The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1873-09-04
CHAPTER l..

its golden light over the great, conf >rtable
looking farm house and the grand old
trees which guarded it, on every side, the
ample beds of autumn flowers the fisids
and orchard, burdened with their rich
harvesting and fruitage, and fairly food,
ed tie clean, airy kitchen, where, doing
over his paper, sat the fortunate possessor,
of alI.-except the 2 sunshine--a healthy
vigorous man, nearly sixty years of age,
whom we will call Deacon Harland. r %
His cosy after dinner rest was presently
disturbed By the entrance of his wife
whose fair. motherly counters nee was
usually as placid as the still waters of'the
lake, beneath the calm sunshine, but who
no ap peared much agtated and startled
him by exclaiming:o ii up'aN 5dJ
"There, Josiah! it's come at last--just
what feared. Raymond has gone--left
the only home he ever knew''-how the
kind voice trembled over these words.
'I'm sfraid your last nights talk drove
the poor boy TO desperation. Your ad-
vice was rather stern, Josiah" And, iay-
ing before him an open note, the mother
drew her low rocker 10 the window which
looked out upon thu. sunny field and or
chard, with the dark belt of forrest trees
beyond, and bowling her head upon her
hands, no longer attempted to restrain
her tears. go f. " a~''i 't '"'" sii2
There, there, Mary! don't get SO excited"
spoke the Deacon, rather nervously,
taking up the piece of papers covered
with plain firm writing, familiar to
them both. His wife's unusual emotion
considerably moved the firm old man; but
he only har iened his heart toward the
writer as he read: ..... ,..-.,
DEAR, BEST OF MOTHERS: must
leave you, but not forever; no, don't think
that. 1 cannot longer endure this life.
Father means we'll, no doubt; but 'le will
ut understand me. and blames me that l
I feel no interest in the work he designed
for me, while my whole soul cries out for
another sphere of action. I never can
feel interested in farm work, nor yet the
constrained life of minister. who must
preach what will please his congregation.
am not fitted for either place; and, tho
it is hard to disregard parents wishes,
it is harder. ay, impossible mother to still
the promptines or crush down the aspira'
tons of ones own heart. Father will call
this foolish sentimentalism. Ask him
where could have learned that-from
Bible or catechism? these have been
the principal reading given me for leisure
moments since can remember. l leave
only respect and flial regard for father.
know he will not forgive me now, but
trust there may come time when he will
blame me less. And, mother, darling
mother, could not bid you kood-by, for
You would weep at parting, and then /
should waver in ny purpose. But do
not fear for me. Your loving counsel
shall always be remembered. have your
picture, mother, and that shall be my
tailsman wherever may wander. Frank
will tell you more than can write; he
knows my plans, and you shall hear from
me if stop in Boston, where I design
going first. But, remember, do not fret
do not worry if am silent for awhile.
/ leave few sketches for you, dear mother
and again promise that you shall neve
be ashamed, and there may come an hou
when you will be proud Of
Your loving son,
RAY HARLAND."
Deacon Harland compressed his firm
lips still more firmly, and knit his heav,
brows, while look of hard endurance
not pleasant to see, settled on his face
At length he said:
"Wcll, Mary, don't know as 1 blam
you for feeling bad about the foolish boy
gone to the very haunts Of wickedness, a
=, he has, trusting only in his own strength
Don't suppose he even took Bible witt
him. Well, I, I've tried to bring him u
in the ways of righteousness, but I can
answer for him now"
Then Mrs. Harland wiped her tear
stained face, and answered mildly, Blu
with an emphasis which rather startled
7. the pious Deacon:
= NT have roo much faith In Rau,S n tn ra