Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1874-03-20
her chair to her bed, and so died as the sun

y her chair to her bed, and so died as the SUI
e went down.
e John was alone in the house when sh
died. Since his return from Montreal, b.
: had been made to feel that he had but on,
}, friend besides his mother. Only one neigh
t Dor had called upon him, and that was Pet.
a Searls. He had ever proved true. Bu
: John did not like to trouble his one friend
: who lived two miles away, to come and sta,
with him during the night So he lighted :
: candle, took down from a shelf a little Bible
e and hymn-book that he and his mother hat
e carried on an average about four times q
0 year to q school house used as church
4 some six miles away. and so alone with the
dead he spent the hours in reading and
| tears and meditation.
4 In the morning he locked the door of his
home and walked "over to Pete's. As he
, met his friend, he said in clear voice, but
with eyes averted, "She has gone, Pete-ii
, you will just take the key and go over
, there, I'll go down to the lake, and get the
things, and tell Downer, and well have
the funeral, say on Thursday"
Pete hesitated moment, then took the
key John offered him, and said, "Yes,
John, will tell my woman, and We will 20
over and fix it, and be there when you come
back" And so John went on his way.
"Downer'' was the minister, and " the
things" were a coffin and shroud.
On Thursday was the funeral. Pete
took care to have all the people of the
neighborhood there, althong Oh it hardly
seemed as if John desired it. The popular
voice, having once decided it, still held John
as a murderer, and claimed that he was
cleared from the charge only by the tricks
of his lawyer. John knew of this decision.
AT the funeral he was stern, cold, white,
and statue-like. While others wept, but
few tears fell from his eyes, and even those
seemed wrung from him by an anguish for
the most part suppressed or concealed.
lie chose that his mother should be
buried, not in the burying-ground" at the
settlement, but upon their own little farm
where she had lived. And so in spot be-
low the rocky ridge, where wild violets
grew, she was laid to rest.
John spent the night following the fune-
raj at Pete house, then returned to his
own home, and from that time his solitary
life began. lie took his cattle and his
sheep over to Pete's made all fast about his
home, and resumed his boating upon Lake
Champlain lie fully realized that he was
a marked man. lie was advised, it was
said even by his own legal counsel, to leave
| the country, and to leave his name behind
| him but no words influenced him Firm
and steady in his course, strictly temperate
and Just, he won respect where he could not
gain confidence.
The years rolled by. Captain John still
was boatman, and still kept his home at
the lonely Lighthouse on the edge of the
great valley. From each voyage he return
ed and spent a day and night alone at the
old place; and it was noticed that strong
high paling was built around his mothers
grave and marble head-stone was placed
there, and other flowers grew with the wild
yiolets Even in winter, when there was
no boating and he boarded down by the
lake. he made many visits TO the old home
stead His figure, which. though youth
ful, was now growing gaunt and thin As
his mothers had been, was often seen by |
Pete at nightiall upon the top of certain |
rocky ridge, standing out clear and sharp |
against the cold blue steel of the winter |
sky.
John had no companions and sought none
The young men and women of his set had
married and settled in life he was still the |
same.
But there came change Eleven years
had passed since the mother died, and it
was June again. John was spending day
at the old place once more. lie sat in the
door looking out on TIE magnificent land
scape, the broad lake, and the dim line
Of mountain away across the valley. The
lovely day seemed to cheer this stern, lonely
man.
Three persons came up the road they
advanced straight to where John was sit
ting. One of them stepped forward, look
ing John steadily in the face, held out his
hand to him, and said, John. do You know
me?'
The voice seemed to strike him, with
sharp, stunning shock. He quivered, held
his breath, stared into the eyes of the ques-
toner, and then suddenly becoming un-
naturally cool and collected, said, Z" Is it
you, William -
The two who stood back had once been
Johns warmest friends. They row came
forward, and with such words as they could
command, told the story of Williams sud
den return, and sought for themselves for
giveneSs for the cruel and false suspicion
which had 50 long estranged them from
their friend.
John seemed to hear thisas one in dream.
He talked with William and the man in
manner that seemed strangely cold and in
about where William had been
yOyaging so long in distant seas, and of his
strange absence. \ quarter Of an hour
passed away. The men proposed that John
should 90 with them to their homes, and
said there would be gathering of friends
there. They pressed the invitation with
warmth and such true feeling as our voices
express when dear friend has been great
" wronged, and we humbly acknowledge
John said absently, in reply, that he did
not know. lie looked uneasily around as
# in search of something, perhaps his hat
lie ess.lyed to rise from his chair, but could
not, and in moment he fell back ashy
pale, fainting and breathless. The men
had not looked for this. hut accustomed as
hey were to the rough life of the wilder
ness, they were not alarmed. They famed
he fainting man with their straw hats, and
Is soon as water could he found, applied it
% his hands and face. He soon partially
and looking up, said in broken
-oice, "Giye me a little time, boys" At
his hint, the two old friends, who were
now crying, stepped ont of the door, and
,ousin William sat down out upon the door
'tep.
John found that little time was not
,nough. He had travelled too long and far
n that fearful desert of loneliness, easily or
quickly to return nervous fever fol- l
owed the shock he received, and for two
months he did not leave the homestead, and
was confined to his bed. But the old house
vas not lonely. The men and women
anne, both his old friends and some new
'omers, and tried to make up to him in {
some degree the love and sympathy he had |
o long missed. But for many days 1t was
,yident that their kindness panied and op-
pressed him. ,
at appears like" said Pete, THAT
-ough word don't hurt him, but kind one ,
ne can't stand And this was true. His
'oul was fortified against hatred and con- :
empt. but a kind voice. or gentle caress, |
'eemed 10 wound him 50 that he would sob !
ike an infant.
As he recovered from his illness he con-
inued gentle, kind, and shrinking, to
ault. By the operation of some spiritual ,
aw that | do not fully comprehend, he was,
after his recovery, one Of those who win
strange affection from Others. His influence ,
seemed like wild fascination. 1t was said ,
If him in after years, that he was more
-ruly loved, and by more people, than any ,
,ther man or woman in all the settlement !
-ound. Children loved him with passion i
lte attachment, and the woman of child :,
Ike nature whom he made his wife is said !
10 have died of grief at his death. He de- !
Darted this life at the age of thirty eight
iears, and he sleeps on the edge of the
rreat valley with his Ynother and his wife
)eside him. =. DKMING.
C0education OF the Sexes.
Mrs Horace Mann, whose experience is
certainly worth something on this subject. ,