Sam Oakum had not forgotten the promise he had given old Mr. Cutter in
the hour of his deep trouble; nor had he forgotten the kindness which
prompted the old man to fly to the rescue of his parent. Every cent was
precious in Sam's eyes, as sacred to repay that offering of mercy; he
would no sooner have squandered it than he would have stolen; week after
week, on every return from a trip, he would slip up to his little chest,
and deposit there the earnings of the day. The additions were small, for
he was obliged, occasionally, to expend some part of what he earned for
little comforts that his mother needed; his father being rarely able to
procure money for his labor. Small, however, as were the additions, the
store increased. He had already carried to Mr. Cutter five dollars, and
received his hearty blessing, and such a squeeze of his hand as Sam did
not forget for the rest of the day.
Jim had squared up with him the moment he had received the last payment;
and as Sam looked at the heap of money which Jim said was his share of
their enterprise, he was too happy to say any thing. He looked up at
Jim, whose calm clear eye turned from the money to Sam, and then back
again to the money, as much as to say--
'It's your's, Sam, honestly come by;--it's all right, why don't you take
it?'
Ned, who was standing by also, and watching Sam, understood better than
Jim what the matter was.
'Why don't you hurra, Sam, and let it out, and not keep choking up so? I
know how you feel;--shall I go it for you? Hurra, hurra, hurra!'
'Ned, what does ail you? what is the use of making such a noise?'
'Oh, nothing; only you see I want to help Sam out with some of his
feelings; he is too full to hold.'
Sam had to smile, and that started a tear or two, and then he tried to
say something about gratitude to the boys; but Jim stopped him short.
'Now, Sam, you must not feel so; you have earned that heap of money just
as much as we have ours, and we ought to thank you; for how should we
ever have got along without you and your boat.'
'Oh,' said Sam, as he began to gather up his money, and looking archly
at Jim, 'you would have thought out some other way, I know.'
Jim had to smile a little; and Ned, throwing his arms on Sam's
shoulders, and leaning over him, as he picked up the pieces of money.
'Sam Oakum, I am as glad to see you put that money in your pocket as I
should be to put it into my own; and so is Jim, I know.'
Sam believed every word that Ned had spoken, and after making a plan to
meet together that evening, he went on his way. His pockets were heavy,
but his heart was light; and as he passed the rock which had ever been
memorable to him since the hour when he sat there in his despondency,
and the boys came to him with this plan of enterprise, he could not but
say to himself,
'What a grand thing it has been that Jim Montjoy had those thoughts.'
Mr. and Mrs. Oakum were just about to sit down at their humble board as
Sam entered.
'Here, father; see what the boat has done.'
'What is it, Sam?' said his mother, looking earnestly at him, her hands
raised, and her countenance expressing great anxiety. Sam made no reply,
but commenced unlading his pockets, and piling the money in little heaps
on the table.
'It is father's; it has all come of the boat. If father had not built
that boat, we never could have got all this; and now he can pay Billy
Bloodgood the fifteen dollars, and then we shall not owe a single cent
to any one; there is the whole of it--twenty-five dollars--don't it look
nice, mother?'
Mrs. Oakum let her hands drop as soon as she understood the matter; but
it was only to take up her apron--they had work to do with that. While
the father, overcome with the sight of such abundance, and the noble
spirit of his boy, could only say, in a very trembling voice,
'God bless you, Sam.'
_That_ was a happy meal, though plain and coarse. A spring of living joy
was bubbling in each heart, and sparkling forth in pure and blessed
thoughts towards God and man.
Sam would gladly have had his father carry the money which was to repay
Mr. Bloodgood, and never been known as the procurer of it. But to this
the kind parent would not consent. He felt, and truly too, that it would
be a mark upon his son's early life, not soon obliterated: and he was
willing to have himself forgotten, if the dear boy might but be
strengthened in the path of honor and virtue.
The next morning Sam was up with the early dawn, and busy with his daily
routine, that he might be ready to go on his pleasing errand. Breakfast
over, he dressed himself in his best blue suit, and with the money in
his pocket and his parent's blessing, started off, his heart as full of
happiness as it could well be. Thoughts of the dark scene which he had
passed through, when kind friends, like angels of mercy, came to his
aid, he could not repress, nor did he wish to; the darker _then_, the
brighter _now_. How his heart beat with pleasure as he walked briskly
on, and drew near to the humble abode of Billy Bloodgood--rough, to be
sure, was the exterior, and the peculiar habits of its owner too visible
in the strange confusion around the premises; but Sam thought only of
his kind heart and ready hand in an hour of need.
