Eastern times., 1855-09-13


hour before. Conscience smitten, returned
to my office, and met the boys anxious look
as | entered the door. told him had Just
been to see about the promised situation, and
it was taken. Yet, thought could get him
place soon. He thanked me, but his heart
was bursting. saw that an anxiety, terrible
for one so young, was wearing his life away.
The next day found him place, and en-
gagged it for him. sat in my Office writing,
when the door softly opened, and he entered.
He was pale, but calmer than had before seen
him.
Well, my fine fellow said |, Il have got
you place at last. You are to have twenty
five dollars a week, and you shall have a
whole months salary in advance, if you like. ,
He came towards me and handed me slip
of paper. 1t was a notice for the newspaper,
and announced the death Of his mother,
have had many severe crosses, my dear
Jim. | have felt that all was lost, and that
my life was not worth rush. ! have seen
my fondest hopes crushed by one fell blow, and
| have felt TO cry out in agony at the cruel fate
that pursued me. But all that / had ever suf
fered, was nothing to what felt when looked
on that pale. calm, intellectual boy, with his
bright, big, blue eye, gazing supernaturally
into mine, and thought how that, perhaps, but
for my neglect, his mother might then have
been alive. | know not how looked, or how
| actsia.but know that man never suffered
more ma short space of time than did. l
have never got over it yet, and | never shall.
You may not be able 10 realize the full force
of it, but 4 would not have the same touch of
heart-break agan,-no, not for all the lands
ever owned by McGregor.'
After that, tried to do what | could to
drive away the deep melancholy that seemed
TO have settled upon him. But he would not
be comforted. He seemed to be impressed
with the idea that here in San Francisco,
where so many live in extravaganza and splen-
dor, his only FRIEND his beloved and affection
ate mother, had been allowed to perish in abb
ject poverty and neglect. I attended the f1-
neral, and interested some Of my friends in the
case, SO that she had decent burial But the
boy thanked me not. How could he! Could
he feel gratitude that l had shown an interest
in the dead, which | had denied to the living
He seemed disinclined 10 receive any favor
from me, and his clear, calm, mild eve, was
too much for me to look at ! quailed before
II as | never quai!ed before That he might
not suppose that it was | who was acting in
his behalf, | got friend TO offer him stua-
ton why're he could earn more than his support
But he did not keep ii long. He grew paler
and paler each day, and soon was too weak 10
attend to his duties at all. I watched him
with more than fraternal interest, and / often
went TO see him at his room. 1t was evident
that he would soon die. procured watch
er for him, for my own presence seemed to
trouble him, and when I went the next day to
see hin, found that he was dead. He died,
as he had lived, cursing me, believe, in his
heart. | felt, while he lived, that his curse
was justly upon me, and have often recalled
the terrible lines of Coleridge:
g An orphans curse would drag to hell,
A spirit from high;
But oh, more terrible than that,
Is a curse in q dead mans eye r
He is dead now, dear Jim, but this lesson |
hare learned never again TO put off the busi
ness of another for the sake of my own. Life
or death may depend upon his, while mine,
you know, is of little Importance for though
life be at stake, ask why | should wish to
perpetuate SO ftful an existence IN. Y.
Leader