Grand River times. [volume] (Grand Haven, Mich.) 1851-18??, 1852-04-06


betokening the immense suffering he experien-
ced; not to any one would he unbosop the
woes that distracted his bosom, although often
would he deplore his state in language earnest,
affecting, eloquent. Sunset and twilight found
him solitary and alone within those walls But
as the shades of evening deepened into dark
ness, ne started forth in slow and measured tread
to, gain his lodgings Often did he stop and
gaze above, around; he seemed to feel an as
suranee that he was near some point fruitful in
result, the climax of life. 1t was not the scat
tered ideas of confused conception; it was
not the hydra form presented by deranged in
tellect; it was not the formless fittings of an
impaired fancy-no, it was firm, settled con-
clusion. His mind was clear, yes clearer far
than usual, he was we'll aware ;at each and every
step he took, it seemed he was stepping off the
shore Of time into tnat he could not fathom.-
He gained his place of board and secretly en-
for two long days had reigned supreme. He
was not long left in dire suspense, if yet a
doubt remained of heavens decree and the
speedy execution of the mandate. The purple
current burst the shattered vessels that con-
tanned it, and literally poured from his mouth
and nose in torrents both long and copious-
The deed was done, it left to his well balanced
mind the naked truth, without the shadow of
doubt. Gathering up the strength Of manhood
left, he went below and to the lady of the house
the fact revealed. He was assisted to bed,
(for help he askcd), from which he never rose.
The last bright morning dawned to him in
life, a day of long remembrance to the by
ISLANDERS around that couch; not word escaped
his lips touching the anguish of his soul. But
the expression of countenance, spoke much, re-
vealed volumes untold, unuttered. He knew
for pains of body all done for his relief that
human skill could do and heart of man devise.
Ere the day had waned away, he felt he could
not hold his peace and smother duty in his
bosom until the grave closed DER him, an ac-
acknowledgements from himself and forgiveness
of his father. 1t appeared the only wish now
left that he could hear the parents answer to
his, the sons petition. A messenger was at
once despatched, the distance being but few
miles, with his request.
He found extended on bed of long protrac-
ted sickness, pale, emaciated and infrm old
man, whose flowing locks all whitened for the
winding Sheet long as wild courser's, lay
spread around his paid face: he it was whose
son was dying. 1t was an only son. He who
had long been beyond his sight, although often
near. The only staff now left him of all that
once were gathered round the sacred altar, for
wife and children, one after another, each in
their turn when called, had stepped behind that
dark, deep curtain, out of sight and he was left
alone save one, and that one seeking pardon for
his conduct. He who had struggled with adver-
sity, until weary nature was well nigh spent,
for whom death was making up bed of qiuet-
ness; now was asked boon by this prodigal
son. Notwithstanding his course of life had
furrowed deep his brow and caused his heart
strings often to sting with anguish, that last
request was granted, his pardon freely given,
while walking along the brink of that dread
precipice, holding on to time as if to find some
spot more favored than another, some gentle
slope where he could slide down without the
fear of harm. He, like one of old, while
stepping off the brink of time, granted forgive
ness to rebel, and like him would ioyed to
have borne him in his arms to happier climes,
was he wanting knowledge of the way. The
returned to the bedside of the son
he lived to hear the answer to his last request
of earth or earthly things. My tale is almost
told-sufiice to say, death was standing at the
door. His manly form in twice twelve hours had
become comparatively shadow, his eyes sunk
almost out of sight beyond his heavy eyebrows,
his once full cheeks hung down beside his face,
all thin and wan, yet apparently his mind was
clear, not even u flush of unconsciousness pass
ed before his senses.
After receiving his fathers pardon, wholly,
freely given, summoning the little strength now
left to his assistance, raised his hands and clasp
ing them above his head, made the leap of dark
ness, and with his last drawn labored breath, in
tones unearthy exclaimed, "'Tis strange
should be judged so soonw He was dead.
Around him in that dread hour was no wife, no
sister, no relative TO sooth the parting pang, or
close the eyes as coldness crept over him. His