Things had not yet been put to rights at neighbor Bloodgood's, and as
Sam entered the house, there was not only a confused state of pots and
kettles, and relics of the early meal, but the good woman herself was
all wrong somehow; she was in quite an undress, and moved about amid the
domestic articles surrounding her, with that quick, jerky air, which
generally denotes an unsettled state of the inner man or woman.
Sam wondered why things did not break, they rang against each other so
sharply. If he was somewhat surprised at this, he was much more so at
sight of a stranger, seated near the door, but a little behind it, which
circumstances prevented him from noticing before. He was a stranger, not
only to Sam, but he must have been to all those parts, for he was like
nothing seen in that region for many miles' circuit; his air and contour
was that of a gentleman. Sam had already seen enough of the world to
know that. He was quite a youth, probably not over nineteen years of
age; his countenance manly, and rather stern at the first glance; but
Sam thought, from a particular twist of the corner of his mouth, that he
was more amused than vexed with the state of things around him. His form
was slender, and his complexion pale, like one who had never yet been
exposed to the wear and tear of life; his light brown hair was thrown
carelessly back from his forehead, and displayed to great advantage that
index of the mind.
He arose almost immediately upon Sam's entering, and with his hat in
hand, bowed to the mistress of the house, who cast but a sideling glance
at him, and then stooped down to rattle some of the dishes, without,
apparently, any other motive than to let him see that she was too busy
to attend to _him_.
'You think then, madam, there would be no use in my waiting to see your
husband?'
'No; I don't think there's no earthly use in seeing _him_. I tell'd you,
again and again, we ain't got no young ones to send--and that's the long
and short on it.'
'Good morning, madam.'
The young man spoke kindly and courteously, and then left the house,
walking with an erect carriage towards the highway.
'Good morning, Aunt Sally.'
Mrs. Bloodgood, then, lifting herself up, and putting a hand on each
hip, looked with a very stern and fixed gaze through the open door,
until the stranger had fairly got out of hearing; and then, without
answering Sam's salutation, began to rattle away in her usual style,
when by any cause somewhat excited.
'_Him_ set up for a schoolmaster, with his fine clothes on, and his bran
new hat, and his bowin' and scrapin', and his _madam_, and all that kind
of palaver; he ain't nothin' but a chicken himself. No, no: I've seen
enough on 'em in my day; there ain't no good comes on 'em; they put more
mischief in the heads of the young 'uns than they've got naturally, and
that's enough we all know.'
'What's the matter, Aunt Sally?'
'I tell you what, Sam Oakum, I don't want none of them Yankees round me.
I don't see why the critters can't stay in their own country, and do
some honest thing there for a livin', and not come trampussing away down
here with their larnin', that don't do no airthly good, but make the
young 'uns lazy, and wanting to be gentlemen like themselves; and what
old Molly Brown sent the critter here for, I don't see.'
'Does he want to set up a school, aunt Sally?' said Sam, looking at her
with a very anxious countenance.
'He _did_ want to; but I guess he's got enough on it; and I'm so glad
he's took himself off 'fore Bloodgood come in, for he's just fool enough
to be clean took with him; and he's got his head set about havin' a
schoolmaster, and I don't want none of the varmints round.' But looking
at Sam very closely, and coming up to him, and feeling his coat and his
trousers, and then holding him off at arm's length.
'_Do tell!_ where upon airth, Sam, did you get this? How smart you _do_
look. This has been gi'n to you, I know, by them great folks over the
water there?'
'Yes.'
'Well, ain't that clever on 'em, Sam? but you're desarvin' of it, and
I'm glad on it. It does a body's heart good to see your mother's child
look so smart and tidy. I didn't hardly know you when you come in, and
that plaguy man put me into such a pucker, I didn't hardly know what I
was about.'
Sam had become very impatient to be off; he had anticipated a great deal
of joy from his errand, in the proud satisfaction of paying a just
debt; but he thought not of that now. He had learned enough to know what
the stranger's business was, and he could not endure the thought of his
leaving the place in such a manner; so taking out his money, and handing
it to Mrs. Bloodgood,
'There, Aunt Sally, is the money which Mr. Bloodgood, so kindly helped
my father to, when he was in trouble; won't you please tell him that we
all thank him very much, and hope we shall never forget how good he has
been to us?'
