glittering sun, That sun whose glories never pale, page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 NOT ALL A DREAM. Whose gentle heat warms every heart, And shines on every mortal brow, On some in full; on some tin part, I feel its full effulgence now, Its soothing, quick'ning, gentle ray, Falls lightly on me from above, Softly cheering, when I pray, That sun, is called the sun of lovde. Wheni/we had wandered many a day, Then we. were high above the earth, And from its toils, were far away, -Clearly viewing its little worth, For, we gazed on all its sparkling fountains, Its silvery lakes, and mighty mountains, Its every tribe, and race, and nation, And those of every grade, and station. We saw the mighty man of gold, With glittering heart, but freezing cold, Pass by the man of brilliant thought, In chariot rare, with beauty wrought, But his haughty head was ne'er inclined; The gilded calf, bows not to mind. While her babe was softly sleeping, We saw a mother pale, and weeping, NOT ALL A DREAM. 35 By the dim lamp of late midnight, By its feeble flickering light, She was toiling away, And she toiled till day Weeping, shivering, with chilling blast Blowing on her, blowing fast, But she must toil, or her babe will die, Will starve for a crust, all musty, and dry, And work, will save her loved one's breath Will cheat the crouching monster-death, For she works for a man, who rolls in gold, Has houses, and land, and wealth untold, And he will pay her, all unwilling, For this late toil, to yield one shilling, Thus, feeble woman wastes her health, To give the man of gold his wealth. We saw a pious, smooth, divine, With air devout, sit sipping wine, Yet he would prate with ostentation, Of that monster sin,-intoxication; And he would wildly talk of hell, Painting its flaming horrors well, And roll his eye, and heave his breast, Describing pains of soul unblest, Who'd toiled in life, for glittering gold, page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 'NOT ALL A DREAM.. Regardless of that tale so old, Which speaketh of a needle's eye, Through which a camel ne'er could fly, But sooner, sooner far, he'd say, Than a rich man in the heavenly way, The camel, through the eye could go; And he would make a flimsy show, Of meekness, and humility, Bowing with low servility, When jeweled dame, with smiling face, Bedecked with flowers, and silk, and lace, Would tender him her valued gold; But, if one poor, and plain, and old, E'er offered him the widow's mite, 'Twas received with many a slight, A chilling frown, of great disdain, Which caused the lowly christian pain. This priest of God. This man of prayer! Had houses rich, and gardens fair, And glittering thousands, had he in store, Yet still, he hoarded more and more, While many around him, were hungry and cold, Were pinched with want, though worthy and old, But he never offered them bread to eat, Nor fire to warm, nor shoes for feet; NOT ALL A DREAM. 37 And that mother came to him one day, And, on bended knee, did wildly pray,. For bread to save her child of shame, Her skeleton boy, without a name. Yes; there she knelt, that weeping mother, Before her brutal, faithless lover, The man of prayer-yes, man of prayer I The father of her nameless heir I The blighter of her early truth I The damned deceiver of her youth I A reverend wolf! a reptile vilel Though moving in God's robes the whiles When she begged him in accents wild, To save from death, their mutual child, He frowned upon her and cried "Away!" "Begone fromme I begone, I say l Thou thing unclean,'why rave ye so? I prayed to Heaven, long, long ago, And felt my sins forgiven; So know ye now, those vows are riven, That once were whispered in thine ear, No get thee gone why stay ye here? I'd see thy sin stained form no more, Why snivle still, why still imple?" * , ,** - page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 NOT ALL A DREM. Then up she rose, with piercing shriek, With sparkling eye, and loosened hair, And frenzied breath, and brilliant cheek, With shattered soul in dark' despair; Shaking at him, her bony arm, Raving with bitterest hate, She called on him- the greatest harm, That was ever decreed by fate. "I tell thee, Everard De Mestayer, In the deepest pit of hell I In the darkest cave, of black despair, L Thy craven soul shall dwell I And serpents, shall twine around thy form, Kissing thy reverend cheek t While arrows of fire, around thee storm, Oh I Priest, so oily and sleek I But the oil of thy flesh, through every pore, Shall burn-a scorching flame; Shall burn thee ever, more and more, Till thy charred, and blackened, loathsome frame, . Make thee faint, with its sickening stench, And its pestilential sore. And with horrible pain, you'll madly clench Your hair. And your maddened roar Shall make all hell resound, NOT ALL A DREAM. 39 While skeleton forms, shall rattle around, And with clattering din, your soul confound. Go to thy home, thou limb of hell! Remember me, remember well, For my deepest curse shall bear thee down, Down to woe, and foreyer down!" Her thrilling shriek then rent the air, Her breast was fiercely heaving, Yet look!-a purple stream is there, Her soul, its frame is leaving. She 's lying dead at Everard's feet, Weltering in her gore, And Everard's smile will never greet The eye of mortal,-more. For her withering curse, has reached his soul, And ringeth in his ear, And weeks, and months, and years shall roll, Yet still, this terrible fear Shall haunt his soul, as it haunts it now, While his life will be of woe, No smile will ever light his brow, And-his heart, is cold as snow. We saw a laughing, merry youth, A truthful loving boy, page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 4) NQ1OT ALL A DRBEA. With smile as warm as sunny south, And his was a love-lit eye; But bigots, whispered in his ear, That the world was full of woe, Filling his infant mind with fear, That all was grief below. They sung to him, a doleful sound, Of woes beyond the tomb, Making the very air resound With croaking notes of gloom; Thus, was quenched his heart's young fire, By quacks of human soul, The rising thought, the high desire, Were far from his contro1. They talked to him of heavenly ire, Forgetting Christ-like love, 'Till all his dreams were tinged with fire, And with fear, he looked above. The blooming earth, of matchless worth, He viewed, as vain illusion, His heart once light, is now of dearth, Made thus, by blind delusion. Then looked we, on the grand estate NOT ALL A DREAM. 41 Of a haughty old patrician, A little man, though passing great, By virtue of high position, We viewed his houses, and viewed his land, Their arrangements, all, were rich and grand, And his stately hall, was passing fair, As seated on the hill, up there, Looking down, on all the country around, It commanded respect, the most profound:. For its owner, was a man of account, Who'd lands, and gold, in any amount, And stock in banks, and railroad stocks, And worshipers came to him in flocks; Who, for his title, would loudly laud The little pigmy, styled "My Lord." His old saloon was rich, and splendid, For wealth and beauty, there were blended, And light, from sparkling chandelier, Resplendent shone, with radiance clear, On paintings from Italian studio, On Raphaels rare, and gems from Guido; And Hebes, near Bohemian vases, In beauty, vieing with the graces, Were scattered around, in great profusion, Arranged with taste, without confusion. There sat the Holy Virgin Mary, 4* page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 NOT ALL A DREAM. Smiling on her Heaven-born child, Far sweeter than the dreams of fairy, While the infant Jesus smiled. And alabaster angels there, Were decked with wreaths of flowers, Which, shining with effulgent air, Seemed brought from elfin bowers; A Persian carpet was on its floor, While tapestry draped its wall, And all looked gay, within the door Of that old baronial hall. Its mistress was a stately dame, A beauty, cold and proud, Who, for her lord's estate and name, A brilliant mind, had bowed; The fire of intellect shone in her eye, And genius was in her brain, Which evermore must dormant lie, Fearful of giving pain To her jealous lord, whose evil look Is on her cast. Whose groveling soul, Will never bring himself to brook Her soaring, free from his control, And, he has foul suspicions too; A fear was planted in his puny breast, NiOT ALL A DREAM. 43 By green-eyed monster. His view Was jaundiced; and he knew no rest, No rest was there, In that mansion fair page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " NOT ALL A DRtAM. CHAPTER III. "Where then," said I, "shall rest be found, (On all the earth? My cry shall o'er it all resound, Oh I little worth.' My angel, tell me, tell me now, Why hath God made it so? Why did He with such woes endow His children, there below?" That beatified being sung to me, A song of love and truth, With a radiant smile, as pure and free As the loveliest dream of youth. God is love, God is love, Is echoed over earth, And repeated in the world above, NOT ALL A DREAM. 45 'Till all the worlds of the universe Know that God is love. God is love; God is love, Is whispered in every heart, And the sheltering wing of heavenly dove, Shows weary souls its soothing art, And rest with God of love. God is love; God is love, And He gave his only son, To pluck the thorns, the pains remove From all his children, every one, In pure, parental love. God is love; He shows his love, By making earth all fair, Creating man so far above The beast of field, and bird of air, Conscious that God is love. God is love; His holy love Poured blessings on mankind; But never woe, from the throne above, For love, you'll ever find In God of love, and God is love." page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " NOT ALL A DREAM. "Why then," I ask again, "Hath the ever loving God Doomed man to pain, And chastening rod? All, all is woe, in the world below, All is woe, why is it so?" "All is not woe," my angel said, "For in every heart, is felt the glow, Of that sun of love; and every head Hath known its genial flow. When man will love with all the power That God to him hath given, His face shall brighten every hour, With shining rays from Heaven. But man, blasphemous man, Accuseth loud his God; Complaining, life is but a span, God's sceptre, but a rod. Murmering, too, of the world called Hell, Rebellious! 'gainst God's will, Reproaching God, that 4dam fell, And in sin man liveth still, Man makes his Hell, 'tis not his God; God never sent man there, NOT ALL A DREAM. 4 And by compulsion, none e'er trod The caves of dark despair. "ike clings to like,' and man will move In his congenial sphere, And if his love, be holy love, His soul is pure and clear. In looking over earth, you'll find That all its mighty griefs, Are conceptions of the human mind, And God, to the soul directs relief, 'By scattering beauties all around, Types of a better world above, Where all enduring bliss is found, Where dwelleth the God of love. But turn from earth, to bliss ecstatic, And hear a chaunt from Heaven, No more thy thoughts shall be erratic, From earth, thy soul is riven." Then entered we a pearly gate, Hearing a thousand voices, And a thousand harps, with bliss relate, That in Heaven, the soul rejoices. "Welcome thee, welcome thee, page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 NOT ALL A DREAM: To this fair land, whose air is free; Thou hast done well, from earth to flee, To the groves of Paradise. For felicity now shall be thylot, Thy joy as pure, as free from blot, As the pearl of greatest price. Welcome thee, welcome thee, For this, thy glorious home shall be, And birds of Heaven, now chaunt with glee, Their ardent song of praise. This, is thy greeting to: the world above, Now beginneth the reign of love, By singing :melodiou's lays. Welcome thee, welcome here, To rove near fountains, chrystal clear, Gathering flowers, from far and near, To deck thy sunny mansion. For we've a mansion prepared for you, Whose beauties, glisten, ever new, Whose limit, is exp ansio. Welcome thee, welcome now, A garland of roses shall deck thy brow, And thy lovely:,.otl, we now endow, NOT ALL A DREAM. 49 With purest gems of thought. Higher, than aught you've culled from lore, Purer than you've ever dreamed before, Those gems are Heaven-wrought. Welcome thee, to our trellised bowers, Where sounds harmonious while the hours, And breezes, from among the flowers Are wafting sweet aroma. And thy guardian angel shall on thee smile7 While purest love thy thoughts beguile, And ye, be a heavenly roamer, Welcome thee, thy home is here, Transcendent beauties, shall endear Thy soul to Heaven, and songs shall cheer Thy radiating way. Then join with us, in praising song, And Heaven shall echo, loud, and long, With transcendental lay. Thus inducted to my home, I stood amazed, enchanted, Enraptured, 'mid those scenes ,to roam, By blooming beanties haunted. The thrilling love, the holy joy, The elevating song, , 5 6& ' * page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 NOT ALL A DREAM. Gave purest bliss, without alloy, Unmixed with thought of wrong. Warmed, by the ever shining sun, Contiguous to God; Feeling the reign of love begun, The paths of Heaven now trod; I sung a hymn of lofty praise, And breathed a holy prayer, That paths of bliss, in all their ways, Might ever be thus fair. While praying thus, the scene was changed, Great God 1 what transformations I I'm on a bed; around me ranged, Are loving, sad relations. I'm sick and- sore, and weak and lame, Panting hard to breathe, Still struggling on, with fearful pain, Which nothing can relieve I My sight of Heaven was but a dream, An opiatic vision, But, my spirit guide I'll ever deem A truth, and no delusion; For, she whispered to me the soothing words, "Thy God, is a God of love," And her whispers, still, are often heard, NOT ALL A DREAM. 