Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1849-04-05
HE WILL FORGIVE YOU,
FATHER.

FATHER.
He stood leaning upon broken gate in
front of his miserable dwelling. His tat
tered hat was in his hand, and the cool
breeze lifted the matted locks which cover
ed his once noble brow. His countenance
was boated and dishgured, but in his eye
there was an unwonted look--a mingled
expression OF sadness and regret. Perhaps
he was listening to the low, melancholy
voice OF his patient wife, as she soothed the
SICK babe on her bosom or perchance, he
was gazing upon the the sweet face of his
eldest daughter, as at the open window, she
piled her needle to obtain for her mother
and the poor children, scanty sustenance.
Poor Mary for herself, she cared not;
young as she was, her spirit was already
crushed by poverty, unkindness and neglect.
As the inebriate thus stood, his eyes wan
dered over the miserable habitation before
him. The windows were broken, and the
doors hingeless; scarce avestige Of comfort
remained yet memory bore him back to
the days of his youth, when it was the a.
bode of peace and happiness. In fancy he
saw again the old armchair, where sat his
father, with the Bible upon his knee and
he seemed to hear again the sweet notes Of
his mother, as she laid her hand upon the
head of her darling boy, and prayed that
\ God would preserve him from evil Long
years had passed away, yet tears came into
the eyes of the drunkard at the recollection
of his mothers love.
Poor MOTHER he muttered, it is well
that thou art sleeping in the grave: it
would break thy heart to know that thy son
is a wretched and degraded being--a mis-
cradle outcast from society"
He turned slowly away. Deep within an
adjoining forest, was dell where the beams
, OF the sun scarce ever penetrated. Tall
trees grew on either side, whose branches.
meeting above, formed canopy of leaves,
where the birds built their nests, and pour
ed forth happy songs Thither the drunk
f ard bent his steps. 1t had been his favorite
haunt in the days of his childhood, and as
; he threw himself upon the soft green sward,
t the recollectons of past scenes came crow
y ding over his mind. He covered his face
with his hands, and the prayer of the prod.
| igal burst from his lps-"O God, receive
$ returning wandererw Suddenly a soft
arm was thrown around his neck, and
, sweet voice murmured-" He will forgive
you, father" Starting to his feet, the in
= Soi iutS saw otuhuiHS DClOiC Hill Ills YOUNG
f est daughter, child of six years.
"Why are you here, Annew he said, a.
, shamed that the innocent child should have
f witnessed his grief.
, I" | came to gather the lilies which grow
upon the banks" she replied see, have
, got my basket full, and now am going to
sell them'
asked the father, as he turned his eyes to
the basket, where, among the broad green
E leaves, the sweet lilies of the valley were
peeping forth.
The child hesitated; shethought she had
= said too much; perhaps her father would
: demand the money and spend it in the way
: in which all his earnings went.
f "You are afraid to tell me, Anne" said
her father, kindly "Well, do not blame
: you have no right to my children's con-
1 fidence."
f The gentleness of his tone touched the
o heart of the affectionate child. She threw
h Yes, father, will tell YOU Mother buys
a medicines for poor little Willie. We have
no other way to get it. Mother and Mary
e work all the time they can get, to buy
d bread"
a A pang shot through the inebriate's heart
j. 81 have robbed them of the comforts of
l. lfe," he exclaimed; " from this moment,
+ the liquid fire passes my lips no more"
d Anne stood gazing at him in astonish-
e ment. She could scarcely comprehend her
i fathers words; but she saw that some
t change had taken place. She threw back
j. her golden ringlets, and raised her large
e blue eyes, with an earnest look, to his face.
n "Will you never drink any more rum p
a she whispered timidly.
It "Nevert Anne" her father replied, SOL
If EMMY.
l. Joy danced in her eyes. "Then we will
y all be so happy" she cried, and mother
h won't weep any more. Oh, father, what a
IS happy home ours will be-"
h Years passed away. The words Of little
IF Anne, the drunkard's daughter, had proved
E. true. The home of the reformed man, hei
to father, was indeed a happy one. PLENTY
If crowned his board, and health and JOY
beamed from the faces of his wife and chill
dren-where once squalid misery alone
could be traced The pledge had raised
. him from his degradation, and restored hin
e once more to peace and happiness.