'You dear, blessed child!' Aunt Sally could say no more, for she saw the
tears in Sam's eyes, and her own heart was very peculiar--it was soon
set on fire.
'You will tell him, won't you, Aunt Sally? and that father says, if he
will only let him know any time that he can do any thing for him, or for
you, day or night, he will gladly do it; and mother says so too; for you
don't know how happy it made us all, when you lent this money, and how
very happy we are now, to be able to give it back to you.'
Aunt Sally sat down, and taking up her apron with both hands, cried as
hard as she had scolded but a few moments before. Sam laid the money on
the table beside her, and wishing her good morning, made speed towards
the highway. He saw the young man at a distance, walking rapidly, and
bending his course away from the place, on the direct road to the
barrens; his only chance to overtake him was by a cross cut over the
fields, and through a little clump of wood, around which the road to the
barrens passed. And while Sam is hurrying across the lots, I must
introduce the young stranger a little more particularly to my reader.
Henry Tracy was indeed descended from New England parents, but was not,
as good Mrs. Bloodgood supposed, a real Yankee; for his father had
emigrated from the state of Maine when quite a youth, and his mother
from another of the goodly sisterhood, when a child. They had settled in
one of the middle States, and Henry's birthplace was one of our largest
cities; great pains had been taken with his education; his mind was
uncommonly well stored for one of his age, and his manners distinguished
by a gentlemanly grace; but, above all this, his heart had been nurtured
by the tender care of a mother, whose love for the truth, whose meek and
blameless life, and whose heavenly-minded temper, gave a power to the
pure and holy thoughts which she was ever breathing into the ear of her
son; they stole into his heart like the dew upon the tender plant.
He was now an orphan, and cast upon the world, with the choice of
depending upon the charity of friends to assist him in completing his
education, or using what education he had already received as a means of
support, and of further progress; he wisely chose the latter. Having a
slight acquaintance with Mr. Rutherford, he had, on calling to visit the
family, been directed to this region, and the "Widow Brown, to whom Mr.
Rutherford advised him to apply, could think of no one more likely to
take an interest in a school than Billy Bloodgood. His reception there,
and the general appearance of things, had discouraged him from any
further attempt, and he was hastening back to seek a spot more congenial
to his own feelings, and where there might be at least some desire for
instruction.
Sam had to be expeditious, and was barely able to accomplish his object
by running across one entire lot, and through the clump of woods.
Breathless with his haste, he was unable to communicate his wishes, or
to apologize to the young man for coming upon him in so abrupt a manner,
who looked with much surprise at him for an explanation.
'I hope you will excuse me, sir, for stopping you; I met you, just now,
at Mr. Bloodgood's. I did not know what your business was, sir. But do
come back, we want you very much.'
'Want me! What do they know about _me_?'
'Oh, I mean, Sir, they want a teacher.'
'Mrs. Bloodgood says that no one here wishes a teacher, that the people
think they are better off without any instruction.'
'But they do not all feel so, sir; do come back with me, and I will take
you to a man that will tell you all about it.'
Sam's appearance pleased Mr. Tracy, and the earnestness of his entreaty
induced him to consent to return and see what new feature the place
might present.
They were not long in reaching the spot to which Sam wished to conduct
him, a very unlikely place in appearance to give encouragement to
literature, being no other than the workshop of old Sam Cutter. The old
man was in his usual seat, holding, or rather leaning upon the handle of
his large hammer, and from his short breathing and flushed face, showing
signs of his having just been wielding it. Running round the shop, with
a tongs in one hand and a hammer in the other, was Billy Bloodgood,
helping himself, with some directions and aid on Mr. Cutter's part, in
repairing an old farming tool. He paid, as usual, no attention to the
new-comers, except a slight nod of his head, and a pleasant smile to
Sam.
As Sam entered and motioned to Mr. Tracy to come in, Mr. Cutter passed
his broad hand across the top of his head, smoothing down his bald
forehead, at the same time saying.
'Your sarvant, sir.'
Mr. Tracy bowed to him politely, taking off his hat with as much respect
as if in the presence of one of the great ones of the earth.
Sam Oakum lost no time in communicating to Mr. Cutter the object of the
visitor, and the circumstances under which he had met with him and
brought him back.
