Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1855-01-12

'
And could not make a like appeal to
you in behalf Of my stnr,ing-dying wiiel"
" Starting, did you say Bless me !
Bad-very bad, indeed !"
Yes sir-l am compelled to admit the
terrible truth. My poor, dear wife is actual
/ " dying from want of the simple necessarics
! Of life. have not myself tasted food for
nearly twcnty-lour hours"
/ l." Dear me you do not say sol That is
. bad-vcry bad. indeed might say distress
sinr, Your case is unfortunatc--but we
4 ma Ike it a rule not to notice these outside APP
plications That is the point. | must refer
| YOU to the Benevolent Associations. Sorry,
| sr-yery. As am quite engaged at present
/ must beg Of you to excuse Inc. Good morn
/ ing
/ Henry Erstnc turned away with sad
heart. lie sought his little room once more;
but its chill, cold atmosphere seemed more
genial than the cold, hcartlcss soul Of the
wealthy publisher
Mr. Scriptor was blessed ~ with an ex-
trayagant but kind hearted wife. Often
times she had distributed little neccssaries
and comforts among the destitute and now
the present trying times demanded her attcn-
tion and sympathy yet the more. g could
not refuse a morscl Of bread or a little money
]
did not for moment occur to her that $50
of the s. 900 paid for her shawl, would have
procured her one as comfortable and elegant
as she could desire, while the remaining
$3.50 would have made many-oh, how many
miserable families happy, alleyiated the pa in
of the suffering, and warmed the desolate
hearth stone. \ nelghbor had that after
noon called her attention to very sad but
interesting case which had just come to her
knowledge, and she had but now returned
from her crrand of mercy. Mr. Scriptor met
her upon the doorstep of his mansion.
My dear husband SAID she with ear
nestness pray do be good enough to come
with me a moment, to see a poor woman"
" Oh, bother, replied he petulantly. g
have enough to do to attend to my own busi-
ness, without looking up yagabonds and i'm
posters.
1t is but II step she persisted " re-
ally feel an interest in this pitiable case. |
am confident that they are neither yagrants
nor impostors, but true objects of sympathy.
Come, do, husband
Mr.. Scriptor mutterd something about the
- trouble rnlnd "r Nc com fnrter. and
buttoned his overcoat still higher under his
chin, and followed his wife in logged silence
with feelings not exactly Christian.
They proceeded some ways up the broad
avenue Stately and imposing fronts of mar
bic and freostonc rose maicstically on either
side, They turned the nearest corner-a
very little way and entered a small tenement
low and desolate, where the faint ray of sun
light that bctimes crept in, served but to re-
veal more distinctly the wretchedness of the
cheerless home. 1t was n single room. such
as the poor only inhabit, yet it was neat
very neat \ small table, a single chair and
pallet of straw, were the only furniture \
few leaves OF manuscript and pen, now idle,
lay upon the table.
No answer was heard to Mrs Scriptor's
knock at the door, and she lifted the latch
tinidly. and entered. The poor mans wife
lay upon her couch, pale, but beautiful, her
skin 50 transparent and delicate that YOU
eE"a haHe ave assp ssHn u tie es ehsHIq9d c9nrsng
sation of the heart. But all was still now.
The form was chiseled-not animate. The
husband leaned upon the bedside. lie did
not weep; but his eyes gazed vacantly into
those deep blue orbs that seemed now to
stare 50 wildly at him-so souless-irom be-
meath the long dark lashcs. lie did not no.
ticc the intrusion, but dreamed on.
The rich man and his wife stood intcntly
gazing at the scene. The face of the mourner
at the bedside was partly ayertcd, but
Scriptor was carefully scrutinizing the ica-
lures,
- Gracious goodness :" he exclaimed "ls
it possible 1t is hc-it is -
" Who, my dear, who is it - asked his
wife i'll astonishmcnt.
/" The man at the bedside moved slightly.
For the first time he seemed conscious of the
presence of others. Scriptor placed his hand
gently upon his shoulder, and whispered
- Harry Erstine l''
The author turned his face towards him,
and faint smile moved the muscles of his
mouth. lie was calm, but deadly pale. lie
shook his head quietly, and murmured, - too
late-too late ~
No, hope not. Here; take this. For
give me- did not know-this morning -
Very sorry-yery sorry indeed ~ lie flung
down II $50 dollar note, and would have
placed it i" 'ha yonng mans hand. But he
pushed it aside gently, shook his head mourn
fully, and pointed to his wife
Mrs. Scriptor had approached the bed and
was looking intently at the still form upon it,
- She is dcad ~ alt is, indeed, TOO late ~
The young man buried his face in his
| hands and wept. Scriptor left $50 note
beside him and then took his departure. They
could not intrude upon the affecting sorrows
OF the lone mourner ner,-heart-stricken and
| dcsOlate The rich publisher returned to his
/ own comfortable home and cheerful fire side
but he sat silent and thoughtful His con-
science smote him, that he had not proffered
succor before it was " too iQte, and the i'm
| age of that far being, cold and dead, yet
beautiful, and the mute grief of the broken
| hearted husband haunted him in his slum-
bers.
The next day the authors wife was bur
ried and she now sleeps peacefully in Green
wood. The hoarse, wintry blasts, which
once whistled through the shattered tene-
mcnt in which she dwelt, and blew their chill
breath upon her,-now nightly chant their
requiem over her tomb, but she heeds it not.
Her sleep is undisturbed for she now rests,
free from the bitter trials and cares of life
These sad events are, as it were of but
yesterday--C. H.-Journai of Commerce.