Edgefield advertiser. [volume] (Edgefield, S.C.) 1836-current, 1871-10-12

Just a dream, born Of soft spring
night, and Maue Du Pays fair face.
And for it he was going to overturn
the whole fabric of his life.t No, he
would not be so mad. This summer,
at least, should go on as before. He
would take time to consider. BY
autumn he should know better what
he could do, and whether he could
bear to leave that old father and
mother-so many of whose treasures
the church-yard held, and whose all
he was-quite alone. He began to
think that this very fact, that he was
their all, laid on him an obligation
not to be avoided that no success,
purchased at such selfish expendi-
ture, would be worth having. AT
any rate he would wait. And 80
sleep came to him, and the morning
brought him strength and calmness,
and seemed to give him back his
old self again.
Will you see Henry Robin to-
day?" his father asked at breakfast,
with an anxiety he strove to conceal.
"Not to-day; not at present: Ny
plan was sudden, as you said-too
sudden, to be wise. I have given it
up for a time, at least; T will carry
on the place awhile longer"
The old mans face cleared, but he
did not speak, only Robert Maxwell !! 8 s
mother got up and silently kissed
him. No young lips could have
been more fond-could any be more
dear? * III
Two years after that, news came
to him of Maud Du Pays betrothal
to her cousin-the city bred young
man whom he had seen riding beside
her in the May twilight. This was
an unexpected blow, somethingwhich
knowing the man was her cousin, he
had never feared. The news sank
deep into his heart with dull, dumb
pain. She never would have cared
for him, then-never had. 1t was
we'll he had not gone away and left
those two who did him love to mourn.
After all, perhaps the existence Of
plowing and planting, was all he was
good for. Fate had placed him right
ly-guaged his capacities better than
he could have done himself. So he
settled back into his old grooves with
a grim resignation which was not
yet content. Still he felt himself at
odds with the life which did not Of
fer him what he wanted. When
autumn came, and it was time for
him, if at all to make the changes he
had planed in the spring, he was sur
prised to feel that the inclination to
make it was gone. Some healing min
istry, call it of nature or of grace,
God knows, had been at work in his
soul land unconsciously to himself
through the long summer days, and
swift, short summer nights, he had
been learning the sweetness of duty,
pure and simple-duty done for its
own sake; he had begun to ask him
self, not what he wished to do, but
what he ought to do; and he felt that
in the very fact of his being to those
two who loved him as their all on
earth, God had called him to certain
duties. on which he would never
again feel tempted to turn his back.
Reconciled at last to the appoint
ment of Heaven, he was at peace
also with his own soul; and new
light came into his eyes, a new vigor
and manliness into his life. He could
think of Maud Du Pays in these
days without pain. There would 81
ways be in his heart for her the: ten
derness good man feels for a wo-
man once beloved: but whether she
was his or another's, he could reckon
her loss or gain, among the, all
things he was contented to leave with
Heaven" He had heard in the
summer that she was to be married
on Christmas, but he heard no more
about it afterwards. Her prepara-
tions were going on, he supposed,
but he seldom saw her. He had
never spoken with her more than a
passing good-day, since her engage
ment.
/ One afternoon in November, he
brought home from the village post
Office a bundle of papers, his New
York Daily among them. Sitting by
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