The New Orleans crescent., 1868-01-12
For the Sunday Crescent ]
BARTRELLE.
CHAPTER vII-CoHTINUgD.

claration was SO sudden, and the idea Of part
ing with him so distressing, that in my excite
ment knew not what L said. You are aware,
Major Hartwell, that we are affianced-have
been from our childhood-and that he and
my father are all that is left me in the world.
Should his life be taken could not survive
it; but this is not what would say. Pardon
me-but if Richard thinks he would prefer
going with you to awaiting decisive action
here, viii interpose no objection. But 1
would wish him to wait. This is not selfish
ness look to his good and the certainty
that he can render more effectual service here
in the organization of the troops, and by his
personal popularity, than he would be able to
do in more distant field"
81 believe you are right, Miss Taylor; for
the present Dick ought to remain here. There
is time and will be opportunities enough.
Years will intervene between the beginning
and the end. Talent like his will be bound
to show its worth in an exigency like this-it
cannot be suppressed The name of Bartrelle
will yet be a rallying cry for the youth of Mis-
souri,. ] may not live TO see it; but it will be
so nevertheless. Genius and courage do not
sleep in revolution, and Dick has both"
81 think your estimate of my cousin is
simply just. He is man, which just such
times as these are needed to deveiope-a char
acter and disposition which great events form
and mould to the necessities of the hour. His
after life will take its coloring from the scenes
that are now transpiring around him. As
you say, it would be impossible to keep him
out Of the war-he would die, if denied its ex-
elements, and from aiding the cause he be-
lieves to be just and light"
"Restrain him not-minds like his derive
their nourishment and strength in periods
when others of less stern mould sink inactive
and inert; but L have protracted my stay
longer than designed-other engagements
require my attention. If We should never
meet again, MISS Taylor, shall carry to my
grave the memory OF all your kindness and
the many pleasant hours 1 have spent in your
society. Permit an old friend-one who has
known you from childhood, to say in parting
it may be forever, that 1 have valued your
friendship, first of all the world. Like you,
Inever knew a mothers love; but have been
taught by you to place higher estimate on
the character of your sex, than 1 ever derived
from any other source. Pray that may do
my duty well and bring no shame on the
friends l leave behind me; and if die, some
times remember William Hartwell." He could
say no more-emotion too strong for restraint
stopped his utterance, and he wrung her
hand in silence.
"That 1 shall always do. l shall watch
your career with pride-my country never
called to her standard drawer gentleman.
Goodbye, Major Hartwell, may God protect
and guide you alwaysl"
And thus they parted. She did not know,
that to him it was parting, like the crushing
out of life. From infancy he had known her
had watched the development of the pre-
cocious child, into the splendid, magnificent
woman, and had learned to love her with all
the strength of his mind and heart. He had
never betrayed his affection. He knew that
her cousin held the first place in her heart,
and that to q nature like hers such an afec-
ton died only with life; but he sought her
society, and found in its charms some solace
for his disappointment Had she suspected
this attachment her intercourse with him
might have been more restrained, but it could
not have been less free from the wiles with
which the beautiful too often lure their vic
tins. To the desolate man who had left her,
perhaps for the last time, she was the one
star that rose in beauty on his ife-and so
long as he might live, the love he bore her
the only affection he had ever known,
would gild with richer sunlight that single
episode of his hearts history, than any Incl
dent, that chequered its existence.
Fast and silently the tears flowed down her
cheeks-a valued friend he had ever been
her fnther's friend, her cousins and her own.
She had known him well, and had often rem
dered grateful tribute to his many virtues.
"Go" she murmered, "braye true hearted
soldier -truer never went to battle; and long
will the city you love so we'll mourn your loss
If God should call you hence, there will &c
out the ligh. of gallant spirit J"
Parting from those we esteem or love, ever
leaves behind the sting of many an omitted
courtesy or kindness, which were they present
| always, 1nlgnJ never nave Deeu ISul6ulDtISu'
But when gone, the mind, true to the consci
| entious rehearsal of the past brings up every
| item of the account against us. Nor coulC
| Laura Taylor deny to that silent but accusing
| tribunal before which she stood arraigned
that it might be she had neglected opportuni
ties in which maly pleasures might have beer
afforded her departing friend But aside from
| this there Is u mUurnfui sorrow in tho good
bye of old and cherished friendship. i
speaks to the heart in way that arouses al
its tenderness, casting the gloom of its sa
farewell over all its affections. And whel
that friend goes where danger is to be en-
countered, where perils to life beset him
where death stalks abroad in the battle field
then is it that the sympathetic spirit, fling
around its friendship an emotion so sad, S
clinging in its fearful goodbye that many a
after hour is made green and beautiful by II
touchinu memory.