'J
WALTEE HARLAND ;
OR,
MEMORIES OF THE PAST.
BT
H. S. CASWELL,
AUTHOR OF
OLABA ROSOOM; BABirsST HABWOOD, &C., &0.
PRINTBD BY JOHN LOVBLL, 23 AND 25 ST. NICHOLAS STREET.
1874.
Entered according to Act ot Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and seventy-four, by H. S. Caswell, in the
office of the Minister of Agriculture and Statistics at Ottawa.
WALTEB HAELAND.
CHAPTEE I.
3FT entirely alone on a quiet afternoon, the un-
broken stillness which surrounded me, as well as
the soft haze which floats upon the atmosphere,
in that most delightful of all seasons, the glorious " Indian
Summer " of Eastern Canada, caused my thoughts to wan-
der far away into the dreamy regions of the past, and many
scenes long past, and almost forgotten, passed in review
before my mind's eye on that quiet afternoon. While thus
musing the idea occurred to me that there are few individ-
uals, however humble or obscure, whose life-history (if
noted down) would prove wholly without interest to others,
in the form of a book ; and this thought caused me to form
the idea of noting down some passages from my own life —
as they were on that day recalled to my mind. Like the
boy who dreamed a most remarkable dream and, when asked
to relate it, " didn't know where to begin," so was I puzzled
as to how I should make a beginning for my story. But
the incidents of one particular day when I was about thir-
teen years old were so vividly brought back to my mind, that
B
6 WALTER HARLAND.
I have decided upon that day as a starting-point ; and now to
my story.
" Where alive has that lazy, good-for-nothing boy taken
himself off to now, I wonder, and the woods I left him to
pull in the garden not half done yet; but it's just like
him, as soon's my back's turned to skulk off in this way.
I'll put a stop to this work one of those days, seo if I don't.
Its likely he's hiding in some out-of-tho-way corner with a
book in his hand as usual." Those and many other angry
words came harshly to my ears, on that June afternoon now
so long ago. I was seated in the small room over the
kitchen which was appropriated to my use in the dwelling
of Farmer Judson, where I was employed as " chore boy," or,
in other words, the boy of all work.
** Walter, Walter Harland, come down here this minute,
I say."
I started up, trembling with fear, for the angry tones of
the farmer made me aware that he had come home in one
of his worst tempers, and his best were usually bad enough ;
and, more than this, I knew myself to be slightly in the fault.
Before leaving home that morning Mr. Judson had ordered
me to clear the weeds from a certain number of beds in the
garden before his return. I worked steadily during the
forenoon, and for a portion of the afternoon, when, feeling
tired and heated, I stole up to my room, thinking to rest
for a short time and then again resume my labors. I was
very fond of study, and, as my Algebra lay before me upon
the table, I could not resist the temptation to open it, and I
soon became so deeply absorbed in the solution of a difficult
problem that I heeded not the lapse of time till the harsh
voice of my employer fell upon my ear. I had learned by
WALTER BARLAND. 7
paHt oj«i)crieme to four the angry moodtt of Mr. Judaon. In
my hurry and confusion I forgot to lay aside my book, and
went downstairs with it in my hand. I i^od silent before
the angry man, and listened to the storm of abuse which he
continued to pour upon me, until sheer exhaustion compelled
him to stop.
" And now," said he (by way of conclusion) " be oft' to
your work, and don't be seen in the house again till the last
weed is pulled from them air beds." This was even better
than I had dared to hope, for, on more than one former occa-
sion, I had borne blows from Mr. Judson when his anger was
excited. As I turned to leave the room the quick eye of the
farmer fell upon the book which before had escaped his no-
tice. Stepping hastily toward me he said :
" I see how it i, your head is so filled with the crankums
you get out o'them books, that you are good for nothing else,
but I'll stop this work once for all ;" and, ere I was awai'e of
of his intention, he snatched the book from my hand, and
threw it upon the wood-fire which burned in the kitchen
fire-place. I sprang forward to rescue my book from the
flames, but, before I could reach it, it was burned to ashes.
As I have before stated I was then about thirteen years old,
tall and strong for my age. I was usually quiet and respect-
ful, but for all this I possessed a high spirit. I could easily
be controlled by kindness and mild persuasion, but never by
harsh and unkind treatment, and this act of Mr. Judson's
enraged me beyond al' control, and in a moment all the
smouldering anger occasioned by his past harshness shot
up as it were into a sudden blaze. I have often heard it
■aid, and I believe with truth, that there is someting almost
appalling in the roused anger of one of those usually quiet
8 WALTER HARLAND.
and submissive natures. I have often since thoug4it that
passion rendered mo partially insane for the time being;
trembling with anger, I confronted my employer fearlessly,
as I said " How dare you burn my book ? you bad, wicked
man, you are just as mean as you can be."
This sudden outbreak fVom me, who hitherto had borne
his abuse in silence, took Mr. Judson quite by surprise. For
a moment he looked at me in silence, then, with a voice
hoarse from passion, he addressed me, saying, " such talk to
me 1 you surely have lost any little sense you ever may
have had. " Then seizing me roughly by the shoulder he con-
tinued : << I'll teach you better manners than all this comes
to, my fine follow, for I'll give you such a flogging as you
won't forget in a hurry, I'll be bound."
Instantly my resolution was taken ; he should never flog
me again. Shaking off the rough grasp of his hand, I stepped
backward, and drawing myself up to my full height (even
then I was not very tall) I looked him unflinchingly in the
face as I said, — " touch me if you darey I have borne blows
enough from you, and for little cause, but you shall never
strike me again. If you lay a hand upon me it will be
worse for you. " Wild with anger I knew not what I said.
The strength of a lad of my age would, of course, have been
as nothing against that of the sturdy farmer ; but, had he
attempted to flog me, I certainly should have resisted to the
utmost of my ability. I know not how it was, but, after
regarding me for a few moments with angry astonishment,
lie turned away without any further attempt to fulfil his
threat of flogging me. I turned and was leaving the house
when he called after me, in a voice, which upon any pre-
viouB occasion, would have frightened me into submission,
WALTER BARLAND. t
" Como back, T say, this fnstftnt." I had now lost all foar
and replied, in a voico which I hardly recognized as my
own, " go back, never. Should I be compelled to beg my
bread from door to door, I will never stay another day under
your roof." With these words I ran from the house, and soon
reached the little brown cottage in the village three miles
distant where lived my mother and sister Flora.
/
CHAPTER II.
NEVER know a futhor's protecting cnro and watch-
ful lovo ; for ho diod when I was but little more
than throo years old ; and my sister Flora a babe in
our mother's arms. No prettier vilhige could at that time
have been found in Eastern Canada than Elmwood, and this
village was our home. Its location was romantic and pictu-
resque. Below the village on one side was a long stretch of
level meadow-land through which flowed a clear and placid
river whose sparkling waters, when viewed from a distancoi
reminded one of a surface of polished silver. The margin
of this river, on either side, was fringed with tall stately
trees, called the Rock-Elm. According to the statement of
the first settlers in the vicinity, the whole place was once
covered with a forest of those noble trees and to this cir-
cumstance the village owed its name of Elmwood. The number
of those trees which still shaded many of the streets added much
to the beauty of the village. The village was small, but much
regularity had been observed in laying out the streets. The
buildings were mostly composed of wood ; and nearly all were
painted a pure white with green blinds, which gave a very
tasteful appearance to the place. It had its two chiu'ches, aud
three stores, where all articles necessary to a country trade
were sold, from a scythe down to cambric needles and pearl
buttons. There was also an academy, a hotel, one and two
public schools, and I believe I have now mentioned the most
12 WALTER HARLAND.
important of the public buildings of Elm wood, as it then was.
The cool and inviting appearance of the village, as well as
its facilities for fishing, boating and other healthftil recrea-
tions, caused it, in course of time, to become a favorite
summer resort for the dwellers in the large cities ; and for
a few weeks, once a year, Elmwood was crowded with visitors
from many distant places, and, as may be readily supposed,
these periodical visits of strangers was something which
deeply interested the simple residents of our village. In
looking back to-day through the long vista of years which
separate the past from the present, the object on which
memory is inclined to linger longer is a little brown house
near one end of the village of Elmwood. Kind reader that
was the home of my childhood. There was little in the
external appearance of the house or its surroundings to win
admiration from the passer-by, but it was my home, and to
the young home is ever beautiful. Recalled by memory the
old house looks very familiar to-day, with its sloping roof
covered, here and there, with patches of green moss ; and
the large square chimney m tJi© ceutro. Between the house
and the street was a level green, in which were several fine
shady trees, and one particular tree which stood near the
centre was what I most loved of every thing connected
with the surroundings of my early homo—this tree was of the
species known in Canada as the Silver Fir, and I am certain
that every one familiar with this tree will testify, as to its
beauty ; they grow to a large size with very thick and Ayide-
spreading branches, which extend downward upon the tiHink
in a circular form, each circle from the top growingTarger, till
the lower limbs overshadow a large space of ground beneath.
This tree was my delight in the sunny days of childhood
WALTER HARLAND. 13
and early youth, and in summer most of my school-tasks were
committed to memory beneath its friendly shade; and I
loved it, in the dreary season of winter, for the deep green
which it retained, amid the general desolation by which it
was surrounded. When left a widow my mother was poor,
so far as worldly riches is considered. My father had once
been in moderately easy circumstances, but the illness
which terminated in his death was long, and the means he
had accumulated gradually slipped away, till, at the period
of his death, all my mother could call her own was the little
brown house which sheltered us, and very thankful was she
to find, (when every debt was paid even to the last fraction)
that she still possessed a home for herself and children. My
mother possessed much energy of mind, as well as a cheer-
ful, hopeful disposition, and, although she sorrowed deeply
for her sad loss, she did not yield to despondency ; but en-
deavored to discharge faithfully her duty to her children,
and to this end she sought employment, and toiled early and
late that she might provide for our wants, and so far did
Providence smile upon her efforts that we were enabled to
live in comfort and respectability. By close industr}'^ and
economy she kept me at school from tj^e ago of six to thir-
teen, and would willingly have allowed me to remain longer,
as she considered my education of the first importance,
but during the last year I remained at school (although only
a child of twelve years) I grew discontented and unhappy,
by seeing my mother toiling daily that I might remain at
school. And many a night did I lay awake for hours, re-
volving the question in my mind of how I could assist my
mother, for I felt that, young as I was, it was time
for me to do something for my own support. Had cir-
14 WALTER HARLAND.
cumstances allowed, I would gladly have remained at
school, for I was fond of study; but I believe I inher-
ited a portion of my mother's energetic disposition, and
I felt it my duty to leave school, and seek some em-
ployment whereby I might support myself, and possibly
assist, in a small way, my mother and little sister. My
mother was reluctant to yield her consent that I should
leave school, but when she saw how much my mind was set
on it, and knowing the motives which influenced me, she
finally gave her consent, and leaving school I began looking
about me for employment. My mother's wish, as well as
my own was, that I should, if possible, obtain some situation
in the village where I could still board at home, but, as is
usually the case, no one needed a boy at that time. After
spending several days in search of work, without success, I
became disheartened. My mother advised me to return to
my books, and think no more about it ; but I was unwilling
that my first attempt toward taking care of myself should
prove an entire failure.
CHAPTEI? III.
FEW miles from the village of Elmwood lived Mr.
Judson, a rich farmer, he might properly be termed
rich in this world's goods, for, besides the broad
acres which comprised the two farms in one where he resi-
ded, ho was the owner of several houses in the village, which
brought him a handsome annual income. The chief aim
of his life appeared to be the acquisition of money, and, when
once it came into his possession, it was guarded with mi-
serly care. The very countenance and manner of the Farmer
bespoke his nature. Aided by memory, I see him now
as I saw him years ago : — he was of medium height, strong
and muscular, but thin in flesh. His hair had once been
black, but was then sprinkled thickly with gray ; ho had
small piercing, restless black eyes that seemed to look several
ways at once. His nose was of the forin which I have-often
heard styled a hawk-bill ; and, altogetnir, there was a sort
of dry, hard look about the man which rendered his personal
appearance repulsive and disagreeably. His constant care
and anxiety was to get the largest possible amount of labor
out of those in his employ ; consequently, he was always in
a hurry himself, and striving to hurry every one else. His
farm laborers used to say that he kept his eyes in such unceas-
ing motion, to see that every thing went right on all Rides,
that a restless, roving expression of the eyes had become na-
tural to him. Though living only a few miles distant, neither
16 WALTER HARLAND.
my mother nor myself know any thing of the eharjicler of
this man ; and when ho came to engage me to do " chores
and light work " as he termed it, we gladly accepted his
offer, as my mother had the idea that residing for a time
upon a farm (if not overworked) would have a beneficial
effect upon my health and constitution. Many wondered
when it became known that I had gone to live with Farmer
Judson ; but each one kept their thoughts to themselves.
When I took my place at the Farmer's I soon fouiid that, if
my work was light, there was likely to be plenty of it. I
did not complain of this, for I expected to work ; but what
made my position almost unbearable was the constant habit
of fault-finding in which my employer indulged. He was
dreaded and feared by all under his roof He was constantly
on the watch for waste and expenditure within-doors, and
without there could never be enough done to satisfy him ;
do your best, and he always thought you should have done
more. As I have before said, I was very fond of books, and
I had counted upon having my evenings at my own disposal
that I might still do something in the way of self improve-
ment ; but I soon learned that books were quite out of the
question in my new home. There was ■'either corn to shell or
errands to perform ; in short, there was something to keep
me busy till nearly bed-time every night. I used sometimes
to think the farmer used to study up something to keep me
busy on purpose to keep me from study. I believe my great-
est fault in his eyes was my love of books. He was entirely
without education himself, which, (in a great measure)
accounted for his narrow and sordid mind ; he looked upon
any time devoted to books or mental culture as a dead loss.
" What's the use of botherin' over books," he would often
■ S
WALTER IIARLAND. 17
say ; and would often add in a boasting manner, " I don't
know a from ft, and if I do say it myself, whore will you
find a man who has got along better in the world than I have
done." If getting along well with the world consists only
in hoarding up dollars and cents till every feeling of ten-
derness and benevolence toward the rest of mankind becomes
benumbed and deadened, then truly Mr. Judson had got
along remarkably well. His door was but a sorry place to
ask charity, as every one could testify who ever tried the ex-
periment. It was reported that a poor woman once called
at the house and asked for food. The farmer chanced to be
from home, and his wife, thinking he might not return for a
time, ventured to prepare a confortable meal for the poor
traveller ; but, as fate would have it, ho returned before
the weary traveller had partaken of the meal prepared
for her. As soon as he saw how matters stood he gave his
wife a stern rebuke for " encouraging beggars " ; and, with
many harsh words, ordered the woman to leave the house.
The poor woman rose wearily to obey the command, and, as
she was passing from the room, she turned, and fixing her
eyes upon Mr. Judson, said in a stern voice, " I am poor and
needy — it was hunger alone which compelled me to ask cha-
rity — but with all your riches I would not exchange places
with you who have the heart to turn from your door one
in need of food ; surely, out of your abundance you might
have at the least given food to one in want ; but go on hoard-
ing up your dollars, and see how much softer they will
make your dying pillow." It was said that the farmer actual-
ly turned pale as the woman loft the house. Perhaps his
conscience was not quite dead, and it may be that a shadow
from the events of future years, even then, fell across his
18 WALTER HARLAND.
mind. It would have been difficult to find two naturoH nioro
unliko than wore those of Mr. Judson and his wife. The
former was stingy, even to miserly niggardliness, as well as
ill-tempered, sullen and morose, while the latter was one of
the most kind-hearted and motherly old ladies imaginable,
that is, had her kindly nature been allowed to exhibit itself.
As it was, not daring to act according to the dictates of her
own kind heart, through fear of her stern companion, she
had in the course of years, become a timid broken -spirited
woman. In her youthful days she had been a regular atten-
dant at church, she also was a valuable teacher in the sabbath-
school ; but, after marrying Lemuel Judson, she soon found
that all religious privileges of a social nature were at an
end. Poor man, money was the god he worshipped ; and
so entirely did the acquisition of wealth engross his mind
that every other emotion was well-nigh extinguished. He
seldom, if ever, entered a place of public worship, and
did what he could to prevent his wife from doing so. She
did at the first venture a feeble remonstrance when he
refused on Sundays to drive to the village church, but, as this
was her first attempt at any thing like opposition to liis
wishes, he determined it should be her last, for he assailed
her with every term of abusive language at his command,
and these were not a few, for his command of language
of this sort was something marvelous to^ listen to, and, if
his words and phrases were not always in strict accor-
dance with the rules of grammar, they certainly were
sharp and pointed enough to answer his purpose very well.
From the sour expression of his countenance, as well as the
biting words which often fell from his tongue, the village
boys applied to him the name " vinegar face," sometimes
WALTER HARLAND. W
varied by "old vinegar Judson." Liko al! vilhi^o boys, Ihoy
were inclined on holidays and Saturduy al'tornoons to roam
away to the neighbouring farms. Mr. Jiidson always drove
them from his premises the moment they set foot hereon, and
in a short time he learned that, as the saying is, " there was no
love lost between them. He one day gave one of these boys a
smart blow with his horse- whip the boy had ventured into the
hayfield among the laborers. The blow of course caused him
to take to his heels, but from that time the whole band were in
league against the farmer. If he left a horse tied in the vil-
lage, he would sometimes find him shorn of his mane, and
often a hopeless rent in his buffalo; and,as far as he could find
out, the deed was done by " nobody at all." As he was
driving leisurely homeward on a very dark night he sudden-
ly came upon a number of boys near the end of the village
street, and one of the boys called out loud enough for him
to hear, " there goes old vinegar Judson ;" another embold-
ened by his companion,next addressed him with the question ;
" What's the market price of vinegar,old man ? you ought to
know if any one does, for you must drink a lot of it or you
wouldn't be so cross and ugly." It was a very dark night,
and the farmer was unable to distinguish one from the other,
and horse-whip in hand he made a rush among the whole
crowd, who dispersed in all directions. He was not agile
enough to overtake a fast retreating army in the dark, and
was forced to abandon the pursuit. As he turned to pursue
his journey homeward, a voice from out of the darkness,
again addressed him, saying, "don't you only wish you could
catch us, old vinegar man ?" Knowing that further pursuit
would be useless, he proceeded on his way, uttering threats
of future vengeance. He did spend a portion of the follow-
ing day in trying to fiind out ths boys who had insulted him ;
20 WALTER UARLAND.
but all his oft'ortsto that end wore without success. A gentle-
man to whom he complained ventured to remark : " 1 fear,
Mr. Judson, that in a great measure you have yourself to
blame for all this, for you ever treat the boys with unkind-
ness ; and, without reason and experience to guide them,can
you wonder that they render evil for evil. If you exercised
more of the spirit of kindness in your casual intercourse
with the boys, I think it would be better for both you and
them." This advice was very good, but it is to bo feared that
the farmer profited but little by it. Through fear of her
stern husband Mrs. Judson finally ceased to mention attend-
ing church ; but often on a Sunday afternoon, when he was
either asleep or walking over his farm, she would seat her-
self in a quiet corner of the largo kitchen,and read her Bible,
and perhaps sing a hymn to some of the old-fashioned plain-
tive airs, which formed a large portion of the Church Music
in her youthful days. I remember when I lived at the Far-
mer's, I used often to think it no wonder that Mrs. Judson
almost always sung her Sunday hymn to the air of " Com-
plaint," and read more frequently in the book of Job and
the Lamentations of Jeremiah than any other portion of the
Bible. The poor lonely woman seemed to feel a mother's
tenderness for me, which manifested itself in many little
acts of kindness, when unobserved by her husband, who took
good care that no undue indulgence should be shown to any
one under his roof. I soon learned to regard the old lady
with all the affection of which I was capable ; and it was
her kindness alone which rendered my position endurable.
I sought in many ways to lighten her labors, for, even in the
busiest seasons, no help was allowed her to perform all the
household work; and I soon found many ways of making
myself useful.
(JIIAPTER IV.
|NE rainy afternoon, while busied about the house,
Mrs. Judson surprised moby saying suddenly : ** I
su])pose you don't know what makes mo take so to
you, Walter ; but I'll tell you, you remind me of my youngest
boy, Reuben." I looked at the old lady with wonder, saving,
"I did not know you had any children, Mrs. Judson." " True"
said she, " I forgot you did not know ; but no further than
your mother lives from here she must remember that I once
had two boys who were very dear to me, but perhaps she
never told you about it. It ill becomes me to speak of
his faults, but I must say my poor boys had a hard life of it
with their father. Ho had no patience with them when
mere children, and matters grew worse as thoy became
older. Do what they would, they could never please him,
and he often beat them cruelly. But one way and another
they got along till Charley was sixteen and lieuben fourteen
years of ago. Their father one day left them ploughing in
the field while ho went to the village ; the ground was rough
and stoney, and by some accident the ploughshare was broken.
When their father came home and found what had hap-
pened, he seized the horse-whip and gave both the boys a
terrible flogging. Neither of the boys had ever before
given their father a word ; but, when he stopped beating
them, Charley stood up and said : * You have beaten us,
father, a great many times and for very little cause ; but
Q
22 WALT Ell 11AU1,AN1>.
ilns is tlio liisl t^nie.' That wns all lio naid. TTis father
told lum to Hlnit up his mouth and ^o ahout his work. After
diiinor ho wont ba(k to the vilhigo, and some businesH
detained him till late in (ho evening. I remomheras if it woro
but yesterday how my two boys looked that night when
thoy came homo to supper. After supper they roso from
the table, and Charley said: * Mother, wo are very sorry
to leave you, but we must go. I don't know what we have done
that father should treat us so ; ho seems almost to hale
the sight of us, and it is better that wo should go before his
harshness provokes us to some act of rebellion. \ am older than
Reuben, and will do my best to care for him, and wo will never
forgot you, mother ; but I believe it to bo for the host that
wo should leave home' I had long feared this ; and I begged
of thom to stay and try and boar it, at any rate till they should
bo older; but talking was of no use, the boys had made up their
minds, and go they would. They each took a change of clo-
thing in a small bundle, and prepared to leave the homo which
had sheltered them from their infancy. When I saw they would
go, I divided the little money I had of my own between them,
that they might not go forth into tho world entirely desti-
tute. I could not really blame the boys, for their father's
harsh words, day by day, was like tho continual dropping
which wears tho stone, and tho poor boys were fairly tired
and worn out with being continually censured and blamed.
With a heart heavy with a sorrow which only a mother
can know, I walked with the boys to the turn of tho road
where they were to wait for tho stage. I felt sorrowful
enough but I kept back my tears till the hour sounded which
announced the arrival of the stage. Thoy both shook hands
with me and kissed me, and poor Reuben, the youngest, cried
as if his heart would break.
WALTER IIAIILAND. 28
" Tho Might (>r my yoiin/jfo.st boy'n tours aHet'tod mo boyoiid
tho power orcontrol, ami tho toais wore vory bitter which wo
all Hhod together, but the stage was liiHt a])i)roachiiig, and
wo must control our grief, * (lood bye, mother,' said tho boys
at hist as they left me to take thoir places in tlio stage coach,
' Don't fret about us ; we will try to do right and romembor
all you have said to us , and let us hope there are happier
days to come, for us all.'
"Those were thoir last words to me, and they wore swift-
ly borne from my sight by the fleet horses of the stago-coach.
This was five years ago last October." '' But did they never
como back," said I, looking in tho old woman's face with a
feeling of deep pity. «' Bless you child, no," said she, " their
father won't allow even their names to bo spoken in his hoar-
i ng. When tho boys loft homo, they wont to the State of Mas-
sachusetts, whore thoy both learned a trade, and are doing
well ; thoy often write to me and send mo money to buy
any little thing T may want. About two years ago in one of
their letters thoy asked mo to talk to their father, and try
to persuade him to forgive them ; they also wished to gain
his consent that they might return home for a visit, ' for,' said
they, ' since wo have grown up to manhood it has caused us
much sorrow that wo must live estranged from our father.
Mother, we have long since cast aside the boyish resentment
we may onco have cherished, and would be glad to return
and inform our father by word that we still feel for him the
affection due from children to parents ; we would gladly for-
get the past and be at peace for the future.' I feared to speak of
this letter to my husband, but the strong desire to see my dear
boys again gave me courage, and one day when he seemed in a
better humour than usual I mustered up courage, and told him
24 WALTER UAULAND.
what the hoyn had written, but my Hnkon' iilivo, Walter, if
you'd a Root) tho Htortn it raisod in our Iiouho ; it fairly took my
hroath away, and I didn't know for a whilo, Walter, if my head
wafi off or on ; you may think you have Hoon Mr. Judson
angry, but you never saw him any thing like what ho wan
that day. I muHt not repeat all ho Haid, to you, but he con-
cluded by saying : * The boyH wont away without my con-
Bont; you connived to get them off, and if over you mention
their names to me again you'll wish you had'nt, that's all;'
and A'om that day to this their names have never been men-
tioned between us. They still write often to me and some
day I'll show you their letters. I suppose it was wrong
for mo to speak so freely to you (who aro only a little boy)
of my husband's failings, but somehow I could'nt help it, and
it does me good to talk about my boys. I don't know as
Mr. Judson can help his hai^sh, stern way, for it seems to come
natural to him ; but I can't help thinking he might govern
his temper, if he would only try; as it is I try to do my duty
by him, and make tho best of what I cannot help ; and every
day for yeai-s I have prayed that a better mind may be given
him by Him who governs all things, and that is all I can
do."
After the above conversation, I more then ovor regarded
the old lady with pity, and sought by every means to
lighten her cheerless lot. But the kindness which his wife
evinced toward mo only served to render Mr. Judson more
harsh and unfeeling in his treatment. I remember one day
hearing him say to his wife in a tone of much displeasure,
" You spoiled your own boys, and set them agin me ; and
now you are beginning to fuss over this'lazy chap in the same
way ; but I'll let you know who's master here" Hard as
WALTEU UAULAND. 25
\\i\H my lot lit this tiino, my aiixioty to li^liteii tlio caroH of
my mother fjiusod ino to l»oai" it with u do/^roo of i«iticiK'o
\vhi«'h 1 Iwivo ol'tcn hIiico wondered at. I wan fearful if I
loft thJH place I could not readily ohtaiii another, an<l I toile<l
on, never inforniin;( my mi)ther of the triidw to which I wiw
«laily Huhjected. For a whole ye. I entlured the cnprico
and Hcverity of Farmer Judson. 1 had long felt that I
could not much longer endure a life, which (to nio) had bo-
come almost intolerable ; and on the day of the incident no-
tit hI intlu^ oj)ening chapter of my wtory, my naturally high
temper rose above control, and 1 lell Farmer Judson's and
returned to my honie.
CHAPTER V.
HEN I thiip returned unexjicctedly to my home my
mother was at once aware, from my downcast ap-
pearance, that something was wrong, and when
sho questioned me I related the difficulty with Mr. Judson
exactly as it took place. My mother listened attentively till
I had finished, and then onl}'" said, '' you are too much
excited to talk of the matter at present ; after a night's rest
you will be better able to talk with more calmness, so wo
will defer any further conversation upon the subject until to-
morrow morning. "
It was a mild evening in June, and slipping out of the
house, 1 went to my favorite tree in the yard, and, as I lay
at full length beneath its wide-spreading boughs, which were
bright with the rays of the full round moon, my mind was
busy with many anxious thoughts. My anger had by this
time cooled down, and when loft thus alone I began to
question if I had acted right in returning to my home; hard
as Mr. Judson was to please, ho always paid me my wages
punctually, and I feared I had done wrong in thus depriving
my kind mother of the assistance which my earnings (small
as they were) afforded her. But when I called to mind the
Farmer's harsh and unkind treatment, I felt that to remain
longer with him was out of the question ; for during the
whole year I remained with him, I could not remember one
word of encouragement or kindness, and, toaboy of thirteen,
28 WALTER HARLAND.
a kind and cncouruging \vor<l is wortli much. Surely,
thought I, every one is not like Farmer Jiidnon, and can I
not find some place where, if I do my best to please, I shall
not be continually scolded and blamed; and, after retiring
to rest, I lay awake, revolving all these things in my boyish
mind till I mentall}^ decided that, come what would, I could
not return to the Farmer. It was far into the hours of night
before I slept, and then my sleep was harassed by frightful
dreams, in all of which Farmer Judson acted a prominent
part. From my earliest recollection, the counsels and pious
example of my mother had exercised a powerful influence
upon my mind and character. She was naturally cheerful
and hopeful, and her heart had long been under
the influence of a deep and devoted piety, which ex-
hibited itself in her every-day life. She never allowed her-
self to be too much cast down by the petty annoyances of
life. I am an old man now, and the silver threads are begin-
ning to mingle in my hair, but I can yet see my mother as
I saw her the next morning when I went down stairs, and
in a pleasant cheerful voice she enquired if I had slept well.
