The voice of freedom. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1839-1848, 1843-09-21

eu on the grassy soVaHIdHS vi ol'o A'Co
or swinging in their luxurious hammocks
listening to the notes Of the guitar ant
The voice of Anita, chanting sweet native
melodies, which never were echoed BY
the banks of an European stream.
In the colonies there is a disease tina
comes suddenly among the people, ant
takes every tenth person; it is the yellow
fever, one of the bitter fruits of slavery
it seems sometimes TO pursue the Euro
pean to his native soil, as punishment
for this slavery of the Africans in the new
world. When it makes its appearance In
the Antilles,i it becomes pestience, agains
which all the resources of art are ineiect
ual.
One day George was attacked by q
sudden headache, his eyes became sunken,
his pulse beat with unusual violence, and
his limbs were struck with paralysis.
The nestilence had seized upon him.
Had it not been for the danger which
threatened the life of George, Anita, per-
haps, would have been glad of such All
opportunity to prove her devotion and self.
denial. How many hours she passed by
the side of the couch where lay her lover,
wasted almost to lean and livid skele-
ton How fast flowed her tears in secret
how many fervent prayers she offered
up 10 the blessed Virgin! 1t was Won
derful to see how she endured watching
and fatigue, that would have worn out
stronger frame.
Fly from me, Anita - the disease is
contagious-take care of your own life.
You are talking nonsense, George. OF
what contagion do you speak2 You have
not the yellow fever. Here, give me your
arm, put it round my neck - see, put
my lips to yours. The yellow fever If
you had that terrible disease, could do
so without danger
George, who did not lose courage on
account of the danger that threatened his
life, saw the devotion of Anita. He had
not word of reproach 10 address to heav-
en-, while all his sufferings were repaid
by the gift of such heart And yet his
misfortunes we're great and profound; for
while he was tortured with disease, want,
poverty that other pestlence, knocked at
his door. For some time his friends as
sisted him, but their sympathy was by
little and little completely exhausted.
AT last, God seemed melted by The
tears and sorrows of this poor maiden.
George resisted the attacks of his disease.
He was among those whom it did not
strike down in its way. The pestilence
spared him, but still he was haunted by
the lean figure and taltered dress of pow
erty. Thus exposed to all the miscries
and wants of life, George could not hope
10 re-establsh his health. You
do not escape SO easily from the grasp of
the yellow fever; and woe TO you if the
pestience visits the country second time
and finds you there, as the doctors say,
predisposed to the disease; it is sentence
of death without benefit of clergy.
George must leave the colony, said the
physician; he must go; his native air
only can restore his strength and life; !
can not answer for him if he stays here.
My God spare him, take me but let
him live--let him live said Anita. She
prayed every morning at the feet Of her
Madonna; and every morning and eve
ming when the bell sounded TO prayers,
you could see in one corner of the church
A woman praying, whose sobs sllfied the
voice of supplication.
George must leave the country, repeat
I'd the physician.
1e must go-but how? asked Anita.
And her spirit fell at the thought of his
poverty.
One day she folded George in her arms,
and held him thus long time, pressing
him closely.
Do you know, my dear, that l feel my
life waning away2 Do you not know
hat my life is thy life, and that this eli
mate is fatal 10 you2 lfyou remain here,
and l see you daily sinking, | too shall
Troop and wiher.
Il is not the will of God that we should
part.
No, George. God is very kind to us;
10 wishes TO spare your life; this very
hight an idea has come to me from heav-
IN.
She hung upon his neck. Do you love |
ne well said she and without giving |
lin time to answer, yes, yes, you do love
ne, and / wronged you in speaking thus.
Now listen. am at your feet. Prom.
Sc 10 grant me whatever shall ask.
do not understand you, Anita. Speak |
quickly; have wish which is not thine?
George promised, however, what she I
sked.
And now will you solve me this strange
iddle2
No, said she. it is my secret and she
tniled so sweetIy that George thought it
vas all a mere freak of fancy, whim,
he meaning Of which would be known
non or late