51 Breathing of Heaven above. Now, while I cope with mighty woes, And long for the hand of death, Her lovely vision before me flows, And I breathe her fragrant breath. So I'll follow her, forever now, As I followed in my dream; She beckons me, she shows me how To reach yon heavenly stream, Whose soft, pellucid waters, glide Through realms of holy love, Where, ere long, we'll calmly abide, In our mansion built above. I'm waiting now, for those gladsome words, "Welcome here, welcome here," When shall the blissful strain be heard, "Heaven is here, thy God is near?" page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] THE WHTE LILY. I :U CHAPTER FIRST. One sultry afternoon in August, two young men were lazily rec!ng on the bank of the American river; one of the most beautiful in California, which rolled through a wilderness of flowers, a boundless field of beauty, trans- cendent and heavenlyi in ts magnificence. Birds, of every hue and form, were lightly moving, with all of the gracefulness, given them by their harmony-loving Creator; and singing anthems, that made the whole scene appear to the listener and beholder, like the realization of elysian dreams. The eldest of the young men is Ernest De Vere, a Creole of Louisiana; and the youngest is a native of New England, named William Cushman. TIEM WHT' LILY. 53 Both of the young men are kind and affec- tionate, in their dispositions, and are confi- dential friends, as shown by their conversa- tion. "She is one of the strangest beings that I ever saw, and such a look of angelic purity, I never beheld on mortal face before. I tell you, Willie, if she had been reared in refined society, I might have formed a life-long en- gagement with her, and, to tell the truth, I am more than half in love with her now. But, what shall I do? Pray give me the benefit of your advice." "I advise you to marry her." "And after marrying, what would you have me do with her? Her name is unknown; she has no education; her home is in Pablo's hut; and report says, that chief stole her when a child, from some Spanish settlement over the mountains. At any rate, she is a mystery; and a delightful one; but all unfit to become the mistress of Belle View. My lady mother would not survive the shock, and my accom- plished sisters would break their little, non- sensical, fillagree hearts, at the bare idea of my taking that untutored little savage home 5* page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 4 SLTHE wa1W t LlT as my bride.; Ifeel inclined, however, to try it. Perhaps it might serve as an extinguisher to their inordinate pride; at any rate, their mortification would amuse me, and benefit them. What shall, I do., Willie? She has more influence over me- than has any other woman on earth; there is, for me, a perfect charm in her every motion; -and more poetry contained in her simple expressions, than I! ever heard from the lips of the superficial ladies, with whom my life has thus far been passed in insipid flirtation. But, Willie, you look indignant,"- "Yes, I am indignant; astonished, to hear you, Ernest De ere, talk thus. coolly of a being as pure and lovely, as we all believe the ily- to- be: you say that you half love her; you know that you worship her, next to God; and, I fear, before him; you think of her all day, and dream of her in sleep; you will never love another as you do her; and now, Co l:sy ask the advice of your friend with re-. gard to your -course with her. That advice you shall have; it is,. to. take the little barba- rian under youx own immediate tuition, and teach her- to read and wri e, yourself. After- THE Wiil'ili LILY. 55 she has acquired the rudiments, the rest will be an easy task-her progress will be most rapid- accomplishments will come almost naturally ; in one year she could learn enough of English literature to- surpass any lady of my acquaintance. She is as graceful as the gazelle; can sing like a nightingale; and all her motions are as easy as those of the most well-bred lady, notwithstanding her savage mode of life. Natural endowments, like hers, can in a great degree supply, the defects of early disadvantages. With regard to your mother and sisters, they have more reason for feeling ashamed of themselves, and you, when compared with the White Lily, than of her. She is more lovely to look upon than they; has more eloquence in her language than the greatest bluestocking among them, judging of them from your descriptions; while her love- liness of disposition makes her a fitting wife for Ernest De Vere, even supposing him to be as noble as I have always believed him. Er- nest, you surely cannot be so cruel to your- self, and the Lily, as to allow the foolish, -aristocratical notions of your family, to cast page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 TEE WliT1't LILY. their blight upon the happiness of you both. Forgive me if I speak too plainly." "Bravo, Willie; what a sermon I I am not in the least offended with you; on the con- trary, Ithank you for your frankness, and would have you be ever thus plain in all you say to me; but, you are the only man on earth, from whose lips I could hear the truths that you have just uttered, with patience. I can never account for the influence which you have gained over me; and that, too, without any apparent effort on your part. I love you as a brother, and feel assured that you entertain the same feeling for me, which I hope may long endure. But you are not in earnest when you advise me to become a pedagogue, and teach the Lily the alphabet, while I softly woo her; are you?" Yes, I am. Hark I what noise is that?- go." Just then a shrill scream was heard- in the adjacent forest. Ernest rushed to the rescue of whoever was in distress; while his friend Cushman, who was an invalid, and unable to be of use in such an emergency, was obliged impatiently, to wait on the bank of the river O T&HE WHT' LILY. 65 for the return of his friend, to learn the cause of this sudden interruption to their conversa- tion. The home of the White Lily, the maiden of whom they had been speaking, was in the hut of an Indian, named Pablo, who was chief of a small tribe of the most degraded savages, that ever disgraced humanity, with their loath- some filthiness. But Pablo was far superior to his people; being kind, affectionate, and intelligent. His wife, Red Rose, was a beau- tiful being, and as good as she was fair; she was almost worshiped by the swarthy people who bowed allegiance to her husband's power, and, to her own matchless beauty, which, for its-rarity among them, was revered by these barbarians. A beautiful boy, six months old, their only child, and the Lily, the heroine of this sketch, formed the family circle of Pablo's hut. White Lily was a lovely girl, eighteen years of age, of straight, well rounded form, of medium height; her eyes were black as jet, and as expressive as midnight stars; while the glossy blackness of her curling locks, formed a pleasing contrast to the swan-like page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58. THE WHfITE LILY. neck,which they partly concealed; her delicate foot, and hand, were in perfect harmony with her features, which were almost faultless; and each motion was fraught with grace, amount- ing to elegance, which was increased when her singing resounded, like that of the wild bird in his native forest. It seemed strange to find so much ease and grace among such rude creatures; but all re- marked that Lily was no Indian; and the white people who looked upon her, would re- peat an old tale in Pablo's ear, of a child stolen from an old Spanish hacienda, over the mountains, at the time when the Lily must have been an infant. But, if she was stolen, her fate was better than that of most captives, for Pablo was at all times kind and affection- ate, in his demeanor towards her; while she appeared to love him as a dear brother, to- gether with the Red Rose, who almost adored the beautiful Lily, and watched over her foot- steps, with an eye beaming with the warm fire of pure sisterly love. Such were the inmates of the Indian wig- wam, when Ernest De Vere and his friend first saw them. The charms of White Lily had TiE Wa:f E LILY. 59 made a deep impression upon the young southron; who was the only son of a rich sugar planter in Louisiana, who had died some ten years before the events recorded, leaving Ernest, the proprietor of a large plantation, well stocked with negroes: in short, he en- tered this world with the possession of half a million of dollars, and was, of course, sur- rounded by friends who would humor his every caprice and folly; consequently, he was but little better than a spoiled child when he left hompe for California. His mother and two sisters, made Belle View, [the name of Ernest's plantation,] their home; and, but for their pride, it would have been a happy one. Ernest, was perfectly free from the least sym- pathy with their aristocratical notions, which made his stately mother, and haughty, sisters as unhappy as their cold natures could be- come; they complained that nearly all of his associates were people of no position, while he slighted the overtures of the scions of aristocratic families in the neighborhood. Ernest was one of the most kind, and affec- tionate, persons in the world; generous, to a fault, and as gentle as a child to those he page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 THE Wt'r1fI' LILY. loved; but when his temper was roused, its impulsive, fiery nature could but illy brook the restraints, to which the pride of his family subjected him; and it was in vain that Madam De Vere wept, or smiled with scorn her son remained unchanged, unchangeable; but, con- cluding that '"discretion was the better part of valor," he one morning announced to his mother and sisters, his intention to leave them for a while, unannoyed by his plebeian tastes and groveling disposition. "Where, sir, are you going?" "To California, with the relief train who leave St. Louis next week, to aid the emi. grants, who are starving by thousands." "Oh dear, how devoted! Perhaps Ernest De Vere-will become a tutor :for the aborig- ines of California, and in those distant wilds, succeed in his fanciful plans for the equal- ization of humanity." "hope that I shall do my duty to, all with whom I may meet ;--but of this you may rest assured, I shall leave next week my arrange- ments are all matured, even to the making of my winl, by which instrument, my estate wil be divided among you, in case of my demise, THE WH I", -LILY. 61 and by the same document, all of the blacks are emancipated, and allowed a small stipend." "Ernest, you are mad I This last new freak of yours will drive me to distraction I What will people say, when this folly of yours be- comes known? Belle View will be an unde- sirable place to live in, when it is known that its proprietor has strong abolitionist inclina- tions; all our most respectable friends will drop us, if you leave with this stigma upon the reputation of our family." "Mother, thus far in life you have attempted to thwart me, in all my efforts to follow my own inclinations, and I have yielded; but now I have a few words to say, that I wish to have understood and remembered. I shall here- after- be uncontrolled by your pride, for which there is so little foundation. You have noth- ing to exalt you in the world, except your marriage with my father. You were a poor governess, andhe had the good taste to admire you, and, admiring you, had the independence to brave the frowns of the world, and those of his own family, and make you his wife; but since then you have grown cold and proud, although you can never persuade yourself, that 6 page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 THE Wltl'e LIY. your dreams of loftiness are aught save base. less structures, tottering upon the sand. So much for the position of our family, in an aristocratical view; but, when the worth and wealth of my father and mother, are called in question, we stand beyond the reach of en- vious tongues.- You have nothing to fear on that point. With regard to the emancipation of -the slaves, I shall liberate them from a sense of duty, and care not a straw for the opinion of any man, -in the matter. If your friends will not visit you, on account of my misdemeanors, why, let them go ; they are not worth having. I hope that you will make no efforts to induce me to change my intentions, as they are irrevocable; and your remarks will serve to make the time which I shall pass at home, unpleasant." They were astounded! This was his first severe speech to them, and they now felt as- sured that they were to lose him, for a time, at least. The blow was a severe one,- for they loved him, and were proud of his supe- rior-mind, notwithstanding their petty com- plainings of his delinquencies towards their idolized society. That society for whose sake THE WH:'E LILY. 63 they had bartered the peacefulness of home, and from whom they would receive nothing in return for the priceless treasure. Thus Ernest De Vere left home; bidding mother and sisters an affectionate farewell, and a tearful one; for he dearly loved them, notwithstanding their prid-e; and this, their greatest fault, he fondly hoped would be eradicated before his return. He reached his destination safely, and had the satisfaction of knowing that his little band, were the means used by God for saving many of the starving gold-seekers from perishing. It was on the day of his entrance into Sacramento, that he had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of his now bosom friend, William Cushman, or, as he familiarly called him, Willie, and about two months previous to the morning of their conference on the banks of the river, which had been ended in so startling a manner. Cushman had not long to wait before De Vere returned, bringing the White Lily in his arms, apparently lifeless; but, after laving her head and hands for a few moments, she so far re- covered as to tell the young men the cause of her situation, and thank her preserver. page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] "- THE WaiTE' LILY. It- appears,: that while gathering flowers in the woods, she had been attacked by a profli- gate desperado, whose villainies had made his contemptible character notorious, and de- spised by all who heard 'his impure name re- peated. Ernest had been just in season to rescue the Lily from a fate worse than death, by giving her assailor a taste of the efficacy of Colt's revolvers, in cases of emergency like that in which he found her. He was crippled for life, at which both of the young men rejoiced. Lily was uninjured, save by fright; and, as the party slowly wended their way towards Pablo's hut, the glances exchanged- between herself and Ernest, convinced Willie, that the little barbarian had conquered the scion of aristocracy, while, at the same time, her blushes showed that the conquest was mutual, After making a long visit at the wigwam, and re- ceiving the thanks of Pablo and the Red Rose, they left, promising to avail themselves of the cordial welcome, which they were assured would meet their visits at the homely abode of their friends. That night, Ernest told his friend that he THE WRITE LILY. 65 was resolved to win the hand of the Lily, if possible; he confessed to a little of that pride which he had condemned so much in his mother and sisters. "But," said he, " there is some- thing in the air of Lily, which makes me feel as if in the immediate presence of a superior being; I know not why it is so, but she speaks to me as an angel used to do, in my early dreams; and after leaving her, I feel con- scious of having been in contact with angelic purity; she appears too good to be removed from the music of the forest, to the dazzling sun of my fashionable home. What course would you pursue, Willie?" "I would let the little barbarian alone, re- membering that she is all unfit to become the mistress of Belle View;-therefore, would abandon all thoughts of the young heathen, as soon as possible." "Do refrain from sarcasm; I cannot endure it, merited though it may be. I am troubled, and shall rely upon your assistance. Will you aid me in my efforts to educate the Lily, if I can persuade her to relinquish her present mode of life, and become my wife?" "Yes, with all my heart. How will your 6* page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] a6 TliT WmI w ' LIL. mother be affected,-when you present her as your wife?" "She'l call her an angel, and bless me for bringing her such a daughter," "Ernest De Vere is evidently infatuated by the :graces of an untutored little savage; but, notwithstanding your weakness, I will lend you all the help in my power, after making 'certain conditions, which you must agree to, and then keep your promises inviolate." "Name your conditions." "They are, that while I am teaching the Lily, you are to absent yourself as much as possible from her; I make this condition, knowing that the little god Cupid plays the deuce with the young mind, making it all unfit for the stern duties of the school-room; dis- turbing its tranquility with dreams of heaven, in connexion with white kid gloves and orange blossoms. Secondly: when with her, as with her you will be, you are to endeavor to in- terest her in her studies, rather than in your- self, lo; you agree to these terms." "Yes; I'll agree to anything, if you will be kind enoughto. refrain from further non- sens. WiU you see, the Lily to-morrow, and BTHE, W HTnJ LILY. i. ascertain what her capacities are for learn- ing?" "Yes. Good night, Ernest." "Good night, and God bless you." Early the next morning, Cushman paid the Lily a visit; and, without letting her know of Ernest's implication in the matter, persuaded her to learn the English language, her own vernacular being Spanish, and take lessons in music, drawing, and other ornamental accom- plishments ; in which she made rapid advances, in a short space of time; making Willie the proudest teacher in existence, as he saw the rich unfoldings of her hitherto uncultivated mind, and perceived that she grew more lovely to look upon, as it became beautified and adorned, by mental culture. In the