I gave an evasive reply, for I did not like to tell her what a
restless, miserable night I had passed. When the breakfast
things were cleared away, my mother seated herself by my
side, and said : *' Upon reflection, my son, I have decided that
you had best not return to Mr. Judson. " These were joyful
words to me, for I had feared my mother would decide
otherwise, and 1 had never disobeyed her, but it would have
been hard, very hard for me to obey had she wished me to
return to my employer. Little Flora was, if possible, more
pleased than myself at the decision ; with a low cry of joy,
she threw her arms aroand my neck, saying " Oh I Walter,
WALTER HARLAND. 29
I am so<rhu] tliut Mamma will not send yoii buck to that cross
old man." Poor child, she had never before been separated
from her brother, and she had sadly missed her i)laymato
during the past year. «' Although," continued my mother
" you may not have been free from blame, I think Mr. Judson
acted very wrong. If, as I trust, is the case, you have told
me the truth, I consider you blameablo in two points only,
first, in neglecting your work in the absence of your em-
ployer, and, secondly, in allowing yourself to use disrespect-
ful language to him," While my mother was yet speaking,
the door opened and Farmer Judson entered the room without
the ceremony of knocking, and began talking (as was his
custom when angry) in a very loud and stormy voice, " Pray
be seated, Mr. Judson," said my mother, " and when you
become a little more composed I shall be pleased to
listen to anything you may wish to say." Ho iid not
take the proffered seat, but muttered something u'>out
"people putting on airs," and turning sharply ui)oi.
me, he said, " I hain't got no more time to waste talkin, so
get your hat and come back to your work and no more about
it." I did not move, but waited for my mother to
speak,— with a voice of much composure, she replied to him,
saying : « I have decided, Mr. Judson, that Walter had best
not return to you. Till last evening I have never from him
heard the first word of complaint;" in a straight forward
manner she then repeated what I had said upon my return
homo. " My son informs me, " added my mother, "that in
more than one instance he has endured blows from you,
and for very little cause ; had I before been aware of this
he should have left you r;t once ; for my boy is not a slave
to be driven with the lash. I have no doubt that his conduct
J)
so WALTER UAULAND.
may in many in.stanios liiivo boon Manicublo; Tain noriy
Ihat lie allowed himself at the last to Hjicak diHrospoctfully to
you, but you must be aware that his provocation was
great, and we must not look for perfection in a boy of
thirteen. Consideriu^ all things, 1 think he had best remain
no longer in your employ; for to subject him longer to a
temper so capricious as yours, would be, I fear, to injure his
disposition."
Ml'. Judson was unable to gainsay one word my mother
had said, and to conceal his mortification got into a tower-
ing passion, and used ijome very severe language which
deeply wounded my mother's feolings. As ho strode angrily
from the room he said, "You need not exj)ect anything
else but to come to beggary if jou keep a great fellow like
that lazin' round in idleness, and I, for one, shall not pity
you, depend on't." With these words he left the house, clos-
in<»' the door after him with a loud bang. It was indeed a
we]come relief when ho left us alone. My little sister had
crept close to me the moment the angrj'^ Farmer entered the
room, where she remained trembling with fear till he was
fairly out of liearing, when she exclaimed, " I hope that
ii<rly old man will never come here again. Was'nt you afraid,
Mamma?"
*' No, dear," replied my mother, with a sinile ; " and let us
hope if ever he does visit us again ho will be in a better
temper.'
I wished uL once to set about looking for another situa-
tion ; but my mother advised me to remain at homo and rest
for a time. Little Flora was delighted when she found that
J ^{V9 to vcmain at home, for a time at least.
OIUITKRVI.
ilOT far from our humble dwelling stood the residence
of Dr. Gray, tlie village phyHician. His only child
was a son of nearly the same age as myself, and
we had been firm friends from the days of early childhood.
When of sufficient age wo were sent to the same school, where
we occupied the same desk, and often conned our daily
lessons from the same book. The uncommon friendship exist-
ing between us had often been remarked by the villagers. This
intimacy was somewhat singular, as our natures were very
dissimilar ; it may be this very dissimilarity attracted us the
more strongly to each other. From infancy the disposition of
Charley Gray was marked by peculiarities which will appear
in the course of my story. When at school ho made but few
friends among his companions ; and the few friendships he did
form were marred by his exclusive and jealous nature, lie
possessed very strong feelings,and for a chosen friendhis affec-
tion was deep and abiding.My own nature was exactly the op-
posite. I was frank and joyous, and inclined to make friends
with all. For all that Charley and I were so intimate, oven
as boys, his peculiar temj^erament was often a source of un-
happinosB to both. Charley was the child of wealthy pa-
rents, while I, being poor, was often obliged to attend school
dressed in clothing which looked almost shabby beside my
well-dressed companions, but with all this I was ever Char-
ley Gray's chosen companion, in juct he seemed to care little
82 WALTER HARLAND.
for any oilior coinpanionsl»ip,nnd UIh pai'ontR,wlioli»'i(l known
both my fiithor and mother lon;i^ and intimately, wore much
pleased with his preference for my society, and took much
pains to encourage the friondshii) existing between us. Char-
ley was as much delighted as my sister when I returned
homo; ho had two or three times ventured to visit mo at
Mr. Judson's, but his visits always made the Farmer angry ;
and he chanced one day to come into the field when we were
unusually busy, and, as a matter of course the Farmer was
cross in proportion, and he finally ordered Charley to " clear
out ;" " its bad enough," said he " to get along with one boy,
but two is out of the question, and the sooner you make
tracks for home the better." Charley was thoroughly fright-
ened, and he followed the Farmer's advice at once by " mak-
ing tracks" out of the field, and he never attempted to
repeat his visit. I returned home in the month of June. Dr.
Gray intended sending Charley to a distant school, the com-
ing autumn ; and we both keenly felt the coming separation.
Ho was to bo absent a year before visiting his home, and
that time seemed an ago to our boyish minds. The long
midsummer vacation soon arrived ; and now, memory often
turns fondly to that happy period. My companion and I
certainly made the most of the time allowed before the
coming separation.
Together we visited f^ll our favorite haunts, we angled for
fish, we roamed over the fields and through the woods in tho
vicinity of Elmwood, and no day seemed long enough for
our varied amusements. I often wished to invite other of
our companions to join our sports, but somehow or other, if
this was the case, Charley's enjoyment at once fled. When
(as was often the case) I would mention some of our school-
WALTEll UARLAND. 88
mates, with a view to inviting them to accompany us on
some excursion of pleasure, a cloud would instantly come over
Charley's countenance, and ho would say in a petulant tone :
" What do you want with them, we can surely enjoy ourselves
without their company," and this reply would at once remind
mo of his exclusive and poculiar temperament, (which for
the moment I had forgotten) and to please him I would say
no more about it. But for this one fault of my companion's,
and a fault it certainly was, I believe had I had a brother,
I could have loved him no better than I loved Charley Gray.
Previous to my mother's marriage her home had been in
Western Canada ; her father died while she was quite a young
girl, but her mother, now far advanced in years, still lived in
the old homo, some fifty miles from the cit}'' of Hamilton.
The affairs of the farm and household were managed by a son
and daughter who had never married, and still resided in
their paternal home. My mother was the youngest in the
family, and had been the pet of the household during her
childhood and early youth ; she was many years younger
than either her brother or sister, and they liad exercised a
watchful and loving care over their pet sister till the period
of her marriage and removal to Eastern Canada. Her bro-
ther and sister seldom left their own home, owing to their care
of their aged mother, and for some years past my mother's
circumstances had not allowed her to visit her early home;
and, amid the cares of life,lctters passed less and less frequent-
ly between them, till they came to bo like " Angels' visits,"
few and far between. My mother was equally pleased and
surprised, a few weeks after I returned home, by receiving
a kind letter from her brother Nathan. Like all his letters
it contained but few words, but they were dictated by a kind
Bl WALTER IIARLAND.
heart. Tlif mo,-t inipoj-tant words (to mo) wliitli tlio letter
contuined wore tlio.so: "Your boy Walter noods more hcIiooI-
in^ before ho ^och oiitinto the world, send him to me and he
Hhall have it. If his disposition \h anything like his
mother's at his ago I know we Hhall got along famously to-
gotlier. T will board and cdotlie him for two ycj.rs ; he sluill
attend the host schools in the place, I promise nothing Wiv-
ther, only then, when the boy leaves me, he shall have all he
deserves, if it should be only a cufl'on the ear. Tn case .you
shouM find any di(TiouUy in defraying his expenses, I enclose
money sufTicient for that pui'poso. I know not the reason,
but I feel a strong desire to see your \)ny, and llnd out what ho
is made of."
My mother was alone when she received this letter ;
she road it again and again, and with oacli perusal her
heart warmed toward the brother wliom slie had not soon
for so many years. " But," thought she, " whatever my own
wishes may be in the matter, Walter must decide for him-
self. I should consult his feelings (as far as possible] upon
a matter which concerns him so deeply." When I came
homo that evening my mother gave me Uncle Nathan's
letter, and with silent amusement watched my face grow
sober as I read it. She really knew this kind-hearted bro-
thei'^ — I did not, and that made all the difterence in the world.
I suppose my grave countenance, as I perused the letter,
informed mjMnother that a second Farmer Judson was rising
before my mental vision. When I had finished, T looked up,
and, with an anxious voice, said :
" Tell me, mother, is Uncle Nathan as gruff and crusty as
his letter?"
" My son," replied she, "j^our uncle's manner may seem
WALTER IIARLAND. 35
Momowliutsliortand crusty to one not ue(|uainto(l with Iiini ;
but benouth this rough exterior, he luis u very kind lieurt. I
nm well aware that ho makes tliis ofVer with sincerity,
and that he has your interest at heart. You certainly need
more education to fit you for the duties of life, and now ii
way is open for you to obtain it. I can hardly bear tho
tliought of your going so far from home, and yet I need
not expect you always to remain under my own roof. IC
is my duty to submit to a temporary 8ej)aration, if that
Reparation is for your own interest. I will not advise you too
strongly, for I consider you have a right to a voice in tho
matter as well as myself. Should you decide to go, where
my advice and influence cannot reach you, I trust you will
retain the good principles I have endeavoured to inculcate ;
you are my only son and should you allow yourself to be
led into evil ways, it would bo the heaviest trial I have over
known, and m}'' sorrows have been neither few nor lij^ht."
I had such full confidence in tho opinions of my mother, that
I allowed her to write to undo Nathan accepting, for mo, his
generous ofi'er. Charley Gray was entirely cast down when
he learned that I was to go so far away. *' It's too bad," said
he, " that they must send you away to an old Uncle, wl;o
very likely is cross as a boar, and that before tho holidays
are over ; and then in tho fall I'm to be sent oflf to school,
nobody knows where, so I suppose we may as well call our
good times ended." As Charley said this his lip quivered and
tho un-shed tear glistened in his fine dark eyes. I was tho
only companion with whom he was intimate, and the swiftly
coming separation grieved him deeply. I tried to cheer him
up, but when any thing chanced to cross the wishes of Char-
ley he was prone to look upon the dark side of every thing,
8C WALTEU UAULANI).
ami T fear Ihorw aio many older ami winor than Cliarlcy
iiviiy who yield to the «uinc i'aillng.
CJIAPTKR VII.
FTER I hail eoiiHoiitod to ^o to Undo Nathan, and
.' lottor liad boon written inlbrniinju; him ol' my do-
cision, I began to fee! many miH<jjivin;.^s. From
the Htyle of liin letter I got the idea that I nhould rin<l him
like Farmer Judson; and the very thought caiined me to
shudder with u vague feeling of terror. My mother told me
again and again how kind my relative would be to mo, and
I tried hard to believe her ; but with all this my mind was
haunted with many fours regarding the future. My mother
strove to send mo from homo well sujuilied with cloth ing>
that I might prove no immediate ex])enso to my uncle, and
the littlo money she had laid by, with which to replenish
her own and littlo Flora's wardrobe, was applied cheerfully
to moot my more immediate wants. Young as I was this
circumstanco fretted and annoyed mo. I romombor saying
one day to my mother, in a vexed impatient tone, " it seems
too bad that wo should bo so poor. Some of my companions
who have rich parents, spend more money every year upon
toys and candy than would buy mo a whole now suit of
clothes, and now to obtain a few now articles of clothing for
me you and my littlo sistor must do without what you really
need; if the dispensing of money wore loft in my hands, I
would make every one rich alike, and then no one should bo
ashamed of their poverty as I have often been, when among
the rich boys of the village. " '' Bo ashamed of nothing but
38 WALTRR iiAnfMNn.
iloiii^ wroii^ " ivplioti my motlior, "and yow lia<l luvnt loavo
the (liM|KHiMati(>i» of vvoalth or poverty to \\w One wljonti
i'i;^lit it is, tor, 1)0 assure*!, IIo Unows host what is for our
^oo<i; I ha«l much rather soo you ^^'ow up a ;^'ooil man than
a rich ont5. Ifyourlifc is spared, and you [)rove to ho a useful
and honoraI>K5 man, people will never impure whether your
hoy hood war. passed amid wealth or poverty. " I was then
in toodisconlented a mood to prolit l)y my motlier's won s, hul
many times in after years wore they recalled forcihiy to my
mind. Time pas.-ed on till the last ni^ht arrived, which I
was to spend at homo for an indefinite period. Charley (Jray
ohlained permission to sjuMid this last night with lue ; an»l
we lay awake for hours talking over our nunuu'ous plans
for the future in true school-ho^' fashion. Many an air-(!asllo
<lid we roar that night which the lap^o of yisirs have laid in
the dust. In our hoyish plans of future greatness. I was not
e.xactly sui'O what I was to he, only [ was to he a wonderfully
great man of some kind, while Ciiarloy was, of cimrso, to
hecomo a very eminent ph^'sician, r^uch as should not bo
found upon any past record ; and wo tallcod, too, of
the wonder wo should excite among our old friends
when wo might chance to revisit the scenes of our early
homo. Wo oven spoke of driving past the farm of Mr. Jud-
Hon in a fine carriage drawn by a pair of beautiful bay
horses; but with all our lively talk poor (-barley was
sadly out of spirits. His old boson foe was at work ; ho
feared that among now companions I might meet with some
one who would supplant him in my affections. To one of
my nature, this jealous exclusivo disposition was something
incomprehensible ; later in life I learned to pity him for a
defect of character, which in his case was hereditary, and
WALTER nARLANP.
wliii'Ii ho coiiM no luoro liclp (liaii tIuMlni\vin;j; of hin lifo-
hroatli. I wuH to lonvo KIiiiw<mm| l»y tho ourly nioniin^
train ho wo wore up botimos ; Imt, oarly us it was, wo fouiul
my tnotlior already upaiHlbroaitt'aHt awaiting um. TIio railway
Htatlon was a litllo boyond tlio villa^o, an<l inoro than a niilo
IVoni 'Hii* (Iwollin^. Dr. (iray sent ovor tjjo horso and car-
ria^o vory oarly, and Charloy, with n»y niothoi* and Flora,
was (o ac'conqmny nio to tho depot. Tho mornin/^ air was
IVesh and Invigorating, and under other eireuniHtanoos wo
should highly have enjoyed tho drive, as It was that morn-
ing, wo were rather n sad and silent party. When wo
arrived at tho station I moved rapidly ahoutand looked after
my luggage with far more care than was necessary, in oitler
to conceal tho sorrow I felt at leaving homo ; antl J wan
heartily glad to hear tho whistle which announced tho ap-
proaching train, that tho parting might bo tJjo sooner ovor.
During tiio few m )iuonts wo stood U[)on tho platform await-
ing the arrival of tho train Charloy stood by with tho most
solemn face imaginable. Ilis countenanco was always romurk-
ahly oxprossivo of oitlier joy or sorrow, and at this time his
ox[)rossion was certainly notono of joy. Many a time since,
iiavo I smiled as memory siiddoidy I'ocallod tho woo-bogono
face of Charloy Gray, as I left him that morning. In oi-dor to
nniko him laugh I enquired if ho could not imagine tho look
of astonishment with which Farmer Judson would regard
us when we should drive past his farm in our fino carriage,
which (in imagination) wo had possessed tho night before.
Any one acquainted with Mr. Judson could not have helped
laughing at tho idea ; Charloy did laugh but there wore tears in
his eyoa. As the train rapidly neared the station ho suddenly
extondoil his hand to mo for a last good-bye, and hurried
40 WALTER HARLAND.
swiftly from the spot ; ho could not bear to witness my par-
ting with my mother and sister which was yet to come. My
mother had borne up until now, but when the time came
that I must indeed go, her tears could no longer be kept
back. I kissed Flora good-b^'-e, and last of all turned to my
mother. She imprinted a parting kiss upon my brow, and
as she held my hand with a long, lingering pressure, said
in a choking voice, " Remember my counsels, respect your-
self, and others will respect you, and may God bless and
preserve you from evil ! "
I was deeply moved, but to spare my mother's feelings I
kept back my tears. The conductor's loud voice was heard
calling " All aboard." I hastily entered the car, and taking
my seat, the tears I had so long repressed now flowed freely,
till some of my fellow-passengers began to question me,
when I became ashamed of my w^oakness. To the many
pitying enquiries I replied that I was going a long distance
from homo and was grieved at parting with my friends.
** Chare up, me man," said a good-natured Irishman who
happened to be seated near me. I was jist yer size (only
that I was bigger) when I lift mo father and mother in ould
Ireland, an' come over to Aineriky."
This remark drevv a burst of laughter from several of the
passengers, and, though the tears were not yet dry upon my
cheek, I could not helj) joining in the laugh. The man was
not in the least disturbed by the merriment of the others,
but again turning to me continued :
" As I was a tellin' ye, an older brother an' mesilf crossed
the sea to Ameriky, an' the first year we arned money
enough to fetch over the ould folks, and we are now livin'
altogether agin, in the city uv Montreal, where we have a
WALTER HAUL AND. 41
natc llttlo liomo uv our own as your two oycs could light
upon." The friendly talk of the Irishman both amused and
cheered mo. How true it is that kind and sympathizing
words never fail to cheer the desponding heart.
CIIAPTKR VIII.
E had written to Uncle Nathan, informing liiin of
the day on which he might expect my arrival; and
at the time appointed ho drove over to Fulton, the
ymall village two miles from his farm, where was the rail-
way-station. As I stejjped from the car I eagerly scanned
each face among the crowd to see if I could find any ono
whose appearance answered to my ideas of Uncle Nathan, .
but for some time I could see no one whom I could suppose to
bo my unknown relative. I at length spied a middle-aged gen-
tleman walking backward and forward in a leisurely man-
nor,upon the platform,whom I thought might possibly be my
uncle, and, as the crowd had mostly dispersed, I mustered up
courage, and in a low voice accosted him with the question :
"Please Sir are you my uncle Nathan ? Your uncle who?" said
the old man,a8 he elevated his eyebrowi: and regarded me with
a broad stare of astonishment. " No I'm not your Uncle,
nor nobody's else that I know of," said he,in a sharp crusty
voice, then, giving a second look at my downcast face, ho
seemed suddenly to recollect himself, and said in a much
softer tone : " If its Nathan Adams you mean he's just driv-
en round to the other door. Bo you a friend of his n." " Yes
Sir," answered I, as I hurried away to tho ** other door."
pointed out by the stranger. From tho ideas I had formed
of my uncle 1 was unprepared to meet the kind, hearty look-
ing ram whose sunburned face beamed with a smile of
44 WALTER HARLAND.
welcome, wlien his oyc rosled upon nic, ii.s I w: Iked witli u
timid, hesitating muniicr towurd him. lie at oneo held out
his hand, saying, *'I don't need to awk if you are my nephew
Walter, for if I'd a mot you most anywhere T should have
known yon were Ellon Adams, son ; just the same dark
oyos and happy smile which made your mother such a beau-
ty at your ago, for your mother was handsome if sho was
my sister; but I suppose, like all the rest of us she's begin-
nin* to grow old and careworn by this time, 'tis the way of
the world, you know, boy, we can't always keep young, do
our best. Its amazin' how time does fly, it onl}'- seems like
yesterday since your mother trudged to school over this
very road, with her books and dinner-basket on her arm ;
and now here's you, her son, a great stout boy that will soon
be as tall as your old Uncle Nathan. It really does boat
all ; but I forget that, while I am moralizin' like on the flight
of time, you must befamishin' with hunger, to say nothin' of
your bein' tired most to death with your long ride in the
cars ; give me a seat in my wagon behind old Dobbin, with a
good whip in my hand, and those who like the cars better
may have them for all me. Come right along with me, my
boy, and point out your luggage and we'll be off to my farm
in no time." Before I reached my new home I had quite
got rid of my fears of finding a second Farmer Judson in the
person of my Uncle Nathan. As we drove through the vil-
lage of Fulton, my Uncle directed my attention to a large
and tasteful building standing in an open green, on a slight-
ly elevated portion of ground. I said the building stood
in an open space, but omitted to mention the thick shade
trees which stood in regular rows between the building, and
the long street which ran the entire length of the village.
3K»' •
WALTlill IIARLAND. 45
'' That," said my Uncle, with no little pritle in hi.s voice, " is
Fulton Academy, where I moan to Hcnd you to school ; and
I hope when you leave it, you will be a wiser boy than you
arc now." The homew.'ird drive after leaving the village
lay past finely cultivated farms, with their waving fields of
rii>e grain and beautiful orchards loaded with ripe fruit,
which delighted the eye of the j)as.ser-by ; but the most im-
portant object (to me) was the Academy, where 1 hoped to
acquire the knowledge necessary to fit mo for the duties
of life. During the year I lived with Mr. Judson I many
a time thought how I should enjoy my books did my cir-
cumstances allow mo to do so, and now all this was within
my reach. As these thoughts passed rapidly through my
mind, T looked up in the kind face of my relative and
impelled by aaiidden impulse,! seized his hand and, pressing
it to my lips, smd, " if I am a good boy and do my best to
please, you will love me a little, won't you. Uncle Nathan?"
"Bless your hoart,child," replied my Uncle, " who on earth
could help loving yom ? Yes, AValter, you may be sure I shall
love the son of my favorite sister, Ellon ; and, were it not
so, I think I should soon love you for yourself alone, for, if
I am any judge of faces, you are bettor than the general
run of boys of your age."
Can this, thought T, be the man who wrote that short, crusty
letter. I must confess, that (at first sight) I was not favor-
ably impressed by the external appearance of the homo I
was approaching. I had expected to see a handsome tasty
building, paintoi white perhaps, with green blinds, like those
we had passed on the w ay from the village ; and when Un-
cle Nathan said " here we are, AValter,;most at home," and I
raised my eyes to gain a view of the_liome stead, the fadei
£
46 WALTER HARLAND.
dingy appearance of the lionse and its surroiintlin^'s struck
mo as unpleasant. It was a large old-iashloncd square farm-
hoiiflo. which had once boasted a coat of red paint, but the
^inds and rains of many years had sadly marred its beauty,
so much so that, but for the patches of dull red still visible
beneath the eaves and round the windows, one would have
been loth to believe the old house had all ])cen of a deep red.
The high road lay between the house and the long stretch
of meadowland which separated it from the river. The
picket fence in front of the dwelling was in rather a dilapi-
dated condition, and the gate, being minus a hinge, hung
ftwry. Many tall sunflowers stood in the niirrow strip of
ground between the front fence and the house, and they
were about all I could see in the way of ornanient. But
with this rather shabby look there was after all something
inviting and attractive about the place, something that sug-
gested the idea of quiet and repose and cozy comfbrt.
Reader, have you never seen a homo like Uncle Nathan's ? I
have soon many of them. Little did I then think how, in
course of time, I should learn to love that old house and its
inmates. A little before we reached home Uncle Nathan
addressed mo in a confidential voice, saying :
« Aunt Lucinder (as every body calls her) is my sister,
who keeps house for me. She's kinder partickler and fussy,
and you must not mind if she does snap you up kinder short
sometimes, 'tis her way you know ; but never you fear, for
with all her sharp speeches she has a kind heart, and
her bark is a deal worse than her bite; and if you
once gain her over for a friend, you'll have a firm one,
depend upon that. Then there's mother, she lives with
us, too, she's an old, old woman Walter, and we have
WALTER llAULANI). 47
all try to ploaso her in ovciything, and of course you'll
always be quiet aii<l rcspectful-liko to her. I have often
before spoke of hiring a boy to do chores about the house,
but Lucinder always said, ' all boys wore good for was to
make a noise and litter up the house,' but I guess you'll get
along famously with her; she's an old maid you know, that
is she never was married, and folks say that old maids are
always kinder cross and crusty." Seeing my sober face as
we drew nigh the house my uncle laughed, as he said in
an encouraging tone, " Don't you be a grain scared, Walter,
neither of them old wimmen will hurt you. Ishould'nta
said a word, only I thought if I gave you a hint of Aunt
Lucinder's queer ways you'd know better how to got along
with her." I had always thought all women like my
own mild-speaking mother and kind old Mrs. Judson, but
by this time I began to think Aunt Lutinda must differ
very widely from them ; and when I followed Uncle Nathan
into the clean wide kitchen where a bountiful supper awaited
our arrival, I felt somehow as though I was stopjiing upon
dangerous ground, and I almost feared to sot my foot down
lest it might chance to be in the wrong place. Aunt Lucinda,
however, gave me a much more kindly welcome than I had
feared, which I regarded as a favourable omen. She also
introduced mo to the notice of my aged grandmother who
was seated in her deep arm-chair in the corner. She has
seen more than eighty years of life, but as she sits there,
day by day, in her quiet decrepitude, she still pretends to a
superintendence of the labors of Aunt Lucinda in a way that
might sometimes provoke a smilto. She seems not to realize
that my uncle and ant are themselves middle agedgray-hai: ed
people, and still calls them her boy and girl. When made
48 WALTlR iiarland.
nwaro who T was my gruiulmother scorned (loli«^littHl tosco
mo, and talked lon^ and alVectionately of my mother whom
nho had not seen for many yoar-i. Aunt Lueinda was hnsil}'
employed at the ironin^-hoord, l)iit looked often to see that
her mother's wants wore all supplied ; nothing; couM exceed
the affection and care she seemed to hestow u])on her aged
parent, induljLjing every whim, so that the old hjdy hardly
can realize that she is old and almost helidess. We were
soon seated at the supper table, and they all must have had
the idea that I had brought with mc fiom Elmwood a most
unheard-of appetite, if I could ju(1i2;o b}' the quantities of
food they insisted upon pilini,^ on my ])lato. Aunt Lueinda
treated me with a good degree of kindness, but evidently
kept a sharp e3'e to all my movements, doubtless expecting
that in a short time I would break out in some flagrant
misdemeanor, when she would he culled to open hostilities.
Poor Aunt Lueinda, 5'ou had little to f«ar from the home-
sick boy who sat in the purple twilight, loaning, his elbows
upon the window-sill, thinking of his now far-distant mother
and sister, and his loved companion, Charley Gray. As I
sat there aline of light in the eastern sky gradmdly became
brighter, till the full round moon rose to view, bathing the
whole scone in a flood of silver light. Seated thus, gazing
over the moonlit landscape I began (with a mind beyond,
my j'^ears) to look far awaj' into the future, and I made
many resolves for my course of action in time to come. I
wished to assist my uncle in doing up the " chores"' for the
night, but he would not hear of it. " You'll get work enough
hero," said he, " but you shall rest after your journey and
you shall not lift a hand to-night." When work was over
and the house quiet, Aunt Lueinda placed the large family
WALTER IIARLAND, 49
Biljlo upon the tiiblo, pi'0|)urutoi'y to (heir ovonijig woi'Mlup.
