The Columbia herald. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1850-1873, 1870-10-21
4 ing to find her ,Hps, he Kissed her ten
tdefly, saying, eG0d bless you, my

U61ly, saying, S7OQ DieSS you, my
child ~ l y XIII f0J .sla
EooAnd 80 with weleoines and ibenedic.
| ton, Ethel foand . fehaporary hume.
A There was veryeWeet resffulnees Il
her about the quiet weeks that follow.
| ed, whether she shared the light house.
hold tasks with her inexperienced
hands, or read aloud for hours to the
blind old man, who soon came to call
her 'sNellie'' almost hscften a. tsEthel,
orwent on long ramblee along the hill
sides, alone, yet not solitary, because
Nature, whom she loved, led her by
the hand, and taught her unwritten
mysteries. an, t.it'.i''' eia'a
But she could not rest long in idle re-
| ceptivity. Her first bitter experience
of the world from which She had hoped
SO much, had made her long for some
higher and moro controlling puxpese OF
life. As the Night Blooming Cereus
uncloses petal by petal to the darkness,
breathing out; its very heart In exqui-
site fragrapces 60 ,ber nature, not fully
developed by sunshine, opened through
the twilight of her own pain, upon the
night of the worlds want and sorrow.
She had youth, health, and wealth. =
What could she do to make life BRIGHT
er for those less blest than she? As
was natural, her heart turned with
quickest sympathy to children, father
less and nnotherless, as she had been,
and lacking, too, what she had not
lacked, those substitates fbr home and
kindred, which money and station can
command. 3s-sHQS vIEunoESflf qs9aa ?
And 20, in one of her moments of en-
thusiasm, her project Of an orphan's'
hoIae was formed, q place where she
might gather few little outcast ones,
and In giving them home and care, fill
also the yearning hunger of her own
heart. - -. ! - : r
Her friends would oppose and ridicule
her she knew, but Ethel Stanley was
not one togo back, because OF any lions
on her road to the House Beautiful.-
: her time, her money, her life, were
they not her own u Che would do with
them as God and her own heart should
bid her. j" - - i9flssa =, =
Her active imagination began rapidly
to resolve her. sudden plan into some
thing like feasible form. She herself
could guide and teach the children as a
loving elder sister, and for the mother
care which she was too young and in-
experienced to render, was not there
Mrs. Harveys the widow lady who had
been nurse in her runcle's family years
before?Sav very " "house-mOther" in ev-
cry outline of her CHEEKY face and gen.,
erous figure. One whom not alone
children, but every weak and frighten-
ed brite creature trusted at sight, and
fled to fOrcOmfOrt and protection. She
would join heartily jim such work,
Ethel was sure. i"i1's9i
And for the place there she hesita-
ted, but not long. e........- E.
She would not leave the little town
whose rest and quiet had been so sweet
There was a house on the hillside
above the Dudley cottage, long unoc-
cupied end fallen into disrepair. Ethel
had once climed in at an unfastened
window to shelter herself from a sud-
den storm and when the clouds had
lifted and the sun shone through the
last falling drops, she had wandered
from room to room in ecstacy at the
prospect on which the dusty windows
opened.
The very place, she thought, where
the free air should be an elixir to the
body, and the bold outlook nourish
broad and generous character.
And DR.. Hope would sell it, she was
sure. Nay, more, he would give her
help and counsel in all she had to do.
There would be SO much to be done,
and she knew so little, and he-how
kind and wise he was! How patient
ne had been with. their endless ques-
tions-hers and Nell's in that time long
ago, when he had led them by the
hand, and pointed out to them. the
marvels of field, stream
and wood. And how often now he |
came to sit in the doorway of the cot
tage, and talk with Mrs. Dudley of her
flowers and birds, and make the blind
cd man forget the long hours with his
stories OF travel and adventure.
That evening he came agafn-a tall,
man, the gray threads in
whose brown hair made him look older
than he was; with q broad, masterful
brow and far-seeing eyes; man, in
Ghom frequent rights of suffering had
wrought that caimness which is the
truest of all sympathy, because it holds
within itself the promise OF relief. i
He paused at the gate, to listen to
EtheFs voice singing fragment of an
old song l
June on the mountains, f!'C |
Blossoms the heather, 1
June in the valleys, .-srig |
Sunshiny weather.! Lifr!og
Over the mountains s
it Bleak winds are Calling
Low i'll the valleys, |
Sere leaves are falling! |
Light heart and open hand
nr1trl.f -,
Only in others eyes v. |
Sunshine forever!'
As the song ceased he came in, and
Ethel met him at the door, holding out
both her hands.
80, DIR. HOpen' she said, Il am so
glad you have come, for [ have SO
much to ask you aboutv' ~ II
They sat down with the old couple |
IN the cleaning, and Ethel unfOlded all. |
her plan. Had it been far mere Etl-
topian vision than it was, still the shin
ing eyes and young, ringing voice
would have held her hearers as by a |
spell. Clear in the eye of |
her fancy shOne the fair home that she
would rear-the old house restored to
the neatness and comfort of its prime,
here the library with its books and pic
lures and music, where the love of the |
true and beautiful should never starve |
for lack of nourishment; there, the
buzzing with childish |
voices (; the play-rOOm gay with their |
laughter; the dining-rOom bOunteous |
with good cheer; the ,dormitory, with |
its rows of white beds, whose pillows |
should he pressed by little heads no |
more homeless and l0veless. y il'p
1t was late when they parted. DIR.
Hope had uttered not . single word of |
Encouragement He could not look |
into the bright, true face, and tell her |
Of the difficulties, the long, slow labors; |
the disappointed love, the hope defer |
red, and ask-would not her courage
fail? There would be time enough to |
show the darker side tomorrow to-. /
night, at least, he would cast no shad- 1
Dws. r.fi-f --s l.ts.- - d. gaN
The morrow dropped its own shad-
ow. 4
While Ethel still slipped her break |
fast-coffee, dispatch was put into her
hands.
"Your uncle is dying. Come home. 10 /
So the sad world of the real blottetl
out her dreamland. Jsf
"My p0oruncle had breathed his last |
an hour before l reached nome. His
disease. was a violent disorder of the
brain, induced, as the physicians now
believe, by extreme mental agony. He |
was delirious from his first attack, and |
called wildly for me. cannot die,' |
he cried. unless Ethel forgives. me |,
No one understood it until afterW ards
- =