mean- while, Ernest grew more and more enslaved by her charms, at every meeting; she had promised to be his wife, and, of course, his life was all blissful; and, to tell the. ruth, he had reason to feel proud of his conquest, for she was as lovely in mind, as elegant in man- ner; her carriage bespoke for her better blood than that of a "little savage," as William usually called her in Ernest's presence, and page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68. THE WArrs LILY. every motion, seemed most emphatically to confirm the existing impression, that her origin was better than- her condition in life indicated. Pablo would make no revelations, and was equally careful to make--no -denials of the floating gossip, of which the Lily was the in- nocent cause. He was courteous toward the young men, and manifested the deepest inter- est in the tuition of the Lily; but, when they wanted to have her removed until their mar- riage, both he and- the Red Rose objected; and they yielded, for on no account would the girl disobey her friends; therefore, she con- tinued her studies in the wigwam, with De Vere for a suitor, and Cushman for a tutor. THE WITElr LILY. 69 CHAPTER SECOND. While matters were in this state, the spotted fever broke out among the Indians; and, in a few days, its malignant, unrelenting fury, had laid hundreds of victims on their funeral pyres. At last, it entered Pablo's hut; in a few hours making the gentle Red Rose, and her beautiful boy its prey. Poor Pablo was overwhelmed with grief; a silent, tearless agony, bore him down, and, for a while, his heart seemed like to break, under its unwonted burden; but, on the day succeeding the death of his loved ones, he desired the young men, in a calm voice, to take charge of poor Rose's funeral, and see her properly burned. "Burned, Pablo I What do you mean?" -"Me burn dead folks." "But, Pablo, you should abandon that heathenish custom." "Me no give up. Will you burn my Rose, and her boy?" page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 THE WHTE LILY. "Yes, if you insist upon it. When will you have the rite performed, and how? we will do the best in our power." "This afternoon; my people will show you how to do it; I could never burn poor Rose, myself; it would break my heart; and you are -her next best friends, .except the Lily, who is too gentle to do anything like that. May the Great Spirit bless you, for your goodness to the poor Indians," said the poor stricken chief. It was a custom among these Indians, to let the nearest friend of the departed light the funeral pyre; but Pablo could not nerve him- self to the task; therefore, had asked William and Ernest, who had loved the Rose dearly, to perform the last rite. In the afternoon, the whole tribe were col- lected before Pablo's hut; in their midst, stood a mass of pitchy pine wood, in the form of an altar, upon the top of which were laid the bodies of Rose and her boy. Poor Pablo walked to their side, and imprinted his last, loving kisses, upon their death-cold lips; after turning from them, his face looked as pallid ,as theirs, and his stare was almost as stony, THE WHTE LILY. ' 7 I and immovable; he grasped Ernest's hand, K with a clasp of ice, and whispered to him to proceed, at the same time running into the woods, to escape a scene which was more than his breaking heart could endure to witness. As soon as he had left, Ernest, with an averted face, lighted the pile, and stepped back from it. As soon as the wood was kindled, light flames were darting fiery tongues over the mother and child, in death inanimate, as if to wake them from a slumber so teeming with danger. The savages commenced danc- ing and howling around the pile, in the most unearthly manner imaginable; this they con- tinued for an hour, at the expiration of which time, the bodies were consumed, and nothing remained on earth, of poor Rose and her boy, except their ashes, which the Indians gathered together in a tub, and mixed with pitch; after which, each one took a handful of the mixture and rubbed it into his hair, at the same time filling the air, with most mournful howls of lamentation, while they danced their monoto- nous death-dance, with painful slowness. Thus ended the funeral; all of which the young men's love for Pablo, induced them to page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 THE W"TWffi -LILY. witness; although it required allthe fortitude they could command, to endure the spectacle; and, for months-afterwards, those savage wails and -howls, rung in their ears, like the knell of bygone scenes; scenes, for whose return'they never yearned. - After the ceremonies were concluded, the Lily, who had left, to avoid the excitement of poor Rose's funeral, returned with Pablo, and a melancholy group they formed, as the four were seated before the hut in silence, which remained long unbroken; for each heart was full, and each was waiting for the other to speak. The Lily was seated at Ernest's side, bathed in tears; while Pablo was near them, in tearless woe; but at last, he called her to his side, and said: "-White Lily, me leave you now; me go over the mountains. What will the Lily do, with Rose dead, and Pablo gone with his people?" "You must not go; but if- you do, the Lily will go with you; she will never desert her brother, when in trouble," Ernest's eyes flashed fire, but he was silent. "No, no; -the Lily must not go with Pablo; No'n,. o THE WHF1' LILY. 73 he does not want her; she must cheer the white man's home. White man is good, and the Lily loves him; they must be married, be- fore Pablo leaves her," said the chief, casting his eyes toward Ernest, who rose, at-the same time clasping the hand of Lily, and that of Pablo within his own, saying that he would go immediately for a priest, if she would consent to have the ceremony then and there per- formed. In this she acquiesced, although preferring to wait till the death of Red Rose became less fresh in her memory; but Pablo was in haste to depart from the scene of his heart-felt be- reavements, and so Cushman went for a priest, who lived at no great distance. That night saw a strange bridal party. Ernest De Vere was one of the handsomest of men; and the Lily looked, that evening, sadly lovely, as she leaned confidingly, trust- fully, and affectionately on the arm of her noble husband. Pablo was sad, and silent; but Wilhe was joyous, for he felt assured, that his dear friends would make each other happy, and their happiness was the darling wish of his heart, for they were his dearest earthly 7 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 7d4 THE WHTE LILYr. friends; 'therefore, he could'not be otherwise than light-hearted, notwithstanding the un- pleasant transactions mn which he had particiL pated in the afternoon. After the conclusion of the ceremony, Pablo called the party into his cabin, that they might listen to his parting remarks, before leaving them forever. You have done well," said he, to Ernest, "to make White Lily your wife; she is more good than beautiful; ahd her voice will be sweeter music to your ear, than is the breath ofthe soul of love, as it whispers through the grovels of the spirit world. May you both be as happy as you deserve to be. May the G'reat Spirit forever smile on you. I leave you to-night, :and shall never see you again, until we all meet in the spirit land, with my lost Rose, in that world, which the Great Father has bestrown with flowers." " But, m yy fly is not an Indian, is she?" asked Ernest; "pray tell me about her; I ought to know, and you should tell me." Poohr Pablo sighed heavily, and replied: '-:othe :l ily is not an Indian; my father stole her, when but a babe, from the hacienda of af .old Spaniard, over the mountains, near THE WaTlr LILY. 5 Diablo. Her father was rich and proud, and caused my uncle to be whipped, so severely that he afterwards died from his wounds. This called for revenge; and my father satis- fied his vengeance, by killing his flocks, and people, in great numbers, and stealing his only child, the Lily, with the design of making her a slave; but, we loved her so fondly, that we rather have obeyed, and almost worshiped her, since she came to our wigwam; to me, she has been as a dear sister; and, although parting with her will make my heart bleed afresh, I shall ever pray, that the Great Spirit may give her a life of happiness." "What is my father's name? Is he still living?" asked Lily, tearfully. " " is name is Don Manuel De Alva, 'and, at the last accounts, he was living at his home, near Mount Diablo; still grieving for his long lost Manuela. Here is a locket, that was on your neck when taken; and papers, which may help you to prove yourself the daughter of your proud old father; the Lady Manuela De Alva, no more to be called the White Lily. Good bye, Lily. Ernest De Veire, be faithful o, page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 THE WHTE LILY. to her. Watch overher, Willie; and may God bless you all." 'Thus spake Pablo, in a beautiful style of language, from which he had banished nearly all traces of the Indian tongue, as he did at times; making his words more impressive to the English ear, than those of the simple, but eloquent Indian. Thus left Pablo; and all their efforts failed to induce him to remain, for a single hour, with them. By the pale moonlight, they saw him wend his way, up the steep mountain's side; and there, joined by his devoted people, who chose to follow their beloved leader, into his retirement; carrying their sick with them, and singing war-songs, to rouse him from the stupor of his grief. The trio of friends saw him no more on earth, 'but they will ever respect his memory. After the chieftain's departure, they ex- amined the papers, but found them to contain nothing of importance, and of no conse- quence, save that they belonged to Don Manuel De Alva; the locket, contained the miniature of a beautiful lady, closely resembling the Lily, and they at once came to the conclusion, that it was the likeness of her mother; but, THE WHTE1' LILY. 7 as it was then late, they decided to suspend further speculations, until the next day; ac- cordingly, the party moved to Ernest's tent. The bridal chamber -of the heir of Belle View was no gorgeous affair, but, we doubt not, its inmates were happy. 7* page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 TffE WT-ilT LILY. CHAPTER TH!!JKD. The next morning, they started for the city of Sacramento, where they took rooms for a short time. While there, Ernest had his wife arrayed in a rich, but tasteful costume, which gave her lovely person an air of majestic beauty, making both himself and Willie, feel that if the White Lily had been charming, Mrs. De Vere's elegance, far surpassed the graces of the little barbarian; while Ernest's look of love, and gratified pride, satisfied his friend, that he was one of the happiest men in existence, as well as the proudest husband that ever enjoyed a blissful honeymoon. After a brief stay in Sacramento, they pro- ceeded to the hacienda of De Alva; anxious to learn if the Lily was to find a father, in the proud old Spaniard. It was about dark, when they reached the house of the poor old man, who, they were told, never smiled, but was always praying to the Virgin, for the restora- THE W1"TrE LILY. 79 tion of his long lost child, his darling Manuela; that she might gladden his now stricken heart, with her warm embraces. They were met at the door of the mansion by an old servant, who bade them welcome, but, shook his head doubtingly, when they de- sired to see Don Manuel De Alva; and re- plied, that he would see no one, except upon business; at the same time, giving them as- surances of welcome hospitalities. "We have business, and wish to see him to- night, -if possible." The old servant bowed, and left; but re- turned in a few moments, ushering into their presence an -old man, evidently bowed by troubles and years; he was a noble looking man,- and the three rose simultaneously, to pay their tribute of respect to the man, who was believed to be the father of the Lily. They formed a singular group, when, after the first salutations were- exchanged, they were seated in that old drawing-room; each wishilg' to speak, but fearing to break the silence. The Lily was weeping, and Ernest sat near her, trembling, pale, and excited. At length, the silence was broken, by a remark from Cush- page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 TIE WRiTE LILY. man, about the Indians, which evidently ex- cited the old man, so much, that he poured the tale of his woes into their ears. He told them of his long lost child; that she had been stolen from him; that his wife had bowed under, the blow, and died, broken-hearted; that he had been wading in seas of trouble ever since, only cheered by the hope that his darling child might be restored, before he died, that he might kiss his lost Manuela, before his transition to the home of angels. "This trial has been mine, through the instrumentality of the Indians, whose friend I always have been," said he. It was dreadful, to see the old man's agony; he seemed heaving, as with a mighty grief; a travail of anguish. "Had your child any marks, by which you could recognize her, if she should ever be found?" "Yes; my Manuela looked like her mother; and, the resemblance would be, to my eye, unmistakable." "But, had she no memento, by which she could be known?" asked Cushman, a little excited. THE WHTE LILY. 81 "She had a locket, containing her mother's miniature; and, some papers, were stolen yith her. But, sir, you're pale, and excited, you smile! You bring me tidings of my lost child! Speak; tell me of my Manuela!" said the old man; while he trembled before his visitors, like a guilty thing. Ernest was overpowered; and Lily, still wept; while. Willie, the only one who had re- tained the least degree of calmness, led Mrs. De Vere to the side of Don Manuel, who, after looking into her face, called her by the name of his departed wife, and fainted. The excitement was more than his enfeebled system could withstand, and, for hours, he laid ap- parently lifeless; but, in the night, becoming more animated, he looked astonished at find- ing himself surrounded by strangers. After a few moments, he recollected the occurrences of the evening, and desired to see the Lily. Upon seeing her again, he clasped her in his arms, at the same time, calling her his darling child; his long lost Manuela. They produced the papers, and locket, given them by Pablo, but they were not needed, to confirm De Alva's belief, that his daughter page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] $2 MHE Wfri'I- LILY. was restored to his embraces, although he knew them to be the articles stolen with her, and the locket, he was glad to regain, as it was given him by his wife, when, a laughing girl, in sunny Spain, she had stolen his heart, withl the witchery of love; but, to identify his child, he wanted no proof, save those charms, that she bore in common with her motherly whose image was indelibly impressed upon the tablet of his heart, and seemed fresh and lovely to his memory, in old age. The return of his daughter, was, to De Alva, like the pouring of healing balm upon the wounded part, giving him new energies, and recalling the felicities of his early years, with accu- mulated pleasures, from their long estrange- ment. Early the next morning, Don Manuel called the Lily to his side, and said: "My Manuelai we must go to Spain, where you- can be edu- cated, in- a manner befitting your birth and station in life; that I may see you united to a man, worthy of you, before the Father calls me to my home above." ',My dear sir," said Ernest, "r will you not receive me, as jour son? Manuela has given THH W atiti LLT. -8 me her heart and hand, already; she is my wife. Will you be my father?' "Your wife!" said De Alva, "this is too much; but, I can only say, may God's will be done, and you, prove a good husband to my child. Tell me who you are, and how you became acquainted with