The daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1848-1851, 1848-11-02

have in their Office. l will go there tomorrow.
Poor Tristan his father was good man. Ishould
be sorry for any harm to come TO the boy, though
he is rather headstrong."
Self-convicted, Tristan fingered, hearkening to
the last echoes of that compassionate voice. Then,
with a thrill of remorse that ran like an arrow OF
conscience through his spiritual frame he fled away
Through the still moonlight that made long sha-
dows in the streets the spirit wandered, Itself as I'M
palpabe. 1t hoated over the same scenes winch
Tristan's mortal feet had traveTsed; but now no
arring sounds Of worldly traffic broke the holy quiet
A watehman's heavy football resounded along the
pavement. When he had gone by, woman, with
a child, craw led to some door-steps and crouched
down.
When the man came past again she crept back
into the shadow; but he perceived her, and asked
what she was doing there. The tone was hardly SO
rough as he used in the daytime.
g have not been drnkng-ndeed, sir, have
not" was the faint answer; q" but have had no
food to-day excepta biscuit that poor gentleman in
the park gave my boy. We divided it between us.
g Poor soul % said the Waterman, searching IN
his pocket here is half a loaf and some cheese
can do without my breakfast for once In WHILE
Only don't lie there any longer, good woman; for
therel be somebody else passing soon, and It isn't
far to the station-house."
"God reward you, sir !" said the woman. The
world is much better than people say have al
ways found it so. Eat, little Johnny, and be pa
tent 1t is not long till morning.
lesson of endurance was in those words Of the poor
desolate wanderer. And he-the spirit who now
with his opened eyes and ears lissenedhad in life
time reved the world struggled in its darkness,
nor waited meekly for the dawn that would surely
come at last He who, though poor, had never
wanted meal-who though wretched, had found
in his wretchedness the blessed balm of love-who,
though friendless, had never been altogether DESC
late-he had shFunk from his despair like coward
while this lonely, forsaken one lived patiently on,
enduring to the end
Tristan's spirit yearned repentantly over the
world which he had in his bitterness condemned.
It was of Gods creating-and the smile Of divinity
rested upon it yet With all its harshness its cold
ness, its sufferings, it still blessed world.
On, on, over myriads of human spirits that the
bosom of the nightstilled city EMBODIED, did the
soul of Tristan pass-restng with none until he
came to a small, neat suburban dwelling When
last he crossed its Threshold it had been with wild
anger in his heart, and curse on his lips From
that threshold seemed yet to ring the parting words
of strife
Brother Tristan, have been careful and you
spendthrift. Every man ought TO think OF HIM
self first; you were too great fool to do that
shall not help you any more. You may stop here
one night more, and then you must tHrn out and
work in the street-or starVe there II you IKE II
better"
And the terrible answer had been No, but
will die, and bring Gains curse upon your head.
Could it be that the very roses which now slept
their still and fragrant sleep under the moonllt
porch had ever been shaken by the breath of such
words as these
The shirt of Tristan stood in his brothers cham
ber-self.justifying even now. For the man slept
as peacefully as though his mothers son had still
laid within few yards Of him in the little closet
from which he used 10 CALL when bOy-ike, they
talked together half the summer night. He had no
thought of that dark, weed-tangled mass, floating
beneath the stars.
But a little while, and the sleeper stirred. His
breathing grew thick, and his forshead's veins
were knotted-while incoherent words came from
his lips.
always will be: there, be good lad don't re-
sist and I'll play with you again. Ha ha Y
And the most boyish laughter showed how many
years that world-worn man had retraversed IN his
dream. Again he murmured, though IN changed
tone Father, don't say ill-used him. Tristan
must take care of himself Well, well, we are
brothers, as you say. Dear father, only live q
little longer, and will treat him much better-l
will inded Now, father, be content; promise.
do promise Tristan, give me your hand-it
freezes me. Aht
And the sleeping man leaped out of bed, and
'What fool have been," he muttered, as he
vany tried to reassure himself that he had merely
been dreaming. +" But it is only because that stu
pd Tristan put me in such passion. By-the-bye,
| / wonder if the lad has come in yet. His temper
called he, opening the room door.
There was no answer: so he went to see.
strange fear oppressed that once cold hearted man
as he saw the empty chamber. The threat when
he had scorned as idle words rang In his ear IKE
warning from the grave. He trembled, and sat
| down ON the bed.
9" hope the silly boy has done himself no harm.
! Yet he was always passionate and desperate l
! wish had not said what / did God forgive me,
| if any evil comes to that poor lad ~
l. Iaw.y. IN
streak of dawn already mingled with the moon
@ssThe fellow must be drinking, he tried to think.
"Yet don't believe he had a shilling Besides,
he 577as always sober enough. Poor Tristan WISH
re would come hone."
| The man Law down again-not in his own room
Tut in his brothers.. He thought he could sooner
hear the street-door when there He lay, listening
10 every BREATH until he could rest no longer
Each sigh of the morning breeze that arose and
shook the easement, seemed to cry out to him, like
the voice that haunted Cain, %, man, where is
thy brolher?"
When the daylight came, the spirit Of the drown.
/ ed lowered over that man as he hurried out with
face as white as death. Those shadowy arms
would fain have encrcled his neck, that air-volce
would have whispered, |" Brother, my brother lei
us forgive one another" but it too late. Deatf
had stepped in between them, and shut the gate 0
reconciliation forever.
The winged soul threaded the gray shadows o
early dawn as swiftly as the yet unawakened sun
beams. The first STRINGS of life had already dis
turbed the quiet of the great city, but in its gloom
lest recesses somewhat of the freshness and pencl
Of night fingered still. twas in an upper chambe
in the darkest of those streets which desolai,
poverty seems to haunt Ikea spectre, that the spiri
| of Tristan rested.
Its sole occupant was a young woman. fol
could not call her girl, for the freshness of girl
hood no longer tinted the thin, worn cheek; no
had the outside show Of fine -adyism replaced th'
pure womanliness of her face and mien. She hae
thrown herself on the bed, all dressed as she, was
after what seemed TO have been long vigil 10
the faint glmmer of the expiring candle yer strag
gled with the encroaching light Of morning.
:" And she, too, can sleep-such a sound, peace
ful, happy sleep!" sighed the spirit Even no"
there is in her heart no memory OF Tristan
It was not 80 for on little table lay letter, =
write which she had set up half the night-a nigh
when every hour was so precious to one who hat
toiled all day in the weary life OF governess.
I'm ma in auoh - ra