" Now won't it bo nico, Lucinda, " hu'u\ Uncle Nathan, " wo'vc
got somo ono in the house that has good oyen, to road tiio
chapter for us every niglit ; it hothors mo to read by hihiplight,
and I have oftoi\ hoard you call a word wrong if tlie b'ght was
tlio least mito dim." '* My sight is'nt so bad as it might be,"
replied my aunt who evidently did not relish this hint that
HJio was not as young as she had been , but she readily
consented tl at for the future I should read the Chapter from
the Bible each evening. After reading we all kneeled and
Uncle Nathan otlbred a simple but heartfelt prayer, in
which he failed not to remember tho poor boy, who kneeled
by his side, as well as his distant friends. After prayers I
was shown at once to tho room which was to be mine
during my stay, and very different it was from tho ono I
occupied at Farmer Judson's. It was an airy, cheerful,
looking apartment, furnishe<l plainly, but with everything
necessary to my comfort. When left alone my first act was
to remove from my trunk the small Bible which was my
mother's parting gift, with the request that I would allow no
day to pass without reading at least ono Chapter, alone*
And I have no doubt tho obeying my mother's parting
injunction, made tho slumber all tho sweeter, which weighed
down my eyelids almost as soon as my head pressed my
pillow.
CIIAPTEK TX.
EFORE a week Imd passed away T made up my
mind that I might have found a worno homo tlian
the old farm-liouMO at Undo Nathan's. Aunt Lu-
oinda was not positively unkind to mo, but I could not help
a fooling of foar when in hor prcseiwo, for sho evidently
regarded my every movement with a watchful eye, and
looked upon my presence in the family as an infliction that
must bo borne ; but with all this she was very careful for
my comfort, and treated mo in every respect as one of the
family. Few would, at first sight, receive a favourable
impression of my aunt. During the first few dtiyn of my
residence in the family I used often to wonder to myself
how two sisters could be so dissimilar in every way as were
my mother and Aunt Lucinda. My mother's manner was
very gentle, and hor speech was mild and pleasant, while
my Aunt had a sharp, quick manner of speech, and took the
liberty upon all occasions of speaking her mind plainl3\
She was however a very clover house-keeper, always busy^
and a large amount of work went every day through her
hands. From the first moment I saw her I felt strongly attached
to my venerable grandmother, who treated mo with the
greatest kindness and seemed never so happy as when, seated
by her side, I read aloud to her from the largo Bible which
lay constantly within her reach. Tho personal appearance
62 WALTliU II AULA NU.
of Undo Nathan wan very ploawln^ ; thou* wan a mild ^ood-
humourod cxproHHion u]H>n liin coiintcnanco which at onco
ioU\ yon ho was not ono at ull inclined to Irot or horrow
trouhlo. ThiHiliHpo.sition to taUo tho world easy often irritated
my aunt, and she MomotimoM wont so far as to say, " if she
didn't stir u[> Nathan now and then, every thin/^ would ^o
to wrocU and ruin ahout tho place." Mindful of Uncle Na
than's advice I did my hobt to j)Ioaso my aunt, and ondea.
voured to win heralVection by many little oflices of kindness,
us often as 1 had opportunity, but for some time my attempts
to i^ain hor goodwill produced but little elfect. When 1 had
been a few days an inmato with tho family, 1 boeamo an un.
willing listener to a conversation which troubled mo much
at tho time, although I liavo often since smiled at tho recol-
lection of it. I happened one day to to employe<l in tho
back kitchen, or what they termed tho sink-rooni, and I soon
became awaro that I was tho subject of conversation by the
family in tho room adjoining. " Now if that boy ain't the
most splendid reader 1 ever did hear, " said my kind old
grandmother," and 1 think, takin' all things into consideration
it's a good thing Nathan sent for him ; what do you say
Lucinda ?" " What I say is this," replied my aunt, " it don't
do to judge folks, specially boys, by first appearances, and
1 should'nt wonder a mi to, for all his smooth ways and
fine roadin' if tho follow turns out a regular limb for mischief
before he's been hero a fortnight. 1 think Nathan Adams,
must have boon out of his senses (if ho over had any to got
out of) when ho wont and fetched a boy here to tear about
and make a complete bedlam of tho house. I had to work
hard enough before, but with a boy of that age round the
house to cut up capers and raise Cain generally, I don't
Walter harland. 53
know lu>w W4»'ro lo live ut all." " VVoll, liUoindii," replied
OruiHlma, " Niitliun'M l>oeii a^'ooil dutitul Iwjy to me," (rnelo
Nathnii wan past forty) "and if lio toolc a notion to Uviu^;
KIUmi'm lK)y horo. I don't moo an you ought to nay a word
againut it." What if you'd n marriod JoNhua Bial<o an
you oxpcctod to, and ho'd a diod and loft j'ou with a hoy to
bring up and wchool, I guoHH you'd a hoon ghvd if Nathan or
8oniol)ody else luid of!brod to take liiin otl' your handn for a
while. This reply from her mother, at once Hilonood Aunt
Lucinda, and tiioro was no more Haid upon the 8ul)ject.
CHAPTER X.
EI*jKS uiid dayH succoc(icd each other in rapid suc-
ccHsion, till mellow autumn with its many glories
was ujion the earth. It had been a very busy sea-
son, and long since Uncle Nathan's capacious barns had been
tilled to overflowing with their treasures ofiVagrant hay and
golden grain. The corn-house was filled with its yellow har-
vest, and the potatoes were heaped high in the cellar. Each
difteront sort had its separate bin, and my memory is not
sufficiently retentive to mention the numerous kinds of pota-
toes by their j^roper name which I that autumn assisted in
stowing away in the old cellar; and potatoes were not the
only good things to be found there when the harvest was
completed. The apples were of almost as many ditl'erent
sorts as the potatoes, and their flavor was very tempting to
the fruitloving appetite, and their red cheeks wore just dis-
cernible by the dim light, which came faintly through the
narrow cellar-windows. Large quantities of almost every
species of garden vegetable were stowed away, each in their
respective j)lace. The cattle and sheep had been driven
from the far-otf pastures to enjoy for a season the "fall-
feed," of the meadows. The brighthued autumn leaves
were cast to the ground by every breeze which floated by ;
the migratory birds were beginning their flight southward,
while on every hand were visible indications of the approach
of winter. I had done my best during the busy season to
50 walteh harland.
render mj'self useful, and by this time had become quite an
important member of the household, so much so that I one
day heard uncle Nathan wonder " how he ever got along
without me." He had often hired boys before, but a hired
boy who merely works for wages is often very different from
one whose sei'vices are prompted by affection and gratitude.
Aunt Lucinda still seemed rather to distrust me and,although
she said nothing, I was too sharp-sighted to be ignorant of
the scrutinizing watch she maintained over my conduct. I
did not, as many boys of my age would Jiavo done, allow
myself to cherish any resentment toward my aunt, on the
contrary I did every thing in m}^ jDower to gain her good-
will ; 1 never allowed the water-2)ails to become empty ; I
split the kindlings for the morning fire ; and, by the time I
had been a few weeks in the famil3^,my busy aunt found her-
self freed from many household tasks to which she had been
accustomed for years, and, more than this, I invariably treat-
ed her with the utmost kindness and respect. It happened
one evening that my aunt was suftering from one of the
severe headaches to which she was often subject. After
supper she w^as almost incapable of any exertion what-
ever. When it was nearly dark she suddenly remem-
bered that the large weekly wash had not been brought
in from the clotlies' yard, and there was ev^ery appear-
ance of approaching rain. " I don't know," said she in
a desponding voice; " what will become of the clothes, but
if they are all spoiled I can't bring them in, for my head
aches as though it would split." It was with fear and trem-
bling that I came forward, and offered to get the clothes-
basket and bring in the clothes. She looked at me with as-
tonishment, saying, '' a pretty sight the clothes will be by
WALTER UARLAND. 57
the time you bring them in, and then tlio linoH will be broken
into fifty pieces ; no, no, let them hting and take their chance
in the rain ; I can't any more than have to wash them all over
again." " Please let me go, aunty," said I, " I will handle
the clothes very carefully, and I certainly will not break the
lines." Touched in spite of herself by my desire to assist
her she gave me the basket, saying, '' now do pray be careful
and not destroy every thing you put your hands on," and
again seated herself with a troubled countenance to await
my return. She was often inclined to think that nothing could
be done properly about the house which was not performed
by her own hands. Her face did brighten a little when I
appeared after a short time at the kitchen door, bearing the
well-filled basket with its snow-white contents in a most
wonderful state of preservation. It was not her habit to
praise any one to their face, but, when I had left the room,
she turned to Uncle Nathan and said " I do believe after all
there is some good in that boy. I am afraid I have been a
little too hard with him, but I've made up my mind if he
behaves as well as he's done so far, that he shall have a
friend in his Aunt Lucinda ; he's the first boy that's ever been
about the house that I could endure at all, and I do believe
he means well, and docs his best to please us, and that's
more than can be said of most boys."
The busy season was over at last, and the harvest all
gathered in; on the following Monday I was to enter as a
pupil at Fulton Academy. I had long anxiously looked
forward to this day, and now that it was so near, I grew
restless with ex|)ectation. I spent the Saturday afternoon
roaming among the old woods which skirted the farm on
one side, and seated by turps at the roots of some of
68 WALTER IIARLAND.
tho fiiio old trees, whoso covering of many-hued leaves
had long since fallen to the ground, my thoughts wove
themselves into many bright forms, and many a purpose
for good was matured in my mind. I dreamed of a time
when, by the unaided exertions ofmanhood,! would purchase
ease and relaxation for my patient mother and loving sis-
ter,and next to those of my own household I breathed a wish
for the happiness of the loved companion of my childhood
Charley Gray.
CHAPTER XI.
HE important diiy arrived wlion I was to begin
school-lifo at the Village Acadomj", the day I had
so long looked forward to with pleasant anticipa-
tions. The teacher who had tauglit the Fulton Academy
for several years was a gentleman of high culture, and of
sound judgment. Teaching with him was a loved life-work-
He had been loft an orphan at an early age, and had, by
his own exertions, obtained the education which enabled
him to occupy a position of influence and respectability,
consequently, he was all the better able to sympathize
and assist studious pupils who laboured against many
discouragements to obtain an education. Instead of re-
garding the pupils under his charge as only objects for
correction and reproof, he treated them as reasonable beings,
and laboured diligently to develop their better natures, as
well as their intellectual powers. When I entered the
school-room, and Mr. Oswald made some enquiries regarding
my studies, and other matters, I looked in his clear honest,
but withal searching ej'es, and felt certain I had found a
friend in my teacher. My ideas at the time, of my new
home as well as my school, will I presume be best ex-
pressed by transcribing the copy of a letter, written to
60 WALTER HARLAND.
Charley Gray about tliin time. 1 lately fouiul it among
some old papern. It reads thus:
Fulton, Oct. 25th, 18—
Dear Charley,
As I cannot possibly see you, I will do the next best by
writing to you in answer to your kind and very welcome
letter, which came to hand two days since. I have so much
to tell you that I hardlj' know where to begin ; but if I intend
to finish I must make a beginning in some way. I will first
endeavour to tell 3'ou something about my homo. You know
I feared Uncle Nathan might be like Farmer Judson ; but
never were two more unlike; he never scolds or frets, and,
although he is not a great talker, somehow or other when
ho does talk I always like to listen to what he says. I am
sure you would like Uncle Nathan, and if you could pay a
visit to his farm he would not drive you off as Mr. Judson
did. My grandma and aunt live with my uncle. Grand-
ma is a very old woman, but she looks hapjiy and con-
tented as she sits day after day in her large arm-chair, di-
viding hor time between her knitting work and reading in
the large-print Bible which always lies close to her hand ;
sometimes she says it tries her eyes to read, and then I
wish you could see how pleased she seems when I offer to
read to her.
You remember the day Charley, when we were at
school at dear old Elmwood, when we were out at recess
and that poor old beggar-man who was nearly blind passed
the play-ground, and drojiped his cane into the ditch.
Some of the thoughtless boys sot up a laugh, but you left
your play and ran and picked uj) the cane and placed it in
his band J and the old man patted your head and said " I
WALTER IIARLANP. 61
know you willinako a <j;ooi] intiii, tny lad, ifyou live to <rro\v
up, for there is always good in tlio boy who pays rospcct to
the aged and helpless. " The master who saw it all from the
open window did not foi'get to reprove the boys who laughed
at the poor old man, while at the same time he warmly com-
mended your kind act, " Take my word for it boys, " saiti
ho "an act of kindness, or any mark of res])ect to the old and
feeble, will always leave a feeling of ha^^piness in yonr own
hearts; "and I know now that our teacher told the truth.
Sometimes grandmothoi* calls me to read to her when I am
busy with study or play, and at tirst I do not feel inclined
to go, but I always do, and J feel more than paid when I
finish reading and she says, " thank you, Walter, you ai'e a
good boy to remember poor old grandma and I hope if
you live to bo okl, and your eyes grow dim like mine, some
one will be as kind to you as you are to me. " I don't know
liow it is, Charley, but some how I always feel happier after
reading to grandma Adams. Aunt Lucinda is Uncle
Nathan's sister, you know ; she keeiis house ; she is a real go-
a-hoad sort of woman, and a great worker ; she is older than
Uncle Nathan, but, between you and 1 1 don't think slie cares
to hear that spoken of, but it's no harm for me to tell you.
She is so different in her ways from your mother and mine
that at first I hardly knew what to make of her. She has a
queer way of snapping people up short if she is'nt just suit-
ed. For a long time I was afraid Aunt Lucinda would never
like me, she seemed to have such a horror of boys — may be
that's tho reason shj never got married. I have begun to
think lately that I am gaining in her good opinion and I am
very glad of it. After all she is kind-hearted, for all her
queer ways ; I could get along better if she wasn't so
02 ^VALTFR lIARLANt).
(listrossiii^ly iioat ami jini'licular aljoul tlio lionso. t toll you
il'yoii livctl with iiiy Aunt, you'd iiavo to rcmoniber ulwayM
to wipo your foot on tlic dooi'-mat bolbro coming into tho
houso; if you did luippen to forgot Aunt Lucinda would
nharpon W]) your uiomory, doi)cnd ui)on it. When I fii'Ht
came hcio I really believe hIio thought I should burn either
tho lioUHO or bai'u, porhajw both, or commit some other oiior-
mily ; but a.s no such occurrence has as yd taken place, she
begins to think, I believe, that I am not so bad as 1 might
1)0. In fact I hoard her tell Undo Nathan tho other da}',
that she " would be roid sorry if [ was to go awa}', I was
such a help about the house, and so careful to keep tho chores
all done up, " that was a great deal for Aunt Lucinda to say
in my favor ; and I was so pleased when 1 lioard her that I
wished there was moro chores to do than there are althougli
I sometimes think there are quite enough already. But it is
time I was tolling j'ou something about my school. I attend
tho Academy over at Fulton, the small village which is about
two miles from Uncle Nathan's farm. Tho Academy is the
only thing here which reminds mo of Elmwood. It is a
large building, two stories in height, painted white, and the
grounds around it are tliickly set with many diiVorent kinds
of shade-trees. Tho upper story of tho building is used as a
Public Hall while the lower one is appropriated to tho school.
There is about an equal number of boys and girls attending
this term. By-the-bj^o, Charlej", when I first entered the
school I was very much afraid that my own attainments
would seem very little compared with those of my then un-
known companions, but I have got rid of that fear now, I
am in tho class next the highest and am eagerly looking for-
ward to the day, which I hope is not fiir distant, w^hen I shall
WALTER HARLAND. 03
siniul ill llu) first ranks in Fulton Aciuloniy. Tlioro arc two
f<vu'li(!rs, Mr. Oswald, tlio lioad inasUM*, and Mr. Tjawronco,
wlio is (|uIto a youni; man, is tlio assistant teacher. This
same assistant is very pompons In liis manner, and when Mr.
Oswald is nol })resent, ho is disposed to aet something of the
tyrant. Jle has red hair, which I believe is a matter oCmiudi
annoyance to him, for ho is uncommonly vain reiL;ardin<^ his
])ersonal apj)carancc. Knowing this, some of the boys de-
light in ])layin^ oil* jokes upon him. One day last weelv, Mr.
Lawrence was leanin<^ over a desk, workinj^ out a difficult
example in Arithmetic, directly behind him was Ned Stan-
ton, the most mirthful and fun-loving- boy in the whole
school. Ned took a match from his j)ocketand, first ^ivin^-
mo a sly nud^'o to look, held it close to Mr. Lawrence's
licad, makini^ believe to light it by his red curlin«j^ locks.
The act was so sudden and withal so comic tliat I burst out
laughinti: before I thought where I was. Mr. Oswald raised
his eyes just in time to see Ned holding the match, I expected
the fellow was in for a punishment for sure; but will you
believe mo when I tell you that Mr. Oswold actually
laughed himself. He tried liard to put on a stern look, and said
*' I think Edward you had best attend to j^our ciphering. "
The assistant was so busily occupied that he saw nor heard
nothing of it all, till he raised his lu?ad, and seeing many of
the scholars trying to conceal their laughter, and even observ"
ing an expression of quiet mirth on Mr. Oswold's face, he
looked from one to another with such a ludicrous manner of
enquiry and astonishment it made the matter still worse.
But, whatever Mr. Lawrence may lack in an}- way, is more
than made up to us in Mr. Oswold. He is past thirty years
of age, he is married, and has a little boy and girl who attend
04 WALTKR IIARLAND.
Rcliool. Tlio littlo hoy in vory iiico, un<l if I wasn't nfrnid
you would lau^h at njo 1 would say that I thiiiU l{oso Os-
wold tho han<ison>ost ^iil I ovor saw, and I havt-! said it
afYor all, hui^h or no laugh. Mr. Oswold is very highly
loarnod, hut when wt^moot with him, soinohow or othor, tho
Hpaco hotwoon us and that tall, loarnod, and soni(»what grav<^
looking man, sooms annihilatod. 1 holiovo it is his kindnoss
whioh docs this. Liko all schools thoro Jiro hoth good and
had scholars hero; some of tliom practice much <locoit with
tho tcachort*, and will somotimos oven oonccal their hooks
when in tho class, and rocito from thom, to savo study ; I
nciur do this, Charley, for I know it is wrong, and 1 know
you wouldn't do it either. But tho small space left warns
mo that 1 must hring my long letter to a close. Write
s«)on, and toll me how you are getting along, and all about
your school, and every thingelso that you think may interest
me. I have made some companions hero hut you needn't
fear my forgetting you, for 1 have mot with no one who, to
mo, can quite fill the place of Charley Gray. With much
alfoction I remain,
Your sincere Friend,
Walter IIarland.
P. S. Write soon, and don't forget to write a long letter.
w. n.
CJIAI'TKIJXII.
N uncle Nathan's liousoliold a '' Ik>o" for tlic parinijj
of upplos had hoen the annual cusloin from tinio
iniinoniorial ; and in rui-al dislrictM, the morry-
niakingH ot any kind are a very dillbront atl'air from the so-
cial gathoriiigs in a lav^a city ; in thecountiy a social gather-
ing has about it a genuine heartiness ofenjoyment, unknown
in the city drawing-rooms of wealth and fasldon. In the
country you come nearer to nature, as it were, untrammel-
led by the customs and usages of fasliionable society. Uncle
Nathan was Just the one to get uj) a social gathering of this
kind, and enjoy it too; if his hair was growing white, the
flowers of social feeling still bloomed in his heart ; and the
yearly apple-])aring bee was never omitted in the household.
He used to sa}' "the ai)ple pies would not taste half so good
in winter if the ap])lcs were not pared by the hands of the
merry company who assembled upon the occasion."
The sun rose bright and clear on the sixth of October ; this
was an important day at the old homestead, for on the next
evening was to bo hold this annual social gathering. They did
not often invite company, and, upon the rare occasions when
thoy did so, Aunt Lucinda made extensive preparations for
their entertainment. Some of her neighbours took the li.
berty of saying she did this partly to show off her unequalled
cookery and housekeeping, but most likely these sayings
66 WALTKn HAULAND.
wore only maliciously cnllo*! lortli l»y her superior attain.
montiH in thin way Ho thin as it niii^ht, slit? was ctu'tainly
vory Imsy on this partinilar day. Tlu^ capacionH l)i iiU ovon
waH lioato'l no loss than ibiir tiinos during tito day, and tlio
savory (KJor IVofu tlio nutnorous dislios takon tlu'rclVoin \w-
Hpoko a |>lonlit'ul ropasl, for tlio applo-pajcrs. I was kept
Ironi school that day to take pai-t in the i^rand prt^parations
^'oin^' lorward. Aunt made nuMpiito happy that inornini; hy
saying " I was a riu^ht smart Iiandy hoy, and eonid holpalon;;;
ama/jnLj,ly *' if I woiiM stay IV(»m school. I would have dono
much more than this for the ilw words of commendation
))estovved !i])otj mo hy my aunt, who was usually so hard to
please. Neat as was hor daily household arran;;(MmMits, on
this day every corner of the old house passed under a most
searching review; and dust hefore unnoticed was hrou_t:;ht
to li^ht in a most alai'iniiiLC manner, and as !ny aunt passed
throu;4;h the house on her tour of investi,ii;ation, the vei'y walls,
with their closets and three-cornere(l cu]dtoar<ls, seemed to
shrink hack with appreluMision, not knowiuir whole she mi^ht
make (ho next discovery of hichU'n «lust or litter. I was so
much elated l)y her oncouraLi^ini;' woi'ds in (he mornin«^ that
I set to work with a ri^ht ^ood will ; hut hefore tlu^ ]»rc])a-
rationw were all completed I foutwl tluit an ap])le-j)arinLf hee
at Uncle Nathan's was no trivial matter, and involved a lari^e
amount of lahour. The hrass knohs on all the doors, as well
as the larji^o brass andirons in the parlor, had to be i)olished
till thoy shone like burnished gold and this with other count-
loss tasks all foil on mo ; but the longest and most laborious
day comes to a close, and so di«l this sixth of October, and
tired enough were wo all long before night camo. Poor old
grandma really entertained the idea that she was of much
WALTKH IIAHLANI). 07
nMhiHtancc, ami icrnaiiKMi up tni* an Ikmii- m* m» Itfyoiid lict*
usual liuio ol* roliriuLf, " to lu>l|i thir»^'M nlon^," an hIio said.
With all my auut'n wharp, crusly ways, oiio couM not hut
rospoct lu^r, whoti thoy iiolircd with wlial lorlK'uiaiuu^ hIu>
troatod ovory whim and fiuicy of her a^iMl mother ; and
upon thin occasion when she advised the old lady to retire
to rest, and slu^ replit>d, " that slu' must sit up to hurry thin«^;s
ftlon^," she did not press the matter hut allowed her to lake
her own vvay. The important (^'etdnu; arrived, and with it
a merry company «d* h()th old and youiiLj who (illed the
lar^e kitcluMi and dinin^L^-room to overflow inu^. All were in
the hest of spirits, and worUin-jj and talking progressed ahout
e«iually. hlaeh one was furnished with a knife sharixMUMi for
the purpose, and a hasket of apples allotted to <wery two or
three. Without in the l(>ast interruptinuj tlie flow of lau,i;'hter
and lively conversation the hasket h .ii;rew empty sur|)risini^ly
fast, hut were immeiliately replenished from tlu^ well-stored
cellar, till some of the younger portion of the company with
an eye to the supper, and fun in the prosp(H;tive, hei;*an to
wonder if the work would never he done. Aunt Lucinda,
assisted by somo of the company, was laying out the supi)er
in the wide hall ready to he brought into the dining room,
directly work was over. Grandma had her arm-chair
removed into the circle of the workers, and actually pared a
dozen aj)plos in tlie courwe of the evening.
It pleased her to bo there and enjoy the scene of innocent
mirth, and that was enough. Ah for «jnclc Nathan he was
hero aad tlici'o and everywhere else, it seemed almost at
one time, replenishing tho baskets, sharpening the edge of
a knife, and diffusing mirth and good humour through tho
whole company. Mr. Oswold, tho teacher, was invited, bring
68 WALTER llARLANb.
ini^ with him his wifo and Roac. When I first moniionotl
giving the Osvvohls jin invitation Undo Nfithtm adviHcd mo
to give the Assistant one also ; 1 Avas not too well pleased at
this, for Mr. Lawrence was far from being a favorite with
mo, and, like most boys, I did not alwaj's pause to consider
what was right ; but Aunt Lucinda, who was anxious that
every thing should be conducted after the most approved
style, declared if the Oswolds were invited Mr. Lawrence
should be favoured also with an invitation, saying, if any
of the youths should make fun of his red hair, or cut up any
capers with him she'd make them sorry for their fun. " 1
know," said Uncle Nathan, with a sly look, " what makes
Lucinda kinds' stand up for Mr. Lawrence, and be so watch-
ful over his red head ; every one who knew Joshua Blake
will rcmemher that ho had red hair. I thought Lucinda had
forgotten the fellow hy this time, but it seems I was mistaken
after all." " Who w^as Joshua Blake?" I ventured to enquire.
" If you don't be off to your work this minnit," said Aunt Lu-
cinda, " I'll let you know who Joshua Blake was, in a way
that you won't ask again, I'll be bound." I thought it unwise
to push my inquiries further, in fact I was glad to beat a
a hasty retreat from the kitchen ; years after I hoard the
story of Joshua Blake from Aunt Lucinda's own lips.
While we have been indulging in this disgression work has
progressed steadily at Uncle Nathan's, till the last basket of
apples was pai*ed, and deposited in the back-kitchen. Then
the rooms were hastily cleared up and the long supper-table
set out. I will not attempt a description of that supper, and
will only say that it met all my ideas of nicety, added to pro-
fusion and plenty. The girls lent a willing hand in assisting
to clear away the tables after the supper was over ; and then
WALTER HARLAND. 69
the fun begun in right good earnest. Soon there was a call
among tlie younger part of the company for " Blind Mans'
Buff." Grandma, who from her quiet corner watched the
the scene of mirth with as much enjoyment as the youngest
present, was disposed to dispute the name, saying that in her
young days the game was known by the name of " Blind
Harry," and when the point was finally settled the game
began, and was for some time continued with unabated enjoy. •
ment. Aunt Lucinda oven allowed hei'self to be blinded
and a very cfHcient blind woman did she prove, as many of
the youngsters could testify who endeavoured to escape from
her vigorous grasp. When the company became tired of
this lively, but somewhat laborious amusement it was quick-
ly succeeded by others of an equally lively character, which
was continued for some two or three hours, and it was not
till the tall clock in the corner of the kitchen tolled the
hour of one that a move was made for tho company to break
up ; and after a somewhat lengthy search in the hall for count-
less shawls, veils, gloves, and wrappers, each one was at
last fortunate enough to find up their own, and the merry
company took their Irrespective ways home beneath the
silver light of the full moon ; and, half an hour later, sleep
had settled over the inmates of the old farm-house. After-
wards in giving a description of the apple-paring bee to my
mother, I allowed that it surpassed in enjoyment any thing
in which I had ever before participated,
a
ClIAPTEU XIII.
HE winter glided quietly, and withal pleasantly,
away at Uncle Nathan's. To rae it was a very busy
season, being anxious to render myself helpful to
my kind relatives, who were doing so much for me.
It was some time before I could entirely overcome the feeling
of (li«!trust and suspicion with which Aunt Lucinda was inclin-
ed to regard rae ; her daily care for my comfort, and many real
acts of kindness drew my naturally affectionate heart toward
her, and it grieved me much to fear that she felt for me no
affection ; but Aunt Lucinda was not at all demonstrative,
and seldom gave expression to her real feelings, besides this
she had told Uncle Nathan at the first, she was sure I would
turn out a bad boy, and, like all positive people, she disliked
to acknowledge herself in the wrong. The reader is not to
suppose that I consider myself as having been any thing
like perfect at the time of which I am speaking; on the con-
trary, I had m}^ full share of the failing and short-comings
common to my age, and often my own temper would rise
when Aunt Lucinda found lault with me, or in some other
Avay manifested a feeling of dislike, and the bitter retort
would rise to my lips ; but I believe I can say with truth
that I never gave utterance to a disrespectful word. My
mother's counsel to me before leoving home, recurring to
my mindjOften prevented the impatient and irritable,thought
from finding expression in words ; and before the winter
was over, I found, what every one has found ^vho triecj Xhp
72 WALTERJIARLANi).
exporimcntj that there i8 scarcely a nature so cold and unfeel-
ing as to withstand the charm of continued kindness. Tlio
last remaining feeling of animosity on the part of my aunt
died out when my mother sent me a letter containing a
small sum of pocket-money, and, without saying a word of
my intention to any one, I expended this money in the pur.
chase of a brooch, a« a present to my aunt. The article was
neither large nor showy, but was uncommonly neat and
tasteful. It w^as an emerald in a setting of fine gold, and of
considerable value ; in fact, to buy it 1 was obliged to emp-
ty my purse of the last cent it contained. When, with a
diffident manner, I presented the gift, asking my aunt to ac-
cept it for a keepsake, as well as a token of my gratitude for
her kindness, a truly happy exprcf sion came over h or usual-
ly rather stern countenance. " It was not," she said, " the
value of the gift alone which pleased her, but it made her
h.appy to know that I had sacrificed so much to make her
a present ; but " said she " I'll take good care that you will
be no loser by remembering your Aunt Lucinda."
