New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1852-11-01

M IL fair white paper and Of these crnmbled
scraps Herbert used to cut angels and oherubs'
heads. which he would sit and look at for hours
torether md then he would pray as if in o
tranue- 80 earnest and heartfelt was itr-while
tears Of love, not grief, would stream down his
face, as his lips moved in blessings on that young
maiden child.
long and brayelY; but death is hard adver-
sary, and cannot be withstood, even by the
strongest. It came, stealing over him like an
evening cloud over star-leaying him still
beautiful. while plotting out his light--sotten-
ing and purifying, while slowly obliterating his
place Day by day, his weakness increased
day by day, his pale hands grew paler, and his
hollow cheek more wan. But the love IN his
boys heart hung about his sick bed as flowers
that have an eternal fragrance from their birth.
Jessie was ever daily visitor. though no
longer now d scholar and her presence had all
the effect of religion on the boy--he was so
calm, and still, and holy, while she was there.
When she was gone, he was sometimes restless,
though never peeyish but he would get nefy-
ous and unable to fix his mind on anything, his
sick head turning necessarily to the window, as
| if vainly Watching for a shadowy hope. and his
thin fingers plucking ceaselessly at his bed
clothes, in restless. weary, unsoothed sorrow
| While she sat by him, her voice sounding like
| low music in his ears, and her hands wandering
about him in q thousand offices of gentle COM
| forting, he was like a child sinking softly to
sleep-a soul striving upward to its home, beck
oned on by the hands of the holier sister be-
fore it.
And thus he died-in the bright spring time
of the year, in the spring Of his life. Love
had been the cradle-song Of his infancy. love
was the requiem of his youth. His was no ro-
mantle fable, no heroic epic; adventures, pas
sions, fame, made up none of its incidents; it
was simply the history Of boys manful stug-
| Cling against fate-of the quiet heroism Of en-
! durance compensated by inward satisfaction, If
not by actual happiness.
True, his career was in the low-lying paths
| Of humanity; but twas none the less beautiful
and pure, for it is not deeds, it is their spirit,
which makes men noble, or leaves them stained.
| Had Herbert Lawson been a warrior, statesman,
hero, philosopher, he would have shown no other
nature than that which gladdened the heart OF
his widowed mother, and proved life's instruc-
| ton Of Jessie Hamilton, in his small deeds OF
love and nntaught words of faith in the solitude
of that clearinghouse Brave, pure, noble,
| then, his sphere would only have been enlarged,
and with his sphere the weight and power of his
character; but the spirit would have been the
same, and in the dying child it was as beautiful
as it would have been in the renowned philoso-
pher.
We have given this simple story-simple in
all its bearings-as an instance Of how much
real heroism is daily enacted, how much true
morality daily cherished, under the most unfay-
orable condition. A widow and her young son
cast on the world without sufficient means Of
living--a brave boy battling against poverty
and sickness combined, and doing his small en-
deavor with manful constancy-a dying youth,
whose whole soul is penetrated with love, as
with a divine song; all these are elements of
trlle human interest and these are circum-
stances to be found in every street of a crowded
city. And to such as these is the divine mis-
sion Of brotherly charity required; for though
poverty may not be relieved by reason of our
inability, suffering may always be lightened by
our sympathy. 1t takes but a word Of love, a
glance Of pity, gentle kiss of atfection-it
takes but an hour Of our day, a prayer at night,
and we may walk through the sick world and
the sorrowiul as angels dropping balm and COM
fort on the wounded. The cup of such human
love as this poured freely out will prove in truth
{" twice blessed returning back to our hearts
the peace we have shed on others. Alas alas
how thick the harvest and how few the reapers