The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1859-06-30

cause L cannot talk ABOUT IL yet. III is SO ureau-
full to think that may have cut him off from
all the good that he would have been so happy
in doing-perhaps for his whole life-and then
to have them all so forgiving and SO kind
and good to me But know that he will be
very happy still, in other ways; and so shall +
in helping him to be so-after we have got over
our first disappointment. His loss will be my
gain, for now 1 shall always have him with me.
1t is such blessing to have him to take care
Of Come again and talk with me, when can
behave better
She struggled with herself, gave him sweet
and grateful though fearful look, and again
left the room.
Poor child" said the old clergyman,
poor dear childl" but he said no more.
DR.. Brodie was the last physician consulted.
He returned from Europe near the end OF Sep
TENDER, and was summoned at once. Herman
had an interview of an hour with him within
closed doors. Edward met him in the passage
when he came ont, and was about to question
him but he only cried, Poor lad poor lad :"
shook &ands hastily, pushed by him, sprang'
into his gig, refusing all offers of hospitality,
and drove off without seeing Constance or Clara.
All the rest of that day, Herman, exhausted,
lay like a dead man, his hands folded on his
breast, his fixed white face upturned, and eye
lids closed. He was looking into his own tomb.
1t looked somewhat black to him, as it is wont
TO do when it gapes suddenly for the onward
fort of man young, and rich In happiness,
hope, and PROMISE until his eyes become &C
customed to it. He did not sleep great deal
through the night, but still lay quietly, and Ed
ward who had shared his chamber since his
weakness had increased, thought Ire perceived,
by the uncertain glimmer of the night lamp,
whenever he awoke, that his brothers lips were
moving silently, as if in prayer.
The next morning he was better, spoke cheer
fully, rose, and dressed as usual When he had
sent the two girls out to walk, as he did every
day, he rolled his easy-chair up to large
old wooden sea-chest, which, to his high de-
light, had been given him for a treasury, when
he first came to the farm house as a child. Her
man was always creature Of Observanccs; and
it had been his within to lay up here some char
acteristic token of every one OF his afterwards
yearly pigrimages to the sea-shore. There was
throughout in him, as there always is in full and
complete natures, a remarkable mixture OF
youth and age. He had been, as soon as he
had fair chance to be so, a manly child. He
was child-like man.
| The key of the chest was on his splitring.
He unlocked and opened it, while Edward stood
beside him, and took out the dated relics, one
by one, reading pensvely in the associations
which chung to them, as if in hieroglyphic
record, the annals of his brief past life. There
were the shells, picked up on the beaches, OF
the first summer, in a manycOlOred paper-box
of Clara's making; the bow and arrows of the
next; the geological specimens of the third
and the boyish pencil sketches of the fourth
There was n duet bearing the autograph OF
| Constance, and the date of his twenty first
year-the very year in which he first knew her
and at whose close the joint tragedy OF their
two young lives began There was the huge elk
horn of the next, brought from the West-and
so on in due order, to the bullet which came
so near his life in Kansas but for the two last
summers, and for this one, as yet there was an
omission.
He proceeded to supply it. Edward, at his
request, brought him his dressing case. He
took from it a twisted paper, which proved to
contain two small sticks of ash-wood, richly
carved and ornamented, as if with pen
knife. From the window-frame of my cell
in the penitentiary," said he, quietly, looking
up at his brother. They repaired 1t while
l was there, and begged enough of the old
wood for these. | carved one of them each
year." The longer of these sticks bore, in
black-lette characters, the inscription, Ienu'
per martirio,' and the shorter, $ In qaestd
pace" besides the respective dates on each OF
the summers of his imprisonment. Leaning
back at his ease in his chair, he addressed him
self leisurely, with his transparent, slender,
blue-veined hands, to the task of fitting and
rveting the two pieces together, in the form OF
a cross. He added to the foot of this the
words Laus Dec - with the date of the cur
rent year, and laid it with the former relics i'll
the chest. Next he took out bunch of with
cred roses in a cornucopia, of manuscript that
lay in a corner by itself, locked the box, and
| said to Edward, "The tide is high, is it not
The water sounds near. Will you go out with
me? | should like row."
The tide was very high. Though the blue
and diamond-sprinkled water was calm and
smooth, it FLASHED among the round blue peb
bles within few yards of the back door and
along half the length of the boat, so that Ed
ward had no difficulty in supporting his broth
er's few unsteady steps to it, and embarking
him in it. There had been an early frost, and
the shores were gorgeously tapestried with
leaves dying gloriously. The crickets were
peacefully singing the dirge of the year. The
day was one of perfect Indian summer, warm
soft, and bright, though misty and tender; and
the very soul of such day seemed living in
the young mans wasting but TRANSPORTED face
as he turned, after a long gaze before and
around him, to exclaim, Dear Edward, what
a pleasure you are giving me! How good ii
is to have suffered, to hare suffered does he
say, already? thought Edward, and then to
have ones troubles clear away, and yield one
back to freedom and friendship, and such
scenes as this How sweet, and bright, and
calm, and happy it all looks |"
a. How sweet and bright, and calm, and
happy you look YOURSELF" thought Edward,
bitterly. "You know how it will be in another
month, with the scene you revel in. How, think
you, will it be with you?" He groaned, invol
unfairly.
"Are you in pain? Unwell? must not
keep you rowing too long. Time flies fastest
over the waves and | forget how it goes
Turn back, if you are tired; or, better still,
draw In the oars, and let US hoat."
any dear fellow, do you suppose could be
tired of rowing you all day long, while l saw
you enjoy it SOP"
"God bless you, no! l do not. Don't be
too kind to me, Ned You are all quite dear
enough to me, already; and you, in particu
lar, must take care not to wear yourself out
for one man sometimes finds himself suddenly
called upon to fill the place of two"
"What do you mean, my dear boy?"
"Not to trouble you until l must, at any
rate and i did not mean to say that. Never
mind. If you are really not tired let us &c
over there to Rose Rock. l set my heart upon
it before | came out and came out on purpose
but the weather, and the day, and the delight
of being on the water once more with you, in
the air and sunshine, put everything else Out
of my head"
Rose Rock was, at high tide, an island about
forty feet long; at low water, peninsula
The sides were hung with dripping sea-weeds
but on the top there was sprinkling of thin
soil beneath the crisp lichens and green velvet
moss. In July, wild ebushes blossomed
there. They were now full of scarlet berries