202
gutshed himself among gamblers for his shrewd
ness, and actually made money by his calling,
until he was arrested in his career by that dis
ease so common to gamblers, and so fatal to all,
consumption. When he found the disease was
fastened incurably upon him, he took his room,
his mother’s bed room. The old family Bible
was there. She had often said, that at her death
she wished it to go to William, and there it was
left for him. He opened it, found in it many
traces of his mother's pen, scraps of paper with
texts of scripture, holy resolutions, prayers,Chris
tian consolations and the like, written on them.
He closed the book, pressed it to his bosom, and
wept bitterly. “ Dearest, best of women 1” so
liloquized he. “ What a curse have I been to
thee ! what a curse have I been to myself ! One
fault thou hadst, and only one No, I must
not call it a fault —one weakness shall I call it ?
No, that is too harsh a term for it. One heaven-,
ly virtue in excess, thou hadst too much tender
ness for thy son. But why do I advert to this!
When I reached the age of reflection and self
government, this very thing should have endeared
thee the more to me—should have made me more
resolute in reforming the errors, which thy ex
cessive kindness produced. But oh, how impo
tent are human resolutions against vices which
have become constitutional 1 Tom, go for Mr.
Markham.”
Mr. Markham came, and found William with
his head on his mother’s Bible, bedewing it with
tears. He raised his head, reached his hot
hand to his friend, and after some struggles for
utterance, said:
“ Mr. Markham, you have known me from my
childhood to the present moment, you have
marked my every step in the pathway of ruin—
you have seen mo abuse and torture the best of
mothers, reject the counsels of the best of un
cles, and the best of friends, multiplying sins to
cover sins, insulting men for disapproving of
what my own conscience disapproved, avoiding
tho good, and consorting with the depraved, pros
tituting heaven’s best gifts to earth’s worst pur
pogea —in short, assimilating myself to a devil,
as far as it was possible for me to do so; now
tell me, my dear friend, do you think it possible
for such an abandoned wretch as I am to find
mercy in heaven ? In making up your answer,
remember that I never thought of asking mercy,
and probably never should have thought of it,
had I not seen Death approaching me with sure,
unerring step.”
“Oh yes,” said Mr. Markham “you are not
beyond the reach of mercy; provided you seek
it in the way of God’s appointment.”
“Be pleased to instruct me in that way; for I
am lamentably deficient in knowledge of the
Bible.”
“ Well, in the first place, you cannot expect
mercy unless you ask for it. If you ask for it
you cannot expect to have your request granted,
unless you perform the conditions upon which
such request is to be granted. Now these con
ditions are (the essential ones,) That you show
mercy to every human being that has offended
you ”
“ That is but reasonable."
“ You must freely, and from your heart for
give every one who lias trespassed against you.
You remembor your infantile prayer.”
“ Yes, but I never understood it until this mo
ment."
“ You must seek to be reconciled to every one
who has aught against you.”
“ The hardest condition of all. I can forgive
those who have injured me; but how shall I ask
peace of those whom I never wronged?
“ God never wronged you, did He ? And yet
He asks you to be reconciled to him.”
“ Wonderful!” ejaculated William, thoughtful
ly.
“ You would not come to me, William, and ask
a favor of me, and at the same time say, * I ask
it, but I do not believe you will grant it,’ would
you ?”
“No, that would be to insult you to your
face.”
“ Neither must you ask favors of God, be
lieving that He will not grant them. You must
ask, believing in His goodness, His word, and Ilis
promises, i. e, you must ask in faith."
“Perfectly just!”
“If you were to ask a favor of me, and I
should say come again, I cannot grant it just
now; would you turn away from me in despair,
and never ask me again ?”
“ Surely not.”
“ Then do not show less confidence in God
than you have in me. If He does not answer
your prayers as soon as you expect, pray on
and bide His time.”
“ Well, God helping me, I will follow’ your
counsels this time, to the day of my death.—
Pray once more for me, thou heaven-born and
heaven-directed man.”
Mr. Markham prayed with him, as if his
“ lips were touched with a live coal from off the
altar.”
William now gavo himself to prayer and read
ing the scriptures. He sent for all within his
reach whom he had offended, or who had offen
ded him. Freely forgave, and was freely forgiv
en. Two, three, and four months the disease
spared him; but he found little comfort. At the
beginning of the fifth he found peace; rejoiced
for a month more, preached powerfully to all
who came to his bedside, and with his last breath
cried, “Mother, receive thy son!” and died.