Manuela." Ernest then told the old man a long tale of his family; his life, wooing, and wedding; and the efforts of himself and Willie to edu- cate his wife, as already narrated. The father of the Lily, as, her husband still called her, was as well pleased with Ernest, as he could be, with any one, hitherto unknown; and gave them his blessing, with many wishes and prayers, for a long and blissful life. It would be difficult to find a happier group on earth, than they formed: the father, was in ecstacies of joy; and caressed his child, as though she were but the same little girl, with whom he played, long years before; while she, leaned on his bosom, with all the confidence, which the most affectionate child manifests for its always Imown, and well beloved parent. Ernest was well pleased to witness their love, feeling assured, that it could do nothing page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 THE WfriTE LILY. to diminish his own rich fund of enjoyment; therefore, their interchanges of love, did but add to his ecstatic bliss. Their true friend, Cushman, appeared to participate in their happiness, and make their joys his own; while the love that each one professed, and sincerely felt, for him, was his reward, for the interest which he had always taken in the Lily and Ernest. That day, the old man and his children, for he now had a son, ini Ernest, decided to re- main at the old hacienda; and gave Willie, a cordial invitation to continue his tutorship, over his former pupil, as she would, for along time, need his kind offices; and, his enfeebled health, rendered him unfit for a more active employment; therefore, he promised to re- main, for their mutual benefit, much to the satisfaction of all his friends; among whom, De Alva, wished to be considered as not the least. That was a happy day, to all; but, in the midst of their joy, thoughts of the loneliness of poor Pablo, would make the young people sigh; and, the Lily wept, when she thought of the love that had been bestowed on her, by THE WH'ITE LILY. 85 the chief, and his Red Rose, who was now forever gone; but their joy was too real, to be long clouded by those sorrows, that no tears could efface, and no sighs obliterate. In the evening, while in conversation, Willie asked Ernest, if he had no fears of becoming heathenized, by being so closely allied to an untutored little savage, of whom he was to feel ashamed, when presented to the ladies of his family, and friends, as the mistress of Belle View, just rescued, by himself, from a state of barbarism, and made his wife, in the door-yard of an Indian's wigwam. Mrs. De Vere laughed; and her husband replied, '"No, sir; I have no fears of being degraded, nor do I believe, that Mr. William Cushman will ever forget any of the foolish speeches, that I once had the weakness to make; for, with him, the ruling passion will be strong in death, and that passion, takes the form of a keen relish for the ludicrous, even at the expense of weak mortals like myself." The next day, Mrs. De Vere recommenced her studies; much to the gratification of her husband, father, and tutor. Willie remained with them for two years; during which time, 8 page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 TR THE 'W1iTIS LILY. he endeared himself, to his friends, more than ever, and strengthened the tie, before strong. At last, appeared at their dwelling, that messenger, who turneth not away from man, though, he may reluctantly, say "Nay, nay, wait a little longer." The good old man Don Manuel, was calleld to that bourn, from which no traveler can return. Calmly, the old man died; so quiet, was his departure, that none knew when he ceased to -breath; and the same radiant smile, that had illumined his coun- tenance, during his almost painless illness, still rested on his lips, when the spirit had flown to join its mate, in realms of endless verdure, beyond the clouds. Calmly the old man died; for, he had the blessing of affectionate children, to smooth his pathway to the tomb, and gladden his de- clining years, with words, and 'acts, of love; while the spirit of his wife, softly called him to the home of faithful servants. With affeetionate tears of regret, for his departure, but without murmering complaints to the Father, for their bereavement, they laid Don Manuel beside the partner of his THE WHt'Ti, LILY. 87 youthful joys, and later afflictions; the gentle flower, who, in her tenderness, could illy ward off the storms of life's tempestuous flood, but yielded to the winds, which blighted her mortal life, and at the same time, wafted her to a happier sphere, to bloom with renewed beauty, amid the flowers of heaven. After the decease of Don Manuel De Alva, and the settlement of his estate, Ernest and his wife started for their home in Louisiana; and, at the same time, Cushman left California, for New England. Three years later, he made his appearance at Belle View, where he had long since promised to make his old ac- quaintances a visit. Madam De Vere, and her youngest daugh- ter, Blanche, the eldest being married, lived with Ernest, with whose wife they are quite satisfied, and consider an ornament, both in mind and person, to the circle in which they move. They are proud of her beauty and accomplishments; while her little boy, a beau- tiful one, two years of age, is the household pet. On the day succeeding his arrival, Ernest and his wife were seated with Cushman, talk- page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] O88. TAfTHE WRITE LILY. ing of bygone joys -and sorrows, while their little boy nestled in the lap of his new ac- quaintance and namesake; for Mrs. De- Vere named her child for her old friend and tutor. " - While in conversation, Willie asked Ernest, how his mother was affected, by the arrival of his wife at Belle View. "At first, she was cold, and formally polite, but soon, her frigidity wore off; and, I think she is' now better pleased with my. "little savage," as you used to call her, than she would be with any one else on earth; it also gives me pleasure, to notice that she, and Blanches have less appearance of hauteur than they once had. "Have. you emancipated your slaves yet?" 'Y{ess; in a few days after: my return, I called them from their quarters, to the house, and toId theme that they were --free, at the same time, giving them free papers; upon which, a strange scene transpired; the most of them- began to cry, and beg of me not to send -them- away; while they were returning their papers, till, of one hundred and forty documents: that I had given them, one hundred and thirty-seven were restored. I sent them T'1EW. SWfl'TE LILY. 89 back till morning, when they were again sum. moned, and told, that they could remain on 'the plantation, if they desired to do so; but, they were free, as I preferred to run no risk of their being sold, in case of my death. Theirm God bless you, Mas'r,' which was au- dibly uttered, would, alone, have rewarded me for their emancipation: since then, I have made more sugar than any other planter in the State, with the same number of hands, without the least trouble with my people; not one of whom has left me, nor, do I believe that they could be persuaded to, although they work as hard, and fare no better, than when slaves." "You consider slavery an evil, do you not?" , I know it to be wrong; a black spot upon the reputation of our country I A damnable sin, in the sight of God I but, I do not know how to remedy the evil. The blacks are an inferior race of people, and can never be equal to the white races; therefore, it is diffi- cult to find the path of duty towards them. I hope that I have done right by my people, but not many could follow my plan; some, on account of pecuniary embarrassments; and page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 THE WHTE LILYT others, would think it not for the good of the slave, or that of the community, to do so; while another, and by far the largest class, work their slaves, by the rule that -"might makes right;" but I will condemn none, be- cause their way is not mine, in a matter re- quiring so much discernment, experience, and judgment, as does the subject of negro sla- very." The De Veres are a happy family, and highly respected, notwithstanding the stigma, that Madam feared would be cast upon their name, by Ernest's abolitionist tendencies, in which she at last joined him. Their home, is one where ease and elegance reign, un- marred by showy ostentation; cheerful hos- pitality makes it the resort of many visitors, who love to feel the magic spell, that has been thrown over it, by its beautiful and gifted mistress; once the White Lily, blossoming in the obscure shades of an Indian's wigwam. Willie remained long at the home of his friends, among whom he counted Madam De Vere, and her daughter Blanche, who was nothing loath to converse with "-the Yankee," as she jocosely called him, and a warm attach- THE WHTE LILY. 91 ment sprung up between them; perhaps the feeling was not warmer than friendship, on either side, but, if only friendship, it was of the most pleasing ardor; and letters, since exchanged, show that the friends are still un- forgotten by each other. With little of sorrow to ruffle the smooth waters of life, the friends remain in the full enjoyment of love and happiness; and there are few who behold their well ordered lives, that would not wish that all may continue well with-them, in this sphere; and that the flowers of earth, may regerminate, with increased freshness and fragrance, in the world of per- fected blessings and perpetual gladness; making their spiritual home, a fitting place for those who follow the path of duty during life. page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] ADVENTURES. CHAPTiER I. Two days from home,-two days; And, I'm floating on the mighty ocean, While my bark, like wanton trifler, plays, Like thing of life, and grace, in motion, 'Tis tossed about, from wave to wave, While snowy birds, are round it flying; Now flying low, their wings to lave, And now, their heavenward ways, are hieing. Two days have flown, and since their flight, The world has changed to me, For southern breezes, warm and bright, Are blowing on me, blowing free; Their balmy softness warms my heart, And soothes my shivering frame, Gives 'sluggish blood, a quickening start, And I hope for health again. ADVENTURES. 93 Two days ago, I bade farewell, To the land of my birth, To my northern home, where dear ones dwell, My best loved friends, on earth: And I bade farewell, to her chilling blast, And mounts of glittering snow, Then, tears were falling, falling fast, But two short days ago. Two days have past, since I parted last, From home, on the snowy shore Where Pilgrims trod, and faced its blast, In perilous days of yore. Now, I'm far from my native land, Nearing the sunny south, Cheered, by a Father's loving hand, And comfort whispering mouth. Three days from shore, and the awful roar Of mighty winds, whose loud encore, Is heard o'er all the raging ocean, Thundering notes of wild commotion, And the loud commands of man in fear, Above the winds, are heard most clear, Telling me, of a storm at sea, page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " AVENTURES. A version new, of the ocean free; For, heaven is darkened, with angry frown, While birds of storm, are screaming around, And thunders roar, with rumbling sound, While wildering lightning, flashes, And, a wanton wave, our deck now dashes; Another comes;--and still another! Surpassing far, his briny brother; Another dash 1 A brighter flash! A deafening, groaning, wildering crash l And we are lost ;-no, not lost, For the good ship rises, tempest tost, But still, almost a wreck: And, on her shattered, ragged deck, The wildest confusion reigns, And trembling fear, each footstep chains, For scarce a moment's time has past, Since we lost a noble, stately mast, And now, we're drifting;-freely drifting, Our ruined ship, her head is lifting High, upon a liquid mountain, And now descends like stream of fountain, Now tost about with sickening roll, Yielding to naught but God's control. But God; who doeth all things well, ADVENTURES. 95 Whose sparing mercies, none can tell; Will cheer us, on our stormy way, And pitying, listen while we pray, He'll send us aid, from realms of love, Or call us to the world above. We are floating still, and our shattered bark Is rudderless 1 All, all is dark. All around is darkness and gloom, Speaking of death, and watery tomb, While birds of storm are horribly screaming Their notes of woe I The air is teeming With lugubrious moans, Dread human groans, And loud implorings unto God, From men, who all their lives have trod The paths of sin;--their mocking pride Is humbled now, and they loudly cried, For mercies, from on high, Trembling, lest their tardy sigh, Should reach their God, too late To avert the over-hanging fate. page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] PVEN TURE9. CHAPTER II. Next morn was fair, the sea was calm, Still sustained by His loving arm, Who cheers us, from Iis throne above, Whispering, thy God, is God of love. We floated around, o'er briny wave, Praying, for helping hand to save, For our ship was leaking,-leaking: Herrickety timbers were loosely creaking, While every heart was filled with despair, And all eyes shone, with frenzied glare. Then, we were starving, too, for bread; While the burning sun shone overhead, Making all of the waves below, Like seas of molten lava, glow, Dazzling our sight, With their weltering light, And sending pain to 'wildered brain, While prayers were repeated, again and again, In importunate tones; With languishing moans, ADVENTURES. 97 For speedy relief, from our mighty grief, To Him, whose ear is never deaf To the weakest mortal's prayer. While we all knelt pleading there, Our vessel hove, with rolling surge, And we knew, that she was on the verge Of her ocean cave; That nought, our leaky wreck could save From speedy destruction I And hasty induction To the coral groves below, Where richest ocean treasures glow; And water nymphs, are softly singing, While strings of pearls, they're gaily flinging, With joyous glee, and merry air, On the laughing throng, who've gather'd there, And never breathe of dark despair, In those halls of ocean revelry. But hark; our vessel heaves once more, And soon, the billowy ocean's roar Shall resound o'er all the boundless deep, While underneath, our bark shall sleep. Now, we must launch a fragile boat, And o'er the glittering wavelets float, Tossed about, like thing of life, 9 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 ADVENTURES.. 'Mid scenes of nature's wildest strife, Or, perchance this horrid calm will last, All unrelieved by friendly blast; And we may die, of hunger and thirst, Or mayhap, we've never dreamed the worst, Of our horrible calamities, And torturing extremities. But now, the cry is heard most clear, In notes of haste, and harrowing fear; To boat I To boat I all hands to boat I Be quick I on board the slender float; But take the sick! the lame, and dying! Hasten away, we must be flying I All are on board, and we're away, We're tost about, like child at play, At briny billows sport, we're rolled, The mad waves toy us, uncontrolled. Look ye I our vessel heaves again; And a spattering dash disturbs the main, While a pitch, a heave, and a gurgling sound, An eddying, whirling, dizzy bound, Proclaim to us, that the ship is lost I While myriad bubbles, above it tost, Are laughing at us, in our trouble,- Singing, thy world is but a bubble, AD-VENTURES. 