I felt more than paid for the sacrifice I had made to give
pleasure to another ; I was trying to learn the useful lesson
of setting aside self that I might add to the happiness of
others, especially of the kind friend, beneath whose roofl
dwelt. It was my invariable custom on my way to school
to call each morning for Willie and Eoso Oswold. We be-
came great friends, and many evenings did I carry over ni}^
books, that we might together study the lesson for the morn-
ing's recitation ; and when (as was often the case) Uncle
Nathan rallied me upon the subject, I replied, with much
dignity, (as I thought) that I preferred studying with Willie
and Rose, on account of Mr. Oswold being at hand to a^^jst
WALTER IJARLAND. ?8
liH. " It's all right, Walter " lie would reply, *\you ami littlo
Koso will make a handsome couple ten years from now, and
I only hope I may live to see the da^', for it won't do to luivo
too many old bachelors in the family, and, with a roguish
look at Aunt Lucinda, " to say nothing of old maids. " My
Aunt would snap])lshly tell him to " let the hoy alone, and
not be always teasing him " adding, thai at his time of life
it ill became him to talk such nonsense ; and, if Uncle Na-
than wished to make her pai'ticularly angry he would reply,
" if I am old, you are certainly two years older, "and my
aunt, who made it a point always to have the last world
would say, as a closing argument, she hoped her years liad
taught her a little wisdom at any rate, but as for him he
seemed to grow more foolish and light-minded with each
year that was .ndded to his ago. I ])resume if any one else
had dared to make this remark of Uncle Nathan they would
have learned that he had an ahle defender i-u the person of
his sister.
The winter passed away, till March came in with
its piercing winds; and to me, if it had been a busy winter, it
had also been a very hap])y one. With )ny studies, and com-
panions at my labours at home, time passed swiftly, and I
received frequent letters from my mother and sister, and also
from Charley Gray. But this pleasant state of things was
destined to continue but a short time, a dark cloud was even
then hovering over me, which was soon to burst in terror
over my head. Before the winter was over many of the hoyn
at school began among themselves to accuse our teacher of
an unjust partiality toward mo, whether with or without
cause I am unable to say, Mr. Oswold was a very estimable
man, but he had very strong feelings, and was inclined to
74 WALTER IIARLAND.
form liis opinion of ono at firnt sight ; if tliat opinion clianecd to
be favourable, you were all right; if the reverse, lie sometimes
failed to give ono credit for whatever of good there might
bo in them. I charge it to no Buperior merit in myHolf, but
1 believe from the very first I was a favourite with our
teacher. I studied hard, and endeavoured to give no trouble
by misconduct, though I doubtless had my faults as well as
others. It may bo that Mr. Oswold sometimes allowed his
feelings to exhibit themselves more than was exactly wise.
I have often lioard him say that strong likes and equally
strong dislikes were natural defects in his own charactar,
against which he was obliged to exercise a continual watch-
fulness.
The idea once formed, tliat Mr. Oswold favoured me above
others, gained ground amazingly fast. Each boy was on the
watch, and the smallest action was noticed and repeated
from one to another in an exaggerated form, till I became an
object of bitter dislike to more than half the school. Many
underhand attemps were made by some of my companions
to hurt me in the good opinion of my teacher ; but he pos-
sessed too much penetration and discernment to be easily
misled, and for some time all attempts to injure me came
back on themselves; but the feeling of enmity among the
boys gained strength with each passing day. One day, about
the middle of the forenoon, a gentleman who was owing Mr.
Oswold money, called and gave him a ten-dollar bill. Mr.
Oswold stepped to the door, where he received the money,
and when he returned to the school-room, being busily
engaged with a class, instead of placing the bill in his pocket-
book lifted the cover of his desk and deposited it there ;
thinking to remove it before leaving the room, at noon. Ho
WALTER IIARLAND. %
forgot to do fio, and wont homo to dinner leaving the money
in his dcnk, without oven h)ckiiig it. The cireinnHtauce
rocurred to his miinlHoon after the school was called to order
in the afternoon ; and, going at once to his desk, could
hardly credit his own eyesight when he]>erceived tliat tlie bill
was gone; he examined all the })ai)erH in the desk, as well
as every crevice and corner, but no bill could be found; and
he became convinced that it a as indeed gone, and ho was
equally certain that it had not been removed without hands.
It was a most suri)rising circumstance, he had taught in that
Academy five years, and this was the first instance of disho-
nesty among his pupils. Some boys, it was true, had given
him trouble in various ways, but never any thing of this
kind. He remained in deoj) thought for a few moments,
but all this did not bring back the missing bill ; and he
decided that his duty was, if possible, to find out who had
stolen the money, for stolen it had been beyond a doubt. He
was sure if any boy had been tempted to purloin the money
after returning to the school-room at the noon hour, he must
have it about him still, having had no opportunity of dis-
posing of it ; he knew it must have been taken after the
return of some of the boys for he was the last one himself
who left the room at noon ; and he therefore determined to
take prompt measures to find out who was the guilty one.
He had no suspicion of any one, for there was not a pupil in
the school who for a moment he would have believed capable
of such an act. He ordered perfect silence in the room and
in as few words as possible explained what had happened ;
desiring if any one present possessed the least knowledge of
the matter they would at once make it known to him ;
saying at the same time, if any boy had been tempted to take
7G WALTER HARLAND.
the inonoy, if he would then corTic forward, and own the
theft, and give up (he hill, lie would forgive him and the
matter hIiouM go no further. Mr. OHWold granted uh fil'teen
minutes, in whicii to reveal any thing we might know con-
cerning the atl'air. A pin might have been heard to fall in
the room during those fifteen minutcH, and neoing that
nothing was to ho learned in that way Mr. Owwold rose and
stepping from his desk naid, *' a duty iw before mo and it muHt
he performed, no matter how uni)leasant it may be, but this
matter muHt not rewt aH it is. If you are all innocont you
need not fear, but I whall certainly take the liberty of search-
ing the pockets of every boy in this room, for, if any boy
took that money, he has it now." Assisted by Mr. Lawrence
he proceeded to search the pockets of each boy, keeping a
sharp watch that no one had a chance to make way with the
money if he had it in his possession. The boys were very
willing their pockets should be searched, and none more so
than I, who was anxious that even a shadow of suspicion
should be removed from me.
It happened to be Mr. Oswold himself who examined my
pockets, and, uttering an exclamation of surprise, almost of
horror,he turned deadly pale, for with his own hand ho drew
from my vest pocket the missing bill. Had a bombshell
burst in the school room the shock would not have been
more unexpected than w^as occasioned by this discovery.
My countenance must have expressed unbounded astonish-
ment and dismay, but certaiidy not guilt. With a face of
deep sorrow,and a voice tremulous with emotion, Mr. Oswold
exclaimed : " Can it be possible ! Walter Harland, that this
is true ? That you whom I would have trusted with un-
counted gold have been led to commit this act, Would that
WALTER IIARLAND. fT
the ('AKo admitted ovon of a doubt, Imt with 1113' own liaiid I
have taken from your pocket what I know is the money I
plaeed in my desk thiH morninp^ for, an is my custom, I no-
ticed the number of the bill when I received it."
What could Ido,what could I say, against such proof posi-
tive, and yet till my teacher drew the bill from my pocket, I
had not the slightest knowledge of it's being there. I felt that to
declare my ignorance of the matter would be almost useless,
and yet, conscious of my own innocence,! could not keep silent.
Looking Mr. Oswold boldly in the Axce I said, " whether you
believe mo or not i speak the truth when I toll you I never
saw that bill till you took it from my pocket ; how it came
there I know not, but again I tell you I never took the mo-
ney from your desk." I could say no more, and burst into
tears. Mr. Oswold remained silent for a time, trying, I pre-
sume, to decide in his own mind as to his wisest course of
action. Requesting the attention of all, ho addressed us, say.
ing. " You are all aware that I lost this money, and you
all know whore I found it. I am sensible that, with most
persons, a doubt of Walter's guilt would not exist for a mo-
ment, but I say to you all, that, strong as appearances aro
against him, I am not entirely convinced that Walter Ilar-
land stole that money. He declares himself innocent; ho
has been a pupil in this school for some months past, and
during this time I have never known him to deviate from
the truth in the slightest degree. I shall w^ait for a time
before proceeding further, and see what light may be thrown
upon this most painful affair. If Walter did not j^lace that
bill in his pocket himself some one else did," and as Mr. Os-
wold spoke, he cast a searching glance from one desk to the
other ; but not a shadow of guilt could be detected upon the
S
78 WALTER IIARLAND.
countonaiu'O of an}* proHont. " I would nay in concluhion,''
Baid Mr. Oswold, "any scholar who tauntn Walter with steal-
ing, or ridicules him in any way,will be immediately expell-
ed from school. For tho present at least, let no allusion bo
made to the matter,unle8s it be in a way to throw light upon
it, in that case lot tho communication bo made to me alone.
" You all hear my commands, and I advise you to respect
them." This was a dreadful afternoon to me ; it seemed that
a weight had suddenly fallen upon me which was crushing
me to the earth. Although no one dared violate the com-
mands of our teacher, I could not fail to notice the changed
manner of nearly all my companions when school was dis-
missed. Some hurried away without taking any notice of
mo whatever; others seemed disposed to patronize me by their
notice, which was more humbling still to one of my sensitive
nature. The first ray of light which penetrated the dark-
ness which had settled over my spirit was when Willie and
Hose Oswold overtook me after a rapid walk, I having
hurried away from every one. " What made you run away
Walter" said Eose, panting for breath, *' a nice race you have
given us to overtake you. You needn't feel so bad," she
continued, " I know you never took Papa's money, and I am
certain he thinks just as I do, only he durst not speak too
positively in the school-room; it is the work of some wicked
bad boys, and you see if Papa don't find out the truth before
he's done with it." I thought it unmanly to cry but it
required a strong effort to keep back my tears, as I replied,
« lam glad you believe me Rose, for I tell you again I did not
take that money, never saw it till it was taken from my pock,
at. I cannot tell whether I shall ever be proved innocent or
not, if not what will become of me ; it would break my
WALTDU irARLAND. 79
rnothor's lioart to know I was even RUMpoctod ofHUch nci-iiao."
" Novor foar,\Valt^r,truHt Papa to find it out," waid thohopo-
ful KoHO. Thoy departed with a kind " good night" and I
proceeded sorrowf'ullj to my homo.
CIIAPTKK XtV.
T was with ii Iioavy heart tlmt I porfbrinod luy usual
ta.skrt tliuL eveninLi; ; and, heforo 1 could wummoii cou-
fj ra^^o to rolato luy trouble to uiielo Natlian, Mr.
Onwold called, and liiniHolf acquainted him with tlie matter.
Free I'rom the presence of the otiier Hcliohirs, ho said he
Iiad not the HJi^htorst belief in my guilt, but looked ujton it
as a mischievous plot formed among some other membertj of
the H<;hool. " I know not," said ho, " whether or no tho mys-
tery will over be cleared up; but I sluill spare no pains to
that end, for I must in some way or other liavo Walter clear-
ed from blame ; but how it is to bo brought about tho future
alone mo.st tell." Uncle Natlian, and oven Aunt Lucinda, did
not for a moment believe mo guilty, and felt for mo a doop
sympathy as I sat by, in a dejected attitude, with my arms
resting on tho table and my face buried in my hands. Aunt
Lucinda defended me in hor usual sharj) positive manner,
and was for proceeding at onco to some severe measures;
but Mr. Oswold reminded hor that, if such wore the case, tho
truth would in all probability never come to light.
Good old Grandma Adams roso from her seat and, walk-
ing with uncertain stops to tho table were I sat, placed
her hands upon my bowed head, and repeated tho following
words from tho Psalmist : " Commit thy way unto tho Lord,
trust also in him and ho shall bringit to pass." " And he shall
bring forth thy righteousness as the light and thy judgment
82 WALTER HARLAND.
as the noonday." " Eest in the Lord and wait patiently for
him, fret not thyself becaune of him who prospcreth in hia
way, because of the man who bringeth Avicked devices to
pass." " Though he fall, he shall not ' tterly cast down,
for the Lord upholdeth liim with his uml !." These verses
from Scripture, repeated as they were by my aged grand-
mother had the effect to soothe my mind. It" was so like
what my own mother would have done under the same
circumstances; and, raising my head I tried to be hoj)eful,
and trust to time to prove my innocence. With all my
resolves to bo patient I found it very hard to bear up as day
after day glided by and nothing took place to throw any
light upon the matter. I «;ould never have borne it, but for
Mr. Oswold's assertion that he believed me innocent. He
exercised the utmost vigilance to obtain some clue to the
mystery, but two weeks (which to me seemed two years)
glided by and nothing was gained.
The* ^ were two boys among the pupils named Eeuben
Mayfield, and ^homas Pierce, they were both older than
I and for a ioiig time had evinced toward me a strong
feeling of dislike. From the first Mr. Oswold had sus-
pected these two boys of having a hand in the affair,
but said nothing to any one of his suspicions; but he
never for a moment gave up the idea that, sooner or
later, the truth would come to light. It was nearly three
weeks from the time the affair happened that these two
boys entered the school- room a full half-hour before the usual
time for school to open. No other pupil was present, and
they felt free to indulge in a confidential conversation, which
I copy for the benefit of the reader. " I wonder," began
Thomas rierce,"what Mr. Oswold expects to gain by waiting.
WALTER HARLAND. 88
1 Icnow Ihb oyos aro protty sharp, but hardly bharp enough
to see to the bottom of this aftair. It takes you to plan
Beuben. I was as willing as you to do any thing to bring
Ilarland down a peg or two, for he has carried his head
rather high this winter, and walked into Mr. Oswold's good
graces in a way that was wonderful to behold. You were
always good at planning, and it was you who did the most
difficult part of the business, which was getting the money
into his pocket. It was very easy to get the money out of
the desk. The way I hurried through my dinner that day
wasn't h 'ow I can tell you. I ran every step of the way that
I might roach the school-room before the other boys ; and
it took but a moment for me to secm'e the bill, and I am
sure no one saw me slip it into your hand, and you know
when the other boys came we were busy skv ing, so of
course no one could suspect that we knew any thing about
it."
"Ila, ha," laughed Koubon, "Walter thought I was very
kind, and even thanked me with that high-bred manner of
his when I spent so much time helping hira to fix on his
skates, and when you directed his attention to a team pass-
ing on the street, ho little thought that while you were both
admiring the fine horses, I generously slipped a ten-dollar
bill into his vest pocket, for his future wants. Was'nt it
fun though. But we'll see now who'll bo invited to tea at
Ml*. Oswold's so often, and spend the evenings, studying with
Rose and Willie. *' " But I can tell you one thing," replied
Thomas, " we've got to be on our guard, Mr. Oswold is very
sharp-sighted, and a word, or even a look, would put him on
our track, and then it makes me tremble to think of it. The
afternoon he talked to us and sent those searching glances
84 ' WALTER IIARLAND.
round the room I could luirdly draw my l)roiitIi for terror
lost ho should detect us in somo way. You know I always
feared those searching glances from Mr. Oswold. " " I have
no fears replied Rouhen. \Vc can surely keej) our own secret,
and, as no one else knows any thing about it, we are safe
enough." Poor misguided youths, they did not pause to
think that their guilt was already known tollim without
whose notice not even a sparrow falls to the ground, much
less did they think how ndar they were to detection and
exposure. The plot by which they hoped so deeply to injure
another was made instrumental in exposing the basoaess of
their own characters. The two boys had a listener to their
conversation whom they liltle suspected. Mr. Oswold, having
some exercises to correct, went to the school-room very early
and shut himself in his private room, which opened out of the
large class-room, that he might be free from interruption,
aad by this means lost not a word of the conversation which
took place between the two guilty boys. The color recedofi
from their faces, and as quickly came again, when Mr. Os-
wold at nine o'clock coolly walked out of his room and called
the school to order. They at once know by his grave and stern
contenance that he had heard all that had passed between
them ; and they knew him too well to doubt that their guilt
would be brought to light in a most humbling manner.
Had they paused b**.fore committing the act to consider the
possibility of detection it is probable they would never have
done the deed ; but it was too late now, and they must meet
the consequences ofthoir own wrong-doing. After offering
the morning prayer, by which our school invariably opened^
Mr. Oswold addressed us, saying : "I happened this morn-
ing to overhear a conversation between two ;^f my pupils,
WALTER HAJILAND. 85
which (u,s iiuJirly us I ciin rocolloct it) 1 \v\>>\i to repeat in
presence of you uU. Mr. O^jwold tlien repeated, word for word
the abovo-rehitod conversation, without giving the names
of the boys, till he said by way of conclusion, ''Ifl have
made a wrong statement, or varied in the slightest degree
from the truth, Reuben Maj^fiold and Thomas Pierce will
please come forward and point out my error, for it was
between them the conversation took place." It would take a
more able pen than mine to describe the countenance sof
those boys as Mr. Oswold coi 3ed speaking. Reuben did
attempt to stammer out a denial, but Mr. Oswold silenced
him at once. " I will not allow you, in my presence, to add
to your sin, by repeating a denial. So base an rction never
before came under my notice. You must surely have for-
gotten the overruling Providence which allows no sin to go
unpunished. Had your i.ot succeeded according to your
wishes you would have ruined as fine a boy as ever entered
this school, both in my eyes, and his fellow pupils, as well
as the community at large. But, from the first, something
seemed to whisper to me that he was innocent of Ihe crime
of which, to all appearance, he was proved guilty. When I
listened to your conversation this morning I fully decided
in my own mind to expel you both from school in disgrace ;
but I have since reflected that even justice should be tem-
pered with mercy ; and, if you are willing both to come
forward in presence of all the school and ask my pardon, as
well as that of your deeply-injured schoolmate, and promise
good conduct for the future, we will allow the matter to
rest, and you can remain my pupils. I would, if possible, spare
your parents, as well as yourselves, the disgrace which
wouW follow your being expelled from school under such
86 . WALTER IIARLAND.
' cireiinistjinces, iiud I would also grant you tlio opportunity
t9 'prove the sincerity of your promises of good conduct for
^ the future."
There was a severe striigiijle in the hroast of the two
boys; they were r.ware of the justice of their teaclier's
decision, but pride pled for them to brave the matter out in
bold defiance. But their hearts were not entirely wicked and
the good in them finally triumphed. Coming forward they
craved Mr. Oswold's forgiveness in a truly humble and
jienitent manner. Then, turning to mo, who felt truly happy
t}»at my innocence was thus proved beyond a doubt,
Keuben addressed me, saying : "Can you forgive us, Walter.
It was envy which first caused us to dislike you and we
cherished the feeling till it led us to commit this wicked
action; but that feeling has all passed away. You never
injured us, and I know not what spirit of evil tempted us to
injure you as we have done. We feel thankful to our teacher
for the lenity he has shown us, and I hope our future con-
duct will bear witness that we appreciate his kindness, and,
if you can forgive us and be friends again, I hope you will
find that we are not altogether bad."
I had no inclination to withhold the forgiveness so humbly
sought. I shook hands warmly with both the boys, saying, '' I
forgive 3''ou with all my heart, let uh be friends. I ara prov-
ed innocent,and am too happy to cherish anger towards any
one." When order was again restored Mr. Oswold made
some instructive and useful remarks upon the folly and sin
of harboring a feeling of envy and ill-will toward others. " I
advise you," said he, " when you detect a feeling of envy
and malice rising in your heart, to remember the sin and
wrong, to which the inlulgenee of this feeling led these two
WALTFIU IIARLAND. 87
boys, and {n'ay to your IToavouIy rallioi* to preserve you
from a bitter uud envious spirit. We will talk no more of
the unh;i])py atlair at present ; it is my wisli that each one
of you treat Rouhen and Tiiomas the same in every res-
pect as thoiigli this circuMHtauL'o had never taken place. 1
intend rotalniiii^ them still as my j)upils, and they must be
treated as such by you all. I trust this lesson will not be
lost upon any, for it speaks loudly of the necessity of ^'uard-
ing our own hearts from evil, and it also teaches us how to
exercise a spirit of forbearance and forgivonos-^, and now we
must proceed to the work of the day."
It is somewhat singular that evil designs against one, either
old oryoiiTigjOFton, instead of working harm, prove the means of
their advancement and promotion. It was so in this case. I did
not forgive these two boys without a struggle with n)y own
temper and pride, but I did do it, and it came from my heart,
and this forgiveness- accorded by me, as well as the tliought
of what I had suffered, caused me to stand higher than over
in the good opinion of my teachers,and the kindness extend-
ded to me on all sides more than repaid my past suffering,
Avhcji movijig under a cloud of suspicion and disgrace. Had
I allowed a feeling of revenge to find a place in my heart it
might have been gratified by the mortification of Reuben and
Thomas,but I tried to rise superior to this feeling, and endea-
voured, by repeated acts of kindness, to convince them that
my forgiveness was genuine. When I returned home that
day at noon Grandma Adams said slie know by the joy-
ous bound with which I entered the house I was the bearer
of good news ; and when I had -old my story, they were all
happy to know that the dark shadow which had reated over
me was lifted; and myskj"" was >igain briglit. Grandma lis-
88 WALTEH IIAIII-AND.
teiiod utloiilivcly while I told of tlic ^nilly oiirs bciiii;'
(letectod, and my own innoconco niado clear as theli^litof
day. When I had fini«hod she called nio to her side and said,
" I hope, my boy, you remember the versos I repeated to you
the other evening from the thirty-soventli PsaliTi. That
whole Psalm has been a favourite one with me all my life-
long ; when weighed down by trouble and anxiety dur-
ing my long and eventful life, I have often derived con-
solation and encouragement from that beautiful portion
of tho Bible ; and I have often thought if there is
one portion of that Book more blessed and cheering
than another it must bo tho thirty-seventh Psalm. If you
live to my age^ Walter, you have yet a long journey before
you, and when the troubles of life disturb your mind — as
doubtless they often will — when trials beset you and the way
looks dark, remember that old Grandma Adams told you to
turn to this Psalm ; read it carefully, and you will be sure to
find something which will cheer and support you." I look-
ed with a feeling of deep veneration upon my aged relative,
indeed I could not have helped it, as she sat in her arm-
chair, with her mild and pleasant countenance, her hair of
silvery whiteness smoothly parted beneath the widow's cap,
and as I listened to the words of pious hope and trust which
fell from her lips, I felt that I had never before sufficiently
valued her counsels and advice, and 1 resolved that for the
future I would endeavour to bo doubly attentive and respect-
ful to this aged and feeble relative, who was evidently draw-
ing near the close of her lile-journoy.
CIIArTKK XV.
TME, with li'iH noiHolcss stoj), glided on, till but a few
weeks remained before the school would bre.'ik uj)
for the midsummer vac.ition. Happy as I was at
Uncle Nathan's I looked eagerly Ibrwanl to the holidays, for
I was then to pay a visit of several weeks to my home at
Elmwood, having been absent nearly a year, and, as this time
drew nigh, every day seemed like a week till 1 could set out
on the journey. Added to the joy of again meeting my
mother and sister, I would also meet Charley Gray, who was
also to spend his vacation at home. "We had kept up a regular
correspondence during the past year. I could always judge
of Charley's mood by the tone of his letters. Sometimes he
would write a long and interesting letter, in such a glowing,
playful style, that I Avould read it over half-a-dozen times at
the least, and perhaps his very next letter would be just the
reverse, short, cold and desponding. Any one who knew
Charley as I did could easily tell the state of mind ho was in
when he wrote, but so well did I know the unhappy moods
to which he was subject, that a desponding letter now and
then gave me no surprise. In fact, had the style of his letters
been uniformly gay and lively, I should have been more sur-
prised, so well did I understand his variable temper. But
we both looked forward to our anticipated meeting with all
the eagerness and impatience of youthful expectation. For,
as I said near the opening of my story, I loved Charley as a
90 AVAi;ri:ii haiu.ani).
broUio)', and ho ngvocalilc and jdoasant wa.s lii.s di.sj)0.siti()n
when ho was ph^a.sod, you quite loi'got l<)r Jie Lime beln*;- Iho
unliappy tempers to which lie was Huhjeot.
There in over a feolinf^ of badness connected with (he closing
of school. Owing to the excellence of the institutioji, there
were pupils attending Fulton Academy from many distant
places. But with the coming of the horuhiys this youthful
band, who had daily assembled at the pleasant old Academy
would be scattered far and wide. Pi'obably never all to meet
again on earth. Man}' of the youths who had stmlied a suHl-
cienttimeto obtain a business education were the coming au-
tumn to go forth to make their own way in the world. The
only intimate friend I had made among these was a youth
whose home was two hundred miles distant from Fulton ;
his name was Robert Dalton, and he had studied at Fulton
Academy for the past three years, and, having obtained an
education which fitted him for the business he intended to
follow, he expected to return to Fulton no more. His father
was a merchant in one of the cities of the Upper Province,
and in the fall Robert was to enter the store, in order to
obtain a practical knowledge of business, as his tastes also
led him to mercantile pursuits. When I entered the school,
a stranger to all, Robert Dalton was the first youth who
bestowed kind attentions upon mo, and we soon became firm
friends ; together we studied and mutually assisted each other,
and always shared in the same sports and recreations. 1
could not help sometimes thinkimr; it was well that Charley
Gray was attending another institution, for I felt certain
(were he there) that the friendship existing between myself
and Robert M^ould irritate his fiery and jealous nature beyond
measure. Poor Charley, it was a pity that he possessed
WALTKU IIAHLAXI). *J1
that uiiha|»py U'm|»or; for tlioro was much ^dilVci-iii^^ in storo
I'or liiniseli'und othoi-s arising' froiii this Hourt'o. Mucli liad
ho yot to cnuluro hoforo that joahMis, oxchisivo Kpirit would
bo l)rought under Hubjoction. During tho siimmor ovoning.s
a ramble to " Beocli-wood " had been a favourite recreation
■with ll()l)ertancl I, and thither we took our way the hist ovon-
in'' we expected to spend together at Fulton. Wo lingei'od
long there that evening, and, seated upon a mossy rock
beneath the shade of those old trees, we talked of our coming
separation, as well us of our individual plans for the future,
till the gatliering darkness hastened our departure. Tho
next morning wo parted, each to meet the friends who were
looking for us w^ith tho anxious eyes of love.
I. knew not how much I had learned to love my kind relatives
till tho time drew nigh when I was to bid them adieu for a sea-
son. Tho day belbre I was to start for home. Aunt Lucinda
made a most imexpccted announcement, which was no les8
than she had made up her mind to accompany me to Elm-
wood. She had never before visited my mother since her mar-
riage, and she thought she might not again have so good an
opportunity of visiting the sister whom she had not seen for so
many years. My aunt and I were by this time the best of
friends, and I was i^loased when she declared her intention to
accompany me to my home. It did not matter to me that
my aunt was odd and old-fashioai d in her dress, and still
more odd and eccentric in her manner and conversation, to
me she was the kind aunt who had cared for my wants, and
treated me as kindly as a mother could have done, and to one
of my nature this was sufficient to claim my affection and res-
pect. This journey was quite an event in the usually quiet and
stay-at-home life of my aunt, but she allowed that having made
92 • WALTER IIARLAJ^D.
up lior iiili)(l hlio hu(\ Iml one lif'o to livo, mIic iiii/^liins woll
onjoy lioi'self somoiinios us othor folks. (Jraiulma Adams
fairly wopt when I hade hergood-hyc, Haying : " vvlio will road
to mo while yon are ^'one, Walter? and it may bo when you
come back you will find the old arm-chair empty. No one in
certain of a day of life but remember the saying * tlie young
may die, but the old must die.' I hope to see you again, but
Bhould I not, strive to become a good and useful man, and
remember my counRels." Uncle Nathan f»hook me warmly
by the h:ind, and hoped to see me return noon, telling mo
alHO, with a comical loo?-:, to take good care of Aunt Lucinda
on the journey, an she was i/ou?itj and inexperienced, and not
accustomed to travelling. *' Nathan Adams," replied my aunt,
" if you must talk, do try sometimes and talk with a little
Bcnse."
I was fearful of missing the train, so long was my aunt
in giving directions to the Widow Green, who had come to
keep house during her absence. Grandma allowed that
though the widow might not understand all the ways of the
house, with Jw help they could get along tolerably well for
a few weeks. " Never fear, mother," said Uncle Nathan.