—i » i
Curious Calculation. —The vast number of
inhabitants who do live, have lived upon the
face of the earth, appears at first sight to defy
the powers of calculation. But if w’e suppose
the world existed six thousand years; that
there now exist one thousaud millions; that a
generation passes away in thirty years; that
every past generation averages the present;
and that four individuals may stand on a square
yard, we will find that the whole number will
not occupy a compass so great as one-fourth the
extent of England. Allowing six thousand
years since the creation and a generation to
pass away in thirty years, we shall have two
hundred generations, which at one thousaud
millions each, will be two hundred thousand
millions, which being divided by four persous to
a square yard, will leave fifty thousand millions
of square yards. There are in a square mile
three millions ninety-seven thousand six hun
dred square yards: by which, if the former sum
be divided, it will be sixteen thousand one hun
dred and tnirty-three square miles, the root of
which, in whole numbers, about one hundred
and twenty-seven square miles will be sufficient
to contain the immense and almost inconceivable
number of two hundred thousand millions of
human beings; which vast number outnumbered
the seconds of time that have passed since crea
tion.—English paper.
The art of not hearing, though untaught in
the schools, is by no means unknown or unprac
ticed in society. We have noticed that a well
bred woman never hears an impertinent or vul
gar remark. A kind of discreet deafness saves
one from many insults, from mnch blame, from
much apparent connivance in dishonorable con
versation.
sacs soimcsur vxs&n ira txmmsxim*
nil DESPERANDUM.
by i. a. T. a co.
“But welcome fortitude and patient cheer,
And frequent sighs of what is to be borne.”
Wordmoorth.
Quite right 1 quite right! the Poet wrote
Those lines so exquisite ;
—But doubtless, he enclosed a note,
Requesting ptthWsAer* to make
All changes requisite l
We scribblers, who have set for hours
Stirring and spurring dormant powers,
Must never give dark feelings scope,
Nor be dejected;
—But learn to labor »nd to hope
Against “reacted" —
Though all our rhymes, and e’en our prose.
Should find “that bourne" which all suppose,
(And many a poor devil knows)
A horrid place— the “ basket l ”
Jfil Desperandum ! strnggle on ;
Miss Manhiem never would have won
Her hard-disputed laurels,
Had she, at first, giv’n up the ghost,
And thought all chance of favor lost:—
Thanks to her love of quarrels 1
The best—the worst—l never pined
At a 1 rejected’ or ‘declined’—
I take them back, rewrite, revise,
And cross the t’s and dot the i’s,
As though I didn’t half surmise
Another “ something wrong /”
“ You think,” quoth Ed„ “your poems glide
Delightfully along—
‘Put!’—ah 1 there it is!
Methinks I see your critic phiz—
“ ’Twill almost do—not quite."
Nil Desperandum ! Try again !
Apply the labor limes l
Think of that literary grate,
Roll’d over by Oblivion's wave,
Where prose and poems—many a quire,
Toss'd by the critic in his ire,
For lack of labor lima —
Yes! yours, and mine, and hers and his,
(True 1 even some of J. M. Ts,)
Lie chaired, or torn, or slimy 1
Nil Desperandum l something new !
Cudgel your brains to find it
“ Cater for public tastes 1” Oh no!
Just puff the Fireside— if you can
In conscience, or,—puff Mr. Mann,
—So “ proper"—almost “ puritan
Or, write the “ Ed." a spicy note,
Such billet-rfou® as Manheim wrote,
( —Yes, Jemmy, if yon can —)
Pepper him well—if he hits you,
Hit him again—’twill bring him to :
If he wants fight—why fight it through I
’Twas thus Miss Manheim did—and see,
He printed her—he will print me.
-hi
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
THREE YEARS OF HEART-HISTORY.
BY KATY-DID.
chapter v.—f Concluded .]