99 A flattering dream, a vain illusion, An evanescent, wild delusion. Why yearn ye still, for dreamed of joy, For sickening pleasure's weak alloy? When endless joys, and purest bliss, And thy guardian angels' loving kiss, Are waiting for thee, up above, In realms of pure, celestial love, Where all is holy, bright, and pure, And bliss, forever shall endure. Another morn, and our men are dying, Dying of hunger, and heat; It sickens the heart, to hear them crying For a single crust to eat, Or a single drop of water; to quench That horrible, burning thirst! Or, to see the despairing, vise-like clench Of their hands, when they know the worst Of their fatal doom, Of the threatening weight of woe, That will bear them down, to an ocean tomb; To a tomb in the caves below 1 And sharks, are darting around us now; Mocking our dark despair, Sailing gaily athwart our prow, page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 ADVENTURES. For a feast of death is there! All our number, but three, are gone: But where? 'Tis unrevealed. They 're gone from us: their manly forms Beneath us, lie concealed I And we, who live, and suffer still, Who languish, faint, and pray, Were punier men, than they who fill Their sea-girt tombs, to-day. One, was a laughing, joyous youth, A playful, loving boy; And love-lit beauty, holy truth, And spirit of trusting joy, Were all conjoined, to mantle him, With pure, celestial veil; We loved that boy, of fragile limb, Grieving to see him fail. Another one, in our heaving barge, To me, was like a brother; For his noble soul, and eye so large, Made him, my sister's lover. I wondered not, that she should love That youth, with eye like midnight, When I saw him move, around;--above Her path, with pure delight, ADVENTURES. 101 At first I feared him; feared him much, And trembled, to learn that Elyn Allie, Had stolen, from my doating clutch, My sisters heart, my loving Lilie. For I watched her, when a babe she lay, And loved her, better than my God: I worshiped her, the live-long day, Bestrowing flowers, where ere she trod. And now, to have a stranger lovet, Win from me the heart once mine, To move her, from her loving brother, Loosing that endearing twine, Which bound us long, in holy love, Seemed like to break my heart; But love for Elyn, was far above Love for me;-and we must part. So, when they came to me, one day, With whispered tale of love, With smiles, I gave my Lilie away, Asking blessings from above, Their tranquil paths in life, to shower, And prayed of Elyn Allie, That when he took my lovely flowers He'd love me, with his Lilie. 9* page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 ADVENTURES. 'Twas hard, to beg of stranger heart, For love that always had been mine, But better beg, than live apart From her;--my earliest, holiest shrine. But Elyn, pressed me to his breast, And, as a brother, vowed to love me; 'Twas then, I felt a tranquil rest, Then praised the God, who rules above me. And when they walked by rippling brook, Or strolled in shady grove, A lone by-path, I often took, O'erlooking their joyous rove, My heart would fill with thankful pride, At their looks of heart-felt bliss; And unto God, with thanks, I cried, That Lilie's lot was this. ADVENTURES. 103 CHAPTER III. Then sickness came, bowing me down, With unrelenting hand; And no relief from pain, was found In chilling northern land: But I must go to that fair clime, The land of orange grove; Where bright-winged birds, with softest chime, Will cheer me, while I rove. And I must leave my Lilie now, Mayhap, we'll never meet, Perchance, my kiss, her snowy brow, Nevermore will greet. "It wrings my heart, to part from thee, But I'll leave thee not alone, For Elyn's love, so warm and free, Shall illuminate thy home." page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 ADVENTURES. "But no; we'll guard thy feeble steps; And warm thee, with our love, From the shrines of holiest depths, Of emanations, from above."' Oh! how I loved my sister, there, And thanked the God above her, For leaving me, the Lilie fair, And sending me, a brother. But no; she must not go with me, To brave the storms of, ocean, Her gentle heart, could ne'er beat free, 'Mid scenes of wild commotion; But Elyn, for a little while, May cheer my storm-girt way, With brother's soul-enlivening smile, And laugh like summer's day. We promised then, to send for her, When in our wished for bourne: Pleased, -to see the child conoeur Smilingly; to have us torni From her; the idol of our hearts; Prayerfully, I kissed her cheek, When mboment came for us to part, But our farewells were weak. ADVENTURES. 105 And thus we left, with deep emotion, To be all tempest tost, By rolling, bounding, briny ocean; And, mayhap, beneath it lost: And while we sailed, o'er rippling wave, We learned a boy to love, A lovely being, as God ere gave, For type of dweller above: His soul-lit eye, and lofty brow, His curling, deep brown hair, Are glowing, with fresh beauty now, While laugh rings on the air, Telling us of a buoyant soul, All merry, glad, and free; His voice, like chime of vesper toll, Endears that boy to me. We loved the boy; he clung to us, With pure, congenial feelings, And freely, would we three discuss, Spirits, still revealings. The holy words of that gentle boy, And his elevating song, -llumed our hearts, with lightsome joy, And righted us, when wrong. L page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 - ADVENTURES. CHAPTER IV. And now, we 'r e floating o'er the main, While all the sturdy throng, Who cheered us, with their noisy strain, ,Are gone to their slumbers long; While we, the tenderest mortals there, Are longest left to breathe, To gasp with pain, and dark despair, Praying God, to relieve. Our bright-eyed boy, we fear is dying, He murmurs not, nor moans, But gently chides, for our sighing, In soft, angelic tones, While Elyn Allie, clasps his form, And breathes an earnest prayer, That He, who rules the raging storm, That gentle boy, will spare. ADVENTURES. 107 But list! he speaks to us smilingly, And, I kiss his fever'd brow, Holding his hand, most lovingly, That hand is ice-cold now! My God have we been blind thus long I With Lilie ever near us, To please us, with her lightsome song, With merry laugh, to cheer us I A horrid grief then bore me down, A mighty weight of woe, Goading me, as a thorny crown, Tortured Jesus, long ago. And Elyn Allie, pale as death, Speechless; bewildered; sat, Watching his Lilie's failing breath, While resting on his lap. Yet look ye now I they both are faint, Perhaps they're dying, now, My feeble words can never paint The woes, that throng my brow; But wait: my blood shall save their lives I And, I ope' a purple vein, Hoping to see them both revive, By drinking the crimson stain I page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 ADVETIURES. I fill their mouths, with warm red blood; Unwillingly, they drink: Gaining strength, from the loathsome food; While faintingly, I sink, But, as I sink, I revive again, Seeing a far-off shore, Yes: a verdant island rises plain; Around it are many more, Which sparkle there, like jewels bright,- In seas of burnished gold; Cheering the eye, with welcome light, While sinking hearts, grow bold: At sight of land I gather power, To guide our wave-tost boat; Praying for strength, for one short hour, To steer our slender float. For Elyn's face, is marble now, His eye flashes fearfully I And colder! whiter I grows his brow, While he laugheth, cheerfully; Speaking of mind, of lofty soul, Of brilliant, shattered brain, Reduced, by troubles wildering roll, And agonizing pain. ADVENTURES. 109 Lilie's breath is stronger;--stronger; Sustained by warm repast, her life's frail thread, is woven longer: Her heart is beating fast. While' nearing our verdant haven, Hope whispers in mine ear, And, on my heart is deeply graven, "Deliverance is near." Now we've reached our wished for land, Our bark is on the shore, 'Tis guided by a Father's hand, We'll praise Him, evermore. With feeble strength, and straining nerve, I move my drooping Lilie; Then gloomily for guide I serve, ^ Leading Elyn Allie. Then giddily, I move around, Gathering fruit to eat, And, gladly spread it on the ground, Near the sufferers feet. A sickening feeling bears me down, And horrors throng my brow, Then arrowy spirits, on me frown I Oblivion chains me now! 10 page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] IO kADVENTURE. CHAPTER V. Lihe was bending o'er me, Lovingly, she smiled; Elyn Allie, sat before me, Seemingly a child; I was in a fragrant bower, * On bed of verdant leaves, And for many a lonely hour, Had Lilie seen me breathe. The child had toiled, for twelve long days, To save my feeble-life; Had worked, beneath the burning rays Of sun, with scorchings rife: While I had been delirious; wild; Raving loud, of Hell; She had my wandering mind beguiled, And pleased its fancies well. ADVENTURES. 1" She built for me with her fair hands, The bower where I reclined; Singing Elyn, in that lone land, Sweet songs to rouse his mind:- Elyn's, now was a shattered soul, And his large glittering eye, Which laughingly was wont to roll, Or weep at others sigh; Was now inanimate: inane, And he a stricken youth, I loved him well, nor loved in vain, That boy, once soul of truth. When Lilie saw my look of love, She kissed my fevered cheek; Then prayingly, we sent above, Our supplications, weak: Vowing to God, in words of prayer, That while He gave us breath, We'd love the youth, whose cold fixed stare, Was worse, by far, than death: We prayed that glimmerings of thought, Might illuminate his brain: That' mercy, from on high be brought, And he, be sane again. ) page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 ADVENTURES. We were alone, in sea-girt home, Our blooming, southern isle; And I, ere many weeks, could roam, Cheered by Lilie's smile: There we wandered many an hour, With Elyn ever near us, We prayed for reason's quickening power, Through his soul, to cheer us. There came to him, no cheering beam, No glimmering of light, And still, like broken shaft he seemed, His soul was yet in night:- Still, Lilie ever smiled on him, And never seeming sad, Gathered flowers with active limb, Hoping to make him glad. I marveled much, at Lilie's cheer, And never drooping soul, Through all her sorrows, deep and drear, At her strong self-control; She never spake of care-worn self, I could not ask the child, Seeming moved by Heaven's help, The cause of love-lit smile. ADVENTURES. 113 While thus we lived, in ocean world, Roving one sunny day, We saw a snowy sail unfurled, Glistening far away; As it neared our blooming shore, We raised a signal high, Though fearing, ever, more and more, 'Twould meet no sailor's eye. They near us I They have seen our sign: And God has heard our cry; My sister's arms around me twine, A tear damps Elyn's eye. We see that tear; we all rejoice, The first that he has shed, Since knowing Lilie's gentle voice, When tossed on ocean's bed. Yes; reason has resumed her throne, That tear was its usher back; And glitteringly, the bright drop shone, While flowing in its track, Were sister jewels; unrestrained;- Elyn was himself once more; Rejoicing in his mind regained; We left our island shore. 10* page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 ADViNTURES. Months, over Lilie since have flown, She's now a blushing bride, Her path seemeth flower bestrown; Her husband smiles with pride, While looking on her pure, fair face, With fond affection's eye; Glistening, like the flowers, which grace Her wreath of fairy dye. And I, their brother, look on them, That noble, gentle pair, Asking that while life's tides they stem, Their seas may all be fair; That never fading flowers bedeck Their paths of bliss, That chill aversion, never check Love's holiest kiss. /f FRED HOWARD. CHAPTER I. THE CHLDREN. "Oh dear, how I do wish I were dead!" These were the words spoken by a boy of only ten years, and doubly sad, they sounded, coming as they did, from one so young. I wish I were dead!" And here the young lone one, threw himself down on the grass, beneath a shady tree, bursting into a flood of tears, and chain of exclamations, which showed most plainly, that, his grief was deeper, than commonly falls to the lot of youth. The boy was all alone; or at least he so thought himself, till his sobs were interrupted by the voice of a sweet little girl, who came up to him, exclaiming: "Why Fred, why will you cry so? Why do you wish yourself dead? it is wicked ;" and the beautiful little loving one, twined her arms around cousin Freddy's neck. page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 FRED HOWARD. ' Oh do go away Nell; nobody cares for me; nobody loves me; and I wish myself dead." Said the boy. "Yes Fred, there are many who love you, God loves you; and I love you deafly, I love you better than any body else in the world, and it makes me feel badly to see you so sad; your mother loves you, and so do your brother and sister."' "If they love me, why don't they play and talk with me as they do with you, instead of treating me as if I were an old man; indeed, brother Frank calls me Saint Paul, and sister Louise, laughingly asks me to sing pennyroyal hymns, through my nose, as parson Merrill does; now why do they treat me either like a buffoon, or an old man, instead of playing with me, as they do with you?" "Oh Fred, its because you're so strange." "Strange, Nellie, what do you mean? "I mean, that you don't play as other children do, but when we play you always go away by your- self to some place like this, and gather flowers, and sit and think, while the birds sing; but I nev- er heard you talk and cry so before, as you have to- day. Tell me, Freddy, what is the matter?" said the little girl, as she kissed away the tears which were again starting from her cousin's deep blue eyes. FRED HOWARD. 117 'I don't know Nellie, why it is so," "but I love better to be alone, or with no one but you, than to play with other children; and, this morn- ing I gathered me a beautiful bunch of flowers, and laid down by the little waterfall, watching tie bub- bles as they danced, sparkled, laughed, and then died. And then I thought of my little brother Harry, who was as fair and lovely as they, and almost as short-lived. I couldn't help thinking of him, till I fell asleep on the bank, and then I dreamed that he was on the water, gathering up bubbles into a tiny basket which he held in his hand. At first I feared that he would drown, but soon saw that he was kept above the rapids, by two beautifully glistening wings, whose dazzling bright- ness made my eyes ache. After he had gathered a great many of the bubbles, he looked into his basket but found nothing there. How sad the poor little angel looked, when he found that he had toil- ed so long for nothing; but he soon smiled, and waving his pretty wings, said to me, "Freddy, bubbles never break in heaven," and then he flew up, up, up, till I could see nothing but a little white speck, and soon, even that was lost to me. Just then I awoke, and knew that it was only a dream; but I felt happy, and sure that my brother was with me while I slept, and is with me in wak- ing hours, sometimes; although I never see him page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 IPRED HOWARD. then, I certainly do feel his influence. While I laid there, after waking, I heard Louise and Frank talking about me." "What did they say of you? I am sure that they love you." "Frank said, he wished that I were like other folks, instead of being a strange, dreaming little girlboy, as at present; he feared that I would nev- er be a man, even if I grew up; and then he told Louise how I cried, when Tom Wallace killed four little robins, that were almost ready to fly. He said such feelings were pretty enough in girls, but boys should be sterner. He thinks that I will never be good for anything, and I fear he is right, but can never help it." "What did cousin Louise say?" asked Nellie. "Oh, she called me strange, and odd, just as you did, only it seemed to me that she was less kind, when she said it, than you were. I don't think she loves me. She never talks with me, and told Frank that she had often wished me like other folks. I too wish myself changed, but can never do the work myself, and so I want to die." "Don't speak so, Freddy, they all love you, but you never talk- with them except to answer their questions; and when they try to play with you, you always make some strange remark, which sets them - , ' . I PRED HOWARD. 