Ashtabula telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1874-1880, 1877-03-30


hearted farmer was out in an instant,
and, without saying a word, was
putting the children into it, one af-
ter another. A word from farmer
johnson was enough for any consta-
ble in the village 1t was all the
work of a moment. He shook my
husband by the hand, and when he
began, "Neighbor johnson, you are
the same kind friend"-"Get in, )"
said he, ''let's have no words about
it; must be home in a trice, for, "
turning to me, "your old school
mate, Susan, my wife, will sit a cry
ing at the window, till she sees
you all safe home again" Saying
this, he whipped up the gray mare5
who, regardless of the additional
load, went up the hill faster than
she came down, as though she en-
tered into the spirit of the whole
transaction.
1t was not long before we reached
the door of our cottage. Farmer
johnson took out the children; and,
while | was trying to find words to
thank him for all his kindness, he
was up in his wagon and off, before
l could utter a syllable. Robert
screamed after him, to tell little Tim
Johnson to come over, and that he
should have all his pinks and mari
Colds. When we entered the cot
tage, there were bread, and meat,
and milk, upon the table, which Su-
san, the farmers wife, had brought
over, for the children. | could not
help sobbing aloud, for my heart
was full. "Dear George" said |,
turning to my husband, "you used
to pray, let us thank God for his
great deliverance from evil" "Dear
Jenny" said he, 81 fear God will
scarcely listen to my poor prayers,
after all my offences; but 1 will try"
We closed the cottage door, and he
prayed with so much humility of
heart, and so much earnestness of
feeling, that / felt almost sure, that
Gods grace would be lighted up in
the bosom of this unhappy man, if
sighs, and tears, and prayers, could
win their way to heaven. He was
very grave, and said little or nothing
that night. The next morning,
when l woke up, was surprised, as
the sun had not risen, to find that he
bad already gone down. At first, |
felt alarmed, as such thing had
become unusual with him, of late
years; but my anxious feelings were
agreeably releaved, when the child
rem told me their father had been
hoeing for an hour, in the potato
field, and was mending the garden
fence. With our scanty materials,
| got ready the best breakfast L
could, and he sat down to it, with a
good appetite, but said little; and,
now and then, / saw the tears start
ing into his eyes. [ had many fears,
that he would fall back into his for
mer habits, whenever he should meet
his old companions, or stop in again
at the Deacon's store. l was about
urging him to move into another vii
lage. After breakfast he took me
aside, and asked me if l had not a
gold ring. tGeorge," said l, ''that
ring was my mothers; she took 1t
from her finger, and gave it to me,
the day that she died. l would not
part with that ring, unless it were to
save life. Besides, if we are indus
trious and honest, we shall not be
forsaken." Dear Jenny" said he,
81 know how you prize that gold
ring; never loved you more than
when you wept over it, while you
first told me the story of your moth
er's death; it was just month be-
fore we were married, the last Sab
bath evening in May, Jenny, and we
were walking by the river. | wish
you would bring me that ring"
Memory hurried me back, in an IN
slant, to the scene, the bank upon
the rivers side, where we sat togeth-
er, and agreed upon our wedding
day. l brought down the ring, and
he asked me, with such an earnest
ness of manner, to put it on his little
finger, that l did so; not, however,
without trembling hand and mis-
giving heart. Sand now, Jenny"
said he, as he rose to go out, ''pray
that God will support me-" My
mind was not in a happy state, for |
felt some doubt of his intentions.
From little hill, at the back of our
cottage, we had a fair view of the
Deacon's store. | went up to the
top of it; and, while l watched my
husbands steps, no one can tell how
fervently prayed God to guide him
Alright. saw two of his old COM
panions, standing at the store door,
with glasses in their hands; and, as
nv husband came in front OF the
shop, | saw them beckon him in. 1t
was a sad moment for me. ooh
George" said l, though l knew he
could not hear me, ''go on; remem-
Der your poor wife and your starv-
ing childrenw Ny heart sunk with
in me, when saw him stop and turn
towards the door. He shook hands
with his old associates; they appear
ed to offer him their glasses; | saw
him shake his head and pass on.
'Thank God" said |, and ran down
hill, with a light step, and selzlng
nv baby, at the cottage door, l lit
erally covered it with kisses, and
bathed it in tears of Joy. About ten
o'clock, Richard Lane, the Squire's
officeboy brought in piece Of meat
and some meal, saying my husband
sent word that he could not be home
till night, as he was at work on the
Squire's barn; Richard added, that
the Squire had engaged him for two
months. He came home early, and
the children ran down the hill to
meet him. He was grave but cheer
full. 81 have prayed for you, dear
husband" said |. Sand merciful
God has supported me, Jenny" SAID
be. Il it net easy to measure the
degrees of happiness; but, take it al
toSether. this, / think, was the hap
NEST evening of my life. If there
is great Joy IN heaven, over sinner