" There'll be no one to scold while Lucinda's away, and we'll
get along famously. Only I suppose we will be called to
a startling account when the rightful mistress of the house
returns." We soon took our places in the carriage which
awaited us, and, taking his place on the front seat. Uncle
Nathan started the impatient horse into a swift trot toward
Fulton, where we were to meet the train which was to bear
us to Elm wood.
CHAPTJ']ll XVI.
T must bo coiilbssod (luit my uiinl's qiiainl slyle of
(Irons coiitraBlod soniowhat strongly with many of
tho tiiMhionably attiicd huly passengers in tlio sumo
car. I prosuino this gave her little uneasiness, for she cared
little for the opinion of others in matters pertaining to dress ;
and she regarded the slightly quizzical glancesof somoof the
passengers with cool indilt'erence. Her apparel wne of quite
rich material, but the style dated backward for many years,
and the bonnet she wore was (^uito too largo to be considered
f^ishionable. Directly in fron-t of us were seated two young
ladies, dressed in the extreme of fashion, who seemed to «on-
sider it their privilege to amuse themselves by observing
and passing remarks to each other, in an undertone, upon
the dress and appearance generally of the other passengers.
When wo took the vacant seat behind them, we were subject
to a prolonged stare from the two young misses, and we
distinctly heard one of them address the other, saying with
a sneer, " I wonder how much that old lady's bonnet
cost, when new, I would ask her only it must have been so
long ago, I am sure she has forgotten by this time. " Aunt
Lucinda was not one to let this pass unnoticed. Touching
the young lady lightly oti the shoulder, to attract her at-
tention, she said in a voice loud enough to be heard by several
of the other passengers near us,*' I believe, miss, you are
arxious to learn the price of ray bonnet when new, I have
I
94 WALTER HARLAiTl).
forgotten the exact sum, but you may be sure of one thing,
I paid more for it than your good sense and good manner
are worth both together." These two ladies had made them-
selves 80 disagreeable by their silly and vain manners that
this " cut up " from my aunt^was greeted by a burst of
laughter from all near enough to hear it, and the laugh was
evidently not against my aunt. The two girls blushed crim-
son, but made no reply, and as soon as possible changed their
seat to a distant part of the car, possibly they might, for the
remainder of their journey, be more mindful of the courtesy
and respect due to a fellow traveller.
As the dear old village of Elrawood rose to my view
in the distance, I could hardly contain my joy. I had
written to my mother, informing her of the day she
might look for my arrival, but at the time I knew
not that Aunt Lucinda would accompany me, and her
visit was certainly a joyful surprise. Quite a number of my
young companions had accompanied my mother and sister
to the depot. Charley Gray, of course, was there, having
returned to Elmwood two days earlier than I. It is need-
less for me to say that, to all, the meeting was a happy one.
My mother was almost overjoyed at thus unexpectedly
meeting with the sister she had not seen for so long a time>
and the sight of her elder sister recalled to her mind many
almost forgotten incidents of her childhood's days. " You
see Ellen, " said Aunt Lucinda, addressing my mother, " I
have brought your boy home to you safe and sound, and I
believe half a head taller than when he left you. I don't know
as I should have come oniy I couldn't trust him away
from me so long." " I shoa<d say by Walter's appearance*
that he has not missed a mother's care very much, and thanks
from me would poorly ex^^ress my gratitude."
WALTER HAllLAND. 95
Charley Gray had remained with me the last night I spent
at home, and he also gained permission to remain this first night
of my return. It was a happy, and I might add a merry party
which surrounded my mother's tea-table that evening, which,
to please me, was spread under ray favourite tree in the
garden. So happy was I to be once more at home that I almost
felt afraid to go to sleep that night lest I should awake in
the morning and find it all a dream. " If you were as tired
of the cars as I am," said Aunt Lucinda "you would think this
journey no dream, but an awful reality, for my head is all
in a whirl yet, and I shall feel no better till I got a good
night's sleep."
So swiftly had the time passed away, that, till Aunt
Lucinda made this remark, my mother had failed to
notice the lateness of the hour, and, obeying the hint, she at
once offered to conduct her to her room with an apology
for having failed to remember that she must be very much
fatigued. My aunt was very willing to retire, saying she
would be bright enough in the morning, but for to-night she
did feel about done out. As for Charley and I, we had so
much to say that sleep was out of the question, and, after
retiring to our room, we sat for a long time at the open
window, enjoying the beautiful moonlight which fell upon
the familiar scenes of Elmwood, and talking of all that had
befallen us during the past year, till Aunt Lucinda called
at our door saying, in a tone which Charley thought deci-
dedly cross, ** Do you shut that window this minnit, boys,
and go to bed ; here it is nearly midnight, and not a wink of
sleep has there been in this house. How do you expect we
shall all feel to-morrow morning I should like to know ? and
besides you will take the awfulest cold that ever was Heard
M WALTER HARLAND.
of, if you sit there by the open window, in this night air." To
please my aunt I closed the window, and Charley and I
retired, and if we talked longer our conversation was carried
on in a whisper, so fearful were we of again disturbing Aunt
Lucinda. I doubt very much if there was that night a
happier family in Elmwood than the one which rested
beneath the roof of our little brown cottage.
CHAPTER XVIL
APPY days pass swiftly. The meeting of the friends
at Elmwood was indeed a joyful reunion and each
one seemed anxious to do their utmost to contri-
bute to the enjoyment of the other. My mother suspended
all regular employment (for the time being) and gave her
undivided attention to the entertainment of Aunt Lucinda,
and she fully appreciated the kind attentions of my mother
and little sister Flora ; for, notwithstanding her seemingly
cold and crusty exterior, she had really a kindly heart, and
real affection from others ever met with a hearty response :
although one to whom she it was not well-known would have
set her down as a hard, unfeeling disposition ; and I am in-
clined to think my Aunt Luciada not the only one who is
regarded by the generality of people as cold and unfriendly,
for the simple reason that thoy do not take the trouble of
looking beyond their oft<m rough exterior, and discover the
kindly feelings which remain hidden till called forth by the
voice of sympathy and friendship. Although in very mo-
derate circumstances my mother often assisted those who
were less favoured, especially when the sick and suffering
required care and attention. Aunt Lucinda often accom-
panied her in these ministrations, and seemed to take pleasure
in rendering her assistance in the chambers of sickness
which my mother visited. My mother seldom visited in a .
social way but to ndd to the enjoyment of her sister she at
98 WALTER HARLAND.
this time accepted numerous invitations to visit friends,
accompanied bj^ my aunt. Scarcely a day passed that failed
to bring something in the way of recreation and amusement.
There were pic-nic excursions, drives and walks, in which
both old and young participated— even Aunt Lucinda often
making one of the company, and enjoying it too — although
she was sometimes heard to wonder, what Deacon Martin's
wife over at Fulton would say if she saw an old woman like
her take such an active part in the pastimes of the young*
It would seem that Deacon Martin's wife felt it her duty to
be the first to point out any delinquency among those in her
immediate sphere. Aunt Lucinda fearful the good Deacon
himself would be inclined to think she was evincing a spirit
of too much conformity to the world, by joining so frequently
in the amusements of the young, and gay. " I think " said
my mother, " your best way is to consult your own conscience,
instead of the opinion of either Deacon Martin or his wife ;
and I am sure your conscience can accuse you of no wrong
in joining the young people in thoir innocent amusements.'
Advised by my mother my aunt purchased a new bonnet of
quite modern style and a shawl to match, both to be worn
to a pic-nic which was to be held in a beautiful grove near
our village. When she brought home her purchases I
laughingly told her if any young lady we might meet on
our homeward journey should enquire their price she could
easily satisfy her curiosity, as the purchase was of such
recent date. " I am sure of one thing, " replied my aunt," if
we meet the same young lady we met on our way here, she
won't ask me the price of my bonnet. 1 don't know after all
but her remark did me good, for it set me thinking how long
I have had this old bonnet, and I believe it was time for
m© to bujr a new one,"
Walter barlakd.
The holidays were nearly over and we must soon
return to our respective duties. Charley Gray and I
had fully enjoyed the time we passed together. I
fancied that contact with the world had blunted the keen
edge of Charley's nature ; for, during all the time we pas-
sed together, I saw nothing of the peculiar disposition which
had so often been a source of trouble, even when we were
mere children. I suppose it must have been that nothing
called it forth, for his old enemy still remained in his heart
but so genial and pleasant was he that I'really indulged the
hope when we parted that his nature was undergoing a
chanue.
During my visit at Elmwood I once met with Far-
mer Judson. Any resentment 1 might once have cherished
toward him had long since died out, and, having lost all fear
of the crusty farmer, 1 accosted him pleasantly, and offered
him my hand. The man felt ashamed to refuse taking the
hand so freely offered ; but his grasp was certainly not
very cordial ; and, with a few woi*ds, which, if they had
meaning, were uttered in too low a voice to be intelligible,
he passed on his way. As I gazed after his retreating form
I could not fail to mark the change which a year had wrought
in his appearance. His step was far less brisk than formerly,
his hair was fast turning gray, and I fancied that his coun-
tenance wore even a more unhappy and discontented look
than usual. I was then too young to understand what I
have since known that his dissatisfied expression was caused
by his having failed to find happiness in the possession of
worldly wealth, and as yet he had not learned to seek
happiness from any other source.
The time soon came when we must bid a reluctant adieu to
100 WALTER llARLAND.
our friends at Elmwood. It was decided that I was to spend
another year hi Fulton. Charley Gray was to return to his
studies for an indefinite time, and sad enough we all felt when
the morning of our separation came. The steam-cars soon
bore us from the pleasant village of Elmwood where we had
spent six happy weeks. Aunt Lucinda allowed that she felt
herself ten years younger than before she left home and
declared her intention of accompanying mo on my next
visit to my mother.
CHAPTEE XVIII.
fERY welcome was the first view wo gained of the
old red farm-house upon our return, and still more
welcome was the cheerful and mild countenance of
Grandma Adams who, as soon as TJnclo Nathan set out to
meet the train, had taken her place at the front door to
watch for our arrival. It was many years since she had
been so long separated from her daughter, and the six weeks
whi<}h had passed seemed to her more like six years. For
so long had my aunt toiled on at the old homestead,
"year in and year out" without scarcely bestowing a
thought upon the world beyond, that the kindly spirit of
sociality had nearly died out within her ; but this visit
with its many scenes of enjoyment, as well as the kind atten-
tions of her friends, had again called into action that spirit
of friendly intercourse with others without the exercise of
which the warmest heart is prone to become cold and selfish.
She seemed hardly like the same one who left home six
weeks ago, as she presided at the supper table with such a
cheerful, even lively, manner on this first evening of our
return. The Widow Green insisted that my aunt should
take no part in the household cares that evening, but advi-
sing her to sit idle when there was work to do, was throwing
words away, and she was soon busy clearing away the
supper table, and, as she said, "setting'* things to rights
gcnorally, Tbo lamps were soon lighted, and, though it waa
K
102 WALTER HARLAND.
only the middle of September, a wood fire blazed in tlie lire
place, and shed a ruddy glow upon the brown ceiling and
whitewashed walls of the large clean kitchen which when
there was no company, answered the purpose of sitting room
as well. Uncle Nathan said he thought the}'- should treat
Aunt Lucinda as company for that one evening and occupy
the parlor, to which kind offer she replied by begging of
him " to try and be sensible for one evening at any rate."
" Well " said Uncle Nathan, " remember when I go off and
visit about for six weeks, as you have done, 1 shall expect
you to have the parlor warmed and lighted on the first
evenin"" of ray return, for I am sure I could not settle down
to every day life all at once." " Well," said Aunt Lucinda,
as she seated herself by the lamp, and took up the knitting-
work which was ever at hand, to fill up the "odd spells "
which she called a few minutes of leisure, " I have made u])
my mind that in the future I will sometimes enjoy myself a
little, and visit my friends, instead of staying at home till I
forget there is any other place in the world but this farm,
with its dingy old red house and weather beaten barn." " I
am very happy to find, " replied my uncle, " that you have
finally come to the conclusion that we have but one life to
live, for by the way you have worked and drove ahead for
the last fifteen or twenty years, one would think you had
half a dozen ordinary life-times before you and if you have
come to the conclusion that you have but one, and a good
share of that gone already, perhaps there will be some
peace in the house for the time to come." My aunt always
complained that her brother had one very serious fault, he
was prodigal of time, and took too little thought for the
future, and on this ground she replied in rather a snappish
WALTER HARLAND. 108
voice : " Well, at any rate, if every one was as slack and,
careless as you, they would hardly survive for one life time ;
and I can tell you one thing Nathan Adams, this old house
has got to be painted, and that right away, for it is a disgrace
to be seen. I did'nt think so much about it till since I saw
how other folks live. You need'nt begin, as I know you will, to
talk about the expense. You may just as well spend a little
money for this^as for any thing else ; an 3 if as j'^ou say * wo
have but one life to live,* we will try and spciid the remain-
der of it in a respectable looking house. '' What color
would you prefer Lucinda,"; replied my uncle. " I suppose it
will have to be of the most fashionable tint. Ah me, this is
what comes of women folks going to visit, and seeing the
world ; I wonder," continued he, with a roguish look at me "if
Aunt Lucinda isn't expecting some gentleman from Elm-
wood to visit her shortly, whom she would dislike should
find her in this rusty-looking old house. There's no telling
what may grow out of this visit yet." " There's no use in
expecting you to talk sensibly, " replied my aunt, " but the
house will have to be painted, and that's all about it." "Any
thing to keep peace," replied Uncle Nathan; 'and if you are
really in earnest we will see what can be done about it next
week, if this fin© weather continues, for the old house does
need brushing up a little, no mistake." And this was the
way matters usually ended. To confess the truth, Uncle
Nathan was inclined to be rather careless in matters requir-
ing extra exertion and confusion ; but when my aunt once
took a decided stand, the matter was soon accomplished, for
much as my Uncle enjoyed teasing her, he entertained a high
regard for her opinion, and was often willing to trust mat-
ter to her judgment as being superior to his own. As they
104 WALTER HARLAND.
were all busy in various ways, Grandma motioned me to
to take a seat by her side, and read to her, saying in an
undertone, she had had no good reading while I was
away, for Nathan reads too fast, and the Widow Green bpoaks
through her nose, " and you don't know how much I have
missed your clear voice and plain pronunciation." " What
shall I road Grandma, " said I, as I turned the leaves of the
large Bible. " Oh, first read my favourite psalm which you
know is the thirty-seventh, and then road from St. John's
Gospel. For an hour she seemed filled with quiet enjoyment
while I read, till, becomirig tired, she said " that will do for
this time, Walter, for you must be tired after your journey."
The few days which remained of the week after our return
were busy ones ; school was to open on the following Monday
and there were many matters requiring attention. The
painting of the house was begun in due time ; and Uncle
Nathan thought " Lucinda was going a little too far " when
she first proposed adorning the house which, instead of a
dingy red, was now a pure white, with green blinds, but
she soon (as she said) talked him over to her side, and the
first time Deacon Martin's wife passed the homestead after
the improvements were completed, she remarked to a friend,
that she almost felt it her duty, to call and ask Uncle
Nathan if he were not evincing too much love of display,
by expending so much money on mere outward adornings.
Somehow or other it came to Aunt Lucinda's ears that the
good Deacon's wife thought they had better give their mo-
ney to the cause of, " Foreign Missions" than spend it in so
needless a manner. My uncle's family did give liberally
when called upon, in this way, and, more than this, they were
not inclined to niftke remarks upon the shortcomings of
* Walter flARLANi). 106
ot^^ors ; but, upon thi8 occasion my aunt replied with much
warmth : " If the Deacon's wife has any thing to say to
me upon the subject let her come and say it, the sooner the
bettor, and I'll ask her if she remembers the year I was ap-
pointed as one of the collectors for the Foreign Missionary
Society, and when I called upon her, after she had com-
plained for some time of hard times and the numerous calls
for money, put down her name for twenty-five cents, and
did not oven pay that down, and I had to go a second time
for it; if she knows what's for the best she won't give herself
any further trouble as to how we spend our money. On the
whole I presume it was all the better that the Deacon's
wife never called to censure Aunt Lucinda for extravagance
in spending money.
CHAPTER XIX.
HE second year which I spent at Undo
Nathan's was one which I often since called to
mind as the happiest of my life. The days gli-
ded by in the busy routine of school duties, and
my evenings were spent in study varied by social enjoy-
ment. I was never too busy to ro.sj)ond to grandma's request
that I should leave my le.ssons or play for an hour and read
to her. I hud learned to regard this aged relative with much
affection ; even as a child I believe T was of a reflective cast of
mind,and Grandma Adams was the tirst very old person with
whom I had been intimately associated. And often as I sat
by her side and watched the firelight as it shone upon her
silvery hair,and lighted up her venerable and serene counte-
nance, would I wonder mentally if I would ever grow as old
and feeble and my hair become as white as hor's. I remem-
ber one evening when I was indulging in these thoughts the
old lady asked me what I was thinking about that caused me
to look so serious ? " I was wondering " replied I, " if I shall
live to see as many years, and li' my eyes will become as
dim and my air grow white as yours." " My dear boy," she
replied, ** I suppose I seem to you like one who has travelled
a long journey. At your age, ten or twenty years seemed to
me almost an endless period of time, but now that I have
seen more than eighty years of life the whole journey seems
very short, when taking a backward view of the path oyqv
108 WALTER HARLAND.
which I have travelled. It seems but as yesterday since
I was a little mischief-loving school girl, when my only
anxiety was how I could obtain the most play, and get along
with the least study. I used then often to think how glad
I would be when my school-days should bo over ; but how
little did I then realize that I was then enjoying my hap-
piest days ; for, with many others, t now believe, our school
days to be the happiest period of life. Time passed on, till
I grew up, and married. I loft my native place which was
Salem, in the State of New Hampshire, and removed to Wes-
tern Canada. When you look around, my boy, over this
prosperous and growing country, with its well-cultivated
farms, and numerous towns and villages, you ean form no
idea of what the place was like when I arrived here, fifty-six
years ago last Februar}^. Your grandfather was born, and
passed the days of his childhood and early youth, in Scot-
land, but when he was nearly grown to manhood his parents
emigrated to the United States, where he resided for some
years ; but as he grew older he became prejudiced against
the ' Yaiikee Enle,' as ho styled the Republican Govern-
ment of the United States, and, soon after our marriage, he
resolved to remove to Canxda. ' I desire,' said he, * to seek a
liome wdiere I hope to spend my life, bo it long or short,
and that home must be in a country subject to the British
Government under which, I am proud to say, I was born, and
under which I wish to die.' I was willing to make any sa-
crifice to please my husband, for whom I had a deep affec-
tion," and, as grandma said these words, youthful memo-
ries moistened her eyes and caused her voice to tremble, but
she soon regained her composure,and continued : "I was tlien
young and full of hope, and the trials which I knew would
WALTER HARliAND. 10^
full to my lot gave me no anxiety. The weather was bitter
cold, during all that weary journey to our forest home in
Canada. Vie had been rnarried loss than a year when wo
left our friends in New Hampshire to seek a home in this
new country. The summer before my husband visited the
place to purchase a lot of wild land, and build the log cabin
which was to be our first shelter in the Canadian wilderness.
Much as he had told me, I had formed but a very imperfect
idea of the appearance of the place, till after a ten days'
journey (by slow teams) through the deep snows which
often impeded ourway,we reached, near nightfall, the small
log-hut which was to be our home. I had ever thought I pos-
sessed a good share of fortitude and resolution, but at that
time it was put to a severe test. •' There Martha, is our
home,' said my husband, pointing to the rude pile of logs,
which stood in a cleared space, barely large enough to secure
its safety from falling trees, and be3T)nd all was a dense
forest of tall trees and thick underbrush im& '^ fast fulling
shower of snoAV (at the time) added to the gioominesH of the
scene. I g^zed around me with sadness, almost with dis
may and terror. At length I found voice to say * can wo
live here.' ' I have no doubt that we can live here, and be
happy too,' replied your grandfather in a hopeful voice, ' if
it pleases God to grant us health and strength to meet and,
I trust, overcome, the difficulties and hardships which are
the inevitable lot of the early settlers in a new country. " A
man whom Mr. Adams had hired had gone before us that
we might not find a fireless hearth upon our arrival ; and
the next day, after having become somewhat rested from the
fatigues of our toilsome journey, and having arranged our
small quantity of furniture with some attempt at order, I be-
no WALTER HARLAND.
gan to feel something akin to interest in our new home ; but,
to a person brought up as I had been, it was certainly a
gloomy-looking spot ; and I must own that I shed some
tears for the home I had loft. Wo were three miles from
any neighbour, and in the absence of my husband I felt
a childish fear of being left alone in that strange wild look-
ing place. Time would fail me to toll you of all the hard-
ships and privations we endured during the first years of
our residence in this our now home. Lucinda there was our
first child. I buried a little boy younger than Nathan. A
few kind settlers gathered together and laid him in his grave
without a minister to perform the rites of burial. I buried
another son and daughter, and all that's left to me now are
Lucinda and Nathan, and your mother, who was my young-
est child ; as my children grew older I learned the value of
the tolerable education I had myself received. For many
years such a thing as a school was out of the question, and
all the leisure time I could command I spent in teaching
my children. Nathan was slow at learning, but it did beat
all, how smart Lucinda was at her book. I could never tell
how she learned her letters ; I may say she picked them up
herself, and with a very little assistance was soon able to
read. Other settlers came among us from time to time, and
bye-and-bye we had both a school and a meeting-house. I
tell you, Walter, when I now sit at the door, and look around
me over the beautiful farms, with their orchards and smooth
meadow-lands, and further away the gloaming spire of the
village church, and hear the sharp shriek of the locomotive
(I believe they call it) and call to mind the log-hut in the
depth of the forest, which was my first home on this farm,
I am lost in wonder at the changes which have taken place>
WALTER HAKLAND. Ill
and I cannot help repeating the words, 'old things have
passed away, behold all things have become new.' Your
grandfather lived to a good old age, and, when infirmities
obliged him to resign the care of the farm to our boy Nathan
he enjoyed the fruits of his former industry in the comforts of
a home of plenty, and the care and attention of our dutiful
children. As for me I do not now look forward to a single
day. I ha\e already outlived the period of natural life and
feel willing to depart whenever an all-wise Providence sees
fit to remove me ; but I would not be impatient and would
say from my very heart : 'All the days of my appointed
time will I wait till my change comes.' And now, Walter,
read to me, for it is past my usual time of retiring to rest.''
As I closed the book (after reading for half an hour) Grand-
ma said, " I have read myself, and hoard others read the
Bible the;rfo many years, yet each time I listen to a chapter,
I discover in it some new beauty which I had never noticed
before. Truly the Bible is a wonderful book ; it teaches
us both how to live and how to die.
CHAPTER XX.
wish you would go over to the post office, Nathan,"
said my aunt one evening in the latter part of
winter ; ** none of us have been over to Fulton this
week, and who knows but tLere may be letters," " Who knows
indeed !" replied TJncleNathan, "lam as you say a careless
mortal, and never inquired for letters the last time I was
over, so I'll just harness up and drive oyer this clear moon-
light evening." He returned in an hour's time and soon after
entering the house, handed a letter to my aunt saying, *' read
that and see what you think of it." Seating hereelf and ad-
justing her glasses, she unfolded the letter, and perused it
carefully ; but any one acquainted with her would at once
have been aware, by the expression of her countenance, as
she read, that the communication, whatever it was, was not
of an agreeable nature. The letter was from a cousin resid-
ing in the State of Massachusetts whom they had not seen
for many years, but who used in his youthful days to be a
frequent visitor. Indeed it would seem, by all accounts, that
he was fonder of visiting than of any regular employment.
This cousin, Silas Stinson, had grown up to manhood with
no fixed purj^ose in life. As a boy he was quick at learning,
and obtained a fair education, which, as he grew older, he
was at much pains to display by using very high-flown lan-
guage, which often bordered upon the flowery and sublime.
I believo in their younger days Aunt Lucinda used to allow
114 WALTER HARLANi).
" it fairly turned her stomacli lo hear the fellow talk." Ho
was a dashing, showy fellow when young, and was soon mar-
ried to a delicate and lady-like girl, just the reverse of what
his wife should have been. A woman like Aunt Lucinda
would have given him an idea of the sober realities of lifes,
but the disposition of the wife he chose was something like
his own, dreamy and imaginative, "with none of the energy
necessary to face the trials and difficulties which lie in the
life-path of all, in a greater or less degree. He had tried
various kinds of business but grew weary of each in its turn.
At the time of his marriage his father set him up in a dry-
goods store, and, had he given proper attention to his business,
would probably have become a rich man. For a time things
went on swimmingly, but the novelty of the thing wore off,
and he soon felt like the clerk who told his employer " he
only liked one part of the business of store-keeping, and that
■was shutting the blinds at night." After trying various kinds
of business, with about equal success, he got the idea, and a
most absurd one it was, that farming " was his proper vo-
cation." His indulgent father again assisted him, by pur-
chasing for him a small farm, thinking he would now apply
himself and make a living. His father maintained a kind of
oversight of matters during his life-time, but in process of
time he died, and Silas was left to his own resources. His
father's property was divided among the surviving children,
and it was found that Silas had already received nearly
double his share of the patrimony, so, of course, nothing
remainded for him at the time of his father's death. Necessity
at length drove him to mortgage his home, and he never
paid even the interest on the claim, and when the above
mentioned letter was written, the term of the mortgage was
WALTER HAilLAND. llS
toearly expired, and he must soon seek another home for his
family. Such was the idle whin sical being who now wrote
to these relatives to know what they thought of his removal
to Canada, and only waited, as he said, to see what encour.
agemont they could give him adding that he was willing to
work and only asked them to assist him in getting his family
settled till he could look tibout him a little and see what was
to be done, signing himself their attached but unfortunate
cousin. But the professed attachment of her Cousin Silas
failed to call uj) a very pleased expression of countenance as
my aunt refolded the letter, saying, " Well if this isn't a
stroke of business, then I'm mistaken " " What are you going
to do about it Nathan Adams ? " " I can't answer that question
just yet, " said my uncle, reflectively " I think we'd better all
have a night's sleep before we say any more about it." They
felt in duty bound to reply to the letter, but what replj^ to
make was an unsettled question for several days. They were
aware that, for all their cousin's professed willingness to
work, the care of his family would in all probability devolve
upon them, for some time at any rate. But Grandma Adams
had tenderly loved her brother, Silas' father, and at length
by her advice a favourable reply was written. " I can tell,
you one thing," said Aunt Lucinda, after the letter was sent
away, " I cannot, and will not have Silas Stinson's family
move in here, for if he has no more method in governing his
children than in other things we might as well have as many
young Indians right out of the Penobscot Tribe brought
into the house. I am willing to help them as far as I can,
but bringing them into the house is out of the question, " I'll
tell you what you can do, Nathan, " said grandma, " you
know there's an old house on that piece of land you bought of
116 WALTEU HARLAND.
Squire Taylor last fall, and you just fix it up as well as you
can, and let thorn live in it this summer, and by the time
another winter comes you can see further about it ; perhaps
by keeping round with Silas you may get some work out of
him on the farm this summer, and his family must have a
home of some kind. Providence has been very kind to us,
and we must lend them a helping hand." '' I dare say, " re2)lied
m}' aunt, in her usual sharp manner, " that Providence has
done as much for Cousin Silas as for us, only while we have
toiled early and late, he has been whiffling about from one
thing to another, trying to find some way to live without
work ; but I guess he'll learn before he's done that he'll have
to work for a living like other people. But I suppose, Na-
than as they've got to come you'd better see about fixing up
that old house right away. If there was only himself and
wife, I'd try and put up with them here for a while, but with
their five wild tearing children — it makes me shudder to
think of it!"
When the matter of Cousin Silas' removal to Canada
became a settled thing it appeared less terrible than
upon first consideration. April arrived, bringing it's busy
season of sugar-making, and it's mixture of sunshine and
showers. Amid the hurry of work Uncle Nathan found time
to give some attention to the matter of repairing the house,
for the reception of the expected new-comers. Aunt Lucinda
said she supposed her mother was right, and it was their
duty to ^xtend a helping hand to Cousin Silas, but at the
game time it appeared to her that the path of duty really
did have a gi*eat many difficult places, and she supposed as
we could not go round about them we must keep straight
forward and get over the hard places ds well ft9 wo could.