11 9 to thinking. They would play and talk with you, if they understood you better.' "Nellie you understand me, don't you? you can talk with me, and love me too." And here Fred gave his little cousin a kiss, that betokened love in its infant purity. "Yes, Freddy, I love you, and understand you too, almost always! but sometimes you seem strange even to me. Perhaps- I shall read you bet- ter one of these days. I love to go with you to gather flowers, and am always glad to hear you tell stories about little cousin Harry, who is now in Heaven. Wasn't that a funny dream of your's about him? I wish that I could' dream something like it. I should like to see an angel. I do dream sometimes, but never anything so pretty as that. Why Freddy, I almost wish myself like you; at any rate, if I were I would never cry, nor wish myself dead, and you won't do so any more, will you? it makes me feel badly to see you so sad." "' Nellie, if I can help it, I will never do any- thing to make you feel badly! and, I would have been happy all day, if I had not have heard Louise and Frank, talking about me; but I won't care for them, if you will only love me." "Oh yes, Fred, you must care for them and love them too." "I do love them, I mean I won't care what they page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 FRED HOWARD. say of me." But Nellie, have they told you that I am going away to school, at Uncle Henry's?" Nellie's face saddened. "No," said she, "why do they send you away?" "Mother and Frank, want me to go that I may become like other folks. I overheard them talk- ing about it, a short time ago. They have said nothing to me about it yet; but, as they have de- cided, I must go. I suppose Nell, that you will forget me when I am gone, and then, nobody will care for me; but I can live without love, if I only become like other folks." "Yes, Freddy, I will always love you, but per. haps they will not send you away, at any rate, I hope not." Just then a call was heard, and the children slowly wended their way homeward. The above conversation, passed between two children. Fred Howard, and his little cousin, Nellie Carr. The boy was only ten years old, and the girl two years his junior. It seemed strange to hear such words, from children, so young as they; but, Fred, was from his infancy, what is commonly called a strange child. That is, when an infant, he would lay for hours in his cradle, perfectly quiet, if he could have a flower in his hand, or the canaries' cage placed near his side, that he might listen to the sweet warblers, and watch their graceful evolutions. This was much admired by all the family, and FRED HOWARD. 121 the charming little Freddy was a much loved pet; a model baby; but, when he grew older his tastes were unchanged, with the exception of being stronger in the same channel; and, when his baby brother died, his mother checked his tears, by telling him that Harry was then in heaven, a beautiful angel, as happy as God could make him. Then the boy would ask many questions about God and heaven, and the twinkling stars, that winked at him from their ethereal home in the evening skies. All his childish questions, his mother answered, as best she could, and told him of his father, who was called away before Freddy's re- membrance, and even now perhaps, was a minister- ing spirit in heaven, for the loved ones on earth. All of this the boy heard, and deep root did it take in his soul. Often would he sit watching the skies when light, feathery clouds, would form themselves in fanciful shapes, of almost human mould; or perhaps into that of some strange bird, that looked like a little babe with wings, and golden curls, which shone almost as bright as the radiant'stars that formed its diadem; till, in his ardent, vivid imagination, he could see his angel brother, play- ing amid the gems of heaven, and gathering those sweet flowers of celestial bloom, that fade not nor die. With all of this he was a happy child, but his bliss was not of earth. His friends were pain- " page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 FRED HOWARDSB ed at his extreme sensibility, or as they termed it his oddities; therefore they had determined to send him from home, that he might become like other folks. Oh, how that child detested those words, "Iike other folks." Little Nell was a lovely child, whose life had cost that of her mother, who died in giving her birth; her care, and training, developed upon Mrs. How- fard, her mother's sister, who most cordially welcom- -ed the young stranger to her bosom. As Nellie grew in years, her beauties of person and mind, proved her to be more than a common child; she had all of cousin Fred's affectionate disposition, to which was added great playfulness of manner, making her, what her cousin once was, the pet of the household, but the children loved each other, better than their other playmates, notwithstanding the apparent difference in their characters, and the thought of separation made them sad. Brother Frank and- sister Louise, were both many years older than the children, and had always been kind to them, as the world has it, that is, they had always spoken pleasantly enough, and had -given them good food and pretty clothing;- they did just what more than half the world do; they had overfed, and overdressed the physical, while the'mental was reduced to starvation; or, if nur- tured at all, was subjected to an unhealthy disci- FRED HOWARD. 123 pline, when letting alone, was what the mind most wanted. And so the boy was sent away to an uncle, who lived in a distant city; a childless old widower; whose deceased wife's sister, officiated as house- keeper for him, and he wanted his sister's son to live with him and become his heir. Uncle Henry, Mrs. Howard knew to be a good man, and felt no unwillingness to trust her child, in her beloved brother's care; but, of his sister-in-law, Miss Sarah Colwell, she knew nothing, nor had any of the family except Frank, ever seen her; yet, they thought it best to send the boy; and he went, to be trained like other folks, by an unknown mistress. When, oh, when will man suffer the works of God to go on in their own course of celestial beau- ty! that when He shall call his own, to their trans- cendent home, they may be found rich fruits of the seed planted, and irrigated by the Father; instead of forced produce, from the hotheds of earth? page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 FRED- HOWARD, CHAPTER II. THE YOUTH AND MAIDEN. Six years have flown; and on the same little knoll; by the same feathery 'waterfall, near which- Nellie and Fred were so sadly conversing, they are again seated. Fred has been away at school, and only been at home twice, during the whole six years. Time has changed him, as it changeth all the world, and he is now thought to be in that en- viable condition, "like other folks," only a little too much so. He is a beautiful looking boy, an'd were it not for a look, and air, of almost supercil- ious pride, he would command the love of all, but now, his manners render him unapproachable by all his early friends, save Nellie, the same beautiful Nell, who so fondly cheered him in his hours of childish anguish. But their conversation will give correct ideas of the boy's advances, in the path of worldly wisdom. "Cousin Nell, you have grown, since my depar- ture from home; then you were but a little girl, while now you appear like a young lady, and I be- lieve are prettier than ever. Do you remember FRED HOWARD, 125 what good friends we -used to be 7 How we used to talk and sing, and play? and how I used to love you?" "I Used to love me, Fred;" said Nellie, with a blush: and here her eyes dropped, in a manner which told the boy that she remained unchanged by the flight- of time, in at least one respect; save that now, her love was stronger in its early maturi- ty, than when a child, she had so unhesitatingly given her little cousin the sweet assurance that she loved him better than anybody else on earth. Now she only said, "Used to love me, Fred," in a manner which taken with its accompanying blush, has spoken more to his young and perceptive mind, than volumes could have done, in another form. "Yes, Nellie, I loved you then, and I love you now, but am not so good now, as then. I am a rough, wild, boy; but if you will love me and be my friend now, and when I am of age, be my wife; then, I hope that your sweet influence will m ake me a good man; although not so pure, as when a child, I was torture4 into being like other folks. But my dear Nellie, will you be my wife, when we are old enough to be married?" Fred felt the delicate waist which his arm encir- cled, throb, while the soft hand within his own, returned the pressure that it received, and Nellie's "* page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 FRED HOWARD. gentle "yes," made the boy lover happy; almost as happy as in his early days, when he would sit and watch the roaring little waterfall, till, in his wild fancies were created rich scenes of utopian bliss, in which, foremost figured his beautiful angel brother Harry, and his playmate Nellie, to him then as now, hardly less an angel, than the boy whose Father had called him to play among the rivulets, and flowers of his own celestial home. Long, and sweet was the coversation of the lov- ers, and to them, the birds sang sweeter songs than ever before; while the bubbles in the brook seem- ed to laugh with joy, at their bliss, as they danced with merry glee over its shining surface. As twilight deepened, the girl asked Fred for some account of his joys and sorrows, while away from home. i"It's a long story, but I will tell it," replied he, with a sigh. a"You well remember, how sadly I left home for the first time. When the coach rolled up to the -door, its rattling, sounded to me like the noise of my own funeral cortege; but I entered it without a tear, and said good bye to all, without- a sign of grief; lest they should condemn my weakness. All day long I rode -in that old stage, and at night slept with Frank, who accompanied me, in a hotel. I remember now, how my eyes must have dilated FRED HOWARD. 127 with wonder, at the sight of everything in that magnificent building; and yearningly did 1 long for the home which I had just left. But I controlled my feelings, although my stifled heart was almost breaking; that night was to me a sleepless one, and Frank told me in the morning that I looked sick, and asked me in his usual kind manner if anything ailed me. I replied nothing; but wondered in my heart if he was ever a little boy, and was sent away from home; that he could look thus calmly upon me, in my silent grief. We took an early breakfast, after which, a large gentleman told Frank that the coach was at the door; we jump-ed into it, and were whirled through innumerable little narrow, dirty streets, until we again dismounted at a depot, amid a crowd of men, women, and baggage, which filled me with wonder and confusion. Soon we were seated in the cars, and for the first time in my life, I had a railroad ride; for a while I forgot my sorrows, amid its ever varying scenes, -and the confusion attend- ant upon traveling. At night we left the cars, and Frank told me that we had reached uncle Henry's place of resi- dence, and wished me to be a man. I promised to try. In a few moments, we were ushered into the parlor of my new home: it was a large cold room, and but little lighted, but I could see that it was page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 FRED HOWARD. richer than anything that had ever before met my eyes; its carpet was soft as the grass plat on which we used to play, at home; and the rich cur- tains of satin; the masive gilt frames, which en- closed large mirrors, and splendid pictures; and the elegant vases of gorgeous flowers, all pleased my taste; and dazzled my fancy, despite the chill, which its solitary grandeur cast over my spirits; for the parlor was untenanted when we entered, but soon a hale, hearty, good-looking old man approach- ed with an old lady, who wore a hard cold aspect, and, by intuition, I looked upon her as my natural enemy. After saluting the aged couple, Frank introduc- ed me as Brother Freddy. Uncle Henry, (for this was him,) shook hands with me, and took me on his knee, calling me a fine boy, and hoped that I would love him so well as to wish for no home but his; he promised to take mein his carriage to ride and to make me happy while with him, if possible. He also told me, how kind Aunt Sarah was, and that she would be delighted to learn me many useful lessons, after this he told me to go and see her. I did as he desired, but know that my air was one of reluctance, I could not avoid showing the feel- ings of repugnance, that would arise in my breast, and trembled when she smiled and showed her long FRED HOWARD. 129 yellow teeth, and snake-like eyes;-she took me by the hand; but her's was icy cold, and then gave me a kiss, solittle like those that you and mother, used to imprint upon my lips, that I shuddered, when her cold damp mouth touched my burning forehead. She then said, she hoped that I would be a good boy and not be troublesome nor noisy, but would be attentive to my books, and not be too fond of play, nor be homesick. After making these and many other equally pleasing remarks with an air that nearly froze the current of my veins, she waved her skeleton hand towards a stool, mo- tioning me to be seated. I took the seat, but ere long, worked my way to Uncle Henry's chair, and soon was again in his lap, feeling that in him, at least, I had a good friend. How I loved him; and with what fervor did I hate that old Aunt Sarah. My feelings for both, have grown with my growth, like a well nurtured vine." "Why, Fred, you don't mean to say that you hate Aunt Sarah, do you? It is a wrong feeling." "Wrong, or not wrong, I do hate her most cor- dially, and, when you know how that old vixen has abused me, you will love her as little as I do; but, I will proceed with my narrative, and then you can judge of its merits, better than now. In due time, I was sent to bed, with a servant in attendance; after the Abagail had left, I began to page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 FRED HOWARD. cry, and sobbed myself to sleep, dreaming of home, and friends, of you, and my own little garden; then would come visions of modern Xantippes', whose infalibility was most religiously believed in, by themselves, regardless of the opinion of others in the, matter: and I awoke, surprised to find the hour so late, for just then the clock struck eight, and I hurried down stairs, where I found Uncle Henry, looking as bright and happy as green old age always makes good people appear. In a few moments, Aunt Sarah and Frank entered, and we all moved to the breakfast room, where Aunty's austere and repulsive manner, almost extinguished the light which Uncle Henry's smiling countenance shed on all who came within his influence. When breakfast was over, Frank bade us all good bye, and returned home, leaving me to be perfected by Aunt Sarah's judicious training. After his de- parture, she called me up to her armed chair, and asked me many questions about my studies: having concluded her examinations, she pronounced me a good scholar, for one of my age; but, was intensely shocked at my lack of religious training, and straightway gave me a "Shorter catechism,"' tell- ing me, at the same time, that I must learn its con- tents; she was glad that I could repeat the Lord's Prayer, but considered the catechism equally as essential to my spiritual development. "And FRED HOWARD. 