Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1855-10-05

sum Of two thousand dollars, forged
the professors signature, and drew
the money. Utterly desperate, he
started that night for New Y rk, and
Two DAYS after, finding a ship to sail
for Callao, he took passage in her, and
in four months found bimselfin Lima.
For three years and over he was a
wanderer--a wanderer through the
cities and wilds Of South America.
His nervous brain would never lie, him
rest. and so he continued to study
and TO learn, always having with him
one or more books, from which he
acquired the languages in which he
became SO proficient. He rosmed
into the heart Of Peru, lived for
months among The natives on the
banks Of the wildly flowing Amazon,
roved over the broad Pampas, lived
the life OF an outcast--but always
looking to the Lethe Of forgctfu!ness.
AT last his means were exhausted,
and in utter despair again, he went
on board an American ship at Valpa-
ra'so, and worked his passage home,
hoping that he and his crime were
forgotten, and yet he might find his
Lethe among his fellow men, and in
tending, if il was a lilies labor, to
atone, as fully Us he could, for his
youths crime. An advertisement
had attracted him to the Office Of the
Morning., after he had spent
days Of hunger, and nights OF restless
ness and sorrow.--ln the humble
guise and employment Of newspe-
per reporter, he had hoped to pass
unheeded by the world, and with
singular lack Of prudence, 10 say the
least, which | afterwards wondered
at, did not even change his name.
But some sharp eye had seen him,
and reward was set upon his head.
This was his sad tale. He told il
to me through tears and sobs, and
when he had concluded, l again Of
fered him words Of comfort and Of
hope but they came too late, fell
upon his ear with no joyful sound.
He seized ne by the hand, and say
ing Goodbye, Ned. God bless you.'
rushed from my attic, while l
struggled to deiain him. BIT he was
gone, and never saw him more.
A few months afterwards, inspired
with the love oil adventure, and the
hope perhaps Of military glory, | left
for California then o new aud al
most unknown land. My own wild
life, now in the soldiers tent, or by
The bivouac fire, and then by the side
of the cold mountain streams, search
ing for the golden treasures, which
they bore down with them, had al
most erased from my memory the
name even Of my poor friend. Ia
the early part Of i849, however ]
came to San Francisco, and entering
one day the office oil the Alta Coh-
JorHra, PtvAoS sP. cory sSsl.s Aosa-
"S VIZ f"PCs va WutCu "
and l had labored together. had
not seen one before for over two
years, and the sight Of it recalled
him again to my memory. BY some
singular fatality, my eye rested At
once upon the lis, Of deaths. II was
headed by the following: KILLED,
by whale, in the Sea of Ochotsk,
G-A-M-, only son of tho
late Rev. DR.. M, formerly off,
This was his only epi,aph. Tho
wild, cold waves of that northern sea
were washing his whitening bones.
He had passed through the cloud,
which death hangs over hfe's path
way. He had lifted the veil which
hides to mortal eyes that future,
where the shadows lic.' He had At
last been buried in The Lethe Of For.
geifuIness, or rather, had he not
awakened to tibet brighter, purer,
happier life, whose earliest dawninR,
casting its gentle sunshine on the
Past, giIds it's virtues with such gol-
den brightness, tina, its errors are not
seen m