WALlfiR fiAliLAKD. 117
Preparations went on apace, and before the last of April the
repaira on the house were completed. I was still studying
hard, expecting this to be my last year at school. Of all the
family I had become most attached to my aged grandma,
whose life was evidently drawing near the close. She liked to
have me near her, and, to her, no other reading was like mine ;
and the best which any one else could do, fell far below my
services in waiting upon her ; and my uncle and aunt often
wondered what mother would do when the time came that
I must leave them. Considerate ones, spare yourselves
these forebodings, for, before I shall have left your family-
circle, your aged mother will have been called to enjoy that
rest which remaineth to all who live the life she has lived.'
It was thought by many to be somewhat singulaj that a
youth of my age should have been so happy and contented
in the quiet dwelling of my uncle, whose youngest occupants
were middle-aged, and they could not be supposed to have
much sympathy with the thoughts and feelings of youth. I
had gone there in the first place merely to obey the wishes
of my mother, which had ever been as a law unto me. I
loved my uncle from the first, and, instead of feeling anger at
the distrust with which my aunt was inclined to regard me,
I felt a sort of pity for the lonely woman, and resolved, if
possible, to teach her by my conduct that I was not altogether
so bad as she supposed; and my kindness to her soon
softened a heart which had become somewhat unfeeling, from
having so few natural ties, as well as for want of intercourse
with the world at large ; and I learned that my attempts to
please her, especially when they involved self-sacrifice, made
me all the happier, so true it is that " it is more blessed to
s^ire than to receive."
L
118 WALTER HARLAND.
And in time I learned to love my home at the old farm
house, with an affection so deep that the thought of leaving
it was very unpleasant to me. I had also become much
attached to my kind teacher and his family, and thought
with pain of a separation from them. But the time was
now drawing nigh when, like every youth who must depend
upon his own exertions for success, I must go forth to make
my own way in the world. By diligent study I had acquired
an education which would enable me to fill a position of trust
and responsibility, when I should have gained a practical
knowledge of business. My mind turned toward mercantile
pursuits, and it was my intention (after leaving school) to
seek a situation where I could obtain experience in business,
CHAPTEE XXt.
[INTER had gradually melted away before the genial
sun and warm rains of spring, till the snow had
entirely disappeared,and the fields began to wear
a tinge of green, with many other indications that summer
was about to revisit the earth. There is something very
cheering in the return of spring after enduring for a
lengthened period the rigors of winter. The waters are
loosed from their icy fetters, and sparkle with seemingly
renewed brighness in the glad beams of the sun, and all nature
seems to partake of the buoyant spirit called forth by this
happy season. The song of birds fill the air, and they seem
in their own way to offer their tributes of praise to the
kind and benevolent Father, by whose direction the seasons
succeed each other in their appointed order. All were busy
at the farm. Uncle Nathan was beginning to look up his
" help" for the labors of the summer, and my aunt was
equally busy within doors. Grandma is still there, always
contented and always happy, for the old fashioned leather-
covered Bible, which lies in its accustomed place by her
side, has been her guide through the period of youth and
middle-age, and now, in extreme old age, its promises prove,
" as an anchor to her soul, both sure and steadfast." The
Widow Green is at present an inmate of the dwelling, as she
often is in busy seasons. A letter has lately been received
from Cousin Silas, saying he hoped it would afford them no
120 WALTER HARLAND.
serious disai)pointment if he postponed the proposed jour-
ney to Canada for a time, and added, byway of explanation,
that his wife was anxious to r'" /isit the scanes of her
childhood in the State of Maine, before removing to
Canada, and, as he considered it the duty of every man to
make the happiness of his wife his first consideration, he was
for this reason obliged to defer the proposed removal for the
present. Had he seen the look of relief which passed over
my aunt's countenance as she read the letter, he certainly
would have felt no fears of her suffering from disappoint-
ment by their failing to arrive at the time expected. " I
only hope," said she, "that his wife may find the ties which
bind her to the scenes of her childhood strong enough to keep
her there, and I am certain I shall not seek to sevei* them."
"lam afraid Lucinda," said her mother, " that your heart
is not quite right." " Perhaps not moihei," she replied, " I
try to do right, but I can't help dreading the arrival of that
lazy Silas Stinson and his family ; he was always too idle to
work and when they are once hero wo cannot see them suf-
fer, so I see nothing for us but to support them." " Let us
hope for the best" said the old lady, " ho may do better than
you think, and it's no use to meet troubles half way"
The preceding winter had been one of unusual 6everity,and,
as is often the case in the climate of Canada where one ex-
treme follows another, an early spring had given place to
an intensely hot summer. The school had closed, but I was
to remain with Uncle Nathan till autumn, when I was to
return to my home at Elm wood for a short time before seek-
ing a situation. It was the tenth of August, a day which
will be long remembered by the dwellers in and around Ful-
ton, For many weeks not a drop of rain had fallen upon the
\
WALTER UARLAND. 121
dry and parched ground, and the heat from the scorching
rays of the sun was most oppressive. Day and night suc-
ceeded each other with the same constant enervating heat.
Sometimes the sun was partially obscured by a sort of mur-
ky haze, which seemed to render the air still more oppres-
sive and stifling, and all nature seemed to partake of the
universal languor ; not a breath of air stirred the foliage of
the trees, and the waters of the river assumed a dull motion-
less look, in keeping with the other elements. " This day
does beat all," said the Widow Green as she came in, flushed
and heated from the dairy room. " I thought," replied my
aunt, " I could bear either heat or cold as well as most peo-
ple, but this day is too much for mo. I cannot work, and I
would advise you to give over too." " I remember a sum-
mer like this thirty years ago," said Grandma, " the same heat
continued for nine weeks, and then wo had a most terrible
storm, and after that we had no more to say very warm
weather the rest of the season ; and I am pretty sure there
is a tempest brooding in the air to-day, by the dull heavy
, feeling about my head, which I always experience before a
thunder-storm."
The heat had become so intense by noon that Uticle
Nathan and his hired men did not attempt to go back
to the fields after dinner, but sat listlessly in the coolest part
of the house ; they made some attempt to interest each
other in conversation, but even talking was an exertion, and
they finally relapsed into silence, and, leaning back in his
chair. Uncle Nathan's loud breathing soon indicated that in
his case the heat as well as all other troubles wore for the
present forgotten in sleep. A change came over the heavens
with the approach of ovoniug, a breeze sprung up, scattering
»»
122 WalUbr Oakland.
the misty haze which had filled the air during the day, and
disclosing a pile of dark clouds in the western sky, which
seemed to gather blackness as they rose. " It's my opinion,
said Grandma, who had carefully observed the weather dur-
ing the day, " that the storm will burst about sunset," and
true enough it did l)urst with a violence before unknown in
that vicinity. I had gone to the far-off pasture to drive home
the cows at the usual time for milking. The huge pile
of clouds, which for hours had lain motionless in the west,
now rose rapidly toward the zenith, and hung like a funeral
pall directly over our heads. The tempest burst in all its
fury before I reached home, clouds of dust filled the air, which
almost blinded me, and almost each moment was to be heard
the crash of falling trees in the distant forest. The thunder,
which at first murmured faintly, increased as the clouds ad-
vanced upward, till by the time I reached home it was in-
deed terrific. They were all truly glad when I burst sud-
denly into the house drenched with rain, and completely ex-
hausted. The cows remained unmilked for that night, a
thing which Aunt Lucinda said had never happened before
since her recollection. Flash after flash of vivid lightning
filled the otherwise darkened air, succeeded by the deep
heavy roll of the thunder. It was noticed by those who
witnessed this storm, that the lightning had that peculiar
bluish light which is sometimes, but not often, observed dur-
ing a violent summer tempest. The inmates of our dwelling
became terrified. The Widow Green crept to the darkest
corner of the room and remained with her face bowed upon
her hands. " I am no safer," said she, "in this corner than in
any other place, but I do not like to sit near a window while
the lightning is so bright and close at hand." Even my aunt,
WALTER HARLAKD. 123
eelf-possessed as she usually was, showed visible signs of
alarm, and truly the scone would have inspired almost any
one with a feeling of terror, mixed with awe, at the sublime
but awful war of the elements. The wind blew a perfect
hurricane, and the rain fell in torrents, and, quickly succeed-
ing the flashes of forked lightning, peal after peal of thun-
der shook the house to its foundation. Grandma Adams was
the only one who seemed to feel no fear ; but there was deep
reverence in her voice as she said, " Be not afraid my chil-
dren ; for the samo Voice which calmed the boisterous waves
on the Sea of Galileo governs this tempest, and protected by
Him we need not fear." The storm lasted for hours and in-
creased in violence till Grandma said, " the storm of thirty
years ago was far less severe than this." The rushing of
the wind and rain, the deep darkness, except when lighted
by the glare of the vivid lightning, with the awful roll of
the thunder, altogether formed a scone which tended to in-
spire a feeling of deep awe mingled with terror. There had
been a momentary lull in the tempest, when the air was fill-
ed with a sudden blaze of blinding light, succeeded by a crash
of thunder which shook the very ground beneath our feet.
" That lightning surely struck close at hand," said Uncle
Nathan, as he opened the door and looked out into the dark-
ness, and a few moments after the cry of " fire" added to the
terrors of the storm. A barn belonging to a neighbor who
lived a mile distant from us, had been struck by that flash,
and was soon wrapped in flames. It was a large building,
with timbers and boards like tinder, and was filled with hay,
and it was well-nigh consumed before assistance could reach
the spot, and it was with much difficulty that the flames could
be kept from the other buildings on the premises, indeed se-
124 WAitEIl tiARLANb*
veral of the neighbours were obliged to remain on the spot
most of the night. The storm continued with unabated fury
till after midnight and then gradually died away, and from
many a home a prayer of thanksgiving ascended to Heaven,
for protection amid the perils of that long-to-be-remembored
storm. rto<T 'lOJiR i«wf .^z
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CHAPTEB XXTI.
believe there is a power and solemnity in the near
approach of death ivhich often makes itself felt
even before it invades a household; and something
of this kind was experienced by the change which came over
Grandma Adams about this time. It would have been diflS-
cult for her dearest friends to have explained in what the
change consisted ; but a change there certainly was, which
impressed all who saw her. She still sat in her arm-chair
she suflfered no pain, and her countenance was cheerfal and
happy, and her intellect seemed unusually strong and clear;
but to the eye of experience it was evident that this aged
pilgrim, who for more than eighty years had trod the uneven
and often toilsome journey of life, would soon be forever at
rest. The Widow Green remarked to my aunt one day in a
mysterious whisper, " that she was sure grandma was
drawing near the brink of the dark river, and the bright
expression of her countenance was but a reflection of the
happiness in store for heron the other side." Strong and self*
reliant as was my aunt, the death of her mother was some-
thing of which she could not bear to speak, and the widow
was one who so often talked of dreams and mysterious war*
nings, that my aunt usually paid little heed to her remarks in
this respect. But she could not reason away the change in
her mother's appearance. Her mother had been so long
spared to her that she had almost forgotten that it could not
128 WALTER flARtiANl).
always be thus, and the AUwise Father, who sees the end
from the beginning, willed it that the sudden death of her
aged and pious mother should in a gi*eat measure be the
means of preventing her from placing her affections too
much on the perishable things of earth. One evening, when
I closed the Bible after spending the usual time in reading
to grandma, she said: " If you are not tired, Walter, read for
me once more my favorite psalm." I read the psalm from
the beginning in a clear distinct voice as I knew pleased her
best, and when I had finished she said : " You have often, dear
Walter, during the two past years forsaken your books
Of youi- pla-y to Tead to me, and you have been to
me a great blessing, and j'ou will be rewarded for it,
for respect and veneration from youth toward age and
helplessness is a noble virtue, and the youth who pays
respect to the aged will b« prospered in his ways." There
was something in the look and manner of my aged relative
which affected me strangely. Her countenance looked
unusually bright and happy, and her words had an earnest
ness of expression which I had never noticed before. At the
time I knew but little of the different ways in which death
approaches, and was not aware that with the very aged the
lamp of life often burns with renewed brightness just before
it goes out forever. After a short silence, grandma spoke again,
saying, " Have you ever read Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress
Walter ?" I replied that I had, and she continued : " You may
remember that when an order was sent for one of the
pilgrims to make ready to cross the * dark river*,
the messenger gave him this token that ho brought
a true message, * I have broken thy golden bowl and
'oo»ed thy silver coi*d.' I think I have the same token,
WAti^TEIt fiAftLAKb. iSt
Walter. I feel that the golden bowl is well-nigh shat-
tered, and the silver cord of my life is loosening, and soon
the last strand will be severed, and to me it is rather a matter
of joy than of soitow. I know in whom I have believed,
and all is peace. Continue, my child, as you have begun in
life, and should you be spared to old age you will never
regret following my advice. And now I must go to rest, for
I am weary, and would sleep. " Her words awed me deeply ;
but surely, thought I, grandma cannot die while she seems
so well and so like herself. The words she had spoken so
agitated my mind that it was long after I retired to rest,
before 1 slept, and when at length slumber stole over my
senses, T dreamed that a being beautiful and bright stood at
my bedside, who was like Grandma Adams, only decrepitude
and age had all disappeared, and a beauty and brightness,
such as I am unable to describe, had taken their place. A
smile rested upon her countenance, as she seemed in my
dream, for a moment, to raise her hands above my head in
blessing, when she disappeared from my view, and I awoke,
But even while I dreamed, the angel of death came with
noiseless step, and severed the last strand in the cord of
grandma's life, and who shall say that her spirit was not
permitted to hover for a moment, in blessing, over the youth
so dear to her, before taking its final leave of earth.
Upon going to her mother's room the next morning, my
aunt found that she had passed from the sleep of repose to
the deeper sleep of death. Thinking that possibly life still
lingered, they immediately summoned the physician, but
after one glance at the still features, he addressed my aunt,
saying, " Your mother has been a long time spared to you,
but she has gone to her rest." Even death dealt gently
128 WALTER HARLANP.
with the aged one whom every one loved. There was no
sign of suffering visible, for as she sank to sleep, even so she
died without a struggle, and a smile still seemed to linger
i4^n her aged but serene countenance. I believe there are
few who have not at some period of their life been called to
notice the change which a few short hours will bring over
a household. A family may have lived on for years with no
break in the home circle, and every thing connected with
them have moved on with the regularity of clockwork,
when some sudden and unlooked-for event will all at once
change the very atmosphere of their home. Owing to her
advanced age, Grandma Adams' death could hardly be sup-
posed to have been unlocked for, yet so it was.
For so many years had she occupied her accustomed place
in the family circle with health seemingly unimpaired, that
her children had almost forgotten to realize that a day
must come when she would be removed from their midst, and
the place which then knew her would know her no more
forever. Very silent and gloomy was the old fai*m-house,
during the days Grandma Adams lay shrouded for the grave.
A hush seemed to have fallen over the darkened rooms, and
the soft footsteps of friends and neighbors as they quietly
passed in and out, all told the story of death and bereave-
ment. Funeral preparations were something for which the
Widow Green seemed peculiarly adapted, and her presence
was ever sought in the house of mourning. She was a very
worthy woman, and much respected by the people of Fulton,
among whom she had resided for many years ; but along
with many estimable qualities she had also her failings and
weak points ; she had an undue zest for whatever partook
of the marvelloiui or mysterious, her education was extremely
WALTEH fiARLAND. 129
limited, and her method of reasoning was not always the
most clear and logical. She was a firm believer in signs and
omens, as warnings of death and other misfortunes, and very
few events of this kind took place in the vicinity of which
the widow Green, according to her own statement, was not
favored with a warning. But some of the neighbors were
often heard to assert that many of her warnings were never
spoken of till after the event happened. But setting aside
this weaknosp, and the Widow Green was a kind and useful
woman in the vicinity where she resided.
CHAPTEE XXIII.
conversation to which I listened between the widow
Green and Mrs. Waters, another neighbor who
assisted in the preparations for the funeral, filled
mo with astonishment, it being the first time I had over
listened to any thing of the kind. It was the night before
the burial and the two women were busily employed in
making up mourning for the family ; I was seated quietly
in a corner of the room, and if they were aware of my pre-
sence thoy did not allow it to interfere with the conversation
which they carried on in that low tone which people mostly
use in the house of death. " Do you believe in warnings ? "
said the Widow Green, addressing Mrs. Waters. " Most
sartinly I do, and with good reason, " was the reply. " For
many and many a time I have been warned of sickness and
death in the neighborhood. The stillness and lateness of
the hour, together with the employment of the women,
surrounded as they were with crape and black cloths of dif-
ferent kinds, struck me with a feeling of superstitious awe .
and I listened to their conversation as children listen to a
story which fills them with terror, while yet they are
unwilling to lose a word. " It was only last winter, " con-
tinued Mrs Waters " just before old Mr. Harris died you
remember him, he lived, you know, over on the east road
toward the pond — as I was saying, one night about niije
o'clock, there came two (juick raps at our front door, m
132 Walter ^ARtANi).
loud almost as if you had struck with a hammer ; Waters
was just lighting his pipe at the kitchen fire, and ho gave
such a spring when the sudden thumps came on the door
that he upset a pitcher of yeast I had left by the fire to rise,
of course that was of no consequence, and I only mention it
as a circumstance connected with the warning, and to let
you know that he was frightened, for you know for a
general thing he kind' o' makes light o' these things and says
* all old women, who drink green tea, have dreams and won-
derful warnings.' As I was say in', ho ran to unbolt the door,
without stoppin' to pick up the broken jar, and of course no
one was there. * Now,' said I, * perhaps you will believe in
warnings, for if «ver there was a wai-ning that was one. ' ' I
believe', said he 'that some of the boys that know how
foolisli you are, are trying to frighten you.' * I wonder
which was most frightened', said I, ' for I did'nt upset
the yeast jar at any rate,* and the next day when
we got word that old Mr. Harris died at nine o'clock the
night before, he looked kind o' sober, and said, * well it is
singular, that is certain,' and I could never get another
word out of him about it, but you may know he thought
it was a serious matter, for the very next time he went over
to the village he brought me home a much nicer jar than
the old one, without me as much as reminding him of it,
and most always I have to tell him half a dozen times before
I can get him to remember any little thing of that kind."
They went on with their work for a few moments in silence,
when the Widow Green, sinking her voice almost to a whisper,
said: " I will tell you, Mrs. Waters, but you must'nt mention
if for the world, we had two warnings over at our house of
Grandma Adams' death. It's better than a month ago, I
WALTER BAKLAND. 188
dreamed of bein* over here, helping to make up all kindu
of finery for a woddin', and you know to dream of a weddin'
is a sure sign of a funeral ; and the next momin' I said to
my daughter Matilda Ann, there will certainly be a death
o' er at Nathan Adams' before long. I did'nt say uothin'
to any one else, but kept kind o' ponderin' it in my mind,
and then one night, about sunset, last week, our dog Rover
went over on the hill and sat with his face towai-d here and
give the mournfulest howls I ever did hoar. I sent my boy
Archibald to call him in, for I couldn't bear to hear it. The dog
would'nt stir, and the boy dragged him into the house by
main strength, and I shut him up in the back-kitchen, but
the first time the door was opened he sprung out, in leas
than aminnit he was over on the hill again, and set up them
awful howls a second time, and if that was'nt a warnin' I
don't know what would be one." The widow had a very ap-
preciative listener in the person of Mrs. Waters, and I know
not how many experiences of a similar kind might have
been related, had not the entrance of my aunt put a sudden
check upon their conversation ; for they both knew her
sufficiently well, to bo aware that a conversation of this kind
would not for a moment be tolerated in her hearing. It was
something entirely new to me, and it kept me awake for
a long time after I retired to rest. " Can it be, thought I,
that an All-wise Providence makes known by such means,
events which are not revealed to the wisest and best of
mankind: and young as I was, I banished the idea as an
absurdity, and to quiet my mind, I began repeating to myself
what had been grandma's favorite psalm, and before I reached
the close fell quietly asleep. In after years, the conversation
between these two women often recurred to my mind, asd
134 WALTER HARLAND.
more than once I have smiled at the recollection of the
broken yeast-jar.
But they verily believed their own statements, having
listened to stories of a similar kind since their own childhood ;
a belief in them almost formed a part of their education?
and having never set reason at work upon the subject, they
were sincere in their belief that events are often foresha-
dowed by those superstitious signs which formed the topic of
their conversation.
The funeral was over with its mourning weeds and
solemn burial service, and all that was earthly of Grandma
Adams rested in the grave; but what shall we say
of those she has left in their now lonely home ? My uncle
and aunt were still as deeply attached to their mother as in
the days of their childhood and youth, and her age and utter
dependence upon them for years past had all the more
endeared her to their hearts , and when she was thus sud-
denly removed a blank was left in their homo which they
felt could never again bo filled. But the affairs of life do
not stand still, and we are often obliged to take up again the
realities of life, with the tears of bereavement and anguish
still upon our cheeks, and even this may be wisely ordered
to prevent us from indulging our grief, even to a morbid
melancholy. But lonely enough seemed the house when the
kind friends and neighbors had all again departed to their
homes, and we were left alone. There was grandma's arm-
chair with the little stand for her large Bible, her glasses
lay upon its worn cover, even as she had laid them aside on
the last night of her life. Many had offered to remove them,
but my aunt would not allow them to be disturbed, and it
Wft8 sev^fal days after the funeral that I quietly removed
WALTER HARLAND. 135
them to another room while my aunt was busied elsewhere,
and she never questioned me as to why I had done so. From
the day of her mother's death my aunt was a changed
woman, her disposition seemed spftenod and subdued, and
if, from long habit, she sometimes spoke in sharp quick tones,
she was gentle and far more forlfcaring with the failings of
others than formerly. Uncle Nathan said but little, but it
was easy to see that the loss of his aged mother was much
in his mind ; and often was he seen to brush away a tear
when his eye rested upon the vacant corner. It was not
long after this that they received a letter from cousin Silas,
informing them that ho expected to arrive with his family
in a lew days. Aunt Lucinda never uttered an impatient word,
but began quietly to make preparations for their reception*
Very likely she remembered what her mother had said some-
time before. It is very often the case that advice which
we give little heed to while the giver is in life and health
becomes a sacred obligation after their death. Almost every
day she went over to the house which was to be their home,
and spent several hours in putting it in order, and when
they arrived, a comfortable home awaited them. Cousin Silas
was, as may be supposed, a much talking, do-nothing kind of
a man, his language was plentifully adorned with flowery
words, to which he often added scripture quotations, although
seemingly he took little pains to inculcate in his own family
the principles taught in that sacred volume. When, soon
after his arrival, he was informed of their late bereavement,
he made a long, and I suppose very appropriate speech, but
I am inclined to think, it failed to carry much consolation
to his listeners. It would be difficult for one to imagine a
more disorderly family than was that of Cousijj Silae^ aij^
136 WALTER fiARLAKD.
yet strango to say he seemed to regard his wild uhtnatiage-
able children as models of perfection. His own imagination
was very fertile, and he really indulged the illusion that
they were all he would have liked them to be. His wife, her
spirits broken down by poverty and care, had long since
ceased to make the best of the little left in her hands, and
her family government was also extremely nominal in its
nature, so that their arrival at Uncle Nathan's, to say the
least of it, was not a desirable affair. There were five
children altogether. I believe it would have been hard to
find a worse boy than their eldest son Ephraim, aged about
fourteen. The next in age was George Washington, but I
am certain, had he lived in the days of that illustrious man,
he would have looked upon his namesake with any other
feeling rather than pride. Ephraim had one way, and George
Washington had another. The eldest was noisy and boisterous
and delighted in malicious fun, and was continually, as the
neighbors said, " up to some kind of mischief; " while the
other was too indolent even to do mischief; he had one of
those disagreeable sulky natures which w^e sometimes meet
with always grumbling and out of humor with himself
and every one else. Then there were three little girls,
and all that caused them to be less troublesome than
the boys, was, that they were j'^ounger; the youngest
was little more than a babe and gave the least trouble of
either of the five. They remained at Uncle Nathan's for two
or three days before removing to the home prepared for
them ; and they certainly were not an agreeable addition to
our quiot household. I could not have believed it possible
that my aunt could have borne the annoyance with so much
patience. She w^ent about quietly and made the best of the
WALTER HARLAND. 137
matter, altogether unlike my Aunt Lucinda of two years
ago, and I believe she had a feeling of pity for the weary-
looking mother of this disorderly family ; she did remark
to the Widow Green, on the day of their removal, that " she
believed if they had staid much longer, her head would have
been turned with their noise and confusion." But they were
gone at last, and assisted by the Widow Green my aunt went
from room to room, and endeavored again to bring order
out of the mass of litter and confusion ; remarking that the
house looked as though it had been turned upside down, and it
did really seem pleasant when, after two days* labor, the
rooms were again put to rights, and the dwelling brought
back to its usual state of cleanliness and order. My aunt
said " it seemed a waste of labor to fit up a home for a family
who did'nt know how to take care of it ; but then, " added
she " if we do our duty, it wont be our fault if they fail to do
theirs." In a few days she wont over to see how they were
fretting along, and allowed upon her return that she had
serious fears the children would pull her in pieces. In spite of
their mother's feeble attempts at authority, the little girls
pulled at the ribbons on her cap, picked at her cuff-buttons,
and one of them made a sudden snatch at her brooch, my
cherished gift ; the mother ran to the rescue, but not till the
pin attached to the brooch was first bent, then broken.
" What shall I do with these children " said the mother. Pro-
voked by the injury to her much valued brooch, my aunt
replied, hastily : " I know what I would do, I would whip
them till they'd learn to keep their hands off what they've
no business with." But when she saw how grieved the woman
geemed to be, she felt sorry she had spoken so hastily. My
aunt said it e^emed as though night would newer come|
188 WALTER fiAfttAKD.
when I was to drive over to take her home, for there tvas
not, she said, a minute's peace in the iiouse during the whole
afternoon, and glad enough was she to return at night to
her own quiet home. It was a severe trial to one of my
aunt's orderly habits, to be daily subjected to the visits of
the noisy mischievous children of her cousin, and although
she bore it with more patience than might have been
expected, it was a serious annoyance. More than all, she
dreaded the eldest son Ephraim. From the first there had
existed a kind of feud between them. The boy was quick
to notice the love of order so observable in my aunt, and
took a malicious pleasure in studying up ways and means
to annoy her in this respect. Articles of daily use were
misplaced, and many an accident occurred in the household
which could be traced in an indirect way to Ephraim ; but
the fellow was shrewd as well as mischievous, and took good
care that not a scrap of direct evidence could be brought
against him.
His father was for a time to assist Uncle Nathan upon
the farm ; and under pretence of performing some of the
lighter work Ephraim usually came to the farm with him,
but it was very little work which his father or any one else
got out of him ; but it seemed an understood thing that
Cousin Silas and his family were to be borne with, and they
endeavored to bear the infliction with as good a grace as
possible. My aunt was put out of all patience, by finding
one day, upon going to the clothes' yard to hang out her
weekly washing, the clothes-lines cut in pieces and scattered
about the yard. She knew at once that this was some of
Ephraim's handiwork, and when the men came home to
dinner she taxed him with the crime in no very gentle tones.
As usual he declared himself innocent, even saying that he
did not know there was a line in the yard. Then, as if a
sudden thought had struck his mind, he said with the most
innocent manner imaginable, " I just now remember that
when we went out from breakfast this morning, I saw Tom
Green coming out of the yard with a jack-knife in his hand,
and it must have been him who cut up the lines." This
was rather too glaring a lie, and Ephraim must have forgotten
for the moment that Tom Green had been absent from home
for several days ; and cunning as he was, for once he had,
as the saying is, " overshot his mark." " Silas Stinson,**
said my aunt, " will you allow that boy to sit there and tell
such lies in your hearing ?" His father saw that there was
no help for it, he must at any rate make a show of authority ;
and looking at his hopeful son with a very solemn coun-
tenance, he addressed him in the language of Scripture,
saying " O ! Ephraim what shall I do unto thee ?" " It
would' nt take me long to find out what to do, if he was
mine," said Aunt Lucinda. " I'd take a good birch rod, and
give him such a tanning, that he would'nt cup up another
clothes-line in a hurry, I'll promise you." " Upon the whole
I think your counsel is wise, Cousin Lucinda," replied his
father, " for the wisest man of whom we have any account,
says, " Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child, but
the rod of correction shall drive it far from him," and the
Bame wise man adds in another place r << He that spares the
rod spoils the child. " I know not whether he acted from a
sense of duty, or to appease the anger of my aunt ; but, for
the first time in his life, I believe he did use the rod upon
his son Ephraim. He provided himself with a switch, the
size of which satisfied even Aunt Lucinda, and, taking him to
HO WALTER HARLAND.
the back-kitchen, if we could judge by the screams which
issued from thence, the whipping he bestowed upon Ephraim
was no trifling affair.
