Year: 1863

70 his bedside, nor at any moment .afterward.


Waiting, watching for one token of recogni-
tion light up in his naked eye, and he leaned
eagerly forward. for he would have given
worlds to have whispered one kind word in
his ear, and have been answered; but that
gleam of apparent intelligence passed quickly
away, and was succeeded by the cold, un-
meaning glare, and the wild tossing of the
fevered limbs, which lasted until death came
To his relief.


Two days afterward the undertaken came
with the httle coffin, and his son, playmate
of the deceased by, bringing the low stools
on which it was to stand in the entry hall.
II was with Henry" SAID the lad, "when
he got into the water. We were playing
down at the Long Wharf, Henry, anu Charles
| MuInford and l and the tide was out very
low; and there was beam run out from the
wharf; and Charles got out on 1t to get a
fish line and hook that hung over where the
water was deep; and the first thing we saw,
he had slipped of, and was struggling in the
water Henry threw off his cap and jumped
clear into the water, and after great deal Of
hard work, got Charles out, and they waded
up through the mud to where the wharf was
not SO wet and slippery and then | helped
them to climb up the side. Charles told
Henry not to say anything about it, for if be
did his father would never lee him 20 near
the water again. Henry was very sorry and
all the way going home, he kept saying:


"What will father say when he sees US to-
night | wish we had not gone to t he wharf'
Dear, brave boyr' exclaimed the ber-
| eaved father; and this the explanation which
so cruelty refused to hear !" And hot and
bitter tears rolled down his cheeks.
Yes that stern father now learned, and for
the first time, that what he had treated un-
wonted severity as fault, was but the im~
pulse OF generous nature, which, forgetfu
of self, had hazarded life for another. 1t was
but quick prompting Of that manly spirit
which he himself had always endeayored to
graft upon bis susceptible mind, and which,
young as he was, had already manifested it.
self ON more than one occasion.


Let me close that story in the very words
of that father, and let the lesson sink deep
into the hearts Of every parent who shall per-
use this sketch.


Everything that now see, that ever be-
louged 10 him, reminds me of my lost boy.
Yesterday, found some rude pencil sketches
which it was his delight to make for the
amusement Of his younger brother. To day,
in rummaging an old closet, came across
his boots, still covered with dock mud, as
when he last wore them. You may think
1t strange, but that which is usually SO un-
slightly an object, is now most precious to me-
And every morning and evening | pass the
ground where my sons voice rang the mer-
riest among his playmates.


GAIL these things speak to me vivldly of
his active life; but cannot-though have
often tred-I cannot recall any other ex-
preston of the dear boys face than that mute
mournful one with which he turn ed from me
on the nightI SO harshly repuIsed him.


Then my heart bleeds afresh


"Oh, how careful should We all be that in
our daily conduc: to those little beings sent 10
by kind Providence, We are not laying up
for ourselves the sources of many a future
bitter tear. How cautious that, neither by
inconsiderate nor cruel word or ook, we un-
justly greve their generous feeling! And
hov rHo
tion against it's motive lest, in q moment of
excitement, We be led to mete out to the ve-
NAL errors of the heart the punishment due
only to wilful crime


Alas perhaps few parents suspect how
often the fierce rebuke, the sudden blow, is
in their children by the tears, not
of passion, not of physical, or mental pain,
but of loving yet grieved or outraged ma
fura 10