Brookville American. [volume] (Brookville, Ind.) 1858-1861, 1860-01-20

other companions could be seen by th
few occupants of the little boat in whicl
Amy remained, nestled in the arms o
the humane sailor.
"Poor child" said John Wellman, hal
forgetting his own grief in tho destitu
tion of his helpless, shlvcring charge
'sIf IL please God thut we be picked al
will be both father and mother to yol
though my hut by the sen shore Is bu'
humble To what you must have known
II is only my duty, now that your pa
rents arc swallowed up forever
In the course of the day, n vessel hove
IN sight, and rescued the survivors in
tho boat; and, in duo time. John Well.
man and his parentless charge arrived
nt the cottage by the sea, from which he
had aDsented himself for u few months
cruise.
The sobbing child soon hushed her
grief and learned To love her rough, but
tendcr.hearted prsservcr. Hohad learn
ed ber name on board the Curlew, and
subsequent tidings convinced him that
she was an utter orphan. He was u
lonely man, and tho presence Of his
adopted daughter gave light to his dwell
ling, and made tho fsherman's labors
less irksome.
As she grew up, Amy helped to pre-
pare his meals when she was not ut the
village school, u mile away, and 10 re-.
pair his nets on tho sandy beach; and
performed thousand childish offices
for him with an affectionato cheerful
ness, which proved her rs gratful as
sho was lovely; and often, for hours,
she would stand on the hill which rose
behind the cottage, and watch his dist
ant sail, Ms he persued his avocatior-
clapping her hands with delight whom
sho saw that homeward sail cnarging
on her vision. And whom, ut tunes, in
his visits 10 tho town, he would leave
her there alone, she would climb that
hill with u mournful face, to look out
alone on tho dark sea, and mediate
with childish iancics upon tho wide anu
melancholy grave of the parents she
could scarcely remember
"I wish that my Heavenly Father had
been kind enough to spare them to me, :"
she would reflect "that | might be- rs
good 70 thcm MS try to be to Mr.. Well
man. should have been so happy
But since | cannot be good to them, |
hope that God will teach mo 10 do as
they would have had mo do to others;
for then | know shall please them in
heaven; aud when die lie will take me
whero they are. oh, how pleasant il
would be.
"You arc too melancholy, my little
I.L ~
say to Amy, when she was in her mus
ing. mpods "You must learn TO sing
and play as the ladies do in tho village
And now | think of II, | remember how
very fond of music your father and
mother were when we were aboard that
unluchy ship. have heard them play
aud sing in tho captains cabin; aud /
reckon more sweetcr music was never
pipcd nor larnt than what heard then"
The girls eyes gistened with tears,
and her earnest look sank into the sal.
Iors heart. as she said, imploringly:
"Oh, did they sing and play, too?--
And were they so fond of it2 Oh, if |
could only bo taught-oh. If | only
could. If they could not hear me up
in heaven, if could learn to sing well.
could at least please those who loved
music like them, aud that-and that
(and sho sobbed violently "would be
something to think of oh, do, Mr..
WeIlman.-do let me learn to sing and
play MS my father and mother Gid, and
then will bless you"
And she cung TO his neck and kissed
him passionately.
"l will see what can be done for you
my bonny bnnting," he said; "and be
sides making you cheerful, it may be
the means OF getting you living, when
| am dead and gone my little sweet "
John WclIman soon found in tho vii
lagc lady who was kind enough to
teach the orphan girl for nothing, find
ing how tractablo and remarkably
proficient a scholar she proved TO be;
and twice week, for n long time, Amy
Jordaine. at the ago OF twelve, received
aer vocal and instrumental lessons, TIL
her wonderful voice and excellence rs
o pianistc became the talk of the village,
and the pride of the village church,
whore every Sabbath she sang.
The orphans filial and romantic wish
was being .ealizcd, and with thankful
heart she always returned to the cot
tsge, whtn one day, as she entered there
to please tho wcathor-beaten fisherman
with a now song she had learned, she
found her benefactor lying dead upon
the foorl A fatal fit had seized upon
him while she was away, and alone and
unseen, his honest spirit fled to God.
Her horror, her wretchedness, ut that
awful sight, might have frightened a
less noble mind, or less atlectionatc
heart; but. with heroic iortitude and her
utmost effort, unused to d ath as she
was, she ccntrivcd to lifl his body TO
the bed; and there she knelt, and sob
bing, prayed for him TO the listening
God OF the orphan, of her parents, and
Of him, her second father. Then she
fed to the village for assistance, and,
AFTER the funeral which followed, she
took up her abode in the house OF her
music teacher, Mrs Covcrly, the second
friend raised up to her by Providence,
But though she could not bear to
wander by the cottage more, the sc ,nes
around it were long vivid in her faith
fuI memory, and many a solitary hour
of weeping evinced the fidelity OF the
orphans soul to the poor fisherman who
had preserved her from death, and pro-
tected and made happy her young
and youthful years.
'.lt was he who told me to learn to
Io.,, "A ,af * a.