It was a terrible night, the storm howled
fearfully without, but we felt comfortable enough
in the cozy sitting-room, with its cheerfully
blazing fire. We were all seated around the
room, sewing, reading, or writing, and the storm
seemed to have quieted, or at least, awed the
spirits of all, for we had gradually relapsed into
silence, until it had grown so intense you might
have almost heard the fall of a feather; when
the door opened, and a visitor entered, unan
nounced, and thoroughly drenched with the
storm. He could not have been more than
twenty or twenty-one, yet his otherwise hand
some face looked already pale and haggard with
dissipation. He paused not a moment, but with
a something of pride in his step, crossed the
room quickly, and flung himself in a chair
which stood in front of the fire. Not a word of
welcome was spoken to him; all seemed bound,
as by a spell, which each feared to break. I
ventured to steal a glance around the room.
Mr. Holmes, with a frown upon his brow which
strove to conceal the workings of his features,
was bestowing redoubled attention on some let
ters he was writing; Mrs. Holmes, vainly en
deavoring to conceal her agitation, would glance
■towards her husband and the newlv-arrived vis
itor, alternately, as if wishing, yet fearing to
break the spelL Eva was apparently wholly
absorbed in a piece of fancy-work she was
doing, yet stealing frequent glances at first one
and then another around the room. Henry sat,
with both elbows supported on the table, and
his forehead resting on his hands, and seemed
struggling to master some strong emotion.
John had stooped down, and begun stroking the
long, silky ears of his dog,which lay beside him.
Tho visitor still sat looking gloomily into the
fire, when Maud, the cold, proud Maud rose, and
gliding quickly and noiselessly across the room
to where he sat, put one arm around his neck,
and whispered “ Carl,” with a quick, passionate
movement. He put one arm around her, and
drawing her towards him, said: ‘"God bless you,
Maud, for this. And you do not entirely despise
me? You can still love me?" Gradually we
all withdrew, one by one, except Mrs. Holmes,
feeling it were sacrilege to remain longer.
Henry continued to pace up and down the hall
in front of the sitting-room, waiting, I supposed,
to speak to the unwelcomed visitor before he
left.
I had just taken my seat in my room, when
Eva came in, looking paler than was her wont.
She shut the door after her, and seating herself
on the rug by me, said: “ Linda, I will tell you
all about brother Carl, if you want to hear it”
I signified my assent.
“It was more than a year ago,” she began,
“ that late one night Carl staggered in, drunk.
It was the first time, and I think they might
have forgiven it, but I believe father would have
tolerated anything sooner, and he spoke as I am
sure he would not have done had he stopped to
reflect, so much so that Carl, taking up his hat,
left without a word, and wo heard nothing of
him in all that time, not even where he was,
until to-night. Carl and Maud loved each other
devotedly; I think they were engaged before
he went away. Poor Henry, he loved her too,
but no one ever knew it, at least, except John
end I, and he doesn’t know that. It think it
was so noble in him to give her up, and subdue
his love for Carl’s sake, especially after he had
left, and he did not know he would ever return.
The way I came to find it out was this: summer
before last, when we were at our summer place
in the country, just before we moved into town,
one evening Johnny and I started to walk down
to Moss Spring, a beautiful place near the house,
and as we had got nearly there, we saw Henry
and Carl sitting on a log by the spring, conver
sing very earnestly; thought there wouldn’t be
any harm in listening to what they were saying,
just for fun, so I proposed to him to let us creep
up behind them and hear what they were talk
ing about; so we found a nice hiding place near
them. Henry was standing up by this time, so
we could see him better. Carl looked a little
embarrassed, then said: ‘ Henry, I want you
to do a favor for me; I love Maud, my cousin
Maud, dearly; and I believe she loves me, but
of late she seems studiously to avoid seeing me
alone, will you get her to promise to meet me in
the grape-harbor to-morrow evening? I want her
to promise me her hand before I go back to col
lege.’ During this speech every particle of
color had forsaken Ilenry's face. I was fright
ened at first. He did not answer for some time;
Carl had not noticed the change in his counten
ance, for he was throwing pebbles in the water
byway of relieving his embarrassment. Pres
ently, he asked, without looking up:
‘What do you say, Henry, will you do it?’
‘Yes, I will dp it,’ he replied, and his tone
was firm as usual.
“I had never dreamed of Henry's loving Maud,
but this looked very much like it; so John and
I determined to find out all about it, but to keep
it a secret. The next evening they met at the
appointed place, and Carl looked very happy
afterwards, but Henry paced his room back
wards and forwards nearly all night—at least
until I fell asleep, and that was not until I heard
the clock strike two. I heard him, for my room
was next to his.