'Right, Sam, right; but of all things, to think of Sally Bloodgood
treating the gentleman in that sort. But that's the way with them;
they're a match for the old one, any time; all but your mother, Sam, she
ain't like the rest on 'em.' And then turning to the young man,
'Sorry, sir, you've had such an indifferent reception, but what can't be
cured must be endured. Billy there knows that; but you see it don't
matter to him whether she scolds or coaxes; he can't hear nothin' no
more than the iron he's poundin' on.'
'Is that Mr. Bloodgood? Mrs. Brown advised me to call upon him; but his
good wife gave me such an account of things, that, but for this young
gentleman, I should have made no further effort.'
'Ay, ay, Sam knew well enough, the young rogue, who to come to; but dear
me, you look like a lad that has seen fair weather and easy work; do you
know what kind of a place you've come to?'
'Only what I have seen of it this morning, sir; and Mrs. Brown said that
she thought a teacher was much needed.'
'Ay, that she might well say, much needed; that is, if you can teach
them any better manners than they've got now: they're a hard case, my
dear young man, most gone to the evil one altogether.'
Mr. Tracy smiled. 'I hope not quite so bad as that, sir.'
'Not much short on it, I tell you; but things look a little better than
they have, and I ain't sure but a considerable lot on 'em might be got
together; that is, the boys, I mean but--' and the old man regarded his
young visitor with a very inquisitive countenance--'you don't look as if
you could live on clam shells and oyster shells, and eels, and sich
like; I'm afear'd you ain't used to them.'
'Oh, yes, sir, I can eat what the rest of you do.'
'Well, my young friend, you can't judge always from the looks, what kind
of fare a man has; but howsomever, if you can get along with such things
as I've tell'd you of, why you won't starve, for you see we've got
plenty on 'em; and as to the boys, do you, Sam Oakum, up and tell the
gentleman what you know about it, and not stand stretching your mouth
and grinnin' at me.'
Sam soon numbered quite a company of boys, and girls too, that he knew
would be very glad of a chance for schooling, and many more that would
no doubt come if the gentleman 'would only make a beginning, and open a
school.'
As Henry Tracy had perhaps full as much desire to do good, as to receive
compensation for his labors, seeing the strong desire manifested by Sam,
and hearing him tell how very anxious some of his companions were to
learn something, he made up his mind to try the experiment.
Sam was almost beside himself for joy; it was the only one thing now
wanting in his cup of happiness. His deficiency in every kind of
knowledge acquired from books, was felt by him daily as a sore evil. 'If
he could only read and write, and calculate like Jim Montjoy,' was for
ever coming into his mind, a wish unalloyed by envy or any other evil
feeling towards Jim, but filling his heart with sadness. Old Sam Cutter
was no less rejoiced, for his boys were but little in advance of Sam
Oakum, and now that they had taken such a favourable turn in their
course of conduct, the old man felt that a school would be a crowning
mercy. Some little difficulty presented itself as to where the teacher
should take up his abode; there were good reasons why Mr. Cutter could
not offer a residence under his own roof; the house was but small, _too
small_, he found for himself, sometimes, and he durst not venture upon
an addition.
Sam Oakum would have rejoiced could his home have afforded
accommodations such as he might ask a stranger to partake of, and a
person of Mr. Tracy's appearance. Mrs. Montjoy's was the only place that
Sam could think of where any thing like comfort could be had.
'I know--I know all that, Sam; Mrs. Montjoy is a nice woman, and the
house, though small, is tidy-like, and the boys are good fellows, a
credit to the place; but you see, Sam, we must 'be wise as sarpants'
about this business. You know how the folks feel, full of their
jealousies and nonsense; and if the teacher should go there, they would
say that he felt himself above folks, that he was too good for the like
of them, and all that, and you see,' looking at Mr. Tracy, 'we've got to
take folks as they are, and make the best on 'em.' And then turning his
eye towards Sam, 'The Widow Andrews' is the place. Bill, you know, is
gone; sorry for that, but he's gone, and no help for it; the old woman
is queer, but where is one on 'em that ain't, sometimes? Yet she is
pretty good in the main, and she'll be proud to do her best; and if the
gentleman won't be frightened at a little squall once in a while, he'll
git along pretty comfortable there: now, don't you think so, Sam?'
