The examiner. [volume] (Louisville, Ky.) 1847-1849, 1848-10-07
dvhat did he come forY'

Il could hardly make out, LOT ne stopped
me in the hall, and told him to come to-
morrow, for was busy (and you know
Emma, how that matter Of poor William
sons bankruptcy had occupied me all day). |
But young Tristan spoke so fiercely-al-
most threateningly-thar it vexed me; and
told him he had better not call again un-
Ill he could treat with civility the best friend
he had
Poor fellow! perhaps he was in want,
said the lady gently; he looked wild and
haggard as he darted past the carriage.
Il never thought of that. Dear me!
wish now that had waited minute. But
he has brother pretty well off in the world,
who would keep him from poverty.
But you will do something for him, Ed
ward?'
Certainly. my love. | intended to speak
to Hill q Venables next week, about va
cancy they have in their office. | will 60
there tomorrow. Poor Tristan His father
was good man. should be sorry for any
harm TO come to the Though he is
rather heads;Iong.
Self-convicted, Tristan fingered hearken-
ing to the last echoes of that compassionate
voice. Then, with thrill Of remorse that
ran like an arrow Of conscience through his
spiritual frame, he fed away.
Through the still moonlight that made
long shadows in the streets the spirit wan
dered, itself as impalpable. 1t foated over
the same scenes which Tristan's mortal feet
had uaversed:-bu now, no Earring sounds
of worldly traffic broke the holy quiet. A
watchman's heavy football resounded along
the pavement. When he had gone by, a
woman with child crawled TO the same
door-steps and crouched down.
1 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
day-tim
Il have not been drinking.--indeed. Sir,
have not was the faint answer; but I've
had no food to-day except a biscuit that q
poor gentleman in the Park gave my boy
We divided it between u.s.
Poor soul! said the Waterman, searching
in his pocket here is half loaf and some
D cheese. | can do without my breakfast ono,
! in way. Only don't lie there any longe
I good woman; for there'll be somebody els
e passing soon, and il isn't far to the station
house.
5 God reward you, Sir, said the woman
S The world is much better than people say
| have always found it so. Eat, little John
n ny. and be patient. 1t is not long till morn
ing
q IL is not long till morning. Oh! whs
4 deep lesson Of endurance was in thos
d words Of the poor desolate wanderer. An
il he-the spirit who now with his opene
L eyes and ears listened--had in his lifetim
C reviled the world; struggled in its darkness:
, nor waited nleekly for the dawn that woul
}. surely come al last. He who, though poo
e had never wanted a meal-who, thong
d wretched, had found in his wretchednes
l. the blessed balm of love-who, thong
h friendleS. had never been altogether des'
E. late-he had shIunk from his despair lik
1t a coward-while this lonely forsaken on
E. lived patiently on, enduring to the end.
m Tristan's spirit yearned repentantly ov,
4 the very world which he had in his bite
y ness condemned. 1t was of Gods creating
ID and the smile of divinity rested on it ye
ID With all its harshness, its GOODNESS, its su
W lerings, it was still blessed world.
On, on, over myriads Of human spiri
TO that the bosom Of the nightstilled city 81
m folded, did the spirit If Tristan pass-res
d. ing with none until he came TO a small
Ii neat, suburban dwelling. When last
I'd crossed its threshold, it had been with wi
a anger in his heart and curse on his lip
is From that threshold seemed yet TO ring Il
ct parting words Of strife.
L. Brother Tristan, have been careful al
70 you spendthrift. Every man ought
at think of himself frst:-you were TOO gre
n fool to do that. shall not help you Al
as more. You may stop here one night NOR
W and then you must turn out and work in Il
g, street--or starve there, if you like it b,
IL ter
b. And the terrible answer had been, N
W but | will die, and bring Gains curse upt
I'd your head
rs Could it be that the very roses viii,
r. now slept their still and fragrant sleep u
lg der the moorlit porch had ever been shak,
so by the breath Of such words as these!
VI The spirit Of Tristan stood in his bro
ne er's chamber-self justifying even no.
to For the man slept as peacefully as thou
to his mothers son had still lain within {,
nd yards Of him in the little closet from viii
it he used to call when, boy-like, they talk
- together half the long summer night.
he had no thought Of that dark. weed-tangl
er mass, floating beneath the stars.
ad But little while, and the sleeper stirrt
OF His breathing grew thick, and his lorehea,
veins were knotted, while incoherent wor
to came from his lips.
an Tristan; you are doll: always W
cd master--l always will be: there be a 90
pt lad; don't resist, and Ill play with y
re; again. Ha, har
'es And the almost boyish laughter show
ad how many years that world-worn man
re re-traversed ia his dream; Again he mi
lst INJURED, though in changed tone:
I'D Father. don't say ill-used him. Trist
must take care of himself. Well, we
ge we are brothers, as you say. Dear faith
is only live little longer. and | will tr,
ON him much better, will indeed! NJ
ng father, De content | promise--l do pro
Use! Tristan give me your hand.-It free;