“It was only a little while after this that Carl
went away, and after he had gone out I went to
the door, thinking I might persuade him to come
back, but Henry stepped quickly before me
without seeing me, aud I saw him distinctly by
the moonlight hand a miniature to Carl. It was
the same one, Halid's, that John had found in
Henry’s desk once, with a bundle of Maud’s
letters and a bunch of withered flowers; the
letters and flowers he afterwards burned.
Henry came back as soon as she had given it to
him, but Carl had gone, so I came in. Wasn’t
it noble in him to give Carl the miniature, when
he must have valued it so much himself?
nenry went away soon after to study for the
ministry, and did not even come home during
the vacations. The others thought strangely
of it, but John and I know very well why it
was. This is the first time he has been at home
since he first went away, but ho has finished
his studies now. I think he has almost suc
ceeded in banishing Maud from his heart, al
though I sometimes think he loves her still.—
Come, let us go out on the balcony, I feel rest
less ; this silence oppresses me.”
We went, but had only been there a few
moments, when she said, “I must go down
stairs, I am afraid Carl will go away, with
out my speaking to him ; you will wait
here until I come back.” I assented, and
when she had gone, I fell to musing on what
I had heard, when, suddenly, I heard voices in
the door below, and Carl said with a passionate
earnestness, “God bless you, Maud, God bless
you,” and was gone. I heard his step die away
in the distance, and then Maud turned and came
slowly up-stairs. What a desolate feeling it is
to be left; to hear the last step die away in the
distance, and know that you may listen for that
footstep, that footfall on the doorway, and it
will not come.
CHAPTER VI.
The next evening Eva and I were alone in the
sitting room and neither had spoken for some
time, when she broke the silence by saying:
“ I am so glad that Carl is coming back; I
think he had a reconciliation with them all last
night, for, after I came down, he said he was
going away, lie could not say for how long, but
when he came back, he would have left off his
dissipated habits, and taught men to respect
him; that he would never touch the wine cup
again, or play another game of cards while he
lived. I think it was only to see Maud that he
came.”
“ He Is very different-looking from your broth
er Henry,” I said.
“Yes, Henry is dark, with black hair and
black eyes, while Carl has a fair complexion,
fair hair and blue eyes. He is thought to be
handsomer than Henry, but I like Henry’s looks
better;” and again we relapsed into silence.—
Presently Eva said, musingly: “ I wonder if
Mr. Granville is going away without coming to
tell us ‘ good-bye ?’ ’’
“Is he going away ?” I asked quickly.
“ Yes, he said the other night he was going
before long; when he went to tell me ‘ good
bye,’ he held my hand for a moment, and you
ought to have seen how earnestly he looked at
me, as he told me he wanted me to teach him
how to love his fellow men. Yonder he is,
crossing the street now,” and she ran to the
window to look.
Sooner, I thought, would I undertake to teach
the stones to love their fellow-stones, than Hor
ace Granville to love his fellow men, for he more
nearly realized my -idea of a man without a
heart than any one I had ever met before. It
seemed as though Mother Nature, in making
him, had, by some strange forgetfulness, left out
the heart, and that the brain had usurped the place
designed for the other organ, in addition to its
own. This is not much worse than some men I
have seen, whose hearts seem to have dwindled
away, until they could scarcely fill a nut shell,
and the surrounding cavity is filled, not with
brain, but with all manner of rubbish. But I
was speaking of Horace Granville; I used to
try to think, sometimes, when in conversation he
would grow so eloquent, that he felt what he
said, but was forced to acknowledge that it was
the brain, only, that was exalted—aye. it might
be all afire, but the heart still remained cold
and unmoved. The excitement was purely in
tellectual.
I read soon after, in a morning’s paper, “We
regret to state, that Mr. Granville, the talented
author, who has been among us has left the city,”
and the room seemed to grow darker, after I
had read it. Then, too, Henry had left, to take
charge of a distant church he had been called
to, and John had gone back to College.
What a lonely feeling, sometimes, does the de
parture of even one member of a household
produce I It is very saddening, to see the “ va
cant chair, by the fireside,” so often spoken of;
but when several go at once, how desolate the
house seems—what an oppressive gloom per
vades it 1 So it was at Mrs. Holmes’ elegant
city home, and we were all glad, when the green
leaves and sunny skies of summer gave us an
excuse to leave it for the country ; we felt as
though we wanted some Qhange; and who does
not love the country ? Who.can help loving it?