Sam thought just as Mr. Cutter did; and as Mr. Tracy was not particular
as to accommodations, provided they were cleanly, and he could have a
room to himself, it was accordingly decided that he should accompany Sam
there, and see what could be done. There was nothing very inviting in
the appearance of things, to one who had been accustomed to a very
different style of living: the house was a one-story building, placed
very flat on the ground; both the roof and the sides were covered with
shingles. Moss had accumulated so as to contend with the shingles for
the precedence, and if the latter did the most good, the former was the
most distinctly to be seen. But it was situated in the midst of a green
grass plot, and the grass was short and velvety to the tread, and a few
old cedar trees surrounded it, which tended to screen its imperfections,
and make it pass for full as much as it deserved. A fence ran before it,
much dilapidated, sufficient, however, to keep out the larger animals,
where the green short grass grew up to the window.
The widow was evidently flattered by the proposal, only she feared 'the
gentleman might find their living very different from what he had been
used to.'
Mr. Tracy was satisfied, from the appearance of things within doors,
that neatness was one trait which the widow certainly had, whatever
others he might discover on further acquaintance. She showed him her
best room, and which she was perfectly willing to yield up to his use.
It was large enough, with an agreeable view of the surrounding country,
and Henry thought, when he should get his books around him, he could
make himself at home.
Mr. Cutter would have been glad to introduce the young man to Billy
Bloodgood, but he dared not undertake the task, and suffered Billy to
hammer away, and took no notice of the inquisitive glances which his
good neighbor kept casting towards him. As soon, however, as the visitor
had departed, still holding the hammer and tongs, he made up to Mr.
Cutter, and putting his head close to his ear, hallooed in a voice
almost sufficient to have made the sound reach his own tympanum.
'Who's that?'
'I ain't deaf; you needn't holler at that rate into a man.'
'Who did you say? I didn't hear you.'
'Dear me, what _shall_ I do? I'm all out of breath a talkin' to that
youngster.'
'Don't hear.'
Uncle Sam made a desperate effort, opened his mouth, drew in a long
breath, put his hand up to form a trumpet, and applying the machinery as
near as possible to Billy's head, called out,
'He's a teacher.'
'A preacher?' and Billy nodded and smiled; 'that's _good_ going to stay
here?'
'Bless my soul, what _shall_ I do? I shan't try agin', no how.'
'Sally'll be glad to hear that; where is he from?'
Uncle Sam looked first one way and then the other, as though meditating
an escape; but he hated to move, and in fact he knew there would be
little use in trying it, for Billy would be after him so he finally cast
an imploring eye up to his neighbor, who stooping down and looking very
inquiringly into his face.
'O dear, dear! I ain't got no breath to do it.'
Billy shook his head.
'Don't hear.'
'No, nor you won't if the sound has got to come out of me; it can't be
done.'
'Don't hear what you say; speak a little louder.'
'I don't know.' Old Sam made noise enough this time, and if it could
have been concentrated might have gone to the place, but Billy had heard
something, so he nodded his head.
'From below? what place? anywhere near by?'
'Dear, dear, he'll be the death of me!' Uncle Sam was indeed in a bad
case; he had at no time any breath to spare, and to be called upon to
expend it, first in working with the big hammer, and then in blowing
trumpets, was a little more than his good-nature could stand. He was
very red in the face, breathed short and heavy, and with his old straw
hat flapping violently to catch fresh supplies of air, looked wildly
about for some loophole whereby to creep out from this dilemma. Just at
that moment, and as Billy was again upon the point of asking for more
light on the obscurity of the last sound that reached him, the shop door
was darkened by the entrance of no less a personage than Sally Bloodgood
herself. She came in so rapidly, that she was nigh being foul of Uncle
Sam; as it was, she only impeded the motion of the old hat. She was not
at all in a visiting dress, having come, as she said, 'just as she was,'
to see her neighbor, Mrs. Cutter, for a minute. 'But do, la, Uncle Sam,
what ails you? your face is as red as a turkey's comb. You seem to be
all blowed out. It's Bloodgood, I know it is. He's been asking you
questions, I know he has. You hadn't ought to try to talk to him, Uncle
Sam; it's enough to kill you.'
'I believe you,' turning his eyes up at her very expressively; 'you're
right there, Sally.'
Billy Bloodgood now engrossed his wife's attention, by telling her the
great news, 'that there was a preacher come, a nice-looking young man.'
Mrs. Bloodgood looked at Mr. Cutter for an explanation.
'Do _tell_, Uncle Sam, was he a very youngerly man, very fine and
delicate like?'
Mr. Cutter nodded assent.
'La, me, I wonder if it's the same one that called to see Bloodgood,
this mornin'. A preacher?--who upon airth would have thought it? he
never said nothin' about preach'n'.'
