Literary cadet and Rhode-Island statesman. [volume] (Providence, R.I.) 1827-1829, 1828-03-12
yEyS |y,r JAY.
THE BROTHER.
BY SARAH JANE HALE.

Wy Cbt'io. HS"s o'' '"' '~I"'~ 'S
to spend much time IN the village, nor
to be much acquainted with It's iahab-
itants but the beauty Of lis situation,
and the air Of repose that always hung
over il, often attracted me near IT to
enjoy the prospect. The houses were
principally built on the high bank OF
a broad basin, formed by the river,
which, after rushing down a broken
ledge Of rocks, lay quietly sleeping IN
the wide reach below, and then swept
round thickly wooded point on It's
way to the sea. a high and rude
bridge was thrown over the roughrsi
part Of the waterfall, and formed the
entrance TO the town.
was standing Oh this bridge one
evening in spring, entirely rapt ln.the
prospect before me. A storm whicI
had passed away, had left the sky fill
cd with heavy clouds, which were
beautifully colorcd by the sunset light
and between their deep chasms, the
evening star was seen floating in the
purple radiance at the same time
the glory Of the skies and even the
river bank with its gilt spirc AM blaz-
ing windows were accurately painted
in the water below. ANY one who
enjoys such scene, knows how many
far-otf thoughts return at such an hour.
WAS so deep in a rcverie that | did
not hear the steps Of stranger, who,
with the familiarity which the simple
manners of village allow, had ap-
preached the and was standing al.
most at my side. On locking up.
saw quite young man, with the air
ola foreigner, who had an impatient
look Of inquiry on his countenancc,
and seemed about TO address me with
some interesting question; but as if
changing his purpose, he stopped only
to say few words concerning the
scene before Us, and passed on to-
ward the ,il!age. followed hIm
with my gaze. til hc had ;aroed the
corL:r Of g street, uuI tnUn rc,uined
to my home no one there could tell
ne who he was, and he was conse-
quently soon forgotten.
A few evenings after, as was sit
ting by my lonely 6re-side, | was SUR
prised by a visit from the young stran-
ger. He told his name, and said that
he came to thank me for my kindness
to his sister. then understood that
he was the grandson Of an aged wild
o~, who d;aA !" the vll~sa fa~
months before, leaving grand-daugh
ter also in sickness and poverty. When
first came to The place, ! had been
struck with the neatness of a cottage
which ! passed in one of my walks,
and as had heard that the inmates
were objects Of charity, | determined
to enter it. | was received at the
door by girl apparently sixteen
years Of age, who appeared a little
surprised at my visit bat invited me TO
90 into the room where her grand
mother lay, helpless with infirmiy and
age. explained the object of my
visit with as much delicacy as cou.d,
and being convinced from what saw,
that they had need OF assistance,
pressed them tc receive it. Iobscrv-
ed that flush passed for moment
over the daughters brow, and her eye
kindled almost with dlsdain = but the
expression was momcntary. She
thanked me, in low and sweet voice
for my kind intentions, but said they
were not dcs,itutc;--still, it were IA
clergyman, her grandmother would be
happy to see nae. was not, bat
had been familiar with sickness and
death, and was not unacquaintcd with
the consoiing power of religion
| did not therefore hesitate TO address
her, in that strain which knowle lgc
Of suffering inspires, and which always
finds a welcome in the mourncr's
heart. Her story was short and soon
told. She had been left desolatc long
before, by the loss other husband aud
children, who had fallen victims 10
consumption--that false and fatal dis
order, which places a bloom like that
Of health upon the check, while i,
wears out the frame with lis slow and
lingering torture. The last of her
children was daughter, who left two
young and helpless grandchildren to
TO her carc--a son and daughter -
Though she was beginning to feel the
infirmity Of age, she took the utmost
care Of her charge. AMI was. i'm fine.