CHAPTER VII.
Two years had passed rather pleasantly,
though monotonously, away; during the first
year, we had heard nothing whatever from Carl,
but afterwards, wo occasionally heard of his
brilliant succoss, as an artist, in some distant
city, and Maud’s eye began to brighten, and her
voice to lose its tone of sadness.
But not one word had wo heard all this time
from Horace Granville, not even where he was,
save that a new book had come out by him,
more interesting, if possible, than the first. I
had read it over and over again, treasuring up
each sentence, as something to live upon.
I had allowed my name to come out at last,
in connection with my writings, but had heard
nothing yet concerning it.
Again it was summer time, and we were at
the country place, and, as Mr. Holmes came
home from the city in the evening, he was greet
ed by a call from several, in concert, for “ the
news," for who does love to know what is going
on in the world around him ? I remember read
ing a foolish little story, once, called “An Air-
Bubble,” about a second paradise underground,
where some kindred spirits had taken up their
abode, and so wrapt up were they in one ano
ther, that they cared nothing about the busy
world they had come from, or what was passing
there. If I had been there, Oh I how impa
tiently I would have watched for each new ar
rival, each kindred spirit, as it came fresh from
the world 1 I verily believe I would have ta
ken my seat on the mossy bank, where they
usually made their entrance, to await its coming,
and when it did come, before the visitor had
time to look around and say “ Where am I?” I
would have plied it with such a cascade of ques
tions, as completely to bewilder it. “ What is
the topic of general interest ? Are the United
States and Great Britain at war ? Have the
Red Coats made up their minds to another flog
ging? By the way, who is President of the
United States now ? Have the North and South
concluded to kiss and make friends ? Has a
flying-machine been invented yet ? What of
the fashions ? Are hoops worn as large as ever,
and have the gentlemen begun to wear them in
the bottom of their pants yet?”
These, and a score of other questions I would
ask, and then, dear reader, entre nous , I think,
the next thing I would do, would be in all sin
cerity of heart to say, “Dear kindred spirit, lam
convinced the best thing you and I can do under
the present circumstances, will be to set to
work to try to find our way out of this cavern
as speedily as we may, for, though of course, I
love my dear kindred spirits very much, I am
tired of never hearing anything to startle me, or
to break the dead monotony, or to call forth
my energies ; I want to battle with the world,
to join in the great struggle of life, and play my
part in its drama.” A thousand pardons, ’dear
reader, for this long digression, and I will re
turn. I said Mr. Holmes had just returned from
the city, and been beset for “ the news” and that
led me astray, for it is hard, unless one has
more concentration of mind than I have, to keep
in a direct line, without rambling off, now and
then into by-paths, attracted by some flower, or
what we take for one; I thought, reader, that I
had found a flower, but it is only a weed after
all. Mr. Holmes said, in reply to our eager
questions, “ I believe I have a little piece of
news, this time; did you know, Linda, you
were town-talk ?”
“How?” I exclaimed, in astonishment.
- “ Why, I had no sooner got to town, this
morning, than I was surrounded by such a
crowd, I was afraid at first they were going to
tar and feather me; but they only cried out, all
in a breath, ‘ Why did you not tell us Miss Car
rol wrote those charming books?’
“ What books ?” I cried, in my turn.
“ Why such a one, and such another, and they
named all of yours.
“Why, my dear sirs,” I replied, “I did not tell
you, simply because I knew no more about it
than you did; this is the first I have heard of it;
so it seems, we have been entertaining an au
thoress, unawares.”
“ Je-ho-so-phat,” pronounced John, with slow
emphasis.
And I was overwhelmed with questions and
congratulations, much faster than I could reply
to them.
It was a soft, delicious summer’s evening, and
the sun had sunk gloriously to rest, leaving the
light fleecy clouds above him, gilded with those
rich colors, which no pencil oan ever portray se
they are, and Eva and I had stood long by* the
gate, gazing upon the faded glory without speak
king, (for we were seldom apart, now. I had
grown to love her dearly, her sweet affectionate
disposition had won insensibly upon me,) when
she broke the silence, “ Do you remember, Lin
da, how completely my head was turned once,
about Horace Granville? It is strange, how
soon we can transfer our interest from one to
another."
I started at the mention of that name, for I
seldom heard it now.