131 now," said she, "you may go into the garden to play, and I will send a little boy, who lives next door, to join you, but you must be careful not to pluck any of the flowers, nor get into mischief in any way." Right gladly did I leave her; for she had not spoken one word to cheer me, nor had she offered me a smile; but rather treated me as a boy who might be caught in mischief, at any time; teaching me, that in her opinion, any effort of mine to be rebellious, would be easily thwarted by herself. If she had have placed confidence in me, I would have been obedient; but her suspicious air, excited within me all of the rebellious element, which, until then had laid dormant, and I longed for an opportunity to show her that I did 'nt care a fig for her authority, and had no desire to acquire the mysterious knowledge contained in her favorite catechism. The wished for opportunity was not long wanting, giving me the means of showing the old lady my determined independence; for, in my strivings to be like " other folks," I had gained this important qualification for the world's war- fare. In the garden was a beautiful fountain, which poured its sparkling columns into a magnificent marble basin below, in which were swimming many brightly shining gold-fishes; now these were the old page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 FRED HOWARD. lady's pets, and, on no account would she have them molested; but, while there, I saw one of them laying dead upon the pavement. It had jumped out and died; at first I pitied the poor thing, and was ready to-weep at its fate, but soon, the little demon within me, whispered that I now had the means of tormenting the immaculate Sarah. Therefore, I tied a small hook made of a pin, upon a line, and placing it in the fish's mouth, hung it up near her window, at the same time making a noise which drew her ladyship to the garden ; when, seeing her beautiful fish hanging upon the hook, she straightway gave me a severe whipping, the first that I had ever received, without saying a word, except to call me a young rascal, for catching her fish. After exhausting herself upon my frame, she exclaimed, in a voice shrill with passion, "What made you catch my fish?" ( I did 'nt do it." "Take that, for lying!" And here she gave me a severe blow upon the head, which was followed by harder ones, in quick succession. "What made you catch my fish? No more lies, now mind, sir!" I was silent; and shed not a single tear, although my heart was almost breaking. "Speak!" hissed the old wolf, in a voice shrill with passion. "What made you catch my fish?" FRED HOWARD. 133 "I did not catch it; I found it lying dead on the. pavement, and put it upon the hook to play with." "You are a little liar!" said she, catching me by the arm, with a vise-like clench that almost broke it, " and now, you must be shut up in a dark closet, till your uncle comes home to tea." Then she strode off to the closet and shut me in, at the same time, giving me a highly interesting account of the future abode of liars; whichiiabounded with fire and brimstone, and other torments, too numerous to mention; but my innocence of the crime of which I was accused, made me feel no uneasiness, on my own account, from her "fancy sketches." That was a long, sad afternoon, to me; and most gladly did I hear Uncle Henry's step, when it sounded in the entry. Aunt Sarah had also heard his arrival, and her first ejaculation was, "Well Henry, that promising nephew of yours has been showing off, as I well knew he would when he first came here; but, I've done my duty, and have nothing upon my conscience in the matter." "Whew, Sarah! What's to pay now?" "The boy has been lying, and I have punished him for it. The case is this. This afternoon, I told him that he could play in the garden; soon afterwards, I heard one of his countryfied noises, and' went out to discover the cause of the uproar; when, to my grief and indignation, I found that 12 page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 FRED HOWARD. the young scoundrel had caught one of my finest gold-fishes, and hung it upon a tree, near my window. I gave him a severe whipping for his mischief, and asked him, in the mildest possible manner, why he did so. You can judge 6f my surprise, when he denied the act, and said he found the fish laying dead upon the pavement; and, although I whipped him again, for lying, I could not make him confess his falsehood ; therefore, was compelled to shut him up in a closet, where he has been, in the sulks, all the afternoon. As I have before said, I have done my- duty by him, and will now hand him over to you. His temper must be broken." "What a venomous reptile she was," said Nell, who had been an almost silent listener. "But, go on, Fred. What did Uncle Henry say?" For a moment he was silent, but soon said, Sarah; if, by the loss of half my fortune, I could undo what you have done, this afternoon, right glad would I be to make the sacrifice, but, it is now too late- to obliterate .the evil which you have caused. Fred has told no lie, -and I know it. That fish for which you mourn, I saw laying dead this afternoon, and forgot to mention the mat- ter to you, at dinner. I wish you to remember, that never, on any pretence whatever, are you to punish that boy again. I will not suffer such a disposition to be ruined by abusive treatment." FRED HOWARD. 135 "' But he; is stubborn, and I know it." s"How do you know it? Has he been impudent to you?" "No; but his manner) in the garden, was most rebellious. He looked as if he hated me." "I don't wonder at it. I should think it strange, if he manifested much love for you, after this; but you should tell him, that you are sorry for the whipping which you so unjustly inflicted; and try, in some way, to make amends for the reproof, which, I doubt not, he feels more sensibly than the blows." "Never, while I live, will I humble myself be- fore a child! but, shall expect you, to do all in your power to give him the impression that he is much abused; thus giving him liberties, which will make him more important than ever." No, Sarah, I shall do no such thing: but intend to explain your error to him, and, shall depend upon your never treating him so again. Will you bring him here?" All this I heard, and, when liberated, perhaps I did cast a triumphant look at my aunty, that made the old Amazon feel that my spirit was in a state of insubordination, and fairly beyond her control. a"Fred, I feel sorry that your aunt has punished you, this afternoon, and know that you are innocent of, the crime of lying; but, she did not know it, page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 FRED HOWARD. and thought it her duty to correct you; she will be more careful to learn the truth, the next time." Aunt Sarah said not a word, but scowled like a demon. Feeling safe, while with Uncle Henry, I showed him my ear, which was badly swollen, and the deep, purple marks of many blows, which had been vigorously administered on other parts of my body, by the ancient damsel, while blindly following the path of imaginary duty, for my benefit; and said, that I did not want to be whipped so, for nothing. "What impudence!" said aunty. But Uncle Henry drew me closer to his great, broad breast, and warmed me with his love, by tell- ing me of the beauties of forgiveness, till I was ready to pardon my tormentor; but she seemed to hate me more now, for not being a liar, than she had despised me for being one in the afternoon. Therefore, we had no reconciliation then; and, have had none since. In a few days I went to school. There was only one boy there that I had ever seen before. How my heart fluttered, when I entered that great room, so strange, and vast, compared with the little school room\ at home; so quiet, and pleasant, that I fancied myself in another existence. The teacher, was a tall, raw-boned man, possessed of the most lugubrious face that ever chilled the heart of FRED HOWARD. 137 stranger boy; but he tried to be pleasant to me, and, I think, had a kind heart despite his cold ex- terior, though, when he called- me "Master Fred. erick," his tones made me wish myself at home again. For a wonder, I liked all the scholars after the first bashfulness wore off, and many good times we had, playing together. I liked them so much better than I did Aunt Sarah, that but little of my time was passed in her society, and much of it in theirs. While learning to admire them, I tried to imitate them in every possible manner; in this way, were contracted many bad habits; but they all helped me to become like "other folks," and that was, with me, the sum total of all acquisitions worth striving for. In the meantime, I was ever upon the qui vive for an opportunity to torment Aunt Sarah, and when it offered, did all in my power to annoy her, without being positively impudent. I danced, and sung coarse songs, and, by the time I was fourteen years old was a finished fop. The old lady hated me with all her heart; and most cor- dially did I reciprocate that feeling. I think that Uncle Henry enjoyed the pantomine war, which was so long waged between her ladyship and myself: be that as it may, he never reproved me, although he must have known that I was moved by the an- tagonistic elements of our race. 12* page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 FRED HOWARD. In this way I lived with only' Uncle Henry to love me, and he absent much of the time. I liked my school-fellows well enough, and we never quar- reled; still, but for the ever sour temper of aunty, I would have been lonely; but I derived the same pleasure from teasing her, that boys in the menagerie do from stirring up the monkeys with a long stick, while she was kept in the background by Uncle Henry's commands, which she dared not break; he kept her in subjection, as the lion tamer does his beasts. Who will wonder that I grew unamiable and impudent, under such influences; but, with all of this, I always had my lessons perfectly; and daily, thought longingly of my far off home; of you, and the charming places in which we used to play, before I became like -other folks." But, while there, I knew little of the sweet spirit life, which had for me such a charm in early days. Now that I have returned, Nellie, my former love for all the world is changed to contempt; and the bitterness which my old tormentor strove so long to instil into my mind, has become a cutting sarcasm, of which all my friends complain. Worlds would I give to be as I was, before her persecutions made me like " other folks." My friends fear me now, as much as they then pitied me, but the fault is more theirs than mine." "Why are you so sarcastic and proud, while FRED HOWARD. 139 with them? you are not so with me," said Nellie. "I will tell you at another time, my dear Nell, but now it is dark, and we must return; if they were social, I would be so too, but they are dis- tant and frigid." It was indeed dark; but the boy had been so engaged, in giving his recital of the abuses which had changed him, from a lazy dreamer, but a holy one, to an apparently cold, haughty, and sarcastic man of the world, at sixteen years of age; that he had'taken no note of the flight of time. Ye triflers with the human soul, beware! the day cometh, when you will be held personally re- sponsible for every act; every influence, which you may cast around you. If good, great shall be thy reward. If evil, all eternity will bear its marks, which shall appear in startling array against you. Again I say, beware! page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O FRED HOWA-RD, CHAPTER II. THE HOME CIRCLE. While Nellie and Fred were conversing, the family were seated around the centre table; engaged in conversation ; the circle consists of Mrs. Howard, and her two oldest children, Frank and Louise; both of whom remain unmarried, although of the respective ages of thirty-five and forty, Frank being the eldest. They are lively and happy, in their dispositions, but not remarkably intellectual in their endowments, although possessed of a lively vein of humor, which-makes their society much sought after, while the sterling uprightness of their characters, entitles them to the respect of the com- munity in which they reside. The mother is now a pleasant lady of sixty years, and Commands the esteem of all -with whom she associates, and her children derive their greatest enjoyment from making her old age happy and comfortable. This was a pleasant and good family, but all unfit for the culture of such a mind as Fred's; and, although the youth loved and admired them, there seemed to FRED HOWARD. 141 exist, in his mind, a mighty barrier between them, unsurmountable and immovable. "Fred has come home looking finely," said his mother, "he will be one of the handsomest men that I ever saw. I am glad to see him looking and appearing so much like a gentleman: he -is really polished, in his style, but, I fear, a little proud." "Polished, he certainly is, but how little he talks with any of us; the cause of his manner can- not be pride; he has too much good sense to as- sume superiority to his own family," said Louise. "And I," said Frank, " think liim as proud as a duke; his airs are more than I can tolerate, in one who is of the same flesh and blood as ourselves; he is civil and polite, but his ways are most ob- noxious to me; I am- determined to return bow for bow, and be as stately as he is; perhaps it will cure him of his supercilious manner." "But," said the mother, "if you treat him harshy, you may create a wider breach than now exists between him and us; besides, it may be that we are mistaken, in our suspicions of his pride, though, I fear that life away from home has helped him, less than hurt him. Does he say much about his experience while away from home? I have learned but little from him, but judge that his life has been made unpleasant by Miss Colwell, as he page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 FRED HOWARD. speaks of her in the most bitter terms of sarcasm and ridicule, which pain me much, although his clear wit makes me laugh most heartily, and his lively style of anecdote pleases me; still, I cannot approach my child, much as I love him, therefore, feel unwilling to have you do anything to create a wider breach than now exists between us; but, when he comes in, I wish you to talk with him in the most cordial and familiar manner. I fear that we have unintentionally, been a little in the fault ourselves, and wish to remedy the evil, if possible. Will you do as I desire?" "Yes, mother, we will do anything, to please you," said Louise and Frank, " but fear that our efforts will be in vain." "I hope not, and wish you to be sure that noth- ing in your manner annoys him; he was always sensitive." Their conversation was interrupted by the en- trance of the children, who were looking as happy as any lovers ever looked, even in the aromatic pages of eastern romance. "Why, children, what kept you out so late? where have you been?" asked Mrs. Howard. "Only been walking by the brook, Mother," said Fred. "Been longing for Aunt Sarah, hav'nt you?" asked Frank, pleasantly. "Poor fellow, you do PRED HOWARD. 143 pine shockingly; but you, Nell, will have to act as substitute." "No, sir; I have not been longing for that dear cherub, who now revels in the sweets of celibacy, and serves to dispel the shadows from my uncle's home, with the light of her golden visage; as I re- main mindful of the command, 'Thou shalt not covet.' " "Tell me about her," said Louise, "I have never seen her; what is she made of?" "Oh, vinegar and snuff, And malice enough, Is what all old maids are made of;" quoted Fred, with a light laugh. "Take care, Fred, I consider that a libel upon our sisterhood, as well as a personal thrust at my- self." "My venerable sister will please pardon my dis- respect for her many years, as, until now, I have neglected to place her with that useful and amiable class of society, known as old maids." No sir, there is no pardon for a sin like yours; you can never be forgiven, but I will leave you to the prickings of your own conscience, hoping that it will chastise you for your cruel satire." "Spoken like a true child of solitude ; you bid fair to ornament your profession ; but I will proceed with my aunty." page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 FRED HOWARDF "Go on," said all, with a laugh; this time, a real, heartfelt laugh; for they were all happy, and each felt that a reunion of hearts was then and there being ratified ; although Fred's sarcasm made Mrs. Howard feel unpleasantly, still, this was better than his former silence, and she, too, laughed joy- ously. "Aunt Sarah is one of those stiff old ladies, who, never having committed any of the cardinal sins in her life, willnever pardon them in others; consequently, I found her at first, to be one of the most exacting mistresses in existence." "Did she make you unhappy?" asked Frank. "At first she did; but I soon learned tQ derive my greatest amusement from her oddities, and, if by any possible means I could torment her, I was happy. Uncle Henry always seemed to enjoy the silent, intestine war, which we waged together for six years, although he never said anything to en- courage me; thinking, perhaps, that I needed no stimulus to mischief." "When I first went there, she was determined that I should learn the shorter catechism; and, at first I tried to do as she desired; but, after study- ing half a day, found myself knowing no more of its important truths than before; therefore, formed a silent, unexpressed determination, that I would never learn it; and I 'never did. A little occur- FRED HOWARD. 