The Richmond palladium. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1855-1875, 1862-12-12


stance which happened in the family of a
friend and correspondent of mine in the
city of Boston, some ten years ago the his
tory of which will commend itself to the
heart OF every father and mother who has
anv sympathy With. or affection for, their
children. That it is entirely true, you may
be we'll assured / was convinced of this
, when | opened the letter from L. H. B.
-. which announced il. and in the de-
/, tail Of the event which was subsequently,
furnished me.
| A few weeks before he wrote be had
buried his eldest son, . fine. manly little
! fellow, of some eight years of age. who had
never, he said, known days illness until
that which finally removed him hence to be
here no more. His death occurred under
circumstances which were peculiarly pain
| full TO his parents. A younger brother, q
delicate, sickly child from its birth, the
next in age to him, and had been down for
nearly fortnight with an epidemic fever.
| In consequences of the nature of the disease,
every precaution had been adopted that pru-
dence suggested to guard the other mem
bers Of the family against it. But of this
one, the fathers eldest. he said he had little
to fear, SO rugged was be and SO generally
healthy. Still, however, he kept a vigilant
eye upon him. and especially his going into
the pools and docks near his school, which
il was his custom sometimes to visit: for he
was but . boy, and "boys will be boys"
and we ought more frequently to think that
it is their nature to be. OF all unnatural
things, a reproach almost to childish frank
ness and innocence, save me from q "boy-
manv' But to the story.
One evening this unhappy father came
home, wearied with q long days hard labor,
and vexed at some little dissppoin,ments
which had soured his naturally kind dispo-
sitlon. and rendered him peculiarly suscepti-
BILE to the smallest annoyance. While he
was sitting by the fire, in this unhappy mood
of mind, his wife entered the apartment. aud
said:
"Henry has just come in. and he is per-
feet fright! He is covered from head TO foot
with dock mud, and is as wet as a drowned
rat"
"Where is be?" asked the father, sternly.
"He is shivering over the kitchen fire
He was afraid to come up here when the
girl told him you had come home"
"Tell Jane to tell him to come here this
instantl' was the brief reply to this informs-
ton.
Presently the poor boy entered half per-
ished with alright and cold. His father
glanced at bis sad plight, approached him
bitterly with his disobedienc.. spoke of the
punishment which awaited him in the morn
ing, as the penalty Tor his offence; and in
harsh voice concluded with:
''Now, sir. go TO your bed!'
''But, iather.' said the little fellow. Il
want to tell YOU
mot word. sir; go to your bed!'
II only wanted to say, iather. that
With a peremptory stamp. an imperative
wave of his hand toward the door. and
frown upon his brow. did that father, with
out other speech. again close the door of
explanation and expostulation.
When his boy had gone supperless and
sad to his bed, the father sat restless and
uneasy while supper was being prepared.
and at lea table ate but little. His wife saw
the real cause, or the additional cause of his
emotion, and interposed the remark:
II think, my dear. you ought at least to
have heard what Henry had to say. My
heart ached for him when he turned away.
with his eyes full Of tears. Henry is good
boy after all, il he does sometimes do wrong.
He is a tender hearted affectionate boy. He
always was"
A i'd therewithal the water stood in the
stood in the eyes OF Mercy. in "the house of
the Interpreter" as recorded by Bunyan.
After tea. the evening paper was taken
interest for that father in the journal of that
evening. He sat for some time in an evil
IDENTIFY painful reveric. and then rose and
repaired to his bed chamber. AS he passed
the bedroom where his little boy slept, he
al H. L. haf>
retiring to rest. He crept to his low cot
down the boys cheek, and rested upon it;
bat be was sleeping calmly and sweetly.--
The father deeply regretted his harshness
as he gazed upon his son; he felt also the
sense of duty yet in the night, talking
resolved and promised. instead of punishing.
as be had threatened. to make amends to
the boy aggrieved spirits in the morning for
planstion of his offence.
But that morning never came to the poor
child in health He awoke the next morn
ing with raging fever on his brain, and
wild with deliriun. In forty-eight hours
father nor his mother, when they first called
ward Waiting, Watching for one token of
recognition, hour after hour. in speechless
agony, did that unhappy father bend over
the couch of his dying son. Once. indeed.
he thought he saw smile of recognition
light up his dyins, eye. and he leaned eager
" forward, for he would have given worlds
to have whispered one kind word IN his
ear. and have been answered; but that
gleam of apparent intelligence passed quick
iy away. and was succeeded BY the cold.
glare. and the wild tossing of
the fevered limbs, which lasted until death
came to his relief.
Two days afterwsrd the undertaken came
with the little coffin, and his son play
mate of the deceased boy, bringing the low
stools on which il was to stand in the entry
hall .t. .r- --.
II was with Henry" said the lad. "when
be got into the water. We were playing
down 1t she Long Wharf. Henry, and Frsuk
Asmford. aud 1; and the tide xas ont very
49, go hcsm r,1n ont from,