The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1881-05-28

son, heritage OF Shame IKE tuis.
I" Hush. Bernard; you must not speak
of your father thus to me. He paid the
penalty of his sin, for sin it was; nor
would have you consider it otherwise.
Though the world scorn and condemn
him, you, his son, and l, his wife, must
cast no reproach upon his memory. He
used money that was not his. he be-
trayed the trust reposed in him. 1
want you to see the thing that he did
in all its blackness and moral deformi-
ty. But for him, the poor sinner, let
there be no bitter word, no harsh judg-
ment, not from our lips, my son. No
man more truly repented. or tried more
earnestly to atone No woman ever
had kinder husband. He loved you,
Bernard, and the bitterest drop in his
bitter cup was the thought of the stain
that rested upon the name you bear;
his last injunction to me was to so teach
and train you that you would regard
with horror the slightest approach to
the great error that has borne. and still
bears, such bitter fruit; his last prayer
that you might so live as to lift the re-
proach from your name and his
Rising to his feet, Bernard looked
sadly upon the speaker, from whose eyes
the tears were falling fast.
"You have needed that injunction
well, mother, as can testify. / shall
not forget your teachings. But if all are
to Judge me as MIR. Burchard does, what
will it avail?"
"They will not. You will find few
men like him. He bears me a personal
grudge, though never wroneed him.
No one can really harm you, Bernard,
but yourself. AS for this, which so dis
courages and hinders you now, you must
hre IL down"
This was the last conversation that
Bernard had with his mother on the
subject. The following night Mrs.
Reed was seized with hemorrhage of
the lungs, and before the dawning of
another day the tired heart, which had
borne its burden so patiently, was at
rest.
A few weeks later, Bernard and Mr..
Burchard met again.
Bernard shrank before those keen,
critical eyes, which were quick to note
the change in his look and bearing.
"You found my words truep" 7s
Il found them true. But to condemn
the son for the fathers sin is cruel and
unjust. as you will some day ac-
knowledge"
at IS the way of the world, boy.
What can you do, single-handed, against
the world?''
Between Bernard and that jeering
smile there noated pale face, whose
calm, tender eyes looked beseechingly
into his. He raised his hand upward,
and said:
81 can live it down.
Twenty years later, there sat upon
the judicial bench of a New England
city Judge so noted for his learning
and integrity that his fame went out
through all its length and breadth.
Few would have recognized in that
stately, dignified man. whom all classes
delighted to honor, the poor, friendless
lad that we introduced to the reader at
the commencement of our story. And
yet so it was. Step by step, through
difficulties and Heterogeneous that
would have daunted less brave and
resolute spirit, Bernard Reed had slow
ly fought his way upward until he stood
at the head of his profession and had
won place among the mobiles of the
land.
Blest with the companionship of a
loved and loving wife, with happy chill
dren clustering about his knees, he had
not been less fortunate in his private
than public life. s1eia
He did not forget, in his prosperity,
the trials and sorrows OF his youth;
apart from the legal honors he had won
many lips praised, many hearts blest
him. Inllexible in the discharge of his
official duties, never forgetting, in weak
sympathy for the criminal. the good OF
the community. whose faithful and hon.
ored servant he was, no heart was more
quick to feel for the weak and erring,
no hand more ready to lift them up, il
such thing was possible, to a better
and purer life.
One day Judge Reed led up the steps
of his stately mansion a fredericksburg
boy. who Sclung sobbing to him. He
entered room where his wife was sit
ting with her youngest child on her
knee.
envy love, q terrible thing happened
in court to-day. One of the prisoners
sentenced. the father of this poor boy,
frenzied with shame and despair, shot
himself. l used to know the father OF
this unfortunate man, who lives in New
York, and to whom / shall telegraph.
This little fellow is nearly heart.
broken, and leave him with you to care
for and comfort as only mother CAM
The following day, an old man was
shown into the library where Judge
Reed was sitting.
81 received your telegram, sir. How
shall / thank you for the kindness yor
have extended to the child of my pool
unfortunate sonP''
AsJudge Reed lookedupon that bowed
head-bowed and whitened more by
sorrow than time-the long tide o.
years rolled back. When he spoke his
voice was almost as tremulous as his.