Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1849-03-16
ANTI.SLAVERY BUGLE, SALEM. O.

w yOui NoShlnB uSdlH.
Z" 1t has been a great favor to have YOU
do it while I've been SO poorly an
swered Mrs. Brown, and I'm glad 10
pay you for it. This makes four times,
and here's Two dollars. IT'S just as well
that you can't come again, for | think |
shall be we'll enough now to do it my
self"
1.-Two dollars-just the price of the
newspaper =" exclaimed Mr.. Heath, as
the truth flashed across him. Rather a
silent ride home they had, till at last he
said, | never was so ashamed"
"Of what ! " asked his wife.
Why, 10 have you go out washin'.
| amt so poor as that comes to-"
Well, | don't know" replied his
wife, when a man is too poor TO take a
newspaper, his wife ought not 10 feel
above going out washing"
Nothing more was said on the subject
at that time, though some i~ll-feeling lin
gered in the hearts Of each. The "mak-
ing up" was no mawkish scene Of kiss
ing, embracing, and crying, such as ro-
nance writer's build their useless fabrics
with, but as Mrs. Heath was finishing
her household duties for the night she
said quietly
81 don't think did quite right, Rich
ard"
81 don't think | did, cither," re-
sponded the husband, and so the spark
was quenched which might have become
a scathing flame, blighting all domestic
peace under their humble roof.
At last the long voyage is almost end
ed and the sailors talk only of home
now. They talk of those they are to
meet, of the wives and children 10 whom
their thoughts have so often wandered
during these three years absence. They
wonder if the young sailor, Alfred Heath,
who lies so sick, will ever see his home
again, and with their rough tones subdu-
ed almost to gcntleness, they speak of his
anxiety to hear from his mother.
He is so hopelessly ill that his heart is
now where the worn spirit ever turns in
its hour Of bitterness, sorrow, oil its ap-
proach TO the unknown land-to God and
his mother. Family as his heart beats,
it still throbs with earnest desire for life.
Dim as his keen eye has become, he
fancies it would brighten once more at
the sight Of his mother, and his failing
mind be cleared could he lean on her
breast.
With folded hands the young sailor
prays his words are confused and indis-
tinct to those who listen, but all clear, all
earnest and plain are they to the Great
Listener above. And when the stately
ship has reached her destined port, and
mingling voices are all around the sick
sailor, his comrades bear him carefully to
a home-a miserable home-but better
to him than the rocking vessel in the
midst Of their sounding sea. Now if
could see MOTHER he murmured to the
strangers around him.
She is sitting by the ~vine-covered win.
dow, patiently reading the shipping Jour.
nal, and thinking meanwhile Of her alb
sent boy /; thinking it is time for him tc
return, and hoping he will never go tc
sea again. How quick the words catcl
her eyes-Arrived, ship Banner, Lowell
And it was a week ago; he coulC
have been at home by this time he will
come tonight she said joyfully, as she
went to communicate the good news Il
her husband.
They watched in vain that night, ant
then Mrs. Heath suggested what no moth
er ever Jailed 10 suggest, when the pro
longed absence OF a child was unaccoun
ted for-'he must be sick , and wher
night after night passed, and they Meth.
err saw nor heard anything of Alfred, hcr
anxiety would let her rest no longer
We will go TO him, or al least 90 where
we may hear of him. and Mr.. Heath
now anxious as herself, readily assented
Their simple preparations for the jour
ney we're soon made and with heavy
hearts they proceeded in search Of thei.
son, with litle hope o fgaining anything
more satisfactory than definite intelli
gence Of his death.
1t was a dark and rainy evening wher
they entered the city, and after an houl
spent in f~ruitless inquiries, they found
the place to which Alfred had been car.
ried. Little care had he received in the
crowded boarding house. There was
none OF the neatness and order that shows
better in a sick room than any where
else. Rough hands had roughly tended
him, and pale and death like as he look
ed. it seemed as if il mattered little what
care he had now. In the agony with
which the parents bent over the uncon-
scious sleeper, and marked the sunken
cheek and wasted form, there was but
one ray Of comfort they could watch
over him-they should not hear of his
death with the sad thought that none buI
stranger hands had smoothed his dying
pillow.
The sufferer awoke from a troubled
dream, to find his aching head supported
by his father, and see his mothers eyes
resting on him with a look of unutterable
tenderness. So faint was the smile Of