CHAPTER XXIV.
lUTUMN again camo, with its many-hued glories,
and I must bid adieu to the uncle and aunt who
had been so kind to me for the two past years.
Looking forward two years seem a long period ; but, as me-
mory recalled the evening of my first arrival at Uncle Na-
than's, I could hardly believe that two years had since then
glided away. I had bid my kind teacher and his family
good-bye, and in the morning was to set out on my home-
ward journey. I accompanied my uncle and aunt to grandma's
grave — a handsome head-stone of white marble had been
erected, and I enjoyed a melancholy pleasure in reading
over and over again the sculptured letters, stating her name
and age, with the date of her death. Eighty-five years, thought
I, as my eye rested upon the figures indicating her age>
what a long, long life ! and yet she often said that, in looking
back over her long life, it only seemed like a short troubled
dream ; but it is all past now, and she rests in peace. We
sat long at the grave and talked of the loved one, now
sleeping beneath that grassy mound, till the deepening
twilight hastened our departure. I could not check the tears
which coursed freely down my cheeks when I turned away
from the gi*ave. Seated around the fireside that evening we
talked of the coming morrow when I was to leave them for
an indefinite time, and they both spoke of how doubly lonely
the house would seem when I should be gone. It haixlly
N
142 WALTER HARLAND.
seemed to me that the aunt I was leaving was the same I
had found there, so softened and kind had she hecome.
" It's not my way," said she " to make many words ; you
have been a good, obedient boy Walter, and I am sorry, that
you must leave us, but we could not expect to keep you
always. Always do as you have done here, and you will get
along, go where you will ; always look upon this house as a
home, and if you ever stand in need of a friend remember
you have an Aunt Lucinda, who, if she does fret and scold
sometimes, has learned to love you very dearly, and that is
all I am going to say about it." It was well that she had no
wish to say more, for her voice grew tremulous before she
had finished ; and these few words more than repaid me for
the endeavours I had made to please her during my stay
with them. *' My boy, " said Uncle Nathan, " you are now
leaving us. I am not going to spoil you, by giving you
money, for if you wish to ruin a boy there is no surer way
than by giving him plenty of money; and I want to make
a man of you, and have you learn to depend on yourself and
save your money : so at present I only intend giving you
enough money to bear the expenses of your journey home,
and buy any clothing you may require before going to a
situation ; but I have deposited a sum of money, to remain
on interest for six years ; if your life is spared, you will then
be twenty-one years of age, and if you make good use of
youi* time, may save something yourself. I will not say
how large a sum I have deposited, but at any rate it will
help you along a little, if you should wish to go into business
for yourself at that tiraej and now you had best go to bed
and sleep soundly, for you must be up bright and early in
the morning."
WALTER fiARLANDi 143
triie good-byes were all said, and I was seated in the
train which was to convey me from Fulton. An the
train passed out of the village I rose from my seat to obtain
a last look at the Academy whose white walls shone through
the trees which surrounded it. I suppose if the Widow Green
had been there she would at once have said I would ne'ver
see the Academy again, it being a saying of hers, " that to
watch a place out of sight was a sure sign we would never
behold it again. I certainly tested her saying upon thin
occasion, for I gazed upon the dear old Academy till it faded
in the distance from my sight, and since then I have both
seen and entered it. When my mother met me at the depot
at Elmwood, I could hardly believe the tall girl who accom-
panied her was my sister. Flora, so much had she grown
during the past year. I did not expect to meet Charley
Gray, as the holidays were all over long ago, but the good
Doctor and his wife were kind and friendly, indeed they had
ever been so to me, " Charley went away in the sulks
because you failed to come home during the holidays," said
the Doctor with a good-humoured laugh, " but a fit of the
sulks is no very uncommon thing for him ; " and then he
added, while a grave expression rested for a moment upon
his face, " poor Charley I hope he will get rid of that unhappy
temper of his as he grows older, if not it will destroy his
happiness for life." " I am sure, replied T, '* that Charley could
not have been more anxious about it than I was myself, but
I could not leave Uncle Nathan till the fall." " So I told him"
said the Doctor, but would you believe it the fellow for a
while persisted in saying, you knew he was at home, and so
stayed away purposely, till he finally became ashamed of
himself and owned that he did not really think so, and only
144 WALTER HARLAND.
said it because he was provoked by your not coming home ;
you see ho is the same unreasonable Charley that he ever
was, but it is to be hoped ho will in time, become wiser."
I was glad to find myself again at home ; much as I might
love another place, Elmwood was my home. My favorite tree
in the garden looked doubly beautiful, clothed as it was with
deep green, while the foliage had long since been stripped
from those surrounding it by the frosts and winds of Nov-
ember.
CHAPTEKXXV.
IBOUT two weeks after my return home, Dr. Gray
called one evening, and informed my mother that
ho had that day received a letter from an old
friend of his, who was a merchant doing an extensive
business in the city of Montreal, requesting him, if possiblo»
to find him a good trusty boy, whom he wished to give a
situation in his store. " Mr. Baynard prefers a boy from the
country, " said the Doctor, " as he has had some rather
unpleasant experiences with city boys; and it occurred to
me that you might be willing your son should give the place
a trial. I wish not to influence you too much : but I know
Mr. Baynard well ; and if I wished a situation for my own
son I know of no place which would please me better " " Did
my circumstances allow of it," said ray mother, " I would
gladly keep my boy at home, but, as it is necessary for him
to seek employment, perhaps no better situation will offer,
and as you, in whose opinion I have much confidence, speak
so highly of Mr. Baynard, if Walter is willing we will at
once accept of the offer, and you may write to your friend,
accepting the situation for my son." Of course I had no
objection to oflFer, and the Doctor wrote, informing Mr Bay-
nard that I would be there in two weeks time.
The time passed quickly away, and I again left home. The
Doctor had written to my employer informing him on what
day he might expect my arrival, The train reached the city
l46 WALTER HARLANt).
about two o'clock in tho iiftcriioon, and, stepping fi-om iho cai*
I became one among the crowd upon the platform. During
the journey I had many times wondered to myself whether
Mr. BaynarJ would meet me himself or send some one else. I
supposed he would send one of his derks. Dr. Gray had
arranged that I was to board in Mr. Baynard's family, as
my mother objected to my going to a public boarding-house,
and in this, as in all cases tho good Doctor was our friend ; old
as I am now I cannot recall Dr. Gray's many acts of kindness
to mo when a boy without a feeling of the deepest gratitude.
To a boy of fifteen, whose life has mostly been passed in a
quiet country village, the first feight of the city of Montreal
is somewhat imposing. Presently I noticed a gentleman who
appeared to be looking for some one, and T felt sure it was
Mr. Baynard. He appeared to be about forty years of age
and during the whole course of my life I have never seen a
more agreeable countenance than he possessed. I felt attracted
toward him at once. I stood still watching his movements,
as with some difficulty he made his way through the crowd,
and soon his quick eye rested upon me ; approaching and lay-
^li* ing his hand on my shoulder, he said " Is your name Walter
Harland, my boy ? My name is Mr. Baynard, and I drove
round by the depot to meet a boy I was expecting to arrive
on this train." " My name is Walter Harland," I replied " and
I am the boy of whom Dr. Gray wrote to you." He shook
hands with me, speaking a few kind and encouraging words
at tho same time. After giving orders concerning my trunk,
he told me to follow him, and we soon reached his carriage,
and telling me to jump in he drove to a beautiful residence,
sufficiently distant from the business centre of the city to
render it pleasant and agreeable. Mr. Baynard's family
WALTER HARLAND. 147
consisted of his wife, two daughters and one little boy. They
all treated me with much kindness, and seemed anxious that
I should feel at homo with them. I arrived at Montreal on
Thursday, and Mr. Baynard said I had best not begin my
regular duties in the store till the following Monday. I shall
long remember the first Sabbath I spent in the city, for on
that day I suffered severely from an attack of homo-sickness.
Mr. Baynai-d's eldest daughter, Carrie was twelve years old,
her sister Maria was ten, and their little brother Augustus
was only seven years old. In the morning I attended church
with the family, and a very lonely feeling came over, as I
looked around over the large congregation and among them
all could not discover one familiar countenance. The most
lonely portion of the day was the afternoon ; we did not
attend church, and feeling myself as a stranger in the family
I spent most of the time in my own room, and naturally
enough my thoughts turned to my far distant friends, and I
liitist confess that, although a boy of fifteen, I shed some
very bitter tears that lonely Sabbath afternoon. In the even-
ing I again attended church, and after our return spent the
remainder of the evening in reading, and so passed my first
Sabbath in the city of Montreal. I rose the next morning
determined to be hopeful and look upon the bright side.
Before I took my place in the store Mr. Baynard requested
me to accompany him to the library, where he passed much
of his leisure time, and ho talked to me kindly and earnestly,
informing me what would be expected of me, and giving me
instructions regarding the duties of my position. " Many
years ago, " said he, " I came to this city a jjoor boy like
yourself, as assistant clerk in a large store, I was even youn-
ger than you, and less fortunate in one respect, for my
14^ Walter HARtANO.
employer did not give me a Lome in his family, and t was
obliged to take my chance in a large boarding-house which
was not the best place in the world for a young and inex-
perienced boy ; but thanks to the good principles taught me
by my parents, I was preserved pure and upright amid
many temptations to evil. My friend informs me that you
have been well taught by your mother and the knowledge
that you are left fatherless interests me in your favour ; and,
more than this, I am much pleased with your appearance,
and I trust you will never forfeit the good opinion I have
formed of you at first sight. I wish not to multiply advices
to a needless extent, and will only add, be diligent in your
business, be honest and upright in all things, and, above all
things, shun evil companions, and you will surely be pros-
pered in all your undertakings." This advice was given in the
kindest manner possible, and from my heart I thanked Mr.
Baynard for the interest he manifested in me. When I
entered upon my regular duties in the store, I found them
light, but I was kept very busy. My first task in the morn-
ing was to sweep, dust and open the store ; through the day I
assisted the older clerks in v/aiting upon customers, carried
parcels, in fact, made myself generally useful. When released
from the store the remaining portion of my evenings were
pleasantly passed in the family of my employer ; he was very
unwilling I should acquire the habit of spending my even-
ings abroad, and was at much pains that the evenings in his
own family should be pleasant. The little boy seemed to
regard me, when out of the store, as his own property. I was
fond of the child, and devised many plans for his childish
amusement ; his lively prattle often drove away the lonely
feelings which at times stole over me, when I remembered my
Walter harland. 149
distant friends. The little girls both played the piano, which
was a source of much enjoyment to me ; we had access to the
library where there were books suited to all ages. Mrs. Bay-
nard allowed us occasionally to indulge in a noisy game,
when our numbers were increased by some of their school*
mates. I well remember the feeling of wounded pride and
anger when I one evening chanced to hear a purse proud
gentleman say to Mr. Baynard, " I am much surprised that
you should allow your children to associate with one of your
clerks ; I could not for a moment think of allowing mine to
do such a thing." •' 1 do not ask you to allow your children to
associate with him, '* replied Mr. Baynard, with a heightened
colour, " but as long as Walter remains the honest, upright
youth he has so far proved himself, I consider him a very
desirable companion for my children. I have learned his
character and connections from my old and esteemed friend
Dr. Gray, and his testimony is sufficient for me." This reply
silenced, if it failed to convince the proud gentleman.
CHAPTER XXVI.
S time passed one I became accustomed to the duties
of my position, and performed them much more
easily than at the first. The feeling of diffidence
with which 1 entered Mr. Baynard's family soon wore-away,
by the kindness extended toward me by every member of
the family, i spent no money needlessly, being anxious to
lay by as much as possible. I wrote often to my friends at
Elmwood as well as to Charley Gray, and received long
letters in return which afforded mo much pleasure. My
mother's letters often enclosed one also from my sister,
which gave me many choice scraps of news concerning my
old school-companions, and many trifling matters which
doubtless possessed more interest for me than they would
have done for any one else. I presume Charley felt our sepa-
ration more keenly than I, our natures were so unlike.
Hurrying along Great St. James Street one afternoon with a
heavy package of goods under my arm, 1 struck against a
youth who was walking in the opposite direction, with such
seeming rudeness that I paused to apologize, and when I
raised my eyes found myself standing with my old friend
and companion at Fulton Academy, Robert Dalton. Our
meeting was not more unexpected than joyful : he had been
in Montreal for the past six months, but had failed to inform
me, indeed Robert was not a good correspondent, it was no
lack of friendship but for some reason or other, writing
letters was always a task to him. Meeting unexpectedly as
i62 WALTER HAltLAND.
we did our former intimacy was soon renewed. He was
employed in a large druggist's shop in Notre-Dame Street,
and boarded with another clerk whose home was in the city,
and we were much together when released from the business of
the day. Learning from Robert's emj^lo^^er that he was a
young man of good principles Mr. Baynard did not object
to our intimacy, indeed he looked upon him as a kind of
safe-guard to me, owing to his being three years my senior
and possessing more experience and knowledge of the world ;
and from what he had learned of the young man, he was
aware if he exercised any influence over me it would be for
good; and many pleasant evenings we passed together in
Mr. Baynard's family ; Robert was fond of music, and was
considered a good singer, and often his rich voice mingled
with the notes of the piano in Mr. Baynard's parlor. Since
then, in looking back to that time, I have often thought if
business men, who often have young men in their employ
whoso homes are far distant, would be at a little pains to
afford them social pleasures of an elevating nature, it might
have a decided effect for good upon their characters, in after
life.
It is ujinecessary and would prove tedious to the reader
as well as to myself, were I to give a detailed account of
the two first years of my residence in the city of Montreal.
It had been understood that I was to remain two years,
before visiting my friends at Elmwood, and although I
became happy and contented, I looked forward with impa-
tience to the time when I could visit my mother and sister.
The two years was nearly past, and I began to count the
weeks and days as the time drew nigh for the expected
visit. I had become as one of the family in the house of my
WALTER HARLAND. 153
employer, and had enjoyed much ploasiir': in the society of
my friend Robert Daltonj the more I saw of him the more I
valued his companionship, indeed he had become to mo as
an older brother. He often amused me by relating incidents
of his childhood, and in ray turn I talked freely to him of
my distant home and friends.
If Charley Gray left home two years ago in a fit of the
sulks, it did not interfere with our correspondence
which had been sustained regularlv on both sides. It
CD «/
was now nearly three years since we had met, and I
looked forward eagerly to our expected meeting, for
he was to spend the holidays at home. When I reached my
native village Charley was the first to welcome me, having
begged the privilege of driving to the depot to meet me. He
had changed much during the two past years. He had grown
tall and manly looking, and a glance at his broad full brow
at once told one that he possessed a powerful intellect ; but
he was pale and thin from close application to study, for
from a mere boy Charley was a hard student. As we rode
homeward we had much to tell of what had taken place
since our last meeting. I received a joyous welcome from
my mother and sister, and with a feeling of pride I placed
in my mother's hand a considerable sum of money which I
had saved carefully for her use, hoping it might enable her
to live without the unceasing toil which had been her lot
for several years. The month I was to spend at home sped
swiftly away, and we all made the most of each passing
day. Charley Gray seemed so cheerful and happy that I
began to hope he had outgrown that jealous and unhappy
temper which had formerly been so characteristic of him ;
but in this I was mistaken as I soon had abundant cause to
164 WALTER HARLAND.
realize. That serpent in his bosom was not dead, but only
slumbered till aroused by some slight jn'ovoeation. We were
one evening engaged in a long and familiar conversation, he
related many incidents connected with his school-life, and 1
also spoke of many things concerning my home in Montreal ;
among others I mentioned Robert Dalton, and spoke of the
fi'ienship between us which began at Fulton Academy and
which was so pleasingly renewed in the city of Montreal.
I had for the moment forgotten Charley's peculiar and
exclusive nature, and dwelt at considerable length on the
good qualities of my absent friend, till checked by the dark
frown which suddenly gathered upon Charley's countenance,
and the angry flash which shot from his eyes. Ilising to his
feet, he said in a voice of deep displeasure : " Since you are
so fond of a new friend, I suppose you no longer consider an
o'd one worth retaining, so 1 will trouble j^ou no longer." I
attempted to reason with him, saying I could not see why a
new friendship should alienate us who had been friends from
our childhood; but by this time he had worked himself into
a fearful passion and made use of very violent language. 1
had learned long ago that when his anger was excited, he
was not master of either his words or actions. I stepped
forward, and laying my hand upon his shoulder tried to
recall him to himself, but he threw off my hand as if my
touch had been contamination, and without another word
walked from the room. As I looked afte>' his retreating form
as he walked hastily down the street I could not help a
feeling of pity for him, that he should suffer himself to be
governed by such an unhappy temper, for I knew that
when his anger became cooled he would bitterly repent of
his conduct. To the reader who has never met with one
WALTER HARLAND. 155
possessing the unhappy disposition of Charley Gray, his
character in these pages will seem absurd and overdrawn ;
but those who have come in close contact with a like nature
will only see in this sketch a correct delineation of one of
the most unhappy dispositions which affect mankind. Charley
was endowed with rare gifts of mind and intellect, and was
manly and sensible, and setting aside this one fault it was
hard to find a more agreeable and pleasant companion. His
absurd conduct was often a matter of after-wonder to him-
self, and he made frequent resolutions of amendment, which
only held good till some cause roused his old enemy. I
suppose no more proj^er name could be found for this un-
happy disposition than exclusiveness, for what ever or whoever
he liked, he wanted all to himself. He was respectful and
courteous to all, but intimate only with a very few, and for
those few his affection wont beyond the bounds of reason,
inasmuch as it was a source of unhappiness to himself and
all connected with him.
I cherished no resentment toward Charley, knowing him
as I did, but I knew the folly of trying to reason with him
in the state of mind in which he left me. It must have
been a hard struggle witli his pride, for Charley was very
proud, but his good sense prevailed, and he came to seek me
" You are freely and fully forgiven," said I, in reply to his
humble acknowledgment of wrong-doing ; " but do Charley for
3'our own sake as well as that of others try and subdue a
disposition which if not conquered, will render you un-
happy for life. If I am your friend does it follow that I
must have no other, and the making of other friends will
never diminish my regard for you, the earliest and best friend
I have ever known." " lam sensible," replied he, " ofull and
156 WALTER IIAKLAND.
more than you can tell me of the unreasonableness and ab-
surdity of my own conduct, and again and again have I
resolved to gain the masterj?^, and often, when I begin to have
confidence in my own powers of control, this exclusive
jealous disposition will suddenly ritso and put to naught all
my resolutions of amendment. If you could know what I
endure from it you would pity instead of blame me.
But let us part friends, and I will try to exercise more
reason for the future." "VVe talked long together, for the
morrow would again separate us, and it might be long before
we would meet again. I had spent a happy month in the
cool shady village of Elmwood, and returned to my labors
with body and mind both strengthened and refreshed.
CHAPTER XXVII.
BOUT the middle of October, Eobert Dalton was
taken ill. His disease seemed a kind of low fever,
and in a short time he was completely prostrated.
All the leisure I could possibly command I spent at his bed-
side, and many hours did I forego sleep that I might minister
to his wants. The family with whom he boarded were very
attentive, but I knew he was pleased with my attention,
and exerted myself to spend as much time with him as pos-
sible. Several days passed away with little apparent change
in his symptoms, but ho grow extremely weak. His phy-
sician Avas of the opinion that he was tired out from long
and close application to his business ; but thought he would
soon recover under the necessary treatment. One evening,
when ho had been about two weeks ill, I went as I had often
done to sit by him for a portion of the night ; after the family
had all retired, I administered a quieting cordial left by the
doctor, and shading the lamp that the light might not dis-
tvirb him, I opened a book, thinking he would sleep. He lay
very quiet, and I supposed him to be asleep, and was
becoming interested in the volume before me when he softly
called my name. I stepped quickly to his bedside, he took
my hand saying, " sit down close to me Walter, I have
something to saj' to you." I took a seat near him, and after
a few moments' silence he said : " You may perhaps think I
am nervous and fanciful, when I tell you I feel certain I
shall never recover from this illness ; the physician tells mo
168 WALTER HARLAND.
I will soon bo up again, but such will not bo the case." Ob-
serving that I was much startled, he said, " Do not be alarmed
Walter, but compose yourself and listen to me. My parents
and one sister live at a distance of four hundred miles from
here. I have deferred informing them of my illness, as
my employer, who has much confidence in the skill of my
physician, thought it unwise to alarm them needlessly, and I
now fear that I have put it off too long, for I think I shall
not live to see them. I intend in the morning requesting
mj'- employer to send a message for my father to hasten to
me at once, but I fear it is too late." Much alarmed, 1
enquired if he felt himself growing worse, or if he wished
me to summon his physician. He replied, " I feel no worse,
but from the first I have had the impression that I should
never recover ; and should I not live to see any of my friends
I have one or two requests to make of you, knowing that
you will attend to my wishes when I shall be no more." I
became so much alarmed that I was on the point of calling
some of the family ; but he arrested me saying : " I am quite
froe from pain, and when I have finished my conversation
with you shall probably sleep. " He continued, " I know my
father will hasten at once to me when apprised of my
illness, but should I not live till he arrives, tell him
I have endeavored to follow the counsels he gave me
when I left home; for I know it will comfort him
when I am gone to know that I respected his wishes.
Tell him, also, he will find what money I have been able to
save from my salary deposited in the Savings Bank. Tell
him to remember me to my mother and sister Mary, and
could I have been permitted to see them again it would have
afibisded me much happiness, but that I died trusting in the
WALTER HARLAKD. 159
merits of my Redeemer, and hope to meet them all in
Heaven, wlioro parting will be no more." His writing-desk,
which was a verj'^ beautiful and expensive article, he request-
ed me to accept of as a token of affection from him. I pro-
mised faithfully to obey all his wishes should his sad fore-
bodings prove true, yet 1 could not believe he was to die.
At the close of our conversation he seemed fatigued, I
arranged his pillows and gave him a cooling drink, and I
was soon aware by his regular breathing that he slept
soundly. As ho lay there wrapped in repose my memory
ran backward over all the happy time I had spent with him; he
Avas the only one outside of Mr. Bay nard's family with whom
I was at all intimate, and the bitter tears which I could not
repress, as I gazed upon his changed features, made me
sensible how dear he had become to me. A hasty letter wag
written next morning to Mr. Dalton, informing him of his
son's illness, and of his urgent request that lie should hasten
to him as soon as possible; but poor Robert lived not to see
his father again. The next day after the letter was written
a sudden change for the worse took place in his disease, and
it soon became evident that he could live but a few hours.
He expressed a wish that I should remain with him to the
last, and before another morning dawned Robert Dalton
had passed from among the living. A short time before his
death, his eyes sought my face, and his lips moved as
though he wished to speeak to me ; I bowed my ear to catch
his words, as he said in a voice which was audible to me
only : " When my father arrives remember all I said to you,
and tell him I died happy, feeling that all will be well with
me." After this he spoke no more, and an hour later he died
with my hand clasped in his own. When, two days ftfter,
160 WALTER IIAULAND.
his fatlier arrived, and found that lie was indeed dead, his
grief was heartrending to witness. Never before did I see
such an agony of grief as was depicted upon his counten-
ance, as he bowed himself over the lifeless body of his only
son. As soon as circumstances permitted, I repeated to Mr.
Dalton the conversation Robert had held with mo a short
time before his death. Among other things I gave him his
watch which he had entrusted to my care. He pressed me to
keep the watch, saying, " From the frequent mention my son
made of you in his letters, I almost feel that I know you
well, and knowing the strong friendship he entertained for
you, I beg of you to accept of his watch for his sake as well
as mine, and should we never meet again, bear in mind that
I shall ever remember you with gratitude and affection." It
was a small but elegant gold watch which to Eobert had
been a birth-day gift from an uncle who was very fond of
him, and to this day it is to me a valued keepsake.
When Mr. Dalton left the city, bearing with him the lifeless
remains of his son, for interment in the family burial-place,
a deep gloom settled over my mind, and for a long time, I
could hardly rouse myself to give the necessary attention to my
daily duties. Since that period I have made other friends
and passed through many changing scenes, both of joy
and sorrow ; but I have never forgotten Robert Dalton, and
his image often rises to my mental vision, as memory recallg
the scenes and friends of my youthful days.
CHAPTER XXVlir.
ITII iho reader's permission I now pass over a period
of six years. I am still residing in the city of
Montreal, as Mr. Baynard, when I reached the age
of twenty-one, saw fit to offer me a partnership in his business,
which the fruits of my former industry, added to a generous
gift from my Uncle Nathan, enabled me to accept. Many
changes have taken place in my early home in the village of
Elmwood. Many old friends and neighbors have been laid
to rest in the quiet churchyard, and many with whom 1
attended the village school have gone forth from their pa-
ternal home to seek their fortune in the wide world. The
cottage home of my mother has undergone many improve-
ments since we last looked upon it. It has been enlarged
and modernized in various ways, and its walls are i\o longer
a dingy brown, but of a pure white, and its windows are
adorned with tasteful green blinds. From a boy it had been my
earnest wish to see my mother placed in a home of ease and
comfort, and that wish is now gratified. Time has not dealt
severely with my mother, for she looks scarcely a day older
than when we last saw her six years ago. My sister Flora
is finishing her education at a distant boarding school,
where I am happy to say my brotherly affection and gen-
erosity placed her. Good Doctor Gray and his kind wife
are still alive ; but they are really beginning to grow old.
But what of Charley, for surely the reader has not forgotten
Charley Gray ; he graduated from College with the highest
162 WALTER HARLAND.
honors, and is now studying medicine in the city of New
York, as, agreeable to the ideas of his boyhood, he has decided
upon becoming a physician, I have met with him only
twice during the past six years. Does his old unhappy dis-
position cling to him still ? we shall learn that bye and bye.
During all the years of my residence in Montreal, Mr. Bay
nard had enjoyed uninterrupted health, but he was now
seized with a sudden and alarming illness ; his disease was
brain fever in its most violent form. His physician found
it impossible to break up the fever, and with his afflicted
family I anxiously awaited the result, A deep gloom over-
shadowed the dwelling, the family and servants moved with
noiseless steps and hushed voices through the silent apart,
ments. He was delirious most of the time. The doctor often
tried to prevail upon Mrs. Baynard to leave him to the care
of some other member of the family and seek rest, but she
could not think of leaving his bedside even for a short time^
and only did so when rest was an absolute necessity. The
two daughters had been absent at school for two years, and
just at this time they returned to their home, having finished
their term of study, and they were almosu heart-broken thus
to find their father stretched upon a bed of sickness, and
could not but entertain fears as to the result. All my at-
tention during the day was required at the store, as the whole
oversight of the extensive establishment devolved upon me.
The days that Mr. Baynard lay prostrated by suffering
passed wearily by : the frequent visits of the physician, the
perpetual silence, and the air of gloom which prevailed
through the dwelling, told but too plainly that there was
sorrow and suffering within its walls. His wife would often
bend over the suffering form of her husband, and her tears
JP
WALTER IIARLAND. 163
would fall last while ho still lay unconscious of her presence
or watchful care ; and she feared he might in this state pass
away and leave no token of recognition or remembrance.
At length the time allotted for the disease to run its course
arrived. This time had been anxiously waited for by the
physician, and with much greater anxiety, by his sorrowing
family. On the night of the crisis of the disorder, Mr. Bay-
nard was so extremely weak that the question of life and
death was evenly balanced, and it was hard to separate pro-
babilities of the one from the other. Mrs. Baynard requested
that I would not return to the place of business after tea,
but remain with them. The physician never loft the room
during all that night ; and O ! what a long and dreary night
it was: the house was silent as a tomb, oven the ticking of
the watch which lay upon the stand seemed too loud. Finally
the breathing of the sick man seemed entirely to cease. Tho
doctor stepped hastily forward, felt his pulse and placed his
hand over his heart. " Is he dead ?" said Mrs. Baynard, in
a calm voice, but her face was pale as marble. The doctor
made no reply but raised his hand as if to enjoin silence, and
ho quickly ap2)lied powerful draughts to the soles of his feet :
if these took effect they might have ho])e. In a short time
the patient made a slight movement as if from pain, and tho
physicianhastily called for wine, saying, " Life is still there,
and if it can for a short time be sustained by stimulants, he
may rally." Ere the morning sun rose, the doctor expressed
a hope that the crisis was past, and that ho would recover.
