The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1880-02-07

we catch at q straw or twig, sometime
without any motive or power OF volitiol
The superscription caught my eye; 1t We
my own name, and my husbands hant
writing. 1tore 1t open and read:
"DEAB LUcY-I have broken out Of jail
and am going-well no matter where.
didn't strike Hastings with an intention
kill him. l was intoxicated and 1t wa
more his fault than mine; but he may die
and then; at any rate II Is better for yol
Lucy, for me to 60. l never was worth!
OF your love. Now you can 60 back {
your father, and forget me and be happy
You will find the bonds for that money
have In bank in the desk; It is enough Il
make you and the child comfortable! For
give and forget me, Lucy. God bless yor
I-you and the baby. Ton.
This was the endl That was the reward
that my cross word had purchased for me
Truly, truly, the wages Of sin are death
We shall mot need one pang OF corporal
punishment, one spark OF real fire, to per
feet our torment II We are lost. Conscience
Is all uflicient-remorse, that worm that
never dies. It is not for me to attempt Ia
talk about what / suffered in the days that
followed that morningl Words could NOT
express it save to one that has passed
through the same furnace OF atfliction,
could begin to understand il. But l lived,
for sorrow and death rarely walk in each
others steps, and nursed my babe, and
did the work my hands had to do. did
not 60 back to my father. I remained at
Toms home, and kept his things all about
me, even his cap hanging on the wall.
Forget him2 Does love ever forget?
Hastings did not die. He recovered,
and made a public statement. He was
more in fault than Tom was. Then he
put notice In I'LL the papers, telling Tom
TO come back; but he did not come.
The winter passed away with long, long
nights OF bitter remorse, and tender
recollections Of the dear husband, whose
strong arms had once been my stay and
support. The spring came-the summer
another winter. Three years went by
-crept by.
My child, Tom'slittle baby, grew TO be
a fairy little thing, with blue eyes and gold.
en- hair, and tongue that never wearied
OF its childish prattling. All day long she
sat on the doorstep, where the evening
sunbeams slanted In, lisping TO her doll
and listening, while told her OF the faith
er who would come back to us some day.
For surely he would come. Surely Gods
mercy would vouchsafe some compensa-
ton, some pardon for such repentance as
my soul had poured forth.
That third spring was peculiar, some
how, the far.oE sky seemed to drop down
in nearer, bluer folds; the sun wore
softer radiance; the trees, the grass, the
flowers, diviner, tenderer beauty. rose
every morning and looked out OF my lit
tie window at the kindling glories OF
morn, with feeling OF strange, tremulous
expectation. | seemed to feel the shadow
OF some great event that winged its flight
above income prayer Of my heart seem
ed about to be answered.
One evening-oh, that evening! A
May sky, soft and blue, hung over a
green; blossoming earth. The turtle cooed
in the distant wood, and the robin twit-
tered 10 her young brood amid the milky
bloom Of the orchard. Gods love shone
in the golden brightness OF the westward
going sun. My child, little Ellie, sat
on the door step; talking to her doll
and watching the birds. All at once she
clapped her dimpled hands and bounded
to her feet.
Nanny she cried gleefully, 'pappy
comin'-pappy comm; Ellie 60 meet
him!
The words stirred my heart to Its ut
most depths, and dropping my work, |
followed her out OF the door. 4 man was
coming up the garden path-his garments
tattered-his step slow and uncertain. A
beggar, no doubt. l called to Etfie to
come back, but she ran on needless OF my
command. Toms little spaniel, that 1
had petted and taken care Of for his sake,
darted from his kennel with peculiar
cry, such as l never heard from 1t before.
What did itall mean? My heart throbbed,
and my knees trembled. Little Efie ran
on, holding out both dimpled hands, her
golden curls blown all about her rosy face,
'How-de-do, pappy?-Ise your Efie,
she lisped, as she reached the mans feet.
He stopped and raised her in his arms
and then his glance rested on me. And
such glance-such facet Pale, hag-
gard, worn by sorrow and suffering TO a
mere shadow. Toms ghost come back
from the grave. Not, that, either, for my
arms grasped some tangible form.
"oh, Tom | cried, Sis it you? Speak,
speak and tell me-"
"Yes, Lucy, it's me. Icould bear 1t no
longer. I'm dying, l belieye-and l
couldn't so without seeing you and the
little one again."
My arms held him fast, tattered gar.
ments and ell; my kisses fell on his poor,
pale face, like rain, would never let him
go again.
"i'om, Tom" sobbed, getting down
on my knees before him, "oh, forgive me!
forgive me! l have suffered SO much"
ut is me that must ask forgiveness,
Lucy" he said, humbly, 'not you'll was
wrong"
But stopped him short.
"No, Tom, my cross word did 1t all, l
said; "but for that we might have been
happy together all these weary years."
NANNY, NANNY interposed Eilie,
twisting herself around on her fathers
shoulder, don't cry no more, pappy's
come back
Yes, thank God, he has come back,
poor, and tattered, and hungry-like the
prodigal-but my Tom, my husband,
nevertheless. ! would never speak cross
to him any more.
1t is spring time again. The sweet May
sun light steals In at my window, as
write, and l hear the turtle cooling in the
distant wood. My husband is man now,
standing up proudly, his feet upon the
grave OF old temptations. l know that
Gods mercy is equal to His justice, and
His love greater than either.
Sunday Sermon for All Mankind.
Detroit Free Press.
/ have found in myself strong tend