New Oregon plaindealer. (New Oregon, Iowa) 1859-1866, 1861-03-01

did not see John again for -four
years, [ reached his house in, the eve
ming. He was not in; but bis wife and
mother were there to receive me, and
two curly-headed boys were playing
about Ellen's chair. l knew at once
th.y were my friends children. Every.
thing seemed pleasant, until the little
ones were in bed and asleep, and then
could sec that Ellen was troubled
She tried to hide it, but face so used
tothe sunshine of smiles could not con
cea( a cloud. .. ....'' ..s .. B..
At length John came. His face was
flushed and his ey es looked inAamsd. -
He gnsped my hand with a happy
laugh, called me 'old fellow 'old dog,
said I must come and live with him, and
many other extravagant things. His
wife tried to hide her tears, while his
mother shook her head and said:
He'll SOW his wild oats soon; my
darling can never be a bad man, 1891.
'Ged grant it, l thought to myself;
and knew that same prayer was upon
Ellen's lips. r. >. ....r
1t was late when we retired, and we
might not have done so even then, had
not John fallen asleep in his chair.
On the following morning I walked
out with my friend. Isaid was sor-
ry to see him as I saw him Ethe night
before.
'Oh,' said he, with laugh, 'oh, that
was nothing, only a little wine party
We hsd glorious time. wish you
had been thcre.4 .. ...
At first I thought I would say no
more, but was is not my duty? I knew
his nature better than he knew it him.
self. Iknew how kind and generous he
was-alas, too kind, too generous.
John. could you have seen Ellen's
face last evening, you would have trem-
bled. Can you make her unhappy?
He stopped me with, Don't be fool.
Why shonld she be unh appyP
Because she fears YOU are gong
down hilp I told him.
Did she say so,' he asked with a
flushed face.
\ NO, read it in her looks,' I said.
Perhaps reflection of yonr own
thoughts he suggested.
Surely l thought so when you came
home,' I replied. ~ .s,.
Never can I forget the look he gave
me then, so full of reproof, of surprise,
ofpain. s.'. ."..
Co. I forgive you, for IKnow
you to be my friend; but never speak
to me like that again. l going down
hill! you know better. That can never
be. know my own power, and know
my wants. My mother knows me bet
ter than Ellen does.'
Ah, had that mother been as wise as
she was loving, she would have seen
that the wild oats which her son was
sowing would grow up and ripen to
furnish seed for resolving. But she
loved him loved him almost too we'll
Or l should say too blindly.
But 1 could say no more-1 only
prayed that God would guard him; and
then we conversed GU other subjects. =
could spend but day with him, bnt
we promised to correspond often.
Three years more passed, during which
John Anderson wrote to me at least
once month, and oftener sometimes;
but at the end of that time his letters
ceased coming, and received no more
for two years, when ! again found my
self In his native town. 1t was early
in the afternoon when 1 arrived, and
took dinner at the hotel.
/ had finished my meal and was
.lounging in front Of the hotel, when
saw q funeral procession winding into a
distant church yard. | asked the land
lord whose funeral it was. gd
Mrs. Anderson's,' he said. As he
spoke / noticed slight dropping of the
a.. L.. 4e COS, go 80 -t.t.-l