Kenosha tribune and telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1855-1855, 1855-04-19

III.
But who was Herbert Courtcnay, and
why should his grey hair, and thin, trans
parent hands be chronicled, when such
signs are common to every one that is old :?
Herbert Courtenay was not old; his years
numbered but fve-and- thirty his blood
was not dried up by the sapping hand of
age dissi patton with her licentious touch
had never stolen a single blush from his
cheek the hot blast of early sin had not
dried up the moisture of his once glistening
eye-that blast which parches whatsoever
it passes over, as the simoom does the foun-
tain and the shrub. His history is chronl-
cled because he became old in another way
than this.
Five and thirty years, then, was Herbert
Courtenay's present age, and it was trouble
that had made him old.
He had fought in the battle of life, and
been wounded and trampled under foot.
and defled with dust, and, for all this, he
had received no pay, no pension, no dis
charge The wrinkles in his cheeks. the
Wilderness of his transparent hands, the
grey hairs which covered his head, were
the uniform which such an one as he was
compelled to wear.
Herbert Courtenav dreamt not oe dis
charge-he felt that his destiny was to fight
on until he died.
Nor could he of whom we speak be SAID
to have been brought up from the first as
though he were to live and die in the war
fare of life. He had been Graded in luxu-
ry ever had he been whispered to in affec-
TONS softest tones he had the prospect
before him both of honor and of wealth /;
and all this he shared with sister lovely
as a sunbeam, holy as saint.
Surrounding Kim by all these blessings,
bert, as it were, in her strongest fortifica-
tons, and, although the tide of life's battle
surged to and fro against their base, it new
err threatened to rise on him, and engulf
him in its waves.
Thus he lived until he was eighteen /;
and then his father, ruined by an unfore-
seen calamity, fell by his own hand. Her
bert's intended property was sold; and,
without house or home, he left the grey
walls of the old mansion where his fathers
fathers had lived and died, and he bore
forth into the rude world these three things
"a widowed mother helpless sister !!
and stricken heart
Thus did this grey haired man first be-
come enlisted in the army which, in tears,
wretchedness. and long endurance, fights
the battle of life.
1t was bright summer evening, and
Herbart Courtenay. with his sister Edith,
sat, for the last time. in their favorite ar
Dor, for tomorrow they were to leave the
manor house, where they had hoped to live
and die.
They had visited each we'll known tree,
they had been 20 say " farewell" to each
humble friend, and the last hour of day
light had been allotted 10 this cherished
spot. The setting sun was reflected on the
little lake which lay motionless at their feet !;
there was not even a murmur amongst the
tall branches of the trees which were above
their heads; the only sound that was heard
was the hum Of the myriad insects which,
like foolish men, were ending in sport and
merriment their little day Of life. Some
thing very solemn was there in this still
ness for long time the brother and sis
ter disturbed il not they were listening