Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1862-09-29


Oh, in moment we may plunge our years
In fatal psnitence, and in the blight
or our soul turn all our blood to tears,
And color things to come with hues OF night;
The race OF life becomes . hopeless flight
To those that walk in darkness: on the sea,
Tue bsldsst steer but where their por's invite
Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd
ne'er shall be.
The means by which Providence reveals
its agency and accom- plishes its end, In the
government Of the world, are manifold and
often marvellously impressive. 1t is true,
we are no longer to expect miracles and
signs ard wonders, interfering with the
progress of events. That day is past
But that Providence sometimes employs
the agency Of dreams to bring about i'm
portant results Of justice, is apparently SO
strongly attested by experience, that it re-
quires more credulity to deny than to ad-
NIT the fact. History is fnll of examples.
How often, when the dread secret of the
manslayer seemed effectually hidden in
his own breast, and the prospect of impu.
nifty appeared absolutely impregnable, has
the slow moving finger of time paused and
pointed through some troubled slumberer's
vision, to the scene of blood, the guilty actor,
and the mouldering form of the victim!
For twenty years, Edmund Walton had
lived on a leasehold estate in a beautiful
village in Virginia. His good sense,
his honesty, his kind aud benevolent char
Rcter had eudeared him to both rich and
poor. His position in the world was some
what lower than that which he had once
hoped to take; he was the son of cler-
gyman, and had been destined to the
church, but the sudden death of his father,
at the time when Edward attained his six
teenth year, blighted his fair prospects,
Instead of being able to prepare himself
at the high school, he was condemned to
toll in the Office of an attorney. But Ed
mund had been reared amid the greer
woods and rugged hills of Western Vir
gina, end at the writing-desk Of the
gloomy chamber he found most wretched
substitute for the sunny plains, the smi-
ling valleys, and wooded heights of his
early home. The pleasant images of youth
and childhood often deepen the shadow:
of present dependency. But Walton
was practical mind, disposed to make th'
best Of his circumstances he resolved
therefore, to devote himself to agriculture
pursuits, and if, at times, memory brough
back the happy prospect Of his childhood
he banished these sad thoughts by indus
try and activity, or suffered them to b
dispelled, as if by magic, by a smile from
his dear wife, or the sportiye caresses G
his children. His education had been ex
cellent, for he had learned to value thing:
persons, and circumstances, according t
their real worth, and when he compare
his own lot with that of others, he foun
no reason to be dissatisfied with it; fo
though humble indeed, it was far from b.
ing needy; it assured him independence
and permitted him the exercise of hospi
tality. He passed his days in the wooe
and fields enjoying the beauties of natur
and his evenings in the midst of dear d.
mestc circle. There were few better {
happier men than Edmund Walton, an
few homes possessing more unaduterate
and simple enjoyment than bis. HapI
beyoLd expression is he whose privilel
it is to be the beloved head of virtuo
family. His principal assistant in Il
management Of his little farm was his
mestic John Cummings. The latter hi
been in the service of the former tenant
the farm, and according to his own e:
preston, had labored, man and. boy, t
fifty years on this soil. He was W,
known to all the inhabitants of the yillae
Notwithstanding his moderate, quiet o
derly, and Industrious mode of life, Jol
had remained bachelor. Many look
upon this as a result of his calm, calcu
ting, and prudent character; two or thr
of the oldest inhabitants of the villae
however remembered that he had on
paid his addresses to young girl, but t
affair had terminated unhappily. Th
maintained that he had been fitted. G.
tain it was, his intended marriage with
sanua Wilmot, the parsons pretty hous
maid, had suddenly been broken off, a
since then John had been quite differe
man; that is to say he was not less tel
perate and industrious, but less cheer
and less sociable. With all this he v
universally beloved, and the villagers
ten resorted to him for advice and ass
tance in their various embarrassments
His decisions were respected and his a
vice followed, often to the saving of W
atious and expensive litigation.
John stood in the best relation iowa
his employer. BE possessed his en
confidence, and was worthy Of it. Ev
thing seemed to prosper remarkably l
der his hands. Nav, an additional bt