Our attention was here .drawn by two men,
whom we saw coming towards the house,
bringing something heavy; as they drew nearer,
we saw that it was a man they bore, upon a
rough frame of young trees. As they passed
the gate, I saw distinctly for a moment, the pale
still, marble-like features; they were those of
Horace Granville, and that luxuriant black hair
was clotted with blood, and drops marked their
way, as they bore him over the gravel-walk, and
up the broad steps to the piazza. I felt faint,
as though I would have fallen, but I knew I
must not, and with a strong effort of the will,
rallied and followed Eva into the house; she
had not recognized him.
They had laid him on a lounge in the sitting
room, and had sent for the doctor, but I could
not trust myself yet to say who he was. He
came, “ Why, it is my old friend, Horace Gran
ville,” he said. “ A throw from a horse did you
say? He has received a pretty severe blow, on
the head, which has stunned him, but he will
soon recover, though he had better be watched
through the night.”
It was Eva’s and my turn to watch, and she
had fallen asleep with her head on my lap; but
I sat looking on that face, so passionless and
still, when, suddenly, he unclosed his eyes and
closed them again for a moment, as if trying to
recall something that he had forgotten.
“I have seen you before,” he said, “yet I can
not remember where.”
“ I am Linda Carrol,” I replied with a little
hauteur, as I thought of our former acquaint
ance; “you met me at Mr. Holmes’ in the city,
about two winters ago.”
“ Ah! yes, I remember, and yon wrote those
books which so strangely interested me.”
It matters not to tell of how, even after the
wound on his head no longer furnished an ex
cuse for his lingering, he was invited to remain
for some time as a guest. It matters not to tell
of the long rambles in the woods, or the horse
back rides over the hills, or among the windings
of the forest, or of the moonlight walks on the
long piazza, of the sweet interchanges of
thought, or of how, after we had returned from
a ride onermorning, as Mr. Holmes came out to
the gate to meet us, he said, “ What a color you
have this morning, Linda! Horse-back riding
agrees with you,” and I ran up-stairs “to change
my dress,” and Eva came up an hour after
wards to tell me her father wanted to see me
in the library, and found me with my dress still
on, standing by the window ; or of how Horace
told me, I had first taught him how to love
taught him what his heart was meant for, and
that his love was all the more intense for having
slept so long.
It was a \pvely summer’s evening, and we had
all gathered around Horace to listen, as he
read aloud from some pleasant book, when,
hearing a step in the hall, we looked up and
there stood in the door a handsome, intellectual
looking man of apparently about two or three
and twenty. It was Carl, and this time he re
ceived a glad welcome from all.
I sat alone in my room one evening, when
Eva came in. “Oh! Linda, we have received a
letter from brother Henry; he has obtained a
short leave of absence from his church and will
be here to-morrow. And Maud has consented
to relinquish her freedom a month earlier, so
that you can both be married at the same time,
and all make your bridal tour together. I would
be perfectly happy, if it were not for thinking
how lonely it will be when you have gone ; but
you will all be here again on Christmas, and I
will be looking forward to that.”
The next day Henry came, and our circle was
complete. He seemed to regard Maud now en
tirely as a sister.
I have on my bridal dress and veil, but have
taken up my pen to say a word of parting; but
my hand trembles so, I can hardly write, for
they have just knocked at my door to tell me
they are waiting for me to go to the church.
Then farewell, dear reader, farewell 1
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
THE SISTER _OF CHARITY.
BY LAURA LINCOLN.
Just as I attained my thirteenth year, I had
the misfortune to lose my mother. I was the
only daughter of six children, and was therefore,
a good deal petted and indulged. My father was
a cotton planter in the State of Mississippi. A
short time previous to my mother’s death, he
had sold his town residence, and lived altogeth
er on his plantatation, where he had hitherto
been in the habit of spending the warm summer
months only.
After the decease of his wife, my father was
a good deal perplexed as to what he should do
with me. He did not wish to keep me at home
with no female associates of my own color, and
he disliked to send me off alone, among stran
gers, to a boarding school. One day my uncle
Wilfred came to see him and told him that he
was about to send his two daughters to the
convent of N , to remain two years, and re
quested him to let me accompany them. It was
a sore trial to my parent to send me so far from
him, but after mature deliberation he decided
that it was the best course that he could adopt.