For several days, ho lay weak and helpless as an infant ;
but the doctor assured us that ho was slowly but surely
recovering. Soon after he was so far recoveretl as to spend
a portion of each day at our place of business.
164 .WALTER IlARLANb.
I received a letter from Charley Gray informing me
that he intended spending several weeks of the summer
at Elmwood, and urgently requesting me to meet him there. I
had intended visiting Elmwood before receiving his letter ; I
had only been onCe there during the three past years, and
I felt the need of a respite from the cares of business. My
sister also expected this summer to return home, having
spent four years at school, and I looked forward with much
pleasure to the time when wo should meet again in the dear
old home at Elmwood. Time had worked a great change in
me since I left that home eight years before. Providence
had smiled upon my efforts to assist my widowed mother
and sister. Through my means my mother was now placed
in a home of comfort and afliuence, and my sister had re-
ceived a thoroughly good education. I was still 2)rosporcd,
and of late was fast accumulating money. Never before,
since leaving the paternal roof, had I felt so strong a desire
to rest for a time beneath its shelter, and as the time drew
nigh I could hardly control my impatience. At home
again ! I realized this happiness in its truest meaning, when
I found myself again beneath the roof that had sheltered
my childhood. Flora too was there, but so much changed
that I could hardly recognize the little sister who had ever
looked up to me for protection and love. The very evening
after my arrival Dr. Gray called. His call surprised ns a
little as the hour was late. Ho came in with his old good-
humored laugh, saying : *' Do not be alarmed, for this is
not a professional visit, and for once I have left my medicine-
case at home ; but when I went home quite late in the even,
ing and learned that Walter had arrived I thought I should
sleep all the more soundly for coming over to welcome you
WALTER HARLAND. 165
to Elmwood again. By the byo " continued he, " I hear
Walter that you are fa8t becoming rich ; well I am glad to
hear it, and I am pretty sure you will make a good use of
your money." I assured him I was far enough from being
rich. " Modest as ever, " replied he, " but no matter, better
that than forward and boastful, no fear but you'll get along.
I am expecting Charley to arrive every day, " said he, " and
then wont wo have the good old-fashioned times again," I
was very happy to meet my old friend again in such good
spirits. The next day while, conversing with my mother, I
suddenly remembered Farmer Judson, and I enquired if his
temper was improved any of late. My mother looked serious
as she replied, " I had forgotten to tell you, Mr. Judson has
been ill for a long time. Ho first had lung-fever from which
he partially recovered, but he now seems like one in a slow
consumption ; I have not as yet called to see him, as I hear
he is very irritable and does not care to see people, and I
feared he would take my visit as an intrusion. I very much
pity his poor wife, who is almost worn out with attendirg
upon him, and would gladly aid her were it in my power. '
As a boy I had cherished anger toward the farmer ; but that
had all passed away and I felt sorry to hear of his illness.
Two days after my arrival, Charley Gray came. Our meet-
ing could not be otherwise than happy. He was, I believe, the
most changed of the two ; and I thought at the time I had
never before seen so ])erfoct a type of manly beauty.
'< What a pity," thought I, '* that one so highly gifted, and
noble looking, and whose manner was at times so attractive
and winning, should allow himself at other times to be so
morose and disagreeable from a foolish and unreasonable
temper. He had now completed his studies, and bad come
V
166 WALTER HARliANfi*
homo for a short time before entering upon the practice of'
his profession. When I left the city, Mr. Baynard advised
me to spend at the least two or three months at home, for
so long and industriously had I applied myself to business,
that he thought a season of rest and recreation would be
very beneficial to me ; and all our old friends at Elm wood
seemed anxious to add to the enjoyment of Charley Gray
and myself during our stay. My mother was one who seldom
left her home, and she surprised me one day by saying, *' If
Charley and I would take a journey to Uncle Nathan's she
and Flora would accompany us, and that very evening I
wrote to my uncle and aunt informing them of our proposed
visit, and asking them if they would be willing to entertain
so large a party ; and an answer soon arrived informing me
that nothing would afford them more pleasure than our
visit, and " they were very sure they could find room for us
all." 1 had only paid one hasty visit to Fulton since I left it,
and I anticipated much pleasure from again meeting my
uncle and aunt wnth many old friends of my school-days at
Fulton.
I did not intend Vrriting a long story, and will not
trouble my readers with the particulars of our journey, nor
of the hearty welcome we received when we arrived at the
old farm house of Uncle Nathan. Let it suffice that nothing
was wanting to render our stay agreeable. My uncle and
aunt looked scarcely a day older than when I left them eight
years since. Upon my remarking how lightly time had set
on them, my uncle replied with his old manner of fun and
drollery, " Don't you know, Walter, that old bachelors and
old maids never grow old, they get kind o' dried in just such
a way and keep so for any length of time," and I could not
WALTER IIARLAND. 167
help thinking there was some truth in his remark, I enquired
with much curiosity for Cousin Silas and his family. " O ! "
replied AuntLucinda, " upon the whole they have done better
than one could have expected when they first came here.
Silas will never do much anyway, they still live on the Tay-
lor place, and Nathan manages one way and another to get
some work out of him. Nathan intends at some time to deed
the place to the family in such a way that Silas can't
squander it away ; but ho has never told them so yet. Some-
how or other, after mother's death, I felt drawn toward the
family, and did all I could to help them along. I kept the
little girls with me by turns, and encouraged them to attend
school, and took pains to learn them habits of order and
industry, and I found after a time that my labor was not
entirely thrown away, for as they grew older they carried
the habits which I tried to teach them into their own home,
and to say the least of it, they live much more like other
people than they used to ; and I begin to think that even an
old maid can do a little good in the world, now and then, as
well as any one else. Of course you remember the boys,
and what an awful trial it used to be to have Ephraim about
the place ; well, he settled down after a while, he always said
"the whipping his father gave him for cutting up my clothes-
lines and then lying about it was what made a man of him.
Ho attended school for three years, and then not wishing to
work on the farm he struck out into the would for himself;
he obtained a situation in a mercantile house in Toronto,
and I hoar bids fair to make a successful business man.
George Washington has not entirely ceased to grumble and
look sulky ; but there has been a wonderful change in one
respect, for there is now no harder working youth in thg
l68 WaLDER fiAHLAND.
neighborhood ; he likes farming, and early and late may be
found at his work. I don't know but Nathan may have given
him a hint that the old Taylor place may one day be his
own. I don't know how it is, the neighbors say it was
your Uncle Nathan and I who ever made any thing of those
children. Nathan said: ' Silas would never do much any
way, and we had better try and make something of the
children,' and I certainly have done my best ; but it was
uphill work for a long time ; and I am glad that they have
profited by our efforts for their good."
CHAPTER XXIX.
\. OSWALD was still the teacher of Fulton Academj^
and many happy hours were passed in the inter-
change of visits during our stay at Uncle Nathan's ;
and I suppose I must inform my readers of a sentimental
scene which took place in Mr. Oswald's garden on a delight-
ful evening in midsummer, when, at my earnest entreaty,
lovely Eose Oswald renewed the promise made to me on
that very spot just eight years ago ; for my boyish fancy
had ripened into the strong man's love, and I felt that Rose
Oswald, as my wife, was all that was wanting to render me
as happy as one can reasonably expect to be in this world of
change and vicissitude. " If you are willing to resign your-
self to my keeping," said I, '' there is no need of a long en-
gagement, and when I leave Fulton I must take you with
me as my wife." " So soon, Walter." " Yes, Rose, just so soon.
1 have long looked forward to this day, and now I almost
count the minutes till I can claim you as all my own," and
so the matter was settled. When Aunt Lucinda was informed
of this arrangement she opened her eyes wide in astonish-
ment, and when she learned that the marriage was to take
place within a few days, she was highly delighted, "for", said
she, " the sun never shone on one like Rose Oswald before ; in
fact, she was far too good for any one but you Walter, so if
you had not chanced to fall in love with her, she must have
died an old maid."
It was a bright morning, early in September, that a small
170 WALTER HARLAND.
wedding party was assembled at Mr. Oswald's residence ; the
few guests invited were all old friends. I sent an urgent
message for good old Dr. Gray and his wife, and although
they seldom loft Elmwood, they responded to my call, and
made what, to them, was quite a long journey, that they
might be present at my marriage. That same evening we
set out on our wedding tour, while my mother and Flora,
with Charley Gray, returned to Elmwood ; and, after travel-
ling for several weeks, we found ourselves at my mother's
home, where we were to spend a few weeks longer before
returning to the city, which was to be our permanent home.
Soon after my return to Elmwood, I received an urgent mes-
sage to visit Mr. Judson, who was said to be fast failing. I
felt a degree of reluctance to go, having never once entered
his dwelling since the memorable day on which I left it
years ago, but I felt it my duty to comply with his request.
I found him much weaker than I had expected. He seemed
much overcome, when I softly entered the room, and extend-
ing my hand, enquired how he found himself. " I am very
weak." he replied, " and feel that I have but a short time to
live. I have felt very anxious to see you, and I feared you
would not arrive in time to see me alive, I hope you will
forgive my unkindness and harshness to you when a boy. I
did not then know that I was so unkind, but it has come
back to me since. At that time my whole desire and aim
was to accumulate riches, and it was that which caused me
to be harsh and unfeeling. I have become rich, but riches
will avail me but little, as I stand upon the brink of eternity,
and the way looks dark before me, but it will afford me some
comfort to hear you say you forgive me, before I die." I
took his hand within my own, as I said : " Any resentment J
WALTER HARLANi). Itl
tiiay once have cherished toward you, Mr. Judson, has long
since passed away. I was but a boy when I resided with
you, and very likely at times taxed your patience severely,
and you have my entire forgiveness for any harshness I may
ever have experienced at your hands. I am sorry to find
you so ill, and hope you will soon be better." "No,
Walter," he replied, " that will never be, and I am now sen-
sible that in my anxiety for the things of time, 1 have
neglected the all-important matters of eternity. Since I
have lain upon this sick-bed I have tried to repent, and I
trust I do feel sorry for my sinf'; but, somehow, I do not
find the comfort I seek. Would that you could tell me what
to do Walter." Can this softened and subdued man, thought
I, be the same of whom I once stood in so much fear. As
well as I was able I directed him to the sinner's only hope,
the merits of a merciful Saviour ; while, at the same time,
I referred him to many comforting Bible-promises ; which,
when I had read, he said: "Do you think, Walter, those
promises can be meant for me, who have neglected my Bible
and been careless and worldly all my life long ?" For answer,
I directed his attention to the promise which says : " He that
cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out." He requested me
to pray with him. I have never before prayed save in the
retirement of my own room, and I felt a degree of diffidence
at the thought of praying in the presence of others, but I
overcame the feeling, and, kneeling down, I forgot the phy-
sician as well as others who listened to me, and lifted up my
voice in solemn earnest prayer. I forgot everything but
the God before whom I pleaded. I prayed that were it the
will of Providence, he might be restored to health ; but, if
not, that he might, in believing on the Saviour, find a com-
172 WALTER HARLAND.
fort which would enable him to triumph even over the
terrors of death. When I rose from my kneos, ho eeomed
more composed, and, after remaining silent for a short time,
he addressed me with much earnestness, saying : " It seems
to me, Walter, that I must see my two boys before I die.
Send for them at once. I drove them from mo by my
harshness, years ago. Send for them at once, and I hope
my life may be spared to see them once more." He held
my hand long at parting, saying : " You have done me good,
Walter, and I do begin to have a hope that my Heavenly
Father will have mercy upon me and receive me, not for
any merit of my own, but through the merits of that Saviour
who died for the salvation of repentant and believing sin-
ners. Learning the address from Mrs. Judson, I at once
dispatched a telegraph message to the two sons, and four
days later they arrived, to mingle their tears at the death-
bed of their father, from whom they had so long been
estranged. It was evident, from day to day, that Mr. Judson
was failing fast ; but, as his bodily strength wasted away, a
most happy change came over his mind, during the last few
days of his life.
I was summoned from my pillow at midnight to stand by
his death-bed. His death was calm and full of hope ; but,
to the last, it was to him a matter of regret, that he had
neglected, through life, those things which afforded him any
hope in death. Among his last words to me, he warned me
against setting my heart upon riches, in a way that would
prove a snare to any soul. *' Eiches," said he, " are a great
blessing when rightly used, but ought not to be the chief aim
and object of life." Before the morning dawned, his spirit
passed away, and it was my haod that closed his eyes in the
Walter harland. 173
dreamless sleci) of death. The next day I called, in com-
pany with my mother, and entered the darkened room whore
lay hia lifeless remains, now habited for the grave. I gazed
long and silently upon tnose features now stamped with the
seal of death. Reader, if there lives one against whom you
cherish angry and bitter feelings, pause a moment and con-
sider what your feelings would be if called to stand by their
coffin ; for, be assured, your anger will then give place to
sorrow that you ever indulged anger toward the poor fellow-
mortal now extended before you in the slumber of death, I
attended the funeral of Mr. Judson, and saw his body con-
signed to the grave. He sleeps in the village churchyard
at Elmwood, and a marble slab marks his resting-place.
When, after the funeral, his will was read, the large amount
of the property left was a matter of wonder to many. In
his will he gave largely to several benevolent and religious
institutions, and to me he left the sum of one thousand dol-
lars. I could see no reason why he should have done this,
but as his will was drawn up in legal form and properly
attested I thought it right I should accept of the generous
gift ; and, indeed, it was but a small sum out of the large
property left by Mr. Judson. Besides his liberal gift to me,
he also gave largely to d liferent benevolent and religious
causes. Half the remainder of his large property was to go
to his surviving widow, and the remainder was to be equally
divided between the two sons. Before his death it was set-
tled that Eeuben, the youngest son, was to remain on the
homo place to care for his mother in her old age, while the
eldest was to return to their former business ; and thus Mrs.
Judson's declining years were rendered happy and contented
through the care and love of her favorite son. And so Rose
174 WALTER HARLAND.
and 'I at length bade adieu to our friends, after a protracted
visit, and returned to the city, where, by my direction, a
pleasant and tasteful house already awaited us. Eose liked
not to reside in the noisy city, so our home is in one of the
most pleasant suburbs in Montreal. Should any of my
readers be curious enough to enquire if Eose and I are
happy, I would cordially invito them to pay us a visit, and
judge for themselves, the first time they pass our way. The
evening before we were to leave Elmwood, I was seated
beneath my favorite tree in my mother' b garden, and leaning
backward against its grey trunk, with its thick and wide-
spreading canopy of green branches above my head, I
indulged in a long and deep reverie. Memory ran backward
over the careless happy days of my childhood, the struggles
of my youth, and the exertions of mature manhood ; and
although bereft, at a very early age, of my earthly father, I
could not fail to observe the guiding hand of a Heavenly
Father who had smiled upon my youthful efforts to assist
my widowed mother, and had prospered my undertakings,
and crowned my mature years, by giving me, as a life-
partner, the one who had been my first and only choice, and
almost unconsciously to myself, I repeated aloud the follow-
ing verse from what was Grrandma Adams' favorite j^salm :
"Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him j and
^e shall bring it to pass."
So busily was my mind occupied that I failed to notice
the approach of my sister Flora, till she seated herself close
to my side, and leaning her head upon my shoulder said in
a constrained hesitating voice : " There is one thing I must
tell you, Walter, before you go away : Charley Gray has told
jne he loves me, and asks me to be his wife." This did not
WALTER UARLAND. 175
surprise me much for I had noticed with secret anxiety the
growing intimacy between Charley and my sister. '* What
shall I tell him, Walter," said my sister, " fori mu8tnot,daro
not act without the counsel of my only brother ?'* I looked
up in my sister's face with all the aifection which welled
up from my heart and said, "you love him then, Flora?"
" How can I help loving him, who is so gifted,so noble," was
her reply. " And," continued she, " on account of his reserved
nature, I believe few give him credit for the real goodness of
heart he possesses." As Flora had said, Charley possessed a
kind heart, and was just and honorable in every respect, but
I trembled for the woman who placed her happiness in his
keeping ; and how much more so, when that woman was
my beloved and only sister. " You do not answer me," said
Flora ; " mamma would give me no reply till I had consulted
you." " My dear sister," said I, " Charley is all that you say,
ust honorable and good ; but with all this he has qualities
which, if not brought under subjection, will sadly mar his
own happiness and that of all who love him. He is exclu-
sive and jealous even of a friend, how will it be with a wife ?
Suspicion and jealousy is inherent in his very nature, for did
not Doctor Gray tell me years ago that a suspicious, jealous
nature was hereditary in the family of Charley's mother,
and he therefore begged me not to blame Charley too severely
for a fault which he could not help saying * he feared the
cloud which hovered over Charley's cradle would follow him
to his grave.' I doubt not Charley's affection for you, Flora ;
but the very depth of his aifection will, I fear, prove a source
of unhappiness to you both, for you are aware as well as I
that Charley's affection, like his anger when roused, goes
beyond the limits of sober reason. From your childhood,
176 WALTER HAHLAND.
Flora, you have been petted and indulged, and a !iie of con-
tinual watchfulness and restraint will be soniethinc: entirely
new for j^-ou ; for I never knew even a friend of Charley's
who could act themselves when he was present, and unless
there has been a wonderful change, as his wife, you will be
forced to guard your every word and look lest you ollcnd
him ; you must be pleased only with what pleases him, in
short his will musL be yours in all things." " You are my
brother," said Flora, " and I need not blush to tell }'ou I love
Charley Gray butter than I once thought it possible for one to
love another, and I know from his own lips that lie loves me
equally in return, and as his wife the conlidence between us
will be so full and entire, there will be no room left for doubt
and suspicion." " Well, little sister" saidi, "knowing Charley
as I do, I could not help uttering those warning words, but
I shall not seek to hinder your marriage. Hove and respect
Charley more than any other friend I have, but I am very
sensible of his faults. A heavy resiDonsibility will devolve
upon you as his wife, but love works wonders, and all may
be well ; but remember. Flora, you have a most peculiar
nature to deal with, but it may be j^our privilege to exor-
cise the dark spirit from the breast of Charley Gray." That
same evening the engagement ring glittered upon Flora's
finger; and six months later, amid a small company of
friends, they uttered their marriage vows in the old church
at Elm wood ; and by many they were called with truth a
beautiful and noble looking couple ; and immediately after
their marriage they set out for their new home in one of
the largo cities of the Western Provinces, where Charley was
to begin the practice of his profession. They left us under
seeming summer sky, and I breathed a prayer, that no cloud
might arise to mar its serenity.
niAPTER XXIi.
BOUT a Tear after Flora's marriatjc I received a
letter from Aunt Lucinda with a pressing invitation
tliat we should go at once to Fulton ; she Avished
me also to wi'lte, requesting m}' mother to join lis at
Montreal and accompany us. This letter surprised me not
a li<:'c 'tit I was well aware that Aunt Lucinda must have
some particular reason for this sudden and unexpected
invitation ; and 1 at once wrote to my mother, informing her
of her request, and two days later slio arrived at my homo
in Montreal. We enjoyed a pleasant journey, and again my
eyes rested with delight upon the familiar scenes of tho
village of Fulton. Uncle Nathan met us at the railway
station, looking as hale and hearty as ever. On our way to
the farm I ventured to inquire what had caused our invita-
tion to visit them at this particular time; ho answered mo
only hy repeating the old saying, "Ask me no questions
and 111 toll you no lies," and so we made no further
in(|uirios. When Aunt Lucinda came forward to welcome
us, T at once noticed tho remarkaMe change in her appear-
ance; oiu; wouM have supi)0sed that at least ten years had
been taken from her age since 1 last saw hei*, and her whole
manner was so cheerful and sprightly that I was at a loss
to understand what could have happened; but T never
dieamedof the truth till after tea, when Aunt Lucinda rose
and said ; '■'■ I want to see you, Walter, alone in the ])arlor." I
followed her. secretly wondei'ing what wonderful revelation
178 WALTER IIAllLAND.
I was to listen to. "VVlicn wo wore seated, slie said with her
old abrupt manner, "Well, Walter, you have heard Nathan
talk about Joshua Blake, he has come back and we are
going to be married to-morrow and J have sent for you to
attend the wedding. You may well look astonished to
hear an old woman like me talk about getting married ; and
the land knows what Deacon Martin's folks will say ; but as
V'r.G. as they have libertj^ to say whatever they please, they
need'nt complain. You remember hearing Nathan laugh
about Joshua Blake and his red hair years ago, perhaps you
thought there was no such person in the world but there
was. Joshua was an only child, his parents lived over at
the village, and we went to school together. His hair was
not a real blazin* red but only a dark auburn, for all of
Nathan's nonsense about it. Well, w^e loved each other,
when mere children. As we grcvv^ older I could see but one
fault in Joshua, he was inclined to be unreasonably jealous,
and that was the beginning of our trouble. I was young
and giddy, and much as I loved him rather enjoyed teasing
him, and doing trifling things which I knew would vex him,
while at the same time I cared for no one else in the world ;
and I am now ashamed to say I often accepted of the atten-
tions of others for the mischievous delight 1 took in making
him angr} and seeing him look cross, and it may be there
was a lurking pride in knowing that I had the power to
make him jealous. Truly, Walter, the human heart is a
singular compound of good and evil. I shall ever remem-
ber the last evening wo spent together, it was at a party. I
know not what spirit of mischief possessed me, but I took
particular pains to jmno}' Joshua b}' mj' giddy and frivolous
conduct. When we were ready t) return homo he oiTered
WALTEU HARLAND. 179
mc his arm without speaking, this made me angry and I
walked proudly by his side. We walked on in silence till
we reached the gate at my own home. As he was turning
away he said, ' I suppose, Miss Adams, it will cause you no
sorrow if I tell you this is probably the last time we shall
ever meet.' I know that even then, had I answered him
differently the matter would not have ended as it did, but
my spirit rose proud and defiant, and I said with a tone
of mock levity, ' How long a journey do you purpose
taking, Mr. Blake ? is it to the grist-mill, or to the saw-
mill, which is a little fiirther awaj^ ?' 'You may make
light of my words, if you choose,' replied he ; ' but I am
in no mood for jesting. The truth is, Miss Adams, that
I can no longer endure this life of suspense and torture,
and it is evident you care more for a giddy throng of
admirers than for the love of one who has loved yo^
from childhood. I leave hero to-morrow mornin^'-, trust-
ing to time and distance to assist me in forgetting you.'
He looked earnestly in my face, in the bright moonlight, as
he said these words, but could read there nothing but self-
will and defiance. It is oven now a matter of wonder to
me what caused me to act as I did, against my own feelings.
He held out his hand, saying: 'Let us at least part as
friends, Miss Adams.' I gave him my hand, saying lightly:
'I hope, Mr. Blake, you wont bo like the boy who ran
away from home and came back to stay the first night.' I
turned and walked toward my own door, and he went away
without speaking another word. I watched him in the clear
moonlight till a turn in the road hid him from my view.
Had I entertained the slighlent idea that he would fulfil his
threat of going away, I know I should have acted differ-
180 WALTER HARLAND.
ently; and it was not till I learned, the next day, that he
had left Fulton and gone no one knew w^hithcr, that I real-
ized what I had done. I linow not whether his parents had
a suspicion of the cause of his sudden departure, if they had
they never named it to me. I told my sorrow to no one but
my mother, but Nathan always said he knew wel' enough
without being told by any one. I can toll you, Walter,
my sin did not go unpunished ; for, inconsistent as my con-
duct has been, I loved Joshua Blake with a deep affection,
and when my tortured mind pictured him as a wandering
exile from his home, through my absurd and foolish conduct,
you n^ay bo sure he did not suffer alone. And if I hadn't
turned kind of cross and crust}^, I am afraid I should have
gone crazy, and it was certainly better to be cross than
crazy. That is twenty-five years ago. As I was employed
in the garden one morning a few weeks ago, an acquaintance
from the village passing by said to me : ' Have you heard
the news. Miss Adams, that has almost turned every one's
liead over at Fulton : Joshua Blake, whom every one had
given uf) for dead years ago, has come home.' I grew cold
as ice, and I never could tell how I reached the house. I
could hardly believe it, and yet something told me it was
true, and that very evening he came over here ; but, instead
of the youth who went away, I saw a middle-aged man with
gray hair, which Nathan said was an improvement, allowing
that some gray looked better than all red. It sounds foolish
enough for young people to talk love, but for old people like
Joshua Blake and T. it is unj)ardonable. lie told me he had
resolved never to return to his native land .again, till, by the
merest chance, he met a man in Australia who informed him
of the death of his father, and that his father had said upon
WALTEU IIAULAND. 181
his death-bed, that all that gave him the least anxiety was
his aged partner, who, at his death, would be left quite
alone in the world. ' Then,' continued he, ' I thought of
the sin I had committed in so long neglecting my parents,
and I resolved to atone for my past neglect, by hastening
home to care for my mother, should I lind her still alive ;
and the happiness is yet left me of watching over the
declining years of my aged mother.' For awhile I refused
to listen to him when he spoke about marriage, and told
him it was bettor we should remain only as friends ; but he
talked and talked, and kept saying that, as we loved each
other in youth, we could yet spend the evening of our lives
together; and I at last said yes, only to stop his talking,
and if we should happen not to agree, we shall have less
time to quarrel than if we had got married twenty-five years
ago; but, I rather think we have both got sobered down, so
we can get along peaceably. And now, "Walter, you go right
off to bed, for you must get up bright and early to-morrow
morning, to assist in the preparations for the wedding."
Aunt Lucinda looked very becoming in her bridal dress of
gray silk with its rich lace trimming, and she looked
vounger and handsomer than I had ever seen her before,
when Joshua Blake placed the marriage ring upon her
finger; ho was a fine-looking man, but I could not help
thinking that the mixture of gray in his auburn locks was
more of an improvement than otherwise. He had returned
to Fulton a rich man, and on the same spot where stood his
father's old house, he erected and furnished a beautiful resi-
dence, which every one allowed was an ornament to the
village; and removed thither with his wife and aged mother
a short time after his marriage. My aunt's marriage made
182 WALTER HARLAND.
quite a change in the home arrangements at Uncle Nathan's,
but ho finally persuaded my mother to sell lier old house and
Elmwood, to come and reside with him. It was some time
before my mother could make up her mind to leave her old
home, hallowed by so many associations of the past; but,
judging the lonely situation of the brother, who had done
so much for me, she at length consented ; and my uncle's
home is now presided over by my mother, who was always
his favorite sister. Cousin Silas's eldest daughter, now an
intelligent girl of eighteen, stays with my mother, as an
assistant companion ; and the summer gathering of friends
from the diis'ty city is now held at Uncle Nathan's farm-house
instead of my mother's old home at Elmwood.
CHAPTER XXXI.
^OME of my readers may inquire what kind of a hus-
I band mj^ old school-mate Cliariey Gra}^ made;some wiU
be ready to suppose that his young and light-hearted
wife at once worked agreat and wonderful change in his dis-
position ; others, that failing in her endeavors^^to do so, she
became disappointed, sorrowing and unhappy. Neitlbcr^of
these conclusions is entirelj' correct. Flora did not all at
once change her husband into a genial and j^ocial being ;
but her affectionate devotion inspired a confidence in her,
which gradually extended to others, and has novv^ strength
to sa}'" to the tumultuous waves of jealous passion " Thus
farshalt thou come, and no further," and I am happy to say
that mj sister's cheerful and happy countenance does not
indicate a sorrowful and disappointed heart. Yes, Charley
Gray is a changed man, and there are deey) lines of thought
in his face, and a serene expression on his brow, and a
clear happy light in his eye, which all speak of the battle
fought and the victory won over the dark passions of his
own heart. This summer we are .^11 together at Uncle
Nathan's, and our time is about equally divided between the
old farm-house and the more elegant home of Aunl
Lucinda. All the usual accompaniments of such a season
of joy and festivity are here but the tremblings of emo-
tion, the out-gushings of the heart, the thanksgivings and
gratitude, as we blend the sometimes dark past with the
bright present, and tl e rosy hue of the future, I am quite
184 WALTER IIAl{r,AND.
unable to describe. Years bavo come and gone with their
scenes of eiinshine and shadow since that glad reunion, we
have each grown older and I trust wiser. Sorrow has been
experienced and tears shed, but gentle hands have wiped
away our tears and loving voices soothed our sorrows, and
now, dear reader, I leave the actors who have appeared in the
simple scenes of my story to pass onward, and perform
their f Hotted parts in the great drama of life.
THE END.