The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1881-06-02


- 1t was your fathers wish that vou
should be kept in ignorance of it as lono
as possibla.'' .
A hard, bitter look came over Ber.
hard'S lace, such as his mother had new.
er seen there before.
lie knew that must hear of it: that
IL would be cast up at me as it has been
ana Will continue to be so long as live.
IL was cruel in him to leave me. his onlv
son.. heritage of shame like this!'
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.
| ihouSh the world scorn and condemn
| MN, you, his son, and |, his wife, must
cast no reproach upon his memory. He
hsed money that was not his, he be-
trayed the trust reposed in him. |
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 iudp
ment' not from or 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
Ditter 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.n
Rlsing 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 l shall
not forget your teachings. But if all are
TO Judge me as Mr. Burchard does, what
will it avail?''
"They will not. You will find few
men like him. He bears me personal
grudge, though l 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
Iiue 1t dowaa'
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 MIR.
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''
II found them true. But to condemn
the son for the fathers sin is cruel and
unjust. as you will some day ac-
knowledge"
''It is the way of the world, boy.
What can you do, single-handed, against
the world?''
Between Bernard and that jeering
smile there foated pale face, whose
calm, tender eyes looked beseechinglv
into his. He raised his hand upward,
and said:
Il can live it downn'
Twenty years later, there sat upon
the judicial bench of a New England
city a 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 discouragements that
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.
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. Inhexible 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, if
such thing was possible, to a better
and purer life.
One day Judge Reed led up the steps
of his stately mansion a forlorn-looking
boy, who clung sobbing to him. He
entered room where his wife was sit
ting with her youngest child on her
knee.
"Mv love, a terrible thing happened
in court to-day. One of the prisoners
the father of this poor boy,
frenzied. with shame and despair, shot
himself. | 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 can"
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 you
have extended to the child of my poor
son?'
AsJudge Reedlookedupon that bowed
head-bowed and whitened more by
sorrow than time-the long tide of |