Ah! well do I remember the sorrow that filled
my young heart at this first parting from home—
from my beloved father and brothers, and last
though by no means least, the dear old black
mammy from whose sable bosom I had drawn
the fountain of life in infancy, and who had
dressed and undressed me every morning and
night since I was bom. I hung around her
neck w'ith tears and kisses, for she had been
like a second mother to me. Nor was the good
creature less affected than I. “Ti hi, master ”
shd said, “how’s Miss Gertrude gwine to get
long way off yonder by herself? Do pray let
Ann go wid her, if you can’t spar me. The poor
chile never washed her own face and hands or
put on her shoes and stockings in her life.”
And it was in vain that my father and uncle
explained to her the impossibility of my taking
a servant with me to a boarding school. She
would not be convinced but persisted in saying
“ that she always seed ladies carry their own
maids ’bout wid urn, and she didn't see why Miss
Gertrude couldn’t do it too I"
I went to my uncle’s home with him, and was
warmly welcomed by my cousins, who were de
lighted to learn that I intended accompanying
them to school. In a few days we were steam
ing it up the Mississippi river upon one of those
“floating palaces,” that “walk its waters like
things of life.”
In due time wo arrived at the city of L
which was within thirty miles of our destination.
There we remained over night. There was a
heavy fall of snow during the night, and when
we awoke next morning everything was shroud
ed in this spotless mantle.
“Oh look, Ellen 1 ” I exclaimed, as I opened
the window, “did you ever see anything more
beautiful!”
And beautiful exceedingly it was to our unac
customed eyes, which had never seen snow more
than once or twice in our lives, and then it was
such as to melt in the sun’s rays in a few hours.
It was near the end of March, and when we left
our fair southern home the birds and blossoms
were bursting into bloom, and many trees
were already covered with their tender green
foliage. But here stern winter still reigned
“ monarch of all he surveyed.”
After breakfast we took our seats in the lum
bering stage coach (railroads were not so com
mon then as now) for 8., and thence took a hack
for the convent, some two miles further on. We
arrived there just before nightfall, very much fa
tigued and thoroughly chilled.
In reply to my uncle’s knock the door was
opened by a fresh, good humored looking sister of
charity in her black stuff habit and closely fitting
white cap, who ushered us into the parlor, where
a blazing wood fire was shedding warmth and
comfort around—blessings which we weary trav
elers could duly appreciate.
The Mother Superior soon made her appear
ance when my uncle introduced himself as Dr.
Lester, and liis two daughters Ellen and Clara
and his niece Gertrude Ellsworth. Mother Cath
erine had a pale benign countenance, which bore
the impress of a life spent in fulfilling the will of
her Master. She was very kind to us, setting
us at our ease at once.
Uncle Wilfred returned to B. in the hack that
night. After his departure Mother Catherine
carried us to her room where she had a nice lit
tle supper served for us. As we were so tired
she did not introduce us into the recreation room
among the pupils that night, but allowed us to
go at once to bed. She summoned sister Bertha
(tho same that had received us on our arrival)
and told her to conduct us to the dormitory and
tell sister Cecilia to select beds for us. We bade
the Superior good night and followed sister Ber
tha out upon a long back collonnade, where the
sound of merry voices and laughter reached us
from the recreation rooms on the ground floor,
and then up a flight of stairs into a passage, up
on which the dormitory opened.
We entered and the nun called “ sister Cecilia.”
A nun issued from a curtained recess in a corner
where she had doubtless been engaged in de
votion. Tired as I was, I could not but bo struck
by the exceeding purity and loveliness of the
face before me, which the unsightly white cap in
vain endeavored to disfigure. It was one of
those faces but seldom seen, and once seen never
forgotten. It gave me the impression of sorrow
and suffering meekly borne—of a heart wholly
given to God, and raised altogether above this
earth and its grossness. Spiritual indeed it was
in the truest and highest sense of the word. I
knew not why, but I felt myself irresistibly
drawn towards this angelicAioking being as to
one near and dear. /
She came forward awl took each of us by the
hand, asking our names. When in reply to her
enquiry, I answered, “Gertrude Ellsworth,” she
raised her large sad eyes to my face, and it
seemed to me that her pale cheek grew a shade
paler, and her mouth twitched as if moved by
some sudden emotion. If so, she quickly re
covered herself, and bidding us follow her, she
pointed out to each her respective bed.