Mrs. Bloodgood had her own reasons for being so surprised; and as Uncle
Sam Cutter saw clearly that her thoughts were very much troubled about
the matter, he came to the conclusion to let her enjoy her mistake:
'It will teach her, may be, to be a little more careful of her tongue.'
But, as Billy Bloodgood was the principal man to whom Mr. Cutter looked
for aid in sustaining and encouraging the young man, the fact that he
wished to teach a young school among them, must be communicated to him.
Utterly hopeless of any power in himself to do the thing, he, without
any ceremony, took hold of the loose covering which hung about the
person of the lady, and fairly forcing her down upon a rough seat, near
himself,
'Now you see, woman, I give it clean up; I shan't never try no more to
drive a word into Billy's head. I can't do it--it will kill me.'
''Tis hard work, Uncle Sam, ain't it? it takes such a power of wind. But
you see somebody's got to make him hear, and I 'spose it's my lot; and
what a body's got to do, you know, Uncle Sam, why, they must submit to
it: but it takes my breath clean away sometimes, and makes me so faint
and gone, that I can't hardly hold myself together.' And the good woman,
pressing her hands very hard against her sides, exhibited to Uncle Sam
the desperate efforts she had to make, at times, to keep things in their
place.
Billy stood close by, with one hand on Uncle Sam's shoulder, looking
very complacently at his wife, and nodding every once in a while, as
though he understood perfectly what she was saying.
'Fine-looking young man; smart, I guess.' And then stooping over, and
looking into Mr. Cutter's face, 'You didn't tell me what place he came
from.'
'Where is it, Uncle Sam? jist tell me, and I'll make him hear, I'll
warrant.'
'Why, Sally, I don't know where he's come from. No doubt Heaven has sent
him from somewhere or another, and I don't much care, I am so glad to
see any thing in a decent shape come to do a little good among us: he
may have dropped right down, for all I know.'
'Do, la, Uncle Sam, how you talk; you're enough to frighten a body. But
I must tell Bloodgood somethin' or another.' So, raising herself a
little, putting one hand on each knee, and placing her prominent member
close to her husband's ear, who was still bending down and looking
earnestly at Mr. Cutter, she was about to give one of her blasts, when
she was suddenly arrested by the powerful hand of the latter.
'Stop, Sally, stop!--not now: none of your hollering here, I can't
stand it. Wait till you git home, and then you can tell Billy all about
it.'
Billy, finding that there was a sudden interruption to all
correspondence for some cause he could not well define, and being
accustomed to such events, put a stop to his inquiries for the present.
How vast a change of feeling is sometimes effected by the passing away
of sunlight, with the bustle of its busy hours and the silent shades of
evening!
Henry Tracy had made a busy day of it; he had met with unexpected
success in engaging scholars, and had procured a room in a building,
once used as a court-house, in which to hold his school. Gratified with
his prospects, he sat down to the clean supper table with the Widow
Andrews and her daughter, with feelings much more buoyant than could
have been expected in one so young, for the first time a sojourner among
strangers. He delighted them by the ease and pleasantness of his
manners, so that when he retired, which he did soon after supper, the
Widow Andrews looked at her daughter, and lifting her hands in
expression of her admiration--
'Who could ever ha' thought of it? Why, it's jist as easy talkin' to him
as to Uncle Sam Cutter.'
'Oh, mother! its as easy agin'.'
The moon was in all her splendor, and her pale rays fell trembling
through the foliage of the cottage. Taking a seat by the window, Henry
looked out upon the beautiful night, and his heart filled with emotions
to which he had hitherto been a stranger.
Home, that idea so satisfying to the soul, that spot to which our wishes
fly when in sickness or sorrow, was nought to him now but the
resting-place of his past joys and trials--a beautiful vision that had
left an impress on his heart, which time could not obliterate; although,
like a vision, it had passed away, his bosom heaved with the swelling
thoughts that rolled like ocean waves heavier and mightier in upon him.
He drew from his breast a golden locket and unclasping it, held the
miniature it enclosed beneath the rays of the moon; his lips trembled,
as the sacred name of '_mother_' broke from them. 'Yes, I will ever
think of thee, thy sweet love has made my home a paradise, and thy pure
piety and gentle counsels have won me to the path of peace. My Saviour's
image hast thou ever borne before me, until my heart has learned to
love Him as my best and dearest friend. Oh, may my life be such as thy
last dying prayer entreated it might be; and may I be led by the Holy
Spirit in the way that leads to where thou art.'