The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1856-06-19

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BILE journey were once well over
Mr.. Oakley glanced at Fanny, who, with a
musical laugh, was lifting two of the children
from the hurricane-deck, and did not wonder
that she thought she could do anything"
"Do you intend to remain in By" he
questioned.
"N-no; probably somewhere in the country
near. My husband has been there during the
summer"
This was said with hesitancy that limited
to Oakley what he afterwards found to be truth ;
that her husband, through his wife's extrava-
gance and his own unfortunate speculations,
had failed, and sunk from wealth to compare
tive poverty.
severe storm relieved the monotony of the
four days voyage. Few were spared by the
demon who rules on lake as potently as on sea,
and these few could hardly venture from their
berths with safety to life and limb, so violent
was the rocking of the vessel. Oakley had
succeeded in sliding into the cabin, and had
just taken possession of sofa, when he was
startled by fall and crash. To his astonish-
ment, Fanny Dunbar sprang up from the floor
upon which she had been 80 rudely thrown,
holding the fragments of glass that had dyed
her delicate fingers in their own crimson gore.
/" You have hurt yourself! How came you
hereP" cried Oakley, ere, by a series of awkward
cOntOtions, he gained the side Of the table which
now supported her.
"Oh, no, sir" she answered, with smile at
their mutual plight, as she wound her handker-
chief about the bleeding fingers; "but"-
Permit me to escort you to your state room,
and to bring you that glass of water. 1t is
really too rough 80 = - -
But, as he spoke, downward glance told him
that he had mistaken the contents of the bro
ken glass. A shadow clouded the fair face be.
side him.
81 was trying to carry this glass of brandy
to the steerage cabin, sir. There is misery
enough there-a poor, little, fatherless Irish
baby, dying in this hubbub of men and ele-
ments."
She lifted her eyes, glassed with tears.
81 will 60 with you'll" exclaimed Oakley. /
am clergyman, and perhaps -
al thought So" she interrupted, with bright,
sympathetic look. "Now, then, for our difficult
journey. l have gained little wisdom from
experience, believe. No, thank you; don't
try to hold me up; you would only cause a
double downfalli"
If the scene above stairs had been one OF
positive confusion and distress, that in the cabin
below demanded a superlative to describe it.
A band of Irish immigrants, poor, uncouth, and
filthy from careessness and long travel, lay piled
women, and children, food and clothing, were
rolling and pitching hither and thither, with
every wave. More than one sense revolted, as
George Oakley with difficulty followed Fanny
into the close, reeking atmosphere.
On bunk, furnished merely with Miss Dun
bars travelling shawl, lay poor, forlorn, rick.
ETY. child, breathing away its hopeless life. Its
mother chung frantically to the side, and drown.
ed with her screams the groans of the sea-sick
| and unsympathizing around her.
My baby! Mavourneen! It's dying he is,
and niver sowl to help! Oh, Howly Mither
We're the praste but nigh us!"
"Hush!" exclaimed Fanny, laying her hand
in q soothing manner, yet with authority, on
the arm of the writhing mourner. "Here is a
minister who has come to help you. Stand by
him, while do what l can for your baby"
She took in her hands the mis-shapen, cold
limbs of the half.clad child, and commenced
rubbing them with the spirit she had brought.
Then mixing few drops with water, she put
it to the blue lips but the sufferer was too far
gone. A few short, struggling breaths-and
the Irish baby needed no moreI
Now, turning to the agonized mother, Fanny
soothed her ss tenderly as sister might have
done, mingling her own tears with hers, and
leading her gradually-as George, hopeless OF
gaining ner attention for a moment, had with.
drawn to short distance-to think of the new
spirit born among the angels, rather than Of
the darling, though deformed child, lost to her
arms on earth. AT last, overpowered by watch
ing and grief she sunk down on the floor, with
her head in the young lady's lap, and fell into
heavy slumber. Oakley, at a sign, left the
Storage. Crossing the upper cabin, he heard
in a well-known, querulous tone
"Fannyl Where is Fanny? I've called
her dozen times! / do believe we skal al
go to the bottom tonight"
When George next descended, after the
storm had lulled, he found not Fanny there
but the mother, with subdued grief in her face
sat quietly gazing on the dead child, which
now washed and robed by Fanny's kind hands
was far less repulsive to the strangers eye than
In life. She listened now to the words of the
young clergyman gratefully and eagerly.
1t was with keen regret that George parted
from his new acquaintance at Chicago, where
their routes diverged.
off you will sometime come to our prairie
home, we will try to thank you for all your
care and trouble" said Fanny, holding out her
hand for frank goodbye, after she and her
companions had been safely established in the
low cabin of the canal-boat.
George had thought of STIMULATING the ex-
act terms in which those thanks should be paid,
but prudently held his peace.
"Oh, don't speak of our prairie home!'"
exclaimed the aunt. "Im sure shall be mis-.
cradle in this dreadful country"
~ am sure shall be happyi" said Fanny,
brightly. Happy in the exchange of fashion
and frivolty, for freedom and life in earnest!"
Her eyes sparkled as she closed. with a parting
smile and nod to the young clergyman, who
ever after carried daguerreotype Of that mo-
ment's look in his heart.
prairie, on bleak day of the following winter,
when sort of conveyance, called by courtesy
a sleigh, stopped at the door of a comfortable
Dollhouse, ON the borders of the woodland
"Ughl" exclaimed the sole occupant of the
vehicle, our friend George. ~ cannot go any
any farther tonight. It's sheer cruelty to my
horse; and 'merciful man has pity on his
beast as well as on himself 1 wonder what
hospitality this snug cabin can afford?"
Shaking the sleet from his rough greatcoat,
he walked toward the door. His tap was an
swered by small boy, whose countenance
struck him as familiar. But his own face was
so muffled in furs, and in red and yellow hand
kerchiefs, that to identify him would have been
almost impossible to his best friend.
He entered but one glance more arrested
his steps, and quickened the blood at lis heart
Close by the cooking-stove, with tuckedup
sleeves, Toured apron, and ladle poised over
sundry islands of dough floating in whirlpool,
stood-Fanny Dunbar!
At sight of a stranger, she dropped her ladIe,
skifully swung her kettle from its position,
pulled down her sleeves, and pulled off her
apron, all in the space of moment, and then
turned, with the grace of court lady, to do the
honors of the cabin. Her face was fire. flushed,
but unembarrassed, as she said
"Walk in, sir. Johnny, bring chair. My
l. -. L. L.