145 rence, that much displeased Uncle Henry with her, caused her to let me do as I pleased, after the first few days of my stay with them; but she considers me a heretic, and exhibits my obstinacy, in proof of the soundness of her favorite theory, of total depravity in the human heart." "What was the little occurrence, to which you alluded?" "Oh, Aunt Sarah accused me of lying, when Uncle Henry knew that I told the truth; and so he told her never to molest me any more." This was all that he told them of his first bitter lessons away from home. "Did she allow you to go into company much?" "She had nothing to do with it, except to pro- nounce me too young to go; but Uncle Henry always went to parties, and had a great deal of company at home; all of which I was permitted to enjoy, after my twelfth birthday; much to Aunty's chagrin." "What kind of parties were they?" "Mostly of literary people: I found them dry enough at first, and think that I should have given them up, but for the pleasure I derived from plague- ing the old lady. In a short time I grew interested in the company, and hope that I improved, by as- sociation with the refined people with whom I there 13 -w ' page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 FRED HOWARD- moved; for this improvement, my darling aunt is to be thanked. {"-Did you learn to dance?" "Oh yes; and my cherub aunt worried, because I went home with the girls; but she couldn't help it, and so contented herself by saying, that if she had children, they shouldn't do so." "I hope, Fred, that you were never saucy to her," said Mrs. Howard. "No; during my whole stay, I never gave her one word that. she could call impudent; but my cool indifference to her wishes; my formal polite- ness; and, worse than all; the marked attention which I received, caused her sour temper to foment, more than the most open rebellion on my part could have done; for now, she could find no real fault with me, therefore, was deprived of that nourish- ment rost needed by natures like hers, conse- quently, suffered for something to complain of, some evil to eradicate." "I admire your delineations of character;' said Louise, " you really speak in a manner not to be misunderstood; but. I say, young man, beware! my sisterhood will not suffer one of our number to be ridiculed, as you have this night derided our sister Sarah." ", As my remarks displease the venerable Louise, I will, with the permission of those present, change FRED HOWARD. 147 the subject of conversation, and enquire for the good neighbors. Where is Tom Wallace now?" This was the boy who killed the robins, that caused his boyish tears, six years before. He is now in the penitentiary, for stealing," said Frank, "he was always a bad boy, and has given his family much trouble." Fred sighed; and for the remainder of the even- ing was sad, while visions of by-gone years, when he used to wish himself like Tom Wallace, instead of being a dreaming, little girl-boy, would float before his mind, and he felt a longing wish for the return of that condition, which then was so much regretted. The family continued a pleasant conversation; but, for the remainder of the evening, Fred was almost silent; and, when he did speak, his remarks showed most plainly that his mind was not with his words. They were sorry that he should feel poor Tom's troubles so sensibly; but still, they respected him more for his feeling than ever before. That night was one of happiness to all the widow's household; none of its inmates knew who had been in the fault, and none knew what spirit had wrought the pleasant change, but all were happy. The remainder of Fred's visit at home passed most happily; but, in a few months, he was again page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 FRED HROWARD. sundered from those who had at last begun to ap- preciate the beauties of his character, while they regretted its imperfections; which, it was sincerely hoped would be eradicated by life in college, whither he was sent. Fred left his home less sadly this time, than when sent away, that he might be- come ( like other folks; ' for now, he knew that one heart, dearer to him than all the world be- side, was to be his reward for the years of toil be- fore him.' He knew that now he was better appre- ciated by his family than ever before; and this, was to him, a Pandora's box of rich enjoyments. FRED HOWARD. 149 CHAPTER IV. Six years later in the life of Fred, finds the same parties in Mrs. Howard's parlor that graced it on the evening of their reconciliation. But change, that greatest of revolutionizers, has been at work here, as elsewhere. Mrs. Howard is now looking older, but not less happy, than then; although silvery locks tell her children that she is passing away; but the manner of her transition is SQ pleasant, so sweet and tranquil, as to cause them no sadness. Louise and Frank are but little changed, and seem not to feel the havoc of time; but tell-tale wrinkles, show that they, too, are growing old. The greatest change is perceptible in Nell and Fred; the former is now a stately, beautiful girl, of twenty; a fairer flower than smiling infancy, or budding girlhood, had promised to her most partial friends. Fred is now a man; and a noble ,one at that; he is twenty-two years of age, and eminently qualified for the profession of his choice; that of medicine, which he has studied since leaving colr lege; and success has crowned his efforts. 13* page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 'RED HOWARD. They are about to be married, with the approval of their entire family; and have purchased a charm- ing little house in the neighborhood, where they may enjoy love in a cottage, undisturbed. Fred often hears from Uncle Henry, and through him, of Aunt Sarah. His last letter has cast a gloom over the little family; but, the blow falls heaviest upon Fred. An extract from the missive will show the cause of the gloom now hanging over them, and saddening their hearts: "My dear boy, my health is failing, and the disease of the heart, that has so long afflicted me, will ere long, call me home; and most gladly do I go; but it grieves me, to tell you that I shall not leave you a fortune, as I have hoped to do; having lost my all, and more than all, by the failure of our business house. I shall not even be able to provide for my sister-in-law, who has been my house-keeper for so niany years; but, my dear Fred, I must beg of you, to see that she never wants for the comforts of life. It pains me, to thus burden your young life, but it is my last resort, and I feel assured that you will follow your convictions of duty, in the matter, although you have but little to thank her for, and she has no claims of kindred upon your kindness; but, for my sake, I hope that you will receive her." " M. poor uncle; I wish that I could see him." FRED HOWARD. " You cannot think of taking Aunt Sarah home with you, Fred," said they all, except Nellie. " How shall I answer the letter, Nell ?" "As you please ; you can depend upon my helping you, in whatever you may consider your duty." Fred's " God bless you, Nell," and look of love, would have paid her for the infliction of greater trials than the reception of a disagreeable old maid. That night, Fred wrote a short letter to his uncle. "MY DEAR UNCLE: We are all deeply pained to hear of your poor health, but hope that'it is not so bad as you have feared, and you may be spared for many years, that I, who have felt your love, may return it. It also pains me to hear of your losses; but my grief is more on your account, than my own, knowing, as I do, that it would be pleasanter for you and Aunt Sarah, to enjoy that for which you have toiled, than to depend upon others : but, as you are afflicted by a loving Father, I hope that you will bow in the right spirit, to the blow; and be cheered by the promise, which Nellie, who is soon to be my wife, joins me in making; that as long as we have a home, you and Aunt Sarah shall be perfectly wel- come to share it with us. We will send for you at any time, most convenient to yourselves. Till then, believe me, as ever, your most affectionate nephew, FRED HOWARD." page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 1i2 FRED HOWARD. This letter was read to the family, who thought that the young people would do well to reflect, be- fore taking a cross old maid into the domicile, where they had anticipated so much quiet happi- ness; but both felt willing to undertake the trial. Their decision made Mrs. Howard tae proudest mother in existence, and the tears that glistened in all their eyes, were caused by pride and love. "Our Fred never was like other folks," said Frank, while a large tear sparkled on his manly cheek. "And I hope he never will be," remarked his mother, as she kissed her boy, and cried rich tears of gladness. Nell left the room, happier than ever before in her life, and Fred soon joined her in their garden; when they strolled together, towards the little knoll by the waterfall, where, as children, they had con- fided their hearts to each others keeping; now, they remain as loving as then, but Fred is better as a man, than when a boy, he told Nellie that he hated, Aunt Sarah, for her unkind persecutions. His is a progression in defiance of obstacles. "Nellie," said he, "have you thought well of the matter? The greatest trial will be yours; you will have much to contend with, but nothing to gain, from it." "yes; I have weighed the matter well, and-know that I have much to gain by receiving her." FRED HOWARD. 153 "What can you gain?" "My husband's approval; his happiness, and the satisfaction of doing my duty. The greatest re- wards that could be offered me. Did you notice how gratified the family appeared to-night?" "Yes, and right glad it made me, to feel that at last they love me. It is a feeling that I have prayed for, long and doubtingly." "It has come; and pleases me, as much as it does you. Do you remember your dream, when you laid here twelve years ago, and how you felt after it? The world has changed since then." "No. The world remains the same, and we are changed; but, I shall ever think, that if I had have been kept at home, instead of being sent away, to be tormented by Aunt Sarah, I should have been a better man: although, some of the lessons that she taught me, will be of lasting benefit; still, on the whole, the injuries which she did me, I shall never recover from. The sarcasm, of which so many complained, is nearly overcome." "Yes; I am glad to notice the change." I, too, am glad. But, do you know that I am full as much a dreamer now, as when you thought me strange and odd?" "No, I did not think so; but if you are, I hope that you will never be changed again; I loved you then, and now that years have flown, you are dearer page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 FRED HOWARD. to me than all the world beside; while heaven seems sweeter, when thought of in connection with you. Indeed, I pray that-we may be called hence together, and never be long sundered. Do you ever dream of your little brother Harry now, as you used to when a- child? Those dreams seemed to me like foretastes of heaven." "Yes, indeed, I often dream of him, and have ever felt, that he held a powerful spiritual influence over me, which has been my guiding star in the path that I consider that of duty. His soothing, unseen guidance, has done more for my progression than all of earth could have done: and those pretty words of my boyhood's dream, "Freddy, bubbles never break in Heaven," have often soothed me, when earthly cares have been more than I could well endure." "We must ever remember," said Nellie, "when troubles assail us, that in our far off home, all will be calm, and pure, and bright. I hope that the un- pleasant influences that made your early days so unhappy and unprofitable, will not leave their im- pressions upon your character." "I do-hope to be happier now than then, and on reason are my hopes founded; for now, I feel sure of your love; to me, a priceless gem; and the assurance that my family love, and in a measure, understand me; will gladden my life." FRED HOWARD. 155 In one month, Fred and Nellie were married, and had moved into their little cottage. Their wedding, like most others, was a happy one, but too common to merit description. Uncle Henry is dead! or rather, born into a new life; he only lived to read Fred's letter, but never answered it. Right glad that missive made the last hours of the good old man on earth; it came to him like a sunbeam sent from above, lighting his soul to its home of celestial beauty; while it extinguished his last regret, at leaving his earthly abiding place. Aunt Sarah is with them, and they do all in their power to soften the roughness of her character; for trouble has not made her better, as was designed by the Father, who doeth all things in love. Fred has never alluded to her unkind treatment, when he was a little defenseless child; but, has tried to make her as happy as sour old age can become; his influence appears to make her a little more placid, at times, but soon, she will dampen his hopes for her regeneration, by some acid remark, which casts its unhappy influence over his other- wise happy household. She was not long in gain- ing the ill will of Mrs. Howard, and her eldest children, and even tried to create a breach between the two families, but was foiled, as she deserved to be; by those who knew the value of love, and page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 56 FRED HEOWARD, peace, and had suffered from their. absence. Miss Colwell is one of the fatal examples of those who in early life7 allow temper to attain an ungovernable ascendency over themselves, and bring, for the re- mainder of their lives, the detestation of all, both good and bad, upon their own heads. Nellie is still the same loving one, that she ever has been, and her sweet smile makes their home the abiding place of holy love. Now, as in childhood, they goto the little waterfall, in the shady brook; gathering rich gems of thought from each other, as they watch its sparkling ripples, and recount the joys and sorrows of early life; when the sensitive boy wished to die, because nobody loved him. Full well does that noble man know, that "the griefs of a thinking boy, are like the sorrows of a fallen angel." Not many would have been as good as he, with like training. Therefore, I repeat unto you, who have the culture of the human mind entrusted to your care: be careful, lest ye understand not the dispositions of the young mind! Be watchful, lest ye mar the works 'of Jehovah! and render not unto God, the- treasure confided to your keeping, in the richness and beauty which. it bore, before the rude hand of man had trifled with its heavenly attributes. I '