The Vinton record. [volume] (M'arthur, Vinton County, Ohio) 1866-1891, 1866-05-24

7 meeting him. ...a. ...t i4u4
! saw wagons approaching, and
hid myself behind a fence until
they had passed, 4 My father was
among them. Rg,will soon know
all, I said to myself. .a... ISL.
III sprang to my feet, and walked
on. That night a barn was my
lodging, and "a piece of bread,
which begged from q child at the
door of farm house, was my
breakfast the next Thorning. ]
knew that there wa1 seaport not
far off, and 4 ezeftedi myself to
Before night, my strong sturdy
4 frame had tempted the master of a
brig to take me on board, and a
months wages had bought. my
clothes for the voyage. r'g =!
Z 1 will hot tell the varied ~Xci-
dents that befel me in MY sea-life.
| was stroh& active, aSh[quick at
learning, and rose rapidly. At
twenty-one, stood on ahe, deck of
a fine brig, as its commander.
Meantime, conscience had never
slept. Nightly, saw Willie'S pale
face close to my pillow, and heard
Fanny's shrek. "You have killed
him !" and daylight brought anew
only the gnawing worm that had
fed upon my heart from boyhood.
/ had just arrived from my first
cruise as master. ALL the voyage
| had been planning to visit once
more the little old brown house
which | had fled from six years be-
fore. 1t was just such a July day
when l entered the neighborhood.
The birds sang as merrily, the song
OF the .haymakers was as blithe
and cheerful. | alone was sad. |
had determined to yield myself up
to punishment, if Willie had in
deed died by my hand. Nothing
less would. satisfy the unsleeping
conscience. True, / had curbed
my temper ever since, and no sail
ors ever had a kinder master than
myself-but memory still bore wit
ness to my terrible act.
x | knew that could not be rec
ognized. The stout, strong man,
with long beard and whiskers,
could not be remembered as the
boy Of fifteen; yet shrank from
tohseryation, and fingered in the
q J0aluntil; il;evening. Then / came
forth, and sought my home once
more. ?, ... q. I..... .......... ..-
1t lay quiet and serene in the
moonlight, unaltered, and, appa-
rently, undecayed, as when / saw it.
| Stunned one field as went for
ward. | approached a window
where curtain was drawn to shell
ter lamp from being extinguished
by the evening air. My fathers
voice, with no perceptible want Of
its former strength, was reading,
and, strangely enough, the Prodi-
galSon formed the subject for that
evening. Then rose the entreating,
earnest prayer, in which his soul
seemed wrestling with the Almigh-
ty, and in which the absent, erring
son was not forgotten. O, what an
appeal was therel l sank on my
knees and wept like a child. 1
The curtain tapped wildly in the
evening air, and in one of its va
garies, l stole a glance inward.
There was my mother untouched
by time, but with a shade of ten
der sorrow on her face. There were
Susan, Mary and Fanny, and by
the table sat young man, with a
deep, heavy scar above his right
temple, on which the hair had nev-
er grown, as it would seem, as on
the other side. H 'e. p
Sorrow, shame, perhaps terri
BILE punishment, l had expected;
but not joy like this, | staggered
from the window, calling aloud,
"Willie! Willliep and knew no
more until l found myself on my
own little bed, and the whole fami-
ly gazing in my face, with tears in
every eye.
My own, dear brother! Long
years have passed since that trying
night; but our hearts are still firm
ly knit together, in bonds which |
are cemented by repentance and
forgiveness; and by still more holy |
VOWS of united conservation to
"Him, who hath loved us, and |
washed US from our sins in his own
blood."- Watchman and Reflector.
"Isaac can you describe a batw
ll w. -, L oto - N,,., y. 5000 olo,t